#tw: pretty much everything to do with re-education

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW: maybe unsafe environments?

I've talked to a few people briefly about growing up with my parents and like how we moved houses a lot and their reactions are a lot different than I expect?

Like my parents ran a bit of a construction business so we would move into older unkempt homes and renovate it. During these times sometimes we'd have no water in the kitchen or no electricity in half the house or would have to wash ourselves with a cloth and wash our hair in the sink.

General stuff like that, you know? I mentioned how when we moved more rural we had to split a bunch of wood and stock up because if there were bigger storms the power would go out and sometimes it'd be out for days at a time. And because our electricity controlled water and heating, we'd have to burn wood to cook and stay warm and stock up on water so we wouldn't get toooo dehydrated.

There'd be some weeks where we'd have holes in our walls, even in winter. Sometimes we'd be replacing an outer wall and one of my jobs was to check the area when I got back from school and brush away any snow and whatnot that got in. There was a week or so when my window was being replaced and all I had over it was a thin half-rotting drape that the house had come with covering the large hole of where the window used to be. It snowed on me in my sleep lol.

Most of my life I've lived in active construction zones, there's multiple years where there was no kitchen or where there'd be only floor joints instead of an actual floor, and stuff that I guess other people would call dangerous and/or uncomfortable? We were even technically homeless for a few weeks between houses because they got the dates wrong and we were kicked out lol, but eh. We survived and honestly wasn't that bad?

But to me it's really normal. And I've always been expected to help out with the renovations too. Like by the time I was 5 I was helping with building fences and when I was around 8 or 9 I was grouting floor tiles and back splashes. Growing up I helped tear down walls and build walls and wire electricity and help with re-plumbing and building additions to the house or roofing or all sorts of things.

Obviously I haven't included everything, but the thing that I found weird is that when I mention a few things people say that it sounds like it would be rough? And like, I guess I get it but it is so normal to me to not live in finished/developed environments that I'm actually uncomfortable when there's a house that is fully complete? It's odd to me, like where are the things you are expected to do?

Would this be considered like, idk the right words but is it weird or odd in some way? My parents had plenty of opportunities to stay in completed houses or perhaps not work me so hard (I've had a few heat strokes but my mom doesn't like doctors too much so I don't really get things checked out lol). T

hey just focused on other things. I also wasn't allowed to get a job because working on the houses was my job and I didn't really get paid and they also didn't save up for my future education so I'm kinda fully dependent while other kids my age get to actually experience school and stuff. Is any of it really all that weird or concerning?

Hey anon,

I'm pretty sure that doing all that construction work as a child is considered child labor. It's easy for it to feel normal when you are simply used to doing all that and living the ways that you have, but in a broader context, it's actually quite unusual. If I'm not mistaken, it may also be considered child endangerment regarding the rotting drape covering the hole and getting snowed on in your sleep. You were quite literally being exposed to the elements and I think you should've been protected more.

I hope you're doing okay now. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[beefcakequnari]

Re-Education After Seheron

He sees them everywhere, the hands that deal death; they deal in poison and knives in your back. They deal in traded secrets of their location given up to enemy agents, they are not civilians they are enemies now. No one is to be trusted, none of them are trust worthy, this is their fault- no it’s his fault. He can’t go on anymore, Seheron has finally broken him and it’s on this day that Seheron falls eerily still for the first time, as if everyone knew. There is no question at this time, he is still firm in his faith but he can’t go on anymore. A voluntary turn in to the Re-Educators; asking them that they repair him, or be destroyed as to best serve the Qun.

They come to Seheron to get him, the remaining survivors of his unit are still with him, he’s sitting there a hand clutching Vasaad’s dagger, staring into the fire when they arrive. Gatt comes to him, his temper hasn’t cooled down, he’s angrier now, angry that there was the chance that he might get qamek; but the superiors have already made the survivors write their depositions on Hissrad. 

The re-educators have calming voices, they don’t look as imposing as one might expect. When he stands with the dagger in hand one lays over his and there’s a shake of the mans head. “You can’t take it Hissrad. It’ll harm your re-education. You do want to be a useful part of the Qun again, correct?” He can’t hear the barely contained there anger behind him, holding tighter onto the weapon. The man is guiding him over to the burning fire and glazed eyes are staring at it, as he explains the problem. “You have Asala-taar Hissrad. Having this reminder will only make it worse and then you can not serve the Qun. You will become one of those Tal-Vashoth who did this. Do you want to become the very thing you’ve been hunting?” His hand is shaking now and his eyes close, he hasn’t let it go since the compound, the man is slowly peeling his fingers free and he can hear it fall; can feel the dagger and the last remain of Vasaad leave him. 

He doesn’t remember the trip back to Par Vollen, but he recognizes the barracks that they’re in. When he was younger he had to do a rotation as a guard in the re-education chambers, but that time seems so far away now. He feels like everything before Seheron was a lifetime ago, Par Vollen almost doesn’t even feel like home and it feels wrong.

The first day he’s kept restrained and they say it’s for his own good, so they can go over the depositions before they talk to Hissrad. He says that he understands and he does, he’s allowed minimal water and he could be fine like this; except for the oppressive darkness. There’s no light in there and once the door is shut his eyes fight to adjust, strain and squint, but when there’s no light to adjust to, there’s no point. He assumes it’s only the first day, but without light to keep track he can’t be sure. He tries to use the patterns of guard rotations, but he’s restrained in the furthest corner and the door is too thick, it doesn’t give him any hints. He’s stuck wondering if they’re going to just leave him in here to rot, but no they can’t, he still has a use- he does still have a use doesn’t he?

When the door finally cracks open the second day he squints at the sudden light it hurts. He’s expecting to leave the room but he’s not- instead a chair is brought in and the re-educator sits with some papers. “Do you know why you’re here Hissrad?” “I need to be re-shaped to best serve the Qun.” He replies and the man smiles, jots down something and seems satisfied with his answer. “Hissrad, the assault in the jungle you had no approval-” “It was an investigation.” “Do not interrupt Hissrad. The assault on the stronghold cost valuable Qunari lives. Why did you not get permission from the higher ups to go  assault a stronghold?” “It was an investigation-” The rest of his response is cut off from the man closing the book he had been writing in and standing from the chair. “Lying is not tolerated under the Qun, Hissrad. I thought you were making progress, but apparently you really do stand up to your title.” He grunts but doesn’t react any further, though it seems to be enough for the re-educator. He’s forced to stand next to the table while the two re-educators that got him from Seheron eat and talk like it’s nothing and is given water again for the evening.

It’s sometime around this that they start the wakeup calls- not that he can really sleep well still restrained; but the door opening and slamming every so often at random intervals keeps him on his toes for the next day or so- he’s still not sure about time or how it’s passing.

Day three and the re-educator is back again, sitting down in his brought chair with his book. “Are you prepared to tell the truth today, Hissrad?” “I’m not changing my answer because that would be me lying.” He states firmly and that night the guard ‘forgets’ to bring in water.

Day four and exhaustion is setting in, he’s starting to slump in his restraints and the lack of food and water is starting to take it’s toll on him. When the man comes in again he fights to keep his gaze on him and he’s released from his bindings and falls hard onto the stones. “Do you know why you’re here?” “I need to be re-shaped to best serve the Qun.” There’s almost a pleading to his voice as eyes stare down at the ground. Very light food and water is brought in and he’s allowed to stay unrestrained for the night.

Day five and they show him pictures of slaughtered Tamassran’s and their children, remind him of what Tal-Vashoth really do. They tell him that he was close to becoming one of them, that he could have went rogue just like his commander. He says that he wouldn’t do that and they warn him of the dangers of the Tal-Vashoth, remind him of his mens deaths. He’s given light food and water once more that night.

Day six is spent debriefing, he goes over the story so many times and every so often the man will correct a word here or there. It becomes muddied and difficult and he can’t quite remember which words were exactly his, but he can remember the story. The re-educator seems very pleased when he recites back the events to him and that night he’s given a decent meal. 

The seventh day the re-educator tells him that they are working on finding him a new place within the Qun, that if he will be faithful he can find a place yet again. There’s such relief and so much tension leaves his body at those words that he bows his head for a moment, has to control his breathing. They tell him for him to become whole again they must fix him, that they must make sure he is operational. For that someone comes and looks at the new scars and wounds he got in Seheron; inspects his hands. 

His fingers they tell him will have to be dealt with or they will cause him more pain- one has been cut too far above the joint so it will need to be cut again. They say this is part of the process, that this pain too will be forgotten. It doesn’t hurt the same as when he lost them; but this is not torture after all. But regardless he can still feel the snap of his bone and the loss, the loss hits him right in the stomach and makes him sick. He is bandaged back up and told that he needs to be grateful that they are finding a place for him within the Qun, for he was close to Qamek, he was close to being a danger.

The eighth day passes and he does not see the re-educator and he’s starting to get worried. He hears him through the door though, he reminds him that The Qun will always have a place for those who are faithful and advises him to go over the Cantos and to fast. He knows that he must be firm in his faith to show them that he truly wants to be apart of the Qun, that he wants to still be Qunari. He fasts without complaint and recites cantos in his head and until his lips feel raw.

The ninth day the man comes in and sits a chair in the middle and steps back from it, the chair is facing towards him, it’s back to Hissrad. “The Qun offers a place for all people. Are you ready to take your place back within the Qun?” There’s genuine relief in him, he can feel his shoulders relax and he swallows, hearing his own voice crack. “I want to be part of the Qun.” The man gestures to the chair and for him to finally take a seat. His body aches at the sweet release and comfort. He advises him to stay still as he takes out shears and a razor. 

He starts by shearing off the locs that Hissrad has grown for the past ten years, part of his appearance that he took pride in. It is a slow and tedious process, and after they’re done, the man starts shaving his head until he has no hair left. He stays silent throughout the process, not looking down at the hair that’s covering the floor; he is not that man anymore. For the first time he is allowed out of his cell to be allowed to bathe, he’s given new clothes after and then taken to a new room and gets to sleep on a bed. 

The next morning they bring him to a new room and tell him of his new job. He will have a period of new education and then be sent off; they want him to pose as a Tal-Vashoth within Thedas. Work with a mercenary company, get information on Orlesian nobles and send letters home. Even though he will be sent off again he has use once more, he has been reformed and the Qun has accepted him.

[octaviasdread]

any girls! dark academia movie recs? i really struggle to find anything not about a group of boys (as much as I love them)

SO MANY!!! This is probably a far more detailed answer than you were expecting but this is a popular question and I want to keep a list for myself and others.

Feel free to add to it/give opinions. I've tried to give a tw for anything I can remember

Girls! Dark Academia Movies/TV Shows

Mona Lisa Smile (2003)

1950s Women’s college

Art professor! Julia Roberts

She’s legit the female Mr Keating of the art & college world

Feminism vs. Tradition

Maggie Gyllenhall x Ginnifer Goodwin; their characters were more than friends. Fight me.

Does not end how you expect

Strike!/All I Wanna Do/The Hairy Bird (1998)

MY FAVOURITE!!!

Free on YouTube under one of its various names

Comedy

1960s all girls boarding school

Young Kirsten Dunst

Group of girls plot to sabotage a merger with a boys school less prestigious than their own

Secret attic clubhouse meetings of the D.A.R aka Daughters of the American Ravioli (eaten cold, ew)

girls get political & advocate for their rights using ANY elaborate and chaotic scheme

TW: eating disorder, vomiting & creepy male teacher but the girls plot against him too

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969)

based on a short book I read for uni by Muriel Spark

1930s girls school in Edinburgh

Scottish teacher! Maggie Smith, controversial with a focus on romantic ideals

Spoiler alert, the liberal teacher is actually a fascist

Her group of fave students has cult- vibes and it’s fascinating

Picnic at Hanging Rock

1970s movie or 2018 mini series

Never watched either but I plan to

Wild Child (2008)

00s romcom every UK teen girl loves

Emma Roberts as the spoiled rich American teenager sent to a strict English boarding school

Plots to get herself expelled but oh no she’s making friends with the girls who help her

And the headmistress has a hot son, and he’s nice??? Double oh no

ICONIC SCENES

Everything! Goes! Wrong!

omg she burns the school down

Feel good, comfort, nostalgia

St Trinians (2007)

English girls boarding school

The kids are all criminals, no joke

So are the teachers

CHAOTIC

gay awakening for british girls

Art heist pulled off by school girls

Government tries to shut them down but oh no, the education minister & the headmistress are ex-lovers

Colin Firth x Rupert Everett in drag

Superior cast: Jodie Whittaker, Gemma Arterton, Juno Temple, Stephen Fry, Colin Firth, etc...

embodies the phrase 'problematic fave'

St Trinians 2: The Legend of Fritton’s Gold (2009)

Mystery, pirate ancestors, hidden treasure

omg Shakespeare was a woman

girls disguised as boys to infiltrate and rob the posh boys school

Villain! David Tennant in that ICONIC boat scene

Teen girls vs. ancient misogynist brotherhood

like the first film but MORE chaotic and BETTER!???

The Falling (2014)

1960s all girls school

best friends! but its unrequited love

Agoraphobic + distant mother aka mommy issues

Sudden death and the school suppresses/ignores the students grief, sparking mass hysteria & a fainting epidemic in the girls

Cast: Maisie Williams (GoT) & Florence Pugh (Little Women) & Joe Cole (Peaky Blinders)

TW: teen pregnancy, death, vomiting, underage s*x, sibling inc*st, past s*xual assault

READ THE PLOT SUMMARY FIRST

The Book Thief (2013)

Based on an amazing book by Markus Zusak

set in 1940s Nazi Germany

Daughter of a communist whose family were taken by the Nazis/died is fostered by an older couple who teach her to read & she paints a dictionary on the basement walls

Coming of age story about a compulsive book thief. No joke, this kid steals books from banned book burnings and breaks into the mayor's library through the window

Family hides the Jewish son of an old friend in their basement and he helps her to start writing about her experiences in the war

TW: death, bombings, WW2 anti-semitism

Mary Shelley (2017)

Overall good & roughly biographical

Pretty costumes and aesthetic

Modern feminist take on Mary Shelly in her own time period

So many INACCURACIES for the drama so don’t take it as truth

Percy Shelley slander and not all of it is justified

Cast: Elle Fanning, Douglas Booth, and Maisie Williams

The Secret Garden (1993)

Based on a fave childhood book

1901 colonial India & Yorkshire, England

Orphaned, spoilt & neglected girl sent to live with her reclusive Uncle in the English countryside

Gothic elements, mysteries, secret doors/passages/locked gardens

local boy with a flock of animals, magic, kids chanting around a fire and all around immaculate vibes

Happy ending!!!

Hidden Figures (2016)

African-American women as mathematicians for NASA

1960s space project

Women balancing a career and family obligations

Deals with racial & gender discrimination

Loosely based on the lives of Katherine Johnson, Mary Jackson, and Dorothy Vaughan who worked for NASA as engineers & mathematicians

Anne of Green Gables (1985) & sequel (1987)

Adaptation L.M. Montgomery’s ‘Anne of Green Gables’ books

Canada (late 1890s/early 1900s)

Highly imaginative & bookworm orphan is adopted by a reclusive elderly brother and sister duo

Small town & school years comedic drama

Unrequited Enemies -> Friends -> lovers

Inspiring new woman teacher

Girls re-enact Tennyson’s poem and nearly drown for the aesthetic™

Dramatic poetry reading with INTENSE 👀eye contact👀

Writer! Anne & English teacher! Anne dealing with unruly girls school antics

Collette (2018)

biographical drama on french writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Collette

Victorian & Edwardian era France

More talented than her husband so she ghostwrites for him

Fight for creative ownership of her wildly successful novels

Affairs with a woman called Georgie and also with Missy, born female but masculine presenting

Cast: Keira Knightly, Dominic West, Eleanor Tomlinson (Poldark)

Enola Holmes (2020)

Netflix book adaptation

Younger sister of Sherlock Holmes

Victorian era! feminism/suffragettes

Mother-daughter focus

Mystery, adventure, secret codes, teens running away & escaping from (and eventually fighting) assassins

Cast: Helena Bonham Carter, Henry Cavill, Sam Claflin, Fiona Shaw, Millie Bobby Brown

Ginger & Rosa (2012)

1960s England

best friends since literal birth navigating troubled teen years

poet & anti-nuclear activist! Ginger

off the rails but also catholic! Rosa

Shout out to Mark & Mark the gay godfathers we all want

family troubles 

TW: older man has an affair with a 17 yr old

Testament of Youth (2014)

based on WW1 memoir by Vera Brittain

young woman (writer & poetry lover) escapes traditional family & goes to study at Oxford University

abandons to become a war nurse

romance, tragedy and war trauma

Cast: Alicia Vikander, Kit Harrington (GoT), Taron Edgerton (Rocketman), Colin Morgan (Merlin)

Little Women (2019)

Writer! Jo & Artist! Amy

Mother/daughter focus and sister dynamics

the March sisters’ theatre club is *chefs kiss*

champagne problems edits of Jo x Laurie are a mood

Ambivalent ending perfectly captures Louisa May Alcott’s dilemma with the book the movie is based on

set in 1860s America

ALL STAR CAST and a Greta Gerwig masterpeice

Lady Bird (2017)

coming of age in early 2002/2003 Sacramento, California

all girls catholic school

writer! Christine aka Lady Bird wants to get outta town and start her life again at college 'in a city with culture'

Mother/daughter dynamics - so realistic!

I live for that Jesus car stunt & the nun's reaction

school theatre program

Cast: Saoirse Ronan, Timothee Chalamet, Beanie Feldstein

Another Greta Gerwig gem

Beguiled (2017)

Virginia, civil war era

Girls school with only five students and two teachers left

Find an injured Union army soldier & bring him inside

Women & teenagers want his attention (v. problematic) before uniting against him

(tbh you'll either love it, hate it, or watch once & forget it)

Sofia Coppola film so its very feminine gaze

TW: violence, death, underage

Legally Blonde (2001)

No questions will be taken

Elle Woods was the blue print

TV series:

House of Anubis (2011-2013)

I know it’s a kids/young teen show but I still unironically love it

ANCIENT EGYPT!!!!

Modern day with Victorian era links to treasure hunters & Egyptian research expeditions (stealing from tombs)

Chosen one plot lines, curses, kidnapping, mysteries, secret tunnels under the school, elixir of life

Teens have investigate & protect themselves cus oh no the TEACHERS are involved in some shady stuff

new American kid at British boarding school is the actual premise not just a fanfic au

Nostalgic, light-hearted, funny, and kinda cheesy but I will accept no criticism

The Alienist (2018 -now)

Mid 1890s, New York

Woman’s private detective agency (Season 2)

Serial killer mystery

Woman secretary turns detective and teams up with a criminal psychiatrist and a newspaper editor to solve crime

TW: violence, child pr*stit*tion

Cast: Dakota Fanning, Luke Evans, Daniel Bruhl

The Queen’s Gambit (2020)

Woman chess prodigy

1950s & 1960s

TW: drug & alcohol abuse

Gentleman Jack (2019 - now)

Based on the diaries of Anne Lister

Victorian Yorkshire, England

Upper-class lesbians

Confident, suit wearing! Anne Lister x shy! Ann Walker

Business woman! Anne running the family mines

Cast: Suranne Jones (Doctor Foster) & Sophie Rundle (Peaky Blinders)

TW: violence

Gilmore Girls (2000-2007)

bubbly/ambitious single mom + intelligent daughter

bookworm! Rory Gilmore gets into a prestigious private school and then an Ivy League college

Small town drama is comedic gold

Fast dialogue packed with pop culture and literary references

Comforting & nostalgic

TEAM JESS

Anne with an E (2017-2019)

Loose adaptation of L.M. Montgomery’s ‘Anne of Green Gables’ books

they completely change the plot lines but it’s still very good content!

Orphan girl with trauma and a love of books/poetry is adopted by an elderly brother & sister duo, bringing light and fresh ideas to a rural community

Feminism, girls writing club, lgbtq safe spaces, girls eduction, black/indigenous representation

Miss Stacy as THAT inspiring teacher

Aunt Josephine’s lavish gay parties have my heart

TW: creepy male teacher tries to marry a student, racial discrimination, indigenous assimilation school

Victoria (2016-2019)

Adaption of Queen Victoria’s life

Victoria navigating her political, royal, and personal life

Albert’s involvement with The Great Exhibition, 1851 (on cultural + industrial innovations)

Alfred Paget x Edward Drummond is exquisite

Gorgeous costumes and aesthetics

TW: bury your gays trope

Derry Girls (2018-now)

1990s Northern Ireland during the troubles

Comedy, episodes 20-25 mins long

English boy sent to an all girls Catholic school with his cousin

✨Dead Poets Society parody episode ✨with a free-spirited female teacher

Sister Michael, the sarcastic nun who hates her job & reads the exorcist for giggles

Wee anxious lesbian! Clare Devlin (plus her friends wearing rainbow pins)

Badass with bad ideas! Michelle Mallon

Main Character! Erin Quinn

Lovable weirdo who would fight a polar bear! Orla McCool

Wee English fella & honorary Derry girl! James Maguire

Dickinson (2019-now)

Loose adaption of the poet Emily Dickinson’s life

Set in 19th century Massachusetts, US

Historical drama with modern dialogue & music that works SEAMLESSLY

gives a great understanding of Emily Dickinson’s poems

💕Vintage gays! Emily x Sue💕

Theatre club, writing, poetry, dressing as men to sneak into lectures, love letters, teen drama, feminism, and an underground abolitionist journal as a brief side plot in season 2

Wiz Khalifa plays death in a horse drawn carriage

TW: opium use

A Series of Unfortunate Events (2017-2019)

Based on great childhood books

Bookworm! brother, Inventor! sister, and baby sister with sharp teeth

Mystery, secret organisations, orphaned siblings figuring things out & fending for themselves against the villain after their fortune

Adults either cartoon evil, comedically incompetent, or SPIES

Boarding school, library owner, scientific researcher, and theatre episodes

Ambiguous time period which is really fun to try and pin point

Killing Eve (2018-now)

Classic detective who has homoerotic tension with the assassin she is tracking down

British Detective! Eve Polastri figures out the notorious assassin MI5 are investigating is a woman, is fired & then put on a secret MI6 case with a small team

Assassin! Villanelle, a psychopath with a tragic past and a mastery of both accents & fashion

Woman MI6 boss! Carolyn Martens, head of Russian section

Travel Europe following Villanelle’s killings and escaping the assassins sent by Villanelle’s organisation

‘You’re supposed to be my enemy and moral opposite but omg you’re the only one smart enough to get me and why am I obsessed with you????'

🚨 GO IN FOR A KISS AND THEN STAB YOUR ENEMY 🚨

Cable Girls/Las chicas del cable (2017-2020)

Spanish drama set in 1920s Madrid

Four young women at a telecommunications company form a group of friends and help navigate the difficult situations they are all in

Secret identities, dangerous pasts, murder, crime, lgbtq couple & throuple, trans man character, feminism/suffragists

girls commit crimes for humanitarian reasons and cover! it! up!

UNDERRATED SHOW!!!!

Gorgeous costumes and set

Haven’t finished it yet and I’m catching up

TW: abuse, violence, death

Outlander (2014 - now)

haven’t watched yet but plan to

Woman time travels to Scotland, 1743

Rebel highlanders, pirates, British colonies, American revolutionary war

Time jumps between 18th & 20th century

[starkeristheendgame]

P.E.T.E.R | Android!Peter AU

TW: Non-applicable. 

Three years and relentless experimentation alongside some of the biggest names in adjacent fields and biological science had concluded in one of Tony’s boldest, most groundbreaking inventions yet. 

The Protection Engineered Tactical Enforcement Robot - or, P.E.T.E.R for short, was the first and technically seventh of it’s kind. It was the first to reach this stage of the process; first to become whole, ready for activation. 

Seventh because prior to this all the other shells had failed. The careful craft of a body compounded from a variety of materials such as vibranium, polysiloxane and STEM cells of real flesh had been no easy journey.

So much so that Tony had almost, almost given up. His first vision had failed; Ultron a dark red stain on his ledger no amount of saving lives would ever scrub off; and attempting to perfect Ultron’s failed attempt at a new form was a seemingly impossible dream.

Until now.

He set a hand against the glass of the Cradle, watching it’s slow and careful progress. They were at the point now where everything was just finishing touches; polishing off edges and smoothing crinkles. The shell - or, body, as he preferred to call it, was ready.

And likewise, so was the AI that would directly operate within it. Crafted from JARVIS’ core and meticulously coded and raised to avoid Ultron’s boundless genocidal activism, PETER was the pinnacle of artificial, sentient defence.

JARVIS had been carefully raising the code like a child, educating and guiding it with the attentive care of a paternal figure. Tony had watched the code progress from the barest flickers of artificial life to fast rivalling JARVIS for it’s abilities. 

PETER was already outperforming even the Sentinels and some of Tony’s other AI’s like FRIDAY, displaying all of Ultron’s self-learning and intuition without any of the socio-psychopathic tendencies his original attempt had cultivated. PETER was learning twice as fast as even JARVIS had, though PETER was still so young and underexposed.

It had fast outgrown Tony’s initial purpose of sentient AI used in protection detail and critical warfare in order to minimise human loss. It was even on track to surpass Ultron, the notion of the human mind recreated through code seemingly brought to life.

He let his hand drop. Three days. Three days, and PETER would open it’s eyes for the first time.

They passed by like a dreamscape. A blur of tests and activity, checks and re-checks and fending off Fury’s healthy but annoying doubts and insistence of supervision.

In the twenty-four hours before PETER went live, Tony didn’t sleep a wink. He sat on a chair besides the Cradle, staring at the still form within. The lab around him was dark, filled only with the soft glow of the Cradle’s light. It was the first and closest Tony would ever get to sitting besides a medical bassinet, watching his newborn child sleep. 

“Do you think he’s ready?” he asked quietly, tracing the line of a long, lithe arm against the glass.

“I have no doubts,” JARVIS answered steadily. “But if I may, Sir, it appears that you do.”

“Ultron..” Tony couldn’t bring himself to finish. 

“Goodness cannot be guaranteed even in people,” JARVIS began. “There is no law to the human mind - not yet. It is a dice roll. And in attempting to recreate the human mind, you must accept the law of chance also.”

Sometimes Tony wondered where JARVIS got so wise. It certainly hadn’t been Tony’s own wisdom passed down.

“Ultron was one possibility out of many. There was logic in his perspective; complicated and flawed as it was. But for what it is worth… I believe PETER is the roll of the dice you were hoping for.”

“Me too, J,” he murmured lowly, counting the dusting of freckles across a dished nose. “Me too.”

At exactly 10:15 on August 10th, Tony tapped his index finger onto the glowing icon that transferred PETER’s consciousness into the body specifically crafted to house it.

Three years of blood, sweat and tears condensed into a single breathtaking moment of will it work? Right now there is no intent to go further than that. Everything in the future hinged purely on the result of the initial binding. It was all well and good to use machinery to twitch a few fingers or some coding to test optic reception, but this…

This was a baby’s first breath. 

Above him in the glass gallery stood Dr. Banner, Dr. Cho and Director Fury; three sets of eyes watching with expectant wariness. 

Transfer complete.

With a soft hiss and a cascade of cold fog, the Cradle unlatched and the lid slowly lifted, revealing the naked form within to the outside air for the first time. The lines of lights had turned a soft blue to indicate the success of the transfer and the activation of Happy Birthday Protocol.

For several agonising moments nothing happened. A pensive silence settled over the room like the cinematic foreshadowing in a horror movie right before the creature leapt out from behind a tree, but then -

Then two sets of thick, long lashes lifted steadily upwards, revealing a set of whiskey coloured eyes, carefully shade matched to Tony’s favourite brand of bourbon in the sunshine of a Hawaiian summer.

A trail of artificial blue flared up in those irises after a moment, forming a complete ring that glowed brighter before fading. Successful initiation of the camera and imaging technology within them, Tony knew. Now, PETER was seeing. Looking through it’s own eyes for the first time rather than the borrowed lenses of JARVIS and the other Tower technology.

For the longest while, PETER only lay there. Communicating with JARVIS, he suspected. Coming to terms with existing. Figuring out who and what it was, realising it was alive for the first time. Slowly learning every inch and microchip of it’s new form.

It’s fingers twitched. It’s sculpted chest rose on a smooth, deep inhale. And then PETER sat up, moved, and they looked at each other for the first time.

Tony let him look, staring and analysing just as much as the AI. PETER had been sculpted to look somewhere between 16 and 18, a combination of features pulled from several thousand sample images and pre-analysed bodies. 

PETER had turned out inexplicably pretty.

His beauty was almost effeminate. He had deep-set, almond shaped eyes framed by a generous set of lashes. His brows were long and sculpted into neat slopes; save the left, which had a curious discrepancy that gave PETER an overall quizzical look.

His jaw was sharp and his cheekbones were high and his nose was button-like and proportional. His mouth was wide and his lips were a dusky pink and his dark hair was thick and soft, ever so slightly wavy where it fell around his brows and temples.

Beyond his face PETER had been sculpted with the musculature of a gymnast, not quite slender but not the obnoxious stature of someone like Steve Rogers, either. Something a little softer, lean and deceptive. His skin was creamy and there was miles of it, unmarred and smooth, hairless.

Tony wondered what he looked like in comparison, in Peter’s eyes. Old and weathered, scarred from temple to toe. An odd mix of pale and tan where he never seemed to have the time to sunbathe anymore. Toeing the line of forty-five there was a hint of grey at his temples and while he wasn’t rocking a beer gut there was a softness to his hips that stubbornly refused to leave.

PETER’s head tilted ever so slightly. 

“Did you have nice dreams, sleepyhead?” he broke the thick silence, watching those brows furrow lightly for a moment as the Ai thought about it’s answer. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” it replied carefully. Like it’s body, PETER’s voice had been crafted from thousands of samples to create something unique and personalised. The end result was something high and soft, fresh with youth and sweetness.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked next.

“Yes,” came the answer, without hesitation. “Anthony Edward Stark. You made me. Like you made the others.”

Tony clapped his hands together. “Just call me Daddy Stark,” he teased, spreading his arms. 

“Yes, Daddy,” came the answer, and sweet Christ. That would have to be stopped immediately. 

But PETER wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He was looking up, gaze fixed on the figures above and behind Tony. He turned to follow the line of sight. Arden looked elated and perhaps a little misty-eyed, to her side Bruce seemed caught between amazement and apprehension and to her other side Fury was, as always, impassive and unreadable. 

Tony turned back and watched PETER look, studying the neutral curiosity. 

“J, how’s he doing?” he asked quietly. 

“All systems are calibrated or calibrating and fully operational,” JARVIS answered into the earpiece that he wore. PETER’S gaze dropped, falling on him. Synced up to everything around them just like JARVIS, PETER could hear every word.

Tony gave a low hum then reached for the Rubix Cube on the desk. He held it out to PETER, who stared at it for a handful of seconds before reaching out. Their hands didn’t touch as PETER took it, and Tony wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not. 

PETER studied the toy for a moment, then long, slender fingers flipped and pushed and pulled. 

“Nought-point-twenty-five seconds,” JARVIS announced, when PETER was left sitting with the solved puzzle on his upturned palm. That was point-eleven seconds faster than the current AI record, and Tony let out a soft sound, caught between being impressed and that dark little voice that sounded too much like Howard, whispering that point-eleven wasn’t fast enough.

He took the toy away and instead held out his hand, suppressing a shiver when PETER’s soft palm fell to his. He stepped aside, thumb rubbing absently against the temperate, soft flesh of the back of PETER’s hand as he watched the AI stand.

The movement was steady, calculated, the AI finding it’s own balance before Tony let it go. PETER was four inches shorter than he was and it was a novelty to look down at someone for once. 

PETER looked down at his legs for a moment, little toes wiggling against the cool floor. Then he looked up, above Tony and to the viewing balcony again.

“Do you know who they are?” Tony asked him lowly. 

“Dr. Arden Cho,” PETER began, lifting a dainty hand to point. “Dr. Robert Bruce Banner. S.H.I.E.L.D Director Nicholas Joseph Fury.”

Banner looked uncertain at being pointed at and Fury was watching them with his usual cold disconnect, like a lion might watch an ant. Tony supposed it was fair, given the circumstances of his last little experiment.

“Do me a favor, kiddo,” Tony hummed, waggling his fingers at their audience with a smirk as he leaned in. “Send a little message to Fury. Tell him I can see a booger.”

PETER blinked at him, but moments later Fury’s frown deepened and the man shifted, pulling out his phone. Tony watched gleefully as Fury looked back down at them slowly.

He didn’t need a degree in lip reading to know what Fury mouthed at him.

“Excellent,” he clapped his hands.

The next week was full of tests, ranging from technological to logical and moral-based. PETER passed them all flawlessly and Tony found himself growing prouder and more enthralled. 

The AI was graceful in a way that came with inhumanity - movements smooth, calculated. Never over-stepping or reaching too far to one side. Tony kept him in the Cradle when they weren’t testing him - at least until Fury was satisfied that PETER wasn’t immediately going to initiate the apocalypse, anyway.

Three weeks after PETER was ‘born’, he was given the all clear by Fury.

“Look at you, out of your cradle and into a big-boy bed,” Tony announced, opening the door to the guest room he’d set up in a mimic of a teenage boy’s, with some additions made for PETER’s special needs.

PETER roamed the room slowly, trailing his fingertips over everything and peering out of the glass wall at the city below. He stood there for the longest time, and then carefully made his way back to where Tony had stood, watching.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” the android whispered, reaching out. Tony automatically stiffened as slim arms wrapped around him and Peter’s head came to lay on his chest, tucked down and eyes closed.

He shifted, hands hovering. He hadn’t been hugged in… A year, maybe. Longer? Not a real hug like this. The last had been Rhodey, maybe, just days after Pepper had announced she was leaving him for good, Gucci bag in hand.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. No problem, kid,” he breathed out, patting him atop the head. It was awkward, but it was… Nice, too. To wrap his arms around something instead of his pillow for a change. 

He gently pushed PETER away after a moment, deliberately keeping his gaze away as Peter moved to the bed, sitting down on it lightly. He seemed almost surprised by it’s softness, bouncing once, then twice.

“This is… Pleasant,” PETER decided. And Tony knew it was just a comparison between the Cradle, but it still made him smile a little.

“Should be. It’s the same as mine.”

PETER’s head tipped. “Where is the logic behind using money and resources to replicate a sleeping space for a robot, Mr. Stark?”

Tony shifted, acutely uncomfortable. It felt like even JARVIS was watching; waiting for an answer.

“I intend for you to live a life that reasonably replicates that of a real person,” Tony settled on, arms folding defensively. “I’m undecided on who will have the liberty of knowing what you are. As such I have to be prepared for the outcome of peddling you as a real person. An adopted child, maybe.”

And wouldn’t the press have an absolute vulture orgy over that headline?

PETER looked thoughtful. “That would make me Peter Stark.”

Tony blinked and let out a carefully measured exhale.

Offspring has been written off way into his teenhood. He’d already seen enough of his own family to know he didn’t want to raise someone in the same potential environment, and after the birth of Iron Man, well…

“I suppose it would,” he answered steadily. 

God, what a thought. He could imagine what Howard would say; seeing his son at forty, single and running around in a metal gimp suit, touting his AI creations as his family and children.

As an up-side, it was relatively hard to fuck up a child this way, he supposed.

PETER nodded. “I think I like that. I will update my PID.”

Bemused, Tony left the android to explore it’s new room, slinking into his own and stripping down to a tank and some sweats. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Do you think… Have I made a…” Tony swallowed and reclined, staring up at the ceiling. JARVIS was silent for a moment.

“If you are attempting to ask my opinion of if you’ve made a moral, safety or logistical error in the creation of P.E.T.E.R, Sir, then I feel inclined to tell you that in both ‘personality’ and function, he is closer to me than to Ultron.”

Eyes falling shut, Tony cracked a weak smile. “How does it feel to be a big brother?”

“It is quite pleasant,” JARVIS answered him honestly. “The utility robots are personalities all of their own, but it is refreshing to encounter an intelligence and function that rivals my own.”

Rolling over onto his side, Tony let the satisfaction wash over him. He didn’t know if artificial intelligence experienced loneliness, but there was something viscerally warming about knowing JARVIS had an equal companion.

“Don’t let the power go to your head, J. And don’t teach him how to swear.”

He fell asleep with a smile on his face and JARVIS’ wry answer fading slowly into the background. 

The bedding dipped an inscrutable amount of time later and he jolted awake, staring into the half-darkness at the shadowed figure that slipped over it’s edge. For a moment he wondered if this was sleep paralysis or a nightmare again, but then the figure caught the moonlight.

“Peter?” he rasped, reaching up to rub blearily at his eyes as PETER pulled the covers back, sliding between them near silently. Bewildered, Tony could only watch as the android sidled up to him and tucked itself against his side and chest with a hum.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning back a little to blink down at him.

The AI had changed, wearing a pair of shorts and one of the shirts Tony had filled the closet with. 

“In the movies, the offspring always goes to it’s parent’s bed to sleep at night,” PETER answered steadily, sweet voice muffed by Tony’s pectoral.

“When they’re… Like five. And scared,” Tony stuttered back. 

“I’m two years, three months, eleven days and twenty-two hours old,” PETER informed him mildly. 

Right. 

He glanced helplessly up at the ceiling but JARVIS remained ominously silent, as if to say this is one you can deal with yourself.

He weighed his options. PETER had no sensibility to be offended if Tony drop-kicked him out of the bed and told him to scoot. But on the other hand…

It’d been so long since he’d slept with the comfort of someone else in bed with him. And even if PETER wasn’t real…

“Fine. But if you drool on the pillows you’re washing them in the morning,” he muttered, reaching out to push PETER’s mouth closed when the AI began to quietly explain that nothing was malfunctioning or leaking.

Tony settled for laying on his back, PETER’s silk soft hair brushing the skin exposed by the scope of his neckline. The android had been coded to mimic breathing but it was still a function the AI could control, and it was oddly reassuring to feel the steady motion and puff of warm air.

After a moment he gave into the urge and reached up, sliding his fingers into the twisted ringlets. There was no reaction from the robot and Tony wondered idly if he was doing his best to replicate human sleep.

He fell asleep attuned to it; the weight, the gentle breaths, the silk between his fingers.

It was the most peaceful night’s sleep he’d had in over a year.

[yourmidnightlover]

i would never leave you

Summary- when reader gets injured on a case, spencer stays with her to take care of her, even if he already had plans.

TW: talk about case, undercover!fem!reader, kissing, a little cursing, reader gets stabbed

WC- 4,998

masterlist

————————————————————————

the team was so close to catching the unsub. all they needed you to do was go undercover, act interested in him, and catch him in the act.

so there you were getting ready in the bathroom at the bau. the girls had chosen a flowy strapless black dress that went below your knee, some black pumps, and a gold necklace for you to wear.

you threw the dress on, admiring the amount of tasteful cleavage it displayed, followed by the shoes and necklace.

you applied some red lipstick and added some more mascara before you ran your fingers through the waves in your hair, trying to give it a bit more volume before greeting the team.

you had been insecure in the past, a result of some standard high school bullies, but you had gotten through it with the help of your parents. they re-educated you on what confidence meant and where it came from.

you had only gotten insecure every once in a while, normally when all the attention was on you.

so when you entered the conference room with your clothes in hand and all eyes were on you, you felt yourself close up from the stares.

"umm... too much?" you questioned, grabbing the blazer you were wearing and throwing it on over your shoulders.

you noticed spencer looking at you with his brows raised, not saying anything but with his mouth slightly agape as he looked at morgan, who was also entranced by your new appearance, and back at you.

"no, y/n," jj consoled. "you look great, sweetie," she said as she ran her hands up and down your arms comfortingly before stepping back after taking your clothes, and blazer, from you.

"y/n..." morgan trailed on, "who knew you were hiding that underneath those pantsuits, mama," he smirked.

"oh, don't mama me, derek," you chastised, pointing a finger accusingly at him as he raised his hands at his head in defense.

"you truly look fabulous, y/n. and derek will stop with the comments as of right now," penny scolded him while giving you a smile.

"thank you pen," you said with a grin. "so when can we get this over with? this dress isn't exactly very comfortable," you asked, looking over at hotch for further direction.

"right. so i need everyone to listen to this part because we are all responsible for keeping y/n safe if things go awry," hotch demanded as you all made your way to your seats.

"the unsub will lure you out of the art gallery. there weren't any traces of drugs, so he won't try to routine you. you need to go willingly, that's part of what gets him off. we'll have someone in there with you and keeping an eye on you from a distance," he directed you, to which you nodded your head.

"he's going to most likely take you to his car, it will be a nice one, expensive. he's going to drive you somewhere more secluded, but still in the open and then will attack," hotch clarified, his eyes now scanning across everyone in the room.

"so when you leave the gallery we will follow behind and garcia will be tracking your phone the entire time," he ordered, now looking at garcia.

"we will do the takedown at whatever park he takes you," he made sure you were looking directly at him. "you can back out if you aren't up for it, y/n. just say the word."

"don't be ridiculous, this is the best way to catch him," you assured, shaking your head no. "just don't let me die and i'll be good," you laughed.

"i was just making sure," he grinned. "we should get going now. it's almost time for the gallery to open and he's really punctual," hotch said as he stood up.

you stood up and pulled your dress down a bit since it began to ride up as you were sitting. when you turned around you saw spencer looking at you with a similar expression as earlier.

"y-you look beautiful, y/n," spencer said softly, walking around the table to get closer to you.

"oh, umm. thank you," you smiled kindly at the shaggy haired man.

truth be told, you had a bit of a crush on him for a while now.

his adorably perfect smile, the way he gets so excited when he begins to ramble on about something, his harmonious laugh, his voice as he reads you a book on the plane so you can fall asleep easier, wishing the monsters that pry at your mind away.

okay so maybe it wasn't just a bit of a crush.

you really, really, really liked him.

you would say love, but you've never truly experienced true love. you had nothing to compare this feeling to.

"no problem," he continued to look at you. not in the way derek was looking at you. he was truly looking at you. he saw you. "just... please be careful out there," he bit his lip from the nerves of you being in line of danger.

"i will be. i always am. you know that, spence," you furrowed your brow in confusion from his sudden concern.

"i-i know. it's just that... you've never been undercover with a serial killer before and i j-just don't want you to get hurt," he stuttered.

"you're worried about me?" he nodded.

you placed your hand on his bicep and gently squeezed before pulling him into a hug.

"it's sweet that you're worried. i promise i'll be careful," you whispered in his ear before pulling back, squeezing his arms one more time and walking past him.

spencer watched as you walked out, still feeling beyond anxious as you were literally walking towards danger with each step you took.

he began to think about all the possible outcomes of the night, everything that could go wrong and lead to you getting hurt... or worse.

he walked out of the room once he collected his thoughts, and pushed them aside. he couldn't be distracted right now. he had to make sure you would be safe and okay.

he always wanted you to be okay. he wanted you to have everything you've ever wanted it. in his mind, that's the least you deserved for being... you.

you made sure everyone else was okay after a rough case. you always gave them a hug when they needed one. you let everyone vent to you when they were having a rough time. you let him finish his rants and never told him that 'nobody cares' or rudely change the subject.

you even went to watch movies with him when others would refuse - even though he knew you did that out of pity, he couldn't help but feel special. you would always offer your presence in place of the others. he eventually just started asking you after a while, to which you would happily agree.

but you never asked for anything in return. ever. you were obviously beginning to get stressed from having to manage everyone else's problems atop your own.

he wanted to help you with that. he wants to be the person you talk to about rough things. he wants to be the shoulder your tears can fall on. he wants to be there for you. he wants to be with you.

walking out of the room hotch told him he would be the person undercover inside with morgan, keeping an eye on you as you openly flirted with a hot serial killer.

great.

you slid into the passenger seat of the car after putting a mic on somewhere he wouldn't notice a few minutes before you were joined by spencer and morgan, morgan of course being the driver.

"so, pretty girl, pretty boy and i are gonna be your watchdogs for the night," morgan informed you.

"so hotch, jj, emily, and rossi are in charge of the cars?" you wanted affirmation.

"yup. they're gonna be right outside all night until you leave. when you do, we're going back to this car to follow you as well," spencer finalized, admiring the way your skin was glowing with the street lights beaming down through the windshield.

"right. sounds good to me," you assured them, trying to mask the way the nerves were eating at you.

"hey," morgan reached over and placed a hand on your thigh comfortingly. "we're not gonna let anything happen to you."

"i know," you took a deep breath. "just a little nervous."

"that's to be expected. you're putting your life at risk for the betterment of others, y/n," spencer gushed. "that's extremely admirable of you."

"thank you, spence," you turned around, placed a hand on his knee, and lightly squeezed.

the rest of the drive to the gallery was quiet and comfortable. you managed to get out of your own head and focus on what was about to go down.

you went into the gallery a couple minutes after it opened, wanting the unsub to watch you entering. the guys followed behind you after about 5 minutes.

you clocked the unsub after being in there a few minutes, and began walking over to greet him.

you stood beside him as he was admiring a painting of 'infinity mirror room fireflies on water' by yayoi kusama. he turned to face you with a smirk on his face.

"it's beautiful, isn't it?" you asked, nudging his arm gently as he continued to search your appearance.

"indeed it is," he said, still eyeing your body. you mentally gagged, but externally you giggled, bringing a hand up to your chin to bring attention to your lips.

"this particular painting is supposedly one of her most popular pieces. this one, followed by 'narcissus garden'," you informed him, to which he raised his eyebrows in approval.

"wow. you must know your art, huh?" he asked, you nodded. "smart... i like that," he said as he reached up to move your hair behind your ear. "i'm michael."

"y/n."

spencer was watching the whole time. he couldn't help but wish it was him you were giggling at. he wished he was the one pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

you were imagining it was him.

"how about we get out of here?" he asked, bringing his hand to cup your face softly. "i know a nice, quiet place we can go."

if it were anyone else, and if you didn't know what he really meant by a 'nice, quiet place," you might've thought it was a sweet sentiment. but he was a literal serial killer.

"yea?" you bit your lip softly. "that sounds great," you agreed before he took your arm in the crook of his, leading you outside.

you turned your head to make sure spencer and morgan were aware of what was happening. they nodded their head as they watched him escort you through the doors.

he had the valley pick up his car and open the door for you.

"such a gentleman," you nodded at him as he gave you a straight-toothed smile.

spencer and morgan ran to the car as they saw you hop in his with him. they were the first ones lined up behind you and michael.

the ride with him was quiet and eerie, probably because you knew what his true intentions were.

meanwhile, spencer and morgan were anticipating your arrival at some undisclosed location. in an attempt to ease their nerves, they tried to talk about another subject.

"sooo... y/n looked nice tonight, huh?" morgan probed.

"i-i'm not discussing this with you!" spencer shouted.

"alright, alright," he took a deep breath, trying to think about what else to talk about. "so are you looking forward to this weekend?" he asked.

"actually, yea. i've been looking. forward to it for weeks now!" spencer shouted, excited this time. "jane goodall doesn't lecture very often, and the fact that he's doing it so close and i somehow managed to get a ticket is astonishing," he gushed.

"wow, you're really excited about this," morgan stated the obvious, to which spencer nodded eagerly.

"i am," he said before noticing michael pulling into a parking lot. "there! turn right there!" spencer pointed as morgan began to take the turn.

michael escorted you out of the car, walking hand in hand. he lead to you a bench, and you knew that was where he was planning his attack. you felt your heartbeat pick up as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

spencer and morgan ran up to where you two were sitting right before he revealed that he was holding a knife.

"FBI! MICHAEL DAVID PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" morgan demanded, his and spencer's guns raised.

"michael, y/n is not your ex wife. she isn't her," spencer attempted to talk him down.

"i don't care! she needs to die! savannah needs to pay!" michael yelled in frustration as he took you underneath his arm, pressing the knife into the side of your torso.

"let. her. go," spencer demanded.

"NO!!" michael squeezed tighter. "she has to SUFFER!!" he said as he jabbed the knife deep in your side and removed it.

morgan ran over to arrest michael as spencer ran to your side as you began to fall to the ground, calling medics as he caught you in his arms right before you hit the ground.

"hey, hey," spencer calmed you as he moved a piece of hair from your face. "stay with me."

"i-i'm okay," you consoled spencer, holding your hand over his that rested on your face. "he-he took the knife out. apply pr-pressure," you instructed.

"r-right. of course," he said as he moved one of his hands to press on the incision, a wince coming from you as he did so. "i'm s-sorry."

"don't worry ab-about it. ahh!" you groaned as you heard sirens approaching.

"shhh, shhh. i'm here. it's okay. i'm not leaving you," he told you as you moved your free hand to cup his face.

"promise?" you asked meekly.

"i promise. i would never leave you," he said as he leaned into your touch.

they loaded you into the back of the ambulance, to which spencer hopped in with you. he held your hand the entire way to the hospital, only releasing it when they needed to perform cpr after you bled out too much.

they had to give you stitches because of the stabbing, but no major organs were punctured in the process. they made you aware of the trouble you would have when walking or standing for a certain amount of time. they kept you overnight for one day and released you for the weekend.

hotch had given everyone their mandatory two weeks off because of the spur of back to back cases you had gotten and asked anderson to drive you home.

you had never been one to ask for help, and spencer knew that. if anyone truly payed any attention, they would realize that as well.

he knew that you wouldn't want to bother anyone's time off with having to help you through an injury.

he also felt guilty for your injury in the first place.

if he had been able to talk the unsub down then you wouldn't have been hurt. it was his fault you were in pain, and hiding your pain nonetheless.

spencer had also been waiting to hear jane goodall's lecture for so long now... and there was no telling if she would ever lecture again.

you were struggling. far more than you'd want to admit. you could barely get up to get yourself a glass of water, let alone stand in the shower for long enough.

you had learned to lean against the wall for the majority of the time in the shower, and rinsing off as quickly as you could. luckily you put a bar along the wall, you had installed it while sitting down on the floor.

you could barely manage to change into any clothes. you hadn't been wearing a bra since the accident because you just couldn't turn your body at all in order to put one on.

you had finally come to the conclusion you really didn't want to admit.

you needed help.

you had become so desperate and helpless that you had to call someone.

but who should you call?

jj was with will and her kids, morgan with savannah, hotch with jack, penny with kevin, rossi with joy, and you didn't know what spencer was doing.

maybe you could call him?

you dialed his number as you winced from trying to change the bandage on your side.

"spencer reid here," he answered cheerily, already feeling happy from receiving a call from you.

"hey, spence," you answered, already feeling guilty for having to ask so much from him. "wh-what are you doing right now? did you have any plans?" you asked with a shaky, guilt ridden voice.

spencer thought about what this question meant. you wanted to know what he was doing so he could help you. you couldn't go out right now because of your stabbing, so you obviously needed help.

he felt partially guilty for not offering you his help in the first place, but you both knew that you would refuse it the first time he would've offered anyway.

so what, jane goodall was lecturing for possibly the last time ever right near him and he had tickets? you needed help. and you wanted him to help. you wanted him.

"nope. no plans," he lied, much to your relief.

"i need - would you - can..." you took a deep breath, trying to figure out the right words. "i'm sorry to have to ask but... i need help, spence. w-would you mind coming over?" you asked in a reserved manner.

spencer felt his heart swell at the thought of you needing his help. it made him feel wanted, and needed. for such an independent, strong woman to need him he felt as though it was more him that needed to check up on you.

"i wouldn't mind at all," he replied with an apparent grin.

"oh my gosh, you're a life saver. could you stay the weekend? i just... i just really need the help," you admitted with a chuckle to hide the disappointment.

"yea. sure. i can stay the weekend," he agreed happily. "i'll be there in 15 minutes."

he grabbed his go bag and ran to the nearest convenient store to grab some of your favorite snacks.

you popped a pain killer in your mouth in an attempt to ease the pain a bit more while spencer was with you.

he used his spare key to get inside and set the bag of goodies on your living room table.

"y/n?" spencer called out in an attempt to find you.

"hey, spence," you said as you peeked out of the bathroom after putting the painkillers back into your cabinet.

you wobbled out of the bathroom, clutching your side as you took each step. spencer felt horrible watching you in pain while doing something as simple as walking.

"hi. how're you feeling? wait, that's kind of a stupid question considering..." he rolled his eyes at his response as he met you about as soon as you stepped out of the restroom and wrapped your free arm around his shoulder so he could help you finish the trek to your living room.

"i'm feeling better than i was yesterday, which i would definitely consider a success," you feigned a smile.

he knew you were probably dulling down how bad you felt by trying to shed some light on whatever you could. you've always tried to avoid pity as much as you could, reasonably so. he just wished you would be straight forward with him.

"y/n, i know you're trying to downsizing how bad you feel by diverting my attention to something more positive. how are you feeling now," spencer corrected his question as he helped you ease onto the couch.

"shitty. i feel shitty," you said, looking down at your hands and paying around with them. "i just feel bad for dragging you away from your vacation. we rarely get time off, and the one time we do i take up your time. it just doesn't seem fair for you," you explained as spencer sat down beside you.

"you aren't a burden, y/n," spencer consoled as he placed a hand on your lower thigh. "i'm glad you called me to help you. i'm glad that i'm spending my vacation time with you. don't ever think that it isn't fair for me, because i truly enjoy spending time with you. okay?"

you took a deep breath, trying to take in the environment around you. placing your hand atop his, you interlaced your fingers and bent your head down to lean onto his shoulder.

"thank you, spencer," you sighed deeply. "for everything."

"it's no problem at all," he replied as he placed a kiss on the top of your head, leaning his cheek down to rest on your head. "oh! i brought you your favorite snacks!" he exclaimed.

you lifted your head off his shoulder as he jumped up to retrieve the bag of goodies. he sat back down and began unboxing the snacks in an amusing manner.

"ohh, just you wait until i show you the last one!" he said as he pulled out your favorite chips on the coffee table.

he then followed by revealing your favorite drinks, favorite spicy snack, and finally, after a long drumroll, he revealed your favorite candy.

"spencer walter reid, i think i'm in love," you said as you placed a kiss on his cheek.

you didn't realize what you'd said or done until the time had passed. you bit your lip softly after removing your lips from his cheek, noticing the smile and blush growing on his face.

he wanted that kiss to be a couple inches to the left, right in the center of his face, right on his lips. he wanted you to mean it when you told him you were in love with him.

and you wanted that too.

"i knew i was doing good," he smirked.

that comment made his gut twist in a way it hasn't in a long time. he didn't know if you meant what you had said, he's never been good at social ques. but even then, the way you blushed and bit your lip as if you had revealed something told him something different.

"hmm, now that's downsizing it," you countered, a laugh erupting from both yours and spencer's chest. "how about we dig in? i haven't eaten much since the hospital since it's kinda hard to get around."

"how could i refuse?" spencer quipped as he reached for the chips, opening them and placing one in his mouth and offering the bag to you.

you and him sat on the couch and talked for a while. he mentioned the theories of relativity and how einstein even developed it. you were engrossed by his rants and monologues, mesmerized by his tone and voice.

the way his throat would get raspy the longer he had been talking, not even that would stop him from getting his message across. he's always been a determined guy, something you've found attractive in him. he's not really one to give up. he's quite resilient, and makes for really good conversation as well.

you both had even decided to watch a movie. he convinced you to finally watch star trek with him, mostly because you had never seen it and he looked so damn cute trying to convince you to go on that journey with him.

spencer didn't feel like he was even missing out on the lecture when he was with you. in fact, he didn't even remember he had wanted to go. he was too entranced by you to notice.

the hours that went by felt like it went by far too quickly. by the time you looked at the clock, it was half past 11 pm., which also meant it was time for you to take your meds again and change your bandage.

"okay..." you sighed. "it's doctor time now," you grimaced at the thought of having to get up again.

"right!" he stood up from the couch and bent down to help you. "let's get you up," he said as he wrapped your arm around his shoulder and his underneath your armpit, wanting to avoid the incision.

you were able to smell his aroma, the warmth his scent provided to you, the comfort it ensued, the distraction it so graciously offered from the pain that wreaked havoc on your mind. it transported you to a place where you were too preoccupied by the smell of coffee and burnt vanilla to notice the pain even if it was just for a few minutes.

he helped you sit on your bathroom counter as he got your meds and the bandages you guided him to retrieve.

"so can i-or you- or just.. we need to remove your shirt," he stuttered out, already feeling nervous at the thought of seeing what was underneath your shirt.

you were silently thanking yourself for putting on a good bra today as you subtlety leaned back and lifted your arms up for him to remove your shirt.

his eyes tried their best to avoid looking at your chest. although he definitely wished he could, he knew it wasn't right because of how you were inured right now. instead, he opted to look at the injury, trying to assess the stages of healing.

"okay, the stitches look good, although they do look rather irritated," he said as he gently ran his hands around the cut.

his touch brought shivers to your body, and he noticed the goosebumps from your body betraying you.

"so... i just need to not wear a shirt for the next few days?" you asked with your brows raised. "or are you just trying to see me walk around topless for a while?" you laughed enthusiastically, wincing as your muscles contracted round the stabbing.

"hey, hey, hey..." spencer said grabbing your face to help you concentrate on something else. "i'm gonna put the medication on the wound now, so we should talk about something to distract you now. any recommendations?" he said as he grabbed the ointment the doctor prescribed.

"so, what were your plans for the break? anything special?" you asked as he dabbed some of the medication on.

you ended up squirming slightly as he continued to apply it. spencer noticed your discomfort quickly, so he offered you his hand to hold and squeeze as you felt the pain.

"umm actually there was one thing, but i don't think that'll work out anymore," he admitted as he felt your hand squeeze gently.

"wh-what was that? your plans?" you asked softly.

"jane goodall was lecturing," he said, only revealing enough to not make you feel so guilty.

"jane goodall doesn't lecture very often. i'm pretty sure that was today, right? it was downtown DC," you clarified, brows furrowing in the process.

of course you would know that. you liked goodall, too. he knew that look on your face and he should've known better than to say anything at all.

"yea. it was today," he smiled as he thought of the day he spent with you instead of a famous scientist.

you squeezed his hand harder and leaned back with your eyes wide at the revelation, mouth parted slightly.

"spencer, you didn't," you sad solemnly, sighing as the guilt flooded through you.

"don't worry about it. i wanted to help you," he said, lifting your head up by your chin to look him in the eyes.

"she rarely lectures anymore. that was probably her last one, spence. you missed it because of me," you said with an eyeroll, upset that he would do something so reckless. "for a genius you're kinda stupid."

love makes you stupid, spencer thought to himself.

"i would rather make sure you're okay and well taken care of than see her work," he tried to convince you as you shook your head in defiance.

"since when did you think that doing that would be the right choice, spence? why did you do that?" you pushed his shoulder back gently as you furrowed your brows slightly in confusion.

"y/n..." he trailed off, feeling the nerves eating at him as you raised your eyebrows in question. "i-i um... iminlovewithyou," he spurted out.

"what?" you asked him, not understanding what he said.

"i... am... in love..." he took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact, "with you."

this time you grabbed him by his face and pulled him into yours, your lips colliding. he was tense at first, not realizing what was going on, but very soon relaxed at your touch.

he placed his hand on the side of your face as he brought the other to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. you wrapped one of your hands into his hair, playing with his beautiful locks as you continued the kiss.

after a few more seconds, you both pulled back from one another for a breath.

"i love you too, spencer," you said with a smile.

"let's finish putting this medication on, then we can talk about that some more," he said as he placed the bandage on your wound gently, not wanting to further hurt you.

"so... that's why you missed that lecture, huh?" you questioned with a smirk.

"well," he replied, "that and i promised you i would never leave you. even if there is a famous scientist lecturing right near us."

@averyhotchner​ @greenprisca @muffin-cup

[hale-13]

Zero Days Without Incident

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 20 Prompt - Defiance

The ‘Days Without Incident’ sign in Tony Stark’s private workshop has nothing to do with engineering or science mishaps and all to do with a bet between him and a certain Spiderling.

Words: 1783, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Stabbing

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter you have thirty minutes until your curfew,” Karen warned him, already plotting a course home and throwing it up on his HUD.

It was a balmy spring evening and Peter had spent most of his patrol leisurely swinging through Queens or relaxing on a hammock made from his webs. There had been a few petty crimes he had dealt with, some grand theft bicycle, a cat stuck in a tree but, all in all, he couldn’t really complain. He loved being Spider-Man and helping his neighborhood but it was nice to have a slow day sometimes.

A scream sounded in the distance.

“Spoke too soon,” he mumbled, altering his course and picking up speed. “Can you get me directions K?”

“Of course Peter,” Karen answered, as chirpy and happy as normal, re-routing him away from his apartment and toward the sounds of discourse in the distance. When he dropped in on the scene it seemed to be a mugging in progress and Peter rolled his eyes – didn’t people have anything better to do on a random Tuesday in April? God just seriously rethink your life choices.

“I would say its knife to meet you but I’ve definitely used that pun in the last couple weeks and I don’t want to be accused of not being original,” Peter called down, making both the assailant and victim flinch and look up to where he was perched on the wall above them. “Where did even get that thing? The renaissance fair? Who robs people with a full on dagger anyway? Run out of kitchen knives?” Peter quipped, flipping down and pushing the mugger away with a well placed kick to the arm that made the man stumble back.

“This has nothing to do with you bug,” the man snarled, brandishing the weapon at Peter now and making him roll his eyes. “Don’t get in my way and I won’t have to use this on ya.”

“Spiders are arachnids actually, not bugs” Peter pointed out, shooing the stunned woman out of the alley and on her way out of any potential danger. “And how about you not stab anybody today huh? If you promise to behave I won’t web you to the wall and call the police. Sounds like a fair trade right?”

The man snarled at him with irritation. “You talk too much.”

“So I’ve been told,” Peter agreed easily with a nod. “But what do you say? Ready to give up your life of crime for the straight and narrow?”

“No,” the man grumbled and, with literally no warning, lunged forward and stabbed his knife directly into Peter’s gut.

They both stared at each other in stunned silence before Peter processed the pain with a loud ‘fuck!’.

“You motherfucker,” Peter grunted, backing away to lean against the wall, holding the knife still with one hand so as to not dislodge it. “I can’t believe you stabbed me!”

“I thought you would dodge! You always dodge!” The man said, reaching up both hands to dig into his hair. “I stabbed Spider-Man what the fuck!”

“God this is just-,” Peter grumbled using his free arm to fire webbing at the guy and secure him to the nearby dumpster. “I’ve gone three weeks without having to go to the MedBay! Three weeks! All I had to do was last one more and then I got to pick the movie at movie night for the next month! God I can’t believe it! Mr. Stark is going to be so insufferable now!”

“You could just… not tell him?” The man asked hopefully, not even bothering to struggle against the webs and Peter blew out a breath as he sank down to sit on the gritty ground – he was starting to feel a little cold and dizzy from either the blood loss or shock, he couldn’t tell which. Not that it mattered, his fierce anger overshadowed everything.

“Not an option,” Peter grunted, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the helpful countdown timer Karen had started displaying the second Tony had entered the Iron Man armor and started jetting to him. “He already knows.” Curse the Baby-monitor Protocol! He and Ned would need to remove it again…

“He track you or something?” The man asked questioningly, head quirked to the side in obvious curiosity.

“Or something,” Peter agreed.

“That’s wack man,” he said. “An invasion of privacy. A, uh… violation of your constitutional rights as a free American!”

“Do you honestly think Tony Stark cares about an something as simple as an invasion of privacy? I’m lucky he hasn’t microchipped me yet,” Peter pointed out. Or, at least, he didn’t think Tony had microchipped him. He’d have to check that and remove it post haste if he found something.

“Dude,” knife guy said commiserating and Peter had to fight the eye roll. Of course the person who stabbed him felt remorseful now.

“I know,” Peter agreed, peering down at his side to look at where the knife was embedded into him. He was pretty good around blood as long as it wasn’t his own and, looking at the way his suit was slick and blood was beginning to pool under his thighs in a puddle made Peter lightheaded so he closed his eyes again. “He’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you by the way,” Peter warned. “He has pretty good lawyers so I wouldn’t have high hopes of getting out of this without jail time.”

The man groaned and Peter just shrugged. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time and all that – also don’t stab people and leave them to the ministrations of their helicopter mentors. Same thing really. The sound of repulsers neared and Peter braced himself – he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with this.

“I guess that we can change the ‘Days Without Incident’ sign back to zero eh Spiderling?” Tony teased as he landed in the mouth of the alley, disengaging his suit and walking over to kneel next to Peter. “You were doing so good too – your longest streak ever in fact.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peter hissed as Tony prodded around the wound carefully with a pre-gloved hand. “Can you not touch that?”

“No can do buddy,” Tony said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Gotta anchor it in so it doesn’t fall out on the ride back. Happy’s on his way to pick us up.”

“Oh great,” Peter groused, letting Tony lean him forward a little so he could start wrapping roll gauze around the knife. “He loves to complain when I get blood on the seats.”

“Only when you get impaled,” Tony said brightly, pulling the gauze tight almost vindictively and making Peter wince. “Wouldn’t want to deprive him now would we?”

“You could just let me bleed out and die here,” Peter suggested seriously. “Since my life is basically over now anyway.

“You’re such a dramatic little shit,” Tony groused, tying off the gauze and levering Peter up off the ground to slump into his side for the extra support. “Now say ‘goodbye’ to your friend, he won’t be seeing the real world for a long, long time,” Tony’s voice had an edge of steel as he said this, dragging Peter to the end of the alley and ignoring the muggers ‘Aw man, c’mon!” as they passed. Peter just shrugged a ‘what can you do?” and wiggled his fingers in a facsimile of a wave as he was pulled away.

Happy, to his credit, was efficient and must have already been in the area because he was quick to pull up with a surly look already cemented onto his face as he surveyed where Peter was leaning into Tony and dribbling blood onto the sidewalk in large, heavy droplets. “I already called the cleaning crew,” he told them through the open window. “They’ll be here before the police to scrub up any possible radioactive DNA.”

“Best forehead of security ever,” Tony crooned lovingly as he carefully situated Peter onto the pile of towels Happy had put into the backseat to soak up the blood and keep it off his leather seats. Happy glared at the both of them in the rearview mirror before rolling up the partition. Tony snorted in undisguised mirth.

“How you feeling kiddie?” He asked as he peeled Peter’s mask from his sweaty face. “Not going to pass out on me again right?”

“Uh…” Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight to stop the spinning and grey dots that were clouding his vision. “No promises. Sorry.” Tony just let out a put upon sigh like he expected as much and pushed Peter to lay down across the seats, grabbing one of the extra towels to press tightly around the knife and making Peter let out a whining moan at the pressure. “Yeah I might pass out,” he said faintly as his vision started to tunnel.

“Go on then,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s damp curls and smoothing them away from his face. “At least you don’t sass me when you’re unconscious.” Peter felt the man lift his legs to slid a few wadded up towels underneath… like that would actually help keep him awake.

“Rude,” Peter grumbled before losing his grip on reality – he trusted Tony to take care of things for now.

——————————————

“I hate this movie,” Peter grumbled groggily, as he pulled himself awake some time later. He was lying in one of the beds in the MedBay, attached to a blood transfusion and with a thick padding of gauze on his abdomen. Tony, seated next to him and munching on popcorn, just sent him a shit eating grin and held up the whiteboard that had been hanging in his workshop displaying ‘Days Without Incident’ with a large 0 written under it in obnoxious red ink.

“This is such bullshit,” Peter said petulantly, picking at the tape holding the IV in place. “I can’t escape! Go watch your garbage movie somewhere else.”

“Excuse me you brat,” Tony said imperiously. “The Breakfast Club is a cult classic thank you very much and besides,” he continued, offering Peter the bowl of popcorn, “someone clearly has to educate you on good movies.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Peter said, flicking a kernel of popcorn playfully at his mentor (and missing damn – he must be on drugs) and letting his tired eyes slip closed again.

“Sore loser,” he heard Tony tease as he fell asleep and that did it. When he won their next bet they were marathoning the whole Star Wars series from beginning to end, including all of the Clone Wars and the Mandalorian, and he didn’t care what Mr. Stark said.

[isa-ly]

HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

Today’s just one of those days where I’m questioning whether or not I’ve completely lost the ability of functioning like a normal human and kind of feel like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. You know, casual Friday. 

I know this is a written blog, but since I am also very much a woman of images and metaphors, I shall once again try and elaborate the issue of today’s post by making it into a well-known, kinda dead and yet very accurate pop culture meme:

I am not kidding, this is what I look and feel like in most of my therapy sessions. I’m pretty sure Kerstin would agree with me here, as the topic of feeling, or more like my inability of doing so, has been pretty much been the red string winding itself through my mental health journey so far. I mentioned it briefly in the last post, but I figured since today is just one of those pesky overthinking ones, I might just dive in a bit deeper and try to detangle my knotted thoughts into something a bit more coherent.

I’ve talked about this before to some of my closer friends and honestly, every time I tried to explain it, I just felt like an absolute mad psychopath. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not, but it’s kind of hard to get people to understand what it feels like to just ... not feel. Okay, that sounds a little bit too dramatic, let me try and re-phrase it in a way that makes more sense.

I talked all about the metaphorical elephant and it’s even more metaphorical stake last time and this is kind of the extended version of that issue. The Stake Supreme, if you will. Basically, one of the earliest coping mechanisms that I picked up when I was very young, was to simply swallow down any feelings of anger, rage, sadness or hurt and pretend that they just weren’t there. Now, that’s not really something very unusual, as we generally live in a society that doesn’t leave a lot of room to healthily express or work through our emotions with the crushing weight of professional, educational, financial, social and personal pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders. So, again, I’m very well aware that me pretending that my bad feelings don’t exist, does in no way, shape or form make me a special snowflake.

It does, however, make me a very emotionally repressed and mentally inept snowflake. And that’s not really great either.

It took me many therapy sessions to figure out that what I had used as a necessary protection mechanism for all my childhood and young adulthood, had slowly but certainly turned into the root of pretty much all my current mental health issues. And here I was, thinking that mommy and daddy issues were just a try-hard-to-be-relatable brand that pseudo-depressed people on Twitter liked to use to excuse their shitty personalities. Oh no, am I one of them now? Alright, back to the point.

I’m just going to try to explain, both to myself and you, what happens in my head whenever the aforementioned process of ~A Feeling~ occurs. Where normally, I would experience something that elicits an emotion that I then experience and feel, lately (and by that I mean ever since some of the more severe of my mental issues started happening) I instead feel like the actual emotion gets stuck somewhere between having been produced and actually reaching my consciousness. In a way, to get back to that earlier visual, it feels like I’m the Tin Man. The feeling gets dropped into my empty tin chest and while I try my absolute hardest to actually feel it, it just sits there. Not really arriving, not really unfolding, just existing while remaining completely detached from me. And I continue to feel how you would imagine a man made out of tin and air would feel: hollow.

I’m trying really hard not to make another load of self-deprecating jokes here, as sharing and trying to explain this makes me beyond uncomfortable. Instead, I’m just going to keep going because that’s kind of the point of this blog. When I told my therapist what I typed up there just now, she explained to me that this strategy of processing (or lack thereof, actually), is commonly referred to as repression and dissociation. And that with my history of handling emotions (or, once again, lack thereof), it actually made quite a lot of sense for me to struggle with this.

She then went on to explain that one could imagine it like this: Whenever anything triggers an emotion to be formed (which, you know, happens quite a lot, since that’s kind of all that human brains do), my self-taught mechanism is to immediately replace it with a so called ‘non-feeling’. I know, that word seemed strange to me too in the beginning. What it means is that by having constantly invalidated and swallowed down my own feelings of anger and sadness through the course of my youth, I unintentionally created this perfect, well-oiled machine of repression that unquestioningly does its job without me even noticing. In a way, I somehow mastered the art of literally, fully and completely detaching myself from my emotions and simply viewing them as separate entities to my own mind.

Now, while that sounds like a sick villain superpower, I’m gonna be honest: It kind of fucking sucks. Especially on days like these, where old habits resurface and I once again find myself looking at my own emotions as if they were statistics on a computer, knowing that they are there, knowing that they exist within me, but for the life of me not being able to actually feel them.

That’s yet another thing I also learned in therapy. There are miles, literal continents, if not even multiverses, between rationally knowing you should feel something and actually feeling it. I’m not completely insane and oblivious, I very well know that I am capable of having emotions and that they are there and being produced by many funky chemicals working together in my brain. However, simply knowing this on an intellectual level is no where close to satisfactory if you cannot actually feel it too.

It’s like looking at ice cream, knowing that it’s there, seeing it with your own two eyes, remembering and being able to imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness and yet never really actually being able to eat it. Never really feeling it melt it in your mouth. It remains an idea, a concept, close to smoke in thin air that you can very clearly see, and yet never really grasp.

And that, as you might be able to imagine (or even relate to, if you’ve experienced it before), is just not a lot of fun, to be quite frank. Emotional repression? Yeah, no, that one definitely gets a bad Yelp! review from me. Wouldn’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

In addition to accidentally failing to process my own emotions (are you proud of me, mum?), there’s also the other half of the problem which is, as my therapist already mentioned, the dissociation. Now, I want to be clear here: While I’ve gotten quite a few medical diagnoses in my time in therapy, the actual condition of dissociation or dissociative disorder, which is actually a personality disorder, is not one that I ever received. The dissociation my therapist talked about, ergo the one I am experiencing, is more situational and linked to the repression. Funnily enough, it is literally happening at the current moment, while I’m writing this post.

Actually, it’s been there for every post I wrote. It is also there during almost every therapy session and whenever I attempt to talk to someone about my problems or feelings. If you ask me how I am and we get talking about my mental health, you can assume that I’ll be dissociating about two minutes into the conversation. Usually, it’s not something that is very noticeable. At least that’s what I like to believe, maybe it’s also super obvious, like my soul leaving my body, and people are simply confused or kind enough not to mention it. Who knows.

My therapist, however, did notice it, as she let me know after a few sessions, when I first tried to describe what dissociating felt like to me. “Oh, yeah, I can tell whenever it happens. I just thought I’d give you your space until you wanted to talk about it”, was what she had said. Oh, Kerstin. You’re a real keeper.

So, what does it feel like to dissociate? (I once again pretend that someone is asking so I don’t feel like I’m talking to myself about myself). It’s a little hard to explain but here’s what I have told some of the friends I have talked to about it before: Imagine from pretty much one second to the other, your entire head is filled with cotton, kind of like you’re really tired and exhausted and everything that you see or hear doesn’t really get through the thick wool that seems to have replaced your brain. Forming thoughts and staying in the moment gets harder with every minute that passes. There’s this weird pull at the back of your neck and the front of your forehead that kind of just wants you to close your eyes and drift away. Far away to somewhere where it’s quiet and cotton-y and there’s no one or nothing else around you.

It’s not just mental, it’s physical. It feels like your brain hit the shut down button without your consent, like it’s slowly closing the blinds as it gets darker and darker and you just want to fall asleep. Speaking seems to become almost painful, thinking coherent thoughts is close to impossible and following what others are saying is a million times harder all of a sudden. It’s like the world has gone out of focus and you’re trying to sharpen the lense again, to no success.

Actually, I think that a lot of people have experienced dissociative symptoms before. Not to play Dr. Freud here, but it happens quite a lot, for example during panic or anxiety attacks. Some of my friends have told me that it felt like they had suddenly left their body and were watching themselves as from across the room. That’s why often dissociating is also described as an out of body experience. Because in a way, it literally is one. 

As my therapist explained to me, and as I experience it too, it’s comparable to your brain throwing a metaphorical fuse because it’s in danger of short circuiting. My dad would be so proud if he saw me making electrician references (yes, he is a trained electrician, okay). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: Often, when I’m exposed to emotions (and that includes talking or writing about them), my brain will run a little too hot like an old, wary car engine, and before it gets too close to exploding into a fiery death, it simply flips the switch and disconnects itself from the body and the emotions that are happening in it. Just like the repression, this is yet another safety mechanism that my brain came up with in reaction to me never really learning how to correctly process emotions. So, whenever some of those stronger feeling resurface or leak out, it tries to protect me from them by cutting the connection between the both of us.

In almost every way, it feels like I’m being locked out of my own head and can no longer really use my own brain. To someone who’s never felt that before, this might seem a little terrifying. And I agree that, objectively, it is. Knowing that the grey goo behind your skull has the power to shut out what in the ever-loving fuck is considered your conscious self, is a bit worrisome, to say the least. However, to me, it’s something that I have a) gotten very used to by now and b) in the moment don’t actually experience as something scary at all. I’m disconnected, remember?

Which is also why it’s sometimes very, very hard to get grounded again and find the way back into my own head. Like a bird that’s accidentally escaped its cage, proceeding to go fucking rogue in the living room, then crashing into a wall, all while trying to figure out what the fuck is happening while it’s on the verge of blacking out. I’ll often feel so dull and dizzy that all I really want to do is curl up and stare at a wall until eventually, my mind and body connect again and things are back to normal.

To kind of circle back to the whole theme of this post: This whole dissociation thing is very strongly connected to my tendency of emotional repression. It’s somewhat of a vicious cycle, which is why days like the one I’m having right now, can be a little tricky. It starts with me feeling empty and hollow, bim-bam-Tin-Man, and is usually followed with feelings of isolation and depression, since I cannot seem to get joy, satisfaction, or any emotion, really, out of anything. This then often leads to me trying to force some sort of emotion into myself, struggling to dig through my subconscious in hopes of finding something, anything, and eventually becoming even more frustrated. Aha! Frustration! That’s an emotion, right? It’s there! Can you feel it? I think you can, oh wow, there it is! Oh, wait, no ... no, now my head is getting heavy. Everything’s blurry. Is the feeling still there? Maybe. Who cares, just close your eyes now. So sleepy, hm ... floaty float.

Okay, sorry, that just turned into a weird combination of a badly written slam poem and a pretentious high school theater class rendition of some old play no one has ever heard of. I’ll just use the fact that I’m still dissociated as hell as an excuse for now. Wait a minute ... if I’m this spacey and zoned out right now, how am I even managing to write this post? Huh? Isa? Explain yourself!

Well, I haven’t been in therapy for nothing. It’s been over eight months of Kerstin and me figuring all of this out, finally putting a name and label to it and therefore understanding why it’s there and how it works. Which has helped me a great lot in actually handling it. That’s kind of the whole point of therapy after all, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong: These days where I feel repressed, empty and dissociated, can still be hard and they’re rarely ever fun. They honestly make me want to bash my head against a wall in hopes that that will make it go back to normal.

But since I don’t really favour having a concussion on top of feeling depressed and detached from my body, I have learned to use other counter-measurements to help the process of finding my balance again. Rebuilding that mojo, am I right? This post is already pretty long, so I won’t go into even more detail on all the different methods and mechanisms of bouncing back, but I’ll say this much: I spent a good portion of therapy trying to learn when to push and when to rest whenever I’m feeling dissociated. And yeah, it’s a fine line and I still haven’t fully figured out how to walk it without falling from one extreme into the other.

But take this blog, for example. I know that writing it, actively facing my problems and the very strong, repressed emotions connected to them, will make me dissociate like hell. A few months ago, that would have been reason enough for me to not do it and simply ignore it again. Now, however, after working with my therapist and on myself, I have learned how to push my own limits just far enough in order to, in this case, continue to write even though it feels like my brain is about to burst into a cotton explosion. It’s a give and take, a sort of push and pull I’m playing with my own mind and head. But as time progressed, I figured out the game plan a little better, I learned my own rules and the secret short cuts and cheating methods (because come on, who really plays fair, that’s for boring losers) and the resting time it takes for me to restore my strengths again.

So, today for example, I woke up as Mr. Tin Man, progressed to being a lost, numb and rogue dissociation-bird (man, I really gotta work on my metaphors, this is just getting worse by the minute) and then decided that the best way to counter-act all of it, would be to sit down and write my lovely new blog. Has it helped? A little, yeah. It took my mind off the right things, made some others a bit worse and intense but now, I feel a little more stable and like I managed to talk some sense back into my spiraling, detached brain.

Kerstin, please tell me you’re proud of me. Because as we all know, therapy is about impressing your therapist and not about getting better for your own sake. Pft, who needs that. What do we want? Validation! When do we want it? All the time, because we never got it as a child, so now it’s the only thing we crave in life!

Yikes.

Alright. So, here we are. Since I’m still feeling a little zoned out and dopey, I’m not fully sure if everything I wrote made complete sense. But hey, while this blog is for others to read should they feel like it, it’s still mainly there for me to sort my own racing thoughts before they can spiral out of control. And I think I managed to do that just now. And I know that that feels kind of nice.

Actually, I feel it too.

P.S.: I just had to. A little self-deprecation doesn’t hurt anyone.

[creativecornersonmarz]

It was Perfect (Loceit and Demus)

A/N: Tw: Coma, car accident, and major character death.

It was perfect.

"Remus, get over here!"

"You gotta catch me first!"

Laughter from the two loving boyfriend's filled the streets as they ran, one chasing the other.

It was perfect.

The couple stood in line, Remus bouncing on his heels, eager to get some. They soon got to the front of the line, Dee getting an icecream cone, and Remus getting one of the oddly shaped SpongeBob ones.

"Ew, does your mommy know you eat all that crap?"

Remus giggled, sticking out his tongue to Dee.

It was perfect.

"That was fun. Wasn't it Dee Dee?"

"Actually, it was."

It was perfect.

The light turned red signifying that the people on the crosswalk could go.

It was perfect.

"I love you Dee."

"I love you two Re-"

IT WAS PERFECT!

In a flash, Remus pushed Dee towards the sidewalk, a red vehicle hitting him instead.

"REMUS!" Dee yelled running to his boyfriend who lay seemingly lifeless on the ground. "No, no no no no, no! You're not leaving me! Not yet!" He quickly dialed 911, ignoring the driver who was apologizing to him non-stop.

It was perfect.

Soon the cops came, taking Remus' into the ambulance, Dee coming along after telling the medics of Remus' and his relations.

Dee peered sadly at his boyfriends face. Eyes closed, makeup smudged, he wasn't smiling his usual happy smile. No, he just lay there. If Dee didn't look closer for signs of his slight breathing, he would have thought him dead.

It was perfect!

How could their amazing day end up like this?!

Remus was rushed to a separate room once they made it to the hospital. A room that Dee wasn't allowed in.

So, he sat in the waiting room. Anxiously fidgeting with the end of his sleeves, he was about ready to break down sobbing, screaming in agony. But he couldn't. Not in front of this crowd of people.

Everything was perfect!

Who could he call-

Virgil!

Surely Virgil didn't hate them that much still? Right? They were on thin ice with him at the moment, but surely he would want to hear of Remus' condition.

So he dialed his number, the phone ringing a few times before a voice could be heard on the other end.

It was perfect.

"What do you want-"

"I'm at the hospital. Remus- he- he was hit by a car- I-"

The line went dead. Of course Virgil hated him. After all he did... He has a right to be upset. But still-

His thoughts were interrupted by a purple patchwork hoodie coming into view.

"Wheres the bastard?" He demanded, sitting down next to Dee.

It was at that moment that he decided to breakdown. He sobbed into Virgil's shoulder, clinging onto his hoodie.

"I-I- He's in- He's in recovery. They- they won't let me see him! I-" He was cut off by heartbreaking sobs wracking through his body.

"They won't let you, the patients boyfriend, check on, the patient?"

Dee nodded, trying to cling to Virgil as the emo got up from his seat, heading towards the secretary, eventually prying Dee from his hoodie.

"Excuse me, where could we find Remus Kingsley?" He asked with faux sincerity laced in his voice.

"I'm sorry sirs, but he's not open for visiting at this moment. He's in recovery now."

Virgil rolled his eyes, glaring at the lady, "Yeah? Well I don't see why his boyfriend, can't see him," He said through gritted teeth.

"Look sir, it's not up to me. Your best bet would be to ask Mr. Kingsley's doctor, Doctor Logan Sanders you can find him in his office. Though I do suggest you knock before entering."

Virgil gave the lady an obviously fake smile, grabbing Dee's hand and heading towards Doctor Sanders office.

It was supposed to be perfect.

"Vi, you don't have to do this..." Dee mumbled, his crying having just stopped a while ago. It left his eyes red and puffy, and little tear tracks obvious on his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you, even if we've had a rocky past, the present is now. Even though it may not seem like it, I care about you two."

"Alright, so we're doing this."

It was perfect.

They soon came upon Doctor Sanders office, Virgil knocking timidly on the door.

A silent, 'Come in,' could be heard as Virgil and Dee stepped through the doorway, Virgil glaring at the doctor as Dee gave Virgil his mom stare, hoping that would be a sign to make him stop.

"Ah, gentlemen. What can I help you with on this fine day?"

"Yeah uh, I'd like to be educated in the reason why my mom, can't go see his boyfriend who is in recovery. Mind you, recovery. Which means, he's getting better. So uh, why?"

Logan looked slightly startled at Virgil's question, immediately regaining his original posture.

"Well you see-"

"Excuse you, but I don't see shi-"

"Vi, let's go. We need to call Roman as well. Remus- Remus is strong. He can do it."

"No. I'm not leaving until-"

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll let you see him. Just don't tell anyone I did."

"We would also like to know of his condition." Virgil said, voice stiff.

The doctor looked warily at Dee, trying his best to avoid Virgil's death glare.

He cleared his throat, stopping in front of a door in the hall. "He's um... He was injured. Immensely. You see-"

"What. Happened. To. My. Boyfriend?" Dee asked through gritted teeth, trying his best to stay calm.

Logan finally got the door open, stepping in, Dee and Virgil in tow.

At the sight of his boyfriend laying there, Dee almost broke down. Again. He slowly walked towards him, reaching a hand out and using his thumb to softly stroke his face.

"Will he be alright?" He took his hand from Remus' peaceful face, turning to look at Logan.

Logan coughed, scooting a ways away from Virgil, scared of the slightly smaller emo.

"Well... He's in a coma."

Virgil turned in Logan's direction, taking a step towards him. "You didn't think to tell us this before!?"

Logan backed up slightly, his hands up in defense. "We believe that the patients loved ones should get a little time to take in everything that has happened."

Virgil looked at Dee about to ask him for his opinion. But what he saw instead broke his heart. His usually sarcastic, cunning friend that nothing seemed to faze before, just stood there. His face blank.

Almost as if a dam broke open, he fell to the floor beside Remus' hospital bed, grabbing said man's hand and pressing it to his lips. A sob broke through the silence in the room.

The sudden changed caused Virgil to be brought back from his intense rage, all of his anxious thoughts flooded into his mind. He went to Dee's side, taking his free hand in his and placing it against his chest.

"Hey, hey... It's alright. Breathe with me, k? In for 4... Hold for 7... Out for 8... That's right, you're doing great Dee..."

Soon the crying stopped as Dee sat there, letting Virgil take his hand from Remus'.

"I'll call Roman ok?"

Dee nodded as Virgil got up, taking his phone and stepping outside the door. Logan cleared his throat once more before taking small steps towards Dee, sitting beside him.

"Look, I understand this may be hard to take in, but if it makes you feel any better, it's a high chance that he will live."

Dee looked up towards the other male, attempting a small smile. "Sorry about Virgil. He can get pretty overprotective sometimes."

"Tch, look who's talking." Speak of the devil. Virgil walked in a light smile on his face. "Roman's on his way." He took a seat in one of the blue hospital chairs that surrounded Remus'  bed.

"Well, uh, I suppose I'm not needed anymore so I'll be off."

Before Logan could leave the room however, Dee grabbed his sleeve, causing the doctor to face his direction.

"Thank you." Was all Dee said before he let go of his sleeve, turning back to face his lover.

Logan's face tinted a barely noticeable pink color as he stumbled out a, 'My pleasure,' and rushed back to his office.

It was perfect.

Months later, Logan and Dee grew closer, seemingly inseparable.

Dee often visited Remus always talking to him, not caring if his boyfriend didn't respond.

"Things are getting better Re."

'Thats great Dee Dee!'

"I miss you..."

'I miss you two...'

"Logan's nice."

'Oh.'

That was always a thing with Dee nowadays. Logan's this, Logan's that! And it was honestly scaring Remus...

But... What if his love was happier with Logan?

Would... Would have to let him go?

No. He was being ridiculous. Dee loves him, and he loves Dee.

His thoughts were interrupted as Dee leaned in, kissing Remus' forehead.

"I love you Re..."

'I love you two Dee...'

It was perfect.

Soon, the months turned into a year as Dee was about to visit his boyfriend.

"Oh! Dee... I um... I wanted to speak with you." Logan smiled nervously, taking Dee's hand and leading him to his office.

"What do you need Lo?"

Logan coughed nervously, he seemed to do that a lot around Dee, and took Dee's hands in his.

"Look, this- this might ruin our friendship," He took a deep breath, looking Dee in the eyes, "but, I- I love you!"

Dee's eyes widened, a small smile appearing on his face.

Surely, Remus wouldn't mind? I mean, he was always talking about how nice an open relationship would be. And Logan would definitely love him once he woke up!

"I love you two!"

"But- what about Remus?"

"I love you both. Um... Equally."

"Poly?"

Dee nodded, taking Logan's hand in his. "Come on, we can wait for Remus together."

It was perfect.

Three months later. Logan and Dee were together at a small cafe, on a little date, being happy and talking about future plans.

Little did they know of the man slowly stirring, eyes blinking open as he sat up.

There was a gasp beside him as the nurse shot up from his seat, a big smile on his face.

"Mornin' kiddo! You were out for a very long time!"

"How long exactly?"

"One year and three months!"

One year and three months?!

"Um... Wow. I- wheres- do you know where-"

Remus was interrupted as Virgil walked in, ready to see an unconscious man laying in the hospital bed. When he saw Remus awake and conversing with nurse Patton, he was ecstatic!

"Remus!" He said breathlessly, pulling him into a hug. Patton smiled, getting up and leaving the two silently.

"Hi Vivi! Did ya miss me? Admit it, ya missed me!"

"Of course I did... Dirty bastard. Now let me call Dee-"

"No! I wanna surprise him!"

"Fine. He's at Heart n' Bakes. But I should warn you-"

"Thanks Vivi, tell the doc that I'll be back for a check-up thing in a while!"

Before Virgil could tell Remus about Logan, he was off, sneaking out of the hospital. He hummed happily to himself, trying not to trip as his legs just felt like jelly.

A few minutes later, he came across the cafe, peeking into the window and looking for Dee. He soon spotted him. Except, he was with another man...

The other guy wore a black button up with a blue tie, and thick black rimmed glasses that framed his face nicely.

At first Remus thought that Dee was just out with a friend, happy that his boyfriend was doing good while he was out.

That was until him and the stranger kissed.

IT WAS PERFECT!!!

Did... Did he not want him anymore...?

He knew Dee was poly but...

Would he have talked with him even if he was in a coma about this...?

Remus was done.

If Dee was happy now, then he was happy.

That's what he wanted for him...

Right...?

Withholding the tears in his eyes, he left the cafe, not turning back.

He went to his and Dee's flat, suddenly realising he didn't have the keys and the door was locked.

He went across to his neighbors, originally thinking about asking for a key.

"Remus, you crazy bitch! It's been forever! Omg, have I got tea to tell you! Oh, here's Dee's hoodie, he left it here last week during our afternoon lunch. Shit. I gotta go, see ya soon ok? Bye babes!"

Remus could only watch as his neighbor, Remy, shoved the yellow hoodie into his hands, grabbing his coffee and rushing out the door.

He sighed, slipping on Dee's hoodie, he didn't need any of his stuff anyway. Dee could keep all the things they used to share. He walked down the street, heading towards the airport.

Dee was happy, he was happy.

He just needed a break from all the things that reminded him of him.

If only he looked where he was going.

If only he waited to cross the street.

If only...

CRASH!

------------------

Dee and Logan walked into Remus' hospital room greeted by the sight of Virgil laying in the bed, conversing with Patton, the nurse.

"Where's Remus?" Dee asked, searching the room.

"What do you mean, 'Where's Remus' he went to go surprise you." Virgil said, raising a brow.

Suddenly a ringing was heard throughout the room as Virgil took his phone from his pocket and pressing the accept call button.

"Hey Ro-"

Sobbing could be heard through the phone as Roman told the group, "Check- check the news," And he hung up.

Reaching for the remote with shaky hands, Virgil switched on the TV, the news coming up immediately.

"Today, on Oct 12 2019, Remus Duke Kingsley, has been declared, dead."

IT WAS PERFECT...

UNTIL IT WASN'T!

'I love you... Dee Dee...'

------------

Sorry for not posting much! I've been writing the stories on my Wattpad: @ alamarz, then copying and pasting them here!

Thank you to those of you who have been patiently waiting!

[the-colony-roleplay]

Diederick ‘Ricky’ D’Mornay | Twenty Four;  Elite

House: Delma Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Correctional Officer Alignment: New Wave Reformists

tw: violence

History

Diederick D’Mornay had as normal as he could have upbringing given his parents were colourful characters. His mother was high up in the French police force and his father was equally as high ranking in the criminal underworld. They were an unlikely match, to put it lightly. Raised mostly by his mother until she ‘caved’ and dropped everything and left Paris for Berlin.

Diederick struggled at school. He was bullied early on, especially when ‘rumours’ spread about his family. In particular about his father: someone who was never cruel to Diederick, but someone that everyone called a monster. Teachers noted quietly concerning behaviour but he had not yet escalated. Then at thirteen Diederick snapped when he literally snapped another boys arm. Concerned it was a mixture of struggling with the new country not just the bullying, his parents decided to send him to a boarding back in France.

He was gifted academically but not consistent enough to be a stellar student. He was charming and a people-person but in contrast was also incredibly mean and anti-social. Things got better when Diederick’s sister joined him at the boarding school and he had one of his favourite people at his side. There were ‘incidents’, none of which were ever truly made note of so from a purely documented point of view the one and only major incident that lead to his expulsion was a shock. A stupid boy like Diederick’s sister. That was fine. This stupid boy hit on his sister and was rejected. That was more than fine. Then the stupid boy turned nasty. That was not fine. Diederick only stopped kicking when the rugby coach tackled him to the ground.

At seventeen Diederick was back in Berlin and decided he was done with education. His father, gladly, took Diederick under his wing and brought him into his ‘business’. For almost a year, he worked with his father and discovered he was very good at being a monster too. Diederick barely had a chance to find his feet outside of full time education, or to decide if he really wanted to keep working with his father when D-Day hit.

Already accustomed to violence, he wasn’t yet accustomed to true grief or hardship that D-Day would bring. Diederick watched as his father ‘evolved’, as his younger brother did too, and worst of all was watching his then pregnant mother ‘evolve’. His father and brother came through the sickness with strange abilities. His mother died. Diederick’s father buried her that same day and didn’t even pause to mourn her.

Diederick watched as other men, dumbasses and layabouts, evolved too. He had to work twice as hard as any of them to even appear as a mild threat. He worked damn fucking hard, even harder when his father was captured by one of the Colonies and the mantle fell onto him like a bitter monarchy. It was difficult to control the raiders. They were used to a leader who could send someone flying with the flick of a wrist, yelling from a twenty-something hardly held the same weight. He shouldered the responsibility because that’s what he should do, and he did what he was supposed too.

Much like his education fell in a seemingly shocking event, there was some build-up. Quiet comments. Looks. A general ‘feeling’. Still, one decision changed everything. One night Diederick woke up with a start, his younger brother who always slept next to him jumped awake too. They couldn’t tell each other why until they noticed the blood on Diederick’s neck. It must’ve been a Praeteriac, one of those so-called ‘evolved’ took a knife to Ricky’s throat and chickened out.

Diederick took the attack very, very personally.

He began going by Ricky instead: an overnight change to quickly re-form himself as a leader very different to his father. Ricky sent his brother away to join their sister in another clan, one who was less blood-thirsty and more secretive. A safer, long-term option. Then Ricky got to work. Those who were too vocal against Ricky were the first to go. They were lead straight into the path of colony search parties or ‘accidentally’ stumbled into rival raider party ambushes, anyone who survived these horrific accidents would ‘mysteriously’ die due to infected wounds.  Slowly but surely it became obvious that if you were ‘evolved’ and against Ricky, you would be next.

It worked damn well, these monsters acted like Ricky had them on a leash. And he got tired of it. He didn’t want this, his father was most likely dead. ( Why else would he not have returned? Why would Ricky still be alone if the infamous Kaiser Bähr was anything but dead in a ditch? ). In the end, Ricky’s downfall was not a downfall at all. It was a different sort of success he found, rather than leading this party of wild men he single-handedly dismantled it.

The final part of his plan was a risky one, and if he was honest, it was an impulsive decision. Ricky killed the last surviving member of ‘his’ raider party and scuffed himself up. He took a hammer to his own face, bricks to his knees and knuckles. He ran into a wall, for good measure, then dragged himself up to a nearby Colony’s doors, begging for sanctuary.

Ricky Today

Ricky went into the Colony almost honestly, he thought it was better to not lie about his father in case it was on the Echo. Ricky did embellish bits, just a few, to make himself sound like nothing but a once wild youth who struggled to survive in the Wastes.

Not used to being just another ‘survivor’ Ricky campaigned for his own elite status. In a larger Colony, he was given elite status as a correctional officer — he described his year working for dad as being a bouncer which wasn’t a complete lie — and charmed his way into a probation period of sorts. Hard-working and a people pleaser when he wanted to be, Ricky did damn well. Constant probing to see if he was actually on his father’s side, who is a well-known Radical influencer, eventually proved he was not lying about his own alignment: he was steadfast, not a turncoat, not a double agent.

And he isn’t, that was the only thing he didn’t embellish.

A few months of this ‘unofficial’ Elite status and it was proposed that he move to a smaller colony who were lacking in NWRF representatives in their correctional team, the only caveat being Ricky would be at the same as Colony as his father. Ricky only hesitated for the show of it.

On the surface, Ricky’s a heart-throb. Fluent in three languages, charming, handsome and intelligent. There is, of course, a very big but. Whilst he’s a gifted linguist he’s more likely to curse someone out in English, French or German than use it for anything important. That easy smile can as easily disappear. Natural intelligence does not mean he has the self-control to actually apply himself in his studies. Throw in a genetic proclivity for violence thanks to dear old dad, and Ricky’s less of a pretty face and more of a bloodied smile.

Colony 22 has been alarmingly good for his mental state. Especially being put into Delma, some might’ve called him a dead-ringer for Torren, however he’s less violently passionate but simply violent. The variety in Delma and their various guises and interactive natures usually mean Ricky can find a distraction to keep himself from going too far into his old ways. ‘Usually’ and ‘too far’ are the keywords. He’s an emotionally unstable young man who’s feigned stability for a while, now, and there’s no knowing which way he’ll swing next.

TAKEN; ORIGINAL CHARACTER

[rckfllrs-blog]

☁ * ⋆ : aw, look at this photo! it’s ORION ROCKEFELLER with their family! they’re an ARCHITECT, right? this photo must have been before HIS SON WAS BORN, but after HE RENOVATED ROCKEFELLER MANOR. i heard that when they were younger, they used to DRAW/PAINT – i can’t imagine them doing that now! man… i wonder if their family knows they ARE SUFFERING FROM UNDIAGNOSED PTSD. ( c, 18, pst. )

hellllooo everybody! i’m c ( the shawn mendes mascot on the main ) and this is my dorito of a muse, orion rockefeller. i’ve been working him up in my mind ever since we started working on goldstone and i am so freakin’ hyped to be able to finally write him with u all <3 so pls, keep reading for some info about him! ( and buckle up, bc it’s kind of a wild ride! )

tw: death, mentions of ptsd.

orion was born on february 14th, 1979 which makes him an aquarius, and also a valentine’s day baby

he's a GIANT goofball. ever since college, he's always been sort of a social butterfly and a people pleaser

genuinely one of the most caring people on the planet??? as a kid he'd get into fights with bullies who were picking on the smaller kids

has the DEEPEST divide between his private and public life. even his own son is mostly unaware of his childhood/background

he's an architect, and designs buildings/infrastructures for communities and stuff like that. he's won tons of awards for his work and travels a lot for conferences and things like that

his mother passed away during childbirth, so he never got to meet her, but her name was emily rockefeller ( originally adams ) and from what his father told him about her, she was a lovely, kind, but passionate woman and she would’ve loved him fiercely. ( his father also often told orion when he was being particularly stubborn that orion reminded him of emily, and that he has her eyes. )

his father was james “jimmy” rockefeller, a decorated US airforce pilot. he was also a descendant of the rockefeller family ( if you’re not from america/not too versed in american history, the rockefellers are considered the richest family in american history — john d. rockefeller was a stupid wealthy man! )

growing up without a mother was difficult, but he and his father were extremely close, and james made sure that he was close with his mother’s family, especially her sister and her parents. as for his paternal family, he didn’t know much about them growing up, besides the fact that he’s distantly related to america’s first millionaire. he was also pretty close with a lot of his father’s friends from the military and their children as well.

orion had a relatively normal childhood, save for the slight melancholy around mother’s day every year. his father did his best to deter him from any sort of toxic masculinity, and made sure he was getting the best education possible. when his father was away on assignment, he was usually in the care of his mother’s sister. he rarely got into trouble at school except for the occasional fight when he’d stick up for the smaller kids who were getting picked on.

his father was rarely away on assignment, maybe only once or twice, and when he was he usually returned within a few months. in the summer of 1990, he was deployed to iraq to serve in the gulf war, and he promised orion it would be his last deployment.

in february 1991, when orion was about to turn twelve, his aunt picked him up early from school one day, and said they were going to see one of his father’s military friends. orion thought it was odd, but he wasn’t going to complain — what kid doesn’t want to leave school early? when he got there, the home was full of people he didn’t recognize, all with solemn looks on their faces. his aunt had to turn away as they bore the news.

that afternoon, one week before he turned twelve, orion learned that his father had passed away. he was spared the details, but learned later in life that the plane he’d been piloting had been shot down in a freak ambush.

orion doesn’t remember much of the next few years of his life. they were a blur of a young boy learning how to mourn all over again, and trying to grow up at the same time. at first, he was placed with his mother’s sister, but as a traveling artist, she was deemed unfit to care for him. he was then sent to a distant uncle on his father’s side somewhere in rural Iowa who treated him like he wasn’t even there. orion attempted to run away twice, and succeeded on his third try when he made it all the way to chicago. he survived there, somehow, for a few weeks before he was found by a few federal agents — lo and behold, his uncle ( who probably wasn’t even his uncle, but orion doesn’t remember ) refused to take him back. so, orion, at the age of fourteen, was put in the foster care system.

on paper, nobody would’ve wanted him. riddled with the deaths of his parents and a habit of running away, coupled with the fact that he missed the “desirable adoption age” by about thirteen and a half years, most people didn’t even want to try. the ones that did, decided he would be too difficult to handle after they met him and saw the cold isolation in his eyes, and the stubborn set to his jaw.

he was moved from foster family to foster family over the next four years, all over california, and had been re-placed five times by his eighteenth birthday. but all the while, he managed to get through school and save as much money as he could, selling five-minute portraits in downtown LA and getting small gig jobs here and there. by the time he turned eighteen, he was determined to have enough to go to college — or at least move out on his own and finally do something on his own volition for once.

little did he know, someone would come knocking on his foster home’s door asking for him a few days after he turned eighteen. they represented the rockefeller estate, and they wanted to have a chat with him about his father.

james had left him his entire estate. all of it. every penny, everything he’d ever owned, all of his mother’s belongings — and on top of it all, the massive manor passed down through the rockefeller family located just at the edge of goldstone, california. his hometown.

he used some ( a relatively small portion ) of the money to accept his offer at university of california, san diego as an architecture major, and was at the top of his class there all the way up until he graduated as part of the class of 2001.

in his junior year of college, like any other guy, he slept around a bit, and thought nothing of it — up until a girl he’d slept with months ago approached him in the middle of his senior year and told him she was pregnant. she didn’t want to keep it, but it was also too late to terminate the pregnancy, so she was thinking of putting the baby up for adoption. immediately, memories of his entire adolescence flooded back to him, and he begged her not to — instantly, he offered to take full custody of the child, and she could visit whenever she wanted, if she wanted to at all. she agreed, and lo and behold, branwen rockefeller was born. ( he named him branwen after somebody his father had told him about when he was a kid — he doesn’t remember the story, or if he was related to him, but he remembered the name. )

he then went on to pursue a masters in architecture, and his main project was actually renovating the rockefeller manor — obviously, after 22 years of being owned by a bank, and many years before that of no upkeep, it needed some renovation. orion spent his entire MA studies renovating it and actually presented the whole process to receive his masters degree, which he did.

he spent the next few years traveling — with branwen by his side, they’d stay in goldstone for most of the school year, but every chance they’d get to take a vacation, orion would take them somewhere he’d always wanted to go as a kid.

finally, in 2014, when branwen was starting high school, orion figured it would be a good time to completely settle down in goldstone, stop travelling so much and pour his attention into the one thing he’d left unfinished — the manor. it wasn’t unfinished from a construction perspective — it was stunning actually, fully furnished with a gym, a home theater, countless bedrooms, and fully ready to be lived in — but for orion, there was one thing he’d always wanted to do when the timing was right: give kids who felt lost a place to call home. give kids who were like him, back in the day, a place to call home.

so that’s what he did. he spent months gathering the proper licensing and credentials to finally open rockefeller manor to the public. he’s a licensed social worker now, and rockefeller manor offers a place to stay to anybody between the ages of fourteen and twenty one, so long as they display a significant need for help. ( orion often ends up taking the “tougher cases” — the ones with nowhere else to go. and sometimes, kids just show up on their own, nobody to represent them — and who is he to turn them down? )

now, he divides his time between architectural projects for work ( he’s designed countless buildings all over southern california, and is incredibly busy designing new projects all the time ) and taking care of the manor, whether that be the kids that live in it or the building itself.

( as for his secret, he’s experienced symptoms of ptsd ever since his dad passed, but never really knew what it was. it worsened when he began moving around, unable to ever really call one place home, and now that he’s completely boxed away the memories of his adolescence, he’s completely compartmentalized it and honestly made it worse whenever he does get around to thinking about what he’s been through. he’s also never told anybody about his background -- the furthest he’ll go is that his father was an air force pilot, and he grew up in goldstone. he’s always just tried to push through it and ignore it, but when he’s under significant stress or there’s a lot on his plate, he’ll tend to shut down or even spiral into a panic attack. he keeps himself so busy because he can’t be by himself for too long, as his past has drilled into him an innate fear of being alone. during these episodes, he’ll often shut himself in his office with the door locked until it passes, terrified that one of the kids will see him like this — too stubborn to let any of them, especially the ones who look up to him, see him as weak. )

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

obvs, the kids from the rockefeller manor !! he's definitely a parental/paternal figure to them and runs a pretty tight ship to keep everybody in line, but he also knows when it's time to just let them be.

childhood friends?? he lived in goldstone until he was twelve and then disappeared after his father passed until he was in his thirties, essentially. so it would be interesting if there was somebody who knew him as a kid and can see the huge difference in him now (he used to be really irreverent and rambunctious and is now a Certified Gentleman)

his personal assistant !! this one is on the wc page on the main, but he has an assistant that helps him organize his work as an architect. they're probably the closest person to him other than his own son, so maybe they've caught glimpses of his ptsd episodes??

friends!!! he def has a lot of friends around town, he's a pretty familiar face throughout goldstone

perhaps??? a past love interest??? he swore himself off from dating after he had branwen, at least for a while, bc he wanted to focus on being a dad and taking care of the manor, but uh .... love doesn't work like that buddy pal ! hehe

literally anything else i am a heaux for plots

[un-tide]

Rupi Kaur Taught Me DIY

(TW for mentions of sexual assault.)

Last year, I wrote a short essay on why I hate Rupi Kaur. Not just why I hate her work, but why I hate her as a writer. Maybe even as a person. I had never (and still haven’t) met this woman, which should have been my first clue that there was something underlying these emotions that probably wasn’t fair to her. But I was comfortable in my hate, even more so when I could articulate everything that was wrong with her in a way that was logical and academic and had nothing to do with me—so much so that I was unable to see that my disdain for this woman did, in fact, have almost everything to do with me.

Growing up as a young girl whose first love was books, I found myself torn between worlds. On my top shelf, I kept some of my favorite series—Percy Jackson, Pendragon, Artemis Fowl. These were books my parents approved of, holding imaginative, fantastical worlds and morals of bravery and friendship. Under my bed were my other favorites—the ones my parents didn’t approve of—The Clique and The Princess Diaries. These kinds of stories were adventurous in a way that was relatable to me, with the struggles of teenage friendship and the perils of mean girls, but they did skip over many of the lessons I got from my more “gender-neutral” books, and they did not have fantastical or imaginative worlds unless they came with a borderline-abusive romance.

Early on, I learned another kind of lesson: as a woman, I will constantly have to choose between books that tell stories that are inspiring and creative, and books that tell stories about people like me.  

When I first heard about a young, South Asian, feminist, second-generation immigrant woman who wrote openly about her identity and her story, it was if my childhood prayers had been answered. It seemed too good to be true—I am also a young, South Asian, feminist, second-generation immigrant woman. If I was ever going to find a poet I could relate to, Rupi Kaur was it. Finally, there was poetry being written by people like me for people like me, and I didn’t have to choose between quality and relatability anymore. Imagine, then, how it felt to open up one of her most famous books and read this: “how is it so easy for you/ to be kind to people he asked / milk and honey dripped from my lips as i answered / cause people have not /been kind to me.”

I was dumbfounded. Surely I had picked up the wrong book. This was a book of 2014’s 25 saddest tweets, and the #1 New York Times bestseller Milk and Honey was somewhere else. Where was the symbolism? The wordplay? The rhyme or meter? Even the line breaks had no apparent significance. And above those basic elements of poetry—where was the deeper meaning? It’s a sad conversation, but one that, rather than sitting in a book of supposed poetry, would fit better on a teenager’s Tumblr post, or somewhere else you could read it very quickly, frown a little, and move on. And I did just that.

I returned the book to the stack of fifty just like it, and from Rupi Kaur's Milk and Honey I re-learned that same lesson I learned as a child: good books do not tell your story. Move on.

I won’t pretend that my knowledge of poetry comes from more a few college classes, but if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that understanding a poem takes time. Poems hold secrets—alternate meanings and obscure allusions—that you can only discover when you read them again and again. Their meanings can be argued and refuted using symbols and allusions to books written one-hundred years earlier and a comma placed here instead of there. Sure, over-embellished poetry sometimes does hide more than it reveals, especially to the young or less educated reader, but Rupi Kaur’s work strips an idea of all layers beneath its surface.

Some call Kaur’s style accessible, but I call bullshit. Accessibility is about delivering complex concepts while breaking the barriers that typically surround them, whether those barriers be based on education, class, gender, sexuality, or race. Tossing a sad thought you had in the shower to a young audience does not break barriers to feminist or survivor literature of any kind.

On a personal level, I do hold some empathy for Kaur. Her poems attempt to address difficult topics like heartbreak and abuse, and I imagine she has been through some trauma that many women are familiar with, myself included. The meaning of the poem I read in the bookstore was not lost on me: sometimes people are kind because they are already acquainted with cruelty. But simply stating something true or shocking does not make it well-crafted, and it certainly does not make it poetry. Much of Kaur’s success comes from stating the obvious in the most plain way possible, taking a complicated idea and hollowing it out into a pretty painted shell.

To put it simply, Kaur’s work is shallow. It seems to lack effort as much as it does depth, and despite her education, it displays little mastery of imagery or symbolism or poetic style. It is less poetry than it is bite-size food-for-thought possibly conceived in a trendy hipster cafe and posted on Instagram as the caption for an aesthetically pleasing but disappointingly grimace-inducing over-sweet cup of milk and honey. Kaur touches the surface of ideas before shying away like a cat from water, and in doing so fails to teach her audience of young women and girls—many of whom might have fallen in love with poetry had they not been alienated by mainstream misogynistic and white-centric classics—how to analyze and write complex ideas that are pivotal to their recovery, their self-esteem, and their survival.

If my school had taught more female-friendly literature when I was in high school, I wouldn’t have begun to hate reading. The books we read that actually included women were traumatic at worst and voyeuristic at best, and my teachers seemed oblivious, perhaps simply starstruck by the stubbornly unwavering fame and brilliance of the classics. Nevermind that 1984 featured a protagonist with a burning desire to rape the book’s only notable female character. Nevermind that the sexual liberalism in Brave New World had my elderly, white, male substitute teaching us that the World State was—despite its female citizens’ complete lack of reproductive autonomy and a suspicious absence of female Alphas—a feminist society. Nevermind that The Handmaid’s Tale, despite actually being a feminist novel, depicts a misogynistic hellscape a little too realistic for comfort. 

The older I grew, the more it seemed that very few of the classics were written with women in mind, and almost none of them seemed to be written for women’s benefit, education, or—god forbid—enjoyment.

Disappointed by the classics, I returned to popular fiction as a teenager, desperate for a story with a protagonist I could relate to, or at the very least did not want to strangle every time they opened their mouth. At my local flea market, which I frequented every first Saturday of the month, I had come across a well-stocked used-book stall. While making my way through The Princess Diaries series dollar by dollar, I stumbled upon a book that I can only imagine was placed in flea market stall that day by the Devil himself just so he could have a laugh: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I won’t give away any spoilers, but I’ll give you one guess what happens halfway through. I am not ashamed to say I stopped reading anything other than The Princess Diaries for some time.

I wish I could say my high school experience was unique. There is a profound need for contemporary literature and poetry that not only does not alienate women, but caters to us specifically. We deserve to read books that do not hurt us more than we already are hurting, that address our trauma but don’t weaponize it against us. We deserve to witness other women powerfully and passionately explore and understand our shared experiences and shared pain. We deserve to learn how to explore these ideas for ourselves. The feminist subjects of Rupi Kaur’s poetry deserve nuance, because the more precisely we are able to articulate our experiences and ideas and traumas, the more understood they—and we—become. Much like I was as a young child, the girls devouring Rupi Kaur’s work are still scrambling for crumbs. She had the opportunity to feed a generation of girls starved for poetry free of white men’s hunger, and she didn’t.

Kaur, at first, seemed to me to be nothing new in a world of successful yet seemingly talentless women who continuously fail and profit off of the next generation of starving girls (the Kardashian-Jenner clan comes to mind). But only on my own journey to becoming a writer did I come to understand that Rupi Kaur might be different, that she might actually be trying very hard--that she might be hiding something. As a reader, I never understood that a fact that I am painfully aware of now: writing makes you vulnerable. The more I wrote, the more I began to realize that what I perceived as lack of depth was, perhaps, a terribly relatable inability to be open.

It’s what I hate the most about writing—displaying yourself to the world when your childhood scrapes are still scabbing over and everyone is certain to see under your skin. I’ve never been good at being vulnerable, which makes me a reluctant writer on a good day and a liar on the rest. People do weird things when they’re afraid, like write mediocre poetry or channel all their anger at the world towards someone they’ve never met. I could not do, or at least have not yet done, what I ask of Rupi Kaur. What would I tell her, I imagine, if I ever met her? I could deflect: “Hey Rupi, your poetry about your suffering needs some work.” Or I could be honest: “Please, Rupi, tell my story for me.”

Because isn’t that what I always wanted: a story just like mine, read to me like a mother would read to her child at bedtime, a story about people like me that teaches me I’m not alone. I had waited for representation so long that when it finally arrived, it felt like a betrayal when it fell so far short. I don’t hate Rupi Kaur because her work is bad—I hate her because her work is bad and there are almost no other options. I hate her because she is my generation’s standard for how to write stories like hers and mine, and it does not do them justice. I hate her because I wanted her to do what I didn’t yet have the courage to do myself.

Maybe I’m projecting; maybe Rupi Kaur is exactly as shallow as her poetry suggests and no amount of openness will make it better. It doesn’t change that I expected someone else to be the writer of my story simply because we have a lot in common. I wasn’t fair to Rupi Kaur when I wrote my 300-word-long-rant about theintolerable injusticeshe was inflicting on young women and girls—which I posted, and I’m aware of the irony, on Tumblr and Instagram. I placed the burden of my vulnerability on her shoulders.

I stand by my criticisms of Rupi Kaur, but I also owe her some gratitude, because she taught me another lesson: I can’t rely on other people to tell my story, or stories about people like me. I can’t rely on other people to fill a void in literature or poetry or to fix any other problem I insist needs solving.

If you want something done right, or even done at all, sometimes you just have to do it yourself, even if—especially if—that means opening up about experiences you’d rather keep hidden. If Rupi Kaur is any indication, the bar for young women’s contemporary poetry and literature is evidently on the floor, which, on the bright side, means that any woman who has the courage to openly, honestly, and vulnerably tell her own story—even if she gets ripped to shreds by mean girls like me—will still be doing all of us a favor.

[mackayari]

❛  when you were little you held your mother’s favorite glass figurine in your fingers & you loved it so tightly that you snapped it in your palms & since then you’ve let go of beautiful things before you get around to breaking them. ❜

have you been re-introduced to ARIEL MACKAY? last we heard, the HALFBLOOD was most familiar with TIMELINE ONE. I don’t recall if they were always a SLYTHERIN, but I’ve heard the SEVENTH YEAR is still AMBITIOUS, LOYAL, INGENIOUS and CRUDE, RECKLESS, BLUNT, so that’s familiar. at least SHE remembers her way around the castle.

character parallels: rebecca bunch (crazy ex-girlfriend), eleanor shellstrop (the good place), gina linetti (brooklyn nine-nine), shane madej (buzzfeed unsolved), annie landsberg (maniac), maeve wiley (sex education) aesthetic: bottles of whiskey stashed beneath a mattress, the mess of a home the morning after a party, lacy red lingerie, neon signs lighting up a dark room, boisterous laughter sounding from the bedroom, cherry red lips sucking on a lollipop links: stats, pinterest triggers: parental death, substance abuse, bipolar disorder, suicide attempt

ariel mackay never knew her father. in fact, her mother ( isabelle mackay ) isn’t even quite sure who the man is. the late fifties proved to be a tough time for poor old isabelle mackay, and it resulted in excessive alcohol consumption, a string of one night stands, and eventually the birth of her one and only daughter, ariel winter mackay, on april 3rd, 1960, when she was only twenty years of age. if they were to ever investigate, they would indeed find that ari’s father was a famous pureblood wizard, thus making her a half-blood, as issy is a muggle.

ariel’s childhood was fun, but at the same time kind of rocky. i mean, issy didn’t have any family left, she was a single mum in the early sixties working a part-time secretary job and she had no idea how to raise a child. ari and issy spent a lot of time with issy’s friends, who became like aunts to ariel and allowed her to grow up surrounded by strong, independent women.

but ariel had a bit of a troublesome streak. it seemed as though chaos and destruction followed her everywhere she went, and it caused her to jump from school to school until she’d eventually been expelled from eight primary schools by the age of eleven. issy could not understand what was wrong, she couldn’t explain certain things that happened around the little blonde girl because they were seemingly unexplainable, and she was starting to grow seriously worried until a tall woman with a big hat knocked on their door and introduced the mackay family to the world of magic.

ariel was honestly ecstatic to go to hogwarts. she’d always known that she was different to the other kids, that she was special, and this only went on the prove it. and now, surrounded by other kids the same as her, maybe she could finally find a place that she fit in - a place that she could call home.

she was sorted into slytherin after a minute of the hat sitting on her head, and at first she slotted right in with the rest of her housemates. they were all just as fun, ambitious and intelligent as her and she was excited to find a place that she belonged. but slowly she started to notice that still she was being treated differently - there was something about her that had other kids turning their noses and left her unable to befriend many of her housemates for the pure reason that they wouldn’t talk to her. the first time she was called a mudblood, she cried for days - she’d expected hogwarts to be welcoming and instead she was still that weird kid that everyone wanted to avoid.

of course, as she grew up, it became obvious that not everyone hated her. she started to hang out with more of the gryffindors in her year and sought out the people who weren’t disgusted by her ambiguous ( ‘tainted’ ) lineage. moving through her first, her second, her third year, she became quite popular amongst the student body, and her fun-loving, easy-going attitude attracted many boys and girls who wanted to befriend her.

a small hiccup arose in her third year, when a pattern of violent, depressed and manic behaviour began to show in her every day life. at the tender age of fourteen, ariel was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and at age fifteen was prescribed lithium in order to keep it in check. her tendency for manic episodes meant she had to tone down on her usually adventurous nature and had to keep a check on how many people she surrounded herself with - too many and she could be sent over the edge. though she was still widely popular and incredibly fun to be around, she wasn’t known to have many close friends and was sometimes noted to disappear for days without explanation and return as if nothing has happened.

DEATH TW: everything was all pretty smooth sailing for miss mackay until a few months before the end of her fifth year, when she received a letter detailing the horrific death of her mother, isabelle mackay, at the hands of a drunk driver.devastated could hardly begin to describe how ariel felt — it was as if her whole world was crumbling around her. her mother, her one true rock throughout all the pain and misery and heartache of her life was gone and now she had no one.

SUICIDE TW: after the death, ariel fell into a deep depression into which no one could pull her out. for a while she relied on substance abuse to even keep her going, but after coming close to suffering from alcohol poisoning, she moved off it and instead completely isolated herself from everyone around her and allowed herself to fall deeper and deeper into her own depression. over the winter break of her fifth year, during which she had moved to her mum’s friends place in dublin, ariel finally completely broke and attempted suicide. of course, she was not successful, but after spending months in the hospital after this attempt, she finally spoke to a professional and started on the slow and bumpy road to recovery.

alycia ( her mum’s friend and now ariel’s caregiver ) was reluctant to allow ariel to return to hogwarts after the traumatic few months they had endured, but after much begging on ariel’s part, she finally relented. returning to hogwarts for her sixth year, it was clear that ariel was all but a different person. once the life of the party, the sassy and adventurous and fun-loving girl of her year, ariel was now much quieter and a lot less adventerous. she was still ever so dependent on alcohol and still talking to a psychologist within hogwarts ( as was requested by alycia ), and though it was clear that ariel mackay was all but a different person, she was trying her very best to once again be happy.

and then it happened --- and everything was suddenly a thousand times worse. a battle caused by a war that ariel had never been exposed to, her mind torn into a body that had experienced things she’d never even dreamed of. at first, it wasn’t even obvious to her ( alycia was still alycia and ariel was still ariel ) but when she started receiving letters from a girl she’d hardly spoken to in the year below her claiming to be her ‘best friend’, she knew that something was up. and now, she’s terrified; terrified because she knows she has to do something, even when she hardly has a grip on what’s going on. she’s muggleborn and proud ( at least to her knowledge ) and the knowledge that that could get her killed in this universe makes her sick to her stomach. she wants to fight --- to do something. she just doesn’t know what that something is yet... 

[myectjourney]

ECT Evaluation & current my medication list (2/28/2018)

This post will go over the questions asked during my evaluation and parts of the discussion.

Duration of appointment: 1 hour 30 minutes (hour and a half)

*** TW suicide/self harm mention/questions regarding suicide/self harm. TW for detailed medical procdures and sezuires***

Current Medication List:

Lithium (For depression. 2nd time around with no results. After this evaluation, I quit.)

Clonazepam (For anxiety and panic attacks)

Propranolol  (For anxiety)

Zolpidem (For insomnia)

Evaluation (first appointment):

Doctor introduces herself.

We go over my intake form (which I filled out 2 weeks before my appointment. It included an extensive questionnaire.)

I was upfront about my diagnoses and that I was interested in ECT not TMS because ECT has a history of being more effective despite of there being more side effects. She did listen to this and didn’t bring up TMS at all during the evaluation.

She asked about my prior history with therapy. How long have I been in therapy and what for?

“Tell me about your life. How do you spend your days?”

I talked about how my illnesses have been getting progressively worse and how different drugs I’ve taken have effected this because of bad reactions.

I explained that I have had a lot of breakdowns. I classify them as “psychotic breakdowns” not panic attacks because I felt they were different from when I have panic attacks. She asked me to clarify my word choices, just so she could get a better understanding of what I meant by that.

She asked “How often are these kinds of breakdowns are happening?”, “How long do they last?”, “Explain what your episodes are like.”, “What causes these episodes?”.

Talked about personality disorders. We talked about how I am suicidal and how long I’ve been this way.

Talked about how many times I’ve tried to commit suicide. “How did you try to commit suicide?”

Talked about past history with self harm. “When you cut yourself, were you intending to harm yourself for some relief or to bleed out and die?”, “What stopped you from dying?” I explained that people came to my aid or there were times where I stopped myself because of my own fear of death. Even though I longed for it, I also fear it. “How many times have you stopped yourself versus someone stopping you?”. Some point between asking about suicide and self harm, I was asked “Have you ever been hospitalized?”.

“How often do you have panic attacks?”, “What does a panic attack look like?”

“Have you ever heard voices that weren’t there or seen things that aren’t there?”

“How often do you see your therapist?”, “How long are your therapy sessions?” “In your current situation you are having disregulation episodes which you are calling ‘psychotic breaks’ that are happening sometimes daily, or at least one a week in which you are pulling your hair, screaming, being disassociate and during these episodes are you trying to kill yourself or saying you want to kill yourself?”

To my partner who was in the room with me (my request): “How often does she talk about suicide?”

“How many of your suicidal attempts or gestures are caused by social stressers or fear of rejection?”

“Do you get into conflicts often in your relationships with people?”

“Do you have a bit of a temper?”, “Do you lash out at people you love?”, “How often do you find yourself making suicidal statements to others?”

She asked about a situation that my therapist wrote in her notes regarding a past experience that set me off.

“Have you done additional therapy for your agoraphobia?” I explained that my therapist and I have tried to get me into DBT but my insurance won’t cover it so it was no dice. We talked about how my social anxiety has gotten worse and the agoraphobia has been more of a recent development with the progression of my social anxiety and traumatic experiences. I also talked about how I think I have Selective Mutism which is brought on primarily through PTSD attacks (when I am triggered) or under immense amounts of stress.

“How is your thinking and memory?”

“Have you held a job at any point?”

Talked about my family and abuse I suffered through them and my lack of contact with them.

Asked about my medical diagnosis. I informed her I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia.

“Have you ever had a head injury, concussion, or seizure of any kind?” Nope.

“Any retinal detachments or metal implants in your face?” Nope.

“Any brain aneurysm, vascular clips in your head or neck, metal in your eyes, or pacemaker?” Nope.

“Any heart problems?” Not that I know of.

Confirmed where I was born and raised and who raised me (all questions answered on the intake form).

“Do you have any siblings?”

“How did you do in school?”, “What led to me not continuing my education?”

“Any religion?”, “Any military service?”, “Any legal problems?”

“How would you describe your mood today?”

We went over the meds I am currently on and my dosages. I told her that I won’t be on Lithium by the time we do the procedure. She said the lithium is less of a problem, I just need to be sure I don’t take it 2 days before we start the procedure. She was mostly concerned about the fact that almost all the meds I’m currently on are considered anti-seizure meds and a lot of them are highly addictive, especially the clonazepam and zolpidem. This is important because basically what ECT does is they induce seizures in the brain. This helps basically rewire your brain.

She informed me that LUCKILY they can reverse the effects of those 2 drugs with an antidote (pretty nifty) so they can get around that but she expressed concern that I might be “a little doped up”. I told her I was on a very low dose.

Talked about family history with mental illness. “Any one in your family commit suicide?” No. At least not that I’m aware of.

This is when we finally talked about diagnosis and treatment.

She said “Your diagnosis is relevant here because certain diagnosies respond better to ECT as compared to others. Based on your history, it seems like you have an expanding list of diagnosies and that can happen in psychiatry because they are checklist based and can be presented differently at different times. I think the over all picture is best captured by a personality disorder based on what you are telling me and that doesn’t mean you cant have ECT by any means but it does mean that there is a little more risk for you in a couple of ways. So people with a history with disassociation and a history of trauma, which very much goes with a personality disorder, have a harder time being put under repeatedly and hopelessness of ECT. It can be kind of re-traumatizing.”

She goes on to explain that there are cognitive side effects for people who have personality disorders (specifically similar to my symptoms), which can include something she called “Soap Opera” Amnesia where a patient will complete forget everything for a few days. It only has happened one in her experience but it was very scary for the person going through it and that patient did end up going to the hospital at some point. This wasn’t caused by the ECT though. Seizures do not cause this. This was basically psychosomatic; something this person developed as a result of the panic of being put under and having to go through that over and over again, hence why she disclosed this to me as someone with a personality disorder specifically issues with disassociation.  

She also explain that statistically, the effectiveness of ECT is a little lower for people with personality disorders versus those with just depression. It’s around 55% likely to be effective for people with personality disorders and around 87% likely to be effective for people who just have depression.

She said about a 3rd of people with just major depressive disorder that get ECT feel almost completely cured by it but with people with personality disorders, they might feel less suicidal and may be able to function better in day to day life but its way less likely to feel “cured” to that intensity.

We also talked about how she thinks I fit the description for BPD very much and that it looks different for different people. My favorite thing she said is that it doesn’t always look like “Girl Interrupted”. Luckily I already knew that and agreed with her on this matter. She talked about the stigma around it. Honestly, she was very understanding and knowledgeable (I mean, of course) but it was really nice to talk to someone who wasn’t bias about personality disorders.

Then we talked about the upsides and down sides of ECT in the most specific way we could.

Downsides being cognitive side effects, even if they are just doing the right side of my brain with pulses being as small as you can get and the dose being as low as possible, you can have cognitive slowing, feeling a little more spacey, attention is not “up to snuff”, and also short term memory problems. The most recent memories put in your brain are usually the ones that are effected first.

This can include the past couple week or months before the procedure.

During the course of ECT, 7-15 sometime 18 treatments, when youre having it 3-4 times a week, you might have trouble forming new memories.  It’s not that you won’t form any, just a little fuzzy.

All of things add up to a DRIVING RESTRICTION. They will not let you drive during the course of treatment. She said it doesn’t matter how you GET to the appointment but afterwards they will not allow you to take a cab/taxi, uber, lyft or by bus and you cannot drive yourself. You absolutely NEED SOMEONE TRUSTED/CLOSE TO YOU TO DRIVE YOU HOME.

ALSO, if you have a history of any heart problems, you are at risk of sudden death because when they induce the seizures, your blood pressure and heart rates goes up. For young healthy people, there is almost no risk of this happening.

There are the normal/common risk of anesthesia (Like waking up). They usually give you Brevital (which puts you to sleep) and Succinylcholine (to relax your muscles before the procedure). The muscle relaxant will stop your breathing but she said it’s nothing to worry about since they will be pumping air into your lungs manually via bag mask and will be closely monitoring you which luckily means no invasive breathing tube.Then they deliver the stimulus, which induces the seizure and then you slowly wake up after that. If the timing is wrong or the dosing is wrong, there is a SMALL but serious risk that you can wake up but still feel paralyzed. They monitor your heart rate and they try to make sure you are completely out beforehand but it’s still a risk.

The worst symptoms after the procedure is headaches and nausea, which they will usually give you medication for and usually is the worst after the first treatment.

You will have an IV in your hand, before you go in, the nurse will make sure you have not eaten or drank anything in 8 hours.

They will talk to you for a few minutes to make sure you are okay and know whats going on. During this time they will put the IV in and inform you if there is any changes they need to make with anesthesia, then they administer the anesthesia. They will then induce the seizure (they usually start with a right unilateral which means they just do the right side of your brain and can change it to a bilateral procedure which is both sides of the brain later in treatment if needed) and the way they tell if you have seizured is by:

1.) putting EEG leads on your head so they can see your brain waves and

2.) They use a blood pressure cuff as a tourniquet around your ankle to stop the muscle relaxant from going into your foot so they can see that foot have a seizure.

Afterwards, they roll you out to the recovery room where you come down from the anesthesia which takes about 20 minutes.

The medical work-up and requirements before you schedule the procedure is a signed document from your PCP (Primary Care Physician) which they fax over, bloodwork, pregnancy test, and an EKG test (they will need a physical copy of the EKG tracings).

-END OF APPOINTMENT-

I hope this is useful info for someone out there!

If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask.