#I'm struggling with my depression and PTSD a lot lately

[khaire-traveler]

You can become so used to the darkness that you mistake it for the light. What feels safe, feels familiar, is not always as it appears to be.

[it-was-too-cold-always]

Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader struggles to accept this colder relationship with Bucky. Meanwhile's he's up to something...

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, lots of angst, violence, PTSD/nightmares, panic attacks, language, SMUT 18+ only, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, size kink, let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: Hi friends, I'm sorry it's been so long. My depression came at me like a b*tch. But I'm here now and will hopefully be posting more regularly 💕

Every night, Bucky would hand you that stupid syringe. Your heart sunk a little each time he’d knock on the door. You were hoping he was coming to spend time with you, to tell you everything was going to be okay, to hold you. But instead, he would put the syringe in your hand, kiss your forehead, and leave the room. That was it. 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was spending all his time with Steve - almost every day. You could hear them talking downstairs. You could never actually make out what they were saying, but you could hear their serious tones murmuring through the thin walls. You considered standing at the top of the stairs so you could eavesdrop, but you knew better than to spy on two super soldiers. So instead you paced around the bedroom–the one that you were supposed to be sharing with Bucky–and waited for Steve to leave. Although no one outright said it, you got the feeling that you weren’t invited to their little chats. One time, you went downstairs with the excuse of needing a snack. They immediately shifted the topic to Steve’s recent mission. Steve, ever the gentleman, would greet you with a warm smile and invite you to sit with them. He’d ask you how you’re feeling, how your day was going, if you’ve read any good books lately. You appreciated his kindness but felt a little awkward – surely they were itching for you to leave so they could return to their conversation. Once the small talk became unbearable, you’d fake a headache and excuse yourself. You claimed you were going to go lie down, but they could hear your faint footsteps pacing on the hardwood above them.

~

Bucky was completely and utterly miserable. He was still fuming about the sensors they implanted in you. You were his wife, and he couldn’t protect you. It made him feel powerless. He couldn’t stop thinking about how panicked you were the last time you had sex. He could feel your anxiety. He couldn’t help but think he violated you in some way. This prevented him from giving you any affection; he was terrified of crossing a boundary with you. The forehead kisses were as far as he dared to go. Deep down, he knew he should sit down and have a conversation with you about it. But if he heard you say outright that you don’t want to be intimate with him anymore, he would be devastated. 

~

After three weeks of doing this ridiculous syringe routine, you couldn’t take it anymore. He handed you the syringe, kissed your forehead, and turned to leave. Just like every other night. But this time, you reached out to grab his hand.

“Please don’t go,” you whispered, tears already welling up in your eyes. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate for his attention. 

“Oh, doll…” Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. His heart was breaking, seeing you like this. 

“Please, just stay the night. We don’t even have to talk. Just spend the night with me,” you begged, tears freely falling down your cheeks. “I miss you.” Your confession was all it took for Bucky to realize what an idiot he was. He was so desperate to protect you, he didn’t even occur to him that he might be hurting you. 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’m right here. I’m sorry I left you alone so much,” Bucky admitted, pulling you into a tight hug. “I was so scared I’d upset you, but I seriously screwed up.” He rubbed your back as you let all your tears fall. All those weeks of feeling so alone, but you finally had your Bucky back. You wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time. 

He helped you with the syringe, which was oddly romantic. He was very gentle. Once that was over with, he pulled you into his chest, running his hands through your hair and down your back. You let out a long sigh – you had missed this so much. You forgot how your head felt resting on his toned muscles, how warm his chest was, how safe you felt. It was like a dream. A wonderful, euphoric dream.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky asked softly. The question caught you so off guard, your finger paused before it could finish tracing the scars on his chest. Propping yourself up, you looked at him quizzically. “Of course I do. What kind of question is that?” you replied. You were trying not to be offended that he would doubt you. 

“All I’ve wanted to do is protect you,” he began, sitting up to fully face you. He took your hands in his, mindlessly fidgeting with the diamond ring on your left hand. “But I’ve failed every time.”

“Bucky–“ you tried to cut him off, but he continued.

“No matter how hard I try, you end up getting hurt. I hope you can forgive me. Some days I can barely live with myself, knowing how much pain I’ve caused you.”

“Bucky, for Christ’s sake. This is NOT your fault!” you interjected, hating to see him beat himself up like this. 

“Doll, please just let me explain. It’s important,” he said, giving your hands a small squeeze. You nodded slowly and stayed silent, letting him continue. The urgency in his voice was scaring you. “You deserve better than to stay here and pay for my sins. I can’t stand to watch you suffer like this. Okay? I need you to understand.” His pleading eyes looked deep into yours. The more he talked, the more fearful you became. “I’ve told you some of the atrocities I’ve committed as HYDRA’s assassin. The things I’ve done to further their agenda, to get them in power,” he sighed deeply before continuing. “With the number of times they scrambled my brain, they assumed I couldn’t remember anything. That I wouldn’t recognize faces. But I do. I remember all of them.”

Your heart was breaking for the man in front of you. All those people he killed and all the ones that made him do it. They all take up space in his mind. No wonder he never sleeps. 

“The HYDRA members they arrested when I was freed…that was only a small fraction of them. HYRDRA is everywhere. If I break you out, there’s nowhere we could go that would be safe. I can’t rescue you until I dismantle HYDRA.” He paused and waited for your reaction. He wasn’t sure how you’d respond to all this. 

“Wait a second…are you saying HYDRA is behind all this? I mean that would make sense, this whole reproducing super soldiers thing is messed up, and they’re not exactly known for being ethical. But HYDRA working inside SHIELD? All this time? That’s…” You wanted to say impossible, but ever since your world got turned upside down, you don’t know what to expect anymore. You’ve completely lost sense of what’s normal. “So what do we do? If it’s as big as you say, there’s no way you can take them down alone.”

Bucky let out a deep sigh, looking around the room as if the words he’s trying to find will reveal themselves in the wallpaper. His gaze meets yours, but he won’t find the answer in your eyes either. He held your hands in his and took a deep breath.

“Steve and I have a plan. But we’re gonna need your help.”

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom @learisa @pono-pura-vida @smile1318 @stinkerbelle007 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @wonderland2425 @lowkeysebby @cookiie-c @mrsevans90 @touchit-pcy @vicmc624 @mrsbarnes32557038 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @wonderland2425 @tsofo26 @missing-loki @aesthetic0cherryblossom @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ladyvenera @buggy14 @emmsybucky @crist1216 @jessicaloons @vrittivsanghavi @avenirectioner @nancymcl @kenzs-world @reguluscrystals @cjand10 @coldheartedmar @browneyedgirl22  @globetrotter28 @abbyyourlocalmilf @danadinosaur3 @raven-red10 @angrykitsune01 @thebuckybarnesvault @castlesandarrows @literaryavenger @wintrsoldrluvr @fleureeee

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Do you have ideas for how the Angel and The Prototype ship would occur and progress? (Like, who would get feelings for who first, who would they get advice from, how the toys would react, if it would be an even bigger romcom than Dogday and Catnap…)

FINALLY, MY TIME HAS ARRIVED.

Angel x Prototype in the Everyone Is Saved AU first starts after Angel finds a nice house for all the toys to live in. After everyone is moved out and settled in, Catnap convinces Prototype to leave the abandoned factory. Prototype reluctantly agrees, making sure to grab every single document he can find with him. I know Prototype is known by the authorities because Angel had to tell them about him, but not by the general public. When he leaves Playtime, it's a very quick and effective escape and into a small hut outside the farm.

This new place is way smaller than Playtime, physically wise, but it feels so much better in every way possible. Prototype is weirded out by everything at this point, even the sound of the toys playing with each other and talking like normal kids and young adults would do instead of trying to hunt each other for food like before. Elliot's mind is full, all the memories from the toys he absorbed together with his own, and now his brain finally has time to work out through the +10 years of trauma. He dissociates a lot, his hallucinations get weirder, all the good stuff about dealing with trauma, and the only ones who are there for him are Catnap and Angel.

Oh, Angel...

So we all can agree that Angel is also suffering from PTSD, right? And on top of that, they're taking care of +80 kids! Yeah some of them are young adults, but from Angel's POV those are still THEIR kids, and they have no idea how they work. Except Prototype does, and thus their relationship evolves from merely two adults desperate to give a better life to monster toys to two adults having no fucking idea what they're supposed to do for them. Prototype feels like he will never be able to repay for his sins, Angel feels like they'll never be able to provide everything the kids need. So one day Angel stays up late in Prototype's hut just talking about the toys, with Proto/Elliot also talking about them, and the two just go "this feels so overbearing, right?", and the other agrees.

When Prototype's relationship with Catnap finally gets better when they have some important conversations about the decade-long post Hour of Joy, there's a notable shift in his behavior, because now that he feels like he has his kid back it's like things can indeed be better. Cue to Angel getting better at dealing with the other toys, and as months go by their bond becomes stronger and more than just "hey the kids gave me a lot of work today and I need to drink/smoke, i'll stay at your hut so I won't be a bad example to them".

The really good stuff hits only after Poppy finds out that Prototype = Elliot Ludwig = her actual dad, because it's Angel grabbing Proto around and going "TALK. WITH. YOUR. KIDS", and it's the first time in decades since someone ever did that to him, because who in their right mind would bicker with a monster like HIM? And then Angel does exactly that. Smacks him with a newspaper and demands him to get his shit together instead of spiraling further into depression.

Somewhere during the months where Prototype is being promoted to parent #2 by each toy, one by one, is when Angel realizes that their friendship is getting a bit Funky(tm), but they just. Ignore it. Two years post-Playtime Co. go by and Angel is just there like "what I feel for parent #2 is entirely platonic and I do not think of him as anything else than a friend at all hahaha it would be weird right. Because he still talks to me about how he misses his wife (they divorced each other +70 years ago) and how he feels like he failed literally everyone important to him. I mean he didn't fail me what I see is just a guy struggling to be better and honestly I'm worse than him and- oh wait What" until like, they go to a family trip and Prototype decides to stay behind to watch over the farm, and Angel misses him way more than they think they would just miss a dear friend, and it's not just because he helps them with the kids.

Anyways Angel is panicking in all levels except physical when one day Prototype is talking with Catnap and Poppy (they're having a three-toy "tea party" because Pop wanted them to have a small family gathering) and she looks at him in the eye(s) and says "dad, are you sure you don't feel anything else for Angel?", and Proto is just "why are you asking me that???". Cue to Catnap staring at him like

And then Prototype realizes it's not very normal kind of platonic two months later when Angel, as per usual, is called by a scammer. And, as per house protocol, all the toys immediately go to the living room as Angel says "hold up, can you talk to my husband for a moment?" and gives Prototype the phone and tells him to do his thing and annoy the scammer. And Prototype feels weirdly a tiny bit too happy about pretending to be someone else's husband.

At this point the other toys are eyeing the two of them and going "no way..." as the two IDIOTS show them that yeah, yeah, they're witnessing the second romcom of the house, after Catnap and Dogday's telenovela-level worthy levels of drama. Some of them, like Kickin and Dogday himself, think it's no big deal, just two people being friendly, that's all, and then some time later Prototype accidentally sleeps over Angel's room during a thunderstorm (Angel is afraid he'll get struck by lightning so he stays in the main house for safety), and Angel, a genius Made In Brazil, decides to sleep in their room anyways because why not, Proto is just giving free teddybear vibes.

Proto wakes up and just accepts his fate (he's happy with that). Angel is half-asleep and very content with the setup.

... Anyways. Next day goes by, surprise surprise, the family's cuddle pile for movie night now has Prototype added to it, and it's not because Angel sleeps better when he's around. Nope.

Poppy and Catnap are considering start doing some bets to see how long it'll take their parents to realize It's Not Normal Platonic Anymore(TM) at this point, and are unimpressed when Prototype goes to them, sighs, and agrees that Poppy indeed was right. Meanwhile Angel has NO IDEA what to do because it's Prototype/Elliot, no way they have a chance, they'll just end up ruining their little weird family structure, and Dogday and Mommy Long Legs calm them down.

Bobby Bearhug and Craftycorn are working with the other toys to see if they can make Angel realize they need to do something, because Prototype is NOT going to do ANYTHING because his therapy is going strong but his communication issues are stronger. Hoppy and Picky know all about it and try to make Prototype do something about it, while Kickin and Bubba are Dissapointed But Not Surprised at the Situationship going on. "Guess Dogday and Catnap aren't the only ones with communication issues...", they agree, not realizing they also have communication issues. Mommy Long Legs is losing her fucking mind because HOW can one household have SO MANY IDIOTS RUNNING AROUND AND WHY ARE HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS LIKE THAT. AAAAAA. It's good drama tho.

Poppy tasks herself with keeping tabs on what's happening between her two parents. Catnap is watching in the background like "stop being so dramatic over this, Pop, they're working adults, they sure can talk". He may or may have not be gathering information to share with the old ladies at the church he goes to, because those girls LOVE Angel and are all curious as to how their relationship with the kids' "second parent" going. Catnap never tells them much asides from "my mother is, once again, terrible at communication, but has been doing well", but even he starts getting a bit impatient at one point.

Prototype and Angel's big telenovela-level worthy of romance drama lasts a few months, mostly because they both need lots of time with themselves in order to figure out what to do, and also mostly because at some point Angel is pretty content with just being Prototype's non queerplatonic/romantic partner. They're just going with the flow, initial anxiety being left behind and all of that.

Also Angel is a really big freaking dumbass, because Prototype's way of affection is through pampering, and he has been pampering Angel for MONTHS at this point and our human just didn't notice it's not platonic pampering. Prototype gets them more than one flower bouquet and Angel is just "oh this will be very nice for the house, Bobby and Long Legs love red roses!", and he keeps giving them the bouquets because it makes Angel happy, thus making him happy.

No, Elliot doesn't realize Angel is also stupid. He just tries to flirt like it's the 1930s while Angel is flirting like "haha what if we were married. Just kidding! Unless...?"

I think Angel doesn't exactly confess to Prototype in a traditional way. One night they're both chilling at either the hut or Angel's room after a long day and Angel gathers the courage to ask him what they even are. "You're the children's Parent, and I am Elliot Ludwig". Angel reworks their question to be "I don't think we're just platonic friends anymore".

"Do you want to be more?", Prototype asks, hopeful. Angel pauses, then agrees. "Then we can be more". After some talk they settle on either queerplatonic or romantic - I don't know which one would work best, but I think they aren't just platonic or just romantic. Angel and Prototype understand and respect each other a lot, and their relationship, for me, can't be defined with a simple "it's romance" definition. They're just them, and that's what matters.

Also Prototype goes "I WAS TRYING TO GET YOUR ATTENTION FOR MONTHS!" and Angel goes "I WAS REFERRING TO YOU AS MY HUSBAND ALL THE TIME AND YOU JUST THOUGHT I WAS JOKING AND BEING A SMARTASS????"

... Also Angel can wear a ring now! Prototype as well. They tell the kids about their new Situationship and Poppy very happily says "I won our bet!" to Catnap. Everyone else is glad for their parents but also their real-life telenovela is no more..,....

Anyways, I think this post is getting too long, I may share hcs about how their relationship works later, if anyone is interested!

[scrimblobimblowhump]

what a niche whump thing you enjoy?

hi, hello, sorry for replying to this so late but thank you so much for the ask!

here’s some niche tropes i love (some are more hyperspecific than specifically niche but you get the spirit)

oxygen masks! everything about them!! the way the fog up and obscure whumpee's face, making their status as Sick Person faster noticed than their individual personhood; the way they muffle whumpee's voice when talking, especially if they're very weak; as a matter of fact, i'm also feral about them being gently instructed not to talk while on oxygen; all these are even better when you make whumpee all sleepy and delirious on top of everything

warm compresses! we all know and love cool cloths for fevers and whatnot, but i see little appreciation for the toasty ones which is a shame because warmth is something so comforting and kind; speaking of compresses, i also have an oddly hyperspecific liking for when they're put not only over the forehead but also the eyes; also when the cloth catches some of the bang hairs underneath it>>; also consider all that but with whumpee being bathed and caretaker gently putting a warm water-soaked washcloth over their eyes MMM YEAH.

whumper being gentle and kind. and I don't even mean necessarily in a "creepy comfort" kind of way(though that smacks too) - more like, despite being a whumper, they're kind, patient and empathetic towards whumpee's struggle (even if a lot of it was inflicted by whumper themselves). what perfectly evokes that vibe i'm thinking of is that post.

whumpee falling asleep in a warm bath post-rescue. what else can i say

man, something about *professors* in whump. creepy genius lecturer who does unethical experiments or is a serial killer, maybe their whumpee is a helpless student... on the flipside, consider professor whumpee - something about someone smart, fortified in their ivory tower, perhaps emotionally detached, getting their absolute shit rocked; also consider a hurt/comfort scenario where they get cared for by another academic fellow or even a student (live laugh love role reversal). what about caretaker professors - imagine them being very gentle and protective over their students, perhaps caring for them like their own children when sick or otherwise Woed in some way.

doctors, anatomy lecturers, surgeons and such as serial killers!! or maybe torturing someone!! they're skilled with the knife, know all the ins and outs of the human body and use the knowledge they were given for the sake of good to be evil instead.

as mentioned above - role reversals!!! one of my favourites is doctor-turned-patient: they can understand exactly what's happening to them and how they'd treat it but now they're forced to put their life in the hands of others just like countless people put theirs in their hands (even better if their medical team is made up of colleagues - consider the possibility of them being cared for by friends or workplace rivals<33)

grief as emotional whump!!whumpee struggling to get out of bed and take care of themselves,the sheer trauma of it all, being constantly panicked, angry and depressed, the possibility of developing complex grief/PTSD(with all the tasty symptoms)

kind resraints <33 having to tie up a traumatised, overwhelmed whumpee after rescue because in their blind panic they keep on trying to elope or hurt themselves and others, maybe even gagging them so that they can't bite; reassuring them that it's for their own good and because caretaker(s) loves them; caretaker ensuring to restrain them as loosely and gently as possible, using the softest of cloth; also caretaker being absolutely heartbroken seeing them like that and feeling unbearably guilty that they have to do it

blanket burritos!! plz i need more content of whumpees being swaddled and cuddled till all their anxiety or chills or pain or anything leaves them as they drop into deep sleep

as a matter of fact,in hurt/comfort we also need a loooot more non-sexual direct skin contact. not just as means of emergency rewarming in case of hypothermia but generally for the sake of comfort and closeness

something about passive voice..."they were"+choked", "tied up", "dragged", "sedated", "held", "cleaned up", "warmed", "cuddled"...

this is extremely obscure but you know how sometimes in movies ,when captive whumpee is gagged with a cloth or something, by the pattern of the fabric you can tell that it was something random like a kitchen towel grabbed on the go? yeah...(esp in a domestic whump scenario); also when said cloth (or maybe also even the ones used for the ropes) is torn from whumpee's own clothes? good shit (something like that happens in the green knight, this movie is peak whump, h/c and angst material, begging y'all to watch it)

SCHOOL/CAMP BULLIES!!!!! love the trope of some poor nerd being used for some abusive prank. even better if a teacher is caretaker afterwards

in film: that dim, orange-ish lighting when we get a shot of restlessly asleep feverish whumpee in bed

ive made a post about this already but: whumpee with long, luscious hair getting it agressively chopped off(with a knife, even??) by their enemies when they're captured to humiliate them

caretaker calling whumpee “buddy”

whumpee's parent being caretaker!! imagine them gently caring for a delirious whumpee who clings to them, weakly calling out "mom/dad?". even better if whumpee is a grown adult now; just as good - whumpee's parent being their whumper! (maybe even the actual archenemy/villain of whumpee if they're a hero). imagine them torturing them and whumpee crying out "mom/dad, you're hurting me!" again, even better if whumpee is all grown up.

lmao this turned out RIDICULOUSLY long, im sorry if its incoherent, its 3am here and i power through by the force of a chocolate bar and the will of god. anyways, i hope you enjoyed, if anyone writes something inspired by these tropes plz plz share with me, id eat that shit up.

(everyone plz keep on sending me asks, answering them is so fun<33)

[accidentalslayer]

I'm sorry to bother, but I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me more about cushings because it sounds a lot like what ive been going through my entire life

So, I'm going to take personal observations of events in my life and apply them to the symptoms I've been experiencing. I'm not an expert on this since the official diagnosis is new and I'm still learning a lot of things about it. But! I'll offer you what I can of the things I do know.

-----

🍁 Before I hit my teenage years, I was 99 lbs and looked completely different. I hadn't developed a slight hump at the back of my neck that my grandparents thought was just bad posture (so they would often yell at me for any "slouching" at the dinner table, in the living room, basically anywhere they could get away with yelling at me). I wasn't puffing up in weight and finding it EXTREMELY HARD to lose weight without starving myself (At one point, I became hard-core bulimic because going from 99 lbs to suddenly being made fun of by the kids in Catholic school destroyed me, I started pulling out my hair) My face had definable cheek bones. I didn't have fat underneath my arms that just...hung. I didn't have extra hair growing on my chin.

I used to look normal.

🎃 My periods started off HARDCORE. Pain everywhere. Blood everywhere. I was laid out for at least the first and second day of a normal period and sometimes longer if it was worse. Nobody thought that was weird as fuck. But looking back on it, I should have been getting medical help for that. Instead, I was being ignored.

👻 Trying to piece apart my mood disorder from the long, intense, sustained period in my childhood that started at my birth is practically an impossible task. For both my therapist and myself. But after I entered my late 20's (around 27 to 29) those mood disorders got much worse. To the point where it's become full-blown psychotic depression that I struggle to keep in check with now. There's so much art and things I want to share but this...awful looming wall called depression is currently keeping me stuck in place and I don't even know how to deal, really. My therapists coping mechanisms only go so far when the mood disorder is an imbalanced hormonal issue.

🦇 My period stopped early and presented itself as signs of perimenopause with no discernable cause before the tumors on my adrenaline glands formed. I had hot flashes, extreme emotional ups and downs that caused people to leave my life, and gained even MORE weight than before. My belly became "pendulous" meaning round, with most of it pooled around my hips and lower stomach. Cushings is pure body horror made flesh in my opinion. Not only are you helpless to prevent the weight gain (unless severe measures are taken) but you're stuck in your body while it happens. I could've spent more effort trying to diet at this point but the majority of my life has been spent in and out of foster homes or homeless on the street. It's only recently, in my 30's, that I've found a permanent place of residence.

🍬 In these stages of Cushings, I have adrenaline rushes. They manifest as spontaneous, unavoidable, quick onset of extreme panic attacks. Paranoia. Anxiety. Dread. Insomnia. And pure rage that overtake me. If I can even relax to sleep, I'll have vivid nightmares. Or I'll go to sleep and feel like I haven't slept at all. But try to pick that apart from the trauma, right? These symptoms share beds with PTSD, C-PTSD, ect. While Cushings has no definable reason for happening, some believe long sustained periods of trauma can cause Cushings to just...activate. Because your adrenaline glands were overproducing so much during those traumatic events that your brain/body just decided to never stop.

This is not to mention all the aches, pains, and muscle stress I feel physically as well. I need to take at least two medications to sleep at night at all because of the pain I experience.

----

In short, Cushings destroys your life. If you think you have a hormonal issue and relate to any of the points I made, I would recommend checking it out with your doctor if you can. I don't...really know what your healthcare system looks like where you live. Right now, I'm fighting with the American Healthcare system to just be fucking respected during my appointments.

The crime of being fat in the American Healthcare system is often death or mistreatment.

I really hope that any of this helps.

[novastories]

Flight Risk

Title and story inspired the song “Flight Risk” by Tommy Lefroy.

Summary: Aurora struggles to open up.

Disclaimer: This story is fictitious. All works are written by me and only posted here. Please do not copy, repost, or plagiarize on any other platform without my permission!

Warnings: Mentions of torture, depression, PTSD, and language.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I'm finally back with another chapter!! First chapter of the year 2023, sorry I've been away. I've been on vacation! I’m also sorry there’s no Bradley again in this chapter! Just a heads up, he will be coming up soon! But I just want to expand on Aurora a bit more, plus, Jake’s in here! So enjoy Aurora and Jake as well as the NCIS team obviously! As always, shoutout to my beta reader and editor @reginleight!

As always, comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! 🤭

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Aurora was still in shock about what had just happened as she entered Abby’s lab, where she found both Abby and Gibbs waiting for her. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, I was–”

“Rule #6,” Gibbs interrupts her.

“Right, never apologize, it's a sign of weakness,” she sighs. Abby looks at her, concerned at seeing her friend’s distraught expression. 

“You okay there Artemis?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Aurora dismisses her. “McGee said you had something for us Abs?”

“Right! So, according to…” Abby drones on about what she had found in the recent evidence that they had collected from the crime scene. Aurora still barely understood a lot of the forensic lingo, but it also didn’t help she was just distracted in general. Her mind was bouncing through different memories.

“You’ll be safe, right? Promise me you’ll be as safe as you can?” Bradley begs her. Everyone had just found out that she was joining NCIS officially and Bradley had finally been able to get her alone, pulling Aurora off to the side. 

Smiling at him, she nods. “Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t try and become a naval aviator like we planned.”

He shakes his head and returns the smile, grabbing Aurora’s hand and pulling her in closer.. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, princess. I just want you to be safe.”

“For you, anything B.”

Aurora was on autopilot as she walked to take a seat in Abby’s chair in the other room, while Gibbs and Abby were distracted, not noticing that she had left the conversation. Another memory came flooding back into mind, this one much darker than the last.

Aurora’s screams echo across the walls within the room she had been kept in for hours. Or was it days? She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was she was almost past her breaking point. He had electrocuted her with a cattle rod, cut her, and beaten her. He was careful to not make her lose too much blood, knowing the right spots to make it hurt, but not enough to kill her. To prolong her suffering.

“C’mon, is that all you got?!” she growls at her captor.

“You haven’t even seen everything yet,” he replies calmly before electrocuting her once more with a higher voltage. Her screams start up once again, agony taking over.

A thud was heard as the door was kicked down.

“Freeze! NCIS!” a voice calls out. The captor tries to go after the voice with the rod, but was shot multiple times for attempting to attack the group. Aurora looks up and sees Gibbs and Ziva in the doorway.

“Took you long enough,” she croaks out, sarcastically. Ziva yells at Tony and McGee to get a medic, while Gibbs unties her from the chair, helping to lift her up. Ziva made sure that the attacker was dead before helping Gibbs carry Aurora.

“Thank you for saving me,” Aurora whimpers, looking at Ziva and Gibbs before her body finally gives out, body collapsing from the exhaustion and pain she’d suffered from. 

“Benjamin?! Breathe! Listen to my voice,” someone calls out. She recognizes it as Gibbs kneeling next to her, trying to calm her down, while Abby panics on the phone. She can hear Abby telling Ducky or Palmer to come down and check on her. Aurora then realizes that she was having another panic attack and slowly begins urging herself to calm down. 

“Focus on my voice Artemis,” Gibbs says. “In and out. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Her breathing starts to slow down and Abby comes back into her view and hands her Burt, the farting hippo. Aurora takes and embraces the stuffed toy in her arms. She hugs it tightly as it sounds its signature fart noise, burying her face into the stuffed toy as she regulates her breathing. 

“I’m sorry. I thought I had it under control,” she whispers to Gibbs. He puts his hand on her shoulder. 

“Artemis, how long has this been going on?”

“The panic attacks? Since the accident. Recently? Since the start of the case it’s gotten a bit worse,” she replies.

Gibbs sighs. “Artemis–”

“Please don’t take me off the case Gibbs. I can do this.”

“Artemis, you need to take a breath. At least take a day off. We can manage for now,” Gibbs says, getting up just before Ducky came in with his medical bag.

“Ahh, Gibbs,” Ducky says. “Abby said you need my assistance.”

“Yes, do a check on Artemis here and then make sure she goes home, or at least away from this case for a few hours.”

“Gibbs,” Aurora interjects. “That’s an order, Benjamin,” Gibbs sternly speaks up as he gives her the infamous look that lets her know that he was serious.

She sighs and nods. “Yes, boss.”

Abby gives Aurora a big hug not wanting to let go of the girl. Ducky then gets to work on checking up on Aurora, Abby giving her one last concerned look before reluctantly leaving to join Gibbs to continue going over the evidence in the other room.

“He means well, you know that Artemis,” Ducky tells her, preparing to examine her.

“I know Ducky…I know.”

—

Aurora needed fresh air from the panic attack she had, as well as after being examined by Ducky. Gibbs wanted her to take a break, so she decided to sit outside in front of the NCIS building where there was a little park with benches. The sun was just about to set, so she could see all the colors of the sky. She sits on a bench and sighs, resting her elbows on her knees before burying her head into her hands. Just for a moment, Aurora wanted to close her eyes and breathe, those thoughts in her mind finally falling silent.

A throat clears, and she looks up to see Lieutenant Jake Seresin standing in front of her, coffee in hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looks at her, subtly asking with his head if he could sit next to her. 

 She nods and lets him sit beside her. “Lieutenant, what are you doing back in the Navy Yard?”

“Agent Dinozzo asked me to come back, something about a DNA test to clear me from the murder. I stopped to get a coffee real quick and saw you sitting here, figured you could use this.” As he handed her the water bottle.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it, Lieutenant”

“Hangman,” he corrects her. She smiles as she repeated his callsign back to him.

He took a good look at her. He couldn’t believe that the girl that Rooster and Apollo always used to talk about was sitting right next to him, let alone her being THE Artemis almost everyone talked about. Gibbs and his team were renowned within the Navy and the Marine Corps. He glances at her figure, bent over still, putting the cold water bottle to her head.

“You alright?”

She takes a deep breath. “Long day, long case.”  

“PTSD?”

She looks at him in shock. Jake turns to her.

“I recognize the look,” he shrugs.

She sighs and chews the inside of her cheek, “I just feel like I'm stuck in a constant state of panic, like everyone is watching my every move. Like I’m a bomb waiting to go off.” 

Jake patiently listens to her.

“And the nightmares, the fucking nightmares,” she mutters, “It’s like nothing I do can help the nightmares. No matter how many bad guys we catch, what happened will always haunt me.”

There was a small pause between the two of them. He didn’t want to push her to know what happened, but rather why she hasn’t talked to anyone else about this. 

“If you have a question, Lieutenant, I suggest you ask,” she remarks.

“How do you know I have a question?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people on this job.” She replies.

“Do they not know? Your team? About your PTSD?”

“Gibbs, yes. The rest of the team, if they do, they haven’t said anything.”

“Shouldn’t you talk to someone about it?”

“I did, it’s called a psych evaluation,” she retorts. 

“That doesn’t count,” he sighs, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Well, it’s not like I have any options, since they’re the only ones who know about what happened that day.” She sits up to take a good look at the naval aviator.

“Not even your family? Bradshaw?”

She laughs sarcastically. “Please, Maverick almost had a heart attack when I told him that I was joining NCIS, let alone a case where I almost died. Mom and Amelia are supportive, but I don’t want them to know what I go through on a daily basis. And Pey and B–” she pauses and sighs.

“I don’t want to put them through any of that pain of knowing. This is my burden alone to carry.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way Aurora,” Jake argues as he tries to comfort her. “It’s better to have someone to talk to, why not your team?”

“Because my team has enough to worry about,” she hisses at him. Her temper growing as the conversation goes on.

“Don’t you trust them?” he asks. That question makes her pause shifting in her seat and biting the inside of her cheek.

“I do.” she replies curtly.

“Then why don’t they know anything about your PTSD? Your family?”

“I’m just…protecting myself.”

“From what?”

She finally looks into his eyes and for the first time he sees the pain in her eyes. Bags under eyes from exhaustion, from the nightmares or the job, he wasn’t sure. Her eyes were glistening with tears that were threatening to fall down. 

“From getting hurt,” she admits her voice just above a whisper. 

Looking at her, Jake then set his coffee down before reaching out his arms in a quiet offer. Instantly, Aurora put her own arms out and accepts the hug from him.

Aurora couldn’t believe she was being comforted by Bradley’s arch nemesis (so he calls him), and if he found out, he would probably be so pissed, it made her chuckle internally.

A few seconds pass before they separate from the hug. Jake picks up his coffee and takes another sip.

“So, a Mitchell huh?” 

Aurora laughs as she opens the water bottle Jake had given her and takes a swig from it.

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard that.”

“Your last name?”

“Heck yeah. It’s always Aurora, Artemis, or Benjamin. I haven’t been called Mitchell since college.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve called someone Mitchell,” Jake retorts. 

“Ahhh right, Peyton,” she smirks at him. 

Aurora never thought she’d get to say that she had made the Jake Seresin turn red.

“He told you?”

She lightly chuckles. “He tells me almost everything. Things that sometimes I don’t even ask,” she shakes her head, as if trying to get rid of any memories from what Peyton tells her.

Jake stutters a little. “I’m still…I don’t really…I-”

“Jake, you don’t have to explain yourself. It’s not my business to know. But if you ever need to talk to anyone, I’m here.”

“Is this a way of saying you want my number?” he smirks. Aurora chuckles.

“With the way you are when I mention my brother, I wouldn’t flirt with his twin sister,” she teases.

Jake chuckles. “How are they? Have you heard from them lately?”

“Got a postcard from both of them. Deployed on the USS Franklin, took a stop in Japan. They seem to be doing fine.”

“You miss them?”

Aurora looks to the sky. “Every hour, every minute, every second I breathe,” she repeats the phrase the trio always say to each other, thoughtfully rubbing a thumb over her wrist where her charm bracelet usually would sit. 

Jake looks at his watch. “I should probably head in.”

“C’mon,” she says standing up. “I’ll escort you.”

“Thanks. Not just for escorting me, but for talking with me.”

She smiles at him. “Anytime.”

—

Aurora and Jake step out of the elevator to the squadroom and Jake tosses his empty coffee cup in the nearby trash can on the way to Aurora’s desk. Tony, Ziva, and McGee watch the two as they enter the desk area.

“Hey Tony, I ran into Lieutenant Seresin on the way up, something about a DNA testing,” Aurora spoke up, as she went to her desk to set her water bottle down, and sat at her desk. 

“Oh right, this way Lieutenant,” Dinozzo gets up from his desk and leads Jake to Abby’s lab. 

Jake locks eyes with Aurora again on their way out as he nods at her and leaves with Tony,  while McGee and Ziva are still watching Aurora in disbelief. 

Feeling two sets of eyes on her, Aurora looks up from her phone and looks between the pair.

“If you have a question, ask it,” she says.

“Gibbs said you left, something about needing a breather,” McGee addresses.

“That wasn’t a question McGee,” Aurora retorts back.

“Are you okay?” Ziva asks, as she walks towards the girl and leans on her desk.

“Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” McGee replies.

“McGee, leave her alone,” Gibbs tells him as he walks into the bullpen.

“Sorry boss.”

Gibbs stops at Aurora’s desk and gives her a look.“I thought I told you to go home.”

“Boss, with all due respect, I can’t. We still have a case to solve. Plus you told me if anything I could just take a couple of hours away from the case,” she replies looking up at Gibbs.

He sighs and looks at Ziva who was still leaning on Aurora’s desk. She took the stare as a sign to go back to her desk and get back to work. Gibbs turns his attention back to Aurora.

“Fine, but if something happens-”

“I’ll go to you Gibbs,” she replies. He nods and walks back to the center of the bullpen.

“Alright, what do you have for me?” He addresses them.

—

Aurora should have gone home. She should have been at her apartment, eating takeout, watching a Netflix show Peyton had put her on, while cuddling with her golden retriever puppy she named CJ. Usually she would hire someone to come watch him while she was out for her job. So while she should’ve been home doing all of that and relaxing, she realized she needed to talk to someone. Without thinking too much about it, she arrived at Gibbs’ house, and walked through the house’s front door, which was never locked. She took a look around and realized Gibbs was most likely in his basement, so she headed in that direction. She stood in the doorway and spotted Gibbs sanding his boat.

Gibbs looks up as he had heard someone in his house, and sees Aurora. He puts his sander down, and walks back to his table where he had a small fridge sat on it. Usually he would offer a guest some of his whiskey he usually had, but knowing Aurora, he always had a stock of water for her in the fridge. Walking down the stairs of the basement, Aurora came over to Gibbs as he handed her water. She nods her thanks, and takes a sip from the water while sitting on a stool, Gibbs taking the other one beside it. 

They sit in silence, while Gibbs watches Aurora fiddle with her water, peeling the label a bit.

Aurora takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry about earlier, Gibbs. Not just about the panic attack but not telling you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything Artemis?”

“Because I didn’t want to look weak.”

“You went through so much trauma, that doesn’t make you weak, Arty.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m losing my mind? Ever since the start of this case, I just can’t get it out of my head. It’s not just the case. I keep reliving memories from my past and they’re nice memories, which makes the pain hurt even more.”

“You’re stronger because of it.”

“Am I?” She says exasperated. “I came to NCIS to be something. To prove to everyone that I can be someone other than my father’s daughter, other than being a Naval aviator legacy. The Mitchell legacy.”

Gibbs sat in silence listening to her as she went on.

“I just feel like I’m being worn down. I love this job, and I love this team.” she says after taking a sip of her water. “I just don’t want to be this broken anymore,” she whispers.

“Have you tried talking to anyone?” Gibbs was trying to comfort as best as he could.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Not me Artemis, your family. Your dad? Brother?”

She stills from that realization. She hadn’t talked to her dad since he had just been recruited as a test pilot for a special Mach 10 project. Peyton was deployed with Bradley. Her mom had her bar to take care of, and Amelia had just started high school. Uncle Goose and Aunt Carole were on their anniversary vacation traveling around Europe. Uncle Ice and Aunt Sarah were still dealing from Uncle Ice’s cancer scare when they thought he had relapsed. No. She hadn’t talked to anyone. She shook her head and Gibbs sighs.

“Kid, you’re going to have to talk to someone.”

“Wh-”

“And not just me,” he cuts her off. “Maybe it’s time to see a therapist.”

Sure, Aurora could. But for Aurora, it was hard for her to ask for help. She just shrugs at Gibbs while biting the inside of her cheek, something she normally does when her anxiety kicks in.

“Maybe it’s time to tell the team-”

“No, Gibbs we both agreed that telling them about my family has nothing to do with my work.”

“When it’s affecting your mental health, I think it’s time to tell them about your family. You have nothing to lose, Artemis.”

She scoffs at Gibbs' words. She knew he was right, but she was stubborn. Aurora didn’t want to lose the respect she had earned from her peers all because of her last name. 

“We’re a family too. It’s time to trust us now,” Gibbs says to her. 

Aurora looks up at Gibbs. She smiles and takes out the postcard from her pocket and hands it to Gibbs. She could always trust Gibbs, maybe it was time to open up. He takes it and reads it, turning to her with a smirk.

“Brother and boyfriend?” He says teasingly.

“Brother and BEST friend,” she emphasizes, while rolling her eyes.

“Doesn’t seem like it. It sounds like he loves you.”

“No. I mean yes, but only like a friend.”

“I highly doubt that Artemis.”

“No, because if he does I can’t be with him.”

Gibbs looks at her incredulously. “Why?”

“Because I’m broken, he deserves better,” she replies.

“You’re not-”

“And I left. Life just got in the way. I was about to be an NCIS agent, he was just about to start his naval aviator career. He had just gotten into Top Gun, his dream! And I couldn’t hold him back. And he didn’t want to hold me back either.”

“What’s holding you back now?”

Aurora looks at Gibbs and sighs.

“I don’t know anymore.”

---

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Taglist: @call-sign-jinx @sqrlgrl22 @luckyladycreator2 @purplevortexx

[seraphtrevs]

I’ve been thinking lately and why is it that mental health is so important in BCS/BrBa but fandom very rarely talks about it? Like obviously on the other side you get woobifying and that’s annoying, but I mean the lack of sympathy for Jane and Jesse and especially Andrea for being addicts, the fact that ptsd (and refusing to deal) is so integral to becoming Saul but instead you get bullshit about Jimmy being aspd, the black and white regarding Chuck. Idk! It’s done so well yet…

I've curated my dash so that I only see BrBa/BCS takes from my perfect mutuals on tumblr (and I don't go on twitter at all), so I can't really say for sure what's going on with the fandom at large

But if I had to guess, maybe it's a couple things: 1) BrBa/BCS characters are extremely nuanced. The depiction of mental illness in media often tends toward stereotype - there are certain ways a character with depression or anxiety or PTSD or schizophrenia behaves that code them as depressed/anxious/traumatized/schizophrenic so that the audience immediately recognizes the character as very obviously suffering from a specific mental illness This isn't true of any of the characters of the gilliverse, even the ones who we're explicitly told are struggling with their mental health and being treated for it, like Chuck, Marie, and Howard. Chuck is delusional, but he doesn't act the way characters who are written as delusional usually do. Marie is neurotic, but we don't get any easy-to-digest reason for her kleptomania. We see Howard struggle with depression, but if you asked the average viewer what their impression of Howard was, they aren't likely to say "Oh, he was that character who was Struggling With Depression."

Most of these characters have very poor mental health, but it's not easy to talk about because the portrayal is subtle, not blunt

2) A lot of talk about the mental health of characters unfortunately revolves around blame. Pointing out a character might be suffering from mental illness is not the same as absolving them from blame, but some people act as though it is, which can be used to both defend and attack characters. So you get woobifiying with a mental illness diagnosis, but you also get people saying a character could not possibly be suffering from [x] because that would make them sympathetic, so clearly their actions came from sheer evil with no context and any suggestion otherwise is just making excuses for them

For example, both Jimmy and Kim were showing signs of PTSD after his trip to the desert. The Howard plot was hatched as a deranged defense mechanism - they both felt very out of control and this was a way to make them feel powerful. It's not absolving them of blame to point out they were suffering from PTSD. Their PTSD did not force them to frame their former boss. But on the other hand, it does provide context to their actions that make them more understandable.

Which again, is not the same thing as saying the Howard plot was excusable. It's just pointing out that bad mental health played a role in their disastrous decisions. I'm not really interested in assigning blame or deciding which characters are/aren't deserving of sympathy. I'm much more interested in understanding why a character made a certain choice, and I have sympathy for all of them

[beskad]

.

So it turns out the chronic fatigue that has been destroying my life for the last 8 years...... May have been largely due to the wave after wave of antidepressants that doctors kept putting me on. I have severe depressive episodes when something triggers my PTSD and usually experience dissociative episodes. (Thanks dad!!!!!!) And I expect I always will struggle with this because that's just an unfortunate fact of having been raised brainwashed and under constant threats of violence for 23 years.

BUT

I've told every doctor I've seen since 2016 about my side effects every single time. The exhaustion, the inability to do basic self care tasks like showering. They said you're just depressed. They tried antidepressant number 3 then 4 and then a 5th and 6th and 7th, even when I begged to not try another one, and even though one of them (Prozac) was documented as having made me suicidal basically overnight (3 days after starting, 2021) and I ended up in the ER when trying to (safely!! under supervision!!) discontinue Cymbalta about a year ago

I know these medications work for a lot of people. A have a friend with bipolar 1 and he hasn't had a full blown manic episode since starting lamictal over a year ago. It works for him. I'm not saying omg antidepressants are poisonous blah blah evil pharma blah blah

But I've never felt like my meds (other than trazodone for sleep) helped me and they made me so tired and gave me nerve pain and gastrointestinal issues and I'd become SO dysregulated if I took a dose even a few hours too late and I begged and begged and begged for someone to listen because I couldn't do anything I couldn't cook or shower or sleep

It was horrible, I was so exhausted and short of breath that I couldn't even stand long enough to do dishes.

I have been living with such a bone deep exhaustion that it didn't matter if the antidepressants helped with other things. I have been so EXHAUSTED and there has been no relief and that in itself has been making me want to die for over 5 years

I've been off of all of them for a little over 3 weeks now. And I don't feel like great fantastic amazing top of the world!!!!! But I do feel stable. I'm not so exhausted that it's hard to sit upright or breathe. I'm able to do things that I haven't been able to for so long. I cook basic meals every other day after work!!! I have the energy to do it. I take my trash out. I can empty the litterbox.

It's basic stuff!!! but!!! I haven't been able to take care of myself for a very long time

It doesn't feel like I have a 50 lb weight on my chest, suffocating me. My heart palpitations and shortness of breath are gone

I'm gonna fucking sue someone. I told a DOZEN DIFFERENT DOCTORS for EIGHT YEARS that I was suffering and they just threw another medication at it. It was the antidepressants all along. I'm so mad.

[mochiwrites]

Beside the wonderful update of the lastlife fic I just read,

5, 6, 9, 24 and 23 if you want to

< 3

ehehe ty!!! :D

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

I know I just answered this but I do have a second answer so !!! impulse my beloved I did not expect to be writing him but here we are! I adore impulse's character and very much enjoy writing him!

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

oh man.... there's a lot of stuff. the first things that come to mind are the more recent stories in crime au? like honestly some of those fics I am Not 100% happy with and sit very weirdly in my brain. that and some other fics I've written I would very much like to change (granted I technically still can change those things. and at some point I probably will)

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

mmmmm I talk to my girlfriend and friends a lot! throwing ideas around with them is really helpful and good for inspiration. other times I don't really do anything purposefully? it seems like whenever I actively seek out inspiration nothing really sticks, so I try to let my brain naturally come up with stuff. and sometimes the inspo comes from something as silly as a one liner, or a post I see online :D

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

uhhhh I don't think so, actually WHEEZE. most things I write don't really require any heavy duty research, so I've never had to like, take the time to dive into something to write a better scene or story.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

I don't know if it counts as obscure, but!! I feel like my experiences with mental health issues like depression and ptsd really help when I'm writing a character who's struggling with that. trauma work seems to be one of the things I'm really good at, and that's absolutely thanks to personal experiences fghfjhfgj

get to know your author

[khaire-traveler]

If you're still answering for the ask game: 🧿

🧿 - Did you have any other spiritual beliefs before discovering your current practice?

(Adding a read more for those uninterested as this is a longer post)

Yes! I used to be a Christian. I basically followed my own intuitive beliefs about Jesus and God after struggling to discover my own path (my family was not religious, so it was a lot of fumbling around in the dark growing up). I didn't really do things the same as other Christians around me would at the time (things are different now, I would say), so it was difficult for me to find a good sense of community. I found one in a local church, but even that was a bit weird for me because most people were in their 30s-40s and my ass was 16 lmao.

Anyway, I was a very devout Christian for pretty much my entire life (I even considered becoming a pastor), but when I was 17 (late 2019-early 2020), something massive changed. My PTSD reared its ugly head for the first time, and when it hit me, it hit me fucking hard. Depression and anxiety became virtually unbearable for me, I was literally going through three abusive situations at once, it was my Senior year of highschool while the pandemic hit, and my life felt like it was falling apart. Shit was absolutely wild. And throughout it, I prayed to the Christian God. I prayed and prayed and prayed, and for the first time in my life, it felt like no one was listening on the other end.

I was praying to the ceiling. I was crying out to the dry wall.

That was when I officially left my Christian faith. Other factors also contributed to it, but I won't be discussing them. It took me until August of 2020 to engage with any pagan/polytheist beliefs. Before then, I tried out Wicca for, like, one month, realized that it didn't work for me and also made me feel weird as an enby, and just sort of didn't have any beliefs for a while (glad that Wicca didn't stick, tbh). In August, though, Lord Hermes reached out to me. As far as I know, he's the first deity to reach out to me, and my gods did he reach out strong lmao. He would not give up on my oblivious ass, sending me signs and trying to get my attention. I'm grateful to him for that.

When I prayed to Hermes for the first time, someone was on the other end of that prayer. I wasn't praying to the ceiling; I was praying to someone, and he was listening to me. I felt his energetic presence as well, and although I was a bit nervous because I hadn't had that experience before, it was still reassuring in a way, almost like a confirmation that "yes, this was a good thing to try". Hermes was the first deity I ever started worshipping in a pagan sense. It was a lovely experience, and from the start, he was kind, helpful, and supportive. He will always hold a special place in my heart. 🧡

-

That's my story. I'm sorry for the whole backstory I just gave you lol. Thank you for the ask, Nonny. c:

If you want to join the ask game, here's the link!

[razorsadness]

In the grand tradition of me, I started this journal entry ages ago, but then more stuff kept happening before I could finish it. Let’s see if I can get it all down—

I’ll start with the hard things.

There's my perpetual broke-ness; trying to prepare for the impending holidays while not having a lot of money to buy gifts. And that's fine for my friends and most of my family members—they appreciate handmade gifts. But for my kids? Well, I'm hustling every day to have enough money to buy them some gifts. (It's especially difficult because C.’s birthday is four days before Xmas, so we have to buy gifts for that, too.)

There's a struggle I'm having in regards to my mom; I've written about that extensively in my private journal and don't feel like rehashing it here right now, because it makes me too upset.

And D.'s been struggling again, with anger, and with (lack of) focus. I’m not sure if we need to increase the dosage of his meds or what. I hope that he gets into equine therapy soon (he’s on a waitlist), because my cousin S.’s daughter M. tried years of different meds and talk therapy for her depression and anxiety and PTSD, and none of that has helped her as much as equine therapy has. In the meantime, we’re trying to limit his video game time, because even though gaming is his favorite thing, it also brings out his rage like nothing else.

There are my own mental illnesses and disabilities, which can make even good days turn pretty shit.

And there have been some writing rejections, which have sucked on two levels. One being that these were paying publications, and I fucking need the money. The other being that getting rejected just fucking sucks. (At least rejections no longer send me into a I'm never writing again spiral like they used to; though they do occasionally send me into an I’m never submitting again, fuck traditional publishing, I’ll self-publish everything from now on spiral.)

But then there’s so much good (or at least happysad) stuff, too. I’ve been writing a lot; mostly poetry but also some prose. I’ve been working on my Rimbaud translations again, and now I finally know what I’m going to do with them. I’ve been reading a lot—new and new-to-me stuff, plus rereading some of my perennial favorites. Same with music and television/movies—I’m spending about equal amounts of time on discovering new things and rediscovering old favorites. I’ve been doing as much as I can both dayjob-wise and side hustle-wise and activism-wise, but also trying to take it easy on myself when I need to rest. Speaking of rest and self-care, I’ve been drinking less coffee and more tea. (Even caffeinated tea is better for me than coffee; too much coffee makes me jittery and anxious, whereas caffeinated tea does not do that, no matter how much I drink. Also, I’ve been having a lot of stomachaches lately, and coffee makes them worse whereas tea actually helps.) And speaking of dayjobs, P. has started actively applying for work again. I’ve been spending a lot of time in my favorite places here in Racine, and thinking about how much I love it. It’s funny, for a lot of years I thought I’d rather live anywhere other than here. Even when I did move back, I thought it was only temporary. But sometime in the past eight years (around the time I became Poet Laureate) it started to feel like home, and I will be sad when I do leave it.

On the 9th, I drove down to DeKoven (a place I have written about a lot over the years, including in one of the pieces in my most recent zine), to the art gallery there, to set up for our art and poetry event. It was a perfect fall day; leaves wet from recent rain, a chill wind off the lake. I helped hang the art and set up the sculptures; I also hung my poems on the wall next to the pieces which inspired them, and added relevant decorative embellishments with oil pastels. I remembered how much I like being involved in the actual set-up of an art show. And I got to see some folks I hadn’t seen in a while, and also met a few new people, including a gorgeous woman named K. It was her birthday; she was wearing a gold glitter jacket, shedding sparkles everywhere, and she brought cupcakes and sparkling grape juice to share with everyone. By the time I left, it was full dark, and there, over the lake to the south, was the skyline of Kenosha, glittering gold in the blue-black.

Two nights later was the art and poetry event, so it was back to DeKoven, hat on my head and boots on my feet, jazz on the radio. It turned out to be one of the best nights I’ve had in a few months. I drank a La Fin du Monde; one of my favorite beers since I first tried it in Montreal twenty goddamn years ago. All the art was amazing; all the poets writing in response to it wrote amazing stuff. I love poetry readings like that, where everyone has very different styles but they are all so fucking good.

I got to see two more old friends for the first time in quite a while—J.E. and N.R. N.R. is one of my favorite people ever, like he is just the type of person who makes friends with everyone and is chill with everything. We were both drinking beer, and laughing about how back in the day we would’ve been smoking weed, too, but how now we can’t do both at the same time anymore or we just get sleepy. During the intermission, J.E. and I stood outside smoking cigarettes, and we talked about everything. I asked how he was, and he said, “Well, I don’t want to die most days anymore, so I’d say I’m doing alright.” And then he said: “I hope that’s okay to say, it’s just, you’re this person I trust that when you ask me how I’m doing, I can be honest about it, no bullshit.” And I said: “You’re absolutely right.” And then I went on to talk about how sometimes I still think ‘I wanna die,’ but it’s not really that I want to die, it’s that I want my life and/or the world to be completely different, and he totally understood what I was saying. Then we talked about parenting, the great parts and the hard parts, and we talked about living in poverty, and I just. I know I’ve mentioned it before but I’m so glad that we are friends now. As fucked up as we both were when we first met back in 2008, I’m so glad that after years of not talking to one another, over the past almost four years we’ve become close and now I consider him not just a casual acquaintance but a good goddamn friend.

I got a bunch of compliments on my poems/performance, including people saying my stuff reminded them of the Beats but that I’d surpassed them, and the poet who was set to perform after me saying “how am I supposed to follow that?!” I met a bunch of new amazing people that night, too. Like P.W., a Romanian man who was one of the artists that had work as part of the event; he had the sexiest accent and looked super sexy, too. I’m pretty sure he’s a bit younger than I am, but he’s fully silver-haired, and gorgeous. Like T., who was one of the artists and one of the poets, and he was wearing an amazing shirt—a button-down with a print of ink pots, fountain pens, and notebooks. And K. was there, too, because she was one of the poets, and her words were fire, and she was gorgeous in a tight dress and tall boots and a beret. After the performance part of the night was over, I hung out for a while, finishing my beer, talking with people. T. and I talked about God, and the mycellium network, and mycellium-as-God; we talked about Beat poets and bisexuality. He has such an interesting story. He’s in his 60s. He married a woman in his early 20s, and always knew he was also into men, but they were monogamous and he loved his wife very much. She died about five years ago, and he still loves her (I could tell just by the way he talked about her), but now he’s dating a man for the first time ever in his life, and loves his current partner very much, too. He also told me he found me fascinating, and wanted to write a poem about me. I talked with P.W. again for a bit, he said he’d like to paint me sometime if I’d be interested in modeling for him, and uh, well. I didn’t commit to anything, because I felt a spark of attraction and though I wasn’t sure if he felt one, too, I knew if he did it could turn into a complicated situation.

Then I went outside to have a cigarette. J.E. was already outside smoking, and P.W. and K. joined us, as well as K.’s friend that had come with her to the event. K. was out of cigarettes, so I rolled one for her. J.E. said: “I’m not gonna lie, your ‘Blue’ poem was kinda long, and I started getting a little sleepy while you read it.” P.W. said: “I didn’t think it was too long. I liked listening to you read it. If it did make me feel sleepy, it was in a good way. Like a beautiful lullaby.” Which, well, wow. We all stood quiet for a minute, smoking; smelling the shit smell wafting from the wastewater treatment plant. K. and her friend left.

Then this very drunk young woman walked up to us. She was swaying slightly on her feet, holding a plastic cup of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Turned out she was there for her sister’s wedding reception, which was being held in the great hall part of DeKoven. “Most of the people there other than my girlfriend are super boring and straight, but I didn’t want to stand alone while I smoked, and I saw your hat,” she pointed at me, “and decided to come over here. You’re not straight, are you?” she asked me. “No, no I’m not,” I said. “I knew it!” she said. “No straight person could pull a hat like that off so well!” Then: “Anyway. I’m L., I’m gay, and I have a useless English degree.” J.E. and I laughed, and said: “Join the club! We have useless English degrees too!” She said: “No, you don’t understand, mine is with a concentration in creative writing, so it’s extra useless.” “Us too!” we said. She went on to talk about how she’d tried to write fiction but her stories sucked so she gave up and now just worked in customer service. J.E. said: “Have you tried writing poetry?” But he said it in this sort of creepy, Waits-y growl, like he was some criminal or pervert in a trenchcoat, lurking in a dark alley, like: “Hey, kid, you wanna try poetry?” So I just fucking lost it at that. When I’d stopped laughing, J.E. and I both tried telling her in all seriousness that well, of course most writers, including ourselves, do non-creative writing work to pay the bills, but that we still write. We told her that, in fact, that’s why we were there that night; we’d just done a poetry reading. Then the topic moved on to where we were from/lived. L. said she was from San Diego originally but now lived with her girlfriend in Brooklyn: “But not the cool part. The part that sucks.” Soon after, a very dapper, short butch woman came running over: “There you are!” she said to L. “Oh, hey everyone,” L. said, “this is my girlfriend.” Then, to her girlfriend: “I came over here because of her hat,” she said, pointing to me again. “It is a great hat,” said her girlfriend. “Thank you for taking care of my lost puppy,” she said. “I was in the bathroom when she disappeared and I got worried.” “We should probably get back to the reception,” L. said, rolling her eyes. “You guys should come crash it! There’s plenty of free beer and wine!” And they walked away. I considered it for a split second; that’s the kind of thing I would’ve done in a heartbeat in my younger days, and it has been a very long time since I’ve done anything that spontaneous and wild—but it was already 9:30 and I had to get home to put C. to bed.

“I should probably get going,” I told J.E. and P.W. “Yeah, we’re gonna leave soon, too,” J.E. said. “I’m crashing at P.W.’s place because he only lives a few blocks from here, and I’m too drunk to drive all the way back to Kenosha.” “You could stay there, too,” P.W. said to me, “I mean, if you don’t feel safe driving far.” The smile on his face told me everything I needed to know: Yep, he felt something, too, and may not have been offering his house as a crashpad for wholly gentlemanly reasons. Again, I considered it for a split second. Again, something I would have done in a heartbeat in my younger days… “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. I’ve only had one beer and I don’t live that far away.” I waved goodbye and walked to my car. A little sad that I wasn’t crashing a wedding or crashing at a relative stranger’s house, but mostly just buzzed from the great night, the art and poetry and all the beautiful people I met. I remembered, for the one millionth time, how much happier I am when I can get out in the world and be among other people.

Two days later, C. and I went to the library. Everything was beautiful, the lake and the wind and the golden light. They were having craft day in the kids’ department, doing a Diwali craft, so we stayed for that. They showed a short video about Diwali and then had the kids do a modified version of Diwali sand art—glued onto plates, rather than just free-form. C. had a lot of fun with it. That day was also D.’s birthday, my first baby is twelve now, which is wild to me. We celebrated at my parents’ house. D. really loved his disco ball piñata; I’m so glad we were able to make that happen. Two days after that, C. and I met my mom downtown. It was another gorgeous day, sunny, warm for the time of year; we walked around, went into some shops, I took photos of jukeboxes and cigarette machines sitting in the window of a closed-down store. And another two days after that, P. and I took the kids to Mound Cemetery, to visit the Native American burial mounds, as well as to see some of the old graves. The next week and a bit was work, activism, the dailinesses of life, taking food to my favorite neighbor. Then Thanksgiving, which was less stressful than holidays with my parents often are, though not without some hiccups because I don’t think there can be a holiday without some kind of stress.

Two days after that, I drove to DeKoven again; I was meeting some of my poetry friends there so we could record our videos for next year’s Woodland Pattern Poetry Marathon. I had to run a couple errands first, and on my drive through downtown, I saw a group of young (late-teen or early-20s, I couldn’t tell) punks, and they reminded me so much of myself and my friends at that age, and it made me so happy that there are still punk kids stalking the streets of midsized midwest cities, looking simultaneously tough and awkward. N.R. and J.E. were at DeKoven for the recording session, along with S.K. and J.P. N.R. had brought a small cooler full of beer, and so he and J.E. and I each drank one. In between recording, the five of us talked about relationships and food and publishing and poetry and various other topics. After I’d recorded my poems, both of which mentioned ghosts, we talked about ghosts. J.E. asked me if I believed in ghosts. He said he’d had weird experiences that could’ve been ghostly, but he wasn’t sure if he wholly believed or not. I said I’m kind of the same way—I’ve had experiences that I can’t explain away with a more ‘rational’ explanation, but I can’t say with 100% certainty that they were paranormal experiences, either. “I guess you could say I’m a ghost agnostic,” I said. Then I mentioned that DeKoven and the area surrounding it is supposedly one of the most haunted places in Racine; I said I’d had weird experiences on the grounds in the past but never any in that particular building. Less than thirty seconds after I said that, we all heard a noise in the room above us, like footsteps walking across the room, and then a door opening and shutting, softly. There was no one else in the building at the time. It was really as though a ghost heard our conversation and was like: “Oh, you’ve never had an experience in this building before? Oh, you’re not sure you believe in ghosts? How about now???” After we’d finished recording, we all hung out for a bit, and then I got ready to leave. N.R. said: “I’d like to hug you, if that’s okay,” and it was, and I was pleased because I love hugging my friends, but there are times when I’m not in the mood, and it’s nice when people check. When I left, it was dark, and I saw the waxing moon and Saturn, both rising over the lake. My parents were watching the kids for the afternoon/evening, so P. and I got to have an at-home date night. We had good sex and then cooked a great dinner.

The next day it got a lot colder, and snowed, and we had a cozy-at-home day; I spent most of the day drinking tea and reading, and also made some cookies. The day after that I felt under the weather—not an illness, just a flare-up of my recurrent issues—but I took it easy, with more tea and reading. The day after that, my period started, much earlier than I was expecting it. Over the past couple years, when my cycle changes due to stress or illness, my period now starts early; when I was younger, stress or illness always made it late. I don’t miss the pregnancy scares, but I do hate that I have to bleed even more frequently now. But it wasn’t so bad, no cramps this time. And that evening, P. and I got to have a delicious holiday stout at the pub where we went to pick up dinner for us, the kids, and my parents. The night after that, I got the news of Henry Kissinger’s death, and said good fucking riddance, it was nice to hear about a death that in no way made me sad.

And then, within five minutes of waking up on Thursday morning, I saw the news that Shane MacGowan had died. And I just…I don’t know how to explain all the things this has brought up for me. I’m working on a longer piece for my newsletter, about Shane and The Pogues, but in the meantime, I’ll just say… I mean, I already had a bunch of Pogues songs saved as drafts on my blog, and I’d already been listening to them a lot, starting in mid-November. November and December are Pogues months for me. Because of the weather, but also because of certain November/December memories which are attached to Pogues songs. And Filia and I were texting about it, because she gets it, understands why this is so devastating, was just as devastated, and I miss her, I will always miss her. And of course it got me thinking about Joe Strummer’s death, twenty-one fucking years ago, how she was the one that broke the news to me, over the phone, after I’d just gotten home from visiting her, and somehow Shane’s death feels close to Joe’s death. I don’t mean time-wise, obviously; I mean, in terms of how sad it makes me. Or something. Fuck. And I said on my main blog that Filia is the only person I know IRL who gets it, but of course that’s a lie. Because there’s also fucking Derry. He fucking knew Shane, like, personally (not super well, but still), and the night he first kissed me is one of the November nights attached to a Pogues song (see: A Foggy Night in Lakeview, the lyric essay/mini-zine I wrote about that night and “A Rainy Night in Soho.”), and. Well. We’ve already opened up the lines of communication between us again in the past year and a bit and I knew that if I didn’t email him he was going to email me anyway, so I sent him a message. He responded later that day, and I miss him, I will always miss him.

The rest of the day wasn’t terrible. I made that Saint MacGowan art piece. It was a warmer day, so C. and I took a long walk around the neighborhood. We picked up nature treasures, and saw the silliest doggo, who barked at us and then kept bringing toys up to the window and shaking them, as though it wanted us to come inside and play—and when we of course did not, he’d go get another toy and bring it over, as though it was the toy that was the problem and not the fact that he was inside and we were out. Later, I made a delicious tikka masala for dinner. Then, I rearranged my altar, lit some candles, turned on The Pogues, and said a slainté for Shane. I was having this conflicting feeling about drinking that night, given Shane’s lifelong struggles with addiction, and my own past struggles with it. Part of me thought about never touching a drop of alcohol again; part of me wanted to get shitfaced. Ultimately, I did neither. I drank one Guinness, and the shot of Jameson I’d been saving for some unspecified occasion—Thursday night was that occasion.

The next day, I got double-vaxxed. CoViD and flu. The pharmacist that administered the vaccines was cute and kinda punky looking, and the vaccines themselves didn’t feel too bad. But I started feeling woozy within in an hour of receiving the vaccines, and felt like death warmed over for about 48 hours afterward. Sweats, chills, body aches, fatigue, brain fog, painful swollen lymph node in my armpit, the whole bit. I took it super easy Saturday; just laid around in bed drinking tea, reading, watching documentaries, and crying a lot. P. made stir fry for dinner. Yesterday I still took it pretty easy, and I felt mostly better by late afternoon. We roasted a chicken and some potatoes and asparagus for dinner; a simple comfort meal that was perfect for a chill-damp Sunday night.

I have jury duty this week (which is the reason I got double-vaxxed), and I’m hoping I don’t have to go in. I called in last night about today, and there are no new cases going to trial, so I’m off the hook for today at least. Today is National Cookie Day, and the kids want to make gingerbread cookies, so that’s my main plan for the day. Next Saturday is the last BONK! ever, and I’m so fucking sad about that, you have no idea. It has been going on for fifteen years. I have been a performer and an attendee so many times. I have given some of my best performances there, and seen so many other amazing poets and musicians. It makes me want to start my own performance series, just to keep something like that going in this town, but I have no idea how to go about it.

Other things from these past weeks: Intense, vivid dreams. Some hot ones—I’ve recently had sex dreams about both [redacted] and [redacted]. Others that wreck me when I wake up and realize they’re just dreams—like the one I had last week, in which Jack Terricloth was still alive, and Maggie and I were still friends. Memories of old friends and lovers—those gone from the world or just gone from my life, and those still alive and in my life (but the memories of how we were, back when). Moments of intense, unbidden nostalgia; of slipping in and out of times past. A certain hat or pair of boots, a certain smell or taste, a certain song, and suddenly it’s 1999, 2003, 2004, 2007, 2008, 2010, 2015, 2019. Moments of the DJs on my favorite radio station playing songs that are deeply relevant to either my mood or what I’m thinking about, as though they’re reading my mind. Watching possums in the yard. Melancholy weather—when it got colder and snowed, everything was beautiful for a few days, but then it warmed up slightly, and now it’s that late November/early December season. “Locking,” Kurt Vonnegut called it. Or, to misquote Sylvia Plath: the best of autumn gone, the new winter not yet born. Cold, but not cold enough to snow. Mist and fog and rising damp.

And my heart breaks every goddamn day. From the pain of life and the world, but also from the beauty.

[velvetnviolentviolets]

COMMON MISCONCEPTIONS:

((Because I've had soo many issues with this as of late))

I'm going to say this VERY loud so that everyone at the back of the room hears this. Katherine Does Not Sleep Around. Kat Is actually a fairly tough personality to get on with. I'm not saying this because I DONT want ships. I am a SHIPPING WHORE. BUT my muse wont just smut for smut sake. Kat Is a HUGE FLIRT and will openly flirt BUT that doesn't mean she wants to wham bam thank you ma’am(or man). Even If Kat and another muse get to flirting there is no guarantee she isn't going to spook and back peddle. She is GREAT at freaking out and pulling away. It’s kind of her thing. TLDR?: NEED CHEMISTRY and FEELS FOR BOOM BOOM. Flirt =/= Wanting to do the do.

AN IMPORTANT HEADCANON: Kat is generally detached and indifferent but when attached? Friends, Family, Lovers? She can quickly become needy, clingy, and obsessive. BUT is also quick to retreat inward or act out under perceived rejection.

A USELESS HEADCANON:

Kat has a collection of “neat” flashlights and lighters. Her favorite lighter is a chicken who’s flame comes from it’s beak.

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS:

Kats triggers are large amounts of blood. Sudden loud noises in small spaces. Masculine presenting individuals who suddenly get loud/Aggressive/Angry.

Potential triggers associated my muse:

These will be placed at the bottom of the post so they can be under cut.

SOMETHING YOU ENJOY ABOUT (WRITING) THEM

While Kat has a whole lot about her that makes her a difficult personality she is also an EXTREMELY passionate personality. Her passion for the things and people she loves has such a swelling affectionate and energizing resonance that words and feelings can come on SO intensely. I can feel her excitement, pain, joy, and affection in such a physical way. Aside from that she has been an amazing outlet to filter my own life experience, rumination’s, and motifs through. Not to mention she also has a tendency to just crack me up.

SOMETHING YOU WANT OTHERS TO KNOW BEFORE WRITING WITH THEM.

Katherine is spiked. Even if she starts off playful for you she’s going to have reactive moments where she bites and I can’t really do much to curb her triggers.

Kat WILL NOT just have sex with or just be thrown into a ship with your muse. If it doesn’t work I can’t force it. I’ve even tried! I pushed a ship on her just for the sake of not having to disappoint someone and she absolutely shut down on me. I couldn’t write her for weeks.

This is more of a mun thing but: PLEASE DO NOT CONFUSE INACTIVITY FOR DISINTEREST.

Life has been a real shit show as of late and I’m having a hard enough time taking care of myself let alone writing.

If you are going to take my struggle to write personally just save us both the time and anxiety and unfollow me now. 🙃

tagged: @wynterlanding Thank you for sticking around and just for being amazing in general . 🥹

Tagging: @godccmplex @vvolfatthedoor and @pctentialbreakupsong

Drug abuse, Spousal abuse, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal illness, Death of a parent, Death of a spouse, SA, Knives, Murder, and Alcoholism.

[hiraganasakura]

Mantle evac asker again: thanks for a well-crafted response and apologies if I put you on the spot. TBH I'm not even sure Ironwood *needed* that semblance explanation for his unraveling (or a semblance *period;* a fair number of capable RWBY characters don't have one) with his pre-existing authoritarian tendencies and post-Beacon PTSD in play. Feel free to expand on Robyn if the mood hits, 'cause ye gods could watchers be giving her & the H-Huntresses a fairer shake.

Hi anon! Sry for the late reply, I've been busy

Yeah, true, the Semblance thing works to reinforce what we already understand. Honestly the primary reasons I wish it was talked about in-show is bcus the only reason we even know what his Semblance is is bcus the writers talked about it at some panel, and it could contribute another layer to Ironwood's character

According to the RWBY wiki's article on Mettle (link), apparently they wanted to explicitly state it in V7/V8, and had it in mind while writing Ironwood, but couldn't find a way to work the reveal in without damaging the flow of the show. I learned that just now and found it interesting

I just think it's cool to see negative aspects of Semblances tbh. They're meant to be the manifestation of a person's very soul and while they're usually shown in a positive light seeing the bad side of it is an interesting perspective. Like we see Qrow struggling with self-loathing (and the closely connected depression and alcoholism) due to Misfortune, in After the Fall/Before the Dawn Yatsuhashi fears his own Memory Wiping Semblance, etc. Seeing Ironwood have similar struggles I think would humanize him a bit while still not excusing his actions. It'd make him even more interesting imo. Does that make sense?

But now to the main point, yay, I get to talk about this! I only just had this realization as I was answering your previous ask

Ok so. Some ppl [nobody here] claim that Blake and Yang trusting Robyn with the info on Amity was "dumb" of them bcus they didn't know for certain if she was trustworthy at that point in time. Which, I can get why ppl may think that, but I respectfully disagree. I don't think "dumb" is the right word at all; in fact, I think the fact that Blake and Yang were even willing to try this shows a lot of how their characters have grown

Think about it: these two have rly bad trust issues

I mean, Blake was abused by Adam and faced harsh discrimination as a Faunus. In the early volumes of RWBY, she struggled to even trust her team for a while, hiding her cat ears under her little black bow until the truth came out completely on accident. And when she was finally able to trust them, the Fall of Beacon happened, her trauma with Adam came rearing its ugly head, and, blaming herself for Yang losing her arm, Blake left for Menagerie. (You can see in little details how high alert she is thru a lot of V4 and maybe even V5; off the top of my head, in the first V4 episode we see with her, when the captain of the ship to Menagerie approaches Blake, her immediate instinct is to reach for her weapon.) She didn't even trust herself for a very long time, and due to the horrible stuff she's seen, also had a hard time trusting other ppl

Then there's Yang, and gosh, she's been thru sm too. After she lost not one but two moms, her trust issues seem to manifest more in a fear of abandonment. Near the start of the show she was largely motivated by her search for Raven, hoping to understand why she left—but when she meets Raven in V5, she almost instantly sees thru most of Raven's lies. When Blake left after the Fall of Beacon, Yang had a harder time than the rest with it (see: the whole "Why isn't she here for me?" conversation she had with Weiss in V5), and even had a harder time accepting her return (the awkward air between them for the majority of V6 was palpable)

When Blake and Yang killed Adam and defeated some of their inner demons in the process, not only did they feel able to fully start trusting one another again, but I think it may have helped them to start trusting others, as well

Iirc Blake and Yang were talking about Adam right before they spoke to Robyn about Amity. Now I'm wondering, was that just a coincidence? Or was it a suble acknowledgement of their character development together?

Of course they didn't know whether Robyn could be trusted with that info, but the fact that they were willing to give it a shot demonstrates a lot. And I don't think it's stupidity, or naiveté. I think it is an amazing point in the development of Blake and Yang, a mark of their willingness to trust in the world again

And in hindsight, we can say it was a generally good choice. It was a little rocky at first, with the damage it caused to Ironwood's trust in RWBY. But for a wonderful fleeting moment, it led to James Ironwood and Robyn Hill (of all the ppl who could work together!), once diametrically opposed, standing in unity to help the ppl of Atlas and Mantle...

Well... Until the Black Queen arrived. But we covered that already

Also I totally agree with you that certain corners of the FNDM do the Happy Huntresses dirty. I mean, disagreeing with their methods from a political standpoint is whatever, but like... don't mix them up with the bad guys. They're rly not. They looked at the blantant inequalities between Atlas and Mantle, said "We won't stand for this", and started working for change. I'm pretty sure it was even said that they were all graduates of Atlas Academy that theoretically could have joined the military and done well in it—but they chose not to. Bcus they felt protecting Mantle was more important than upholding the Atlesian status quo. Bcus they too were hurt by the toxic culture of Atlas and decided to make it so that the ppl of the future didn't have the same struggles. (And honestly I think they made the right choice. Look what obeying the status quo did to the Ace Ops. Half of them are dead and the other half are super traumatized now, if they weren't already.) Good for the Happy Huntresses

Also briefly circling back to the Semblance conversation! I love Robyn's Semblance from the whole "manifestation of the soul" outlook bcus I think it fits her as a person so well. I mean, Lie Detection? For someone who is so unbending in her pursuit of the truth? For someone who will always stand up for what she believes in no matter the scorn she may receive? YES, I love it! And it even checks the boxes of having an additional layer of a setback: When empathizing with Qrow in V8, Robyn explains that having a Semblance that could detect lies led to it becoming difficult to make connections in her childhood bcus ppl were scared she would sniff out their secrets. Lie Detection is probably one of my favorite Semblances, despite its simplicity, purely from a storytelling pov

[flowergrave]

hey so ive been following your mental health journey for a while (since your url was bruisedchild) and im just now starting my own. i wanted to ask you: how has your view towards mental illness changed now since when you were first diagnosed, if it has at all? xx

hi!!! sorry this response is a little bit late, i had to think on this one. i think the biggest thing that changed over the years is that i focus a lot less on labels. i've been through so many psychiatrists and i've been diagnosed with SO many different things. and i used to overwhelm myself so much with trying to research and get treatment for every single thing, to the point where i felt so hopeless and alienated just looking at everything i was told is wrong with me. but i've realized now that my trauma should be the focal point of my recovery- everything else is just a symptom of that. like on top of ptsd, the panic attacks being a "panic disorder" and the attachment issues being various "personality disorders" and the depressive episodes being "major depressive disorder". literally all of those things can be traced back to me experiencing recurring trauma at an early developmental age, and i don't let myself get scared by the laundry list of labels anymore. i try not to focus so much on the words written on paper (which are pretty much only used for insurance billing purposes) and i just focus on the resources i'm given to manage the root issues and symptoms i know i struggle with. and i've found that i do so much better and feel so much lighter by just thinking about it that way rather than viewing myself as a list of psychology terminology.

[festeringneondistraction]

I want to write poetry again but its just not happening!

Lately I've been so in my head. So many feelings and worries, its just real mental illness hours so in other words: I'm going through it. I've been journaling and posting and that's all fine and good but usually I can take those base thoughts and flesh them out into poetry! I'm very creatively frustrated right now because I have the urge to create but I just... cant. I try!! I definitely try and its not that I'm being a perfectionist about it at least not consciously. I firmly believe in making not-good art just for the sake of art. Bad art is amazing! But its just lots of stress intrusive thoughts then just TV static. The combination of extreme near constant anxiety, and brain fog.

Just to clarify somethings I'm at a very difficult season of my life right now for a lot of reason. I'm also a bit of an neurological alphabet soup (multiple diagnosis) so this is what I'm dealing with. Side note self-diagnosis is valid and you can kindly leave my blog if you think its not :). I'm just clarifying what doctors have told me and what else might be going on. Also I realize some of these are so co-morbid that its a bit redundant but I'm just listing it anyway.

CONFRIMED: Autism, depression, PTSD, ADHD, Social Anxiety/general anxiety, dyspraxia (also called developmental coordination disorder), dermatillomania, and a nice history of self-harm.

COMPLICATED: Chronic migraine (I do get migraines fairly consistently with aura I've had doctors acknowledge my migraines but no official diagnosis yet) mysophobia, ARFID (its extreme obvious for me that I have very real and severe food issues, I've just never talked to a doctor), dyslexia and dyscalculia. I was pretty much treated for both and struggled in those areas significantly. Just never put on paper to my knowledge.

SUSPECTED: OCD, maybe all of this is just CPTSD? who knows.

What im trying to say is there is a lot to unpack in my brain. For anyone who actually read this far thank you i love you id love to talk :)! But really who knows what's causing what sometimes. And when you struggle with brain fog and poor introspection??? What am I even supposed to do.

Id also like to mention im a daily weed smoker. I try not to smoke all day I try and wait till (weirdly enough) 4:20 is actually a great time of day to start lol. But seriously i at bare minimum wait till 420 I usually try to go a little longer.

Weed is one of the only thing that helps with the anxiety. As I am reading all this back and my landry list of diagnosis is right in front of me.... WOW im a high anxiety person. and there's shit I didn't even mention. It all really loops back to Autism and Anxiety. Its to the point where ill go to a friends house.. im feeling anxious but excited and I think im masking well. Then after like two minutes of talking to me my friend will almost always say "Shade you need more weed." Like damn is it that bad. People find it hard to talk to me sometimes because im so high anxiety these days. It used to be that I could talk to anyone and make them feel comfortable. I might be freaking out the whole time but It used to be that I was so good at masking my anxiety and autism people wouldn't notice.

Also hi! My name is Shade and yes its my actual legal name. This rant about poetry turned into like a mental illness recap and informal intro. If my blog gets even the tiniest bit of attention i'll do a proper more light hearted intro. Just really speaks to the ADHD I guess. I have so much more to say but if I let myself keep typing it will become a compulsion and I wont stop for hours so Im done now :)

[shdwtouch]

about puffin.

I am very casual and lowkey. good vibes only, honestly. I am also neurodivergent; if you need my credentials we got that autism, ADHD, PTSD, anxiety, depression, and a bit of OCD and RSD for flavor. meaning I am doing my best, putting my best foot forward and being the best person I can be every day, even if I struggle.

as a person I have a lot of anxiety and paranoia, I'm very insecure. I'm forgetful and lose track of both time and objects frequently. I'm also a recovering people pleaser and self-described "fixer" / problem solver. but in general I have honestly been trying to be more confident, to have a spine, lately. I'm still learning how to hold firm to my boundaries and expectations without being a total bitch, its a balance.

and I feel like being transparent about all this is important. because I'm not good at confrontation or explaining myself to folks, and I don't want people to think I'm just being a brat or mean or rude cuz that is the farthest from what I am or what I'm trying to achieve. I'm just always doing my best, and I'm always learning. I know I will make mistakes, I have in the past, but it is my goal to learn from them and grow. I want to be the best version of myself, for myself and others.

so, uh, stuff to keep in mind when talking to me:

I apologize a lot. gut response, doing my best to curb it and only apologize when necessary / needed. but never doubt I mean it, cuz I do.

I overexplain. I don't think you're stupid I'm just explaining what I would personally want clarified. its literally just me trying to be considerate and overcompensating.

I will forget to respond / fall out of contact. it is not personal ! I do it to everyone, even my closest friends. you are never bothering me by poking me. I am shy and forgetful and sometimes I just feel awkward. but it is never personal, because I don't like you, your muses, you did something wrong, etc.

I will share videos and memes and other stuff with you. this is never done with the expectation of a response. its mostly just stuff I find funny or reminded me of you / your muse ! essentially my version of penguin pebbling.

I may be awkward and ask questions to make sure we are on good terms. clear communication is important to me ! I'm just trying to get better at broaching the topic of when I worry / know something is wrong, you know ?

I may misunderstand your messages, get confused, or react to perceived / unintended tone. please be patient with me. as mentioned, I am trying to find a balance between "your feelings / perception is valid" and "don't be a bitch". just know I am guaranteed to apologize over the misunderstanding and feel awful afterwards. and if you ever have an issue with my perceived tone etc please do let me know, I know I'm not always as eloquent as I would like to be !

I may explain or describe things in a way that is difficult to understand. if this happens please just be honest and I will do my best to adjust for you ! I recognize that my brain processes can be a bit... convoluted, so what I think makes sense may not be as clear as I would hope to others. I promise I won't be offended if you say you don't understand or need me to explain something differently !

I may revert to "fixer" or "mediator" mode. I used to be a moderator for a game guild and one of my jobs was mediating between the higher ups and lower ranking officers. beyond trying to solve problems for people, I know I tend to adopt a neutral / devils advocate stance in regards to "drama". simply put, just say "hey puffin, I appreciate you're trying to help but I just need you to listen and not try to fix things" when venting. I try to approach venting with the question of do you need a shoulder to cry on or do you want help, but I know I tend to forget.

I have anxiety flare ups where I feel unsafe and withdraw socially. its not personal, I'm just going into damage control mode when my mind detects danger. most of the time this is something small that seems huge at the time; I'll get over it. I appreciate folks being patient with me while I find my head.

I value honesty and open communication, even if its something I struggle with. confrontation is never easy, but I know its necessary. if you have a problem say something, because otherwise I will overthink. and trust me, I know its not easy being told you've done something wrong, but accountability is important. I want to be held accountable for the things I do, just as I want to be able to hold those around me accountable for the things they do.

I just want folks to feel comfortable and safe with me. I'm a no judgement, no hate zone. I'm here to be supportive and kind, I feel like its my... purpose, idk. I want to be a good friend, and a good person. you're always welcome with me. you can always talk to me, about anything. I'm here. I care. I'm doing my best.