#(people who are familiar with ptsd and care about a ptsd sufferer actually but whatever)

[confinesofmy]

the cousin i confided in yesterday explaining how i was triggered told my other cousin (that i'm even closer with) that she was really annoyed with me for taking issue with something that wasn't even that big of a deal anyway so uhhh i'm not initiating contact with her again for a while lol. she seemed mildly annoyed when we were talking about it but i don't pick up cues well over the phone and that didn't really make sense anyway bc why would someone be annoyed at me calmly explaining one of my triggers and discussing what we can do to make everyone more comfortable next time it happens lmao so i was like "oh she's not really annoyed you're just feeling insecure bc you're irrationally afraid of showing emotions" but noooo she was fucking annoyed. she did think i was being difficult for no reason. she doesn't have fucking basic empathy for me. cool cool, cool cool cool.

[altorav]

Angsty nekushiki ideas (1) Shiki feeling left behind from the NEO adventure, specially bc Neku doesn't want to say much about what happened on Shinjuku. Shiki not understanding why Neku trusts Coco and Josh (i dont think she hates him or sm so lets ignore NEO finale for a moment) and she may feel a little...left behind, you know. But Shiki is not the only one, since Neku might feel out of place in her Gatto Nero bussiness and feeling like Shiki is not that close to him? Thats whats comes to mind

I personally feel like Neku should be the one who has the most angst when it comes to feeling out of place and left behind here post game. Just because Shiki isn't as huge a part of the canon narrative as Neku, I don't think she logically deserve to angst about her lack of participation since Shiki technically could be considered the one working the hardest out of everyone else in the 3 year gap with her business and possibly gaining the most experience with other people and has the most practical life skills (she's got her own big adventure in the RG and likely had become more mature because of it) and I feel like Neku being possibly suffering from feeling like a stranger in a familiar land and having PTSD are more pressing matters than any insecurities Shiki may have from not fully understanding the stuff that he may have gone through.

So, I feel like a more appropriate angsty scenario for Shiki would be Shiki trying her damnest best to help Neku reintegrate into society and the RG and ensuring he's got his possible emotional and psychological issues taken care of. Shiki seems to be intuitive enough to be able to just fill in the gaps herself and does what emotionally appropriate at the moment (if Neku doesn't wanna share details at the moment, she'd let him be. Even if she prefers that he talks about it. But the most important thing to acknowledge is his experience hasn't been the best and no one deserves to go through what he went through) And considering how idealistic she is and knowing how Neku is the type of person who actually doesn't trust people easily (she's got to experience it first hand after all) I think she'd just go along and trust that Coco and Josh couldn't possibly be that bad if Neku doesn't find anything wrong with trusting them. I think her biggest worries would actually be about ensuring that she's not feeding into Neku's possible insecurities (since she's experienced first hand how it feels like to feel like you aren't worth anything or feeling like you're never enough) from having the 3 years of his life robbed and not really learning any practical life skills during that time (unlike her) her primary worry would be if she is being effective in her attempts to ground him to reality, keeping him not to be too lost in his head and drowning in whatever anxieties and insecurities he may have after his traumatic history.

And yea, I think one of her worries would also include making sure Neku isn't intimidated or feeling alienated from her just because she's a successful business woman at the time being. Ensuring that he doesn't miss opportunities his life has to offer because he gets too caught up in his sense of not belonging.

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth - Not Harmless: #SuicidalIdeation

Not everyone thinks of killing themselves, but a distressing number of people do. #Suicidalideation, sometimes referred to as #suicidalthoughts, is exactly what it sounds like: it’s thinking about, perhaps making a plan, playing out in your mind what death by your own hand might be like. Just because the term suggests that the action is not taken to its ultimate conclusion does not mean it is not to be taken seriously or that the person suffering is looking for attention. What they may be looking for is someone to help them. And if you pay attention to the symptoms, you could be the one to help. Those symptoms can range widely. Visible end-of-life preparations – giving away your property or possessions, saying farewell to friends and family, acquiring the means to the end such as a gun or lethal chemicals: these are perhaps the most obvious symptoms. Or you may observe an increase in risky #behaviors like #drug or #alcohol use, even reckless driving. #Suicidalideation (or #suicideideation) can be part of a bigger-picture #mentalhealthissue, like a depressive or #bipolardisorder, which means that familiar symptoms and effects of those conditions can also be a factor: feelings of worthlessness, loss of interest in pleasurable activities, or #isolation from others. It is also possible that there may be no symptoms at all. Some people keep their feelings hidden, their #behavior controlled, and show no particular signs of any distress. You think they’re ok and have no reason to doubt this. In some instances, you might be concerned about someone’s mental state simply from observing what life has thrown at them. #Suicidalideation can stem from a great many causes, but what those causes mostly have in common is a sense of having lost control of – or purpose in – life. Legal or financial troubles; loss of job, property, health, or a loved one: traumatic changes in life can often have traumatic consequences for our #mentalhealth. And if your #mentalhealth is already fragile, then #suicidalideation can sometimes be an effect of your condition or occasionally the medication you are taking for relief. #Depression, #anxiety, #bipolardisorder, #schizophrenia, #PTSD are just some of the #mentalhealthissues that can bring with them thoughts of #suicide. When it comes to paying attention and trying to help, the literature on #suicidalideation mostly agrees that in many cases paying attention is, in and of itself, the needed help. There is a persistent but mistaken belief that you or I can push someone in the direction of #suicide simply by mentioning it. There is no evidence that asking someone if they are feeling suicidal causes suicidal feelings. It’s not a case of: “Funny you asked, I was thinking I should spend more time working on a suicide plan.” In fact, asking someone if they are feeling suicidal can show that you care about how they are feeling and offer an opportunity to talk about what may be a very difficult subject. Feeling suicidal – however that may be expressed – is a pretty clear sign that someone is in need of help. Showing someone you care about their distress and being open to listening to whatever it is they may have to say about it can be an important first step toward getting that person the support they need. #Mentalhealthprofessionals may draw a distinction between passive and active #suicidalideation. The former – passive #suicidalideation – describes someone who might express or experience #suicidalthoughts but isn’t actually making any preparations for #suicide. The latter describes someone who both wishes they were dead and is planning to make that wish come true. For most of us, the difference between the two may not be much more than semantic. The line between passive and active #suicidalideation isn’t particularly difficult to cross anyway: wishing you were dead escalates to trying to be dead with as little effort as buying a box of pills. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy http://www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Whether their thoughts are visible or invisible, active or passive, someone who is having #suicidalthoughts is in distress. They need protection from those thoughts and the harm they might do to themselves. They need help. That help might come in the form of a consultation with a medical professional, or a call to an official source of assistance (TT’s Lifeline – a 24-hour hotline – is available at 800 5588). But that help can start with a simple question: “Are you feeling suicidal?” It’s ok to ask – and essential to listen. Remember to talk to your #doctor or #therapist if you want to know more about what you read here. In many cases, there’s no single solution or diagnosis to a #mentalhealthconcern. Many people suffer from more than one condition. Read the full article

[anawkwardshit]

Why we didn’t we get a villain arc from Tommy during exile:

This topic of discussion is somewhat old, I suppose, but I find it interesting since a lot of the fandom voted for Tommy to be exiled just because they wanted him to have motivation to go apeshit. The following rant is an old one from a comment section in one of my old posts in which I responded to someone explaining how they think Tommy deserved to go apeshit, with some edits to fit the current canon timeline, of course.

Wanting Tommy to deliver some villainous but deserved revenge is valid, but everyone is acting like it was expected (a reason why everyone voted to exile Tommy in the first place, actually), but I could never really picture it. Not only is Tommy haunted by what Wilbur did and became, but he cares too much. He had to suffer through multiple wars, deal with his brother who was suffering from a manic down spiral and another sibling/friend (depending on what you take as canon) who killed his best friend in front of him and then fought him to the death in a pit. He then proceeded to watch his father/father figure (again, whatever you take as canon, since Wilbur and Phil have submitted different versions, though Tommy has admitted to Phil being a father figure to him regardless) kill his brother after being witness to the entire nation he’d built, bled, and fought for be blown up, and mere seconds later had his other brother/friend (Techno, obviously) turn on him and attempt to kill him and the rest of his friends with massive beings of death and destruction.

He thought everything would settle down after that and that they could move on, but he is now forced to deal with Phil (someone who is either his father or father figure, or at the very least, one of the few adults left he may be able to trust) choosing to go with Techno instead of stay with him, a best friend who has too much responsibility to spend time with him like before, and a shit ton of PTSD from the wars, his siblings/friends, and his first exile in general. He tries to relax and have fun like he’s always done before everything went to crap.

Dream decides to take advantage of these actions (Tommy and Ranboo stealing and accidentally burning some of George’s house), something nowhere near as bad as stuff others and he himself has done ON PURPOSE, in an effort to tear down Tommy and possibly even L’manberg itself. In fact, the argument that Tommy has continued his destruction across the SMP and continues to be a danger and destroy the peace is false, since it was Dream and even Puffy who were the ones to blow up the other builds (meaning Dream is not doing this out of any professional or political lens, he’s just framing Tommy for his own self gain). He manipulates them all with the power he has over them to exile Tommy from, technically, his own nation AGAIN, through Tubbo, his best friend (see my rant about Tubbo and his handling of the situation here: Tubbo Needs To Get His Shit Together).

Tommy’s character is naturally an angry kid, possibly a partial effect from growing up in the midst of fighting and war, but he’s at the end of his rope. He’s all for a good spat and playful scuffle, but that’s because it’s familiar and reminds him of better times; he’s tired of all the bloodshed and war just like anyone else is. Even still, he’s nowhere near willing to lose his home again, and that means he wants to fight for it. But instead, he’s kicked out.

There’s barely anything left in Tommy at that point. Everything he fought for is lost: he’s forbidden to go back to his nation, his home, his friends have essentially abandoned him, and his family has either betrayed him in some way or left him behind (even Wilbur, who is now dead and only reminds Tommy of the trauma of everything that had happened).

There’s not really any motivation for Tommy to become a villain. Wilbur did, because he wanted to destroy Manberg, keep it out of people’s hands since he couldn’t have it. Tommy doesn’t want to destroy L’manberg; he doesn’t want to kill his friends. He simply thinks they hate him; that doesn’t mean he hates them back. He has no motivations to fight against his friends and home; he either wants them back or wants to get all of the pain over with, and you can’t really blame him.

The only thing he could really have motivation to fight would be Dream, but that wouldn’t really make him a villian (it’s all he’s been doing since the start). The problem is that Dream has successfully isolated Tommy from his friends, so Tommy has become dependent on Dream for companionship, protection, and even consistency (see my rant about part of what makes Tommy and Dream’s relationship toxic and the reason he clung to it based on his relationships with others here: Tommy, Dream, and The Addiction of Predictability). He’s even dependent on Dream for materials and food, since Dream destroys everything Tommy salvages for himself.

In Tommy’s eyes, his greatest enemy is the only one who actually gives a damn, and Tommy’s whole character lives for his friends and family, to protect them and fight for them. If they don’t care, why should he? What’s the point in caring for something that everybody else is insisting doesn’t matter?

In my opinion, the only way for Tommy’s exile to have gone would be either reconciliation with Techno and Phil, where he might be able to heal and be a child for once, or a down spiral that resulted in depression and the lack of a will to live; there’s nothing else for him to live for. And that’s what we got.

As predicted, in light of recent events, the start of his healing did begin when hiding with Techno in the tundra, though that was eventually destroyed during the Green Festival (see my previous rant on this page about Doomsday and its complicated injustice to see my views on what I think of the whole “betrayal” here: Doomsday and Injustice).

Tommy did end up escaping exile, though due to fortunate (or perhaps unfortunate) circumstances, in which he was forced to save himself as nobody else could be bothered. Even now, we see Tommy’s character is still traumatized and casually suicidal (atop The Needle in Las Nevadas anyone?), leaving the outcome of exile as, still, one of my predictions: a case of some variation of depression and a lack of a will to live, at least to a point (since we know he is scared of going back to the afterlife even if he still thinks about dying).

[mikaelsrose]

Please forgive me for going on anon, but I don't want you to judge me if what I'm about to say is super dumb or way too pushy😅 I'm wondering whether this concept of PTSD in your last fic is just made up for the sake of plotline or is it something you experienced? You absolutely don't have to answer if it's too personal, I'm just curious. As a person who suffers from PTSD I think the chaotic narrative is a pretty accurate stylistic tool and I can't wait for another parts!

I would never judge you! even if you were wrong I'd be so honored to see that you actually pay attention to my works here 🥺 and that you pay THIS MUCH attention? to such details?! there you go, some love for you

first of all, i hope you're taking care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard. hope you get better soon!

second, lol yeah you are right. don't want to spoil it for anyone but what's going on in selene's head is basically what was going on in my head for years. and still does sometimes. i felt like i should mention that this type of narrative is intentional because i was afraid people would point it out and judge me for posting something that doesn't really add up.

however, at the time of posting i didn't think it's necesarry to go into too much detail but what i'm referring to is actually c-ptsd, which refers to long-term trauma (e.g. childhood neglect). initially i wanted to write about something else but i wouldn't feel comfortable writing about sth i haven't experienced.

for instance, although ive been technically safe for 9 years now, it is only now that all the symptoms start to show up. i've spent the entirety of my teenage life thinking i'm just dumb and way more stupid than my colleagues because i have memory issues. i know i keep joking about having goldfish memory but it's a real pain in the ass because i need three times the time to study that my friends do, i'm having trouble concentrating on text, and whatever i've learnt at the beginning of my university adventure is loooong gone. and it applies to every part of my life - i don't remember anything about any school trips, most of my life (however dramatic that sounds). i still hold on to the traumatic events which keep replaying in my head over and over again, ever day, several times. there was a time when i was actually unable to learn anything because the second i started reading, my mind just plunged stright into the trauma zone. now it looks more like this: i'm chilling, minding my own business, and all of a sudden i remember something. it feels familiar, like it might've actually happened but at the same time it feels so surreal that i just don't know. when i know for sure that sth did happen it still feels like... it just didn't happen to me. like i've watched it on tv and imagined it happen to me and this stayed in my mind.

i would also like to add that whatever may seem way too chaotic and like it's not making much sense, will make sense in the end.

[tea-mew96]

Analysis: TFP Optimus Prime and a Discussion on Revenge

Disclaimer:  This post is going to be a long vent about my frustrations with TFP Optimus Prime, specifically with the advice he gives to Arcee and the audience in regards to revenge. So if you’re someone who does likes him or hold similar views to him, you are probably not going to like or agree with what I’ll say in this post and that’s completely ok. The whole point of this post is to provide another perspective and open discussion with me and anyone else about this (But do so respectfully, please).

Also, there are going to be spoilers for Transformers Prime in this, so skip this post for now if you don’t want the show to be spoiled for you.

So without further ado, let me explain why TFP Optimus Prime’s stance on revenge is wrong.

For those who aren’t familiar with Transformers Prime or don’t remember everything, one of the biggest subplots of the show was Arcee and the loss of her partners, Cliffjumper and Tailgate. Throughout most of Season 1 and Season 2, Arcee is on the hunt to find out who killed Cliffjumper and to get revenge for Tailgate by going after Arachnid. 

Everything with this arc was going ok...until Season 1 Episode 20, Partners.

During this episode, Arcee ends up following Arachnid, much to Optimus’ distaste. After Optimus saves Arcee from Arachnid, he tells her that seeking revenge for Tailgate is a bad idea. Later on in the episode, Starscream lets slip that he was the one who killed Cliffjumper, and Arcee reacts accordingly by attacking him. She almost kills him, but is stopped when she realizes Bumblebee is watching them and she lets Starscream go. The episode ends with Arcee saying that she thought settling scores would allow her to move on but that her actions instead lead to the Autobots losing an ally. Optimus comments that wisdom is gained, not automatically earned. This arc continues in Season 2 Episode Episode 10 Armada, where Arcee ends up trapping Arachnid in a stasis pod, ultimately ending their rivalry. The pod is taken back to base, where Ratchet says Arachnid “deserves worse”. Arcee responds that she “intended worse, more times than you know” and Optimus responds that Arcee is “stronger” for her choice.

These series of events are what ruined both Optimus as a character and Arcee’s arc for me.

Optimus tells Arcee that seeking revenge is bad and that she’s a “stronger person” for giving Arachnid a fairly merciful fate of being put in stasis. There’s one problem, though: he’s wrong. And apparently no one on the writing team knew that.

What Optimus ends up implying is that Arcee’s anger at both Arachnid and Starscream is not justified, that being mad at them for hurting her makes her a “bad person” and wanting them to suffer consequences for it is not the right path to take. Except none of that is true.

I think it’s fair to say that Arcee is victim of murder, and has a lot of trauma and emotional damage because of it. She has lost two partners that she clearly cared for and were close to, with one of them (Tailgate) dying right in front of her optics. She displays signs of depression throughout the series, and if the flashbacks in Season 1 Episode 12 Predatory are any indication, Arcee probably has a good case of PTSD too. 

The thing about people who have been severely hurt and traumatized by others like this is that they need closure, and there are many ways that this can be accomplished. Forgiveness is only one way. Sometimes closure comes in the form of having the aggressors be given jail time or the death penalty. Sometimes with bullying, a victim will find peace by seeing the bully getting in trouble with the teacher and being suspended. Some find peace through therapy. Sometimes, people can only find peace by taking matters into their own hands and punishing the aggressors themselves (victims fighting back against their bullies and the story of Gary Plauche are good examples of this one). The point is that victims and their friends/family members affected by murder, rape, bullying, or any other hurtful acts is that they don’t have to forgive the ones who committed the crime, nor are they required to. In fact, many people don’t.

This is something that Optimus Prime simply doesn’t understand, and many adults don’t either.

I want you to take a quick read at these statements that people often give as solutions to bullying:

“Don’t react, just ignore them. They’ll go away.” “Don’t fight back, that’s stooping to their level” “Tell them to stop saying/doing those things, they’ll listen”

On the surface, all of these statements sound correct because these are all very tame, non-violent solutions. They’re all moral high ground statements. But almost any victim of bullying can tell you that none of this advice ever actually helped, and if you ever told a teacher someone was bullying you, you at best got ineffective solutions/similar advice to the above and at worst did nothing about it.

Optimus Prime’s statements about not seeking revenge come from the exact place that the above quotes come from: a place of wanting to appear moral and above-it-all but having none of the experience or knowledge to actually back it up. 

Optimus wasn’t as close to Cliffjumper as Arcee was. Optimus didn’t see Tailgate’s gruesome death first-hand. He may be older, but being old doesn’t automatically make you right. And I find it ironic how Optimus states that wisdom is earned at a cost yet he’s the one who is clearly is struggling with that concept when it comes to Arcee.

It upsets me to no end how Optimus is contantly tellling Arcee that she’s the one who has to be the more moral, bigger, stronger person. But Starscream and Arachnid? You know, the ones who caused all of Arcee’s anguish to begin with? Naw. Arachnid can continue to tease Arcee by asking if she’s lost any more partners and Starscream can pretend to feel bad about killing Cliffjumper and then immediately brag about it the next day. Yeah, those two don’t need to change. ARCEE DOES. CUZ REVENGE BAD. 

Remember how Arcee said she intended a worse fate for Arachnid and Optimus praises her for it? While the show treats that as “closure” and the end to that rivalry, I’m not convinced. For the longest time, Arcee wanted Arachnid dead. So for her to all of a sudden switch to being merciful to Arachnid seems off to me. And thus I began to wonder: Did Arcee decide to not kill Arachnid because she had a genuine change in morals, or did she do it in order to make Optimus Prime happy? Or in other words, is this a genuine change of character or this just the writers’ last-ditch attempt at pushing the “no revenge” narrative into the audience’s face? I don’t know for sure (although I’m pushing for latter in both questions) and the show doesn’t address this. And this is bad because depending on this answer, this could mean that this arc was never truly finished. If Arcee still didn’t believe or feel that having Arachnid in stasis was good enough closure, than the story isn’t fucking over. But no one of the writing team thought this far. No one was willing to put this kind of depth into the show.

Furthermore, I’d argue that this constant talk about Arcee being a “better person” is causing her to be critical of herself over things that aren’t really her fault or that she wouldn’t be able to predict the outcome of.

One is Arcee blaming herself for Smokescreen’s “death” in Season 2 Episode 21 Alpha/Omega. The other is Arcee regretting her attack on Starscream and losing a potential ally. But the reality is that Starscream is extremely fickle and having him join the Autobots wasn’t guaranteed to end in success to begin with. Even if Starscream did join the Autobots, there’s no promise that he would side with them forever. Almost all of his decisions are based off his own goals, and many times that can go against the ideas/goals of the group he’s in. Actually, Starscream does end up betraying the Autobot’s trust anyway in Season 2 Episode 23 Inside Job where Starscream uses the Autobots’ (ok, most Optimus Prime’s) trust to steal the Omega Keys and use them in order to gain Megatron’s favor again. Unsurprisingly, trauma victims in the real world also blame themselves for what happened to them too.

There’s many things about TFP Optimus Prime I can forgive. Boring characterization? Fine. An intriguing characterstic (lack of outward emotion) that has potential to be interesting but the writers never decided to explore it? Whatever. But I draw the line at shitty advice presented as a good lesson, especially when your audience is young kids who don’t know better and may need desperate help.

Kids get bullied and abused. Kids need to be told that fighting back against bullies and abusers who have hurt them doesn’t make them a bad person because the “lessons” and “solutions” that many schools and adults teach or tell rarely work. And telling them otherwise because it sounds right isn’t going to help. If anything, it’s only going to hurt those kids in the long run.

TL;DR Arcee is a good girl who deserves hugs and therapy, and Optimus Prime is a self-righteous moron who deserves to be thrown into a smelting pit.

[underthedekutree]

Young Link might have PTSD - Part 2: Termina is NOT a Parallel World, Technically

This is a continuation of my last post so if you’re seeing this and haven’t read it, go here.

This is the part where I somewhat smoothly segue into Majora’s Mask. Link, lonely and filled with unprocessed trauma, leaves Hyrule in search of Navi. According to most sources (which take from Hyrule Historia probably? don’t quote me on it), Link falls down a hole into Termina, a parallel world to Hyrule, that contains many familiar looking denizens of Hyrule, but playing different roles. And well, if you probably guessed by the title, I have a rather different interpretation.

Okay, so in a nutshell my theory is that Termina is in fact all a dream, kind of like Koholint Island. Except the one dreaming up this world isn’t some deity like the Giants or Skull Kid or the Moon. It’s Link.

(big explainey hoo hah below)

Evidence 1: Link begins the game sleeping. Yes, I know literally every Zelda game begins this way and it’s a whole tradition thing. I am beginning with the weakest points first and working my way up to the strong ones. We’ll get there.

Evidence 2: The reuse of character and environment models from Ocarina of Time. The literal IRL reason for this is of course the game famously being given only one year of production time, which meant that the most practical method was to reuse as much material from MM’s predecessor as possible (eg. Romani Ranch sign is the Kakariko Village sign, and still says Kakariko Village on it). It seems like a rather offhand afterthought for Nintendo to chalk it all up to “oh its just a parallel world like Link to the Past or something. But think of it like this; when we dream, we often see familiar people from throughout our lives put in strange and unexpected situations, like that irritable old farmhand you hated so much is now a depressed circus master for some reason. Dreams don’t make sense. Things you know will mix with other strange inexplicable things, fleeting thoughts in your mind, all roughly tied together by whatever emotions you had been feeling when you went to bed. Malon is split into two people, Romani and Cremia, her older and younger self. This might reflect how Link feels about Malon, that she changed so much in those 7 years that she’s like a different person entirely, that it’s hard for him to process that they are the same, because the change was so shockingly sudden for him.

Evidence 3: Gorons in the snow, Gerudo by the sea. Yes, I know that sounds a lot like good evidence for a parallel world (that’s why the idea is widely accepted in the first place, it has merit), but it also works in as dream world evidence too. As a child, my family was obsessed with skiing. We would go to the same mountain every winter, and we would stay at the same lodge. It almost became like a second home for me. So much so, that one night I dreamed that my house had been replaced by the lodge, so it wasn’t on a snow-capped mountain, but in a bushy Australian suburb. Okay that kinda got off subject but I’m bad at conclusions so in summary Dreams Just Be Like That (tm). You get what I’m saying right? No? Sorry, let’s just move on.

Evidence 4: The Milk Bar. AKA my favourite location in the game! It’s often overlooked as the “haha funny they couldn’t put alcohol in kids game so its kiddy milk hee hee”, but it is actually a strong thematic pillar of Majora’s Mask. As I mentioned in Part 1, if you put a 9 year old in a 16 year old’s body and call him an adult before ripping that all away is probably going to leave the kid with an identity crisis. What is a mature place open at late hours when children are sleeping? A bar. What is a drink associated with the young, being produced for the purpose of helping children grow? Milk. No please don’t go I swear there’s more to this, stay with me. In order to gain access to the bar, Link must prove he is mature enough by wearing a mask, a disguise, like Adult Link is to Young Link. Being adult isn’t earned through years of natural living experience and mental development, it’s a thing you are given by adults to just BE when they deem you worthy, at least from how Link sees it. So that is the amalgamation of dream thoughts that is the Milk Bar. Is it mature? Is it childish? What is the line between the two? Is there one? It’s the culmination of his anxieties and confusions that he doesn’t know how to express. Another, smaller expression of this anxiety is the Clock Town Guards. When Link is a Deku, the guards say they don’t allow children outside the gates. When Link turns back however, the guard goes to stop him because he looks too young, but sees that he has a sword, and lets him pass. Why the sword? Well, in one way this is a callback to Kokiri Forest, where Mido doesn’t let Link see the Deku Tree until he has a sword. But also, what is the item that lets Link travel through time and become an adult in OOT? The Master Sword. Link seems to believe that adulthood is measured by the things you have, physical markers of maturity, which is how lots of children see adulthood. You’re an adult if you can drink, if you’re tall, if you’re married, if you have a house, a car etc. But in reality this isn’t how it works. Heck, I’m technically an adult but I sure as hell don’t feel like one, because I know I still have things to learn about responsibility, patience and all the other things, that can only come with time, which is the moral conclusion of OOT, but clearly Link missed the memo. Don’t get me wrong, there are some indicators to show he’s grown a bit. He can ride Epona, use the bow, do flips like some kind of acrobat etc. But those strange and confused feelings linger, and manifest in the young boy’s dreams.

Evidence 5: The four transformation masks. The four masks represent different aspects of Link’s self, and the way he grew and changed in OOT. Deku Scrub the Innocent, Goron the Confident, Zora the Mature and Fierce Deity the Hero. Link began only knowing the Kokiri Forest, and nothing of the world outside. As he set out on his journey, he grew more confident in his skills and defeated greater foes. When evil took over, he learned from his fatal mistake and worked to right it. And when it was finally time to face the greatest threat, he was ready, with all the heart pieces, bottles full of fairies, Biggoron Sword in hand. At that moment he struck the final blow he probably felt like the strong and unstoppable hero everyone in Hyrule told him he needed to be. And that feeling of pure uncompromising strength, with the whole world behind him, manifested in the Fierce Deity. Fierce Deity is much taller than Adult Link, and packs so much of a punch that he can beat Majora without batting an eye, like some overpowered Super Saiyan. It reminds me a lot of Undertale, with young Asriel becoming what he imagines to be an all-powerful godlike being, like something you’d see as a children’s drawing. Fierce Deity gives off those vibes, like “he has a HUGE SWORD that SHOOTS BEAMS OF LIGHT and he’s 8 FOOT TALL and CAN KILL ENEMIES IN A SINGLE BLOW!!” Before the final battle on the moon, when Majora gives you the mask, he childishly asks if you want to play a game of good guys and bad guys. And the good guy always wins, no matter what. Fierce Deity makes the final boss a cakewalk, but its supposed to.

Evidence 6: Anju and Kafei. Short one, because it falls a lot into everything else I’ve said regarding childhood vs adulthood. Kafei is effectively a switcheroo of what happened to Link in OOT. An adult shrunk back to childhood, uncomfortable in his new body and looking for a way to fix everything. He’s a reflection of how Link now kinda feels like an adult in a child’s body, because he had started to be used to being called an adult.

Evidence 7: The Moon. I haven’t super touched on the main meat of the game yet, so here it is. The moon and the 3 day mechanic is an allegory for constant mounting pressure, that builds and builds, never ceasing, because the world is in danger, and there’s only one person who has been chosen to save it. I’ve always been interested in the Chosen One narrative, and how different media explore the idea of the world’s very existence being pushed onto one person. How at the end of it all, they can never be the same again after all they’ve gone through. When you’re somehow expected to hold up the Moon itself single-handed, and your life and everything you care about suffers because you’re putting everyone else before yourself. That feeling of complete loneliness under a crushing weight, and although other characters may come to help you, in the end its still all down to you, and you never had a choice in any of it, as all the decisions were made by someone else. You must do what they tell you. Believe in yourself, believe...

Evidence 8: Skull Kid. The story goes that long ago in Termina, the Skull Kid and the Giants played together, until one day, the Giants left, leaving the Skull Kid alone and heartbroken, with nobody to turn to. As life moves on, things may change, and people always come and go from your life. Your friend might move overseas, or stop texting you, or you might fall out of friendship after an awkward event from which you could never recover (no, these have totally not all happened to me, shut up i’m fine), or your fairy companion might just disappear without so much as a goodbye after their task is complete. And it feels like you didn’t matter at all. That they never really cared about you, and you’re as easy to drop and move on from as a child’s toy. You might get angry, and want to shut them out, and give them a taste of their own medicine. Majora’s Mask teaches you that this isn’t the case. Life is ever changing, but you will always have the memories of times with your friends, and a chance to make more with new friends, like a sassy talkative fairy sprite and her shy brother or a child made of wood who wants to destroy the world. Friends come from unlikely places, so accept that change will happen and hope that wherever the people you knew are, they’re okay. You’re thinking about them, so they might be thinking about you too. And who knows? Life is unpredictable. They might just come back one day, and it’ll be like they were never gone.

Evidence 9 (the final one, I promise): The Song of Healing. At the end of all things, after losing ones you love, connections to family and friends, memories of things long past... you need time to heal. Link’s journey through Termina is a constant gauntlet of running into his own past traumas, forced to relive them again, and again, and again. But sometimes you should take a deep breath, gather your thoughts, and take time to heal. Although it can be important to confront your fears and learn to surpass them, it is exhausting, and you can end up more emotionally broken than when you started. The three masks all had regrets of powerlessness; unable to protect your community, your loved ones, or even yourself. Troubles you’ve gone through that keep plaguing your mind, and you’re wondering if you’ve done enough, seeking answers where none can be found. And the best thing you can do... is accept and move on. Be kind to yourself, and give yourself time to heal. Link’s way of processing his grief and trauma is to create an entire hellscape world in his own head, but not everyone processes it the same way. Sometimes you feel like you need to busy yourself, or listen to soothing music, or talk to people you trust, or spend copious amounts of money, or make some angst art, or cuddle your plush toys until their stuffing squeezes out. Sometimes life hits you in the face and you want to blame yourself for standing in the firing line, but it’s not your fault. It’s okay to feel however you feel, whether you’re drenched in a pool of tears or you just feel numb, it’s okay and natural. You’re okay. You’re here.

Okay so it got kinda personal at the end there but I hope it was informative, and made you think a little bit differently about Majora’s Mask and Ocarina of Time. You probably want to go back and play them now. Me too.

So was this all just an excuse for me to gush about how cool Majora’s Mask is? Hell fucking yes it was. Congratulations for making it through my monstrous ramblings, you get the secret prize of looking at my weird art on my DA. Here you go. Have a nice day, Zelda Nerds.

[rubiesintherough]

(( @residualed​​ sent --- answer all of the rough childhood questions for your muse with the most childhood trauma!! ))

( tw’s for trauma, child abuse, child neglect, violence toward children, death, and selfharm mentions )

oh, oof.... okay, here we go. hard to choose, but i think imma go with... melody

does your muse blame themselves for their trauma?

hard to answer, because both yes and no... she realizes that her parents were just pieces of shit who would’ve done all those things to her regardless of how she acted, but --- caused mostly by the fact they kept telling her this directly to her face --- there is a part of her who wonders if she was the one responsible for it... who wonders if, maybe if she’d been quieter, more polite, more obedient, they wouldn’t have hurt her. At least, not to the extent they did. 

does your muse suffer with nightmares of their trauma?

sometimes... for her, it usually only happens if she’s already really stressed out or upset when falling asleep, then her brain plucks those traumatic memories up and drops them back in the forefront. 

what triggers does your muse have from their childhood?

anyone grabbing her by the chin, no matter their intentions... she will go absolutely feral, resorting to anything, even biting, to get away.  Same thing goes for someone grabbing for her hands / arms. Similar reaction, she’ll twist, pinch, scratch, whatever it takes to get them to let go, no matter what intention they had in doing it. Also, the smell of burning or burnt food is a trigger and will immediately make her feel like throwing up. People being angry at her... but, she’ll also go out of her way to push other people’s buttons, because the feeling of being triggered by someone being genuinely furious at her, that adrenaline fear, is a feeling she... likes isn’t a good word for it, but it’s the closest I can think of right now. It’s a rush. It allows her to be angry back. It’s a familiar feeling, no matter how bad it feels overall, it validates her belief that people are awful, that her trauma is real, and it almost gives her permission to let loose and be crueler, ruder, angrier back. 

who in their life was most responsible for your muse’s trauma?

her parents. She rarely met anyone outside of them. 

has your muse ever been officially diagnosed with ptsd, c-ptsd?

nope. Needless to say, her parents weren’t very invested in looking after their child’s mental health... 

what was the worst / most traumatic moment in their childhood?

actually, even will all the others in mind, i’m going to say it was the act of  killing her parents. It’s not something she regrets, and she feels it was fully justified... but it was still an extremely traumatic event. 

how old was your muse when they realized they had childhood trauma?

probably around 13-14. She didn’t have a word for it, and didn’t fully understand the topic of trauma, but she understood enough to know that her childhood was wrong, and messed up, and that she wasn’t okay because of it. 

how does your muse react to being triggered? ( disassociates, becomes angry, etc. )

anger. Anger is protective. Snapping at other people, driving them away from her, physically lashing out so people keep their distance... it keeps everyone away from her. And, if they’re away from her, they can’t hurt her.    She does also disassociate, but this only tends to happen in moments when she is badly triggered... but, instead of what some disassociation looks like, she doesn’t go quiet, or mentally drift / get a thousand yard stare, she just gets shaky... really shaky, like she’s freezing to death due to how adrenaline hits her. It’s the same thing that happens when she has a panic attack. 

what coping methods  ( healthy or unhealthy )  did your muse learn during their childhood?

see above. Anger is the one she uses most. It’s definitely not healthy in the way she uses it, though... but she doesn’t know any other way.  She will also use physical pain to cope: smashing her hand into a wall, for instance.  And she will destroy things around her to get the anger out, which is especially dangerous, considering the power she has. She won’t just throw things. She will light things up, has destroyed entire concrete columns with a flare of electricity when at her angriest... definitely unhealthy but, again, she doesn’t know any healthy ones. 

does your muse want their abuser(s) to face consequences? Or would they rather forget any of it happened?

they already did. She made sure of it. 

was there anyone who was a shining light for your muse? Ie. was there any adult who they could genuinely rely on / trust?

unfortunately, no. She was rarely allowed to even leave the house aside from school and occasionally visiting her friends’ houses, but that was few and far between. And there was no one in either instance that she trusted enough to tell... especially because her parents had told her, repeatedly, that if she told anyone, they would find out and it wouldn’t end well for her.  Of course, there were teachers or other parents who asked about visible bruises, but Melody explained them away by saying she’d been helping with yardwork, etc. And no one cared enough to look further into it. 

[teeforhee]

Fuck, I'm not sure I'll ever get over how much CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health service, it's the under-18s mental health service in Scotland) let me down as a kid.

It's like this. You're 11 and you're traumatised but you're scared of using that word, you don't know if you're allowed it, but you are traumatised. And you're so anxious you can't breathe most of the time, you can't sit down and speak to any of your friends, you can do your school work but you keep falling apart and everything feels like it's getting worse all the time. You don't fit in, you're weird and awkward but your schoolwork is good so you aren't worrying about your grades, you're not even sure why you feel this way (it's unprocessed trauma, but again, you don't feel like you're allowed that word). You're s/hing and struggling with suicidal ideation, and you're lucky enough to still trust authority figures, so you do what everyone says you should. You trust an adult. And she calls your GP, who is another adult you choose to trust, who you bare your heart to with all of these symptoms that make your feel sick to even acknowledge, and then they make you an appointment with CAMHS. You came in asking for treatment. They referred you to CAMHS. They did not explain what CAMHS was other than what the letters stood for. That's okay - it's treatment, right? They're gonna help. You can talk this through and they'll help- just gotta be careful you don't get institutionalised. You don't want that, yet.

You talk to a CAMHS worker. She's a psychologist. She says it's very likely you have autism to your mother after your first session. Your mother broaches the topic gently. You are overjoyed: there's an answer! oh fuck, this explains so much! but it's not treatment. It's a word. The psychologist puts you on a waiting list and you have 22 sessions of CBT with her, trying to unpack your trauma and trying to build up coping skills. So many of them feel like just denying the truth, so many of them feed into your magical thinking ("the one thing you can control is your thoughts, you must always control your thoughts, good things will happen when you control your thoughts and stop thinking the bad thoughts"), but it's treatment, mostly. You stop seeing her twice- once because you are trying to develop an eating disorder and having a mental health professional who wants to hear how you're doing is totally cramping your style (I wasn't actually trying to develop an ED really, I was trying to cope in ways other than s/h, in ways that felt honest to the situation and real and gave me a sense of control that "controling my thoughts" just wasn't doing). You come back for recovery. You tell her you want an eating plan. By the time she even considers an appointment with a nutritionist, you've moved past that stage in your recovery on your own. You stop seeing her again because you get into an abusive relationship who doesn't really like you having contact with people who aren't him, and he super super doesn't like you not being able to talk to him for a whole hour every week. That part isn't their fault: no one could be gotten me out of that until I decided to; believe me, everyone around me tried, and it didn't work until I wanted I to, the third time.

But I left, again, I was without support for 6 months, and when I came back it was after my father (the earliest source of my trauma) had died. They take 4 sessions compiling evidence as to what treatment i needed going forward, without telling me that was what they were doing (I was trying to build trust with an adult again after 6 months of constant reinforcing that I couldn't trust anyone but my abuser), and then an appointment with a psychiatrist and your mother and a new psychologist. They dismiss and justify the symptoms that most worry me, they have at this point turned down my request to be institutionalised multiple times (including after an aborted suicide attempt, I presume they thought that was fine because made it clear that I did want to live), and they say at the end of the meeting that they are going to give me an official diagnosis of autism and that after that CAMHS has nothing more to offer me.

They say that if after 22 sessions with a psychologist I am still struggling so much (bear in mind that probably close to half of those sessions I was concealing factors that were actively making my mental health worse and which were traumatising me) I clearly can't gain anything more from their service, and anyway, autism isn't a mental illness and CAMHS as a service can only help while waiting for/trying to get a diagnosis, or if you have a diagnosis or a disorder for which they could provide specialist treatment. My very obvious PTSD? nah, no big-T Traumas, and c-ptsd is way too hard to diagnose. I receive a hilarious letter detailing all of the evidence (I mean genuinely insightful but also fucking hilarious and I do want to note down funniest bits and post them hear at some point, stuff like "unusual speech was noted, (exclamations of 'wacky!' while describing his symptoms)") and then they refer me to a charity which, at time of writing, I have had 1 assessment phone call with, and am waiting for a call back for my next and first proper appointment.

They did not inform me when I was first referred that CAMHS is a diagnostic and specialist treatment service and if they did (this was well over two years ago now, I don't remember word-for-word what my GP told me), they did not tell me that meant that they would kick me out to a charity once they figured they couldn't label me with anything requiring specialist treatment. During our last sessions they were unyeildingly focussed on the trauma of my father dying and of the "shock" of my diagnosis (that I had been waiting for for 2 years. yes, very shocking/s) when those were not my biggest problems. My relationship with my father is complex and I won't get into it here, but suffice it to say that his death was the last step on a very, very long journey, and honestly one of the least traumatising.

I let them keep the focus there because I desperately hate talking about the actual, recent, debilitating trauma of being in lockdown with an abusive partner for 6 months. That shit hurts, I can't even say his name, but that is the thing that I need to unpack if I'm ever going to be able to go outside in the sun again.

Repeatedly ignoring the requests I made for specific treatment until past the point where I needed it anymore, not informing me how the service I was going to be working with for 2 years even worked in something so basic as "what is this for? what will happen to me if I get a diagnosis they can't give me specialised care for?", telling an 11 year old child that suicidal ideation is "not that serious", a fundamental misunderstanding of what I needed and wanted to hear ('normal' is not a helpful word. 'normal' tells me 'suck it up, everyone experiences this and they're all fine, you're normal, just think better' why are they all so adamant that I am normal? Not even considering my mental health I am an autistic bisexual gnc trans guy, we went past whatever 'normal' means a long time ago, fucking listen to me), at every single step of the way this system has left me in the same state I was before, the only improvement being through support from my friends, fucking Childline (gd fucking bless Childline volunteers, but still, I shouldn't have been getting so little support that that felt like my only option), mental health masterposts on Tumblr, chats with my (luckily) very nice guidance counselor (they're called pastoral teachers here but I know most folks reading this are American or are most familiar with the American school system) and what amounts to gritting my teeth and getting through it.

It was worth it, of course my life was worth it, of course I say the same thing every person who's attempted suicide says, I'm more grateful than words could possibly express that I survived, that I get to go home in a few minutes and feed my kitten and write and message my friends, but for fucks sake it didn't need to be this hard. And it doesn't need to be this hard. I'm not out of the woods yet, I'm still waiting on that second appointment with this charity, I'm still 3+ months behind at school, and I'm one of the lucky ones. My boyfriend has been hurt worse by CAMHS, left even more isolated than I was, even more traumatised by the way he was treated, and every single person I know who's been in this system agrees that it's deeply, deeply flawed.

I don't want people to have competitions over who's medical experiences are worse, who's country has the worst mental health system, who's been the most traumatised by their psychiatrists or lack thereof, please. Please don't make this the suffering Olympics. I'm just making this post cause I know, I know that other people have had similar experiences, whether with CAMHS or whatever their equivalent is. Mental health services need serious reform that puts patients first, listens to their needs and requests, that is well funded and well staffed by people who care about their patients wellbeing more than they care about controling other people's lives.

Austerity in the UK is a huge reason why this happened the way it did- my first psychologist left the service to go work somewhere that pays better, leaving just one newly-graduated psychologist that clearly had no idea what she was doing and didn't care to sympathise or show compassion for me.

This shit needs to change, because kids need help, and this is not good enough.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Remember You Have Died || Morgan & Remmy

TIMING: Recent past, during the reign of Shroomdre

LOCATION: Morgan & Deirdre’s house, war memorial

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Remmy need help on a low day.

CONTAINS: discussions of death, depression, ptsd

Morgan couldn’t afford to spend the day on the floor. The house was a mess. Mushroom Deirdre was off doing...she wasn’t even sure what. And the sheets were getting that off-color of needing a wash. The sun was getting annoyingly near the windows for the second time in the day, which meant she hadn’t moved in...way more hours than she’d realized. The cats would need to be fed soon, and dishes washed so she could make dinner and get them dirty again so they’d get washed again, and maybe some other Morgan in some other dimension was already doing this, but this one, stuck to the empty bed, was just watching her daily responsibilities stack up and teeter over, all because, what, her life had blown up once some years ago on the same day? Morgan made herself breathe and reminded herself she was here, and there was one other person still in the house who might be feeling almost as immobile as she did.

It took an hour’s work, but she made it to Remmy’s door and knocked. “Hey…” she called weakly. “You got room for another zombie in there?”

The silence wasn’t really all that quiet when Remmy listened closely. There were ticking clocks and sometimes people shouting outside. The soft hum of the air conditioner that they couldn’t feel, or the low groan or a car engine outside. On the bed, in their room, they didn’t jump so much at each noise, but the impossibility of relaxing had circled them for hours, tugging them away from doing anything that could’ve been considered productive. At one point they turned on the radio and wished for the drone of the afternoon DJ’s voice to cut out the rest of the world’s noise, but it didn’t work. It never worked. Moose had stayed on the floor next to the bed most of the day, like he was trained to, occasionally nudging their hand with his nose to make sure they weren’t slipping into a world that didn’t exist except for in their own mind. At another point, they had sat up and opened their notebook, wondering if occupying their mind with thoughts of designs would bring up anything, but all they’d managed to do was scrape out a picture of Luce, and the last smile they remembered her having.

When the knock came, Remmy closed the notebook quickly and looked to the door, before sliding off the bed with great effort and pulling it open enough to find Morgan slumped outside. She looked as weary as they did. “Always,” they said quietly and let her saunter in at her own pace, sitting back on the bed and setting the notebook down on their nightstand. “Where’s Deirdre? Is she still…” they didn’t need to finish the sentence. The answer was in Morgan’s eyes. “Sorry, never mind.” They scooted over to her when she climbed on, arms already reaching for her. “Wanna talk about it?”

Morgan shuffled into the room and let her body collapse itself next to Moose. “I don’t know where she is,” she huffed. “Which, you know, isn’t new actually. She’s got stuff that’s unpredictable.” She shrugged, and tried to smile at Remmy. She was supposed to be looking for the positive, for where the seam between one Deirdre and another matched up. But her thoughts teetered two steps forward and one step back today. “It’s gonna be at least a week, just so you know,” she said. “Today’s just not a good day for me. This time of year is just...not good.” She worked her arms around Moose and tried to remember what his fur felt like. “What’s up with you today?” She asked. “I’m more zomb than me, but I can still listen, probably…”

Moose, objectively, was better at snuggles than Remmy. He was big and soft and heavy, a weighted blanket full of love. He shuffled into Morgan’s grip a little more when she wrapped him up, as if trying to let her know he understood her need. Remmy leaned in gave him a soft pat on the head before scooping their arm around Morgan, laying their chin on her shoulder. “You’re allowed to have not good days, you know,” they reminded her. “Even not good weeks.” They thought for a moment how to answer, before realizing there was no point in skirting around much. Not with Morgan. “Nothing is really up with me today. Just trying to remember I’m safe and loved,” they said quietly, “even if some people won’t admit it.” Eyed their journal before focusing back on Morgan. “Guess we’re both a little more zombie today, huh?”

Morgan let go of whatever crummy piece of pride she had and reached up to pull Remmy closer to her. “Of course you’re safe and loved,” she mumbled, giving their arm a squeeze. She smirked, wry with the hilarity of depressed irony. “Says me, in my girlfriend’s fancy house, that I wouldn’t be in if she didn’t love me, in the room you wouldn’t be in if we both didn’t love you, and here all are feeling like..pfft.” Another dry gasp of a laugh. “Did you know she told people I hate her? I know I should probably get over myself on that. At least my girl will come back to me someday. Eventually. But hey, maybe Luce will figure her stuff out before then.” She kissed Remmy’s arm and gave them a squeeze. “Why do things have to be awful in the first place?”

“You know she doesn’t mean it,” Remmy said back, holding her just a little tighter. Knowing that they could squeeze her in their arms and never hurt her. Not really. The comfort that tightness brought was a familiar brand. Like a weighted blanket or the warm embrace of freshly dried sheets, something neither of them would truly ever feel again. “Deirdre loves you more than anything. Mushrooms or not. She’ll always come back to you.” They nuzzled into Morgan, breathing her in and letting out a long breath-- a simple motion that still brought old comforts with it as well. “I doubt it,” they muttered into her shoulder, “she keeps signing off on me. I don’t know why I keep letting myself hope she’ll let me in. It just-- it hurts, you know?” they turned their head to the side so they could look up at Morgan. “Seeing her in pain. It hurts me, too.” They contemplated the words for a moment. “Because there’s no good without bad?” they answered, raising a brow.

Morgan’s snort was a little lighter this time. “Will it make you feel any better if I tell you all the times Deirdre signed off on me because she didn’t want to talk about her feelings? Maybe in a few months you’ll be all...cute and cuddly and obnoxious. You just have to get over the, ‘she’s afraid of her feelings and doesn’t think she deserves happiness’ thing.” She shifted away from Moose, curling up fully in Remmy’s arms. “That was supposed to be in the hopeful rainbows sort of tone. I’m sorry, Remmy. I know it hurts. It hurts like nothing else, and the helplessness is just as bad. You don’t have to hide it, you know that, yeah?” She sniffled. “Ugh, don’t get all wise and philosophical on me now. I’m tired of being on the ass end of the Wheel of Fortune. I want better for us than that… but that’s kid’s talk, huh?”

It didn’t make Remmy feel better, but they didn’t need to say that outloud. They nestled Morgan-- they often forgot just how small she was-- in their arms and leaned back against the headboard. Someone drove by outside and Remmy stiffened, waited to hear it move away, then relaxed. “I know I don’t,” they said after a moment, “but sometimes I just don’t wanna feel it, I guess. I know she cares, but she won’t even try and believe that someone could care about her like that back. I don’t know how to get through to her.” They sniffled with her, though no tears pooled in their eyes. “Oh, trust me-- I’m not wise. Or philosophical. More just...hopeful, I guess. I’ve gotta believe that suffering through all of this shit means we get good things at the end of it. We have to. Otherwise, what’s the point, right?” Moose let out a big breath, shifting to move his head into Morgan’s lap, looking up at them as if to agree with their point. Remmy patted his nose and he licked their fingers. “Me, too, buddy,” they nodded sagely, as if they understood his big sigh, “me, too.”

Morgan felt Remmy tense and tightened her grip on them in assurance. She waited with them in stillness. She hadn’t thought anything of it at first, but as Remmy waited it out, she imagined murder vans and hunters with guns and swords and whatever the hellInfector Mortis looked like before it ate up a zombie’s insides. When all was clear, she kissed their arm again, pressing her mouth hard enough for them to feel it. “You’re okay,” she whispered against their skin, holding them a little tighter. “Feeling’s hard sometimes. But that’s how we know we’re still going. We’re really here. Things can still reach us. And I dunno, that sounds pretty philosophical to me.That’s borderline witch talk, great balance in the universe, the wheel coming up again before you know it?” She didn’t say that she was growing skeptical of this. That between the three people who lived here, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of good to outweigh the bad. She wanted them to have this, have whatever hope they could scrape together on a bad day. Just because she felt her stores of hope waning, didn’t mean she had to take theirs. “Can I ask you a weird death question?” She asked into the quiet.

Remmy felt a hot flash of shame. They shouldn’t be so afraid as to flinch every time a car drove by, or a noise sounded around the house that they weren’t familiar with. But they couldn’t help it. Not once, but twice now, they’d been beaten down and stolen away from where they thought they could be safe. They listened to Morgan’s gentle voice, let the feel of her arms around them settle in, blocking out the bad thoughts and perhaps even the ghost pains they still felt in their stomach. “Must’ve gotten that from you,” they muttered, settling into her a little further, a little calmer. A little more defeated. They would hold on for so long that sometimes they forgot it was okay to let go, every once in a while, and let themselves deflate. They sat up a little at Morgan’s question. “Umm, sure. Yeah. What’s up?”

It was funny how they kept coming back together, Morgan thought, draping her legs over Remmy’s lap. However much she made Remmy mad or disappointed, they managed to show up for her and whenever she asked, she got to feel like she wasn’t so alone anymore. And as much as she’d hated them for turning her at first, well, now they never would be alone, would they? Even in five hundred years, as long as Remmy didn’t do anything stupid like die trying to be a hero. Morgan smirked at Remmy’s remark and shifted her arm so she could muss their scruffy hair. “That’s not such a bad thing, right? I have my moments, sometimes?” She gave Remmy another scratch hoping to signal that it wasn’t anything urgent. Nothing like the fate of their loved ones hung in the balance. “You don’t have to if you don’t want,” she said, mumbling into their chest as she made herself cozy again. “But I was just wondering--do you ever miss yourself? Your alive-self? Like, do you wish they were still around, or that you could do something for them, or that they’d had a better time? Is it...weird, do you think, to think about that?”

Remmy scrunched their nose as Morgan ruffled their hair. It was already messy and sticking up in every direction and now it looked like they’d been caught in a wind storm and didn’t know hairbrushes existed. They lifted a hand to smooth it back down after a moment, still holding Morgan with the other. Whatever expectation they’d had when they first met Morgan, this being the center of their relationship had never crossed their mind. They’d never felt like they were enough of a person to have someone who they could know better than anyone else. And even if they shared her with Deirdre, Remmy knew that they could understand Morgan on a level that even she couldn’t. They looked at her with a soft expression, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. Wistful, perhaps. “I think about them a lot,” they muttered, “I feel like they’re lost somewhere and I don’t know how to find them. I--” they paused, “--I don’t think it’s weird. I think...dying was hard. Sometimes I wish I didn’t think about it so much.” They laid their cheek on the top of Morgan’s head. “I don’t even know what I’d do if I could do something for them.” Except, they had done something, hadn’t they. They sat up a little. “Do you-- can I show you something?” they asked. “If you um...have the energy to drive somewhere? It’s not far.”

“I think about alive-me a lot,” Morgan admitted in a whisper, even if it was already rendered obvious by her asking the question. “I almost wish she had her own body so I could just point and be like, yup, there she is. Also, I’m sorry I got us killed. I’m glad I’m here, and that you saved me. I just think about what she wanted for herself, how awful it was for her, and sad. I think, alive-you is somewhere too. They’re not lost-lost, even if it turns out you can’t come back together again. Deirdre says I’m the same. That, even if dying hurts and makes things different, I’m still...me in here. Maybe we just have to wait longer for more of our alive-selves to come home.” She sat up with Remmy this time, her face scrunched up with confusion. “Driving’s a heck of a lot better than walking. As long as I don’t have to fix my hair or get out of my house sweats, I think I can swing a driving trip for you. Just show me the way.”

“No,” Remmy answered, “you don’t. No one really visits there anyway.” They stayed sitting for a moment longer before pulling themself off the bed and Morgan with them. Moose followed suit as well, and they all sauntered in their slow, zombie like states to the car. Remmy plugged in the address-- White Crest Hilltop Memorial Wall-- and off they went. The ride was quiet, but it was quick. They both contemplated what it meant, to have an alive version of themselves somewhere out there, begging to come home. Wishing to be found. Remmy didn’t know what else to say to Morgan, aside from what she’d already said herself. They wished for all those things, too. When they pulled up, the sky was just getting dim. Remmy attached Moose to his lead and held out their hand for Morgan. When they made it up to the wall, Remmy stayed back for a moment. They remembered the kind woman who had handed them flowers, and they remembered the sorrow that had drowned them in their own chest as they’d waited for the sun to go down. And there, still carved into the stone-- the names of their fallen comrades. And their own name. “I don’t think alive me ever came back from that place,” they whispered softly. Their voice was almost lost to the wind, the ocean currents. “How do I find them now?”

Morgan hung onto Remmy’s hand the whole way they walked together. She hadn’t been to this side of town before, and the strange landscape unfolded strangely before her, even with how easily it blended into the rest of the town. It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at. “Oh, Remmy…” The war memorial, for the fallen local soldiers. Remmy had carried their friends this far and tried to give them a place to rest where they were known and remembered, right next to Remmy’s own. A casualty in an awful war, someone who would never really, fully come home. Morgan slid her arms around Remmy and tucked herself into their side. “No,” she whispered. “Not all of you did. But some of you has, or will. They’ll come out when they know it’s safe to. And maybe they’ll fit differently than they used to, but…” She squeezed them tight, tight as she could, knowing it wouldn’t hurt at all. “I think Deirdre would say something like...whatever parts of you feel like they are or aren’t here, you are whole, right now. You are one whole, wonderful Remmy. And I believe that too. Maybe your pieces are still going to shuffle around, but you’re whole. Maybe it’s not finding, maybe it’s just, moving forward and trusting that something will find you.”

Remmy stayed quiet. They listened to Morgan’s words and they understood that they were meant to help, meant to give Remmy something to think about, to process. But they couldn’t think of anything to say back. So they stayed quiet. Pressed to Morgan, they stayed silent as they looked at the wall and read all the other names that were there, pressed into the smooth granite stone the was erected for the monument. There was a flagpole next to it, always raised at full mast in the morning and pulled down at night. Remmy wondered who did that, who maintained this. Did they know the names on this wall? Maybe just one or even two? In a small town like this, everyone knew everyone, right? Did they come here and see the newly carved names and know who they were, too, then? Remmy blinked after a long time and looked down at Morgan. “How do I keep moving forward when I’m missing so much of myself?”

Morgan and Remmy held each other, hands clamped around their arms as tight as death. Morgan thought of all the places where their experience blended together, things they’d done, shitty memories they had in common, thoughts they’d shared. Even with all the awfulness at The Ring, they spent enough time together that Morgan sometimes imagined that conjoined spaces as one bright green field. Even the spot where Remmy brought her into their death was a patch of dandelions and thistle to her, dry and cracked and wild, but still hanging on to something that resembled life. She realized now that she had forgotten how much of Remmy was beyond her reach, not just the weeks they shut her out, but the childhood they’d never discuss, the years in a warzone, as a pawn in some fucked up power struggle bigger than them and everyone they lost. She couldn’t account for what was missing, she’d never see enough of the gaping wounds where Remmy had been blasted to pieces to figure it out.

After a long silence she said, “I think...maybe you have to set your eyes somewhere else. It’s like...the way we learn to feel different, taste different, be different. If you think about what you can’t feel all the time, you kind of go crazy with heartbreak. Or maybe that’s just me. But in any case...you look at what there is, and you look at what else grows. You’re growing new parts, Remmy. They’re not the same by a long shot, but they’re good. We’re mean, lean, regenerating machines!” She laughed feebly and gave them a squeeze. “There is so much here for you, and so much that wants you, Remmy. I think if you limp along enough towards them, you’ll feel as whole as you really are.”

Pain-- physical pain-- was like a distant memory now. But over the past few months, Remmy had come to know another pain-- the pain of absence. Absence of feeling, absence of support, absence of self. And it was strange-- they were things they’d never actually had before. Remmy had only been full of anger as a child and teenager. And then they were taught to shut themself down as a young adult going into the military. And then they were dead. And now they were here, staring at a veteran’s memorial that had their own name carved into it. Someone had brought flowers recently, the bouquet sitting idly by the wall. Remmy watched the leaves rustling in the wind, heard the soft crinkling of the paper they were wrapped in. Let the comfort of Morgan’s body tight against theirs remind them that they were here and they existed. When Morgan broke the silence, they just listened, watching the flowers and looking listlessly at the names on the wall.

“No one remembers me,” Remmy said quietly after a long time. “There’s no one left from who I was before, is there?” They weren’t entirely sure it was Morgan who they were talking to, or if it was the names they’d carved into the stone. The same ones that Luce had carved into their back. “I think-- they deserved better than the life I gave them. The old me. The human me. They deserved better than to die in a war we didn’t even believe in. What part of me still exists if there’s no one left to remember me?”

“Yeah,” Morgan whispered, unfurling an arm so she could comb her fingers through Remmy’s scruff. “They did. Deserve better I mean. They deserved so much more than they got, and it wasn’t fair, what happened to them. But some of them can sleep, and be okay. And the rest… I don’t know, Remmy. It has to be real on its own, doesn’t it? And as long as you keep showing yourself and opening that big, dopey heart of yours to people, won’t there always be someone who knows? It won’t be the same, but… it’s never going to be for us. Not ever.” Her hand fell down to their shoulder and squeezed tight. She shifted in front, looking at them with tear-filled eyes. “You could tell me, if you want. I gotta make it at least to 500. I can try and carry something from Alive-You.”

“But who’s gonna carry them?” Remmy asked, pointing at the wall. “If I let alive-me rest, who’s gonna remember them?” Their voice was wavering now, and it spilled over when Morgan turned to face them, her hand on their shoulder. Not a warm feeling, but a feeling of weight, still offering some sort of comfort even through the haze. “I was just a kid, you know?” they said, something of a nostalgic smile trying to pull its way through the tears. “I was just a kid. They told me I’d never amount to anything, but if I signed up-- if I went into the military-- then my life could mean something. That’s all I ever wanted. I just wanted my life to mean something to someone. It never had and I was so afraid that it never would. And then I just-- I got lost.” They looked at Morgan, wavering. “I still feel so lost. I don’t know who that person was, the old me. I never knew them. They were just whatever everyone told them to be. A bad child, a bad student, a soldier, a warrior, a sacrifice. A lover. And I listened to them. ‘Shut the fuck up, Remmington.’ ‘You’re worthless, Remington.’ ‘Pull the trigger, McAllister’, ‘Do it because I said so’.” They scrubbed and arm across their eye, soaked with tears. “Who was I?” they asked Morgan a bit desperately. “Who was I?”

“You will,” Morgan said gently. “You’ve still got them. You’re not all-gone, Remmy, okay? I can’t prove it to you, but I just know it. Hey--” Her voice cracked as she drew them down to her, forehead to forehead. “Hey, you were great. You were great because you were Remmy. And you must’ve been so lonely, and cared so much to do half the stuff you did. And maybe you were angry and lost, and you probably did some stupid stuff. You didn’t get a fair shake, you didn’t deserve half the shit you took. But you tried really hard to be strong and good. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong about any of that. I dare you…” She sniffled and squeezed them tighter, wishing she were big enough to wrap them away from all their grief, knowing they wouldn’t be Remmy and Morgan at all if she ever did.

Remmy folded into Morgan and let themself cry. They weren’t sure entirely what they were crying for, whether it was to mourn the past version of themself that no one got to know, or for their current self, who was fumbling, lost, in the darkness of a past that wouldn’t let go of them even though they’d died. They burrowed into her, hands gripping so tightly they surely would’ve cracked anyone else’s bones. But that was what they were now-- unbreakable. At least physically. Grief shouldered the two of them like an old friend and wrapped itself up in them as well. “Is it possible to miss someone that you never even knew?” they asked into the crook of her neck.

Morgan let Remmy collapse and fold into her. There weren’t enough hugs in the world to smother out their pain, or enough hands to scoop out their trauma and replace it with something good. All she could do was catch as much of them as she could and hold it tight against her, tighter as the sun dipped beneath the trees, tighter as they sank to their knees, and the birds flew home and the sky bled purple and the memorial emptied and it looked like the whole world had died and would collapse into dust with a stiff wind. And in the awful silence, heavy as the death that clung to them, Morgan told Remmy, “Of course you can. Of course, Remmy. But you’ll figure it out, you’ll be okay. You can, okay? You can… you can…”

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth - Not Harmless: #SuicidalIdeation

Not everyone thinks of killing themselves, but a distressing number of people do. #Suicidalideation, sometimes referred to as #suicidalthoughts, is exactly what it sounds like: it’s thinking about, perhaps making a plan, playing out in your mind what death by your own hand might be like. Just because the term suggests that the action is not taken to its ultimate conclusion does not mean it is not to be taken seriously or that the person suffering is looking for attention. What they may be looking for is someone to help them. And if you pay attention to the symptoms, you could be the one to help. Those symptoms can range widely. Visible end-of-life preparations – giving away your property or possessions, saying farewell to friends and family, acquiring the means to the end such as a gun or lethal chemicals: these are perhaps the most obvious symptoms. Or you may observe an increase in risky #behaviors like #drug or #alcohol use, even reckless driving. #Suicidalideation (or #suicideideation) can be part of a bigger-picture #mentalhealthissue, like a depressive or #bipolardisorder, which means that familiar symptoms and effects of those conditions can also be a factor: feelings of worthlessness, loss of interest in pleasurable activities, or #isolation from others. It is also possible that there may be no symptoms at all. Some people keep their feelings hidden, their #behavior controlled, and show no particular signs of any distress. You think they’re ok and have no reason to doubt this. In some instances, you might be concerned about someone’s mental state simply from observing what life has thrown at them. #Suicidalideation can stem from a great many causes, but what those causes mostly have in common is a sense of having lost control of – or purpose in – life. Legal or financial troubles; loss of job, property, health, or a loved one: traumatic changes in life can often have traumatic consequences for our #mentalhealth. And if your #mentalhealth is already fragile, then #suicidalideation can sometimes be an effect of your condition or occasionally the medication you are taking for relief. #Depression, #anxiety, #bipolardisorder, #schizophrenia, #PTSD are just some of the #mentalhealthissues that can bring with them thoughts of #suicide. When it comes to paying attention and trying to help, the literature on #suicidalideation mostly agrees that in many cases paying attention is, in and of itself, the needed help. There is a persistent but mistaken belief that you or I can push someone in the direction of #suicide simply by mentioning it. There is no evidence that asking someone if they are feeling suicidal causes suicidal feelings. It’s not a case of: “Funny you asked, I was thinking I should spend more time working on a suicide plan.” In fact, asking someone if they are feeling suicidal can show that you care about how they are feeling and offer an opportunity to talk about what may be a very difficult subject. Feeling suicidal – however that may be expressed – is a pretty clear sign that someone is in need of help. Showing someone you care about their distress and being open to listening to whatever it is they may have to say about it can be an important first step toward getting that person the support they need. #Mentalhealthprofessionals may draw a distinction between passive and active #suicidalideation. The former – passive #suicidalideation – describes someone who might express or experience #suicidalthoughts but isn’t actually making any preparations for #suicide. The latter describes someone who both wishes they were dead and is planning to make that wish come true. For most of us, the difference between the two may not be much more than semantic. The line between passive and active #suicidalideation isn’t particularly difficult to cross anyway: wishing you were dead escalates to trying to be dead with as little effort as buying a box of pills. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy http://www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Whether their thoughts are visible or invisible, active or passive, someone who is having #suicidalthoughts is in distress. They need protection from those thoughts and the harm they might do to themselves. They need help. That help might come in the form of a consultation with a medical professional, or a call to an official source of assistance (TT’s Lifeline – a 24-hour hotline – is available at 800 5588). But that help can start with a simple question: “Are you feeling suicidal?” It’s ok to ask – and essential to listen. Remember to talk to your #doctor or #therapist if you want to know more about what you read here. In many cases, there’s no single solution or diagnosis to a #mentalhealthconcern. Many people suffer from more than one condition. Read the full article

[thesffcorner]

Get a Life Chloe Brown

Get a Life Chloe Brown is a romantic comedy, written by Talia Hibbert. It follows Chloe Brown, a freelance web designer from a wealthy family, who one day has a near death experience. This shakes her profoundly, not just for the obvious reasons, but also because she realizes that if she were to die, she would have nothing to show for herself; no friends, no boyfriend, no adventure and no interesting events. In an effort to change that she makes a list of things to do, and meets a person that just might help her do it: Redford, her new superintendent. I was interested in this book ever since I heard it was coming out, because the premise, for whatever reason reminded me of a mix of two things: the profoundly stupid, yet profoundly watchable film What’s Your Number, and Michelle Pfeiffer’s story-line in New Years Day. This book is neither stupid nor silly; it’s one of the funniest, well written rom-coms I’ve ever read, and not since Red White and Royal Blue, have I liked two characters this much. Let’s start with the writing. I didn’t know Hibbert was British, but one page in and this book was so British it hurt. From the jokes to the banter, I felt like I was watching an episode of Bad Education, and I laughed out loud more times than I can count. Both characters are very snarky, and Chloe especially has a rather dry sense of humor that comes off as rude to others, because it’s so stiff. I found it hilarious, though the real standout for me was Red, because his internal monologues had me in stitches. Let me give you a sample of the jokes, here are a few. “We definitely have bears” “We don’t. If we had bears, it’d be in the news all the time. You know. Fine upstanding British man attacked by a bear. EU to blame. Brexit now.” Gigi appeared helpfully on her shoulder and said “Don’t mumble, darling. Nice big words. Repeat after me: ‘I want to ride you like a stallion.’” “Red snorted: ‘Who are you, Dr. Phill?’ ‘Ah, don’t start that manly crap. We talk about our feelings in this house, boy.’ ‘Can I talk about my feelings for your wife?’ ‘This bowl would be a great hat on you’” This couldn’t be more up my alley. Outside of the humor, the writing on the characters was equally well done. Not only do we get a very good sense of both Red and Chloe as individuals, but Hibbert makes the chemistry between them palpable. I believed that these two people could barely hold off from ripping each other’s clothes off, and later, when they became more emotionally invested, I believed in their romance. All the characters are well written; from Chloe’s family, especially her sisters, to Red’s friend Vic and even his mother. Because we get POVs from both Chloe and Red, I was worried they might sound the same, because both are such snarky characters, but they didn’t; they have very different personalities and ways of approaching their problems, which I found was translated quite well. The plot wasn’t particularly complex; it mostly just follows Chloe making a deal with Red so he can help her tick off things on her list, and slowly getting an understanding of what is actually important to her and what isn’t. The book does also follow Red coming to some realizations of his own, notably what he wants to do with his life, now that he’s escaped an abusive relationship. Which leads me to two points of caution for this book. The first is that the cover and the synopsis might mislead you into thinking that this is straight up comedy, which it is, but more in the vein of How to Be Single or Trainwreck. There are some really heavy topics discussed in this book: there is the aftermath of an abusive relationship, disability, trauma from loss, PTSD even, and a very brutal verbal fight that doesn’t pull punches. It’s a funny book, but it has surprising depth, and Hibbert really touches on some heavy and complicated topics, while maintaining an overall light tone. There’s even a warning on the first page of the book about some of the triggers, so tread lightly. The other point are the sex scenes. Now, readers of romance, and those who are familiar with Hibbert’s other work, will probably know that this book has sex scenes. I’ve heard from other people that they either found them extremely hot or completely over the top. I fall in the former category; the sex is explicit, but I think the scenes are paced well, are genuinely engaging and steamy and actually explore the characters, and their growing attraction to each-other. The only critique I do have is that the characters, especially Red do sound a bit OOC in them, because there’s a lot of dirty talk that is a bit much even for him, but honestly, outside of laughing at it, it didn’t personally bother me. Let’s talk about characters. There aren’t many, but each gets a moment to shine. Out of the supporting cast, my favorite was Vic, though I can’t wait for Evelyn’s book, because she seemed like a hoot too. Out of the leads, let’s start with Red. Redford, who I imagine is named after the dog, being a ginger and all is a charming, attractive and confident man, who has been through a really abusive relationship that has made him spiral into bad decision making. He has quite a few flaws, the most notable being a chip on his shoulder about being treated as a spectacle, or a commodity, by people who are richer than him and can therefore buy him in many ways; buy him for his looks, his time, his talent or just simply observe him like some kind of circus animal. I found all of his quirks understandable and well written; he does make some stupid decisions, and he seems to be incapable of saying no. But he was the better adjusted lead out of the two, which was nice. He did veer off into being a little too perfect and considerate at time, which was just a tad unrealistic, but I really liked his personality a lot. Then we have Chloe who I adored, even though she falls definitely in the tradition of quirky, type A female protagonists. She is obsessed with lists, organization, planning out her days and her life, and there’s a good reason for that: she suffers from fibromyalgia. I will admit; while I do know two people in my life who have, fibromyalgia I knew very little about the disorder. I didn’t know that it seems to be caused by trauma for one, nor did I know that it leads to brain fog or short term memory loss. I think the way the illness was described in the book, and the way it impacted Chloe’s life was presented very well; I can definitely understand and sympathize with how she had developed her coping mechanisms, the healthy and unhealthy ones. Chloe is a very strong character; she is funny, she is smart, she is witty, and what I liked most was she knew her limits, knew when to push and when to take a break, and was actively fighting to live a life she would be proud of, in spite of fibromyalgia. I really liked how well Hibbert explored both what it’s like to live with an invisible illness, and the toll it takes both on the person and those around them, but also how having an illness or a disability doesn’t mean that the person can’t take care of them-self or live a perfectly good life. I’m not disabled, so I can’t speak to that representation, but as just a humble reader who wanted to learn a bit more, I was satisfied. One other thing to note is that Chloe is both plus size and black. In terms of race I appreciated the conversation she had with Red about privilege, and I think perhaps a bit more could have been explored on that front. In terms of weight, Chloe’s weight is mentioned at several points, but it’s not really a factor. I kind of liked that; Chloe gets to be a fat girl who is content with her life, and it’s not even a factor. It was nice. Overall, this book was great. It’s funny, it’s sweet, it’s very sexy, and it tackles some deeper issues and topics like class and disability in a nuanced and lighthearted way. If you are looking for a good romance with some substance, I highly recommend it.

goodreads

[sunstar121]

For The Departed

summary: phase has a bad dream. the author needs a hug, and wishes to project that upon all their characters

content warning: blood, gore, possession, nightmares, death (can all be skipped by skipping over the dream sequence)

Phases breaths were quick and hot against their knees. They pant as though they've been running a marathon, when in actuality they woke up a couple minutes ago. 

It keeps racing through their head, over and over and over.

(What is being hidden here?

Identity.)

Over and over and over.

It's 2 am, and it's late winter. It's 2 am, and even with fur it's incredibly cold out. It's 2 am, and Phase Akkra has just woken up from a nightmare.

It's the same nightmare that's been running through their head for weeks, plaguing them ever since that wretched day. It's nearly the same every single time as well, minor changes excluded.

( "Phase? What are you doing? What's- What's going on?" Zakk stuttered, his eyes wide. Phase swung their head around slowly, eyes glowing harshly. Their mouth was slightly agape, showing off glinting, red stained teeth.

They were kneeling next to a body, stock still, like an animal waiting to pounce. The body had no face, no features, its colours drained and muted. Even in its anonymous state, Phase knew it was one of their friends. It smelled familiar, and the cloth beneath their hands rubbed comfortingly between their fingertips. They couldn't quite tell which of their friends it was, the fuzz of dreaming obscuring their senses.

They did know one thing, though, and that thing is the person underneath them was dead. Its throat was a bloody, gaping hole, its torso cut to shreds by serrated claws. 

Their serrated claws. Their serrated claws, disgusting and clotted with blood and flesh. It made their stomach turn.

Zakk reeled back, his face twisting with disgust and horror. He didn't say anything, though, and neither did Phase. The only sound in the room was the steady drip-drip-drip of blood rolling off of Phases cheek and splattering on the floor. 

"You.... you... you did this. You killed them. You killed them, Phase." His voice shook, and tears filled his eyes. Phase noticed dully that his hands were balled into fists, and his stance was lower and more steady. They didnt care though. They couldn't. 

The being possessing them scratched the back of their mind, forcing them to their feet. He tugged on their torso and legs until they were fully facing Zakk, teeth bared, red pupils blown wide. 

Fear blossomed in his eyes, and he took a step back. Wrong choice. They lunged forward, hands on his chest, teeth colliding with his throat. Zakk crumpled to the floor, unable to stay standing with Phases full weight on his chest. They straddled his torso, claws sunk deep into his shoulders. In one swift motion they swooped down, fangs gleaming, and plunged their teeth into his neck. It made a blood-curdling squelching noise, liquids and flesh colliding with hard bone and enamel. Phases hackles raised at the noise, but they didn't relent. They just kept going deeper, and deeper, and deeperanddeeperanddeeperanddeeper-

They registered fists slamming against their back, hands grabbing and scrabbling at their chest and arms. It hurt, it hurt so very badly. Zakk was incredibly strong, he wasn't a monk for no reason. He knew the places to hit where it would hurt the hardest, the points to push that would send someone spiralling. He was certainly strong, but he didn't even come close to how strong a demon-possessed Shifter was.

Someone was screaming. Their ears rang from the proximity and volume of it, but they couldn't place where it was coming from. Zakk's mouth was definitely open, but they couldn't feel any vibrations coming from his throat. Their mouth wasn't open, but their lungs ached in a way that made them think it was coming from them.

Below them, Zakk was stilling. His fists beat weaker and weaker, his muscles slowly letting go and loosening. His breath was barely coming out, and his eyes were no longer rolling frantically. They were locked onto Phase's face, full of horror and... something. Something deep, something aching, something hollow and echoing. They didn't have time to unpack all of that. He certainly didn't. 

With one last, heaving breath, Zakk stilled. His eyes glossed, his hands fell, and his head lolled to the side. Phase removed their teeth from his throat, blood, bile and ichor staining the inside of their mouth. Shakily, they raised up to their feet and observed the room.

Laying in a perfect, delicate circle around them were nine bodies, each with giant gaps in their throats. 

Cecilia, Corwin, Richard, Kara, Kyle, Malachi, Quincy, Ris, and finally Zakk. Their best friends. The only people who cared about them... and they were all gone. 

A laugh, dark and deep, echoed through their skull as Asmodeus exited their psyche. Phase fell to their knees, a scream in their throat, and tears in their eyes)

Phase, present Phase, real Phase, awake Phase, shook violently as they replayed the nightmare in their head. They could practically taste the blood on their tongue, could practically feel flesh between their teet-

Something shifted on the bed next to them, grumbling slightly. Oh. Oh.

They had forgotten that Zakk had decided to spend the night in their room. The man in question shifted again, his eyes fluttering open and settling on their shaking form. Damn it, they had hoped they were quiet enough that they wouldn't wake him, but apparently they were mistaken. 

"Phase? Hey, hey! What's going on?" Zakk propped himself up on his elbows, one hand idly running through his hair. His face was twisted in concern, and he shuffled closer to them. They flinched back, still trembling like a leaf. Looking at his face, they couldn't stop imagining it twisted with horror and splattered with blood. He seemed to pick up on their vibe, and reached out a hand to them. They took it, threading his fingers with theirs.

"Let me guess, bad dream, huh?" He was speaking softly, slowly, like one might do to a scared animal. Though, they kinda were an animal, or at least as close to an animal as you can get without going full Tabaxi. Regardless, it worked. They could already feel their heartbeat slowing, and their breathing become less frantic.

"Yeah, uhm, really- uh, really bad dream. S-sorry, you.... haven't spent a night in my room before, I should have warned you." They sniffed, and wiped a hand across their cheeks. They hadn't even noticed the tears rolling down their cheeks until now.

"What do you mean? Is this, like, a nightly thing for you?" His voice was laden with concern, and a pang of guilt shot through their stomach.

"Yeah, uh, c-close enough. I get.... I get nightmares a lot, uhm, especially now with the whole..... Asmodeus thing." They cringed as the name left their mouth, an acrid taste on their tongue.

"Oh, Phase.... you could've come get me, you know? Even when we weren't together, you could've come get me. You didn't have to suffer through the aftermath of these nightmares alone."

Silence settled between the two, thick and heavy. Phase didn't know what to say. Of course- of course they knew they could go to someone. You don't go through years of therapy without getting that sufficiently drilled into your head.

It's just..... putting that idea into practice isn't as easy as it sounds, especially around people who are still a little unfamiliar to you. There's that fear factor, that small probability of rejection that prevents you from doing it. When you're in a bad space there's no worse feeling than shame, and you do whatever you can to avoid it.

So yeah, they knew. They knew that their friends would care, that Zakk would care, but they couldn't. They just couldn't. 

Zakk seemed to understand the meaning of their silence, and threw an arm around their shoulder. They leaned into him, lungs heavy in their chest. His lips brushed against their hair, tender and soft in all the right ways.

"I know," They mumbled, "I know." Lips pressed into their hair once more.

"You don't have to be ashamed of asking us for help, Phase. You're not- you aren't a burden to us, and you never will be."

"Yeah, I- I know. I know. It's just- I-its just hard, y'know? It's just.... hard. Ugh.'

They buried their head in their hands, cheeks burning. They couldn't find the proper words, and even if they did they didnt know if the words would even come out.

'I.... I feel... bad. So ba-ad. I keep... I keep just, uh, just replaying everything that c-couldve been. Everything that I could've done, and.. and! And I know that that's bad! A-and I know that, uhhhhh, that that's just... just like, PTSD talking, i know that.... but knowing that, knowing that doesn't make it hurt less." They finished, blowing out a breath they didn't know they had been holding.

"Yeah bud, I get that. I get that. Just.... just know that I don't think less of you for feeling like this, okay? I care about you, and I'll still care about you even if it gets worse." He rubbed gentle circles into their back as he spoke, his voice low and soft. It felt... nice, honestly, to be cared for and heard like this.

"M-man, Zakk," They barked out a dry laugh, a small smile on their face, "You know.... you know, caring for me... caring about me, it's rotten work, it is."

"Not for me it isn't," He paused, turning to face them. His eyes were soft and tender, and deep with warmth, "Not if it's you." 

Hours later, tangled deep in a mess of blankets and limbs, Phase awoke from the best sleep they had had in years.

[rqgnarok]

she - carol danvers

she – carol danvers

song: she by dodie

fandom: the avengers ft. xmen (marvel)

words: 3407

warnings: kidnappings, ptsd, nightmares, blood, death, etc.

summary: carol stares and falls in love.

author's note below.

Am I allowed to look at her like that?

Could it be wrong

When she's just so nice to look at?

Carol doesn’t know how she hasn’t been caught staring.

She’s beautiful. She’s got mutant blood running through her veins and that should make her dangerous enough for Carol to consider her a threat, but the energy that flows through her own system and her common sense tells her they’re way beyond that shit. (Y/N) Xavier has time and space falling through her fingers and could render you to dust with the flick of a wrist, a simple thought if she wanted to. Carol has never known anyone more gorgeous and powerful and terrifying all at the same time.

She loves it. She loves her.  

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep

She tastes like apple juice and peach

Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture

And she means everything to me

(Y/N)’s kidnapped by HYDRA and Carol sees red, can’t understand the sudden feeling of tears getting caught up bitterly on her throat, tightened angry fists and the permanent scowl on her features. Because it was supposed to be a retrieving intel mission, she screams at Steve later when he returns to the Quinjet without the mutant by his side, how the fuck did HYDRA get their hands on anti-mutant tech, how dare you leave her alone-

They find her on a warehouse, after being under HYDRA’s care for sixteen days, with a heavy collar around her throat, now an angry red with scratches and scars (Y/N) can’t heal due her mutant gene reacting badly against the tech used on her. The Avengers go to rescue their teammate and find a shaking, muttering, lost mess instead. She shrieks and pushes back every time someone tries to touch her, and it isn’t until she sees Carol’s energy brighten her eyes that a flash of recognition swims through hers.

The ride back home on the Quinjet is loud and rattled, the medics trying to force drugs into (Y/N)’s system while she fights back with whatever she’s got left, still blinded by her time as HYDRA’s guinea pig to know better than to let them manhandle her that easily.

Carol hurts as she has to pin her down for them to work (because she offered. Of course she offered, a dangerous feeling of uneasiness pressured her on the chest at the mere thought of Steve, Thor or even Banner touching her, hurting her like this), can’t look away as (Y/N) throws her a betrayed look and even if the bruising she left on already blemished arms to keep her at bay would disappear as soon as she got control of her powers again, there’s an ache within her Carol knows won’t fade until she makes sure (Y/N)’s safe, home, sleeping it off in the familiar comfort of one of the Tower’s endless rooms.

Because it shouldn’t be this easy, she thinks later in the darkness and safety of the medbay, as she buries her face on (Y/N)’s hair to breathe her in and press and experimental kiss on it, because the mutant gene is supposed to protect her, even if her job consists on putting her life on the line every single goddamn day.

(Y/N) wakes up days after being brought in, with a clean system and no scarring left of her time as HYDRA’s puppet, yet Carol is left with the sudden realization that it never hurt like this whenever another one of her teammates got kidnapped or hurt during a mission. The fear she’d welcomed during those weeks the mutant was missing and when they’d found (Y/N), hurt and bruised and so close to losing herself to insanity, roots itself deeply within the pilot.

It takes her long enough to realize she’s falling in love.

I'd never tell

No, I'd never say a word

And oh, it aches

But it feels oddly good to hurt

Carol hates it when Scott Summers comes to visit.

Sure, the guy’s nice enough, but kinda cocky for Carol’s taste. Dangerous, too, according to his file (because Nick Fury has a file on everyone), and the fact that he can’t look the guy straight in the eye doesn’t let her be assured that he can really be trusted.

But the thing is that (Y/N) grins so fucking wildly when she sees him stepping into the common floor’s threshold, hugs him tight enough for her to shake with the force her limbs are using, and there’s something in the way she looks at him, nostalgic and sad and familiar, that makes an uncomfortable disappointment swim on Carol’s belly.

And yet, she manages.

“How are things, back home?” Carol overhears (Y/N) asking one day, and it kills her to think that even after all this time, she still considers her father’s establishment home rather than the Avengers Tower among all her friends and the people she’s saved and have saved her multiple times. Somewhere among those people, is Carol, in love and quiet enough about it for (Y/N) to be blissfully ignorant about it.

“Been better, been worse,” Scott reassures, and there’s the faint noise of him throwing a popcorn to (Y/N)’s mouth to see if she catches it. She hasn’t, at least for the past hour. They took the living room hostage and have made it their spot for the last couple of hours, much to Sam’s annoyance who was banished to hang out in his room for the rest of the day. “You’d know more if you came around every once in a while.”

“I know,” (Y/N) laments, and Carol doesn’t expect the softness of her tone. Because the (Y/N) she’s learned to know is rough around the edges, always bright and big and not at all this: gentle and small and sorry. “I know, I just-”

“I know,” Scott answers, light and teasing and probably just what (Y/N) needs right now. “We just miss you. Your dad- he’s been talking about you a lot these days.”

“I wish I could go back,” she admits, unintentionally cracking Carol’s facade even further, who’s hiding behind the wall at the entrance of the room for the last few minutes instead of just walking in like she intended to do a few moments ago. She’s afraid of breathing differently and being heard and doesn’t dare to react while (Y/N) speaks. “Sometimes, I do. When the weight of the world gets so heavy upon my shoulders, I wish nothing more than to go back home. To be a little girl, hop into my father’s wheelchair and race across the house.”

There’s a smile somewhere in there, nostalgic like only missing someone, something can make you. Carol knows about that well enough. Even if Yon-Rogg turned out to be all she stood against, she missed him sometimes, a friend and a guide she could talk to whenever she felt like she had no idea what she was doing.

Carol guesses that’s what Scott Summers is to (Y/N).

“But the people we’ve lost, Scottie-” she cuts herself off and takes a deep breath, two, three of them before she’s sure she won’t be shedding any tears soon. “I know that if I go back, I’ll feel like I’ll be standing on a graveyard rather than my childhood home.”

“I don’t wanna taint it like that,” she continues, somewhat desperate for him to understand and Carol can easily know that he does. Isn’t that what friends are for? “I’d rather live in the memory of it forever than to remember it for something it’s not.”

Scott doesn’t answer, but Carol knows he’s reaching for (Y/N), to her hand, a shoulder, anywhere he could touch that would mean he understood and gave his silent support. There are common losses in there, the phantom of a pain Carol couldn’t even begin to understand. She supposes its good for them to have each other, whatever way that may be.

Something she was sure of; she could never be what Scott Summers was to (Y/N).

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep

She tastes like apple juice and peach

Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture

And she means everything to me

(Y/N) comes to her when the nightmares get too ugly.

At least when she’s around on Earth for them. And because they do, get too ugly, way too many times for Carol not to hurt about it, but she’s happy enough that it’s her bedroom door (Y/N)’s knocking on when she could easily enough go to Bucky, Steve, Sam, or Tony, who suffer from the same demons and wear their PTSD on their sleeve as easily as (Y/N) does.

Carol stopped asking after the first few nights, now used to just letting her in and petting her hair as (Y/N) rests her head on her lap, lulling her to sleep with soothing, repetitive movements against her scalp and back. Sometimes she starts dreaming again even under Carol’s care, mutters name the pilot hasn’t heard before, and some she has. A mix of Alex, please, no, don’t, dad, stop him, Erik, I’m sorry, don’t hurt, Scott- bubble out of her throat, first as quiet laments until she’s screaming her lungs off, crying and jerking still under Carol’s ministrations.

She doesn’t talk about it. Sneaks out early in the morning before Carol wakes up but at breakfast makes sure to send a thankful look her way, which does help ease the knot that forms at her presence on Carol’s stomach.

One night she comes in with tears still rushing down her cheeks, and (Y/N) doesn’t have to speak for Carol to know her voice is hoarse from screaming and crying. She holds tight in one hand an old, tattered polaroid, a picture of a man in a wheelchair with a little girl sitting in his lap, grinning up at him with so much childish innocence, Carol feels it too greatly and gets the need to look away.

“It’s my dad,” (Y/N) murmurs when she catches her staring at it and sure, Carol should’ve known, not because they look alike but because of the admiration shining in (Y/N)’s eyes and the fondness on her father’s smiling back at her. Not her actual father, though Charles Xavier has proven himself as a man worthy of such an important title, considering her parents left her at his doorstep when she was barely a few hours old.

“Usually, they’re about people that are already gone,” (Y/N) explains, a little quieter and a little more heartbroken. Carol knows she’s talking about her nightmares, a sad shiver running through her spine before she stops her thoughts from derailing. She doesn’t have a right to be upset. “But tonight-”

She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I miss my dad,” (Y/N) whines instead, sounding awfully like a little girl asking for her daddy. Despite everything, Carol aches, too.

“I know,” is all the pilot can offer as a form of comfort, knowing not to push further due the fact that the mutant’s words already sound wet, sniffled enough to be close to tears. “I know you do.”

(Y/N) begins to cry silently against her pajama shorts and Carol pretends not to notice, except that she does, and if she tightens her grip around the mutant a presses a harsh kiss against her hair, just like she did when the mutant was recovering in the medbay after that mission, well. Neither of them mention it.

Oh, oh

Oh, oh

And I'll be okay

Admiring from afar

'Cause even when she's next to me

We could not be more far apart

Steve and Tony, against all expectations, manage to fall in love along the way.

There were fights and arguments and so many almost deaths they could no longer count them in both their hands, but if it's one thing Carol admires from them is their capacity to look at each other with more love than the last time, despite all.

The eyes are really the windows of the soul, she guesses.

The sweet aftermath of a mission well done reaches all members of the Avenger as the Quinjet flies them back home, all despite bruises and wounds and some comfortable silences that are threatening to swallow them whole.

Carol’s stare inevitably searches for (Y/N), and she finds her staring at Steve and Tony, during one of their post-mission-I’m-so-happy-you’re-not-dead public yet somehow incredibly private displays of affection, all fond eyes and soft, lingering hands in places where the eager eye usually isn’t looking. Wrists where pulse points can be easily found, the arc reactor where warm light reassures Steve Tony’s alive despite all expectations, fingers searching to outline bruises that will either be fading within a few hours, days or months. Anything to make sure the other is there, with them, and they’re not taking a ghost back home.

Carol wishes she could have that sort of reassurance to rely on.

“You’ve ever fallen in love like that?” Quiet and somewhat hesitant. She probably wouldn’t be opening that can of worms if she weren’t so overwhelmed by what Carol guesses it’s nostalgia along with exhaustion bordering on delirious.

She’s never been more beautiful, and Carol can’t look away. Neither can (Y/N), both of them from their significant target.

“Can’t say I have, no.”

Silence.

Hesitation.

Carol breathes in, let’s go.

“You?”

“A long time ago,” is all she answers, face barely reacts at whatever memory might be passing through her head. Later, after another one of her nightmares, she will dare to talk about Alex Summer midst sleepy sadness. She will ramble to Carol about meeting each other when they were teenagers, falling in love while discovering their powers and helping Charles with the school, losing him first to Vietnam and then to the PTSD, lastly to his own powers after sacrificing himself to save them from Apocalypse. The nightmares that followed, the never ending almost dead haze she falls in and in which she sees him as a promising afterlife. Right now, though, she only shrugs it all off. “Don’t do it anymore. Hurts too much.”

Didn’t Carol know.

“Yeah.”

And she tastes like birthday

Cake and story time and fall

But to her

I taste of nothing at all

“You love her.”

Carol would’ve jumped at Rhodey’s gentle jab, the man worthy of War Machine suddenly at her side, if she weren’t used to the Avenger’s bullshit by now.

It’s one of Tony Stark’s many gala dinners in which he wears a gorgeous black tux along a gorgeous super soldier by his side. Carol’s wearing a silky lavender colored gown, blonde hair gorgeously curled down, nails perfectly made and eyes, as always vigilant, darting across the room looking for what, who she’s always been after.

“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about,” Rhodey, as always the best friend figure, is not too intrusive nor too easy on her, and God knows why, Carol appreciates it. “You’re the literal description of heart eyes.”

“What?” she must not understand the reference, cause Rhodey only grins to himself and grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Carol accepts the alcohol gladly, even though both of them know that due the energy running through her veins doesn’t allow her to get drunk, no matter how much she wishes she could sometimes.

“You love her,” he says again, and there’s something not quite pitying but rather kind on Rhodey’s stare that still makes Carol look away nevertheless. It’s not a question, it’s a simple statement that has so much truth in it, it almost makes her wanna puke. God knows how she’s managed to get this far with the feeling crushing her ribs and poking at her heart whenever she even looked at (Y/N).

Who, speaking of, is found by Carol’s masterfully disguised as bored stare, and something in the pilot relaxes. The mutant is grinning at something Bucky’s saying, leaning against Wanda as she takes another sip of Tony’s expensive champagne, not yet opting for Thor’s Asgardian liquor that does have the power to get her tipsy enough before the mutant gene washes it all away from her system.

“It’s so great to see you like this,” Rhodey continues, and at Carol’s raised eyebrows that clearly spell, you wanna say that again, boy? he can’t help but laugh, loud and carefree just as Carol hasn’t felt in a long, long time. “Feeling things, I mean. Clint was sure that you were actually a cyborg, and he and Scott got a bet going on about who can get you to cry first.”

“Is this why they insisted on watching The Notebook the last movie night I was here?” Carol feels something like affection for her team bubble on her stomach as she turns back to find (Y/N) quickly in the crowd. “It was good, I mean, just not tearjerker good.”

“Not tearjerker good- Did you not see that ending?” Red lips can’t help but to raise in a smirk at Rhodey’s incredulous tone. He shakes his head, breathes out and turns them back to the conversation at hand before Carol gets to change the subject completely. “What I meant- It’s good to feel things, y’know. They make us human, and human is good. But it’s even better to let them out. You don’t talk about them and they grow ugly things inside of you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Carol insists, still resisting to meet his eye, and as far as she knows, she’s right. Because she’s gotten to know (Y/N) as good as she knew herself, once, before destructive energy rushed through her system and before her blood turned blue and before they tried her to strip her from her humanity, not realizing that falling in love could destroy whatever progress they thought they were making on her.

And she knows the mutant well enough that she’d given up on love a long time ago, after Alex Summers and being stripped of her humanity herself, until she got too tired of watching everyone she loved decay and die around her, so she closed herself off to that sort of pain. She wonders what kind of the ugly things Rhodey had mentioned (Y/N)’s got echoing around in her head. And, against her better judgement, she wonders if she could get rid of some of those demons.

Human is good, human is good, human is good, she repeats to herself like a mantra, until Rhodey’s voice becomes her own and she tries for her heart to settle against her chest.

At the other side of the room, (Y/N) smiles and Carol has never been more in love.

“I’m sure there isn’t,” Rhodey’s sarcastic remark cuts through her rapid train of thoughts, there’s a hand on her shoulder that grounds her enough for her to listen to his last advice.

“Tell her.”

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep

She tastes like apple juice and peach

Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture

She doesn’t tell her.

She wanted to, though. That much she can admit to herself because it’s true, during her midnight comforts or before a too dangerous mission, after one of Stark’s galas when (Y/N)’s make up is almost all gone and she looks more exhausted than ready to party but Carol believes her to be more beautiful then.

It rests at the tip of her tongue, always, she has gotten used to those three words hanging around and making a home of the roof of her mouth, sharing room with the fear of losing the mutant’s friendship if she dared to speak them up.

It’s easier this way, she tells herself as she catches (Y/N) laughing mid movie night, Game Night being Clint’s choice of the week and so far, being a success. The mutant’s sitting in between Sam and Carol herself, who’s leaning against the edge of the couch as she does what she knows best to deal with this desire that doesn’t seem to fade away, she stares.

She stares as (Y/N) obliviously catches her and grins back, crediting the easy, content features on the pilot’s face to the idiotic movie playing in the background.

She’s fine. It’s fine. Even if this is all she gets to have, somehow, it’s enough.

And she means everything to me

Yes, she means everything to me

She means everything to me

 ___________________________________________

hey, bitches

just wanted to get this fic out of my system, i had the idea in my mind for some time and i noticed there’s only a few carol danvers fics here so, here it is!

i'll try to get to work on some other fics i've got in my drafts, y’know that feedback and suggestions are always appreciated, and my requests are always open.

toodles,

-       e.

[jaybirbmoved]

Do Not Reblog

So after a lot of consideration, I’ve decided that Jason suffering from a Traumatic Brain Injury is going to become part of my blog canon. This is only going to apply to my main verse, and other verses where he died after being beaten by the Joker via use of a crowbar. There’s some canon evidence to support this decision, as evidenced at the end of Under The Hood and in Red Hood: The Lost Days by Judd Winnick.

More under the cut, so I’m not clogging up the dash.

In Under The Hood, Jason was said to have been dead for roughly six months before “fate” (aka Superboy-Prime punching reality) decided to set things right, as he was “never supposed to die.” He woke up, panicked because he was in a coffin and dug his way out, then apparently walked for 12.5 miles in the rain and dark with all of his injuries - as he wasn’t ‘healed’ upon waking up, so he had whatever he was suffering from before he died in the explosion, which according to the panel below included a cracked skull causing bleeding into the brain, a shattered sternum, flash burns and at least forty other fractures. 

Although severely wounded the cops indicate he was awake and talking to them only to “go under” and presumably they didn’t think he was going to wake up after surgery because of the extent of his injuries. After slipping into a coma Jason was moved to a facility that cared for patients with minimal brain function. It states that he was now in a chronic vegetative state. So, not comatose, not healed, still unconscious and unresponsive, but not brain dead either. They go on to explain that it was his survival instincts that caused him to wake up even though his body shouldn’t have allowed him to. 

Now, since you can’t be in a PVS (Persistent Vegetative State) and conscious at the same time, and they made sure to specify that a year had passed by the time he woke up (it takes only a few months to be declared PVS without brain trauma and at least 1 year with trauma), it seems likely that he went from being comatose, to vegetative, to finally a minimally conscious state.

According to multiple sources, people in a MCS, while not completely functional/aware, do retain some understanding of their conscious surroundings. There is enough to prove that this is distinctly different than people who are comatose or in PVS, as they are not conscious or aware of anything at all, even with stimulation. Jason woke up from a vegetative state and walked out of the hospital, surviving for more than a year on the streets while relying on his old instincts and what Batman taught him. He knew when he was cold, hungry, etc., and he also knew what to do to fix these problems. 

Yet, despite his survival skills, he doesn’t attempt to seek out Bruce, and he doesn’t speak even once (that we’re shown) between the time he slipped into a coma and when Talia pushes him into the Lazarus Pit. Either he doesn’t have enough awareness to remember his death/what happened to him, or he does but doesn’t have the ability to make decisions beyond survival reflexes. I have a theory, due to the two above panels and the term jog a memory, that Jason didn’t try to find Bruce despite being in Gotham because he didn’t remember him until he was put in danger. Think about it. He woke up in an unfamiliar place, in no physical pain, wandered outside… 

What was Jason doing before he met Bruce at age 12? He was living on the streets! Stealing to survive! So he went back to doing that. Whether he was aware something was wrong with him during this time is debatable, but it seems doubtful. 

It’s more likely that the familiar environment of the alley and being subjected to pain (especially since that would have been the last thing he remembered before his death) just provoked a similar response that he would have had while being attacked as Robin.

Don’t ask me why an alcoholic, homeless former criminal knew someone that was friends with Talia Al Ghul. They never explain.

Back to the point; aside from his survival skills Jason seemed unable to actually function in his condition. Talia knew it, as did Ra’s, and so did the doctors they hired. In the following final panels from Under The Hood, Ra’s admits that Jason could be useful one day but decides that after a year of trying to get Jason to respond enough to tell them how he came back to life, he’s unlikely to ever speak or…emote, ever again. 

Despite multiple people insisting that Jason will never recover mentally, despite physically being at peak health and having the conditioning of an Olympic athlete, they all claim that his brain damage is too severe and that naturally he could never regain any form of awareness again. Talia disputes this, and she seems correct, to a degree. 

Though he lashes out when provoked through pain, he never fights back when it’s her, something she’s quick to point out. This indicates he has enough awareness that he realizes this is a person trying to help him. Someone that cares. 

Supposedly, people in a minimally conscious state can exhibit emotional reactions to specific stimuli, such as smiling or crying. When Talia begins talking to Jason about Bruce, about how he misses Jason and has been grieving and suffering since his death, Jason doesn’t verbally respond in anyway, but he cries. Talia seems to understand that he does hear her, even though he can’t respond, which means he does remember Bruce, and he misses him too.

After being exposed to a Lazarus Pit, Jason regains all of his memories, his ability to speak, and consciousness of his surroundings as well as the other abilities he had before his death. However, due to the fact that his brain had several years time to heal before his exposure, and it was still developing at the time to boot (meaning he’s arguably mentally younger than he’s supposed to be, thinking like a 15 year old as opposed to a 19-20 year old), I find it likely that aside from “waking” him up, so to speak, it did little else. Although he has recovered enough to live the “normal” life of your typical gun-totting vigilante, Jason does still suffer from the side effects of the severe brain damage that Joker inflicted on him.

This includes cognitive problems that give him learning disorder like symptoms, such as Dyslexia, and difficulty reading fine print/fancy script especially. Early on he had a lot of trouble with some of his fine and gross motor skills, having to relearn many of them. There’s also neurobehavioral problems, which are described as behavioral problems attributed to specific aspects of a brain injury. Individuals may develop difficulty with self-control, impulse control, frustration, anger and aggression issues, and behaving with inappropriate ways socially. Physical therapy/training, something Jason participates in frequently because of his lifestyle, can help repair muscle and neuromotor skills. While he is frustrated frequently due to the limitations he suffers from, it’s not enough that it actually prevents him from doing most things. 

It’s mostly mental deficits that impede his day to day life. TBIs can cause emotional, social, or behavioral problems and changes in personality. Jason in particular is emotionally unstable and suffers from depression (occasionally to the point of being self destructive and at times suicidal) and anxiety that are linked to his trauma, social withdrawal, inability to control his anger…  he has insomnia and goes through bipolar-like mania not unrelated to his PTSD, and his psychosis can be triggered by unexpected things (such as the video will Bruce left him after he supposedly died, an example of by far one of his worst mental breakdowns).

[gffa]

I LOVE LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THE JEDI EXCEPT ORDER 66. I love a great many things about the Jedi and I have posted a lot about them, as you’re going to see, from the aesthetics to how much fun they are to their connection to the Force and how fascinating that is to explore.  They’re so incredibly extra, I mean, LOOK AT THIS GUY, THIS IS AWESOME:

I love how in touch he is with himself, his body and his mind and the Force, that he moves with such lethal grace and power and precision.  This is someone who has worked his entire life to have mastery over himself and his skills, this is someone who has a near unbreakable will, someone who can smile gently just as genuinely as he can righteously, angrily cut someone in half, someone who isn’t meant to be perfect, but who is good.  Obi-Wan Kenobi is the epitome of the perfect Jedi not because he’s an emotionless robot or whatever (he’s really, really not, not at any point in any of the movies or tv shows, just look at Ewan McGregor’s face at any point and you’ll see emotion all over it) but because he follows their teachings, he’s applied them to his life, he’s become an even better person by weaving them into his very bones. And that’s the big reason I love the Jedi is because they were so damn good. They devoted their lives to the Force and to compassion for other beings in the galaxy.  Their entire purpose was to seek further understanding this energy that bound the entire universe together, that familiar sense of warmth, of belonging, of finding themselves part of an endless lattice of connections that held them and everything else. I loved that the Jedi were just as dedicated to helping as many people as they could.  They weren’t soldiers, but they would give up themselves to become that because that’s what the galaxy asked of them, they were willing to not only die to save others’ lives, but to make hard decisions that benefited so many more people than just themselves.  They mourned, they took moments to feel that grief, but then did what they must. They fell into Palpatine’s trap not because they were corrupt (one of my favorite things about the propaganda book is that it is exceedingly clear about the corruption in the Republic, the lack of care for the people it was supposed to help, it was very much about calling people out, and yet was very, very clear about the Jedi were never part of that rotting from the inside out) but because they were willing to do what they felt needed to be done to help the entire galaxy. I love the Jedi because their teachings of mindfulness are analogous to therapy, that they’re beneficial (if you actually apply them), I love that attachment isn’t equal to love, but to the idea of being unable to accept things as they are. That, “the Jedi also value mindfulness, acceptance, and compassion, all of which have been shown to help people with various psychological disorders, such as anxiety, depression, and posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), chronic pain, substance addictions, and other disorders.” That, “just as Jedi get in tune with the Force, those who are intrinsically spiritual come to appreciate the great variety of life and endeavor to serve others.” That the Jedi promote self-discipline because it’s beneficial to the self, but also because they are very much aware of their ability to hurt other people if they don’t control themselves.  This is why Depa teaches Caleb that his feelings are valuable and should not be suppressed, but learn to control them before they control you.  This is why the Jedi know the dark side is dangerous (and it is) not because anger, hate, suffering, cruelty, selfishness should be denied, but instead that they are to be understood about ourselves, that they’re necessary as part of living beings, but you should let go of them when you’ve worked through them, that’s what “balance” means. I love the Jedi because they are an intrinsically motivated religion (slash-culture) in a galaxy that is all too often extrinsically motivated.   I love the Jedi because, even when the entire galaxy turned on them and lied about them and twisted their image, they remained faithful and good.  Obi-Wan’s entire world burned into ash, helped along by the person he loved most, and he still remained “the bedrock of all good”, because that’s the person his Jedi foundations allowed him to be.  I love the Jedi because they weren’t doormats, they did what they must, but they were also willing to forgive when it was genuinely asked for--Anakin kills all of Yoda’s grandkids and he still almost feels sorry for him when Vader explodes with loneliness after Obi-Wan dies.  He and Obi-Wan still welcomed Anakin back and helped him over to the other side when he died.  Or sometimes, even when it wasn’t asked for. I love the Jedi because they’re a bunch of super awesome BABES, because their aesthetics are gorgeous, because they’re hilarious and fun, because they’re cool, but most of all because: The Jedi strove to be the best people they could be, internally and externally. In other words:  #JEDI SQUAD FOR LIFE