#do you know how debilitating ptsd is man

[kaleighkarma]

I HATE MY MOM

[yourmidnightlover]

timeless - ch. 3

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: in a flashback chapter, we see what it was like for reader and bucky before and during deployment, up until they were captured by what they didn’t know was hydra.

warnings: canon typical violence, talk of war, wounds, little knowledge of how deployment/war works on my end lol, affectionate/flirty bucky, if i missed anything PLEASE let me know!

w/c: 2.3k+

a/n: HIIII! another chapter that’s not two months out… who am i???? this chapter is definitely the last calm before the storm… expect either the next or the one after that to be very very angsty. i haven’t decided if i want to do the next chapter in current time/civil war time or a flashback as well, so if you have a preference please let me know!

<- chapter 2 ~ chapter 4 ->

two days before deployment

two weeks ago you found out you were being deployed as a nurse for the 107th with your best friend. your uniform came in a week ago. now, it was only two days until you would go to europe to try and ensure the safety of the men who were fighting for your freedom.

especially the man you called your best friend.

buky wasn’t nervous. well, not about himself, at least. he worked you twice as hard during your workouts, demanding longer runs and harder punches until he was satisfied with your progress. he pushed you to your limits and helped you cool off, running you hot baths and cooking you dinner when you were too sore to move.

although you loved having all of his attention and devotion, it had been a strenuous two weeks.

“the stark expo?” you questioned as he called out to you from the kitchen. you were in the shower, scrubbing away after another long workout as he was throwing together some sandwiches.

“yea!” you could hear his smile. “i’ll go in my uniform, you could even throw yours on. you know i would definitely love to see that,” you rolled your eyes at his comment, knowing he was merely joking around.

“maybe in your dreams.”

“you know it,” he knocked on the bathroom door to alert you of his presence. “i think it’ll be a nice last outing for steve and us. one last hoorah before… everything. one more good memory.”

“you say that as if it’ll be our last, jamie!” you turned the water off and wrapped a towel around your body before yanking the door open. “we’ll be back. between the two of us, we’re unstoppable, right?”

he turned to look at you, taking a deep breath before continuing, “i know, but it’ll be different, y’know?” he let his hand find your wet hair, laughing at your dripping wet state. “you should dry off, the food’s ready.”

“thank you, my chef,” you scampered into the guest room (your room, really) and quickly got dressed.

the truth is, bucky was scared shitless. sure, he was worried he wouldn’t be coming home once it’s all over. he was scared he would get whatever ptsd was. he was frightened about the possibility of him getting severely injured. but the thing that was debilitating him the most was the fact that he might not be able to protect you.

he’s always prided himself on being able to tell when you’re within a 3 mile radius of danger, guiding you out of harm's way as soon as he realises. with you literally going into a war zone, you will be surrounded by danger. gunshots, grenades, hand to hand combat, everything that could possibly harm you, you would encounter firsthand. that is what was the most frightening part of this whole deployment situation.

for you, you were simply scared to lose bucky. you couldn’t give two shits about what would happen to yourself. bucky had a family here, his best friend, he had so much. you just wanted to make sure that he would be able to make it back to all of it.

in a perfect world, the both of you would have made it back together.

-

“i knew you’d look amazing,” bucky cheered as you stood by your door, clad in your uniform and feeling tacky as ever.

“i dunno if i actually want to wear this out, jamie,” you pulled at the neckline, neglecting to look at him in return. “feels… weird.”

“c’mon, darlin’ you look great,” you felt his hands reach for yours, breaking your attention on yourself and diverting it to him.

boy, was he one to talk about you in your uniform when he looks so wonderful in his own. from his hat to the buttons adorning his cufflinks, he looked to die for. so much so, that your breath actually caught in your throat.

“woah there, y/n/n,” he smirked knowingly. “make sure to breathe for me. can't be leaving without you, darlin’.”

you rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, “so arrogant.”

but he’s not wrong… no matter how much you wish he was, he always seemed to truly know what made you tick, and he knew how to tease you from it, too.

he also knew how beautiful he was. there was no way he didn’t with how many girls constantly ogle him as he simply walks the sidewalks with you or steve. in school, you would always see how the girls gravitated towards bucky. you couldn’t blame them, either. he’s tall, dark, and handsome with pretty blue eyes that were like whirlpools, sucking you in and making you look stupid for trying to not get sucked in to the spiral.

truth be told, you were jealous when he would entertain these other girls. he would take them dancing or to fancy restaurants, sometimes telling you and steve all about it upon his return.

sure, you were often entertained by other guys back in school, but if you were honest with yourself, you knew they were just distractions. they never compared to bucky.

all bucky would ever do was complain about your poor choice of distractions. if you went on a date to the fair, your date never took you on enough rides. if you went dancing then your partner must’ve had two left feet in bucky’s eyes.

no matter what went on, bucky found a way to make it seem like you had terrible taste in men, so somewhere along the way, you’d kinda stopped trying. besides, it’s not like those dates ever truly meant anything to you anyway.

“you know you love it,” he traded your hands for your waist as he tugged you into his chest. “i still don’t like the idea of you goin’ in, even if you’ll be goin’ with me.”

“well,” you placed a hand on his shoulder, “we still can’t change anything about it. we’ll be alright, jamie. we’ll be alright.”

with that, you left to meet steve at the expo with another date bucky’s trying to set him up on. steve was pouting, as usual. apparently he had been denied entry into the army by yet another station. soon, all of this would catch up to him and by the time it does, the police would be right on his trail too.

“i can do it; they’re asking everyone to enlist, for everyone to help however they can, yet they won’t let me try!” steve went on about how frustrating his situation was.

bucky threw his arm over the smaller man, “they’re just lookin’ out for you, punk. you know that. now, you keep trying to enlist how you are, you’re gonna end up gettin’ in bigger trouble than usual.”

“doesn’t make it any less frustrating, jerk,” he elbowed bucky’s gut that he was positioned under.

“boys, boys,” you sighed as the two finally stopped shoivng at one another. “i would like to spend my last night here not talking about what we’re about to go into, please.”

it was extremely crowded, body’s shoulder to shoulder trying to see what howard’s newest mystical yet scientific creation would be.

as some douchebag that was nearly a foot taller than you manuevered to stand right in front of you, bucky bent down to your level, “wanna get on my shoulders?”

“jamie, you’re gonna drop me on my face!” you chuckled at his suggestion.

“ouch,” he threw his hand over his heart, clutching it intensely. “you wound me. have a little trust,” and with the smile he was sending your way, you couldn’t say no.

suddenly, his head was beneath your thighs, but not in the way you might’ve imagined a time or two when you were by yourself, lifting you to see above nearly everyone else in the vicinity. his hands were gripping your thighs tight, ensuring your security whilst also spreading a bit of warmth very close to where his head resided. your hands wandered to his shoulders, you didn’t want to mess up his uniform too much.

“better up there, doll?”

“much,” you laughed as him and steve continued their way through the crowd to see better.

howard stark began his speech and presentation, everyone ‘ooo’-ing and ‘awe’-ing each minute. with so much talk of the future, it mostly reminded you of the fear you had of your own. would you mom ever come back from this war, herself? would she be lost in her work? what would life look like if things didn’t go well in the field?

it was almost as if bucky could tell you were in your head because within a few more minutes, he ushered the two of you out of the crowd before easing you off his shoulders with his award-winning smile.

“seems like steve ran off again,” bucky chuckled as he adjusted his cap. “what a surprise right?” his voice was dripping with sarcasm. you remained silent, stuck in your own head before bucky continued. “what’s one thing you want to do before you die.”

“woah!” your eyes widened. “way to be cheerful, jamie,” you scoffed at his question as you continued walking around, seemingly nowhere.

“hey,” he placed his hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him. “i’m serious. i know it’s scary, what we’re going into. i’m scared shitless. i’m terrified. but what i’m scared of most is losing you, doll,” he paused, letting his fingers take through the ends of your hair before he continued. “so, tell me, what’s one thing you want to do before you die.”

“i wanna see the northern lights,” you admitted quietly, almost embarrassed. “i mean, i’ve seen pictures of ‘em in the paper, but the way people write about them makes it seem like they’re so much better in person.”

“i know the feeling,” you met his gaze before you continued.

“what about you?” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “what do you wanna do before you die?”

“i don’t think there’s anything else i want in my life right now,” he kept playing with your hair before you continued walking around the park, his arm thrown around your shoulder and yours around his waist.

-

3 weeks after deployment

“heya, doll,” bucky’s voice rang through the tent as he made his way towards you.

currently, you were stitching up someone with a 5 inch laceration to their thigh, one inch to the right and it would’ve struck their major artery and he would’ve been a goner.

“james, i’m busy right now,” wiping off the wound once more, applying antibacterial ointment before wrapping his thigh in gauze. “be sure to come back before lights out, i’ll clean and redress the wound, try to stay off of it if you can,” you gave the man a worried grin.

“thank you, y/n,” the man pressed a kiss to your hairline before making his way to his bunk, you assume.

“just came to say hi to my best girl,” he wrapped his arms around your waist. “and i have a small wound i need you to tend to, please?”

you turned to face him, rolling your eyes when you saw the puppy dog eyes adorned on his adorable face, even covered in layers of dirt and grease.

“let me see it.”

he lifted his shirt - god those abs - to show you the many bruises and scratches littering his torso. you looked up at him with sad eyes. “i hate seeing you like this…”

he paused before snaking his finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “i’m okay. it’s just the price of war.”

“i hate that you’re the one paying for it, though,” you shrugged as you motioned for him to lift his arms so you could remove his shirt easier. “gosh, jamie,” it was worse the more you uncovered. “it’s like you’re rolling around on a knife out there.”

“sorry, doll,” he chuckled as you reached for more supplies. you took a washcloth and dipped it in a bucket of water, wringing the washcloth and wiping down his chest and arms. “you’re so gentle.” you continued your job with close concentration. “always loved that about you, y’know?” you ignored his comments. “and your lip does this thing when you’re so concentrated - i don’t even know how to describe it, it’s so adorable.”

you sighed, biting back a smile as you leaned back, “i’m starting to think you purposely get hurt just to see me, now.”

“caught on already?” he chuckled before wincing slightly. you leaned forward once more and started back on cleaning up his skin.

“luckily nothings too deep,” you commented. “you won’t need stitches, but with as many cuts as there are here, i’m gonna go ahead and disinfect and wrap you with some antibacterial to avoid infection.”

“i love it when you talk all doctor to me,” you rolled your eyes at his comment. he lowered his voice before continuing, “can i still sneak in with you tonight?”

“you always do,” you smiled as you dabbed rubbing alcohol on his wounds, trying to distract him as the sting began. “same time?”

“always,” he nodded before you began putting on the antibacterial ointment and then wrapping his torso. “thanks, doll.”

“anytime, jamie,” you nodded as he wrapped you in a warm embrace.

he came into your tent that night. you reapplied his ointment and rewarded him before he insisted you lay your head on his chest to go to sleep, claiming it was more comforting that way. he held you as he slept, not even realizing how tight his grip was.

you didn’t mind it, though. it was comforting. you felt safe and secure in his arms.

that’s how you’ve slept the past two weeks. the same routine, every day. at least, when he was at base. it was harder when he was off fighting. sometimes you had dreams that instead of him coming back to you, it was a letter of condolences, saying their apologies for his missing body.

other times you didn’t sleep at all, too busy worrying about if he was alright or safe at all. you would worry that he was wounded, crying for your help.

i’m a few months, your life would be turned upside down. you weren’t prepared for what was in store, neither was bucky or steve.

TAGS:

@cjand10

@coldheartedmar

@ordelixx

[the-chaos-crew]

okay this is gonna be SUPER different than most of my posts but god ding diddly dang it I'm frustrated so hear me out

I had a bad childhood, like a really bad one, as far as I know since I was 6 but my dad and older brother think I probably was affected by the insane shit since 4yrs old. which if you don't know is pretty fucking young. and that traumatic childhood lasted until I was about 11. that's a pretty long fucking time for trauma to build up over time.

now because of this shit childhood, I developed the coping mechanism known as dissociation. I often feel like I'm in a dream or I'm watching someone else live my life and it's really really weird. now sometimes though, that dissociation is taken to an extreme. and extreme where I just suddenly BLIP lose several hours or more of time and I have no memory of it.

my IRL friends have told me that during these periods of time where I just black out, I act completely differently or my behavior shifts suddenly

I've tried denying that this is a thing and at one point I did consider Dissociative Identity Disorder. I snapped out of it of course cause I'm too young for that to start disrupting my life, right? yes my abuser is gone, she'll never return, I mean how could she when she is in an urn sitting on a shelf now. but, I'm a teen now, and in therapy, I should be fine and healthy now right?

I told my therapist about how these black outs in my memory freak me out and I just cannot keep ignoring it anymore, and my therapist told me to talk to my psychiatrist cause she might know a bit more and be able to help me

you wanna know. what my psychiatrist said? what she said about this very worrying and distressing thing that affects my life and relationships?

"you're fine, it isn't affecting you that significantly" (while I was there crying cause I am honestly scared about whatever is going on) "it sounds totally normal to me, everyone gets a bit more extreme in their emotions"

LIKE WHAT. LADY. AUGHHHFHFFHH

she completely waved off my concerns.

I don't try to get into discourse in stuff I'm not even a part of, but fuck man. this is what mental illness fakers are really doing. "erm endos aren't taking resources away erm uh" BRO. MY THERAPIST KNOWS OF DID, SHE KNOWS THE ABSOLUTE SHIT I WENT THROUGH AS A KID. and yet she isn't too sure about going anywhere in that realm of possibility other than me dealing with dissociation above the average for C-PTSD sufferers. why? because my therapist has dealt with one too many fakers trying to be fucking debilitated like I am, without the actual debilitation part!

my psychiatrist is waving my concerns and problems away because she knows that a lot of kids of my generation are just saying this shit for attention or clout or to validate their delusions

mental illness fakers are making it so no one believes the people who are actually struggling and it's making me pissed off. I DONT WANT TO LOSE HOURS OF MY LIFE TO SOME OTHER FACET IN MY BRAIN. I WANT TO GET HELP FOR THIS SHIT. BUT NO ONE WILL FUCKING BELIEVE OR LISTEN TO ME.

I WONDER. FUCKING. WHY.

okay. rant over. sorry. I'm just super fucking pissed and I just want help for whatever the fuck is going on with me dude

[atorionsbelt]

some thoughts on 3x11 mom city:

i almost wish… we had gotten the chance to see jamie have a panic attack, or an overwhelmed pause regarding everything that he’s been dealing with beneath the surface over the course of the series, especially as a parallel to ted. to be taken seriously in that moment and for the audience to be put directly in his headspace; helpless debilitating fear of possibly seeing his father again. a beat of quiet where the world stops and slows down for a minute. joining in breath and stillness and the comfort its met with. roy and/or keeley being there for him, ted in the aftermath. a notable conversation about boundaries, attachment, guilt.

of course, i never want to magnify the pain of my favorite characters more than any of the circumstances they’ve already been dealt — this would’ve been a natural response many people experience after his severe level of trauma. after it’s been all piled up and up until he can’t ignore it for any longer. after the root of his ptsd has relentlessly lurked unpredictable and inescapable just out of frame, and seemingly threatens to again.

the mom city boot room scene doesn’t necessarily have to be replaced by this, if anything it played an essential part in the duality of depression and how it appears. big outbursts of emotional distress that avoid the event that upset you in the first place; a cry for help, a distraction, a release for what you’re carrying inside even though you can’t admit it’s real quite yet. then the other half. the suffering in the silence; disassociation, drowning until only the numbness remains “like it’s in my soul.”

i know it’s tough subject matter, but it would’ve been so poignant and vital to such a significant part of jamie’s characterization. then comes the topic of forgiveness.

before it was revealed jamie’s dad was in rehab, when he said it was freaking him out that he couldn’t find him in the crowd, i had almost thought ted would tell jamie that they had james sr. permanently banned from his matches after wembley. that he was finally free from him now. assuring jamie he could even get a restraining order if he wanted, evoking a wash of both relief and grief on his face.

regardless of the rehab choice, i always thought it could’ve been one of the most impactful routes to cut ties and go no contact for good just like his mom likely had done. many of us with toxic family members are given no other choice but to do so, it just felt like a golden missed opportunity for healing and cathartic solidarity.

and maybe another solid plotline could’ve been two contrasting sides of forgiveness. ted’s advice vs roy/keeley’s. they would have no hesitation telling jamie that any man alive who abuses him deserves nothing less than losing the right to having the honor of jamie as a son. jamie’s dad stopped being his dad a long time ago. ted is in the dark about how truly bad it is, and biased by his own experience of loss, it doesn’t do the scene justice standing on its own. keeley knows him most intimately, and roy may be the only one that knows about the amsterdam SA. give him options: jamie doesn’t need to forgive him right now or ever, or thank him for a lesson no one should have to learn, or feel that he owes him any help that he himself was never given. just let him go. jamie’s still in his 20s, still closer to being an impressionable kid, still holding onto a burden keeping him from total freedom and autonomy that was never his responsibility. he struggles with self worth and detaching his identity from his dad. he can always change his mind later on about how he feels, but separation and safety should be his priority in order to ever fully cope and move forward. to mourn the loss of his own youth to confusion and torment.

well aware jamie’s friends aren’t verified therapists like dr sharon, but nonetheless, for the sake of communicating a message for the end of the episode, if both jamie and ted lasso viewers were to be presented with more than one singular take on such a delicately personal situation there would be less room for misinterpretation and which behavior is actually being praised — especially under an episode umbrella theme concerning the value in being given second chances.

[dianaladrislovebot]

gone headcanons that have popped into my unhinged little brain, part 4

tw for some mental health talk at the end of which there will be a visible warning

caine has a 12 step skincare routine. also wears eyeliner. argue w the wall.

diana also practiced makeup on the boys before the fayz. drake “hated it” but continued to allow her so 😐

and on sam at lake tramonto bc i want more of them and their friendship

sam knows a lot about first aid, and in turn so does quinn. connie refused to let her son not know first aid.

quinn has a really dysfunctional family; his parents are always fighting (whether between themselves or with quinn) and he hates being at home, and spends so much time at sam’s place that he just starts calling connie mom at some point and she treats him like her second son (cough 🤨)

taylor used to write gossip on the coates bathroom stalls

i imagine lana (and most of the time diana actually) w a really monotone like voice. very much contrasted to taylor, who sounds like a borderline valley girl, and astrid, who is constantly told to speak up. brianna however, is constantly told to shut up because she’s too loud. most of the other girls just have like, regular teenage girl voices i guess

(mental health talk starts here if you wanna scroll away)

mary used to self harm, she just hid it a lot better than her eating disorder. she switched places at the start of the fayz too so the kids didn’t find it because she didn’t want to have to explain, but she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to stop either

sam has bpd. no notes he simply does. (thank you @ salt_bags_ on ig for opening my eyes). also diagnosed w depression LONG before the fayz why they thought to nominate the depressed kid as leader is beyond me what’d they think was gonna happen lol

sometimes i honestly wonder if drake has either bpd or bipolar too bc man can he switch FAST

quinn also has anxiety. he doesn’t talk about it a lot bc back in 2009 obviously mental health wasn’t as spoken about as it is now but it really debilitated him from doing a lot of stuff. he learnt how to live w it in the fayz.

obviously most of the fayz survivors ended up w ptsd after the fayz but a lot of them also had different forms of anxiety, depression and paranoia.

that’s all for now folks i’ll see you all again in six months when i have my next thought

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any chronic pain/illness fanfiction?

Hey Nonny!

I DO! I made a list awhile ago! Any Chronic Pain fics I have are on this Chronic Illness Mini Masterpost, plus these other ones on my MFL list with the tag:

The Joys Of Onanism by KittieHill (E, 5,102 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, For Science, Patient John, Overwhelmed Sherlock, Mutual Masturbation, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Virgin Sherlock, Loving John, Intense / Multiple Orgasms) – “The man was almost seventy! He had chronic heart disease. He could have had a heart attack whilst having a shit!” John scoffed. “It's no worse for you than a brisk walk.” “Prove it,” Sherlock insisted, eyes focussed entirely on John. “Prove what?” John asked. “That I won't die from wanking?” “No – That – must you be so crude?” Sherlock complained. “That an edged masturbation session is no worse than brisk walking. Prove it.” “And how do you expect me to do that?” John frowned, picking up his water and drinking it again.

A Chronic Condition by Calais_Reno (T, 5,238 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Fix It, Falling in Love, Deception, Love Confessions, Jealousy, Fluffy, Chronic Illness, Hypochondria, Medical Procedures, Doctor John, POV Limited Third Person Sherlock, Fluff and Humour) – John is not unique. Most of the time he says and does ordinary things, but occasionally he says or does something so brilliant that it takes the air right out of Sherlock’s lungs. It’s that one percent— his little contributions at crime scenes— that’s what’s brilliant. OR: Sherlock is jealous. Part 21 of Just Johnlock

Positive by whitchry9 (T, 19,673 w., 32 Ch. || Chronic Illness, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, Disease, Friendship) – When John finds out Sherlock is ill, he has to make sure. Really, absolutely sure. And for a while, it's okay, because medicine has advanced to the point where Sherlock isn't going to die any time soon. But when Sherlock takes a sharp downward turn, he asks John to do one last thing for him.

What Spring Does With Cherry Trees by tomlinsoul (E, 30,443 w., 3 Ch. || Canon Divergence AU || Post-TRF, Established Relationship, Fibromyalgia, Physical Disability, Mobility Aids, Ableism, Medical Trauma, Medical Procedures, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Crying, Hospitals, Protective John, Dom/Sub Undertones, Chronic Pain, Hurt / Vulnerable Sherlock) – 18 months into his new and settled romance with John, Sherlock faces a new challenge when he develops debilitating symptoms that leave him in more than a few tricky situations. Luckily, his doctor happens to be rather devoted to him.

The Half-Life Of Morphine Series by VanStock1992 (T to E, 74,612+ w. across 8 works || Series WiP || Post S4, PTSD, Sherlock Whump, Chronic Pain / Illness, Permanent Injury, Protective Mycroft, Parentlock, Big Brother Mycroft, Doctor John, Physical Disability, Wheelchairs, John's Anger Issues, Depression, Guilt, Implied / Referenced Drug Abuse, Hospitalization, Surgery, Food Issues) – An injury that leads to nerve damage brings John and Sherlock's lives to a screeching halt, and leaning on their family and friends is the only way they will make it through. In which Sherlock is an incredibly engaged father, Rosie has special needs, and John struggles to find his place without the identity of a blogger, a doctor, or a solider.

0.2% by Xenay (T, 136,214 w., 90 Ch. || Post S4, POTS / Sick Fic, Chronic Illness / Autoimmune Disease, Exercise Intolerance, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Autistic Sherlock, Neurodiversity, Headaches / Migraines, Neuropathy, Nausea / Vomiting, Angst, Dissociation, Medical Gaslighting, Body-Focused Repetitive Behaviour, Smoking, Aphasia, Minor Character Death, Stim Toys, Family Drama) – You don't know devastation until you get diagnosed with something that has no cure.

-----

Feel free too add more, my friends!

[lithiumcreepblog]

One thing about the Lenora shootout I can’t stop thinking about and haven’t seen people discussing much (or maybe they have, idk, I’m new here) is how that experience will affect the characters. They were EXTREMELY lucky to get out of that house unscathed. (Of course they’re just fictional characters who have plot armour but let’s pretend for a moment that they’re in the real world.) One wrong move & they would probably all be dead. That is terrifying to think about to me.

And even though the whole thing lasted what, three minutes (?), that shit traumatises you. You don’t feel particularly terrified in the moments directly after because of the adrenaline but it follows you. I can attest to that as someone who has been around military gun violence and has had guns pointed at me. I’m so lucky and grateful to be out of that situation now, but man, did that fuck me up. I still get debilitating nightmares even years later, and I still flinch at the slightest loud noises that resemble a gunshot. Even watching that scene last year was extremely difficult for me. So I can’t imagine what the characters must be feeling after being in such a traumatic shootout.

Not to mention, that is probably (?) the most “human” threat the characters have faced yet. Not an inter-dimensional monster, not flayed people, but just pure human violence, which makes the danger so much more real. Gun violence is such a commonplace thing in media, and while some of it affects me more than others, this instance is probably the most scared I’ve been because of how much I care about these characters.

I know they probably won’t, but I hope they explore Jonathan, Will, Mike and Argyle’s PTSD following the incident in S5 in some way. Because I do think that it would definitely affect them. I would love to see how it affects Jonathan, who immediately tried to protect Will & Mike. How he probably has nightmares where he failed to protect them. How scared for their lives Will & Mike must have felt and the conversations they would have about it. And poor Argyle getting wrapped up in it all and having a man die in his van.

Rant over.

[noonegetsleftbehind]

This is a headcanon that I have been meaning to type up for some time because I feel it is very integral to Chris in anything post RE6 and I have a verse write up coming that will focus a lot more on this in greater detail in order to be able to play this out more in depth.

In Edonia on Christmas Eve when he lost all of Alpha Team to Carla except for Piers, Chris fell and hit his head hard. I mean really hard. You can hear that crack and see the impact and just know that that was enough to fuck a man up. You see him lose consciousness and you’re treated to the knowledge that somehow Piers Nivans managed to fight off several BOW on his own while guarding Chris and dragging his significantly larger and dead weight ass out of there to safety.

As we know that Chris was suffering from some pretty hefty amnesia through all of 6 and you’re filled in that Piers searched for 3 months for Chris after he just up and left the hospital. Now... Think about how badly he literally cracked his skull in Edonia. He’s lucky he didn’t die let alone is functioning at all. An impact like that didn’t just give him a little bit of amnesia, a bump on the head and a concussion... That right there was a straight up real bad nasty traumatic brain injury that did some damage combined with the fact he went into some pretty fierce alcoholism in his amnesia state. That would also do its own damage. Also factor in the fact that he just yeeted himself out of the hospital and evaded treatment and care that he probably desperately needed after that TBI. Another factor at play is Piers and Claire are basically the only ones that even know what happened to Chris and Piers is dead so... Nobody even knows how badly he hurt himself and how much he suffered/continues to suffer.

Chris doesn’t even allow himself any time to recover. He goes right back into Redfield mode. Sure, he starts to regain memories, but an injury like that had to have done more damage than he ever lets on and short circuits the hell out of him and I don’t think enough attention is truly paid to that.

After 6, Chris still struggles with a lot of memory loss. Sometimes in the middle of things he short circuits a little and has to bring himself back into the moment. He forgets a lot of things and struggles with short term memory. His vision suffers a little from it and he struggles with blurry vision along with blackouts in his vision sometimes. It’s not enough to completely hinder him, but he does rely a lot more heavily on his contacts and/or glasses. He also suffers from headaches that can range from mild to straight up debilitating. He has a lot of night terrors/flashbacks not just from the TBI, but from years worth of PTSD, but they come a lot more frequently after the TBI. He has lapses in a lot of his memory from the time around his accident in Edonia despite him recalling a lot of it - there are still a lot of gaps that he just can’t get back. He remembers virtually nothing of his time just wandering around not knowing who the hell he was and drinking his life away.

There’s whole ass months worth of his life that are just blacked out and gone from him. He can have good days and bad days with his memory. The man is exhausted and really going through it at all times and he never lets on to people that there’s even a problem. Most don’t even think anything of the fact that he maybe tells you something about a dozen times like he’s never told you before. They just think he’s terrible at talking and interacting because he’s so focused on work. While it’s true that his major focus is always on his work, he honestly doesn’t remember that he’s told you that story about his early days in the BSAA 10 times before.

The truth is, he should have retired post 6 and he knows it, but won’t admit it. When Piers died for the BSAA and he made it out alive, Chris made an unspoken promise. He would keep fighting for Piers and because he had to. At that point, he honestly sees it that he has no choice but to keep going. He just keeps pushing himself and will until he takes his last breath. He can’t afford letting anyone know what he’s really going through because he hasn’t really been able to let anyone that close. On the off chance that someone does get close to him, then they’d absolutely know something was up just from being close to him and around him. That’s something that he would address and cross on a basis that depends on who he’s close to/in a relationship with.

Even with Claire who he is arguably closest to than anyone else, he will attempt to play it off like it’s nothing and he’s fine, because in his mind he has to be. He knows there’s not much he can do and he won’t stand for being seen as vulnerable or unfit to do his job because it’s too important to him even if he’s burnt out and tired as all fuck by the time 8 comes around. He’s still tied to keep going after Ethan’s final words to him are to look after Rose. He takes that seriously and it’s my honest headcanon that he keeps going and looking after her/protecting her until his dying breath because Ethan asked him to and Chris keeps his fucking promises. He honors those he has lost so hard. Chris doesn’t outwardly seem like it, but he wears his heart on his sleeve and puts literally everyone else before him. He’d give his life in a heartbeat if it meant saving or bringing back anyone that he cares about.

[paperboy-pb]

One of the big themes I want to emphasize in PB is disability acceptance.

As "PAPERBOY" progresses, I'm gonna be showing off how much it hurts to live in a world without it-- having people not accept you solely because of conditions you can only help so much is horrible. And we all deserve to be accepted as we are by the people around us.

But at the same time, you shouldn't feel obligated to love every part of your disability either. Self-acceptance doesn't come naturally to everyone. And who knows, maybe your disability really does get in the way sometimes!

Amelia, Aza, Rudy, etc. don't really mind their situations. They're just used to it, and it barely bothers them, if at all. But maybe you're not like them!

Maybe you're like Wilbur & his Blindness, where your disability is taking away things you loved, leaving you to grieve.

Or maybe you're like Linus & his Epilepsy, where you've found a way to make life work for you but still think it's annoying sometimes.

Maybe you're like Karl & his Down Syndrome; it's not something that you can hide, but sometimes, you wish you could. It'd be nice to blend in with everyone else for a second, you know?

Or maybe you're like Matthew & his health conditions, and you've faced a lifetime of abuse for being born that way. And you're having a hard time accepting yourself as a result.

Or maybe you're like me & only recently got diagnosed with something. And you don't know how to handle it.

...

I got 4, if you're wondering. Autism. Asthma. MDD. But a while back, I found out that I've been suffering PTSD, too. And I didn't take it well. Honestly, I'm still not.

I don't know if it ever truly goes away, and I don't want to live with it. I'm not going anywhere, of course. But I've worked hard enough, man, give me a break! Am I supposed to just be okay knowing that I'm gonna keep having flashbacks & nightmares over stupid shit nobody understands? Having a TV in my head that constantly loops home videos I never wanted to see again?

It's not fair. I'm not even 20. I shouldn't have such dark, smudged skin under my eyes.

I revel in being autistic. I've made it work for me, and in my case, I find almost no downsides. And I don't really mind my Asthma anymore. I've had it pretty much my whole life now, & I'm kinda just used to it. Same thing with Depression, although I'm obviously not happy to have that one, either.

With PTSD though, it's newer. I've only had symptoms for a few years, and I've only known what was wrong for one. And I have to worry.

Is something gonna set it off? What do I do when it acts up? I'm interested in someone-- is my PTSD gonna be too much for them to handle? I feel weak, and if anything, I'm mad at me for getting traumatized in the first place!

I know I was a kid & that the trauma was genuinely bad, but... I'm a bit of a New York hard-ass. I'm supposed to be tougher than this, man! I was supposed to come out on top, brush it off & overcome it like I'm the shit.

A life with something as debilitating as PTSD is not what I had in mind. It's like... an injury, almost. You look at the damage and go, "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

And I know I have to learn to accept life with PTSD one day. Because if I don't accept myself, I'm gonna be fighting myself & making it worse as hell. But I don't like how it holds me back in life. Or the toll it's taken on my body. And y'know what, we disabled people can be mad about that shit!

Why shouldn't we?

...

We're allowed to be hurt over it. We're allowed to be angry, annoyed, displeased, or whatever else we feel about it.

Getting back to Paperboy, we already know that Matthew struggles with being a disabled kid because he's been brought up to believe that being so is synonymous with worthlessness & inferiority. Not only that, but it's been a lot of bad people's "excuse" for targeting him. So... he hates it.

And that's okay for now. It's his to think about. Not anybody else's.

But he's not going to stay there, either. Because if you wanna live your life to the fullest, you're gonna need to live *with* disability. Because it is a part of life. Like it or not. And one day, he'll find a way to live with that.

If you notice anybody struggling with internalized ableism, or disability grief, or even just frustration... help them, but don't push them into acceptance too hard, either. It's a process.

Trust the process.

[icepopstar5105us]

WHEN WILL IT BE OKAY?” A REFLECTION ON HAPPINESS, HARDSHIP, CHOICE, AND LAUGHING AT A LOVED ONE’S FUNERAL

^Recent blog post. Don’t worry, there’ll be mostly fanfic writing on Tumblr, but if you like nonfiction or original stuff feel free to check it out. Lol. I just think Tumblr might appreciate the humor of this one.

—

“When will it be okay?”

The question feels like the eyes of a young child staring at me. Like the ghost of long nights staring at the ceiling and faking smiles at a reflection until it looks real.

A reminder of what has been. What is. What will be… and what I have overcome. A callback to childhood innocence and ignorance when such a time seemed so close yet so far.

It’s still there on the screen. Someone’s posted it out into the world like I once cried it sitting in a bathroom or left it in my notebook scribbled out amidst my other wandering thoughts. They want an answer. After all this time… I think I have one.

“Never.” I wrote, “And I promise that’s not as depressing as it sounds.”

“It’s like…” Like what? How do you describe the way life cannot be just sad or happy without sounding empty? How do you explain how to find joy when everything is dark.

Well, I reasoned, you don’t. It’s an experience thing… so maybe I better give an example.

“But first… I want to tell the story of how my entire family laughed hysterically at both my Grandfather’s funeral and his death.”

That sounds so bad, but at least it might get them reading? I really did feel for this person. I get it. I know what they’re talking about. I’ve been there. I wanted to tell them. To give them some light amidst the darkness and push them towards finding it themselves.

Besides, I have found beauty in the unique way my family sees misfortune. Perhaps it’s odd, but…

“My family is chaotic and, honestly, not financially well off. My Grandfather was a grumpy man with the worst luck I’ve ever seen to date.”

Abusive stepmother, dead father, stolen inheritance, met my grandmother and was drafted, Vietnam war veteran from a specialized unit, stepped on a landmine and survived, debilitating PTSD, poor while his stepfamily flourished using the land that was supposed to be his… It sounds like something from a movie. I’ve been considering writing a novel to be honest, but no one will believe me if I just post that in a random comment.

“His life was tragic by every definition of the word and sounds more like the plot of a dramatic novel than reality.”

That works. Now for the biggest reason he has always been inspiring to me despite his struggles, grumpiness, and poverty.

“There was one thing that brought him happiness, though: Family meant everything to him and he did everything he could to give all of us a chance to do something better.”

I know of hand built dollhouses, pictures of Grandpa coaching the local baseball team for my Uncle when no one could, stories of finding different homes for pigs meant for slaughter because my Aunt didn’t want them to get hurt, teaching my mom and Aunts how to raise sheep, selling various sentimental items to give his kids this or that…

In my own memories, I see an elderly man sitting on a couch discreetly changing the channel to my favorite show and then groaning when he ‘lost’ the remote. I see him raising an eyebrow at me and my brother trying to play checkers with toys and a chessboard drawn on paper and then the sudden appearance of board games the next time we visited.

I remember playing dress up and grandpa wearing crowns and capes even as the rest of the family teased him. I remember toys that were sentimental from my grandpa’s childhood — last remainders of his long dead father — being offered to play with and soft smiles breaking through when I hugged him. I remember the man who pulled my brother out of the street when a car came and held his wrist tightly as if afraid to let go.

When he moved closer to my family, there were fishing trips and days out together. I didn’t like fishing much at first (I’ve always been terrified of water and don’t know how to swim.), but I like being with Grandpa. Overtime, though, I grew to love them. Standing there, on the side of the lake with my brother trying to place a work on the hook, I could see Grandpa was the happiest he’d ever been. There was so much love and joy in him when he got to teach us something. I didn’t ever admit to him how much I loved those fishing trips, but he at least suspected that I liked them — especially since I always went.

He had a stroke, though, and we had to send him to a nursing home. While we tried to visit, he was a bit far away and due to financial reasons we could not move him closer. He grew tired and lonely without family around him.

That wasn’t relevant, though. Not for this. So I skipped all of that.

“At around 85 years old, his oxygen levels dropped inexplicably and suddenly. He was admitted to a hospital where they believed he would be fine with some treatment. After a couple days, the hospital unexpectedly admitted him to the ICU and called my family to say our goodbyes. We were shocked, but we all got a chance to see him.

The next day, my grandmother, mom, aunt, and uncle all sat with him. My grandfather was on a ventilator — they didn’t think he’d wake up. The room was solemn as they reminisced. My mom said, then, that I missed going fishing with him.”

He never knew how much those meant to me, but it wasn’t until I heard this that I fully understood how much it meant to him, because… In that moment, after my mom said that and everyone thought there wouldn’t be another moment…

“My Grandfather immediately opened his eyes, looked at my mom, and smiled the best he could. The conversation continued, then, but took a happier turn. Everyone talking about the best moments with smiles. They were all laughing hysterically.”

I wasn’t there — only adults were allowed in the room… but I know exactly what was happening. My family has a unique brand of chaos. It’s the kind of comedic chaos that results in singing musical songs at random, theatrical re-enactments with full body gestures, loud cackles, tumbling into furniture, mildly ominous or mischievous giggles, tripping into each other, sudden impromptu ballet/baton performances, balancing acts with water bottles and bowls and books, and random objects becoming makeshift puppets.

My Grandfather has always just sat back and watched the chaos with small fond huffs and a shake of his head. He relishes in the joy that comes with it… and in his final moments, it was no different.

“My Grandfather was the happiest anyone had seen him since he had been admitted to the nursing home. He died during that conversation. Smiling at his children as his eyes closed — truly happy.”

I could have ended it here, but I didn’t. There was one more story to tell.

“At his funeral, we were somber. We didn’t have the money to bury him properly. We had to lower his ashes into the grave ourselves.”

I remember the annoyance and frustration of my mom when we found that out. She was really mad. We all were, but we made do.

“My Uncle was [the one to put the ashes in], but he couldn’t reach all the way into the hole. It was mortifying as he had to lay on his stomach to get it in and use a tree branch to keep it upright. In any other family, it would have been horrifying…”

And it was. For a moment we were all mortified and trying to calm down. I remember my dad went to help — holding my Uncle’s ankles to help him get deeper. My Uncle’s wife — who was not blood related, of course — was all pale face and horror. My entire family was mortified. Except for one, because the middle child (Of course) Aunt suddenly couldn’t keep it in. [For the record, this woman is actually one of the coolest and successful people I know] She started snickering and then burst into laughter.

“We all looked at her and she said, ‘It’s just such a Dad funeral.’ We all looked at my Uncle laying on his stomach and the various make-it-work set ups. The cheapness was obvious, but the attempt to give our best was even more so… And cracked up.”

Because she was right. Grandpa was always trying to do everything he could for his family and, while sometimes he’d end up with something awesome, other times it was a bit… unconventional. When that happened, he’d teach everyone how to make do. He never let the failure keep any of his family down and would develop an attitude of ‘by golly this is going to work whether it looks awful or not!’

“[The Funeral] was the exact kind of thing my Grandfather would have both done and loved. Despite the disaster, we were doing everything we could to honor him. That always meant more to him than everything else.

It was something the whole family, including him, had grown fond of. These weird little contraptions made to hold up decorations on walls, baseball helmets with padding held by glue/duct tape/sheer force of will, tilted go karts on wobbly wheels made from broken lawnmowers, broken swing sets repurposed to hold tire swings when trees got cut down, and spindly bikes welded and bolted back together.

“We make it work.” We say, but that’s not exactly true.

It works and we made it… but I think there’s a sense of pride with it. A lesson my grandfather taught us all — something more valuable than anything he inherited and a skill that few have the way he did.

There’s a special kind of tenacity, capability, and strength that comes from making it work. I think anyone who has ever been through hard times and come out better knows that much. Yet, my grandfather never just made it work. He found joy in the process and the people around him.

Maybe that’s why this question made me think of him.

“In both situations, we could have been sad. We could have cried and wept. It could have been heartbreaking and awful. Yet, we laughed in the face of pain. It didn’t fix everything, but it brought us good when dealing with the worst.”

We found pride and joy in the darkest moments.

Like a boy who became a farmhand when his stepmother stole his father’s land from him and gave it to his younger step-siblings. Working extra hard and hoping he might find a way to get it back, but also just relishing in being able to work on the land his father used to spend so much time on.

Like a nineteen year old who became one of the best agents when he lost his chance at college and was forced to leave his lover to go to war.

Like the soldier who got half his back blown up and was just happy to get to go home when he was told he’d never be the same again.

Like the penniless father who wanted to give his family the world, and so he built it all for them himself.

“Here’s the thing, life will never be 100% positive. There will never be that perfect day where everything is better and happier. No one has that. Even when they think they do, they don’t. Life sucks. The world is cruel and awful. People will hurt you. You will hurt someone else. There will be stress, pain, and tears every step of your life.

Yet, it’s not 100% negative either. There are smiles, laughter, and love in the darkest moments — whether in spite of them or because of them. You cannot be hurt if you did not care in the first place. If you were happy all the time, then moments of joy wouldn’t mean as much. You cannot be betrayed if you didn’t love and trust. You cannot be numb if you did not feel something before.”

(Grandpa proved that love and joy and pain can exist in the same act. That there can be conflicting emotions and you can choose whatever part you want to focus on.)

“Things will get worse even as they get better. One thing will be a disaster and another will be wonderful.”

“You can choose to look at what you want. Will you let the worst drag you down? Or will you let the good lift you up?”

(Make the choice to push the boundaries of what you think is possible and attempt to change your fate. Create, build, change, succeed and fail… No matter the result or aftermath, find pride in the process and joy in the people who joined you. Don’t focus on how strange it looks or how little you have. It works and you built it. You did it. You’re making things better one step at a time.)

“Will you die silently crying as everyone around you mourns? Or will you go laughing hysterically with the people you cared for the most? In the end, it’s up to you.”

I post the response and smile.

Maybe Grandpa didn’t get to give us the farm. Maybe we’re broke and our luck isn’t the best. Yet, he gave us all something better, didn’t he?

I switch tabs to check my email and see that my marketing internship has been extended that I will be paid. There’s another email in my inbox from a friend who works in another department — telling me that she thinks I probably will have a job offer once I graduate college. I know I can do it. The classes I need to take are hard, but I know most of the material. Not to mention, the tuition is almost entirely covered by scholarships.

Funny that news should come when I was just writing about my Grandfather who first taught my mother how to research effectively and write a news release for a local event she was planning. A skill that developed into an interest and career.

A skill that I picked up on when I wrote news releases for a fundraiser for a charity. Something that changed my life once I realized that I had raised ten thousand dollars and that I was good at it.

How funny that I should be already thinking of the legacy of the man when my employer expresses that the problem solving skills I learned from his ‘making do’ have impressed everyone in the department and people outside of it — that multiple businesses who came in contact with me have asked for my contact information because they like how I am not afraid to try new things and how much I can actually do.

I’d never thought about it, but I had taken my family’s chaotic way of trying until it works — the passion of ‘I want this to work so I will’ — to every part of my life. This little quirk I learned from my grandpa had become a way for me to learn by experiment and trial. Other people call me brave enough to try new things, but is it really bravery when you didn’t know there was something to fear in the first place?

This is what I inherited from my grandfather.

Its the ability to stare at misfortune or failure in the eye and see only possibility and what I’ve learned for the next attempt. To hold my fate in my own hands and bend until it breaks so I can take the shattered pieces and make art.

This is what it means to choose your path. To make it work, to stand amidst misfortune and laugh — to learn from the mistake and take pride in failure.

It’s true freedom — limited only by the boundaries of physics, time, and the limits you set yourself — to be able to try fearlessly and learn from failure. To take risks with every step and learn from the consequences.

For a man so worried about what he couldn’t give, I think he gave me the most valuable gift of all.

Maybe, you can find it in you, too, to push the boundaries. Maybe I can grant this too. Here, just take it. It’s all out there for you. Take pride. Take joy. It multiplies if you want it to.

Look at your failure. Isn’t it beautiful? A masterpiece of time and energy. Not wasted, no, because it was fun and you learned and you laughed.

When will that failure work? When will it be okay? Well, never. You could try again, of course, but this one is a flop and you’re laughing just at the thought. It has good memories even though it doesn’t work, so you’re happy with it for now.

This could be what you have, if you want it.

Just look for it. Work at it. Try it. Take it.

Choose.

[blvckleg]

.

[phoenixyfriend]

Uncle Ben and Little Luke

AKA we combine several types of time travel for maximum Soft Chaos, let’s go

EDIT NOW THAT I’VE WRITTEN THIS UP: jfc this ended up much angstier than initially intended uhhhhhhhhhh sorry

So a common enough thing I’ve seen in time travel fics is characters getting de-aged when tossed back physically, to neither the age they should be in that time, nor the age they were from the time they left, but whatever is most convenient. This is usually de-aging OT Obi-Wan into his TCW self, for reasons relating to, chiefly, removing the damage of Tatooine absolutely destroying his body alongside PTSD-driven alcoholism, but also because fic writers are horny, and Ewan McGregor playing a late-thirties negotiator is on average more appealing to people than Alec Guinness playing a vaguely feral desert hermit.

So, here’s how it plays out:

We take Luke and Ben from some point in the OT. There are a variety of options depending on how angsty we want it to be. My first instinct is ‘right after Owen and Beru die’ but I want to have that sweet angst where Luke knows that his dad is Vader and that Obi-Wan was trying to convince him to kill his own father without telling him that.

We’ll go with shortly after Bespin, and then they end up significantly before TPM. The Obi-Wan of the timeline proper is, eh, let’s say eighteen. Not really ready to be a knight, but old enough that we don’t have to worry about “if we go save Shmi, do we somehow wipe out Anakin?” which is absolutely a worry. Anakin is a toddler, and is in no place to be evil, on account of being literally two years old. He can’t even explode people with his brain yet.

Now, Ben finds himself mid-thirties, as is traditional. He’s not upset at this, because his joints hurt so much less than they used to! His knees aren’t exactly teenage-perfect, but by the Force are they better than they were in the years before he died! His hair has color! He doesn’t have arthritis! And, goodness, no physical withdrawal symptoms! The psychological aspect is still there, but nonetheless, he’s in much better shape than he last remembers being.

Luke looks like he’s about six. He was recently twenty-two. This is not an upgrade. Ben keeps having to carry him. He can’t see over the counter when they enter a bar for information. He can’t enter the bar in the first place. He’s very annoyed by all of this.

Ben is not annoyed. Ben is having a lot of emotions, actually, but annoyance isn’t one of them. He didn’t get to help raise Luke the way he might have if Anakin hadn’t lost his shit, okay, he sees a small Luke and he wants to hug him and cry.

Luke would like to be able to purchase a speeder part without the lady at the stall asking him if he needs his “dad’s” permission.

Once they figure out when and where they are, they need to decide where and how to leave. There are general shenanigans to gamble their way into enough money to hire a ship. They are in the ass end of nowhere, but definitely not Tatooine. There appears to be a jungle. There appears to be a significant variety of man-eating creatures. There appears to be a temple to the Force of questionable origin. None of this is actually helpful, except for the moment they find a “baby’s first lightsaber” in the temple.

Luke only has one hand and, being a six-year-old, his body is growing too fast for him to bother with getting a wired-in prosthesis the way he could as an adult. He can get a more basic prosthesis, but nothing that attaches to the neurons. He’ll outgrow it too fast.

He’s tiny and he’s not used to doing things with just one hand. He uses the Force to do what one hand can't, and every time someone tries to tell him he's misusing the Force he whaps them with the empty sleeve.

So, you know, they find out what year it is. Ben has a breakdown. Luke is upset that he left behind his friends. Ben admits to him that Leia was his twin. Luke stares in horror because dude, she kissed him, you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier???

Ben points out that Beru and Owen were keeping Luke away from him for nineteen years, and then they had about three days of awkward travel to find Leia in the first place, and then Ben died. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to figure out how to tell him.

(This sparks an argument that lasts several days. All onlookers assume that Ben’s son is throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t correct them, even though this is a very valid reason to be upset, because the truth is much harder to explain.)

Sooooo they travel. Mostly, Ben plays Sabacc, cleans house, and pays their way towards Coruscant. Luke still really wants to learn to be a Proper Jedi, even though Ben is pretty sure that Luke would have... a lot of difference of opinion with the Temple, but sure. Coruscant. They can at least stop by, and see Qui-Gon, and Mace, and Quinlan, and Bant, and everyone else that’s still alive and not tragically deceased in the horror following the start of the Clone Wars and then the birth of the Empire, and Ben can have a nice sob over all his dead friends being alive again.

Ben is only barely holding it together while Luke is in the room with him at any given point. But it’s fine! It’s fine. He’s fine. All of his loved ones have come back to life! It’s great! HE’S FINE.

He is not fine.

Luke is also grieving all the people who haven’t been born yet, but he’s... significantly more okay than Ben is.

The closer they get to the Core, the more often people just assume Ben is Luke’s father, and then look shocked and uncomfortable when Luke flatly calls him by his name, and they just... compromise. This is the point at which Luke starts calling him “Uncle Ben.”

Ben cries in his bunk later that night. Luke overhears it and wonders how the HELL Ben is more unstable now, when there’s a chance to fix things and no Vader or Empire trying to kill or capture both of them, and all his friends are alive.

(Luke will later learn a lot about PTSD and realize this is actually a fairly normal situation, to process significant events and emotions only after gaining safety or catharsis.)

(Twenty years on a ball of sand with an alcohol addiction and debilitating fear of the man you raised as your own brother is not, in fact, safe or cathartic.)

At any rate, they’ve settled into that pattern by the time they reach the Inner Rim. The Inner Rim is the part of the galaxy at which they’ve collected enough money (and mental stability) to travel a little better, and to take a few more risks.

Risks like “manipulate people with those baby blues.”

Ben tells Luke that he’s a menace, after he pouts so cutely that he gets a free scarf added on to a purchase that Ben makes. Luke responds that Ben has no room to talk, since he flirted a free breakfast out of that one inn owner.

Also, Luke is currently physically six. That is objectively a situation that sucks. He deserves to use it for all it’s worth if he’s stuck like this.

“You know, if you keep wearing all-black and looking longingly at the velvet cape and Space Chanel boots, the temple is going to worry that you’re a darksider.”

“Uncle Ben... you told me, yesterday, that I sparkle so brightly in the Force that it’s almost blinding.”

“Yes, but the gloves--”

They don’t agree on this, but Ben relents. He does actually understand good fashion, unfortunately, and he’s not unaware of how much Leia taught Luke about such things.

Luke’s about forty years ahead of the curve, of course, but Skywalkers are prone to such things. It’s usually in regards to technology, granted, but...

They get to Coruscant. Ben is very obviously a Jedi. He knows all the right words and walks like a Soresu master and feels warm and comforting in the Force. They let him in with minimal questions. They note down “my first padawan left the order to have a child, but died shortly after; I consider Luke here to be my nephew, and have raised him as such,” and move on.

Luke is vaguely annoyed because he already had an uncle (and aunt) that raised him, but he admits that a person can have more than one uncle. He can live with this. Ben was more family to Anakin than Owen was, in some ways, so it’s kind of true. Luke is even working on feeling more childish affection for Ben instead of the complicated mess of emotions that come from being lied to about some very large and important subjects, and then seeing the person saying those lies have regular emotional breakdowns due to something as small as Luke saying he likes the curve of the hull on that freighter.

(Apparently he sounds just like his father did as a child. This is almost heartwarming.)

The thing is! The thing. The thing is, they almost make it to the Halls of Healing to get looked over for weird viruses, or Outer Rim Parasites, or whatever the hells needs to be happening. They almost make it without Ben having a flashback to dead younglings or brainwashed troopers or the declaration of a Sith Empire. They almost make it without incident.

Then Ben sees Qui-Gon, and freezes, and does not move again.

Luke cannot get him to restart.

People are staring.

They haven’t even made it to Medical, Uncle Ben, come on.

Young, local Obi-Wan comes over and asks if there’s something he can do to help. Or maybe this “Ben” knows Qui-Gon? Master Jinn doesn’t recognize Ben, but maybe Luke knows more?

Luke does know more, but what Luke actually says is “he probably needs a mind healer.”

(Ben will not appreciate this.)

(Ben is unfortunately standing in the middle of the hallway and completely unresponsive, and is unable to argue with this assertion.)

(Ben is pretty much proving this assertion entirely correct, actually.)

Obi-Wan is helpful, if a little bitchy in the manner of most late-teens individuals, and offers to help get Uncle Ben down to the Halls of Healing. It involves Obi-Wan gently pushing on Ben’s shoulders, and Qui-Gon offering to carry Luke so he can be in Ben’s sights (because Ben is a Mystery, and Qui-Gon is quite fond of those, so he wants to stay involved). Ben kind of just... shuffles on down.

There are medical tests. They ask about how Luke lost his hand. He refuses to talk about it. They ask how Ben got all his scars. Luke says he doesn’t know. They ask if he knows why Ben looks like he’s been through a war. Luke says it’s because he probably was.

They check for foreign viruses. They find evidence of thus-far-unpatented vaccinations. They ask Luke if he knows what he’s vaccinated for.

“How would I know? I’m six.”

They agree that this is a good excuse.

(It is not. He’s lying. They do not know this.)

They do some more tests. They find a lot of questionable medical bullshit in Ben’s body. Most of this is from the clone wars, but they don’t know this. Someone realizes they haven’t gotten a ping back from the Shadow Network regarding “do we have permission to pull the medical file of a Jedi that isn’t in the normal database? We’re assuming you know who he is, since we don’t.”

The Shadow Network does not know who Ben is.

The healers, of course, go “huh, that’s weird, but maybe the name he gave his nephew was fake. We can’t exactly ask ‘Ben’ for more details right now. We already had to sedate him. Let’s check the DNA!”

The DNA pulls up as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The padawan who brought this guy in two hours ago.

“Huh, that’s weird. Let’s call in Kenobi and ask if he knows what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan absolutely does not know what’s going on.

They ask Luke.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, lying through his teeth and not even pretending otherwise.

“You’re not a very good liar,” teenage Obi-Wan tells him.

“I’m not trying to be,” Luke says. “Can you get Master Yoda? I feel like we’re going to need him.”

They normally wouldn’t get Yoda on the request of a six-year-old, but they also normally don’t have a catatonic thirty-something Jedi who looks like he’s been through a war popping up in the medical database as the pimply teenage padawan that broke his pinky trying to do a Badass Ataru Flip last week.

Or... whatever Luke i... is... oh dear.

“Young one,” Qui-Gon asks, while people whisper-shout behind him, not realizing he’s cutting the Correlian Knot and just asking the kid himself. “Do you know why your midichlorian count is so high? It’s almost unheard of.”

“Uncle Ben said my dad was the Chosen One,” Luke says, because he is capable of being a little shit and is actually really eager to let Ben deal with some of the fallout. He feels for the man, really, but he’s also tired of being the one to field every single question.

Also, the expressions that pass on Qui-Gon’s face are hilarious.

(Luke may or may not be more affected by his six-year-old brain than he would like to admit.)

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says, sounding more than a little strangled about it.

It takes another three hours for Ben to wake up.

He listens to the questions. He hears what they say his ‘nephew’ said. He looks at Luke.

“Is this revenge for not telling you about Leia?”

“It’s not revenge,” Luke does not lie. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s pretty easy to explain.”

“It’s not my secret.”

“This is revenge for the Leia thing.”

“No,” Luke says. “Revenge for the Leia thing was when I ate a live frog in front of you.”

This is the point at which someone interrupts and points out that they appear to be stalling.

“Oh, he is,” Luke tells them. He gestures at Ben. “I can’t tell you more, because it’s more his story than mine.”

“I’m afraid, Master, that I am very likely to have an emotional breakdown if I allow myself to consider the reality of this situation for longer than the fraction of a second I already have,” Ben reports, full of false cheer. “Suffice to say, I am far from stable and have only held out this far for Luke’s sake.”

“Can you explain why you have my DNA?” Obi-Wan asks, as the person who’s most concerningly involved in this situation.

“You can,” Ben says, smiling like there is absolutely nothing wrong in the slightest, ever. “I’m you, from the future. I actually died and spent a few years dead before coming back. I’m not sure why I’m younger than I was when I died, but I appreciate being able to put on my shoes without my knees attempting to mutiny.”

“He needs a mind healer,” Luke reiterates, in case the strained grin hasn’t made it clear. “So do I, but not as much.”

“I have felt literally every person in this Temple save for Luke and Yoda die,” Ben reports, looking a shade more manic than a few seconds earlier. “It’s very overwhelming to feel you all being alive again. I may be approaching a mental breakdown, and I’ve been rather strictly advised against using alcohol to treat my traumas again.”

Luke kicks him in the thigh. It’s not a very hard kick, because he is very small, and he does actually like Ben. “I’m not letting you turn into an old drunk again.”

After several seconds of silence, a healer quietly suggests that everyone clear the room, and asks if someone could fetch Master Yoda as the youngling requested.

(THIS IS ALMOST THREE THOUSAND WORDS. I started it less than two hours ago. Why am I like this.)

[habeascorpseus]

c!tommy: do I have trauma? well, within the past 7 months I got killed three times by a man who was supposed to be a friendly rival of mine but instead decided to gaslight, manipulate, and abuse me to fuel his god complex. everyone I have ever loved has hurt me on a deep personal level but due to my debilitating fear of loneliness I still find it within myself to forgive them because they're the only thing I have left. I have a fear of tnt, holes, plains biomes, lava, heights, and an entire chunk on the map because of my month in free range solitary confinement. I'm self sacrificial to the point of passive suicidality. recently I got beaten to death with a potato by my abuser after a week of being trapped in a prison cell with him surrounded by constant reminders of my own trauma. I was then forced to spend 2 months in hellish limbo with my deceased older brother who went a bit nuts after being stuck in the afterlife for 9 years before being revived in prison again and told that aforementioned crazy brother would be brought back to help my abuser escape prison and get revenge on the server. my afterlife and subsequent resurrection triggered a panic attack that honestly might never stop. in conclusion, yeah, I guess you could say I'm traumatized a little.

c!sam: do I have trauma?? well, I did get trapped with a parasitic mind controlling egg by two of my best friends and closest allies on the server after they lured me into a false sense of security and then threw me down a hole and left me there for a whole night and part of a day with no food or water. during that time the egg made me give up all my stuff and then forced me to start eating my own flesh and then after that told me to sacrifice my dog to it, who is the one thing I care about on the server. in the meantime I also have to take care of the aforementioned abuser who I locked in prison for the safety of everyone at the detriment of my own sanity. every day I have contact with the prisoner is a day I'm led deeper into paranoia as he thoroughly destroys my sense of security with threats of murder and by telling me he knows and sees all. my intense fear of the prisoner might have directly contributed to the death of the kid he abused and whom I had considered adopting at some point. I now live with incredible guilt weighing on me. and in between all of this, everyone I have ever trusted is being corrupted by the egg, such as my valentine and another one of my good friends, who then try to kill me at the egg's behest and whom I can't fight back against because they're brainwashed and not actual mindless zombies. either I hurt my friends or they hurt me first and neither is a good option. I'm so tired all the time but I can't take a break due to how much responsibility being a prison warden is and because the egg will take over the world if nobody tries to stop it now. lmao if tommy's traumatized, then I'm the poster boy of ptsd. please send help

c!tommy and c!sam: we will now bury our feelings deep under a layer of cynicism and might never find a therapist because we have a compulsive desire to never be an inconvenience. cheers. please end our misery

[thyroiddiseasediaries]

Anyone (whether they're simply ableist or they themselves are also disabled or mentally ill) who shames a disabled or mentally ill person for the state of their home, their depression den? Is trash and toxic. If you're worried or concerned, then you should find a way to help them clean, help them out. But you do not shame them, you do not take it upon yourself to stage a one man intervention.

I feel shame every second of every day of my life, and it takes everything I have in me to keep my home from getting past the point of no return, where it becomes so bad, so insurmountably bad that I can't fix it without a hoarders helper where I sit in a corner of shame watching people gag on mold and stagnant water from the dishes I could never do. Which is very hard believe it or not, my home is gross. It's dirty, but I bust my ass to keep it at the point where it's salvageable. That shame eats away at my soul. I lay awake at night in anxiety worried someone will show up, worried something will happen and a repair person will need to come in. That an emergency will take place and the ambulance people or police or whatever will see this. I create horrible scenarios where god forbid, something happens to me and my home becomes a crime scene and everything is documented... and that becomes an episode of an ID show and the cops describe how disgusting and filthy my home was.

I am not some lazy slob content to live in my own filth. I have severe, crippling, debilitating, soul crushing, life altering depression. I have thyroid disease and an autoimmune disease. I am disabled. I have severe chronic pain, fatigue, and anxiety. I have a personality disorder/mood disorder/psychiatric disorder (whatever the technical medical term may be) and last but not least I have PTSD from a sexual assault, I have trauma. Both childhood and adult.

I am in survival mode and have been for years. I struggle to brush my teeth, shower, and drink water or anything. I have days where I know if I didn't have someone bring me food? I just wouldn't eat. Because I can't find enough strength to go put something in the microwave and probably just don't feel like I deserve food.

Every single day of my life I carry with me a back breakingly heavy weight of shame and a dark cloud of sorrow and despair.

If you're not gonna approach your mentally ill, disabled friend or family member with love, compassion, support and empathy don't do it at all. If you're not approaching them to offer help, true help without ties or strings attached. To help them and then never mention it again, to never throw it in their face what you do for them and what you saw? What the state of their space was? Then don't do it at all, leave them alone. You may not be what they need in their life to survive, cope and heal.

[justaratswriting]

Batfam and Mental Health

orOkay so I love Batman and all the things surrounding it. Like the idea of a random rich man who happens to be an orphan just suddenly adopting a ton of children is ridiculous, and thoroughly entertaining.

But I am also a big fan of psychology, and learning about the mind. So mental illness and related things are fascinating to me. 

I notice that like strangely there is very little stuff about the batfam having mental illnesses or dealing with psychology or therapy. Don’t get me wrong there is still a lot addressing these things, but still with the things the family experiences you would think it would be a lot more prevalent in the writing about them, and especially fan fiction about them.

Like I think showing mental health through  beloved characters would be really cool and could be a tool to destigmatize them. Like showing hero's with them would make really great representation, people could see them and think Oh I can still be a good person and helpful even if my mental disorder makes it hard and for things like depression or ADHD showing which misconceptions are harmful and don’t work. 

I can also see this in the physical aspect, like I wish a hero would have something like chronic pain or one of the many invisible illnesses. To give representation and show how pushing through the pain can shut a person down for days. 

The specific disorders I think would be really interesting of the top of my head is, depression, Anxiety, POTS, Fibromyalgia, Chronic pain, eating disorders, nerve damage, ADHD, Bipolar, OCD, Chronic fatigue, PTSD, c-PTSD, Autism, Elhers Danlos syndrome, And the one I really think would be interesting DID. 

Like fore depression, showing how hard it is to get out of bed. Not showing constantly being sad but showing how it can be numbing. Acknowledging that in a disorder like this logic doesn’t always win even if you are the most logical person to live. 

For anxiety showing how debilitating it can be. Looking into their minds to show the thought process, the mind fight itself and logic. Knowing their fears are unreasonable but not being able to shake the feeling. Show how for different people different things cause anxiety. 

POTS or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, (super simply put it is a circulation disorder where upon standing up blood rushes to extremities and can cause all sorts of problems like fainting, pain in your feet, Dizziness, poor temperature regulation, etc. Also I am assuming people know what depression and anxiety is.) would be fascinating to me. Like having a hero that is constantly sitting down or biting down and pushing through the pain even a hero that has to slowly stand up. So in the middle of a battle being shoved down having to slowly stand up or risk fainting or vision completely blacking out for a while. Showing a hero who has learned to fight with no sight because of that very thing. 

Or Fibromyalgia (This one I am a little less educated about but from what I understand, it is a disorder characterized by muscle pain and tenderness usually with no known cause, so from what I understand it usually is diagnosed after a ton of other disorders are eliminated and the pain is still occurring, often also has affect on sleep and memory/mood.) Like showing a hero having a particularly hard patrol and having to take a couple days off and constantly going places or trying things to help with the pain. 

Or Chronic pain ( from what I understand the main difference between Fibromyalgia and Chronic pain is chronic pain has to do with the nerves and Fibromyalgia has to do with muscles, also Fibromyalgia has other thins to go with it like energy levels and mental functions so memory/mood.) Like a hero having constant pain even if they didn’t have a big fight, maybe showing them icing, heating, or taking pain meds and the rest of the family or team being super confused as to why. Before they know showing them freak out and worry that they went on a mission without telling anyone. Showing how it is a constant battle, that sometimes treatments will work and other times, for seemingly no reason they won’t. 

I would also like to see eating disorders portrayed by the bat family. Showing how it’s not always a conscious choice, sometimes it is more along the lines of choosing something else over eating. Showing how people can use it for control or to punish themselves. Letting there be a male example, reminding people that they can happen to anyone. Allowing people to have representation. Show a recovery, how it is not impossible for anyone but not down playing how hard it is. It is a true and hard fight, and show how it can sneak up on you and drag you back. Not just one easy recovery, that recovery is a choice. You have to want it but you also need help, it is a long hard process and accessibility is everything. Show a family member making them food, show them sometimes eating it and others not. Also don’t only show under eating show how people can’t stop themselves from eating. Having cabinets locked to keep people out, for their own safety. 

Or nerve damage, showing how years of their work and fighting can really mess someone up. Show someone suddenly losing all feeling or sensation in certain parts of their body or constant pain or even pinched nerves. Show how confusing it can be to not know what you are feeling. Show how weird it can be when you realize you are fine or that nothing is touching you or taking it in the opposite direction and not realizing you are hurt or someone is trying to be your attention. I would also love to see the batfam explain any of these injuries to the hero community or to the public. Maybe show the hero community really starting to look into mental and general health services. 

ADHD or also ADD, showing how people can use it but also showing how hard it can be to control and fight. How much it can impede focusing and show situations it can put people in. Show a hero forgetting a huge part of their plan and falling but because of some random information from a hyper focus they still save the day. 

Bipolar, showing the wild swings and how confusing it can be. Feeling like a different person, struggling with identity and their own decisions. Show them accidently pushing people away but also how hard they work to maintain family and friends that despite how unpredictable they can be their friends still stick around. Or if their friends can’t handle it show them peacefully and respectfully stepping out of their life. Show how hard that can be to except but that the future can end up better than you could ever hope. 

OCD is really one I wish we saw in the hero's. Show their routines and things they do. Show the thought process, like if I don’t properly put the dishes away in fourteen seconds the joker will escape arkham. Show how terrifying the thoughts can be, but show how detail oriented it can make people and the beautiful art and amazing work that they can do. Show a person putting them selves at risk to comply with their routine. Like ignoring injuries to write a report. Show them and family or friends working to change the routine. Show how hard it is the moments they want to turn back and continue and how much they want to stop but show them not giving up and making the differences they want. Show them accomplishing things, show their compulsions actually keeping them safe.

Or even chronic fatigue, Show the fight each morning. Them saving energy, the disconnect between how exhausted you are mentally vs. physically. Show a hero that 50% of the time physically is too exhausted to be in the field so they offer technical support. Show a hero crashing, suddenly just not having enough energy to finish patrol or even get home. So someone has to come pick them up. Show them getting stuck in a fight and how hard it can be to do anything much less a fight. 

Let the characters have PTSD or c-PTSD, show flashbacks and being stuck in your head. All of the bat family has lived through horrors please show it affecting them. Show how they get help how they work through it show what can happen and how bad it can get if it is unaddressed.  

Show them having autism and how it is just a different way of life that there is nothing inherently wrong with it and how the ignorance that surrounds it and similar disorders can hurt and affect people. Show how it can be simple things that can show it or affect it. Try and look at it from their perspective and what things happen that should not just because they way someone is. 

Elhers Danlos syndrome, show the pain, the misdiagnosis, the process, the fight. Show how disabilities like this and several others including ones I have mentioned can cause a person to need medical equipment such as wheelchairs and braces. Show how not everyone using a wheelchair can’t walk. Show how limiting it can be and the precautions you have to take but don’t make everything about how hard it can be. Show how using a Wheelchair while not ideal can open up so many opportunities. Show them actually being able to go on family vacations and amusement parks because they have a wheelchair. Show how important it is to have ramps and accommodations for similar things so people can participate and so people can actually go places they want. Always show how hard people with disabilities and such work. Show them trying to get treatment and trying new treatments show how it isn’t as simple as getting a knee brace or two. 

And finally coming to one that absolutely fascinates me, DID or Dissociative Identity Disorder formerly known as multiple personality disorder. But don’t do this one completely uneducated, it is already a very stigmatized disorder. Show how Alters communicate. Show how they all work together and that they were made so the body and mind could survive. Make full characters just put them in one body. Show the confusion once they find out, show them slowly realizing and learning signs and what happened to them. Show each of the Alters having different friends and maybe understanding and knowing the family different. Show the different reasons and setups systems can have. Show system responsibility and each Alter working on themselves and to make a life for the system. Show the roles Alters will take. Show the horrible process of fragmenting and what things can cause it but also show healing and people supporting and accepting systems. 

Overall showing good parts of all the struggles people can have but not ignoring how hard they can be or glorifying them to people who don’t understand. Showing misconceptions and how support can affect these disorders. And most important in my mind, giving hope and a future to look forward to for the people with these disorders.

[thusspoketrish]

Play Pretend (Part 1/5)

TRIGGER WARNING (PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS): Depression. Suicide Attempt. Suicidal Ideation. PTSD. Poor Coping Mechanism.

Harry Potter & Astoria Greengrass; Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter; Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy; Astoria Greengrass/Others; Draco Malfoy/Others; Harry Potter/Others

Content: Friendship. Forced Marriage Arrangement. Unrequited Love. Falling Out of Love. Falling in Love. Betrayal. Friendships. Breakups. Mental Health Issues. Apathy. Flatmates. Acceptance. Positive Thinking. Therapy.

SUMMARY: Fate boasts a strange sense of humour when a severely depressed Harry finds himself convincing a drunk Astoria Greengrass off the ledge of Waterloo Bridge at three in the morning. The events that follow after are an exercise in strength as Harry finds himself relearning how to cope, forgive, and love alongside the blossoming of new friendships.

Thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the beta!

====================

At approximately 2:07 AM, Harry Potter shoves his arms through his black wool coat before wrapping his Gryffindor scarf tightly around his neck. He shoves on the misshapen scarlet mittens Hermione knitted for him several years ago, realising he could summon a better pair as she’s improved greatly since Hogwarts, but finding that these reminded him of a better time.

Finally, he shoves his wand up his sleeve before wrenching the door open and taking the steps down from Grimmauld two at a time, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality. As he breathes in and out sharply, white puffs curling outward from his chapped lips, Harry looks skyward. The moon is heavy and hangs low tonight, full and beautiful as swirls of snow begin to gently fall. It’s dark, and beautiful, and it hurts to look at.

Harry had spent the entire day cleaning Grimmauld from top to bottom. Not that this mattered as Harry has found that no matter how much he cleaned or remodelled the house, he was incapable of penetrating its doom-and-gloom atmosphere. But he had cleaned to the best of his ability, and had arranged all his necessary documents across his office table several hours ago. He carefully placed each note facing upward, the individual names of all his friends in his spidery scrawl. He had even left notes behind for the Dursley’s, though, not imparting a single kind word, as seen in his other letters. He had left the Gringotts keys of the Potter Vault behind in Ron and Hermione’s name and endowed a small trust to any future children they may have. He had left the deed and keys to Grimmauld and the Black vault to Teddy and Andromeda.

Harry doesn’t think he left any stone unturned.

He had been planning this for months. Had made the nearly 40-minute walk from Clerkenwell to Waterloo Bridge nearly every night for the last three weeks, simply staring out at the water, yearning. It would take nothing, he thought, to sit on the ledge, cast a simple spell to increase his weight, and fling himself over the edge. And at three in the morning, it wouldn’t be hard to do this uninterrupted.

A numb sort of blankness overcomes him as he rolls his shoulders and makes his way through the quiet roads, onto the high street where the slow crawl of busses and cars creep past. Harry’s vision is a tunnel of black and white images flickering in and out of focus as he sets himself on autopilot. He could do this route with his eyes closed.

It’s not that Harry thinks he deserves to die. He’s simply come to the conclusion that he wants to.

He’s tired, much too tired from the debilitating numbness that’s crippled his entire existence. He’s remained frozen in time since dying and coming back to life in the Forbidden Forest. The experience has left him immobile, like a statue, weathered by the storm called time but never feeling the effects of it no matter how long he holds his breath, patiently waiting for something to come along and happen. He was waiting for the spark of life to feed his blood as it had during the war, and nothing, no reason or rhyme, has been able to replace it. He had quit the Aurors, had isolated himself from the pitying expressions of friends and family, and had shrunken himself on the outside to reflect what he felt on the inside—absolutely nothing. He was nothing, a lingering afterthought in his own mind, something ugly and broken with a piece of its soul missing. He couldn’t stand to live with that knowledge any longer.

It was no one’s fault, not directly. Harry’s never been whole, not as a child curled up and forgotten in the cupboard under the stairs; not as a child, shaped into a sacrificial soldier, not as a twenty-three year old man, alone, shrouded in the dark cloak of night, ready to end his life.

The black and purple swirls of fog and clouds paint a pretty backdrop for the breathtaking view of the Thames, the London Eye, and Parliament from Harry’s position on the bridge. It’s the only time his vision shifts to full-colour, when he’s standing on the bridge, hands gripping the cold railing as he peers over, his glasses sliding slowly down his nose. He uses a mittened finger to push them back up, a hollow laugh escaping him as he reaches deep down inside of himself to search for a feeling, anything. He wishes for even a fissure of panic as he places both hands on the railing again, wondering if 100kg added to his feet would successfully prevent his ability to kick back up to the surface.

A harsh wind whips by, and with it carrying a whimper. Harry turns, his gaze sharpening, harping on an elongated figure further down the bridge perched on the railing.

He turns back to the water, staring out at the inky black waves. He shouldn’t care.

The whimper turns into full on sobbing.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

Then, there’s a horrible scream of anguish that pierces the quiet, the sound full of devastation. He blinks several times, pushing his glasses up again. He may not have the ability to care for his own well-being anymore but he still...he still seems to care about others.

With a sigh, Harry walks to the centre of the bridge, noticing a lone figure down the road walking towards them before abruptly stopping and turning away from them.

Harry ignores them, and instead approaches the person perched on the railing. He can see that the person is wearing a black, long-sleeved ballgown, tiny sparkling beads of emerald green, gold, red, and silver shimmering in the moonlight, taking the shape of exploding fireworks across her bodice along the back of the dress. It’s beautiful, and Harry gasps when the woman turns to face him.

He’s seen this woman before, has seen her pretty pale face at the Slytherin table at Hogwarts. Her long black hair whips across her flushed face, mascara-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. Her red lipstick is smeared across her lips and down her chin, piercing blue eyes unfocussed as she sways side-to-side.

“What do you want?” the woman asks miserably, her voice slurring, intoxicated. Harry steps closer to her, as if she’s a wild animal ready to leap away from him. The woman’s lips turn down into a terrible wound of a frown, misshapen by the smeared lipstick. “Did he send you?” she cries.

“No,” Harry says, not knowing who she’s talking about as he slowly approaches her. “Why don’t you come down?” he asks, extending an opened hand.

The woman’s gaze twists from Harry back out to the dark depths of the Thames. Harry inches closer.

Another whimper escapes her. “He doesn’t love me,” she cries, her body shaking as she weeps.

“There are people out here who love you,” Harry says, wincing. How many times has Ron and Hermione said this very thing to him over the last year?

“But not him!” she shouts, her shoulders trembling, the harsh winds whip her hair. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve even given him all of me, all my love, all my hopes and my bloody dreams, and nothing. Nothing I do makes him look at me…at me...as if,” the woman breaks off, a trembling cry escaping her before she shouts, “Why...why not me?”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Harry says, his voice carrying on the winds, tone firm. A small spark of indignation is felt in his chest. This woman, this woman is suffering, and it’s fuelling a knife-sharp sensation alongside his slow-beating heart. He wants to touch her, see if he can pull her grief into him, see if it’ll help him feel his own, for once.

The woman tilts her head back, a wail escaping her. “I don’t deserve him! I can’t help him, I can’t even bloody keep him. I’m useless.”

“Stop it, don’t put yourself down like this. He doesn’t deserve you...you’re stronger than this pain, this numbness you’re experiencing, and you know it. You know you can do so much better than him, that your life and your hopes and dreams outweighs whatever the fuck you think he sees when he looks at you. You don’t need anything from him, not when you’re this strong,” Harry says, shaking his head. He doesn’t know where these words are coming from, they feel foreign to his own ears. A part of him wonders if he wished someone would say this to him. “What’s your name?”

The woman draws in a shaky breath before she answers in a tiny, strained voice, “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry nods, now remembering her, remembering where he’s seen her name lately. “Come, Astoria. You have so much to offer the world. You’re strong, but sometimes even the strongest among us have bad days, but that doesn’t make us worthless,” Harry says, the feeling in his chest swelling, lighting him on fire from the inside. Harry gasps. “You’re worth fighting for, you’re...let me...let me fight for you, Astoria, until you can fight for yourself. Please...please, take my hand. You don’t have to do this...you don’t have to do this alone.” He’s now beside her.

A wicked wind whips past them again, the snow falling now coming down in thick, fluffy sheets. Astoria huffs out another sob before she turns around, her hand stretching out.

Harry clasps it, pulling her forward. She wraps her arms around his neck, digging her face into this layered scarf, clinging to him like a lifeline. They both sink to the ground as she weeps. The cold stings the trail of tears on Harry’s own cheeks.

She smells like the cold, along with lingering scent of bergamot orange and rosewood. He knows it's a combination of scents he'll never forget as he cradles her against his chest before quickly opening his coat to wrap around her shivering form.

All the while, feeling more alive than he has since the day he died.