#Talking about her dad is causing her to dissociate number 1

[jesytr]

you don't see color & want to go back to black & white .

it hit her like a nail pushed into a coffin. the needle lunging in deep enough to keep its living corpse trapped within. she could feel a thought stirring deeply within her noggin'. rustling around with other more important thoughts. those like . . . define black and white ?? . . . what did it matter to him ?? . . . and how'd he guess it so easily??

reading her like an educated tutor telling their student how to do mathematics. she didn't enjoy the thought that what he was doing was digging deeper into the parts of her that lacked color. that crept forwards with an afterthought of feeling left behind. that how she saw the world was exactly like a colorful giraffe on a tight rope. eventually they'd either break the rope , or . . .

" ya' know me. " she chewed out her words. though with slight fascination on how he had figured it all out in the span of a couple words. MASKING QUICKLY BEHIND BLUE EYES THAT LOOKED AWAY, " it's not my fault. " she added. her hands flexed and she pulled out a chewable piece of candy. rolling it in her fingers. feeling the texture of the wax paper settling against her fingers.

" ya' don't know this about me, but my dad used ta' kick me around. " eyes went down. no longer presently there. her mind floating away from her body. pulling up out of daydreams she was somewhere else. listening to looney tunes intros on repeat. as if that old man could still reach her from his stay plugged up in Gotham height's hospital bed, " yea . . . real messed up childhood. ma didn't think ta' leave him then , only when it was her turn ta' look black n' blue. "

she pulled the papers off her piece of caramel before plopping it in her mouth. sticking to candy as one of her main habits of nervousness. not quite stable enough to understand maybe it was a coping skill. settling back in her seat. legs crossed. hands beginning to fidget. keeping up a described version of what anyone wanted out of herself. she let out a nervous chuckle. one that pitched almost to the extreme. only laughing at the memories of her father. kept safely locked behind her eyes. she laughed, and laughed before settling on her next words, " Ahh! Too funny! I haven't laughed like that in awhile. maybe next time I'll tell ya' about this boy I knew. he thought he'd hurt me like my old man. " she wiped tears out of her eyes before continuing, " I knocked out a few o' his teeth. "

[in-tua-deep]

idk if you still do au ideas but what if delores was a real person in the apocalypse? how it woul dbe done i have no idea but i love all your aus and thought it would be cool

okay okay I don't tend to go for real!Dolores aus admittedly because I find her much more compelling as what she is: a reflection of five himself and a symptom of his crushing loneliness

but i started thinking about it and you know what?? i think five deserves a little socialization, as a treat

so say like, 0.5% of the population is resistant to abilities. Allison would really struggle to rumor them, Five wouldn't be able to jump with them, and, most importantly, whatever the fuck Vanya's ability does has like, reduced damage or something

and the og apocalypse isn't the moon apocalypse, so let's say that it was pure waves of Vanya's powers that fucked over the earth

so 0.5% of the population survives the apocalypse. though, let's be honestly, the real number is a lot smaller than that. People who might have survived Vanya's initial power wave (miraculously) did not survive buildings crushing them or survive the car/plane/bus/train/other transportation crashes or survive being left alone when they are too young to reliably look after themselves, or the variety of other problems that come with 99.5% of the population dying at once

So, Five arrives in the apocalypse and is met with ruin and fire and a whole lot of dead people. He finds his siblings, but it doesn't matter. They're dead. He doesn't even recognize them at first, these strange grown-ups who he identifies not by their faces but by the umbrellas on their wrists that match his own

As he realizes the full impact of his situation, he hears a voice that says, very succinctly, "holy shit!"

It's a girl a few years older than Five himself, maybe 15 or 16, and she is very excited to see another survivor.

And here's where I u-turn this au around bc i'm not all that interested in real!Dolores, but I would be down to talk about Five meeting survivors in the apocalypse, because if Dolores is real I don't buy no one else survived.

So Dolores shows up and see a Literal Child crying over the corpses of his family and assumes that Five is a fellow survivor, and she immediately grabs him up. Five is incoherent with grief at this point anyway, so he doesn't even protest when she basically hauls him away from the bodies. She's babbling at him, but he doesn't really hear anything she's saying

And then she takes him to her dad

(Why not, let's have the 1% potentially be a heritable thing)

and her dad, let's call him just some dad name. like Rick. it has been a fucking WEEK for him, okay. he had his daughter with him, his ex-wife is on the other coast for her work, and by some miracle he survived the apocalypse and so did his child, and he's been wracking his brains trying to figure out what the fuck to do next

and then his daughter shows up with a traumatized thirteen-year-old in tow

now rick is a good dude. he's a dad. they get out of five that his name is five ("what the fuck" dolores mouths to him over five's shoulder and rick can't help but agree) and the bodies he found were his siblings ("Dad and Ben and Vanya weren't there though," this child cries desperately and rick feels his own heart clench in response, "They might still be alive!")

"We can look for them." Rick assures his new adopted child, because he is an adult in a fresh apocalypse and this kid has presumably lost everything he's ever known (more than rick even knows at the time)

and they do. They each get wagons and they go out and find supplies and look for other survivors. Five is... surprisingly helpful and also surprisingly docile as he is able to rely on Someone Else to give orders while he attempts to (dissociate) process what the fuck has happened

and here's the thing: Five prides himself on being independent, sort of. He's independent for a child soldier, but he's used to taking orders from a male authority figure and Rick happens to be just that

The first time that Five does something dangerous and Rick yells is a revelation

(Rick isn't sure if he hopes that Five's dad is alive or not, because if they find that man alive then Rick might just kill the jackass himself. Also like, Five is bizarrely knowledgeable out survival skills, like way too knowledgeable about it, which is helpful for them but also very concerning)

they find a newspaper and Five finds the article that mentions his father's recent death ("Huh. Heart attack." Five says, and there is no emotion in his voice)

(Years later, years later, Five and Rick talk. "I don't think I wanted to find him, either." Five admits, softly because Dolores is asleep, "I think I was more scared of finding him alive than I was of finding his body. He would've been so mad at me, I think.")

this newspaper is how Rick and Dolores find out about Five being Number Five, Umbrella Academy Missing Person

"Dude, what the fuck." Dolores says, wide eyes, "You're like, thirty?"

"I'm thirteen." Five says, and then checks the date on the newspaper again, "Also I think I would technically be 29 if I lived through all of it, 'cause it's April and my birthday is in October."

"You... time travelled?" Rick asks, which is honestly the more relevant question, "Can you go back?"

And Five just,,, crumples on himself. Because he tried, he tried really hard. It didn't work. "I'm gonna figure it out. I'm gonna go back, I'm going to save them."

That, Rick thinks, is a lot of weight to put on one person's shoulders, but especially the shoulders of a child.

"Alright." Rick says, because what else can he say after finding out his new child has superpowers and is from like, 2004? "What do you need?"

("Oh my god I have so many memes to teach you." Dolores says later, reverently. Five blinks in confusion and Rick mentally prepares himself for the recitation of so many vines)

And it's easier, somehow. Five sometimes feels like it's a betrayal, but he settles into apocalypse life with an ease that surprises him.

He lets Rick fuss over him and help tie his scarf securely around his head every morning before he sets off on supply runs with Dolores. And they're kids! Five has never had a friend before, and Dolores is funny and smart and she's struggling just as much as he is.

"I don't know if my mom's alive." She says to him, in solidarity when he checks the face of every corpse to see if they're Vanya.

Five is practical in the way only a child soldier can be. He's economical with the room in their wagons, carefully examining what might and what might not be useful.

Dolores, on the other hand, constantly takes up space with what Five sees as useless shit.

"Excuse you," Dolores says, shoving a game of monopoly, the entire discworld series, and a pack of glitter gel pens into her wagon, "These are absolutely vital apocalypse supplies."

She challenges him, plays with him in a way no one ever has. "I bet you I can find more batteries today than you can," She grins at him, "Winner gets to pick dinner first?"

"You're on." Five says, directly before Dolores pulls two packs of 24 AA batteries from behind her back, like a cheat.

Dolores makes him take a ten minute break when they find a playground that has been mostly not-destroyed. They rummage around kids backpacks and mother's handbags for some good loot, too numb to corpses to even be bothered all that badly about the corpses they belong to.

"I'm getting on the swings." Dolores says when Five starts making noises about moving on, "I haven't been on a swingset in ages."

"What's the point?" Five grumps.

"Don't be sour because you can't swing as high as I can!" Dolores laughs, getting higher and higher as the swings creak ominously.

Five grumpily gets into the other swing and grudgingly kicks himself back and forth until Dolores takes pity on him and teaches him how to properly move his legs and body to get higher and higher.

Dolores jumps from the swing seat and lands with a flourish and smile. Five jumps out of his seat and then jumps, warping right in front of Dolores and making her yell and hit at him in outrage. Five smiles the widest he has all week.

This is how Five grows up in the apocalypse, with Dolores teasing him into taking breaks and leaning over his shoulder to look at his math and scandalizing him by stating that she'd only just started on matrices in her own high school math class.

Every night they huddle around Rick while he picks up whatever book Dolores picked out that day because it is a travesty that Five has never read hunger games or whatever, and then they read together because it would be a genuine blood bath if they all took turns. The first time Five accidentally mentioned a spoiler and Dolores genuinely considered murder was the birthday of this tradition

Some days the air is too smoky or there are dust storms or it's just plain too dangerous to go out, and they all stay in. Dolores regales Five with stories about public school, and Five tells them about his siblings.

Then they all cry

"I shouldn't be crying." Five sobs.

"Shut the fuck up," Dolores sobs back, "You literally watched me lose my shit over remembering my shitty eighth grade dance and listened to me sob-sing toxic for like four hours."

"In fairness I also wished you would shut up then."

"Let me hug you or I will start singing songs that I only remember the chorus for again you absolute fucker."

"I could always sing some -"

"No, Rick/Dad."

And Five grows up. Rick shows him how to shave very carefully in front of cracked mirrors. Dolores teases him every time his voice cracks. Rick tells Five in no uncertain terms that he loves and cares for him, and that Reginald was a little bitch. There are a lot of heartfelt conversations around that, honestly. Rick telling Five that he and the siblings deserved better, that they were children and deserved to have a childhood.

And that he has faith in Five. Rick and Dolores both do, they bring him back paper and pens and pencils and chalk and anything Five can use to write equations. They poke around any libraries for books on theoretical mathematics and quantum physics. Rick and Dolores go out scouting for food while Five stays home and can work longer.

They also make him take breaks, make sure that he's looking after himself.

They're a little better off than OG!Five when it comes to food, because some animals survive. Enough that Rick figures out how to hunt. Five is the first one to each bugs, and even though Dolores makes faces they all start eating bugs as well.

"Pretty sure there's loads of cultures that eat bugs." Rick says grudgingly, wondering if he should try stirfry the cockroaches and if that would improve the taste. "There's even, uh, cricket flour or whatever, right?"

"Plus you eat like, five spiders a year when you're asleep." Dolores says cheerfully, just to watch her dad's face scrunch up in displeasure.

"That doesn't sound true, but I don't know enough about spiders to dispute it." Five mutters, and Dolores gives him such a proud look that it makes him roll his eyes.

They're in their thirties when Rick dies. He's out foraging and hunting, and the rubble he's standing on gives way and he ends up with a gash in his leg. He manages to stop the bleeding, but the world is filthy and they don't have any antibiotics.

He gets an infection.

"It's okay." He tells both of his kids, "It's okay. I'm just so glad that you guys have each other, y'hear? I'm so glad."

"It's not okay." Five says, voice thick and choked, "It's not."

"Yeah, well, you're going to figure out how to go back, right? Go back in time and save everyone. Then I'll have never died, right?" Rick smiles, "And even if you don't, I'll be waiting for you on the other side and we'll see each other again anyway."

"I'm going to fix it."

"I know. I have faith in you, Five." Ricks says honestly, and that's more than Reginald ever said.

They sit quietly together while Dolores is out scavenging. They've been taking turns sitting with Rick.

"I won't remember you, in the past, will I?" Rick says rhetorically, but Five answers anyway.

"I don't think so."

Rick hums, "Well, doesn't matter. If you need help in the past, you come to me, y'hear?"

"You won't remember me."

"Doesn't matter. You come find me, and you tell me your crazy story until I believe you, and then I'll help you." Rick says firmly, "You're family. You're my son. Timelines? Don't matter. If you need help, with anything, even if it's just with - with filling out a bowling team or something -"

"I have never been bowling in my life and you know it." Five interrupts, but it makes him laugh just a little bit which was clearly Rick's intention.

"Well who knows what you'll get up to in the past! You'll be able to go bowling, you know. Get to wear those uncomfortable shoes. Hey, you go far enough back maybe you can go to Dolores's tenth birthday party and put me out of my misery."

"Was she bad at bowling?"

"Oh, she was wiping the floor with me. No contest."

"Honestly, that sounds absolutely accurate."

"Shut up, bowling just wasn't my sport. Regardless, the point was that I'm giving you a free pass to come and get me. Because I know you, I know how you think." Rick brings up his hand to tap his finger against Five's forehead, "You get it into your head that you need to go it alone, take it all on your shoulders. I'm telling you that if you do that I'll somehow manifest my memories and come smack you over the head for being stupid, you hear?"

"I'm not dragging you into anything." Five says firmly, "I'll have my siblings."

"Who were also children." Rick points out. "And dragging? Dragging is such a strong word for a volunteer."

"A volunteer who won't remember volunteering." Five shoots back.

Rick just shrugs, and then winces when the movement jolts his bad leg. "Five, I'm going to be honest with you here. And sappy. Can you handle a bit of sappiness for a minute?"

"No."

"Well too bad. Can't leave a dying man, you'd feel too bad. So you're stuck with me. But you listen good, okay? Because you aren't dragging me into anything. Whatever life you have, I want to have a part of that. Because you're my son. Wherever you are, whatever you do, I want to help because you're family. What you'd be doing by leaving me out of it is depriving me of someone I love, depriving me of knowing one of the best kids I've ever known."

"Shut up." Five says, choked.

"Nope, it's sappy time." Rick states, "Maybe asking you to come find me is selfish, but I don't care. No matter what version of me exists, I want to be in your life."

"My life is a walking joke, why would you want any part of that?"

"It has been my privilege to watch you grow up. To help you. To be here for you. Of course I'd want to be there to watch you grow up the rest of the way."

"But -"

"Shut up, just let me tell you that I am so proud of you. You never give up, and your heart is so big. You love so much and so loudly, and it's been the highest honor of my life to be included in your family."

Five pauses for a moment to collect himself before simply saying - "You're the best dad I've ever had."

Rick snorts, "Considering my competition, I'd sure hope so. That bar was so low old Reggie was practically limbo dancing with the devil. Now get over here and give an old man a hug."

They don't bury Rick, when he dies. They don't have time and the ground is too hard and they don't have the heart to move him. Instead the pack everything up and seal him in the shelter they'd lived in.

Dolores pulls out a bottle of ancient nail polish and painstakingly writes Rick's name on the wall with his birth year and an approximate current year. They aren't 100% sure though, since time blends together out in the apocalypse, but it's something.

They continue by themselves. They get older.

Dolores jokingly calls him her husband because the way his face scrunches up makes her cackle. They see other people very occasionally, usually passing through. Usually groups. Dolores and Five get to flex their hosting skills, though more than one group declines their cockroach stirfry.

("It's a family recipe." Five says with amusement in his eyes that usually manages to drown out old grief.)

"Jeeze, that kid couldn't have been older'n twenty-three." Dolores complains, "Makes me feels positively ancient."

"They wouldn't have known any world 'cept for the apocalypse." Five muses, pouring some boiled water into wine glasses because they might be living in the apocalypse but they can be fancy.

"Do you ever think about that?" Dolores asks, turning to him with no judgement, just curiosity. "When you go back, you'll be like, erasing them from existence."

Five shrugs, "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe this place will just split off into an alternate timeline."

"Maybe none of this is real." Dolores says, amusement coloring her voice. "Maybe you aren't talking to a real person at all. Maybe this is just a symbol of your insanity and cracked mind."

"Dolores, I literally have a scar where you stabbed me. Did I somehow manage to stab myself in the back?"

"Scraped you, I scraped you. By accident."

"So you maintain." Five says haughtily, swirling his water in his wine glass like a pretentious prick.

"I could totally be fake. You don't know my life."

"I know way too much about you, Dolores. Like, way way too much." Five scoffs, because Dolores and him have literally no secrets from one another at this point. Five even knows the truth behind what happened at Janet Scranton's thirteenth birthday party. Like, he said, way too much.

"Maybe you made it up. Maybe that's why you know so much."

"Dolores, I'm going to be honest with you right now." Five presses the tips of his fingers to his chin, "If you were a figment of my imagination, you would be so much better at math."

"Hey!" Dolores squawks indignantly, "I didn't even get to finish high school you pretentious prick!"

"Neither did I!"

"You didn't even go to high school, you brat."

"I'm fifty-two I think I've outgrown 'brat.'"

"Tell that to your attitude." Dolores says haughtily, "You're still younger than me."

"Won't be when I go back in time." Five says cheerfully, completely ignoring Dolores's venomous look.

"That's cheating."

"Sucks to suck." Five says loftily, taking another sip of his water.

Sometimes they talk about The Plan, with capital letters. What Five is going to do when he goes back in time, depending on when he pops out. Is he going to adopt his siblings? What about Reginald?

"You don't think I could kill Reginald?" Five says, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"I think you should let me do it. I'll even give you control of tonight's music if you do."

"What are you doing to do? Bite his ankles? What if you're like, seven or something?"

"All the better to get away with it since I'll be too young to convict or whatever."

"Pretty sure that's not how the law works."

"How would you know? Just for that I'm playing Istanbul on repeat again."

"I don't know why you think that's a threat. That song slaps."

It takes a few more years before Five is close enough that the Commission comes to interfere. Because that's what I think happened - Five was getting too close and they stepped in because they might as well distract the man as much as they can with missions, right?

So the Handler shows up. And she offers Five a job, telling him that they have the ability to travel through time. And Five - hesitates.

"Give me some time?" Five asks, and the Handler graciously gives him 24 hours.

And he and Dolores talk it over, because now that his goal is more in sight than it has ever been and Five is scared.

"What are you waiting for? You have the chance to see your siblings again." Dolores says patiently.

"Yeah," Five says, and what he doesn't say is clear. But I won't see you.

"Five." Dolores says, and she cradles his face between her palms like he is something precious, "I have had so much time with you already. More than I would have ever. We have been so lucky, to have this time. How can I demand more than what we have already been given?"

"When have you ever not demanded the world, Dolores?" Five asks, his own hand coming up to cover Dolores's own.

"We've had decades together, Five. We're getting old. I was always going to lose you, one way or another. Nothing lasts forever."

"I don't want to lose you."

"I know. But if I had to choose a way, if I could decide where our story ends, this would be it. Letting you go, because this way you get to live. You get to see your family again. You get to save the world. I could ask for nothing more than for you to get your happy ending."

Five removes Dolores's hand from his cheek so that he can cradle it between them, "I'm happy here with you. I've never been happier. Isn't that silly? That I was happier in the apocalypse?"

"I bet killing Reggie would make you happy." Dolores laughs rustily.

"One day you're going to see the mysterious disappearance of a famous billionaire in the paper and feel a twinge of satisfaction and now have a clue why." Five laughs as well, shaking his head.

Dolores pats Five's hands, "Five, look at me. We've had our time. And you're going to give me even more of it. More time with my father. More time with my mother. I'll never know it, but you'll have saved me."

"What if this is - what if this is an alternate reality? What if I leave you here alone?"

"Then you'll be saving a 15-year-old girl from the same fate as me. Because as much as I love you, as much as I have loved this time we have had together, this is still an apocalypse. This should never have happened, and if you have a chance to go back and prevent it, then I want you to take that chance with both hands."

"Even if it means leaving you alone?"

Dolores smiles at him, "I'm not going to be alone. Far too many creepy crawlies in the apocalypse for that."

"Shut up, I'm being serious."

"Hmm." Dolores hums consideringly, "Maybe I'll head North, to that new settlement that last group said they'd heard word of. Sure they'd find some use for an old woman who's survived this long in the wilderness."

"You can have my half of the record collection." Five says, pulling her against him into a hug that she easily returns.

"As if I wouldn't have stolen them as soon as you left." She scoffs, but it's a little wet, and Five pretends his own eyes aren't leaking tears.

When The Handler comes back, Dolores gives him another hug. She also slips something into his pocket - some photos. They'd taken it a year into the apocalypse, when Dolores had found an ancient looking polaroid camera and towed it home despite Five's protests about practicality. The photos are worn and faded at the edges, but the smiles on Five's little apocalypse family's faces are undeniable.

"You'll have to see if they magically fade when you change the timeline." Dolores whispers to him with a grin, "Like in the movies."

"Okay." Five whispers back.

"You have the list of movies to watch, right?" Dolores says. Five rolls his eyes and nods because he wrote the list last night into his Vanya-book while Dolores hovered over his shoulder and critiqued his handwriting.

"And you promise to try a proper non-expired twinkie at some point?"

"That I do not promise. I think even looking at one would make me lose my lunch. I have twinkie-trauma."

"Shut up and get going." Dolores says, because the Handler is starting to tap her foot impatiently.

And off Five goes to become an assassin. Though - he's much more gentle this time. He's careful, he doesn't kill children and he usually takes jobs that don't require killing at all. He distracts and manipulates events as much as he can without killing.

He's actually much more well socialized, thanks to Rick and Dolores. Less feral child and more determined man on a mission.

Which is why he's so frustrated when he finally, finally manages to get the equations to work and falls through and falls - directly back into his stupid thirteen-year-old body.

"Shit." Five says, loudly, and revels in the surprised look on his siblings faces.

He strides into the kitchen, and they all follow him like ducklings. They look exactly the way they did when they died.

"Wow this is actually way harder than I thought it would be." Five muses, looking at their dead faces. But as Dolores would say, life is hard but you have to keep on trucking sometimes. "Whatever, what's the date?"

"Five, where have you been?" Diego demands, looking irritated. It makes Five snort in amusement.

"The future. The past. If you want like, an exact list of dates you'll have to hold your horses. I spent like, two weeks in Peru once. No souvenirs though, unfortunately."

They look taken aback, like they didn't expect Five to have quite this much sass. Oops. That is definitely Dolores's influence. Or maybe he was always a little asshole. In fairness, what teenagers aren't tiny assholes? He has an excuse.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Diego's eyebrows are furrowed in anger. It kind of takes Five aback for a second, because he remembers a Diego who stutters when he argued.

"When did you learn the fuck-word?" Five asks, raising an eyebrow before her can help it, "Grace ought to wash your mouth out with soap."

Diego immediately goes red, "Shut up!"

"Wow you're so easy to rile up. Aren't you like, twenty-something? Actually, I could figure out for myself how old you are if you gave me the date."

"I'm twenty-nine." Diego growls, like that was the point.

"Haunting!" Five says cheerfully, because that means there is way less time than he would like, narrowing his time down to a six month window.

It's extremely funny how his cheer makes all of them make faces.

It's Klaus who leans forward, "Why do you need to know?"

Klaus's face is open and curious and - (looks exactly like he did when Five found him all those years ago) - and Five can't help but answer him. "The world end on April 1st, 2019. No it isn't an April Fools joke, yes I have heard that joke like a million different times. I just want to know how close I landed so I can, you know, start working on how to fix that."

"Woah woah woah, roll it back." Allison says, holding a hand up, "What?"

"The apocalypse occurs on April 1st, 2019." Five says, slowly. "I have traveled from afar to prevent this from happening, because like, everyone dies."

"Everyone?" Vanya says weakly from the side.

She's clearly expecting to be ignored, so Five turns his head to address her directly by wiggling his hand back and forth a little. "Sort of. Like, not too many people survive at all. A handful of the human population, you know."

"But you survived?" Diego recovers admirably, if bitingly.

"Well, no." Five says rolling his eyes, "Wouldn't you just know it, Klaus here has managed to figure out a new ability!"

Everyone turns to look at Klaus, who immediately holds up his hands like he's being arrested or something, "I did not!"

"Wonderful! Now that we've established that I'm alive -"

"Why should we trust a word you say?" Luther says for the first time, looking pensive.

Five blinks, genuinely taken aback. "Because... I'm your brother? Because I can clearly and obviously time travel? Like, yeah, it would have been more convenient if I'd arrived in like, my old-body for proof-purposes, but like. I mean. Thirteen is still a pretty convincing age to be to prove time travel considering if I hadn't, I would be like, almost thirty."

"Roll it back again." Allison says firmly, "What do you mean by 'old body'?"

"Great question!" Five says pointing at Allison and smiling. Everyone looks at him weird again, and Five takes a moment to wonder if they've ever experienced positive reinforcement. Knowing Reginald, probably not. "Wait! Is Reggie alive? Wait, no, answer that in a second. Uh. When I time traveled I fucked up my body I guess, I was like, old. White hair and wrinkles-type old from spending decades in the apocalypse. But I fucked up the calculations and got booted back to my thirteen-year-old body, I guess. How, I have no idea."

"What?" Vanya says, still equally weakly.

"You have no idea how fucked up time travel is." Five whispers conspiratorially to Vanya, loud enough for the whole table to hear, "There are so many ways to die. Or permanently tear a hold in space time. But like, with life as we know if ending soon-ish, I figured I couldn't possibly fuck it up worse than it already was, y'know? Speaking of, anyone have the date again?"

"Wait, what was that about dad?" Luther asks, very focused.

"Oh, you still call him dad? Big oof." Five says automatically, because apparently his verbal filter is shot to hell after living with Dolores. It does make Klaus bark out a too-loud laugh.

"What does that mean?" Luther asks aggressively.

"It means Reginald sucks and doesn't deserve the title of 'dad,' what did you think I meant?" Five asks, and now both Diego and Vanya and both cracking smiles, though Vanya is covering hers with a hand.

"Have some respect for the dead." Luther growls, standing up and looking very large and threatening.

Five sways back, craning his head up, "Woah there big buy, sit down before I injure my poor growing spine looking up at you. Jeeze, did Reggie force feed you steroids or something? I wouldn't put it past him but like, I just want to know he at least went over the side effects of the drug with you. Also like, thanks for narrowing it down. Also terrifying! Seriously though, exact date please because if I have less than 24 hours I am going to break down crying and that is a threat."

"I love this Five." Klaus says reverently.

"March 21st." Vanya offers, finally.

"Wow! Terrifying!" Five says, clapping his hands together, "Hate that. Ten days, huh? Well, who wants to get on board the save-the-world express?"

Klaus immediately flings his hand in the air, Five points at his brother appreciatively. "Yes, excellent! I'll take the volunteer in the lovely skirt as my first team member. Any other volunteers?"

"Danke!" Klaus simpers, grinning widely like this is the vest entertainment he's had in weeks.

"I'm not just going to stand here and listen to you badmouth dad and boss us around." Luther slams his hands on the table.

"Well not with that attitude." Five snarks.

Diego raises his hand, "I would like to join team fuck dad as well."

"We can certainly debate team names later." Five says, nodding wisely as Luther gives some sort of scandalized gasp.

"Honestly, I just want to see where this is going." Klaus confesses.

Five shrugs, because he doesn't really care about the reason. "Don't you want to prove me wrong them? Prove what a well-adjusted young man Reginald Hargreeves raised?"

"Shut up." Luther grinds out, looking a moment away from throwing a punch.

"If this is all true, I have to get home." Allison cuts in, looking concerned, "I have - I have a daughter."

"I mean, if you want to give Claire a world to live in then I'd stick around, but that's just me." Five shrugs.

"You know her name?" Allison asks, obviously taken aback.

Five is almost offended, "Uh, yeah. I have her photo as well. Y'all get on like, a bizarre number of gossip magazine covers did you know that?"

Allison manages to outdo herself in terms of being taken aback once more.

There's a beat of silence, and then Five turns, "Vanya? You in?"

"Me?" Vanya blinks, looking shocked. "What can I do?"

"Yeah, what can she do?" Diego asks, crossing his arms and suddenly looking grumpy.

It baffles Five, who scrunches his nose, "Uh, like, a lot? I assume? I mean. I'm going to be honest here, just looking at y'all right now is a lot. In more ways than one! Hashtag trauma and all that, but like, name a single one of you that wouldn't be the most obvious person in the room as soon as you walked into it. Except Vanya, who somehow manages to look like a well adjusted adult, by some miracle."

"Did you just verbally say the word hashtag?" Allison asks, looking so deeply confused.

"More concerned about the trauma he tacked onto there, but y'know, to each their own." Klaus immediately cuts in.

"You think I'm well-adjusted?" Vanya asks, looking oddly touched.

"I would like to direct your attention to Diego's leather pants-scowl combo and Luther's general aura of daddy-issues." Five says pointedly, "I can practically smell the tragic comic book backstory in this room. If I'd jumped back a decade earlier this would have been Batman's wet dream of orphan selection."

"Alright! Game plan!" Five says, waving Diego's knife in his hand.

Diego's hands immediately go to his weird harness looking thing, "Hey!"

"Give me just one moment to get the tracker out." Five rolls his eyes, "Then I'll give it back, I promise. Also if someone could ask Grace for like, some antibiotics that would be good."

"What?" Allison asks, directly before Five stabs himself and there is suddenly panic at the table.

"Relax!" Five says, allowing Diego to remove the knife from his hands. He doesn't need it anyway and his hand immediately drops down to root in the wound.

"Five what the fuck!" Diego yells, but Five just pulls up bloody fingers and waves the tracker into Diego's stupefied face.

"What the fuck is that, Five?" Allison demands, looking very shaken.

"I literally just said it was a tracker." Five points out, "Now, I think our first team activity should be voting on whether we destroy it or take it out to bumfuck nowhere and ditch it to confuse the Commission."

"What the fuck is the Commission?" Diego barks.

"Man. Maybe I should just hit up Rick." Five muses, "This is going to take so much explaining."

"Who is Rick."

"So much explaining."

[system-of-a-feather]

Due to a general number of asks running along the similar lines of these, I am going to make a general response to those asks and proceed to remove them from the inbox as I don’t feel they will be able to be answered anytime soon and are generally under a similar response and in concept and I felt I would clear these out while I was out for Riku since I have the time and the mental space to read through them. The asks I will be referencing will be at the end under a keep reading - noted in numbers.

-----

To these asks, and any of those reading that might be wondering similarly, we can not give too much of a say on if something is or is not DID / OSDD considering that we are both not a professional and simply due to the innate nature that DID / OSDD are easy to misdiagnose both for other disorders and with other disorders and do need a lot of context that no single ask - or multiple asks - could properly provide a single person enough context to know for sure. Such topics are best talked to towards a professional that can invest time into exploring and discussing individual experiences, the history, and have a better look at the general presentation of your symptoms, experiences, and life history to come to a conclusion about what might be currently going on.

To the first ask, yes, it is entirely possible for neglect to cause DID and OSDD. The two main components to form DID is childhood trauma (neglect included) that might cause a child to dissociate from themselves in a sense of flight/fight and to avoid confronting the pain an fear that they have at the moment and a disorganized attachment to a parent / caregiver.

To the second ask, I am really sorry to hear that you were treated the way you were as a child and that really is absolutely no environment that any human should ever have to have grown up in. I can’t say if you have DID or not as mentioned above, but I would like to say that it isn’t unheard of for alters to form / originate as characters made up for a story or roleplay. Two of the alters in our system that are considerably out of contact with most of the system and partially dormant originated from characters that Riku had originally made that had some parallels to her life as well. One was a well built character, the other not. Like stated above though, it really might be something work looking into talking about with a therapist since there are some reasons to question it there.

To the third ask, there are a number of things that could present similarly to having that feeling other than OSDD / DID considering dissociation (a symptom found in other disorders such as severe depression, schizophernia, PTSD, and BPD) in general can cause similar issues to a certain extent of disconnect, disruption of identity, and a disconnect from one’s own thoughts into making them seem like they are not one’s own. I am not here saying that it isn’t, but I would look into talking to a professional about it. There might be more context that might lean towards OSDD or DID but also might lead to a different diagnosis that is similar with dissociation. If you are concerned about having something similar to DID / OSDD, it really is something you might definitely want to look into with a professional.

-Lucille (Primary Protector)

1)  “I have to ask. As a person who suffered from physical, emotional, and medical (? Idk if that falls under physical or not. Still trying to accept it lol) negelect, I have started to question if I might have DID or not? Can neglect cause it? I know there was some abuse otherwise, but mainly it was neglect and I dont know if that would be bad enough to cause DID or not. If this is triggering, dont feel obligated to answer. Love you and hope you're doing good! ♥️ “

---

2) “Hey, when I was a kid, my parents had terrifying anger. My dad used to be in the army and when I made mistakes or he didn’t like something I did, he went ballistic. There was a time he broke a broom in front of us over his leg. Another time when he slapped me repeatedly and I had to tell my teacher I fell and hit my face - I didn’t even understand why I had to lie. My mom blew up over little things, and I had depersonalization since I was a kid. (1)

A couple years ago my sister made a comment on how my dad used to say ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ But I don’t remember that part. I’ve always been afraid to ask for something, only for my birthday or christmas, and felt I was walking on eggshells around my parents. They were still really loving, but I’ve had difficulty with their anger and my response to real or perceived anger is to fawn. And when I perceive a threat, I start to feel detached from myself. (2)

I noticed too that I have different modes I switch between, and lately I’ve been feeling more distressed and feel myself on different wavelengths/sense of self, and when I switch from one sense to another, I’ve been having micro-moments of disorientation. Then I catch up. I’ve felt multiple presences in my head, usually it’s characters from a long developed fictional universe. There’s one predominant one I feel, who seems to have developed sort of recently over the past few years. (3)

He was formed through a role play game and had many parallels with me during his development. I have diagnosed autism and I feel like just now at 24 I’m developing social skills I should’ve learned growing up. A lot of the time I feel like a child still, and when I’m in different emotional states, I feel I can’t relate much to myself. I also have difficulty with a sense of identity. I don’t feel like the same person as I was when going to university. I feel like I have osdd-1. (4?-end)”

---

3) “ive been researching did because its the only thing similar to what I experience but I dont think I can have it because ive read the trauma causing did has to happen by a certain age & my trauma happened a bit later than that age. I have no clue what is going on with my brain, I often feel as though my thoughts are someone else & I can hold conversations with this.. other person? but theyve never really fronted. they're just there & I'm not even sure if its just 1 of them or multiple.”

[poppys-writing]

Box Babe - Break (Part 3)

Break: Part 1 | Part 2 // Box Babe Masterlist A/N: this is a long one!! breaking it into two different parts didn’t feel right, so buckle up and enjoy the ride - it’s a wild one!

The guard stopped once they reached a series of metal doors. He abruptly grabbed Katie’s wrist, scanning her chip in an instant. “461837,” the man repeated, looking to her. She nodded in confirmation, instantly scolding herself for choosing to answer to her ID number. The man continued on through the hall, stopping once he reached a door with her number displaying on the graphic above it. 

Her wrist was grabbed again and shoved under the scanner. The door unlocked and slid open, and Katie was pushed inside. The box was blinding white, just big enough for her to stand perfectly still with her arms to her side, legs together. Katie heard a couple beeps, then the door slid shut behind her again. 

Alone...for once, Katie was alone. In this box. She could scream, cry, holler, pray, curse, laugh, sing. She could express herself and her thoughts one last time...but she didn’t. Fear caught in her throat every attempt to speak, anticipating a convulsive shock or some form of instant death. Katie found it funny that she feared death, since it’s not like this form of life is worth living anyways. if she was given the choice of death or this, she would still choose her current situation...how puzzling. 

She couldn’t tell how long she remained in the box, but eventually it began to shake. It rattled for a few moments, then a stinging pain dulled her brain, blinding her fear and causing a whimper to escape her throat. Immediately following, a shock rattled down her spine, but this time Katie bit down on her lip to save herself. “Deliberately disobeying the baseline code of conduct will result in immediate termination of the product,” a mechanic voice informed her from behind. There’s the death threat - Katie knew it was coming. What if she did it? What if she let herself be killed? 

Before Katie could make up her mind, the box began to move. She felt her stomach drop as the box rose in elevation, coming to an abrupt stop. The box then moved to the right, then forward, then rotated and settled into place uncomfortably. 

A new voice emitted from behind her, this time the voice of the dark stranger that had spoken in the auditorium. “Now, I gladly present the prize of this auction...the stunning, natural beauty herself...461837!” The wall in front of Katie’s face slid away, revealing glass casing and a massive audience before her. She was elevated for all to see, but she could see them all too. They gawked and pointed, scrawled notes on notepads, whispered hurriedly to others around them. 

It was difficult to think during this. She felt like an animal, since she was being treated like an animal. She couldn't hear anything. The box was silent, but the world that presented itself in front of Katie was bustling and distorted. She could only assume that other Box Babes were on display beside her, since the crowds would shift in either direction, pointing at her and then another figure on either side.

Katie anticipated that the crowd would be primarily older men, but it turned out to be a fair mix of all ages and genders. She recognized actors, singers, writers, politicians, public heroes. Did they make it known to their fans and people that they bought other people? Maybe, within weeks, the world had changed, and human trafficking became the norm? Or perhaps it was already the norm, and Kali just didn’t know it. The latter seemed more probable. 

The next hours passed rather monotonously. She stood and stood and stood, knees aching, eyes growing heavy, back growing weary. The crowds grew less interested in her as time went on, moving in waves to greater things. Katie didn’t mind this at all. If nobody wanted her, then maybe they’d just kill her. Or, maybe they’d just send her back with the other girls from the warehouse - if they’re still alive. Every option seemed better than this one. 

A group approached her. An older man, probably mid 50s; a woman significantly younger than him, a man with thick brown hair that didn’t look real and was of an undistinguishable age, and finally a stout woman in the lead. Katie’s eyes locked with hers, and the stout woman shot her a sly wink before spinning around to face her clients. 

The speakers in the box activated again, nearly making Katie jump out of her skin at the sudden noise. “So, this here is 461837! This model is special because she has excellent stamina due to her athletic build,” the woman boasted. Special? 

The older man spoke up first, raising a stubby finger and then speaking before permission was granted. “This is humane, right? I know that there have been some questions about the...legality...of these uh, Box-”

“Box Babes,” the stout woman eagerly finished for him. 

“Right, Box Babes. I - well, we - just don’t want our family soiling the pristine reputation that we have worked so hard to create,” he explained. He spoke with a thick, posh British accent, so every word sounded like he had marbles in his mouth. 

Katie watched the stout woman hesitate for a moment. Maybe she’s new to this whole selling people thing, or maybe she knew that it wasn’t legal and needed to muster the strength to lie. “Yes, Mr. Dixon, I can assure you that all of our assets have legally consented. Truthfully, serving their Masters is the perfect opportunity for them to start over fresh in life. And, with the spectacular training that we provide, all of our assets are conditioned just to your liking.”

So it was the lie then. If these idiots took the time to unpack what the saleswoman was saying in the context of the situation, they’d be able to see through the fluffiness of it all. The man nodded along with the stout woman’s words, and for a moment Katie believed that he’d have follow up questions. He didn’t. “That’s good to hear, thank you! Now, another question please. When will we have custody of her?” 

Now the man with the fake hair stepped forward, putting a firm hand on the older man’s shoulders. “Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Dixon. 461837 will be in my care as I take it through the training procedure, specially tailoring her to your outlined needs,” the man’s eyes wander over to Katie’s, locking without hesitation. It was as though he was staring into her soul, looking at her past life, analyzing everything about her. There must not have been very many things to discover, since he spun back around to the clients shortly. “I estimate between 4 to 6 months of training, followed by up to an 8 week delivery period. You’ll have her by Christmas, Mr. Dixon.” 

“Thank you, Fabio!” Mr. Dixon grabbed Fabio’s thin and boney hand, shaking it in his meaty hand excessively. “You’ve never failed our family, you know. Our first Box Boy - god bless its soul - was spectacular, and I’ve heard nothing but good things from my brothers and sisters and the in-laws. How do you do it?”

“You flatter me, Mr. Dixon,” Fabio laughed heartily, although he tore his hand away from the thick grasp and shoved it into his pocket once more. He fiddled around for a moment, then turned back to face Katie. He held up a clicker, then jabbed one of the buttons. A needle suddenly shot into Katie’s neck, requiring all the strength left in her to bite back the shocking yelp. “But you know what they say - practice makes perfect.” 

Heavy. Everything suddenly felt very heavy. The sound in the box shut off, but the people outside were still talking. Slow. Everything was very slow too. Her breathing, her thinking - it was like somebody put her life in slow motion reverse, distorting everything around her. Her eyes fluttered closed, only the uncomfortably open against her will, continuing on in a weird cycle. Loose. Katie felt loose, even though she was standing upright in a box. If the box wasn’t there, then she would fall forward, unable to control her muscles. What was in that shot? 

Eventually, Katie heard the glass door slide down. She slumped forward, nearly pitching out of the box - but boney hands caught her, holding her upright. She lazily tried to pick her head up, but the boney hand shoved her face against a shoulder, holding her tight against the random body. She tried to pull away, but her muscles wouldn’t respond. What was in that shot? 

 “And you’re sure this is safe?” The stout woman began, her fuzzy voice barely registering in Katie’s head. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” the boney man, Fabio responded. So that’s who’s holding her. Fabio. She doesn’t want to be held by Fabio. Fabio is an asshole name. Katie groaned, trying to pull away from him again, but instead his free arm scooped up her legs and cradled her to his chest. For a man with boney figures, he was quite strong and had quite a broad chest. Or, maybe he was just squishing her. “She’s uncomfortable, yes, but she’s completely docile. She couldn’t hurt any of us even if she wanted to.”

“Trust me, I want to,” Katie tried to snap back at him, but all that left her mouth was babbles and mumbles. The small crowd around her cooed and awed, and Fabio squished her face tighter to his shoulder. 

Some more talking ensued, and Katie decided to opt out of listening. It would be better to try and dissociate from the situation than being aware of everything that was going on. Did every Box Babe have to go through this? This sucks. What was in that shot? 

Katie zoned back in when Mr. Dixon’s voice broke through: “Let me see her, Fabio,” he demanded. Fabio released her, putting her down on her feet but still holding her firm by the shoulders to keep her upright. Just as her chin began to tuck and droop down, firm fingers grabbed it and tore it up again. She was now face to face with Mr. Dixon. It looked as though he was only a few years older than her father - wonder where dad is now? Hopefully dead. 

“You’re right, Fabio, she really is docile!” Mr. Dixon affirmed, his pink cheeks becoming pinker with a hearty smile and laugh. He tilted her chin up, then down, then side to side. Though Katie couldn’t get her eyes to focus, she could still feel the look of him examining her, estimating her value, deciding if she was a worthy investment. “Yes, I believe we’ll take her.” Finally, she was released, and Fabio picked her up again - instead of a cradle, it was over the shoulder this time (more efficient). She was deposited back in the box, but different this time. Restraints were there that weren’t there before. Her wrists and ankles were secured into place by cuffs attached to the wall, really restricting her movement this time. Finally, Fabio shoved her head to one side, exposing her neck. Cold metal hit her skin, followed by a loud snapping noise, then the feeling of inescapable pressure. A collar. Fabio turned away without another word. 

The glass door slid up again, and the cohort of clients waved at Katie. The white wall followed next, sliding up violently as her box suddenly descended, plummeting further than it had ascended. 

[ra-lek]

Hi! I know you’ve touched on the topic briefly before, but if you don’t mind I’d love to hear any more in-depth thoughts you have on autistic Elliot. It’s one of my favorite headcanons and it’s always fascinating to see other people’s thoughts on it! (Also I just wanted to say that you have a really interesting way of analyzing the show and you seem like a such a genuinely chill, kind person, thank you for being awesome)

heya, i don’t mind at all!! this headcanon is great and there’s a lot of material to work with and analyze so i’m absolutely on board with elaborating more; 

but first i gotta establish a few things:

i am not a professional and can’t talk about autism the same way i’ve talked about body language or dissociative identity disorder. mainly because i’ve done essays on the latter and am more educated on the subject, unlike with this specific disorder.

but yo that doesn’t mean i don’t know anything cause psychology is my sHit- i just felt it was necessary for you to know that i’m not as confident in my analysis as i usually am; so feel free to correct me!!

next, in canon, elliot is diagnosed with clinical depression and social anxiety disorder. with a couple of ’delusional’ mentions thrown here and there. however, we most certainly know he suffers from DID as well- and the fact it’s his MAJOR problem and hasn’t been properly acknowledged by the show leaves us with room to speculate.

and finally- i’ve been diagnosed with and am being treated for clinical depression and anxiety disorder. so i will point things out from my perspective here as well, since people with anxiety have similar symptoms to people on the spectrum and/or people with ADHD/ADD. (sometimes even OCD)

alright now that that’s all clear we can finally start looking at his behavior!!

first and foremost, autism & ad(h)d are developmental disorders because the symptoms for them can generally be noticed in early childhood; as opposed to anxiety which is a mental illness. so it’s entirely possible to have a cocktail of disorders in your head.

i’m bringing ADD up a lot because i’ve been speculated to have it & am supposed to take some tests- but am not officially diagnosed yet. now that we’ve got my entire family history, blood type & credit card number laid out, we’re ready to go.

anyway, these are the symptoms:

1. difficulty with communication & interaction with others

this is probably where anxiety, add and autism collide the most. though in very different ways- and they’re not exclusive to people with one of these diagnosis only. 

for example, eye contact. i’m terrible at it. people with autism & anxiety are also pretty darn bad at it, and elliot might seem that way at times; he hides a lot- but not as often as he tends to hold an intense eye contact, instead? which can also be seen as an ‘odd’ thing to do in social communication. as in, not noticing if someone’s uncomfortable under such gaze, let’s say.

that brings me to the next topic which is uh, coincidentally, communication.

he is quite blunt when it comes to it, has a distinctive ‘flat’ #elliotvoice tone. @mototwinkclub pointed out a few instances last time this topic was brought up, such as saying “i’m okay with it being awkward between us” to matpat ollie or “not at all, actually.” with gideon- and he doesn’t do it to be rude. doesn’t really realize it’s ‘bad’ to say it like that, either.

i mean i know he said he’s trying to work on his social anxiety but that’s not quite how you’d go about it? i firmly believe he suffers from generalized anxiety. obviously, that includes social anxiety as well; but this way you could explain why he’s way more concerned with…everything else. and is pretty straightforward in conversation.

since i referenced the pilot, one of the first lines he says about himself is “i don’t know how to talk to people. the only person person i could talk to was my dad- but he died.” which brings us back to the developmental aspect of this disorder. since he’s indicating he didn’t know how to talk to people even when he was a kid. which is true, in every flashback we see he either doesn’t talk at all or talks very little.

what’s interesting though- although he’s bad at reading 'conversation’- he’s extremely good at reading people. and the fact he 'looks for the worst in them’ contradicts the usual aspect that’s brought up when it comes to an autistic thought process, which is made out to be like “if i wouldn’t do this, then why would anyone else?” and it’s not the way he thinks at all.

instead, he feels empathy on a moral level if that makes sense? people on the spectrum are said to either be too empathic or not at all. and it’s hard to pinpoint elliot? because, clearly, he cares for people as much as he doesn’t trust them. use an example the reason he leaked ray’s information. he literally said “but then i keep thinking about those people.” but we haven’t seen him empathize with, for instance, vera- even when he gave a pretty tragic backstory. he can tell who the bad guy is. 

when it comes to spacing out, he does it all the time. people on the spectrum do it all the time, i certainly do it all the time. but we have to focus on what he is thinking about when he does it- because that is our indicator. 

we usually see his thoughts filled with paranoia, over-thinking, analyzing, etc,.. which i associate with anxiety disorder mostly? but, we have to take into account something he suffers from the most and it’s dissociative identity disorder. so not only does he space out, but he tends to dissociate, as well. perfect example for this is when he mutes the world around him. or just doesn’t listen.

once again, from the pilot, when angela tells him “stop thinking about something else while i’m talking to you!!” he isn’t actually daydreaming or spacing out in the usual sense- he’s recalling the night (mostly for the viewer than for himself let’s be honest) she’s talking about and we see that he was too anxious to go in. he doesn’t tell her that.

now let’s talk about his no-touch policy for a second. that’s something a lot of people on the spectrum have in common. i think it’s, once again, one of those cases where one could be either completely touch-starved or aversive. though we can’t ignore the fact he’d been abused when he was young. 

as i was going through the pilot for most of my evidence here (as you can notice) there’s a very small detail at the beginning when ron leans in to ask “are you blackmailing me!?” and we can see elliot flinch in genuine fear. this is not the only instance where he seems afraid to get hit. breaKs my goddamn heart.

but he’s also the one to initiate contact sometimes- and he often misunderstands the situation. shayla told him not to ask, he kissed darlene, tried kissing angela on the train that time when she denied him- he does it cause that’s what he thinks he should do. 

2. restrictive or repetitve behaviors

he’s absolutely all about those routines- he doesn’t want anything destructing his ’perfectly constructed loop’ anytime he has one. (season 1 starbucks, season 2 jailtime, season 3 ecorp) but it’s important to point out that in all of these scenarios, he’s been to one to break the loop himself. by realizing they weren’t making anything better.

there are a couple of nervous ticks he has, general fidgeting with his hands/hair/hoodie- all of these apply to every disorder we’ve mentioned here.

comfort item/food is a very good one!! since we’ve only ever seen him eat fries, he has a “crying corner” in his room, he’s constantly 'hiding’ under the hoodie. probably the main comfort item.

he’s also insanely hyperfocused on technology and numbers and hacking, obviously- he has a clear routine every time. burn the disc, delete the folder, write a song over one of the cds, shove them under the table. same goes for when he thinks he’s fucked up- throw stuff in the microwave, destroy it, you get the image.

speaking of those cds though, if he can remember exactly which song he wrote for each person he’s got data on; that could be a damn good indicator of it!!

all of this could be a combination of whys and becauses which is super fun if you ask me. elliot is complex and, although i share 2.5 disorders with him, i can’t relate to his actions/coping/thoughs completely all the time.

it just tells you how different everyone’s brains are, you can’t restrict a disorder to a specific pattern and only consider that when diagnosing somebody.

so, in conclusion, elliot could very possibly be autistic!!

[toomanyacronyms]

Chairs and Stairs

I remember Catherine would always hook her hands underneath my armpits and drag me headfirst down our flight of stairs. She would do this after Maria and I would be roughhousing. We both liked doing it and we would always be laughing. We would be loud as kids are at the age of maybe 5-6 and 8-9. Catherine would yell at us to be quiet and stop fighting (we were not fighting, big difference) and when we would continue playing (again, we were both under 10yo), I would get held like that. Funnily enough, Catherine was obsessed with a message board and wanted us to be quiet so she could post on them. 

Once I was in my room, I would just be screaming because I was so angry and wanted everyone to know that I was angry. I would be in my room usually from 10a to 8p. There were some days that I was not given water and I don’t remember if I was given dinner or not. So, let’s not dwell on that.

My bedroom door did not have a lock. So, Catherine used baby gates. We had two. The method of keeping my door shut was done one of three ways. (1) My door was shut completely. One gate was put under the doorknob and the other was put on top. I could not pull my door open because the handle was just too big for the gap between the gates. (2) Both gates still, but my doorknob would be tied to the doorknob across the hall and my door would be able to be open just a few inches. (3) Same as number 2, but only one gate. Geez.... Even thinking about this is causing me to dissociate. Yikes.

Catherine also liked that I get up between 8a and 10a. And I was not allowed television or breakfast until a list of about 5 chores were done. And the chores were like “unload the dishwasher and reload it”, “dry and put away [a large pile of] dishes from by the sink”, “sweep all the floor that you can see”, and just stuff that to a 6yo with undiagnosed ADHD absolutely balked at, especially still being half asleep and hungry. I should also mention that my mom was gone the whole time at work and usually left around 6a. 

Catherine also used to get all her belts and use them to tie me to our dining room chairs. She would slam me down bottom first and have my oldest sister, MaryAnne hold me while Catherine tied me up. I fought, a lot. Sometimes, Catherine would tie my arms up and then tell me to do my schoolwork (I was homeschooled until Freshman year). I was not able to reach anything on the table and now I know that Catherine knew what she was doing. Every time though, I was able to untwist and untie myself. I remember forcing myself to fall off the chair in order to untwist a belt. I am still traumatized by those memories even though I don’t remember them clearly.

I also remember being forcibly isolated from all my sisters. If I did something (usually due to my ADHD), Catherine and MaryAnne would get all the stools we had, stack them up, and throw sheets over them so that way I could not see what they were doing and I could not join them. Those were the moments where I found myself on our stairs playing with my toys quietly.

I also remember that Catherine painted me in a horrible light and like a true abuser, didn’t tell Mom what she was doing. So Mom thought I was just being a bitch. In fairness, I might have been, but I still should never have gone through that. So Mom bought a camcorder. Catherine would pick it up and start recording and would get right up next to me, get right in my face, and start yelling and hitting me trying to get a reaction. (We didn’t have any video editing software, so Mom would have seen her goading me anyways.) I hated that. I would’ve retaliated if I could’ve. 

That is a very condensed version of the hell that Catherine put me through. And now she and I are living with my dad and I am scared of being by her. I am scared to talk to her. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. And she has a toddler and 8mo and I am waiting for her to start treating them like she used to treat me, And the worst part? I am the only one who remembers the horrible horrible things she put me through. 

[insecurities-ofthe-secure]

Here we are again.

A lot has happened in two weeks. For the better, probably, but I still can’t feel it. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve felt much at all lately. For the non-existent audience reading this, here’s what’s happened:

1. I’ve moved out. Or at least, I’m in that process. 2. I’m fighting with what feels like everyone but my inner circle to get on some kind of disability or leave of absence because my physical health isn’t stable enough these days for it to be worth me working (even if there have been many days lately where I’ve doubted that and just stressed myself out more) and even if it was, my mental health is so far down the drain that I’m back to seeing things that aren’t there again. Which isn’t even the worst of the bad symptoms, not that I’ve shared them with any body. 3. Because of number 2, I have been actively thinking about quitting and hitting a hard reset on my life which is fucking terrifying 4. I’m fighting everyone and their mother to believe me and to try and get some fucking help. And I know I have a lot more support than I think I do but a lot of the people who are supposed to be supporting me have said things to me in the past that make me not trust them so now that’s all I think of when I do need to go to them for help and it just makes me defensive and angry and that certainly doesn’t help me either.

I’m just tired. And sad. And I keep thinking I get better or I am better but then it all just hits me again like a ton of bricks and I don’t know what to do about it or how to handle it because my brain just hasn’t been responding to anything. And my doctor doesn’t even want to do anything about it. As fair as she’s concerned, the mental health issues are a product of my pain so she’s refused to up my anti-depressants despite the fact that therapy is just a reason to cry for an hour and I’ve been thinking maybe a little too hard about the idea of my parents putting a lock on the outside of my door so I don’t sneak downstairs at night and play with knives. It’s bad. It’s really, really bad. And to top it all off, any time I am having a “good” day I just feel guilty because it feels like I have done and I’m doing so much to try and get better and make things work and it just feels so stupid and I feel like I should just be shutting up and doing my job and not making sure a fuss for everyone. I just feel so worthless. All the time. It would just be so much easier for so many people if I just stopped existing. My boss already wants me to quit and has given up on me so what’s the point in trying to keep the job? And things are getting better with Dani sure but I know I’ve caused her nothing but trouble and it’s not like she would take my side in this anyway if I told her what all of the issues were and it’s just a bridge that’s waiting to burn. And my parents are so tired. I see it. Mom’s stressed at work and her reccent lateral promotion might end up in her getting fired and my dad is in constant pain and yet I’m the one being a little cry baby about it. Even though I’m feeling better. Ish. Physically, anyway. And I just don’t know what to do. But I can see it. I can see all of the pain and stress I’m causing. And the last time I’ve actually contributed to anything was so long ago now. So what’s the point? What’s the fucking point anymore.

..... I knew I was having increased thoughts of self harm but by putting it all to words finally has shown me that instead I’m actively suicidal when the fog in my brain clears enough for me to address what I’m feeling. And my doctor doesn’t want to do anything about it and wants to give me medication that can also cause depression and mood swings even though I’m pretty sure my current medication is doing the same thing. And my therapist keeps trying to hold hope for me but I can’t feel like I can trust her anymore to actually help me when some fun gems of our session include “why are you so angry and tired, it’s not like you’ve been going through this for years” and “if you keep saying you’re tired you’re going to keep being tired” and “that’s definitely some heavy feelings you’re going through” like no shit that’s why I’m here talking to you because I want you to HELP ME. And I know that’s an unfair portrayal of our sessions because she does actually help but I just. I can’t feel it these days. I can’t. But I don’t want to stop therapy because then what the fuck am I supposed to do. And she’s just going to tell me that I have to feel and process my feelings in order to let go of them and get better but guess fucking what??? All I do is feel my feelings!! All I do is walk around in a dissociative haze finding any means of escapism I can actually get my mind to cling to and in the moments where I’m more coherent I’m either angry beyond all belief or openly sobbing!! And it’s been going on for over a month!! And my therapist has recontextualized it as grief and sure, that makes sense and for a little bit it was helping me be kinder to myself but I’m just so done. With everything. With my existence. And I don’t know what to do anymore. Nothing is helping me feel better and I just want to feel better. I’m tired of feeling guilty all the time for feeling okay. I’m tired of not feeling at all. I’m tired of being in pain and sad and angry and alone. I still just feel so alone....

Even just the act of breathing feels like too much sometimes. All day today it was a conscious effort to take a breath in and breath out and it just felt like my body didn’t want to. And i can’t bring that up to anybody because they go “uh oh covid stay away” and it’s like no, I’m not having trouble breathing because anything, my body just DOESN”T WANT TO FUNCTION. My body is done. It’s decided to quit and just keeping myself alive takes attention and energy. And with all that I’m also supposed to do everything else? I have to fight for coverage from Manulife I have to fight my doctor to believe that it’s best for me to take a short term disability, I have to be careful of my words to everyone, all the time, because anything could come bite me in the ass and I have to document everything and leave a paper trail everywhere and make sure that I have it written down or get things in writing or whatever and my parents keep berating me for sounding like I’m okay and I’m sorry I sound okay, it’s because I’m trying to BE okay!!! BUT IM NOT OKAY!! I HAVEN’T BEEN OKAY IN A YEAR!!!! SO IM SORRY I WANT TO FAKE IT!! IM SORRY I WANT TO KEEP PEOPLE FROM FALLING INTO THE BLACK HOLE MY SOUL HAS BECOME!!! IM SORRY IM NOT SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS UNTIL IM LOSING MY VOICE!!! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME

And Im just so tired. I’m in so much pain. In every sesnse. And I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t. And I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t think I really want to die because I love Z with my whole heart and I know how much that would hurt him and I don’t want to hurt him nor do I want to leave him but I just. I can’t anymore. I can’t. And I’m meant to be home to help make things better but it’s just one form after another or one carefully crafted conversation after the next meanwhile I just want to be able to BREATHE and feel like I’m not going INSANE but instead I can’t even have a very stilted, crafted, trying to be honest conversation with my coworker without someone saying I shouldn’t have done that. And it’s hit me today that even if being home is the best thing for me right now, it’s still not ideal because I understand that I need friends around me. I understand that I need to physically be with and see more people than my parents. But I don’t have anyone any more for that purpose. And that makes me scared. And sad. And continues to just make me feel alone.

There’s probably more to say and more in my brain but I just want to shut my laptop and curl into a ball so that’s what I’m going to do. 

Good night.