#but i feel like sometimes when i get mad my (violent) intrusive thoughts take over and i say horrible stuff i shouldn’t

[rosesradio]

god my uni has like a collective snapchat story & this one girl just took a picture of one of those pro-life booths on campus & was like “i wish these (cis) dudes would stop imposing their opinions on a woman’s issue”

& now the story is flooding with all these dudes saying transphobic & pro-forced-pregnancy shit & i want so badly to defend this girl/just tell them off because the story shouldn’t be like this…but i also don’t want to put a target on my back

[sanguineterrain]

about first place | eddie munson

hey guys remember when i wrote for stranger things? lol.

so this is another installment of my about a boy series. you don't have to read them to understand this fic, but idk, you might like those too! check them out if you feel like :)

Summary: Eddie asks you to change plans. You spiral.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: intrusive (violent and one self-harm) thoughts, self deprecating thoughts, reader spirals, eddie is hurtful (by accident) to the reader, but they communicate and it's resolved. reader feels like they are cast aside and there is trauma behind that feeling. reader is sensitive to rejection and has trouble communicating.

my fics aren't intended to be used as models for perfect communication or anything like that HOWEVER this fic is intended to be a story about communication and building trust and navigating a partner's trauma. if these topics are triggering to you, DO NOT READ.

if you enjoy this, please let me know through reblogs (and a comment, if you feel like!)

divider by firefly-graphics | i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

Fridays are dinner nights with Eddie. Sometimes you do them on Saturday, but usually, every week, you two have dinner. It hasn’t gone on for very long; you’ve only just begun to feel comfortable eating in front of Eddie. But you like it. Sometimes Wayne joins you two. It feels like you have a home.

And after every dinner, you confirm with Eddie that he'll come over next week too. People like when you confirm plans in advance. You like when people confirm plans and keep their commitments. 

You like that Eddie comes over. You like that he wants to come over. 

The phone rings. You put down the wooden spoon and answer. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweet thing!" Eddie says. "Hey, so, I'm at Gareth's place right now, and our campaign is running long. It's so good, babe, I just created this new storyline and everybody loves it! Wheeler even said she might join next week. Am I a genius or what?"

You smile. "You're a genius, Eds. Nancy appreciates a good story; I’m not surprised you wowed her.”

"Aw, you flatter me, sweet thing. So, uh, I know I'm supposed to come over for dinner, but would it be okay if I took a rain check? Only because…"

You don't hear the rest of the sentence. The only thing that rings in your ears is rain check. Eddie's canceling. Eddie's sick of you. 

"...Is that alright?" he finally asks. "I'll take you out to dinner tomorrow." 

Your chest constricts. Eddie's expecting agreeability. He's expecting your acquiescence to the fact that he's sick of you. 

"Sure," you say tightly. 

There's a pause. Then, "So, I’ll swing by tomorrow?"

"No." You haven't prepared to interact with people tomorrow, you prepared for today. And tonight was planned a week in advance, but Eddie wants to change plans. Eddie cares more about Hellfire than spending time with you. 

Eddie is just like the rest of them.

"How ‘bout Monday? Or later next week? I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing."

Your throat feels tight. You need to end the conversation now or your guts will unspool all over the floor and Eddie will hear you try to stuff them back into your stomach. 

"It's fine. We don't need to reschedule. Bye."

You hang up. Immediately, your stomach hurts. Why should you feel guilty? Eddie abandoned plans that you made a week ago for his other friends. Eddie doesn't care about you. That's always how it goes. People hurt you and they don't care, and then you're the one who feels guilty for hanging up on them. 

Thoughts of Eddie crashing his van or Eddie getting struck by lightning flash unbidden into your mind and your stomach ache gets worse. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you think those things? You don't want that to happen to Eddie. You love Eddie, even though you were bound to eat too much love and get a stomach ache. 

You feel like doing something that would make your mother mad at you. You feel like digging your nails into the bathroom tile grout and scraping until you see the sun. You feel like carving scars into the kitchen table. 

Goddammit, you need to stop the bad thoughts. Think good thoughts. Think thoughts normal people have. Pretend you're normal. Pretend you're loved. 

You look at the pot of boiling water. Would Eddie come over if you stuck your hand in?

No, God, what's wrong with you? You fucking psycho. This is why no one keeps their plans with you! Eddie's job isn't to take care of you, to hold your hand and pet your hair and tell you he's happy to be here with you. 

You're wrong, you were born wrong, and that's your problem, not his. That's why he's gone. That's why everybody leaves. 

Knock knock. 

You look at the door, spooked. Did someone hear your thoughts? Are they finally here to take you away? 

"Sweet thing, you there? Can I please come in?"

If you let Eddie in, you'll have to tell him it's okay, and your guts will be there for him to see because you haven't cleaned them up yet, and he'll know you've been crying over him even though he called first which is more than you've ever been given before, and your stomach ache will triple and and and—

"It's open," you say. 

Eddie comes in. Your face is impenetrable. Stone. No, concrete. No, obsidian. Your face is obsidian, and Eddie's got a plastic hammer. You'll win and you can scoop up your guts later. 

"Hey," Eddie says softly. "Hey, sweetheart."

You take a step back. This is a trick.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" you ask, crossing your arms.

Eddie winces. "I’m sorry, baby. That was a mistake. I realized that after we hung up. I shouldn't have tried to reschedule. You and I made plans, and they're important to me. I ended the game—we're gonna meet next week." 

"You can go. I don't care."

Eddie's mouth flattens. You've hurt his feelings, but he hurt yours first, but you don't want to hurt his at all, but but but—

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Eddie says. "I don't want to reschedule or ditch our plans. I wanna spend time with you, I do."

"I don't want you here," you say. "I want you to leave, Eddie. I don't forgive you."

Eddie's face crumples. But he nods. "Okay, baby. I-I'll leave if you want me to go. I respect your space. You don't have to forgive me right now." 

Oh no. Eddie came prepared. Eddie has a diamond-tipped drill. 

"I'm never first," you blurt.

Eddie tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

He's still gentle. He's still here. Even though you didn't forgive him. Even though you're mad at him. Even though you'll never be normal. He's listening anyway. 

"No one puts me first. You did, but then you didn't tonight, even though I made plans enough time in advance. A week is enough time. People are supposed to stick to plans when you ask them a week ahead. It's my fault when I don't give them enough time, and it makes sense when they don't want to spend time with me then, but this time it wasn't my fault. You're supposed to decide you don't like me before this point. It hurts less when you decide earlier." 

Your chest heaves. Eddie's stepping all over your guts. He tracks them across the carpet as he gets closer. You watch the bloody intestine footprints slop behind him. 

"But you said yes. But then you wanted out. I'm never—I'm never first."

Eddie's face splinters further. "Oh, sweetheart—"

You wipe your eyes, pulling the skin hard. 

"I do like you," he says, and your sob breaks. "I do. Nothing'll make me stop liking you. And I love you still. I didn't ask that because I don't like you. It-it doesn't matter why I asked, but avoiding you wasn't the reason. It was a thoughtless thing I did. I thought you wouldn't mind, but you do, and that's okay. That's valid. I want you to tell me that. I want you to say, "Eddie, you dummy, I love ya, but let's keep our plans," and I'll come home."

"You didn't want to," you say, and cry harder. 

"No, baby, it's not like that at all. I wanted to do both, I like the idea of both. I always enjoy spending time with you. I thought maybe since we do this regularly, you wouldn't mind something different too."

You're overreacting. You're scary. This is wrong. This isn't how norm—fucking fuck that word! 

"I'm sorry," you blubber, quivering in place. 

Your legs feel weak. You lean against the counter for support.

Eddie shakes his head. He's a foot away. 

"What're you apologizing for, baby? You don't have to apologize. I hurt you, not the other way around."

"I'm guilty," you say, crying into your hands. "I'm guilty too. I thought bad thoughts. I didn't mean to, but I did, and now you're here, but I want you to be here because you want to be, not because I… I…"

"Is it okay if I touch you?" 

You nod, and Eddie's arms slide around you. Every time he hugs you, you're certain you won't fit together. But you always do. 

"It's okay if you thought bad thoughts," Eddie says into your ear. You feel his voice vibrate through your chest. "You're not your thoughts. And it's okay if some of those thoughts were because you were hurting from what I said. I’m really sorry, sweet thing. I have angry thoughts too, sometimes. But that's all they are. Just thoughts. Just noise. They don't make you bad. You're good. So, so good."

You wrap your arms around Eddie's neck and hug hard. He squeezes you back just as tightly. The pressure feels good. 

"I w-want you to hang out with friends, but I want you to k-keep our plans first," you say, and then brace yourself. You take great, big, shuddering breaths. 

"That is a very reasonable ask, my love. I’ll do that from now on. And how 'bout if we want to change plans, we'll ask at least three days in advance? Is that fair?”

You nod against his shoulder. You stay like that, Eddie rubbing circles on your back. His curls tickle your wet cheek.

"Sorry I ruined it," you say. 

"No, no, you didn't ruin anything. I made a mistake and we're learning how to communicate better. We’re learning.”

"I was scary."

"I don't think so, baby." 

You're quiet for a moment. "I want you to stay and eat with me."

He squeezes your arm. "I would love nothing more, sweet thing." 

You take the colander out of the cabinet. Eddie pushes your guts back into your stomach. No one's ever done that for you.

Perhaps you are loved. No pretending necessary. 

[polyamorouspunk]

Life advice please:

How should I handle my internal rage and violent tendencies? This is not a joke btw

I didn’t think this was a joke for a second.

Idk if you have been around my blog for a while but I used to deal with (and I mean, I probably still do to some degree) some serious anger issues which this blog was a channel for. I used to think that at least if I was progressive about my anger, like cussing out Terfs and shit, that it was at least cooler. I mean I think it was going to happen either way so I used to channel it into being progressive, like I said.

A lot of the anger and rage I had was internal, though. I would be mad at people, and I would imagine hurting them. If I hurt a lot I imagine hurting myself. I hadn’t done that in a while but the other week when I was really bad I turned back to that. These aren’t healthy ways to deal with the anger but they’re better than some things.

“Punching a pillow” never really worked for me. Punching the air or my bed did sometimes. Mostly just like punching the air. Getting moving. Go running if you can (hard for me to run because my boobs are monsterous), walk if you can. If it were easier for me to do physical activity I probably would do more of it but my boobs are a fucking hinderance.

My therapist taught me a trick of making two fists and putting them together and pushing each hand against the other. That sometimes helped. Chewing gum can help for me sometimes.

If you put effort into being a good person you are a good person, no matter what else is going on inside. It’s especially hard with intrusive thoughts (I have some pretty bad ones that make me feel like an awful person) and being so angry all the time doesn’t make you feel like a healthy person. I know it’s hard. The best I can say is try some of these things and I guess just work on it in therapy if you can or hope you grow out of it etc. The SSRIs I take help with my anger, maturing helped my anger, therapy helped my anger. It’s still there but even if you don’t have access to medication or anger we learn how to be a better person every day. Over time you’re inevitably going to get better at handling how you feel. Living is practice.

[hillnerd]

ptsd/c-ptsd,  therapy & writing

(This is written by someone with CPTSD - I am not a mental health expert, and am just writing from my own experience! )

So a lot of writers want to incorporate PTSD and C-PTSD into their fiction. Sometimes people get it super right- other times I’m left cringing. I wrote this to help writers know more about it, then it also ended up being something I sent to a friend with PTSD as it got into it so she’d know more what the therapy process is like. 

So! What’s it like to have PTSD? PTSD therapy vs regular therapy-How are they different? How are they the same? What does PTSD therapy consist of?

Trigger warning:

I will be describing therapy, talk of other disorders like anxiety and depression, and might use some 'you' talk - example 'once you've gone through this, then you start to feel better.' This will also skim over child abuse, suicidal ideation mentions and trauma in general- Read w/ caution if you are sensitive to this

general overview to PTSD and C-PTSD

I am diagnosed with PTSD, but it's actually C-PTSD*

C-PTSD or Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder differs from PTSD in that it's more for people who have had chronic environments of trauma/abuse for years - and is currently proposed to have a certain symptoms not listed under PTSD symptoms. 

Much of these symptoms have more to do with how one relates to other people, their self perception, and generally their learned behaviors in order to protect themselves long-term. PTSD is more about a specific event, of series of events that occurred in quick succession.

Despite the lack of official diagnosis, therapists treat people for CPTSD all the time- they just use a lot of the same tools they would for PTSD.

Not everyone who experiences trauma or battles develops PTSD, but there are factors that make you more inclined to develop it.

What is PTSD like?

There are many ways that people manifest PTSD/CPTSD symptoms.They are easy enough to google and be familiar with, but what's it ACTUALLY like for me.

a hair-trigger startle instinct I have had a few times where my husband is up at night, and I didn’t realize he was in the room- then I see the outline and start screaming- and can’t stop for like 2 minutes- then the crying settles in for 30 minutes. My traumas had nothing to do with strangers in the night. I just have a super intense startle instinct that sends my whole body into panic mode sometimes.

Hyper-vigilance- trying to control everything around you to keep you safe, and being super on edge keeping an eye out for how things will fall apart. Making sure things are locked, being extra wary of people, wanting to not have your back to people, perking up at every little noise etc.

issues sleeping- insomnia, light sleeping, & nightmares-   Sometimes reliving a memory, or just having intense dreams that leave you exhausted the next day you can barely function. This ties in with hyper-vigilance a lot- so falling asleep and staying asleep can be hard.

Depression and anxiety- pretty self explanatory- but it's common to experience these, and for pills to not necessarily be that helpful without the therapy. Sometimes anxious self destructive thoughts and memories start haunting you and making you freeze up or panic, feel like you’re going to die/be left alone by everyone etc. Sometimes emotional abuse from your past starts coming up and haunting you and you feel all your selfworth leaving your body leaving behind nothing but the want to sleep all day/cut yourself off from people - at times this can turn to suicidal ideation and other really dangerous behaviors and thoughts.

Sudden mood switches/panic responses usually a trigger for these switches is something associated with your trauma- but basically when something associated with our trauma suddenly comes up sometimes it causes us to start having feelings and emotions that feel out of whack for the situation at hand. 

Example: When I was a five I was beaten and locked on a sunny porch of a 2 story building with a sliding door.  Once my husband blocked me on the way to the door so I wouldn’t accidentally walk into some freshly painted furniture on the other side of the sliding door. I immediately panicked and angrily screamed at him to’ let me GO! fuck you!!! when he’s the gentlest man in the world and has never ever been anything but kind and wonderful with me. Then after the rage wore off I was like crying and so sorry.

I’m usually not an ‘angry reaction’ person- I’m usually a freeze/cry type- but yeah.Sometime people get panicked in crowded places, or if they feel someone is mad at them, or if they feel trapped, or if they feel like they’re being abandoned.

Sometimes I’ll get super manic and impatient/snappish if there’s not a plan on what we’re doing at a crowded place (really it’s because I want an escape plan/safe place I know we can always go to- and feel vulnerable when it’s a lot of people standing around without a plan and feel like I’ll get lost/abducted)

intrusive negative thoughts 

It’ll be the darkest weirdest repeating thoughts that you associate with emotional upset.  In ptsd treatment there is a lot of going through the events and rethinking your conclusions you’ve taken away from them. It’s simplified a lot in shows to a simple ‘it’s not your fault’- which, yeah, that’s the crux of it- but the actual work of it is super intense, exhausting, and so much more in depth.  

unhealthy coping mechanisms so a lot of people with ptsd will find ways to cope to help them fill an emotional void, or to cover up feelings etc. There are tons of ways people do this. Some will do extreme things like drugs, risky behaviors, drinking a lot etc Example: They experience a ‘violent retraumatizing’ moment like a pet getting killed in front of them- then later to cope have casual sex and drink too much in order to numb their emotions and not think about them.

A lot of ‘avoidance’ and ‘overdependence’ can be a part of ptsd. Like you might avoid certain things like the plague, or constrastingly might start using people or things or substances or food like an emotional crutch/security blanket instead of coping in a healthier way or learning to be independent.

Self protective steps you take might be super over the top, or self-destructive and borderline suicidal. 

Sometimes trying to repress all your emotions and not express them is something you do to protect yourself. 

This can be all over the map really- there are hundreds of examples!

triggering moments of your ‘Stuck points’

Stuck points are thoughts that keep us from recovering. Stuck points are concise statements that reflect a thought – not a feeling, behavior, or event. 

Example of stuck points:  'If I let other people get close to me, I'll get hurt again', 'I am useless.' 'I'm broken', 'I can't trust anyone in authority', 'People will reject me if they get to know me/see me at my worst’ ‘I’m a monster.’ ‘I’m worthless’ 

These can come up and you won’t even realize it at first. You’ll have something super innocuous happen and all of a sudden you’re on the verge of a breakdown, angry and/or panicking for seemingly no reason. 

These intense emotions will hit you and don’t feel like there’s any thoughts connected to them- there ARE thoughts behind it of course, but it takes a bit of deconstructing to figure it out though and realize ‘ooooh, there’s the thought train that was bubbling under the surface! I didn’t realize because thinking through my emotional processes was something I wasn’t allowed to do during my trauma- so now I don’t know how to instinctively do that even a little.’

Examples in fiction 

Harry Potter in Order of the Phoenix where he is yelling at the drop of a hat when he feels abandoned/rejected by everyone. His reactions are so CLEARLY PTSD related to me.  Actually, I think he has CPTSD and it just got to a tipping point due to the traumas he experienced in the graveyard.

Hunger Games Books  Probably the best portrayal of PTSD, of books I’ve read, is Hunger Games. The movies glazed over it a bit- but the books? Oh man, they nail it so hard.

HP and Hunger Games both have protagonists who are great portrayals of ptsd. The anger, the disassociation, the depression, the nightmares, the inability to identify with humans at times, the self protective steps that are unhealthy, the coping mechanism of avoidance etc.

Disassociating

People describe this in tons of different ways, but personally I think of it like body/brain numbness. All of a sudden it’s like a blankness comes over you, almost like that hazy way of daydreaming, only instead of daydreams it’s nothing but a buzzing blankness with maybe like slight almost invisible undercurrent of panic. It’s like the body is paralyzed, and you can’t act or think or do anything but stare or numbly move a bit- it almost feels like your soul just left your body for a bit and you’ve been consumed by a white room of emptiness. Not a black void- it’s not being lost in darkness- it’s like being lost in the light, if that makes sense? Like think of a blank why void like in The Matrix where the whiteness goes on forever. 

Flashbacks

In tv shows they often show it like it's a hallucination or something. Flashbacks are typically shown as a person basically becoming delirious and having visual and audio hallucinations, then perhaps even becoming violent to those around them because they literally see something different than what is real.

Again, this is my experience- but flashbacks have never worked like that for me. I more disassociate, and then all the emotions of that memory hit me, and in my brain I’m able to see bits and pieces of what happened back then, or even the whole thing- it’s like a SUPER intense memory/daydream/nightmare just settles in there for a bit- and you feel all the full emotions of it for a bit- can suddenly feel the sensations of it too at times-but at NO point am I actively moving about in a real room around people getting them confused with the past and lashing out at the hallucinations.

 I’m just sitting there, or crying there- and if someone in the room with me were to talk to me they might have to get my attention because I'm deep in that daydream/flashback- but I’d hear them and see them once I realize I’m spacing out. The most outburst I’d have would be to not want anyone to touch me- or get super startled from someone touching me then pushing them away from me. That’s very different than the crazy shit they show on TV and movies sometimes.

BAD EXAMPLE: One particular one that still makes me mad is when that had Owen from Grey’s Anatomy sees a fan- then get ‘triggered into a ptsd episode’ where he is unblinkingly choking out Cristina as she begs him to stop for a long time. Like…. It’s one thing for someone to be startled and have their instinct be to strike out- that’s a very different thing from what they portrayed. If they wanted to show him as ptsd dangerous- which is worrisome to me as people with mental health are stigmatized enough- but if they wanted to- it would have made much more sense for her to startle him somehow and for him to just blindly strike out before he realizes it. With combat training, he could very well have instincts that aren’t safe when he’s over sensitized and startled.

What are the main treatments for PTSD?

Cognitive Processing Therapy  (CPT)

CPT is the main treatment for PTSD. It is highly structured, and the majority of it is writing and worksheets. There is a LOT of writing and talking out about your trauma, writing and talking about how you process it, and analyzing it.

Beyond the traumatic memories, there is also noticing the behaviors you have that are related to your trauma and how they come out in every day scenarios. This leads to:

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)

This is not about processing past events, but about processing current behaviors/reactions and trying to slowly change those behaviors over time so that they are healthier reactions/coping mechanism in place.

Exposure therapy- Reliving memories

For PTSD some people do a lot of reliving the trauma memories by describing them in detail, every tiny detail they can think of- and basically reliving them, but then trying to reroute the emotional response to them. 

Some people are SO repressed that this is a very difficult thing for them to access- both remembering the memory, but also knowing what their emotions were/are. These memories of trauma aren't always easy to remember/re-feel/access and that can be frustrating.

I personally am REALLY GOOD at reliving memories- in fact I'm so good that we have been avoiding it for a bit because i go straight into flashback mode way too easy (more on flashbacks and how they work later)

There are ways of doing this that are more than just revising the memory through talk therapy, that I haven't done and would require research on your part:

virtual reality to revisit the place

watching videos or listening to recordings of the event and talking it through

exposure therapy that's more about getting used to sounds/smells/words that are triggering

The main point though is to process the emotions tied to that event and not make your brain default to that flight/fight/freeze mode when triggering things happen.

IMPORTANT TOOLS FOR THERAPY

If a person hasn't had much therapy, CPT/CBT has a lot of learning for that person, and a LOT of trying to identify emotions and really feel them, so one can process them.

Grounding techniques/exercises-

techniques used to sooth/calm a person when activated- there are like thousands of these guys out there- I think everyone is a bit familiar with them- like breathing exercises in yoga? Basically it's a way of regrouping and centering yourself- 'grounding' you in reality, instead of letting your brain go off on a tangent/emotional rollercoaster.

It's basically any way you can snap your thinking out of your anxious thoughts and concentrate on something until your re-calibrate and are calmer.

Personally the breathing techniques make me freak out- so I don't use those. :P Ones I find helpful are ones like 'Name every color you can see.' or 'go through the alphabet and letter by letter name an animal that starts with that letter.' and 'hold an ice cube in your hand and concentrate fully on every sensation you're feeling.'example  example

-CBT and CPT WORKSHEETS

god, SO many worksheets.

Here are some helpful links

https://positivepsychologyprogram.com/cbt-cognitive-behavioral-therapy-techniques-worksheets/  --- This page covers cognitive distortions really well, and has some helpful resources and worksheets.

https://trailstowellness.org/resources   This page has a lot of great worksheets for trauma.

https://www.psychologytools.com/professional/problems/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/- unfortunately you cannot access the documents here without paying- BUT you can read what the docs are, and how they will be used in a therapy setting- so can use that as a launch point for what sort of worksheets/phrases to google.

I specifically worked from  Cognitive Processing Therapy for PTSD: A Comprehensive Manual a lot.

What is the structure of PTSD therapy?

First session

The first thing I had to do was fill out a questionnaire (PTSD test , cptsd questionnaire) to make sure she thought the treatment was appropriate. We talked about this a bit, what symptoms I had, talked over examples of it. I'm comfortable with therapy so this wasn't so bad for me, but I can see this being very difficult for people who aren't as comfortable in this setting and would need to be walked through it more and have more questions as they might not have a lot of self-awareness. We discussed goals, what could be achieved, and generally what it would be like. We went over the first worksheet and I was given homework of figuring out what my stuck points are.

Sessions after that

Each session we begin with typical therapy for a bit 'how was the last week? Were there any events I should know about?' Then we go over the worksheet I filled out, and analyze it, talk about examples, or apply it to trauma memories.

What is trauma therapy LIKE?

I always try to have the next day or so as free as possible after therapy, because afterwards I am wiped out, exhausted, and sometimes super triggered and crying afterwards.

The analogy I like to use is cleaning out a closet you keep hoarding stuff in:

Your house is your life, your brain is a closet, and PTSD/trauma is a messy hoarders type hidden away in the closet. When the door to this closet is closed you can almost pretend there isn't a mess there at all. Y ou close the door by being in denial, not thinking about your trauma, not acknowledging or processing it. You just keep stuffing the trauma into the closet.

But the longer you let the closet stay like that, the worse the situation gets. Soon that closet door keeps busting open and all sorts of crap falls out when you don't want it to. Freakouts, hypervigilance, meltdowns etc. The crap in the closet starts to multiply.

Ever seen Hoarders or Marie Kondo? You know how people are crying over t-shirts and crap and the house looks WORSE for a while? That's trauma therapy.

In therapy you have to open the closet door, take out ALL the crap you've been hoarding in the closet, process it, organize it, and then put things in order again. Every single box of trauma needs to be looked at then put away- The goal is to  throw out the intense intrusive emotions tied to the junk. You have to keep your memories- but you don't have to keep holding on to the behaviors they've formed, the turbulent emotions, and the intensity of it all. During therapy at first it's fine. Kondo is walking you through it and it's all just fine and dandy- then you are faced with this HOARD of CRAP you have to work through- and it's SO overwhelming. My anxiety and depression got way worse for a while. Like, I was on EDGE and having nightmares and it was horrible. But then once you've processed the memories, and start actively applying what you've learned and start using grounding techniques more and more- things do get easier.

I am not fixed. I am not cured. I will have to continue to work through stuff- It's that whole 'healing is a not a straight line' thing. Like, there are times I regress and I hate it. :P But it's gotten a lot better.

IF YOU GUYS HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS I’M HAPPY TO HELP.

I figure this can be an ok resource for people who don’t know much about ptsd except what it says on like webmd (which isn’t that accessible to me) and want to write about it (or want to just know more about it)

( *C-PTSD has not been considered an official different disorder from PTSD for all that long. In fact, one technically can't be medically diagnosed with CPTSD in america yet. PTSD is diagnosable and has been considered an official disorder for decades, but C-PTSD has not been named a disorder of its own yet in the official guidebook of psychological disorders in the US (DSM). I think they might have JUST recognized it in the UK guidebook (ICD). I know it was proposed for the 11th addition.)

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Ruin

Summary: An attempt to get Roman and Remus to get along fails and leaves Remus reeling. Indulging in a bad habit to try and keep the thoughts away from Thomas leads to Logan finding out, though instead of the ridicule he's expecting, he receives kindness instead.

Warnings: self harm, slight unsympathetic Roman, slight disassociation, hurt with happy ending

Please do not read with the intention if triggering yourself. If you are triggered by self harm I and other authors have others stories for you to read. Stay safe.

Ships: platonic intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 2, 140

"You're just useless! Nothing you do has any purpose other than to torment and I'm so sick of it!"

Remus recoiled from his brothers harsh words, cookies spilled on the floor from where he had swept them away. He had been rather pleased with how vague the penis shape actually was, chocolate chips painstakedly placed so you'd only notice if you looked closely. Roman had looked closely.

Sometimes Remus genuinely couldn't help doing things impulsively; the idea had come to his mind and he had done it without a thought to any possible repercussions and now Roman was mad and it had actually been going well for once but now he had ruined it just like he always did and what if he just stabbed him to get rid of the problem?

The thought came abruptly and without prompt, making him blink back to reality as Roman continued to rant before noticing he hadn't been paying attention.

"But of course you don't care. You aren't even paying attention to a word I'm saying. You ruin everything and I don't understand why I even try!" Ever the dramatic, Roman sunk out with a final huff and throw of his arms, leaving Remus stuck standing trembling in the middle of a mess. No one else was around, leaving the twins alone for "bonding time". Wasn't that a laugh and a half.

'I wonder if the cookies could act like marbles in those old cartoons and I'd slip and fall and crack my head open and-' Drawing a shaky breath his busied himself with cleaning to try and dispell the unwanted thoughts. It was in his nature to be impulsive, brash. He was loud and insistant, truly the living embodiment of Intrusive Thoughts that plagued Thomas' mind when it got to be too much to hold in.

'What if you smashed your hand in the oven?' He turned the oven off and went to grab a broom. 'How hard would you have to fall for a broom to stab through your intestines? How fast would you have to run to stab someone else's?'

Kitchen relatively clean he spun around once more to make sure. 'Just grab a knife. You don't have to use it, just feel it.'

If he sunk out while holding the fridge could he smash Roman with it?

Roman's dark blood staining the carpet an even deeper red.

Remus standing by as the other screamed.

How easy would those screams be to shut up.

How easily would he be to shut up.

Could fascets die? Was it worth trying to find out?

Subconsciously he realized he was walking down the hall to his room, eyed glazed over as the thoughts continued making him feel spacey and fake. He shut the door behind him and stood for what felt like hours, head going everywhere and no where at once until one thought forced him to snap out of it slightly.

'You're going to hurt Thomas. You're going to make him want to hurt others.'

He embodied intrusive thoughts and bad creativity but most of the time those thoughts were just remembering unpleasant sensations or thinking of a crude or out of context joke that would be inappropriate to say out loud. It was random, harmless thought spirals that most of the time you could shake your way out of and Remus simply did whatever random thing there was to do around the mind scape to get rid of excess energy. When he was upset however, the thought spirals grew darker, more suggestive, supplying ghastly images that he wouldn't mind seeing if it was sat in front of a horror movie but as it was...

Persistent thoughts continued to pound through his head, flicking between hurt to angry to apathetic and back before he could breathe. He wanted to hurt something, someone, and he could practically feel the toxic mindset leaching into Thomas' thought process even as he struggled to contain it. He ripped through his desk drawers desperately, everything neat despite his chaotic nature though the desperation rose as hiding spot after hiding spot came up empty. Chewed nails scraped at the underside of the bed frame then groped in the darkest corners of his room. His eyes landed on a small picture frame, a drawing he had done that Janus had framed long ago before any of this had been a problem and quickly went to rip it off the wall.

Taped to the back a small blade glinted passively in the dull light, making his breath hitch in relief as he grabbed it out of its confines. His sleeve went up without a thought until he forced all of concentration on the task at hand.

The first few, well several, cuts were nothing. His skin tingled numbly as straight lines were drawn across it, taking a second or two to well up with blood but by then he had already moved on. Just a small patch, right below his elbow on his outer arm. Thicker skin made for more lines. It wasn't until they began to overlap that he truly felt it, minutes later, stinging and angry and flowing and...

Quiet.

His mind was silent for once. Blissful peace after the turmoil of not ten minutes before hand. The razor fell to the floor as he bit his lip tiredly and stared at the slow growing puddle on the floor. The blood flow slowed, just barely pulsing out with his heartbeat. Looking around reality set itself in place and the slight whooshing in his ears abated just enough for him to hear persistent knocking at the door.

Wait.

Scrambling in a half panic Remus yanked his sleeve back down, letting out a hiss before shoving a blanket to the floor and stumbling over to the door, nearly getting a fist to his face when he got it open.

Logan's startled face quickly knitted into concern as he glanced Remus over, pursing his lips in thought.

"What is it Nerdy Wolverine." His tone was flat but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I overheard your argument, I thought it would be alright to assume you may need some level of...comfort."

Remus laughed tiredly. "Did Ro not open his door?"

Logan had the decency to look confused. "I don't know, I didn't check."

"You didn't....check on Roman? You came for me first?" It had to be a trick, some idiotic set up Patton had created. Check on the evil twin first to make sure he isnt wrecking havoc then check the better one to be sure he's okay. "Get out."

He slammed the door unceremoniously in the logical sides face, leaning against it heavily.

"Remus." His voice came through muffled. "I assure you I mean well. Roman can be...a lot. I simply wish to make sure everything is alright."

Remus didn't answer.

"Remus I will be frank," and Remus could barely make out the added 'though my name is Logan' mumbled as an afterthought. "I smelled the blood. Either you tell me why or I will come in and figure it out myself."

Swallowing Remus called out weakly. "It was an experiment Google Dex, it's fine."

"The fact that there was not one disturbing punchline in that sentence says otherwise."

"You can't come in."

"I could."

"I might hurt you."

"You won't."

"I'm dangerous."

"You're not."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"I ruin everything."

"You aren't ruining anything."

"You've said that before. To Virgil"

"Yes. But saying it before to a different person doesn't make the statement any less true."

Remus gripped at his still bleeding arm, knocking his head against the door softly before rocking himself to his feet and stepping back. "Fine."

The door opened and Logan immediately swept the room before settling on first the tipped drawers, then the blanket still heaped on the floor and finally settling on Remus himself. He zeroed in on the arm he was still holding, prompting the darker side to drop it immediately even though it was too late. Silently Logan held out his hand and looked imploringly at Remus, starting him to comply.

"I know. And it's alright Remus it truly is. I just want to help."

Confused but intrigued Rrmus let his hands be taken and tugged to the bed, giving a half hearted eye brow wiggled that earned a small smirk from Logan before he snapped up a first aid kit. He carefully rolled up the sleeve, not even flinching as the mess was revealed to him. Five babywipes and a roll of gauze later his arm was bandaged neatly, causing him to look questioningly at the other.

"How are you so calm about this? You don't"

"No. But I know basic first aid." Logan sat back and looked up at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Remus looked up and away, tugging his sleeve back down and wincing at the dull ache the action caused. "I made Roman mad because I was being stupid-"

"Falsehood. Try again."

Snapping his head back he opened and shut his mouth before blurting out another excuse. "Roman yelled because I was being impulsive-"

"Nope. Again."

"I was-"

"Remus." Logans tone effectively shutting him up he couldn't help but squirm in confusion. "You didn't do anything. Maybe you could have discussed the....creative take you were going with with your design, but you had split the batch had you not? Roman should have stayed out of what you were doing with yours."

"You were watching?"

"I wanted to make sure no one got hurt. You two tend to become physical and I was there to expel any conflict should it turn violent. I was not however, prepared for a one sided screaming match. Roman has been stressed and while that isn't an excuse it isn't a new occurrence. Why was this-" Logan gestured to his arm. "Done as a stress response? You've argued before haven't you?"

Remus twisted his fingers together. "My head gets loud. And bad. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll make Thomas hurt something, so I hurt instead to calm it for a while."

Logan nodded. "That's perfectly understandable."

"It is?"

"Unhealthy. But yes, understandable. I will ask that you try finding a less destructive way to calm these thoughts. You may think this is helping Thomas but I assure you he'd much rather work with you in a healthy way than you destroying yourself in the background."

Slowly, Remus blinked down at him. "What?"

"I said-"

"I know what you said I just...why do you care?"

Logan stood. "Why wouldn't I? You are an integral part of who we are and as unconventional as you may be at times, you are still apart of the family. I care a great deal."

He said this flippantly, as if it was obvious, completely oblivious to the way it took Remus' breath and heart and soul and made him want to projectile vomit it onto the floor in front of the other man's feet.

"You really care?" Remus blurts out quietly.

"Of course." Logams reply is simple, logical. Clipped but with an undertone that was unmistakably kind even with the impassivity he was attempting to pull off. He sucked in a breath as a hand was extended to him, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought you might like company, and it might be a good idea to not be in this room right now. Staying in a place of hurt often makes you want to continue the hurt and I'd rather it cease for today."

Hesitantly Remus took the offered hand and followed Logan out the door and into another room lined with books and posters and odd sciencey bits and baubles. He immediately gravitated towards the bookshelf after getting a nod of consent from the owner, plopping down and curling to the side to read the spines. Feeling a nudge he turned and was met with a plate with a few of his cookie creations placed neatly on it.

"Some weren't knocked down and were salvageable. The chip placement makes for a very symmetrical taste experience that I quite enjoy." Remus looked on in amazement as Logan prattled on, taking a cookie for himself and watching Logan take two before sitting down at his desk to eat and work. Grinning to himself he stuffed the rest of the treats in his mouth and bent at a different angle to read book titles again, sharing the silence with the other side contentedly.

He still felt bad and useless and a million other things at once that crawled beneath his skin and raged against his nerves. He looked over at Logan happily munching away at the crude cookie making him smile wider.

He still felt shitty but maybe there were things he didnt ruin after all.

This work and others is available on AO3!

Please do not tag duke don't look.

[the-lupine-sojourner]

The Tale of Astoria Kenobi [Chapter 1] [Obitine and Anidala featured] [Dad!Obi-Wan/Daughter!OC]

I hope you guys like it!

I'll put the same disclaimer I did last time; I am not an expert at all things Star Wars. I'm sorry if I make any mistakes but I'm still learning. Just bear with me. I did so some research to make sure I had the basic timeline right before I got too far into this story though.

Alrighty! This Right Here is the prologue to this story for those who haven’t read it yet. 

Now for the taglist: @elite-guard-hardygal​, @forcearama​ (who created the Scandalore/Secret Marriage AU I’m using), @sunshineisdelightful​, @fwtcanimelover​, and @babycollectiondragon135! Thank you all for being so amazing and supportive! :)

One more thing; Would y'all be mad if I started writing in 1st person from Astoria's point of view? I just realized that doing 3rd person will get a bit difficult.

Also, um...does anyone have scene suggestions for the ten-year gap between this and Attack of the Clones? Cus, looking at the timeline of everything, that's how long it takes to get from this point we're at currently (not long after Phantom Menace) to Attack of the Clones.

Anyway, I'm gonna let you guys read the story now and hope you all enjoy!

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

“Can you believe it?” Satine murmurs, settling her few bags down in the room she’d been loaned. It was rather small and spartan, but Satine had known far harsher living environments and couldn’t complain.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Indeed. The Counsel are rarely so conceding.”

“They even allowed me all day tomorrow to make absolutely certain Astoria will adjust well to life here.”

“Yes, though they more than likely expect the generosity returned, should we have need of it.” Obi-Wan points out sagely. 

Satine nods. “Oh, I’m well aware. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Perhaps, dear, you could request to be given assignments to Mandalore? Since you're the most...experienced in Mandalorian affairs?” 

Obi-Wan smirks, rising to her challenge.“Darling, is this your way of saying you want me home more often?”

“’More often’ implies you’re at home sometimes.” Satine snips, crossing her arms and looking away petulantly, though she wasn’t truly angry with him. The mood shifts regardless and Obi-Wan gently spins her to look at him.

“Satine...you know I would never stay away intentionally.”

“I know, Obi-Wan, but..." Now that Satine had said those words aloud, she realized she did mean them, angry or not, "surely you could manage a few visits? Astoria gets to see you so rarely...she misses you.”

“I miss her more.” Obi-Wan replies softly, easing Satine’s hair from her face. “And you, as well. I meant to leave, you know. But…” The unspoken words ring in the air as if they’d been verbalized.

Obi-Wan would never abandon Anakin, and Satine would never ask him to.

“I know, Obi-Wan.” Satine rubs his arm comfortingly. “I know.”

The pair are content to simply hold each other then, the door shut against any surprise visitors.

=#=#=#=#=

Astoria was nervous, fiddling with the sleeves of her Jedi robes.

She liked her new clothes, plain though they were. They were fairly soft and comfortable, if a little thick for the warmth in the Temple.

The reason she was nervous was that she was waiting outside a chamber Uncle Obi told her his superiors were in.

When she asked what ‘superiors’ were, Obi-Wan had explained that they were the ones that told him where to go and what to do.

And Astoria was going to meet them!

“Don’t worry.” Came a voice behind her, and Astoria turns to see a young boy, not much older than her, standing there smiling. “The Counsel don’t do much. They just ask a lot of questions and sit there.”

Astoria feels a little better, returning the boy’s smile as she extends a hand in greeting. “Thanks. My name’s Astoria Kryze.” She introduces.

The boy shakes her hand. “Anakin Skywalker.” Astoria decided she liked this boy, though he was older than her.

From around the corner came Obi-Wan, having finished whatever had called him away. He smiles in greeting at the two. “I see you two have met. Good.”

Astoria grins. “Yeah!”

Obi-Wan crouches before his daughter, absently straightening her robes. He felt a mixture of pride and sadness that his child was already wearing the Jedi robes, hardly remembering that she was older than most Younglings when they were brought to the Temple. “Now, Astoria, just be polite and everything will go smoothly, alright? No need to be nervous.”

Astoria feels her stomach swirl a little as her nerves started to come back, but felt them leave again when her uncle squeezed her hand and stood up, smiling at her.

Without another word, Obi-Wan hit the button to tell the Counsel they were waiting, and soon enough a deep voice inside told them to enter.

=#=#=#=#=

“Should I be concerned our daughter has such a penchant for fighting?” Satine asks coyly.

The settling of Astoria in the Temple was going rather smoothly. Astoria took to life in the Temple like a duck to water, though Satine suspected her departure for Mandalore the next morning would spell trouble.

Obi-Wan chuckles, distracting Satine from her thoughts. “Darling, she is Mandalorian.”

“Half Mandalorian.” Satine corrects, playfully smacking her husband’s shoulder.

“True, true.” Obi-Wan side-hugged his wife, watching with a large smile on his face, though the smile faltered when he saw that she seemed genuinely a little concerned. “It’s alright, Satine.” He assures her, “She’s just begun her training. She won’t have these violent tendencies for long.”

Directly down the hall from them, Astoria was playing with Anakin. Their playing had quickly dissolved into wrestling and Astoria tended to use more aggressive strategies, Satine noticed.

The thing stalling the adults from intervening was the laughter ringing in the hall.

Anakin had not had it easy in life and Obi-Wan was rather hesitant to stop his Padawan’s fun.

Obi-Wan recalled the meeting with the Counsel not two hours ago. Astoria had charmed the Jedi almost immediately and performed remarkably well on the small tests Mace Windu gave her.

Obi-Wan had even had the fortune of putting the braid in Astoria’s hair himself, missing Fisto’s smirk entirely as he worked.

No one else had said a word when Mace Windu asked who would braid the new Younglings hair, so Obi-Wan came forward, motioning his daughter to him and beginning the braid, instructing her to remain still.

“I am almost sad, seeing the braid in Astoria’s hair.” Satine muses, sighing. She had smiled and encouraged Astoria when the girl proudly displayed it for her mother, but Satine’s heart clenched knowing what that braid meant.

“And yet it means hope.” Obi-Wan reassured Satine, rubbing his wife’s shoulder comfortingly, “She won’t be far out of either of our reach here, darling.”

Satine nods. “Of that, I am certain. But...I won’t get to see her grow up.”

A teasing smirk reaches Obi-Wan’s face and he chuckles. “Now you know what I went through.”

Satine whirls to glare at him, drawing away from her husband's side. “Oh, really, Ben! The nerve!” He knew then that, though her tone and body language conveyed annoyance and perhaps a bit of anger, she was teasing on the inside. She only called him Ben when she was teasing him.

“I have plenty of nerve, my dear.” He counters, daring her to continue their game as he grabs her hips to draw her back in.

Instead of replying, she kisses him boldly on the lips. It’s only through the Force that Obi-Wan had enough warning to withdraw reluctantly from Satine and call for Anakin before Plo Koon rounded the corner.

As a result, the approaching Jedi saw nothing but the children halting their wrestling match and the adults taking the children’s hands. If it weren’t wearing the rebreather, everyone would see his smile as he watches Astoria take her mother's hand.

So this was the new Youngling. He’d been en route to Coruscant when she’d been given her braid, watching her through a hologram as Obi-Wan volunteered to braid the girl’s hair. It was one thing seeing her in a hologram, it was quite another thing seeing her physically.

“Pardon the intrusion.” Plo Koon calls. “I was on my way to the library.” Astoria loved libraries and runs over, still riding the adrenaline of nearly winning her match against Anakin.

“Library?” She asks eagerly, bouncing in front of the Kel-Dorian, who takes her youthful giddiness in stride. “Can I come with you?”

“Yes, little one.” Astoria squeals in delight and before Satine can scold her, Plo Koon takes her hand and guides the excited child down the hall.

Anakin goes to catch up to his new friend, not for the destination, but because he liked her company already and didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

Obi-Wan and Satine follow in the rear, their hearts singing with joy that already their child was making friends.

=#=#=#=#=

Jocasta Nu was pleasantly surprised when Astoria walked up to her, now calm after a few words from Satine about behaving herself, and asked to see some maps of the galaxy.

“Well, dear, we have many maps. Are you looking for anything special?” Jocasta was slightly confused as there were no adults with the child, though she could hear people within the library. Luckily, Satine then came around a bend, spotted her wayward daughter, and approached the librarian apologetically.

“There you are, Astoria.” She takes her daughter’s hand. “Apologies, madam. She’s still young.”

“No need, Duchess.” Jocasta assures Satine patiently. “It’s not every day a Youngling comes in and asks to see maps.”

Satine smiles. “Yes, she is rather curious to see the galaxy. She’s never left Mandalore before.”

Jocasta offers her hand to Astoria and, after once more telling Astoria to behave herself, Satine allowed the kind librarian to lead her daughter away, staying where she was.

Satine was trying to ease Astoria into not needing to be around Satine as much as she could.  After seeing Astoria engrossed in picking out a map, Satine slipped out of the library to pack her things. Come tomorrow morning, Satine would no longer be allowed in the Temple.

Plo Koon, for his part, was watching Astoria with piqued curiosity. There was something about that girl...but he couldn’t quite place what it was.

He supposed he had plenty of time to figure it out and began the task that had led him to the library in the first place.

Obi-Wan helped Jocasta educate Astoria on the various planets the girl asked about and spent a pleasant half an hour this way before Anakin, bored of watching them, wandered off.

Obi-Wan then had to excuse himself. He had to be Anakin’s Master, not Astoria’s father, though he yearned to stay where he was.

Anakin was looking at records of various lightsabers. He still called them ‘laser swords’ and Obi-Wan had yet to fully iron out that habit.

The group spent a pleasant afternoon in the library while Satine, heart growing a little heavier with every item packed, was alone in her room.

She knew full well now that Astoria would be very happy here, would grow into a Jedi that would make her and Obi-Wan prouder than they already were, if that were possible.

And yet Satine would miss her daughter terribly. She knew there would be visits and calls as often as could be helped, but it wasn’t the same as having Astoria in the palace with her.

It never would be.

Obi-Wan found her nearly packed after escorting the Younglings to the evening meal. He’d slipped out with two portions, one for him and one for his wife.

He knew this was hard on her and regretted that he had to put his duties before his family. “Take a break.” He calls as he enters. “I brought food.” Satine turns and walks over, heart lightening a little at seeing him.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” She says, glance teasing as she took her plate.

They sat on her bed and all was quiet for a few minutes. “Satine, I wish I could say it gets easier, missing her day in and day out, but I’d be lying.” He murmurs, knowing full well the source of the weight on her shoulders.

“How do you cope?” She asks miserably.

“You learn to treasure the moments you see them, hologram or in person, and memorize the little things, the tidbits that make the person who they are.” Obi-Wan says softly, wrapping an arm around Satine as she leans her head on his shoulder. “You memorize their voice and let the memories surface when you feel the loneliest.”

“Seems a rather dull way of life.”

“We’ve known worse.”

“That we have, darling.” Satine finds a small strength in that revelation. Yes, she had survived worse than separation from her daughter. "It’ll be a hard conversation, explaining all this to her.” Satine sighs, leaning on her husband for support in more ways than one, her head against his shoulder.

Obi-Wan nods, leaning his head against Satine's. “Yes. Do you want me there?”

Satine nods her head. “That might be wise. You are her father and a Jedi. You can explain the things I can not.” Her tone was sad, resigned. The matter of leaving Astoria and having to explain to her why Satine was leaving still weighed incredibly heavy on his mind.

“Satine, it’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

=#=#=#=#=

Astoria washes down her food with a few gulps of water, grimacing a little.

The food was satisfying to be sure, but it really didn’t taste like much.

Anakin told her he wasn’t overly fond of it, either, but it was better than what he had on Tattoine.

That prompted an eager discussion between the children about where they each were from.

That is, until Obi-Wan appeared and informed them it was time for evening meditation and bedtime. Anakin groans and heads off with the other Younglings they’d been eating with, but Obi-Wan grabs Astoria’s shoulder and silently leads her to Satine’s room. He’d talk to her about meditation later.

Astoria was wondering where her mom had gone, about to ask where she was when Obi-Wan came to guide her to Satine’s room after her bland meal.

It doesn't take long to get to the room.

“Hi mommy!” Astoria cheers, missing the sadness in Satine’s eyes as she hugs her mother.

“Hello, dear. Did you enjoy dinner?” Satine asks, settling Astoria beside her.

“No. It didn’t taste like the food back home.” Astoria replies, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, you have to get used to it.” Satine says gently.

Astoria wasn’t paying much attention; she was more concerned with why her mom’s bags were packed. “Are we going home already?” She asks. “We just got here!”

“Darling…” Satine winces, drawing Astoria into her lap. “You have to stay here. I have to go back to Mandalore.”

Astoria’s eyes go wide, head tilted in confusion. “But...but Momma, I thought…”

“You remember your mother telling you about my job?” Obi-Wan chimes in, feeling his heart ache at the troubled look on his daughter’s face and the sadness in his wife’s eyes.

“Yeah, but...Uncle Obi...that’s your job.” Astoria points out, not understanding why she was staying when her mother was returning to Mandalore.

“And you will be helping me.” He says.

Astoria frowns. “Really?”

“Yes, in a way. You will stay here, learning what the Masters teach you, and in time you will help me with my job.”

“But why can’t Mommy stay, too?” Astoria asks, lip trembling a little as the weight of what was happening was beginning to occur to her.

“Because, sweetheart, I don’t work here.” Satine explains simply. “It was through the kindness of the Counsel that I was allowed to come with you in the first place. But they can’t let me stay. This place...is special.”

“I’ll miss you.” Astoria whimpers, going to hug her mother tightly. “I don’t want you to go!”

“Oh, Astoria, I’ll miss you greatly, as well. But don’t lose heart; you can call me sometimes when you’re allowed. And maybe you can even visit me once in a while.”

“Really?” Astoria asks, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes, Astoria. Now...I have a lesson for you before bedtime, alright?” Obi-Wan interjects, reluctantly cutting the moment short. Satine was well aware she was on limited time with Astoria, but smiles at her daughter encouragingly.

Astoria slowly gets off the bed. She then turns back around. “Are you leaving now?”

“No. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.” That comforts Astoria and she hugs her mom again, kissing her cheek before leaving with Obi-Wan. The two are quiet as they walk toward her new bedroom.

It wasn’t far from Anakin’s, which would make it easier for Obi-Wan to check up on her when he could.

“What’s the lesson?” Astoria asks once they’re in her room.

“Sit.” Obi-Wan says simply and crosses his legs. Astoria grunts and struggles to get her legs crossed. Obi-Wan chuckles and leans over, helping her get into position.

“This hurts, Uncle Obi.” She grumbles.

“You’ll get used to it. Now, I want you to take deep breaths and close your eyes. Think of something that makes you feel at ease.”

Astoria tilts her head. “What does that mean?”

Obi-Wan reaches out with the Force, sensing her connection easily. It was turbulent and unruly, like most Younglings. She’d have much work to do calming this flurry of thoughts and emotions.

He helps her begin that process slowly, easing his way through the storm to the center. There, he calms the pulsing ball of energy he finds, very very slowly. If he dimmed the ball too much, he’d risk harming Astoria.

“Like this, young one." Obi-Wan says, eyes still closed. Astoria sighs contentedly, sudden exhaustion causing her to yawn.

“...I think I like this, Uncle Obi.”

“Good, remember how this feels, and try to quiet your mind even further.” Obi-Wan instructs, withdrawing his presence in his daughter’s mind.

“I don’t know how.” Astoria replies, coming back to her senses a bit and feeling embarrassed she didn’t know.

“It’s alright. Just breathe and relax. Don’t let your mind wander. Imagine putting it to bed.”

“...” There are several moments of quiet before Astoria groans, and Obi-Wan feels the progress he’d made vanish as she comes out of her attempted meditation. “It’s not working.”

“Patience.” He replies softly, his mind calming as he talks. “It doesn’t come without practice. Try again.”

Astoria does, with the same result, but Obi-Wan had felt a subtle change. It was clear she was trying, but she was still overthinking things.

He smiles at her and decides that was enough practice for tonight. “Alright, Astoria. Let’s go to bed.”

“But I didn’t do what you wanted.” Astoria protests as he helps her stand.

“That’s alright. You just started learning. No one learns meditation right away. I struggled with it, too, but with time and patience, I was able to master it. One day, you will master it, as well.” Astoria nods, going to brush her teeth.

“Can I say goodbye to Momma tomorrow?” She asks once she’s getting under the thin cover on her bed.

“Yes. I’ll wake you so you can say goodbye, but then it’ll be breakfast time and we’ll have to go eat.” Obi-wan explains.

Astoria nods, yawning. “Thanks, Uncle Obi.” She murmurs sleepily. Obi-Wan has to fight the urge to kiss her forehead. He knew better than to confuse the girl by being overly affectionate just yet.

“Goodnight, Astoria.” He whispers from the doorway, closing the door quietly and leaving.

=#=#=#=#=

“It was quite the honor, having you as our guest, Duchess.” Kit Fisto says genuinely, walking beside Satine on her way to her ship.

“And I am most grateful for the opportunity.” She replies, just as genuinely. “I don’t think I would have left Astoria here if I couldn’t see for myself what the Temple was like. When Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were my protectors, Obi-Wan would describe his training as intense and the conditions in the Temple as spartan at best.”

“Perhaps he was exaggerating, or perhaps he assumed you were used to a life of luxury and thought the Temple would not suit you.”

“Perhaps.” Satine concedes, unsure herself what he had meant, but content with either explanation.

“If I may be frank, Duchess, I suggested your visit to let you see Obi-Wan again. I understand you two are...close.”

Satine’s heart skipped, but she remained calm outwardly. “Yes. A year on the run together tends to make people close.” She muses.

“I’m certain.” Is Fisto’s careful reply. He knew for a fact she was hiding just how close She and Obi-Wan were, but he was not willing to upset her by revealing he knew of their relationship. “If it helps at all, I will do my part to look after Astoria. I may not control which Master will one day train her, but I assure you whoever it is will take very good care of your daughter.”

“Thank you, Master Fisto.” Satine replies. She quite liked Kit Fisto. He was more approachable than other Jedi, more...relaxed and almost carefree.

By now, they were near her ship, and the pair turn when they hear running footsteps behind them.

“Astoria, wait!” That was Obi-Wan's voice, sounding far away, and soon enough, Astoria came into view, stumbling haphazardly around a corner and barreling toward her mother, eyes wide and desperate.

“Mom, don’t leave yet!” She cries, pumping her legs as fast as she could and it’s only through Kit Fisto kneeling and sticking an arm out that Astoria was prevented from knocking her mother clean over.

“You must learn restraint, young one. You would have hurt your mother running into her like that.” He cautions, letting Astoria go so she could jump into her mother’s waiting arms.

“Sorry, Master!” She squeaks with the good grace to look sheepish now that she had accomplished her goal.

She’d made it before her mother left. That was all that mattered to the girl. 

Obi-Wan walks over, panting. “She just took off after I woke her up. She was so worried she'd miss you leaving.” He explains with no small amount of exasperation. Satine smiles.

“Thank you for escorting her, Master Kenobi.” She replies, refusing to acknowledge Fisto’s smile that seemed too knowing.

“Of course, Duchess.” The two then remember that they weren’t alone and walk to the ship, a respectful distance between them, Fisto trailing a bit behind, highly amused that they thought they were successfully hiding their feelings for each other.

Astoria didn’t move her head from her mother’s shoulder till they were at the landing ramp. It was so hard for Astoria to understand why she had to stay, but she had to say goodbye to her mother now. “I’ll miss you, momma.” She whimpers, sniffling and slowly leaving her mother’s arms when Satine hugs her again, kissing her daughter’s cheeks and forehead.

“Darling, you’ll see me again before you know it.” She insists, smiling sweetly at Astoria and gently lifting her chin so the child was looking at her. “Be strong, dear, and learn everything you can, alright?”

“Alright.” Astoria replies thickly.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan calls her from his position a few feet away. “Astoria, come on. Your mother has to leave.” Astoria runs to her ‘uncle’, a few tears running down her cheeks. Out of sympathy, Obi-Wan crouches and lets Astoria hug him briefly as he waves to Satine subtly.

The ship then closes with Satine on board and Astoria sobs as Obi-Wan stands, unable to carry her and continue the comforting hug with Fisto nearby.

“Astoria, remember what your mother said. You have to be strong. No more tears.” Obi-Wan felt so proud when Astoria obeyed, wiping her eyes and squaring her shoulders.

“...Can I get some food?” She asks meekly. “I’m hungry.”

[ganymedesclock]

So it’s been a while since I’ve really posted about some goshdang rocks on this blog but I have been staying posted with Steven Universe and it’s really starting to bother me how often I’ve seen people in the fandom insinuating Change Your Mind, or the show at large, is naively idealistic in the way that it handles talking to dangerous people.

Here’s the thing: I don’t think there’s anything naive or idealistic about SU as a show and how it depicts talking to people.

First and foremost, Steven does not ever successfully talk to people in a situation where he hasn’t protected himself. When he does, it’s a bad thing. Steven doesn’t get the upper hand on White because he makes bambi eyes at her and sniffles a little and goes “oh granny won’t you be nice to me” and she immediately falls over herself to go “oh my goodness you beautiful baby child how could I ever have thought to wrong you.”

White endangers Steven. And at that point, Steven makes considerable emphasis to protect himself and his friends. Neither half of split Steven waste much time looking at White or acknowledging her. Their focus is on each other. Steven takes care of himself first. He makes sure he’s safe and healthy.

Thing is? Pink split Steven makes it clear that White can’t hurt him. She literally tries. She gets steamrolled. She’s lying unconscious on the floor at the point that Steven’s halves reconcile.

Steven at no point neglects protecting himself to negotiate with people. Even as early as Monster Buddy half of his argument at protecting Nephrite is the awareness that she’s obviously not trying to hurt him and becomes dangerous when she’s triggered by the senior CGs’ overbearing interventions. Steven not attacking Nephrite is literally the sensible thing here and the Crystal Gems are wrong because they assume that being violent will fix everything in absence of factual evidence. Steven is in no danger. The reason things go to hell at the climax of Monster Buddy is because Garnet’s earlier violent behavior meant that the sight of her summoning her weapons was a trigger for Nephrite- and, even then, she still protects Steven, the person who was consistently nice to her.

This is not a whimsical fantasy scenario. If you use brute force to push people around, they will remember, and will either resent you or panic when it seems like you’re about to hurt them again. If you’re up against someone who is motivated primarily by fear, don’t scare them.

“Violence isn’t the solution here” in this case is not an arbitrary nicey-pants talking point where “oh but see if you just sing songs and hold people’s hands they will all universally like you!” it’s talking about the fact that you need to actually meaningfully develop your response to situations based on information. Nephrite is a traumatized soldier suffering from an affliction that makes her easily startled. When she’s able to maintain a clear head, Steven is readily able to observe that she is friendly and willing to work with him. Steven not being violent to Nephrite is based in the fact that she is not a threat, and the Gems are failing to reevaluate because they’re just assuming she’s a threat based on prior behavior (and likely some bias- both out of the assumption that corruption can’t be cured and out of knowing Nephrite is a Homeworld soldier) and they’ve stopped observing what she’s actually doing.

The show doesn’t even exaggerate how much or how well talking to people works. We see people rebuff Steven (e.g. Jasper in Earthlings). We see people indifferently stonewall his overtures of friendship (Peridot in Marble Madness). We see people who take fondly to him because he’s nice to them but frankly trust him as far as they could throw him and don’t feel that bad selling out his friends (Lapis in The Return).

We see people give him a blank look of “are you actually kidding me” when he tries to talk to them (Aquamarine in Stuck Together)

Heck- the entire thesis of Beach City Drift is that Stevonnie needs to reevaluate the way they’re responding to Kevin because he’s engaging with them in bad faith and using it as an opportunity to mess with them.

The idea that this is unrealistic because, we guess Stevonnie doesn’t decide that Kevin messing with them means they need to take him out back and extrajudicially execute him on the spot just tells us something: Our culture has been spoonfed the idea, over and over and over again and mostly through popular cartoons, that violence is the default solution for problems.

This is an idea that SU is deliberately deconstructing like in Monster Buddy. Because- why are Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl just assuming Nephrite can’t be trusted? In-universe, they have their reasons, but those reasons are also wrong.

However, we have to consider that Steven was clearly operating on the assumption all the monsters are bad even though he was able to observe that some of the monsters were only dangerous by accident (the worm from Bubble Buddies).

He assumed the monsters were dangerous even though time and time again, they largely only targeted the Crystal Gems, and most of them were in remote environments hiding, and only are drawn out of hiding because the Crystal Gems deliberately hunt them down.

And this is an assumption so pervasive that when given starkly contradictory evidence in Monster Buddies, his initial reflex is to defend this viewpoint- saying Nephrite “isn’t like the other monsters” and then trying to tell her “you’re not a monster any more!” when she never was in the first place. She only seemed “like a monster” because Steven was fed a specific narrative from people who were in some ways ignorant to the reality of Nephrite’s situation, and in others withholding information. And Steven is not a gullible, unobservant, or callous person. 

Here’s the thing: before we as an audience are told anything about the Gem monsters, we accept that. We take it as a given the Red Eye is going to crash into Beach City just because it’s bad. We assume the “Centipeetles” are hostile even though Nephrite’s drones are frankly no more aggressive than you’d expect a stray cat loose in your house to be, and Pearl is the one calmly standing there snapping one’s neck.

Personally, I grew up with the high fantasy genre. Heavy door-stopper books with dragons on the cover, and games like Final Fantasy. This is a genre that most popular codifying installments of give you broad, sweeping pastoral environments chock full of monsters that live exclusively to fight and kill you, and you need to kill them first. Anything that you shouldn’t kill on sight is going to immediately broadly flag you down so that you know not to murder this one. And killing monsters is never wrong. The ones that you aren’t supposed to kill, the narrative will coddle you so that you could never even think they might be just like the intrusive offal.

Sometimes you’re explained these monsters, they’re especially bad, because they did this bad thing or caused that bad thing to happen. Often you don’t actually witness it. Sometimes there’s simply no explanation given at all, but they are called “goblins” and they look strange and pointy and dangerous compared to the pretty likable-looking Heroes, and that’s supposed to be all the evidence you need to never worry if your heroes run them through.

We don’t worry, even if these monsters are actually people. We don’t worry even if they will directly talk to you and make it clear they believe they’re doing the right thing. After all, they have an entry in the in-game bestiary, and if they were really good, the game wouldn’t have given us the option to kill them, right?

When I hear people talk about “villains” and which villains are entitled to “redemption arcs”, what I hear overwhelmingly is thinking that sprouted from that genre, those games and those books. I hear, basically, the indoctrination that we just accept that worlds just have a bunch of Evil Things and the way to solve Evil is to kill it, and that the world will gently guide our hand so if it’s not actually Evil, then it will throw up its hands and drop to the floor and the battle music will stop and all of our combat commands will lock up.

We accept that Nephrite is evil, going in. Even though, actually watching that first episode, she’s standing on the outside of the Gem Temple, and doesn’t attack until the Crystal Gems barge out to threaten her. Nephrite is written from the very beginning of the show as an expression of its thesis statement.

Nephrite does not fling herself to the ground and whimper for mercy and try to stagger back to her proper Gem form as soon as she’s encountered. Nephrite is written, deliberately, as a monster. We accept that she’s here to be a threat for Steven to beat to prove himself. We accept that her pain doesn’t matter because she’s a monster.

We accept, in effect, that she is not a character with a life or a story. We accept that she is merely an empty receptacle for Steven’s fighting capabilities and inventiveness.

That’s preposterous. That’s ridiculous. If you suggest someone disagreeing with you is actually just an empty caricature of a person here to galvanize your growth as a person, or just show off what you’ve learned or accomplished since your past, people would look at you like you’d grown another head and rightfully so. There’s nothing “realistic” about that.

But it’s pervasive. It’s everywhere. And when patterns are repeated endlessly and repeatedly and constantly we get used to them.

It’s why Steven Universe, why Undertale, why even Off are treated as subversive narratives, even though they’re actually more realistic.

“But Clockie,” you say, “the Diamonds were so willing to talk and listen to Steven! That’s preposterous!”

“They sure weren’t in The Trial, or most of Reunited,” I say. “In fact the only reason they’re shown to have changed their mind so quickly is because Steven had a direct personal connection to them, and is that really so unlikely- that these people who have been alive for thousands of years and live at the heart of a densely populated empire would actually have connections with other people, who would not all homogeneously believe the same thing? That they could meet and interact with others who might change their opinions even slightly?”

And even then both Blue and Yellow try to talk Steven out of actually trying to say anything to White. And Steven literally points out why he’s doing this: because they tried fighting White, they tried fleeing White, and none of that worked. It failed to meaningfully change anything. And forcing change through by murdering White and standing on her corpse would just repeat the doomed rebellion because the staged murder of Pink Diamond just entrenched more people against the Crystal Gems.

Steven literally criticizes the refusal to attempt any form of negotiation as impractical. Because it is. The only reason people genuinely think violence as a narrative cure-all works is because we are basically raised in narratives- even narratives that are otherwise optimistic, friendly, and colorful- where the only solution is murder. 

[deadgodsuggestions]

I’m finally gonna talk about why I’ve been inactive for months. 

This post is going to be solely about me, not my poetry or writing. It’s going to include themes of suicide and mental illness, as well as drug abuse and self harm, so be careful reading. 

The last time I posted was in October, and that’s when things started getting worse. I was prescribed valium, and I fell in love with it the first time I took it. I still love it. I would be high every moment of every day if I could be. But the valium would eventually run out, so I started smoking weed as well. I was working one job at the time, but eventually got another one.

These two jobs were what ended up breaking me. Some days I was working fourteen hours, which was far too much for I think any seventeen year old. My grandparents were constantly out of town. I was living in a three story house by myself, with these dogs that were never happy because no one was ever home. That house is too big to be so empty, and coming home to no one after exhausting myself hurt more than I ever thought it would. 

I was smoking every night to go to sleep, just so I could get some quality sleep. Recalling that time of my life is still triggering today. 

My breaking point was my eighteenth birthday. I was off one job, and got a piercing with a friend. I tried to enjoy myself, but had to go to my other job directly after. I got to work at 4:30 and didn’t get home until 2AM. 

The roads were icy. It was dark. I was going ninety in a sixty-five. I was bone tired, and I was convinced this exhaustion was going to be the rest of my life. I’d been planning for a month at this point to pull the steering wheel and hope my death looks like an accident. I was so fucked up that I spoke to my friend about it. He knew a shitton more about cars than I do, and he said it’d be easy for me to die in a crash. 

In his defense, he told me this with the thought that I would try to fix some of the issues. 

I called my mom instead of killing myself that night. I laid in the floor and cried, and I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard. 

I did this for the next two nights. Three nights my mom had to hear me tell her I was going to kill myself with nothing she could do about it. She was on the other side of the country, after all. 

My grandmother was in town at the time. She was meant to be flying out of town Monday morning, and I texted my aunt, her daughter, and 3AM the night before telling her I was planning to kill myself and I shouldn’t be left alone. I was afraid of telling my grandmother, and rightfully so. She was at the airport when she finally answered my aunt’s calls and she lost it. She was furious, and I was the one that got screamed at over the phone. I texted another friend and went to her house.

I still feel shitty about this. I’d just told everyone I was going to kill myself and then I disappeared, but if I hadn’t left I would have killed myself in that house. 

I stayed at my friend’s for a couple hours and played with her dog. Eventually, she and my mother convinced me to go home. 

I did, and my grandmother was waiting for me, more scared than mad now and crying harder than I’d ever seen. We spoke, and she drove me to a hospital. She stayed with me until a car came to pick me up to take me to a mental hospital. They wouldn’t let me have my phone in the car, so I stared at the moon for an hour and a half and listened to the driver’s godawful music until we got there. 

When we did, I sat in a room for close to an hour crying my eyes out. I’d gotten there during a shift change, so it isn’t really their fault that I had to wait for so long. 

Alex was the nurse that finally helped me. She had a pride pin on her uniform and the sweetest smile, and I was such a bitch to her because I was scared. (I later apologized and she said she took none of it to heart and that it was alright.) I disclosed my transness to her and she made my roommate the only other trans guy there. We’ll call him T. Once I finally tried to sleep, that was after roaming the day room for an hour to wear myself out. (It was 2AM at this point and I should have been tired, but my nerves were shot because my intake was traumatizing.)

I woke up the next day to T falling into his wheelchair. He must’ve noticed me roll over because he laughed and asked if he woke me up, to which I responded, “Just a little.”

He laughed a lot louder than before, and excused himself to the bathroom with the warning that he might need help getting back into his wheelchair. I was more than fine with helping him, and I did. We bonded that morning. 

He came with me to get a composition notebook from the front desk and boldly wrote my name and pronouns on the front of it. He seemed so happy to me, and oh so very willing to help. 

I never would have guessed that T successfully killed himself. He was dead for two minutes before they brought him back, and he was pissed off about it. I think about him every day. I miss him every day. 

He introduced me to B, who had discovered during their stay that they’re nonbinary. I congratulated them, of course, and sat around and talked about gender with them. I have their contact info. I watch their streams sometimes. 

I need to talk to them more, because I think about them every day, too. 

We went to the gym one day, with a boy we’ll call Q. He was eighteen, same as me, and lanky as all hell. He didn’t seem like the type that I would get along with, and I’ve never been more delighted to have been wrong. Q loved the idea of the occult, and I am a balls-to-the-wall pagan with a lot of stories to tell. We made a tarot deck with uno cards and I read our fortunes in the day room. We talked about the concept of god with B. It was a great time. 

I need to talk to Q more, too. He witnessed me drunk on seroquel for the first time, where I confessed my platonic love for him and told him he was my type. I have a boyfriend, so I wasn’t hitting on him. 

I’m just dumb, and drunk me never knows when to shut up. 

I mentioned my medication, so I’ll talk about it now. At the hospital, I was diagnosed with bipolar type two. I knew this would be my diagnosis. I’d known I was bipolar for years. My mother is, and now we’re on the same medication. 

I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily gotten any easier, but my struggles are different and interesting now, so I’m less inclined to kill myself. 

Q left the day before me. He wasn’t much of a hugger, so we very seriously shook hands while I told him how happy I was. 

A lot of people left before me. A woman I’ll call C, who held me like a mother would when I cried and told her I didn’t think I could do it anymore. There was a woman I’ll call P, who was a carbon copy of my mother. Hugging was frowned upon, but I probably held her for half my time there. Another woman I’ll call N. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, a real hardass about opening up. I sat in front of her and told her my story, and she told me hers. the first day we met. 

I checked up on the elderly patients every change I got, which was a lot. They usually half smiled at me. I could tell it meant something to them that someone cared enough to tap their shoulder and tell them good morning. An elderly women I’ll call D always called me sweetie in the smallest voice and to this day the memory makes my heart melt. 

It wasn’t all bad. I’ve been out for about two months now. My grandmother is making a real effort to understand my mental illness, because it isn’t an easy one. My mother came to visit when I got out of the hospital and also for christmas. It was good seeing her. 

I quit my jobs. No call, no show while I was in the hospital. I could have fought them, but I let one of them fire me. I’m still unemployed, but I’m volunteering now. I work with a dog rescue on Saturdays, when I’m in town. I made a road trip from Colorado to Arizona and met my boyfriend in person for the first time. I’m in Montana while I’m writing this, contemplating how lucky I am to be alive. 

At the end of the day, it’s difficult. But I’m glad I’m not dead. I’m struggling more with mania than depression now. My violent intrusive thoughts are prohibiting me from working with dogs as much as I want, but I’m figuring it all out. 

I’ll never really be okay, but I hope I can be stable one day. I hope I can have more good days than bad days and more mild episodes than batshit. 

I’m going to text B and Q today, and when I get home and find my notebook, I’m going to text T, too. 

[darawonplease]

Darawon fanfiction concepts

- trauma fanfic [concept]

Characters. Eun Jiwon x Sandara Park 

nb. I wanted to take inspiration from a bunch of songs to help myself decide the main plot/s of the darawon fanfic I want to craft.

Ni Yao de Ai / The Love You Want (Meteor Garden OST)

concept. unrequited love / coming to terms with reality.

Dara understands that the sweet romance she dreamed of couldn’t be further from the harsh reality. Jiwon is actively avoiding her. She keeps thinking about him but knows that she doesn’t have any grip on him, she knows nothing. She is very doubtful, she doesn’t know if his feelings are true or if she’s just a rebound. She realizes that her constant fantasies will hurt her and that the relationship he wants is quite different, he doesn’t want to depend on anyone and wishes for freedom.

Although I often dream of you I still have no idea It's raining outside Which day is it today But I don't know Where you went *Although I have never Doubted you I still feel uneasy Who is your one and only Forgive me for doubting myself ~I understand the love I want Will spoil me Like a little child Who only knows how to be Bad in your arms The love you want Is not just reliance Must be like a man Even in bad weather Leads a carefree life

- If I were You - 2NE1

concept. unrequited love / moving on / need for closure

Dara can’t just console herself. She spends all her nights watching the beautiful yet tactless night sky. She wants to swap places so that he’ll understand her feelings, she wants to understand him too. She wants to love him but this unrequited love has taken a toll on her. Dara wants to spend the last day together with him to finally be at peace and have the closure she desperately needs. The constant crying, the mix of emotions that are stirring violently inside of her are starting to make her feel apathetic. She wants to throw everything out and scream but no one would be there to listen to her pain. She wishes to move on, either through alcohol drinking or with the help of her friends but she is just stuck in her house. She can only listen to herself sobbing in that empty house that feels like a prison.

Another day passes by like this My whole day was spent for you I wore the clothes that you liked the best

I should look beautiful in the mirror But I just look miserable The tactless night sky is so beautiful I wish you could be me I wish I could be you I wish you could feel it for just a day Your heart My heart I wish I could love you I wish you would love me I wish we could be together just for a day So I can let you go without regrets I want to throw away everything in front of me I want to scream out loud but The only one to listen would be me Along with the burning candle There’s not much left to my heart This beautiful house feels like prison The tactless night sky is so beautiful Sometimes, I want to push everything back and go out like you I want to wash down my pain with alcohol, my sadness with laughter But I don’t

- Trauma - Eun Jiwon

concept. break-up / regret / failed romance / moving on

Jiwon’s marriage terminated with a divorce after only 2 years. He still can’t move on from this life long relationship. He’s left scarred and hurt. He perfectly knows that the more he tries to forget his ex-wife the more she intrusively come up in his life. He’s mad because their story seems to be written by a cruel author, he wishes to try again and change their tragic ending. 

I guess it has been long Since I lost you Everything about you makes you my kryptonite My wounds won’t heal easily If it was a novel I’d rewrite it We’ve come too far Memories turn into painful records

You’re my trauma, from the beginning We were characters of an obvious drama Tell me why, I just cry I have to spit you out to survive Our scripts have messed us  I just cry

The more I explain the worse person I become Why bother trying to forget you When you become more clear by day 

I just cry I have to erase you out of my head That’s the only way I’ll make it alive I just cry Trauma

Round & Round - SECHSKIES

concept. regret / break-up / moving on / pretending / calling for help

Jiwon keeps experiencing sleepless nights, everything is still while his heart is a mess. He tries to distract himself, like a parasite that sucks out other’s happiness to stay afloat but it’s just temporary; when the party reaches its end he suddenly feels the burden of being alone again. He wants to go crazy and have wild fun but deep inside he is lonely and miserable. He wishes to go back to Dara and prefers to be hurt again and again if it means to feel that happiness even for just a day. He misses the old times, the carefree relationship they lived happily. No matter how hard he tries to forget her, her voice is always in his mind. He’s hopeless and wants to be consoled by her. 

I toss and turn all night, nothing changes outside the window when i open my eyes It’s empty even when I fill and put whatever inside, the tv that’s chatting alone is not fun 

Even is I call people uselessly and borrow others laughter It’s good for a while, low low, I can’t feel it no more From the day you killed me 

I want to go crazy and stumble insanely I want to feel the emotions I felt when I met you for the first time again

I’m running wildly and lively right now, but my heart is dying I run crazily all night but i want to go to you honestly I can’t stand it no more, I’d rather be hurt again and again A few times of swears, pains and loves, I want to feel the you of back then 

When I look back while I’m playing without thinking, I’m trapped in a cold space   Even when I kicked the remains of you out of me, why do I keep hearing you when I close my eyes? 

The heart hardened by you and the broken compass I keep hearing the silence of the sad song Even if I try to close my ears, you keep on calling me The really dazzling long night when you left me 

I’m trapped in a windowless room My heart is lost and dizzy without you Please hug the broken me 

That time when my heart burnt On the day my everything ran round and round towards you I’m in regret without you 

I scream and laugh crazily     But I actually want to cry at the thought of you 

HATE - Eun Jiwon

concept. regret / break-up 

Jiwon finally gets what seems to bother him so much lately. He was so careless when rejecting Dara once again and finally realizes how much his words hurt her. He’s become a demon to his own eyes too, he can’t believe he was so harsh with such a sensitive woman.  He’s too afraid of commitment and tries to protect her distancing her failing to understand that he should’ve been there for her instead. He’s mad at himself for not being strong enough to hold her while he could. 

I hate myself, The TV show I saw last night It brought out the scary anger in my eyes the tv that’s chatting alone is not fun I don’t want to watch it all-day Every time I look in the mirror I close my eyes

Please let’s break up, I pray My mouth that said harsh things to you Shut up your lips tight, don’t say anything I haven’t said a word yet, yeah

Making you cry because of my tears And my hands that I didn’t hold you back I hate my feet that just turn around The painful night because of me Now I’ll let you go, goodbye No way, why did I lose you

I hate myself I can’t do anything I hate this about myself

- TIPSY - EUN JIWON

concept. drinking / temptation

Dara and Jiwon go out to get a few drinks together. He suddenly feels strange, his heart is palpitating, his pupils dilating, his cheeks redden. He want to blame it on the alcohol but he’s actually drunk with feelings. He finally gets to see the sensual side of Dara and stop himself from falling deeper and deeper for her.

It’s too early to sleep in this dark night My mind’s still noisy even when the flame’s out Even when I swam until I’m breathless I’m deeply locked with your thoughts. I’m stained with your fragrance

What kind of feeling that’s coming up is this? I heard the beating music inside of me The sound of a sweet laugh oscillates

I kept on being swayed just by your gaze the whispers of your red lips is so tender I’m attracted to you unknowingly I fell for you without any word, girl I know you’re danger

I’m spinning because of you, I think I’m going psycho I’m a drowned fool, Baby please slow down My heart’s goes round and round, don’t flip it Hold on to me while we’re playing because I’m wobbly It’s frustrating, I’m wobbly and everything’s twisting  Why do i keep on getting wobbly while we’re playing? It’s dizzy, got me tipsy tipsy tipsy

I’m drunk because of you,  I don’t know why I’m like this, why? I walked wobbly like that

I look at your dark hair and dazzling eyes You’re perfect and chic without trying while wearing your natural attire Your smile quickly flashes by while looking back at me, uh I fell for you right at that short moment

I fell for you more as this night gets deeper My lips calling for you without me knowing Your smile quickly flashes by while looking back at me, uh

Even when I look weak like this I can protect the only you, my girl When you’re tired lady, when you’re hurt, you can lean on me and cry.

- Don’t Give it to me - Loco ft. Hwasa

concept. drinking / temptation /

Jiwon and Dara go out for a couple drinks. Jiwon teases Dara and takes her over her drinking limits. She doesn’t want to disappoint him and accepts every drink he pours her even if she, deep down, knows it’s a terrible idea. She wants to properly confess to Jiwon and doesn’t want the alcohol to be the reason she fails again. The tension between them keeps increasing and the alcohol is slowly cutting on their inhibitions.

It's dangerous, a close call Holding on by a thread But you're trying to cut it with scissors I don't need your favor I don't have much patience I can only see it as a temptation Don't come to me, don't Don't cross the line, please Don't give me alcohol, don't I might try to make it work with you if drunk Don't offer me a drink, oh baby It'll only bring regrets Don't give me courage, oh baby I know it'll only last today If you want me to be sincere, don't give me that drink I'll say nonsense and do the devil's dance A cool wind blows outside but the world is still too harsh I want to keep you only at my side Men are all the same No, men who had drinks are all the same Saying I don't see anyone but you Is just saying I forgot everything else but you So don't give me alcohol I'm lonely enough sober Don't let me scissor away Ripping love and revealing instinct I want to get to know you first Ya, I want to keep my sanity They say this is the cost of getting older But I want to give it cheaply You don't even need to move Don't let my words become a ploy Let's just enjoy and toast with water Don't offer me a drink, oh baby It'll only bring regrets Don't give me courage, oh baby I know it'll only last today One shot, two shot, I don't want to keep emptying these glasses Don't get me feeling good anymore Don't make eye contact like you're making a toast I don't care who you are Don't make me cry I don't care who you are

[the-gay-cryptid]

I Love My Mom, But-

I was thinking about intrusive thoughts lately. How they interact with me. For the most part I don’t really struggle with them, which is fortunate. They prefer to take the more typical form of “what if you just slammed on the gas and went top speed” or “what if you murdered your family? How would you do it?” and while the thoughts are certainly startling in the moment, I learned a long time ago that they don’t define me. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but it helped that I had an obsession with psychology and a brother who shared that fascination and never feared to share his thoughts and reflect on them as they were: mere thoughts.

 But in recent years, they’ve learned. They still tell me I should sneak out. Or steal that makeup palette. But every once in a while, they choose to be subtle.

 Just some soft passing notes on how I’ve barely put effort into searching for scholarships. Or a little observation that I haven’t learned a lot of basic skills necessary for adulthood. And more and more, these subtle intrusive thoughts sound like my mother.

 I think horrible things about myself, and more and more it has ceased to be my own voice, and instead become hers. But who does that say more about?

 My counselor, a lovely woman named Mae, tells me that what people say about me is more of a reflection of them than me. My mom telling me I’m being lazy isn’t actually indicative of my effort, but of my mom’s own fear and anxiety about my future. My anxiety, and intrusive thoughts by extension, are nothing more than the internalized concerns of other people about themselves. So what does it say when the voice that tells me I look fat, that I’m over reaching my abilities, that I can’t make it, is my mom?

 She’s not a bad person. No more than the average person is anyway. 

 I forget her name, but in the aftermath of the holocaust, there was a woman who proposed that there is no such thing as someone who is “good” or “bad”, but that all humans are born with equal ability to commit atrocities and kindness. It was a scary thought at the time, because it meant anyone could become like the Nazis, and it was much more comfortable to simply dehumanize them and pretend that they were born evil. 

 My mom is a good person in terms of generics. She is not racist. She strives to employ and work with people of color. She’s far from sexist. She instilled in me a strong belief in equality of the sexes and she is deliberate in and out of work to uplift women. She is not homophobic or trans phobic. She struggles to understand sometimes, but she tries. She is not dismissive of mental health. She is the one I go to when I have anxiety attacks, and she’s the one who suggested I go to counseling for it, and she tries to accommodate me when my mental health gets to be too much.

 But she’s not perfect. No one is, but sometimes her flaws are so glaring it’s hard to see much else.

 My freshmen year was the first time I had an anxiety attack. I remember it had to do with my algebra grade. I remember standing in my parents room as my mother stared my down, her mouth pressing into and ever thinning line as she waited for any kind of excuse. By then I’d learned it was best to apologize. So I said “I’m sorry.” she demanded to know what for. I didn’t know. So I said “I’m sorry I’m failing.” She grounded me. I was grounded most of freshmen year.

 I went to my room with my eyes burning and my hands shaking. I sank onto the floor with my back against my bed. The metal frame dug into my spine and hurt, but it kept me grounded so i pressed harder and harder. I curled up, knees at my chest and nails pressing through my sleeves as i tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t supposed to cry. It would make her angrier. I wasn’t allowed to feel bad for something that was my fault. I couldn’t be upset with her because I’m the one who fucked up. It’s my fault she was mad and I didn’t deserve to be upset.

 She I sat shaking and whimpering and biting my lip and fighting the rising scream in my chest until it began its decline and I could breathe. My breaths were still violent and much too fast and I was dizzy and my chest hurt and vague descriptions of heart attacks stumbled around my head. Logic and reason were fast and frantic and broke like waves against the concrete fact that I was a bad student. A bad daughter. A bad person.

 My parents found me curled like that, unable to move. My dad handed me a rolled up towel, I don't know why, but I clutched it to my chest and bit down on it and strained screams through my teeth while they watched. When I finished, when I finally could move, I was still shaking. Everything buzzed and felt weak, like the time I’d run a mile in gym class with too much enthusiasm.

 Dad held my shoulders, rubbing my arms a little too hard. But that helped. The certainty of him being there. Mom sat on the bed and waited. 

 “I think you just had a panic attack” Dad said gently. I nodded. That fit. Those words were a good descriptor.

 “I couldn’t breathe.” the words come out shaky and slurred. Some of them had to be forced. “I couldn’t move.”

 “Now that you’re calmed down,” Mom said, “we need to figure out what to do about your grades.” I was not calm. I felt scraped out and sick, but I wasn’t allowed to.

 I looked up what an honors class was, because despite telling me what a good thing it was, no one ever actually bothered to tell me what it was. Then I suggested that maybe I shouldn’t take an honors math class, considering that I wasn’t suited to math to begin with. Mom wouldn’t let me.

 I had a lot of anxiety attacks after that. Always school related. Always after conversations with my mom. I dreaded Monday mornings when my mom would receive and email with my updated grades. I hid in the bathroom until it was time to go and would try to avoid telling her bye, because then I’d have to face her. 

 One morning I didn’t have a choice. I met her in the kitchen, and she went off. She didn’t yell. Mom never yells. She is just..stern. Just an even tone telling me I was being lazy and irresponsible and she was spending a lot of money to send me to this school and i was wasting it. I said sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. She said sorry wasn’t good enough. I promised to do better, I promised I’d study more, I promised to talk to my teachers, do extra credit, ask for help. She said she didn’t believe me.

 Then she threatened to pull me out. She said maybe I wasn’t ready for such an advanced school. And that if I was just going to waste her money, she was going to pull me out because she was not spending thousands of dollars just so I could fail. I remember sinking down to my knees, begging her not to make me leave. I loved my school. I loved my friends. I loved my teachers. 

 She told me to get the hell up. She glared down at me and told me to stop crying. She watched as I nearly made myself sick crying, and then said she didn’t want to look at me right now and left for work. 

 I got up and went to the bathroom. I drank several glasses of water, cleaned my face, and did my makeup to hide how red my face was. I don’t think I talked that day. It hurt too much.

 It would take several more groundings, lectures, and anxiety attacks for us to finally realize that I didn’t know how to fucking study. Then it was all about getting mad that I never asked for help. Then it was more apologies and thinking to myself about how if I admitted I was in a bad enough place to need help, she might have thought I was a failure.

 The anxiety continued. My teachers were good people though, and let me retake tests. My dad taught me how to study. My mom grounded me when I slipped. 

 When I started being too scared to order my own food, or talk at the doctor, or meet new people, they got worried. When I was scared to speak, they worried. When I had to hide in the bathroom and wait for the shaking to pass at least once a week, they really worried.

 Mom was the one who took me to Mae. she still took the lead and told Mae what was wrong with me. But she also suggested I might do better in one on one sessions instead of sitting there with my parents.

 One day, driving back from one of these sessions, she asked me if she was a cause of my anxiety. I’d always blamed school related stress and meeting new people for it. But I looked at her. And I thought about how many times she’d told me to stop crying. All the grounding. The threats to take my door. The guilt trips. The dismissals. The way she cried when my older brother told her how her disciplining methods hurt him. How my brother became the ungrateful one. The one who lacked any compassion for his own mother. 

 “No.” I lied. “You’re not.”

 Things got better, I think. She recognized my anxiety. She still causes most of my anxiety attacks, even indirectly.

 And now I’m in a place to examine our relationship. I love my mom, and she loves me. But she loves me the way she knows how. And she’s never hit me. She’s never intentionally caused me grief. She’s only hurt me because she thought I needed the push to succeed. She puts weight on school and scholarships to encourage me. She knows that encourages her. She doesn’t know that what encourages her hurts me. She’s not to blame.

 Even if I have told her it hurts. Even if I’ve grown in confidence enough to tell her when she’s hurting me. Even if I’ve asked my dad to explain that her throwing her stress on me only helps her. Even if I’ve begun to realize all the ways she accidentally manipulates me. She’s not to blame.

 Mom works hard. Mom’s just trying to help. Don’t tell Mom she’s the reason your hands shake. Don’t hurt Mom’s feelings by telling her that she’s made your brain fucked up. Don’t hurt Mom like she hurt you. Mom gets to throw her stress on yours, and if you tell her that what she’s doing is wrong she’ll feel bad, and God forbid she feel guilt. Don’t let Mom know she’s imperfect. 

 So my Mom is the voice of my intrusive thoughts. And she’s the primary origin of my anxiety. And she’s the reason I hate my body. And she’s the reason I’m scared of school. And she’s the reason my villains are mothers. And she’s the reason I’m in counseling. And she’s the reason I think it’s bad to cry. And she’s the reason I’d rather crash and burn in secret than admit I need help. And she’s the reason I doubt every choice. And she’s the reason I think I’m secretly a bad person. Only bad people hate their mom sometimes.

So who’s fault is it that I always say “I love my mom, but..”?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been saying for a while that I wanted to talk about my relationship with my mom. so here it is. I’ve thought before that maybe it counts as abusive, but I really have no fucking clue because I can’t trust my judgement about her. I don’t know how much is over exaggerated anxiety or accurate perception or idolizing her because she’s my mom.

I think the best way to sum up our relationship is just confusing and probably unhealthy. not that I’d ever tell her that. not that I could. my brother did once and then I had to deal with the after math of my mom crying so much and my brother being forced to apologize.

so yeah. it’s ~complicated~

Now I feel like a piece of shit and would greatly appreciate anyone sending me nice messages. I’m gonna go take a bath to calm down.

[chrysalispen]

personality trait meme time!

my brain is actively rebelling at the notion of writing anything tonight (i literally just woke up like an hour ago out of hunger and am going right back to bed tbh >_>) so hey, have a meme

(tumblr was doing a weird thing and not letting me reblog this properly, but @mirkemenagerie did this and i thought it was a pretty neat way to flesh out characters SO ON WE GOOOO)

and just to mix things up a bit i’ve selected one Nero tol Scaeva as my victim of choice tonight so you get to see a little bit of how i write him :3c

Bold what applies to your character.  

Bold-Italics for somewhat  / sometimes (i interpreted this as situational but ymmv)

Absent-minded - Preoccupied to the extent of being unaware of one’s immediate surroundings. Abstracted, daydreaming, inattentive, oblivious, forgetful. Abusive - Characterized by improper infliction of physical or psychological maltreatment towards another. Addict - One who is addicted to a compulsive activity. Examples: gambling, drugs, sex. Aimless - Devoid of direction or purpose. Alcoholic - A person who drinks alcoholic substances habitually and to excess. Anxious - Full of mental distress or uneasiness because of fear of danger or misfortune; greatly worried; solicitous. Arrogant - Having or displaying a sense of overbearing self-worth or self-importance. Inclined to social exclusiveness and who rebuff the advances of people considered inferior. Snobbish. Audacious - Recklessly bold in defiance of convention, propriety, law, or the like; insolent; braze, disobedient. Bad Habit - A revolting personal habit. Examples: picks nose, spits tobacco, drools, bad body odour. Bigmouth - A loud-mouthed or gossipy person. Bigot - One who is strongly partial to one’s own group, religion, race, or politics and is intolerant of those who differ. Blunt - Characterized by directness in manner or speech; without subtlety or evasion. Frank, callous, insensitive, brusque. Bold - In a bad sense, too forward; taking undue liberties; over assuming or confident; lacking proper modesty or restraint; rude; impudent. Abrupt, brazen, cheeky, brassy, audacious. Callous - They are hardened to emotions, rarely showing any form of it in expression. Unfeeling. Cold. Childish - Marked by or indicating a lack of maturity; puerile. Complex - An exaggerated or obsessive concern or fear. Cruel - Mean to anyone or anything, without care or regard to consequences and feelings. Cursed - A person who has befallen a prayer for evil or misfortune, placed under a spell, or borne into an evil circumstance, and suffers for it. Damned. Dependent - Unable to exist, sustain oneself, or act appropriately or normally without the assistance or direction of another. Deranged - Mentally decayed. Insane. Crazy. Mad. Psychotic. Dishonest – Given to or using fraud, cheating; deceitful, deceptive, crooked, underhanded. Disloyal - Lacking loyalty. Unfaithful, perfidious, traitorous, treasonable Disorder - An ailment that affects the function of mind or body. (malignant narcissist, former kleptomaniac, obsessive-compulsive) See the Mental Disorder List. Disturbed - Showing some or a few signs or symptoms of mental or emotional illness. Confused, disordered, neurotic, troubled. Dubious - Fraught with uncertainty or doubt. Undecided, doubtful, unsure. Dyslexic - Affected by dyslexia, a learning disorder marked by impairment of the ability to recognize and comprehend written words. Egotistical - Characteristic of those having an inflated idea of their own importance. Boastful, pompous. Envious - Showing extreme cupidity; painfully desirous of another’s advantages; covetous, jealous. Erratic - Deviating from the customary course in conduct or opinion; eccentric: erratic behavior. Eccentric, bizarre, outlandish, strange. Fanatical - Fanatic outlook or behavior especially as exhibited by excessive enthusiasm, unreasoning zeal, or wild and extravagant notions on some subject. Fickle – Erratic, changeable, unstable - especially with regard to affections or attachments; capricious. Fierce - Marked by extreme intensity of emotions or convictions; inclined to react violently; fervid. Finicky - Excessively particular or fastidious; difficult to please; fussy. Too much concerned with detail. Meticulous, fastidious, choosy, critical, picky, prissy, persnickety. Fixated - In psychoanalytic theory, a strong attachment to a person or thing, especially such an attachment formed in childhood or infancy and manifested in immature or neurotic behaviour that persists throughout life. Fetish, quirk, obsession, infatuation. Flirt -To make playfully romantic or sexual overtures; behaviour intended to arouse sexual interest. Minx. Tease. Gluttonous - Given to excess in consumption of especially food or drink. Voracious, ravenous, wolfish, piggish, insatiable. Gruff - Brusque or stern in manner or appearance. Crusty, rough, surly. Gullible - Will believe any information given, regardless of how valid or truthful it is, easily deceived or duped. Hard - A person who is difficult to deal with, manage, control, overcome, or understand. Hard emotions, hard hearted. Hedonistic - Pursuit of or devotion to pleasure, especially to the pleasures of the senses. Hoity-toity - Given to flights of fancy; capricious; frivolous. Prone to giddy behaviour, flighty. Humourless - The inability to find humour in things, and most certainly in themselves. Hypocritical - One who is always contradicting their own beliefs, actions or sayings. A person who professes beliefs and opinions for others that he does not hold. Being a hypocrite. Idealist - One whose conduct is influenced by ideals that often conflict with practical considerations. One who is unrealistic and impractical, guided more by ideals than by practical considerations. Idiotic - Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless. Ignorant - Lacking knowledge or information as to a particular subject or fact. Showing or arising from a lack of education or knowledge. Illiterate - Unable to read and write. Immature - Emotionally undeveloped; juvenile; childish. Impatient - Unable to wait patiently or tolerate delay; restless. Unable to endure irritation or opposition; intolerant. Impious - Lacking piety and reverence for a god/gods and their followers. Impish - Naughtily or annoyingly playful. Incompetent - Unable to execute tasks, no matter how the size or difficulty. Indecisive - Characterized by lack of decision and firmness, especially under pressure. Indifferent - The trait of lacking enthusiasm for or interest in things generally, remaining calm and seeming not to care; a casual lack of concern. Having or showing little or no interest in anything; languid; spiritless. Infamy - Having an extremely bad reputation, public reproach, or strong condemnation as the result of a shameful, criminal, or outrageous act that affects how others view them. Intolerant - Unwilling to tolerate difference of opinion and narrow-minded about cherished opinions. Judgmental - Inclined to make and form judgments, especially moral or personal ones, based on one’s own opinions or impressions towards others/practices/groups/religions based on appearance, reputation, occupation, etc. Klutz - Clumsy. Blunderer. Lazy - Resistant to work or exertion; disposed to idleness. Lewd - Inclined to, characterized by, or inciting to lust or lechery; lascivious. Obscene or indecent, as language or songs; salacious. Liar - Compulsively and purposefully tells false truths more often than not. A person who has lied or who lies repeatedly. Lustful - Driven by lust; preoccupied with or exhibiting lustful desires. Masochist - The deriving of sexual gratification, or the tendency to derive sexual gratification, from being physically or emotionally abused. A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences. Meddlesome - Intrusive in a meddling or offensive manner, given to meddling; interfering. Meek - Evidencing little spirit or courage; overly submissive or compliant; humble in spirit or manner; suggesting retiring mildness or even cowed submissiveness. Megalomaniac - A psycho pathological condition characterized by delusional fantasies of wealth, power, or omnipotence. Naïve - Lacking worldly experience and understanding, simple and guileless; showing or characterized by a lack of sophistication and critical judgement. Nervous - Easily agitated or distressed; high-strung or jumpy. Non-violent - Abstaining from the use of violence. Nosy - Given to prying into the affairs of others; snoopy. Offensively curious or inquisitive. Obsessive - An unhealthy and compulsive preoccupation with something or someone. Oppressor - A person of authority who subjects others to undue pressures, to keep down by severe and unjust use of force or authority. Overambitious - Having a strong excessive desire for success or achievement. Overconfident - Excessively confident; presumptuous. Overemotional - Excessively or abnormally emotional. Sensitive about themselves and others, more so than the average person. Overprotective - To protect too much; coddle. Overzealous - Marked by excessive enthusiasm for and intense devotion to a cause or idea. Pacifist - Opposition to war or violence as a means of resolving disputes. (Can double as a merit in certain cases) Paranoid - Exhibiting or characterized by extreme and irrational fear or distrust of others. Peevish - Expressing fretfulness and discontent, or unjustifiable dissatisfaction. Cantankerous, cross, ill-tempered, testy, captious, discontented, crotchety, cranky, ornery. Perfectionist - A propensity for being displeased with anything that is not perfect or does not meet extremely high standards. Pessimist - A tendency to stress the negative or unfavorable or to take the gloomiest possible view. Pest - One that pesters or annoys, with or without realizing it. Nuisance. Annoying. Nag. Phobic – They have a severe form of fear when it comes to this one thing. (Claustrophobia) Practical - Level-headed, efficient, and unspeculative. No-nonsense. Predictable - Easily seen through and assessable, where almost anyone can predict reactions and actions of said person by having met or known them even for a short time. Proud - Filled with or showing excessive self-esteem and will often shirk help from others for the sake of pride. Rebellious - Defying or resisting some established authority, government, or tradition; insubordinate; inclined to rebel. Reckless - Heedless. Headstrong. Foolhardy. Unthinking boldness, wild carelessness and disregard for consequences. Remorseless - Without remorse; merciless; pitiless; relentless. Rigorous - Rigidly accurate; allowing no deviation from a standard; demanding strict attention to rules and procedures. Sadist - The deriving of gratification or the tendency to derive gratification from inflicting pain or emotional abuse on others. Deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from cruelty. Sadomasochist - Both sadist and masochist combined. Sarcastic - A subtle form of mockery in which an intended meaning is conveyed obliquely. Skeptic - One who instinctively or habitually doubts, questions, or disagrees with assertions or generally accepted conclusions. Seducer - To lead others astray, as from duty, rectitude, or the like; corrupt. To attempt to lead or draw someone away, as from principles, faith, or allegiance. Selfish - Concerned chiefly or only with oneself. Self-Martyr - One who purposely makes a great show of suffering in order to arouse sympathy from others, as a form of manipulation, and always for a selfish cause or reason. Self-righteous - Piously sure of one’s own righteousness; moralistic. Exhibiting pious self-assurance. Holier-than-thou, sanctimonious. Senile - Showing a decline or deterioration of physical strength or mental functioning, esp. short-term memory and alertness, as a result of old age or disease. Shallow - Lacking depth of intellect or knowledge; concerned only with what is obvious. Smart Ass - Thinks they know it all, and in some ways they may, but they can be greatly annoying and difficult to deal with at times, especially in arguments. Soft-hearted - Having softness or tenderness of heart that can lead them into trouble; susceptible of pity or other kindly affection. They cannot resist helping someone they see in trouble, suffering or in need, and often don’t think of the repercussions or situation before doing so. Solemn - Deeply earnest, serious, and sober. Spineless - Lacking courage. Cowardly, wimp, lily-livered, gutless. Spiteful - Showing malicious ill will and a desire to hurt; motivated by spite; vindictive person who will look for occasions for resentment. Vengeful. Spoiled - Treated with excessive indulgence and pampering from earliest childhood, and has no notion of hard work, self-care or money management; coddled, pampered. Having the character or disposition harmed by pampering or over-solicitous attention. Squeamish - Excessively fastidious and easily disgusted. Stubborn - Unreasonably, often perversely unyielding; bull-headed. Firmly resolved or determined; resolute. Superstitious - An irrational belief arising from ignorance or fear from an irrational belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a course of events influences its outcome. Tactless - Lacking or showing a lack of what is fitting and considerate in dealing with others. Temperamental - Moody, irritable, or sensitive. Excitable, volatile, emotional. Theatrical - Having a flair for over dramatizing situations, doing things in a ‘big way’ and love to be ‘centre stage’. Timid -Tends to be shy and/or quiet, shrinking away from offering opinions or from strangers and newcomers, fearing confrontations and violence. Tongue-tied - Speechless or confused in expression, as from shyness, embarrassment, or astonishment. Troublemaker - Someone who deliberately stirs up trouble, intentionally or unintentionally. Unlucky - Marked by or causing misfortune; ill-fated. Destined for misfortune; doomed. Unpredictable - Difficult to foretell or foresee, their actions are so chaotic it’s impossible to know what they are going to do next. Untrustworthy - Not worthy of trust or belief. Backstabber. Vain - Holding or characterized by an unduly high opinion of their physical appearance. Lovers of themselves. Conceited, egotistic, narcissistic. Weak-willed - Lacking willpower, strength of will to carry out one’s decisions, wishes, or plans. Easily swayed. Withdrawn - Not friendly or Sociable. Aloof. Zealous - A fanatic.

[astrangeevent2002]

Shadow (Young!Sirius Black x Female!Reader)

A/N: This request was so interesting that I just had to do it!!!

Warnings: maybe swearing (I can't really remember)

Word Count: 1,652

Requested?: yasss

Could you please do a Sirius x reader where you and him don't really get along in person but you're quite fond of his animagus even though you don't know it's him. And then stuff happens? Not naughty stuff but cute stuff

Blurb: (Y/N) hates Sirius. And he hates her. But what happens when she tells the cute dog that's been following her her true feelings about Sirius.

It was a normal afternoon. James was hitting on Lily. Remus was reading. Alice and Frank were awkwardly talking to each other. And you... You were in the middle of a very heated argument with Sirius.

What were you arguing about this time? Godric knows...

It didn't really matter. What matters is that you were right and he was wrong.

"But it's not! That's why you're wrong!" you practically yelled at Sirius.

"Geez! Can't you just admit that you're wrong and I'm right?" he replied, getting frustrated.

"No, I can't actually because I'm not wrong. You are!" you jabbed his chest violently.

He turned around and started walking away.

"Where are you going? I'm not done with you yet," you yelled.

"Well I am," he answered without turning around. Then he continued walking.

"Awww. The couple's bickering again," said James.

"We are not a couple!"

"Sure you're not," Lily said sarcastically as James poked your cheek.

You slapped his hand away. "We really aren't! He's just being an ass again."

"Well hurry up guys. I'm hungry," shouted Peter while motioning for all of you to hurry up.

You groaned. Where the hell was it?

You were looking for your shoe. You had one on but had no idea where the other one was.

You plopped on the common room sofa face first.

As you were about to give up and just not go to Hogsmeade you felt something wet touch your hand.

Immediately you pulled your hand away from whatever it was and sat up straight.

Looking at the thing you realised what it was.

It was a dog. An adorable, black dog.

It was just sat there with your shoe in its mouth.

"I'll take that thank you," you said reaching for your shoe.

The dog just moved away from your hand. Just out of your reach.

"Hey!" you stood up and walked toward the dog.

Every time you got closer it moved away from you until you were practically chasing it around the common room.

"Give that back! Right now!" it didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.

Just as you were about to get it you tripped over a cushion that must've fallen off the couch when you stood up. You fell face first to the ground.

You looked up and saw the dog stalking off and out of the common room making a noise that sounded a bit like laughter.

The next few weeks the dog would follow you around the castle and even went to Hogsmeade on the weekend a couple times.

It was like your little shadow. So that's what you decided to call it 'Shadow'.

The first time you called it that it didn't seem to like the new name much but too bad. You liked it.

Also, arguments with Sirius had gotten worse. Now you argued over every petty thing you could think of.

But he was just such a dick sometimes. Well... most of the time.

"Here Shadow!" you called to the dog who lazily walked over to you.

It was a particularly quiet day. Most people had gone to Hogsmeade.

It was just you and Shadow. Sat in front of the fire in the common room.

It was peaceful.

Then you heard a loud crash outside. Immediately you rushed to the window to see what happened.

All you could see was Professor Slughorn covered from head to toe in bright green gunk.

Almost instantly you realised that it was probably the work of the 'Marauders' as they liked to call themselves. You thought that was a stupid name.

You thought of how annoying Sirius was sometimes as you sat back down on the couch.

"You know, Shadow, Sirius Black can be such a prick sometimes. Well, most of the time. But he's not that bad. He can be a decent person some of the time. I'd like him if it wasn't for the fact that he's an insufferable jerk who loves to argue and refuses to admit when he's wrong." you ranted to Shadow who sat in exactly the same place as before.

"Shh guys! You're going to wake her up!" you heard someone whisper shout. The voice sounded familiar.

You felt yourself being carried by somebody but you were too tired to open your eyes.

"Aww! Sirius, you look so cute together!" whispered a voice you recognised instantly. Lily.

With that, you made the effort to open one eye. Looking up you saw a mop of messy black hair and a very angry looking face.

You snuggled closer to Sirius' chest. Wait...

Sirius was carrying you!

As quick as a flash your eyes shot open.

"Oh, you're awa-"

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" you shouted, trying to get out of his grip.

He carefully put you down and started explaining.

"I saw you sleeping and didn't want to wake you up. That's all."

"Oh. Alright then," you replied and straightened your top. "Well, in that case, goodnight," you said.

You quickly turned on your heel and marched off towards the girl's dormitories.

Over the next few days, Sirius had actually been pretty decent. He'd opened doors for you, gave up his seat for you at dinner and even smiled at you a few times.

That's not to say that he'd stopped teasing you. He was just finally civil with you.

That made you suspicious. Very suspicious. But what really gave it away was the argument you had, or rather didn't have, on your way to potions that week.

"Oi! Black!" you yelled down the corridor.

He turned around and you ran to catch up to him.

"What a pleasure to see you (Y/L/N)."

You eyed him up wearily.

"Yeah... Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that your shirt was untucked."

"Oops! I'll fix it now." he said calmly and started tucking his shirt in his trousers.

"And has your hair ever been within 5 feet of a hairbrush?"

"I've been meaning to get a haircut actually." he acknowledged.

"Urgh. What is wrong with you?" you yelled frustratedly.

"What do you mean?" Sirius looked at you confused.

"I mean why aren't you arguing with me? We haven't had an argument in forever. What is up with you? You're being a decent human being now?"

After your rant, Sirius just laughed as you stared at him. Why was he laughing at you?

"Would you like to tell me what you find so funny?"

"You-" he said in between chuckles "you're mad at me because we haven't had an argument?"

"Yeah?" you realised that it did sound kind of stupid when he said it out loud.

"Wow! Now you're being ridiculous! I thought you liked me being nice."

"Why would I like you anyway?" you asked. You had never given any sign that he had a chance of even being acquaintances.

"Well seeing as you like me when I'm not being a- how did you put it? oh, 'an insufferable jerk who loves to argue and refuses to admit when he's wrong'? That's right."

Wait. You had said that. But not to him. How did he know?

"Wait. I never told you that!"

You looked up at him but he was gone.

A few days later you finally thought you figured it out. So you confronted Sirius.

"I know you overheard my conversation," you stated matter of factly as Sirius jumped because of your sudden appearance next to him.

"Could you be a bit more specific? I've overheard a lot of your conversations," he replied.

"Wait! What conversations?" you asked suddenly interested.

"That's private," he answered smugly. "Anyway, what conversation are you referring to?"

"The one I was having with Shadow," you informed him.

"Ah yes. Shadow the mysterious dog I've never seen but you keep going on about."

"She's real if that's what you're implying." you snapped.

"I wasn't implying anything sweetheart but it's funny that you should call the dog a she."

Sirius returned his gaze to the wand in his hand which, quite clearly, wasn't his.

"Why is that funny? The dog is a she so-"

"It's not a she." he interrupted.

"It's a dude?"

"Yeah."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"How would you know anyway? You said you never saw the dog," you recalled.

"Well how could I?" he smirked.

"What?" you were very confused right now.

"Well how can a person see themselves?" he asked before swaggering off and leaving you more perplexed than ever.

"He was being so stupid today!" you said to Shadow. Obviously referring to the bane of your life, Sirius Black.

You explained to her what he did this time.

"And I just don't get it. What does he mean 'How can a person see themselves?'" you said imitating his deep voice.

Shadow just barked.

You stroked the dog gently.

"Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight Shadow."

You stood up and started walking up the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

You were stopped however by a small, nervous cough.

You turned around and saw Sirius Black stood in the common room.

"What are you-"

"I told you 'Shadow' wasn't a she."

Just as you were about to ask what he means he transformed into the black dog you had befriended. He stalked up to you and licked your hand.

"You're an animagus?" you guessed as he returned to his human self.

"Exactly." Sirius moved closer to you.

"So you heard everything I said about you?" you facepalmed.

"Yes. And you seem to really like talking about me, sweetheart."

Sirius gently removed your hands from your face.

"And I've got to say I didn't mind. At least now I know you sort of like me back."

"Wait-" you let your brain process that. "You-"

"I like you (Y/L/N). A lot."

Before he could say anything else you pressed your lips to his and kissed him like you had wanted to for the past few months. Happy that your feelings were requited.

"Does that mean you'll be my girlfriend?"

"Yes. You dork."

Bonus:

"Hey, Remus, Lily, Peter! Get in here now."

The three others rushed into the common room just as you pulled away from Sirius. You were both startled by the sudden intrusion.

"I knew! I knew it!" Lily yelled, running away before you could stop her.

Tags:

Sirius Black:

@mycobrakai1972

@bear105

Permanent:

@mindofthescattered

@dygalome

@wolfdragon0424

@siriusement

HP Universe:

@hope-became-knowledge

[followerofmercy]

So YET ANOTHER of my friends just announced their decision to kill themselves. 

A quick message from me to anyone out there considering suicide.

Don’t. 

It will IRREPARABLY screw up your friends, family and anyone that even sorta knew you for life. My roommate remembers the kid that sat behind her in elementary school that killed himself. My mother just... isn’t right (she walked in on the aftermath. At age 9). You know I get anxiety attacks whenever people that I haven’t spoken to in awhile text me out of the blue now? I almost threw up in a Walmart today. Turns out my hunch was right. 

If you care about them at ALL, you will do the literal bare minimum of surviving for their sakes. Get help. The US’s hotline is 1-800-273-8255 and there’s an online chat at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/. Generally speaking, you can call whatever your nation’s emergency number is and they will get you to someone you can speak with. There is no shame in getting help, real help. It’s certainly better than having all your relatives, friends and acquaintances crying and drinking at 4:00 4:30 5:00 in the morning.

And if you think that’ll prove they care?? YOU WON’T BE AROUND TO ENJOY IT. If you really aren’t getting the care you want/need, get help, or get new friends AND get help. 

Didja know suicide is as traumatic on the survivors as murder? Because it is! You’re killing their friend! Violently! 

Didja know it can cause suicide chains? One person’s suicide can be the last little push for someone else on the brink. Didja know it can cause intrusive thoughts in otherwise mentally healthy individuals? Guess how I know that! It sucks! 

Oh, and sometimes things won’t work out like anyone expects. For example, I got somebody to find my British buddy’s address and call the police on him, from the US. He’s probably in a mental hospital right now. (For a man who supposedly prided himself on being secretive, it was hilariously easy to dig up all his info.) He had a big going away thing planned; sent out an email to everyone he “cared” about, made a discord server so he could talk to a bunch of them at once, got a nice date set up, etc, now for nothing. Because he’s under suicide watch.  I have no idea what’s going to happen to him now.

You think an ocean will stop someone determined enough? A hurricane? National borders? They won't.

My other friend? She actually tried to kill herself, overdosed on something. I found her dad’s number (who was with her at the hospital while she got her stomach pumped) and told him e v e r y t h i n g. 

All those dirty little secrets? All the tearful depression uwu moments? Refusal to go to free therapy offered by the school? The cut scars? Weird religious things? Her girlfriend’s abusive tendencies? Not only did I tell him everything, I wrote it down in a nice little document to hand off to the psychiatrists. Because when somebody tries to take their own life, they have hit rock bottom. It does not get better from there and the secret keeping thing clearly didn’t work. Murderers don’t get a right to privacy, and taking your life is self-murder.

And yeah, I know it’s politically correct to say “die by suicide,” not “committing suicide.” I think that’s horse shit. (Ok to be fair, sometimes there are legitimate hormone inbalances and mental illness where suicide isn’t a conscious, consensual decision. That’s a bit different. That’s getting killed by a disease.) Stop GLORIFYING and EXCUSING suicide. It is NOT okay.

I hated to do that to my friend because she trusted me, but her life and recovery were more important than what she thought of me. We’re all growing up with awareness of mental illness nowadays, and you know that thing about treating suicide threats/attempts seriously? Yeah, that means NOT listening to the suicidal person’s insistence to keep all their urges and attempts a secret. NOT listening to them asking you not to get involved. 

You know, it’s a horribly awkward thing to explain to a 50 year old crying man that his daughter laying on a hospital bed full of tubes is a lesbian in a bad relationship and didn’t trust him enough to come out. He didn’t care, of course, because he loved her more than anything and her sexual preferences couldn’t change that. It’s also horrifically awkward to broadcast my friend’s issues with her mother to her father. She had a younger brother, too. He dropped out of school over this trauma.  

And it’s painful to realize that you’ve been used and tossed aside. We were very close! She drove all the way from Maryland to visit one day!  Anyway, she called me about four months prior to her attempt to tell me that (paraphrased) “I don’t feel anything for you. I don’t love you. I fake it. It’s like a game, putting on a new persona every place I go. I’m a sociopath.” 

I could smell the bullshit through the phone. 

So I told her I loved her anyway, (I believed what she said about the sociopathy, for some reason, and didn’t know how else to respond) and she got so mad because I wasn’t playing into her “See! Nobody cares about me!” act. She started yelling at me over the phone, “WHY DO YOU CARE?!” And I was just like, “I dunno. You can’t make me stop tho.” 

Anyway. She didn’t talk to me for another four months, I wanted to give her space and then I get the phone call from a friend. And I ended up having to organize like five people to give a coherent testimony and grief counsel her poor dad, because he had nobody. I talked to her once in the mental hospital to check up on her and then... nothing. 

We don’t talk anymore. We didn’t get closer afterwards, we completely split. It’s been... 2 years? 

Do I seem angry? I am. I cared about these people, still do, and they hurt the people I love. Do I seem calloused for shunting them off to medical professionals? Probably, but the thing is, the records show that I AM CLEARLY UNQUALIFIED TO KEEP SOMEONE FROM KILLING THEMSELVES. NOBODY has a friend who is qualified to do that. Get help. Don’t rely on people who are scared and very possibly in the same boat. It’s not their fault, but they will blame themselves. Look up survivor testimonies before you decide to take your life, see if you really want to inflict that pain on your loved ones. 

TLDR: Killing yourself is the actual cruelest thing you can do to the people you care about. Murder is wrong. If you can’t find a reason to live for yourself, then survive for everyone else. Call emergency services and get help.

[ghost-chance]

A New Lease on Life - 4: The Truth

A quick note: the book Dark of the Moon is an obscure poetry volume but it's very much worth the read. The poem Amber reads aloud in this chapter is from that very book; 'The Eye' by Donald Wandrei is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. Secondly: Occasional short, graphic present tense passages in italics denote intrusive memories; intrusive memories can be very overwhelming when they occur, and in my own experience, the memories they show are often exaggerated and warped, and sometimes even worse than what actually happened. This chapter dedicated to everyone reading, following, and fav'ing this story—especially ImpartingAbyss, for reviewing and just being hilarious!Trigger Warnings: Grossness, Intrusive memories, disturbing, graphic imagery, panic attacks, religious references, violent death.

Suggested Listening: Coldplay, "Fix You," Breaking Benjamin, "Fade Away"

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4: The Truth 

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‘Great, Amber,' she thought to herself as she hung face-first over the stream of running wastewater, hacking up a meal she didn't remember eating. 'Ya didn't cowk- all over Don's shell, but ya barely missed'is feet. Yer just too hot fer ya own good, ain'tcha?'- She spat once more, swiping a used tissue across her lips; hopefully, the other two hadn't seen her yank it out of her shirt. It's awkward enough getting caught using a bra for a pocket, but when you're clearly braless, people start wondering where you stashed whatever you just pulled out…and handy as boob-pockets were, it wasn't something she was ready to admit.

"S-Sorry," she said hoarsely. "I don't do so well with heights…just gimme a sec." Heat flooded her cheeks at the small metal canteen held at her eye level. "Thanks." She gratefully rinsed her mouth out and snapped the topper back on. "I'll wash that later—there anythin' you DON'T have in that bag'a yers?"

"The sink," he answered simply. Once her stomach settled, the blindfold went back on and she was lifted up over his shoulder again, thanking her lucky stars she couldn't see how high up she was. Not long after, her ears were assaulted by the screech of a rusty hinge; she felt her carrier tense.

"Better oil that," Leo said simply.

"As soon as this is resolved," Donnie replied lowly. "'Til then, it can wait." The shoulder Amber rested on slouched; she knew without a doubt what was going through his mind and it was unpleasantly familiar. Without Donatello, the lair would fall apart—the family would fall apart. As much as they depended on him, though, the others tended to take him for granted without even realizing it. It always broke her heart to see it before, knowing all-too-well just how it felt, and now it was even more distressing. She couldn't say anything, though. After all, she already proved that she knew more than she should, and would only be more suspicious. A gentle squeeze of his other shoulder conveyed what words could not, but sent a worrisome shiver through him.

"What is going on here?" a slightly raspy voice burst out. "Boys, why have you brought a stranger into our midst?!" Leonardo hurried to greet their father and master.

"We had no other choice, Master," He explained hurriedly. "The alarms were set off by this woman—she almost froze to death down here! We took her to April's, but…" He winced, trailing off.

"Casey disagreed," Donnie finished dryly. "From the tantrum he's throwing, you'd think she insulted his mother." Amber shrunk into the warm shoulder, certain she was in some serious trouble...even though she hadn't insulted any mothers lately. How could she have followed them home? How could she have believed they could bring her back to the Lair with them without trouble from Splinter? The Canon versions of him always struck her as crotchety but wise rather than prone to pointless anger but the idea of angering the aged Rat gave her chills. And Raphael…Casey had insisted that he and Raph had 'busted' Kimber repeatedly; she'd have no ally in Raph, she was sure of it, and that knowledge made her feel bitter.

"We did blindfold her, see?" The nervous reminder - Leo's attempt at placating Splinter's worries - drove Amber to blush.

She cringed behind the purple fabric blocking her vision. They blindfolded her alright—with a slightly ratty purple kerchief from Donnie's trouser pockets. Her lungs were too flooded with his familiar - and mouth-watering - scent (coffee, clean grease, a faint hint of spice, and clean sweat) to notice the sewer funk, but she'd been forced to take drastic measures to stifle her body's reaction to the combination. By the time they reached the lair, she'd mentally replayed the most bizarre songs she could think of - Time Warp, Feed My Frankenstein, Ballroom Blitz, nothing was overlooked.* As hard as she focused on distracting herself by methodically dissecting every possible meaning of every lyric, she never noticed the ninjas' breaths growing more and more shallow by the moment.

Soft grumbling from the woman still slouched over Donnie's shoulder made the brothers meet eyes in an awkward wince. To the average human, the woman's scent wouldn't have registered, but they were more than human - to them, the sudden flood of pheromones was stifling, and it seemed to only strengthen.

"Bring her here," Splinter conceded wearily, settling himself at the low table in his room. Donatello followed, easing Amber to the floor as Leo went about boiling water for tea. With a gentle tug of fabric, the barrier was gone from Amber's eyes, taking with it the delightful aroma that had driven her mad. She remained silent, head bowed and eyes closed as Donnie excused himself to the lab, leaving the door parted behind him. "We're no savages, Child, you needn't hide your eyes."

"S-Sorry," she mumbled shyly, glancing furtively up at the being on the other side of the table. "I'm not afraid of you…just—well, nervous an' sorry for getting your sons in trouble." His whiskers twitched in a suppressed smile as he recognized her odd speech from his stories; she spoke with what he interpreted as a Midwestern twang that bordered on Southern drawl, but it seemed off somehow - warped in some places and some pronunciations were forced, as though the strange woman was mimicking something foreign. He saw no threat in her posture or behavior, though, and decided to overlook the odd woman's speech quirk.

"Well, this changes things," he answered seriously. "I had no idea you forced my boys to bring you here against their own good judgment. How could an unarmed woman not much taller than myself accomplish such a feat?"

"What?" she objected frantically, finally looking up to fully meet his eyes. She was visibly horrified - good, maybe she wasn't a threat. "No, I di'n't- do any of that—I never asked'em- to bring me here! They…well, I've got nowhere else to go, an'—"

"Then you are not directly responsible for them bringing you here?" She chewed her lip a moment, staring through the lacquered wood. "Taking responsibility for others' actions is an injustice to you and a disservice to them. I am wary of their bringing a stranger home, you must understand, but we mean you no harm." Amber hesitantly met his dark eyes over the gunmetal rims of her glasses.

"Yes, Sir." At that moment, Leonardo arrived bearing a wooden tray laden with cups and a small steaming teapot; tears pricked Amber's eyes at the familiar scent wafting up the spout. "Oolong," she choked out without considering how random the comment would seem.

"Miss O'Brien?" Leo asked warily. "Is something wrong?" She shook her head, smiling weakly.

"No...uh...Leonardo. It's just—I'm just weird, I guess. All the things I could miss from my old life, an' I miss tea. Sunrise coffee, lightnin' bugs at dusk, wadin' in the crick in summer, warm dirt underfoot an' the mornin' fog—nope, I miss tea."

"Sometimes things that seem trivial can mean the most to us," Splinter admitted solemnly as Leo excused himself from the room. "I am called Splinter, Child; you have already met my eldest, Leonardo, and my second eldest, Donatello; I'm sure you'll meet my other second eldest Raphael, and their younger brother Michelangelo, before the night is out. Your name is O'Brien, yes?" She stared a hole through the bottom of the teacup, soaking in the sweet perfume rising from it.

"Yeah," she answered softly. "My name's Amber O'Brien, that much I know's- true, but I don't have many answers…at least not that I can get out. Casey seems convinced I'm someone by the name of Kimber Bryant, but I'm not—I'm just stuck in her body, as crazy as that sounds." She winced; it did sound crazy...it also sounded sexual, proof that even in this life, she was cursed to be gutter-brained. "I'll gladly answer any questions you have—if I can get the words out, at least. I can't—"

A low grating sound above drew her attention - a raspy rumble halfway between overfilled coffee grinder and rapidly approaching coal train. She fought the panic rising in her chest but scanned deliriously for the demon she knew would arrive any moment to take her away…again. Familiar, horrifying images fought their way to the forefront of her mind, manifesting with alarming ease. "I…"

Crushed foundations stained with blood. Toppled buildings groan in the night. A battered doll hangs in a stripped tree like a grotesque scarecrow.

"I can't—"

Circling buzzards stalk the ruins of a farmhouse. Flies gather on a dark stain in the mangled turf. Faded white curtains dangle from an empty window like a flag of surrender. Wind howls through trees stripped bare—

"Puh-Please!" she cried, curling into a ball. "M—Make it stop! I can't—can't make it—"

"DONATELLO!" The sudden shout from Splinter's rooms wrenched the genius from his daze; had he really missed dinner while staring through the recovered security footage? "HURRY!" The panic in his father's voice sent him barreling toward the source, only to freeze in the doorway of Splinter's room in disbelief.

Amber lay curled on the floor in a ball, her hands clasped over her neck, shaking violently. Even without his goggles in place, he recognized what was happening. Blood pressure elevated, pulse rate rising, breathing rapid and irregular, drop in blood oxygen levels imminent… Between her raspy breaths and choked sobs troubling words leaked through, hinting at what she clearly couldn't tell them. Blood. Wind. Glass. Hurt. Storm. Dead. Aaron. School. Book…Donnie shook himself out of his stupor, rushing to his father's side and skidding onto his knees.

"She's having a panic attack!" he explained frantically as he pulled her away from the broken china cup on the floor - the teacup she was given clearly suffered in the panic. "How'd I not see it before?! We've gotta—" At the sudden weight on his legs, all thought fled his mind. His eyes dropped to the shaking body huddled against him, the head buried in his armored chest, and the two low pigtails brushing against his side. He turned in dismay to his father; Splinter nodded gravely, hastily lighting some incense at the table. Donnie forced back his nervousness to focus on monitoring Amber's vital signs and ignoring the unnaturally red hair whispering across his skin.

The first thing to manifest in Amber's mind was warmth; the second was a strangely familiar aroma of coffee and clean grease, and the pungent, smoky perfume of burning incense. A strong hand rubbed slow, calming patterns on her back while another held her close to something warm and smooth, fingertips poised carefully on her neck.

Out of the darkness, a low humming broke through—soft, slow murmurs from another lifetime promised patience and understanding—promised to fix her broken soul.** Last of all, a dusky brown came into view as the memories faded from her mind's eye. That was a familiar brown, she realized fearfully. A glance upward revealed the truth, and two concerned hazel eyes fixed on hers; the humming stopped.

HOW did she wind up in Donatello's LAP?! "Eheh…Hi?" she attempted. Though the worry never left his eyes, he cracked a weak smile.

"Hi." She glanced awkwardly from the turtle still rubbing her back to Splinter.

"How'd I get here? Please tell me I didn't jus' crawl into his lap." Neither answered, triggering a deep blush. Yup...she just crawled into his lap - didn't even buy'im a drink first. Splinter scrutinized her silently a moment, then momentarily locked eyes with his son.

"Your soul has some very deep scars, Miss O'Brien," Splinter murmured softly as he gathered the shattered china - regretful of the loss, but not condemning the cause. "Scars that are too tender for inspection, much less display. If you are willing, though, I may know of a way to see your past without forcing you to speak it. Would you care to try?"

Amber thought long and hard, still flustered at being seated across Donnie's very warm, very comfortable lap—a lap she had no memory of invading. Search though she did, though, she still came up with the same answer. "If it'd clear my name an' prove that you have nothin' to fear from me? I'd do just about anything."

"What's going on, Bruh?" Mikey whispered. Leo shushed him as Raphael lumbered over. The three of them peered warily into Splinter's room where he and Amber sat back to back, silent and still, clearly in deep meditation.

"Sensei's trying to see her past," Donatello answered gravely as he joined them. "Talking about it sends her into a panic attack; he's hoping that deep meditation will reveal what she can't, in the Astral Plane."

"Wow, she knows how to meditate?" Mikey eyed her warily. "Maybe she's a ninja—or a Jedi! OW!" he exclaimed at Raph's brain-duster.

"She's knocked out, Mikey," Donnie answered dryly. "I had to sedate her…again. From what I understand, the last train that passed over triggered a panic attack...just like we saw in the Station."

"What made her afraid of the subway?" Mikey asked dubiously as they watched their sensei at work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another time, another life, another world

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two people in the front seat seemed to have not a care in the world, Splinter mused. He didn't quite care for the music they were blaring, but they were obviously very happy. What he couldn't quite understand was why he was in their backseat, and where Amber was in this memory.

"Shaddup,- O'Brien!" the blond man grinned as he skipped another track. "Ozzy could kick Sinatra's ass any day of the week!" The woman in the driver's seat grinned widely, swatting his hand away from the stereo.

"Willis," she shot back. "There's more to life than who kin- kick whose arse—an' Sinatra's not that bad! His music's got a great—"

"Rammstein!" Aaron interrupted loudly, yanking a massive CD binder from under his seat and digging through it like a man possessed. "O'Brien, please tell me you've got some Rammstein in here. All this culture's gonna make me puke."

"Yer gonna make me puke." Splinter studied the driver intently; he couldn't believe it! He'd heard that voice, that awkward accent before—it was the voice and accent of Amber O'Brien, whose memories he was currently experiencing. This woman looked nothing like the Amber he'd met, though…this woman had to be at least two hundred pounds and several years older, and both warm brown braids were liberally streaked with grey. "You do realize 90% of Rammstein's music is just foul language and banging, right? Ya won't find any'a that crap in my car."

"Picky. So, word is they're gonna make a new TMNT movie soon!" Aaron piped up; the car swerved sharply and she grinned over at him excitedly.

"Yes! Omigosh, yes! When?!" Aaron burst out laughing.

"Psych!" he cackled. "Oh, the look on your face—was Donatello wearin' pants again?" Her entire face red as a beet, she whacked him in the shoulder.

"Screw you, Willis. Why did I ever tell you about that dream? I mean, seriously?" 'That Dream...' As though she hadn't dreamt of that Donnie for years, his refractive hazel eyes, his shy, gap-toothed smile, his permanent slouch...Damn. Hello, Gutter. "Ugh," she groaned reaching down to rub her right knee. "I can't wait to git out'a- this car—my knees're- killin' me."

"I'd say that'd teach ya to jump in front of a bus, but it prob'ly wouldn't."

"Dumbarse, Fer the las' time, I didn't jump in front of a bus. Some damn idjit- ran a red light an' hit me in the crosswalk. Startin' to think I preferred ya hungover—at least ya were quiet."

They had to be driving through a war zone, Splinter thought sorrowfully. What else could have turned the small town into such a disaster area? Trees were ripped up, buildings crushed, even the very pavement the car drove on was gouged and crumbled in places. Amber, hadn't spoken since they crossed the city limits and stared fearfully around her searching for landmarks that no longer existed. By the time they reached the remains of her home, it became abundantly clear to the unseen passenger: somehow, despite the drastically different appearances, he had indeed found Amber O'Brien.

From atop a pile of provisions, Splinter watched Amber and Aaron. The Town Hall's basement, though touted as a Fallout Shelter, was never meant for so many people and conditions were ridiculously crowded. Aaron bustled from one place to another making himself useful; Splinter never expected such selflessness from him after his behavior in the car, but he supposed even his boys were prone to misbehavior among friends.

As of yet, Amber simply sat in a vacant corner staring through the wall as though she were completely dead to the world. She'd not spoken since she and Aaron broke down on her battered front lawn, nor had she eaten any of the meals the blonde tried to coax her with. It was as though she'd simply ceased to exist. Splinter's heart ached, realizing the truth; she was in shock—so deeply in shock that she'd ceased to think or feel anything. As troubled by this revelation as he was, he missed the moment she finally moved from her corner. Quickly catching sight of her he followed behind as she climbed the creaking stairs and wandered aimlessly away from the shelter as though following a distant call.

Splinter could only guess why she came to the school. Feeling certain that something terrible was about to happen, he trailed behind her as she made her way to the library. With an almost wistful expression, she traced familiar shelves, digging through the scattered volumes for a particular tome. Its plain black cover was worn and faded from age, but the sight brought tears to her otherwise empty eyes. Among the ruins of the once proud building, she leafed through the book for a particular page and in a soft, haunting tone, read aloud.

"A deep force pulls me toward the window-blind, some impulse urges me to raise the shade; why is it that I tremble, half afraid, with formless terrors running through my mind? What are the dim dread images that bind my hand? Why is my arm so strongly stayed? What sense of overhanging doom has made me fearful? What the sight I shall find? Some warning voice calls out: Go back—go back! I could not turn though fronted by the rack. And so I slowly raise the shade to greet whatever on the other side should lie, and stare and stare in horror as I meet the leering of a huge and sightless eye." ***

Her empty eyes turned to the window, drawn by a sudden movement and crack of thunder; chills raced down Splinter's spine. He was only here in spirit and could not be harmed for that reason, but he knew something dreadful was about to happen.

Amber wandered over to the only intact window, peering about with vacant disinterest. As though summoned by the words she'd spoken, a deafening, grinding roar filled the air. A wall cloud loomed overhead as a funnel cloud touched down somewhere southwest of the battered building. Right before Splinter's eyes, she tucked the book securely in her arms and fell to her knees in the rubble and glass, bowing her head in prayer.

"Please," she mumbled softly. "Protect my family…protect my friends…protect this town and those who live here. Forgive us our trespasses and guide us in our time of need. Help Aaron understand, and keep him under your care...he's too stubborn to ask for help." Splinter's ears felt ready to burst from the horrible pressure; surely Amber was hurting too, but she gave no sign of anything—pain, fear, sorrow, nothing! "Please, Lord…please wrap your arms around those who have been brought down by these storms, help them rise from the ashes anew, and help them rebuild their lives…thank you for everything." Finally, the mask broke - regret twisted her eyes and shook her parted lips. "If you gave second chances, I'd ask only for—"

Before she could finish, the window burst inward raining shattered glass over her prostrate body. Splinter flinched, choking up at the sight. Almost immediately a glass brick from a nearby building came careening through the window frame and struck her in the head. As the light left her eyes, and she died on her knees, the aged rat mourned the woman who' gave up on life.

The sudden change in location was dizzying. Splinter gazed around him in confusion, trying to come to grips with what had happened. One moment he was in a small town high school library, standing at the side of a woman who'd died needlessly, next he stood in a familiar chamber. Intricate green and ivory tile, tarnished brass fittings, elegant bronze plaques, bright blue glass skylights and bare-bulb light fixtures…he gazed around him, struggling to make sense of the situation.

The abandoned City Hall subway station…He'd been pulled from a ruined schoolhouse to the abandoned City Hall station! Almost frantically he searched the large cavern; how could he have woken from his trance so far from his family?!

Movement in the corner startled him. He faded into the shadows with the ease of a ninja master, watching as a pile of rubbish shifted with a groan. "Aw, ma heid,"- a familiar voice groaned. Right before his eyes, Amber—the Amber his boys had brought to him—groggily struggled upright, rubbing her forehead right where the glass brick had struck her counterpart in his vision. The truth was all too clear now, though he still couldn't fathom how it was possible.

Amber O'Brien died at the school, died in the library from a blow to the head. Against all logic, she woke up in that very cavern in the body of another: a woman formerly known as Kimber Bryant. It made no sense, but still, he knew it was true. Right then, the roar of a passing tram echoed through the chamber. Amber screamed, falling to her knees with her hands over her neck, firmly in the grips of a panic attack. The world faded around Splinter as she fought the demons of her previous life, cowering in the rubbish of another.

When did his life become so complicated?

~~~~~~~ The Lair ~~~~~~~

Splinter came back to himself with a start, glancing feverishly around for his sons. In mere moments the four gathered around him, Raphael shooting distrustful glares at the still unconscious woman still seated against his back. Unbidden, the aged mutant recalled her death - the way she died slumped over on her knees, head bowed in prayer but back abnormally straight in defiance...he shuddered. Finally, sure he had everyone's attention, the aged rat answered the question hanging silently in the air.

"She speaks the truth...Kimber is gone; Amber lives again."

Amber regained consciousness to the sound of distant arguing. Never realizing she was being watched, she sat up cross-legged, rubbing her aching forehead. "Owww...Di' I skelp my heid er somethin'?"- she asked weakly, thickly.

"Blunt force trauma to the skull," Donatello muttered from the shadows. She jumped but gripped her skull again.

"When?" she asked quickly chasing the thick, gruff tone away from her words. "I don't recall ani'thin'- after that injection."

Donatello took a moment to compose himself, padding toward her and dropping to one knee at her side. "It's..." His fingers dug into the worn rug beneath them, anchoring himself in the moment. "You died. Do you remember?"

"Of course, I know I died," she answered slowly, "what I don't remember is the dyin' bit...an' why's my head killin' me?" Donatello stared through the still smoking incense, his shoulders fairly trembling. "Donnie?"

"A cube of blown architectural glass," he muttered, then hesitantly met her eyes. Her lungs forgot their purpose when he gently, almost timidly brushed her punch red bangs away from her forehead. The contact sent a sharp throb through her skull; against her will, she hissed at the pain. His face fell. "The point of impact...It was quick, but I can't guarantee it was painless." It took a moment but she finally realized the connection.

"Wait..." She cringed. "Yer tellin' me I was beaned in the brain-pan- with a glass brick?! The only place in town with glass bricks was Mum's church!" She scoffed bitterly. "Oh, the irony...everythin' that congregation put me through wasn't enough, the building had to kill me, too. I take it Master Splinter was able to see everything, then…an' he told y'all what happened."

"Not everything, no, but he gave us the basics…Raphael doesn't believe him." A sudden crash rang out in the living room, followed by Splinter shouting in Japanese. "We're safer in here, trust me."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "What's that? I was killed by a church - Nothin's safe anymore." She glanced over at her silent company, her cheeks pinking. "So did Splinter figure out how I got here, in this world?" Donnie shook his head, clearly disturbed by something.

"No, but he has an idea. He thinks you and Kimber might be inter-dimensional counterparts—the same soul existing in two different worlds—and that you were somehow drawn into her body when you both died. Sensei says you had regrets which may or may not be a factor." He dug his knuckles into the worn rug, clearly fighting some unknown emotion. "She died before you got there, probably the night before we found you." Not yet seeing the subtext, she sighed in obvious relief.

"You have NO idea what a relief that is," she muttered. "I've been so worried I somehow forced'er out of'er own body—that I'm responsible for her death! I just couldn't—Dee, what's wrong? Ya look like someone kicked your puppy!" He didn't answer; instead, he hoisted himself to his feet and padded dejectedly out of the room. It wasn't until later that night when he showed her to the spare cot in the Lab that she figured out what he wasn't saying.

He had arrived in time to prevent her death, but not Kimber's…and Purple Dragon or not, the knowledge weighed heavily on him. Amber spent the whole night staring at the concrete ceiling, ruminating. It seemed even in her new life, she was too careless with her words and actions.

Somewhere between rumbling trains, memory assaults, and musings about stunning hazel eyes, the sewer faded into the world of dreams.

Still with me, y'all? Sure hope so

 Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Ain't'cha? - 'Aren't you?' - Ani'thin' - Anything, a local pronunciation similar in cadence to "Anikin" if the name started with an 'Enn.' This may be a largely localized pronunciation as I've not heard it often and have never heard it outside my own area. - Cowk - Vomit, Scottish slang/Scots. - Di'n't / Din't - Didn't - Ma heid - Scottish slang my head. - Idjit - slang pronunciation of idiot. - Kin - This one has two different possible meanings depending on how it's used. If it's used as a noun, it means family, and not only blood relations but the family you choose. It's not a commonly used term anymore because people tend to associate it with family feuds and redneck living. If the word is used as a verb - as in "You kin kiss my arse," it's just a twisted pronunciation of "can," differentiated because the -a- is instead prounced -i- like bin. - Knees're - knees are - Out'a - Out of - Prob'ly  - Probably - Shaddup / Shuddup - 'shut up,' generally more common in the South than the Midwest, but in Southern Missouri, it's not unusual to hear either. The second pronunciation is the more common. - Di' I skelp my heid 'er somethin'? - Amber's first major speech relapse, this is mostly an ungodly meshing of twang and Scots. Basically, 'Did I hit my head or something?' - That much I know's true. - That much I know is true. - Beaned in the brain-pan - slang 'hit in the head'

- Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - means he, his or him respectively. - Adding 'er to the end of a word - means her. - Adding 'ey, 'em, or 'eir to the end of a word - means they, them, or their respectively.

NOTES

* Credits for songs: "Time Warp" is by Patricia Quinn, Richard O'Brien, and Little Nell, from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." "Feed My Frankenstein" is by Alice Cooper, (AKA, the king of bizarre music) from album "Hey, Stoopid." Lastly, "Ballroom Blitz" is by the band Sweet, best known for this song, "Fox on the Run" and "Love Is Like Oxygen."

** The tune is Coldplay's "Fix You;' two guesses as to who's humming it, and you really should only need ONE. It's pretty obvious.

*** The book Amber reads here really exists. "Dark of the Moon" is a poetry anthology compiled by August Derleth, and includes "poems of fantasy and the macabre." It's highly uncommon—there were only a couple rather limited printings and most copies are found in libraries—but it's very much worth the read. "The Eye" was written by Donald Wandrei and is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. It appears exactly as it's typed in my copy of the book and it makes my inner grammar nazi twitch; the correct phrase would be "Why is my arm so strongly STAID," not "STAYED." RRRG! Pretty sure its copyright is expired, as the volume was published in 1947.

UP NEXT: You Can't Set a Broken Soul.

[hillnerd]

is ptsd really how they show it in movies and shows?

This response will all be from my experience, and I in no way am claiming I speak for all people who have dealt with PTSD, CPTSD or trauma- I am not an expert or a mental health expert. Here’s my personal take:

is ptsd really how they show it in movies and shows?It is and it isn’t. I have complex ptsd (c-ptsd) which is a bit different from regular ptsd. Regular ptsd is usually based around a singular event, or a series of events in a shorter period of time. c-ptsd is based on more longterm abuse and events- so it’s a bit different to unpack it sometimes.

But back to the question- ptsd is super intense and terrible and has a myriad of ways it shows itself for people. I can’t speak for every depiction out there, or for every person who has it. There are lots of different ways it manifests for people.

I DO feel that media tends to concentrate on the flashback part of it- and don’t like how flashbacks are portrayed most of the time. Flashbacks are typically shown as a person basically becoming delirious and having visual and audio hallucinations, then perhaps even becoming violent to those around them because they literally see something different than what is real. 

Again, this is my experience- but flashbacks have never worked like that for me. I more disassociate, and then all the emotions of that memory hit me, and in my brain I’m able to see bits and pieces of what happened back then, or even the whole thing- it’s like a SUPER intense memory/daydream/nightmare just settles in there for a bit- and you feel all the full emotions of it for a bit- can suddenly feel the sensations of it too at times-but at NO point am I actively moving about in a real room around people getting them confused with the past and lashing out at the hallucinations. I’m just sitting there, or crying there- and if someone in the room with me were to talk to me I’d hear them and see them. The most outburst I’d have would be to not want anyone to touch me- or get super startled from someone touching me and pushing them away from me. That’s very different than the crazy shit they show on TV and movies sometimes.

 One particular one that still makes me mad is when that had Owen from Grey’s Anatomy see a fan- then get ‘triggered into a ptsd episode’ where he is unblinkingly choking out Cristina as she begs him to stop for a long time. Like.... It’s one thing for someone to be startled and have their instinct be to strike out- that’s a very different thing from what they portrayed. Like, if they wanted to show him as ptsd dangerous- which is worrisome to me as people with mental health are stigmatized enough- but if they wanted to- it would have made much more sense for her to startle him somehow and for him to just blindly strike out before he realizes it. With combat training, he could very well have instincts that aren’t safe when he’s oversensitized and startled.

Ptsd has lots of weird little ways it manifests.

Sometimes it’s a hair-trigger startle instinct.  Like, I have had a few times where my husband is up at night, and I didn’t realize he was in the room- then I see the outline and start screaming- and can’t stop for like 2 minutes- then the crying settles in for like 30 minutes. My traumas had nothing to do with strangers in the night. I just have a super intense startle instinct that sends my whole body into panic mode sometimes. 

Sometimes it’s trying to control everything around you to keep you safe. (hyper-vigilance can be a big part of that.)

super weird intrusively negative thoughts you associate with things (my therapist calls them stuck points. It’ll be the darkest weirdest repeating thoughts that you associate with emotional upset.) In ptsd treatment there is a lot of going through the events and rethinking your conclusions you’ve taken away from them. It’s simplified a lot in shows to a simple ‘it’s not your fault’- which, yeah, that’s the crux of it- but the actual work of it is super intense, exhausting, and so much more in depth.

Stuck points can come up and you won’t even realize it at first. You’ll have something super inocuous happen and all of a sudden you’re on the verge of a breakdown, angry and/or panicking for seemingly no reason. These intense emotions will hit you and don’t feel like there’s any thoughts connected to them- there are- it takes a bit of deconstructing to figure it out though and realize ‘ooooh, there’s the thought train that was bubbling under the surface! I didn’t realize because thinking through my emotional processes was something I wasn’t allowed to do during my trauma- so now I don’t know how to instinctually do that even a little.’) GREAT example of this is Harry Potter in Order of the Phoenix. His reactions are so CLEARLY PTSD related to me.  Actually, I think he has CPTSD and it just got to a tipping point due to the traumas he experienced in the graveyard. 

Probably the best portrayal of PTSD, of books I’ve read, is Hunger Games. The movies glazed over it a bit- but the books? Oh man, they nail it so hard. 

HP and Hunger Games both have protagonists who are great portrayals of ptsd. The anger, the dissasociation, the depression, the nightmares, the inability to identify with humans at times, the self protective steps that are unhealthy, the coping mechanism of avoidance etc.

[vitos-ordination-song]

over the years I’ve tried writing journals and I’ve tried writing down memories and I usually fail at both. journaling because I feel pressure to write regularly and have ended up throwing out my journal in embarrassment, and memories because I always end up trying to write everything, from the beginning. I always feel like I’m distoring things and leaving things out. however I’d really like to have some kind of journal/place I write down memories for future reference so I’m starting that on here, just for whenever I feel like it, and tagging so I can find it in the future.

rn I want to tell the story of how I ended up in the mental hospital because I’ve been thinking about it. there’s a lot of lead up and a lot of stuff that happened afterwards so it’s gonna be a long story. for this part I’m just going to cover the build up. 

once I turned around 16, things started to calm down in my family. my brother started going to college--he was still living at home but he started to act a bit less toxic. my family was always worse with all six of us feeding each other’s shittiness so one person improving/leaving usually made things better. my mom was starting to chill out around that time as well, probably a combination of her working on herself, going through menopause, and having less stress on her because her kids were getting old enough to take care of themselves. I think I started to make better grades after 10th grade too, so I wasn’t getting abused for that as much. 

as a result, things were nowhere near as bad when I was 16-18 as they were from like, 14-16. bad things still happened, occasionally REALLY bad things, but less frequently and generally with less severity than before. so I started to think, maybe things are okay. maybe everything can just be normal. 

my sister was the biggest cause of conflict during this time. when she’d been younger, the whole family had routinely bullied her and she had severe trauma from before we adopted her, but she wasn’t a troublemaker like the rest of us. she barely got punished. she struggled in school but no one expected her to make good grades. she wasn’t that difficult to parent, if I remember correctly. 

but around the time she hit puberty, things started to change. I think for a lot of people, trauma comes back up at that time. she was getting angry about how our parents treated her, especially making her do chores, which the rest of us barely resisted. she started to get violent. she was always angry. my mom has called the cops on her at least three times, as far as I know. 

I wasn’t a perfect sister by any imagination. I know I joined in the family’s abuse of her--I even remember physically attacking her with a broom handle, which I twisted to be a form of “discipline.” I was always very confused over what was happening, though. I remember when I reached the age of around 12, I started to question the way the whole family would attack her, whether treating her as a nusance or insulting her intelligence. and I had a very strong sense that the way my parents treated me and my siblings was wrong. I was always paying attention to power dynamics in the family and knew when my parents were mistreating her--I didn’t buy their justifications. 

things had been pretty calm for a while after I graduated high school, though. before I turned 18, I have a vivid memory of mom getting mad at me and scaring the shit out of me, threatening to kick me out. but that summer was mostly calm. people were getting along. except my sister. she had a freak out at her birthday dinner--she was mad that mom refused to get her presents as a punishment and also had an anxiety attack about being in public at a restaurant, which of course my mom went after her for. 

but still, I was thinking, okay. this can all go away. I’m about to leave for college, I’m moving over 50 miles away. I still couldn’t hold on to a clear picture of my family--when things were bad, I was angry and hateful, when things were good, I thought the problem was me. I didn’t know what was real, but since things were generally good, it was all going under the surface again. 

two weeks before I left for college, something huge happened. my sister was mad at my parents, who were sitting in the living room discussing her like she didn’t exist. she got out a big knife. she went and stood at the entrance to the living room, an eerie smile on her face. I went downstairs at this point. later I would realize how to deal with her when she got like that--you have to defuse her. she’s not serious. if you laugh it off she’ll stop. but at the time I didn’t know what to do. I hoped my parents would ignore her or she’d give up before they noticed she was there--she stood there for five minutes before they noticed.

I only heard what happened and had to learn about it afterwards. my parents saw my sister; my mom grabbed a belt and my dad started to push her into the kitchen. my sister threatened to kill them and then she threatened to kill herself, turning the knife to her arm. my dad violently grabbed the arm and shoved her against the desk. my mom started to beat her with the belt. my sister got away, and my mom called the cops on her. 

I didn’t know what had happened. all I heard was screaming. my brothers had heard as well and had come out of their rooms and did see it. they were screaming too. 

my sister had run outside and I followed after her. I know my parents came out and my mom told me to come back, but I screamed something at her--not sure what, but something approximating fuck you. at this point I didn’t know what my sister had done with the knife, which later my parents used to justify everything. I was made to feel foolish for my reaction and I’m still kinda unpacking that. 

my sister was in hysterics when I found her. I don’t really remember what she said but she was repeating herself. she was so scared. she sobbed into my chest and I held her as a bunch of cop cars pulled up to our house. 

nothing happened to my sister because she hadn’t done any violence, my parents had. CPS was called and visited sometime in the next few days. my sister is a pathological liar though so it went nowhere. at the time I felt a weird sense like, maybe they’ll finally be held accountable and maybe someone will save us from this situation. every time that didn’t happen it felt more like the problem was in my head. 

but something amazing was about to happen--I was about to get away. for the first time in my life, I wasn’t living with my family. my first semester of college was strange. I felt fine. I wasn’t upset, I was productive. I wasn’t like how I was in high school. again it felt like maybe everything would just go away. but I could process on my own. I could think my thoughts about my family without being around them, and that had always been the hardest part, to think about all the bad things when we were just hanging out watching a movie or eating dinner. 

thinking back now I was in a kinda stasis. I wasn’t ready to process trauma yet except through a medium. over the summer I’d gotten obsessed with Harry Potter and ended up reading tons of stories about abuse and him getting removed from his abusive environment. it was a marked shift from the kind of thing I’d been reading before, which had been a lot of abuse romance. but everything that had happened to me felt kind of distant. 

being away was good though. I could think from my own point of view instead of being forced to see things the way my family did. and that huge incident with my sister, with CPS getting called, had brought things up. it was making it harder to go, everything’s fine with this family. I was angry on some level. I wasn’t going to let it go. I remember having a very invalidating phone call with my brother where he went after me for criticizing our parents, acting like I was melodramatic, and that’s always affected me, but I was also annoyed. and I could just end the call and go back to my own thoughts without their influence being so intrusive. 

then Thanksgiving rolled around. home for a week. and I was acutely paying attention to how my mom treated my sister. she never liked me challenging her parenting and had always gone after me for it, but I was tired of it and reaching a point where I was more sure of myself after having been away from her. I was angry. I think I wanted a fight on some level, but I wasn’t ready for it. 

my mom started to attack my sister for watching porn. my sister was stuck in the kitchen, my mom wouldn’t let her leave. it went on for at least 45 minutes, and I remember because I was watching the time. I was just sitting there listening. I knew how bad this was because similar things had happened to all my siblings as we sexually developed and it fucked with our heads. obviously porn and teens watching porn is not an easy subject, but the way my mom approached it was all about shaming. 

eventually my mom said a couple things that set me off. she said that Jesus was watching my sister as she watched porn and he was disappointed in her, and then she said something awful. she said that women in porn are victims of sexual abuse, like my sister, so by watching it she was betraying them. I couldn’t take it anymore so I started to counter what mom said. she got extremely mad, saying stuff like “how DARE you question my parenting IN MY OWN HOME???”

we got into a super bad fight and eventually I ran off to my room. we didn’t talk for the next few days and awkwardly “made up” before I left--basically we talked to each other. our family never resolves anything so all the tension was just left under the surface.

that tension would return at Christmas break when I challenged her parenting a couple times over how she treated my sister. I don’t even remember what it was about at this point, but it started to build up. I spent almost a week refusing to leave my room. 

honestly during this time and Thanksgiving break I was just miserable. I was angry but I was also scared and confused and conflicted. having my mom mad at me has always been one of the worst feelings in the world. it made me want to be dead. I was avoiding her and not leaving my room because the way she’d look at me would make me feel like dirt. the things she’d do--leave the room when I entered it, act like I wasn’t in the room at other times, slam things, move in a clipped, tense way--made me feel like she hated me more than anything in the world. 

I stayed in my room for her birthday celebration. I remember my brother coming down and calling me a coward for it. my dad texted me to get me to come upstairs. but I didn’t. 

I know my other brother was more sympathetic to me than he’d been on the phone earlier that semester. he would take me out in the car and we’d talk about how horrible our parents were for hours. that was comforting and it was feeding my anger. 

my memories for this section of time are confused. I know at some point my mom came down in my room to “talk.” she had this attitude that she wanted to listen and make things right, but she was defensive to the point of offensiveness. the anger was barely concealed. 

this break was the only time I’ve tried to really confront her about her behavior. earlier this year I confronted my dad but when she got home, that was all over because she was the same way. my dad just listened when I talked to him but apparently he’s totally rejected everything I said so that was a waste of time as well.

during that first conversation, I started bringing up past behavior. there’s about three things that happened that I remember. firstly I brought up a real, substantial instance of abuse, but it was a singular case, so she could deny it. I have a vivid memory of being in the car with the whole family going to get Sheridans--I can even tell you the exact location where it was in Atlanta. the family was tense because my brother was a permit driver and it was his first time driving the whole family. I must have been about 13 in that case. my dad was in the passenger seat, and me and my other brother were in the buckets. normally my mom would be in the front but she was in the back with my sister. 

we were supposed to keep quiet because my brother was driving. I remember I got yelled at for talking twice, but my mom was whispering to my sister too. so I said one more thing to my other brother and my mom kicked me in the face. she was wearing heavy shoes, possibly high heels, and it really hurt. I remember it was on the way back and I didn’t even feel like eating my ice cream. everyone else got out of the car when we got home and I just stayed in crying. what really struck me was that my mom just kept talking to my sister like nothing happened and no one acknowledged it.

but years later, my mom denied it. I was making it up. I was lying or crazy. (my parents do this with any isolated instance of abuse.)

next I tried something more recent that had happened multiple times to multiple siblings. my mom would do this thing where she’d get in your face, screaming at you, and shove you into a wall. she’d put her fingers around your throat and squeeze. she’s always had long nails so she’d dig them into your throat. I remember her doing this to me once but to my brother multiple times. even at 15 he was way taller than her, this big black boy, and there he was sobbing being abused by this grown white woman.

my mom rejected this first because I said she choked us. that wasn’t choking, she said. I said FINE, but it’s still wrong. she said that’s just the way she parents--her kids need to be afraid of her. 

next I said that she would make us feel like garbage with her words. I brought up times when she told me that I would never succeed in life and basically implied I was unlovable. she just looked at me like she was shocked and betrayed and said I had “unrealistic expectations for relationships” and expected her to be a perfect mother. 

so that conversation went nowhere. later on me and my brother brought things up to her and dad, and they just listened. I don’t know how this affected their thinking but I’ll try to describe what I think happened later on. 

things were at a stalemate of sorts. we were kind of acting normal but my mom started to build her defenses. I know she was bad mouthing me to the rest of the family, a smear campaign. she’s good at them. I remember ending up going out with the ostensibly supportive brother and he told me maybe I was just lying or crazy. I had no one on my side. 

then something really bad happened. my sister has always been back and forth due to splitting, so sometimes she wants to bad mouth our parents and sometimes she doesn’t. I did my own attempt at controlling the narrative when we were home alone. my sister was mad about having to sweep I think, so I started unloading all my anger and she unloaded as well. and we didn’t realize my mom had gotten home and was listening silently downstairs. 

shit really hit the fan after that. we were back to not being on speaking terms. my mom really doubled down on telling everyone I was the bad one, I was the problem. my whole family wasn’t talking to me. eventually my sister was on my mom’s side and she was in a gloating mood. she told me mom said I was working for the devil to destroy our family, along with other things. to this day I’m not sure how much of it was true (my mom denies she said that), but I knew she was acting like I was ruining the family and it was a last straw for me. I was done.

I really really wanted to commit suicide. I’d been suicidal for years and I’d stopped myself by telling myself I couldn’t because of my family. well clearly my family didn’t need or want me. it was a spiteful thing for sure, but I was having a full on mental break down. my first thought was pills but my sister saw me getting them out. I felt childish and silly and just went outside. 

my brother found out I was having a breakdown and took me to Stake and Shake, but we never got any food. he was hearing I was suicidal and said I needed to go to a mental hospital. I didn’t know what to think. he’d been years ago and it hadn’t seemed to do him any good, but I just wanted to get away.

I went to the hospital with my mom and brother. when I got there I knew I wanted to leave. I could feel they were going to lock me up. I could feel the way I was seen as the crazy one, the one with the problem, not the people in the room with me. I couldn’t say anything about my situation because my mom was right there. the intake person was distant and professional. I started to sob. I said I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, over and over again. people were taken aback. now I was really seen as crazy. 

I couldn’t stop crying. “I don’t like being told what to do!” I said through gritted teeth, crying having turned angry. my mom said she knew. 

eventually everyone’s “good intentions” for crazy little me pressured me into signing a consent form. I was taken down the hall sobbing hysterically. I was strip searched and on my period which was one of the most terrifying and humiliating experiences of my entire life. then I was put on suicide watch and sat in the corner of the hospital common area, sobbing, too scared to look up at the other patients.