#also stop lying about dissociative disorders

[thestarseersystem]

I have something for endos.

thank you.

[turtletaubwrites]

Misty Eyes ~ Part 5

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI.

Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader, Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (Past & Flashbacks)

Word Count: 3975

Misty Eyes Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: Feeling good seemed out of reach, but you'd never felt safer than you do with Law. Safe enough to ask for what you want.

Author's Note: Alright friends, patience is required, but rewarded 🥰

Thank you so much @pinejayy for this delicious request!!

Rating/Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Devil Fruit User Reader, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Angst, Pet Names, Degradation, Punishment, Emotional Abuse, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Grooming, Trauma, Past Sexual Abuse, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Bondage, Dissociation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Kissing, Shame, Blood and Violence, Vomiting, Minor Character Death, Sparring, Childhood Memories, Chaste Childhood Kiss, Teasing, Tickling, Yandere Doflamingo, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Hair-Pulling, Birth Control, Unprotected Sex (stay safe out there!), Forced Pregnancy (Implied/Intended), Sterilization (Implied/Intended), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Soft Trafalgar D. Water Law, Other Additional Tags To Be Added, Fluff, Sexual Dysfunction, Safe words, Choking, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare

!!! SPOILERS !!! This story begins during the 2 year timeskip before the Punk Hazard Arc, and there will also be spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc for backstory lore

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“What do you mea–”

“Nuh uh,” Law scolded, sticking his thumb in your mouth like a hook to pull you closer by your bottom teeth. “You know I could always tell when you were lying. I know you faked it.”

You pulled his hand away from your face, frowning at his shit-eating grin. 

“I don’t know wha–”

“You little liar,” he accused, sitting up. His movement forced you to slide from straddling his waist to sitting in his lap, the feel of his still firm cock beneath you making you gasp. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, even as you scowled at him. His satisfied chuckle made you scrunch your nose, heat burning your face. 

“How could you tell,” you gave in, earning a quick kiss before he flipped you, laughing at you while he laid you on your back beneath him. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Your mouth fell open in outrage, but you couldn’t attack him while he held your fists, kissing your knuckles. 

“I’m an incredible liar,” you squirmed, his weight pinning you down. 

“See what I mean,” he taunted, your futile thrashing making you breathless. “That wasn’t believable at all.”

A frustrated huff left your lips as you struggled to punch that smirk off of his face, but he stopped talking while he kissed his way along your neck and collarbones, so you let it slide. He finally slowed, releasing your hands as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Why didn’t you just mist away,” he seemed to tease, but his voice was too soft. 

“I…” you paused, about to argue until you realized that you didn’t want to answer. You clamped your eyes shut against that feeling, then opened them again to glare at him. “Don’t change the subject. How could you tell I was lying?”

Law took a moment, seeming to search for his answer, which did not appease you.

“I’m not sure,” he smirked at your disgruntled hum. “You always seemed so… cute when you lied.”

He blinked, looking down as if he hadn’t meant to say that, but you wouldn’t give him a pass just for looking adorable. 

So you bit him.

“Gah, what,” he sat up, pulling back in surprise until your teeth left his arm.

“Two things,” you snarked, propping up onto your elbows, “I want to know exactly what my tell is so I can get rid of it, then I want to hear all about how you thought I was cute back then.”

“So your tells are,” he grunted, catching your fist at the plural word, “sometimes the corner of your lip goes up just a bit–”

“It does not! That’s the first thing I trained out,” you argued, sitting up on your knees to face him. You narrowed your eyes at him while he ran his thumb over the edge of your mouth, until you sighed at his touch. 

“Maybe I just pay more attention,” he mused, voice husky as he kissed your temple. His breath moved to your neck, your need for answers melting away. Until your body reminded you of the moment.

“Uh, Law,” you coughed, pushing him away gently, “do you have a towel?”

He returned from his adjacent bathroom with a warm, damp towel, helping you clean up the mess he’d made before kissing up your stomach and chest again.

“What’s my other tell,” you interrupted, his soft touches ending as he rolled his eyes. He grabbed your hand, kissing your fingers before moving your own thumb across them. 

“You rub your thumb over your fingernails,” he reported, brow raised as if judging your performance. 

“I do that all the time,” you yanked your hand back, embarrassed that he’d read you so well. Lying was something you prided yourself on. It’s what kept you safe. 

“It’s a self-soothing behavior,” he softened, pushing the hair back from your face. “And you’re right, you’re probably a great liar. I just spent too much time watching you.”

Releasing a frustrated breath, you looked at his stupid face, and couldn’t help but smile. 

“Is this when you tell me how cute you thought I was?”

Law sucked his teeth, his bright eyes ready for a challenge, but instead, he kissed you. Unhurried lips and tongues, treasuring the taste of each other. 

“I thought you were gross,” he whispered against you, earning a hard punch to the arm. He laughed before he continued, holding your wrists again. “But then I thought you were cute, and I thought that was gross too.”

You grinned at the memory of what a grouchy kid he was. For over two years, you’d spent everyday together, bickering, sparring, and causing chaos. 

“At first, I studied you to gain an advantage during training,” he confessed with a sigh, looking away while his fingers tugged at the sheet. “I don’t know when it changed, but eventually I was watching you because I wanted to. Because you were cute.”

He teased the last word, caving in to your demands, and you rewarded him with another kiss, wrapping your arms around him. Soon hands and lips were traveling, until he laid you back against the pillows. 

“Can I make you come now, or do you have other demands?”

You rolled to the side to hide your face while your skin burned, and his pleased hum and teasing kisses along your side didn’t help. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he soothed, your breath going too slow, and too shallow. “But I would love to make you feel good.”

His voice, his words, his gentle fingers that had pulled away to give you space, all of it made you freeze. 

“What can I do to help you feel good, Y/N?”

There were so many strange thoughts in your head, most moving too fast for you to follow.

Except for one thought that felt more like an emotion, a need. You were barely conscious of it, yet it drove you forward, pulling him onto you.

Make him feel good. 

Lost again in the way he touched you. Lost in the way he breathed your name while his marked fingers smoothed along your skin. Lost in the need to please him. 

“Fu-huck,” he gasped out, moaning as your fingers wrapped around his shaft, already hard again. 

Stroking him with purpose, you lined yourself up as you rubbed his tip through the new wetness his touch had drawn. His eyes rolled back before he buried his face in your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss against your skin.

A long whine left your lips, frustration making you writhe when he pulled away. He laid on his side at the edge of the bed, panting while his eyes tried to focus on your face. 

You rolled, crawling toward him with your lip caught between your teeth, more needy sounds leaving your throat. 

“Gods, you’re too fucking good,” he rasped, catching your hands before they could reach his cock again, “but, you didn’t answer my question, Y/N. How can I make you feel good?”

Your body slumped, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before his fingers brushed across them. 

“Let me take care of you,” he pleaded, the words hot against your ear. 

All you could do was nod, body limp as he lifted you back to the pillows, propping you up as if you were one of the precious comics on his shelves. That thought made you laugh, making him narrow his eyes at you until you giggled even more. 

“Something funny,” he teased with that lovely smirk. 

Words weren’t leaving your lips, so he sucked his teeth while he watched you squirm. Your breath stilled at the touch of his fingers along your inner thighs. 

“It seemed like you enjoyed me eating you out earlier, until I started fingering you. Did I read that right?”

Your eyes went wide, pausing for a moment before your words spilled out.

“N-no, it all felt amazing! I just got overwhelmed, but you felt so good…”

He watched you closely then, and you wondered if you’d shown a tell. 

But I didn't lie… 

“Okay… Please tell me if you’re feeling overwhelmed, or if you don’t like something.”

“I will,” you promised, your voice a bit high while you tilted your head down to the side, looking up at him with a teasing smile playing on your lips. 

“How about we use a safe word,” he suggested, smoothing a hand along your arm while he ignored your attempt to distract from the topic. “Do you already have one you’d like to use?”

Your eyes were a little wide as you shook your head, but a gentle kiss on your temple slowed your breathing. 

“It should be a word that doesn’t mean much, and that we wouldn’t normally say. Anytime you’re feeling overwhelmed or want to stop, you can say it, okay,” he paused, waiting for you to nod before continuing. “How about… radish?”

“Why radish,” you snorted, your body loosening up.

“Why not,” he grinned at you. His smile was a sight you’d never get enough of. “Do you have any other ideas?”

Your lips quirked, but you agreed to the word.

“Perfect. Now, will you please tell me how to make you feel good?”

He stared at your parted lips while you froze. No words came to mind. Just tension, and a mild sense of danger. 

“It’s alright if you don’t know,” he reassured, his eyes going soft as they raked over you. “Just talk to me. Is it alright if I touch you?”

You caught yourself rubbing your thumb over your fingernails when you agreed, stopping the movement before he noticed.

What’s wrong with me?

Law’s hands and lips traveled the length of your body, pulling soft gasps and sighs from your throat. You moved into his touch, reacting, showing him how good it felt. 

“I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he whispered, looking down at your face while he traced his fingers along your leg. Your cheeks were already burning before a breathy moan surprised you both. 

He cocked his head at you, repeating the movement. For some reason, the barest touch of his fingertips to the middle of your shin made you moan again, the ticklish sensation feeling better than you thought it should. 

“Mm, found something,” he teased, leaning closer to kiss your embarrassed face. “Do you know any other places I can touch to make you moan like that?”

“Law,” you writhed, voice breathy as his fingers danced up your body. 

“Come on, pretty. Tell me one thing that feels good. I know you can think of something.”

There was no pressure in his words, but there was heat, and the hint of a challenge. You still couldn’t think of any words, but you managed to move your head to the side, trailing your fingers along the crook of your neck. 

He hummed as his fingers replaced yours, as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Your skin’s so soft,” he purred, the hunger in his words making your toes curl. “Does it feel good when I kiss here too?”

Whining, your body went loose when he laid beside you, one of his legs resting between yours before he kissed your neck again. 

It felt so good, you could have stayed in this moment forever. The feel of his lips, tongue, facial hair, even his breath overwhelmed you. That sensitive skin sent electric shocks down to your lower back until you shook for him, his warm laughter only adding to it. 

“Thank you for showing me what you like,” he breathed against your ear. “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

Law’s praise took every thought away, everything was gone while your body reacted. Your hands fisted the sheets, your thighs tried to rub together, seeking friction, but his leg was in the way. 

“Mm, Y/N, is it alright if I finger you? You can say the word if you want me to stop, okay?”

Hesitation came back, along with anger. Anger at yourself for whatever was stopping you. For whatever was keeping you from enjoying this time with him. 

Anger at yourself for not pleasing him by giving him what he wanted.

“It’s okay, hey,” Law soothed, his thumb stroking your cheek, “we can stop here, or we can do something else. Whatever you–”

“I want to,” you choked out. Clearing your throat wasn’t enough fix the broken sound in your voice. “I don’t know why, but… me feeling good seems…”

His soft eyes warmed your skin, even though you couldn’t meet them. He waited for you.

“I keep getting nervous when it’s just me,” you murmured, keeping your eyes wide to fight the heat there. 

“Just you feeling pleasure,” he prompted, studying your face while you gulped, nodding to confirm. “You said you want to. Do you wanna try, and we can stop if you need to?”

“Mhm,” you agreed, looking up as you brushed away an unwelcome tear with the back of your hand. 

Law pressed gentle kisses across your face, wiping away another wayward tear. 

“You deserve to feel good, Y/N.” His fingers followed his pretty words, and you fought to just be here with him. So slow, so light, that tattooed hand trailed lower, until he traced around your entrance, leaning close to your ear again. “I wanna make you come so bad. Please, can I feel you come on my fingers?”

Your “yes,” came out in a whine, and you both moaned at the slide of his fingers, your drenched pussy aching for his touch. 

“Gods, you're so wet,” he panted, playing with your clit while he watched your face. “Can I–”

You interrupted his request, nodding permission before he pushed one finger, then two inside of you. His eyes never stopped scanning, and he sat up to free his other hand, caressing down your body. 

It felt so good, but there was something. You’d been able to keep memories out, but you couldn’t relax. 

“What do you need,” he checked in, his skilled fingers bringing you close, but not close enough. 

“I feel like I–” you moaned, his thumb moving over your clit while his fingers curled up to that spongy spot inside you. “I feel like I need to make you feel good.”

“Mm, you are making me feel good,” he rasped, his body seeming to relax at your confession. “I love the way you’re gripping my fingers like this. I love the little sounds you make. Watching you come would make my fucking year, Y/N.”

A laugh fell from your lips, then a moan as he pressed a little deeper.

“You don’t need it, but you have my permission to come,” he teased, his voice just a bit too real, and somehow those words released something. A tiny smirk graced his lips as you started to fall apart. 

“Gonna be a good girl, and come for me?”

“Fuck,” you breathed, the steady rhythm he’d found was building so much pressure in your core it almost hurt. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so well,” he praised, his free hand grabbing your chin to force your heavy lidded eyes to his. “You’re close, yeah? I want you to tell me exactly what you need so you can come on my fingers like a good girl. I know you can.”

“Law…”

“Can you do that for me?”

So close. So fucking close. But here was a new plateau, and all of his wonderful work was about to go to waste. Until you thought of something. 

Something that came with a pile of confusing memories and shame. Something you would have ignored, and stuffed away if you hadn’t felt so safe. 

If Law hadn’t made you feel so safe.

“Choke me, please.”

The request was almost silent, but you saw his lips part slightly. A hesitation. A mountain of self loathing threatened to roll over you.

Long, tattooed fingers encircled your throat, a necklace marked with “DEATH.” 

“Such a good girl, telling me what you want. Let me feel you– Mm, there’s my girl.”

He wrapped the perfect amount of pressure around your neck, keeping the pace with his other hand until your body started bucking, your eyes rolling white. 

It was everything you fucking needed. 

And it kept going. 

Law never stopped giving and giving, praising you while you shattered. You almost went to mist from the overwhelm, only managing to stay solid because you needed to keep coming for him. For you.

You mourned the loss of those wicked fingers choking and fucking you, but he worshipped your body again while aftershocks tore through you. 

“You’re fucking amazing,” he chuckled, laughing harder at the gibberish you replied with. He kissed and caressed you while your body came back to the room. “Can I get you anything? Water, or are you hung–”

He’d moved away slightly, but you reached out with your wobbly arms, pulling him close. He hummed at your touch, then gasped again when your hands found his cock, the heat of him making you writhe.

“Y/N, we don’t have to–”

“Please, fuck me,” you begged, sluggishly rolling onto your stomach. Looking over your shoulder at him, you got to witness the loveliest, most desperate look you’d ever seen on his face when you lifted your ass toward him. “I need your cock.”

There was no hesitation now. 

Just the whispered, “say the word if you need to,” before he was behind you, thrusting into your twitching cunt while you screamed for him. 

Tattooed hands on your hips helped him slam into you, hitting that perfect spot so fast, so hard, that you came in what felt like seconds.

“Oh fuck. Pussy feels so good, baby,” he moaned, slurring a bit before pressing your upper body into the bed. The new angle made you scream louder, clawing at the sheets. 

“You like that, Y/N,” he checked in, voice strained as he fought his need. 

“Pull my hair,” you demanded softly.

One of those hands pushed you down, his weight between your shoulder blades while he pounded into you. Frenzied thrusts rocked your body while his free hand fisted into the hair at the back of your head, finally giving you that sting you needed. 

“Do it again,” he forced through his teeth, his bruising grip making you drool onto the sheets. “Come for me, pretty. Come on my cock right fucking now.”

“Law, fuck, I’m…”

Words were gone, his quarters ringing with your breathy screams, and his heavy grunts. The slapping of wet, needy flesh nearly drowned you both out until he buried himself as deep as he could go, your toes curling while he filled you with heat. Your body milked the come out of him until you both collapsed, sweaty limbs still reaching for each other. 

“Are you okay,” he coaxed, brushing another hot tear away from your cheek. 

“I’m happy.”

Those words had left your lips many times over the past few years, but this time you didn’t have to lie. This time you let tears fall without shame, laughing as he left tickling kisses anywhere he could reach, holding you close. More laughter floated through the air while he carried you to the bathroom. You trailed your fingertips along his lines of ink, as though you were walking the paths around your new home, memorizing each lovely view. 

“You know this doesn't mean I’m gonna go easy on you, right,” Law threatened as he threw a blanket over your bare skin, wrapping himself around you. 

“You’re such an ass,” you hummed, nuzzling into his warmth. 

“You could be nicer to your captain, you know,” he quipped, his deep voice making you shiver. 

“If you’re my captain, does that make me a Heart Pirate?”

His arm tensed around you, and your mind cringed against your presumption.

Nothing’s changed. I’m still a tool, a threat, even if I am something more. Don’t fucking push–

“Only if you want to be.”

Law’s hushed offer stilled your thoughts. You couldn’t answer without seeing his face, so you twisted in his arms until you could cup his cheek, knowing that the shy smile on his face reflected your own. His eyes poured over you, until his brows creased slightly as he waited for your response. Waited to hear if you wanted to spend your life as a pirate, living on this submarine, putting yourself in danger. Waited to hear if you wanted to stay with him. 

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you promised with a kiss, pulling back to smirk at him, “but I’m still gonna call you an ass.”

Soon you were begging, breathless as you lost the fight, your cheeks hurting from laughing after his long fingers had stopped tickling you. Being wrapped up in each other still felt unreal. He fell asleep so fast, his light snores a comforting sound, even when you couldn’t stop the tears from staining your skin. 

You’d never felt safer. 

But memories were still there.

Doffy. 

He’ll find me. He’ll take me back. After he makes me watch him kill Law. 

He’ll probably use my hands. Just like…

You went completely limp, head lolling as your body fought the sticky memory of blood on your hands.

Part of your brain still had memories. Part of your brain berated you for not enjoying this perfect moment with Law. But most of your brain went to a strange buzzing place, unfocused eyes seeing nothing but a blur. 

When this empty space wasn’t frightening, it was relaxing, in a sick way. 

Leaving. 

Being nothing. 

Safe.

“Y/N? You okay,” he checked in, groggy voice filled with concern. 

Your limp body rolled as he shifted. A tiny part of you floated above the bed, watching, yelling at yourself to move, hating that he had to deal with this.

The rest of you was trapped in a fish tank, sinking to the bottom.

Law stayed with you. Even though you couldn’t feel, even though you couldn’t hear, you knew he was there. He was there when you returned, soothing your “sorry’s” away. Asking what you needed, bringing you water, then starting all over again as if it hadn’t happened.

Holding you close as he drifted off to sleep, and this time, you followed him. 

This time, Law pulled you from the nightmares. He reminded you where you were while he kept you from clawing at your chest. He waited until he saw your eyes stay present, then he teased you until you were his again. 

“Hurry up, or I’ll make you use the barracks bathroom,” he warned, pushing you through the door with a towel and a change of clothes. He beamed at your middle finger, and you could hear him counting down random numbers while you got ready. 

“Why don’t you just join me,” you challenged, about to turn on the water.

“You know why.”

You showered fast, even though your body twisted with need at the thought of him shoving you against the tile wall, but your mood soured when you looked in the mirror. It was disorienting to see that face on this submarine. To see that face anywhere but at Doffy’s side.

You managed to pull yourself out before you fell too deep, but this time you didn’t push it away. No hiding, no running in fear. 

Doffy lived there, behind your misty eyes. The weight of his presence hung around your shoulders like that heavy, pink coat. Your body screamed with the need to be safe, the need to be whatever he wanted you to be. His laugh echoed in your skull as he called for his “pretty doll.”

But you weren’t a doll anymore. 

I’m a Heart Pirate now, Doffy. And I’m gonna help Law kill you.

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me all the ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Heeeyyyy we made it. We completed the fic request. It's over... Lol, not! I have so much more planned for this story, but there will be a pause here while I circle back to another fic. But fret not, I'm obsessed with this story, and have already outlined some upcoming chapters!

Thank you so much for joining me! Again, I hope none of you relate to the reader's trauma, and her struggle to enjoy her own pleasure, but if you do, you're not alone 🖤 I hope you are given all the patience and love you need so that you can enjoy all the pleasure you desire.

You deserve to feel good!!

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @nothing-but-brass | @lovemesomefanfic846

Part 6

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[snowglobe-system]

Hi! Feel no pressure to answer, but I have a few questions (regarding DID)

So I'm aware of what an endo system is, but I'm a bit confused on why it would be considered valid since the condition is directly caused by trauma, which is the thing that endos lack. Could you please explain your perspective on it? And maybe your perspective before you became pro-endo?

Hey! I've been sitting on this ask for a few days now. I do want to start out by thanking you for reaching out to me and asking about my perspective. Please note that you are not obligated to agree with me, or to change your mind just from my answer to your questions. I like having you as a mutual, and I will continue to do so regardless of your syscourse stance.

I'm going to grab a term that some of my mutuals in the DID community have used, and say I'm really more pro syscourse conversation than I am pro endo- pro endo is just the easiest way to communicate my basic stances.

I think the most important thing to understand here is that a lot of the time, the "are endos real" debate suffers from both sides fundamentally misunderstanding what the other's stance actually is. While there is a small subsection of the endo community claiming that DID isn't trauma based- which I vehemently disagree with, DID is absolutely trauma based, and that's backed by all of the research- that's not the majority.

Most endogenic systems are not claiming to have DID. They are claiming to experience themselves as more than one. I am by no means an expert on this, but I know that it is a very western-centric view to assume that everyone subscribes to being one singular self. If you want to learn more about non-western views on the self and on plurality, I would recommend looking at @system-of-a-feather's blog. They make great posts on the subject!

And- here's a real kicker- not everyone with a CDD- CDD standing for complex dissociative disorders and including the likes of DID, OSDD, P-DID, UDD, etc- actually identifies as plural. Not everyone with even DID identifies as plural. So if someone with a CDD can identify as one, what's stopping someone who doesn't have a CDD from identifying as more than one? This post puts it pretty well, so I'm just going to link it here! And if you're looking for scientific backing on endo systems? Dr Colin Ross, one of the very well known DID researchers, believes in non-traumagenic self states.

Basically, I'm choosing to believe people when they talk about their subjective personal experiences.

Now you did also ask about my anti-endo days and I will also gladly talk about those. I will admit, I was the worst kind of anti-endo. I was the type of person who would throw even other CDD systems under the bus as fakers because I wanted to seem more legitimate. Everyone who didn't present the "right" way was a faker. And endos, my goodness. They were the worst fakers of them all.

It was an extremely reactive position to take. I was suffering from my plurality, therefore everyone who wasn't had to be faking. They were making a mockery out of me! At least, that's how I perceived it.

And then I started interacting with endos, and pro endos. I realized that they were also real people, not just an abstract concept to make fun of to make myself look more legitimate. And I started reading blogs that had the rawest, realest content about CDDs that I'd come across thus far... and they were pro endo. And the arguments as to why were really good.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that the things that were leading me to being anti endo were the same things that made me into a transmed when in the 2010s. I believed that people had to meet a minimum quota of suffering to be real. In a way, I was defining people by it. And ultimately, if they are lying? It costs me nothing to believe them. I'd rather believe some liars than not believe people who are telling the truth. I've had enough experience with people not believing me. It sucks. I didn't want to keep doing that to others.

That's about the end of this yap session! Seriously, thanks again for asking, I really enjoyed writing this post. I hope I answered in a way that makes sense to you!

[sawyer-is-eepy]

as a punk, its the least fucking punk thing to call someone a poser. what 90% of anti-endos want is for endos to stop calling themselves systems (its a medical term) and to get the fuck out of our spaces. calling yourself a system (short for system of alternate states of dissociation) when you dont have did/osdd is ablist. ablism is NOT punk. listen to actual fucking trauma survivors instead of circlejerking every other ablist around

hi, sorry, i've mostly got it okay but i don't have my glasses right now and can't see very well. trying to still type properly but it's a bit hard, so i'm sorry for any typos ! ^^

i get why anti endos are wanting a space thats exclusively for cdd systems, but terms can change and adapt and evolve(and they are!) the thing is, more and more research is being done on endogenic systems and a lot of said studies are referring to endos AS systems. medical studies and such!

plus, not trying to say you're lying or anything because i can't prove you wrong, but i'm, not even entirely sure system was ever ACTUALLY just exclusively for cdds because it's just that previousloy, there was no research on endos so maybe now that more stuff is coming out about them? but if you do have stuff about the original usage of the term i'd be glad to check it out! i

and about your spaces, again i do understand why youd want a space sepcifically for traumagen/disordered systems. but the thing is, a lot of times those spaces completely exclude a lot of traumagen systems ANYWAYS!! yall exclude proendo traumagen, and exclude traumagenic systems that aren't disordered! and because a lot of those spaces have become "haha funny lets just h\ate on endos and fakeclaim a ton of them!" and also putting "proendos dni" on a lot of your posts you exclude anyone who could benefit from resources and/or potential friendships, as well as fakeclaim "real" systems! you create spaces that are filled with hate and anger so people don't feel safe expressing themselves.

tumblr is usually better about fakeclaiming stuff from what i've seen, but literally everywhere else(ESPECIALLY reddit tiktok and yt) are all incredibly hostile toward endos, and often how that manifests itserlf is fakeclaiming literally any system, ever. INCLUDING traumagen ones.

my MAIN issue with anti endos is how yall want a safe space but your spaces are so filled with hate and you consistently bar yourself from actually ever receiving any criticism. you create echo chambers, basically

safe spaces are no5t places for people to post hate without having to get called out. safe places are not for you to go "there's no science to back endos!" and then ignore any attempts to share science behind endos by saying "youre invading our spaces! you broke the dni!"

youre right, ableism is VERY not punk! but you claim to protect trauma survivors when you ignore the proendo traumagens and the endos WITH trauma!! what about the endos who had to go through trauma and want to speak about their trauma but are silenced because its "sCiEnTiFiCaLlY ImPosSiBlE!111!!11" ? what about the traumagenic systems who just waant a space to be able to communicate with other trauma survivors but they arent listened to because they support something else???

you create hateful spaces, we're gonna call you out on that bullshit.

i'm sorry about the endos who invade other tags but i feel like this time it's at least a little justified.

edit: i can see slightly better now so i fixed some of the typing errors. sorry if i still missed any

[t4lon]

siiiiigh. there are so many variations of anti-endo it's almost impossible to identify one particular crux of the issue, but i AM seeing a lot of "i have this experience (DIDOSDD) that is so profound and damaging that someone with a superficially similar experience (in this case, endogenic plurality) is INSULTING me by comparing them"

and i see this a lot in other places too, it's also part of the transmed mentality. basically, people take immediate offense at the idea that someone "different" who has it "easier" could relate to any of their More Profound Experiences.

Fictives also do this to fictionkin. Can you please explain to me what makes fictive exomemories inherently different from the kin memories of a singlet? "Well we have both and they're different for us so.." alright, but what about the people who have both but can't tell them apart, or just consider them the same thing?? And why when sharing experiences do you feel so angry when a fictionkin goes "oh, I also experience that." You don't need to immediately say "no, obviously you can't, because we're different." You can instead go "Huh, that's neat. We have a lot in common" or maybe Try to clarify if you feel misunderstood, but why so much vitriol over "don't compare me to you"?

anyway, if it's not already clear, this is a large aspect of the endogenic issue. for those who finally figured out all the layers of misconceptions and are STILL mad, it's mostly from a standpoint of "i have nothing in common with you STOP insinuating i do GO AWAY i am SUFFERING and you are NOT" which is presumptive and also just a little silly to me.

even singlets also have severe mental disorders, can dissociate and otherwise be made miserable by circumstances. Why do you assume every endogenic system has a perfect life and psyche and are all lying to you when they say "hey me too" about one of your struggles

[sophieinwonderland]

1) unless you're a Tibetan Buddhist monk, you are not/do not have a tulpa. Tulpamancy is a specific closed practice that belongs to and isn't shared outside of a very specific ethnic and religious group. You are racist for using that term, and you factually don't know how to create a tulpa because the only way to learn is at a Buddhist temple in Tibet. The ways taught online are fake and are made up by little racist white girls like yourself, because you don't have a real life or culture.

2) there's no scientific evidence that someone can willingly create a dissociative identity. Most scientists recognize what you're doing as a factitious disorder, aka you're lying about having a mental health condition for attention and sympathy. This is extremely ableist against people with real dissociative disorders. So you're racist and ableist.

3) comparing your actions to transgender people coming out is offensive on multiple levels. People don't decide to be trans for fun, they don't do it for attention, it's not a game. You are extremely transphobic for pulling that shit. So that's racist, ableist, and transphobic.

4) You're just an intrusive, disingenuous, mean, pathetic little creep and you need help. Eventually you'll pull this with the wrong trans, mentally ill, Tibetan Buddhist like myself and we'll show you what happens to disgusting racist little foreigners who like to mock our culture because you're too boring to get a real hobby, culture, or personality.

STOP FUCKING MOCKING CULTURES YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT BECKY!!!!

Let's go!

1. "Tulpamancy"

"Tulpamancy" was coined in 2009. While sharing an etymology with the Tibetan Buddhist sprul-pa, there is no Tibetan or Buddhist practice that has EVER EXISTED called "tulpamancy".

And even for the sprul-pa, I've never heard a valid source claim the practice can only be done by "monks."

Also not fake. At least according to the psychologists who are investigating the practice, and believe it to be a real psychological phenomenon. But surely you know more than psychiatry professors. 🙄

2. No Evidence You Can Create a Dissociative Identity

I have NEVER seen a scientist claim you can't create a "dissociative identity" or any synonym thereof without a dissociative disorder. The closest any doctor has come to accusing endogenic systems of a factitious disorder was in the McLean Hospital video, which was infamously so shameful that the hospital took it down!

Here is what I have seen...

The ICD-11, created by the World Health Organization, states you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a dissociative disorder.

Transgender Mental Health, published by the American Psychiatric Association, states that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

The creators of the Theory of Structural Dissociation have mentioned that mediumship and hypnosis may result in "self-conscious" "dissociative parts of the personality."

The science is overwhelmingly in favor of endogenic systems to the point where it's not even a contest.

3. Comparisons

While no comparison is exact, endogenic systems are discriminated against whether intentionally created or not. And even as a tulpa, I was only somewhat intentionally created.

The discrimination and pluralphobia systems face is very real. And there are huge overlaps in pluralphobia and transphobia.

Both face misgendering and people intentionally calling them by names they don't identify with. Both experiences are falsely regarded as things that can only be mental illnesses, and have medicalist branches within those communities who engage in sending hate to those who don't identify their experiences as a disorder.

4. "Get help"

Always worth reminding people that this phrase is just another way of calling people crazy, insane, lunatics, etc. It's an inherently ableist term designed to silence people for perceived neurodivergencies.

This is still you, right?

Dear, you don't even have the guts to come off of anon.

You're a coward.

...

You know, at times like these, I think it's important for you to collect yourself. Think of things that bring you joy and comfort. Friends. Family. Your favorite fandoms. Whatever communities you're a part of that you love.

And I want you to know that those are the things we're going to take from you.

Piece by piece, as the world becomes more aware of and accepting of plurality, people like you will be ostracized and cast out of every space you feel safe.

The research will be a huge boon. Every study that comes out makes it that much easier to brand anti-endos as science-deniers. If neurological studies show different brain activity in tulpa systems, it will be confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt for most people. After you lose that last thread of deniability, it won't be long until the hate group label sticks too. After all, what else would you describe people bound together solely by hate for a marginalized community?

I want you to know that I am not merely seeking to turn system spaces against you, but every space, every support network you have. I want you to know that everyone in your life will realize what a terrible person you are and they'll abandon you just like you fear deep down they will.

I want you to know that this is where the tide is going, and that despite all your best efforts, you'll be powerless to stop it.

So please, enjoy your fandoms and your support networks and your time with your loved ones while you still can.

Have the day you deserve.

[acerathia]

somebody's watching me || Chapter 1: Suffocate

Summary:

Meeting him was your fate, your salvation, and you shall do everything to keep things this way.

Wordcount: 3.0k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Getou Suguru / Reader

Tags/CW:

no-curse au, Getou is still a cult-leader, cults, Getou's fake personality, dark content, Major Character Death, Paranoia, schizoid form of anxiety disorder, isolation, overthinking (in connection to the anxiety), some form of descent into madness, violence, stream of consciousness to show the mental state of reader, everything has meaning (dreams, colors, symbols etc.), warped look on reality, dissociation, blind trust, indoctrination, manipulation, mind-altering practices, polarisation of people/society, peer pressure, denial of reality, emotional abuse, body horror, drugs (implied), hallucinations,

Note:

Please be cautious reading this work, as it contains heavy themes, which might affect some people. Minors do not interact!! First chapter yippie! Also, this is majorly for the setting, apologies for the lack of actual interaction </3

The sun struck your head like a whip. Burned the soaked sweat into your skin. Boiled your nerves. Your hair felt wet while your clothes lay uncomfortably on the corners of your body. Not a single gust of wind relieved you of this suffering. Even fanning your hands was of no use in this humidity, practically only swinging warm air around. The only bliss in this agony was the cool water in your bottle. But not only was it nearing its end, it was also getting warm with the direct rays of the sun. You could not come out of this dilemma as a winner. Either You would soon have nothing left to drink, or you would have to use hot water to work your way out of the situation. Both options were less than ideal.

Your tongue licked over your chapped lips. You felt your throat tightening and your heart beating faster. At this rate, you felt like you had run a marathon instead of just thinking about water. But this problem was getting to you. Ripped the air out of your lungs. If you didn't get water as soon as possible, you would definitely collapse. If you had warm water later, you would stop drinking in disgust. What would happen then? Trembling, you took a breath and slowed your steps. With that, you fell further back in the group, but you only felt the sensation of not being able to breathe. Finally, your legs failed completely, forcing you to your knees. Your hand was on your chest as if you could force your lungs to breathe in more air. Your throat rasped with each forced breath. Water. Instinctively, you lifted the bottle to your mouth and let the coolness shock your body. The chill in your stomach soothed you.

Slowly, you straightened up and paid attention to your legs. The others hadn't gotten much further, and you didn't want anyone to notice your absence. That would only lead to a conversation. One that you definitely would not want to endure. It was clear to you: these people were not your friends. Not anymore. You wouldn't spill your feelings to them. But they knew ways to force you to. However, one thing was clear, these so-called helpers were lying in wait, biding their time, feeding on confessions. And the more you told them, the more they clung to you.

And you didn't want to be here at all. You didn't know anyone here, and you didn't want to know anyone. In your eyes, these fellow people in this group were just faceless strangers. So why should you bother talking to anyone? Soon you would be away from this group. Even if you were initially forced to join, no one had the power to push you to be there for an extended time. You didn't need all of this. You were doing just fine. Therefore, you would not go after a few meetings. No one would stop you. What could they do? Nothing. At first, You had only consented because you didn't want to attract attention. You used to be a little more careless, a little more sloppy, but you had learned your lesson. From the moment you left this place, you would be a normal person again.

Although all these meetings were starting to drive you crazy. Why did you have to talk about your innermost feelings? You didn't understand. It was nobody's business at all. Only yours. It was your privacy. That was why you had refused to ever say anything. No matter how many times you were dragged along somewhere.

After a few minutes, you followed the sweating mass over a hill. Because you refused to engage with anyone, you remained at the edge of the group, bringing up the rear. An instinct told you that no one knew the right direction anymore. Simply put, they were lost. Of course. You were so pleased that the frustration was building up in your throat. You also had no idea what your location was. After all, you didn't know the area at all. Regret for not having looked up the way before at some point flooded through your chest. Hopefully the group could take a break soon. Someone was some sort of guide, right?

Sure enough, the guide stopped next to a large field and told the crowd that it was time for a break. But the moment you stepped closer to the empty meadow, a shrill sound rang in your head. It jerked slightly to the side. No one seemed to notice anything, so you didn't let yourself look at anything. Your jaw tensed and then jerkily relaxed, only to repeat the motion. Your eyes suddenly seemed drier than they should be, and you blinked to moisten them. With each blink, they burned more. Your lungs felt like rocks were being rolled into their open spaces, breathing heavier and more compressed. You had no idea what was going on. No thoughts filled your brain…. The only explanation was that something was off about this place. But you had no idea what exactly. Only your rolling stomach seemed to have an answer, which it tried to convey to you in a nonverbal way. But that only led to the looming doom above your head to become more pronounced.

Your gaze twitched to the people tampering with strange statues. These seemed to be placed in a special assortment. One was in the center. It bore an uncanny resemblance to an armchair with chains spiked with thorns. The rest of the statues formed a circle around it. You didn't notice any other similarities, but none of these stones were the same. Yet they all seemed to have a mark carved on them. Two diamonds crossed into each other. Your eyes fixated on this sign and a fear you couldn't explain ran down your spine. Slowly, you lifted your foot to enter the field as well. Your fingers twitched with agitation. You didn't know if you should follow the others. For the shrill sound grew worse the closer you got to the statues. You noticed how your sweating became more oppressive due to nervousness. But because of the prevailing heat, no one recognized your nervousness. Your tongue licked over your lips again and you forced yourself to swallow the stones in your throat. To avoid them making your breathing difficult again. But each time you got a piece down, a new, larger one followed. As you did so, you felt the taste in your mouth slowly sour, mixing with the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.

You shook your head and forced a little air into your lungs. Slowly, the soles of your shoes touched the grass of the field. Suddenly, a tall man appeared to your left, a smile on his face as he seemingly started scolding everyone. His firm, yet gentle voice startled you, and you immediately took two steps away from the swaying grass. He seemed to simultaneously lash out at every single person who had settled on the statues with his words. With the way his long black hair draped over his back, he stood out quite a bit, he probably would be easily recognizable from a good distance. That’s why you wondered how he could sneak up on everyone so unexpectedly. Your eyes darted back and forth between the stranger and the leader, who received most of the abuse. The latter apologized with red ears. A grin formed on your lips. In a way, he deserved those harsh words. After all, it was because of him that they had ended up at this spot in the first place.

With a curt shout, the man gathered everyone around him again and explained the situation to them. Not that anyone cared much what he had to say about the situation, but it was obvious that they would have to rest elsewhere. It was clear, everyone was intimidated by this man. That's why not a soul complained when they were told to clean up the place. The mess was cleaned up amazingly quickly by everyone. You also helped, even though you didn't even step near the square, let alone any closer to the statues.

After the man supervised and checked on everything, you turned to leave. In the same direction from which he had emerged. But in that movement, his gaze became entangled with yours. Your mouth became drier in one fell swoop. The shrill came back with a vengeance and seemed even stronger. The screeching in your ears forced a soft whimper from your lips. Your eyes watered with pain. Despite the burning you longed to keep the eye contact going, even if the welling tears rendered your sight blurry. But after you blinked away the tears, the unknown man was gone. His disappearance was as silent as the appearance.

Your eyes turned to the rest of the group. No one spoke a word. Not a sound rang out for a few seconds. It was as if not a single person reacted to the disappearance. Suddenly, with a jolt, everyone moved again and conversations continued. The pause seemed to have never existed, as everyone followed the narrow path. No one mentioned the man or the incident in general. As if nothing had happened. But you were sure that it had really happened that way. Admittedly, your thoughts were sometimes a bit confused, but not even you would be capable of such ideas. The whole thing was just absurd. You still felt your ears buzzing as if bees were flying around them. The thought bothered you so much that you stroked your ears with your fingers. No bees there. Just the buzzing. You took a quick breath, relief filling the air in your lungs. Still, you checked to see if you could still hear like you’re supposed to. A snap to the right. One on the left. Both sounded normal. Everything was fine. At least, that was what you would have liked to tell herself. With long strides, you followed the group the rest of the way. You needed distraction and movement often seemed to help with that. Something in you recognized with suspicion that the leader suddenly knew the way back to town. But for the moment, you ignored that thought. As long as you were home as soon as possible, you could care less about what had happened. For the sun was still pressing uncomfortably on your skin and you felt only sticky and tired.

Finally, the way back proved to be more exhausting than the whole trip. The regret of having come along at all increased even more when the adrenaline finally left your body. Still, the nausea of panic lay heavy in your stomach. The lack of heat on your skin caused the dirt to make your body heavier. Your entire body poured waves of pain like a celebration through every muscle. Your head felt like weights were resting heavily on it.

Your feet dragged themselves laboriously across the floor, not paying attention to the path until you arrived back home. Right now, all you wanted to do was get in the shower. And then go straight to bed. No matter what else you had to do, or what time it was. All that running had made you completely lose your sense of time. But as mentioned, you didn't care. With a groan, you peeled the sweaty clothes off your body and threw them into a basket. Then you freed your hair from the ribbon that had become knotted with the matted strands. With a tug, you simply yanked it away, ignoring the pain that accompanied the jerky movement. With one hand, you ran through your hair to ease some of the tension there as you climbed into the tub. Since even standing made you ache, you decided to just sit down. Slowly you turned on the water until it reached the right temperature. The splashing sound rumbled in your head. The sound seemed to ground you and drive you insane at the same time. Still, you didn't change your posture as the hot water loosened the tense muscles in your body.

After you finished washing and put on new, soft, clean clothes, you threw herself on her bed. With several tugs, you adjusted the blanket and snuggled closer into the warmth of the fabric. You had no idea how long you had been sitting under the water, but that kind of uncertainty enveloped her like her blanket. Until you would eventually look at a clock, you would remain in her own bubble. Without any sense of time. Despite the warmth, you couldn't fall asleep right away, even though you was so tired. Her mind wandered back to the incident. A hint of the shrill seemed to be back for a moment, but with a deep breath it disappeared again. You tried to distract herself and let her mind wander in another direction. Eventually, her blinking slowed before you fell into a light sleep.

The cool darkness embraced you with gentle tentacles. The touches invited you to forget. And you wanted to accept the invitation all too gladly. If only you could stay there for all eternity, then you wouldn't have to think anymore. You would no longer have to move. Not to care about anything or anyone. Trapped in time, in eternal sleep. Your consciousness slowed with each arm. Maybe that way you could forget the incident. How glad you would be to forget it and everything else.

But just the thought of the afternoon triggered the shrilling in your head again. But this time you could not move away from the source. The incident seemed to hang in the back of your mind. You had no way to move. Your body was heavy and numb. The screeching grew louder and a pulsating headache accompanied the apparition.

In the darkness, you couldn’t see anything. Your eyes seemed to stretch out of their sockets, seemed to have an existence of their own. Desperately, you tried to see something, anything. But your body no longer obeyed you. Every movement, every motion seemed to fail against your skin. No sound escaped your lips, no matter how far you tore them apart. Only darkness filled your mouth slowly and far too sweet, far too bitter. Your consciousness reacted against that invasion, but your body was paralyzed. You had no idea what kind of crevice between worlds you had landed in. Your dreams had never been so violent. Most of them were as fleeting as melting cotton candy. Just the aftertaste, feelings in your mouth. But this time everything felt too real, too painful, disorienting. It was as if you had suddenly woken up in the depths of an unknown sea. Everything was crushing you, everything was dark. And you could not defend yourself against it.

This oppressive environment pressed the unknown confessions of your soul out of you. And left you empty. Swimming in your own senses. Suddenly your head was empty of any content. Without thoughts, without sensations. Your body was not yours. There was nothing left of your body but a shell. Only the cold gnawed at the outermost layer of your skin.

A jolt ran through your thoughts and your surroundings were filled with a symbol. The interlocking diamonds flowed into your head. Filled the void in which your panic was supposed to sit. An alarm blared somewhere, but the sound was muffled. Separated by a wall. Your true fear did not set in. Nothing inside you even pondered. Inside your head, for the first time in a long time, it was just quiet. The silence in your guts only made the situation more terrifying in retrospect. But now you could do nothing. Didn't want to do anything. With your breath missing, you were merely a spectator, watching as the flying symbols formed themselves into a rope. Without being able to ward off anything, this arrangement of shapes began to wrap around your throat. Slowly at first, as if a chain were being put around your neck by a lover. But after a while it began to nestle against your complexion, like a cat making itself at home. Whose claws slowly dug into your skin. For a moment, your skin seemed to be made of soap. Soft and easy to nick. Pain shot through your nerves and hit you unexpectedly. The surprise jolted you, so you didn't recognize the actual danger. This followed insidiously. You were too distracted by getting the sensation of feeling back. Nevertheless, you still had no control over your own movements. Your consciousness, however, had jumped back to its original place, flickering with frustration.

A sudden jolt ran through your body as the rope tightened around your joints, twisting tautly around the bones. Granted, your range of motion had been severely limited from the start, but this new twist made the lack of freedom even more obvious. Still, you wanted to fight back. But the chain around your neck only wound tighter, colored spots began to fly around in front of your vision. Her nonexistent breathing quickened with the panic flowing through your body. Your thoughts began to roll in the folds of your brain, but the pressure of the rope made everything feel like it was wrapped in cotton. The chaos that normally roamed within your thoughts broke off with a jolt. Like fine sand, only sore feelings and unprocessed memories trickled away. These seemed to accumulate behind your eyes into a crimson layer. The color burned on your retinas. Murmurs came from another direction. They weren’t your thoughts. The voice was too broken for that, with far too many echoes. The murmuring seemed to come from all directions, different tones hammering into your skull. Only the grinding in your head was slightly louder than the talking. You felt a slight pressure on your shoulders. Vaguely registering hands resting on your head, one on each side.

Then, with a crack, your viewpoint had changed harshly.

[sabaramonds]

if anyone is wondering if im going to do an analysis of double & mikoto i uhhh need to find more stuff to read in english about psychiatric care and dissociative disorder patients in japan but given what ive found so far im like. well this is what i expected from milgram ill be honest having read the voice drama tl and watched the mv 8573485 times (omg hanae natsukis vocals) i do have a few thoughts. mentions of CSA and childhood abuse below as well as medical abuse - mikoto2 ("john" LMFAOOOO) claims he was born from mikotos workplace stress and implies that mikoto did not have DID prior to that; DID is only developed in childhood, but its common to live your life without knowing about it until adulthood (the average age at diagnosis is 29-35 years as of a 2007 paper on sciencedirect i just double checked; according to a 2009 piece from the national library of medicine, the average patient for a diagnosis is a woman of about 30 years old and a retroactive view of the patients medical history and symptoms tend to reveal a lifetime of DID symptoms) so basically im saying that its equally possible deco and yamanaka are unaware of this or mikoto2 is lying his ass off because why would he want to tell some amnesiac teenage prison warden btw the reason i exist is because mikoto was abused as a child. why do you think our mom divorced our dad. even if es likely researched it themself and is probably aware of the statistical likelihood that mikoto experienced long term childhood abuse, why would mikoto2 say it...especially if that abuse was sexual in nature - according to this video recorded by a japanese man (a recovering hikkikomori who experienced forced hospitalization in the past), the 2017 statistics for mental hospital inpatients was that there were 280,000 patients at the time, and 170,000 of those were hospitalized for over a year. 90,000 had been in hospital care for more than 5 years and 26,000 had been in care for 20 years. he also references that most psychiatric care facilities are private in nature, not government-run, so they prioritize the amount of patients they receive in a short period of time because it earns them more profits (another video i watched compared this practice to a mcdonalds burger vs a proper restaurant; make more at a cheaper cost). likewise, long term care facilities dont want to let their patients go easily, because even if families or the patient cant afford to cover the cost, insurance or the government social security system will cover it. a combination of the psychiatric business as its run and the broader cultural attitude towards mental health (in some cases, families do not want their shame to be public, and actively do not want their mentally ill relative to be released from the hospital; if this is the case, its more likely for a patient to be forcibly hospitalized long term without anyone outside to advocate for their release) so im kind of like. hm. (see saw motion with my hand) as far as rep goes i think its kinda middling, especially because mikoto2 is the Alter Who Kills People For Some Reason trope, which always sucks and basically every journal, article, or vlog ive looked into from people with DID has said "god please stop with the murder alter trope please please", but considering the source material i think its...well, its honestly better than what i was expecting. but milgram is designed to be abstract to a certain extent and were still missing information, so who knows. maybe yamanaka and deco have something else up their sleeve regarding mikoto. but yeah i couldnt find anything specifically regarding patients with DID (or related disorders) but i did only poke around for like 2 hours in the middle of the night soooo ill come back to it and that concludes my findings on this topic for today. stay tuned for my next mikoto fic installment or whatever

[saltyr3mix]

context post / tags i'm responding to here

HI i'm coming in here with an ask since i have a lot of thoughts but this is a continuation of the whole split personality / headcanoning c!Owen with DID (or any other dissociative disorder that fits that thread)

he's a guy that has complicated morals and ALSO i still don't understand where the whole separation of him into the Pre-maze & Maze started. Like... he's the same guy he's always been, just with a very skewed judgement that really is more to be blamed on STARR than anything! I'm firmly of the belief that STARR controlled when/if people remembered things, and I still think they weaponized him remembering his past fully.

see also: the scene with magic leaving him to die. like. did people seriously fall for that? it was basically textbook trying to get somebody to believe what you want them to. hell! he tried to do the same thing to c!redd only for it to backfire. like...

as somebody with a dissociative disorder, i genuinely don't see it? it just ticks me off, lol

people are just afraid of liking a character they don't agree with. which is just dumb. c!owen is an irredeemable asshole as far as i'm concerned, but does that stop people from writing him as trying to be good / trying to be a good person? no! you're allowed to just backpedal and say "i don't agree with canon" without some bs poorly thought through headcanon that just hurts people.

((( none of any hostile tone here is directed at you btw salty!! i just have Thoughts and Emotions and i didn't feel like trying to put it all in tags pfndkjl ;; i'm a huge advocate for writing c!owen being terrible because people don't seem to like the concept of him not being secretly a good person... he was protecting the demons because he subconsciously wanted to be the one to kill them, man. i'm 99% sure that's literally canon )))

YES YES YES YES YES

AGAIN 100% AGREE WITH YOU HERE

THERE ARE SO MANY BETTER WAYS TO MAKE THING BETTER WITH OUT HAVING TO RESORT TO DID.

LITERALLY JUST HAVE A CHARACTER TALK TO HIM AND IT WOULD BE MORE UNDERSTANBLE

ALSO THE SCENE WITH MAGIC, THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING LIKE. I COULD WRITE AN ENTIRE 5 PAGE ESSAY ON HOW HE IS VERY CLEARLY LYING. You can tell by the tone of his voice, where he pauses and what he choices to emphasize , he repeats himself to make the same point, he weaponizes magics guilt, he holds eye contact with the knife for FAR to long, and if he WAS SOMEHOW ACTUALLY BEING TRUE i think he wouldn't be all that upset at dyeing and understand that he was protecting his friends in doing so. it just doesn't line up.

AND IT WAS ALWAYS THERE TOO!

of course there was everything with Fruit trio. He was called militaristic during the elections. the first thing he asks Krow is if it knows how to fight. first interaction with Krow in clearing a is asking to get a closer look at its horns. he was really the only one to ever draw that distinction between the human and demons. no one else ever brought it up. everything with the weapons. the first thing he calls himself after making the bow is a "hunter" which isn't wrong. he just didn't realize what exactly he was hunting. HE WOKE UP WITH RASBI IN THE ELEVATOR. LIKE THERE IS SO MUCH FORESHADOWING. IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN APART OF HIM.

Im also sure the whole STARR controlling when they get memories back is cannon. along with he whole protecting demons thing, its part of his monologue when he kills Rasbi.

i never liked that head cannon and im glad to finally be able to talk about it with someone who understands what im saying when i rant about it.

[wreckitremy]

You're not gonna see the poll that triggered this post for a few days bc my queue is backed up af right now, but it reminded me of something, that reminded me of the post talking about disagreeing that saying the phrase "I love you" so much, waters it down

I vehemently disagreed with that post but could never put it into words why. I don't think I necessarily have the words now, but I feel I'm close enough to try.

The "sign of mental illness besides 'old soul' or 'pleasure to have in class' in childhood" that I had that nobody picked up on, was

Being labeled a crybaby.

I know now that they were meltdowns due to overstimulation and the stress that developed my complex ptsd and dissociative disorder.

I knew they weren't normal, but I didn't know what to do about them. All I knew is that nobody believed that they were genuine.

They didn't think this bc they thought I was lying. They didn't think this bc they thought I was faking.

They thought this bc I cried too much for what they considered normal.

Of course instead of coming to the conclusion that I needed actual help, they just decided I should be ignored, which was also shitty of them, but the point is that

My emotion happened too much for them to believe it was genuine. To believe that it meant something serious, anymore.

Now that was a shitty thing to do to a child, but the grain of truth to their instincts was that love bombing is a thing, where too much emotion is used as a manipulation tactic.

I am unfortunately very familar with love bombing as well bc of the other reasons I developed complex ptsd and a dissociative disorder.

Ironically the dissociative disorder allows me to do the thing of holding two truths at once like this.

An emotion you express can be very real to you, but it doesn't mean the same thing to the person you are expressing it to bc of what is normal to them.

In a meeting of peers, it's not really anyone's fault when these things are genuine. It's just a different sort of incompatible access needs situation.

Bc in those kinds of situations, you're not going to be hearing each other. You may be speaking the same language, but the way you each perceive normal, changes the meaning of almost every word in subtle ways that you don't notice, bc its like the shifting of continents.

It's a hard thing to realize, but I am thankful that I know this. It makes it easier to tell when to stop wasting my energy on an argument.

I didn't want to be thankful for anything during this time of year out of spite for all of the things wrong with the usamerican holidays.

It's bittersweet.

Like I imagine cranberry sauce is, bc I've never tried it, and if that seems really abnormal to you, then that's a good sign to not waste your energy on an argument here.

[drowning-inmysleep]

Product Review: Fixed Persona

“Well… How do you think you know that person you were a second ago is the same person you are now? A continuous stream of memories. Given only that, we all create illusions within ourselves, saying that we each have only one fixed persona.”

Ever since I was child my main aspiration was to become a musician. I would be lying if I said I didn't also dream of fame - having my name on flyers, posters, billboards, whatever.

At this point of my life I can confidently say that I have achieved said aspiration. I've spoke on this in my previous writings so I will do my best not to repeat myself. I'm currently in a new relationship, we met eachother not longer than a month ago. Before we go to sleep we take turns asking questions about one another. One night, she asked me

"Would you ever want to be famous?"

I replied, "No, I lowkey already am and I hate it."

I said this because it's true. I meant it. It's a strange and invasive feeling to have people think they know you without ever having any meaningful conversation with them. Everyone knows me, knows my name, MANAPOOL.

Though they don't know me, they don't know my name, Alexandra.

It's hard for me to talk about, I fear I'll sound full of myself - like a rich person complaining about how sad they are regardless of the convenience of their life. I fear people will hear me talk about it and roll their eyes, it's practically my job to be full of myself and to sell that to people. I don't like it.

Everywhere I go people will stop me to talk to me about myself or the shows I put on, it's not always a negative thing. As it continues I start to feel myself losing grip of my persona. The perception of me that others hold is starting to taint me.

I suffer from severe - dissociative disorder. I have since I was 15, it came back to me after a therapist reawakened childhood trauma of mine. I'll tell you that story now.

[/] I was 8 years old and at a friends house, his sister was watching us though she was only 12. Their parents were at work. She called us into the parents room, which had a big window facing the intersection in front of the house. "Look! That cars been stopped there for SO long!" The car was indeed stopped in the middle of the intersection, to then have the driver get out, come around and open the passenger door. He pulled a drunk man out of the car and started beating him with a bottle. We were too young to process what was going on but we didn't stop watching. After minutes of the beating, the man stopped moving. The assailant got back in the car and drove off, leaving the mans body in the street. I called my mom and went home after that, I told my friends I felt sick. I didn't tell my mom what happened. The next day my mom was watching the news and as I walked past I saw a news story about the man from yesterday, he died from head trauma. [/]

I forgot about this until as I said above, I was 15. Once I remembered I didn't really think about it that much, but when I did I could feel myself losing grip of whatever was happening around me. I went into a 4 year long period that I barely remember now because it's a dissociative haze.

A friend of mine told me that sometimes when they look in my eyes they can see that i'm not really there, like I'm within myself. No longer present. I didn't think it was noticeable.

I mention all of this here to bring it back to where we started. Fame and the concept of others creating your persona. I used to love when people would celebrate me, but more often than not now whenever it happens I feel myself doing what my friend clocked me on. I repeat the phrase "Thank you so much".

A lot of the time they're not really talking with me, but at me, and their intention is not to get to know me but to acquire me as a person on their team. To be continued.

[c0rpseductor]

i have no idea why it is so fucking difficult for people to take a fucking middle ground stance on the whole thing. like it's true that there is not some kind of secret enormous satanic mind control conspiracy, and it's true that memories "recovered" from any kind of recovered memory-related therapeutic technique are NOT reliable. it's true that hypnosis is not a valid form of therapy, nor does it help you remember things - it's more likely to make you believe whatever shit your therapist is unwittingly selling you with leading questions.

that doesn't cancel out the observable fact that people who undergo serious traumatic events often have memory problems related to the trauma, and that dissociative disorders like DID which both make that amnesia more pronounced and make those memory deficiencies problematic on a daily basis do exist. people may and often do spontaneously remember/comprehend more about traumatic events later, most often without a therapist's intervention. and while obviously the satanic panic stuff is total 1000% BS, cults and abuse within cults also exist. like you would have to be actively ignoring reality in order to deny those observable, corroborated phenomena.

i don't like conspiracy-peddling or pseudoscience any more than the next guy, but some people take such a hardline stance on this that they themselves are ignoring scientific reality, and it's like....you have to understand that as much as "there are 10 trillion satanic cults stealing our children with special government technology and they can do mind control!" conspiracists are peddling an agenda, so are the people who say "no one can ever have dissociative amnesia, and anyone who reports a memory deficiency in regards to childhood abuse is automatically delusional, intentionally lying, or both." that is also political. think for a minute about why that second statement might be dangerous and how it might be used in the legal system, say, like when elizabeth loftus provided expert testimony in defense of ghislaine maxwell.

and furthermore, like, stop fucking listening to the grey faction (i am bitching about this bc they were who i saw brought up in order to 'debunk' dissociative amnesia). they are not experts?? they are primarily concerned with saving their own asses from satanic panic related stigma. they're closer in practice to the second stance i talked about, like, this "dissociative disorders are fake" nonsense that does not actually help anyone.

[whump-or-whatever]

(CW: Abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, etc. mention in whump prompt. Ableist Whumper who uses Whumpee's personality disorder against them) Prefacing that I was prof diagnosed with BPD (borderline personality disorder), but like a whumpee whose caretaker is their Favourite Person (a specific BPD term only, where the person with BPD (pwBPD) is extremely emotionally attached to the person, basically obsessed with them, and need them for emotional stability. As their mood, identity, and understanding of themselves is based on this person. Their symptoms of intense willingness to avoid real or perceived abandonment, emotional dysregulation, chronic feelings of emptiness and boredom, impulsivity, anger episodes, paranoia, dissociation, etc. flare and are stronger around these people). Anyways, with that info out of the way. The whumpee's whumper abused them, manipulated them, and used the very real knowledge that whumpee had BPD against them. They knew that whumpee was terrified of abandonment and only ever split (a form of black and white thinking, and in the context of BPD is just devaluing and idealizing something/someone/groups based on something either being perceived as good or bad) on them because they "love" the whumper. Whumper tells Whumpee that their hatred for Whumper means nothing, because every time Whumper hurts them it's because they love them. That Whumper does all these things because they love Whumpee. Whumper then dismisses any pain or intense emotions, or deep-seated anger Whumpee has... as it just being their disorder. And they in many ways neglect them as a way to torture them and trigger their fears of abandonment. So that when Whumper gets back to Whumpee, they tell them that they needed a "break" and that torturing them is the only reason why they stay. Whumpee, terrified of being abandoned, even if it's by this evil and cruel person ends up begging and pleading for them to be hurt by Whumper. Whumpee wants Whumper to be obsessed with them, so that they can never be alone ever again. They will do anything for Whumper to stay with them. Afterall, Whumpee their entire life has always felt worthless and like they never mattered. Whumper to their sickened delights, loves using this against Whumpee. Whumper would neglect Whumpee emotionally, physically, mentally, etc. on a regular basis. So when Whumpee leaves the situation and is taken back by their Caretaker and other friends, they are terrified even more than ever to be alone. They cling on to Caretaker and yet also push them away, feeling that Caretaker is already planning on leaving them. Caretaker wants to make Whumpee feel better and help them get therapy, but it's hard to get a non-ableist therapist that isn't expensive. Whumpee ends up more miserable than ever. The war in their head was louder than ever. Whenever Caretaker made a mistake that really hurt Whumpee, Whumpee screamed, yelled, argued, and was terrified... that Caretaker would hurt them like Whumper and their past abusers/bullies/etc. did. Caretaker ends up raising their voice, and that leaves Whumpee crying and sobbing... begging for Caretaker not to leave them. Whumpee apologizes profusely for their behaviour and begs Caretaker to stop hurting them. That they just wanted Caretaker to stop hurting them, because they were trying their best. Caretaker's in too much pain, watching the person they care about be in this much pain. Caretaker apologizes for raising their voice and they set up boundaries. But Caretaker swears that they'll never forgive the people who hurt Whumpee. And that they will make sure to stay with Whumpee as much as possible, while helping Whumpee branch out and connect more with others. Whumpee loves Caretaker and Caretaker loves Whumpee, but sometimes... Whumpee can't shake the feeling that Caretaker is always lying to them, pities them, and is going to abandon them one day. The pain never truly stops, not even with someone who is supposed to be safe.

Oh my dear lord. Anon this is basically the entire outline for a story already!

I love the idea of whumper using whumpee’s mental illness against them. I have actually been thinking about that recently (I have somatic OCD about my breathing and it’s legit like torture sometimes). I think any truly manipulative whumper would take advantage of any mental health issues they knew whumpee had.

The whole idea of whumpee begging to be hurt because they don’t want to feel abandoned is actually one of my favourite tropes! It always reminds me of that one episode of Lucifer where Lucifer is talking about the guy in hell who likes to call the shots. He forgot to torture the guy one day and the guy begged Lucifer never to forget him again.

Anyway, I also vibe with whumpee worrying that caretaker really just pities them and will leave one day (I worry about stuff like that too tbh). It really becomes a big dilemma when whumpee can never feel safe, not because of their surroundings or the people they’re with, but just because their own mind traps them in a cycle of worry and distrust.

In conclusion, this is amazing, thanks for sending it in!

[pluralismajestatis]

Falling in-between / Contradictory identities.

I'm frustrated. Let's start with that. I also have issues, which is the second problem here. The frustration comes from an intersection of two problems: not having easy expressions for what I am, and worrying that my contradictory experiences will be cherry-picked for use against me.

In particular, right now, this issue is regarding my gender and transition status. For the record - I transitioned from female to male medically when I was 20. This didn't pan out in various ways, my body did not like HRT and I was never allowed to have a mastectomy despite desperately needing one, and these factors together made it impossible for me to live as a man long-term, or to any degree of true success. As a result of medical problems arising from HRT, I quit taking testosterone at 26; essentially it was making me sick, but not giving me any results worth writing home about. I had to do very hard soul-searching after that to figure out how I wanted to live my life, but my identity remained the same. This was until I discovered that I had a serious dissociative disorder, which, at 29, threw me in for another identity loop. Through trauma/dissociation focused therapy, an identity that did align with my observed sex at birth surfaced, and took on the everyday role of... well, being "me."

This didn't undo the continuity of a coexisting male identity. In fact, within the parts identified, the vast majority are male-identified. If we assume six everyday parts, two of them are women, one falls inbetween on the male side of the spectrum, and two are men. In the overall system of parts, there are three female parts against at least ten male parts. Almost every subconscious part of what is myself is a male.

But in conversations with people, this is not something I'm going to be divulging. In fact, you can pull nails off of me before I'm volunteering all that information to someone off the street. So what you have is me flipflopping with terms in a manner that absolutely comes across as picking whatever suits me in the moment: in detrans discussions, I'm a detransitioned woman. In trans discussions, I'm a post-transition FtM. They're both true. I am both of these things. And yet, neither is true, because I am both, and they're exclusive to one another, or at least I perceive them as such. So in a discussion about trans issues, you can pull my detransition card against me. And again, you'll have to pull nails before I'm going to volunteer all of the previous information just to prove that I have the right to call myself FtM. In discussions about detransition, this happens much less; people understand that gender and transition are complex, not black and white matters where every story is a succesful one. I have much more leeway just saying "it didn't work out, I got sick, I'm now living as a woman" and people don't worry about it. But this excludes me from conversations that are pertinent to me, as a transitioned person of a gender identity that to date remains just as complex as it always was. Even in detransition contexts, I prefer "post-transition", and would love to call myself desisting rather than detransitioned, because desisting implies cessation of pursuing transition, whereas detransition implies taking a turn back, and I definitely did the former much more than I did the latter. I haven't gone back to anything. I stopped moving forwards because it was impossible. But desisting means ceasing to pursue transition before transitioning, so me calling myself detrans is also complicated and uncomfortable.

I can only imagine the way my language flipflops about this is confusing for my partner and my friends, and I can't imagine what it looks like to an outsider, aside from just looking like I'm lying out of my ass no matter what I say.

And it is tiring. I feel so silenced. And before you offer me the word "queer", I don't want it. I've been called queer and it is not a good, safe, cozy word for me. It is a word that rouses immense dread and distress. I am not able to adopt it, nor do I want to. It fit me ten years ago, after that, I've had it soured for me completely. It's not a choice I'm making. I can't reclaim something that feels like an open wound bleeding uncontrollably. I don't want to call myself any more names.

I just want a voice. I want to feel like I belong and I want to feel comfortable and confident about my place. But wherever I look, I'm not good enough. Further; I hate knowing that when I tag this post as detrans, I'm tagging it into a fetish tag. That's all people like me are to you, it seems. A hypotethical humiliation fetish.

[sophieinwonderland]

Oh, hey! It's been a while since I've dealt with anti-endos invading the endogenic tags!

Guess it's time to deal with this.

Off to a bad start right away.

I almost always only see "endos" as a pejorative used by anti-endos. It's rare that endogenic system refer to themselves as "endos." While I wouldn't say it's quite a slur, it's not

Okay, so right from the start, the sources they cite for the claim that endogenic systems are impossible under the Theory of Structural Dissociation are from DID-research... a blog by a doctoral student.

And these pages don't even say anywhere what @jananpa claims it does. Let's actually hear what the authors of the Theory of Structural Dissociation have said about the existence of other forms of plurality.

There you have it from two of the authors of The Haunted Self, the book that started the Theory of Structural Dissociation, that it's possible for other "self-conscious dissociative parts" to exist outside of trauma and dissociative disorders. (This is also consistent with how the ICD-11 states that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without DID.)

At no point has the Theory of Structural Dissociation ever claimed that endogenic systems are impossible.

Stop lying.

Stop misrepresenting the theory of Structural Dissociation when even the authors don't support you.

Just noting that the source here is a Carrd which in turn doesn't provide sources for any of its claims.

This is probably where @jananpa got most of their misinformation since everything they say is taken straight from its talking points.

On this note, Jananpa mentioned wanting to major in psychology. If they go down this route, I sincerely hope that they learn how to tell if a source is trustworthy or not on their chosen career path, and to not just blindly believe every bigoted Carrd they come across.

This isn't actually an unfair assessment.

Well, aside from the repeated claim that endogenic plurality violates the Theory of Structural Dissociation, which we literally just proved was a lie. It is true that there isn't a "study" in the chapter.

All that this really shows is the opinions of Eric Yarbrough, who is a Distinguished Fellow of the American Psychiatric Association, in a book that was peer reviewed and published by the APA's publishing arm.

It's not a study. But it DOES show recognition and support in the psychiatric field by notable professionals.

Which is more than you can say of the anti-endo opinion that endogenic plurality isn't possible, because absolutely no psychiatrists will ever back you up on that claim, and it's disputed by both the creators of the Theory of Structural Dissociation and the World Health Organization.

Oh no! The sample size is six less than the rule of thumb for a minimum! The horror! 😲

But wait... did they... actually look at that source of theirs???

While the minimums have the largest margin of error, a 10% margin of error isn't really an issue in surveys that are just gathering general opinions like this. And this shows the 10% at 96 for population of larger than 5000. Basically only two off of what's listed here.

It's utterly ridiculous to say a sample size of almost 100 is even close to the equivalent of a sample size of 11.

I'm not going to comment on the Jung article itself since I haven't looked into this much. If anyone wants to add anything, they're welcome to. But obviously older works about plurality aren't using the word plural because the term itself is recent. They just describe instance of people experiencing multiple self-conscious agents sharing a body. Acting like someone not using the word plural is this great "gotcha" is silly.

What I will say on this is that yes, inner worlds can be consciously created in DID. There are guides out there on how to do it.

Actually, I don't think the leading theory is even that trauma causes you to "gain" an inner world (at least not directly), so much as retreating into fantasy worlds is a common trauma response and that action causes inner worlds to develop. Outside forces (trauma) result in an action (escapism) which leads to inner world development.

But the action does not require trauma.

Not everyone exposed to trauma develops complex inner worlds because not everyone responds to trauma with the same coping mechanisms.

You should also pick an armchair diagnosis and stick with it. Is his inner world SZPD or MADD? These are very different disorders.

Or better yet, don't do either. Not all daydreaming is maladaptive, and you shouldn't assume somebody has a disorder just because they have complex inner worlds. Immersive daydreaming is a common practice, and it's not maladaptive unless it interferes with daily life.

No.

Stop.

Literally all of this is wrong!

For starters, there's no evidence anywhere of the Tibetan Buddhist practice being closed, and the Dalai Lama has said that people of other religions can use Tibetan Buddhist meditations.

“Many Christians tell me they believe in Buddhist meditation, which can be learned by Christians. We teach right attitude. We teach meditation, which can be quite deep. These would be things that the West can take, and I think it is clear that Buddhists should practice certain Western methods, too.”

Moreover, the Tibetan Buddhist practice is not called Tulpamancy. "Tulpamancy" is a term associated solely with the Western practice.

And Tulpamancy is largely NOT a religious or spiritual practice. From Varieties of Tulpa Experiences:

76.5% of tulpamancers view their practice as psychological.

Both the above study and the one referenced in Jan Anpa's post are about the primarily psychological Western practice. As will be ALL research into tulpamancy. The Buddhist religious practices it shares an etymology with is completely irrelevant to this topic of studies into the disorder.

Tulpamancy is primarily seen as psychological plurality by most tulpamancers, and that's what these studies are about.

You're welcome to look into the above study further as it has a lot more information on tulpamancy. It's was written by Samuel Veissière, a psychiatry professor at McGill University in a book reviewed and published by the Oxford University Press.

Jananapa, if there's one thing that's clear from all of this, it's that despite being confident in your ignorance, you know absolutely nothing about systems, structural dissociation, plurality, tulpamancy or literally anything else discussed in your post.

Given your self-assured ignorance of systems, I wouldn't recommend people put any trust in your understanding of Autism or any of the other conditions you discuss on your blog.

If anyone wants to further educate themselves on endogenic systems, please see my Endogenic Syscourse Primer.

As always with these hate posts that end up being posted in pro-endo tags, it's only fair that I share my responses in anti-endo tags along with many other tags the initial post was made in.

If any anti-endos are bothered by this, please ask @jananpa to not post in our tags anymore. As long as anti-endos stay in their lane, I'll stay in mine. When anti-endos invade our spaces, my responses to those posts will continue to go straight to theirs. If we can't have safe spaces to exist, then you aren't allowed safe spaces to spread hate against us. (I will avoid DID/OSDD/traumagenic tags out of respect for non-anti-endos in those spaces. But you might want to ask that Jananpa stay out of those tags as well since I know you guys also tend to not care for singlets posting in those tags.)

[bloomrots]

nina’s backstory sparknotes under the cut since i can’t edit her carrd right now

-a string of murders has begun in a really small religious town in northern germany

-gen hofmann is a social outcast because she’s punk, anti-religion, all that fun stuff

-gen is a bit fixated on the murders because yknow, it’s kinda crazy, and starts reading up on it all and lowkey starts a conspiracy journal

-gen and her boyfriend james are out with a bunch of his friends when they come across a murder scene on the outskirts of town. one of the victims is still barely clinging to life and grabs one of the guys’ hands before he dies

-gen can’t stop thinking about the murder scene and starts connecting the dots but not before the guy who got grabbed starts going on a ✨ KILLING SPREE ✨ and while gen is running for her goddamn life he’s exhibiting big demon possession behaviour

-gen and james are the only ones who survive the attack, gen wants to tell the police about the demon but james thinks she’s insane for that conclusion and tells her to relax (bad idea, she breaks up with him)

-gen goes to huge lengths to try and warn people but no one believes her. they think she’s losing it, or lying for attention

-she decides to take matters into her own hands and she goes out looking for mr demon. finds him, gets in a big old fight, and then when she’s got him on the ropes and he’s on the verge of death, boom. demon transferred

-gen goes in a ✨ KILLING SPREE ✨ including killing james because it turns out that he had been the one to set the demon free in the first place. so he kinda deserved it. and she also kills a bunch of people who treated her badly

-caught and arrested, admitted to forensic hospital for treatment for what is suspected to be dissociative identity disorder

-hospital staff very quickly begin to notice gen’s erratic behaviour to be a lot more terrifying. refusing to eat or drink, thrashing against her bindings, speaking in languages she should not know, and screaming herself hoarse

-nurses plead with the head doctor to call in a priest to assess her, and he rejects the notion outright. the nurses conspire to bring in a local priest under his nose by having him claim to be her uncle

-the priest deduces that nina is, in fact, possessed by a demon, and immediately sets about performing an exorcism before gen succumbs to starvation and her self-inflicted wounds. but the head doctor interrupts the exorcism before it can be completed; but not before the head doctor and the nurses witness gen’s body hovering in the air and twitching violently

-the demon panics, and while trapped inside her own head, gen makes a bargain: the demon releases its control indefinitely, but she will allow it to stay inside of her, dormant yet alive. it takes her deal and relinquishes control of her body, and her hovering form drops to the floor and she blacks out

-she wakes up several weeks later from a comatose state, attached to a feeding tube and oxygen and IVs. the exorcism had nearly taken her life, but by some miracle she had managed to pull through. after she recovers enough to stand trial, she undergoes heavy psychiatric evaluation and is then acquitted of all charges

-on her first day of freedom, she realizes that security footage from the hospital had leaked to the public, and the entire town now knew the truth she had tried so hard to warn them of. very quickly she realizes she can’t stay in this horrible town. she packs up a bag, leaves behind her house key and anything tying her to her hometown, and buys the first train ticket out of germany

-she moves to london, and adopts her legal first name antonina. she becomes a tattoo apprentice at a small shop and starts a new life. she doesn’t dare speak about her past. she doesn’t dare speak about the little voice in her head.