#i have a goddamn medical condition and it is okay

[fatestitcherr]

i am so sleeby ausghhsh

[band--psycho]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader - Panic Attack

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Please be kind; reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support and I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms

Warnings: Panic attacks, near death experience, torture, mentions of death/murder

Y/n wanted to sleep. 

She wanted nothing more than to be able to lie down in her head, rest her head against the pillows and allow her eyes to slowly drift shut. 

But she couldn’t. 

Every time she did, she was back there. 

Fighting. 

Killing. 

Dying…

She should’ve been dead, she knew that, the doctors told her that it was a miracle she survived. 

She knew that she should’ve been grateful. 

Grateful to still be breathing g, a luxury so many people in her line of work didn’t get the opportunity to have. 

But the memories of what happened on her last deployment. They haunted her and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape them. 

Every time she closed her eyes, she was back there, tied to a chair, being tortured, watching people she’d promised to protect go through the same…before a bullet was put through their heads. 

The screams and pleas echoed through her mind and the look of sheer terror in their eyes was something she would never be able to forget. 

It was burned into her brain. 

They were innocents…and no matter how much people told her it wasn’t her fault, Y/n knew deep down that those people were dead because of her. That’s why she was in the mess hall at 2am, making another cup of coffee with music blaring through her headphones at full volume, in the hopes that the combination of both would be able to keep her awake for the next few hours until her brain could be distracted by people again.

~~~~~

Simon knew that Y/n wasn’t okay.  No matter how many times she said it with a smile on her face. 

He knew that the smile was fake and that the words were nothing more than a lie. 

He knew why she was doing it, Y/n hated being coddled. 

Even when she was first rescued from that hell hole the enemy had put her in, she did t wasn’t to see anyone and according to the nurses, she barely said a word the entire time she was in the hospital 

But just because she didn’t want to see anyone, didn't mean that he and the rest of the team didn’t want to see her.

So they took turns sitting outside her room at the hospital, just to ensure that someone was there if she needed anything.

They all cared for her. 

She wasn’t just a medic, she was their friend, she’d saved them more than a few times. 

And it was safe to say that Simon had a soft spot for her, he tried to hide it, but his team knew how hard it was to make him smile, yet Y/n seemed to do it with complete ease. 

He knew she felt guilty for what happened to the people she was caring for 

He knew her guilt, because he felt the same.

The only reason Y/n was there in the first place was because the team had been deployed there. 

The team were on a mission when their camp got attacked.

Their enemy was smart, they’d been watching them, that’s why they kept her alive. 

They wanted information and they assumed that they could break Y/n and get what they wanted. 

 But she was strong and she didn’t give them a goddamn thing. 

When the team rescued her, she was barely breathing and for a while her condition just deteriorated, and that terrified Simon, 

They thought of losing her terrified him more than anything had in a long time. 

He knew she hadn't been sleeping, the dark circles under her eyes were proof enough of that. 

That’s why he was also awake at 2am. 

He wanted to talk to her, to tell her that he knew how she felt, that he was here for her whenever she needed him. 

But Simon had never been good with words, especially when it came to Y/n. 

So after a few minutes of watching her make herself a cup of coffee and sit back down on the chair, he walked up to her and lightly tapped her on her shoulder.

~~~~~

Y/n was so lost in her own world, desperately trying (and hoping) that the music blaring in her ears would drown out her thoughts that  she hadn’t noticed Simon enter the room, much less come up behind her.

Thats why when he tapped her on the shoulder, she almost jumped out of her skin before her reflexes kicked in. 

She grabbed her little dagger from her boot, quickly turned around to hold it up to the person behind her. 

For a split second she couldn’t make out who it was, her mind automatically presuming that this person was a threat. 

But then she saw those brown eyes and heard an all too familiar voice saying “easy, love,”

“Jesus Christ, Si,” Y/n whispered harshly, lowering her dagger, you scared the shit outta me,”

What the hell was he thinking sneaking up on her? 

She could’ve killed him. 

She could’ve killed him….

“Y/n…”

“I could’ve killed you,” she mumbled, feeling her mind replay the very memories she was trying so hard to forget and slowly returning to the seat she’d been in only moments ago. 

“I’m a lot harder to kill than that,” Simon stated, hoping to ease the tension that he’d noticed had seemed to take over Y/n.

Y/n,” Simon repeated, watching as her memories wreaked havoc on her mind. 

“I’m okay,” he tried to assure, hoping that somehow his words would be enough to snap her out of her thoughts.

But she remained silent and completely still, almost as though she was frozen to her seat. 

“I’m okay,” he repeated, kneeling down in front of her. 

But Y/n simply stared at him, she could see his lips moving but it was like she was too far away to hear him. 

He watched her, watched as her chest began to rise and fall quicker than usual, watched at the tears began to form in her eyes, watched as her hands started to shake, and it broke his heart knowing that in that moment there was nothing he could say or do to help her. 

The only thing he could do was stay with her and make sure she didn’t get any worse.

And that’s exactly what he did, he stayed, kneeling in front of her, with his hands placed lightly on top of her, waiting patiently for Y/n to come back to him, 

He knew that she probably couldn’t hear him, given the fact that she hadn’t reacted to anything he’d said thus far, but that didn’t stop him from uttering, “I’m here,” every so often. 

~~~~~~

Y/n wasn't sure how much time had passed from her first interaction with Simon, to now, she assumed it must’ve only been a few minutes but when she looked at the clock on the wall, the realisation dawned on her, 

It had actually been more like twenty minutes.

“Hey,” Simon softly spoke, watching as Y/n came out of her frozen state. 

“Hi,” she said back quietly, feeling completely and utterly exhausted. 

“I’m sorry,” she drowsily spoke after a few minutes, rubbing her eyes, fighting hard against her body's urges to just sleep.

“Don’t be,” Simon told her, lifting one of his hands to Y/n's cheeks, caressing it softly as he wiped away a stray tear that had fallen down her cheek. 

“When was the last time you slept, love?”  he asked, the concern in his voice evident, as was the worry in his eyes. 

“I can’t,” Y/n began, her voice quivering a the words left her lips; she let out a shaky breath before continuing, “ I can’t sleep,”

Simon knew this. 

But the fact that she had admitted it to him, meant that maybe now she was ready to be honest about how she was feeling. 

It was as though Y/n had read his mind because the next words out of her mouth were, “everytime I close my eyes, I’m back there,” 

“I know,” he soothed, kneeling up on his knees and moving both his arms so that he could pull her into a hug. 

He wanted to tell her that she was safe now, that nothing like that would ever happen again. 

But he couldn’t. 

For a start, Y/n wasn’t going to feel safe for a long while, she needed time to heal, mentally from the trauma she’d experienced. 

Just because she was back at base didn’t mean she’d suddenly feel safe, it was going to be a gradual process, one that he was going to be with her through, no matter what. 

But he couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen again, their job made that impossible. 

THere were always going to be risks, all he could do was try and keep her safe despite them. 

“C’mon,” he muttered in her ear, slowly pulling away from the hug. 

Y/n sent him a confused look, watching as Simon rose to his feet and extended his hand to her. 

“You need to sleep,” he said tenderly, keeping his hand out, waiting to feel Y/n's hand in his. 

She wanted to argue with him, to tell him that sleep would be pointless because those memories were always going to worm their way into her dreams and turn them into nightmares. 

But she was also exhausted. 

So with a simple nod she placed her hand in his and let him lead her back to bed.

Tagging some people I think might enjoy this:

@xacatalepsyx @fangirlsfandomsss @book-dragon03 @holyeggsartisanegg @rawneld @dulcecreatura @since-im-already-here @ziishere @amniotic115 @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @lilith608

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 5, Match 7: Jawbone O’Shaughnessey vs. Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn

Art for Abigail and Magnus here (done by @ancientannoyance)

Submitted kids:

Jawbone O’Shaughnessey: Tracker O'Shaughnessey, Adaine Abernant, Fig Faeth, Kristen Applebees

Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn: Jeannemary Chatur, Isaac Tettares, They also end up as parental figures for Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Gideon Nav

Propaganda under the cut!

Jawbone O’Shaughnessey:

1. “A lot of the main characters of this story have shit parents, and Jawbone, formerly a drug dealer and bouncer turned high school counselor happily opened his home to all of them.”

2. “He's a former druggie that the intrepid heroes met at a club during an investigation. Instead of fighting him, they offered him a job as guidance counselor at their school. He took the job and, after a bit, began dating fig's mom. Kristen was dating his niece, who lived with him at the time. During the final battle with Kalvaxus, he helped Adaine work through a panic attack and gave her anxiety meds. Those meds have a mechanical advantage too, as she would roll for panic attacks. As mentioned in the notes for this post, he makes a pretty incredible speech. Anyways, Adaine's parents abandon her soon after and jawbone offers her a place to stay, along with Kristen (who moved in with tracker), Fig (who moved in with her mom), and the Barkrocks (who they're sharing the house with). Zayn Darkshadow also lives in the cemetery at Mordred Manor, and they took in Aelwyn before she got herself an apartment. So he does a lot.”

3. “Jawbone O'Shaunessy is the single best parental figure in those kids lives.

They rescued him from a bad spot, and time and time again he proved that he was willing to be the stable figure when nobody else was there for them.

Adaine, his officially adopted daughter, has panic attacks throughout the whole first season. During the big final battle, when she's inflicted with the dnd "fear" condition, causing a panic attack, he arrives just in time to help save her from running away fully. When Adaine's parents abandoned her and never gave her treatment for her condition, he's the one who really sees her. He says his famous line "You are not a coward- you have a goddamn medical condition, okay?" He's the first person to give her meds to help, and she's able to get back in the fight because of him. (If somebody else has the whole clip please reblog with it, it definately needs to be part of the propoganda).

He also says "You're easy to love, and anybody who couldn't figure it out is a real bozo." to Adaine in a different conversation”

Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn:

1. “Okay so that may not look like many kids but the thing is that they arrive at this cursed ass house with their too adopted-ish kids, Isaac and Jeannemary. then Magnus meets Gideon, and is like the only person actually trying to talk to her and show her (it might not look like much mut it's the biggest anyone's ever done for Gideon). Sadly she and Gideon actually never gwt to talk because Gideon has a vow of silence. Anyways then they have a wedding anniversary (nice) which unfortunately ends with both of them being pushed down a fuckass long ladder and dying.

BUT they come back in the next book! AS GHOSTS INSIDE HARROW'S MIND and then they adopt her in there before dying again (also they solve a mystery and are good at it)

YEAH AND ABIGAIL CAN SUMMON GHOSTS

manifesting for them to come back again in the fourth book so they can adopt more kids and die again”

2. “Abigail seeing harrow, gideon, and the terrible teens: "I choose you!"”

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 7 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - When you find Spencer mid dissociation, you fight to bring him back to reality. You provide him some comfort in the aftermath with unexpected results.

A/N - this starts with the full phone conversation that transpired between Spencer and Luke in the previous chapter and the picks up while reader was getting dinner and shows the build up to Spencer’s dissociation. I do not have hands on experience with this, everything regarding Spencer’s condition was taken from internet articles.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - detailed depictions of dissociative state from both Spencer and readers perspectives, blood, self-harm, swearing, cleaning wounds, talk of mental health and medication, PTSD, kinda sensual massage(?), lots of touching, coming untouched, Spencer comes in his pants.

WC - 6.1k

Chapter 7 - Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)

“I only called because-”

“Because you felt guilty? Because you finally decided you can’t run from me forever?” The voice on the other end of the line cut him off. 

“No, no…” Spencer shook his head, regretting this already. 

“What then?” 

“You have to stop-”

“Stop what?” Luke’s incredulous voice cut him off once more. 

“Please?” Spencer whined a little.

“So you don’t feel bad? Don’t care at all? Because that’s how it feels, Spencer.” 

“No…I said-”

“You haven’t said much of anything. For two years!” Luke scoffed. 

“Please just listen to me for a moment?” Spencer huffed out a breath, feeling dizzy from this conversation. 

“Do you know how much that hurt?” Luke spoke again. 

“Yes, I know…I get it, I do. I-I-”

“You just left, Spencer. You left and haven’t so much as called me once since. It hurt, it really fucking hurt.” Luke’s voice shook. 

“You’re not letting me speak. You have to-”

“What are you trying to say?” 

“It’s been two years. I…” Spencer trailed off with a shake of head, unsure what he was trying to say. 

“And you think in two years I’ve just forgotten about you?” Luke grumbled. 

“No. Please? I just want-”

“What? What do you want?” 

“Need-”

“Need what?” 

“To heal.” 

“To heal?” 

“Yes.” 

“And I don’t?” Luke sounded incredulous once more. 

“No. Please can you-”

“Do you realise how much it hurt hearing from Emily that you’d left? And not just that you’d left the BAU, but you’d left the goddamn state?” Luke was pacing, Spencer could hear his heavy footsteps.

Spencer closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d known this was a bad idea. 

“Yes, yes I know I need-”

“What?” Once again Luke cut him off. 

“Space.” Spencer huffed out. 

“I’ve given you space! I’ve given you two years of space!” 

“More space.” Spencer’s jaw ached with the constant teeth grinding he’d been doing. “In time I might-”

“In time? It’s been two years! How much more time do you need?” Luke practically growled. 

“I don’t kn-”

“This was a bad idea, maybe you shouldn’t have called.” Luke sighed and Spencer could practically see him raking his fingers through his hair. 

“No, no.” He tried to insist but Luke was most certainly right, he shouldn’t have called. This was a terrible idea. 

“I just wanted to hear your voice, cariño. I was worried about you, I needed to know you were alright, because I care.” Luke softened and Spencer felt his chest tighten.

It was easier to distance himself from it, to forget about what he’d lost, if he only let himself remember those last few bad months after prison. 

If he allowed himself to recall the good times, to dwell on how much he’d missed hearing Luke call him cariño, he would crumble. 

“Okay.” He swallowed. “Thank you.” 

“Please look after yourself, Spence.” 

“I’ll try.” Spencer nodded to no one but himself. 

“I, uh, have a, uh, good day I guess.” Luke knew better than trying to prolong a conversation Spencer didn’t want to be a part of. 

“You too.” Spencer whispered and then the line went dead. 

***

Once alone in his lodge, pressing the ice pack against his throbbing knee, Spencer’s mind wandered of its own accord. 

He replayed his earlier conversation with Luke on repeat, a constant loop playing in his brain like a broken record. 

It was the first time in two years that Spencer had spoken to him. He’d heard his voice since, the first six months after he left DC, Luke left him voicemails at least once a week. But Spencer never picked up the phone or called him back. 

Honestly he couldn’t quite understand where the gumption had come from today to finally call him. Perhaps he needed it to be over, finally really over, so he could try and move on with his life. 

But whatever relief he thought he may find had been a pipe dream, and the call left him on edge all day. 

Once he was alone he couldn’t stop dwelling on it and he felt that anger bubble swelling in his stomach. 

He knew before the dissociation happened that it was heading that way. He tried to stop it from escalating, he really did. But it was no use. 

When he felt the rage rising he’d dropped the ice pack on the floor and got up from the couch. He found himself leaning on the kitchen counter just trying to focus on his breathing, quell the anger. 

“I am still whole. I am still whole. I am still whole.” He muttered under his breath, eyes closed. 

But he wasn’t, was he? It was a lie. His therapist had deceived him into believing he wasn’t missing pieces. His old team had tried to placate him with false truths that he would make it through this darkness.

His anger grew. His fury was multi fold, at Luke, at the rest of the team, at his therapist and even at himself. It expanded, stretched from his stomach to his chest to his limbs. The rage bubble was nurtured by his meddlesome thoughts, cultivating, spreading until every atom of his being was on fire with a maddening flame. 

And then it happened, like a cord snapping in half. Spencer Reid left his body. He wasn’t him, his body didn’t belong to him any longer. 

Where was he? What was this place? He didn’t recognise anything in front of his eyes. He was in some kind of ether, a thick fog of nothingness. 

He was on the couch. But there was someone leaning against the kitchen counter. The foreign body stood up right, and walked towards his bedroom. 

Where are you going? That’s my room, you shouldn’t be here. 

He got up from the couch, followed the retreating form into the other room, through the haze. The unknown person didn’t stop, continued on into the bathroom. 

The floor beneath him felt as though it was cracking, like walking on a thin sheet of ice. He was cautious in his movements, following the stranger into the other room. 

And then he felt light, too light, as though he were floating. The fog around him grew thicker and the other body was barely visible through the dense haze. 

Where are you going? Get out of here! 

He heard his voice but it was distant, somewhere far away. He continued to hover above the ground, floating his way through the nothingness. 

Who are you? 

It was only when the other body turned around, face peering through the void that he felt a strange pang of recognition. 

Brown orbs flecked with gold. Messy, tangled curls. Dark purple circles and chapped dry lips. 

Is he me? Am I him? Who am I? 

What do you want? Why are you here? 

The man that was, but wasn’t him didn’t hear him. And Spencer just watched on as he walked back over to the bed, something tucked inside his palm. 

Floating. Buoyant. Hovering. Light as air yet heavy as a led weight. Spinning. Spiralling. Pirouetting through the mire. 

Who are you? Who am I? Why are you here? Why am I here? 

The body was naked from the waist up. One hand moving towards a bare arm, something shimmering between the fingers. 

A dizzying blanket of confusion weighed him down, yet he felt light; free. Nothing was within his reach, yet everything felt so near. 

What are you doing? How did you get here? 

His voice was still so far off, somewhere that wasn’t here although he wasn’t entirely sure where here was. 

The was a smash but the sound barely registered in his ears. Something solid, hitting something hard, crashing, breaking. 

Something scored down his arm, a prickle on his skin. Claret weeped, trickled. He didn’t feel a thing. Or did he? 

Where am I? 

A sound that maybe wasn’t a sound. A knocking? Tapping? Once. Twice. Three times. 

“Spencer? Spencer?” 

Spencer? Is that me? Who am I? Where am I? 

The viscous liquid was sticky on his skin, made his stomach turn and coil. 

“Spencer? Spencer, I’m going to need you to let me know you’re okay.” 

Okay? Am I okay? Spencer? Spencer who? 

The hand belonging to the foreign body dropped into its lap. Blood continued to congeal, forcing its way out of some kind of hole? Cut? Trench? 

“Spencer, if you don’t answer me I am going to come in. If you don’t want that then tell me now, otherwise I am opening this door.” A pause and then, “fine, I’m coming in.” 

Seconds ticked by. Or was it minutes? Hours? The mist thickened, dissipated, thickened again. He was spiralling further into the ether, deeper into the unknown. 

Is this heaven? Hell? Am I dead? Who am I? 

Through the fog another foreign body appeared. It was quick in its movements, swift and light on its feet. 

An angel? The devil? Is this death? Am I in limbo? 

“S-Spencer?” 

Everything grew dark. An otherworldliness clutching, stealing him from the present. He observed the new body crouch in front of the body on the bed. 

My body? If he’s me, who am I? 

His confusion faded away. The lightness ceased to exist. And suddenly there was nothing left at all except for the constant thrum of an overwhelming mantra he didn’t didn’t quite understand. 

I am still whole. I am still whole. I am still whole.

***

“Spencer? Can you hear me?” You knelt on the floor between his thighs as his eyes continued to stare through you. “Spencer!”

The blood continued to pour and you knew it needed addressing first, before you could move on to other factors. You stripped off your sweatshirt, kneeling up and wrapping the fabric around his wound. 

Your fingers brushed against his blanched skin. He shivered but otherwise didn’t move. 

You tied the arms of the sweater in place to secure it for the time being, keep the bleeding contained. Maybe once you’d snapped him out of this you could properly assess it. 

You retrieved your phone from your pocket and quickly entertained a Google search. You were fairly certain he was dissociating, and needed to know how to cloy him back to reality. 

You made quick work of skimming through the article, making a mental note of how to help him. You managed to free the razor blade from between his fingers, placing it out of reach on the nightstand. 

With his hand now empty you placed yours in it, curling your fingers around his and holding tightly. 

“Spencer, I need you to talk to me. I need you to focus. Can you feel my hand? If you can, I need you to tell me what it feels like. Describe to me what my hand feels like.” You squeezed, wiggled your fingers to create friction against his own. 

His eyes closed, opened again. Closed and opened again. His chest heaved and deflated. Then his fingers started to twitch. 

“If you can hear me Spencer, tell me what my hand feels like.” You repeated, speaking slowly and enunciating each syllable. 

His fingers twitched again, moving leisurely between your own. Eyes closed, eyes open. Chest puffed out, chest shrinking in. 

“W-warm.” His voice came out as a wispy sigh. “S-soft. Warm.”

“Good, that’s great.” You nodded, cautiously raising your other hand. 

You gently rested it across his left pectoral muscle, his heart rampantly beating beneath it. Ground him. Make him focus on his senses, bring him back to the reality he has divorced himself from. 

“What does this feel like? Can you feel this?” You softly ran your nails over his chest, up and down, back and forth. 

“S-scratchy.” He spoke just as quietly. 

“So good, Spence, so good.” You nodded, removing both of your hands from him somewhat reluctantly. 

You got to your feet and glanced around the room. You needed something tactile but Spencer’s lodge was not exactly a cornucopia of stimuli. 

You had a vague memory, something you’d noticed when going through his closet but hadn’t paid any attention to at the time. You must have stored it in the recesses of your mind. 

Dashing to the closet you threw it open and on the floor, stuffed towards the back, you found what you were looking for. It was the perfect sensory object for the task at hand. 

You snatched it up and rushed back to where he sat, lifeless as he continued staring into space. You knelt between his legs again and placed the item in his open palm. 

It was a stuffed horse toy with a blue-grey dappled coat almost identical to Willow. Its fur was soft and tawny and his mane was more coarse. It wore a hard shell saddle and its hooves were squishy. It was the ideal mix of textures. 

“Spencer, I need you to tell me what this feels like.” You gently lifted his casted arm, pressed the fingers within it against the horse's body. “What does it’s body feel like?” 

His fingers that peaked out of the cast twitched a few times. 

“S-soft.” He breathed. “V-very soft.” 

“Good. Great. How about this?” You guided his fingers to the mane. 

The fingers jerked, sunk into the material, twisting in the locks. 

“R-rough. C-coarse.” 

“Yes, that’s right. You’re doing so well.” You encouraged. “And this?” 

Moving his hand now to the saddle, his brows pinched together, registering the change of texture somewhere within his brain. 

“H-hard. Cold. S-smooth.” 

“Perfect.” You nodded although he still seemed to not be seeing you. 

His tactile sense was coming back, you needed to reel in his others. You left him to caress the horse while you quickly traversed through to the kitchen. You opened a cabinet and found an opened bag of caramel candy. Perfect. 

Grabbing one in your hand and untwisting the plastic wrapper as you went, you found Spencer again still, his hand that had been fingering the stuffed toy now stilled. 

“Spencer, can you open your mouth for me?” You asked softly. 

He didn’t speak, didn’t even nod. But his lips fell apart an inch or so in compliance. You pushed the candy between his chapped lips but he didn’t seem to register it. 

“Can you taste that? What flavour is it, Spencer?” You stood in front of him, looking down on him. 

His cheeks hollowed and then puckered. His tongue moved inside his mouth, rolling the hard candy around and around. 

His eyebrows furrowed the tiniest amount as he contemplated this, tried to focus on the taste on his pallet. 

While he was doing this, you moved around the room, needing something else for visual stimuli. As you reached for one of the photographs on his desk, he spoke quietly. 

“Caramel.” He breathed. 

“You’re doing so good, Spence.” You collected up one of the photographs and joined him again, sitting next to him on the bed and holding the photo in front of his disconnected vision. “Spencer, tell me about these people.” 

He blinked several times in quick succession, trying to clear some kind of fog from his vision. The caramel was still being sucked on and his fingers now moved against the stuffed animal again.

“Who is this?” You pointed at the woman on the far right. 

More blinking, cogs turning in his mind, whirring and whirring whilst he fought to place the faces in the photograph. 

“T-Tara. Tara Lewis.” He croaked. 

You had no way to know if he was correct, you just had to believe he knew what he was talking about. 

“Okay, great. And this? Who is this?” You moved your finger to the man next to her. 

After a few more blinks he replied, “Matt S-Simmons.” 

“This?” You moved on. 

Blink, blink, blink. 

“JJ. Jennifer.” 

“This?” 

Blink, blink, blink. 

“Penelope.” 

“This?” 

Blink, blink, blink. A pinch of his brows. 

“Me?” He posed it as a question. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Well done.” 

“Me.” He repeated, his breaths getting a little more frantic. “Me?” 

“Yes, you. Spencer Reid.” Your hand shook a little and you tried to keep the image still. “You are Spencer Reid.”

“Hmm.” He mused, eyes still blinking rapidly. “Spencer.” 

“That’s right. Spencer Reid. You live in Bandera, Texas, but before that you lived in Washington DC. Before that I think you lived in Las Vegas.” You repeated all the things you knew about him. “Oh!” 

You jumped up, replacing one photograph for another. 

“I think this is your mom?” You hurried back with the other photo. “Can you tell me about her?” 

More quick fire blinking. His casted hand raised from the horse and his fingers fluttered over the image of the older woman. 

“Mom.” He groaned as he spoke. “Mom.” 

“What’s her name?” 

“N-name?” His eyes closed for a few seconds. 

The world felt like it stood still for those few seconds. His chest heaved almost fitfully, like he was convulsing. Both hands went to his eyes and he kneaded them beneath his fingers. 

His breathing grew erratic for a second before everything stilled. His hands stopped their ministrations. His breathing became shallow. The world halted on its axis and then…

“Diana. Diana Reid. Mom.” His eyes opened, landed on you. 

They were focused and intense, brows pinched together in uncertainty. His eyes fluttered across your face, down to the photo in your hands, to the horse in his lap. To his broken cell phone on the floor, to his arm wrapped up in your sweater and back to you. 

“What is…where am…fuck.” He shook his head. “It happened again.” 

“It’s happened before?” You asked softly. 

“A few times.” He nodded, noticing the caramel in his mouth. “What is…why am I eating candy?” 

“I was trying to ground you using your senses. You don’t remember anything?” 

He looked back at the horse in his lap and wrapped his hand around it.

“No, I usually don’t. I remember feeling this anger in my chest and then, it’s like a light goes out.” He looked over at his arm and your sweater tied around it. “I cut myself?” 

“Yeah. You got a first aid kit?” You got to your feet. 

“Bathroom.” He replied. 

While you were gone he snatched up one of the pillows and pressed it to his stomach in a vain attempt to cover his naked torso. You returned a moment or so later with the kit after washing your hands and sat back down on the bed. 

You were cautious in removing the sweater which was now caked in blood but upon inspection it did look as though the bleeding had stopped. You found an antiseptic wipe and ripped open the packet. 

You asked Spencer without words for permission to touch him, knowing how he would flinch when touched with no warning. He nodded stiffly. 

His jaw stiffened but he didn’t make a sound as you gently wiped the wound and the surrounding blood. It must have hurt, but he refused to show it. 

“Can I ask you something?” You spoke softly while opening another wipe to clean off the rest of his arm. 

“I guess.” He closed his eyes, ready for all manner of questions about whatever it was you’d just witnessed. 

“Is this why you take the paroxetine? You have some kind of dissociative disorder?” 

“I take the paroxetine for my PTSD.” He confessed with little protest. “My dissociative amnesia is a symptom of that.” 

“Do you have them often? The dissociation?” You finished cleaning his arm and found a tube of ointment. 

You poured a little on your fingertips before massaging it against his wound. He hissed slightly, eyes still closed. 

“Not usually. I’ve had two in as many days but before that I hadn’t had one since before I moved out here.” 

“Ah.” You rolled your lip between your teeth. “So since I got here.” 

His eyes shot open and landed on you, a small furrow on his brows.

“This isn’t because of you.” He was shaking his head. “It happens when I reach a certain level of anger. When my mind can’t control the vicious rage that starts bubbling inside of me, it divorces itself from reality. This has nothing to do with you. There is one recurring factor though.” 

You inspected his wound while he spoke, assessing he probably didn’t need medical attention as it wasn’t too deep. 

“I think I can surmise what that might be.” You found some butterfly wound closures in the kit. Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Your ex? You said you got a text from him yesterday and I, uh, I heard you on the phone this morning, assumed that was him.” 

Spencer closed his eyes again, if he didn’t look at you it made it easier to talk about these things. You started closing his wound with the butterfly stitches. 

“It’s not necessarily that he makes me angry. But when I think about him, I inevitably think about why we broke up. And when I think about why we broke up it…that’s where the anger comes from.” 

You remained silent while you finished with the stitches and then wrapped his arm with gauze. 

As soon as you were finished Spencer was pushing himself up, placing the horse on the bed and going to his closet for a clean t-shirt. 

“We still have food if you’re hungry? I think you should probably try and eat something.” You stood too. 

He simply nodded and you followed him to the kitchen in silence. 

***

You ate the cold food on the couch without a word shared between you. You drank a glass of the scotch you’d gotten at the general store and when you’d offered one to Spencer he shook his head. 

After you’d finished eating, you took the plates into the kitchen and while your back was turned he spoke.

“You didn’t ask about my PTSD.” His voice pitched as he spoke. 

You left the plates by the sink and slowly turned back to face him. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” You shrugged, heading back across the room. 

“I didn’t. But you’ve proven to be rather nosy.” His lip twitched a little into a small smile. 

“I prefer the term curious.” You clucked, standing in front of him. “But I’m not going to force you to tell me something if you don’t want to. Just know if you chose to, I’m here to listen.” 

“Thank you.” He stood too, grimacing slightly like you were growing accustomed to him doing. “For everything. If I were you I would have high tailed out of here long ago. I’m, uh, not used to people sticking around.” 

“I think I like it here.” You smiled. “I don’t have any intentions of high tailing it anywhere just yet. Except for right now, to bed. I’m exhausted.” 

“Right, yeah of course.” He nodded, but his expression changed into something you couldn’t place. 

He looked as though he wanted to say something but was stopping himself from doing so. You weren’t going to force it out of him, instead you turned towards the door. 

“Goodnight then.” You spoke over your shoulder. 

But as you were reaching for the handle to let yourself out, he cleared his throat and spoke up. 

“Could you maybe…if it’s not too much to ask, uh, possibly…” he trailed off scratching the back of his neck. “Would you stay with me tonight? I really don’t want to be alone.” 

Judging by his strangled tone and contorted features you could tell this was by far the hardest thing he’d confessed to you tonight. You turned back to him with a small smile. 

He looked so vulnerable, almost childlike in his admittance. There wasn’t a world in which such a request could be denied. 

“Of course I will.” You nodded in agreement and he seemed to relax at this. “Just let me go get changed and I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He didn’t speak so you retreated again, hurriedly going back to your lodge and changing into a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You brushed your teeth quickly before making your way back over to Spencer’s home. 

He was already in bed when you returned, sheet draped over his body as he laid on his side facing out into the room. The light was already off. 

He didn’t look at you so you climbed onto the bed beneath the window and slid under the covers. From what little you could ascertain, he wore no more than a t-shirt and boxers. 

His back was to you and you noticed the way he stiffened when you got into the bed. You didn’t know his aversion for sharing such an intimate space and honestly he was wondering why he’d asked you to stay at all. 

Having you in his space like this put him on edge and calmed him in equal measure. It was a strange cacophony of feelings and he didn’t know which one to give over to. 

He could feel the heat radiating off of you. He wanted you closer, he wanted you as close as humanly possible. But he also wanted to be far, far away. 

“Spence,” you whispered. “Can I…am I allowed to touch you?” 

A shiver passed up his spine and you saw it even in the dark. For a moment he was still, but then his head nodded against the pillow. 

You shuffled closer to him, resting your head against your own pillow. Cautiously you draped an arm around him, palm resting against his stomach. 

His casted arm was cushioned between his pillows. If the position bothered his fresh wound on his bicep, he didn’t seem to notice or care. 

He tensed for a moment or two but then he suddenly encased your hand in his, his palm on the back of your hand and entwining your fingers. He pulled you closer so your chest was flush against his back. 

You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the back of his neck, his hair tickling your face. His hand gripped yours tighter, as though he needed to cling to you to remain grounded. 

And then, much like he’d done earlier with Franklin, he started moving both of your hands so you were stroking his torso. At first just his stomach but then he brought your hand up towards his chest, pausing for a second or two so you could feel his heartbeat and then back down to brush over the waistband of his boxers. 

He continued this motion, up and down and up and down for a few minutes. You tried to commit to memory the curves of his body beneath his t-shirt. After a while he stilled you both suddenly and he started exploring the contours of your hand and each finger in his own. 

He was careful in his movements, almost clinical. He huffed out a breath and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper. 

“Do you ever just…crave human touch? Like in a way that is so desperate you feel like you might die without it?” He continued inspecting your hands.

“Isn’t that just a normal human desire?” You whispered against his neck. 

“Not for me.” He sighed. “It’s an alien feeling to me and I don’t know what to make of it.” 

He let go of your hand and you were unsure if that meant he himself no longer wanted to be touched or if he’d done it so you could touch him. 

You dared let your hand come to rest on his stomach again and gently stroked little circles on his shirt. After a minute or so you moved upwards, towards his chest and paused over his heart like he had done. 

You brushed your hand back down, barely ghosting the waistband of his boxers before continuing back up. 

Spencer closed his eyes and gave over to the feeling as your hand traversed the planes of his clothed torso. Several minutes passed and his breathing started to grow a little heavy and you let your fingers brush against his knuckles. 

He didn’t tell you to stop so you didn’t, letting your fingers travel up his bare arm until you met the sleeve of his t-shirt. You migrated back down to his knuckles, back up to his bicep again and again, your touch featherlight. 

His breathing got heavier, but he seemed to enjoy it so you let your fingers dip beneath the sleeve of his shirt and wander up towards his shoulder. He tensed briefly but soon relaxed again. 

You kept this up, down to his knuckles, back up to his shoulder, kneading the muscle at the top of his arm each time. 

He wriggled backwards, his backside nestled near your crotch. He was panting reverently and you barely heard the whisper of, “more.” 

Rolling your lip between your teeth you propped yourself up on your elbow as your hand moved to his back. You stroked him over his t-shirt a few times but when whimpered slightly you assumed it wasn’t enough. 

Taking a breath you toyed with the hem of his t-shirt and were met with no protest. Your hand dipped beneath the fabric and your hand glided over the hot flesh of his back. 

Your fingers danced over his spine, weaving in and out of his vertebrae. He sucked in a deep breath and then a soft moan escaped his lips. 

Wondering how far you could push this, how far he wanted you to push this, you let your digits wander over his hip and up his rib cage. 

Spencer seemed to vibrate at the sensation and you could only assume it was a good thing. You continued over his bare stomach, feeling it clench and tighten beneath your hand. 

He whined and it sent a jolt right to your core. You pressed your thighs together as a heat spread between them. 

As you moved your hand upwards you accidentally brushed over his right nipple. Spencer stilled suddenly, tensing every muscle in his body. 

Your hand halted in its movements and the silence deafened the room for a moment or two. But then he relaxed and the barely audible “more” came again. 

And so you complied. You ran your hand up and down his torso, this time purposefully grazing over his nipple, each time you did he moaned softly into his pillow. 

Spencer had no idea what was happening or why this felt so incredible. He never wanted it to end, wanted to spend the rest of his life with your hands on him like this. 

It was a strange feeling for him to actively seek this kind of human connection but he didn’t let himself overthink it. It felt so good that it had banished any other thoughts from his mind. 

And there wasn’t an ounce of guilt to be felt when he realised he was, for the first time in four years, standing at full attention in his pants. 

Your hand brushed against his boxers each time you moved downwards and you wanted to go lower still. But Spencer didn’t whisper more and so you wouldn’t push your luck, no matter how much you wanted to. 

On one descent, your hand passed slightly further than you’d meant to and the side of your hand skimmed against what you knew to be his erection.

He moaned louder than before, hips rolling back against you. You had to press your thighs together tighter, clamping them closed as another wave of heat flooded through you. 

But still he didn’t ask for more and so you didn’t risk letting your hand fall lower. Instead you let it ebb higher, across his collarbones, over the side of his neck, across his stubbly jaw and into his hair. 

Your fingers threaded into the thick locks, pulling lightly at the roots. He mewled at the sensation and so you did it again. 

Spencer was writhing on the bed, eyes so tightly closed as he rocked against you. You made a circuit of his body, from his hair down his face, across his torso, up and down his arm and then across his back. 

He was moaning more frequently with each pass of his body and his breathing was haggard. When your hand accidentally brushed against his cock again, he moaned in such an animalistic way you almost moaned too. 

His body soon started convulsing, as though he was suffering a seizure. You pressed your hand against his stomach, starting to panic but then…

“Oh fuck…Jesus fucking Christ…fuck!” He cried into his pillow as his hips jerked forward. 

With one last deep moan he stilled entirely and so did you. 

You lifted your hand from him, hovering it over his torso. The room once again became awash with silence. And you knew exactly why. 

Spencer shuffled a little closer to the edge of the bed as he tried to catch his breath. You knew what had happened and he knew that you did. 

He clenched his jaw tightly, opening his eyes but not looking back at you. 

“I, uh…” he croaked, voice pitching. “Bathroom. I need to…yeah.” 

He barely finished his sentence before he was out of bed and limping to the bathroom. You chewed on the inside of your cheek and watched him retreat. 

He switched on the bathroom light and closed the door before falling back against it. His chest still heaved with his breaths and his whole body felt like jelly. 

He rubbed his eyes with his palms and glanced down at his crotch and the obvious wet patch in the front of his black underwear. 

He stared at it like he couldn't make any sense out of it, which in truth he couldn’t. You hadn’t even touched his cock yet here he was. 

His first orgasm in four years. 

He breathed through his parted lips as he kept his eyes trained on the wet patch. The guilt would set in, for that he had no doubt. Once the haze of his orgasm wore off he would no doubt recoil in on himself and scold himself for allowing it to happen in the first place. 

But as of right now all he wanted to do was march back in that room and return the favour, make you feel as good as you’d made him feel. But he couldn’t. He wished he could but couldn’t. 

It should have been a momentous occasion for him, finally allowing himself to take a step past what had happened in prison. 

Instead he felt dirty. He felt like he’d betrayed himself somehow. He didn’t deserve a woman as wonderful as you, making him feel so incredible. He wasn’t worthy of you or your magnificent hands on his tarnished skin.

He couldn’t give you his body in that way because it didn’t belong to him. His body was owned by those three inmates, they had claimed him as their own and he would never be able to cloy himself free of their clutches.

He wasn’t good for you, he wasn’t good for Luke; he wasn’t good for anyone. He wasn’t whole anymore. He couldn’t expect you to be grateful for having the pieces those men left behind, their scraps. 

He tried to stem his tears while he peeled off his soiled underwear and cleaned his sticky genitals over the sink. He grabbed another pair of boxers from the laundry basket and put them on, although not clean, certainly cleaner than the other pair.

He skulked back into the room and you were on your back, propped up on your elbows. 

He slipped silently back into the bed and also laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“We’re, uh, we’re not going to talk about what just happened.” He croaked. 

“Okay.” You agreed. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No.” He was quick to answer. “Not unless you want to leave.” 

“I don’t.” You lowered yourself back to the mattress. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” 

He didn’t have to heart to tell you’d done nothing of the sort. Everything you’d done had been so right, it was him that was wrong. 

He wished he could tell you that, just to appease your own mind but he couldn’t find the words. He wanted to tell you what a mess he was, why he was like this so you knew it was no fault of your own. 

But he didn’t. He said nothing. The awkwardness wrapped you both up in a blanket but it wasn’t a comforting one. 

Spencer stared at the ceiling, you did the same. You were barely a foot apart but there was a chasm between you. And you felt it growing larger and larger by the day and eventually you were sure it would span so wide that you and Spencer would never find your way back to one another. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @andiebeaword @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @thebloomingeagle

[isthe-protag-cluelesstho]

Okay, probably not a hot take, but imma scribble about it anyway,

I honestly think Cale Hetinuse/Kim Rok Soo has chronic pain/fatigue.

Like, everybody loves the whole coughing up blood/wet meow meow thing he's always doing, but personally? People who are that nonchalant about Shit Happening To Their Body, are typically people who are waaaaay too used to Fucked Up Shit Happening To Their Body,

It's just a head canon, but as someone who is chronically in pain, I absolutely do some of the stupid shit CH/KRS does, like carrying stuff I should NOT be carrying, or continuing to Do Things even when I should be sitting and resting. I also know several people who (like me) can be experiencing level 4-5 pain and not show a hint on their face/through their actions besides maaaaybe moving a bit slower/stretching more

And we know KRS has been on his own since he was itty bitty... And then he grew up in a world hell bent on killing everyone. I can't help but think that a tiny child with no one to help him with the general cuts/bruises/little hurts of childhood would 1) have zero frame of reference for what "okay" actually looks like 2) probably has never really received medical care beyond emergency assistance (which does jack for chronic conditions) and 3) has NEVER really had someone in his life long enough for them to catch his way of coping with pain (my very close friends can hear when I'm hurting/tired, everyone else only notices if I am visibly incapacitated)

So, Kim Rok Soo ends up in a world/body that "technically" hasn't experienced his life, HOWEVER fibromyalgia and PTSD are like goddamn pb&j. It's a condition that is deeply tied to a body's stress response. And what does Cale say once he has the Heart? "I feel BETTER"

And that just speaks to me of a person who is so used to pain, that it no longer really registers... I had daily headaches for 7 years, it wasn't until I moved and got a new primary that I found out that more than 4 headaches in a month was considered a concern... I got on some migraine meds and actually stopped having that daily headache, something id just accepted as "how my body works" gone,

I personally don't consider pain at a 1-2 as particularly bothersome, it's more like a general annoyance. Onces it's up to 6-7 it's hard for me to move, and yet I often will still do so, despite the pain. It's only at 9-10 so I stop moving entirely and focus on just weathering it. Usually when that happens, I sleep so much after as my body tries to recover.

And when I read Cale, so casually continuing forward, despite the work he takes on himself, after the constant planning and prepping and ass kicking, all I see is a person who has lived so long with his body's suffering that it's just background noise. Yeah, he coughed up some blood, but the pain is back to "normal" so how can he raise a fuss? He killed 3 monsters with a dislocated shoulder that one time, this? This is easy. And despite claiming his body is weak, he refuses to truly accept the help and rest he needs because (like I used to) Cale thinks "this is just how my body works"

Sometimes, I cannot remember how I lived prior to my pain. Sometimes, I cannot imagine a world where I do not spend half the night attempting to force my muscles to relax, so I can actually sleep. I cannot imagine a world where I am able to do everything I want in a day and not collapse at the end. And I see so much of myself in how Cale continues to move despite the weight of the ancient powers, the expectations of the gods and his own personal hopes. He seems like a character doomed to continue walking, his bones broken but refusing the care because whats the point if everything still hurts the same way in the end?

Anyway, Raon should invent a cure for chronic illness and force Cale into a year long sabbatical

[sarafinamk]

Space Riders Shenanigans Using Incorrect Quotes

There is no Archangel (Reader) in this post. This is just pure chaos revolving around the Smiling Critters crew and Z.

For more information on my Archangel series, check out my author's note at the end of the post. To read my fanfics and other shitposts, click here.

The Smiling Critters Space Riders Au and the character "Z" belongs to @onyxonline Hope y'all enjoy!

Warning: Swearing

----------

Kickin: Caw caw, motherfuckers!

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Z and Dogday: *staring into each other's eyes*

Catnap: *opens a soda can*

Dogday: We're having a moment.

Catnap: I'm having a cola.

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Hoppy: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

----------

*Prepping for a mission*

Hoppy: Yo, you ready to go?

Catnap: Yep, got ready in 5 minutes.

Dogday: Where's Kickin?

Hoppy: *Laughs* Still in the shower.

Kickin, from the shower: GIVE ME A SECOND, OKAY??? DO YOU THINK I WAKE UP THIS BEAUTIFUL EVERYDAY??? NO! THIS TAKES T I M E

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Bubba, in a diplomatic meeting: I dunno if I'm ready to process the ramifications of this bullshit.

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Z: That's ridiculous, the Captain doesn't have a crush on me.

Catnap: Yes he does.

Bobby: Yes he does.

Dogday: Yes I do.

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Catnap: Are you mad?

Picky: No.

Catnap: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

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Dogday: We are not mad. We are just disappointed.

Catnap: No, we are mad.

Dogday: Yes. We are. We are livid. But we are going to let this one slide.

Catnap: No, we're not!

Dogday: I am not a mind reader, Catnap!

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The Prototype: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner?!

Catnap: Well, how would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

----------

*During the Space Riders' trainee days*

Crafty: Wow, this parking is as straight as I am.

Hoppy: I know I should be focused on the fact that you just came out, but HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY PARKING!

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Literally anyone: How many siblings do you have?

Dogday: Biologically, legally, or emotionally? Because there is a difference.

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Catnap: I will put 'A' down to make 'A.'

Picky: I will add to your 'A' to make 'AT.'

Crafty: I will add onto your 'AT' to make 'RAT.'

Bubba: I will add onto your 'RAT' to make 'BIOSTRATAGRAPHIC.'

Hoppy: *flips the board*

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Kidnapper: We have your friend.

Bubba: You will have to specify.

Kidnapper, with Z glaring at him: The- the sexy one.

Bubba, sighing: He made you say that, didn't he?

Kidnapper, crying: Please come and get him. He won't stop flirting with me and my wife.

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*On a date*

Dogday, to Z: We both look very handsome tonight.

*Later*

Hoppy: You know, if you'd just said that he looked handsome, he would have said, "So do you."

Dogday, with his face buried in a pillow: I couldn't take that chance...

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Picky: I baked you a pie!

Cultist: Really?! What flavor?

Picky: *pulls gun out of the pie* DEATH!

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Bubba: Goddamn it, the printer broke while printing out Dogday's birthday invitations.

Catnap: Well, what are they supposed to say?

Bubba: "Dogday's birthday."

Catnap: So, what do they say instead?

Bubba: "Dogday's bi."

Catnap:

Catnap: Works out either way.

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Hoppy: I sort of did something and I need some advice, but I don't want a lot of judgement and criticism.

Bubba: And you came to me?

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Bobby: Oh, I have a medical condition alright. It's called "caring too much." And it's uncurable!

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Dogday: When did you know?

Bobby: I know a lot of things, Dogday.

Dogday: Why didn't you tell me I was in love with Z?! All this time I could've just -

Bobby: I told you from the start. I spelled out that boy crush to you, to your face, and I don't want to tell you I told you so -

Dogday, groans: Then don't.

Bobby: But I told you so.

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Kickin: Dead leafs? That's called yard salad now, and it's the new food trend.

Picky: *Leaves*

Kickin: Where are you going?

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Bubba: I swear to god I'm the only one here with a braincell.

Hoppy, Kickin, Catnap, and Dogday: ALL HAIL the keeper of the sacred braincell!

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Dogday: This is a very powerful artifact. You'd be messing with some forces we don't fully understand.

Hoppy: That sounds like a dare to me.

Dogday: Oh my god.

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Picky: *sharpens knife* We've got ways of making people talk.

Picky: *cuts piece of cake*

Prisoner: ... Can I have some?

Picky: Cake is for talkers.

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Dogday: I'm not gay, but you look hot today.

Z: We're literally dating.

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Kickin: Hey, do you think I could fit fifteen marshmallows in my mouth?

Bubba: You're a hazard to society.

Hoppy: And a coward. Do twenty.

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Z: It's pretty cold outside... wanna hold hands? We should stay close.

Dogday, blushing: Okay.

Hoppy: It's fucking summer.

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*Picky cooking*

Kickin: Smells good in here.

Picky: Better smell good, it's dinner.

Kickin, picking up a strainer: Oh shit, heard you're not supposed to yell into these things.

Picky: What- Why?

Kickin: You'll strain your voice.

Picky:

Picky: Leave.

Kickin: *leaves the room cackling*

Picky: God-

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Bubba: What's gone wrong, Hoppy?

Hoppy: Hey! That's one hell of a thing to say to a person. Just because I'm calling doesn't mean there's a crisis.

Bubba: That's technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling?

Hoppy: Well... There's a crisis.

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Bobby: I know you love him.

Dogday: I am not in love with Z!

Bobby, smugly: I never said who...

Dogday: *realizes*

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Bubba: I just accidentally prematurely sent an email to Commander Ludwig... It was supposed to say "I am afraid that we will have to postpone our meeting," but I hit send when all it said was:

Bubba: Dear Commander Ludwig, I am afraid.

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Crafty: The only thing I'm guilty of is being adorable...and also assault with a deadly weapon.

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Hoppy, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Bubba.

Bubba, not looking up from his coffee: Good morning, problem child.

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Bobby, looking at the squad: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

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Kickin: I'm 80% awesome 20% water and 100% handsome.

Bubba: That's 200%

Kickin: I'm twice the man you'll ever be.

----------

*Bobby training Dogday on how to flirt with Z*

Bobby, whispering: Just tell him "You have beautiful eyes."

Dogday, whispering back: Good idea.

*Dogday turns to Z*

Dogday: I have beautiful eyes.

Bobby: ...

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Kickin: You have crayons?

Crafty: Yes, I have-

Kickin: You're- how old are you?

Crafty: YES I AM AN ADULT AND I HAVE CRAYONS. I HAVE A BOX OF EMERGENCY CRAYONS IN THE CABINET UNDER THE TV BECAUSE EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS SOMETIMES, OKAY? EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS.

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Picky: Did you wash the dishes?

Catnap: I thought you wanted to do that...

Picky: *chuckles* You were WRONG.

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Bubba: That's a nice argument, Kickin. Why don't you back it up with a source?

Kickin: My source is that I made it the fuck up!

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Kickin: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail, spectacularly."

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Dogday: Does everyone know their job for today?

Crafty: Water the flowers.

Bobby: Vacuum the carpet.

Catnap: Wash the dishes

Hoppy: Pretend to be a wolverine.

Dogday: Close enough.

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Picky, washing the dishes: Who the fuck used this pan??

Picky: Wait. I the fuck used this pan...

Hoppy: It was you the fuck.

Picky: It was I the fuck...

Bubba: Who cooks rice in a pan?

Hoppy: She the fuck.

----------

Bubba: If you've got any questions, just ask.

Kickin: If a bear and a shark had a fight, who would win?

Bubba: ... If you've got any RELEVANT questions, just ask.

----------

Hoppy: *sighs*

Catnap: You bored?

Hoppy: Yeah.

Catnap: Wanna start drama for no reason?

Hoppy: I thought you'd never ask.

----------

Kickin: *Gasp*

Bubba: WHAT??

Kickin: What if soy milk is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?

Bubba: *inhales*

Dogday, in another room with Catnap: Why can I hear screeching?

----------

Picky: Alright, what pizza toppings should we order?

Catnap: Anchovies and pineapple.

Hoppy: I like beets!

Z: Have you guys ever had a cheese-less pizza?

Picky: I'm disowning all of you.

----------

Crafty: Hey, Dogday? Can I get some dating advice?

Dogday: Just because I'm with Z doesn't mean I know how I did it.

----------

Kickin: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute.

Picky: No, that's not how you make cookies.

Hoppy: FLOOR IT!!

Kickin: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!?

Picky: YOU'RE GONNA BURN THE SHIP DOWN-

Kickin: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES!

Hoppy: DO IT!

Picky: NO-

----------

Dogday: Good morning.

Bubba: Good morning.

Catnap: Good morning.

Kickin: You all sound like robots, trying spicing it up a bit.

Hoppy: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS!

----------

Dogday: How did you crash the ship?!

Hoppy: So I was just flying today, right? And my navigation told me to go straight.

Hoppy: I was like "woah, that's homophobic." Instead, I went gay. And, THAT'S when I got into an accident.

Dogday: ...

----------

Dogday: Z kissed me!

Catnap: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Dogday: It was unbelievable!

Bobby: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

Crafty: Okay, we wanna hear everything. Picky, get the wine and disconnect the communicators. Captain, does this end well or do we need tissues?

Dogday: Oh, it ended very well.

Picky: Do not start without me! Do not start without me!

Hoppy: Okay, alright, let's hear about the kiss. Was it a soft brush against your lips or was it like a, you know, "I gotta have you now" kind of thing?

Dogday: Well, at first it was really intense, you know? And then, oh God, and then we just sort of sunk into it.

Bobby: Ohh... So, okay, was he holding you? Or were his hands on your back?

Dogday: First they started out on my waist and then they slid up and then they were in my hair.

The girls + Catnap: Ohhh.

*Meanwhile with Z, Kickin, and Bubba*

Z: And, uh, and then I kissed him.

Bubba: Tongue?

Z: Yeah.

Kickin:

Bubba:

Z:

Kickin: Cool.

----------

Author's Note: Thank y'all for the love and support you've given me so far. You guys have been amazing. Trust me, I haven't lost interest in the Space Riders Fandom, and I have more ideas for the Fallen Angel series. It's just that I have classes to make up for this summer because of negligence from my uni. I'll do my best to post more, but just be patient with me. Thank for your understanding.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Deconstructing the "Peggy and Molly Friendship" Narrative

Molly the Australian Magpie had been “reunited” with Peggy and the family that stole him as a fledgling and raised him without any wildlife carer license or experience.

Thanks to the Queensland Premier wanting to score some extra points in an election year, he “made it happen.” And legitimised the collective delusion of the public that genuinely thinks that this was a completely okay and reasonable situation. And believed the notion that Molly, a territorial social species of bird that had compromised development and was taken out of his home range, could simply "fly away".

So I went through their Instagram to see how this madness unfolded. It clearly began as a “Peggy” instagram before the stolen fledgling joined in.

These people are so adamant that there were no parents around but I don’t believe it for a second. Molly was a juvenile when he was taken - you always see fledglings around his size and age on the ground foraging for food. Mum and dad are not always around but they are never far away and are critical to a young magpie's developmental period.

They claim that Molly was sick. Yet they never make any mention of taking him to the vet. Molly makes distinctive fledgling feeding calls, the sounds he would have used to beg for food from his parents. It's tragic to see this after seeing how magpies raise their fledglings in my own backyard.

One of their first posts is feeding him what looks to be mealworms next to their pet dog. Aussie Magpie Fledglings at this age are learning everything about how to survive from their parents. They fed Molly WITH their dog. What does that teach? That dogs are not only safe but also a potential source of food/reinforcement.

As Peggy’s Instagram becomes Peggy and Molly’s Instagram, this happens:

Molly gets attacked by other birds. Because guess what? This is a territorial bird who has been removed from his original territory and away from the protection and guidance of his parents.

So, because these people have no idea what they’re doing, they’re Shocked that this would happen and that the wild bird they’re unwittingly conditioning into their pet can’t defend himself.

But yeah I’m sure teaching Molly tug of war with a dog is exactly the survival skills he needs as a wild bird!!!!!!

(I’m losing my goddamn mind)

Another “release attempt” fails because apparently we did a whoopsie and let him fly out in a storm??? Yet again, this poor bird is having traumatic experiences in the wild that he was not prepared for and is, unsurprisingly, seeking humans - which he has now associated heavily with food and safety.

Meanwhile, as they’re “raising” Molly, this insanity happens:

Yeah because that’s why your staffy is spontaneously lactating. She wants to mother a bird. It couldn’t possibly be that she’s had a bird pecking at her nipples and stimulating them or that she might have a serious medical issue. Interestingly, they do take Peggy to the vet. A luxury that doesn’t seem to be afforded to Molly who was also apparently sick (even though he seems to be pretty bright, alert and feeding in all the videos of when he was “rescued”)

Anyway the saga continues with the clear intention of making content now - the socialisation and habituation continues during Molly’s most critical juvenile years. They talk about how Peggy is helping Molly learn how to find food as if they're still intended for him to be a wild bird. But it's clear this bird isn't going anywhere.

At this time, Molly would be learning how to find food, how to socialise with other magpies and he’d eventually be joining a juvenile or bachelor flock where he’d continue to develop his social skills as a social and intelligent bird, wrestling and playing with his flock mates.

But no, he’s learning to mimic barks and is harassing the hell out of this poor staffy. The family just lets it all happen without any sort of support or advocacy for Peggy.

Haha isn't zoonotic disease vectors and a confused bird with no idea of how to interact appropriately with a dog just hilarious? It’s funny because of the silly caption they made, right?

As their "relationship" progresses, Peggy shows more discomfort.

This dog shows multiple stress behaviours. She is not friends with this bird she is TOLERATING this bird as he pecks at her face. She's rarely relaxed in these "play" interactions. She licks her lips, turns her head, yawns and even bares her teeth. But if it has a cute soundtrack behind it, I guess that means they’re having fun, right?

Even the interactions where Peggy's isn't stressed are still uncomfortable to watch. Molly shows immense frustration and confusion, following and wanting to be involved but being ignored or tolerated.

Molly should be with wild birds, playing how they play and not being merely tolerated:

Molly had a chance to be homed with a qualified wildlife rehabber or even get the chance to get to live with other Australian Magpies. But because people fell for the story and the media regurgitated it without questioning it for a second - he'll never get that chance again.

Molly was failed by the Queensland government for not being seized immediately. There were numerous complaints as soon as their story started to become viral that this was sending a bad message to the public and that this bird was not being given the care he needed.

It's too late, now. Molly will live in a confused limbo, not knowing what he's supposed to be and will never get to live with his own species.

And all the people that sent death threats to wildlife carers (who were trying to fix the damage caused) will pat themselves on the back about what a good job they did.

[doctorcanon]

"You're not a coward. You have a goddamn medical condition/You're sick, you need medicine."

cw: panic attack

A recolor of a drawing that I posted and immediately deleted cause I felt weird about it. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. My artstyle is quickly becoming "Kaoru Sakurayashiki is not okay."

[transingthoseformers]

So I'm vividly reminded of the "What if there was a character who wanted to be [faction] but was barred from joining [faction]" post, and tfp au Tarn is somewhat close to being this.

They wouldn't have let him join the Decepticons if he hadn't pleaded and begged enough. And, nobody will ever admit it, even the commanders are scared of him. Tarn has just been so loyal (well loyal up until this point) that they were willing to overlook the immense security risk his Voice was and the rancid vibes. In the TFP au, he came to the Decepticons preinstalled with the DJD, but in this au the DJD had existed before Tarn has, and they kinda just found him in the space woods like a coyote mistaken for a dog.

TFP au Tarn has a much different backstory and origin than what you'd expect. Damus was someone who originally was turned away from the Decepticons , whether it was for a lack of generalistic experience, bad luck, having failed some sort of entrance test (i severely doubt they'd have like a written test, that's not what i mean, I'm thinking some sort of small quest), or hell the Bad Vibes™️ that Soundwave had received but could never put a digit. (Nobody could've guessed Tarn had been Damus, hell nobody knows until the Tarn and Fallen fiasko when he blurts it in a monologue.)

He did not take this rejection. I cannot tell you for sure when Damus became a more recognizable shape, what he had done before fully becoming Tarn, but I can tell you how he was found.

The DJD was a project proposed by Shockwave, one that Megatron has always disliked. It ultimately functioned similar to the Wreckers in the Autobots— do the dirty work that not even Megatron wants to do, and he'll turn a blind eye to their methods. One of the conditions he agreed upon was that they stay away from the frontlines, as they are pretty much the clean up crew for those who have become disillusioned to the Cause. Originally, the ship's crew was the leader Kaon, Tesarus, Helex, Vos, and Prion (their medic, who looks a little familiar...)

They found Damus on a small moon circling a dead planet that had never developed complex life. He was thought to be a mercenary, but no he denied this. The DJD decided that hey this guy who wants to be a Decepticon should be a Decepticon! And dragged him with them. This is when he took upon the name Tarn (the symbolic meaning here in the tfp au is unknown as of yet) There is a possibility that his Voice had influenced this without their knowledge, as exactly nobody had guessed that as a possibility. Though, the DJD soon learned during the brutal disposal of a rogue exactly what Tarn is capable with this "gift". (Remember, in the TFP au outliers do exist but exactly nobody has really discovered this fact. Sometimes mecha pop up with inexplicable abilities and it always freaks everyone else the hell out) At first, they were struck with that instinctive oh-frag feeling, but this faded with the delight of them having a new method in their already rather unconventional repertoire.

Things were... special the next time the Peaceful Tyranny crossed paths with the Nemesis. Megatron was very suspicious of this Tarn, (actually in a very similar way as he was in canon of Predaking once the mech revealed his bipedal mod). But, eventually, he okayed the new addition as he wasn't going to question the DJD's methods. He didn't want to think too hard about what they do, only that they completed the job out of sight. Megatron couldn't afford to lose any more sleep than he already is over this.

Did Megatron call the DJD down to Earth? No, Tarn had tracked Pharma's signal and was delighted to find out his Lord is also on this blue and green planet. If I remember my timelines correctly, they arrived in the smack dab middle of the spicy battlefield dance arc. Meaning, the commanders already had so goddamn much to deal with that they agreed "fuck it, let them do whatever they're here to do, let them take care of the traitors wandering about so we don't have to". The DJD was explicitly told to not interfere with the war efforts, the autobots, or the ongoings of the Nemesis. (Probably in much longer polite and formal words than my synopsis of it)

For a long time, Tarn was considered in a similar manner as he was in canon. A dangerous weapon, but a currently manageable and loyal weapon. Some would say Tarn's loyalty to the Cause and Megatron rivals Soundwave's, others dare to admit that there has to be a catch. That nobody is that loyal without some sort of catch. Especially if that someone enjoys working with the fragging DJD, which among most Decepticons is practically a myth because of how infrequently the Peaceful Tyranny is sighted.

The events of Delphi are very similar as in the au, upon one divergence— nobody finds them. Every autobot except Pharma eventually succumbs to the Red Rust (or the DJD, in Ambulon's case) and Pharma has to find his way off planet. Eventually, he makes his way to Earth.

The rest of the DJD, as we know, was entirely content with these orders and did their own horrific murder thing. Tarn, though? Oh we knew he ultimately basically ignored this and turned his efforts to win his Lord with his winning personality (a lie), pure loyalty (a lie), and charming good looks (kind of a lie but kinda not)— and to find out where that autobot jet had went.

He started seeing the messages from Megatronus Prime a mere fortnight since he arrived on Earth. The Fallen had a reverse sort of reaction to Tarn, at first only seeing him as an easy to manipulate means to an end. After all, once the Fallen got out and destroyed Earth, what would this pathetic sycophant matter? But, as they started interacting more the Fallen ended up letting more and more of his guard down to this mortal. Tarn will not end up betraying Megatronus Prime, even as the reverse happens. This demigod encouraged the wrong mech.

Tarn will not visually see Pharma until further into the truce, pretty damn close in time with when he learns about Silverlight. And well... I've talked about what comes next.

[imhoser]

ah. another day, another braindead sysmed thinking that 'oh the science SAYS endos aren't real!'

okay then we'll bite. where in the science and the studies done on plurality (PLURALITY, and not DID/OSDD-1 because those are two different things) does it say that non-traumagenic systems can't exist? and I don't mean some rando's carrd - I mean where are the actual scientific studies that says without a shadow of a doubt that non-traumagenic systems are impossible? if you're so fucking confident in your hate and ignorance, you'll have no problem backing up your statement with facts yeah?

go on, we'll wait.

Plurality is an internet term. I don’t know how you expect people to find scientific sources that include a non-scientific term. That’s fuckin dumb. If there’s no known scientifically proven variants of the disorder, as there’s no reason to question since there’s only a few proven without a doubt causes, then how am I supposed to find a source? You’re grasping at straws. Sources that discuss DID are good sources actually, because it discusses the process of creating systems as a whole and disproves any external causes for the system creating process. But that isn’t good enough for you, because you want to debate upon something purely hypothetical- and thus useless. Goddamn cocky bastard

Anyways this source is good.

Two quotes:

1. “Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is a chronic post-traumatic disorder where developmentally stressful events in childhood, including abuse, emotional neglect, disturbed attachment, and boundary violations are central and typical etiological factors.”

The quote itself does not imply any other unknown factors, it is a list of known factors.

2. “Given the current evidence, DID as a diagnostic entity cannot be explained as a phenomenon created by iatrogenic [illness created from the medical examination process] influences, suggestibility [easily swayed/easily influenced by others] malingering [faking illness], or social role-taking [illness created to compensate roles that are not present or are needed] . On the contrary, DID is an empirically robust chronic psychiatric disorder based on neurobiological [condition of the neurons], cognitive [thought], and interpersonal [internal] non-integration as a response to unbearable stress. While current evidence is sufficient to firmly establish this etiological stance [a set reason for existence], given the wide opportunities for innovative research, the disorder is still understudied.”

The only hope for your argument is to grasp strongly into the last line, where it admits DID/OSDD is understudied. But of course every other field except philosophy is against hypotheticals, and requires definitive proof, instead of individual accounts, and in psychology it is dependent on multiple and many accounts; instead of a singular account. One account may go against the study’s findings, but if that outlier is just an outlier and not a trend, it can be considered a special case and not relevant. Science focuses on the whole. Hypothesis’ can be considered hypotheticals by whatever logic, but hypothesis are there to be proven or disproven via evidence. An inconclusive result is like having never began.

Or, you could claim that you don’t have a system at all, since OSDD/DID/and other forms of the disorders are the only understood and proven forms. If that’s the case, what are you even here for?

[marxalittle]

I have mild-to-moderate-to-severe general anxiety disorder (GAD! Is, in fact, how I often feel, both in general and about this). It’s medication-resistant because my brain is hooked up funny, which is also a reason why I have this problem in the first place. There are various ways I can reduce or assuage it, and various things I have done over the years to placate it; it comes and goes, it better and worse, but it’s always there.

One of the things which this gives rise to is “nagging worries about everything especially the unfamiliar,” which often manifests as “paranoia that something which shouldn’t go wrong may suddenly go wrong and upend an entire necessary sequence” resulting in me making double or triple sure of things, scouting routes before I need to be somewhere at a time, and generally doing a lot of things which strongly resemble time-wasting busywork. Again, the severity and degree is better and worse depending on my overall state, the severity of what could go wrong, the degree of unfamiliarity etc etc and so on.

I try not to listen to the paranoia too much, but sometimes it’s just easier to eat the time and settle my mind. Today, I got one of those little reminders about, not Why I’m Like This (brain hooked up funny), but the positive side to listening to the urge to be certain.

Recently I moved to Chicago, and I brought a car with me because I had no other viable choice. My plan is to sell it in the next few months, but for now, I’m saddled with it. Anyway, Chicago has a lot of rules about who can park where and when and for how long and what days and they’re generally posted where you can see them on street signs every block but it’s very overwhelming for a person inclined to having their mind eroded if left uncertain about something with Consequences. Through careful street sign analysis, however, I located a few blocks within a reasonable walk of my new place which didn’t require a neighborhood code on the tags and didn’t have standing April-Nov street sweeping (and weren’t snow routes, and didn’t have school-hour or M-F special parking or tow zones, or … on like this), and parked my car there before leaving for vacation.

A lot of things happened in a very short span in August, okay.

Anyway, when I got back I had received the city tag entitling me to park in the city without getting ticketed (if noticed), slapped it on my car, and then left it for another week, satisfied that it was immune to further interference by the parking regime.

Today is Tuesday. Tomorrow is Wednesday.

Tomorrow, I’m doing a bunch of logistics stuff which requires the use of my car. Once I had taken care of all the other scheduling, my anxiety immediately demanded that I check on the car. It hadn’t been started for two weeks. There might be an abandoned-vehicle regulation about cars that don’t move for 14 days. Someone might have hit it while parallel parking.

I had two choices: ignore the itch (and let it fester), or take a trip out to see my car. It’s a twenty minute walk, about half that on my skateboard, or if I catch the bus at the right time, about ten minutes still but air conditioned. I grabbed the board (I love living somewhere with big enough sidewalks that I can just take the cruiser to cut down my travel time) and my car keys and set out to calm the paranoid demon that would otherwise gnaw on my brain all goddamned day. Besides, if something had happened, I was going to need the maximum amount of business hours to figure out who to contact about vehicles towed by the city, and where to buy my car back from its officially sanctioned thieves.

Well! As soon as I got into the neighborhood, off the main thoroughfare which gets street-swept all season, I noticed a bunch of the orange temporary signs that the streets and sanitation dept wraps around trees to signal their intentions to the locals. Specifically, a bunch of W for Wednesday signs on the side of the street where I’d parked my car, and TH for Thursday on the opposite side. Those weren’t there last weekend, so they must be fairly recent. 9am-2pm, tow zone, street sweeping, photo enforced.

I sped up, sweating and muttering, hoping that those had gone up over the weekend and not last week. My relief when my car was still there, unticketed and untowed, was damn near catastrophic.

Very calmly, I unlocked the car, started it (right up like normal), let things run for a minute, and then pulled out of my spot and into a new one, half a block away, on the Thursday side. Tomorrow when I get there, my car will not be in danger of towing for being on the street sweeping side, and it will start. When I’m done with it, I will drive around a little until I find a spot on the Wednesday side, park, and be at ease until next Tuesday morning, when I will head over to move it again, until the signs go away.

Things like this happening don’t do a damn thing for my attempts to calm my anxiety and resist doing the things it wants me to do, by the way. They do, however, impress upon me that sometimes, especially in new environments, it’s worth it to be sure.

[x-manson-annotated]

X-Manson Annotated Chapter 4 - Part Six - NATHANIEL ESSEX

The Nathan Count Stands at 3.

The Rachel Count stands at 2.

You'll notice that these past two have been a bit uneven, ending in weird spots. This is a direct continuation of the last section, however it also ends in a weird spot. Because of tumblr's image limitation, It will probably be like this until Kitty Pryde and the New Mutant's escape from the school.

Escapees:

Sam Guthrie (Cannonball)

Paige Guthrie (Husk)

Psyche (Dani Moonstar)

Ariel (Kitty Pryde)

Illyana (Rasputina?)

When I described them as the New Mutants, many fans might notice that several faces are missing. Roberto Da Costa is not mentioned in the story as far as I can tell (and for later reasons this is probably due to racial issues, which probably saved his ass in the long run). Rahne Sinclair is also not present. I can only speculate that Xuân Cao Mạnh is present. When John says it was "The Guthries and Three Others" Illyana isn't mentioned.

You'll also notice a mix of codenames and actual names. Actual names denoting those who didn't survive the escape attempt.

Okay, out of the four that was listed earlier. John's curious about which ones would talk. Maybe my impression about Dani and Kitty being the only survivors was incorrect. Maybe they're the only ones nobody knows the public names of.

Kitty being there the longest seems dismal when we come up against what's in the future.

Nathaniel Essex. Mister Sinister. The man of the Hour, tower of power, too sweet to be sour. Body made of twisted steel, supersonic sex appeal.

He is none of those things.

*The interviewer in the BBC interview seems to be aware of the conditions present in the area. Is this super well know? Is the cult and the state of Westchester an open secret?

Albert Schweitzer was a polymath who focused on sending medical aid to areas impacted by colonialism such as Africa.

this is unsurprising. An english doctor blows into town with a bunch of medical aid and is a condescending prick about it. Cult influence or not, it was bound to rub some people the wrong way.

*This whole messiah business makes me tired.

Pete Wisdom being a professor of Poetry brings to mind George Smiley from John Le Carre's novels. I think that this might be the job that he has typcially while also working in secret for this world's version of Black Air, but this is highly speculative.

His heading to America causes me to ask a few questions. Like what caused him to head over in the first place? He's got an education for teaching and writing judging from his position in the present.

*Spy work?

*I don't think Comics Essex had a sister named Rachel, but the number of Nathans and Rachels in this story are astounding for unconnected groups.

Ororo and by extension, Xavier saw this as Nathaniel muscling in on their turf. They don't see him as an extension of their cult's mythos. They see him as a potential crack that threatens to break their hold over the locals.

*Maddie Pryor type shit.

I'm not a doctor, but is this something that's a bit of world-building considering mutants and whatnot or is this a thing that has to be done for studying real-world biochemistry in individual patients?

The interviewer is a goddamn moron if they could interpret that as Essex hating his patients.

This section of the fanfic also inspired another writer to write a fanfic that's semi related to it about this world's Pete Wisdom. If you have the time, read it on your own. I might do annotations of it as well if I can get the writer's permission.

[umflowers]

🙄🙄🙄🙄 someone on neopets was talking about how they're having neck adjustments done at the chiropractor (which can, rarely, cause a stroke, but can more commonly cause worsened disc or nerve compression in the spinal column, and also abrupt/sudden adjustments don't keep, they basically offer very short-term pain relief without actually correcting what's causing it) and how they have to ice the pain after the appointment so i very gently was like 'hey, consider looking into a d.o. instead, they have an actual medical degree and will do gradual adjustments that actually fix the misalignment and hurt way way less if at all :)' with a little about my experiences with both and someone's like 'A DO TOLD ME I WAS JUST FAT AND THEY DON'T PRESCRIBE PAINKILLERS CUZ THEY THINK YOU SHOULD GO NATURAL INSTEAD OF MEDICINE AND THEY LAUGHED AT MY FIBRO DIAGNOSIS' like bitch a) mine was trying to help me figure out a muscle relaxer bc he was a family doctor for 20 fucking years, b) he agreed my weight wasn't the cause of my pain and offered to help get me to physical therapy only if i thought my chronic conditions could handle it, and c) how does that fucking change the fact that chiropractors are relatively untrained and unregulated and didn't attend fucking medical school but are snapping your body like they're trying to break it like medical trauma is very fucking real and GOD knows i respect it and have a lot of it myself, but you having a bad fucking experience doesn't make it okay to give people shitty advice because you have a vendetta against an entire goddamn medical field

[dzpenumbra]

4/30/23

Last night was difficult.

I don't think I mentioned it in my journal, maybe I did and I don't remember, idk, I'm going to tell the story anyway. I was watching a Red Dead stream last night and a girl who had been a subscriber in that channel for 7 consecutive years accidentally wrote a private message into the Twitch chat. And I mean really private.

(side note - ctrl+b, which is used for bold is right between ctrl+v [paste] and ctrl+n [new window in chrome]. And the undo on Tumblr is fucked. So... just... gonna point out how frustrating and inconvenient that is if you just slightly miss the b key and suddenly you either have a new window pop up or a paragraph of text just appears.)

This chick posted about like... really bad medical news. Like organ disease news. That she got that day. And she immediately asked mods to delete it, because she couldn't. And no one did. And there were like over 1000 people in there. And then these assholes started copying and pasting her message. At first just one. Then one who spent "channel points" to actually highlight the copied message. Then like 5 more. It... was really disturbing. Like... I struggle to see any humor in it, and I have a pretty open mind about humor. It really felt like someone saying "haha look, this chick has cancer!" As though... anyone is going to laugh about that...

Now... I know a thing or two about humor. Humor used to be my primary coping mechanism. And most humor is just that, it's a way of diffusing something incredibly uncomfortable or painful, and transforming it into something funny, something palatable. Something positive, even. And sometimes that can be a... compulsion for some people, a reflex, that they're not even really conscious of. But there's a skill to doing that. It takes effort, it takes practice, it takes skill. And there is nothing... buckle the fuck up, I'm going loud here... THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING LAZIER THAN COPYING AND PASTING SOMETHING AND CALLING IT FUNNY. <catches breath> Okay, just had to get that out. People man, I just don't understand. Do these fucking imbeciles really lack the brain cells to understand that making a joke about a serious medical condition should... I dunno... maybe be handled a little more tactfully than treating it like retweeting a fucking meme or something?

Again, I am not against jokes that test the line, and even outright cross it. At all. Pushing those boundaries is important, in its own way. But there's a goddamn reason why we only had one Don Rickles. There's a reason we had one South Park. One Jackass. There is an art to pushing boundaries, and it requires skill, charisma and confidence. And these people had none of the above. They were just... schoolyard bullies, trying to impress other schoolyard bullies. They were literally grown-ass schoolyard bullies, likely piss drunk at 4AM, watching a 38 year old man pretend to be a cowboy in a video game, and stumbled across what was pretty obviously a private message between a long-standing paying community member and likely a family member... and they decided they wanted to pants her in front of class. Like... this is a fucking cartoon of schoolyard bully behavior. And people were fucking laughing! People were like... chuckling and going along with it

I... I pulled up a private message to her. And I typed out "hey, what they're doing is really not cool and I'm really sorry all this is happening to you. It's really fucked up." And... I didn't send it. Any other lifetime, I would have sent it. But I didn't. And I don't even know why I don't anymore. I definitely didn't stand up for her in chat. I didn't even support her behind closed doors. But when she put a message in chat saying it was fucked up? I immediately tagged her and sent a heart emoji, like... lightning speed, to show she has my support. I just... I feel bad. It's self preservation, it has to be. Like... I don't want this mob turning on me... So I don't stick up for the grown adult that's being bullied by grown adults. Because there are people there whose job it's supposed to be to moderate that, and they were asleep at the wheel, and... I didn't want to overstep, and they sure as shit won't respect my opinion if I don't have a sword icon next to my name.

And the streamer, when he noticed? He chuckled. And was like, "come on guys, knock it off..." Like... it was a bunch of kids playing in the backyard by throwing knives at the dog or something, and that's his response. It made me super uncomfortable. That and the shit that went down in his Discord? Blatantly saying "we're mob-mentality around here, okay?" And the Native American character he made, and how... really insensitive he was with it... and how he pretty obviously got reported several times on it but straight up lied to his audience about it and has doubled-down so many times I can't even count. "Nah nah nah, Moondance isn't going anywhere guys, I'll play him whenever I want, I just don't feel like it tonight..." RIIIGHHHTTT... I just... I'm really turned off by it.

Fuck the internet, man. The internet is very blatantly advertising directly to children, who are the most profitable demographic on the internet, if you weren't aware... and Twitch specifically has developed a wagering system with fake internet points that you accumulate by spending time watching a streamer (more time = more ads = more $$ for Twitch = more fake points for the kids). And they call them. Get this. Tell me this isn't disgustingly corporate Amazon cliché. They call them "Predictions". It's not gambling marketed towards children to keep them on a website that makes money off of feeding them ads, no no no, it's placing a wager on a "Prediction". I'm not gambling on what the outcome is, with a payout ratio identical to a fucking horse track, nope, I'm just predicting what the outcome is going to be and if I get it right I get a neat prize! They specifically market their site to children. How have they not gotten this shut down yet?!

Okay, got a bit of that out of my system. Why the fuck am I telling this story from last night? Well... I had a night terror. I got about 4-5 hours of sleep, and I had a super intense nightmare. It was very vivid, but I didn't remember much except for the last bit. And... it took me a bit of journaling (I did dream journal, so yay on that) to really start to understand what it was about. I might as well paint a picture for you, it was super vivid and deeply meaningful for me.

I was in a location that represented my parents' basement. I grew up in that house from the ages of 11-18, very formative years. My parents are closeted hoarders, they hide it well. The basement was where everything went. I was down there with someone else, I don't remember who it was. I had found a book that was for me, that I felt bad I hadn't read because, when I was down there and started reading it, it was really interesting. It was part of a series, and it was an exploration and interpretation of the Bible through historical record, plausible science and comparison with other cultural ideologies/mythologies. It was... really cool, and right up my alley. Almost like something I would write, if I felt qualified. I read the part about Genesis I and as I was reading... I got that thing I get sometimes where the mental imagery gets really vivid. And this moment was really disorienting in a dream, and is even disorienting just trying to process how it even happened, because I was... dreaming... which is my imagination, my subconscious mind... and then within that dream I was reading a text and... my subconscious in the dream was conceptualizing the text visually. It was like a Russian Nesting Doll of subconscious visualization, it's absolutely mind-boggling that that's even possible. And this visualization was... essentially an early proto-Earth colliding with a very water-dense celestial object. My brain interpreted this very metaphorically, like big blob of water. And then the combination of these two qualities ended up nurturing an environment like hydrated and nutrient enriched soil. Again, a metaphor, like... water and collision were huge components in setting off the chain reaction that resulted in... life. And... there was some part in the text that was referring... where either that water-dense body or the proto-Earth likely came from. I don't really remember the details on that.

And then... after that... I remember the person I was with upsetting the streamer (who was there with a bunch of his friends in-character), and they left. And after I read and visualized all of that, as though I had read it out loud... he kinda knew. Honestly, I'm struggling to remember it, I'm going to get the journal real quick to refresh.

Okay, it looks like even in the journal right after I woke up I wasn't sure what had upset the streamer and the people he was with. I was reading that passage in the book in the moments leading up to him getting upset and leaving. The book had this section in it that was like MadLibs... like a simple mini-test to sorta... jog and concretize your memory of what the previous passage was about, so you could sorta... use your own brain to make the connections rather than just reading his wording. So, like... I wasn't sure if I upset him, or he witnessed the surreal visual experience I had and it upset him (because it was super vivid, like panic attack vivid, and very emotional), or maybe he knew what I read and that upset him? Maybe I accidentally read out loud and didn't realize? Or... maybe the person I was with upset him... Which, with this much time between me and the dream, seems like the most likely factor... But, either way, he got upset and left. Then... I could sorta... sense through the ceiling and walls in an almost x-ray kinda way that he was like... glaring at me. In a... judgmental, suspicious, skeptical way. In a "I'm on to you..." way. In a witch-hunty Inquisition kinda way. And that set off a massive panic response that immediately woke me up.

You know what? I reflected on this when I woke up, and it's actually really well put for 4 hours of sleep coming out of a panic attack. <pats self on back> So I'm just gonna transcribe it. Fuck it.

"I felt like I needed to impress him, and like I fucked up... which was embarrassing but passed quickly... but that turned into... genuine concern that I was in danger. Like lynching kinda danger, mob violence danger. And that's because I witnessed that last night. And the chick who was being bullied? She was like me. This crowd? These streamers? I keep gravitating towards confident bullies. Andrew Santino types. They're very talented, but their skill is a coping mechanism developed through trauma and conflict. Unprocessed trauma, typically. Because the coping mechanism is their greatest gift, and really their whole life and identity are built on it. I gravitate towards that talent. Being this aware of how these people think (because I was one of them) and how much influence they have, how followers will blindly obey them and they have thousands, made me scared of... as that guy so poetically said in my Twitch chat "(being) thrown in a river with a mill stone tied to (me)." For learning, and exploring ideas that they may consider heretical. But, more specifically, sharing them and being associated with them."

So... you can imagine how hard writing a journal entry like this can be sometimes. It feels really serious and risky, and really silly at the same time. It's not like the context I'm referring to is even... heretical, really... if anything it's trying to prove the Bible's validity! But... I've just seen a lot of dark shit in my study of humanity. A lot of dark, ignorant, zealous things that people do. And seeing that mob mentality last night? It just brought me back to that same old familiar fear. And that shit sticks, and can be hard to shake.

I'm getting really tired, so I want to kinda wrap up, so let me get to the crux of all of this.

Besides the obvious, this journal and this post, why would I be so anxious about sharing my personal beliefs publicly? 1). Family-induced trauma, let's just get that out of the way, so that explains the life-shattering severity. But the focus - I made my desire path project public today. I posted it. It was my only goal for the day. And I did it.

I put it on YouTube. It currently has 3 views and no one has watched it all the way through. I fucking hate analytics and I don't want to watch them anymore. So fucking stupid, as though you have any control over whether people give a fuck about your work. Yikes.

Then, I went into this whole pros and cons list of posting the full project on Instagram. Insta won't let you link shit, and I wanted to keep my videos all on YT because... habit, I guess? Maybe because my Rimworld series is still over there and I was hoping someone might actually give a fuck about that again someday. But after a long time going over it, I decided instead of trying to direct people to go to my profile, then go to my YT link... fuck that. I'm just going to post it there in full, too. And I did. And the grand reception? I got 2 likes. And a comment from my former "best friend", my former goddaughter's mother. And I do appreciate the sentiment. It's just been hard to process those memories.

I always wanted to be a dad. And in my 20's, I got to be her nanny for most of the week when she was around 1 year old. I was working nights and inverting my sleep schedule to drive up an hour each way to watch her during the week. I still have a picture from when I got there one day and comedically, melodramatically collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion and actually fell asleep with my legs hanging in the air off the couch and shit, right next to my goddaughter who was also passed out. And she fired me. Because I didn't "take her outside enough", which she never instructed me to do or taught me how to do. Not to mention the fact that she never paid me once, and I just... didn't ask for money? Because I was trying to be nice? Because both her and her husband were like... not parenting their infant child and just going and working jobs instead, while I watched their kid for them.

Meh, enough about that. See what it does to my head though? Nostalgia is nice... sometimes... but it can be bitter, and if you have an especially dicey past, it can turn sour real quick. So... I do appreciate her sentiment, she left a really kind compliment that seems sincere. And the emotional processing from the past? That's my job, I gotta just remember... that's in the past. I just... I feel bad for my goddaughter, and I miss her. She was the closest thing to a daughter I've ever had, besides my dog and cat, of course. The closest thing to a human daughter I've ever had. And she may not have a great role model for like... healthy emotional regulation. And I worry about her. And I do kinda feel like... that's kinda part of the godfather thing, to step up and like... be there. But at this point? I was envisioning this when I was making dinner. I feel like if I ever even do that, I'm going to be the uncle or aunt figure at the family dinner that they haven't seen in 10 years and pulls the teenage kid aside and goes "you know, I used to change your diapers, do you remember me? No? It's okay, well... if you ever need to like... talk or anything, I'm always here for you." And they'll wince through the awkwardness and then go off and play something on their phone and sigh and mutter "weirdo". But like... is it worse to not even try?

That's a quandary for another day, I just went down that line of thought because I was kinda imaginatively strategizing what might happen if my former friend messaged me. To... prepare myself.

So yeah, lots of ups and downs today. Sleep deprivation, panic, nap, social media strategy, posted the video, made dinner, watched streams, Risk of Rain, journal, and off to bed we go.

Gonna try to sneak a quick shower in before bed, screw it, see if that helps with more relaxing sleep.

To end on a more uplifted note... The Path was one of the more ambitious projects I've taken on. It was very new, super conceptual, very "risky" regarding whether anyone would "get it", also very tedious and demanding. I did the 100 runs in Minecraft, with 3 screenshots per run. I hand-drew each path, twice. I animated each path individually. I composed, played and recorded 12 minutes of original music for 4 guitars, bass and drums. I wrote the script, I recorded the voiceover (on Easter day!). I hand-drew and animated the parts of the voiceover that I couldn't really figure out what to put under, as though they were being drawn on a whiteboard. I shot cinematic B-roll in Minecraft, Google StreetView and a real life National Park. I edited it all together.

And now... it's done.

Fuck crowd reception, this was months in the making. I am goddamn proud of myself.

[midnightmisadventures]

FUCKK my dreams have been so much and so intense

So long and insane. I know i need to write them but i am truly so lazy this is gonna be a chore but like ???

Okay so during the day yesterday. I had this fucking weird ass dream, that basically this large scale....like idk if it was country wide or worldwide. But it was a large scale environmental.....scandal?? trial? Its so goddamn confusing. 

Basically there were two sides who were viciously against eachother. We were separated by extreme political party sides. Like the other side was the type of republican right wing thats just the WORST. Like full trumpie, rich, scared of diversity making them the minority, racist, homophobic, misogynistic. Just like the absolute WORST. 

And they were versus. My family?? Somehow my family was in the position as the people to face them in this trial. By my family I mean florida and the 5 of us. I don’t know if we had anything to do with the original issue since it was so governmental but apparently we were opposing them. 

The squads were pretty balanced. Like thing of the intelligent, prestigious debaters in our family. (The attorneys, the judges, the pharmacists, the shady business dealers, and the politically obsessed). Plus like me, erikka, dalvin, even some kids were in there. And then there were some moderators. 

Also i guess this was unintentional but they were all white, and we were all black. These people made me so angry, they were arrogant and rude, and entitled and sooooo incorrect like the most frustrating thing to go back and forth with, and try to make people understand basic human rights and such. 

Again, i dont know much about the cause of trial or how we got here. But it was an environment issue. Like they wanted to do some sort of elaborate construction that would damage the earth really bad and have a super negative affect on people. We were trying to prevent them from doing that. 

But we grasped at all types of straws to invalidate the others claims and get the judge? or moderator? to sway in our favor.  There were powerpoints, testimonies. All sorts of back and forth. It was also a several day thing. Every day for like a week we had to go into this building and into this conference room and do this trial. 

I remember thinking how the white people seemed souless. Like not just as an insult but genuinely i had this feeling that they signed a deal with the devil to get their wealth but their souls were gone?? They were just walking redflags when it came to being spiritually sensitive. I mean they were the devils agents. 

So both sides kept digging things up on the other to invalidate our cases, but the stuff they were trying to get out of us was just irrelevant and invasive. Like one point we brought up was that they hid the records from government water testing bc they had been using it to dump dead children/child remains (allegedly). Which is morbid, but in a case about environmental issues is extremely relevant if true. 

They had people that would like come up to us at lunch breaks and try to get stuff. And one of them said to me “yea that guy, who you’re linked to....Liam? DOesnt he have a bunch of serious medical conditions, and has been to the hospital, passes out all the time?” maybe as if to say......any information that i acquired from him or any use of him as an alibi was invalid?? 

And i had to be like what the fuck?? And eloquently explain that like....there are explainable causes to his health issues that arent in his control and he’s extremely intelligent, and athletic, etc..... to defend LIAM like what the fuckkkkkk. Being absolutely grilled. 

Swipe up for part 2 

[wjforever]

Shatter me again. Chapter 95. Final chapter

"We're here," Kenji declares, and I look out the window, tearing my eyes away from Adam. 

I discover that we're underground, in some kind of elaborate parking garage, and I am angry with myself for missing the moment when we drove inside. I should have been more careful. But I have an excuse. Adam is getting worse, and I tried to periodically bring him out of a semi-conscious state. It was getting harder and harder for me. It hurts to feel almost useless when you can't help a loved one. Not surprisingly, all my attention was exclusively on him. It doesn't matter where we're going or how we get there. If only Adam would alive.

"Adam has to go straight to the medical wing," Kenji announces.

"They have a medical wing?" This surprises me. I hoped that they had doctors and some medicines, medical instruments. But the medical wing… It doesn't make me happy, it scares me. Because I just recently escaped from a place where there was something similar. But Kenji doesn't notice my worry.

"Oh, this place has everything. It'll blow your goddamn mind."

The anxiety only gets stronger. Because I'm not sure we haven't arrived at another base, with another handful of psychopaths. I just got rid of one. I won't outlive anyone else.

Kenji hits a switch on the ceiling and a faint light illuminates the car. Still struggling with his body, he steps out the door.

"Wait here, I'll get someone to bring a stretcher."

"Okay." I nod. Adam's health is the most important thing right now.

Kenji disappears from sight and I look at Adam. I study his facial features. He should be fine, he definitely should. 

A few seconds pass. A few moments of peace and calm. And then everything happens too fast.

Four people suddenly run into the room. Two men and two women. They immediately approach the car. Kenji opens the door for them from Adam's side. It's strange, but Kenji suddenly looks completely different. He seems stronger, faster, even taller. It's weird, considering how exhausted he seemed to me recently. But now I see that he's in control. A figure of authority. These people know and obey him.

I suddenly feel real anxiety, almost fear. What if I was wrong? What if I trusted the wrong person. Another psychopath could have played another role. Someone good-natured, friendly-minded to us. Hasn't Warner been doing the same thing all this time? My God, what am I doing? I should have listened to Adam's intuition. He has it much better developed than mine.

But it's too late. Adam is already being lifted onto a stretcher, quickly examined. It's hard for me to make out what they're saying. Something about blood loss, about the need for urgent measures. 

A young woman and a man look at me. They are all dressed in strange outfits. White suits with gray stripes down the side. It's probably a medical uniform.

"How long has he been in such condition?" A woman asks me.

"It's been a few hours." Kenji answers for me. "Hurry up."

His voice is so authoritative, confident.

I see them starting to take Adam away.

"Wait!" I shout and at the same time trip out of the car. "Wait. I'll go with you!"

I know James is still in the car and I should probably stay with him. But I want to be near Adam.

Kenji stops me halfway.

"You can't go with them. Not now. Don't prevent them from doing their job. You can’t be with him for what they need to do."

"What? What do you mean?"

The world goes is fading in and out of focus. Everything suddenly seems so unreal. It's like I'm in a dream. And everything loses its meaning. It seems to me that I was deceived. Again. I was mistaken. I trusted someone I shouldn't have. I don't know where we are. I don't know who all these people are. I have no idea who Kenji is. And in his appearance at our place are so many oddities. He never explained anything to us, joking or talking some nonsense. Why did I believe him at all? Wasn't experience supposed to teach me anything? You can't take people's word for it. And this doesn't look at all like groundless paranoia.

Kenji. He has been Adam's friend. But is he a friend? Judging by their relationship, Adam has always treated him skeptically, without much trust and enthusiasm. Adam seems to know him, but hasn't he doubted him all this time? Adam. My Adam. Adam, who these people are taking away from me now, and I'm not even allowed to go with him to make sure everything is okay. And I don't know why.

"They will help him, Juliette. You need to focus, pull yourself together. I understand it's been a crazy day, you're tired. But I need you to stay calm.

His voice is suddenly so soft, so steady, so clear. I've heard something similar before. Warner talked to me like that when he tried to convince me of something. Oh, my God.

"Who are you?" I'm beginning to panic. I want to take James and Adam and get the hell out of here. But I can't. Adam has already been taken away. James is unconscious and I don't even know what he did to him. And I can't drive the damn car. "Who are you…?"

Kenji sighs. "You're exhausted. Probably starving. You're in shock from a million emotions. This is logical. I understand. I won't hurt you. You're safe now. All of you. Adam is safe. James is safe."

Jesus, how familiar it sounds, how familiar it is. I can hear him in Kenji's voice. I still have the gun in my hand. His gun. I can't handle them all, I'm not sure that the gun will fire even one more time. But I could try. At least try… I squeeze the butt of the gun, trying to give Kenji one last chance. To give myself one last attempt to believe…

"I want to be with Adam… I want to see what they're going to do to him…"

"Juliette, it's unnecessary. They're helping him…"

I don't want to hear him.

"What are you going to do with us? Why do you really need us? Why did you lure us here?" My eyes are wide open, I look around, trying to better understand where we are. "What do you want from us? Do you need me? Right? You all need me. And Adam and James are suffering because of me."

"Hey, Juliette. I'll explain everything to you when you rest and calm down."

"No! No! I don't want to be here."

Kenji looks down, rubs his forehead, reaches into his pocket. "I really didn’t want to have to do this."

I freeze. I know I'm in danger, but I feel numb and for some reason I can't bring myself to raise my hand with a gun. Just not again. And I don't even think about using my power against him. Meanwhile, he takes something that looks like a gun out of his pocket. But strange, plastic, transparent one. I've seen something like this before. It seems to be used to put wild animals to sleep. They've already disabled Adam. And James, too. And he's got a portion for me too.

It's all a lie. I doubted for a reason. No wonder I felt alarm and suspicion. He didn't find sleeping pills in Adam's first aid kit, he had it with him. I start backing away, I want to run away, it seems to me that I'm screaming.

Something pricks my arm.

And the darkness consumes me, dissolving my consciousness without a trace.

THE END

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