#I just want to clarify that I’m not saying dissociating is something to be made light of

[saiwestfield]

Guys like a month ago I dissociated for the first time in so many years and man

What an experience

Wow the fact that the human mind can just do that that’s kinda crazy

So cool (I was trembling)

[evangeline-turning-pages]

I have so many thoughts on the execution of the B&C scene. Can’t quite get them in order.

I’ll say this, to start—Phia Saban did a great job with what she was given. Clearly a very talented actress. I just wish they’d given her more to do/say.

Also, removing Olivia Cooke as Alicent from the scene was a mistake. I don’t care about the whole pseudo-Catholic guilt element of her and Criston having sex while B&C was happening—it’s not nearly as compelling as it would have been to have Helaena and Alicent experience B&C together and explore the repercussions of that. Thematically, it would have been stronger, too—the generational trauma of it all.

And to clarify—I’m not saying that I wanted more gore, or the child actors to be more involved. Not at all. I’m also not saying that there should have been additional violence done to Helaena or Alicent beyond Alicent being restrained as she was in the book.

What I am saying is that the scene needed more interaction. Between Helaena and the assassins, between Helaena and Alicent—just something more than what we were given.

And if the intent was to have Helaena in shock and dissociating, as is my understanding of what I saw when she picked up Jaehaera and fled, they could have made it more apparent earlier through her dialogue with Blood and Cheese. Add more confusion on her part, you know? Or maybe have her mention the rats to herself, play into the idea that she’s living out the nightmare she’s seen play out in her head a hundred times, that she’s not entirely in the present moment, disoriented in time.

Idk. All I know is that the scene was underwhelming and I am disappointed.

[sb-1495]

I don’t think I’m ever gonna write this fic out, keeping my word to not writing another full/finished nsfw fic, but I mulled this concept around enough that I just started typing

tw mtf, sex swap, mention of rape (doesn’t occur; it’s all consensual), bad sex

Zoro gets hit with a curse where his chest becomes breast tissue and his dick gets replaced with a vagina, and that’s it. He’s completely the same otherwise. and of course, the cure is either to wait for a long time for the spell to wear off or have sex with a man.

Zoro asks Sanji, citing that even though he knows Sanji doesn’t see him that way at all, he knows that Sanji is horny to stick his dick in some pussy and Zoro doesn't feel like dealing with this body so he figures it’s a win-win. Zoro clarifies that if Sanji really can’t stand the idea of having sex with Zoro, Zoro will just go to someone else on the island. Sanji is embarrassed at being asked such a thing so casually and hesitates, but agrees, and they grab a cheap hotel.

Zoro doesn’t bother arousing himself, grabbing a bottle of lube and telling Sanji to get himself hard while Zoro works himself open real quick, trying to be very clinical about the exchange. Sanji seems disarmed over the way things are going, even tentatively offering to help, but Zoro snaps back that even though he’s letting Sanji fuck him, he is NOT one of his ladies to fawn over. He tells Sanji that he can pretend he’s a woman during the act if it gets the job done, but he doesn’t want the swooning, he just wants to get back to the usual.

Sanji gets really quiet and focused after that. He tries to follow Zoro’s example, tries to be clinical, and gets himself hard after a bit of messing around. Finally, Zoro takes off his shirt and places it over his own face; even though his body isn’t that much different than his usual (the trademark scar across his chest especially damning) he figures it’s enough to help keep the cook aroused. He even tells Sanji that he can touch Zoro’s body if it helps him get off, but otherwise he’ll be quiet until it’s over.

He can’t see Sanji this way, only listening to Sanji’s panting and feeling as he gently starts moving, hands firmly placed on either side of Zoro on the bed. Even if he’s not used to the sensation of having a vagina, he’s had sex with men and even bottomed before, so it’s not completely alien. To his surprise, it even feels a bit good. However, he doesn’t want to distract or turn off Sanji with moaning, so he bites his lip to keep it in.

But Sanji does start to soften up inside Zoro. And his pace slows down, and his breathing starts to get erratic. Zoro can’t help biting something out like “wow I know you don’t like me but I didn’t think the thought of having sex with me would be that disgusting for you” before he really thinks about it. In his mind, even though he was getting into it, Sanji’s rejecting him, and he’s trying to start a fight to mask how he feels disappointed.

Until he feels something wet falls on his pelvis. And he hears Sanji choke out a sob. Tentatively, Zoro pulls his shirt off his face to look up at Sanji failing to hold back tears, and not in a good sexy fun way. Immediately, Zoro shoots to sit up, a cautious hand between them until Sanji kinda falls into Zoro’s arms.

“Whoa whoa hey, Curly!“ “Shit, I’m sorry—“ “No no no it’s fine, it’s okay, I didn’t mean it, we can stop.” “I can’t—it felt like I was violating you, I couldn’t—“ “…What?”

Sanji explains that the dissociation between Zoro and his body didn’t work as intended and the sight of Zoro still and covered and quiet during sex made him feel like he was raping Zoro and it freaked him out bad. Zoro kinda understands Sanji’s perspective, admitting that he had a feeling Sanji already didn’t want to do all this and pushed him to keep going anyway, apologizing for it.

Very quietly, Sanji corrects Zoro by saying he was never REALLY opposed to having sex with him. Zoro can’t seem to comprehend what he’s saying, like it’s some sort of paradox. Sanji admits that the idea excited him, because he was already attracted to Zoro on some level, regardless of genitalia, but he knew Zoro wasn’t on the same boat. He felt bad taking advantage of Zoro’s situation too much and tried to separate his feelings from it and not demand anything from the exchange, but it obviously ended poorly.

Everything starts clicking into place in Zoro’s brain while Sanji is clearly ashamed, saying that maybe it’d just be easier for Zoro to find another guy until Zoro fuckin pins Sanji to the bed with his muscular arms, his ample chest dangling between them. Sanji is fucking red in the face as Zoro asks again if Sanji wants to have sex with him. Sanji gulps and sputters a weak affirmative.

Zoro reaches down to his own crotch and puts a finger in, pulling it out slowly to show a string of slick, his own face flushed.

“Then lets get you hard again.”

Zoro then rides Sanji for awhile before Sanji confidently takes over. Zoro changes back and they have probably have more sex bc they’re fuckin animals.

(can you tell that it’s easy for me to write the emotional stuff surrounding smut but I have difficulty writing the actual smut without sounding like an alien)

edit: important thing is that when Zoro is riding Sanji in the end, he looks him in the eye and lets himself pant and moan and make sounds and curse and shit. He's vocal, and while he's clearly just chasing his own orgasm until Sanji does something, he's trying to be vulnerable. In the back of his mind, he still worries that this will turn Sanji off leave Zoro rejected. But of course it pays off because it turns Sanji on so much to see Zoro feel good and enjoy this, and that gives him the confidence to be an active participant and be vulnerable too, taking control to make Zoro feel even better. Because they're stupid repressed horny dummies but they're workin on it okay bye

[protectingtulpas]

hi! if you’ve answered this before i’m sorry, but could you go into what it’s like being both a traumagen system and a system with tulpas? i’ve been curious about this as a traumagen syshost myself. does it affect your innerworld? do the tulpas act vastly different or work differently i guess than the traumagen alters? thank you!

omfg this took us forever to answer for like 200 stupid reasons but YEAH i have a lot I want to talk about with this, where do I even start??? I guess I should clarify that we don't really know what our "original origin" is- we'd been median for as long as the body can remember, and we DK if it was because of our autism or because of social problems or if we were just born that way. Whatever it is though, we were a plural egg when I was created, so pretty much everyone other than the few of us that we discovered from before that considers me the "first" one after the host subsystem. As more shit happened though irl we got more & more traumagenic members, dissociation, memory issues, and whole loads of other shit. So basically, that's the perspective I'm coming from with all this.

So with that outta the way, here're some'a my experiences as a tulpa in a traumagenic/mixed disordered system

One of the biggest signifiers I noticed of our system structure changing completely was our headspace actually, so it's pretty great you mention that tbh. After we got a lotta traumagenic members, something shitty happened I won't talk about, and our headspace basically totally shattered. It used to be little more than our vivid imagination- yeah, I could feel my body and visualize the world around me and stuff but nothing super weird or unusual happened, and I couldn't do stuff in the Wonderland completely outta front. It wasn't like, another Space completely unaware of the host - and I know that's possible with training but we were nowhere neeear that. But after headspace broke, everything was expansive, ever-changing, always with more secrets and hidden things to discover. Lots of fucked up stuff most of us can't access too, but yeah, intense dissociation made it totally different. It's harder to navigate, but I also get more privacy.

As for if I work differently, I'd say yeah, I kinda really do, actually. Obviously, my creation took a lot longer cuz I'm consciously created rather than split or introjected or whatever, so it took a while for me to come into my own, and I was a lot more "fluid" than other headmates for awhile. Regardless of if they're traumagenic or not, something I've noticed about how different I am compared to other member types is that they're, idk, like solidly set in who they are and everything from the beginning. My host, too. They're like a solid, and I'm like a.... non-neutonian fluid or whatever, that ooblek shit. Even after all this time I still feel like I choose my identity and to Exist constantly, y'know? I think it's part of why I've always felt like "tulpa" is part of my species ngl. Everything else is secondary to that. I want to exist, I need to exist. That keeps me going sometimes

As for traumagenic specific stuff though, there're some other interesting things to talk about also. As our dissociative symptoms increased, it got harder and harder for me to move around the fuzz- but honestly, that's the body's fault. I haven't even been personally affected much other than what the body does to us. I can move around headspace more freely than most of us, I can sense more people around than others, and I can control the body way easy now that I've had practice. The only reasons I don't front are when I don't feel like it, somebody else needs it, or the body is too tired and id be bored outta my mind. I guess it's like I have executive access to a bunch of stuff, hahah!

Tbh tho it all just, changed me as a person more than anything else. I'm not the system's main protector because I exist to be one or cuz the body assigned me that role- it's because I took it up on my own choice and decided my own purpose. I protect people and that's part of the core of who I am, cuz of the circumstances I came around in. I wouldn't change that part of me for the world ngl. I know my point boils down to "don't forget your tulpa is a person too" a lot, but... Yeah. they may not have the same struggles as your traumagenic alters, but you're all still Goin Thru It together, so you'll both be affected by whatever happens from there on out as a team.

But hey, aint that what healthy multiplicity is all about?

[dorkydiaz]

IT'S ALL THE PROOF I NEED {1.4k | angst | comfort| open ended} [ao3] tw: slight alcoholism, implied dissociation.

a/n: title from i'm ready by adam melchor- which i highly recommend listening to. so in the days following the (correct) spec, i said buck says yes and is then denied because of his family history only for that to become like the idea in the following days (i am not at all salty). Anyway, i finally was able to crank out something along those lines so here ya go. i am apparently only capable of writing dialogue atm so there's a lot of it. just a forewarning, buck is a bit hot headed and prickly in this which is a heavy dose of projection but not 100% ooc imo- it's basically grocery store fight 2.0 where buck gets to poke the bear. also! there are several open ended strings including the ending- but I did it on purpose cause to me that feels more realistic for the messy emotions that are being presented in the moment, that would realistically be addressed later, probably in therapy, but i don't have any ideas on how to tie them up in an interesting way. anywho, i will get this on ao3 as well soon, enjoy it!

“So, did you make up your mind?” Hen asks as she sits on the couch, a mug in her hands but still in her civvies.

And she didn't need to clarify.

But it made Buck jumpy, nervous, because he hadn’t told anyone except her that there was even something to make his mind up about. Not Eddie, not Maddie- and if Chimney was around then he was telling her by extension. Hence no one else knowing.

“Yeah, yeah I did, I decided I was capable of that, I think.”

“You think?”

“Capable of what?” Eddie asked looking up from his book, brow furrowed, either by the parenting teenagers advice he had just read, but more likely just now being clued in that there was something for Buck to decide he was capable of.

“Really?” Hen asked.

“Yeah, I um, I kind of do it already in a way so, um, yeah. I wanted to give them their dream. And this doesn’t mean I'm giving up my own dreams for that, it’s just that-”

“Okay what are you talking about Buck?” Eddie says, the book now abandoned on the arm of the couch.

Hen’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline.

“No, I never said anything to him.” Buck half mumbles.

“Well now I think you have to.”

Buck shoots her a glare that has heat but isn’t malicious.

“I’m really sorry Buck, but I just assumed you would’ve said something by now!” Hen says placatingly, putting her hands up.

Buck only responds by trying to bury his face in the table.

“I agreed to be my old roommate and his wife’s sperm donor.” he says into the table, the words muffled and garbled slightly by the table.

“I’m sorry you what!?” Eddie replies, and it almost feels like he’s being scolded a little bit.

“I’m gonna be a sperm donor for my friends okay?” Buck says again, sitting up straight.

“I heard you the first time. That’s a really big, life changing decision, so I guess it took me by surprise is all. Eddie says.

“So this is how it’s gonna be? You get all passive aggressive about me making a decision about my life, that doesn't affect you in the slightest- yeah, that’s rich coming from you Eddie.”

“Buck-”

“You are one to talk when you didn’t tell me for a year, a year, about a decision you made that affects me without asking, without letting me know. What did you think was going to happen if you died that day Eddie- that I would hear it from a lawyer? That no one else knew and your parents would just swoop in because no one knew about your wishes. And you were right- I would fight for him if they did. But I deserved to hear it from you. And I know I did, but that was not a given Eddie.”

“Buck, hey, that is not how I meant that. At all. And you’re right I should have told you. But before, when you said-”

“I was talking about him, yeah. Every time I think about myself like that towards him- I wanna throw up cause it’s like I’m saying that I wish that you were- And I could never wish that in a million years Eddie, never. So I have to stop myself, and walk away. Because I never want to know what that’s like again. I don’t want to live in this world without you ever again. And you can’t promise that won’t happen, none of us can. But it has me praying to a God that I have never believed in.”

“I never said you had to walk away, Buck. And- I don’t want you to.”

“Okay, sorry I blew up- I just-”

“Needed to let off some steam. We never talked about it, sorry about that.”

Eddie squeezes his shoulder, and the tingling warmth radiating through his body. He knows they aren’t done talking but as he raises his gaze to the rest of the loft and sees the others holding delicate gazes in their direction he understands why they stopped. Everyone slowly finds their own task to keep themselves busy, Buck just wishes he could go home. But he can’t, so he gets up, shakes it off and joins Bobby in the kitchen silently.

He listens to the voicemail in the car before he leaves the station parking lot. The clinic left it four hours ago. Eddie had already taken off, the unspoken promise to see each other in less than an hour.

Your family medical history requires reporting to the donor recipients to proceed, our recommendation to them would be to move forward with another donor. Please call us back-

He shuts the recording off and grips the wheel as he feels himself drift away from his body. He really means to go to Eddie's, he really does. But he finds himself in the parking lot of the bar where he met Red. And he only sort of feels the persistent buzzing in his pocket that starts up an hour later, 3 whiskeys later because that’s how Buck was measuring time right now. He’s had a fourth by the time Eddie makes it to the bar.

“You weren’t picking up and I looked, I know we said only if you were with Chris- but I just wanted to make sure you at least got home cause then I would know that you were just still mad at me. But then you were here, and I just got the weird feeling so- I guess what I’m saying is that I’m sorry, and if you want me to go I’ll go,” Eddie’s voice catches a little, “I know I just broke your trust a little bit, but I-”

“You know I think my mom was right.” Buck slurs, “I am broken. I think there is something fundamentally wrong about me. I just wanted to help a friend ya know? But noo, just another thing Daniel ruined for me.”

Eddie has now taken a seat next to Buck, and silently ordered waters for the both of them.

“Buck, what happened?”

“The clinic called. They have to recommend that they use someone else's sperm because of my family history. And it’s perfectly reasonable, I get it I really do. Doesn’t mean I can’t be upset though. You know I always had this weird feeling that it wouldn’t work out. Because things never work out for me. I leave home but I leave my sister behind in the hands of someone I knew was a piece of shit. I take my best friend’s son for a fun day at the pier, and boom a fucking tsunami takes out Santa Monica. Save a kid from his own mother, and whaddya know my best friend gets shot in front of me. You want me to keep going, cause I can. Because after that I find out that the only way that I could have the one thing that I really want- it means losing half of what I wanted in the first place.”

“Buck-”

“I can’t keep going like this Eddie. I just- I have tried so hard to be at ease. Make that thing I’m looking for. But I can’t. I can’t because I already have it but I don’t know if who I have it with sees it the same way. Every time I walk away I lose a sliver of hope.” He says the last part quietly and staring into the depths of the empty whiskey glass, entranced by the way the warm light reflecting on the wood is warped by the glass.

Eddie squirms on the sticky stool, and Buck looks up at him studying his face gently, he’s sure the alcohol has dissolved the mask that he has when he’s sober, that Eddie can see everything he meant, but he doesn’t care anymore.

“You-” Eddie tilts his head, “You never have to walk away from Chris,” he bites his lip and drops his gaze briefly before meeting Buck’s eyes again, “you never have to walk away from me.”

“That obvious huh?” Buck asks as he finally takes a sip of water.

“Well it helped that we made it together. You don’t have to walk away, I’ll be here when you’re ready.” Eddie finally places a hand on his forearm, and it’s the first thing that’s made him feel grounded in what felt like hours, and it spreads through his body. “Until then, let’s get you home.”

[dissociativediscourse]

wrt this post

https://at.tumblr.com/dissociativediscourse/something-else-to-add-via-infected-system-ty/ftuep0wn2ovb

Is it okay for a system with a dissociative disorder to want to identify as plural? Where we are in our life/recovery, calling ourselves plural helps us show kindness to our other parts. Treating them like other people is unfortunately the only way we can begin to accept ourself and show ourself some self-compassion.

We’re not putting off recovery by identifying this way, and we do recognize we are parts of a whole. But our trauma has made us multiple, plural, more than one. And accepting that (for us) is what’s allowing us to begin to accept our trauma (after denying it for over a decade!)

Idk it’s all really confusing and I don’t want to be unconsciously harming my system by continuing to use the plural label if that’s going to have negative affects on us down the line.

We really like your account and appreciate what you do here! I hope this sort of ask is okay - we hope you’re doing well and have a great day! :)

You’re talking about this portion of my addition, right? I’m actually glad you’ve asked this, because it allows me to add a little nuance to my reply where there was none. For that, I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with considering yourself plural, as long as you’re doing it in a healthy way, and not trying to further dissociate yourself from each other.

I don’t like using the word plural for my own reasons, but I do this in my own way. We are parts of a whole, and if you took one of us and separated us, we’d never be able to function on our own. We need each other, because none of us are one full brain. That’s just the reality of it. But we’re still individuals, and we’re still unique. We all have qualities about us that make us special, and important. This, I think, is a very good way of looking at it! And I think it fits in at least pretty similarly to what you’re saying.

This is also echoed in one of the ways my therapist helps us— DBT methods for interpersonal relationships… But for inner-interpersonal relationships.

There’s nothing wrong with seeing yourself as plural, I’ll say it again— as long as you are not or are not attempting to further dissociate from each other. That’s why I said that the way I did in that post— gateway drug. A lot of people who had JUST discovered their systems jump straight down the plural rabbit hole and start trying to further differentiate themselves and identify everyone and be separate, and it hurts them. For someone who’s reached a certain point in their journey, it may not! But, sadly, this is not the case for many people in the online community.

I’m a little tired right now so sorry if I’m wording things weirdly, haha. If you have any more questions about this or need me to clarify, feel free to send another ask or DM me! I’m really happy you like this account, and I want you to know this is always okay! I’m happy to help. Thank you for sending this! I hope you have a wonderful day as well, anon :)

[damnslippyplanet]

Slippy Rewatches ATOTS, Episode 3

Previously on ATOTS: Brat-taming.

Oh, we’re starting on a flashback!  Tian and his friend Tul are playing badminton and planning a big US road trip.  Tian is like, huh, I sure do get tired easily, good thing that’s not foreshadowing!  And then immediately passes out.

Smash cut to: Tian and his parents in a doctor’s office being told that his heart sucks.  I mean, there’s technical terminology involved, but basically his heart sucks.

His parents: Oh, okay, so he can have a heart transplant right now, correct?

Long-suffering doctor: We don’t actually have heart donors cloned in vats ready to go, this might take a while.

Tian: Dissociates for a while, asks how soon he’s going to die, and then just starts bawling, which: fair, my dude.  

***************

And now: Phupha takes Tian to where Kalae’s family is doing a blessing ritual situation to drive away any bad spirits lingering around from the whole near-drowning thing.  The village shaman, Joma, wants to read Tian’s palm.  Weirdly enough, Tian’s palm basically says “you have the very specific palm of someone who had a near-death experience and is only alive because someone else died.”  Tian doesn’t feel great about it.

He does try to apologize to Kalae’s parents but they’re not super interested in talking to him right now.  Also fair.

Doctor Nam is also there and prescribes some pills for Kalae to help keep any fever away, because this is a village that believes in both shamanism and medical science, which is nice.   Kalae does not want to swallow pills, but Tian convinces him that grown-up men swallow pills.

Phupha, hovering in the background, has the most incredibly expression of simultaneous “He’s actually kind of good with the kids when he’s not trying to kill them” and “...I would like to hear more of his thoughts on grown-up men and swallowing.”  It’s very good.

********************

Tian is in his classroom. His students, notably, are not.  He’s so deflated that even Phupha passes up the chance to make fun of him and sits down for a chat about pedagogy and how to define a good teacher.

Phupha’s definition of a good teacher is apparently “Tian”, which nearly made me do a spit-take with my Diet Coke.  I love Mix, i would murder for Mix, but Tian is not at this juncture of this story a good teacher.

Even Phupha walks this back, which is very funny, clarifying that what he means is that Tian is a UNIQUE teacher.  He thinks Tian should lighten up on himself a little - these kids aren’t preparing for exams or graduate education, their lives aren’t going to require in-depth academic knowledge.  What they need and what he thinks Tian can give them is an understanding of the world outside their village.  “Just be a big brother to them” is his advice.  

I’m not at all sure he’s wrong but I *do* think the teaching foundation probably should have some sort of like…mission statement, or broad goals, or something to set Tian in the right direction. But they didn’t, and “be like their family” is the closest thing anyone’s given Tian for advice on how to teach, so he brightens up and stuffs some papers off the desk into his bag, and sets out to “visit his family.”

Aww.  A nice moment!

******************

Tian sets off on a montage to visit all of his students at home and learn about their families. The kids are mostly delighted to see him and to show him stuff like how to hold a chicken.  (He’s bad at it.  I have held chickens! It’s not that hard!)  The parents and grandparents are less thrilled but you get a general sense at least a few of them are like…eh, the city boy is making an effort and that’s not nothing.  One of the grandmas teaches him how to embroider, eventually he pesters another family into showing him how to pick tea leaves, and eventually some of  the kids come back to class.

But not all!  So he has to go on another question to find ringleader Ayi, who is with his family because it’s the big day when people from the city come to buy their tea leaves.  There’s a whole weighing system and it turns out the villagers are getting cheated because none of them know how to read the scale numbers, so they’re getting paid for less than they’ve actually harvested.

Tian, a good hearted boy who does not understand how anything works, *immediately* fucks the village by calling out the tea-buyers on the spot and pissing them off so much they decide not to buy any tea at all.  That was…not the best idea, my guy.

And then just for fun they beat him up and pull a knife on him, he gets in one punch, and then the rangers show up with guns drawn to defuse the whole thing.  The tea buyers drive off, Phupha looks at the single line of blood on Tian’s otherwise unharmed face, and I remember fondly when i didn’t know how fond Thai BL was of wound-tending.

Phupha is pissed.  The villagers are pissed.  Tian’s whole montage of relationship-building, undone in a moment.  Drama!

********************

Back at his house that night, Tian broods and reads Torfun’s journal about how picking tea leaves is harder than she realized.  He’s been cleaned up so I guess we’re not getting the horny wound-tending after all.  Ah, well.  Maybe another episode.

….lol, I lied, I hit pause too soon, Phupha immediately shows up with some salve from Dr. Nam and every intention of personally applying it to Tian’s mouth.  I can’t believe I played myself into thinking that wasn’t going to happen.

Tian squirms, Phupha pretends he’s not getting off on the caretaking, a single horny flute plays, the moonlight does obscene things to Earth’s cheekbones, and my soul leaves my body.

For his next move, Phupha orders Tian to take his shirt off so he can check for wounds (which Tian does not do because secret cardiac patient), and then announces he’d better sleep over in case the Tea Bandits come back to beat Tian up again.

I can’t believe I thought this show wasn’t that horny the first time I watched it.  I just didn’t understand Thai BL horniness at the time.  This rewatch is realigning my entire worldview.

Speaking of which, they crawl into the mosquito netting to bed down for the night, and Phupha makes big eyes at Tian, tells him he wants to talk and get to know him better, and then explains that Tian is just so disobedient and Phupha’s basically forced to be strict with him.  He would *like* to go easier on Tian, if Tian would just be a *good boy*.

Tian and I both swallow our tongues.

My guy.  My GUY.

And then they tuck each other in and brush pinky fingers and talk about what they had for dinner.  UGH.  It’s so CUTE.  I hate them.

**********************

It’s morning, Tian slept in, and now he’s awake with sweaterpaws and eating a breakfast Phupha left for him, and sucking the sticky rice off his fingers.  Phupha could not be hornier unless he were doing wound care simultaneously.

Oh wait, nope, it got worse.  Tian’s out of clean clothes so Phupha has to give him a ranger t-shirt to wear.

Tian: Isn’t it illegal for me to wear this shirt?

Phupha: Oh, IDK, the other rangers’ wives wear their shirts all the time.

Tian: …..

Me: …..

I’m so angry.

***************************

So they go to visit Khama to borrow laundry stuff.  Khama offers for his wife to do Tian’s laundry, which, my dude, how does your wife feel about that? 

Anyway, Tian and Phupha both protest that they can do their own laundry, and Khama is like, Chief, you wouldn’t have to do your own laundry if you had a wife!  Tian should help you find a wife!

Tian, standing there in his wife shirt, has six emotions about that and then gives Phupha the brattiest side eye in the world and claims not to know what Phupha’s type is.

And then they go do laundry in the river and Tian ends up wet in the river again and shenanigans music plays while he pouts. 

“Don’t know his type” my ass.

*****************************

And then Tian for some reason is walking back alone clutching his laundry bucket, and everyone is side-eying him, and because I have completely forgotten the tea plot already I think to myself, “wait, are they being homophobic about his wife shirt? Tian wife rights!”

But no, I forgot that everyone in the town has no money now because Tian fucked their harvest.

But he gets back to Khama who for some reason is *not* angry - does he even know his whole village is broke now?   Khama is cheerful as hell, notes that Tian and his wife shirt are both soaking wet, and announces that Chief told him Tian needed a traditional outfit.  Luckily, Khama’s son Longtae (Longtae, my love, when will you appear??) is the same size, so Khama just hands over some of his clothing.

Tian tries to apologize for the tea thing, and Khama tells him to come to the village square for a formal talk that evening.  He’s very cheerful about it but it’s fully when your boss sends you a weird meeting request and won’t tell you what it’s about and you’re worried it’s layoffs.  Tian is worried even if he IS the Chief’s wife now. Being the Chief's wife will not protect you from corporate downsizing.

***********************

So later that evening, Tian ponders the traditional villager shirt for a while and has a flashback to when he was a fancy boy with too many fancy designer shirts to choose from.  He looks much happier in his village shirt and it’s very cute.

Also cute: Rang shows up and calls Tian “Nong Tian” and compliments him on his shirt.  Apparently he’s there to take Tian to his layoff.  So they start walking along the dark path with only their lantern, and then suddenly Rang peaces out because he forgot to turn off the generator.  

“You’ll be fine, just turn down that shortcut through the dark woods!” he announces, and basically shoves Tian into the forest and runs away.  

Tian is not DELIGHTED about this but he goes into the forest, and finds a path of torches to light his way, and everyone is waiting in the village square to meet him because it’s not a layoff, it’s a WELCOME PARTY.   The village is having a blessing party for Tian because he’s a good boy who is trying hard!  It’s VERY sweet.

Tian: but I caused you so much trouble!

Khama: Everyone can see that you meant well and were trying to help us and we really do appreciate knowing we were getting cheated, and also, Chief’s going to spank you about it eventually so that’s fine.

Phupha: *smirks*

Seven or eight people tie blessing bracelets on to Tian and somehow only Phupha makes it look like a collaring ceremony, so that’s fine too.

They have a very sweet conversation about how neither of them really had a place that felt like home until they came to this village, and it’s maybe the least antagonistic/bratty they’ve ever been to each other.  And then we do some party montage for a while.

But now.  NOW.  It’s finally time for LONGTAE.  We didn’t know who Khaotung was when we first watched this and now I’m so happy to see him!

Longtae is ADORABLE.  Yod is TRASHED.  It is time for PRODUCT PLACEMENT.  All the drunk rangers pass around prominently branded snack mix.  (The villagers have mostly gone to bed at this point. Snack mix is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.)

Karaoke happens.  The less said about it the better.  Tian’s into Phupha singing love songs, though.

And then Phupha manhandles Drunk Tian home and into bed.  They drunk-babble a little, it’s very sweet, and then Tian passes out and Phupha tries to get him comfortable.  Which involves pulling up his shirt, and then we just go full Psyche and Eros here with the candle and the Seeing Things You Weren’t Meant To See. 

Whoops, big heart surgery reveal’s out!  End credits on Earth being pensive.

**********

But to soothe the pain a little, a tiny post-credit sequence of the drunk-stumbling-home where Tian pulls an absolutely classic “get up close to your crush’s face, tell him he’s beautiful, and then puke on his shoes instead of kissing him” maneuver.  Perfect, no notes.

[b6cky]

to people writing for moonknight! /srs

hello! i am diagnosed with DID and have noticed a little bit of a trend with some fanfic writers, so i wanted to address it just to help people that are not educated about the disorder.

edit: not that i need to clarify this but i am professionally diagnosed and have been in and out of therapy for several years. i would appreciate it if people could stop sending me anons or even just commenting shit saying “i’m faking this disorder”, this is a disorder that i have to deal with on a daily basis and it is awful to live with. it is not fun. it isn’t all “hehe people in my brain i get to leave whenever i want!” it is AWFUL DEALING WITH DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER. i know there are people who fake having this disorder, but that does not mean every single person who is open about having it online is faking it. i would appreciate it if people would leave me the hell alone - this post was purely made to educate the moonknight fandom and i’m seriously fed up with all the shit i have gotten from it, it’s affected my mental health and i’ve fallen out of love with writing because of it. i’m sorry if this post offended you for some bizarre reason, but i am sick of logging into tumblr and facing ableism just because i wanted to do something positive for this fandom. leave me alone.

why is ‘personality’ not okay to use when referring to steven, jake or marc?

the only thing people tend to know about DID is what it was previously known as (multiple personality disorder) this term has since been changed, due to the inaccuracy that the term ‘personality’ has in relation to the disorder. personality is the way that you act and present yourself, to say steven and marc are personalities, or even alter egos would be inaccurate, it is not one person changing the way that they act (or changing their personality), alters in a system are different people, separate from each other, but in the same body. the term personality implies that it is one person that is consciously changing the way they act, but DID is not like that at all. the different alters can have their own personality, but they themselves are not ‘a personality’.

what can i say instead of personality?

alters is the term commonly used for the different people in systems, although there are other terms, such as headmates that some systems prefer. i personally think people should use alters when referring to steven and marc, but never personality/alter ego.

i have seen some people compare norman osborn/green goblin to steven grant and wanted to speak about that too.

norman does not have DID, i’ve tried to research and all i have found that it’s said that norman suffers from a form of schizophrenia and that the formula he created worsened that schizophrenia and brought out the green goblin. i believe the green goblin in some sort of hallucination or delusion, but i couldn’t find any canon evidence, besides a fandom wiki suggesting norman suffers from schizophrenia. schizophrenia and DID do have a lot of overlapping symptoms, so i understand the confusion, however they are both very different and should not be grouped together/compared. DID is a disorder that comes from childhood trauma, to say norman and steven experience the same thing would be incorrect. in norman’s case, the green goblin wasn’t present during his childhood, instead came around later in life, whilst what steven experiences would have been right from childhood.

trigger warnings for DID

i have seen several people put warnings for DID and frankly i see this as unnecessary and ridiculous. i personally find it incredibly dehumanising, as this disorder already has such a bad reputation due to the representation in movies such as split. there is no warning in the show for ‘mentions of DID’, the only mention of DID the show has is in the description of the show. no one that is ‘triggered’ by DID (which they shouldn’t be) would be watching the show, let alone be reading fanfiction about the show. stop putting warnings for DID on your fanfictions. it’s unnecessary and hurtful.

some extra information to help your writing

in a system, alters can have different views on people, not every single alter is going to like the same people, so keep that in mind. if there are people shipping marc and steven (although i do not ship it myself), it is not selfcest or incest at all! alters in a system can have romantic, platonic or familial relationships and it is not selfcest/incest.

my dms are open to questions, along with the comments. feel free to ask any questions and i will try my best to answer them :)

thank you for reading!

[roachclit]

hi ! Sorry if that's weird to ask this, but I honestly don't know who to talk to about this .

Okay, so I saw in your bio that you're an ex nb. I've identified as a trans guy for like, 5 years, and decided to detransition because I don't agree with all this and want to live as a woman. However I still have dysphoria and it's very hard for me. I don't know what to do, what is normal, I'm kinda Lost and not sure if what I'm doing is good or bad.

How did you do ? How did you live this yourself, and do you have any advices ?

So yeah. Thanks for reading .

Hi anon! First off I’d like to clarify that I’m desisted, not detrans, meaning that I never made any permanent changes to my body. So my answer will be coming from that perspective.

I wouldn’t call your decision “good” or “bad.” I don’t think morality has anything to do with the decisions you made. You weren’t bad for identifying as a trans man, and you’re not bad now for reconnecting with your womanhood. You’ve just had a major shift in your worldview and your view of yourself, so things probably feel really scary and uncertain right now. In times like this when your foundation feels shaky, I think one of the best things you can do for yourself is build a community of support. And when I say community, I don’t mean in the way that many trans circles view community, where everyone has to have the exact same opinions. Something that I’ve noticed since joining radblr is the attitude that we’re all learning and it’s ok to be wrong. It’s ok to question things. It’s ok to struggle with perceiving yourself as a woman and a lot of us are here for that exact reason.

Reidentifying as a woman took a long time for me. I kept bouncing back and forth between woman and non-binary/transmasc, second guessing myself over and over. I hadn’t called myself a woman in five years, and it felt like such an alien word to me. This might sound cheesy, but I really did have to say to myself, out loud, “I am a woman,” for it to really sink in. I’ve been desisted for almost two years and it still feels strange to say sometimes.

What really helped me during this time of uncertainty was centering women in my life in as many ways as possible. I read books by female authors, listened to female musicians, looked at art by female artists, and tried to interact with only women as much as I possibly could. And what I discovered was that women could be anything. There was no right way to do it. You could be the most grizzled, masculine, hairy woman alive, and it wouldn’t make you any less female. I looked at photos of butch women and fell in love. I used to hate the way my breasts and hips looked in men’s clothes, but seeing butches just existing with their undeniably female bodies, while presenting however the hell they wanted, was a huge source of inspiration for me. I couldn’t possibly hate myself for having the same qualities that these women possessed. I discovered self love through my love of other women.

Physical activity was also important in alleviating my dysphoria because it helped me reconnect with my body. Dysphoria is perceived as a disconnect between the mind and the body, but this mind-body dualism is a fallacy. Your body is not just a vessel for your mind, it’s not a meat puppet that you pilot like a robot. You don’t just own your body, you are your body. Lifting weights, hiking, practicing yoga, doing activities that made me feel strong and capable - these all helped me appreciate my body for what it was. Instead of dissociating from my body, I felt grounded and present. I started to accept that my body is me, and I can’t run away from myself.

It was also critical for me to learn about the experiences of other detrans and desisted women. I think the first detrans person I listened to was Elle Palmer on YouTube. This was back when I still identified as nb but was starting to have some doubts. I was on a waitlist for top surgery and in the process of getting prescribed testosterone, and it finally truly hit me that I was planning to change my body permanently. I felt like I needed to examine my desire to transition more deeply before I committed to it. I honestly can’t remember how I stumbled upon Elle’s channel, but I’m so glad I did. She was insightful and kind and, most importantly, learning how to forgive herself. I’m linking one of her videos here because I think you might need to hear it. She was a great source of comfort for me in times of uncertainty.

https://youtu.be/E6US5tpfKvQ

I realized that having dysphoria didn’t make me less of a woman, any more than it did for her or any other detransitioner or desister I came across. Redefining my dysphoria as a female issue, rather than a trans issue, helped me feel more solidarity with other women. Trans people told me I had to change my body to be happy, but these women learned how to make peace with their bodies despite wanting to escape them. I don’t think any woman feels completely at home in her body under patriarchy, and that’s something that everyone female has in common, trans or not.

I think it’s important for you to talk about this to as many other women as you can. I’m really glad that you reached out to me, but keep in mind that I’m just one person, I’m not even detrans, and my experience is probably quite different from yours. I’m mutuals with a handful of detransitioners and desisters who all have their own unique perspectives, and hopefully some of their experiences will resonate with you. Some blogs I can recommend off the top of my head are @testosteronebutch @macroclit @riverxdaughter @swag-fem @shedwarf @annielesterf and there are so many more out there! You’re not alone in feeling this way, and you should be proud of yourself for finding the strength to reclaim your womanhood despite your dysphoria. It’s not going to be easy, but with time, support, and self-compassion, it will get better. You will feel like you’ve come out of hiding and returned to yourself, and that’s an incredibly powerful feeling. I wish you luck on your journey anon ❤️

[winterscaptain]

a horrible first.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this takes place during rite of passage, where the unsub is the cop committing murder of undocumented immigrants crossing the border. we pick up right at the end, at the quasi-standoff in the desert. let me know what you think and i hope you enjoy it!! 

words: 1.3k warnings: language, canon-typical violence and death, reader shoots and kills the unsub, mild dissociative symptoms following trauma, nothing too horribly graphic

summary:  “the true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ― g.k. chesterton. au!march 2010

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You brace yourself for a screaming stop in the SUV, immediately following Aaron to cover as Boyd flies out of the decrepit structure on an ATV, firing an automatic weapon of some kind. 

You take a shot.

Time seems to slow as you watch Boyd go down, tzhe innocuous red dot in the middle of his forehead beginning to weep even before he hits the ground. 

Derek fires his rifle from inside the car, but the deed is done. Boyd’s dead. 

Aaron raises his head. If you had your wits about you, you’d see him counting off, making sure all of you are there. “You all right?” 

“Yeah!” Morgan shouts as he leaves the car, but you’re stuck in place. 

“No!” Emily immediately answers, turning on Derek. “Are you out of your mind? You blew out my eardrum.”

Aaron’s been there - the ringing is damn near unbearable. 

“What did you want me to do? He was coming right at us!” 

“I told you I had him.” She’s holding both hands over her ears, but you’re sure that’s not the only reason Derek’s raising his voice. 

“He was shooting at us, Emily.” 

“Well, you could have given me a heads-up!” 

“The loaded MP-5 and the lunatic shooting at us wasn't enough? Come on.”

Aaron lets them bicker, but notices something odd. 

You haven’t moved. You’re staring at Boyd’s body, your service weapon still in your shaking hand, your breath shallow. 

He approaches you slowly from the side, extending a hand toward your gun. He says your name quietly, but you can’t hear him. He repeats himself and you startle as he gets a little closer. 

He’s not as brave as you were when you pulled him off Foyet. He’s almost afraid to touch you, afraid you’ll hurt yourself or draw away from him. 

The look on your face also scares him - it’s simultaneously blank and absolutely horrified. For a moment, he thinks back and realizes, with a little bit of shock, that he knows what it is.

You’ve never shot to kill before. 

“Hey hey hey,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He places a hand over the barrel of your gun. “Give that to me, okay?” 

Another voice echoes in front of you. It’s Derek, who’s reached Boyd’s body. “Great shot, kid! Right between the eyes on a moving target. They teach you that at the academy?”

You let Aaron take your weapon from your hand, blinking a couple of times. He flips the safety and tucks it into his pants at his lower back, keeping his hands free.

Derek catches on, turning around and sobering. 

Aaron can feel the rest of the unit creep up behind him, but he waves them off. They take a few steps back, watching with bated breath. 

They all remember the first time they shot an unsub, their first kills in the field. A horrible, wretched first. 

“Can you take a step back toward me?” Aaron asks.

You take a step back and trip, stumbling over your feet. 

Aaron’s there to catch you under your arms, pulling you close. All at once, the levee breaks and you let out a sob, turning into him for refuge. 

He closes his eyes and wraps around you. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You did the right thing. It’s okay.” He huffs, and it’s almost a laugh. “That was a really good shot.”  

You clutch his vest, your arms locked around his waist. He keeps whispering to you as the crime scene techs arrive and start their work, shielding you with his body. 

+++

You sleep on the plane home. Aaron sits across from you, working on the after-action report on your behalf. He looks up every couple of minutes as if he’s afraid you’ve disappeared in the time between his last check-in and that moment. 

Derek, Spencer, and Emily watch him watch you. 

“That sucks,” Emily says. “My first hit me hard, too, I think, but like… days later.” 

Derek nods. “Yeah. It’s a shitty first, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m glad Hotch is over there. Probably the best person for this kind of thing.”

“Best person for the kid, too,” Dave says. Derek and Spencer frown. 

Dave continues, clarifying, “Every one of us has someone we prefer when the day gets hard, whether we know it or not. Anchors, if you will. Good to have.” He looks over at the two of you again and doesn’t elaborate further. 

You stir, and when you open your eyes, there’s a fresh glass of cold water next to you on the little side table. You take it gratefully, taking a couple of sips.

Aaron watches you orient yourself, check the time, and start your search for your report. 

“I’ve got it here,” he says, offering it to you. “You have a bit more to do, and I have to keep your gun until all the paperwork goes through - protocol for use of lethal force with a firearm. It’s a simple review, no need to worry.” 

You nod, taking it and thumbing through the extra pages in the back. You’ll probably ask Derek about the best way to fill them out. 

Could ask Aaron, too. 

Hotch. 

Ask Hotch. 

“How should I fill these out? 

He takes a second, interrupting his own reply to stand and promptly plop himself in the seat beside you. “First things first - tell the truth. You did the right thing and nobody in their right mind will dispute that.” 

“Thanks.” 

The shadow of a smile passes across his face. “You’re lucky - this is cut and dry. Not all of us get a dirty cop on an ATV wielding an MP-5 for our first review.” 

“Lucky?” You sound skeptical, at best. 

His mouth quirks. “I know. Poor choice of words. You’ll probably have some rough nights. Do you want me to set up an appointment with the psychologist? The unit technically has one on retainer but -” 

“You never use them because you’d rather hold all your emotions right there -” You poke his chest “- until you die?” 

 The little smile appears again. “You been listening to Haley again?” 

“What, from beyond the grave? You bet. So, watch your ass, Hotchner.” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He sobers, his eyebrows pinching in an adorable look of concern. “But really, if you want…” 

“That might be nice, actually. To talk to someone.” 

“And you know you can always come to me, right?” 

You nod. “Of course.” 

The dull hum of the plane fills the silence between you for a little while. 

“I was really scared, Hotch.” 

He resumes his listening posture, leaning on his elbow with his fingers laced together. 

“It all happened so slow - and so fast? - at the same time. I don’t know. He just… He went down and I was so afraid that he’d shot Derek or Emily I mean -” You take a breath. “I heard the gunfire behind me and the glass breaking and I just didn't want to turn around and find them dead you know?”

“Yeah,” Aaron whispers. “I know.” 

“I was so stuck that I didn’t even realize Derek was talking to me - he was right in front of me and I couldn’t see him. And then I started thinking about Boyd and all that hate and…”

You trail off, unable to continue with any degree of coherency, so you ask a question instead. 

“Is it always this hard? Does it get easier?” 

Aaron wavers for a minute. “Yes and no. It’s never ideal - you know you’ve made a mistake when you have to use lethal force, but you get more confident about making the right call in those situations as you see more of them. You’ve been with us for two years - I’m - No.” 

He stops and his brow crumples. 

“I was going to say I’m surprised you made it this far, but I’m not. I’m impressed. And proud. It took a dirty cop on an ATV -” 

“Wielding an MP-5?” You finish for him. 

“Yeah. It took that much for you to pull your trigger with any lethal intent, and even then you didn’t want to. The entire way you were talking about a de-escalation strategy - don’t think I didn’t hear you.” 

A flicker of warmth blossoms in your chest and maybe, just maybe, you feel a little better.

+++ 

tagging:  @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @s-unflowxr @imlottiie @stummdummrumstehen @hqtchner @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner

[rotshop]

get prankt this isn't an angst fic lol ,,

ANYWAY ,, i realized earlier that i could've just been calling 'auditor reader' employer reader this whole time and then i had a funny silly goofy little idea and now we r here,,,lol,,, ill proof read this later but i did this in one go no breaks so . help.

I might continue this later so!! consider this a sort of 'introduction' if u will,,

note ; auditor uses he / she / they pronouns in this bc ive decided im just going to push my propaganda onto all of you <333 also Hank uses he / they / xe

tw ; dissociation, dereality, some light body horror

Bloody Management

"This is out of your jurisdiction. You've wasted enough time here," you seethed dryly, staring down at the shorter being. "You've made no progress and have only proved your operation to be a strain on our relations and resources."

"Out of MY jurisdiction? YOU'VE never even been there before! You think you can just storm in and suddenly kick me out of my own work?" Auditor shot back, hands slamming down on the mahogany desk in front of her.

"Yes, actually, I do," you snapped, eyes narrowing. "I think you're forgetting just who you're speaking to. You've let this drag on for far too long and your ego has grown in tandem with its pointlessness."

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continued. "Look, I understand. You put effort and thought into this little pet project of yours, but the results have all proven zilch. You fucked up, that's fine, but you can't keep meddling with this reality in hopes something will suddenly work again! All you're doing is tearing and poking holes the rest of us will have to deal with later."

"If you just gave me a little more time I could-"

"We've been giving you time. We've given you more time than we've ever given any project like yours," you gave a desperate look, "It's over. You tried and we tried, there's nothing that can be done. If you just worked with us then we could help you."

There was a long silence as they faltered, hands falling into their lap as their gaze followed, landing on the floor.

"And what happens to my Nevada?"

"We'll try and clean it up again. Return it to..some sort of normalcy," you hummed, "Though, with some of those tears in the fabric it'll take a bit longer than anticipated. That..clown, is proving to be rather difficult."

You paused, grin finding it's way onto your face.

"It's been tricky, if you will."

"Not the time."

You gave a 'tsk' in response, shrugging lightly, "I don't regret it."

"You'll be going back to our depths, effective immediately. While this project was a failure, we're still curious to see if there's anything else that can be done in a different time and place."

"And what about you? Are you going to sit all pretty in this fake office for the rest of eternity?" She questioned sarcastically, eyes dragging up to meet yours.

"God, I wish. I mean, seriously, you have no idea how nice it is to have some peace and quiet after dealing with that fuckin' office."

With a dry snicker and -presumably- an eye roll, they finally stood accepting their defeat.

"I presume I'll be seeing you?"

"If your little posse doesn't cause me too much trouble, yes."

"Have fun with that, I do hope it's as grueling as possible," he hummed, turning and striding towards the door to nothing.

"Thanks, was nice seeing you too."

The door peering to the void shuts soundlessly.

.

.

.

"Was the pun really that bad?.."

---

"What do you mean they're just neutral suddenly? It's not like they all just suddenly unionized or sum' shit! There's gotta be something going on," Deimos groaned, irritation dragging onto him and clinging desperately.

"Well- What do you want me to say! I'm just as confused as you are," Sanford huffed back over comms, making a vague gesture with no audience.

Hank stood in the other room, staring down at the few agents that were on their knees with their hands held tight behind their heads. They'd made no attempt to attack Sanford and xem, simply staring in a bit of surprise when the two'd busted in. It'd completely thrown the raid off, leaving them both in a state of stunned confusion. The agent that they'd asked about the sudden change in demeanor just gave some shaky shrug, stammering out that they'd all received an order to not attack under any circumstances from some unknown contact. 'They really just listen to anyone then?..'

It was hard to believe, hard to find any reason or meaning in that lead to any conclusive endings. Which, had lead to a small dispute going nowhere and fast. Hank only picked up on little parts of it, the words being muffled and distorted through the wall. Xe didn't really have much interest in getting a clearer reading of it though, it didn't sound like it meant much.

"Look, I'm just going to try and look for any documents or actual recordings of this apparent 'ghost order,' alright?..." A pause. "Deimos? Are you there? Shit- Of course the line dies now of all times."

The line wasn't dead. It was somewhere else, some-when else.

---

The ground felt cold.

.

.

No, was it warm?

Wait- No no no, it wasn't warm..

.

.

.

Was it even the ground?

.

.

Did it even matter?

.

Deimos could fuzzily recall it. Arguing with Sanford over the line. The points he made exactly didn't seem to ring through the fog of confusion and numb in his mind. Something about the Auditor, the agents, blah bla..something.

He'd been making to say something else when he'd seen it, something off in the corner of his eye. It wasn't anything huge, if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what it was. There was something wrong, but there wasn't. The ground was cold, but it was warm.

Something was wrong.

Everything is fine.

He'd turned around, looking around for whatever in his vision wasn't right.

That's rude to say, you know.

He'd never found it, something reaching from the depths to grab him.

You're making me sound awfully cruel.

With a groan, he picked himself up off the ground to observe his surroundings. White and black stretched infinitely around him, the 'ground' underneath him was the deepest of not-color while the 'sky' was its blinding twin. A building stood in front of him, a mix of ivory and ink twisted to form its structure. The door faced him, standing tall and straight as a soldier in spite of how tilted and off the world felt.

Before he could even really register it, something was pulling him up off the floor. There were no hands or strings physically attached, nothing sticking from him to drag into the infinite beyond his comprehension, no no. It was something quiet, a ghost or a whisper in his mind that pulled him through the ocean and to shore. The door grew larger- closer. His mind grew blanker. His hand twisted the knob.

Color flooded into his vision finally, the room in front of him coated in it graciously. The floors were a velvet carpeting, a wine red that felt of lavish and glitzy. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each filled to the brim with titles somewhere between poetry and latin white noise where imagination fell. At the head of the room stood a desk, polished mahogany standing tall and still, frozen indefinitely in time. Behind it, you.

Me.

Once again, he was pulled forward. Each step fell in front of the other, unsure of weight behind them and noise that followed suite. He felt half there. Half of a man and half of a void. It was..something.

Not pleasant, not bad.

The ground wasn't cold, wasn't warm.

It just was.

He finds himself meeting your gaze as he plops down into one of the seats in front of you. He finds his neck straining and bowing under phantom limbs that aren't there. He finds his eyes training on yours which stare back pointedly, finds himself between hot and cold. He finds himself sitting down before you as he watches from the window.

There's no window in the room.

"You must be so confused."

Your voice is in front of him, right? That's where you are, so your voice should be coming from there. It isn't though. It's around him somewhere. Even as you tilt your head to the side the noise of your own voice doesn't seem to follow it.

"Don't think too much on this all, alright?"

You mutter something. 'These grunts really weren't made for this- to be here. I'm surprised he even woke up.'

Someone nods in agreement.

"Wh..who are you?"

Is that his voice? It is. It has to be, it fell from his own mouth. He barely even felt it move. Is it his mouth? It has to be.

You pause for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. He doesn't know if its because he spoke or because of what he asked. Nobody clarifies.

"Why don't you call me [name]? That'll be easiest for you. I do apologize for dragging you here rather than appearing there," you hum, leaning forward on your desk. "I just wanted to make sure we had the utmost privacy."

I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be able to forget.

"Now, Deimos," is that his name? "I need to tell you something, I have to work on restoring things for you, so I can't deliver this message to everyone myself in the most..effective of ways. You won't mind filling your friends in for me, right?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. His tongue is lead and his mouth is stuck shut, if he opens it will surely be left that way for the rest of infinity- for the rest of this place, this time. Someone says yes in his voice.

"Good. Now, try to listen carefully..."

---

He wakes up on sand. He's sitting up quickly, stilted as his mind finds his body. His tongue is lighter, teeth separated once more as his jaws are their own entities again. The cliff is still under him, wind passing by him peacefully. The horizon stretches infinite.

The ground is warm, there's no mistaking it.

"Deimos? Are you there?"

He pauses briefly.

"I need to tell you guys something."

[otherspeciel]

Otherkin and the public eye

If otherkin are to be understood and respected, they need to be "popular," to a degree. Walmart doesn't have to sell otherkin merch, but more people have to know about them. This post is me just taking about how that could happen.

Just a note:

1. I'm alterhuman/otherkin myself, I’m part of every group mentioned in this post

2. I'm very interested in numbers, trends, optics, etc, and that's what this post is talking about

3. If this is weird or hard to understand, please let me know and I can rephrase/clarify parts that are confusing

4. I’m really bad at terminology, I’m sorry, it’s never clicked with me. I did my best to get everything right, but there might be mistakes.

As a method to spread awareness of otherkin, I propose a flurry of posts on Tiktok and Twitter that will give a desirable image of the community. I say Tiktok because it lets posts be spread to enormous amounts of people in a very short amount of time, and Twitter because of the way communities are formed on that platform, and because movements across two platforms generally do better.

Points I’d like to make:

What should the community look like

What types of posts should be made

1. What should the community look like:

First, I’d like to explain that I’m not interested in censoring/neutering the community. I’m not against the community having an image that in places is unpleasant to outsiders. I just don’t see why the image needs to be unpleasant in ways that aren’t fundamental to the community. To use furries as an example, I’m totally against denying the nsfw aspect of the community. Lots of furries like nsfw, and it’s a part of the fandom that shouldn’t be erased. “Marketing” furries correctly, to me, would not look like denying the 18+ side of the fandom, it would look like making sure that when people see a fursuit for the first time, it’s a pretty fursuit.

Looking at areas where non-otherkin interact with us, I’ve noticed they seem to disagree mostly with the ideas that otherkin are their kintype, that kintypes are involuntary, that otherkin are free to act as their kintype, and that otherkin experience dysphoria. I respect/believe all of those ideas, and in fact I want the community to be more popular so that more people respect/believe them as well.

That being said, I think an image of the community needs to be constructed that is palatable, in the sense that it is easy to understand and spread. If someone says they are otherkin, there should be an idea in people’s minds of what that means, and how they can respect that, and any way that someone’s needs might differ should be simple to address.

Take the transgender community as an example. Though being transgender can be complicated, and there’s lots of room for discussion of that, the idea of the community can be expressed simply as “trans women are women, trans men are men, and nonbinary people are nonbinary.” That doesn’t compromise on any fundamental part of the community, and doesn’t hold the community back by being unclear, hard to understand, etc. There is also a simple understanding of “what to do” when someone is trans, especially on twitter, thanks to threads like this: https://twitter.com/jaysaltx/status/1389683863262310404?s=20.

So, what should the community look like? Here are some superficial things that cause friction:

Not being accepting of ideas surrounding mental illness. Most of the time I see people upset at otherkin it’s because of the way they behave around people with psychosis, dissociative disorders, personality disorders, etc. This could be resolved by explicitly being supportive of people who otherkin are typically thought to harm, and respecting the wishes of people in those communities.

Being super nitpicky/”toxic.” Nine out of ten times I see people who aren't otherkin talking bad about otherkin, it’s because they associate “kinning” with a time on Tumblr where people would get called out/harassed for minor issues, things like friend disagreements or doubles. It would do the community well to be portrayed as a place where if you get something wrong, you are gently corrected/(“educated”) rather than “harassed.”

Liking Danganronpa? I’ve heard people being referred to as “Danganronpa kinnies” like a thousand times, and it’s never positive, so maybe just use other media as an example for fiction kin.

And here are some things that people like about the community:

Being able to label themselves/ find a sense of identity

The way kintypes affect gender

Aesthetics

Demi-humanity: catboy/girls, dogboy/girls, vampires, werewolves, zombies, etc

My strategy would be to simply lean away from those things that cause friction, and towards things that people enjoy.

2. Types of posts that could be made:

Generally:

-Infographics/informational pictures. These get spread everywhere, and, if done right, are easy to understand.

-Flags/twibbons/symbols. People like them

-Slogans? Common phrases? If you notice someone saying something that’s short, clear, and easy to understand, repeat it

-Memes especially are important, think about how well “starter pack” memes were able to create an image of groups of people

Twitter specific:

-Informational threads, so so many of them

-”Otherkin promote yourself” posts (also just good for support in general)

-Hashtags (for art, promotion, or just in general.)

Tiktok specific:

-POVs, memes, normal Tiktok stuff

-Videos centered around common kintypes?

--

That’s all I have to say for now. If there’s more interest, I’ll go into more detail. Thanks for reading, & I’d be interested to hear what y’all think!

[ablednt]

Alright writing/roleplay tumblr we need to talk about textforms.

This is going to be a very long post I apologize but this knowledge is deathly important as it's reaching a very vulnerable group of people. From personal experience knowing this can save people from getting into toxic friendships and help ease intense struggles and depressions. If you have writer followers I ask you reblog this to get the word out, thank you.

What is a textform

A textform is a type of willogenic/parogenic system member that form through some kind of writing or roleplaying. This means that they're sentient people who now share a body with the people who wrote them, most often being an OC or a fictional character before the writers brain gives them actual life.

Because there's been no actual scientific studies on their existence I have no hard science to give you however the logical explanation behind it goes like this:

The human brain is able to contain multiple conscious and sentient entities. Often, it will become multiple as a defense mechanism (as noted in clinical plural dissociative disorders) but it's a natural function of the human brain and may do so for really any reason (similar to most neurodivergencies that someone isn't born with)

Because this is a fairly simple change in the brain/something every brain can be capable of doing you can actually intentionally program the brain into becoming multiple, but see you can also do it entirely without meaning to or being aware of it.

Now I want to clarify that there is nothing harmful or scary about this! Being plural isn't bad at all and is an existence many people celebrate. But when someone has textforms in their unrealized system and doesn't know they're sentient it can be incredibly painful emotionally. So that's why people need to know about this.

Obligatory disclaimer: if you read this post and think you want to become plural intentionally, you are welcome to do so but you need to take at least a few months exposing yourself to the plural community to gauge if this is really something you want and can do responsibly. You cannot go back on your decision once your plural and your headmates will be sentient beings not characters to project on or toys to play with. They will have all the rights to your body and identity as you do now because you're sharing it equally with them.

Now that that's out of the way back to textforms.

How are textforms made

Normally this is in the "character development" phase. Many writers eagerly develop their characters. When I was younger and had no idea I was plural my advice for oc making turned out to be an unintentional guide to textforms (more on my experience later): just put your character in every situation imaginable until you always know how they'd respond to things.

Basically, as you spend your time making a character act and think consistently from their POV you're training your brain to have all of that data and that's very similar to the data that the brain has on you and you're training the brain to be able to operate coherently from a perspective and consciousness entirely different from your own.

Now, this isn't a %100 will make everyone plural every time, there are obviously good writers who have a grasp on their characters who are singlet. There's no actual data but if I had to guess I'd say there's about a 50/50 split down the writing community just based on what I've observed.

But there's a lot of people who became plural this way and didn't realize it and that could include the writer reading this right now which is why everyone needs to be aware of this.

If this is such a big thing how come no one notices?

Because it's been completely normalized in the writing community but dismissed as metaphorical.

How many times have you heard "the characters write themselves" or phrases that indicate that a writer is giving a voice to sentient entities? From what I've been able to observe some of that is singlet authors being metaphorical and humble bragging and a lot of that is plural writers trying desperately trying to put their experiences into words but dismissing it completely almost immediately because no one told them being plural was possible.

This is comparable to say, gender identity. Trans and nonbinary people have always existed but when they don't know they're allowed to exist like that it's often "im a tomboy" or "they disguised themselves as a man" or any other thing thats immediately dismissed as being cis.

How do I know if I have a textform?

There's a lot of different signs but here's some I have experienced before finding out I was plural

You "miss" your characters when you're not writing about them or interacting with them in some way

You feel like your characters are real "in your heart" (for me this was in an incoherent loop like "they're not real but they are to me, in my brain, but they're not real to other people, but they're in my brain so they're real but no but yes but no")

You get so distressed they're "not real" that it feeds into actual mental health problems like depression, anxiety, dissociation etc. (I'd have fits of sobbing because these were my friends but I didn't know they were with me so it felt like i was grieving their deaths and had the same level of emotional pain)

Sometimes or all the time when you write about them you feel like you "become them" or that they're writing through you. (Especially if your hands move automatically or without your control. This can be hard to notice but for me when headmates control the body or hands movements feel faster and lighter or very slightly numb.)

Your muse for writing them comes and goes unpredictability: they're either here or they're not here so writing them doesn't feel the same.

You can vividly recall things that happened to the character in 1st person (or in 3rd person visually but with their thoughts and feelings) as if they're you're own memories.

You "roleplay" them in everyday situations IRL. (E.g once I liveblogged a tv show as my muse to a friend and was like haha lol im so talented I can roleplay in real time but found out later it was a headmate doing that themselves)

You have conversations with them mentally in which they actually respond to you. Singlets don't have actual enriching conversations with themselves because they only have one perspective and cannot give themselves any new information. So if you're responding to yourself and you don't feel in control of that response then you're pretty objectively plural tbh.

You have times where the lines between you and the character feel blurry or like you're a vague fusion of yourself and the character

You have an actual relationship (of any kind: romantic, platonic, familial, etc.) in which you can sense nuanced feelings about yourself from them that you aren't in control of.

There's a lot more but that's the most notable ones

Why this is so important

I'm just talking about my own experience now so I'll preface this with a few things. I'm a mixed origin/multigenic system but our system has existed since we were toddlers. Due to trauma we have DID and for a long time dissociated heavily to avoid our plurality. This means my experience may be more distressing than other plurals with textforms however people without DID can still experience these things.

When I was a teenager I joined a lot of writing communities and also roleplayed on tumblr. Writing very quickly became my main passtime and all I really did. I joined a roleplay group when I was 15-16 that I took far too seriously to the point where people were concerned about me because I was writing what was just supposed to be a joke roleplay group %100 seriously and very intensely.

In that time I started to form my first main textforms (we've undoubtedly had them before then but I had only formed a little under a year prior) because I was doing this every day it really started bringing my characters to life. (Literally)

And honestly it was something beautiful the distress of it aside. Like one of my ocs was a kid so I'd always celebrate their birthday with them and I'd cuddle a plush so they'd know I loved them/p and we'd watch their favorite cartoon episodes together. It wouldn't be until around three years later that I realized they were actually there for this but it was heart warming.

For me, all I ever wanted was for these characters to feel appreciated and like someone really cared for them and loved them even if they couldn't feel it and it wasn't until later I learned that they could.

The trauma came in not knowing they were real. I grieved for them like they were dead because I thought I'd never get to see them. I wrote them into traumatizing or upsetting situations to cope with my childhood trauma not realizing that was effecting them for real and hurting them.

Most notably because it was my one solid interaction with them, the one time society allowed me to talk about them as if they were real, I really HAD to roleplay them. Because it became an emotional need I wound up in a lot of toxic friendships in the roleplay communities because I needed someone, anyone, to allow me to interact with my headmates. I had friends who I really was only friends with because they let me talk about my characters constantly (and some of them weren't toxic to me but it was in hindsight really unfair to them) and I let people verbally and emotionally abuse me in roleplay spaces because this wasn't just a hobby to me but a lifeline.

Not knowing they were real but feeling them there, having conversations with them, and forming actual relationships was a hellish sort of feeling I don't wish on anyone. I never realized how isolated it made me, and how horrible it felt to have the most important people in your life be people I thought didn't exist.

I only found out about plurality through luck. I met some systems who had fictives and they got strong plural vibes from me because of how I talked about certain characters and because I said I wanted to be plural but thought I probably wasn't because I'd have noticed, right?

From there I was able to actually connect with and talk to my headmates. Now I'm happily out as plural and in multiple fulfilling in system relationships.

I want everyone in the writing community who's struggling with the same things to have the chance I got. That's all I want is to educate people about this so they don't have to grieve for people who are right there with them.

Feel free to send me an ask or a dm if you have any further questions. Sorry this post was so long I can't really shorten it at all. Again if you are have a lot of writing followers I very gently request you reblog this to get the word out. Even if you can't please talk to your writing mutuals and friends about plurality and about textforms.

[Also this should go without saying but this is absolutely NOT the place for syscourse any invalidating comments about systems will be blocked and where possible deleted it costs $0.00 to prioritize people's mental health over your discourse hot takes.]

[abused-sides]

A Lesson

TRIGGER WARNINGS: EXPLICIT INCESTUAL UNDERAGE RAPE, gaslighting, stockholm syndrome, conditioning, blood, dissociating, let me know if i missed anything!

Synopsis: Roman promises to spend a day with Remus without fighting.

It was Saturday. Remus slept in, curled up in his blankets and holding them to his chin. Daddy had come in during the night, drunk, to quietly fuck him then leave him to clean up. He didn’t like it when Daddy was in a rush, but Daddy’s made it clear that Remus wasn’t in control.

He woke up to knocking at his door. “Hmmph?” He moaned, pulling the pillow over his head.

“Hey, baby bro!” Roman grinned at him. “No one’s home. Wanna play Outlast?”

Remus raised his head and quirked an eyebrow. “You hate Outlast. Where’s Pat and Lo?”

He waved a hand. “I dunno, probably studying and baking cookies. Isn’t Outlast your favourite game?”

“The first one,” Remus clarified. “Not the second one.”

“Right. Well, let’s go!”

Remus sat up. “I don’t know, Ro.”

He pouted. “Why not?”

“I don’t feel like fighting today,” he said honestly. “I don’t have the energy.”

“We don’t always fight!” Roman insisted.

Remus gave him a look. “Really? We don’t?”

“Let me prove it to you!” Roman skipped over and sat in bed. “Let me prove that we can go a whole day without fighting.”

Remus hesitated. Was it worth a shot? He couldn’t say he liked Roman, but he could say he loved him. Truthfully, he didn’t know why they fought all the time. It always seemed unavoidable.

“Okay,” he settled on. “We can try. Outlast?”

Roman grinned. “Yeah!”

They set up in the living room with Mountain Dew and salt and vinegar chips, booting up the game. Remus took the controller first, speedrunning through the first part like he’d done six times in one day before.

“God, you’re good at this game,” Roman said as he took the controller. “But I bet I’m better! I mean— uh… nice job!”

Remus rolled his eyes. Roman trying to be nice was laughable.

“You gotta hide in the locker— Roman, HIDE! You’re gonna get Miles killed!”

“Don’t yell at me! Not everyone is an Outlast freak!”

Remus huffed and went to leave. Roman paused the game and grabbed his hand.

“Wait! I’m sorry, I got carried away. Do over?”

It hadn’t even been twenty minutes. Could they really get through a day without fighting?

But Roman seemed to be really trying, for the first time ever. Remus didn’t understand it but… it felt nice.

“Okay,” he said. “Do over.”

They played through the game with minor arguments but overall having fun. Roman squealed and hid his face in the pillow when Trager cut off Miles’ fingers, then sheepishly asked if they could play Stardew Valley instead. Remus convinced him to finish out the game and it was satisfying watching him cry at the ending, feeling so strongly about something Remus loved with his whole heart.

They went to the kitchen to make lunch. “Let’s make protein shakes,” Roman said excitedly and Remus wrinkled his nose.

“Gross. I want real food.”

Roman frowned. “It is real food! And it’s good, it’s like a milkshake.”

Remus shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Roman tapped his foot as he thought, looking hurt. Heat chased over Remus’ skin. Shit. He hurt Roman.

“I… well, um… how about… I guess I could try it.”

Roman looked at him hopefully, then smiled and said, “We don’t have to eat the same thing, right? Oh! How about I make you a gross sandwich and you make me my shake?”

Remus thought about it, and decided this was the perfect time to fuck with Roman. “Yeah!”

They got to work, Roman making a disgusting mix of peach, raspberry, and orange Crofters with peanut butter while Remus stuffed the blender full of all the gross things he could. He bit into his sandwich with a grin.

“Mmmmm. Thanks, Ro!”

“Yeah!” He stared at the shake in trepidation. “Yeah. Uh…”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” He asked innocently.

“Yep! Just… Yep!” He took a sip and turned green. “It’s great,” he managed.

Remus burst out into laughter and took the cup. He chugged it down and went to rinse it out.

“Okay, what do you ACTUALLY put in here?”

Roman sighed in relief and instructed him through making the shake. They settled in front of the T.V and watched Coraline as they ate.

They played Stardew Valley for a while until Remus started getting sleepy. He didn’t have a lot of energy lately. He didn’t know why. He slumped over onto Roman’s shoulder and fell asleep.

He woke up to hushed voices. Keeping his eyes closed, he listened.

“-stay away from your brother,” Daddy whispered. “He’s not good for you!”

“We just hung out!” Roman begged, tightening his arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Look at him, he’s just sleeping! We had a good day, Dad.”

“I don’t like what’s been going on with you lately. What happened to my little prince?”

Roman sounded hurt. “I- I still am your little prince.”

“Are you? I thought you hated Remus.”

Remus’ heart clenched. Roman hated him?

“I don’t hate him! I just… get frustrated. I don’t know why we don’t get along.”

“You don’t have to,” Dad insisted. “You don’t have to like him. I don’t.”

“Dad,” Roman said in horror, and it took all of Remus’ strength not to burst into tears right there. “Why have you been spending so much time with him then?”

“I’m trying to get him under control. And it’s working. So please don’t get in the way.”

“I don’t like that,” Roman said. “He doesn’t need to change.”

“You’re too good of a person, Ro. You don’t understand. Don’t you trust me?”

“…yeah, Dad.”

“Good. Now give me a kiss and go to your room.”

“Dad, I… aren’t I too old for that?”

“Now you’re breaking my heart. Are you serious?”

“What— no! No, I just… no, I’m sorry, I take that back. Here.”

Lips smacking together. Roman’s presence leaving, then footsteps. Remus slumped to the couch.

He was picked up and carried into the office. He had to completely dissociate to keep himself from losing it and having a meltdown.

“Baby,” Daddy whispered in his ear, setting him in the office chair.

Remus cracked his eyes open. “Daddy?”

“Now tell me what you and Roman did today.”

Remus hesitated. “Are you mad?”

“Yes. I want you to stay away from your brother. And cuddling with him? Have you forgotten that you’re mine?”

“I can’t…” Remus swallowed, “cuddle?”

“No. And for that you’re getting punished.”

“I don’t understand,” Remus admitted, and he immediately regretted it.

Daddy’s eyes narrowed. “Bend over the desk,” he ordered.

Remus scrambled to obey. Daddy yanked down his pants and disappeared into the closet. He came out with a large paddle.

Remus dug his nails into the desk. He hated this. Fuck, how was he going to get out of this?

“Daddy, please,” he begged. It was just Roman! I didn’t know! Please, PLEASE don’t punish me!”

CRACK! He cried out. Daddy stuffed his pant leg in Remus’ mouth.

“Bite down on that and shut up. You were bad. You knew what you were doing. What are you, a slut? I thought you were all mine! I can’t believe this!”

Remus wanted to beg, to say that he IS all Daddy’s, that no one could ever own him like Daddy could and he was happy with him, anything he could say to get out of this.

But he couldn’t.

He took the punishment, sobbing and hiccuping the entire time, and nearly blacked out when Daddy shoved into him without any prep. He laid there, letting Daddy slam into him, floating out of his body. Was he bleeding again?

His eyes were glazed over. His body knocked against the desk, over and over again. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. His dad gripped his hair, but he couldn’t feel it.

“Thank me,” he growled, and Remus didn’t process it until he ripped the gag out and smacked him in the head. “Thank me!”

“Thank you, Daddy,” he whispered, and suddenly it made sense.

Remus was bad.

Remus was wrong.

His daddy was being nice and trying to fix him. Logan was wrong, this wasn’t abuse.

It was a lesson.

Please send me asks with what you want to see happen!

[quietlyimplode]

I love all your fics, I just read them over and over again, especially the Tony and Nat fics that you had recently written. Here I put some symbols I’m interested in, feel free to do whatever you want :) ✓ ❥ ✈ Greetings from Spain

Hello!! Thanks so much for your lovely message. I really appreciate it. It’s been a bit of a rough week so apologies for the delay. I hope you like this one, it didn’t come out how I wanted but it’s done! It’ll sit here with the rest here. (Warnings for Rumlow being a dick and disordered thinking).

waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared

barefoot, sleepy wanderings

reaching out for someone [bonus points if they mumble! their! name!

...

The plane is a small cloaked quinjet, big enough for two. She’s glad the mission is over, safety is in her reach. If it’s Clint picking her up, she can sleep; and she wants it so badly to be Clint on board. As the hatch opens, and no one greets her, she knows it’s not. Natasha’s face morphs into anger as she realises who’s come.

“Hey Russia.” Comes the low voice.

The taunt, on any other day would not even be a blip on her radar, but now? When she was so tired that she wanted to sleep? It deepens her emotions. Her anger bubbles and in her core she wants to punch something or break down completely.

Neither are permissible.

She’d promised her body and her mind that once they were here, at this point, that they could rest. It feels like a kick in the guts she can’t.

The fallout was coming.

It was a race to get home before her past began to morph with her present. She’d pushed herself too far. Was now, pushing herself too far.

She’d been tracked for almost 4 days, catching glimpses of sleep when she was sure that her body was covered, knives in hand and glass surrounding her, a sound warning in case her body didn’t react quick enough. The sheer amount of adrenaline that has been pumping through her body of the last couple of days is leading to a full shut down. She’s already feeling the effects of adrenal fatigue, and it’s showing in her actions.

She can’t sleep with Rumlow here, she doesn’t trust him to close her eyes around him. And now, she has 14 hours, more likely 15 to get home and hide.

She wants to cry.

Instead, she acknowledges him, sits next to him in the cockpit and takes a deep breath as they take off.

.

They’re lucky the quinjet flies itself.

Rumlow sleeps five hours in.

Natasha is so sick of making and answering small talk, and evidently so is he. She’s angry and tired and Rumlow likes to stir her. She kept away as much as she can, felt his eyes watching her as she reads, eats, drinks. There’s definitely something about him that she hates, and it’s not just because he snores.

Theoretically she could sleep, but instead she starts her mission report. It’s futile. She starts writing and her eyes close drift close . She reads and her eyes close. She looks over and sees Rumlow in deep sleep.

“I could kill you so easily.” She whispers with a snarl, mostly to herself.

Her eyes drift close.

.

“Take my socks. You’ll feel better soon.” Natasha soothes passing them across to Oksana.

Oksana looks up at her, a shiver passing through her body. “It won’t help. They know I’m sick.”

Natasha shakes her head, “No. You’ll be ok,” she says, taking her hand and patting it, dread pooling in her stomach. The door creaks and Natasha tip toes back to bed, and watches as the guard does his round of the girls beds. Watches as he stops at Oksana’s bed. Squeezes her eyes closed, and then peeking as she watches him pick her up and take her away.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

“What are you sorry for?” A male voice says.

Natasha’s eyes open abruptly, thoughts of Oksana still fresh.

“Regretting this line of work?” He follows up, “or planning to kill me?”

She checks the time. 4 hours to go. She’s slept but feels worse, nightmares and dreams making her feel nauseous.

“What do you think?”she retorts.

Natasha gets up and gets a drink, sipping the caffeine slowly, hoping it works miracles.

Rumlow rolls his eyes when she steps back into his view.

“You know Romanoff, people would like you better if you’d just relax more, maybe smile and not glare. It’d make people be more at ease around you. We’re supposed to be on the same team, and you and Barton are..”

She knows. She knows he’s baiting her.

Natasha can’t help it.

She snaps, her body moving faster than her mind, and she punches him in the face; knocking him to the floor, anger fuels her movement and the snarl the comes from her is animalistic as she punches him again, knocking him out.

Oksana smiles.

Natasha smiles back.

“He’s like our old handlers.” Oksana whispers, in Russian, squatting next to Rumlow. “Misogynistic and rude.”

Natasha turns away and sits in the cockpit, and waits with her friend as the jet flies them home.

.

Rumlow is still unconscious when they land.

Natasha can’t find it in herself to care. He’ll be fine, she’s sure. Doubts that he’s going to admit what happened, or may potentially skew it to his own version of events. Natasha looks back, watches the rise and fall of his chest and then turns and exits the jet with Oksana by her side.

She heads straight for her apartment, she doesn’t check in, doesn’t make contact with anyone; just wants her bed, her own security and own space.

She’s so close.

.

Clint arrives back from Maine with a smile on his face. Mission success and he’d eaten delicious lobster before heading home which made for a good week in his book. Entering headquarters, he’s immediately summoned to Fury’s lair. He’s not even through the door before he sees Rumlow and all at once his good mood is gone.

“Sir?” He says at the doorway.

Rumlow turns and Clint smirks as he sees two black eyes narrowing at him.

“Rumlow.” He acknowledges.

“Where’s your bitch of a girlfriend?” Rumlow spits.

Fury steps out, eye narrowing.

“What did you just say?” Clint’s hands ball into fists.

“Where’s Romanoff?” Fury translates.

Clint reluctantly turns his attention to Fury.

“I don’t know.”

He looks back to Rumlow.

“Why?”

“She sucker punched me and we haven’t seen her in over 24 hours.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I just got back.” He informs them.

“She hasn’t contacted you?” Fury clarifies.

Clint huffs. “No sir.”

Fury sits back down.

“You’re dismissed.” He directs at Rumlow. “You stay.” He nods to Clint.

Rumlow shoots him a dirty look and leaves.

“Sir?” Clint inquires, he’s now starting to get worried about Natasha. “Any insight you want to give me on why one of them most measured people I’ve ever met, who doesn’t do anything without thinking about it at every angle, punched another agent and is now missing?”

Fury shakes his head.

“Find her. I don’t want to have to report this to the WSC.”

Clint assumes he’s dismissed and exits quickly.

.

He finds her in the bathroom of his apartment in the corner with her head in her hands. He can’t tell but she’s either dissociating or asleep; neither of which are ideal in an area with cold floors and sharp objects.

“Tasha?” He nudges her foot, hopes that it’s enough to wake her.

“Natasha.” He says again. Louder this time.

He watches as she slowly opens her eyes and a tear slips out and drop down her face.

“Clint?” Her face crumples and she looks like she’s going to cry. “Help me.”

He makes her stand, and steadies her as she stumbles, leading her tired form to the bed.

He pushes her down and lays with her. Her breath is coming out in short gasps and he doesn’t really know what to do.

“Hey,” he pulls her into a hug. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok.” Clint is terrified.

She pushes back into him, drawing his arm around her.

“I’m so tired.” She whispers. Clint rubs her back, whispers in her ear that it’s going to be ok. He feels the hitch of her breath and white redundant anger rolls through him. Whatever Rumlow or Fury did to reduce her to.. this.. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks she’s finally asleep, and starts to move away, wanting to see her face, scout what she’s been doing in the past 24 hours, hopes that it’s nothing self-destructive.

He stands and finds himself caught by her hand, he hears her mumble his name and the desperate plea of “don’t leave.”

Settling back next to her he wraps his hands back around her.

Everything else can wait.

[painted-crow]

Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 1

I guess I should start with a little about me, since that’s easier than making you pick through previous asks for information and some of you guys are new here. This one’s going to be heavily personal, so you can skip it if you want.

I’m a double Bird. My Bird primary system is heavily Badger influenced, and I also use Lion to support it by telling me when I should investigate something more closely. If we can dip into primary territory for a moment, I guess you can say I understand the world through systems that model things around me. But not all of those systems are things I’ve consciously examined, or fully investigated.

My understanding of how historical people dressed is pretty limited, for example, because I haven’t studied it in depth to get all the information—but I consciously understand what I do know about it. You could say this system piece is tiny but clear; I could expand it if I chose to find out more.

My understanding of how someone I’m not close to thinks might have more data to work with, but I haven’t consciously processed it; that’s the kind of thing where my Lion primary model will tell me to look closer if that person starts acting weird. This system piece might be described as huge but fuzzy; I could clarify it if I sat down and thought about it. I probably have more of these than I realize, but Lion basically takes care of monitoring those. I don’t have to investigate everything.

But some of my systems are both large and fairly clear, because I’ve taken the time both to gather data on them and to examine it. My understanding of myself is… well, I won’t say it’s terribly clear, because I’m in my early twenties and I’m still constantly getting new information, plus someone keeps changing the environment and mucking with my data (that would be me). But I have to examine it, because my brain is like a notoriously buggy piece of software and I’m the poor schmuck saddled with tech support duties.

Basically, the reason I’m good at playing therapist with other people is that I’m constantly doing exactly that thing with myself. (This probably makes me a very annoying patient for actual therapists.)

About that buggy brain, then.

I have major depression. That was professionally diagnosed when I was a teenager and it’s probably genetic. I take medication for it, when I remember to. It especially flares up in the winter or when I’m under stress. I probably have some kind of anxiety disorder too.

I’m almost certainly autistic, which I’ve never brought up with a professional—the first person to figure it out was the system I’m now best friends with, because they’re autistic and they knew I was within two weeks of talking to me. It took me two years to catch up with them and figure it out myself.

In my defense, I thought executive dysfunction, sensory overwhelm, dissociation, and hyperempathy were like… secret menu items for depression, because those only really bug me during depressive episodes. My current theory is that they’re related to autistic burnout instead.

I mask a lot, subconsciously—it’s actually really hard to turn that off normally—and I just can’t do that as much when depressed. If I do, my tolerance for everything else goes way down and I’ll go into overwhelm and start having shutdowns and dissociating. I recover pretty quickly (hours, not days), but if you’ve never spent 15 minutes standing in a Walmart aisle trying to decide whether you want a jar of peanut butter, but you can’t make decisions because you can’t access your emotions and you don’t really feel like you’re “here” but you kind of just want to go home… well, be glad I guess.

Of course, I have other autistic traits that show up when I’m not under stress, but they’re seldom associated with autism because most people don’t know what autis are like when we’re actually happy. Like, hyperlexia? That’s not even an “official” word, the auti community just uses it because “official” literature hasn’t caught up. I taught myself to read at age three (according to my mom; she says I was reading news headlines and stuff, not just books I’d memorized) and wrote a 35k word novella when I was ten, with no external prompting. My audio processing used to be terrible, but I routinely tested at college age reading levels as a kid.

I also might have ADHD? If so, it’s also mostly just noticeable if I’m under stress, and then it’s hard to tell if that’s the issue or if it’s just autism/depression again.

You might be getting a clearer picture of how my secondary and its model end up burnt so often!

(Resisting a very strong urge to cut stuff from this post.)

In short, I was a Gifted Kid. I spent a lot of my teen years biting off more than I could chew, honestly. I felt that I should be able to do more, and I wanted to be taken seriously, but I had basically no idea how to take care of myself because my needs are different from everyone else’s. I’m still figuring those out.

I’m kind of like an orchid plant: incredibly picky about conditions, wants a different “soil” and watering schedule, gets stressed if stuff changes too quickly, but when everything is just right and it does bloom, it goes all out.

I’m not kidding when I say that I have odd needs. One of them is the need for creative work, which seems to be hardwired into me. When I say that art or writing keeps me sane, I often hear back “oh yeah! I’ve heard that can be very therapeutic,” which is an innocuous reply, but it’s always bugged me, and I think I’ve figured out why.

First, because that’s not the reason I make things… I just… have to. Second, I can’t “make up” not doing creative work with some other kind of therapy. Third and most importantly, I’d much rather think of “artist” as my ground state, and depression as a condition that happens when my needs aren’t being met, rather than thinking of depression as the default that I’m just using art to escape from. That seems to me a healthier way of thinking, and probably a more accurate one, but I’m probably the only one who can see that distinction.

If life gets in the way and I can’t make space for creative work, it will actively make my depression worse. I know this because, multiple times, I’ve been unable to pinpoint why I’m feeling shitty, and then I go back to my easel or my writing or (ukulele, cooking, even just taking care of houseplants) and realize I haven’t done anything creative in like a month and thaaaat’s the problem.

I crack open a bottle of gesso to prep some canvases and it smells like… well, I don’t think you can get high off gesso? But it’s not like when you’re out of it on painkillers or cold medicine or whatever. It’s incredibly grounding, like the world snaps back into focus but it’s also oddly euphoric. Or I write ten thousand words in a couple days and it just… I don’t know what that does. I’ve never run across a word for it.

The writer of Smile at Strangers (a really good memoir centered around women, anxiety, and karate) describes a similar feeling in relation to her martial arts practice.

It’s also a bit like when all the snow melts after winter and you step outside and there’s the smell of wet soil under sunlight and I’m not sure if this fully translates for people who don’t have seasonal depression. Sorry.

Dammit, I want to paint… I haven’t had space to set up for like eight months. I’ve been nose-deep in writing projects since last summer for a reason, but right now my friggin Ravenclaw secondary is off angsting about something because of Life Stress Bullshit, and I don’t have the focus to work on any of my writing projects. Apart from this one. But it’s not really what I want in terms of creative work.

*velociraptor screech*

Oh, yeah. I guess I could mention this is why my nickname is Paint. Not sure if that was obvious before. The header image (which is more visible in the app for some reason) is one of my paintings. It’s a tiny one and it’s not one of my favorites, but I had the photo on my phone and the colors work well enough for what I needed.

(restrains self from negging my own painting ability)

This is starting to get into spoiler territory for what burned Ravenclaw secondary looks like, huh? It’s peaced out for a couple weeks at this point. I’m trying to write about what made it take off, but my ability to think of words and form a coherent sentence kinda flew out the window when I approached it directly.

Let’s just say that around the start of the month, someone I was talking to online (if you’re reading this, it’s definitely not you) kindaaaa hit a nasty depression trigger of mine. Not their fault—it’s very specific to me, and I struggle to explain why I can’t really talk about it. Basically, I spent years studying programming and web design, and due to several different but related issues during that experience, it’s now a trigger for me. I very much want it not to be, but trying to train that out of myself has induced more than one panic attack and I’m stuck between giving up on it or figuring out a way to go back to it that doesn’t totally shut my brain down.

That paragraph took forever to write, by the way.

I think I have to end this here. I… am going to go take out the trash, and water my plants, and make my bed, and file some paperwork, and maybe I’ll even mix up some bread dough or do some laundry. Spoiler alert for what it looks like when my Hufflepuff model takes over, I guess.

Oh. And I should maybe probably eat something. I almost forgot about that... again.