#and that's my current dissociation tactic

[divinerapturesys]

Welcome to my Ted Talk about AsPD, or Antisocial Personality Disorder, which the internet likes to coin as sociopath 👌🏻 if you don’t like long infodumps about stigmatized mental disorders from someone who is diagnosed, move on.

Quick toxic rundown: People with AsPD are generally characterized as emotionless, violent, manipulative abusers who kill animals and like to make other people their bitches. The biggest pet peeve we have is the emotionless, sadistic and abusive generalization.

Personally, we are highly neurotic, with highs and lows of: depression, frantic drive, self abuse tactics, chronic fear, lapses of rejection, overwhelming over-analyzation, grey area thinking, false goods and false bads, ultimatums, obsessive compulsive behavior, harsh self demands, and irritability.

AsPD is a disorder that is caused primarily (according to current research) by trauma and abuse in childhood; most notably being emotional neglect and absent caregivers that cause a child to have emotional shutdowns and repression episodes in an attempt to self soothe. Primary caregivers who do not bond with their children are also a factor. Children learn how to behave from those around them. If a primary caregiver is emotionally distant and unavailable, children will learn that is normal behavior and that’s how people are. If a primary caregiver does not provide empathy and sympathy during moments of distress and fear, children will learn that aloofness and disregard of others feelings is normal behavior. If a primary caregiver does not keep a child safe, children will learn that they should not prioritize their own safety or the safety of others. You can find my follow up post regarding this here.

Neglected and abused children often act out trying to get attention and help, often acting out in bad ways because they lack the ability to articulate what they’re feeling and what is happening to them. The pipeline for AsPD typically is: Oppositional Defiance Disorder as a child, Conduct Disorder as a teen, AsPD as an adult. There are a lot of warning signs cueing that AsPD is becoming a risk for development, but often kids do not have a support system to help negate it as it’s their support system that is usually a factor in its creation.

Being AsPD is like being an emotional La Croix 70% of the time. If you’re depressed, then it’s like someone in the other room has depression and is telling you about it. The other 30% of the time, if you’re depressed, your brain doesn’t understand how to handle it so it’s an ultimatum between doing something drastic to remove the Trigger or ignoring and dissociating for days on end.

People with AsPD are very good at ignoring things. Honestly it’s problematic as fuck but it’s not hard to ignore major issues when you just, don’t care. It’s not in the terms of being cruel or making ourselves not care, but the fact that finding the emotional willpower is so far out of our feasible reach we don’t do it. This causes us to piss people off because we don’t have the capacity to care as much as they want us to, even if we can and do to an extent.

Think of it this way: empathy/sympathy is a deep tub of water that everyone has. They can easily fill their measuring cup for the needed amount of empathy without any issues and it’s easy for them. People with AsPD don’t have a tub of water. We have shallow skillet. When we try to dip our cup to fill it, we can’t, it always comes up short and it is difficult to get any water in it as there is no room for the cup to dive. Our ability to care is limited because we do not have the same emotional resources everyone else does.

❌ False Positives & False Negatives ❌

I operate on what I’ve learned are called false positives and false negatives. These are things that are trained into the brain from an early age based off of childhood trauma and other factors. False positives are a distorted version of why we do something to help ourself and for our own good, meanwhile a false negative is something we do because it’s a threat, or based out of fear.

❌ Some of my false positives:

- It is good to be afraid of nothing

- It is good to adapt to someone’s personality if they are stronger than you

- It is good to isolate yourself

- It is good to be a silver tongue because you can get into any place you want

- It is good to become a social chameleon and shape yourself to whatever those around you need/want most, because then you have no chance of being abandoned

❌ Some of my false negatives, which can explain the false positives as well as core beliefs:

- it is bad to be afraid, if I am afraid then I am vulnerable and it can be used against me

- It is bad to be emotional or show concern for others emotions because they do not care for mine

- It is bad to be able to be exploited, because I believe it is everywhere

- It is bad to allow myself to be bored, because boredom begets bad thoughts and no one can or wants to help me when I spiral

- It is bad to not shape yourself to the social circle, because people quickly grow tired of those who do not match them perfectly and being discarded means I failed

My core beliefs can be viewed as the root for the false positives and negatives, because they are based on the core of trauma, abuse and neglect. They come from patterns and instances that make someone with AsPD become the opposite of what they experienced:

- eat or be eaten

- If I don’t show that my bite is worse than my bark, I will be taken advantage of and I must remain on top because the ones on top are safe

- I must look out for myself because nobody will do it for me

- It doesn’t matter what happens to me, therefore it doesn’t matter what people think of me

- If I cannot do something well, then I should not do it at all

- If you are dependent on others for emotional and mental well being, you are weak, therefore I must isolate myself to avoid becoming codependent and a burden and useless

- If I can handle the stress of a situation better than everyone else, therefore I will keep the problem (financial, emotional, mental, etc) to myself to reduce chances of being abandoned due to failure of perfection

People with AsPD are hard to get along with. We often:

- are always anticipating a fight

- lack respect for authority

- ignore social structures to an extent

- tendency to lie if it’ll lessen punishment or if we feel the lie is more acceptable than our actions

- limit social support because it’s wrong to be dependent on others

- have an inflated view of our own importance — which turns into a self ridicule for believing someome like me could be found important to others —

- can be rude and inconsiderate of others feelings somewhat unintentionally

- are unable to read the correct social cues in relation to empathy towards people and animals

- am constantly confused by others dependence upon empathy and inability to make desicions from logic based standpoints

We can’t speak for everyone who has AsPD, nor are we saying that no one with AsPD is capable of being a murderer/abuser etc. but we are saying that y’all need to stop automatically classifying someone as a certain “type” as soon as you know about their disorder.

One last thing I do want to point out is that it is not uncommon for people with AsPD to derive some sort of enjoyment in causing harm, doing something illegal, hurting someone or animals, etc. This entirely stems from lack of environmental control as a child. Being able to control what happens to others or being able to control the things you say or do that hurts someone else is a hefty high to get addicted to; it soothes the underlying itch of not being able to control your own trauma and abuse, so in turn you push these behaviors onto others and enjoy it because it gives you a sense of power and control. Some people with AsPD do genuinely love hurting others, and some enjoy hurting others when they believe it’s deserved or their ire has been stoked. Some enjoy causing pain to those they think deserve it, and others don’t care who they hurt as long as they feel like they’re in control of the situation.

Hope this have some insight into AsPD 🤙🏻 if y’all have any questions, shoot.

[trebuchet151]

If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear more about Corey! What kind of villain he is, what his goals are, anything you’d be willing to share? No pressure of course! Love seeing your art

Starting with a heartfelt thank you for your interest in them, I think my blog has gotten more attention today bc of your reblog than it has collectively since I made it lmao. I am a huge fan of your sidestep too actually, I've only recently quit being just a lurker on this site but I've always loved seeing Richard cross my dash.

I'd LOVE to share about Corey!!!

I'm not 100% sure on a canon route yet, but for now this is one of my favs

Under a cut for length

Back during the sidestep days, they were known as a vigilante, specializing in tech and tactics. Once Anathema and Ortega broke the ice, they really opened up and became very social (comparatively anyway, theyre still a homebody) and were very involved in their community in like a local cryptid way ("honey, the masked stranger that cut the boot off my tire is on the TV lurking in the background of a rangers interview"). Very stray cat affection style, went from "i hate you dont touch me" to being in Themmy/ Ortega's space constantly. They have absolutely terrible mental health that was somewhat on the mend thanks to the support of their friends until they went and got the "taste the metal"/"one more day" path during the heartbreak incident .

During Rebirth, they're much more withdrawn and dissociative. In the time since the heartbreak incident they have become much more cautious and try to avoid combat whenever they can, taking telepathic boosters and speed/jump-jets as their armor enhancements. They blow up the museum while maintaining a no kill status and take the villain name "Heartbreak" (i love the angst that one brings). Corey blames themselves for what happened to them and their friends (sidestep/past self nemesis), and their motivation is their anger over everything that's happened to them.

Corey changes nemesis/motives between rebirth and retribution. Their more social nature starts coming back as their relationship with the current rangers and mortem improves and they go to therapy, which mellows them out a lot. They begin to wonder if they're doing the wrong thing (current self nemesis) and change motivations to "show the world the truth". Heartbreak becomes an anarchist, dedicated to exposing corrupt politicians with the least amount of violence possible. Their irresistable urge to monologue about how fucked up things are makes both Ortega and Chen sympathetic and suspicious.

For now, Corey's got a mirror image puppet named Mallory. Ideally, the puppet would be a woman for maximum gender crisis, but I love the scene in Ortega's romance that has him call the puppet by sidesteps name, and that only triggers with the mirror image achievement.

I have played ALL the romance routes and adore everyone, especially Dr. Mortum (Corey's new best friend), but the friends to lovers with Ortega wins me over, so Ortega is winning the canon route by a very thin margin.

I'm having a very hard time figuring out Corey's gender issues, bc we have dysphoria in opposite directions. I *think* they're agender, but that might change over time who knows. They're gonna come out during the story whenever that gets addressed, so He/him and They/them are both applicable

My favorite retribution ending so far is where Corey goes to see HG themselves, crashes, and is revealed as Heartbreak, but Ortega breaks them out anyway.

Thank you so much for your interest in Corey! I love them so much and am thrilled to share <3

I'll put together a more coherent summary of their lore eventually, but hopefully this is good for now :)

[archivalofsins]

Gunsli what are you talking about this time-

Would you believe it if I said it's the use of the word "New". Because it is. Multiple people have pointed to the use of the words,

New and newly born

In Double to go see this is why there have to be more alters because Dissociative Identity Disorder forms in childhood and John is admitting that his existence is new. Not just in comments on my post but privately to me as well. This isn't a dig at that reasoning because I see how people could conclude that when they take those words at face value.

However, it is funny that these words are being taken at face value here but weren't in other instances. Personally, to me this just seems like another obtuse tactic to explain why there must be more alters and it's not just two. However, I've been assuming the worst a lot lately because of my current disposition.

So, I thought I should try to engage with this on some level of good faith. Then after doing so concluded,

"Yeah, it's still objectively a weird thing to assert and seems to mostly be rooted in the fact that people don't want there to be only two in this instance. Plus, I personally doubt if Double or Neoplasm had hard confirmed there were three alters anyone would be highlighting the line to say there were more than that."

Okay, well we can't speak on that because neither the song or voice drama hard confirmed or even alluded to the idea there were more than two alters outside of the use of variations of the word new. We can't speak on that because that didn't happen.

Yeah, I know that I was there but a good deal of people are still behaving as though either of those things did do that or will do it later.

So, I can only assume at this point the issue isn't the fact that Milgram the franchise or story is ableist, but it has garnered an ableist fan base that is projecting their own biases onto the media and blaming it for those existing in the first place. Instead of properly reflecting on themselves because that would take a level of maturity severely lacking in this space.

Something that could explain why Yamanaka keeps saying that he's really excited to have people grow older and look back on their experiences with the franchise and the prisoners' cases. In a very way. While continually poking fun at Es' immaturity within the narrative through multiple characters. What do I know though it's probably not that.

Okay, well what makes it unreasonable or come off like that? Huh? Since you're so smart.

Oh, why thank you let me explain.

Firstly,

As I said this term is used in songs before this one just as the color green is.

Harrow

"Newly born, “HARROW HARROW”. It’s ok to dislike, right? Losing it, losing it, What should I hope for."

So, it's curious to us personally why the use of the word "new" is being highlighted here to support the idea of their being more alters but not in the case above. It just makes it apparent that maybe people aren't positing this idea with the best of intentions but simply to cling onto how they wish the story to go. Which is anyway other than being about an individual with dissociative identity disorder and only two alters. Really interesting...

Kotoko literally uses this exact wording to explain the formation of a new problem or idea. The beginnings of her idea of Justice and hatred of criminals. In the same vein the term could be being used again here to describe a new problem or change of circumstances that has led to an exacerbation of a long-term undiagnosed disorder.

Unless everyone wants to apply the logic, they're using in Mikoto's case to undermine two alter representation here as well and say that Kotoko has a different personality that was born over the course of Harrow that immediately wanted to kill so they did.

Secondly,

How is it ableist?

Well, here's the base definition of ableism,

Of course, what one considers ableism one can vary from person to person.

I personally consider it anything that discriminates against an individual with a disability whether that discrimination is in their favor or not. As both can come from a place of belittlement and superiority.

I.E

"Oh, they didn't know better. You know they have x so things like that are hard for them to understand. As someone who doesn't have those sorts of issues you should be more understanding. Be the bigger person."

"Don't you know they have x- You shouldn't talk to them. They might go off at any time."

Both of these statements are ableist in my opionion because they both belittle or demonize someone based on them having a disability. There are times when the first one may be applicable. However, it is annoying for some individuals with disabilities to have themselves be treated like a child even after they are long past the age of adulthood. There's a good example of this concept in the game Pocket Mirror with the character Harpae.

One may seem helpful and even lenient, but it can be annoying and patronizing to continually assume just because someone has a disability, they are incapable of taking care of themselves or doing wrong. Pocket Mirror immediately comes to mind because it was the first game to teach me that this behavior of over helping just because someone has a disability can also be viewed as dehumanizing and ableist.

Okay well that's grand for you what does it have to do with this instance though?

Well, personally the ableism with this framing to me is that it frames having dissociative identity disorder as this thing where alters can just be born sporadically and immediately go on murder sprees. You know the ableist trope that everyone was bitching about being the case trial one. Just to be using it now to support the idea of there being more than two alters.

It kind of highlights that people don't have an issue with ableism when it directly supports the point they want to make.

Further displaying how performative and disingenuous the audience's interest in these concepts can be.

All to again undermine the idea that Mikoto is,

"I don’t remember a thing, it couldn’t be helped, I’m DOUBLE (MeMe) I was having such a hard time, I was trying so hard."

Along with the very existence of individuals that have dissociative identity disorder that presents with only this number of alters. When I referred to the behavior as copium it was to make light of this situation and move on. Because it was clear to me that people within this space aren't at a point in their lives where they can actively reflect on how they interact with the topics Milgram discusses.

That those behaving in this way aren't doing it based on any reasonable grounds but just trying to engage with the media in a way that they find more interesting to them personally. How that comes off to others or what it says about them is just what it says about them. However, there's no discussion to be had here. There's nothing to really debate about. Will nothing that ultimately sticks to discussing the material as it was presented instead of going into what the majority fan response says about the audience.

Which doesn't really make it that fun to interrogate in my case. I'm here to interrogate Milgram the series not real people's objectively harmful behavior. I don't go looking for 3koto theories for this reason. I don't go on people's posts about it saying well this is why I believe it's not that. Because at the end of the day I'm not hung up on what others want to believe is going on.

I'm not going to change my mind on this simply because of what other people think would be narratively pleasing.

Because that's completely subjective. I don't see this being the case and it would not be narratively pleasing to me. There's no evidence for it and I believe presenting the idea that dissociative identity disorder can only present in one way is harmful. I could disprove it a million times. I could go point by point frame by frame color by color explaining why this behavior is just ridiculous.

However, I do have a life and I want to spend it discussing things the way I like to discuss them. Regardless of how people feel about it. Because when someone else is pissing in a cup right in front of me and tries to sell it to me as lemonade I simply go,

"Okay, that's certainly a thing you did there. Now drink it. You like what you did there so much, right? Drink it."

It's really that simple.

[therealgchu]

OC mega Q&A

fun thing @silurisanguine did, and i'm joining the fun.

this is my first OC, so let's see how this goes. i love this sort of thing <3

i need to get a new pic of her. i do a lot of these posts at work, and all of my stuff is on my home computer.

ooh, long post is long! cutting this to keep from cluttering other ppl's boards.

BASICS

What’s their full name? that's an interesting question. her real name is hwa-young kim (see Little Flower). when she left the syndicate, she changed her name to myeong-hwa kim, which was her mother's name. regardless, she goes by hwa.

What does their name mean? hwa-young means little flower. myeong-hwa means bright flower.

Do they have any nicknames? i suppose technically hwa.

How old are they? 27 years old at the start of the story.

When’s their birthday? she doesn't know. she doesn't have a birth certificate or any sort of record like that.

What’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? Do they believe that holds any significance? nope. she neither knows, nor cares, about astrology, other than a passing familiarity with the quaint, old earth custom.

What’s their species/subspecies? human. she just started obtaining starborn powers, but hates them. she actively avoids using them as they make her feel even more of a freak than she already feels.

What “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? If none, what weapon do they favor? she's a sniper and hacker. her favorite weapon is her hard target sniper rifle. she's been trained since she was 12 in special unit military tactics.

APPEARANCE

What do they look like? 4'10", slender, but very muscular. she grew up on neon (high G world), so was already strong to begin with. naturally, she just has denser bones and muscles than even an average person on neon. think gymnast build. currently, dyed blue hair, cut into a short bob. one weird thing is that she has naturally curly hair, which is unusual for koreans.

Do they have a face claim? i had to look up what this means. anyway, it's me when i was 27, but with short hair.

What’s their style like? Clothes, hair, makeup? she has style? her style is completely based on what's practical in any setting. she doesn't think much about her looks, literally and figuratively.

How do they carry themselves? What’s their default expression? with as little expression as possible. when she's by herself, she can be very child-like. but, around almost every other person, she's non-nonsense and non-emotional.

Do they have any physical ailments or disabilities? she's autistic. she had a very traumatic, violent life until she left when the story starts.

Any defining features to their character? she has the ability to completely dissociate from all emotions and compartmentalize everything. it was a coping mechanism she developed as a child. she also has a kinda shaky morality as she was raised by a criminal syndicate. she's very utilitarian in that fact.

PERSONALITY

What’s their alignment? chaotic neutral. she wants to be a good person, but isn't quite sure how to accomplish that.

Which one of the 16 Personality Types do they fit into? ooh, that myers-briggs nonsense. that has as much weight as astrology. there is neither scientific credibility, nor real life applicability for such pseudo-science.

What are their hobbies and interests? Do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)? she's never been allowed to have any real hobbies, other than reading. she'd like to develop hobbies, but doesn't even know where to start. she loves classic books. she went through a phase in her teenage years obsessed with Lord Nelson's Navy. she loves reading about military history, but thinks marcus aurelius is a twat. she prefers sun tzu, to be trite.

What are they bad at? being human. relating to other humans. interacting with humans. understanding humans.

What kind of things do they dislike/hate? bullies, regardless of where they come from.

Do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses? she has a lot of things psychologically wrong with her. she resigned herself at a very young age that she was irreparably broken and will never be normal. her main goal is to get by, day-to-day.

What are their goals and motivations? that's a complex question. she hasn't really had the security to think in terms of what she wants or motivation, other than survival. ultimately, she wants to find someone to love, that will love her back, and security that she never had. but, those last two are amorphous and not really something she actively thinks about.

What are their manners like? Any habits? she doesn't have much in the way of manners. she's reserved and non-emotional. she has no patience for social niceties. she generally only tries to deal with people in a business-like manner.

What are they most afraid of? spiders. fuck spiders.

BACKGROUND

Where were they born? What was their childhood like? she was born on neon. her mother was an aurora junkie and prostitute. she had a brother 2 years her senior. her mother sold both she and her brother to the Seokguh Syndicate when she was 7 and disappeared. they never saw their mother again. like many children that are part of the syndicate, she started as a look-out. she killed her first person when she was 10. always a prolific reader, and good with technology, she came to the notice of the special ops unit of the syndicate when she was 12, and was trained to be a cyber-runner and special unit tactics. she was about to be promoted to an underboss when she decided it was either to get out now, or never leave. that's when the story starts.

What’s their family like? see above. myeong-hwa was her mother's name, and everyone said that she looked like the spitting image of her mother. so, when she left the syndicate, she went to enhance to make herself look more like her mother.

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold? she is technically freestar collective, but feels no loyalty to any organization. she (currently) joined the freestar rangers. she's a member of constellation.

How do they fit into their “story”? well, she's the protagonist? so, the story is about her. not sure what this is asking.

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like? she considers her ship, the razorleaf, her home. it's the first place that's truly her own. she has it decorated to her specifications. the lodge is a somewhat-home.

How do they eventually die? that remains to be seen. i know how she dies. but, that's for the future.

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend? she's learning how to make friends. her best and only true friend is sam, and cora by extension. she likes barrett because he does all of the talking. previous to constellation, she never had any friends. all relationships in the syndicate are purely transactional, and developing any emotion for anyone or anything was a liability.

What’s their friend group like? What role do they play in it? she's never had a friend group. see above.

What’s their love life like? Do they have any kids? sam coe, and cora coe by extension. she's madly in love with sam, but doesn't know or how to tell him. she also doesn't know if he reciprocates her feelings. they're currently sleeping together, but she doesn't know if that means anything. prior to sam, sex had always been completely physical, and in her experience, she has no reason to think he thinks otherwise.

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust? whom do they look up to, and whom to they trust. anyway, the only person she trusts is sam, and that's kinda shaky. she doesn't really trust anyone. she doesn't know how. she doesn't look up to anyone.

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies? whom, again. no one. she doesn't like a good number of people, but hate, no one. to spend that level of emotional energy on anyone is illogical.

Do they have any pets? nope. never even occurred to her to have one.

Are they good with kids? Animals? she actually is quite fond of children of all ages. when she was in the Syndicate, if she wasn't out on a job, she'd help take care of the children. she unreservedly loves cora like a daughter.

FACTS

Which tropes do they fit? Which archetypes? the survivor.

Do they play any instruments? Sports? nope, but she does sing. she likes showtunes and old rock songs the best.

What are some items they always carry? her sniper rifle. a lot of digipicks.

Do they collect anything? plushies. she never toys growing up, so she grabs and hordes every plushie she can find.

What position do they sleep in? tummy, mainly.

Which emoji would they use the most? she would never use emojis. she doesn't understand them.

What languages do they speak? standard.

What’s their favorite expletive? jesus fuck.

What’s their favorite candle scent? she doesn't like scents of any sort.

What songs remind you of them? to the shore and lady ice

Which animal would you say represents them? porcupine. they also mate for life.

What stereotypical high school clique would they fit into? they wouldn't fit into any. they'd generally be disliked by everyone, regardless.

What would their favorite ride at an amusement park be? roller coaster.

Do they believe in aliens? Ghosts? Reincarnation or something else? aliens are a scientific possibility. as for anything supernatural, no. she's an empiricist and a nihilist.

Do they follow any religions/gods? Do they celebrate holidays? no. and, if there is a god, that god is one sick fuck to make a little kid suffer so much. fuck that god.

Which Deadly Sin do they most correspond to? Which Heavenly Virtue? none. if anything, she's more like a buddhist ascetic.

If you had to choose one tarot card to represent them, which would it be? right now, 10 of swords.

SOCIAL

1. How does your OC feel about their full name? they have no feelings about it. it was done out of practical necessity.

2. What do strangers notice about them first? she's very short and unemotional.

3. How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone? when she's alone, or with sam, she can be very child-like in her wonder of the universe. she's learning to let down he guard with sam and let herself feel anything. when she's with anyone else, she's non-emotional and totally business.

4. How do they act around a crush? she tried very hard to repress her attraction to sam. in her experience, emotions and attachments were a liability. but, she liked being around him because she thought he was funny. and she really liked to just listen to his voice. also, she already adored cora. she doesn't know how to show affection. she's very binary in that either she's very emotional or completely emotionless.

5. Do they have a “tell” for when they’re lying? no.

6. What do they smell like? like a person that bathes regularly? she doesn't like perfumes or any kind of smell like that.

7. What is their hair texture like? very coarse, very thick, curly.

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece? none. jewelry is bad to wear as an opponent could grab it. rings could lead to degloving injuries.

9. Do they have a word or phrase that they tend to overuse? in her head, she is constantly not understanding social situations, so it's "i don't get it." but, generally doesn't talk to people more than strictly necessary.

10. What is a weird quality that they have (ie their hands are always cold, they’re always hungry, they snort when they laugh, etc)? she has a very high metabolism, so is always hungry and eats everything in her path. her stimming behavior is shaking her hands frenetically.

11. What color do they look strikingly good in? any jewel tones, and black. she prefers black or grey simply for practicality sake.

12. How do they show affection to someone they love? she takes care of those she loves: cooks for them, makes time, prioritizes them. she doesn't know how to really show affection, however. she is finding that she enjoys the intimacy of holding hands. she'd never held anyone's hand before sam's.

13. Do they make strong/frequent eye contact when they talk to someone? no. unless it's a power move to show dominance.

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives? she doesn't know. her brother died when she was 10. she barely knew her mother.

15. Are their greatest flaw and their greatest strength related and in what way? (ie very caring and helpful but a doormat, or very observant and shrewd but often paranoid) she is exceptionally efficient at what she does (being a killer, mainly) and being able to compartmentalize everything. this has made her completely detach from emotions, and frequently doesn't understand even basic human interactions.

16. How has their childhood affected the way they view an aspect of their life (people, education, society, themselves, etc)? everything is shaped by her childhood and trauma.

[outofthedeck]

So I've been staying with a family friend because he lives in an area with better job opportunities. Before I moved here I talked to my family about it, because I always talk to the people most important to me before I make big life decisions.

My sibling, however. They made up a lie about how the family friend had abused them to prevent me from leaving that my brain instantly clocked as bullshit. Like. I took a minute to cry because what sibling told me was really shocking and I needed a minute to process the emotions, but afterward when my head was clear I was already picking apart all the bullshit contradictions in the lie.

So I looked for some evidence, pretty much confirmed sibling was lying, and moved in with the family friend. Sibling was very much not okay with this, and talked more about how the family friend was a huge asshole who had hurt them so much, how could I do this?

But they still hang out with family friend. On the regular. Literally weekly. Like, they are currently on a WEEK LONG VACATION with family friend. The hypocrisy is frankly fucking insulting. You expect me to believe this guy hurt you so much it gave you fucking dissociative identity disorder, but you still make the choice to spend this much time with him? Yeah, sure.

(Btw sibling is not being forced to do this in any way. They are a full-on adult who can make whatever personal choices they please, and I know for a fact they don't give two shits about "keeping the peace" or any other excuse anyone might give as to why they should hang out with family friend, not that anyone is telling them they should).

I was whatever about this before the vacation. Sibling has always had a volatile temper and will usually cool off after a while. They stopped talking to me (and everyone else in the family) for like two years straight a while back because I left our abusive mother's house to live with our dad without warning them first, and I forgave them afterward because I tend not to hold grudges like that, and I was just happy to know they were safe.

But then. Before they left on vacation this Sunday. I learned that sibling was trying to spread lies about me to the rest of the family. They had made it out to our grandma that I was being a lazy slob over here who couldn't be bothered to keep a job, which is in no way remotely true. Thankfully the only person who is listening to what sibling is saying is our grandma, mostly because the only family they have regular contact with is our grandma and dad, and dad had told them not to tell him any of that shit.

This is just. God, I'm pissed. I'm pissed and I'm disappointed. Sibling is using the same fucking shitty tactics our mother used to use on us to get us to distrust the rest of our family, which hurt the both of us immensely. Cant they see what they're doing? Can they not self-reflect? What the fuck?

There is no excuse for doing this. None.

[fiddleturnips]

Turnips

Welcome to my fanfiction blog! Most of this is reposted from a private Discord conversation about a story that I initially had no intention of posting. I hope you enjoy yourself. Info under the cut.

UPDATE: I haven't worked on this in a long time, but I wrote well over 50K worth of words, and wanted it to be available for anyone who was interested.

Most of my notes are over on AO3. THEY ARE EXTREMELY DISORGANIZED! Treat it less as a story that you can read start to finish, and more as a notebook! Scenes are out of order and incomplete.

"Future Witchhunters" is the main canon of the story, where Bill is harassing Ford and Fiddleford; it's separated into explicit and nonexplicit.

"Current Witchhunters" is scenes from later on in canon, when they have banished Bill and are now fighting supernatural evil. It focuses a lot more on mental health and the polycule. There is also a fourth fic which is primarily fluffy porn of the characters.

Content warnings and dni

Content warnings:

Most of this story and the posts on this blog are appropriate for general audiences. The fic itself, however, is not. You will find:

graphic depictions of sexual assault, psychological torture, physical abuse; memory loss (and exploitation of a character with memory loss); slurs and dehumanization as an abuse tactic, especially homophobia, anti-Appalachian sentiment, classism, and mental health related discrimination; references to child sexual assault (which do not happen in the canon of the story); graphic descriptions of mental health symptoms such as dissociation, loss of motor function, and loss of rational thought, from both internal and third party perspectives.

This blog does not have any dnis. However:

If you are a minor, please be mindful. Sexual themes are integral to this story. Block tags as needed. Gravity Falls is a story for kids; this fanfiction is not.

All subject matters are written about in graphic detail. Triggers can be highly individual, so if you need something specific tagged, feel free to let me know.

If you identify as an antishipper or kink-critical, you probably won't like this story.

Also: if you're kink-critical, you and I probably won't get along.

That said: the story itself takes precedent over any kink found in it. The plot is not an just excuse for kink.

Most of the upsetting stuff is over on AO3. You can follow this blog for the less graphic versions of events.

About the fic

Major points:

This story takes place in the early 1980s. The Portal is mostly built at the beginning of the story. Cultural markers heavily imply that it's '82 or so.

Fiddleford McGucket, Bill Cipher in Stanford's body, and Stanford Pines are all aware of each other and in regular conversation. Bill and Fiddleford are not happy about this. Stanford is initially convinced it's fine.

This is a variant on a Better World AU: Stanford never falls into the portal, and the universe is secured from Bill during the story.

This story ends up with a functioning household that includes all three members of the McGucket family and both Stan twins. The McGuckets do not get divorced because they, frankly, have more important things to deal with.

It gets saucy in numerous and diverse ways. Who's fucking who is surprisingly complicated, so if you're here for ships, sorry about that.

For no particular reason, Fiddleford's wife's name is spelled Emma-Mae.

This story is character-driven. The cool sci-fi shit mostly happens off-screen while we focus on drinking coffee, cuddling, and the nuances of everyone's sex lives.

Plot synopsis:

When Fiddleford gets proof of Bill's nighttime misdeeds to show Ford, Bill uses extreme methods to ensure Fiddleford is too intimidated and ashamed to tell Ford. (This means sexual assault and severe verbal abuse.) Fiddleford erases memories of the event. Bill has now learned that he can assault Fiddleford with no consequences, provided he makes the experience traumatic enough to encourage use of the memory gun. Rinse and repeat for a couple of months.

When Fiddleford finally comes clean to Ford about Bill one night, Ford and Fiddleford go to war with Bill. Ford's contract with Bill, however, means that Bill has possession of his body at any time that Ford isn't using it until the portal is complete. They enlist help from Stan, and get unsolicited help from Emma-Mae. Emma-Mae and Fiddleford were fighting bitterly around this time due to many years of unchecked biases and poor communication, but they put their impending marital breakdown on pause to go save the world.

Stan and Emma-Mae take Journal 3 back to the McGucket house in California; they take care of Tate and research exorcisms and magic while Fiddleford and Stanford work on securing Bill. The partnership is fairly successful, and they are able to banish Bill and get the universe safe.

Emma-Mae and Tate - at this point Tate has been co-parented by Fiddleford McGucket and Stanley Pines, with chaotic results - get a house with Fiddleford in Gravity Falls, and Stan ends up living with them. Together, all four adults bond, recover from trauma, and generally become an intensely loving and protective family unit. This confuses the Gravity Falls elementary school teachers, but not that much more than Jimmy in sixth grade whose father is a woodpecker.

Other questions

Why Turnips?

Ten points to anyone who figures this out. Except you. You don't count. You know who you are

Where can I read the fic?

Nowhere yet. I want to post it on AO3, but it's been written piecemeal, so I don't have good chapter breaks yet. Some of the more complete chapters are there under "Future Witchunters."

Seriously, who's fucking who?

This is, again, complicated, but if you want a breakdown:

Fiddleford McGucket is bisexual and very secure in this fact. However, he's in the closet to preserve his marriage. He finds Ford physically attractive, but does not particularly want to be with him.

Stanford Pines is not interested in relationships in general. He identifies as straight, but is extremely well-educated about what we would now call Queer Studies, to the point where he will say things that seem anachronistic. (It's anomalous sexual and social behavior, you see!) If he had ever once bothered to mention this around Fiddleford, most of this story wouldn't have happened.

Emma-Mae is strictly heterosexual, and at the beginning of the story, severely homophobic. She finds out Fiddleford is bisexual shortly before she finds out his boss is possessed by the devil, though, so the latter distracts her for long enough to let her come to terms with the former. In unlearning her homophobic biases, she also begins to embrace nontraditional family life, thereby becoming a much happier and more liberated woman.

Stanley is shrug. He's more or less straight, but eh, he'll do whatever as long as it's fun or profitable. Also if you so much as give Fidds a mean look he will knock your teeth out and make you swallow them

Tate is like seven years old, he just wants to go fishing, man. He does end up with three unhinged dads who'll take him on just the coolest activities, so he's pretty happy with how life works out for him

"Copied from Discord?"

I don't like publishing darkfics. Maybe I've internalized censorship culture or maybe I'm just being a bit of a twerp, but I rarely feel like I can make my darkfic into a compelling and good narrative.

However, I have an amazing, fun, interesting friend who shares a lot of the same interests and experiences as me, and who has been a willing sounding board for this story. At some point, I realized I actually had enough material for it to be worth publishing. Thank you <3 <3 <3

[a-beneficial-union]

Quick, while he's not looking.

On the left is Sou'el, who I'm currently playing with. I made him an eighth brancher before realizing that it would mean his first name is “Sphen” (shirt for “Stephen”) per my own rules— but I don’t want to deal with that, so he changed he goes by “Ben” based off of his middle name.

I'm considering making Sou’el a hunger's apprentice, but am not fully committed to the idea. My friend and I have been half jokingly referring to him as “The Feral Ben” but that's not entirely accurate. Being of the eight branch, Sou'el was captured when young by a group which owned warriors and exotic creatures/people for entertainment. While this event is canon, what sets the eighth branch apart is that Sphen doesn’t successfully escape.

I am undecided how long he was kept before being broken out, but it was long enough for him to be passed around by a few different owners (especially since he wasn’t suited for the arena). He wound up gaining the maladaptive but effective survival tactic of molding his ideals, morality, and personality based off of whatever system of logic surrounded him. That said, his personality isn’t fractured in the clinical sense— another thing I am undecided on is how much of his misunderstanding comes from the need to survive versus being an autistic child thrust into some very different cultural settings.

A side effect of his compartmentalization is that he seemed to have become his old self almost immediately after returning to Gwen and Max; that was the logical system of Family Setting, Domestic Life, and Heroing. In these three intersecting areas, he seems very similar to canon Ben (even changing his name to that out of a desire to separate himself from the ordeal).

At some point, he wound up on the banned, “toxic” planet of Vulpin, which is almost entirely inaccessible due to the planet's naturally hectic magnetic field, abundance of parasitic sports, and the damage from being an intergalactic dump site for hazardous waste. Because of this, the only people Sou'el interacts with on this planet are native Vulpimancers. Anywhere else, the species is considered to be animalistic, beast-like, and decidedly not sentient. On Vulpin, they are considered the only species with personhood, all other kinds of creature being strange squabbling animals who seem to communicate through simplistic squawks. Ben conforms to this mentality, developing a portion of his personality specific to the planet and gaining a name for himself as a malformed youth capable of shapeshifting and speaking with the invasive species.

Interdimensionally is what the above drawing relates to— I have other drawings about the Vulpin stuff (including a comic and reference sheet but I can’t recall if they're posted). As Ben 10, he's polite, agreeable, aloof, and maybe a little seclusive; on Vulpin, he's kindly, condescending, perversely gleeful, and dismissively nonchalant; but when in interdimensional spaces, Sou'el acts with either a sneaky mischievousness, utter obedience, or predacious guile. He knows that other -ens are often scared of him and that the way he speaks and acts is rather off putting to them (as they know immediately that Something Is Wrong with this alternate), and so he amps the spook factor for the funsies. I guess that means he has something of a mean-streak, too.

Notes:

*Sou’el's full alt is <<Soughtless Angle>>, which is a reference to his fawning tendency to reflexively glomp onto whoever seems a good enough anchor (Gwen when they were young, a Vulpimancer named <<Sister Skylight>> as a teen/preteen, and maaaaybe Rook when he's a bit older).

*While Sou’el is a vulp-en, his mutations are from a different subspecies than the tiger-esq midlander (orange Wildmutt). His traits are a mix of [checks notes] Mideastern Peaks Vulpins (mountain dwellers climbers) and Eastern Chain Vulpins (island voyagers with a paralytic/dissociative venom). His tail and attached Tell are notably colorful, which is my subtle nod to how proverbially poisonous he is.

^^His colours without the shading.

Also, the darker areas that make up his claws aren’t actually a part of him, they're basically gloves the Omnitrix provides consisting of a pseudo skin and which are used to tear pliably materials.

[frank-n-louie]

currently on Þ: on the floor in an out of order bathroom at work attempting to make sense of a sorta complicated dissociative phenomenon involving a neglected preteen denial-magnetized part that’s been with me constantly this year and trying to get back to work on time to not get chewed out about it. so we are using the incredible harm reduction tactic [/serious] of stating the problem where it can be heard and rocking forth & back on the floor for several minutes about it.

feeling rather nauseous. & younger self has been attempting to pretend to be a [separate] person talking to us telepathically in order to get help because he didn’t think he could ask and be heard at enough length.

lots of identity confusion in the process. little self is tired and i’m not sure why they’re coming out about this now but it’s become quite clear that’s what they’re doing.

there are at least three of us here right now.

luckily my job is doing a very physically consistent & moderately complicated task repeatedly on more or less my own schedule. otherwise i would be super fucked today.

[patchdotexe]

doip. / 10.24.22

LAST TIME ON DRAGON OF ICESPIRE PEAK: our heroes arrived at the city of neverwinter. after a hairy encounter weith the dragon cryovain, it was finally time to enter the city's wall. once inside, our heroes insisted with the interrogation of an unexpectedly familiar orc, who told them the story of a dragonslaying sword in a barrow. with the bell sold and items purchased, our heroes plan to return to the town of phandalin. but what has happened to the mountain's toe goldmine? is donjon safe among the wererats? FIND OUT… TODAY.

[leans away from mic] hey check out this sick jpeg

retcon: the splint armor has been upgraded with the mythril from alidaar's old armor! Nice

jorb fucks around in my character sheet while i dissociate about my character sheet looking different (it does not look different it's just in dark mode)

pat: this is the weirdest fuckin path we couldve taken jorb: it was efficient! pat: WAS IT?

pat: we just have the most eventful da-- UNEVENTFUL. UNEVENTFUL. couple days of our lives jorb: you get isekai'd into another dimension, save the day, defeat a god, and then you arrive safely in phandalin!

("i forgot how to spell phandalin-- WAIT IT'S RIGHT THERE ON THE MAP")

alidaar, traumatizer of animals

We Are Not Talking About Mpreg "the camp was attacked by mpreg." i hate it here.

tobias is an empty husk of a man

alidaar: I Abandoned My Boy (donjon) [slight echo] NO MY BOY / father heeeelp

nyx: time to eat some rats or something jorb: you're traveling on foot with no wagon, you were kinda getting used to it pat: TO EATING RATS?

jorb: like before it is dark inside the mine-- wait, is it dark? does it say? IT DOESN'T SAY,, nyx: why doesn't it say???

we are ragdolling tobias around

alidaar: hi yeah sorry it's been a hot minute, where's donjon rats: you should probably talk to the boss about that alidaar: NGNFNFFHGHGHGHGHHNNBNBN

alidaar telefrags himself inside a wall

nyx: [distraught] ARE WE GETTING CASK OF [30 seconds of concerned gibberish] pat: ..amontillado? nyx: it took me 30 seconds to say it wrong :(

we have been put in a corner and are now rolling initiative! gg ali thankfully little guy is incapable of being surprised so it's not as much of a trainwreck as it could be-- nvm tobias got bit and has to do a saving throw jorb: tobias has failed the constitution saving throw! interesting! pat: is this how you're going to kill tobias off? jorb: NOPE, THIS IS UNPLANNED nyx: what does it do?? jorb: what do you think it does nyx: ..turn him into a wererat? jorb: [chuckle] nyx: >:(

nyx: that was the worst surprise round ever, nobody got hurt-- jorb: tobias got bit!

nyx: i'm going to use thunderwave. can i- can i do that, am i a real boy, can i use thunderwave? jorb: you can, but it would hurt your allies..? nyx: [..] and tobias can go fuck himself

jorb: and there is an audible boom, which i believe can be heard up to.. pat: 300 feet. jorb: ..the entire mine. [..] jorb: stealth may no longer be a valid tactic! pat: oh no.

jorb: is wild shape a magical attack. [extended silence]

alidaar has a silvered axe! bonk! alidaar: [grinning like an asshole] don't worry guys, ive fuckin got this

alidaar: where do you think you're going? [BONK] "and alidaar leans around the corner and grins at the other were-rat." ALIDAAR IS NOT TRAPPED IN HERE WITH THE WERE-RATS, THE WERE-RATS ARE TRAPPED IN HERE WITH ALIDAAR

new mechanic just dropped! nyx got a crit fail so he rolled a d20 and got a 2, so "something goes wrong (minor)" and gets to decide what that means. so nameless misses, hits the wall, and gets bonked and loses -1 hp

"that's a hit" "nice! get twelved, idiot" oh that was the most pathetic use of fire rune so far. 3 damage from the cool fire shackles.

LITTLE GUY USING THORN WHIP TO YANK THE RAT INTO ALI'S AXE LMAO "it's cool so i'll allow it, but you do have to hit first" LMAO. NYX GOT IT BUT ALIDAAR ROLLED A 1 FOR THE AXE.. nyx: you currently have a rat in your arms, though, alidaar jorb: alidaar has this rat in a bridal carry this is a fucking clownshow.

nyx: um. nameless looks at tobias. jorb: jorb: it's tobias.

ALIDAAR HAS THE SCROLL OF REMOVE CURSE! he hands it over to tobias, but tobias is reluctant to use it in case he gets bit again or someone else gets bit. alidaar: if you're sure. i mean, i don't wanna curse ya to bein a furry if that's not what you want..

nyx, looking at tobias: [dreamily] wow, you've been so sentient lately.. (this is the most tobias has said in the past couple sessions)

jorb: acquire tobias. pat: tobias achieved!

jorb: okay what is the order on this door nyx: we're using tobias as a battering ram

pat: my urge to avoid collateral damage vs alidaar's urge to kill

pat: yeah we'll leave [the were-rats we stealthed past] be, if they chase us down we cut em down jorb: o-kay! :D pat: pat: i don't like it hwen you say that :(

noncanonically alidaar is picking tobias up and throwing him as far as he can

nyx: i feel like we should go to the right, i dont trust doors anymore jorb: the d&d experience, question mark.

taking a moment to tell the story of how i joined fix's stream chat in time to hear him and the other dominion ccs talk about my meta post about video editing

"i bowl [tobias] around the corner." [..] "alidaar is getting good at bowling him around corners"

jorb: and tobias sees.. a guy and a bunch of rats. crawling all over him like weevils. [..] nyx: maybe we should leave jorb: pacifist run nyx: it feels personal.

[pat and jorb singing screw the nether]

jorb: at the back of the tunnel, there is a corpse. and on.. closer inspection.. it is… ………some guy. you don't know who ths is. nyx: YOU CAN'T PLAY WITH MY FEELINGS LIKE THAT

pat: which way do we goooo.. i'm gonna flip a coin. jorb: okay! [sounds of a coin being flipped several times, cursing, something hitting pat's mic several time, a shriek of fear, "I AM GOING TO MOVE MY COMPUTER", more coin flipping] pat: WE'RE GOING THIS WAY.

(i was flipping my big novelty collectible coin to make decisions and uh. it is big and heavy and i am out of practice flipping and catching it)

oops we have angered the rats

THIS FUCKING RAT. BOTH ROLLS , WITH ADVANTAGE, WERE NAT20 jorb: do you want to know how mcuh damage you get? on this incredible crit from a rat? you take 5 damage.

alidaar jumps into nameless's space, uses breath weapon, then hops back out

alidaar smacking aside giant rats yelling WHERE IS DONJON

pat: alidaar is fearless right now [alidaar takes damage]

little guy takes a rat corpse to the face

alidaar does a rat's max hp in one hit jorb: um, that rat explodes!

BOTH DOORS LEAD TO THE SAME ROOM. THE COIN FLIP WAS MEANINGLESS

found some dwarves! they're holed up in here and despite being freed aren't gonna go anywhere til the were-rats are taken out. time for extermination duty

nameless beheads a rat for.. some …. reason……………..

pat: [moves alidaar] i'm teleporting. jorb: enderman noise pat: vwoop nyx: vwoop "alidaar throws an ender pearl through several walls. he's getting really good at bowling."

pat: i recognize that hat. LMAO. WE TOOK TOO LONG AND DONJON IS A WERE-RAT NOW. WHOOPS also the lead were-rat is not gonna budge bc they've settled in hard and the mines are way better than their old place, so. woop

nyx: i look at alidaar and nod. does alidaar nod back. pat: yes. nyx: i throw the rat head at [the were-rat leader].

zeleen: is that supposed to be me? is that supposed to scare me? not even a were-rat head? alidaar: [..] i mean, if you want me to get a were-rat head, i can go get one off the bodies of the guards who tried to kill us in a side closet, you piece of shit

pat: [alidaar voice] LETS GOOOO THE BLOODLUST IS KICKING IN [rolls a 5 for initiative] FUCK

pat: can you even fit through the corridor nyx, a 4-square dire wolf: no. pat: what are you going to do about it nyx: i lay down on my back and expose my belly so alidaar can pet me. pat: i pet nameless's belly. jorb: ..okay!

alidaar tries doing a cool stunt of running on nameless's back and jumping off to hit zeleen but. misses. whoops lmao

alidaar has forgotten he's not the tank. nyx: WHY DO YOU KEEP DRAWING ATTENTION TO YOURSELF pat, at 14 hp: IN MY DEFENSE, alidaar's flaw is that he cant shut the fuck up

jorb: nyx, youre up nyx, who has been rolling grapple and failing past 2 turns: IM GOING TO GRAPPLE THIS BITCH

alidaar and nameless shoving zeleen over so alidaar can get advantage on her and its just. an attempted cycle of "nameless shoves her, alidaar whacks her, she stands back up, she gets shoved," (unfortunately she caught on to our shenanigans of trying ot be highschool bullies)

alidaar tries to do the parkour over nameless stunt AGAIN. and misses AGAIN. i am trying so hard to be cool yall :(

nameless decides to set her on fire

ALIDAAR CHOPS HER HEAD OFF. FUCK YEAH.

pat: alidaar yanks his axe out of the wall, picks up the head, and holds it out to nameless. nyx: nameless wiggles a little and takes it.

there are two cursed people. we have one scroll of curse removal. hrm. :( :(

nameless and alidaar don't know what to do,, apparently the curse has mental effects and that's been weighing on donjon hard. he's been holding out, and there's a few more days before tobias turns.

tobias uses the scroll on donjon.

alidaar introduces donjon to the dwarves and is doing his best to still be a Cool Guy, struts back to the group, and immediately has a Problem with tobias. "we will talk about this later." meanwhile, nameless walks into the uh. what we've been calling the rat orgy room. the "crawling over him like weevils" room. and is angry-crying and threatens them with zeleen's head so the were-rats run off and we have to punt the non-were rats pat, sad: we've ruined the rat orgy

time for extermination duty! again! aka ransacking the rest of the mines to kill everything that moves

nyx: they wake up. i am sitting in the middle of them. there is a head in my lap. it is their leader. (intimidation did not work this time but it was objectively hilarious)

jorb: alidaar has no gods no kings pat: no gods no kings only axe

jorb: he is going to make a run for it, you two get attacks of opportunity nyx: im going to thorn whip him. pat: hit him on the ass nyx: i slap him on the ass and go "buenos dias" jorb: 1 damage.

jorb: HE HAS -15 HP. HOW DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS pat, restaining laughter: alidaar goes BUENOS DIAS and cuts him in half jorb: you cut him in half down the buttcrack.

we also fought a worm and i forgot to take notes for it in the moment. uhhh alidaar go bonk

everything's cleaned up! donjon's gonna get the mine up and running, and that he owes us one. also alidaar dug up some goodies to give to nameless to try and cure their depression (including some goggles of night!)

alidaar and tobias sit down to have A Talk. tobias is worried about losing himself alidaar: ..i don't want to have to kill you.

he's going to walk out into the woods and.. well, if he holds on, he'll come back. if he doesn't, he doesn't. alidaar: i'm holding you to that.

tobias gives his Important Book to nameless, as well as his magic items (except for his sending stone)

tobias: well, i guess that's it. --for now! alidaar: for now. you're not getting rid of us that easily ;)

there he goes. :(

[hedjblogr]

this heat is homophobic against me personally

doing anything, even sleeping, is nigh on impossible :(

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 6

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~4k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, vague description of an anxiety attack, implied heavy restriction (ED), school setting, inner monologue-style anxiety description, food mention, eating, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <<>>

...

Logan did not know what to do with himself. The past week had thrown him off his figurative rhythm far more than he could have possibly anticipated.

First, a lead actor who he'd already been trying his best not to look at - with his accursed pretty hair and handsome face and big muscles - decided to attempt to court him? Logan felt mocked. There is no conceivable possibility that such a beautiful - and might he add, quite pompous and bothersome - man would have any sort of real interest in him, romantically or sexually. He shuddered slightly. He really should have taken the apple his roommate had offered him for breakfast that morning, but it was too late now.

And wouldn't you know, just a week later, a - dare he say - equally pretty man with mesmerizing blonde curls and a cheeky smile takes an interest in him at his own school . After years and years of having never been asked out, no one having taken an even remote interest in him, not one second glance, Logan had two men asking after him in the span of a single week. Men who he found atrociously gorgeous, in fact. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses riding up his forehead a bit.

This alone would have been enough. But he just had to go into that little sewing shop for his dear friend Patton's birthday present, and that boy with the purple bangs who stumbled over his words and his feet was completely and undeniably flustered by Logan's presence. Perhaps he was simply experiencing an ego boost from his two previous encounters that week with pretty men, but he felt that the attraction the boy seemed to have for him was unmistakable.

And now here he was, pacing down the sidewalk toward the library, headed off to meet - Janus, if he recalled correctly - for their first study session. He didn't know what the hell he'd been thinking when he asked to meet Janus again, the very next day no less... perhaps he felt the need to seize the moment while it was present, or however the saying goes. Regardless, while his actions had been quite uncharacteristically spontaneous, he saw no logical purpose in redacting his decision; Janus seemed to be an individual with plentiful intellect, and studying with fellow students had generally proved to be a beneficial tactic in Logan's (albeit minimal) experience and (far less minimal) research. Meeting with Janus, even if it wound up simply being this once, should be no different.

Logan avidly ignored any simmering feelings that he wanted something more than to spend time with Janus just this once.

He was shaken from his thoughts when his phone started ringing in his pocket. He examined the screen, noting the time - 2:49 PM, he wasn't late for his engagement with Janus just yet - as he checked who was calling. It was an unknown number, but the area code was local. Logan frowned, pressing the answer button.

"Greetings, Logan Lattimer speaking."

-

Virgil was kind of panicking.

His boyfriends each happened to meet this super-cute space-nerd guy in the span of a week, and the second they'd talked to him they were all heart-eyes. Not that Virgil was complaining; the guy sounded really cute.

He knew first hand now, that he was in fact super cute . That was the problem.

Virgil's lunch break came and went, most of which he spent gnawing vaguely at a sandwich and staring anxiously at the contact card that had been in Logan's wallet. It simply had his full name and phone number on it, nothing else. He tapped it on the desk in front of him, glancing between the numbers and his own phone, set face-up beside his elbow.

And then his lunch break had ended, and he had several more hours of worrying before he had to convince himself to call Logan.

Something occurred to him, during those hours. Should he tell his boyfriends?

What would he even say? There wasn't much to tell, at least not that warranted calling them before he got home. If he was going to make any calls, there was one he was under obligation to make first. And if he were to seek comfort in them for his obligation, what would they say?

Roman was probably the lesser option; he'd been whining about Logan all week, and now that he knew Janus was meeting with him again today, tensions were especially high. He'd be no help whatsoever, Virgil was sure of it.

And speaking of Janus meeting Logan again today... that also meant no. Calling your boyfriend who was about to see the guy you were nervous to call made the situation all kinds of awkward. No, everything would be easier if he'd simply call him.

So, shaking his shoulders out a bit, he did. He stepped into the break room, grabbed his phone and the contact card, and dialed the number.

His thumb hovered over the call button for a few seconds too long. He cursed under his breath and looked away as he pressed it, bringing the phone to his ear. it rang twice, and then a slight static preceded a familiar voice.

"Greetings, Logan Lattimer speaking."

Virgil was glad he'd drew in a breath to hold when he'd pressed the call button, because he wasn't sure he could recall how to breathe properly.

"Hey, this is Virgil, um, from the knitting supply shop? Uh, you kinda left your wallet here..." Virgil managed to cough, voice not breaking as much as it could have. His chest felt cold and constricted, and he wrapped one arm around himself to fight off the burn of the icy spears stabbing through his lungs.

"Ah, hello Virgil. I am currently on my way to a separate engagement, however it should not take long. At what time would it be acceptable for me to return to your place of business to retrieve my belongings?"

"Oh, uh- I'll be here till four," Virgil stuttered a bit, surprised at how fast Logan jumped to planning mode, as well as realizing he knew the precise nature of the so-called separate engagement Logan was about to attend.

"That is adequate. I will make sufficient efforts to arrive before that time. See you then."

With that, the line disconnected, and Virgil was overwhelmed by the eerie silence of the break room. He glanced at a half-empty box of donuts their manager had brought in yesterday.

He could have said that the shop actually closed at six, and that Logan could get his wallet from Emile, but his train of thought hadn’t been screwed on properly when he’d been speaking, so he could grant himself a little slack- wait, he was mixing his metaphors now...

Suddenly, the door swung open, Emile peeking out from behind it.

"Virgil, could you get back out here? We've got a little rush," and he ducked out, gone as quickly as he’d arrived.

Virgil sighed, shuddering away his anxieties, grabbing a donut hole and popping it into his mouth before heading out to join his colleague.

-

Janus was sitting at a table set between the rows of shelves, reading pensively beneath a subtle desk lamp where Logan found him. He glanced up and smiled gently when Logan arrived, who set his things down beside a chair opposite from Janus'.

"Apologies, Janus, but I must cut our studying session short in about 45 minutes - i left my wallet at a nearby shop this morning, and must retrieve it before 4pm." Janus' eyes sparked with something Logan couldn't place, and he hid a smirk behind steepled gloved fingers. Logan gulped imperceptibly. "Perhaps we can set up another time to study as well- um, to make up for it, I mean?" He rushed his words out in a short breath, running his fingers through his hair to collect himself. Janus' smirk broadened very slightly, and Logan found himself watching the lines of Janus’ face as they shifted.

"It would be my pleasure." Janus averted his eyes for a moment, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought. “Perhaps we should exchange information, so that I might- so that we can settle on a proper time for another engagement.” Janus reached into his inner coat pocket, producing his phone and tapping away for a moment, before passing it to Logan. He took it carefully, recognizing a blank contact screen, and quickly entering his information into it. He handed the phone back to Janus with a tight smile, and Janus returned it, sliding his phone back into the same pocket before resettling himself in his seat more properly.

Janus set aside his book to pull out a few textbooks for their critical thinking class. "If we are cutting our study session that precisely short, that would provide me with a chance to surprise-" He faltered for a moment, tone changing, though it was so subtle Logan almost thought he'd imagined it - "a friend of mine after his shift. Now, where did your class get to in the lecture today?" He started thumbing through the pages of a particularly thick but small book, holding it by the spine with one hand.

"Ah... Professor Cauley was stopped short on page 461 when he became distracted with his electric pencil sharpener malfunctioning, and class ended a few moments later. He did inform us that the other class had made it to page 465, so if you need me to catch up to you, it should only take me a few minutes." Logan was rifling through the pages of his textbook intently, not noticing Janus' surprised expression.

Janus reached a hand out, cautiously setting his hand on Logan's wrist, just beneath his wristwatch. "Don't fret," he breathed, "it appears we share the same class period. If I recall correctly, Professor Cauley’s face went positively red with rage, and he nearly broke the poor sharpener worse as he tried to unjam it." Janus chuckled shyly through his words as Logan met his eyes, smiling after a moment.

“Fascinating. I wonder how I have not noticed you in class before?” Logan tilted his head very slightly, and noticed something swimming warmly in Janus’ eyes. They were quite a very lovely golden brown, he thought.

Janus shifted, looking down to adjust his own texts, but the smirk that was growing less snarky by the second never left his lips. “It is a rather large class. It can be easy to lose faces in the crowd. I’m not sure I can pick out more than three people with whom I share that  class if they were to pass me in the halls. But no matter.” Janus glanced at Logan’s textbook and notes, readying his pencil. “Shall we begin?”

-

Logan was talking animatedly as he hunched himself over his notes, Janus glancing up to watch his face behind its shield of deep brown bangs intermittently as he scribbled in his own notebook to (at least attempt to) keep up. Janus’ gaze was averted, however, when a repetitive chime sounded from Logan’s phone, sitting face down on the desk just beside his right forearm. He stopped mid-sentence, adjusting his posture and picking his phone up, flipping it over to view the screen. He sighed, deflating slightly, as he tapped the screen once, setting the phone back down.

“My apologies, Janus, but it appears that it is time for me to depart.” Logan stood, a colder, sharper version of himself taking the place of the one that holds a deep passion for learning. The beautiful ice crystal, despite its beauty, is still the twin of the icy shards that cut sharper than knives or spears, Janus thought.

Janus stood swiftly, joining Logan in his gathering of his personal belongings, shoveling his own texts into his own bag. “It is quite alright, I assure you, Logan.” They met eyes as Janus spoke Logan’s name, and Janus could swear he saw a subtle, blotchy pink settle in Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll be headed down Main Street, then. Perhaps-” Logan cleared his throat, glaring down and to the side at nothing in particular as he retried his statement. “I will be expecting to hear from you, Janus.” They walked side by side out the front of the library, stopping just past the doors to say their goodbyes. But Janus had a small realization, and felt the creeping suspicion crawling its way up his sides returning. He resisted the urge to shake or twitch it away, grinding his teeth a bit.

Instead of continuing to suppress his stimming, he cleared his throat, speaking to Logan. "I am headed down Main Street as well. I hope it is not out of- I hope that it isn’t inappropriate for me to ask, but...will you allow me to accompany you?" Janus asked, nearly moving to offer his arm to Logan, but deciding quickly that that was far too forward. He settled on spreading an arm out, gesturing to the concrete path before them that led to the sidewalk.

Logan offered a small smile. "That would be adequate, and not inappropriate in the slightest. I, I would enjoy your company.” A beat of silence, and Logan cleared his throat. “Just this way," and Logan set off, at an impressively brisk pace that Janus nearly had a hard time keeping up with, having been caught off guard.

They walked in stride with one another as they made their way down the street. Janus became increasingly suspicious of the scenario the closer they got to the sewing shop. From what he knew of Logan's situation, there was no conflicting evidence that would disqualify the possibility that Logan was headed, in fact, toward Virgil's workplace. Janus held his breath when they turned onto the very same block, watching Logan's body language soften as they did.

Janus took a deep breath, glancing at the sign of the sewing shop a pace or two ahead.

"Logan, there's something I wish to discuss with-"

Janus glanced at the sewing shop's sign once more as they passed, but didn't move to stop before the door until he realized Logan had done so, standing a bit stiff a few paces back.

"This would be the establishment I spoke of," Logan's eyes looked a bit hazed, vaguely pointed towards the door handle. He seemed not to have heard Janus’ beginnings of a confession. Janus’ eyebrow quirked ever so slightly.

"Interesting," he breathed quietly, and Logan met his eyes then. "Allow me." Janus reached a gloved hand out to open the door for Logan, bowing slightly as he held it open.

"Much appreciated," Logan commented, stepping through the doorway smoothly.

-

Virgil was sitting slouched behind the counter, typing random numbers into the cash register out of boredom. He was half considering going to bother Emile, but he was busy doing inventory. And besides, Virgil needed to stay behind the register in case any customers came in. One person behind the counter at all times, that was the rule. He sighed, bringing his hand to his face and tapping on the tip of his nose absentmindedly.

The bell chimed, and Virgil looked up from behind his mop of purple hair. His heart gave a few beats a bit harder than usual, and he felt his throat constrict slightly.

There was Logan again. And the whole rest of the world became background noise.

The line of Logan's mouth widened, creating a crease or two on each side. Virgil realized that not only was he staring at Logan's lips, but as well that Logan was smiling. At him.

"Hello, Virgil," He spoke softly.

"Hi," Virgil practically coughed, the scratch in his throat making it borderline painful to speak. "H-how was your, your day?" Virgil asked, pursing his lips as soon as his words had left them.

Logan inhaled, raising his eyebrows and averting his eyes from Virgil's intense brown ones. "It has been satisfactory." The door chimed again behind Logan as it shut, and Virgil suddenly recognized that there was another person in the room. A person whose presence felt immediately familiar...

"Ah, my apologies," Logan stepped to the side slightly, allowing the person to come into full view. There, with a small sheepish smile, stood Janus. "Allow me to introduce-"

"Logan, dear, that won't be necessary," Janus rested a gentle gloved hand on Logan's shoulder, and Virgil couldn't tell if he was about to pass out from gay panic or just regular panic. "We are... quite well acquainted." Janus smiled tenderly to Virgil, and Virgil's whirring brain slowed if only slightly. He was safe.

…but… was he though?

-

"Oh, is this the friend you spoke of earlier, whom you meant to come and meet? How coincidental, that we were on our way to meet the same person without either of us having any prior knowledge of it." Logan was caught up in his fascination so much that he did not notice Virgil beginning to hyperventilate, knuckles white as he gripped the counter, or the way Janus was watching, practically frozen.

But, as Logan's commentary came to a close, it was as though a flip switched inside Janus’ mind, and he quickly strode around Logan. He stepped quickly behind the counter and over to Virgil, all while nearly whispering little nothings like "oh oh oh," "hush now love," and "come here dear."

Logan's brain took a moment to catch up, and soon he was simply standing there, watching as Virgil clung to Janus' coat rather desperately. Virgil’s body shuddered in silent sobs as Janus wrapped his arms around him, tight and secure. Janus was still whispering to him, but it was inaudible to Logan now.

Logan didn't quite know what to do, and so he just stood there, feeling rather stuck for a long time. At some point, he set his backpack and the gift bag he'd gotten from this very store earlier that day down against the counter on the floor, folding his hands before him. At some point, he registered Janus giving him an apologetic look, which confused him.

And then Janus kissed Virgil on the forehead, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. Logan thought from the way Janus was nodding softly and the way their chests moved together, that they may be doing a breathing exercise. He couldn't focus on much else, so he tried to follow along and copy them as well. 4, 7, 8. 4, 7, 8.

Sooner than later, Janus was leading Virgil carefully back out around the counter, both looking slightly worse for wear, but at least Virgil was far calmer. Janus smiled meekly at Logan again, and he still couldn't quite understand what was happening. It appeared that Virgil had had an anxiety attack, but the way Janus had rushed to comfort him so quickly, the way he seemed to know exactly what to do-

"Here you go, Logan," Virgil's voice was a bit scratchy as he reached out his hand, Logan's familiar black leather wallet between his pale fingers. Logan cleared his throat.

"Thank you," He spoke a bit more quietly than he meant to. He suddenly felt his headache flare again in full force, and had to fight not to shake as he reached his hand out to retrieve his wallet from Virgil's hands. He barely succeeded, but Virgil seemed to notice something amiss - he was watching Logan's wary eyes with some mix of suspicion and concern.

Janus, however, had been staring at the floor, and did not notice Logan's onset of fatigue. He sighed, clearing his throat softly. "Logan, I suppose you deserve some kind of explanation. One I tried to give before we’d come in, but regardless." Suddenly Virgil's eyes were on Janus, and far wider than Logan thought possible. Janus just glanced at him, nodding gently, and Virgil's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Virgil and I are..."

Janus laced their fingers together, and Logan's vision went blurry, everything around him fading to static fuzz as he tried to remember to breathe. He'd eaten more than enough today for this to be happening, surely? ...Had he eaten today? He couldn’t recall. He could always remember ... He vaguely registered Janus still speaking in the background, but he couldn't care enough to force himself to refocus. He got the jist. He and Virgil were romantically involved, and Janus was interested in nothing more than a friendship with Logan. That was perfectly fine. He didn't mind. He forced away the roiling feeling in his gut and gulped down the sting starting to tingle in his eyes, forcing himself to nod.

"Understood," He blurted, voice a bit raspy. He turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. Before he fully exited, he threw over his shoulder, "I look forward to seeing you later this week, Janus. And thank you again, Virgil." And with that, he was gone.

He made his way down the block briskly, trying to shake the haze that clouded his vision. The only thing he could think to do was go and see Patton. He knew nothing worked magic on his body like a good black coffee.

-

"Virgil and I are..." Virgil looked down as Janus laced their fingers together, and looked back to Logan, whose face seemed to have gone paler than it normally was, which was quite horrifying to see. Considering Logan was already so white that his skin tone bordered on inhuman, now it was devoid of any pricks of red coloring and looked almost like an empty tinted gray, pronouncing his cheekbones and eye bags even more so. Janus looked between them, continuing after a moment, "...we have been romantically involved for several years now, and even longer with our partner Roman, who you may recall from the community theatre? He's expressed to us that he's quite taken with you, in fact... And I know this may be a lot to spring on you right now, but I thought you deserved to know... it felt wrong to pursue anything with you romantically when we- when you didn't have the facts straight, and even regardless, it's important for you to know that all three of us are-"

"Understood," Logan cut Janus off, nodding. He didn't speak harshly, in fact his voice was quite quiet, but it was curt and forward as Logan always was, and so cut through Janus' words like a frozen blade.

Janus looked at him in awe, and opened his mouth to speak, but Virgil gripped his arm before he did. Logan was already at the door. He glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t really look at either of them. "I look forward to seeing you later this week, Janus. And thank you again, Virgil." Janus and Virgil watched as Logan walked out the door and straight down the sidewalk through the shop window.

Emile, who apparently had been standing there for at least a few moments, cleared his throat awkwardly. Janus and Virgil looked at him in unison, matching exasperated looks on their faces.

"U-um, Virgil, I was just gonna check in, see if you've clocked off." Emile wrung his wrists between his fingers awkwardly.

"Um, no not yet," Virgil bit the corner of his lip, muttering a 'sorry' as he stepped past Emile and paced quickly to the back room to clock off. Janus stared blankly at the floor where his boyfriend had just been, eyebrows knit in thought.

"You feeling a-okay there, Janus?" Emile dipped his head a bit to get Janus' attention gently. Janus blinked a few times, engaging with Emile as he re-centered himself in the present moment.

"Yes, Emile, I'm fine, thank you," Janus rubbed his gloved palm with his thumb anxiously. He couldn't think of anything to add, so Emile smiled carefully, nodding and stepping away to resume whatever busywork he needed to attend to.

Virgil was back again shortly, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He gave Janus a strange look, some kind of combination of pity and sadness and confusion. At least, that's how it looked to Janus.

"Ready to...?" Virgil gestured vaguely towards the door, leaning into Janus' personal space a bit. Janus offered him his arm, clearing his throat and holding his chin high.

"Yes, love. Let's get home to Roman."

As they walked to the bus stop together, neither had any clue what they’d say to their Prince. He’d be distraught, they were both sure, and significantly more so than he already was, which would be… intense. Janus squeezed Virgil’s hand in his own slightly, and smiled somberly at him sideways.

They’d figure this out. They always did, eventually.

Janus took his time on the bus typing out a message to Logan, Virgil watching from the seat beside him as his head laid on Janus’ shoulder. Janus settled on something simple.

To: Logan L It's Janus. I'd love to meet up to study, or perhaps discuss other things, some time this week. Let me know if Thursday or Friday works better for you.

[of-tatooine]

for the record. | chapter 1 - alpha

off-duty time would not last you for too long.

After all these years, the world never ceased to remind you that rules never changed.

While the players of the game always rotated along with the enemy and the friendly alike, this dangerous life that many chose to lead had undeniable constants - etched onto your brain in a devout mantra, something to remember in your darkest or most fleeting moments.

Kill, or be killed.

That was the first thing that they taught you, at the beginning of those long and arduous days of training in the barracks. Scout out the situation and if there is any sign of remote danger, pull your gun first, or you will end up with a bullet in your head. Sometimes, it was better to shoot first and then ask questions - if you were still alive by then.

Though in your line of work, the learning phase never ended. Warfare shifted and changed constantly, forcing you to adapt. It was something you had to just come in terms with. At that point in your career, as sad as it was to think about it from a civilian’s perspective, it was all more creative and effective ways of getting confirmed kills. New weapons, new tactics brought with them new problems - along with new ways of dealing with them. Technology tackled advanced aircraft and armor, adding up to your arsenal.

One thing remained the same.

It all added up to the big stirring pot of the everlasting recipe - mass destruction.

And with destruction came in the casualties. The aftermath of modern combat. The rivers of blood on pavement, hands clawing at the burnt metal, scathed bodies crawling out of the smoky debris. Sights and sounds and screams you wanted to erase from your memory for a lifetime. The pain coarsing through the body after the penetration of a bullet. Sickening roars of helicopter engines giving out.  

Yet, as a soldier, all you could do, all you were authorized to do was to bury them deep down - so you could live to see another day. Another day to fight for the flag. For peace, for honor and for the sake of lives.

The lives of many against your only.

The warm mug a welcome distraction in your hands, your eyes would wander around the busy Regent Street of London, people walking around in the usual hustle and bustle of the shopping district. The smell of freshly ground beans from the cafes scattered around, mixing in with the pleasantness of the gray post-rainfall. A spectrum of vibrant colors of shopping bags and clothes pleasing your eyes - it had been a while since you had gotten to enjoy a couple of hours all saved for yourself. The book whose pages were between your fingers moments ago then closed, as your conscience lost itself within the faces creating the sea of people.

The lives you were sworn to protect. Sometimes it felt like remembering another life, far far away - that you had been one of them. A civilian. Who needed protection in times of immediate danger.

Some were smiling and laughing, without a care in the world, radiating energy and happiness which had been a blessing in the usual London gloom. Some were in professional attire, their strides just a bit faster  and their expressions harboring that of stress, concern and exhaustion. Not too long ago, you had been one of them - but your brain did not let you dissociate from the constucted reality you had left just yet.

None of those troubles mattered when snipers left and right rained bullets on you. The stress of studying for a big test was nothing compared to being caught in blast radius, fearing to look around you so you do not see your friends dead and gone.

The echoes of your last name originating from an accented, deep voice reached your ears, rippling inside the busy cafe you had chosen to visit for the day. Coming closer and closer until they associated with a couple thuds of heavy feet and finally, a face, as you turned around to face whomever was looking for you.

Out of all places, Captain.

It did not take you too long to get to your feet out of respect and sheer habit, offering him a nod in an attempt to hide your surprise. “Sergeant,” he would greet you with your rank, the commanding voice he used on the field to lead dampened - yet still powerful. It even had a small smile attached to it too, which was not unusual.

It made the thumping of your heart slow down. A civilian visit from your Captain usually meant bad news and noticing his mouth curl up under the beard calmed you down more than you ever thought.

“Captain Price,” you greeted back, arm gesturing to the seat right in front of you across the marble table, inviting him. “Please.”

The man, whom you had become so used to seeing in the famous military green was dressed in the simple and casual combination of a black jacket   with jeans. It was a welcome change - not often did you see your commanding officer at a coffee shop in the heart of the city. Consequently, the air had been a bit awkward - just like how it felt when you felt the need to always show your best self, like there had been no room for mistakes.

That did not mean you could not try to get on his better side.

“Can I get you anything, Sir? Tea? I doubt they have a good pint here.”

That was when he looked directly in your eyes.

They said all soldiers had this blur in their eyes wherever they looked at. That no matter how happy they had been, no matter how much sparkle covered their worn-out irises, the dusty haze that veiled them was ever present. His familiar blue glint was subdued by some unknown, yet not lifeless. Not soulless. There was some sort of drive fueling him, the origins of it unbeknownst to you - the only thing you could discern was that it must have been for some good, judging by his chuckle and the slight shake of his head.

A file stamped with the all-too-familiar red confidential sign slid across the white marble along with him as he got settled in the chair, leaning his elbows slightly over the top.

“Raincheck, Sergeant, but I do have something that you might like.”

And with that, his fingers pushed the rather thin file over to you, blue eyes gazing around the shop as he undoubtedly made sure everyone was minding their own business. Here at London, he knew he had been safer than most places and yet you could only attest to the cautiousness of the man.

An eyebrow slightly raised as you leaned a bit forward, the initial welcome surprise slowly yielding to apprehension of what was inside the document. Another mission assingment had been the last thing you wanted to see after the literal living hellhole of the battlezone you had last been to. A part of you did not want to open up that cover but the other half of you yearned desperately to.

With a quick look to confirm, once you got his nod, you yielded to your other half.

And with every second spent looking at the papers containing profiles and overviews adorned with the faint Crusader shield watermarks, your eyebrows would furrow even more in confusion. Towards the bottom of the page, you could spot the one-liner character profiles for soldiers - some you had recognized and worked with, some names ringing no bells at all.

Then there it was. It was a mystery to you why it had taken you that long to find it. Right under the line occupied by a certain “John ‘Soap’ Mactavish” was your full name, with a old picture of you that belonged to one of your earlier days of training.

What the hell kind of a name is Soap?

“Now, I know you’re on the reserve for the time being,” Price spoke, breaking you out of your silent concentration as your head snapped up to divert focus into him. “But your skills in combat were not unnoticed.”

That made you proud inside, yet on the outside - it manifested in a subtle way of a simple yet courteous nod as you waited for him to continue. Closing the file for the time being, you felt the air shift as he leaned in towards you - voice dropping lower and tone growing grave.

“We have a huge war looming in the horizon, Sergeant,” he said, piercing orbs staring right into your soul. The kind of stare that could have the toughest of soldiers crack and break down, that could stop the bullet in trajectory.

“Millions of lives are at stake. You saw what happened in Urzikistan - you were there, on the frontlines.”

The mere mention of the place made your jaw clench and a gulp run down your throat, the memories of utter bloodshed still fresh in your mind.

“It is going to happen again.”

“How can I help?” slipped out of your mouth before your brain could control it, completely forgetting the fact that you had been granted off-duty time and was currently on it. Forgetting that you had to worry about taking care of your own demons in your head first, before jumping right into a war you thought you had just ended.

“I want you to be on my team,” he simply said, a look of reassurance thrown your way as he folded his arms on the table, head tilting just a bit to gauge yur reaction. His finger reached out to gently tap on the folder, gently opening the tab and pointing to the list of soldiers including yours truly.

“You will be working with handpicked warriors, the toughest of them all. Undertaking the most covert and dangerous operations - changing the world as you do it.”

There was this tone of finality in his voice that made it feel natural for you to follow everything he was instructing you to. Of course it was - he was your commanding officer, yet what he was asking out of you this time was much more than a simple recruitment for an operation.

No, what he made it sound like was that his team would be something akin to a ghost - working behind enemy lines, not alerting a single soul. It honored you that he had included you along with the names of seemingly renown soldiers, selected for off-the-grid duty due to your previous success. But was there really a need to add any additional danger to your already-risky life? It was a miracle you had not died yet and you were not so sure if another covert operation team would help with your chances. These kinds of operations only ended in either of the two ways - your mutilated corpse in a body bag or carrying your friend’s instead.

There probably also would not be many other occassions where Captain Price, one of the most trusted officers in the Services, would approach you with such an opportunity.

As your mind raced in crazy thought traffic, the sounds of the outside world and the otherwise peaceful cafe had been muffled. It was only you, him, and that little paper file you grazed your fingertips on, in order to maintain at least a slice of reality. Decisions like these had never been easy to make, especially when they would completely change your life and possibly your entire outlook. They never would be easy - there was not much “easy” associated to your line of work.

And yet going into it in the first place was something you had willingly chosen.

After all of that blood, sweat and lead - how could you say no?

Taking a deep breath as your lips moved to echo your determined voice, you spoke sofly with a nod. Chest loosening as you let out a breath you had no idea you had been holding for so long.

“I’m in, Sir.”

The ghost of a smile turned into a real one as his hand extended itself over the table, an almost proud nod as you shook it as firmly as you could.

“Welcome to the 141.”

next chapter

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Warnings for general trauma mentions, abuse mentions, and dissociation

So I’ve always had a bit of a dissociation problem. I do it way too much and pretty strongly. But last month my therapist had me have a conversation with young me. Basically current me would sit on the left of the couch, and then I would slide to the right of the couch to speak as young me. And I never directly spoke to myself from either angle. Only indirectly through my therapist.

Young me, or I guess my inner child, got to talk to a responsible adult and be properly listened to and understood for the first time in her whole life. My therapist was fully engaged in every word young me had to say, and she finally got to talk about and properly feel the horrible things she was going through when I was little.

It’s something I sorely needed at the time.

The thing is though ever since I walked out of that appointment I’ve been dissociating even more. Like I genuinely at this point don’t know what’s real and what’s not or who I even am. I’m not sure how this inner child tactic plays into it but I’m sure it does.

I guess the point of this is do you have any advice for not dissociating so much? Cuz it’s really starting to scare me.

Heya! Thanks for the ask!

Increase of some anxiety or dissociation is fairly common after having heavy sessions of therapy, especially when it involves separating you from yourself and sort of blurring lines of time, trauma, memory, and self. I recommend bringing it up with your therapist next session if it continues!

In regards for lessening dissociation, I recommend grounding. This can be done in a multitude of ways, so I’m going to suggest a few common ones, but don’t be afraid to find others or change them a bit to suit your particular case and preference! Not everything works for everyone, and that’s okay!

Some common grounding methods are:

• Deep, paced, even breaths. Try to breathe in 4, hold 7, and exhale 8

• Reminding yourself of key personal traits/writing out environment details. Ex: The date, where you are, your name, your age, your surroundings, your birthday, etc.

• The 5-4-3-2-1 method. 5 things you see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you hear, 2 things you smell, 1 thing you taste

• Drawing

• Exercise

• Talking to someone

• Writing out feelings

• Good textures (Ex: soft blankets, bumpy walls, etc)

• Stimming

Here’s a link to some posts on Coping Skills and Sense-Based Grounding Methods!

-Mod Snowfall 🌨

[tuiyla]

I’ve been thinking recently about how perfect season 1 Santana’s behavior matches with her sexuality storyline, yet she wasn’t even being written as a lesbian yet. It was probably the best accident to happen on the show IMO because fans picked up on it beyond the interactions with Brittany, and then Naya pushing the storyline forward was even better. Specifically after she sleeps with Finn, and the way she sits very cold and seemingly disconnected from her current situation, almost in a dissociated state I might say, which might’ve been her tactic when it came to sleeping with men since she clearly had no joy when it came to it. Makes me sad and also a bit uncomfortable to think about, because it comes off as dubious and weird, since it was coming from comphet and clearly not something she really wanted to do but I digress. But back to her with Finn, she deflects from the situation making a comment about wanting a burger. It’s just so perfect and I can’t believe it was by accident. Then the stuff with Puck; she’s got an on and off thing with him, is okay breaking up with him because of his shitty credit score (lol) and treats him as a boy toy that she’s keeping around for fun. She gets possessive when he shows interest in Mercedes, and I think because he was her safety net, meaning she could hold him around like a doll saying “look! I have a guy!” should anyone question her.. sexuality.. and when she saw that going away she got freaked out and went after him. Besides that, she also only uses him for popularity, making it so clear she couldn’t care less about him romantically. The signs were all there.. This is just an appreciation message for how well it turned out, and how even when she wasn’t explicitly being written as a lesbian it still worked so so well with her journey. Sorry, did not expect to type that much, guess that’s what happens when I talk about Santana, lol, but I’d love to maybe hear some of your thoughts on this?

Okay Anon so first things first, I need you to understand how much I love this and love you for sharing with me. I also need you to know that I have so, so many thoughts on this and I sadly won’t be able to pour them all out in response to this. BUT, your ask did bump a planned meta up on my list of to-dos so let’s say I’ll get back to you within, uhh, a week? Hopefully. But just to illustrate that I’m not bullshitting you, here’s a screenshot I took of my reddit drafts and then uploaded to drive:

Yeah, October. It’s been at least that long since basically everything you mentioned has been living rent free in my mind. I love you because this is exactly the motivation I needed to get this out into the world so really, I’m on it. It’s second (okay, third) on my list of fandom priorities so fingers crossed that does mean about a week.

But anyway, all that aside I do want to reflect on this at least briefly, even though you just summarized a lot of the things I want to elaborate on in this first half of the planned meta haha. Wholeheartedly agree with your observations aside, I think you’re so right that it was the best accident. Because while it is important to acknowledge that none of this was intentional in season 1, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It lines up so perfectly it drives me a little insane to think about, tbh. Who cares about authorial intent when Santana’s interactions with Finn and Puck in season 1 scream comphet. I don’t know what writing gods blessed Glee with Santana’s story retroactively making so much sense but RIB are lucky bastards that’s for sure. And are we reading into it, sure, but does it make sense? Yes, yes it does. And I’m willing to dig.

So yes, thank you very much, don’t ever apologize for writing such accurate things about Santana haha and I’m making this promise right now that I’ll finish this cursed draft just for you. Well, and for my own sake too, one less unfinished draft.

[a-room-of-my-own]

This isn’t an easy piece to write, for reasons that will shortly become clear, but I know it’s time to explain myself on an issue surrounded by toxicity. I write this without any desire to add to that toxicity.

For people who don’t know: last December I tweeted my support for Maya Forstater, a tax specialist who’d lost her job for what were deemed ‘transphobic’ tweets. She took her case to an employment tribunal, asking the judge to rule on whether a philosophical belief that sex is determined by biology is protected in law. Judge Tayler ruled that it wasn’t.

My interest in trans issues pre-dated Maya’s case by almost two years, during which I followed the debate around the concept of gender identity closely. I’ve met trans people, and read sundry books, blogs and articles by trans people, gender specialists, intersex people, psychologists, safeguarding experts, social workers and doctors, and followed the discourse online and in traditional media. On one level, my interest in this issue has been professional, because I’m writing a crime series, set in the present day, and my fictional female detective is of an age to be interested in, and affected by, these issues herself, but on another, it’s intensely personal, as I’m about to explain.

All the time I’ve been researching and learning, accusations and threats from trans activists have been bubbling in my Twitter timeline. This was initially triggered by a ‘like’. When I started taking an interest in gender identity and transgender matters, I began screenshotting comments that interested me, as a way of reminding myself what I might want to research later. On one occasion, I absent-mindedly ‘liked’ instead of screenshotting. That single ‘like’ was deemed evidence of wrongthink, and a persistent low level of harassment began.

Months later, I compounded my accidental ‘like’ crime by following Magdalen Burns on Twitter. Magdalen was an immensely brave young feminist and lesbian who was dying of an aggressive brain tumour. I followed her because I wanted to contact her directly, which I succeeded in doing. However, as Magdalen was a great believer in the importance of biological sex, and didn’t believe lesbians should be called bigots for not dating trans women with penises, dots were joined in the heads of twitter trans activists, and the level of social media abuse increased.

I mention all this only to explain that I knew perfectly well what was going to happen when I supported Maya. I must have been on my fourth or fifth cancellation by then. I expected the threats of violence, to be told I was literally killing trans people with my hate, to be called cunt and bitch and, of course, for my books to be burned, although one particularly abusive man told me he’d composted them.

What I didn’t expect in the aftermath of my cancellation was the avalanche of emails and letters that came showering down upon me, the overwhelming majority of which were positive, grateful and supportive. They came from a cross-section of kind, empathetic and intelligent people, some of them working in fields dealing with gender dysphoria and trans people, who’re all deeply concerned about the way a socio-political concept is influencing politics, medical practice and safeguarding. They’re worried about the dangers to young people, gay people and about the erosion of women’s and girl’s rights. Above all, they’re worried about a climate of fear that serves nobody – least of all trans youth – well.

I’d stepped back from Twitter for many months both before and after tweeting support for Maya, because I knew it was doing nothing good for my mental health. I only returned because I wanted to share a free children’s book during the pandemic. Immediately, activists who clearly believe themselves to be good, kind and progressive people swarmed back into my timeline, assuming a right to police my speech, accuse me of hatred, call me misogynistic slurs and, above all – as every woman involved in this debate will know – TERF.

If you didn’t already know – and why should you? – ‘TERF’ is an acronym coined by trans activists, which stands for Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist. In practice, a huge and diverse cross-section of women are currently being called TERFs and the vast majority have never been radical feminists. Examples of so-called TERFs range from the mother of a gay child who was afraid their child wanted to transition to escape homophobic bullying, to a hitherto totally unfeminist older lady who’s vowed never to visit Marks & Spencer again because they’re allowing any man who says they identify as a woman into the women’s changing rooms. Ironically, radical feminists aren’t even trans-exclusionary – they include trans men in their feminism, because they were born women.

But accusations of TERFery have been sufficient to intimidate many people, institutions and organisations I once admired, who’re cowering before the tactics of the playground. ‘They’ll call us transphobic!’ ‘They’ll say I hate trans people!’ What next, they’ll say you’ve got fleas? Speaking as a biological woman, a lot of people in positions of power really need to grow a pair (which is doubtless literally possible, according to the kind of people who argue that clownfish prove humans aren’t a dimorphic species).

So why am I doing this? Why speak up? Why not quietly do my research and keep my head down?

Well, I’ve got five reasons for being worried about the new trans activism, and deciding I need to speak up.

Firstly, I have a charitable trust that focuses on alleviating social deprivation in Scotland, with a particular emphasis on women and children. Among other things, my trust supports projects for female prisoners and for survivors of domestic and sexual abuse. I also fund medical research into MS, a disease that behaves very differently in men and women. It’s been clear to me for a while that the new trans activism is having (or is likely to have, if all its demands are met) a significant impact on many of the causes I support, because it’s pushing to erode the legal definition of sex and replace it with gender.

The second reason is that I’m an ex-teacher and the founder of a children’s charity, which gives me an interest in both education and safeguarding. Like many others, I have deep concerns about the effect the trans rights movement is having on both.

The third is that, as a much-banned author, I’m interested in freedom of speech and have publicly defended it, even unto Donald Trump.

The fourth is where things start to get truly personal. I’m concerned about the huge explosion in young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning (returning to their original sex), because they regret taking steps that have, in some cases, altered their bodies irrevocably, and taken away their fertility. Some say they decided to transition after realising they were same-sex attracted, and that transitioning was partly driven by homophobia, either in society or in their families.

Most people probably aren’t aware – I certainly wasn’t, until I started researching this issue properly – that ten years ago, the majority of people wanting to transition to the opposite sex were male. That ratio has now reversed. The UK has experienced a 4400% increase in girls being referred for transitioning treatment. Autistic girls are hugely overrepresented in their numbers.

The same phenomenon has been seen in the US. In 2018, American physician and researcher Lisa Littman set out to explore it. In an interview, she said:

‘Parents online were describing a very unusual pattern of transgender-identification where multiple friends and even entire friend groups became transgender-identified at the same time. I would have been remiss had I not considered social contagion and peer influences as potential factors.’

Littman mentioned Tumblr, Reddit, Instagram and YouTube as contributing factors to Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria, where she believes that in the realm of transgender identification ‘youth have created particularly insular echo chambers.’

Her paper caused a furore. She was accused of bias and of spreading misinformation about transgender people, subjected to a tsunami of abuse and a concerted campaign to discredit both her and her work. The journal took the paper offline and re-reviewed it before republishing it. However, her career took a similar hit to that suffered by Maya Forstater. Lisa Littman had dared challenge one of the central tenets of trans activism, which is that a person’s gender identity is innate, like sexual orientation. Nobody, the activists insisted, could ever be persuaded into being trans.

The argument of many current trans activists is that if you don’t let a gender dysphoric teenager transition, they will kill themselves. In an article explaining why he resigned from the Tavistock (an NHS gender clinic in England) psychiatrist Marcus Evans stated that claims that children will kill themselves if not permitted to transition do not ‘align substantially with any robust data or studies in this area. Nor do they align with the cases I have encountered over decades as a psychotherapist.’

The writings of young trans men reveal a group of notably sensitive and clever people. The more of their accounts of gender dysphoria I’ve read, with their insightful descriptions of anxiety, dissociation, eating disorders, self-harm and self-hatred, the more I’ve wondered whether, if I’d been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. I struggled with severe OCD as a teenager. If I’d found community and sympathy online that I couldn’t find in my immediate environment, I believe I could have been persuaded to turn myself into the son my father had openly said he’d have preferred.

When I read about the theory of gender identity, I remember how mentally sexless I felt in youth. I remember Colette’s description of herself as a ‘mental hermaphrodite’ and Simone de Beauvoir’s words: ‘It is perfectly natural for the future woman to feel indignant at the limitations posed upon her by her sex. The real question is not why she should reject them: the problem is rather to understand why she accepts them.’

As I didn’t have a realistic possibility of becoming a man back in the 1980s, it had to be books and music that got me through both my mental health issues and the sexualised scrutiny and judgement that sets so many girls to war against their bodies in their teens. Fortunately for me, I found my own sense of otherness, and my ambivalence about being a woman, reflected in the work of female writers and musicians who reassured me that, in spite of everything a sexist world tries to throw at the female-bodied, it’s fine not to feel pink, frilly and compliant inside your own head; it’s OK to feel confused, dark, both sexual and non-sexual, unsure of what or who you are.

I want to be very clear here: I know transition will be a solution for some gender dysphoric people, although I’m also aware through extensive research that studies have consistently shown that between 60-90% of gender dysphoric teens will grow out of their dysphoria. Again and again I’ve been told to ‘just meet some trans people.’ I have: in addition to a few younger people, who were all adorable, I happen to know a self-described transsexual woman who’s older than I am and wonderful. Although she’s open about her past as a gay man, I’ve always found it hard to think of her as anything other than a woman, and I believe (and certainly hope) she’s completely happy to have transitioned. Being older, though, she went through a long and rigorous process of evaluation, psychotherapy and staged transformation. The current explosion of trans activism is urging a removal of almost all the robust systems through which candidates for sex reassignment were once required to pass. A man who intends to have no surgery and take no hormones may now secure himself a Gender Recognition Certificate and be a woman in the sight of the law. Many people aren’t aware of this.

We’re living through the most misogynistic period I’ve experienced. Back in the 80s, I imagined that my future daughters, should I have any, would have it far better than I ever did, but between the backlash against feminism and a porn-saturated online culture, I believe things have got significantly worse for girls. Never have I seen women denigrated and dehumanised to the extent they are now. From the leader of the free world’s long history of sexual assault accusations and his proud boast of ‘grabbing them by the pussy’, to the incel (‘involuntarily celibate’) movement that rages against women who won’t give them sex, to the trans activists who declare that TERFs need punching and re-educating, men across the political spectrum seem to agree: women are asking for trouble. Everywhere, women are being told to shut up and sit down, or else.

I’ve read all the arguments about femaleness not residing in the sexed body, and the assertions that biological women don’t have common experiences, and I find them, too, deeply misogynistic and regressive. It’s also clear that one of the objectives of denying the importance of sex is to erode what some seem to see as the cruelly segregationist idea of women having their own biological realities or – just as threatening – unifying realities that make them a cohesive political class. The hundreds of emails I’ve received in the last few days prove this erosion concerns many others just as much. It isn’t enough for women to be trans allies. Women must accept and admit that there is no material difference between trans women and themselves.

But, as many women have said before me, ‘woman’ is not a costume. ‘Woman’ is not an idea in a man’s head. ‘Woman’ is not a pink brain, a liking for Jimmy Choos or any of the other sexist ideas now somehow touted as progressive. Moreover, the ‘inclusive’ language that calls female people ‘menstruators’ and ‘people with vulvas’ strikes many women as dehumanising and demeaning. I understand why trans activists consider this language to be appropriate and kind, but for those of us who’ve had degrading slurs spat at us by violent men, it’s not neutral, it’s hostile and alienating.

Which brings me to the fifth reason I’m deeply concerned about the consequences of the current trans activism.

I’ve been in the public eye now for over twenty years and have never talked publicly about being a domestic abuse and sexual assault survivor. This isn’t because I’m ashamed those things happened to me, but because they’re traumatic to revisit and remember. I also feel protective of my daughter from my first marriage. I didn’t want to claim sole ownership of a story that belongs to her, too. However, a short while ago, I asked her how she’d feel if I were publicly honest about that part of my life, and she encouraged me to go ahead.

I’m mentioning these things now not in an attempt to garner sympathy, but out of solidarity with the huge numbers of women who have histories like mine, who’ve been slurred as bigots for having concerns around single-sex spaces.

I managed to escape my first violent marriage with some difficulty, but I’m now married to a truly good and principled man, safe and secure in ways I never in a million years expected to be. However, the scars left by violence and sexual assault don’t disappear, no matter how loved you are, and no matter how much money you’ve made. My perennial jumpiness is a family joke – and even I know it’s funny – but I pray my daughters never have the same reasons I do for hating sudden loud noises, or finding people behind me when I haven’t heard them approaching.

If you could come inside my head and understand what I feel when I read about a trans woman dying at the hands of a violent man, you’d find solidarity and kinship. I have a visceral sense of the terror in which those trans women will have spent their last seconds on earth, because I too have known moments of blind fear when I realised that the only thing keeping me alive was the shaky self-restraint of my attacker.

I believe the majority of trans-identified people not only pose zero threat to others, but are vulnerable for all the reasons I’ve outlined. Trans people need and deserve protection. Like women, they’re most likely to be killed by sexual partners. Trans women who work in the sex industry, particularly trans women of colour, are at particular risk. Like every other domestic abuse and sexual assault survivor I know, I feel nothing but empathy and solidarity with trans women who’ve been abused by men.

So I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe. When you throw open the doors of bathrooms and changing rooms to any man who believes or feels he’s a woman – and, as I’ve said, gender confirmation certificates may now be granted without any need for surgery or hormones – then you open the door to any and all men who wish to come inside. That is the simple truth.

On Saturday morning, I read that the Scottish government is proceeding with its controversial gender recognition plans, which will in effect mean that all a man needs to ‘become a woman’ is to say he’s one. To use a very contemporary word, I was ‘triggered’. Ground down by the relentless attacks from trans activists on social media, when I was only there to give children feedback about pictures they’d drawn for my book under lockdown, I spent much of Saturday in a very dark place inside my head, as memories of a serious sexual assault I suffered in my twenties recurred on a loop. That assault happened at a time and in a space where I was vulnerable, and a man capitalised on an opportunity. I couldn’t shut out those memories and I was finding it hard to contain my anger and disappointment about the way I believe my government is playing fast and loose with womens and girls’ safety.

Late on Saturday evening, scrolling through children’s pictures before I went to bed, I forgot the first rule of Twitter – never, ever expect a nuanced conversation – and reacted to what I felt was degrading language about women. I spoke up about the importance of sex and have been paying the price ever since. I was transphobic, I was a cunt, a bitch, a TERF, I deserved cancelling, punching and death. You are Voldemort said one person, clearly feeling this was the only language I’d understand.

It would be so much easier to tweet the approved hashtags – because of course trans rights are human rights and of course trans lives matter – scoop up the woke cookies and bask in a virtue-signalling afterglow. There’s joy, relief and safety in conformity. As Simone de Beauvoir also wrote, “… without a doubt it is more comfortable to endure blind bondage than to work for one’s liberation; the dead, too, are better suited to the earth than the living.”

Huge numbers of women are justifiably terrified by the trans activists; I know this because so many have got in touch with me to tell their stories. They’re afraid of doxxing, of losing their jobs or their livelihoods, and of violence.

But endlessly unpleasant as its constant targeting of me has been, I refuse to bow down to a movement that I believe is doing demonstrable harm in seeking to erode ‘woman’ as a political and biological class and offering cover to predators like few before it. I stand alongside the brave women and men, gay, straight and trans, who’re standing up for freedom of speech and thought, and for the rights and safety of some of the most vulnerable in our society: young gay kids, fragile teenagers, and women who’re reliant on and wish to retain their single sex spaces. Polls show those women are in the vast majority, and exclude only those privileged or lucky enough never to have come up against male violence or sexual assault, and who’ve never troubled to educate themselves on how prevalent it is.

The one thing that gives me hope is that the women who can protest and organise, are doing so, and they have some truly decent men and trans people alongside them. Political parties seeking to appease the loudest voices in this debate are ignoring women’s concerns at their peril. In the UK, women are reaching out to each other across party lines, concerned about the erosion of their hard-won rights and widespread intimidation. None of the gender critical women I’ve talked to hates trans people; on the contrary. Many of them became interested in this issue in the first place out of concern for trans youth, and they’re hugely sympathetic towards trans adults who simply want to live their lives, but who’re facing a backlash for a brand of activism they don’t endorse. The supreme irony is that the attempt to silence women with the word ‘TERF’ may have pushed more young women towards radical feminism than the movement’s seen in decades.

The last thing I want to say is this. I haven’t written this essay in the hope that anybody will get out a violin for me, not even a teeny-weeny one. I’m extraordinarily fortunate; I’m a survivor, certainly not a victim. I’ve only mentioned my past because, like every other human being on this planet, I have a complex backstory, which shapes my fears, my interests and my opinions. I never forget that inner complexity when I’m creating a fictional character and I certainly never forget it when it comes to trans people.

All I’m asking – all I want – is for similar empathy, similar understanding, to be extended to the many millions of women whose sole crime is wanting their concerns to be heard without receiving threats and abuse.

[kristofffaust]

Oppose Data Worship

“Models are opinions embedded in mathematics” — Cathy O’Neil, Weapons of Math Destruction

Pictured: Neumann János Lajos, father of game theory. A mathematical concept utilized heavily in the prediciton of human behavior.

They say those who don’t understand history are doomed to repeat it. I argue an extension of that axiom should be “those who understand history are doomed to watch others repeat it.” We are witnessing a messy withdrawal from Afghanistan. After two decades of military occupation, the US government finally decided that enough was enough and that we had wasted too many resources on a conflict that only benefited defense contractors and big business. No matter how profitable that war had proven to the elite few, one fact remains: we lost the war. There are myriad reasons why we lost the conflict. However, I will be focusing on a single observation that plagues US policy decisions in several areas of society. I argue our most fatal error is the blind faith we place in emotionally detached mathematical models. One individual I conversed with about the matter of Afghanistan voiced the following confusion:

“The numbers say that we were absolutely dominating the insurgents. We killed so many of them. How could we have lost?”

This cognitive dissonance in the face of reality acting in antagonism to data echoed a conversation I had with the privileged students of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. When I voiced the fact that the current socio-economic structure served little purpose to my tribe and that social mobility is almost unheard of in the social strata I’m most familiar with, this was the retort I received:

“Well, the data says that there’s more economic mobility in the United States than anywhere else on the planet. The data says so. Clearly your personal reality is false.”

Clearly, I, and so many others like me, are living a false reality. A fascinating declaration.

It doesn’t matter that I witness Black Amerikans struggling time and time again to escape the chains of the ghetto only to be knocked back down to our ‘place in society’ by unforeseen barriers such as generational poverty, intergenerational trauma, and draconian policing tactics. It doesn’t matter that the United States has some of the most dangerous cities globally, only surpassed by cartel-owned cities in South America. We can ignore that Amerika has some of the world's poorest citizens, with the majority of our wealth held by a cabalistic minority. The data says that we’re a utopia. Thus, any arguments to the contrary are on account of an alleged dissociation from reality. The official title for this warped view of reality is known as behavioralism, a political theory founded by Charles Merriam which has served as the basis for data collection for US policymakers since the 1920s. To apply behavioralism models to a situation eerily similar to the one we’re currently facing, we will approach the previous strategic blunder known as the Vietnam War.

During the Vietnam War, the North Vietnamese forces lost approximately 667,130–951,895 military personnel, whereas the South Vietnamese forces lost half that number at an approximate 333,620–392,364 [Tucker, Spencer C (2011). The Encyclopedia of the Vietnam War: A Political, Social, and Military History]. By these estimates, the Vietnam War should have been a unilateral victory for the South Vietnamese and their foreign allies. Instead, the world witnessed the eventual sublation of South Vietnam into North Vietnam and the expulsion of foreign military assets from the newly unified nation. US strategists failed to factor in parameters such as foreign and domestic public support, the natural advantage guerrilla warfare holds over conventional war during conflicts of attrition, and the simple fact that you cannot force foreign ideologies and philosophy upon a sovereign nation that does not want our way of life and expect them to accept the change in dogmatism blindly. These strategies only work when you’ve entirely stripped a tribe of their original cultural identity after years of subjugation and oppression, such as the historic anglicization of the Irish people. Even so, revolutionary ideologies will persist and propagate among the culturally aware individuals who refuse to forget the atrocities committed against their people.

We made the same mistakes during Korea, which ended in a stagnant stalemate that continues today. Recently, we made the same mistakes in Afghanistan which, yet again, embarrassed the perceived US military juggernaut on the global theater. Time and time again, we rely on conventional military tactics and conservative data models, which paint an enticing simulation to military command. Time and time again, we are painfully reminded how fatal data worship is when executed with blind zealotry. The shortcomings of behavioralism don’t end with military strategy. Indeed, many fatal defects of behavioralism have nothing to do with foreign adversaries.

For instance, let us analyze the 1995 case of Duane Buck, a Black resident of Harris County, Texas, and a Death Row inmate convicted of homicide. During Buck’s initial trial, the Texan court system argued between giving Buck life in prison with the chance of parole or simple execution. Buck’s defense attorney called psychologist Walter Quijano to trial to offer his professional opinion on the matter. Quijano’s opinion was as follows. The recidivism model expresses that, mathematically, impoverished Black men are more likely to return to prison upon release. The recidivism model fails to factor in the more abstract reasons behind the cyclical curse that face Black men in the United States, such as the generational trauma inflicted by years of slavery. Such conceptual and complex matters have little value to the recidivism model. The recidivism model only cares that the numbers predict a more likely return to the prison system. Thus Mr. Buck was sentenced to execution on the sole principle of his race and upbringing, which the Harris County court system eagerly agreed to. Duane Buck remains on Death Row to this day [Weapons of Math Destruction, Cathy O’Neil].

Let us also analyze the greatest lie that the United States tells its struggling citizens, that we are the wealthiest and most economically comfortable nation on the planet. Indeed, our country does have an impressive amount of wealth. However, we fail to emphasize that most of the nation’s wealth is held by the privileged few and not by the average citizen. Seven out of ten of the wealthiest people on the planet hail from the US with a combined wealth that eclipses the wealth of most nations [Forbes, https://www.forbes.com/billionaires/]. Additionally, the supposedly stable middle class blinds policymakers to the increasingly existential economic crisis. The US middle class has maintained steady raw income with a slow but gradual increase from $74,015 in 2010 to $78,442 in 2016. This data, however, fails to address the rapidly increasing cost of living, the increasingly typical 50-60+ hour workdays required to achieve this level of income, and the fact that $80,000 doesn’t mean the same thing in New York City as it means in Little Rock [https://www.investopedia.com/insights/americas-slowly-disappearing-middle-class/].

These disparities will persist so long as data worship remains pervasive in Amerikan culture. The oligarchic elite won’t address these disparities. The results of such are too valuable for their economic agenda. Unfortunately, as long as behavioralism reigns, the average citizen will also blindly accept all data charts presented to them as fact. Recently, political theorists have pushed for a paradigm shift towards post-behavioralist political theory. This shift, I argue, is a promising first step for political theory. Post-behavioralism argues that mathematical data is integral to providing a foundation of political and social understanding but that human behavior ultimately renders mathematical quantification prostrate before empathetic reasoning and emotional intelligence [Analyzing Politics, Ellen Grigsby]. For instance, there are several glaring flaws in the United States model of democracy. The voter is not the average citizen. When only a fraction of the population votes, the opinion of the people is grossly skewed. If X% of the population is purported to support political bill Y, it is impossible to determine whether it is the population which supports the bill or the voter base which supports it. When laws are veiled by obscurantist jargon, we require trade professionals to understand the laws for us. This cabalistic approach to lawmaking alienates the typical citizen from fully understanding the laws passed. Thus, when X% of majority lawmakers decide a law is best enacted we can rest assured that the majority of lawmakers still only represents a negligible fraction of the general population.

It is up to the people to challenge the decisions of the elite, and post-behavioralism provides a handy aegis against the spear of rhetoric that behavioralist statisticians and politicians will hurl at the typical person. Armed with education, the ordinary person can challenge the status quo. Instead of accepting apocryphal sophistry (i.e., trickle-down economics), the people can rebuke contemporary Machiavellian dogma. We will not accept that the wealthy deserve the most significant amount of income because, theoretically, the success of bureaucrats equals the success of the ordinary person. We will not accept that the recidivism model claims that imprisoning as many Black men as possible is necessary. We will not accept the belief that a strong military and superior firepower are the only diplomatic options worth employing against sovereign nations who refuse to bend the knee. Mathematical models and statistical data are essential, but empathetic reasoning should hold absolute sway. Old anachronisms birthed by the likes of Hobbes and Smith have no place in modern egalitarian society. They served their purpose during the bourgeois revolution of the late Feudal Era, but they no longer hold any rapport over the current social-economic model.

Viewing the world and its myriad events through a post-behavioralist lens is integral to the cultural progress of humanity as a species. We are not data. I am not a case study. Humans are not so easily simplified. If reality ceases to agree with the data measured by emotionally detached case studies, maybe it’s time to reevaluate how we gather and analyze data.

Ave Satanas