#doesn't make it normal and not traumatic

[danadiadea]

love that argument about "well Remus says Levicorpus was popular so it was okay to use it", Mudblood word was also pretty popular, why would you ever think it wasn't normal to use it then?

[lazycranberrydoodles]

COME ON GUYS DON'T LET DIANXIA DOWN

[roomba-mangga]

laios & thistle drama in my head is mostly one-sided power imbalance where thistle is like how DARE you make me feel things that are meant to be exclusively for (and from) my family. how dare you show me out of my cave and give me the choice whether to leave or stay. how dare you be on my side without strings attached (i need those! you're exploiting me!) how dare you feel inhuman when you're clearly more human than me. how dare you understand how that feels. i'll fix you before you corrupt me how dare you how dare you how dare you

[brainfilehasstoppedworking]

Me looking at the Ishimarus: How much trauma can I put into these silly lil guys?

(Insert my rambling in the tags because woah it's a lot and I'm just a silly)

[sherlock-is-ace]

the imposter syndrome i feel every time i even slightly think i might be autistic is insane, specially for a person who highly relates to the lived experiences of people who are professionally diagnosed.

Like I was just watching this one youtuber, and she was talking about very specific examples in her life and childhood where she saw autistic traits that made her realize she was autistic and then seek a diagnosis and then get one, and everything she was saying was like she was describing my life! But yeah no, I can't be autistic tho

[okiria]

i have so much unwritten ria angst but this is okiria in the hypothetical spinoff that exists in my beautiful mind palace. peace and love

[sodaspringz]

call me crazy but i don't think you need to be a martyr to be educated

[toothyblowjob]

fucking hate the way child abuse in certain communities is treated as just a Cultural Difference tbqh

[sirfrogsworth]

I thought it was fairly normal to feel empathy for bad people.

I thought it was common, even.

But after my Elon/Grimes post... now I'm wondering if I was mistaken about that.

I wrote a post about Trump being traumatized after his assassination attempt and a post about his poor adaptation to aging. I expressed sympathy for him in both cases. But I still maintain my white hot hatred of him and wish for him to face consequences.

Elon was abused by his father. Some of the stories are incredibly tragic. Hearing those stories triggers an involuntary response in my emotional systems that I can't stop no matter how much I despise present-day Elon. I also wonder if that abuse never occurred maybe we wouldn't be dealing with this current clusterfuck.

I have never held so much anger towards a single person as I do my brother. But I also see him as a victim of abuse. I know he was once a really good person and he was slowly corrupted. I feel sorry for him. I mourn the amazing person he used to be. And I still love him.

But that doesn't make me any less angry.

[thebluebygracieabrams]

the more time i spend with my dad the more i realise why he's irredeemable and why hating him is justified and the more time i spend with my mom I realise she's a beautiful wonderful person full of life love joy and I can try to hate her all I want for not leaving dad but I can never truly hate her and I will always, always want to be like her

[drdemonprince]

if sex is no big deal and just a normal thing like having dinner with someone, how do you square that with the belief that children can't consent to sex? Like idk this whole thing of "sex is a normal act like any other and we shouldn't treat it differently" makes me soo uncomfortable because i feel like it's really obviously not in a lot of situations? Otherwise what's the difference between being told by my boss to have lunch with one of our prospective clients being told by my boss to blow one of our prospective clients? :/

let's take your dinner example to its logical conclusion, because you are on to something here, but I don't think quite in the way that you think.

children are forced to eat food that they this really dislike (due to sensory issues, allergies, or just run of the mill unfamiliarity) quite regularly by their caregivers. they are also sometimes denied the right to eat because they didn't behave the way their caretakers liked, and sent to bed hungry, or barred from eating food that they can handle, and instead left to go hungry because they won't eat food they can't handle.

treatment like this causes a lot of food issues and trauma to children. It exacerbates eating disorders and erodes a child's sense of their own body autonomy. It can also cause children to have nutritional issues and a scarcity mentality around food that can be really damaging to them.

similarly, people are forced to share meals with people who they are viscerally uncomfortable around all the time too, often to extreme negative effects. employees are forced to sit down with clients who debase them or harass them. Young people in particular are forced into sharing tables with relatives who have crossed their boundaries, insulted them, abused them, bullied them, and whom they want nothing to do with. people in recovery from eating disorders are surrounded by co-workers, family members, or friends at meal times who speak about calories and weight loss and comment on their own bodies and other people's bodies in incredibly invasive and triggering ways that often make them feel way worse, and make taking care of their own bodies far more difficult.

when a powerful institution wants to exert control over other people, they also often do so using food. prisoners are given almost no control over the kind of food they eat, and are often given very low quality food that is in a disgusting condition, or that violates their own nutritional requirements or religious beliefs. patients in hospitals and in mental institutions are also subjected to such treatment, and people in poverty are expected to eat anything that they are given without complaint. It is an extension of their dehumanization to control and limit the kinds of food they're allowed to access, and how and when they are permitted to eat.

each of these experiences surrounding food can be incredibly violating and harmful. food is quite frequently a tool of control and abuse. yet it is not because there is some magical quality to food or to dinners that make them uniquely fraught with the potential for trauma. these experiences are traumatic because they involve a violation of a person's body autonomy, and a lack of social power.

sex isn't any different from dinner. we just have a series of cultural beliefs surrounding it that make the pressure involving sex something that's both a lot more acknowledged, and mostly encountered in the private realm.

Sex is treated as an almost magical thing, at once both sinister and sacrosanct, and so people are primed to see the potential for harm in it, and it is frequently used as a tool for harming people because it is so loaded, but that doesn't mean there aren't abuses involving every other mundane human activity that we simply are conditioned to ignore because doing so is so normal.

People's body autonomy surrounding food is violated traumatically all the fucking time. unfortunately because we consider dinner to be a neutral activity and sex to be this incredibly fraught and almost magical one, we ignore the massive amounts of coercion, pressure, and violation surrounding food.

your boss shouldn't be able to force you to get dinner with someone. and people are uncomfortable with discussions about body autonomy that neutralize sex, because it forces them to confront how little freedom we actually have in every facet of our lives.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Platonic Yandere batfamily x

Child Girlscout reader!! Pt1 Pt2 Pt3

'In a world where you can be anything...Be kind.'

Kindness was like a sickness to Gotham.

People avoided it at all cost. And they mostly had a good reason to. Kindness could cost you your life in gotham.

So instead the people in gotham were a little harsher then most. Some were sweet enough to offer pity but none offered true kindness.

Not even the children in gotham were dumb enough to trust people. Just like their parents they hid from opportunities to be kind.

The richer kids in gotham were cruel mostly because they were spoiled. And kids who didn't have a dime in their name only cared about themselves.

So bruce was surprised when you willingly got in his car. With a smile none the less. Of course you didn't really have a choice he was going to make you get in one way or another.

But Bruce doesn't necessarily think your dumb just a little too trusting with people.

But your not helping with the way you don't even ask how he knows your address.

Alfred sent it to him of course.

You sit happily in the passenger seat with your wet red wagon in the trunk.

And as you talk about various things Bruce can't help but to imagine how you grew up to be so....kind.

Sure your still a kid. But he doesn't know one kid that smile drops at every homeless person they see.

Or how when he asked you what you want to be to grow up you say 'I want to doctor like my mama...so I can help people!' You'd say with the brightest smile.

And gods bruce would do anything to keep light in your eyes bright forever.

He knew how painful Gotham could be especially to the less fortunate and by the looks of your torn up shoes you are one of the less fortunate people.

But that doesn't stop the smile on your face from becoming bigger each time you see a kitten in a yard.

Pulling up to your small house that's in Bruce's opinion not big enough to even be called a house.

But still you smile as the car comes to a stop right infront of your small house.

Hopping out the fancy car that has no business being in a place like this you pay no kind to the nosy neighbors that whisper among themselves but Bruce does.

Walking up to your front porch and pulling out your key from your pocket ,you unlock the door and Bruce pulls your little wagon inside.

The house is small but Bruce has to give it credit it is quite cozy and neat....but far to cold.

"Oh no...." You say as you walk up to the old beaten up thermostat.

Giving the old thermostat a couple of good hits it still doesn't turn on and you sigh as you make your way to your room.

While Bruce just stands in the living room awkwardly as he closes the door.

Walking back into the living room you hand Bruce a blanket thats far to small for him but he takes it anyway.

"The heaters not working agian...so we'll just have to cover up!" You say giggling as if it's funny.

"Again?" Bruce mutters repeating your words.

But as Bruce watched you and how you comfortably sat on the couch with your cover that wrapped around you. You seemed so nonchalant about it. To nonchalant about it.

Because to you this was normal.

Awkwardly Bruce takes a seat beside you on the couch. And you unconscious snuggle up to his side closing your eyes.

Bruce can't help how his heart flutters in his chest at your cute action. None of his kids have ever really wanted to touch him.

Atleast Not without having gone threw something traumatic.

So by you simple snuggling up to his side had made the man feel wanted. No needed.

Looking at the walls Bruce sees some pictures of you and your mother and one with a man.

He doesn't exactly know if he's your father or not but either way Bruce is undeniably jealous of the unknown man.

Oh, what the billionaire would give to be your father instead.

It's not long before your breathing evens out and your passed out snuggling up to Bruce.

It's a peaceful moment but Bruce can't help but think that your still far to trusting. But he's partially thankful for that.

Because he knows if your weren't so trusting he'd never be in this situation right now.

But before bruce can even really enjoy the moment the house phone rings and you jump at the sudden sound.

And much to Bruce's disappointment you stand and up and wipe your sleepy eyes answering the phone.

It was your mom...and she did not sound happy at all.

"Baby how the heck did you get home?!" She says talking so fast you could barely understand her. But you did hear her old car as she drove.

And as you glance at the old clock you see it's 2pm yep she was definitely off her shift now.

Which meant she was on her way home.

"And please baby for the love every living thing on the earth tell me that the neighbors are lying. And that you didn't let a rich man drive you home?!"

Oh now you know she's mad. And you hear her car getting louder through the phone as she hits the gas as if she already knows your answer.

"Mama it was raining.....I was scared." You whine and your mother can't really stay mad at you because it is partially her fault.

And because your far to cute to be mad at.

"Where is the man now baby?" She asks her voice quiet so no one but you could hear.

"On the couch mama...."

She groans and mumbles a quiet "of course he is." Under her breath.

"Pass him the phone baby. I'd like to talk to him for a minute please." She says her voice shaking with fear and anger and you don't dare disobey her.

So you walk up to Bruce and hand him the phone.

Bruce being puzzled and prepared for what the women might say takes the phone and puts it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"I don't know who the fuck you are but I swear to every fiber in my fucking body if you even think of touching my baby I'll kill you!" She swears.

And Bruce glances at you and you just give him a nervous smile. And he can't help but notice how diffrent the women in all the pictures sounds then what he would expect.

In all the pictures she looks sweet. Not as sweet as you but with big smiles and happy looks. But as she screams every curse in the world at him he can't see the resemblance.

"I'll be home in literally 2 seconds you better be fucking praying to God you didn't hurt my baby." She says as she hangs up the phone and she was true to her word.

Because before Bruce can even begin to process everything she said she pulls into the driveway. And quickly makes her way to the door.

She hurriedly pushes the front door open ignoring how hard the door hits the wall.

She looks like a crazy woman furious and her eyes almost red.

But Bruce thinks he'd be the same if he where in her shoes.

Your mother's gaze immediately softens at the site of you. And she sighs as you walk up to her.

She deeply inspects every part of you and cups your face. And after she sees that your just fine and haven't been touched.

Her gaze hardens at the sight of Bruce. Bruce sensing the uneasiness of the room decides to speak up.

"Hello ma'am.... I'm Bruce Wayne," He says already prepared to be the good person he is but he's surprised when your mother doesn't reach for his out stretched hand.

And she doesn't even react to his charming smile.

Instead?

Instead she smacks him.

"I know who the fuck you are. And if you ever touch my baby again it'll be your last fucking day." Your mother says and you gasp at the sudden action.

Even Bruce is to stunned to speak. He's more....surprised....and dare be say intrigued?

"Mama he didn't hurt me! He's really nice!" You say trying to stop your mom before things exploded even more.

And as your mom looks at you her gaze softs once more and glancing back at Bruce she feels sort of bad....

He doesn't necessarily look like a bad person.....

And you wouldn't lie...but then again you trust just about anyone.

She sighs going against her better judgment and teaching and let's her guard down.

"I'm sorry....for...hurting you. But you can't just take people's kids without permission..." She says and her hand grips your arm tightly still not trusting Bruce.

And Bruce likes that she's protective of you.

Because he knows he is too.

"It's...alright...if I was in your shoes I'd probably do the same." He says calmly as if the smack didn't faze him at all.

And your mother likes that he isn't being mean about it but forgiving. But still she feels bad and you tugging at her arm and giving her puppy dog eyes isn't helping her case.

She sighs agian knowing exactly what you want.

"How about you stay for dinner...." She says her voice betraying her true want for him to leave.

And Bruce reading the room would normally leave but as he glances at you your already smiling at him silently begging for him to agree.

And of course he couldn't just let you down! So he obviously agreed. Much to your mother's disapproval.

With a sigh your mother nods and mutters a quiet 'make yourself at home' to Bruce before she goes to start making dinner.

You being the absolute sweetheart you are you grab his hand which Bruce gladly let's you take. And he lead him to your bedroom.

"This is where I sleep! This is my bed! My toys which are really my best friends!" You say and your voice gets a little quieter at next words.

"And this is my picture of my daddy....."

Bruce takes a good like at the picture seeing that the picture was recently taken since you looked the same in the picture.

Bruce could almost taste how much he hated the man he knew so little about. Bruce takes in how the man looks having never seen him before.

Since he wasn't on your birth certificate Bruce couldn't find out anything about him. But just judging the man by how he looks. Bruce is definitely not impressed. Especially by how your tone goes quiet as you talk about him.

"Here's only here sometimes...." You say and your mother who had been standing by the door.

Since she definitely did not trust the a random man to be in a room with her baby alone. She speaks up. "Bruce...can you help me out with this?" She says and it's obvious that she doesn't really need anything but you obviously don't catch on by the way you keep staring at the picture of you and your father.

Bruce nods understanding her need to talk to him.

"You just continue playing with your toys baby...foods gonna be done soon okay?" Your mom says in such a sweet tone.

You nod putting down the picture and begin playing with your toy.

Walking into the kitchen your mom hits the thermostat and sighs as it still doesn't turn on.

"Here..let me..." Bruce says and your mother moves out the way letting the man do whatever it is he is doing.

And your mother still keeps her eyes on him as he continues working on the thermostat and she continues cooking.

"How often does this thing not work?" Bruce asks keeping his eyes trained on the thermostat.

"More often then not." Your mother says sighing.

"It's not very healthy for your daughter to be in this cold...especially when she's inside the house." Bruce adds and your mother scoffs.

"Not everyone was born with a silver spoon shoved up their ass." Your mother says as she rolls her eyes.

How dare he comment on what she could barely afford?

Now usually bruce would have something even more harsh to say back. But this time he didn't. Because he didn't want it to turn into a argument.

No, he needed her on his good side.

Atleast for now.

So he'd bow his head and apologize.

"I didn't mean any disrespect..."

"I know exactly what you meant." Your mother snaps and that throws Bruce off.

Because why isn't she buying his facade?

"I'm not dumb. And your not going to stand in my house and try and play me dumb. My daughter isn't a street rat." She says and her eyes are giving Bruce the meanest glare he's ever seen.

And he's quite....impressed.

"I didn't mean-"

"And she ain't no poor kid on the street either." Your mother continues interrupting him.

"She's good. She's a good kid. My kid."

And Bruce agreed to almost everything she said. Yeah you're a good kid.

but soon enough you'd be His kid.

💗Thanks for reading! 💗

Comments, likes ,and reblogs are appreciated!

This was highly requested so I hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist: @its-simply-just-krys

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[pythonmoth]

cw: post-traumatic stress disorder. paranoia. anxiety. panic. overthinking. reader is traumatized and unreliable. explicit suicidal thoughts. mentioned depersonalization. the voices. jealous simon. kissing the homies pt2. author was angry while writing.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

text is heavily styled to show reader's panic. if it's difficult to read, I can share the normal version tomorrow. ♡

Part 8

Slow.

That's the only way you can describe how the progress has been for you.

Ever since you fell asleep with Simon on a call, you've been feeling so calm. It's like all the problems disappeared. Your therapist is confused, but glad to see you all happy and content, like never before. Your appetite has come back, your nails have been growing nicely. You give yourself a chance to try on comfortable shoes, a little hesitant to make your toenails hurt, but you can actually walk with them now. They're still a little sensitive, but you're running your errands on your own now. No need to be dependant anymore.

To feel like yourself again has given you so much comfort that you find yourself texting the team properly. Even Gaz has been taking your calls when he's available, which has been great for your mental health, and your heart. Price has been mostly quiet, but you're not surprised, as he's always busy; he mostly just shares updates on missions, like Simon. Johnny has been incredibly funny on the phone, sharing silly things and your mutual hatred towards a new movie has been helping you bond again.

Simon, however...

"Hey, I'm serious! Don't you dare using that fucking tea bag!" Simon grunts from the phone.

You turn to him, laughing as you see him frowning. Simon's unmasked face covers your phone screen, his distaste for the cheap tea bags completely clear. His eyebrows are furrowed together, his mouth curled in a little disgusted snarl. You can only grin, mocking him, lazily patting your hands dry on your pants.

"I've no energy to prepare anything else!" you sigh, dropping the tea bag on the mug, getting closer to the phone to turn the volume up.

Your phone is fighting for it's life resting against a little cookie jar on the isle, your hands still a little damp from doing the dishes.

"Well, if you didn't try to do everything at once, you would" Simon voice retorts. His forehead is covering nearly half of your screen, making it hard to take him seriously.

"I can perfectly do multiple things at the same time".

"The stove".

You turn around to see the stove still on. With a grimace, you turn it off, ignoring his little chuckle as you reach out for your tea and your phone, walking over to the living room. The couch is cozy and fluffy, making you sink into it as if it were a cloud. You drag a blanket over your legs as you smile at the screen, staring at Simon.

"Whatever. Now, what did you have for dinner?"

Ever since that night, this has been your new normal. He has time off, you have a videocall. Really, it's a win-win situation, and it makes you happy, so that's fine. He tells you all about everyone, he tells you about how much he misses you and how much he wants to see you. It makes you smile, genuinely so.

The therapist isn't convinced you're okay yet. She says you're still jumpy, still flinch around people, and she even said you're hyper vigilant. But there's nothing wrong with being precautious, so you don't understand how that's a bad thing. However, you can admit it's a little hard to do things with your hands. It's not that you can't use your hands, because you can, but it makes you feel as if you were in a simulation, as if you were part of a game and you're the point of view for someone else.

Perhaps you should've kept that to yourself.

That's probably why the therapist refuses to allow you to go back. She probably thinks you're crazy, when it happens to everyone. She just doesn't understand.

It's no matter, because they're coming.

Price told you a few days ago that they're finally free, and will be having a few months off unless they're strictly needed. It's been nine months since you last saw them in person, so it makes you feel excited, content!

Tomorrow. They're coming tomorrow.

The best part is that you don't even need to ask what they feel like eating. You know them well enough to know just how much they love meat, so you just have to go out and buy everything.

The air is a more than chilly now, your birthday month coming right up, so you decide to put on your favorite jacket and take your car keys. The drive to the store is calm, the music absolutely blasting your ears, though, your enthusiasm sky high with how much you've missed them these past few months. It makes you giddy, to welcome them, to see them again.

Your therapist has been helping you to identify your emotions, helping you to understand how you are genuinely feeling. And having them over... it makes you a little anxious. Only because you haven't gotten any visitors outside your family and friends, really. Of course you want them there, it's just gonna be new.

In just a few minutes, your car if parked and locked at least five times just to make sure, canva tote bags in hand and then you're walking in the store. You're always making sure to come at a time when there's less people, and you're glad it's keeping up the same. Headphones over your ears, music gently playing on then, you move with practiced ease.

Meat. Vegetables. Pasta.

Meat. Fruit. Meat.

And meat.

They would die if you gave them anything but meat, truly.

You smile to yourself as you carry your things back to your car, your headphones now curled around your neck so you can pay attention to your surroundings, your eyes slyly looking around, turning smoothly whenever you feel someone is looking at you from your back. Your eyes wide open, you fill your car with the groceries, quickly closing it once you're done.

Just for precaution, you look around again before looking inside your car, and as soon as you open the door, you're inside and lo ck in g the car.

Just precaution.

It's dangerous out the re.

You're home the rest of the day, preparing the meals you'll be giving them tomorrow morning. Price did say they'll be arriving at 2pm, so you make sure everything is perfect before going to bed.

That night, you sleep with Simon's breathing next to your ear again, your heart pounding in your chest. The an xie ty keeps on growing, but you're sure it's just giddiness. Really, you're just too excited you can't wait.

The next morning, you almost don't want to get up. The woodpeckers are going crazy with the tree just outside your window, the sunlight hitting your face perfectly from between the curtains and it feels peaceful. Your bed is empty, except for your pillows —and a big plushie of a dragon Johnny got for you a few years ago—, and it's so, so warm you just don't want to get up.

With a sigh, you stand up and quickly get ready to welcome the day, and your friends. You're thankful you made sure everything was ready the day before, because just as you're done blow drying your hair, there's a firm knock on your door.

Surprised, you turn to look at the clock. You didn't even realize you spent so long just staring at yourself in silence. You lost so many hours, when you could've been doing something else!

"Coming!" you yell from your room, jumping down the stairs to the kitchen and turning the stove on.

When everything is already getting heated up, you stand in front of the door, your body suddenly frozen. You're sweating, your heart slowing and then racing in your chest as if it couldn't choose what to do. Your throat is closing up.

You can't move.

Don't open the door.

Run.

Why?

What is happening?

Run.

Another knock makes you snap out of it, but your hands are still shaky as you finally open the door. Your shoulders relax as your eyes fall on Gaz, strong arms instantly wrapping around your middle as Price, right behind him, presses the door against the wall so they can all get in.

Gaz lifts you just enough to make room for the rest.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking good" Gaz says, beaming, pressing a soft kiss to your cheekbones before letting go of you.

However, you're instantly shutting off again. You don't understand why your legs feel like jelly, why your healed fingernails are throbbing. You don't understand at all why the sudden urge to run, far, far away.

Leave.

Price grins down at you, patting your head and gently gripping your shoulder before side stepping you. "Thank you for having us, kid".

When you look up at Johnny, he's grinning down at you, but you can see the way he quickly catches on your reaction, the way your forehead is covered in sweat, and the way your lips are pursed.

Danger.

"It's good to see you" Johnny says gently, nodding down at you and moving past you very carefully, trying not to touch you.

It feels odd. It feels incredibly off. And there's something weird in the air.

Your stomach is twisting and churning. It's confusing. It's weird. Sulfur? Acid?

Fully focused on trying to understand what happening to you, you're suddenly aware that the burning smell you can perceive is coming from your deep in your stomach.

Fear? Pain? Panic?

Your throat is so closed up you can barely breathe. The fear is making your sight turn a little blurry, your breathing shaky.

Bile. You want to throw up.

When you look up at Simon, your hands clench on your sides, swallowing thickly. It feels so, so wrong to look at him like this, especially when you two are supposed to be okay again, but for some reason, you can't handle looking at him. It's making you feel... off. Odd.

You give him a tight smile and a nod, the giddiness turning ice cold in your stomach.

You bring your hand to your mouth, nibbling on your fingernails.

As soon as they're all inside, door closed behind them, Simon takes his mask off, his eyes fixed on you, frowning.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. Yeah, come on" you reply, maybe a little too quickly, but you don't give him, or any of them, a moment to think about it as you move to the kitchen.

You check on everything by the stove as Johnny fills glasses with wine. It's too early for wine, but with your teeth destroying the growing fingernail on your thumb... you don't really care right now.

"It smells amazing" Price comments, inhaling deeply. He's sitting at the head of the table, looking ready to sink his teeth in anything. If he's oblivious to the tension in your shoulders, or if he's choosing to ignore it, you can't tell. "This is what having a wife at home feels like. All we're missing is a little one".

That manages to make you smile slightly, your shaky hands relaxing at the friendly tone. You reach out to mix the pots, turning to look at him.

"The only little one any of you will be seeing from me is my knee on your balls. Now, be useful and set the table" you grunt. Price raises his hands in surrender and pats Simon's shoulder so they can do as you asked.

It's not the first time they've come, anyway, so they don't have to ask you where you keep things. Johnny stays by the table, claiming he already poured the wine, but he ends up helping Simon and Price with the plates anyway.

Gaz leaves the table to stand right next to you, suddenly smacking the hand on your mouth firmly.

"Stop that shit" he whispers angrily. He's quiet, even gentle with it, so rest don't hear.

"Sorry. I'm... feeling weird" you mumble, forcing yourself to stop.

"Go sit. I've got this" he hums, nudging you with his shoulder until you let go.

You make sure to sit by the isle, just because that ridiculous anxious feeling isn't getting any smaller. If anything, you can jump and cover yourself with the isle, so this place is fine.

As Gaz serves for everyone and they start sitting down again, you nearly jump off the chair when you realize Simon's sitting next to you, instead of where he was sitting on the opposite side of the table.

"Hey, that's my chair. Go sit over there".

You look up to see Simon glare at Gaz, the two of them staring each other down, a silent conversation between the two of them. In the end, Simon simply let's go of the chair and sits away from you again. It helps you relax, but you keep quiet, reaching out to grab your glass of wine.

"Really, though. If you had a kid running around..." Price starts again, his mouth filled with food.

"Back off" Johnny complains, nudging Price still. Price rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "What a prick".

Simon, however, can't look away from you, paying attention to all of your movements, the way you lean on Gaz, the way you barely seem to be listening.

"If she's marrying anyone here, that's me" Gaz says, suddenly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Y'all stand no chance".

It makes you relax, but only a moment, feeling suffocated by their eyes on you, especially with the way Simon's gripping his fork. You hit Gaz on the ribs with your elbow, only to make him let go. He grins, his eyes gentle. You know he doesn't mean it like that, but it's making you uncomfortable again.

"Oi, watch your—" Simon starts, his eye twitching.

"Not playing house by choice, I've been forced to. I'm pretty sure we don't wanna talk about it, so eat up and shut the fuck up" you snap, your tone just shy from screaming at them.

That makes Price's teasing smile die, nodding solemnly, and finally shutting up. You refuse to look at the way Simon and Johnny's faces drop, both of them staring at their plates, suddenly feeling no appetite.

It's an awkward meal, everybody afraid to make a single noise. You can hear the way Simon's munching on the vegetables, you can hear Price's breathing slowing down just the way he does when he's on a mission, and Johnny... he's only mixing his food together, stabbing an innocent carrot.

After a while, when nobody's chewing and nobody even dares breathing, Gaz breaks the silence.

"So..."

The rest turn to him.

Gaz grins.

A movie.

The sun is still high up, but Garrick suggested to watch a movie, and you said yes. In a heartbeat. Really, Simon shouldn't complain if he gets to see you for a little longer. Whatever that means, anyway, because you don't want him near you at all. Fuck, you didn't even let him sit next to you.

All these months, he thought he'd been helping you, he thought therapy was going well, because during the constant videocalls you've been cheerful, your old self. You smiled at him, you laughed. He had made you laugh at his fucked up jokes again.

But this?

Johnny went with Price to buy crisps, soda, more drinks, and sour candies for you. Those two bastards really couldn't handle a single comment and bolted immediately. Pair of cowards. Simon wasn't stupid, he had seen the way Johnny nearly burst into tears, the way Price's jaw clenched, felt his own heart break inside his chest, but he has to sit here and take it. Because he wasn't a coward.

And this?

You're leaning on Garrick. Heavily.

Simon eyes the way Garrick interlocks your hands together, checking on your fingernails. His eye twitches as he hears you talk, both of you fully focused on each other, as if he wasn't there. It's not that that's a new concept for him, he often only talked so much.

But this?

His heart pounds in his chest when Garrick grips your jaw with a hand, kissing your cheek loudly after you pout at him.

It makes you smile.

That's it, he thinks. I'm getting up and I'm beating him up. Who the fuck does he think he is? Stealing my girlfriend right in front of me.

In the end, he only shifts, his face betraying nothing, looking down at his beer, hoping the other cowards arrive soon so he doesn't have to see the way he keeps losing you.

Losing you, all over again. Over a fucked up mistake, for following an order. And the worst part is that he genuinely gets it. Garrick is the only one who didn't hurt you, of course you're okay with his touch and not the rest.

Fucking hell. He wants to stab himself in the gut to end his misery.

But no.

He did that.

There's no changing it.

Simon looks up at the two of you.

His anger dissipates when he hears your soft laugh, Garrick's hand on the back of your neck, keeping you steady as he pokes your side, clearly sharing a silly moment. Simon grimaces and turns away again, sipping his beer.

It takes Price and Johnny half an hour to come back, and Simon couldn't be happier to see them.

With the snacks covering the coffee table and their laps, Simon genuinely tries to ignore the fact that you're still pressed against Garrick's side, happily munching on your sour candy. Johnny's sitting on the floor right between his legs, occasionally feeding him orange gummy bears or crisps. Price, between Garrick and himself, is staring at the movie, seemingly content with sipping on his beer, and stealing some of Simon's gummy bears.

Every time he hears your low laugh, Garrick's hands on you, Simon wants to die. He grips Johnny's shoulder, his nails digging slightly into his skin, trying his best to pay attention to the movie, but he isn't able to understand what it is about. He doesn't know what's happened in front of him for the past hour. He knows how many times Garrick's lips were pressed to your cheek. He knows how many times you laughed with Garrick. He knows how many times you've shifted, closer and closer to Garrick.

He can't do anything but dwell on his own regret, on his anger. His pain.

He doesn't blame you, he doesn't blame Garrick. Hell, he doesn't even blame Price, or Johnny, or anybody else. Just himself.

He could've done this so much better, but there's not much he can do. He needs to be alone with you so he can talk properly, apologize again, but every time he looks at you, even without the mask, you flinch. It doesn't matter how hard you try to hide it, he can see it.

Johnny gets up, snapping him out of his thoughts. He sees him take the empty plate, walking towards the kitchen.

Not even a minute later, Johnny's cursing and there's a shattering sound echoing on the house. Simon stands up, moving to go check on Johnny, but he freezes when you stand up abruptly, your face in complete shock as you walk away, your arm bumping onto the walls as you rush away.

He's torn for a whole second too long, thinking if he should follow you or check on Johnny first, and that's enough for Garrick to beat him to it. Simon can only stare at Garrick follows after you, sprinting.

After a moment of hesitation, he walks over to Johnny. Simon finds him picking up the shattered plate, grimacing when he sees someone walking in.

"Ah, it's you. I tripped" Johnny grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You hurt yourself".

"Just a tiny cut, 's nothing. Where did she go?" Johnny questions, bringing his thumb to his mouth, sucking a little on the blood.

"I don't know. Practically bolted when you dropped the plate".

Johnny stares at him, blinking. "And what are you doing here? I must've scared her" he sighs, standing up. "Where to?"

"Garrick already went after her".

"So?"

"They're getting along. A lot".

Johnny blinks again.

Smack.

"What the fuck? What was that for now?" Simon growls out, rubbing his head. Johnny shakes his head, still expecting an answer. Simon sighs. "Over there. Come on".

Simon guides Johnny, their feet barely making any noise, used to being quiet and, also, because they don't want to spook you any longer. He finally spots you, the door of the guest bedroom ajar.

He freezes.

Johnny's hand grips his arm, his whispered curse falling on deaf ears.

Simon stands there in complete silence, his blood, and stomach, and his heart and his brain falling to his feet as he can only stare.

Your cheeks are wet with tears but it's barely visible because Garrick's hands are covering them, his lips on yours.

It looks peaceful.

And Simon wants to die all over again.

Johnny quietly shuffles away, but Simon can't look away. Not now.

Garrick pulls away and kisses your cheek, then your forehead, then grips your nose, making you huff, a small smile on your lips. He's grinning, rolling his eyes, as if that kiss didn't just happen.

Simon isn't breathing. He's not even sure he's here anymore. Perhaps he did die, and this is his personal hell.

Must be.

chingue a su madre emilia pérez y todos los involucrados. I was pissed writing this and I wanted chaos.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 9

Buy me a coffee

anyway, so there's that ♡ thank you so much for reading!!!

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