#pstd writing guide

[riddler-enthusiast]

Comment in my Mick Rory Reading Guide Post by @tzigone

So this is a really great question and I'd love to answer it in big detail so I will do it on this post as this way I can also add images! I hope you're okay to me replying this way and sorry because this is so long lmao

First of all, I gotta say that I carefully re-read every comic that's on the list and organized them or added them if I think Mick's characterization is good there. Mick appears in more comics but I don't even think they're worth mentioning as his not characterization isn't really great in those or very out of character considering his situation in that era. Every comic that's in red / I marked as important I think have a good understanding of Mick's character and I 100% recommend them to know Mick's character well and in a consistent way.

And now, responding your question, I think I have the answer you're looking for. Because even though modern comics did a lot for Mick and helped him when it comes to be more present in mainstream media, Silver and Bronze Age are just my favourite comics of him.

Don't get me wrong, Mick being a pyromaniac (which is something that Geoff Johns added to the character) is really interesting and added a lot of depth to him, especially in the hands of good writers, but I am also obsessed with his Bronze Age Origin Story, because it was also the attempt that writers made at trying to made him a more complex character.

In The Flash #266 (1959) Mick almost managed to defeat The Flash but he wasn't capable of finishing him, and so he decided to talk to a psychiatrist. Something that Johns rescued (and I'm glad he did) is how self-aware Mick is as he is aware that he has an illness and talks to an expert about his issues, but I won't talk more about this on this post.

Then this is how the first proper origin story of the character developed. When Mick was a child, he got stuck in a freezer room. He almost froze to death, but he could open the door using the heat of his breath. This story may sound familiar to you as Johns included it in his origin story for Mick, but it was a friend who put him in the freezer as a "joke", still, he doesn't use the story in the same way that's used here.

The thing is that the experience traumatized Mick and made him develop what they call "cold-phobia" (I'm not really sure if the heat's breath while being stuck in a freezer and the term "cold-phobia" are scientifically accurate but well, it was the 70s). And he didn't finished the Flash because when he had the opportunity he was in a really cold room and I guess he has PSTD and just ran from the scene. They also explains that they reason why he's so obsessed with heat is because that is what saved him in that freezer room.

I do admit I'm biased about pre-crisis Mick because I'm an absolute sucker for Silver Age (specially if it's about the flash comics) and I prefer older comics. I really do think that Johns did a better job in psychology terms when it came to his backstory, I think he writes about Mick's illness pretty well a lot of the times and you can tell that he knows what he's talking about in Mick's backstory. But in response to your comment, I think Mick's character can be complex in the Silver & Bronze Age if you know how to interpret them in both older and actual standards.

What I want to say and why I explained his Bronze Age Origin is because, if you're going for a Silver Age Mick I'd recommend if you considered this backstory. I mix Silver and Bronze Age because it's the same continuity for him and everything that they explain about Mick also explains his character in Silver Age comics. If you haven't, I'd recommend if you read all the comics in my reading guide about Silver & Bronze Age Mick, because I'm pretty sure those stories can be useful when it comes to adding depth to his character !

Me, I am biased about Mick in the Silver & Bronze Age like I said but I just think I really have a long way before I love Mick in the modern comics to the same level. Starting with the way he's often written so inconsistent when Johns doesn't write about him and also considering the fact that I haven't read a lot of him post-flashpoint (no reason in particular, I'm just not into actual comics), just some new 52 issues and that mini arc where he joins the Suicide Squad, they left me disappointed even though I'm always happy to see my boy in a new story. I do have in my list to read all his modern appearances and maybe will create a post-flashpoint reading guide for him, but until now, I'll stick to older comics!

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 4

Chapter 4: Mass Hysteria And False Accusation

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Criminal Activities, Mobsters/Mafia, Character Death, Slowish Burn, Disassociation, 

Word Count: 9k

A/N: Every time I write, a part of me just goes, “Lol, is any of this making sense T^T” 

Song: Sirens by Fleurie

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

ACCESS TUNNELS, HELL’S KITCHEN – EVENING

As Matt pulls you out of the treacherous tunnels and into the bustling streets above, you're immediately hit by the sounds of traffic and the blur of city lights. The urgency in his movements is palpable as he swiftly guides you through the chaotic crowd, his hand gripping yours tightly. Without hesitation, he veers into a dimly lit alleyway, pulling you along and pressing your back against the cold brick wall.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The darkness of the alley provides a temporary respite from the chaos outside, shielding you both from prying eyes and potential pursuers. The faint glow of streetlights casts eerie shadows, further enhancing the tension of the moment.

Matt's senses remain sharp, his heightened awareness is apparent as he keeps a listening ear on the entrance of the alley. His grip on your hand tightens, offering a sense of reassurance amidst the uncertainty that surrounds you. The city's soundscape fades into the background, drowned out by the sound of your breaths, rapid and unsteady.

Matt feels you give him a knowing glance, as your eyes dance around his masked features, understanding of the danger you've narrowly escaped. The gravity of the situation hangs heavy in the air, and yet there's an unspoken determination etched on both of your faces.

In this hidden sanctuary, hidden away from prying eyes, you take a moment to gather yourself. The dimness of the alleyway contrasts with the swirling chaos of the city beyond, granting you a fleeting reprieve, however brief it may be.

He leans in closer, his voice a low, intense whisper that sends shivers down your spine, “Who are you?” The dim lighting and mask cast a shadow over his features, making his expression difficult to discern. The weight of his question hangs in the air, and you hesitate, unsure of how to respond.

A mix of emotions swirls within you, battling for dominance. On one hand, there's a deep longing to share your true identity with him, to bare your soul and let him see the vulnerable parts of you. But intertwined with that desire is an overwhelming fear, a gnawing insecurity that whispers doubts and insecurities in your mind.

You can't help but avert your gaze, your eyes flickering away from his figure, searching for an escape from the darkness surrounding you. The conflicted emotions within you make it difficult to form the words, to reveal who you truly are.

There's an unspoken expectation, a belief that whoever you are, it must be something remarkable, something that can impress Matt. The weight of perfection hangs heavily upon you, demanding flawlessness in every aspect. You feel the weight of your own perceived inadequacy, a self-imposed pressure to be extraordinary.

In this tense moment, you grapple with your own self-doubt, uncertain if you can measure up to the image you believe Matt seeks. The fear of disappointing him and falling short holds you back as if your true self wouldn't be enough to earn his acceptance.

As you wrestle with your conflicting emotions, you can't help but wonder if you'll ever find the courage to reveal your true identity, to let him in on the secret you've been guarding so fiercely. But for now, the fear of rejection lingers, entwined with the desire to be seen and understood by the man standing before you.

Instinct takes over, and without thinking, you tap into your mystical abilities. A surge of power courses through you, and with a swift motion, you cast a glamour over yourself, rendering your form invisible to the naked eye. The air around you shimmers momentarily as you conceal your presence.

As you slip away from his grip, a rush of adrenaline surges through your veins, urging you to make a hasty retreat. His voice, filled with urgency and confusion, reaches your ears, calling out for you. But you resist the temptation to look back, knowing that it would only complicate matters further.

Every fiber of your being longs to turn around, to explain, to let him understand why you made this sudden choice. But fear and uncertainty grip your heart, holding you back from revealing the truth. The weight of your hidden identity hangs heavily on your shoulders, and at this moment, escaping seems like the only viable option.

You move swiftly and silently through the shadows, careful to avoid any sound that might give away your presence. The invisibility granted by your enchantment provides a temporary shield, shielding you from prying eyes and allowing you to disappear into the night.

His calls echo in the distance, gradually fading away as you put distance between the two of you. Each step you take further severs the connection, leaving you with a sense of both relief and regret. The conflicted emotions churn within you, a mixture of self-preservation and longing for a different outcome.

But for now, you choose to keep your true identity concealed, opting for anonymity and the safety it provides. The decision to flee remains firm, fueled by a combination of self-doubt, self-preservation, and the lingering desire to protect yourself and those around you.

As you disappear into the darkness, the sound of his voice lingers in your ears, a poignant reminder of the missed opportunity for connection. But for now, your path diverges from his, shrouded in uncertainty and the consequence of your unspoken truth.

CLINTON CHURCH – MORNING

Silently and reverently, you perform your duties as an acolyte, carefully handling the sacred vessels used during the Mass. With a gentle touch, you place the chalice and paten back on the credence table, their golden surfaces gleaming in the dim light of the church.

The concluding prayer echoes through the sacred space, the words resonating with deep gratitude for the holy sacrifice that has taken place. As the final blessing is given, the congregation begins to disperse, their footsteps creating a soft symphony that gradually fades away.

You move with grace and precision, your steps barely audible as you carry out your tasks. With the books cradled in your arms, you navigate the pews, making your way toward the sacristy. The scent of incense lingers in the air, blending with the soft glow of candlelight.

Father Lantom, the wise and compassionate priest, engages in conversation with a few of the churchgoers who have chosen to linger a while longer. Their hushed voices intertwine with the sacred stillness of the sanctuary, as they share their thoughts, hopes, and prayers.

You watch the sacred environment in silence like an acolyte, being inconspicuous. It feels as though the faithful's hushed prayers and ambitions are being held within the church's walls while the gravity of the situation hovers in the air.

With each passing moment, the church gradually empties, until only a handful of individuals remain, their presence a testament to their unwavering devotion. They seek solace in the quiet sanctuary, seeking solace and guidance in their intimate conversations with God.

Completing your tasks, you carefully return the books and bells to their rightful place in the sacristy, ensuring that everything is in order. Finally, you approach the flickering candles, their flames casting a gentle, warm glow. Using the candle snuffer, you extinguish each flame, one by one, the hushed hiss signaling the end of their radiant dance.

As the final candle fades, the sanctuary is enveloped in serene sight as sunlight shines through the stained glass, a sacred silence that invites reflection and contemplation. You take a moment to absorb the solemnity of the space, appreciating the profound connection between the earthly and the divine.

With a sense of fulfillment, you take a few moments to bask in the serene atmosphere that envelops the church. The hallowed stillness wraps around you like a comforting embrace, easing the weariness that lingers in your bones. As you stand amidst the flickering candlelight, a peacefulness settles within you.

Your gaze shifts to the votive stands, where rows of small candles await their gentle illumination. Retrieving a lighter from your pocket, you click it open, the spark igniting a flame that dances to life. The warm glow casts soft shadows on your face as you lean forward, carefully guiding the flickering flame to touch each wick.

The candles come alive one by one, their tiny flames flickering with a delicate radiance. The air is imbued with the scent of melting wax, a scent that carries both solemnity and hope. With each candle you ignite, a hopeful smile graces your lips, despite the lingering soreness and ache from the previous night's trials.

In this simple act of lighting the votive candles, you offer a prayer for solace, healing, and strength. Each flame becomes a beacon of hope, illuminating the sanctuary with its gentle glow. It is a symbol of the unwavering faith that persists even in the face of darkness and adversity.

As the candles burn steadily, their warm light intermingles with the ethereal ambiance of the church. The soft glow dances in harmony with the golden hues of the stained glass windows, creating a tapestry of tranquility and devotion.

With your task complete, you take a moment to appreciate the flickering glow of the candles, their collective radiance guiding the prayers and aspirations of those who seek solace in the church. The quiet beauty of the moment lingers in the air, infusing your spirit with a renewed sense of hope and determination.

The voice of your previous mentor, the Ancient One, reverberates through the air, and you startle, turning your head to see her standing right next to you. The surprise causes your eyes to widen, and a brief moment of panic floods your system. Nervously, you lick your lips and manage to utter, "Are you actually here or..."

"I thought I trained you well enough to know," she says, her voice carrying the familiar wisdom and authority.

You take a moment to steady yourself, recognizing the comforting presence of your mentor. She moves with a grace that seems to defy the laws of physics, gliding effortlessly in each step. Your gaze sweeps across the surroundings, and you realize that she has brought you both into the mirror dimension, where shattered glass reflects the ethereal landscape.

The significance of recent events is crushing upon you as you sigh and settle down on the steps leading to the altar. The Ancient One sits down next to you with dignity and care in her gaze. Your voice is worn out as you inquire, "Did something happen?"

"It's been a while since we last spoke. I wanted to check in, to see if all is well," she explains, her words carrying a genuine care and interest.

You roll your eyes, a mix of exasperation and vulnerability. Shaking your head, you watch as the shattered glass fragments shift and rearrange in response to the mirror dimension. "Many students in Kamar-Taj miss you," the Ancient One continues, her tone gentle. "Even Wong was wondering how you're doing."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you think of your fellow students back in Kamar-Taj. The memories of their camaraderie and shared experiences bring a sense of warmth to your heart. But as you shrug, a hint of uncertainty creeps in.

"I miss them too," you confess, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "They were like family to me, and I often find myself wondering how they're doing."

The Ancient One looks at you with understanding in her eyes. She senses the conflict within you and gently places a hand on your shoulder, offering reassurance.

"But you know, my dear, there is no right or wrong path in this journey," she says softly. "Sometimes, we must follow the whispers of our own hearts, even if it means deviating from what others may expect of us."

You nod, the uncertainty slowly giving way to a newfound clarity. The allure of the mystical realm is undeniable, but there is something special about the place where it all began—Clinton Church, St. Agnes, and the community that holds a piece of your soul.

"I think deep down, I long for the connection with the people," you admit, your voice filled with sincerity. "The opportunity to make a difference on a more personal level, right here in Hell's Kitchen. It's a calling I can't ignore."

The Ancient One smiles, acknowledging your revelation. She understands the power of community and the fulfillment that comes from touching lives directly. Clearing her throat, she broaches a different subject. "So... you've been aiding the masked vigilante of Hell's Kitchen?" Her words hang in the air, and your heartbeat quickens. Heat rises to your face, and you instinctively rub the back of your neck with your left hand, attempting to maintain a nonchalant demeanor. "Kind of. It just... sort of happened," you reply, the uncertainty lacing your voice.

"It seems you've taken a fondness for him. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen," the Ancient One observes, her words cutting through the air with perceptiveness. 

“That’s what they’re calling him?” You say as anxiety begins to coil within you, the yearning for tenderness and understanding intertwining with the fear of voicing it as the Ancient One hums as a response to your question. In a moment of vulnerability, you choose to shift the conversation, avoiding the subject that stirs a whirlwind of emotions within you.

"I did these things last night... stuff I was never able to do before, and... it terrifies me," you confess, your tone wistful. The Ancient One places a comforting hand on your shoulder, her touch conveying warmth and reassurance. "You were always able to do those things. It just took the right person to help you believe and realize that you could do them," she says, her voice carrying a profound sense of conviction.

At that moment, you find solace in her words, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly. The bond between mentor and student, forged through years of guidance and wisdom, continues to offer a beacon of support and understanding amidst the tumultuous journey you find yourself on.

ELENA CARDENA’S APARTMENT – EVENING

It had been a few hours since Mrs. Cardenas had called you, asking for help with her groceries. You couldn't refuse her, especially after the bond you had formed with her over time. To your surprise, Karen, the spirited woman from the office, had tagged along as well. There was something about her that intrigued you, and you felt a connection even in your brief encounters.

Now, as you stood in Mrs. Cardenas' apartment, the aftermath of destruction surrounded you. The once cozy living space had been turned into a scene of chaos. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and scattered belongings painted a picture of the violence that had unfolded. Yet, despite the devastation, Mrs. Cardenas remained resolute in her decision to stay.

You placed the vegetables in the fridge, doing your best to restore some semblance of order amidst the chaos. Meanwhile, Karen diligently worked to stock the pantry, her determination mirrored in her focused expression.

As you surveyed the disheveled apartment, a mix of concern and admiration filled your heart. Mrs. Cardenas' refusal to leave spoke volumes about her strength and loyalty, even in the face of danger. You couldn't help but feel a deep sense of respect for her.

Karen's concern for Mrs. Cardenas prompted her to switch to Spanish, seeking to understand the extent of her injuries. "¿Cómo está tu cabeza?" she asked gently. Mrs. Cardenas waved her hand dismissively, shrugging off the concern. "Estoy viva. Es suficiente," she replied, emphasizing her survival as the most important outcome. Then, she turned her attention to the practical matter at hand. "How much do I owe you two for the groceries?"

You exchanged a glance with Karen, both of you realizing that convincing Mrs. Cardenas to accept help wouldn't be an easy task. Speaking in Spanish, you reassured her, "No te preocupes. No queremos tu dinero." The sincerity in your voice was clear— you didn't want her to feel indebted or burdened by the gesture.

Mrs. Cardenas, however, remained resolute. She refused to accept what she perceived as charity. Sensing the impasse, Karen sought a compromise. Looking at you for support, she proposed, "Está bien. Puedes pagarme si quieres... ¿con información?"

Curiosity sparked in Mrs. Cardenas' eyes as she contemplated Karen's proposition. "¿Qué puedo decirte?" she asked, genuinely curious. Karen's response was laced with determination, "Espero que mucho."

You observed the interaction, recognizing the delicate balance between seeking answers and respecting Mrs. Cardenas' boundaries. Unsure of what to say, you gave a slight shrug, your eyes conveying support for Karen's request.

With Mrs. Cardenas settled on the plush brown couch, Karen continued their conversation in Spanish. "Estoy trabajando en un caso legal..." she began, her voice filled with determination.

As you closed the fridge door, making your way towards the living room, you overheard Mrs. Cardenas' reply in Spanish, her tone tinged with amusement, "Oh, sí, sí... con el abogado guapo."

Karen chuckled, her own smile lighting up the room. "Yes, um, Matt," she confirmed, causing your eyebrows to raise in both interest and surprise. It seemed there was more to Karen's connection with Matt than you had initially realized. However, Mrs. Cardenas quickly corrected Karen's assumption, shaking her head. "No, el Sr. Foggy."

Curiosity piqued, and you joined them in the living room, finding enjoyment in the lively conversation. Karen's eyes widened in playful disbelief. "¿Crees que Foggy es guapo?" she asked, genuinely curious about Mrs. Cardenas' perspective on the matter.

Mrs. Cardenas smiled, her expression warm and knowing. “I see the way he looks at you. Never is a man more good-looking than when he is in love,” she replied, her words carrying a hint of wisdom and affection. 

Karen's face flushed with embarrassment as she realized her unintentional blasphemy. "Oh, Christ," she swore instinctively before her eyes darted toward the image of Jesus hanging on the wall. She quickly corrected herself, realizing the irony of her slip-up. "Oh, uh, Lo siento," she apologized, her voice filled with genuine remorse.

Feeling the need to change the subject, Karen swiftly moved on, resuming her conversation in Spanish. "Um, moving on..." she said, attempting to regain her composure. "I'm trying to make a connection… between a construction company and the repairman that did this to your apartment."

Mrs. Cardenas listened attentively, her eyes fixed on Karen as she absorbed the information. After a moment of contemplation, she responded, "¿Por qué no preguntas al Sr. Tully? Él los envió." Karen's smile turned sheepish as she admitted, "No puedo encontrarlo. Sus abogados dicen que está de vacaciones."

Elena gasped in disbelief, her frustration evident in her voice. "I live like this and that fat shit is lying on a beach?" The realization of her choice of words struck her, and she immediately glanced at the figure of Christ, seeking forgiveness. "Excuse me," she murmured apologetically, acknowledging her unintentional outburst in the presence of the sacred image.

As you gave Elena's shoulder a comforting touch, you conveyed your empathy and solidarity. Speaking in Spanish, you reassured her, "Creo que... es bastante apropiado en este caso, ¿verdad?" Your words offered understanding and a shared frustration towards the situation.

Karen nodded in agreement with your sentiment, her eyes focused on Mrs. Cardenas. She continued the conversation, gesturing toward Elena, "Do you have papers from the repairs? Receipts? Anything you had to…" Karen's voice trailed off as Mrs. Cardenas interjected, "Sign? No, I'm sorry. I just called Mr. Tully, and he sent them over.”

Curiosity piqued, and Karen pressed further, "Can you tell me what they looked like?" There was a growing sense that something more than a simple legal case was at play, and you couldn't help but share the same suspicion. The absence of proper documentation and the involvement of Mr. Tully raised doubts about the true nature of the repairs.

“Yes. One was bald. And the other had a big tattoo on his arm.” Mrs. Cardenas said as Karen's pen danced across the pages of her notepad, capturing the crucial information provided by Mrs. Cardenas. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she meticulously jotted down the descriptions. The urgency in her voice was palpable as she sought to uncover the truth.

With a curious tilt of her head, Karen inquired, "Of what?" The question hung in the air, and you leaned in closer, eager to hear Mrs. Cardenas' response.

Elena's face contorted with a mixture of disgust and relief as she recalled the tattoo. "Not a picture. It was like a… pattern. Ugly. Went up to his neck. Thank God he's no son of mine," she explained, her voice tinged with gratitude that such an unsightly pattern did not adorn her own child.

Karen's gentle touch on Elena's hand conveyed a sense of reassurance, providing a moment of solace amidst the chaos. As Karen rose from her seat, expressing gratitude to Elena, you mirrored her actions, gathering your belongings. However, Elena's voice quivered with genuine concern, casting a shadow over the room.

Karen's determined gaze met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. In unison, you both stood, preparing to leave. Yet, Elena's anxious words halted your movements, injecting a sense of unease into the air. "All of this makes me worry," she admitted, her voice tinged with fear and apprehension.

Karen swiftly returned to her seat beside Mrs. Cardenas, her eyes filled with determination. She attempted to assuage Elena's worries, her words resolute. "No. No. No. No, Elena. Ellos... ellos son los que deberían preocuparse. Si puedo encontrar una conexión... entre los hombres que hicieron esto y la compañía..." Karen's code-switching faltered, unable to find the perfect translation, "then we will have their dicks in a vice."

The shocking declaration hung in the air, causing Elena and Karen to gasp simultaneously. Yet, the unexpected turn of phrase elicited a smile from you, recognizing the humor in the situation. Mrs. Cardenas, taken aback, could only respond with a simple "Oh."

With the tension in the air reaching its peak, you bid Mrs. Cardenas a heartfelt farewell and closed the door behind you. Sensing that there was more at stake than just Elena's legal case, you leaned in closer to Karen, your voice barely above a whisper, "You wanna tell me what's going on? 'Cause I'm getting the feeling there's more to this than Elena's legal case."

Before Karen could respond, your attention was abruptly drawn to a figure approaching from across the street. Exchanging a knowing glance with Karen, you both instinctively began crossing the street in an attempt to evade the looming threat. As you moved, you noticed Karen reaching into her purse, her hand grasping for her mace. But in a sudden turn of events, she was forcefully grabbed by another man and thrown against the metal barriers.

Reacting swiftly, you rushed to Karen's aid, only to find yourself caught from behind by the tall bald man who had been trailing you. Karen's struggles echoed in your ears, igniting a fire within you to fight back. However, your mouth was covered by the other man's hand, stifling any cry for help. His words dripped with menace as he taunted, "She gonna spray you."

Meanwhile, the man holding Karen continued his threats, suggesting he would render her defenseless and punish her for prying where she shouldn't. Determination burned in your veins, prompting you to muster the strength to break free from your captor's grasp. You swiftly retaliated, delivering a knee strike to your assailant and spinning around to unleash a powerful swing at the man restraining Karen, ultimately managing to kick him to the ground.

Just as the man who had held you regained his balance, ready to strike you down, Karen's urgent voice pierced through the chaos. She alerted you to a lurking threat behind you, but before any harm could befall you, a softball flew through the air, connecting with the assailant's head and causing him to crumple to the ground. Both men groaned in pain, subdued for the moment.

Your eyes followed the trajectory of the unexpected projectile, landing on Foggy, who stood before you with a metal bat in hand. Karen's surprise was palpable as she exclaimed, "Foggy? Oh, my God."

Breathing heavily, you managed to compose yourself enough to question Foggy, your voice strained, "Wait... what are you doing here?"

Foggy retorted, his tone laced with surprise and curiosity, "What are you doing here?" Karen chimed in, echoing your confusion, "What are you doing here?" Foggy echoed Karen's question, causing her to respond in exasperation, "Are you following me?"

Still clutching the bat, Foggy calmly replied, "Yeah." Karen's voice rose in pitch as she asked, "Why?"

Foggy offered his reasoning, "Because you were acting weird. I was worried about you."

Meanwhile, the disoriented assailant attempted to rise, only to be met with a spray of pepper spray from Karen. She shot Foggy a meaningful look, asserting, "I can take care of myself."

Sensing the urgency of the situation, Foggy gestured for both of you to move to a safer location, urging, "Let's discuss that away from the maniacs, okay? Come on!"

Karen curses under her breath as she snatches her purse and darts away from the imminent danger. Foggy, bat in hand, prepares to strike at the dazed criminal, but before he can make a move, you execute a flawless spinning hook kick, landing with precision and force, effectively ending the confrontation.

With the immediate threat neutralized, the three of you waste no time and hurriedly make your escape from the area, ensuring you put a safe distance between yourselves and the assailants. As the adrenaline starts to subside, Foggy's astonishment breaks through, and he exclaims, "How the hell did you just do that?!"

You offer a weary smile, knowing that the night is far from over. It's going to be a long and eventful night ahead.

THE DAILY BUGLE, BEN URICH’S OFFICE – EVENING

As soon as possible, you lied to Foggy and Karen about the self-defense training you had to do for the residents of the domestic violence shelter in the worst-case situation. You reach the Daily Bugle and proceed to Ben's workplace.

Ben, his anger subsiding, strides toward the door of his office, swinging it open to allow you, Karen, and Foggy to enter. His tone is stern as he chastises Karen, "What part of 'Don't tell anyone about this' didn't you understand?" Sympathy fills your gaze as you observe Karen, understanding the weight of the situation. Ben then turns his puzzled gaze to you, inquiring, "And how the hell did you get caught up in this?"

You shrug, fully aware that trying to dissuade you is futile. "There's no point in trying to convince me out of this, Ben. You and I both know that."

He mutters about your stubbornness, likening it to Doris, and shakes his head. Karen interjects, determined to make her point, "She and Foggy are not just anyone... alright? He's a kick-ass attorney, and sooner or later we're gonna need one of those. And she and Foggy just plain kicks ass."

Foggy flashes a smile and shrugs nonchalantly, "When the need arises."

Ben gestures towards you, acknowledging his trust in your character. Your lips quirk slightly to the side, and Karen affirms, "You can also trust him, Ben. He's one of the good ones." Foggy beams at the compliment.

"Show them the board," Ben sighs, prompting Karen to offer a grateful smile before moving towards the corkboard. "Alright, Ben has everything laid out... all of the possible connections... starting at the bottom... and moving up." Karen gestures, revealing the array of possible connections and shreds of evidence.

Foggy's eyes catch sight of the card at the top and he inquires, "The king of diamonds?"

"The man at the top," Ben confirms. Foggy continues his line of questioning, "Any idea who he is?"

"No. But I think he might have been the one behind Union Allied," Karen sighs, her thoughts returning to the events of the past.

Ben shifts his attention to the table and retrieves another card, remarking, "There's another player on the field. Man in black."

Foggy glances at Karen and queries, "You think he's working for the king?" Karen shakes her head, resolute in her belief, "No. No, he never would have helped me expose Union Allied if he were."

Stepping forward, Ben places a pin on the Jack of Hearts card, symbolizing the enigmatic man in black, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. "If that's the case... they're working against each other. So the question is... which one trumps the other?"

As you absorb the information laid out before you, a newfound determination takes hold. The pieces of the puzzle are gradually coming together, revealing a complex web of corruption and deception. The man at the top, the one who may be responsible for the atrocities committed by Union Allied and the dire state of Hell's Kitchen, has now become your focus.

You can't help but feel a sense of responsibility, knowing that the lives of innocent people like Mrs. Cardenas are being shattered by the machinations of this unknown kingpin. The image of the Man in Black, the vigilante protector of Hell's Kitchen, flashes in your mind. While his methods may be unorthodox, his actions have shown a dedication to justice and exposing the truth.

With a resolute nod, you turn your gaze to the corkboard, your eyes scanning the connections, searching for any clues that will lead you closer to your goal. The battle has only just begun, but you are prepared to fight, to become a force that cannot be ignored.

In the shadows of Hell's Kitchen, a new alliance has formed, united by a common purpose. The city's darkness will be challenged, and the man at the top will soon learn that even the mightiest of kings can be dethroned.

THE NEXT DAY…

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE – MORNING

After a much-needed nap and replenishing your energy with a few cups of your favorite drink from the nearby coffee shop, you find yourself in Karen and Foggy's office, engaged in a discussion about whether or not to inform Matt about your activities.

Karen opens the door, leading the way from the conference room into the small waiting area. She places the folder on her desk, and you and Foggy follow suit. Foggy, with a mouthful of a cream cheese bagel, manages to chime in, "That we're awesome?"

Karen scoffs at his response, while you affectionately place your hand on Foggy's elbow, offering a reassuring touch, and say, "That we're being stupid and putting ourselves in danger."

Foggy, now wearing a sad frown, comments, "If we're gonna be Nancy Drew-ing together, I think a certain level of honesty is required."

Karen looks at him in disbelief, "What? You don't like my coffee?" Foggy takes a bite of his bagel and casually admits, "I hate it." Your hand swiftly smacks his arm in disapproval, accompanied by a gentle scolding, "Foggy!"

He defends himself with a playful grin, "I appreciate the effort, but the technique, or lack thereof..." Karen interrupts him, exclaiming, "My God, you are such a dick."

Foggy responds, undeterred, "On occasion, some dickery may leak out, but doesn't mean I'm wrong." As you and Karen grab her hot cup of coffee, making your way to the small reception desk, she hums thoughtfully, "Well, it means somethin'."

Foggy trails behind as the three of you lean on Karen's desk, continuing the conversation. Foggy ponders aloud, "Okay, let's say we keep Matt in the dark. How long do you think..." The sound of the door opening abruptly interrupts the discussion, causing all three of you to freeze. Your eyes widen in anticipation before squeezing shut, bracing yourselves for the realization that Matt most likely overheard your conversation from the bottom of the staircase.

In a desperate attempt to divert Matt's attention, Foggy quickly offers a lighthearted excuse, "I should grow my hair? Matt, what's your take on that? Mullet? Full pony?"

Karen, trying to hide her surprise, questions Matt, "Holy shit. Did you fall down again?" Her gaze lands on the large gash adorning Matt's forehead, causing your body to tense up at the sight. You instinctively step forward, concerned, and ask, "Do you need an ice pack?" Matt waves off your offer, placing his briefcase on the floor and his cane against the wall. "Oh, it's nothing," he assures, his voice calm. "Don't tell me what?"

Foggy, frustrated by the situation, lets out a curse while Karen, unable to believe her ears, queries, "You heard that?" Matt approaches the three of you, his hands finding their place in his pockets. Foggy, attempting to clarify his earlier statement, comments, "Guy's like a bat. Not blind like a... I mean, you know, with the hearing."

You couldn't help but purse your lips, trying to suppress a laugh, as Matt responded, "Bats aren't blind, Foggy."

"They're not?" Foggy questioned with a hint of surprise in his voice. Matt shook his head and clarified, "It's a myth."

Foggy, eager to steer the conversation away from bats and blindness, confidently declared, "So, we're good." He attempted to redirect Matt's attention, but he tilts his head toward you and softly called your name. In response, you mustered a composed reply, "Hmm, yes?"

Matt, his voice filled with charm and enchantment, pressed further, "What don't the three of you want me to know?" Your gaze shifted to Foggy and Karen, both shaking their heads, signaling their reluctance to divulge the information. With a sigh, you bit the inside of your cheek, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "You know what... this sounds like a conversation between the three of you... so I'm just gonna..."

Karen couldn't contain the secret any longer and blurted out, "We're investigating Union Allied." Your frustration mounted, and you closed your eyes briefly, bracing yourself for the repercussions. Meanwhile, Foggy glanced up at the ceiling, his expression conveying a mix of exasperation and resignation, as he muttered, "Remind me to keep you off the witness stand."

Matt's tone turned serious, a familiar protective stance that you quickly recognized, “You can't be doing that.” Karen, refusing to back down, raised her voice and challenged, "Why not?"

Matt explained firmly, "For starters, you signed legal papers and took money to leave it alone."

Nervously, Karen laughed and attempted to downplay the situation, "No, I signed papers saying that I wouldn't go public and I won't."

Foggy couldn't help but blurt out, "We have someone lined up for that part." You shot him a wide-eyed, exasperated glance, mixed with a hint of annoyance, and mumbled under your breath, "You two would not do well in espionage."

Confused, Matt turned to Foggy and asked, "What part?"

Foggy looked to Karen for assistance, and she quickly clarified, "Breaking the story that, uh... Look, whoever is behind Union Allied, or whatever they call themselves now, they are trying to strong-arm people like Elena so that they can sweep their homes away from them and build condos no one can afford."

Matt's scolding tone filled the room, leaving a weight of concern in the air. "And what do you think's gonna happen when these 'whoevers' find out what it is you're up to?" he questioned, his voice laced with worry.

Foggy, trying to diffuse the tension, assured Matt, "We already took care of it." Your frustration reached its peak, and your mouth hung open in a silent scream. Visibly overwhelmed, you rubbed a hand over your face, bracing yourself for the incoming storm of Matt's anger.

Matt's concern grew as he probed further, asking, "Took care of what?"

You looked to Karen, who sheepishly began to explain, "The, uh, guys who busted up Elena's apartment. They, uh, came after the two of us when we were leaving her place last night."

Frustration caused Matt to lick his lips as he shifted his stance, his tone stern as he asked, "Are you two okay?"

"Yes. Foggy was following us, well, me," Karen responded, not doing any favors to alleviate Matt's concerns. His frustration mounting, Matt sighed and pressed further, "Mmm-hmm. Why? Why were you following her?"

Foggy pointed an accusing finger, asserting, "She was acting funny."

Karen swiftly fired back, "No, there was no funny."

You couldn't help but interject, "Even I could tell there was a little funny."

Matt huffed in annoyance, his patience wearing thin. "This is what I'm talking about. There are things out there. You can't be doing this. You're gonna get yourselves hurt."

Karen's voice turned honest and vulnerable as she expressed her determination, "No, I have already been hurt by those bastards. You know, I don't care what I signed or how much money they paid me to forget. I don't. And I'm not just going to stick my head in the sand and let it happen to somebody else because I am scared. Which I am... a lot." Her words hung in the air, a testament to her courage in the face of fear.

Foggy's words carried a hint of frustration as he defended Karen, "And if you could see her face, you'd know she means it." The room fell into a brief pause, the weight of Karen's sincerity hanging in the air. Matt, attuned to the subtle cues, acknowledged, "Yeah, I kind of got that."

A moment of silence passed between the four of you before Matt cleared his throat and made his way to his office. His hands lightly grazed the wall and door as he stepped inside, his actions revealing a touch of vulnerability. "Right, who else is involved? Who's helping you break whatever it is you think you're gonna find out?" he inquired, seeking more information.

"Ben Urich, from the Bulletin," Karen answered, prompting Matt to recall, "The one who wrote the Union Allied piece?" Karen nodded, and Foggy chimed in, "Karen's been working with him. He seems like a good guy."

Matt's skepticism rang through his words, laden with weight. "Yeah, everybody does, until they aren't," he replied, caution etched in his voice.

"No, I trust Ben as much as I do her, or Foggy, Matt," Karen affirmed, her unwavering trust evident. You added your reassurance, "Ben's a good guy, Matt. I've known him and his wife for a while now. They aren’t bad people.”

Karen interjected with determination, "I know what I'm doing. I am not some kid..."

Matt let out a weary sigh, his voice filled with concern, "Then don't act like one. The three of you. I know you're just trying to do the right thing here, but we have to be smart about this."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, absorbing Matt's words. Foggy seized the opportunity and asked hopefully, "We?"

With a firm tone, Matt declared, "First rule, no more skulking around, asking to get hurt. If we're going to do this, it's going to be on our turf. The legal system." Karen couldn't help but mumble, "That's not nearly as heroic as you might think."

Matt's voice rose slightly as he emphasized his point, "I don't want anyone to be a hero, Karen. I want you to be safe. And I want to protect this firm and everything we're trying to build here. We know the law. We'll use it to our advantage." There was a brief pause before Matt asked, "Agreed?"

Foggy's question hung in the air, tinged with a sense of resignation, "Do we have a choice?" Matt's reply was laden with a touch of inevitability, "Not so much."

Karen's voice carried a hint of curiosity as she inquired, "Yeah, okay. So, what's the second rule?" Matt's response was soft and contemplative, "I don't know, I'm making this up as I go along."

A FEW HOURS LATER…

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE – NIGHT

You found yourself seated next to Matt, engrossed in a sea of case files, articles, and documents spread across the table. Every piece of information was scrutinized, your eyes scanning for any potential lead, but the trail seemed to fade into obscurity, leaving you grasping at empty shadows.

Fatigue weighed heavy on your shoulders as you rubbed your tired eyes, the strain from the laptop's blue light taking its toll. Across from you, Foggy stretched his limbs, voicing his frustration, "This is pointless, Matt. We should be out on the streets, cracking names and taking skulls."

Suppressing a reaction to Foggy's oblivious remark, you let out a weary sigh and continued rubbing your eyes, seeking a momentary respite from the endless screen time. Karen, sipping her coffee, couldn't help but chuckle at Foggy's statement, "I think you have that backwards."

You slouched in your chair, feeling the weight of exhaustion and anxiety building up over the past few days. Unconsciously, your left leg bounced up and down, a physical manifestation of the stress you were experiencing.

Foggy, determined in his own way, replied with a hint of bravado, "Not the way I do it." Matt couldn't help but laugh, a touch of amusement coloring his voice, "Five minutes out there, and you'd end up in intensive care."

Matt had a single earbud tucked into his ear, immersed in his own private world of sound, while you discreetly observed his hands delicately tracing the braille on the braille display. His fingers moved with such grace and precision, effortlessly gliding across the textured surface. You couldn't help but be captivated by his dexterity.

Amidst the conversation, Foggy directed his attention to Matt, proudly stating, "Hey, I handled myself pretty damn skippy against baldy and his tattooed gorilla. Tell him, K."

Karen nodded in agreement, then looked at you with a puzzled expression. "You definitely handed their asses. Also, what? I'm... What, I'm 'K' now?"

Foggy chimed in, nonchalantly brushing it off, "Trying something new." Meanwhile, you shook your head, attempting to downplay the situation. "It's nothing, guys..."

Foggy, always observant, called you out, "You did a whole ass spin kick and completely knocked out the guy. Remind me to never get you angry."

Blushing, you continued to shake your head, trying to deflect the attention. "It was probably just all the adrenaline," you stammered, but your voice faltered as Matt placed a comforting hand on your knee, causing your movements to freeze. He sensed the change in your breathing, his perceptive nature kicking in. Matt asked with genuine curiosity, "Where'd you learn to do a kick like that?"

To others, it might have seemed like an innocent inquiry, a desire to get to know you better. But you knew that answering truthfully could raise suspicions. Matt's heightened senses would detect any deception. So, you chose a half-truth, carefully crafting your response, "Learned it when I was young from an old friend. Taught me how to protect myself, y'know, being a woman and all that.”

Matt's hand gently squeezed your knee before he returned it to the braille display, his touch leaving a lingering warmth. The atmosphere in the room was charged with anticipation as he brought up an intriguing lead.

"Wait, this is interesting. Confederated Global Investments," Matt announced, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Foggy chimed in, trying to recall the company. "The one that hired us to defend that bowling alley nut?"

Matt nodded in affirmation. Turning to Karen, he asked, "Do you have a list of the subsidiaries you were able to track down through their check?"

Karen, already prepared, responded while swiftly typing on her laptop, "Uh, yeah, yeah, I think so." The sound of keys clacking filled the room until the laptop emitted a beep, signaling Karen's success. She smiled and confirmed, "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

Matt proceeded to press a few buttons on his device before inquiring, "Can you tell me if Westmeyer-Holt Contracting is on the list?"

Karen checked her findings and replied, "Um... Yeah. Yeah, it is." Her smile widened, pleased with the discovery.

Matt's expression turned serious as he shared his findings, "There are half a dozen complaints against them for doing the same thing they did at Elena's tenement."

Foggy leaned on the desk, crossing his forearms, his mind racing with the implications. "Confed Global's trying to force renters out of tenements?"

Karen quickly pointed out another lead, saying, "What about Elena's landlord? That Tully guy? I mean, he's gotta know something about this."

Foggy shrugged and got up from his seat, determined to track down Tully. "I'll see if I can track him down."

Without missing a beat, Matt interjected, "Use the phone."

Foggy's face fell into a pout as he begrudgingly sat back down. "Oh, come on!"

Matt's tone was firm as he established a new rule, "I'm making that rule number two."

Foggy couldn't resist a retort, "Your rules suck. I want that on record."

Matt grinned at his best friend's playful complaint. "Fine, noted."

Karen's sudden exclamation grabbed everyone's attention, causing a momentary pause in the conversation. Matt's concerned gaze shifted towards her, prompting his inquiry, "What do you got?"

Stumbling over her words in her excitement, Karen shared the breaking news, "Uh, no, it's not, um... The New York Bulletin online just reported that that cop that got shot, he just regained consciousness."

The mention of the detective's recovery piqued your curiosity, and you carefully asked, "Detective Blake?"

Karen confirmed, her voice filled with a mix of relief and anticipation, "Yeah." Meanwhile, Foggy couldn't resist making a remark, "Guy's a real dick. Still, he didn't deserve a bullet from that masked douchebag."

In a reflexive defense of the vigilante, you interjected, "Okay, Foggy, nobody knows what actually happened out there."

Matt, removing his earbud to fully engage in the conversation, added his thoughts, "Detective Blake might." His statement carried a weight of curiosity and a desire for the truth.

Meeting Matt's gaze, you could sense the depth of his interest. Foggy chimed in, acknowledging the potential significance, "Be interested in what he has to say."

Matt responded with a deep conviction, his voice carrying a hint of intensity, "Yeah, so would I." The pursuit of truth and justice burned within him, igniting a determination to uncover the whole story.

Karen and Foggy decided to head home, and you remained behind, assisting Matt in packing up the remaining items. The urgency in his movements indicated his eagerness to gather information from Detective Blake before any unfortunate developments could occur.

Clearing your throat, you offered a helping hand, "Uh, I can fix up the rest of this and lock up. Karen gave me a key. You can go ahead, Matt. You definitely need some rest if you want that wound on your temple to heal."

Matt flashed you a grateful smile, his gratitude evident in his voice, "Thanks. I appreciate it. You sure you don't want me to hail you a cab back to the church?"

Shaking your head, you reassured him, "Nope. I'll be fine."

"Alright, well, stay safe. Text me when you get home," Matt advised, his concern evident. You stumbled over your words, realizing the absence of exchanging phone numbers, "I don't... you don't have my number."

Quick to remedy the situation, Matt handed you his phone with a charming smile, "I think it's about time I did."

Frozen for a moment, you slowly reached for his phone and typed in your contact information. Handing it back to Matt, you nervously licked your lips, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. "Uh, you should get home so you can heal up."

Nodding appreciatively, Matt replied, "See you tomorrow."

You remained silent, watching as Matt departed through the front door, his cane in one hand and his briefcase in the other. A soft whisper, barely audible, escaped your lips, fogging the glass ever so slightly, "Stay safe out there, Matt."

A FEW DAYS LATER…

SAINT AGNES ORPHANAGE – MORNING

“'You get what you deserve.' It's an old saying. One that survived the years, because it's true. For the most part. But not for everyone. Some get more than they deserve. Because they believe they aren't like everyone else. That the rules, the ones people like me and you, the people that work and struggle to live our lives, just live, don't apply to them. That they can do anything and live happily ever after, while the rest of us suffer. They do this from the shadows. Shadows that we cast. With our indifference. With a pervasive lack of interest in anything that doesn't directly affect us, we, in the here and now. Or maybe it's just the shadow of weariness. Of how tired we are, struggling to claw our way back to a middle class that no longer exist, because of those who take more than they deserve. And they keep taking, until all that's left for the rest of us is a memory of how it used to be before the corporations and the bottom line decided we didn't matter anymore. But we do. You and I, the people of this city… we still matter. There's someone in Hell's Kitchen that doesn't share this belief. He's been among us for quite some time. You've never heard his name. You've never seen his face. He's stayed in the shadows. Because men like him, men that want to control our city, our lives, fear the light and what it reveals. This man must no longer be allowed to operate in the darkness. If he has nothing to hide, let him step forward."

– Ben Urich

As you set the wooden spoon down, your attention shifts towards the television screen, momentarily forgetting about the breakfast you were preparing for the orphaned children of St. Agnes. Grabbing a towel, you wipe your hands, the world around you fading as you reach for the remote and turn up the volume. The headline flashes on the screen, displaying Wilson Fisk's name as he begins to speak.

"I'm not very good at this, out, being in public," Fisk's voice fills the room, captivating your attention. "But I felt the need to speak up for this city that I love with all my heart. No one should have to live in fear. In fear of madmen... who have no regard for who they injure."

You shake your head in disbelief and scoff at his words, unable to contain your growing anger. Fisk's voice continues, his rhetoric calculated and persuasive. "In fear of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, who has inflicted untold pain and suffering. This masked terrorist and psychopaths of his kind, we must show them we will not bow down to their campaign of coercion and intimidation. We must stand up to them."

Throwing the towel in your hands onto the nearby table, frustration surges through you as Fisk's speech continues. "As this man, my dearest friend, Leland Owlsley, a pillar in the financial community, stood up when he was recently assaulted. But this assault was for no other reason than to send me a message. A message warning me to stop. To give up my dream that I have for this city. A dream of a better place. A place for its citizens to feel safe. To feel pride."

Fisk's words echo in your ears, his manipulative tone making your anger boil. "I tried to do this quietly, not wanting to draw attention. The last thing I wanted was for anyone close to me to become a target from those who do not share my dream. For those who will have this city stay exactly as it is, mired in poverty and crime."

He pauses, building anticipation, before resuming his speech. "But I know now it was foolish to make that decision. That I can no longer do it alone. That I cannot keep living in the shadows... afraid of the light. None of us can. None of us should be forced to. We must do this together. We must resist those who would have us live in fear. My name... is Wilson Fisk. And together, we can make this city a better place."

As the anger inside you intensifies, it transforms into something primal and unstoppable. It becomes an all-encompassing fury, incomprehensible and overwhelming. It is an anger that rejects solace and turns away from faith, a rage so potent that it seems to connect with the very fabric of the universe. It becomes a wrath, directed both towards God and as a reflection of the wrath of God.

End Notes:

I’M SUCH A TEASE I KNOW IM SORRY BUT SOONNNN I SWEAR SOON WE WILL HAVE THE BIG REVEAL!! JUST NOT YET HEHEH >:D

I sat down yesterday, wrote this chapter, finished it today and edited it. :D

Did I write this properly?? Idk half the time I feel like I black out as I write each chapter lmao

Thankie for reading! Okay off I go to rewatch the next few painful episodes T^T

Grace :>

TAGLIST:

@scoliobean @thychuvaluswife

[wartorn-ringing]

Hi there! I'm Chime Brendan, retired vet and guide dog trainer.

I have no idea how I got here

Chime Brendan:

Age: 40

Height: 6'5"

Sexuality: come back with a warrant

Chime lost his eye during his military service and due to his PTSD he has memory issues so he carries around a notebook to write things down everywhere. He doesn't like the phone notes app but he does like this speech to text and he uses it after his pstd nightmares to write them all down.

After his military service he would start doing (normal) jewelry making and gem carving specifically.

He did not kill Rose and isn't obsessed with Leaf.

In his world, Leaf had been a sailor for a few years and got his powers later in life, in his late 20s. He then retired from being a sailor and became a kindergarten teacher.

Examples of the type of gem carving that he would do:

[jaydier-blog1]

A Guide to Writing PTSD & Psychosis

Something I’ve noticed over my (too many) years on Tumblr is that sometimes, first-hand accounts of mental illness can be hard to come by. It’s totally understandable, and it took me a long time to get to this point, but it can put writers in a bit of a bind who aren’t satisfied with only the DSM-5 and Wikipedia to accurately portray their muse(s)’s MI. That being said, hi, my name is Holo, and I’ve been living with PTSD and comorbid psychosis for almost a decade at this point, and I’d like to share some of my experiences.

This is by no means a complete or exhaustive guide. The thing about brains is that apparently they’re complicated, and that means that everyone develops MI differently. While there are broad strokes that are generally consistent across diagnoses (and said broad strokes are typically what make up the ‘criteria’ of any MI), not everyone will have every single symptom, and not everyone will display the symptoms they do have the same way. I really do recommend using these sorts of guides as guides to writing MI, rather than actual rules.

I’mma start with some basic definitions. PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder, which is a disorder that develops after witnessing or experiencing a traumatic event. Not everyone who goes through trauma will develop PTSD, and I believe the actual statistic is somewhere between 20-30% (double-check my factcheck before you quote me on that, please). Comorbid mental illnesses (or comorbidities) are MIs that occur with or alongside the ‘primary’ illness, usually because of said ‘primary’ MI. For example, my psychosis is comorbid with my PTSD; it is because of my PTSD that I have psychosis.

Psychosis itself is more of a broad term than a specific diagnosis, and it will generally assume one (or more) of three forms: 1) delusions, 2) hallucinations, and 3) disordered thoughts. I personally struggle mostly with delusions and hallucinations, and I don’t particularly experience disordered thoughts, so that’s what I’ll mostly focus on.

Before I move on, though, I want to share something that an old psychologist of mine told me and that I’ve never really forgotten: it’s possible, and even common, to experience and exhibit occasional symptoms of MI without ever actually having that particular mental illness. A random delusion or general panic attack does not mean your character has psychosis or PTSD. Again, brains are complicated, and what defines a MI diagnosis is the consistent, pervasive presence of multiple symptoms that interfere with the patient’s day-to-day life. You can have obsessive-compulsive tendencies without having OCD. You can be anxious without having anxiety. You can be depressed without having depression.

Another thing is that a lot of MI have symptoms that overlap (which is why comorbid MIs are, again, pretty common). My PTSD comorbidities include depression, anxiety, claustrophobia, and psychosis. In fact, when I first started displaying my PTSD symptoms, I was diagnosed with depression because that was the comorbidity that showed up most prominently at the time, and it took several more years before my doctors and I realized that my depression was a symptom and not the full illness.

Alright! Let’s see if I can break down things into more manageable chunks to talk about.

PTSD

PTSD symptoms are wide, varied, and incredibly subjective from person to person. In my experience, this variance starts with what exactly was the trauma that the PTSD is originating from. Someone who was in a war, for example, will have different triggers and experience different symptoms than someone who was abused (and even then, someone who was verbally abused will once again have a vastly different PTSD experience than someone who was physically abused). Figuring out what your character’s trauma was that caused them to develop PTSD is your vital starting point.

In my experience, PTSD tends to develop slowly. One of the things doctors look for when diagnosing PTSD is that patients are still suffering after six months have passed from the initial trauma. After my initial trauma, I thought I was fine. I was asymptomatic, until months later when symptoms started to creep up on me (and as I mentioned earlier, at first it appeared primarily as depression, and I didn’t even connect it to my trauma at the time).

I experience hypervigilence with my PTSD. I am always aware of where I am, looking for possible exits and escape routes. I get nervous and anxious if I feel trapped in a room or area. (I tried going to a corn maze once. It was a bad time.) I also have an exaggerated startle response. If someone sneaks up on me, accidentally or otherwise, I’m going to react much more dramatically than other people. It’ll frighten me a lot more than it would someone whose startle response isn’t so pronounced. At worst, I’ve had experiences where someone sneaking up on me and startling me as a joke sent me into a full panicked meltdown. (I’d been having a rough time before that, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.)

To which I’ll segue rather smoothly into things building up! I find it really difficult to ‘destress’ and relax if I have a lot of small triggers and uncomfortable situations pile up on me within a short period of time or without respite, to the point where something rather minor can set off an entire chain reaction and end up with what looks like an extreme overreaction.

Panic attacks can look different from person to person, or even day to day. Sometimes, panic attacks show up for me as in inability to focus, irritation and snapping angrily at every little thing while my hands shake to the point where it’s difficult for me to hold things. Other times, it’ll look like a screaming, crying mess, huddled up in a ball in a corner on the floor. How people express panic attacks varies greatly, and no one way is an ‘incorrect’ portrayal of your character’s panic attacks.

Flashback episodes are an easy, prominent way to showcase PTSD in media, and so it’s something that a lot of people are familiar with, but in a very narrow way. While it’s possible for someone experiencing a flashback to completely lose touch with their current reality and experience an exact repeat of their traumatic incident, that’s rarely the case. More often than not, my flashback episodes feel more like an overlay, where both reality and my flashback are happening at the same time. Innocuous things will suddenly seem much more ominous and dangerous, I’ll mistake the people around me for those who were present during my traumatic incident, and I tend to experience hallucinations (which I will go into more detail about later on). Someone in a flashback episode could even experience age regression, usually back to the age they were during the initial trauma. Flashback episodes and how someone experiences them are extremely personal, and I strongly suggest doing more research on the topic to find more varied accounts, and piece together how your character would respond to these events, if they even experience flashback episodes at all.

I’d like to take this next moment here to mention triggers. Triggers are highly subjective, depending on the person and their trauma, and they can often be obscure and strange. A particular scent or a familiar name could easily be enough to make someone extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes, triggers are only marginally connected to the initial trauma, or not seemingly connected at all. Conversely, something that might seem like an obvious trigger might not be a trigger at all! Brains are fucking weird like that. Also, a very common experience with PTSD (or any MI with triggers) is that day-to-day life is disrupted in favour of specifically avoiding known triggers. Crowded places will trigger my aforementioned claustrophobia, and so I will often avoid social outings, to the detriment of my friendships and familial relationships. (Which is a good example of triggers having nothing to do with trauma, actually. I was alone when my initial trauma happened. Why the hell am I afraid of crowds. @brain explain this) And not only this, but some days a trigger might not affect me at all! Triggers are so, so subjective. They’re a minefield of possibilities and dangers that can shift on what sometimes feels like a daily basis. It can be a real headache to deal with. Taking the time to get into the mind of your character and deciding what triggers them and what doesn’t it another important part of defining how you write their struggle with PTSD.

Psychosis

Since it’s what I have the least experience with, I’ll talk about disordering thinking first. Disordered thinking is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin, and people experiencing disordered thoughts can appear distressed, confused, and have issues articulating their emotions, even to the point of not being able to form full sentences or fully acknowledge questions being asked of them. I strongly suggest doing more research on this topic outside of this post if you think it might apply to your character.

Delusions are, again, fairly self explanatory. Delusions are probably my most prominent version of psychosis that I struggle with on a daily basis. Personally, the most frustrating part of delusions is that I’m well aware that they aren’t real, but I can’t shut them off anyway. In general, my most common delusions is that Person X is out to get me/is trying to sabotage me. Logically, I know that this is ridiculous, but I still have the anxiety and panic that that situation would induce. While I’m sure there are psychotic people out there who cannot distinguish their delusions from reality, and that is absolutely a valid way to portray it, I have personally never met someone like that. It seems to be a lot more common that delusional psychotics are aware that their delusions are not real, and yet we are still forced to change our patterns of behaviour to accommodate for that delusion as if it were real regardless.

Hallucinations are broad and come in way too many forms. Media likes to portray hallucinations as full-bodied apparitions that are indistinguishable from real life, and while that can be correct, I find that I rarely experience those. Most of my hallucinations are tactile hallucinations. These are hallucinations where I feel as though I’m being touched by someone or something, usually in a negative way (these hallucinations can even trigger or be triggered by a flashback episode). There are also auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations, and even olfactory and gustatory hallucinations, although I’ve never had experiences with the latter two. Often, I find I can fairly quickly differentiate hallucinations from reality, just by doing a quick check around me. If someone is not touching me, the feeling of a hand on my arm is a hallucination. Visual hallucinations (of other people) tend to not interact with the rest of the world the same way a real person would. Auditory hallucinations do not have an obvious source, and those around me won’t react to the noise. And, of course, the usual disclaimer of everyone who experiences hallucinations experience them differently applies here too, this is just my personal experience with hallucinations.

In conclusion

PTSD and psychosis are both broad MIs with a lot of complexity that vary from person to person. I fully encourage you to continue your research into these MIs and discover what is right for your character(s). I’d like to reiterate that this post is non-exhaustive and has focused on my personal experiences with my day-to-day life as someone who has these MIs. This post is absolutely available for you to reblog if you’d like, and my ask box is right here if you have any questions or discussions you’d like to direct to someone willing to be a first-person source on these topics.

I hope I’ve helped! Now go forth and write! :D

[l0vergirlatheart]

Hello! I’m new to your blog and I love your writing. I was wondering if you could do a sagau with creator reader that comes from the last of us games? ( the last of us is just a zombie apocalypse game.) How would they react to there creator coming from a place like that? Everything is ran down and taken over by plants and wildlife. Just being born there and forced to learn how to kill and survive on there own. Having to learn the skills of survival and technique. How would they react to there creators PTSD and trauma? How would they react if they actually saw the world there creator comes from?

Well that’s all I have you can write this however you want to if you’d like or don’t write it at all it’s up to you. Anyway have a great week!!

dude. zombie apocolypse!creator!reader... u are amazing anon tf

didn't exactly know who to write for i went with the trusty genshit wheel of names

c.w // zombies, blood, gore mention, disturbing descriptions, mentions of pstd

GOROU, AYAKA, XIAO

start under cut

gorou.

"Your Grace?" Gorou spoke, not much more than a whisper.

"I've told you this before Gorou, just call me (Y/N)."

"Of course... (y/n)... I wanted to ask you a question.." He said nervously.

"What is it?"

"What was your world like?"

You froze at the question. Your breathing became shallower and shallower, and your hands slightly trembled.

Gorou, being the keen one he is, quickly took notice and reassured you that you didn't have to answer.

"You dont have to--"

"It's.. fine. I can tell you." You cut him off, holding up your hands to sign that it was final. He silently nodded, and prepared for, well, anything.

flashback below. proceed with caution.

"FUCK!" You yelled. You'd been running for hours now; they were on your tail. You made a sharp turn and nearly fell, but you didn't stop running.

Into the heart of the forest, you ran to your makeshift shack with all the food and supplies you'd stolen from the ghost town abroad, and locked yourself inside of it. You pushed your back against the door as you felt the banging of the zombies trying to rip through your door, and you just waited it out. Eventually, an unfortunate deer stumbled across and lured them away from you.

You let out a sigh of relief as you slid onto the floor, panting.

'They've never gotten that close before.' You thought as you counted your items. You'd have to leave soon. You grabbed your stuff and checked the windows much too high for anything outside to reach. Or so, you thought. You were met with a rotten-flesh-filled face staring straight back at you. You yelped, and fell onto the floor. The zombie starting banging on the glass, harder and harder until it shattered everywhere. You covered your eyes with one hand and grabbed you knife with the other. After the glass settled, you quickly got up and prepared to fight.

Time to put all your self-taught fighting to use.

flashback end.

Gorou's mouth hung open, eyes widened in shock. You had to deal with that all alone? As a kid nonetheless?! His hand subconsciously reached for yours and rubbed it in an attempt to comfort you.

"It's okay. You're not there anymore, and you're not alone."

end : 1/3

ayaka.

You had invited Ayaka to walk around [region], just to chat. She was one of the only people who didn't make you feel suffocated in this "creator" crap. (she was holding herself back, just for you.)

Though you didn't expect it to start thunderstorming.

BAM! A large clap of thunder sounded unexpectedly, and you flinched, and practically jumped.

Fuck... You thought, turning around just because. You knew it was thunder; but god, did your past still linger with you, even after all this time.

"(Y/N)? Are you okay?" Ayaka asked, snapping you out of your daze.

"Yes, I think.. I think so. We should-!" Cut off by another sound of thunder, and lightning following shortly after. Ayaka looked at you with a soft expression, and she took your hand, gently. You looked at her as she carefully guided you back to where you two were staying for the time being.

"Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" She asked softly, still holding your calloused hand.

"I... sure.." You said hesitantly.

after explaining your world.

"I... I see." She said sadly. She reached up to pat your head, and she motioned for you to move closer. She moved your head onto her lap and started gently brushing her fingers through your hair.

"I'm here now. There is no need to worry. I won't let that ever happen to you again."

end : 2/3

xiao.

"Your Grace?"

"First of all, how many times have I told you to call me (Y/N), and what's up?" You said, a sigh.

"..Where are we?"

"Home."

"...why is it so run down?"

"That's a.. long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?" You asked, and he nodded. You sighed and opened your mouth to speak.

crack.

You both froze. He looked at you and was about to say something, but you instinctively slapped your hand against his mouth, and stared in the direction the sound came from.

Unbeknownst to you, this action made his face heat up, but he was also curious and slightly concerned. What could've made you stop him from talking so quickly?

Only then did he hear a growl emitting from ahead. He summoned his spear, preparing to fight, but you shoved him behind you and grabbed something from a slot attached to your belt. You pulled it up to ahead and aimed it; but he had no idea what it was or what you were aiming for. Also, whyd you shove him behind you?!—

Then he saw it. Rotting flesh and both fresh and dried blood dripping from a disorted and ripped face; eyeball hanging out of its socket and hair missing all over its supposed head. The ragged and dirt-and-blood stained clothes, ripped and disgusting around itself; a zombie.

Before he could react, there was a large BAM that echoed throughout the forest. Suddenly, the zombie fell over, motionless, and you grabbed Xiao and left as quickly as the wind could blow.

What the hell?!

end : 3/3

[batfall-a]

𝒊 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔.... 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨.    *   )                                      |    INDEPENDENT +   HEADCANON    BASED    BRUCE WAYNE   from    THE   BATMAN   ( 2022 )    |    some  lore  lifted  from    from   joker  |    written   by    selena    25+  ( she,  her )   dark   themes   present.                  . . .  the  struggle  of  everything  +  nothing  all  at  once.                                                                                𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : 𝐒𝐄𝟕𝐄𝐍     

                                           •        •         •       •       •                             |  READ FIRST |  PINTEREST |  *  CURRENT ARC               |  SPOTIFY |  FOXARK TECH |  MATCHES |  THE  LAST  OF  US  |

*WILL  NOT  INTERACT  WITH   STRANGERS  THINGS  +  GLEE  BLOGS.  

                                           RULES   BELOW  !

*additionally any blog made by kenna will be considered an exclusive

          *      )       OOC  .    my   name  is   selena   i   am   25+   and   EST   based.  i   work   full   time   ,   and   i   have   two  lovely   doggos.   i   try   to   be   here   whenever  i  can  on   the   weekdays   but  !    sometimes   i   am   exhausted  ,   and   therefore   weekends   are   my  most   active   time.   i   DO   love   plot-based   threads    but  ?   i   also   understand  /  am  one  of  those  people   who   sometimes   just   allow  the  thread   to  guide.   i   do  !   have   disco  (  feel   free  to  ask  for   it! )  that  being  said  i   also  forget  about  it  99.9%  of   the  time  so  ?  nudge  me  or   reach  out  first   PLEASE   know  it’s   never  you.   i   am   latina   as   well  as   being  jewish  so  please   also  respect  those  two  points.  i   also   like   my  muse  have  PTSD.   i  am   now   going   to  implement  to   rule   of   following   21+                                                         EST   11.5.22

*PSD  +   ICON   ARE  MINE  please  do   not   steal 

*      )      bruce   thomas   wayne   is   highly   influenced   by   the   batman  (2022)   with   taking   inspiration  and  some   lore  from   the   joker  (2019).   since   this   film   is   crime   noir   heavy   so  is  bruce  ,  he   reads  more   like   a  gothic   character  and   is  going through   heavy   PSTD.   my   bruce   sadly   is  not  lifted  from  comics  nor  is  steeped  in   any  other   batman   universe.  along  with   being   reeves   based  i   have  also  incorporated  my  own   headcanons   and  take.  *truly  he  is  an  OC  fnjfdsfgg. bruce  is  31  and   is   6′6   6′8   with   the   boots.  he   enjoys   writing   and   has   natural   talent  in  drawing   and   obviously   criminal   forensics.   he  is  STILL   learning  and  of  course  he  is  OBSESSED   with   technology.   his   iq   borders   genius   but  since  his   tragic  loss  he  is    his  own   worst  enemy.

*      )    open   &  willing   to   ship   my  bruce  !   it   will   be  heavy   development  since   he  is  so   FEARFUL  of   losing  the   ones   he  loves.   though   ?   when  shipped  i  can  promise   he  will  love   and  fight  for  your   muse   as  often   as  he  can.   i   also   DO   ship   selina  x  bruce   and   many   other  DC  canon   ships  for  bruce  i   just   ask   that   we   plot   about   it   before   we  get  to  writing  !  *bruce  is   bisexual 

*      )   ♡  =    ship   ♡* =  ship  exclusive

    *  if  you  ever  want  to  be  added  please   reach   out   ♡

@banschivs   +   MAIN  |  Nix  Fleck (née Degraves)

@bllakcat       +  EXCLUSIVE |   Felicia  Hardy ♡*

@chaoshe     +   EXCLUSIVE |  Jester Lavorre  ♡*

@exilae         +   EXCLUSIVE  |   Blog-Wide ;  Juliette King ♡*

@fraudien      +   EXCLUSIVE  |   Mina  Gatti     ♡*

@jokethur      +   MAIN  |  Arthur  Fleck  

@barnaes      +  EXCLUSIVE  | Bucky Barnes

@lovelack      +  EXCLUSIVE |  Marianne Sheridan

@destage      +   EXCLUSIVE   |   Blog-Wide

                           VERSES *

.001     basic   gotham   verse   ,   in   this  verse   bruce   is   28-30    still  trying   to   get   a grasp  of  who  he  is  and  is  also  training  heavily

*      )        .002   loosely   follows  the  events  of  the  batman  with  some  changes.   to   read  more  about  that  click  here 

*      )    .003   follows  the  events   leading   up  the  riddler  being  caught  ,  and   gotham   flooding.   in   this  verse   the  bat /  bruce  have  started  to  accept   their  destiny  ,  and  the  UNAVOIDABLE  mesh  of  BOTH  personalities.  

*      )  .004  follows  the  court  of  owls   with  some  own   headcanon  interpretation.  wayne  enterprises  is  full  of   corruption   with   the   board  wanting  nothing  more  than  to  get  rid  of  bruce.  

                             ALT   EGO *

*      )    this  verse  will  be  tagged   accordingly  ,  bruce   goes   undercover  in  the  criminal  world  at  the  end  of  arc  .002   and   finds  that  he  has  INFILTRATED  successfully.  no  one  KNOWS  he’s  bruce  wayne  OR  the  batman.   in  this  verse   he  gathers  intel  and  garners   quite   the  reputation.   he   rises  up  in  ranks  ,  and  becomes  for  all  intents  and  purposes  one  of   the  ‘bosses’ 

[batfall-moved]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒊 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏? 𝒃𝒆���𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆   𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 , 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄.    *   )                                              |    INDEPENDENT +   HEADCANON    BASED    BRUCE WAYNE   from    THE   BATMAN   ( 2022 )   |     𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝    𝐛𝐲   𝐭𝐡𝐞    𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐦   𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝   𝐛𝐲    𝐧𝐢𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚  |   heavy   inspiration    from   joker  |    written   by    selena    25+  ( she,  her )   dark   themes   present.      MAIN  SHIP   :   fraudien          pro.  twilight  (why is there here?idk)    ,    EST                      

                                |  READ FIRST |  PINTEREST |  *  CURRENT ARC |

*WILL  NOT  INTERACT  WITH  GLEE  MUSES DUE TO A PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE.

                          RULES   BELOW  !

*additionally any blog made by kenna will be considered an exclusive

           *      )       OOC  .    my   name  is   selena   i   am   25+   and   EST   based.  i   work   full   time   ,   and   i   have   two  lovely   doggos.   i   try   to   be   here   whenever  i  can  on   the   weekdays   but  !    sometimes   i   am   exhausted  ,   and   therefore   weekends   are   my  most   active   time.   i   DO   love   plot-based   threads    but  ?   i   also   understand  /  am  one  of  those  people   who   sometimes   just   allow  the  thread   to  guide.   i   do  !   have   disco  (  feel   free  to  ask  for   it! )  that  being  said  i   also  forget  about  it  99.9%  of   the  time  so  ?  nudge  me  or   reach  out  first   PLEASE   know  it’s   never  you.   i   am   latina   as   well  as   being  jewish  so  please   also  respect  those  two  points.  i   also   like   my  muse  have  PTSD.

*PSD  +   ICON   ARE  MINE  please  do   not   steal  

    *      )      bruce   thomas   wayne   is   highly   influenced   by   the   batman  (2022)   with   taking   inspiration  and  some   lore  from   the   joker  (2019).   since   this   film   is   crime   noir   heavy   so  is  bruce  ,  he   reads  more   like   a  gothic   character  and   is  going through   heavy   PSTD.   my   bruce   sadly   is  not  lifted  from  comics  nor  is  steeped  in   any  other   batman   universe.  along  with   being   reeves   based  i   have  also  incorporated  my  own   headcanons   and  take.  *truly  he  is  an  OC  fnjfdsfgg. bruce  is  31  and   is   6′6   6′8   with   the   boots.  he   enjoys   writing   and   has   natural   talent  in  drawing   and   obviously   criminal   forensics.   he  is  STILL   learning  and  of  course  he  is  OBSESSED   with   technology.   his   ig   borders   genius   but  since  his   tragic  loss  he  is    his  own   worst  enemy.

   *      )    open   &  willing   to   ship   my  bruce  !   it   will   be  heavy   development  since   he  is  so   FEARFUL  of   losing  the   ones   he  loves.   though   ?   when  shipped  i  can  promise   he  will  love   and  fight  for  your   muse   as  often   as  he  can.   i   also   DO   ship   selina  x  bruce   and   many   other  DC  canon   ships  for  bruce  i   just   ask   that   we   plot   about   it   before   we  get  to  writing  !  *bruce  is   bisexual 

 *      )   ♡  =    ship   ♡* =  ship  exclusive

     *  if  you  ever  want  to  be  added  please   reach   out   ♡

@banschivs   +   MAIN  |  Nix  Fleck (née Degraves)

@chaoshe     +   EXCLUSIVE |  Jester Lavorre  ♡*

@exilae         +   MAIN  |   Blog-Wide ;  Juliette King ♡

@fraudien      +   EXCLUSIVE  |   Mina  Gatti     ♡*

@jokethur      +   MAIN  |  Arthur  Fleck  

@barnaes      +  EXCLUSIVE  | Bucky Barnes

@lovelack      +  EXCLUSIVE |  Marianne Sheridan

@destage      +   EXCLUSIVE   |   Blog-Wide

                        VERSES *

 .001     basic   gotham   verse   ,   in   this  verse   bruce   is   28-30    still  trying   to   get   a grasp  of  who  he  is  and  is  also  training  heavily

*      )        .002   loosely   follows  the  events  of  the  batman  with  some  changes.   to   read  more  about  that  click  here 

*      )    .003   follows  the  events   leading   up  the  riddler  being  caught  ,  and   gotham   flooding.   in   this  verse   the  bat /  bruce  have  started  to  accept   their  destiny  ,  and  the  UNAVOIDABLE  mesh  of  BOTH  personalities.  

  *      )  .004  follows  the  court  of  owls   with  some  own   headcanon  interpretation.  wayne  enterprises  is  full  of   corruption   with   the   board  wanting  nothing  more  than  to  get  rid  of  bruce.  

                     ALT   EGO *

*      )    this  verse  will  be  tagged   accordingly  ,  bruce   goes   undercover  in  the  criminal  world  at  the  end  of  arc  .002   and   finds  that  he  has  INFILTRATED  successfully.  no  one  KNOWS  he’s  bruce  wayne  OR  the  batman.   in  this  verse   he  gathers  intel  and  garners   quite   the  reputation.   he   rises  up  in  ranks  ,  and  becomes  for  all  intents  and  purposes  one  of   the  ‘bosses’ 

[startanewdream]

do you know something i think? that James and Lily would get so used to the way Harry's life was always on the line, that when it was all over, they'd have a hard time letting him live mundane things (as much as they wished he did), by this constant fear of death. so when they have another child, i put my hand on the fire that would serve as a huge trigger for both of them, the fact that, the parenthood they lived through was not at all gentle and easy, and having to deal with the calm and the peace that now inhabits this baby's world and life would make them extremely anxious. and on the other hand, I think it would somehow drive Harry a little crazy, to have to watch his parents finally be normal parents dealing with normal problems with their kid, and maybe that would cause him a constant fear of making them stay worried or sad, because he already feels he has given them that in the past, so he would try his best to hide some emotions and problems, as much as he wanted their help.

anyway, just a brief thought after reading your new fanfic talking about the sorting hat and all.

everyone in the Potter family (and the wizarding world in general) would need urgent therapy after the war if they were to survive and live a less mentally unstable life.

Sharing part of our talk here because I want to hear other people's thoughts as well.

For me, for at least 10 years, James and Lily lived a quiet life with Harry, without much contact with the wizarding world outside their jobs (all very discreet), but in peace. Harry had mostly a normal infancy with them (he couldn't ignore his scar, of course, and he could talk to snakes, but real danger looked really distant).

There was some PSTD for James and Lily, of course, the kind that should be treated with therapy. I wrote Lily not able to leave Harry out of her sight in the months following the first Voldemort attack; James clearly has trust and guilt issues because of Peter's betrayal. Lily's PSTD is slowly resolved over those ten years; there's a line about how she knows that if she keeps Harry in a safe bubble, she knows he won't get to truly live, and that's the thought that guides her in slowly letting him go; it helps that Harry is a lot like her and that she understands him the better. She wants to protect him as much as Harry wants to protect her (and James), and she cannot tell him to stand down from his fights. And for James, well, I keep writing stories about him learning to accept that Peter's choices have nothing to do with him, and that it's not his job to protect Harry forever.

So I think at by the time of the final battle, when Voldemort is defeated and Harry survives, James and Lily are in a good place about their own parenting and they think their next child will be easier in a way -- except now there's a 40 years age gap between them and his daughter, Mia faces all the "normal" troubles that Harry just didn't (she gets in detention for pranks; she has friends all around; she sneaks at night to date and smoke; she is a gen Z). So they will face enough problems that, at some point, they'll almost miss those days Harry would get in detention because of a dragon.

Now, about Harry, the one thing I had to keep because it's not really Harry otherwise, was his saving-hero thing; he grew up with some acknowledgement that his parents saved him and almost die because of it. The one thing he wants to do (and that's why he goes after Quirrell and Pettigrew) is to save them, because he hates the idea that something might happen to his parents again, and this time they won't make it. And I think (and I hope to finish the fic about this scene) that the major breakdown for Harry would be after he learns about the prophecy; that would be the final confirmation, in his mind, that it's all his fault. If he hadn't been born, if he wasn't marked, if his parents had any other kid, then James and Lily would be safe. James and Lily sit down with him to talk about this, to reassure him over and over that's not true, and this is the thing Harry has to cope with in the summer of 1996 (until he accepts he wants to fight Voldemort because it's the right thing, and not because he's destined to).

[karusno]

a little guide before everything!

requests [closed]

about myself

masterlist

read first before requesting!

if you’re requesting for a hc (headcannon) or sc (scenario) only 3 characters MAX.

if you’re requesting for texts imagines, there’s no limit regarding on characters. feel free! :3

PLEASE please make sure your details are complete and understandable.

lastly, your patience regarding this matter is HIGHLY appreciated. I try to squeeze this in my schedule since I have school, so bear with me.

what I don’t write:

1. I don’t write au’s (alternative universe) i.e oikawa!lawyer, kageyama!basketball player etc. because it’s not something I’m good at and not something I like to write :(

2. I will not be writing other characters, mainly only:

karasuno boys

toru oikawa

kotaru bokuto

kenma kozuke

keiji asaahi

kiyoomi sakusa

sotari tendo

> because I haven’t got the hang to really understand the other character’s personalities so therefore I’m only writing the people I’m familiar with.

> however, it won’t be just them forever! I will be adding more characters soon if I get the hang of them.

3. suicide, any self harm, mental health issues i.e pstd, adhd, depression etc. are NOT my thing. I went through some of these phase, and never will I romanticize and try to write something out of this topic

4. I don’t do intense smut like sex, rping, pegging etc. I’m 100% not good at it, and y’all would mostly likely cringe if I write stuff like that lmao.

5. I also don’t write pregnant!reader since I’m not familiar on what they go through, and might misinterpret the details.

[thedemonicpunks]

hargreevesbrothers​:

Klaus was looking at him and he smirked “Yeah he does that, Hes not all bad really. I think hes hiding in his room so Luther doesn’t tell him off for being wasted,” He knew that Five had some serious PSTD. “We have been looking at dogs, since probably be good for him” He smiled a bit and he went to help him up. “Of course.” he made sure to support him. “Ahh just ignore the doomsday writing on my wall.” He knew Bernard hadn’t been to his room before. “Its all in the past, but we haven’t really got rid of it, Though Fives room is worse for that.” He helped him up the stairs. “I walked around in rainbow underwear once, I am sure that is as blinding as you can get.” He was amused. He guided him up to the bedroom. 

He winced at the mention of being wasted. Alcohol brought up bad memories but he usually could push them away. Wrapping an arm around Klaus he made his way up the stairs as carefully as he could. He wouldn’t mind whatever Klaus had on his wall as long as it wasn’t one of those weird art pieces that messes with your sight.

“Don’t worry you know what I can and can’t handle.” Once they got in his room he started stripping off his layers making sure to try and keep them off the floor. Soon he was in just his green happy face frog boxers and sitting on the edge of the bed. Rubbing at his mottled and scarred flesh he felt a lot better. “Sapphire picked out my underwear; was last years birthday present.” He tried to smile but was getting self conscious about how he looked. “I look like I fell in a meat grinder.”

“You’re looking awfully pale.” (klaus to bernard)

Bernard nearly fell on his ass as his legs trembled beneath him. "I'll be fine. Just doc switching my meds that's all."

[theticklishpear]

Hi again (I'm the same that asked about the paraplegia), how would advise writing female character who falls in love with another character who is 7 years younger than her but that they have being friends for a long time. However, this love interest has some serious pstd and issues to sort, what role could this female character play? How can she teach and guide him to love and accept himself for who he is? She wants to be with him but she puts his wellbeing first. Tbc

How would she know if this character has healed and learned to love himself again? How could she advice him in improving his self-esteem? Thanks 😀

Previous ask in question.

I can’t write your story for you, my intrepid story artist. You’re going to have to figure out what her perspective is on the whole situation for yourself. How does she express love? How does she show him she cares? How does she try to support him through his difficulties? What kinds of expectations about his healing does she harbor and is he meeting those? If so, how does she show him that she sees that? If not, how does she handle the disappointment? What markers is she looking for in him that signal “all (or some, at least) is well?”

All of these are character building questions that only you can answer as the person creating this character. I can’t shape your narrative for you. This is your ball of clay to mold, and your batch of questions to answer. Good luck! -Pear

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 1

Chapter 1: At Least I’m Looking Down

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. In a city of darkness, will their connection illuminate a path to salvation or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT,

Word Count: 8K

A/N: Hiya! Yep, I love Matt Murdock too! Lowkey took a small break from writing since I was getting overwhelmed with life ;-; I was inspired to try writing about Matt by these lovely authors @courtforshort15 and @bellaxgiornata <3 Am I writing two fic series at the same time? YEP. It’s going to be a very busy summer for me :>

Song: notre dame by Paris Paloma

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – NIGHT

As you diligently clean the hallowed halls of Clinton Church, your sweeping broom becomes a rhythm that lulls you into introspection. Memories flicker like shadows, teasing your mind, fragments of a past shrouded in mystery.

Amidst the dimly lit corridor, a whisper of a recollection dances on the edge of your consciousness. A stormy night, with rain and gunshots mingling with thunder. But the details remain elusive, like shards of a shattered mirror reflecting only fragments of truth.

With each stroke of the cloth, another piece of memory surfaces. An explosion of blinding light, a surge of energy, and a sensation of weightlessness. You were suspended in time, caught in a transformative moment that forever changed you.

Heart racing, you struggle to grasp the images. A younger version of yourself, eyes wide with wonder and fear amidst the chaos. But who were you before that night? What led you to that pivotal moment?

Memories slip through your fingers like grains of sand, but faint impressions remain. Faces and voices haunt you, leaving you with a longing for answers. Father Lantom, a guiding presence of solace, and Sister Maggie, a beacon of compassion within the church walls.

As you continue your tasks, the fragments fade once more, leaving unanswered questions lingering in your mind. But you find solace in the belief that one day, the scattered memories will converge, revealing the truth you seek.

Amidst the quiet diligence of your cleaning, a gentle tapping sound breaks through the stillness, drawing your attention. Your gaze shifts, and you find yourself captivated by the sight of Matt Murdock gracefully making his way toward the confessional booth. The name alone carries a weight, one that has reached your ears through the whispers of Father Lantom and Sister Maggie. With each step he takes, every subtle reaction and the enigmatic aura surrounding him stirs a sense of intrigue within you, casting a shadow of suspicion upon his every move.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you choose to remain silent, your steps light as you retreat to the elevated vantage point. Hidden amongst the shadows, you observe him in the sanctuary below, your gaze fixed upon his approach to the confessional booth.

The murmurs of conversation, muffled by the confessional's veil, reach your ears as fragmented whispers. Though you cannot discern the words, you recognize the timbre of his voice, the weight of his confessions, as if they bear the burdens of a lifetime. In the quiet solitude of the rafters, you witness the profound moments of vulnerability shared within the confessional. In these moments, you feel a kinship, a shared understanding of the weight he carries upon his shoulders.

As you observe from the rafters, his confession comes to an end, and he exits the confessional booth. There's a subtle shift in the air as he stands still, as if he senses your presence lingering, watching him. A sudden jolt of realization runs through you. Did he just sense your presence? The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and a chill creeps up your spine. A moment of panic washes over you as you question whether your hidden position has been compromised.

You gather your thoughts and focus your mind, honing your ability to manipulate perception. With a quick burst of mental energy, you conjure an illusion that makes you disappear from sight, creating a diversionary tactic, a mirage that distorts the surroundings. The sound of a gust of wind sweeps through the rafters, rustling the shadows and masking any traces of your presence. You now vanish from Matt's limited perception.

Confusion etches itself on Matt's face as he stands there, his heightened senses attuned to the shifting atmosphere. He tries to make sense of what just happened, relying on his remaining senses to decipher the situation. Was it merely a trick of the wind? Or something else entirely?

Matt's head tilts slightly as if trying to catch any lingering sounds or vibrations, but the absence of visual confirmation hampers his ability to comprehend. His brow furrows as he ponders the inexplicable occurrence. Though he cannot see, he can't shake the feeling that someone was there, observing him. The mystery of the vanished presence lingers in his thoughts, leaving him with an air of intrigue and a touch of frustration.

Meanwhile, you retreat further into the shadows, holding your breath as you watch his perplexed demeanor. The silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the faint sounds of the church. As you observe him from your hidden vantage point, your heart races with a mix of adrenaline and uncertainty.

As Matthew turns towards the grand church doors, the rhythmic tapping of his cane reverberates through the hallowed halls, a somber melody that fades into the distance. Curiosity guides your gaze, and you find yourself peering through the nearby glass window, watching his silhouette as he gracefully walks into the embrace of the night.

A familiar voice, Father Lantom's gentle call, interrupts your reverie, and you reappear as your illusory form dissipates like a shimmering mirage. His eyes meet yours, holding a knowing glimmer, and you offer a sheepish smile in response. "Can you please come down from there?" he requests, a tone of warmth and concern lacing his words. "We could use your help in preparing dinner for the children."

Your sheepish smile widens, accompanied by a nod of affirmation. "Of course, Father Lantom. I'll be right down." As you descend from your hidden perch, you find yourself walking beside Father Lantom towards St. Agnes, the orphanage that holds pieces of Matthew's past. The curiosity that has been brewing within you finally finds its voice, and you can't help but inquire about the enigmatic young man who had just left the church.

"Father Lantom," you begin, your tone gentle yet inquisitive, "I couldn't help but notice that Matthew, he... he was one of the orphans here at St. Agnes, wasn't he?" You glance at the revered priest, hoping to glean some insights into Matthew's formative years.

Father Lantom's eyes reflect a mixture of fondness and understanding as he nods. "Yes, my dear. Matthew was indeed a resident of St. Agnes. He came to us with a quiet resilience, a determination to rise above the challenges life had presented him. Despite his circumstances, he displayed remarkable intelligence, compassion, and a sense of justice that would shape his path in profound ways."

You listen intently, absorbing the fragments of Matthew's past that Father Lantom is willing to share. The mention of his resilience and his unwavering commitment to justice only deepens your intrigue, strengthening the connection you feel towards the man who has become a subject of fascination in your life.

As you enter the bustling kitchen of St. Agnes, the aroma of warm food fills the air, and the sound of utensils clinking against pots and pans accompanies your every step. Sister Maggie and the other sisters are busy at work, their movements synchronized and efficient.

You join their silent dance, preparing the ingredients with care and precision. Sister Catherine, a gentle and nurturing presence, works alongside you, her kind eyes filled with compassion for the children in their care. Together, you create a symphony of flavors, each dish infused with love and warmth.

After the satisfying meal is served and the children's laughter echoes through the dining hall, Sister Maggie beckons you to a quiet corner. Her eyes carry a touch of concern as she shares her worries about one particular child who has been plagued by nightmares, struggling to find solace in sleep.

"Dear one," Sister Maggie begins, her voice a soothing balm, "we've noticed that little Sarah, who recently arrived at the orphanage, has been having trouble sleeping. Her nightmares have left her restless and weary. We've tried our best to comfort her, but I believe your presence and your unique abilities might offer her a measure of peace."

You feel a surge of empathy for the young girl, your heart yearning to alleviate her pain. With a gentle nod, you agree to assist Sister Maggie, grateful for the opportunity to extend your kindness and offer a glimmer of hope to someone in need.

Together, you and Sister Maggie make your way to the children's dormitory, where soft sobs and hushed whispers fill the air. The dimly lit room casts elongated shadows across the beds, a tangible manifestation of the children's fears.

Drawing upon your own experiences and the innate power that courses through your veins, you sit beside Sarah's bed, your presence a comforting presence in the darkness. With a gentle touch, you reach out, intertwining your fingers with hers. A soft glow emanates from your touch, casting a warm light that dispels the shadows.

At that moment, you become a conduit of solace and tranquility, soothing Sarah's troubled mind. Through the power of empathy and your own inner strength, you weave a tapestry of soothing images and peaceful dreams, gently guiding Sarah into a restful slumber.

As you withdraw your hand, a sense of fulfillment washes over you. Sister Maggie, who has been silently observing, offers a grateful smile, her appreciation evident in her eyes. It is in these moments of compassion and connection that your powers find their true purpose – to bring comfort and healing to those who need it most.

Once the turmoil has subsided, you and Sister Maggie quietly make your way out, seeking solace in a peaceful evening walk. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead as you and Sister Maggie stroll side by side. The moon casts a soft glow upon the grounds of St. Agnes, creating an ethereal atmosphere. In the quietude of the night, you find a moment to share your thoughts with Sister Maggie, a confidante and wise presence within the church walls.

"You know, Sister Maggie," you begin, your voice carrying a sense of wonder, "ever since I arrived here, I've been listening to the prayers and expressions of gratitude that echo within these sacred walls. Lately, I've noticed a recurring theme—a cascade of thanks directed towards a mysterious figure, someone in a black suit. It's as if this person has been saving lives, responding to desperate pleas for help."

Sister Maggie's eyes glimmer with a knowing twinkle, her response carefully chosen. "The workings of divine providence are often veiled, my dear. The Lord's angels can manifest in unexpected forms, cloaked in darkness yet bearing light. It is not for us to decipher their true nature, but rather to trust in the goodness they bring."

Her words leave you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. The identity of the man in the black suit remains shrouded in mystery, and Sister Maggie's cryptic response does little to quell your wonder. As you part ways and make your way back to the rafters, your mind dances with possibilities, eager to uncover the truth behind the enigmatic savior who has captured the hearts and prayers of those he has touched.

HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – MORNING

With eager anticipation, you gather your belongings, ready to embark on your journey to the community center nestled in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Tuesdays and Thursdays hold a special place in your schedule, as they are dedicated to community outreach and engagement, allowing you to make a positive impact on the lives of those around you. As your footsteps echo through the corridors, a sense of purpose fills the air.

Passing by Father Lantom, who is immersed in the task of lighting candles, you offer him a warm smile and bid your farewell with cheerful words. "Goodbye, Father!" you chirp, the excitement evident in your voice. In response, Father Lantom's caring gaze meets yours, and he gently reminds you, "Be sure to return before darkness falls, my dear." His words carry a hint of concern, a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows of the city you aim to uplift.

The bustling and busy streets of the city fill your ears as you make your way to the community center. People walk hurriedly, their footsteps echoing on the pavement, their urgent movements revealing the importance of their destinations. The city's energy envelopes you, blending with your own sense of purpose.

As you reach your destination, the community center comes into view. Its vibrant exterior stands out amidst the surrounding buildings, offering a haven of support and care. The sound of laughter and chatter emanates from within, a symphony of voices that lifts your spirits.

Stepping inside, you are greeted by Maria, an experienced social worker, and a familiar face. Her warm smile instantly puts you at ease, and you exchange pleasantries.

"Hey there! Good to see you," Maria says, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

You return her smile, grateful for the camaraderie and support that Maria provides. As you settle into the familiar rhythm of your work, you can't help but overhear snippets of conversation around you. The topic of discussion revolves around the Russian mobs that have been causing fear in the community.

"It's been the talk of the town lately," Maria says, her tone tinged with concern. "The Russian mobs are causing chaos and everyone in the community is scared out of their minds."

Your heart sinks, knowing all too well the impact such criminal activities can have on the lives of those you serve. "I've been hearing similar stories," you reply, your voice laced with empathy. "It's really tough to see how much it affects the people we work with, you know?"

Maria nods in agreement, her eyes reflecting shared worry. Together, you exchange stories and observations, discussing the challenges faced by the community in the face of these criminal elements. Amidst your conversation, you notice a group of elderly residents gathered in a corner, engaged in their own hushed discussion. Curiosity piques your interest, and you discreetly listen in.

"Did you hear about the masked vigilante?" an elderly man whispers, his voice filled with awe. “He's like a shadow in the night. Creeping up on those Russian thugs and striking fear into their hearts." Other elderly voices join in, sharing their own accounts and opinions of this mysterious figure who prowls the streets of Hell's Kitchen, delivering his own brand of justice.

Intrigued by their tales, you find yourself captivated by the notion of a dark avenger fighting for justice. The stories resonate with the underlying frustration you feel toward the criminals plaguing the community. As you continue your work as a social worker, the whispers of the elderly and the legends of the masked vigilante linger in your thoughts. Deep within, a flicker of admiration ignites, acknowledging the complexity of his methods and the results he achieves.

As you carry out your duties at the community center, a familiar face catches your attention amidst the bustling chaos. It's Claire Temple, a compassionate nurse known for her dedication to healing and her involvement in the community. She offers a warm smile, acknowledging your presence, and you find a moment to exchange greetings.

"Hey there! Long day?" you ask, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Claire nods, her eyes reflecting a hint of exhaustion. "Yeah, you know how it goes. But it's worth it. How about you? How's the community center?"

You smile, leaning in slightly. "Busy as ever. The Russian mobs have been causing a lot of fear in the neighborhood lately. It's disheartening to witness the toll it takes on the people we work with."

Claire's expression turns somber as she glances around. "I've seen some of it at the hospital too. It's a tough situation."

As the conversation comes to a natural pause, you feel the urge to express your concern. "Hey, Claire, everything alright? You seem a bit off. Is there something on your mind?"

She hesitates for a moment before offering a reassuring smile. "Nah, just a rough night. But I'll be okay. Thanks for asking."

You nod, not fully convinced, but respecting her choice to keep things to herself. "Alright, just remember, I'm here if you ever need to talk. Take care, okay?"

As you turn to leave, a thought crosses your mind. "Oh, by the way, Claire, why don't I come over to your place later? We can bring some snacks and wine, and have a little girls' night. It might be nice to unwind after everything that's happened."

Claire's eyes light up, a grateful smile playing on her lips. "That would be great. My place could use some company. Come on over."

Hours pass by as you diligently work at the community center, engrossed in the needs of those you serve. Time slips away from you, and before you realize it, nightfall has arrived. With a sense of urgency, you gather your belongings, eager to honor your commitment to Claire.

As you rush through the dimly lit streets, your phone buzzes with a notification. Glancing at the screen, you see a message from Father Lantom. It's a relief to know that he's aware of your whereabouts and won't be worried. You send a quick reply, assuring him that you're on your way to Claire's apartment and that everything is fine. The gesture brings a small sense of comfort, knowing that you have someone looking out for you.

As you approach the apartment building, your footsteps quicken with a touch of anxiety. You had also texted Claire that you would be running late. You can't help but worry that you may have kept Claire waiting for too long. Your delay was unavoidable, as you had to make a quick stop to pick up a bottle of wine for the evening. With the wine safely tucked in your bag, you take a deep breath and push open the door to the building.

As you reach the landing of the stairs, a shocking sight greets your eyes. A man in a grey suit lies unconscious, blood trickling from a wound on his head. A fire extinguisher rests beside him on the ground, a jarring juxtaposition to the serene surroundings.

Your heart skips a beat, and your mind races to make sense of the scene before you. Panic sets in as you instinctively realize the gravity of the situation. Without conscious thought, your powers surge, causing your form to flicker and vanish from sight. In an instant, you become invisible, your presence hidden from prying eyes. It's an unintentional reaction, triggered by the shock and uncertainty that grips you. It's as if your very being seeks to protect itself from the unknown dangers that surround you.

In the hushed atmosphere, you strain your ears, capturing faint murmurs drifting from above the stairs. Slowly, your gaze lifts to find Claire, her expression filled with disbelief and uncertainty. "What do we do now?" she whispers, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and confusion.

Before you can fully process her words, another voice interjects, the urgency palpable in its tone. "There's someone else... one floor up, watching us. Oh, no. He's young. He's scared." The words hang in the air, and your eyes widen as you spot Santino, a young man you've assisted with tutoring on multiple occasions.

Without hesitation, you witness Claire lean over, her concern evident as she calls out, "Santino?" However, the young man doesn't respond. Instead, he swiftly retreats from view, disappearing back into the safety of his own apartment.

Intrigued and compelled to uncover the truth, you make a silent decision to ascend the stairs cautiously, keeping your footsteps light and your senses sharp. As you ascend, you observe Claire engaged in conversation, her voice carrying a tinge of familiarity. "He's the one who found you in the alley," she reveals, her words drawing your attention.

Step by step, you ascend further, your eyes scanning the surroundings. And then, in the dimly lit corridor, you spot a figure clad in sleek black attire. A mask conceals the upper portion of his face, leaving only his mouth and stubble. It dawns on you that this is the vigilante everyone has been talking about.

"He's seen my face, too?" he questions Claire, a mix of curiosity and concern in his voice. Without missing a beat, she affirms his inquiry, her voice carrying a weight of truth. "Yeah."

The Masked Man lets out a weary sigh, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Claire, go upstairs and find him. We're going to need help carrying Detective Foster to the roof," he instructs, his words laced with urgency. As he pushes himself off the wall, a grimace of pain crosses his face, his hand clutching his side. It's at that moment that you truly take in his appearance—completely battered, bloodied, and bruised.

You remain invisible, carefully observing his movements as he slowly approaches your position. Swiftly, you sidestep to give him room, ensuring not to impede his path. Claire, perplexed by the situation, breaks the silence with a mixture of concern and confusion. "What the hell are we going to the roof for?" she questions, her voice tinged with apprehension.

The vigilante, his steps weakened but resolute, begins his descent down the stairs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Less chance of someone in the building hearing him scream," he replies, his words carrying the weight of the dangerous reality they find themselves in.

You trail behind them, ascending to the rooftop, silently observing their actions. Your gaze fixes upon the Masked Man as he deftly ties the wrists of Detective Foster with a piece of rope, suspending him from the bars of a metal ladder. As he secures the rope, his attention turns to Claire, seeking information. "You find anything?" he inquires, his voice a mix of urgency and determination.

Claire's eyes shift to the cracked phone in her hands, a hint of frustration evident in her expression. "You smashed the hell out of it with that extinguisher," she remarks, the weight of the damaged device lingering between them. In the brief pause that follows, you take the opportunity to discreetly move across the rooftop, perching on the ledge as you listen to their conversation unfold.

"He had a badge," Claire continues, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The Masked Man remains silent, his thoughts concealed behind the mask that shields his face. Claire presses on, her voice filled with doubt, "What if you're wrong?" Without missing a beat, he retorts, his conviction unwavering, "I'm not."

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him hobble toward your position. Invisible, your powers working in tandem to conceal every scent, heartbeat, and sound, you remain undetected. In the midst of their exchange, you hear Claire's voice echo through the night air, laden with a sense of unease. "This is way past what I signed up for."

With a slight shift to the side, you create space for the vigilante as he leans against the ledge beside you. The moonlight casts a dim glow upon his features as he poses a question to Claire, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What exactly do you think that was?"

Claire takes a few measured steps toward him, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and determination. "I found a man who needed help, so I helped him," she asserts, her gaze unwavering. The Masked Man responds with a hint of skepticism, "Oh, yeah? That simple?"

With a pause that carries the weight of unspoken tension, Claire walks closer to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you really want to get into this in front of him?" she questions, a flicker of concern crossing her face. He responds with his firm voice, "He's out." Their attention briefly shifts to the suspended figure, and Claire suggests, "Maybe he's faking."

He then tilts his head for a moment, focusing his hearing on the man’s heartbeat before lifting his head again and shaking his head. "He's not," he concludes, the certainty evident in his tone. Claire points at him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Okay, that right there, that's what I'm talking about," she retorts, her finger emphasizing her point. 

As the Masked Man slowly removes his gloves, Claire presses on, her voice filled with a mix of astonishment and exasperation. "I find a guy in a dumpster, and he turns out to be some kind of blind vigilante who can do all of this... this really weird shit," she gestures emphatically, trying to find the right words to capture the extraordinary abilities she has witnessed. "Like smelling cologne through walls and sensing whether someone's unconscious or faking it. And on top of that, he can take an unbelievable amount of punishment without one damn complaint."

He responds with a charismatic shrug and a knowing smile. "The last part's the Catholicism," he quips, a touch of humor in his tone, revealing a glimpse of his own understanding of the role faith plays in his resilience.

Oh, God. As the words sink in, your heart skips a beat, and you feel a surge of mixed emotions coursing through your veins. It's him. It's Matthew Murdock. The realization hits you like a tidal wave, threatening to shatter the fragile balance you've managed to maintain. For a brief moment, doubt and uncertainty cloud your thoughts, and your powers waver, almost revealing your presence.

In the midst of this inner turmoil, you notice a subtle shift in the Masked Man's demeanor. His heightened senses catch a hint of your scent in the air, an unfamiliar yet strangely familiar aroma. Confusion flickers across his face, and instinctively, he turns his head to the right, as if searching for the source of the elusive presence that has caught his attention.

You hold your breath, frozen in the realization that Matthew, the man you've admired and been drawn to, is standing just inches away from you. The connection between you feels tangible, like an invisible thread linking your fates. But for now, you remain hidden, concealing yourself in the shadows, grappling with the overwhelming revelation that threatens to unravel the carefully constructed walls around your heart.

Claire, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, breaks the silence with concern etched on her face. "What is it? Did you sense something?"

You see Matthew's brow furrow behind the mask slightly as he tilts his head around, his heightened senses still on alert. "I'm not sure... I thought I detected someone else's presence, but... never mind.”

Claire's frustration is evident as she lets out a sigh, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "So, what? I'm supposed to take it on faith that I'm on the right side of this?" She points to the man unconscious behind her. Matthew lifts his chin, steady and determined. "You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith. You knew which side you're on the moment you found me."

Claire takes a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze briefly shifting towards the unconscious man tied to the ladder. Matthew's question lingers in the air, and she turns to face him, her expression filled with a mix of determination and compassion.

"I'm a nurse. I work in the ER at Metro-General," she begins, her voice steady. “A few weeks ago, cops bring in three men. Said they were robbing tourists, beating them up pretty bad. Apparently, a man with a black mask took issue with their activities and decided to step in. I counted nine broken bones between them.”

There's a brief pause before Claire continues, her voice carrying a touch of vulnerability. “A few days after that, EMTs and my friend who’s a social worker brought in a 19-year-old waitress, said… some guy she knew waited for her after work in the parking lot, attacked her… tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her… and he saved her life.”

Matthew remains silent, his unseeing eyes fixed on Claire as she continues to voice her thoughts. The weight of her words hang in the air, the struggle between belief and doubt palpable in her expression. She gestures towards the unconscious and wounded man, frustration evident in her voice.

“So, yeah, word’s getting around.” Claire says, her voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and hope. "And I want to believe in it. I really do. But this?" She points to the man tied to the ladder, emphasizing the severity of the situation. Matthew, his masked face hiding half of his features, takes a moment, the silence pregnant with unspoken emotions. He licks his lips, a nervous gesture, before finally responding. "I know you're afraid," he says, his voice steady and determined. He takes a step closer, "But you can't let fear control you. If you do... these men, they win."

The tension between them is palpable, an undeniable connection tinged with both attraction and uncertainty. Sensing the weight of the moment, you turn your body away, facing the view of Hell's Kitchen. Swinging your legs gently, you take in the cityscape that never sleeps, the distant sound of sirens piercing the night. It's a moment of anticipation, waiting for Foster to regain consciousness.

APARTMENT ROOFTOP – NIGHT

Half an hour passes in tense silence as Matthew senses Detective Foster beginning to regain consciousness. Claire swiftly covers her face with a piece of white cloth, a makeshift mask to conceal her identity. Matthew turns to her, his voice low and commanding.

"Don't say anything, Claire," he advises, his tone firm yet measured. "Let me handle the interrogation." Claire nods, her eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and determination.

You move away from the ledge, positioning yourself a few feet behind them. The weight of the imminent violence hangs in the air, a familiar presence that you've encountered before. Your powers shimmer, rendering you invisible, your senses heightened and ready for the events about to unfold.

Detective Foster's eyelids flutter as he gradually awakens, disoriented and dazed. His gaze shifts, and as his vision clears, he realizes he is restrained and surrounded. His eyes settle on the imposing figure of the Masked Man and another presence standing just behind him, invisible to his senses.

Matthew takes a calculated step forward, his presence radiating intimidation and menace. The air around him seems to thicken with an invisible weight, amplifying the aura of fear he effortlessly commands. His voice lowers, taking on a deeper, more menacing tone as he addresses Detective Foster.

“Here’s how this is gonna work.” ​​Matthew asserts, his words laced with an unmistakable intensity. “I’m gonna ask you some questions. You’re gonna answer them. If you’re lying to me… trust that I will know…” he warns, a predatory growl resonating beneath his words. “And I will be unhappy.”

The atmosphere on the rooftop becomes electric, charged with an unspoken understanding of the power imbalance at play. Detective Foster remains silent, his eyes darting nervously between Matthew and the concealed figure standing behind him. The weight of the situation hangs heavily in the air, anticipation building as Matthew prepares to extract the information he seeks.

With a calculated intensity, Matthew initiates his interrogation, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Where's the boy?" he demands, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. Foster, attempting to maintain a facade of defiance, nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders and utters a blatant falsehood. "He's dead," he states, his voice laced with false conviction.

But Matthew, honed by years of honing his senses and instincts, instantly detects the deception. Without hesitation, his fist swiftly connects with Foster's head, the force of the blow causing him to cough out blood and reel from the impact. A mix of pain and realization flashes across Foster's face as he comprehends the gravity of the situation.

"This is what unhappy looks like. Where’s the boy?" Matthew asserts, his voice dripping with cold determination. The message is clear: the consequences of deceit will be met with swift and punishing retribution. At that moment, the power dynamic between captor and captive crystallizes, leaving no doubt that Matthew holds the upper hand.

Foster wheezes, his voice strained, as he tries to maintain a defiant front. "Why do you care? If he's not dead yet, he will be," he retorts, a hint of malicious satisfaction in his tone. Matthew refuses to be deterred, pressing forward with his interrogation. "Why did you take him?" he demands, his voice low and intense. Foster responds with an unsettling nonchalance, "Figured you'd come running."

Matthew's jaw tightens as he struggles to contain his anger and frustration. "And after I was dead?" he probes further, his voice laced with a mix of desperation and determination. Foster's expression remains indifferent as he casually replies, "Sell the kid, like all the others."

The weight of Foster's callous admission hangs heavily in the air, a chilling testament to the depths of his depravity. Matthew's control slips, fueled by a surge of righteous anger. With a swift and forceful blow, he strikes Foster once again, unable to tolerate the man's unrepentant guiltlessness.

Foster groans in pain, his facade momentarily crumbling under the weight of the assault. Through gritted teeth, he manages to utter, "I was telling the truth on that one," his words laced with a twisted mix of sincerity and indifference. Matt's frustration grows, his fist clenches as he deepens his voice into a growl, "I know."

Foster, unfazed by the gravity of the situation, chuckles audaciously. "We got you good, didn't we?" he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. Matt refuses to be provoked, his focus unwavering. "Who do you sell the children to?" he demands, his tone hard and unwavering.

Bleeding from his mouth, Foster nonchalantly shrugs, a chilling indifference in his demeanor. "I don't know. Whoever has the money," he replies, his words devoid of remorse. Matt's gaze intensifies as he leans closer, his voice low and dangerous, "Where's the boy?"

With a smirk, Foster taunts, relishing in the power dynamic of their exchange. "So you find him. So what? We'll take another. Kill me, somebody takes my place. Long as people are buying, we'll be selling," he states with a derisive shake of his head. "Nothing you do tonight will change that."

Frustration boils within Matt, his injured form visible through his labored breathing. Foster cruelly points out his condition, mocking his endurance. "But go ahead. Keep hitting me. Let's see who drops first," he challenges, a twisted glimmer of defiance in his eyes.

As the intensity of the interrogation grows and the urgency to obtain crucial information mounts, you recognize the need to take direct action. With determination in your eyes, you swiftly move to Foster's side, reaching out to grasp his wrist which is still tightly bound.

Drawing upon your powers, you tap into the depths of fear and horror, channeling them into a potent projection aimed directly at Foster's fragile psyche. With a surge of energy, you unleash a chilling manifestation of his worst fears, tailored specifically to exploit his vulnerabilities and force him to confront his darkest demons.

Foster's eyes widen in terror as the illusion takes hold, his screams of agony piercing the air. He thrashes against his restraints, desperately trying to escape the relentless torment of his own mind. Matthew and Claire, taken aback by the sudden eruption of fear and chaos, are momentarily frozen in confusion, unsure of what is transpiring before them.

To their amazement, Foster's torment continues unabated, despite their static presence. It becomes evident to them that there is an external force at play, something beyond their understanding. Foster's screams pierce the air, growing more desperate with each passing moment.

Suddenly, Foster's pleas for mercy are stifled as Matt's gloved hand forcefully covers his mouth, silencing his cries. His eyes dart around in confusion, searching for the source of his torment. His nose begins to bleed, a visceral manifestation of the sheer terror gripping his being.

Matt's grip tightens, a mixture of determination and concern etched across his face. He senses a force at work, but the identity and motives of this mysterious presence remain elusive. Uncertainty fills the air, mingling with the intensity of the moment. 

And then, as your strength wanes, you can no longer maintain your hold on Foster. He pants heavily, clearly in psychological and physical pain. Sensing an opportunity to intensify the interrogation, Matthew seizes the moment, grabs Foster's collar, and menacingly states, "You're right... what you said before. I kill you, somebody takes your place, but they'll end up back here just like you, and sooner or later, one of you is gonna tell me what I need to know."

Matthew swiftly reaches for one of the ladder rails, pulling out a small knife and cutting the rope that restrains Foster. With a firm grip, he carries Foster to the edge of the rooftop, half of his body hovering over the precipice. His baritone voice deepens as he emphasizes, "This is important." Foster groans, and Matthew shushes him, whispering, "Shh! Listen, I need you to understand why I'm hurting you. It's not just about the boy. I'm doing this because I enjoy it." Matthew then pulls Foster up, fully leaning his body over the edge, and from your vantage point, you observe the unfolding events while trying to catch your breath.

Foster's desperate pleas of "No, no, no!" fill the air as Matthew whispers, "Where is he?" With no response from Foster, Matthew's anger erupts, his voice booming, "Where is he?" After one final menacing shove over the ledge, Foster gives up the location, gasping, "Underneath Troika restaurant. Eleventh and 44th."

Matthew pulls Foster back up and away from the edge, ensuring his safety. Once Foster is on his feet, he chuckles mockingly, taunting, "They'll be waiting for you. If you're lucky, they'll kill you before they start on the boy. It would be a shame for you to witness what they do to him." Matthew grabs Foster by the shoulder and forcefully pushes him off the rooftop. Claire shrieks in shock as she watches the man plummet, a loud crash resonating as he lands in a dumpster below.

"It's all right. He landed in the dumpster you pulled me out of," Matthew pants out, his strength waning. Claire's voice trembles with concern as she asks, "Is he dead?" Matthew tilts his head, listening for Foster's heartbeat, and shrugs, "He'll live."

As Claire gazes over the ledge, Matthew hobbles away, urging her, "You need to gather your things and leave. Don't disclose your destination to anyone." Matthew retrieves the remaining rope hanging from the ladder, while Claire turns to find him walking away. "What?" she questions, perplexed. Matthew grunts in response, "If he wakes up, he'll be back... and he won't be alone next time." He cuts the rope in half using the small knife and tosses it to the ground. Claire lifts up her cloth, expressing relief, "But he didn't see my face."

"That was just for effect, to scare him. He knew you were lying when you answered your door," Matthew explains, groaning in pain. Claire moves to assist him, but he raises his hand, signaling her to stop. "Do you have a place you can go?" he asks. Claire sighs, contemplating, "Well, there is one... but I'm not sure if she has enough room. I'm currently cat-sitting for a woman I work with within the hospital. Her brother is sick. She's in Oklahoma."

"What's the address?" Matt asks, his breath strained. Claire looks at him with confusion and asks, "Why?" Matthew replies, his voice wavering, "I'm thinking if I'm thinking if I make it through the night, I may need some help getting patched up," Matthew says with a pained expression. Claire sighs, understanding the gravity of the situation, and replies, "Tenth and 54th. Apartment 412, um, in the building above the liquor store."

Matthew senses her worry and reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Thank you, Claire," he says sincerely, his gratitude evident in his tired form. He takes a few steps away before Claire speaks up once more, her voice filled with doubt, "I don't believe you. What you said. I don't believe you enjoy this."

As you materialize on the floor, panting and visibly exhausted, Claire's concern immediately takes over. She swiftly turns around and rushes to your side, her voice filled with worry as she calls out your name, "I thought you were... How? Were you here all along? What is going on?"

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you manage to respond, your voice slightly strained, "I have powers. Abilities that allow me to... do things others can't." Claire looks at you skeptically, clearly grappling with the strangeness of the situation. You decide to bring up the recent alien invasion attempt as a reference point, hoping to put things into perspective. "You know the giant hole in the sky? The alien invaders that attacked New York? Well, I was sort of involved in that. It's been a wild ride."

Claire's expression shifts from skepticism to a mix of disbelief and awe. "Okay," she says slowly, processing the information. "So, let me get this straight. You have powers, there is a blind vigilante, and now we're here on a rooftop dealing with dangerous criminals. This is officially the weirdest night I've ever had."

You nod in agreement, acknowledging the surreal nature of the situation. "Believe me, Claire, it's just as strange for me. But right now, I need to leave. I need to go and help him rescue the boy."

Claire's curiosity takes hold, and she looks at you intently. "You were the one who made Foster lose it, weren't you? Why he suddenly started screaming at nothing?"

You nod again, confirming her observation. "Yes, it was me. I had to do whatever it took to get the information we needed. Foster was involved in something dangerous, and the boy's life is at stake."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you, as the weight of the situation sinks in. Then, Claire's voice softens, and she asks, "Do you know who Mike is? I mean, really know him?"

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your complicated connection to ‘Mike’ who was actually Matthew. "Kind of. Not really. We have a history, but he doesn't know me, and for now, I think it's best to keep it that way."

Claire absorbs your response, her expression filled with understanding. After a brief pause, she looks at you with a mix of concern and determination. "You're going to go help him, aren't you? Mike. You're risking everything for him."

You meet her gaze and offer a determined nod. "Yes, I am. I have a feeling he's caught up in something bigger than all of us, and I can't ignore that. I have to try to help him."

Claire's worry is evident as she says, "You better come back in one piece. I don’t know how I would explain all of this to Maria."

You give her a faint smile, appreciating her concern and support. "I'll do my best, Claire."

TROIKA RESTAURANT, UNDERGROUND – NIGHT

Your heart pounds in your chest as you step into the dimly lit hallway, ready to aid Matthew Murdock with your unique abilities. The air crackles with anticipation as you tap into the depths of your power, the energy coursing through your veins.

As you move forward, the sounds of scuffling feet and strained grunts fill the air, echoing off the walls. Shadows dance and flicker, creating an eerie ambiance that heightens the tension. Your presence is a secret, known only to yourself.

With a single thought, your surroundings come alive. Illusions spring forth, perfectly replicating the masked vigilante in every detail. The mobsters' attention is captured by these illusory duplicates, drawing their attacks away from Matthew. They strike at empty air, their frustration growing with each missed blow.

Your illusions become more intricate, weaving a web of confusion and fear. Illusory weapons materialize in your hands, gleaming with a phantom menace. The mobsters' eyes widen in terror as they face the illusion of imminent danger, hesitating for a crucial moment.

The hallway transforms into a maze of illusory constructs. Shadows twist and contort, creating false barriers that impede the mobsters' progress. Their footsteps falter, their balance disrupted by the ethereal obstacles you've conjured. The line between reality and illusion blurs in their minds, feeding their growing sense of unease.

Their swings and strikes meet nothing but empty space, frustration mounting with each failed attempt to land a blow. Illusory wounds appear on their bodies, and illusory blood stains their clothes. Cries of pain mingled with shouts of anger, chaos reigning in the narrow corridor.

Amidst the whirlwind of illusions, Matthew moves with grace and purpose, his senses honed to perfection. He leaps and dodges, striking with pinpoint accuracy, his relentless determination evident in every calculated move. The mobsters find themselves increasingly overwhelmed, their confidence eroded by the uncertainty that surrounds them.

And then, in a fleeting moment, Matthew turns, carrying the boy in his arms. His heightened senses catch a hint of your presence—the faintest scent, the echo of a heartbeat—before it dissipates into the night. There's a flicker of realization in his posture, an unspoken acknowledgment of your contribution to the fight.

With a final surge of strength, Matthew pushes forward while carrying the young boy. Your illusions continue to distract and disorient the remaining mobsters, allowing him to navigate through the chaos with unwavering focus. As the hallway fight reaches its climax, the mobsters are left reeling, their resolve shattered. You watch from the shadows, your breath steady but your heart still racing. The moment of triumph is shared, even if only for a brief instant, before you fade back into the anonymity that cloaks your true nature.

Matthew's focus shifts back to the task at hand, carrying the boy to safety. Yet, a sense of intrigue lingers within him. He feels your ghost, supporting him, but your identity remains a mystery. As he carries the boy, he silently vows to uncover the truth behind his mysterious ally once this mission is complete.

With the boy safe in his arms, Matthew continues his swift retreat, leaving behind the hallway and the echoes of your combined efforts. The enigmatic presence of your illusion powers remains a secret, for now, your aid in the fight is a silent testament to your unwavering support.

END NOTES:

I’m… IDK WHAT THIS ISSSSSS :D

YES. This is my take on the whole “guardian angel” role bcs it’s fun!

If you are confused with the reader’s back story dw I already have that sorted out.

HNGGG YES IM WRITING TWO SERIES. IN THE MIDDLE OF FINALS WEEK SHUSH. IM FINE =D

Okayyyy I hope you enjoyed T^T <3

- Grace

TAGLIST:

[staystrongw-arriors]

15 Year Old Teenager Recounts Her Suicide Attempts A Year Ago

Zoe: I grew up in two pretty dysfunctional households and developed an anxiety disorder at, like, 7. I was depressed all through adolescence and kind of trudging along through school. Then, when I was fifteen, my best friend assaulted me. He was my only real support system at that point, and it just threw me. I took some pills and ended up calling him and he talked me out of it. I went to the hospital and then I moved in with him because I refused to go home to either of my parents. His mom offered to let me stay with them, so I lived with them for a year. During that time, I was hospitalized again, but then I went off to college and never looked back.

Des: You said he assaulted you. What was it like to live with him?

Zoe: He blamed me a lot for the suicide attempt, and kind of stopped speaking to me after I went into the hospital the second time. It just broke my heart. I wasn’t diagnosed with it then. They actually wanted to diagnose me as Borderline, but really, it was PSTD. I was diagnosed with it, finally, a couple of years ago after another assault. Living with him was hard because I didn’t feel like I could talk about anything, and even the people who were taking care of me and that I trusted were like, his mother, and I just didn’t have the positive influences in my life that I do now.

I was suicidal for a lot of that year, but had kind of committed to not going back to the hospital. That seemed to work, but I developed a really bad eating disorder. But, you know, survivors learn how to cope...

I just didn’t have an outlet to talk about trauma which, I think, has kind of guided my research interests. The people I’ve encountered have [little understanding] of trauma and the need to look at those histories, even if they’re not concrete events, [instead of] like, “Yeah. Borderline. That works.” Especially with teenage girls and queers. There’s always a shocking lack of empathy, though those people certainly can be found, and I’m very grateful to the ones that I did find. We’re not supposed to talk about our trauma, and I don’t think I have anything to be ashamed about.

Des: Trauma-informed care. Talk about that.

Zoe: I think that the trend toward biological bases as a paradigmatic stance has led a lot of people in the clinical fields to stop—how do I wanna say this?—just stop asking what’s wrong. In public health, there’s this idea of Western medicine as very much like, you walk in and [they ask], "Where does it hurt?" as opposed to, "Why are you here?" We get that so much in treatment: "What are your symptoms?" and not, "What’s happened?"

[We also need to have] a different understanding of what trauma is, beyond a single event, like the chronic traumas of oppression and mental illness. Being mentally ill is a trauma in itself, just like any other chronic disease. [It's important to have] a little bit of compassion for reasoning, and for the reasoning that suicidal people use, instead of, "No, you’re wrong," [we need to say], "This obviously makes sense to you. How does it make sense to you? Let’s find out more about that."

I’m [not] a big fan of brain chemicals, figuring that shit out. I'm not anti-psychiatry in the least, but I think helping people make sense of their narrative has a lot more power in it than telling someone that they have personality disorder or, "Here, take these pills and that’ll fix it."

I guess I’ve been in treatment for a number of years, and I’ve seen a lot of people not get the full attention they deserve—the holistic approach that I think is required. Don’t get me started on the mental health system.

Des: But why not? Tell me more about what you think of diagnoses. What purpose do they serve?

Zoe: ...I’m very pro-medication. I completely support everyone I know who is against it. I certainly believe that it helped save my life, and I think diagnoses are useful as far as helping guide that sort of treatment and in terms of research having places to go and, you know, do the whole scientific thing. One of the smartest things I ever heard from one of my social workers was the that the diagnoses are only as good as they are useful to the client, and I think that’s really true and, for some people, that’s really empowering, being able to find a community and feel that. But I think a lot of things are more related to trauma, and as we get into it and understand it, there’s so much research coming out about the ways that trauma can re-wire your brain. We just don’t know how malleable things really are, and [that's going to be a discovery process].

I think clinging to diagnoses is dangerous but, I think, for some people, they have a purpose. I think it has a lot to do with that refocusing on, “How can I help?” instead of, “What’s wrong?” Does this actually serve the person? I think we too readily feel the need to diagnose without really [collecting] as full of a background or intake as is deserved. At least, for me personally, there were just questions that weren’t asked that would have changed everything about my treatment, and a lot of it comes down to how we treat girls and their feelings.

I don’t know if it’s medical school or what, but we have the ability to so quickly write off teenage girls as either hormonal or inherently mentally ill. There’s just this mindset they all have that whatever I’m feeling can’t possibly be reasonable, that if suicide is on the table for me, then all of my other emotional processing is as unsound, as opposed to [understanding that] there’s all of this stuff going on, and I’m that desperate. It’s hard when you see people all day and, of course, you just want to do the simple thing, but I think it really shows a lack of empathy more than anything else. There's this general misogynistic concern with women’s feelings being invalid.

When I was refusing to go home, no one ever really got too far into why I didn’t want to be there. People were very concerned with making me go home. I had a social worker who was just insistent. I don’t know if she just thought I was being a bratty child or whatever, but I wasn’t prepared to go back into a place that made me feel unsafe. I mean, that is how I got [to the hospital] in the first place.

I was very fortunate to have a lot of savvy with the system. My dad is a psychiatrist. I started therapy when I was nine. [I knew] to just be smart and strong about it, and it kills me that so much of how far I’ve made it has been because of these privileges, and how many people are left behind without it, and how cruel the system can be.

Des: You talked a lot about advocating for yourself. How do you do that?

Zoe: I advocate for myself by never doubting my feelings. I have to hold on and maintain that they are my truth, that they’re valid, and I’m having them because of serotonin or because of something someone did or because I’m on my period. They’re real, and no one can take that away from me. [I have to] just know and be secure in that. These days, I’m more secure in how my history has informed who I’ve become. I have to know that I’m stronger than that, and the people who would like to stand in my way of getting better even when they think that they’re helping. These last couple of years has been a lot of learning about cutting toxic relationships and truly starting to embrace that I don’t need people in my life who aren’t there to support me. I think that’s the some of the best self-advocating that I’ve done, just refusing to surround myself with people who I don’t need.

Des: What does it feel like to have PTSD?

Zoe: Overwhelming. Having PTSD is a cluster of a few different symptom clusters, and sometimes it feels like I’m just at war with my brain. I never know when I’m going to dissociate or have a panic attack. Sometimes they’re so bad that I puke, and I never know if, when going out to dinner, I’ll have to just leave in the middle. For the last couple of years I’ve been agoraphobic. It’s gotten better the last few months, but one of the hardest parts, for me, having done some sexual assault advocacy, was trying to integrate the things that I’ve been telling other people for years. The first time around, with the suicide attempt, everything was all my fault. That was just kind of baseline, like everything was my fault. Unlearning that has been one of the biggest challenges and it did become disabling. I lost a lot of confidence in myself.

I run my own business selling vintage clothes now because I can do it from home, but I felt like I couldn’t do anything for a while. It’s really demoralizing. But its also taught me how to build the relationships that I want and how to advocate for myself, tell the people I need in my life how much I need them there, and what I need from them. I’ve just had to be very selective in who I surround myself with now, which was very much not who I was before.

I feel like I’ve learned a lot about myself with it, and a lot of that is thanks to mental health professionals. I’m in an amazing process group of mostly older women.

PTSD, it takes you out of yourself. You never quite get over being jumpy, and a big part of it is just that your physical body, your nervous system, just learns to snap into it. It can get triggered by anything. Any stress in my life can set me off, and it's made me suicidal. Never for too long of a time, but I’ve definitely been there the last couple of years. Specifically, with sexual assault, you have to learn to stop caring about how other people are going to react or handle it because people are a lot shittier than you hope they would be.

Des: Is that any different for suicide?

Zoe: I don’t think so. I think it’s very hard to see someone hurting, and I will always understand that. The world is really cruel to people with too many feelings, but I think creating community is where my recovery space is.

Des: Talk more about that.

Zoe: Having people who I really feel truly understand, and not even necessarily people with PTSD or [who have had thoughts of or attempted] suicide. It’s been so refreshing to see the mentally ill community start to try and come together in these ways I haven’t seen before, and I hope that it can become a community and a base...

I think there’s a lot of institutionalized disincentive to create that community. When I was in the hospital for the first time, they wouldn’t let me and my friend hug on the ward, and they eventually explained it as this thing where they didn’t want us to start identifying too much as patients and to get too attached to that because, then, we’re more likely to come back. Which, of course, I thought was absolute bullshit, because I was getting a hug because I was upset and on a psych ward.

I think a lot of our strength comes from one another and knowing that our bad days don’t have to be the end, that things will keep moving and changing. My big work in therapy has been not feeling stuck, remembering that I always have options. I feel like the people who best remind me of my options are people who have gone through this, who know what mental illness feels like in whichever way they experience it. And specifically, with attempt survivors, having a community of people who you can see, who you can watch be strong on the days that you’re not feeling so [strong] is, I feel, more empowering than most of the things that are supposed to make me feel better. Knowing that my friends who I’ve seen struggle, you know, if they can fight another day, then I can get behind that.

I think there is a long way to go with mental health activism and advocacy.

Des: What would you like to see change?

Zoe: In terms of mental health advocacy, the way we talk about stigma can be largely unproductive—and not in that it’s inaccurate or anything, but [we should be] taking it a step farther back, to the emotions behind stigma, the self-doubt and the shame. If we could just stop feeling ashamed, not just about being mentally ill, but about the feelings behind that, like the lived experience of being mentally ill, as opposed to just having a diagnosis...

I think we need to trust patients more. It’s that whole idea of the self-determination and everything. You know, if they’re suicidal, then they must be completely unreasonable. [We need to] understand that that place is just a place of feeling stuck, and [we need to] make option-seeking not just about, “Don’t be ashamed that you have a mental illness,” but like, "Talk to someone about it. Talk to anyone about it. It’s not something you have to hide."

That’s the thing, the people who don’t want to hear about it, you don’t need in your life. I struggled for a long time with whether it's supposed to be part of my identity or not, and whether or not I’m supposed to have a connection to that identity group. I do, and I find it way more empowering than any other shit I learned in the hospital. And I’m not alone. In general, with treatment for anything, patient empowerment [is key]. It’s one thing to go in with appendicitis and say, “Doctor knows best, here,” but nobody knows better than you about your feelings, and to pretend that they do is such a misstep and such a disservice. Try to enrich people's lives rather than telling them how not to be.

Des: Why did you decide to share your story for the project?

Zoe: I think no one can tell our stories better than ourselves, and that there’s a lot of power in that. For me, there’s a lot of power in speaking my truth, because that wasn’t what my life was about before. Just to be another voice in the chorus of, "It doesn’t have to be like this."

Des: What does a suicidal person look like?

Zoe: Anyone. I think there are signs. I think we’ve all read the list, but with any other public health campaign, there’s a lot of whitewashing and there’s hegemonic messiness. At least, in my experience, it's no one in particular. It’s just people who feel too much and don’t know what to do with it.

Des: Do you think it’s actually feeling too much, or is it feeling differently? It seems to me like feeling too much is a judgment.

Zoe: Differently. Intensity. Feeling with intensity. Yeah, not as in too many [feelings], but as in, it's really just another way of feeling, that people are sensitive, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I don’t think anyone should ever have to apologize for being too sensitive.

Des: What are the stereotypes of a suicidal person or a mentally ill person?

Zoe: That they’re dark, or antisocial, or feel too much. That they’re stupid or selfish. Selfish is a really big one. That they must not be thinking clearly about anything. They’re doing it for attention. We’ve got a lot of that.

Des: Talk to me more about that and selfishness.

Zoe: The message I got when I left the hospital, by the time that I was leaving, was that I was being selfish for not going home, I was being selfish for trying to kill myself. Everything I was feeling, someone else was interpreting as me being selfish. There was no space to have my own feelings without these judgments.

You asked about selfishness and…

Des: Seeking attention.

Zoe: That one is so messy because, if someone is feeling like that, they deserve the attention. It’s this double-edged sword—there’s probably literally some attention seeking going on. You know, if they get through this, attention needed, but then there's the dismissal of the desperation that’s displayed in an act like that.

A lot of people in my life thought that it was very much attention-seeking and that I wasn’t really that depressed, and it’s incredibly harmful. Imagine that. I lived with that for years until this last assault. I couldn’t talk about the earlier ones because I couldn’t make sense of them. I thought everything was my fault, that it had been selfish.

Everyone was asking, “How could you hurt us like that?”

No one stopped to ask, “How are we hurting you?”

It’s fucked up.

Des: Is suicide still an option for you?

Zoe: No.

Des: Tell me why.

Zoe: The most concrete reason was, when I moved in with him, I made a promise to his mother that I wasn’t gonna do it again while I lived there. I said okay, and I said I could do that, and I stopped eating, but I didn’t take any more pills. For a long time, the guilt I felt over what I’d done with the attempt, that wanting to make things right, kept me going.

Eventually, I started to see things a little differently and started to understand just how fucked up some of the stuff that happened was. I’ve moved to a really good place about it. They don’t get to take that away from me. Not my parents, not my abusers.

I have options. I always have options.

Des: If you were to directly address the people who are reading your story, what would you say to them?

Zoe: Never apologize for how you’re feeling. Speak your own truth. There should be no shame in talking about it, and the only way we’re gonna get there is by talking about it. The system is stacked in a lot of fucked up ways and negotiating finding not just treatment, but wellness, can be a challenge—more than a challenge—but it’s worth it.

—

If you're hurting, afraid, or need someone to talk to, please reach out to one of the resources below. Someone will reach back. Please stay. You are so deeply valued, so incomprehensibly loved—even when you can't feel it—and you are worth your life.

[panickypeachboy]

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG.

BOLD traits that apply to your Muse most of the time. ITALICIZE traits that apply to your Muse in certain situations/AUs.

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

[batfall-a]

𝒊'𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒕 ... 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒆 ... 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 , 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ...   )                                      |    INDEPENDENT +   HEADCANON    BASED    BRUCE WAYNE   from    THE   BATMAN   ( 2022 )    |    some  lore  lifted  from    from JOKER  |    written   by    selena    25+  ( she,  her )   dark   themes   present.                  . . .  the  struggle  of  everything  +  nothing  all  at  once.            𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : 𝐒𝐄𝟕𝐄𝐍     

                                       •        •         •       •       •                             |  READ FIRST |  PINTEREST |  *  CURRENT ARC |   |  SPOTIFY |  FOXARK TECH |  | MATCHES |  THE  LAST  OF  US  | FANTASY VERSE |

*WILL  NOT  INTERACT  WITH   STRANGERS  THINGS  +  GLEE  BLOGS + RULE 63 BLOGS.  

SOME OBSERVATIONS : ANTI - BATJOKES (arthur fleck is for all intentions his brother and so HARD no)  •        •         •       •       •          •  bruce's & matches's inner monologue and thoughts are written in first person + italicized • he wears a bullet-proof vest constantly (under clothes) as bruce wayne • the batman does NOT have an inner monologue • lineage is arkham / wayne • bruce wayne now resides at the arkham penthouse • has no control over WAYNE ENTERPRISES currently , instead founding FOXARK TECH (info in pinned) • bruce wayne also currently has no holding on the wayne fortune he was stripped of all possessions and property •

      ADDITIONAL RULES   BELOW  !

*OOC  .    my   name  is   selena   i   am   25+   and   EST   based.  i   work   full   time   ,   and   i   have   two  lovely   doggos.   i   try   to   be   here   whenever  i  can  on   the   weekdays   but  !    sometimes   i   am   exhausted  ,   and   therefore   weekends   are   my  most   active   time.   i   DO   love   plot-based   threads    but  ?   i   also   understand  /  am  one  of  those  people   who   sometimes   just   allow  the  thread   to  guide.   i   do  !   have   disco  (  feel   free  to  ask  for   it! )  that  being  said  i   also  forget  about  it  99.9%  of   the  time  so  ?  nudge  me  or   reach  out  first   PLEASE   know  it’s   never  you.   i   am   latina   as   well  as   being  jewish  so  please   also  respect  those  two  points.  i   also   like   my  muse  have  PTSD.  I will also not be interacting with rule 63 muses or gender-swapped muses , please respect this.

 i  am   now   going   to  implement  to   rule   of   following   21+   

                                             EST   11.5.22

*PSD  +   ICON   ARE  MINE  please  do   not   steal

 bruce   thomas   wayne   is   highly   influenced   by   the   batman  (2022)   with   taking   inspiration  and  some   lore  from   the   joker  (2019).   since   this   film   is   crime   noir   heavy   so  is  bruce  ,  he   reads  more   like   a  gothic   character  and   is  going through   heavy   PSTD.   my   bruce   sadly   is  not  lifted  from  comics  nor  is  steeped  in   any  other   batman   universe.  along  with   being   reeves   based  i   have  also  incorporated  my  own   headcanons   and  created my own arcs which can be read above! (that being said i am open to AUS). bruce  is  31  and   is   6′6   6′8   with   the   boots.  he   enjoys   writing   and   has   natural   talent  in  drawing   and   obviously   criminal   forensics.   he  is  STILL   learning  and  of  course  he  is  OBSESSED   with   technology.   his   IQ   borders   genius   but  since  his   tragic  loss  he  is    his  own   worst  enemy.

open   &  willing   to   ship   my  bruce  !   it   will   be  heavy   development  since   he  is  so   FEARFUL  of   losing  the   ones   he  loves.   though   ?   when  shipped  i  can  promise   he  will  love   and  fight  for  your   muse   as  often   as  he  can.   i   also   DO   ship   selina  x  bruce  ,  i   just   ask   that   we   plot   about   it   before   we  get  to  writing  !  *bruce  is   bisexual  but, prefers woman.

@banschivs   +   MAIN  |  Nix  Fleck (née Degraves)

@bllakcat       +  EXCLUSIVE |   Felicia  Hardy ♡*

@chaoshe     +   EXCLUSIVE |  Jester Lavorre  ♡*

@crssfre        +   EXCLUSIVE  |  Juliette King ♡*

@ fraudien + EXCLUSIVE | Mina Gotti ♡

@jokethur      +   MAIN  |  Arthur  Fleck  

@taissakingston + MAIN | Taissa Kingston

@diethrice + EXCLUSIVE | Shannon Williams ♡*

@dtperez + EXCLUSIVE | Benjamin Peréz

@gurrillero + MAIN | Cassian Andor

@enfate + EXCLUSIVE | Blog-wide

@exilae + EXCLUSIVE | Céline “ Satine ” Dupont + Various others @pistoiet + MAIN | Vinicia Mikhailovna Andreyeva 'The Black Widow'

.001     basic   gotham   verse   ,   in   this  verse   bruce   is   28-30    still  trying   to   get   a grasp  of  who  he  is  and  is  also  training  heavily

 .002   loosely   follows  the  events  of  the  batman  with  some  changes.   to   read  more  about  that  click  here 

.003   follows  the  events   leading   up  the  riddler  being  caught  ,  and   gotham   flooding.   in   this  verse   the  bat /  bruce  have  started  to  accept   their  destiny  ,  and  the  UNAVOIDABLE  mesh  of  BOTH  personalities.  

.004  follows  the  court  of  owls   with  some  own   headcanon  interpretation.  wayne  enterprises  is  full  of   corruption   with   the   board  wanting  nothing  more  than  to  get  rid  of  bruce.  

      *CURRENT ARC PINNED!

this  verse  will  be  tagged   accordingly  ,  bruce   goes   undercover  in  the  criminal  world  at  the  end  of  arc  .002   and   finds  that  he  has  INFILTRATED  successfully.  no  one  KNOWS  he’s  bruce  wayne  OR  the  batman.   in  this  verse   he  gathers  intel  and  garners   quite   the  reputation.   he   rises  up  in  ranks  ,  and  becomes  for  all  intents  and  purposes  one  of   the  ‘bosses’ 

*MORE INFO IN PINNED !

[batfall-moved]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒊 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏? 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆   𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 , 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄.    *   )                                                     |    INDEPENDENT +   HEADCANON    BASED    BRUCE WAYNE   from    THE   BATMAN   ( 2022 )    |     𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝    𝐛𝐲   𝐭𝐡𝐞    𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐦   𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝   𝐛𝐲    𝐧𝐢𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚  |   heavy   inspiration    from   joker  |    written   by    selena    25+  ( she,  her )   dark   themes   present.                                           

               |  READ FIRST  |  PINTEREST |  *  CURRENT ARC |

*WILL  NOT  INTERACT  WITH  GLEE  MUSES DUE TO A PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE.

                           RULES   BELOW  

*additionally any blog made by kenna will be considered an exclusive 

            *      )       OOC  .    my   name  is   selena   i   am   25+   and   EST   based.  i   work   full   time   ,   and   i   have   two  lovely   doggos.   i   try   to   be   here   whenever  i  can  on   the   weekdays   but  !    sometimes   i   am   exhausted  ,   and   therefore   weekends   are   my  most   active   time.   i   DO   love   plot-based   threads    but  ?   i   also   understand  /  am  one  of  those  people   who   sometimes   just   allow  the  thread   to  guide.   i   do  !   have   disco  (  feel   free  to  ask  for   it! )  that  being  said  i   also  forget  about  it  99.9%  of   the  time  so  ?  nudge  me  or   reach  out  first   PLEASE   know  it’s   never  you.   i   am   latina   as   well  as   being  jewish  so  please   also  respect  those  two  points.  i   also   like   my  muse  have  PTSD.

*PSD  +   ICON   ARE  MINE  please  do   not   steal  

            *      )      bruce   thomas   wayne   is   highly   influenced   by   the   batman  (2022)   with   taking   inspiration  and  some   lore  from   the   joker  (2019).   since   this   film   is   crime   noir   heavy   so  is  bruce  ,  he   reads  more   like   a  gothic   character  and   is  going through   heavy   PSTD.   my   bruce   sadly   is  not  lifted  from  comics  nor  is  steeped  in   any  other   batman   universe.  along  with   being   reeves   based  i   have  also  incorporated  my  own   headcanons   and  take.  *truly  he  is  an  OC  fnjfdsfgg. bruce  is  31  and   is   6′6   6′8   with   the   boots.  he   enjoys   writing   and   has   natural   talent  in  drawing   and   obviously   criminal   forensics.   he  is  STILL   learning  and  of  course  he  is  OBSESSED   with   technology.   his   ig   borders   genius   but  since  his   tragic  loss  he  is    his  own   worst  enemy. 

     *      )    open   &  willing   to   ship   my  bruce  !   it   will   be  heavy   development  since   he  is  so   FEARFUL  of   losing  the   ones   he  loves.   though   ?   when  shipped  i  can  promise   he  will  love   and  fight  for  your   muse   as  often   as  he  can.   i   also   DO   ship   selina  x  bruce   and   many   other  DC  canon   ships  for  bruce  i   just   ask   that   we   plot   about   it   before   we  get  to  writing  !  

    *      )   ♡  =    ship   ♡* =  ship  exclusive 

      *  if  you  ever  want  to  be  added  please   reach   out   ♡

@banschivs   +   MAIN  |  Nix  Fleck (née Degraves)

@chaoshe     +   EXCLUSIVE |  Jester Lavorre  ♡*

@exilae         +   MAIN  |   Blog-Wide ;  Juliette King ♡

@fraudien      +   EXCLUSIVE  |   Mina  Gatti     ♡*

@herhaunt     +   EXCLUSIVE  |   Nell  Crain  ♡ 

@jokethur      +   MAIN  |  Arthur  Fleck  

@barnaes      +  EXCLUSIVE  | Bucky Barnes 

@lovelack​      +  EXCLUSIVE |  Marianne Sheridan

@destage​      +   EXCLUSIVE   |   Blog-Wide

VERSES *

         *      )           .001     basic   gotham   verse   ,   in   this  verse   bruce   is   28-30    still  trying   to   get   a grasp  of  who  he  is  and  is  also  training  heavily.  

        *      )        .002   loosely   follows  the  events  of  the  batman  with  some  changes.   to   read  more  about  that  click  here 

      *      )    .003   follows  the  events   leading   up  the  riddler  being  caught  ,  and   gotham   flooding.   in   this  verse   the  bat /  bruce  have  started  to  accept   their  destiny  ,  and  the  UNAVOIDABLE  mesh  of  BOTH  personalities.  

     *      )  .004  follows  the  court  of  owls   with  some  own   headcanon  interpretation.  wayne  enterprises  is  full  of   corruption   with   the   board  wanting  nothing  more  than  to  get  rid  of  bruce.  

ALT  EGO  *

   *      )    this  verse  will  be  tagged   accordingly  ,  bruce   goes   undercover  in  the  criminal  world  at  the  end  of  arc  .002   and   finds  that  he  has  INFILTRATED  successfully.  no  one  KNOWS  he’s  bruce  wayne  OR  the  batman.   in  this  verse   he  gathers  intel  and  garners   quite   the  reputation.   he   rises  up  in  ranks  ,  and  becomes  for  all  intents  and  purposes  one  of   the  ‘boses’