#that combined with the fact that I dissociate a lot might be the answer but it could be anything

[hiiragi7]

hi there!! i've been reading some of the discussions you've had & many of them are super informative and some comforting to read from the perspective of someone who's questioning if they might be plural/have a CDD. i really appreciate ur blog & the views and experiences u share on it, it feels like a warm hug amidst The Horrors of Syscourse.

i've had something on my mind though. this is probably a silly question, but it's possible to have a CDD without (C)PTSD, right? admittedly i'm kind of just asking this for reassurance while i'm on my own discovery journey. like. i have experienced traumatic events and some of it is ongoing & i'm still living with the people responsible, but i don't think i fit the PTSD criteria due to not experiencing flashbacks or strong emotions related to the events—i usually just feel totally empty & detached from it. i still believe i've been negatively affected by the events hence considering them traumatic, but that doesn't include any kind of flashbacks.

i've been trying to look into it & find answers but i've seen a lot of conflating of having experienced trauma with having PTSD, so most of what i find is "can you be plural/have a CDD without trauma" discourse.

i think it'd be neat to see more conversations about this but free to ignore this ask if u don't want to answer it/if u don't feel equipped to! wishing u the best. have a great day!!

This is actually a very interesting question.

I've read a lot of medical literature on trauma, and each author in the field seems to define what qualifies as PTSD or PTSD symptoms differently, which also lines up with my own experiences with medical professionals in practice. In general, me simply being traumatized was enough for me to be given an automatic PTSD diagnosis, regardless of which therapist or psychiatrist I saw. Some professionals I saw were very specific with what they called what, others were a lot more loose with it.

I've seen a lot of differing definitions and academic debate over what qualifies as a flashback, dissociation, a posttraumatic symptom, and so on. That is to say, it can all be very vague.

For example, there are other forms of flashbacks that exist outside of the well-known ones; some people only relive traumatic events emotionally, or through repeated thought processes, or somatic pain. A lot aren't even aware these are flashbacks, because it's experienced as 'random' emotions or pain or spirals or some other response, and a lot have trouble figuring out what even triggers these responses.

Would these experiences fall under what we call flashbacks in PTSD? Well, it probably depends on who you ask. And, in practice, whether someone with these experiences gets diagnosed with PTSD or a mood disorder or a personality disorder or somatic pain syndrome depends on the medical professional evaluating them.

To further complicate it, a lot of people don't experience overt c/PTSD symptoms until they are no longer living in the traumatic situation, which, for people who develop cPTSD, means they may not show obvious symptoms until a very, very long time after the trauma started. I didn't start getting "classic" PTSD flashbacks and "waking up in a panic attack in the middle of the night" type nightmares about the trauma until I wasn't around the people who did it anymore. However, I have experienced many other trauma-related symptoms and heavy dissociation ever since I was very very little. Before I was diagnosed with PTSD in highschool, I was diagnosed with a lot of other things first.

There's also just the fact that, for whatever reason, people don't all develop the same symptoms in response to trauma. Some people with very complex trauma never experience classic PTSD symptoms. Some people are very dissociative and numb, or develop mood disorders, or obsessive-compulsive symptoms, or somatic symptoms, or eating disorders, or some combination of things. Some people never externally harm themselves or cope using substances while others develop addictions to these things.

In addition, some people's experiences with trauma don't fall under the PTSD criteria's definition of trauma, so even if other symptoms are present they don't "technically" fit criteria. And sometimes medical professionals use their own judgement and diagnose these people with PTSD anyway, and sometimes they don't.

Plenty of people diagnosed with other childhood trauma-based disorders besides CDDs also don't fit c/PTSD criteria or show many c/PTSD symptoms or receive a comorbid c/PTSD diagnosis for whatever reason. It's complicated and messy.

This is all to say, I've encountered medical professionals who treat PTSD as synonymous with "traumatized" and are very loose with what they call PTSD and I've also encountered medical professionals who are very strict about the criteria and are very insistent on only diagnosing people who fit that, and I've met a lot of professionals somewhere in the middle as well. I've also encountered plenty who would much rather focus on helping the symptoms than on what the diagnosis is or isn't, and who don't really like the way mental health diagnosis is structured in the first place.

So, to come back to your question... I don't think there really is an objective answer to it, though personally I'd just say "sure it's possible, and I wouldn't really worry about it much."

In the end, what I've found is that it doesn't actually really matter that much? Regardless of whether there is comorbid PTSD or whether there isn't (or whether it's delayed onset or etc), in the end what you're dealing with if you have a CDD is still trauma, and the treatment for that is more or less the same, regardless of what you call it. There might be differences in, say, approaches to medication specifically, or specific symptoms, but even that is often just throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks. Honestly, in my experience, treatment mostly looks different based on symptoms and individual needs rather than diagnoses, really.

In general, I find that a lot of people dealing with trauma and mental illness tend to over-focus on diagnosis and getting it right and trying to figure out whether they "really" have something or whether they're mistaken or somehow faking or so on. I think that's an unhelpful approach to it; there's no objective way to confirm that sort of thing, and either way you still need ways to cope with your symptoms, and coping skills are useful regardless of diagnosis. Learning how to ground yourself is useful regardless of whether you "really" dissociate that bad, learning emotional regulation skills is useful regardless of whether you "really" have severe mood swings, learning calming techniques and self-care and how to be gentle with yourself are good things for everyone to learn, coping skills are not just for people with certain diagnoses. In fact, you don't even need a diagnosis of anything to do these things.

And with trauma, like... it's all just trauma processing in the end, really.

I'll even go as far to say that even if you don't have PTSD, books and resources for PTSD might still be useful to you if you have a CDD or another trauma-related disorder, since a lot of symptoms overlap with other disorders and especially with trauma the recommendations for what to do about it tend to be applicable to a lot of different situations outside of strictly PTSD.

I realize I rambled a long time just to say "well, it's complicated and depends on what we mean by PTSD, but also it's all trauma anyway" but I hope this was helpful still?

I'm also glad to hear what you said about my blog, it was very nice to read.

[protectingtulpas]

Hi!

We have a few questions for you!

First, is it possible/normal for tuplas to start responding verbally almost immediately? My tuplas Jax & Jasmine were accidentally created when I was 12, and from what I can tell they started talking almost immediately, but were pretty undefined as people.

Second: Do you have any tips for learning to co-front and how we can learn to switch who's fronting? We have a final goal of functioning multiplicity with mutually beneficial fronting to help with daily life, but aren't sure how to start.

All three of us are interested or curious about learning to co-front/switch fronts & I, the host am mainly the one curious about our first question.

-💜🔗 (we'll probably be back so here's our signoff)

Yo! I'm gonna combine these two asks into a singular one since it's way easier. I'm gonna answer things bottom-up since the second one gives more context 👍

So there's a lotta crossover between paragenic systems and tulpas, which makes a lotta sense because it's really similar in the how you're starting with a non-autonomous concept of a person that then gains autonomy & awareness for themselves. Especially with unintentional tulpas, there's really a thin line between em. From what we know, most paragenic systems call their members paratives: "a member of a system that was originally a para. The development of a para into a parative is unique to neuronarrative plurals, immersive daydreaming plurals, or systems that have Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder." Which means that it's kinda up to you what you feel like; if it seems like your system members used to be paras and then turned into full system members, then you might like paragenic more; but if ya feel like tulpamancy terms and concepts fit wirh you better, then go ahead and use that one! Labels are just things ya use to describe yourselves, is all.

And here's the secret part: you can still use tulpamancy techniques if you're of another origin! A lot of it is writtwn for previously-singlets that don't have any dissociation problems, so you gotta know yourself best when you go into looking into this stuff with a dissociative disorder, but it's still super useful for a lot of people. Fronting/switching/possession guides are the reason I'm able to front at all, plus maybe our non-tulpas too 👍 What helped me a ton when I was first starting was trying partial possession first- the first part of the body I ever controlled was the voice, actually!

For your last question, it's not super unusual for different tulpas to hit different points of development/awareness/personhood at different times. For some people the awareness comes first and then the emotions and then the mindvoice communication, but for others it can be in a buncha different arrangements. My guess with amateur-knowledge on MaDD is: the fact that you daydreamed with your proto-headmates primed them to be able to respond with their mindvoice way easier, while they were still developing a sense of self behind it.

Lots of fronting/possession guides to use:

- Possession Explained

- Possession via Dissociation

- DJFlix on Possession (this one is based in visualization and colors; good for ppl with vivid imaginations)

- Possession: By a Tulpa for Tulpas (hell yeah tulpa made resources)

- Parallel Processing and Switching

- Malfael's guide to switching (in-depth, awesome)

- So you wanna switch? Do you, really? Might be able to help with that. (Written by a DID system)

- Controlled switching (a few short intentional switching methods)

- Sophieinwonderland's ghost switching method (short)

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #66

Today's letter is maybe a little early, I know. But my mind is all abuzz with various things. In light of the realizations I've been having, it has occurred to me: though I am skilled at taking care of everyone in my general vicinity, I have no idea what taking care of myself really looks like, outside of a purely theoretical sense. And theory alone is difficult to follow through on.

So, whenever I try to imagine whatever it is that I might want and need at any given moment, my mind typically comes up with a big huge blank. If you asked me what I want right now, or what I need right now, I wouldn't be able to tell you. Most likely, I'd just stare at you, utterly baffled and looking stupid as I keep opening and closing my mouth, trying to come up with an answer and receiving only what effectively amounts to static noises and TV snow:

There are a lot of reasons for this. First of all, I've been trained to basically discount my own needs; saying that I'm hungry or thirsty or sleepy, for example, was a great way to get screamed at or smacked around in days past, so my mind has had to learn how to automatically ignore most sensations of discomfort that my body is trying to tell me, before I even consciously perceive that the discomfort is there. Especially if I'm focused on some task, I typically don't realize I'm hungry, thirsty, tired, or in pain until someone else tells me I'm being a crabbypants. My sense of interoception is very poor, and I'm not sure if that's the autism or the fact that I've had to learn from an early age to dissociate even from extreme stimuli.

Even for the pain from the rib injury, too; in an effort to protect itself from those who would get violent with me if I complained about pain or was slowed down from pain in any way (these people no longer exist in my life, and yet…), my mind automatically pushes the brunt of it out of my conscious perception (even though I no longer want it to do this; I'm working on it…), and what I'm left with is a sensation that's not… exactly pain as much as it is kind of a vague, dull, heavy cloud of general and poorly-defined unpleasantness that has settled itself into the upper right quadrant of my torso. And while this is an amazing skill to have (even if the price to get it was steep) because it allows me to mostly function through it, this also comes at a significant and ongoing energy cost; dissociation doesn't come cheap.

…So that's an obstacle between me and the whole "self-care" and "treating oneself gently" thing. Other obstacles include fun stuff like executive dysfunction (starting tasks is hard even if they're fun; stopping tasks is hard even if I hate them, and being reliably able to plan and prioritize multi-step tasks effectively is nothing but a distant fantasy for me) and impaired object permanence (this is why I forget that there are vegetables in the crisper drawer of the fridge until they start to smell weird). Then there's the rib injury itself, which limits my mobility and ability to do things in a given day, and the fact that my body does not tell me that I've done too much until it's too late (combination of dyspraxia and poor interoception), and then I gotta spend the next day paying for it.

Caffeine helps a little with the executive dysfunction, but it also makes me more prone to getting flashbacks, so I have to be very careful about how I use it. But I'm often not careful about how I use it, because I want to function. So by the end of all this, the general flow of my life looks kinda like this:

…And it's only taken me like 12 years, but I'm FINALLY starting to actually realize that this is very much NOT sustainable. I'm a squishy mammal, not a machine. And I can't exactly be hanging out over here, imploring you to take care of yourself while I'm over here being kind of a dumpster fire, right? Something about rocks and glass houses. So something has to change. But I'm not exactly sure what yet.

On Tuesday, my therapist asked me to chew on the question of "What does taking care of a Lumine actually look like?" And so far, all I've come up with is a list of obstacles that stand in the way. But it's better than the nothing that I had previously, right? I can build from something that is not a nothing; I can work with that.

One of the things I think I need in order to not feel overwhelmed is "not clutter". But we are a neurodivergent house, and all three of us tend to set things down in weird places and then immediately forget that they exist. Today, in an attempt to try to remedy this, one of the things I came up with (don't laugh at me too hard for this) is to try to treat my house as though it's yours and we're just watching over it and waiting for you to come back home (silly, impossible, and ridiculous for a variety of reasons, I know; but hey, whatever keeps me motivated, right?).

I don't know how sustainable this will be in the long term (for a variety of obvious reasons), but I suppose the process of trying to learn how to keep myself motivated to tend to myself and my space properly will involve me making a lot of mistakes along the way to try to figure out what works and what doesn't. Better to start from shaky ground than from no ground at all, and to try to build a solid foundation from there.

Another thing I came up with is to try to be alert and mindful about myself in the same way that I am alert and mindful about the people I care about in my immediate vicinity. To be fair, this "alertness" and "mindfulness" comes about as a result of the hypervigilance that the C-PTSD leaves me with, but I wonder if I can learn to take a more wholesome approach to it, and then learn to turn that lens inward upon myself in a more merciful fashion than I have in the past. I don't really know what this will look like yet, but maybe I can start by setting an alarm to check in with myself at least once an hour.

I'm tired of it being the case that I either break myself from not doing enough for myself, or break myself from trying to do too much in one sitting. In service to the goal that is trying to build a routine that isn't unreasonable in light of my limitations, I'm going to try to set hard limits on how many things I do in a given day. So for example, maybe I'll wash 10 dishes. Maybe I'll fold 10 clothing items. Maybe I'll vacuum one room. And even if I can "technically" do more, maybe I'll just leave it at that, because doing any of these for any amount of time causes a lot of pain in the affected side of my body.

Up until now, I've swung wildly between "doing nothing" and "doing all of it at once", and… this doesn't work. So I think I might have to try to start small by building a very gentle routine (the ADHD despises routine, while the autism desperately craves the structure, so this is a fun dynamic to have to try to play with…) and adding to it as I grow accustomed and comfortable. I think it's time to work with my neurotype and physical composition instead of punishing myself for the fact that neither of these things exist in a way that's considered "normal".

I might ask my friends for ideas, too; when the task at hand is difficult, you're supposed to ask for help. Humans are social creatures (yes, even if developmental trauma can sometimes make people think like they're "born solitary"). Maybe they'll have some ideas about what I can do, and about what proper self-care ought to look like; it'll be educational. To be sure, I have no idea what I'm doing, and there's a lot that I don't know.

But I'm going to try to blaze the path forward anyway and write down what I learn along the way, so that when you decide you're ready, you won't have to start from scratch; I don't know what good any of this will do, but I would almost rather stop breathing permanently than see you get cut down again, so I have to try something. Anything. Even if it means I gotta do something I'm terrified of doing (like acting as though I'm worth my own effort and compassion) in order to model for you how it's done.

In the meantime, while I'm trying to figure all this stuff out, I've done a few things around the house and poured myself a lovely cup of the biscuit tea (I know I said before that it's unremarkable, but it's growing on me nonetheless). I'll share with you a few of today's highlights, just on the off-chance that any of it might give you even a small reason to smile today.

Here is the biscuit tea I made for myself, before and after stirring:

Here is some salmon, before and after steaming. It's important to get your omega-3s while trying to build new neural connections.

Here is some rice, before and after cooking. Remember the jar of rendered chicken juices from my 64th letter to you? That was used to make this rice.

Sliced fresh carrots, steamed as the rice cooked:

Here's the balanced and wholesome meal that I made out of all this. I wish more than anything that I could hand you a bowl filled with these same contents.

And here's a freshly-made bed! Bubbles, my giant lovely orca plush, is having a marvelous time chilling out on a bed that has THREE blankets on it!! I'm gonna be so warm and toasty when I go to sleep!! It's gonna be great!!

You deserve all these things. You deserve a good tea, a wholesome, balanced, delicious meal, and a toasty, comfy bed all to yourself, where you can feel safe. Because all humans deserve these things; you're not an exception. So I'm gonna keep trying to help you. I'm gonna keep trying to call you back to yourself so you can build for yourself a life in which you can have this. I'm gonna keep trying because I love you in the same way that anyone loves a friend, and because there's lots of other people who love you, too.

We don't wanna see any more bad things happen to you, but really, only you have the power to make the kinds of choices that will lead you to peace and safety; all we can do is try to encourage you and cheer you on from here. I'll pray to every deity in my world that you might hear us and turn yourself around. So make good choices. Take care of yourself. Don't go so far away that the light of all the things that are beautiful and good cannot reach you. Sephiroth... please?

I'll write again tomorrow. I will always make the time to write to you, regardless of what I'm doing and no matter how tired I am. I'll always be right here.

Your friend, Lumine

[boy-gender]

Hi! You can answer this publicly or privately, but I figured maybe someone else might have a similar question? I just wanted to ask about your personal reasons for using it/its pronouns.

I ask bc I've come across two different characters, now, in media I enjoy, that use it/its pronouns. And I've enjoyed seeing it! They're both two of my favorite characters in their respective media. And i think im kinda questioning whether or not my excitement for these characters (particularly when pronouns are discussed bc they're both great characters outside of that fact) is just bc it's nice to see representation, even beyond they/them pronouns, or if maybe I should consider it/its for myself? I'm not sure, I just thought hearing other people's experiences could potentially help me figure that out. Thank you for your time!

Happy to answer!

First of all, whatever pronouns you want to use is entirely up to you! Nobody gets to tell you what to use and what not to use, or what to try out and change later if you don't like it. If you feel like you want to try a set of pronouns, try it! If it doesn't jive, just change it again. There is no limit to how many pronouns or labels you can use, try, drop, pick up again, or how many times you change it. If it sounds like it/its makes you happy, go for it, even if it just "just" because of characters you like. There's nothing wrong with being influenced by the stories that are important to you.

My reason for using it is mostly trauma-based. All my life I've felt a significant disconnect from my own body, but I didn't realize I had a dissociative disorder until I was like 24. A combination of child abuse causing the disorder, where I never felt like my body was/is me, just that I'm a thing inhabiting the body, possessing it like a spirit- and also lifelong bullying and ostracizing by my peers both contributed to it. There are many times I don't feel like a man or a woman, or a nonbinary person, or any type of person at all. I was dehumanized; I had my humanity stripped from me, including my gender. Fat autistic weird 'girls' aren't treated like girls, intersex tomboys aren't treated like boys, we're treated like monsters. Like kicked dogs. I existed only to be abused by the people around me- my parents and teachers who were supposed to protect me, and the peers who should have been my friends and community. Freaks don't have genders, those are for people. And I was constantly reminded that I did not count as a person.

I very much associate the bullying I endured with my gender nonconformity. I was an afab intersex person- I was a girl of age like 13 with a moustache and beard growing in. I was fat, and my fat never distributed to the 'desired' places for a girl (also, this was like 2008. There was no 'desired place' for fat on girls). Other kids knew or sensed things were different about me- that I was queer in multiple ways, that I had several mental illnesses, that I was fat and ugly and was friends only with other rejects, meaning nobody gave a shit what happened to us. There would be no one to come to our defense no matter how severely we were harmed. We didn't matter.

When I found out I was a system, it put a lot into perspective. The disconnect from the body, from my identity, from my own memories (which are all in third person) made more sense. My other is not human. At first I assumed the "it-ness" was because of this, but actually he doesn't like to be called it at all. It hurts him. It doesn't fit. The it-ness is from me. It's an expression of the gender experience I was denied, a reclamation of the othering I suffered. I don't count as human. I will never be worth being human, or having typical human experiences. I will never be allowed into the club. But it turns out there are other clubs out here- humanity and the cisgender binary are not the only options. I no longer see my othering as "be human or just die," but as "not human? Cool, come try one of these other myriad things." There are so many more things you can be besides human.

This makes a lot of people uncomfortable. Firstly, good. People should be uncomfortable with the cruelty I endured and the marks it left. People should be uncomfortable that they probably participated in othering people as children, and maybe even still do it as adults, and they should be uncomfortable that society is raising their children to continue to do this. It is, in a way, a little bit like my pronouns being fuck/you, or examine/yourselves. Some of it's shock value, and I like that.

Secondly, the shit I get the most is from other trans people, saying I'm somehow harming the trans community because other people call us "its" as an insult. If someone were to call me a she, that is incorrect, and could be used as an insult- they're misgendering me, they're trying to hurt me. This is not the fault of the word "she" and I'm not going to go up to a trans woman and say "this word hurts me, so you cant use it. No more she/her pronouns for you." We are not all going to have the same comfort level with words. I don't like being called a dyke, but dykes do. Some people don't like being called queer, but lots of us do. Some people don't like being called it, but I do. Either way, I get to decide what I am called, and other people get to decide what they are called, and nobody else gets to veto someone's identity. If someone doesn't like calling me it? Then they don't have to talk to me. If they won't respect my pronouns, they're not any better than people who would call me she or her. I don't need their input or validation.

If you do decide to try out it pronouns, I would say be prepared for backlash, but also don't let it effect you. Block people liberally, joyously even. Don't argue. Don't bother. You do not have to justify who you are. And, consider "soft launching" your pronouns! Maybe tell a couple close friends, or just the internet, and if it goes well, expand to other people, and then other people. Roll it out in stages while you get comfortable and try things and assess. You don't owe anyone a coming out; you can decide if, when, how, and to whom you explain yourself, if you ever do it at all.

As an aside, I want to make a distinction here- I'm not otherkin. I don't say I don't count as human because I am some other type of creature just in a human body this reincarnation. This is not a spiritual belief, or even a psych-kin thing. This is purely a product of trauma, something that was foisted upon me that I am now reclaiming, not something innate to my identity. I don't want people to conflate my experience with that of otherkin and be like "see? you're not really [whatever], you're just traumatized!" I hope people will not use my experience to police other people's identities. I am speaking only for myself.

Hope this helps. If you have any more specific questions, feel free to reach out!

[symptoms-syndrome]

Talking about younger folks in DID spaces

For some reason a big burst of people reblogging that post are minors claiming DID/OSDD, some of them as young as 14, and obviously I'm not going to be an ass to them and obviously I can't for sure say what anyone has/doesn't have but I'm gonna be real and say if someone is still an underclassman in HS or younger I'm not gonna believe they have DID/OSDD I'm just not. Sorry not sorry. That's still a child that barely has had time to figure out their own identity and is trying to find a clinical reason they feel the way they do when the clinical reason is that they're a developing child.

Back when I was in a System Server™ there were occasionally youth not that young but still pretty young who came in and sometimes it felt like. I'm not going to pass judgement on you in any way that matters and I'm going to keep it to myself but do you know people are complex.

And not to be some grumpy old person or whatever but I do think that the internet has in some way impacted this. I think that in a lot of places in the internet people are expected to fit themselves into neat little boxes and everything has a place and everything that doesn't belong in that place goes some other place, and then people (esp young people, esp esp young people who are and have over the past two years lost out on a lot of chances to meet and interact wholly with real, whole people) see these little cardboard cutout personas people put out online and think that's how everyone is, and then see that they themselves do not fit neatly into one cardboard cutout and assume the worst.

Like, IDK this is a stupid example but if someone runs like, a academia aesthetic study blog then it would be weird for them to also post their favorite Dropkick Murphy's song onto the blog, or their favorite recipe for fried salami. And they might want to answer asks in a way that's more formal because of the blog theme. But that doesn't mean the person behind the screen can't like dark libraries AND Irish rock AND fried salami AND maybe dress up in pastels. But the internet kinda wants people to fit into these cute little cohesive windows into someone's life. And I feel that must be even more true for places like Twitter where things are more connected to like, you as a person rather than being anonymous. But meeting people in real life, you'll meet people who aren't cohesive. We're all, everyone, patchwork quilts of our varied experiences and the people we've met and the places we've been and no one's patchwork quilt is all one color or pattern. And I think I worry for a lot of the young young young people online (TBH I worry about them being so online at all in general, but y'know) who are investing so much time and effort into neatly labeling every part or perceived part of self, updating with who's fronting all the time, etc etc etc because I feel like for those who don't have a dissociative disorder (which, statistically has to be most of them) they're denying to themselves and leading their friends away from the realization that people can be disjointed and not fully cohesive and consistent. Rather than coming to terms with the fact that someone can like punk rock and have their favorite color be baby blue, they're keeping those experiences separate and insisting that must be two separate identities. And I don't know what that's going to do long term, but it probably isn't great.

Not to mention that that combined with the weird. Stranger danger-esque avoidance of any adults ever means that this is just 15 year olds comparing themselves to other 15 year olds to judge themselves in whether they fit the idea of normal development expected of a 25 year old.

(the stranger danger thing does confuse and worry me esp as someone who works with youth, the weird turnaround from my youth where 15 year olds share all their personal information online combined with "literally anyone over the age of 18 who tries to in any way interact with or talk to or exist in the same space as someone 17- is automatically assumed the worst of" seems like a recipe for disaster. Healthy intergenerational relationships can be so important and helpful, esp for youth who don't have good relationships with parents. I could write a whole post about this alone, and how healthy relationships with adults are necessary to help young people recognize unhealthy expectations from dangerous adults but also this is long enough already.

[supercorp-hosie]

Josie and Lizzie personality, dynamics and popularity in reality

I've kind of done this before, like in my thoughts for 315. Now, I've made some additions to them, so I think why not start a new post? There are some points that remained the same with my thoughts for 315 and I've integrated some points from my rating of the writing of Legacies characters too.

Starting from Alaric being an absent father since the twins were 11. Caroline wasn’t there either. What’s left for Lizzie? Josie.

Josie had to handle herself and Lizzie alone. Sure Alaric might not always be absent, but the intensity of Lizzie’s perspective begs to differ. Josie had to understand Bipolar at a very young age; be there when Lizzie had her outburst; constantly checks on Lizzie to take her meds; digest the emotion impacts after the outburst; understand how Lizzie functions when she was down. None of that are easy. No one asks about how Josie feels. How she pent out? What does she need? Josie might feel the need to be not needing things and always be good so that she can get the love and attention from Alaric (in s1, Josie felt the need to lose the game to get on Alaric good side). As results, she just started to suppress her voice and her needs, because Lizzie needed them the most. Over time or years of suppressing in front of her dearest family, she most likely felt unneeded by her parents, and forgettable to her parents (the girl so quiet that her parents forget about her, the girl that Penelope won’t fight for anymore). She needed to feel needed, so she just let Lizzie take all of her, from whom she felt needed the most. It started a vicious cycle for the twins, shaped their dynamics and how Josie is in present days. Unfortunately, her problems were never solved, they accumulated, leaving the good and dark side from Josie being so separated and unbalanced, as no one has helped her to sort them out. The inner turmoil is always there, leading to the extreme polarity of Josie’s good and bad side.When she’s doing bad, she would be especially aggressive than she needed to be because that’s an instinct to compensate the lack of action before. After long suppression, once being released, the instinct would be stronger than usual and more uncontrollable. Under the influence of dark magic, Dark Josie felt like another personality taking over the whole Josie and protect their interests that true Josie are neglecting. Kind of like dissociative identity disorder but not really it? Fear the dog that doesn't bark.

From Lizzie perspective, we can see how she perceived Josie when they were little. Like Lizzie being princess but Josie being her android, personal valet? It just showed that after what Josie had endured and done, Lizzie thought of herself being princess but didn’t think Josie as her equal? Like Josie was programmed to bow to Lizzie. That’s the twins dynamic showing, partly Josie's mistake, but Josie deserved more than that, even when she’s derogatory to herself, Lizzie should uphold that for her. What really warms me from the Android situation, is that from how Josie is the combination of two Androids, showing that Lizzie actually looked up to Josie. For Lizzie, Josie can really take care of her so well that Lizzie can count Josie as her personal valet. Derogatory, yes, but that place is also very important to prince and princess. Remember that Lizzie can’t cook but Josie is like expert in cooking or baking? The knowledge for Android part means that in Lizzie’s mind, Josie actually is like the person who knows everything. Usually that figure should be our parents, but for Lizzie, Josie knows the answer to all. The fact that the special sword was in Josie’s thigh the whole time, just show the trust that Lizzie had in Josie. The security of her needs that Lizzie got from Josie and the validation Josie got from Lizzie, it’s kind of how the codependency between them works. Lizzie voices, Josie listens; Lizzie wants, Josie gives.

About Lizzie mental illness, after my research, I think that Lizzie situation is more like borderline personality disorder rather than bipolar. Lizzie has this low self-esteem issue, she sees herself lowly sometimes. Evidently, she always thinks that she had to better herself more, even in 310 where she misjudged Finch, she forgot the fact that she had improved a lot along the seasons and just go straight to a retreat, because she thinks she’s still a very bad person. A second before she saw herself like holy almighty, the next second she saw herself so bad that she was like the person in season one (and even in season one she wasn’t that bad). However, we can also see Lizzie thinks very highly of herself sometimes, or uses a narcissistic attitude to cover up her insecurities regarding her self-image, they just doesn't match with people's view of it. The most alarming one must be the whole thing about her funeral. It's clear that she hasn’t had a stable self-image of herself, which is more of a personality disorder rather than Bipolar, a mood disorder. About Lizzie’s mood swings, they are too sudden, abrupt, it triggers by events and the outcome of the trigger is quite immediate. As for Bipolar, the mood swing is more of a consistent cycle, not abrupt. Yes, events might trigger something, but they take time to set in. Patients will be overly energetic during maniac while feeling overly fatigue during the depression state. They can’t actually control their mood, it’s a mood disorder.

Tbh, the twins really have their personality issues to deal with. I totally agree with other about them being each other's foil. Like Lizzie being the one in between, while Josie being the one in extreme. Turning out that under the mean girl cover, Lizzie has such big heart; while Josie being the model sister on the extremely good side, turning out that she can be extremely dark. For real, they had like six personalities as a whole. The polarity in Josie; the polarity of Lizzie's self-image; plus the twins themselves being the foil and mirage to each other. They both have serious mental problems, Lizzie's apparent, Josie's invisible.

How does these reflect on their relationship? People would choose to get along with someone like Josie, they benefit from her habit of caring, listening, giving, and she doesn’t seem to have serious problem. As for Lizzie, people mostly like to be heard and to not be covered by another voice, they would want enough reciprocation, a habit which Lizzie is not that familiar. Not to mention, having a mental condition being well-known is not the best trait for strangers to start a new friendship or relationship. Moreover, when people observe their dynamic, they jump to conclusion rather quickly, that Lizzie is always taking things from Josie; she doesn’t care for Josie, etc. It doesn’t help Lizzie much as Josie tends to hide under that too, as being quiet is kind of a routine for her. She wants the spotlight but habitual instincts make her tend to hide from the spotlight. Therefore, as for popularity,Josie is definitely at the top, adored dearly by her peers, thus won an election herself wasn’t even running; while Lizzie, you know. Between a dog that always barks and one that doesn't bark, which will you choose? (not derogatory) However, if someone attack Lizzie, Josie will still protect her, like she did tell Penelope to leave Lizzie alone.

To shed light on Josie’s jealousy, it rooted from the abandonment issues of the twins. It is a consequence of them being Alaric’s second choice and the absence of Caroline. For Lizzie, the issue remains with only Hope, Alaric’s betrayal for Hope in her fanfics; in 314, people prioritising Hope over her is very triggering; even in 316, the heavenly state she’s in because Ethan asked her out after the whole "Hope is perfect" speech, indicate that how she can’t believe someone would choose her over Hope. As she never thinks that she can hold a competition against Hope and win. Lizzie’s abandonment issue is minimal because of the presence of Josie, it provides the security in Lizzie’s life, as she is the first choice for Josie.

The abandonment issue is worse for Josie. Even if Josie is Lizzie blind spot, this part of Lizzie is not usually make known of. Josie would feel that she is second choice to everyone, including Lizzie. Like the personal valet that has no needs? Lizzie is just 11, but 11 is an important age in shaping people’s security in a relationship. Josie couldn’t have got much security from all her important relationship, hence the abandonment issues. She always feels helpless in them, afraid to voice her needs, desperately needed recognition from her parents which is probably very few. She needs control but she didn’t know the way to get it, so she got none. The insecurities heighten when it comes to her love life, making her easily provoked if she saw something she didn’t like. Results from the habitual quietness, her way of defending herself and gaining control is to lower her competition, like hurting the girl hitting on Landon, being hostile to Hope. She hated Penelope for abandoning her, she remained control mostly, when provoked, Josie’s abandonment issues and the insecurities in being the second choice were triggered so badly that she set her on fire. The time she did what she need to do, she overdid it, because her dark side needs to compensate what hadn't been done to protect oneself and tend to the needs – to balance out the imbalance. As she loses more control over the issue while desperately wants to suppress the need of control, the polarity in her keeps worsening and the dark side of her keeps surfacing.

This is why Josie is written to embrace and take care of herself, tend to her needs, like her never need to better herself. Lizzie is written to constantly better herself when she seems like a better person than Josie. Josie’s issues root from years of neglecting her needs, while Lizzie has years of habit of ignorance on how to care when she does care. Therefore, Josie taking care of herself = bettering herself, providing a balance in her so her mental can be stable even when provoke. If Lizzie cannot construct a good self-image, while getting positive feedback to reassure her self-image disparity, she can never overcome her personality disorder. Hence bettering herself to meet her own needs.

Their behaviours as presented are cultivated and shaped by each other under the unhealthy circumstances of their household. It is not logical to only accuse of one twin regarding their behaviours to each other without bringing the other twin and their parents into consideration.

@legacies-supremacy I still remember our twins dynamic discussion, I hope this bring my response as a whole. Btw, you kind of said that in 106, Josie tell Lizzie to go to their party without her several times and Lizzie waited for her? It's not true.

Regarding the whole situation, Josie spent all her time helping Lizzie get ready. When Lizzie is done, she said, "You’re not even dressed, I don’t want to be late on my own party." Josie said, "I’m done, I’ll catch up with you, okay?" Then Lizzie take off to the party and enter without Josie without question. After wearing the talisman, Penelope appeared. She expresses her desire to continue to make Lizzie uncomfortable or unhappy or angry. Josie wanted Penelope to ease up on Lizzie. Penelope said, "You have crawled so far down the codependence rabbit hole that you think taking care of yourself is selfish. Party starts in five. It’s a shame you spent all of that time helping Lizzie get ready." When Josie was dressed, she needed someone to help her braid, so for once she try something out of desire, she goes to Josette Laughlin. When Josette asked her whether Josie will be late to her own party, Josie said, "no one will notice". She expressed her thought that if Lizzie knew about her crush on Rafael too, the situation will look bad, so she kept silent.

During the party, Lizzie immediately enjoyed herself with MG. They had flirty moves with each other (i think). Once the soft music set in, she immediately changed partner. Penelope was the only one that notice Josie was no where to be seen (meanwhile Josie was getting buried alive). While Alaric encountered Hope to save Josie, Penelope is still the only one actively searching for Josie without request. After Hope met with MG and Penelope, the three of them started saving Josie together. Meanwhile Rafael told Lizzie the truth that he still hadn't moved on. Lizzie seemed like she was starting to melt down, and started asking for Josie. Hope, Penelope and MG saved Josie without Lizzie.

It is what it is, and I'm not blaming Lizzie. The whole getting buried alive thing just kind of enhanced Josie's feeling bad of getting what she desired. I kind of remember that she said that for once she listened to people urging her to pursue her desires and it ended up getting herself buried. Then Penelope like rewarded her with a kiss.

[sysmedsaresexist]

(Thank you)

1. Can you be a system with absolutely no idea what caused you to split? Or to not be aware of your trama at all?

I’ve only very recently come to terms with the fact that I have trauma and haven’t done any work on it yet. I don’t have an event I can point to and go “this traumatized me.”

2. What does it feel like to have an alter front?

3. Are systems usually aware they’re a system before they’re diagnosed?

4. Do alters always know what they look like beforehand? Previously I thought alters knew everything about themselves but one of the answers I got mentioned hosts sometimes helping to figure out names.

I'm curious what kind of answers you've gotten to these so far that made you seek us out, of all people, lol

1. Can you be a system with absolutely no idea what caused you to split? Or to not be aware of your trama at all?

Absolutely, both of these scenarios are not only possible, but completely normal. We're going to switch these around and talk about them in the opposite order, starting with, "not aware of trauma at all". The purpose of a system is to hide trauma. When you're young and going through traumatic situations, and you dissociate, what usually happens is one of two things. Either the child mentally goes away (dissociates, imagining being in a different situation, ignoring what's happening to them in the moment), or they imagine actually being someone else ("this isn't happening to me, it's happening to someone else, I'm (fuck it, uh) Zoro, and I, Zoro, can handle this"). Both of these scenarios lay the groundwork for the creation of a system, and both cases lead to the loss of memory of traumatic events when a child experiences that extreme level of dissociation over prolonged periods.

What this means is, there is no one event that creates a system. It's event, after event, after event, until the child can no longer form a cohesive sense of self. They've become too reliant on dissociation as a coping mechanism, these dissociated parts have taken on a life of their own, and a child's identity has become so fractured and they're so confused that they can't tell who or what they are, and the memories of why are scattered between these parts.

It's not as easy as pointing to an event and saying, "That was it. That was what happened, that's what did this to me-- to us."

This sort of plays in to the next point of, "why did a specific alter split." And this can apply to childhood, later, hell, today, ten years ago, fifteen years from now. It's not always as easy as pointing to a specific event for each alter, either. Some alters take months and years after an event to come forward and make themselves known. This can make pinning down their "origin" almost impossible. What made them could have happened a long time ago. Sometimes it's not a specific event, but a combination of several events, just like in childhood. Are your parents always fighting? Maybe, by the tenth time they're blowing up at each other and you're curled up in your room trying to ignore it, a part finally splits to help you handle that stress. It wasn't specifically the tenth fight-- it was the combination of ALL of the fights.

2. What does it feel like to have an alter front?

This depends. I'm old. I've experienced a lot of different feelings when someone else fronts. When I was kid, it sometimes felt like I was asleep. No memories of it, just blissful darkness, no real time loss, things would go dark for what felt like ten minutes, and then I'd be back, several hours later, barely even realizing I had missed an entire day. I also had pretty bad maladaptive daydreaming, and sometimes I would go into my daydreams while another alter took over. I just thought this was normal. I was just REALLY good at multi-tasking, you know?

When I got older, and I learned more about what was happening, sometimes it would feel like a battle to the death-- two of us fighting desperately for front. Sometimes it honestly felt like a punch to the head-- a knock out when I lost, unpleasant darkness, fear, anxiety, what was I going to come back to? Other times, when I won, I was left with a massive headache and exhausted. Sometimes I welcomed the break, and over time, it became easier. It became like watching things happen through a foggy window. Sometimes I wanted to do something, and I couldn't, and sometimes I felt helpless and lost. As communication got better, I could see more clearly, I could ask for things to happen, I could occasionally... steal a moment, use a hand, set something straight on the counter that was bothering me.

When an alter fronts, it can feel like a lot of things, depending on the situation, depending on communication levels. There's no "one way" or "right way".

3. Are systems usually aware they’re a system before they’re diagnosed?

I would say, in the age of the internet, it's more likely than not that someone is aware they're potentially a system, than it is for them to be completely unaware at the time of diagnosis. Before the internet, before you could just google symptoms, a lot of people weren't aware prior to diagnosis. Even these days, it's not unheard of for someone to only find out around the time of diagnosis, because you don't always realize you're losing time, or have amnesia. Your alters aren't always so completely different that the people around you notice and point it out. The entire point of this disorder is for it to be unnoticeable. It really just depends on the person, their exposure to information about the disorders, and how bad their dissociation is. Some know, some don't. Some go seeking therapy for help with other issues and eventually it just comes out over time that you have something else going on. Sometimes you suspect, and you go to therapy specifically for it. It's different for everyone.

4. Do alters always know what they look like beforehand? Previously I thought alters knew everything about themselves but one of the answers I got mentioned hosts sometimes helping to figure out names.

Not at all. It's actually really common for alters to be... essentially blank slates in the beginning. Let's look at the example above, of the child dissociating out of a bad situation. If they're going away into their daydreams, the body is essentially left unattended. Any alter that forms in that moment could considered to be "blank" at the start. In the other scenario, you know who Zoro is, what they look like, what they like and dislike, what their history is. It doesn't even need to be a character you know of, maybe you, like me, had MaDD, and you'd become one of your characters, your OCs. I had one.

She was strong and had superpowers and was beautiful and confident-- and that was one of my first alters. I imagined being her often enough that I could eventually take the other route, disappear into my mind while she handled it herself (this was totally normal multi-tasking, apparently). She knew who and what she was right off the bat. What she looked like, her history, her personality. In the first scenario, that alter may or may not come up with that information on their own. They may remain blank until communication is good, and then they might start to grow, maybe you do help them find a name, maybe they find it years later on their own. Again, there's no "one way". It depends on the circumstances.

-

You sent a second ask with some more questions, and I think this leads into the next one.

Is it normal for an alter to feel more comfortable in the body than the original host?

Like, you look in a mirror and you think “yeah this is [alter name]” Not really as a negative or positive feeling, just a neutral and true one. Being trans (or mistaking the presence of a different gender alter [the alter in question] for it?) might also effect this.

This can happen, yes! In the case of my OC/alter, of course she looked like me. She was everything I wanted to be when I was a child. She can look in the mirror and say, yup, definitely me. This is what I've always looked like, and I'm perfection.

I have another alter that just... isn't bothered by appearance. He looks in the mirror and it's like, "yup, I guess so, cool -finger guns-"

There's a lot of reasons some alters might be more comfortable in the body than others, and they're all totally normal.

-

And finally. The last question:

What is a tupla?

This is, surprisingly, a very loaded question.

First, right off the bat, the use of the term tulpa is cultural appropriation. I don't claim to be an expert, but to put it simply. The actual practice of tulpamancy is nothing, NOTHING, like what it's being used for in system circles. Here's a really, REALLY good post on how it's been twisted from the original practice and westernized.

The more accepted terms in system circles are willogenic, parogenic, and thoughtforms. These are "headmates" that are intentionally created. They're imaginary friends brought to life through meditation and practice. Some systems claim to be DID/OSDD and say they've intentionally created some alters, making them "mixed origin" (it's more likely that someone has convinced themselves that it was intentional and their choice in an attempt to feel a sense of control over their situation). Some endogenic systems claim to have intentionally created their entire system (which, because on the levels of dissociation needed to create alters, I don't believe is possible without a traumatic origin).

I hope this all helps, I hope it all made sense, if you have more questions, let me know!

[soundsof71]

FIVE ALBUMS YOU NEED IN YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW!!!

aka, My Top 5 of 2020, but I didn’t want to seem too retro!

Yep, I have a classic rock blog. Yep, I think that the best rock and roll in history is being made RIGHT NOW. And yep, ALL of it is being made by women. 

(Shown at top, Nova Twins by Ant Adams [x] and The Tissues by Michael Espleta [x]. I was planning to make a collage of all my faves in concert, but  not all of them were able to play in 2020. Both of these photos are pre-pandemic.)

There’s been quite a bit of movement on this list, and all five of these have spent some time at Number 1 as the year has done (gestures broadly) All This™. Anyone looking for rock and roll is going to dig any of these. 

Rocking out is just the start of it, though. Wrestling with my bipolarity and schizophrenia is tough on a good day, and there haven’t been too many of those lately. The plague has also taken its toll around me, with two family members dead and a third who’s doing better, but will likely never be all the way back. (Mask up, kids!)

I’ve written plenty about how deeply Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers have moved me this year (and will do so again), but in those rare stretches where I’ve had enough spare energy to listen to music at all these days, I’ve mostly been looking for more than beautiful music. Heavy times need heavy lifting, and I find that in heavy music. 

The five albums here have all helped carry me, pointing the way toward light.

1) BULLY, SUGAREGG

Alicia Bognanno is a force of nature as a guitarist, vocalist, composer, and producer/engineer. (While working on her degree in audio engineering at MTSU, she interned with Steve Albini, who remains both a fan and an admirer). A Nashville transplant from Minnesota, she’s still a natural fit in her home on Sub Pop: as heavy as Soundgarden, as hooky as Sleater-Kinney. 

I was blown away hearing her searing honesty while working through her discoveries of her bisexuality and bipolarity (double bi!), and her triumphant roar lifts me out of my seat every time I listen.

“She sings the hell out of [these songs], her voice fraying to the point of combustion every time she launches to the top of her range. This is phenomenal music for converting anger and anxiety into unbound joy.” ~Stereogum, Album of the Week

Also, check this fantastic interview with Alicia in the New York Times talking about what she’s gone through to get here. 

TURN IT UP!

2) GANSER, LOOK AT THAT SKY

Ganser syndrome is a rare dissociative disorder characterized by nonsensical or wrong answers to questions and other dissociative symptoms such as fugue, amnesia or conversion disorder, often with visual pseudohallucinations and a decreased state of consciousness. ~Wikipedia #it me

‘Just Look At That Sky’ doesn’t presume to offer solutions; it’s an honest document of what it feels like to wade through anxiety, day by day, not a survival guide or handbook of answers none of us actually have. Whether or not you pay attention to this, Ganser are simply one of the most invigorating, exciting new bands. ~Clashmusic

I saw one very positive review compare Ganser to a cross between Fugazi and Sonic Youth, but I think they hit much, much harder than either of those. And as you can surely guess, I also deeply relate to their themes of mental illness and dissociation while trying to make it through All This™. But my god, are they TIGHT. This is a BAND.

Ganser has two fantastic lead vocalists, and on “Bad Form”, bassist/vocalist Alicia Gaines wrote the song for the voice of keyboardist/vocalist Nadia Garofolo. Alicia also wrote a FANTASTIC essay on the strains that making an album during a pandemic puts on the mental health of the entire band at talkhouse: “Writing, recording, reaching out, balancing relationships outside and within the band, I found (and still find) myself under-rested and agitated to no particular end. More than not doing enough, I was not enough.” 

(If you can’t relate to that, I can’t relate to you, tbh.)

This video also does a fantastic job of showing dissociation. TURN IT UP!

3) THE TISSUES, BLUE FILM

“Blue Film” is a ten-song shot of dagger-twisting electro-(s)punk. It’s completely addictive from the very first listen. The tour de force is “Rear Window”, an art-punk masterpiece of slashing guitars and mad caterwauling. Copious doses of jaunty poetics and social commentary reward the earlooker patient enough to untangle Kristine Nevrose’s hysterical meowing about intergalactic salt shakers and hysterectomies, but I’m too emotionally invested to look under the hood.” ~ Sputnik Music

“Rear Window” is in fact my most-played 2020 track. TURN IT UP!

4) GUM COUNTRY, SOMEWHERE

It’s not all heavy! But even when I’m looking for something light and hooky, I need a bite, and Gum Country has done it with the kind of swirly, feeedback-laden wall of sound that Lush or Yo La Tengo would make if they lived in LA. (Recent transplants to SoCal from Vancouver, I do think that the sunshine has gone straight to their heads, in the very best way.)

Indie music nerds will know guitarist/composer/singer/front woman Courtney Garvin from The Courtneys, and she really does throw up a glorious wall of sound. I adore this video too! Sweet, swinging, fun -- and yes, the drummer is playing keyboard with one hand while slapping the skins with the other! 

I mentioned earlier that all five of these albums have spent part of the year at #1 on my list -- I think that this one might have spent the longest stretch there. Like all shoegaze, even as hooky as this, the truth of these songs is revealed in VOLUME. TURN IT UP!

5) NOVA TWINS, WHO ARE THE GIRLS?

Now, THIS is heavy! Amy Lee (vocals, guitar) and Georgia South (bass) are fucking LOUD, and insanely intense. A mix of grime, hip-hop, metal, punk, and good old rock and roll, they’re a harder-hitting, more theatrical Prodigy, with a pyre of intensity that recalls the heaviest howls of Rage Against The Machine. Indeed, Nova Twins spent a good bit of 2019 playing heavy metal festivals and toured as openers for Prophets of Rage. (Tom Morello has been a fan and supporter from the beginning.)

As you may have noted in the photo at the top of this post, their musical audacity extends to visuals too: they design their own clothes, hair, and makeup, they art direct their own videos, and more. They impress the hell out of me, and I’ve been a huge fan since hearing their first singles in 2018. I’ll plant a flag and say that Georgia South in particular is the most innovative musician on any instrument in any genre right now, but they’re both absolutely monsters. 

I’m honestly not at all sure that #5 is high enough for this, but I’m absolutely certain that after this video, you’re gonna need to rest for a little. LOL

“Taxi” is the story of two gleefully and creatively violent women shaking up the local crime syndicate as they use a vintage cab for their moving murder scene. This is the movie that Robert Rodriguez wishes he was making with Sin City, if it were combined with Blade Runner and The Matrix. And gangsters. And a snake.

I’m gonna take your crown I’m gonna, I’m gonna bleed you out We demand it by the hour We devour, control, power

I’m gonna burn it down Even the, even the royals bow

So not the same kind of therapeutic work being explored on this rekkid, but you know what? Fucking shit up is therapeutic too! 

Definitely take this full screen, and for the love of fuck, TURN IT UP!

SO. Not done with the best of 2020 yet? I’m sure not! A lot of my favorite songs aren’t on albums (at least not yet), so for an unedited list of everything I’m finding, check out my Spotify list, 2020: Shuffle This List! 268 songs and counting, over 15 hours, and not finished yet. I’m still checking out everyone else’s Best of lists (including yours! Message me links to yours!!!), so will probably be adding to this for most of 2021, too. 

And for more banging tracks by women from 2020, plus a few 2019 gems that I’m still grooving to, check out my more thoroughly curated Spotify playlist Women Bangers: A Tumblr New Classics Jam. (You’ll see a couple of these tracks there!) I’m working on a YouTube playlist and an essay to properly roll that one out. I’m also still tweaking the ending, but the three dozen or so tunes there are definitely bangin’.

Tell me if you hear anything you dig here, and tell me what YOU’VE found! We’re gonna get through this together.

Yr pal, Timmy

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.4

WARNING OF DEPICTION OF A PANIC ATTACK and mentions of drugging. 

////////

The rest of the day went by pretty uneventfully. That is after Nate lectured you about stranger danger and how you couldn't just walk forty miles in two hours. You really have no clue how you messed up the math that bad or how calling Nate for a ride never crossed your mind. Nate made you promise not to get into another stranger's car, especially without knowing their fucking names.

“I mean seriously YN, you just hopped in their car because they had a dog?! That's literally the first thing they tell you not to do when you learn about stranger danger!” he said munching on a boston cream donut. It was a good thing you'd brought donuts because you caused this man to stress eat...or was that a bad thing?

After you agreed to having better stranger danger instincts, Nate told you things would be run a little differently around the shop. Apparently the camera out back had died on Sunday, which although weird could be explained away as a camera that hasn't been updated or switched out since the shop was opened, maybe even before then too. So unfortunately Big Jo and Nate still didn't know who broke into your car or if they had been looking for anything. But Big Jo still wants to take precautions like the two of you leaving together and in the morning one of you waiting in their car with the doors locked for the other to come and then entering the building together.

Nate also mentioned a few other things, shipping and inventory related, that wouldn't really pertain to you or change any of your current tasks. It's really just to limit the amount of people coming through the back room. The back room was the emptiest you've ever seen when you went to check on your deer skull. You wonder if you hadn't been hired who would've gotten this position and how long they'd be able to keep their mouth shut about the obviously illegal activity going on. But you remember the person who had this position before you had been Bambi, a sweet if not oblivious girl. So, had you not come along the Cowells would have probably found someone else who didn't have an ounce of perception for their surroundings.

The week goes by slowly and with no further incidents. The deer skull has been completed and you plan on taking it to Maddie's Workshop next week to get a mount for it. In the time that you were bleaching and polishing the bones Nate took it upon himself to clean around the shop. Even though he's made it clear you just have to do your task list here, which takes about an hour maybe two depending on the tasks, he's always working on something.

Nate's the type of guy who's never content to just chill he needs to keep moving always chasing that high you get from accomplishing a goal, whatever he's made his that day. He's probably just substituting whatever he did daily with these new deep cleans of his.

Even with the lack of incidents following your car's break in the two of you have kept to the new precautions. Nate even going so far as to remind you tonight that on Monday if you arrive before him you'll need to stay in the car. At this point you think it's less about safety and more about the security of the store's extra curricular activities. Either way you don't really mind.

Things seemed to return to normal, you were back to driving yesterday and after you rearranged furniture in your house you felt a little less on edge. And every night this week you'd been able to get a good night's sleep, which although not too strange did stand out to you. Maybe another thing that had kept you on edge this week, because it meant when you saw a shadow pass by you during the day you couldn't write it off as quickly as you normally would.

But tonight it seemed your luck had run out. You sat on your bed with your sketch book in hand just doodling strange squiggles till your eyes were so tired they couldn't focus. Putting the book down to rest your eyes and crack your wrist, you sigh not feeling tired at all. The thought of a hike isn't really appealing right now, plus if you made a run into the mini mart you'd probably see either Ronnie or even Tim working behind the counter, that thought set your ears a flame. While the night life in Kepler was decent especially for a Friday night in summer, you just felt the need to be alone.

A drive was the best answer you had. You'd just choose a random lane on the interstate and take a random exit till you found a diner or something, order a tea and a slice of pie. Like you were a background character in someone else's story longingly staring out the window as your dreams slowly slipped through your fingers in this cold cruel world. Ok, you'd been joking about that because you saw a TikTok saying that, but your melodramatic ass actually thinks that sounds fun.

Throwing on some jeans and a flannel over you muscle tee, you were out the door. When you were checking the lock you'd heard rustling coming from around the house where your bins were. Worse case it's a stalker, best case just some raccoons. Either way you decided to calmly but briskly walk to your car, locking the doors immediately. Once in you drove around the side of your house, luckily, you assume, you spot the chonkiest raccoon you've ever seen digging through the bins. His tiny little person hands drawing an awww from you even though his demonic gleaming eyes should send a chill down your spine.

Hissing at the car Chonk returns to dig through your garbage. Weird how he only comes on your pizza weeks. Probably has a thing for Leo's homemade pizzas. You sure as hell do, as much as you love it you do save a slice for this little guy. You haven't put it out yet though, eh you'll do it tomorrow.

Having solved that mystery you sit in your car and link up your phone so you can have your driving playlist. It's mainly Folk Punk and Sea Shanties and while most might say it's a weird combination you say it's the same genre just different fonts. You could drive hundreds of miles into the middle of no where listening to this playlist and you'd be just fine...maybe have an emotional break down or two but expressing your emotions is suppose to be good for you. Mouthing along to Jim Bogart as it comes through the stereo you set off on your little excursion.

Just like when you have the urge to hike at night the urge to drive is nearly one in the same. Momentum taking you forward and not looking back as you do, needing to just go forward with no real destination in mind. Tonight however would be a little different you'd stop at the first diner you see that's out of Kepler bounds. Or turn right back around at one in case you hadn't found anything. There've been times that you kept driving straight through morning and didn't know where the hell you ended up. Not to mention you rarely remember the ways to get back after going for so long, and gps can only get you so far in some of the towns that also border the Monongahela Forest. You'd just have to rely on dumb luck tonight.

Unlike hiking, which gives you a burst of adrenaline as you push your body to its limits to move as far as you can and as much as you can. Driving gives a much more relaxed feeling, it's a feeling a weightlessness that gets lighter and lighter the further you get from home. Some may describe that feeling as a wanderlust or nomadic calling, but you've never cared for either of those things. You've only ever wanted to stay in one place for as long as you could remember. Moving around so much in your youth really messed you up, and you promised yourself this would be the last time you uprooted your life. And you've really come to love Kepler in these past few months. You can't imagine how you'll feel next year after getting to know the community more, but so far it's been really compassionate and understanding, a few rocky spots here and there but nothing like your hometown.

Without realizing it you've picked up your speed, you're doing 75 in a 55 zone. Even with no other vehicles around you slow down to just above the speed limit. While there might not be any cops around looking for easy tickets you don't want to risk dissociating at 75MPH or more. That could only end horribly. Though dissociating behind the wheel at all would be horrible. In the middle of shaking yourself from these thoughts you catch sight of an exit sign, which holds the logo for Denny's on it, and the exit is coming up in five miles. Switching lanes you cross over and get ready to hop off on the next exit.

You're pretty sure the only pie Denny's has is the dry apple with a scoop of ice cream. That isn't very appetizing to you, but then again you aren't really a fan of pie, a fact you seemed to gloss over when you made the decision to drive out here this late at night. Not too bothered by the fact, you remember Denny's has a salted caramel and banana pancake which should work in place of pie.

Pulling into the parking lot there are only three other cars, peering into the diner you don't really see anyone so the cars must belong to the skeleton night crew. Entering the Denny's you see there actually is one other patron, you only see the back of his head as he makes no move to look at the new arrival.

“Hun, seat yourself, I'll be out in a bit.” is the motherly voice that rings out from the kitchen, truly something you've only experienced in the south. Walking into a diner in the dead of night and  being treated like a daytime regular.

Seating yourself near the TV mounted to the wall you let the sounds of the soap opera playing drown out any buzzing you feel in your head. The waitress is out within minutes and though she startles at your masked face she regains her composure very quickly.

“I'd like the salted caramel pancakes if it's alright.” you say declining the offered menu.

“Just the pancakes?”

��Ah, yes please. And water's fine too.” it really pays to know the menu prior to coming in. Gives you ample time to run scripts over in your head.

Viv, the name on her name tag, nods and gives you a smile as she spins right round to the kitchen. Probably happy she won't have to run out so many times for just one order or maybe to spend time with the cooks in the back. You remember working food service sucked but the line cooks made it so much better at the end of the day. Even if they said you were too quiet and called you 'mouse'.

It might not have been exactly what you set out to do but this little midnight self date was really nice, you should do this more often.

Pancakes finished and mask back on you waited for Viv to bring out your check,  then you notice the other patron also making his moves to leave. You're sat facing the door so when he turns and comes closer dread fills your veins like burning cold dry ice. It's David, a local from Kepler you briefly met when you first moved. He gave you really bad vibes and over all was just a very skeevy dude.

What made you feel worse about him was when he left town to “help his sister” right after Bambi disappeared. Those in your circle told you she always talked about leaving Kepler one day but you trusted your gut in saying she didn't leave by her own choice. It got made for her, and David leaving just furthered your theory. You look away hoping he hadn't noticed you but unfortunately you could hear his footsteps falter and then pick back up by passing the door completely.

“Hey...YN, right?” fuck he remembers you, alarm bells are ringing at this fact. Why would he remember someone he briefly met months ago?

“It really is you, still as quiet as I remember.” what did he mean the two of you only met a handful of times and that had been because of your mutual friendship with Bambi.

Where is Viv with the check? You'd really like if she saved you from this painful situation right now. But you aren't sure what's worse having to sit here and listen to David tell you everything he's been up to these past few months, like you even care. Or the thought of leaving with David having him follow you and maybe doing whatever he did to Bambi to you.

“Yea so my sister's better now, I should be seeing you around soon. We should catch up maybe do Saturday Night Dead. Does the Crypt still do that?” great a fucking rhetorical question, he knows the Cryptonomica still does it's weekly movie nights, it's only been two months he's been gone. Not to mention it's a big hit and a huge source of revenue for the shop.

You haven't said anything this whole time, fuck being polite to a potential killer, and fuck being polite to this creep. He's just been talking nearly nonstop for the last few minutes. He must really love the sound of his own voice or thinks he's the most charming person to ever grace the Earth with his presence. Since he's not really caring that you aren't proving to be a stimulating partner in this conversation. He really does love hearing himself talk. By the time he's said his own goodbyes Viv finally makes it out from the back.

She apologizes for the wait, had to go on her break sometime you supposed. You take your time finding your wallet, it's in your back pocket but you wanted to stall for time since you could still see David's car out there, you were also keeping an eye on your own car. Only relaxing when you saw him pull off from the corner of your eye. Oh look you've “found” your wallet,  handing Viv your credit card you just want to get out of here quickly now.

You pay and leave a nice tip for Viv, while she didn't save you from that creep it's not like she could've known. You sit in your car for a moment or two just breathing in and out in the glow of the diner lights. Almost meditating before you begin your long drive back to Kepler with all these thoughts of David, Bambi's disappearance, and how it can't be coincidence that David is coming back at the same time that you have a break in. Could you be his next target? Were you just over thinking things? Just blaming this poor guy because you didn't like him? But you've always been intuitive and bad vibes aren't something to ignore. David appearing now meant something.

Just that thought alone put you on edge as your skin begins to crawl. With a few calming breaths you go to start the car and sync your radio when you notice the glow of the lights changed from the slight yellow to a sterile blueish white. Looking up where the diner should be you see the mini mart back at Kepler...how on earth did you get here? You didn't drive! You couldn't have dissociated while driving, you never even turned the car on and you can barely take a hike dissociating let alone do something as complex as drive a car.

It happens before you can register it, on shaky legs that move on their own you are passing the threshold of the convenience store and catching the tail end of a conversation.

“ppened to not feeding into delus...” the voice cuts off as the door shuts behind you. You know that voice why is it so hard to focus?

Something warm brushes your hand and you see someone in front of you. Who is that? You can't see their face, they've got a mask covering their face. Like you but that person is not you. You might know them...Tobais?

“Yea? You good there?” confusion, you blink hard and see you are standing in the mini mart now, Connor standing under your hand, Toby hovering close by and both Brian and Tim watch with unease over by the register.

“...I don't know how I...how I got here.” you register movement in the background but not consciously.

It's the shifting of Brian's head as he looks out the front windows and spots your Kia.

“You drove.” shaking your head, “Maybe...I don't...I dissociated?” in your confusion you can register Toby stiffen in front of you.

Fear, fear, uneasy, breath....are you breathing? Your head's so jumbled right now.

You scan the shop trying to look for answers that may help you but you find none. The more confused you get the more worked up you get, chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a step back or try to and end up falling on your butt. It's starting to get hard to breathe with your throat constricting, you bring a hand up to your larynx.

“..re.....have..attack......”

        “could be o...me..”

“.....pressure...”

Is all you can make out with your fuzzy consciousness before a heavy pressure is piling on your chest and knocking you fully on your back. The pressure is actually pretty lifting as contradictory as it may seem. Instead of restricting your breathing more it seems to be kick starting your lungs to exhale and inhale. With oxygen coming back into your body you can feel your toes and the tingle behind them. You can feel your fingers and the fur under them. Fur?

Taking in a big breath you move your head and come face to muzzle with Connor.  You give a nod of recognition to the dog before lying flat again and staring up at the ceiling. After about ten minutes you're thinking more clearly than before, which isn't saying much.

“Thanks.” you aren't sure who it's directed at but you still mean it.

It's silent until Toby breaks it, “I'm taking you home.”

“Car.” it's all you can manage to say but the message though distorted got through.

“I'll drive it, Brian follow behind.” there is no room for arguing, driving under any influence must be a touchy subject for Toby. Or maybe you're really fucked up right now and just can't comprehend how bad.

You use Connor to get up, he seems ready and no one else makes a move to you. Toby pushes past and holds the door open as Connor guides you, still holding onto his vest with one hand, and Brian murmurs something to Tim before following you three.

Outside Toby already has your keys in his hand, when did he get those? Did you give them to him? Your hand is risen, you must of...how on earth did you even drive like this. Had you really driven? There's a lump in your throat again and you're breathing's gone shaky, god you hope you didn't hurt anyone. You must have been zoning out for too long, not only is Connor pushing your legs but Toby has a grasp on your forearm coaxing you forward.

His grip isn't suffocating, honestly even seeing it there you still don't feel it. Maybe it's because you're so numb, or maybe it's because he's genuinely helping you but you can't feel the pain that  usually comes with being touched. The sharp jab that feels like you've been struck with a fire poker where ever someone laid their hands on you. After he's pushed you into the backseat, more like nudged you, even making sure you didn't bump your head, he buckles you in then snaps and Connor jumps into the car and lays across your lap.

You're shaking, actually trembling as you look at Toby. What's going on? Why can't you figure out what's happening? The brunette doesn't say a thing as he gets into the driver's seat and buckles in to drive you home. That's strange you think, how does he know where to go? You told him right, just follow the road...or maybe he guessed from the other day. What happened to you? Why the mini mart? You were at Denny's.

“This town doesn't have a Denny's.” did you say that out loud?

“I...I went for a drive, a town over...up...no.. north I think...” you start blinking barely able to keep your eyes open before your eyes lock shut. It's sending you over the edge even more in your confusion.

“Hey, hey just focus on the Denny's. What'd you do once you got there?” is he trying to distract you? Calm you down? Or is he trying to piece together what happened like you are? You can remember Denny's just fine, the dull yellow glow of the inside the skeleton crew murmuring in the back, the pancakes you had, and the “conversation” with David. Did David do this, had he put something in your water glass? Did you even touch your water glass after he left? Breathe. You need to breathe. Toby's waiting.

“Pancakes...I had pancakes. Then that creep came over...and he started talking. Didn't like. We aren't friends, I don't know him. I don't understand why he'd talk to me. Didn't like. Didn't like.” finger back to pressing down on your larynx and the weight of Connor preventing your legs from striking out at the seat in front of you.

“Wait, were you drugged?” Eyes flash to the rear view to lock with your own teary stare.

“No, maybe...I don't think so.” you barely feel the pain in your throat right now, this is all so overwhelming. “He left, I...I watched him drive off before getting in my car... I had an episode while the car was off then..” then you were at the mini mart. You never touched the ignition.

“I didn't drive, I never started the car. Didn't, didn't, didn't” Your attack is probably stressing even Connor out now, but this is all so confusing.

You're so focused on the fuzzy events you don't notice Toby bristle. Or how he grips the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles grow white despite his already translucent skin. He might not be able to feel or see it in the mirror through his mask but he's probably gnawing off more of his face. He'd deal with it after he dealt with you.

You've made it to your house and he's waiting for the headlights from Brian. When he sees them in the rear view he gets out but not before telling you, or maybe Connor, to stay put.

It's a few long moments before he comes back. But in the silence and darkness of your car, growing colder by the moment, you start to ground yourself. You aren't calm by any means and you're still very unfocused. But you aren't crying as the numbness overtakes you, you don't even jump when the door beside you opens. With a snap Connor is out of the car and soon you're being pulled from the car, that same weightless touch gripping your forearm. Toby guides you into your own home, and walks towards the hallway looking into the bathroom, the only other door, before finding your room.

Seemingly understanding your catatonic state he sits you on the bed and gives some order to Connor before he leaves the room. And you just sit on the bed staring into dead air as a silent guard sits in wait. You aren't sure what he's waiting for or why he's still there but the numbness has taken over too much and you can't find it in you to give a single fuck.

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 6

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Seven

AN: Alone time with Spencer Reid isn’t something you’re ever willing to pass up.  Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

---------------------------

“I could eat a horse,” Emily grumbled, collapsing into her seat on the jet, “when’s the last time we had solid food?”

JJ shook her head, “God, I don’t know. Maybe yesterday?”

“18:43 yesterday,” Spencer agreed, shooting you a tired smile as he took a seat beside you, “that’s when the call from Martin came in.”

Everyone nodded, remembering the frenzy that followed the call, everyone rushing to gather SWAT units, interviewing witnesses again, formulating a plan of attack and a de-escalation strategy. It had been a blur of movement and activity and that, combined with the nearly 10 hour standoff that followed had carried you for well over 24 hours, and left everyone hungry, tired and in desperate need of a shower.

“Ugh, I did not miss this part of the job,” you whined in time with a loud grumble from your stomach, “do you have any idea how many meals I missed when I was working at the bookstore? None! Not one. I had three meals a day and as many biscuits as I could eat,” you sighed nostalgically, “those were the good days.”

Emily moaned, “Ah, biscuits. Tell me more.”

You chuckled and shot her a fond look.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re missing, Emily,” Spencer cut in, “the biscuits Y/N makes are heaven. The ‘better than sex’ ones?” He rolled his eyes and groaned, a noise that made your cheeks flush and sent a bolt of surprise straight through you, “I dream about them.”

JJ hummed her agreement, closing her eyes as she reminisced, “I remember those, they’re Will’s favorite too.”

“That’s because Will has excellent taste,” you joked, shooting her a flirty wink, “in all things.”

Emily frowned, “Hey! Don’t flirt with her, keep telling me about these Better Than Sex biscuits.”

It had been nearly two weeks since the last big break in your case and, honestly, it was starting to grate on your nerves. No matter what you did it was like there was this massive clock counting down the days until another body would be dropped in your lap, probably with some other creepy detail on it; like your first pet’s name carved into the victim’s forehead. Garcia had been tracking down security camera footage from the shopping center you’d visited to buy your perfume, but there hadn’t been too much luck. A lot of the shops had already taped over their footage, and the ones that hadn’t had been grainy or awkwardly placed. All that they could reliably see was a tall man in a dark coat with a baseball cap on mirroring your movements in a few different stores.

Garcia was trying her best to enhance the images but, until she could, they were stuck. The only thing that helped your nerves was being on cases, and the fact that you almost always had someone with you to help keep you distracted.

“Well, they’re biscuits,” you smiled.

“And?” Emily pushed.

“And they’re better than sex,” you finished.

Emily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she did it, “That so?”

“I guess it depends on who you’re having sex with,” Spencer offered, meeting your eye for just a second, “in my experience they’re definitely better than casual meaningless sex, like a one night stand, but maybe not better than all sex.”

Your eyes widened and, much to your embarrassment, you felt yourself flush again. Spencer Reid and sex were two things that you worked very hard to keep separate in your mind. If they ever overlapped it happened in private and late at night, when no one was around to see your pupils dilate. You were a profiler. You were surrounded by profilers, and you’d learned long ago that the only way to keep secrets from a team like that was to make sure that your body language was stable and consistent at all times. Spencer Reid made that difficult. Spencer Reid casually talking about sex while his thigh was brushing up against yours made it damn near impossible.

“I need to try these biscuits,” Emily declared, “Y/N/N, will you make me some? Please?”

You snorted, “When? My shop’s closed indefinitely.”

“You can make them at my place,” Spencer said softly, just to you, “I haven’t used the oven in my apartment since...ever, I think, but it should work.”

“I’m-I’m staying at your place?”

Spencer shifted in his seat, “Yeah, it’s my turn. Garcia didn’t tell you?”

You made a mental note to shave Penelope’s eyebrows off at the earliest possible convenience in retaliation, but you kept your face neutral.

“No, she didn’t. Are you sure you’re okay with this, Spence? I don’t want to be a burden, and I know that you really value your privacy.” You asked, keeping your voice low.

Spencer smiled, something soft and fond glimmering in his dark eyes, “Of course I’m sure, Y/N. This is about keeping you safe.”

“I know but-“

“No!” Spencer interrupted with a laugh, “No buts. You’re staying at my place. Okay?”

You pressed your lips together, a million different arguments fighting for prominence in your mind.

“Okay?” Spencer repeated.

You deflated, “Fine. Okay.”

He leaned back in his seat and gave you a smug smile as he opened the book he’d brought with him. War and Peace, in the original Russian of course. It was a painfully nostalgic image and you felt your eyes start to droop with exhaustion.

“You’re impossible,” you yawned, “you know that?”

He smiled, “Yeah, yeah I know, Y/N. Get some rest, I’ll still be impossible when you wake up.”

You hummed, feeling a rush of comfort and warmth as you let sleep drag you under.

“Night, Reid,” you mumbled.

——————————-

Spencer was weirdly nervous as he fumbled for his apartment keys. It was stupid, of course, you’d been to his apartment before. Hell, you’d practically lived there in the weeks after Maeve’s death, but something about this felt...different. Maybe it was that he knew that you were in danger, and because of that you being there felt like an act of trust. Maybe he was nervous that he hadn’t cleaned up enough, or that you’d spent the entire flight with your head on his shoulder. Maybe he was worried that his oven actually didn’t work and he’d gotten your hopes up for nothing. Maybe it was-

“Spencer,” you said with a gentle laugh, “I can hear the cogs in your brain whirling. Calm down, everything’s going to be alright, I’ve seen your place before.”

Spencer smiled and he felt the tension start to ease out of his shoulders. Maybe it was just because it was you. The key finally slid into the door and he welcomed you in, grabbing your suitcase with one hand as he went.

“Welcome to Casa Reid,” he said, “ignore the books, unless you want to read any of them of course. You remember where my room is, right?”

You shot him a look, “What? No! Spence I’m already intruding on your fortress of solitude, I’m not taking your bedroom too.” You flopped down onto his couch, crossing your legs on the cushion and your arms across your chest with a determined glint in your eyes, “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

He rolled his eyes fondly, “Really, Y/N/N? This is the hill you want to die on? I know you’re as tired as I am. Wouldn’t it be nice to just collapse into a soft bed?”

“I’m sure it would be,” you agreed, “you’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow morning.” You pushed yourself up and grabbed your suitcase from his hands with a sweet smile, “I would love a shower though. Maybe when I’m done you’ll have thought of a clever comeback? If not,” you shrugged, “we’ll get dinner.”

And with that you strode off in the direction of Spencer’s bathroom, shooting him one last playful smile as you went. As soon as you were out of sight Spencer sighed happily, collapsing onto the couch you’d just vacated and listening as the shower switched on. He was tired, bone tired; he was starving, he was thirsty and there was a dull sort of pressure in his temple that might have been the start of a headache, but despite all that he didn’t care. He was happy, almost giddy really, and that was enough. While the sound of the shower echoed through his apartment, Spencer let himself start to drift off.

-------------------------

The moment you were done talking Spencer’s world went quiet. All around him he could see his friends’ mouths moving, their shocked faces burned into his mind as they begged you for answers, but it was like they were on the other end of a really long corridor and he couldn’t quite make out their actual words. Instead there was just this rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart, just a little too loud, as he tried to process the idea of his world without you in it.

“I’m leaving,” he heard you say again and again, like a stuck record in the back of his mind, “I handed in my resignation a while ago. I’m just here to pack up my things.”

For some reason that didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem right that you could be “leaving” and then be gone for good on the same day. It was too fast, Spencer hadn’t had time. Time to process, to think, to convince you to stay, to come with you, to tell you how he felt, to cry, to yell, to throw things, to laugh to-

“We’ll still see each other,” you lied through a sheepish smile, “this doesn’t have to be goodbye forever. Just goodbye for now.”

Spencer shook his head, his eyes trained on the patch of floor just between your feet like if he stared long enough it might give him the answer. The answer to what? It didn’t matter. He vaguely heard Garcia complaining in her own way, and JJ asking you to reconsider but, still, it was like it was happening to someone else. You’re dissociating, the rational part of his brain supplied, you’re dissociating because you can’t cope with losing someone you care about, you can’t cope with losing Y/N. He pushed the thought away, forcing it into a box somewhere in the very back of his mind as he fought to stay in control in the moment. Oh wow, Spencer Reid has abandonment issues, he thought to himself, how original.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, hoping it was too low for anyone to hear as he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the conference room.

As he went he could feel the sets of eyes on his back and the heavy weight of a mixture of confusion and pity they brought with them. For once he didn’t care. All that mattered was that his eyes were stinging and his chest was tight and, no matter what happened you couldn’t see him cry like this. He couldn’t let you see him break down because, the second that you did, he would be found out. You would put your arm on his shoulder and say something kind and he would look into your eyes and….you’d know. You’d see all the pain and the fear and the betrayal and you’d know in an instant how desperately and completely Spencer had fallen for you. And that couldn’t happen, it just couldn’t.

——————————-

Spencer sighed, shaking his head to snap himself out of the sad reminiscing. His heart was strangely heavy at the memory and he swallowed hard past the growing lump in his throat. That had been a hard day, but it had been nothing compared to what had come next. Showing up at work everyday and being met with your empty desk, the suffocating absence of your laughter, your voice, Derek and JJ trying desperately to compensate, Emily’s sullenness, even Garcia and her constant little check ins. Everything they did just made it more obvious that you weren’t there, that you’d really left, and that you were never coming back.

He looked towards his bedroom without meaning to, subtly reminding himself that you were there and that he wasn’t on his own anymore.

For now, the cynical voice in the back of his mind whispered. Until this case is solved and she packs up and leaves again like nothing happened. Then it’ll be just like it was before. Except that that wasn’t true. No, this time it’d be worse.

------------------------------

Spencer fiddled with the strap of his satchel, working his jaw as he tried to get up the nerve to either walk into the bookshop or turn and leave for good. It had been nearly four months since he’d last seen you, but you still texted regularly and sent him pictures of the store whenever you could. Not that it ever felt like enough. Four months of fighting himself and trying to figure out what the right thing to do was. Should he chase after you and beg you to come back? Should he offer to help around the bookstore in his free time? What did he want from you? What was his endgame here?

For a long while Spencer just watched you through the glass as the questions whirled around his head like a hurricane. You looked happy, he noticed as you laughed at something one of your employees said, like you were in your element. There was a peacefulness about the way you moved here too, like there was no hurry, like you had all the time in the world. It had been a long time since he’d seen you that happy. Not since that night, the one he wasn’t supposed to think about anymore. Not since he’d ruined everything and set your friendship on a collision course with disaster. You’d never said so, but Spencer knew that that night was why you left. He knew it was his fault, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

He sighed, fighting down a sudden rush of bitterness that tasted like ashes in his mouth. Something about seeing you, really seeing you again,brought all the hurt and confusion of that night back to the surface. Maybe it was just that it felt real now, final, like something that was always meant to happen the way it had. Something he had no control over. But you were happy, he reminded himself, and that was all he really wanted, right?

Spencer felt something in his chest splinter and, while his resolve was still firm, he turned on his heel and walked away. It wasn’t his place, he told himself again and again as he walked, he had no right.

-------------------------------

“Spence?” You asked, your worried voice cutting straight through his daydream like a knife, “are you okay?”

His head whipped around and he felt the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen as he took you in. Your hair was wet from the shower, your skin dewy and soft-looking beneath your pajamas. You looked calm and strong, and so painfully familiar that Spencer felt something near his heart swell with appreciation. So he brought his attention back, leaving the mistakes of the past alone for the time being so that he could better enjoy the present. He was home, and you were safe and for a moment everything was right in the world.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile, “yeah I’m good. I-uh-I didn’t want to order dinner before you were finished because I didn’t ask what you wanted.”

You relaxed ever so slightly, “Hmmm,” you started, making your way over to the couch and plopping down next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “how about pizza?”

Spencer smiled, “I could do pizza. What kind do you want?” he asked, pulling out his phone to place the order.

“Ohhhh no,” you replied, shaking your head, “no, no, no. I’m not falling for that one again, Doctor Reid,” you joked, “I will not have you topping shame me in my own home.”

“In your own home?” Spencer laughed, “Oh, so this is officially your home now?”

“For the next few days yes, it is,” you shot back smugly, followed by, “I’ll have whatever you’re having, but no mushrooms.”

“Since when do you hate mushrooms?”

“Since now, duh,” you replied with a shrug, “seriously though, so long as it’s warm and filling, I really don’t mind.”

“Two warm and filling pizza’s coming right up,” Spencer said, “Garcia leant me some movies to watch as well if you want.”

Joking around with you the way he always had was an equal measure of comforting and bizarre, but Spencer wasn’t going to question it. As you bickered back and forth about whether or not Legally Blonde was the best courtroom film ever made, he tried to shake off the slight sadness in his chest. It was impossible. Every time he made you laugh or saw the edges of your eyes crinkle with a smile he was reminded of that empty desk, and the hole in his chest, and the way losing you felt like losing an arm. It wasn’t your fault, you were being your usual incredible self, but that was sort of the problem. Small acts of kindness to you, like grabbing a blanket and throwing it over both of your legs without a second thought, were just that, small acts of kindness. But to Spencer they were like patches of warm sunlight when he’d been expecting cold weather. It was painful. By the time the pizza had arrived, he’d changed into pajamas and you’d convinced him to watch Legally Blonde, he thought he had it under control. Or at least under control enough that you wouldn’t notice. He was wrong.

Less than fifteen minutes into the movie you pressed pause, turning to face him on the couch with a determined look on your face.

“Okay, spill it.” You demanded, “What’s wrong?”

“What?” he asked, heat creeping into his cheeks, “I don’t-what?”

“You went somewhere,” you explained, “somewhere in your head. You only do that when something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me, Y/N, I just-”

“Spence,” you interrupted, scooching closer and staring into his eyes pleadingly, “please don’t lie to me. I know you too well for that to work. Just tell me what’s wrong, is it me? Did I do something?”

“No.” Spencer said quickly, desperate to wipe that sad look off your face “No, Y/N/N you didn’t do anything I’m just-I’m not-” he took a deep breath in, thinking through his words, “I’m not sure...how to do this, exactly.”

You tilted your head, confused but, to his relief, didn’t shut him down.

“How to do what?” You asked sincerely, “Watch Legally Blonde? I know it’s not exactly your style but-”

“No,” he laughed softly, “no, not the movie. I don’t know how to be here, with you,” he admitted, “like this. Everytime I think I’ve got it, I remember what it was like without you and I just-” he shook his head, “I shut down. I pull away, and I don’t want to, I want to be here because you’re my friend and I care about you. It’s just that everytime I try….”

“You imagine what it’ll be like to lose me,” you supplied, sadly.

“I don’t imagine it, Y/N, I remember it.” He said, “All those years of seeing you every single day and suddenly you were just gone, and I couldn’t handle it. I kept expecting you to just walk back in one day, or that I’d wake up and the whole thing would just have been some weird fever dream, but it never did. The months just stretched on and on and on and-” he met your eye, “and now you’re back, and everything’s great again, but it’s been more than a year and, I don’t know, I guess I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”

The admission made Spencer feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his chest but, when he met your eye, his heart sank just a little bit. You pressed your lips together into a thin line, sniffing as you fought back tears. But they were angry tears, Spencer realised. You were sad, but you were also furious, and it made him swallow hard.

“Spencer, I don’t know how many times I can apologise,” you finally started, “I should’ve given you more warning, I shouldn’t have kept how I was feeling a secret, I know that now,” you continued, “but you didn’t lose me. Nobody lost me. I lost you. I lost my family, my job, my second home, the entire community of people I’d built up, all of it. I was alone, really alone, and starting from scratch in a city I barely recognized because I’d spent the last however many years flying around the country and completely neglecting most of the city I actually lived in. I also discovered that, outside of the BAU, I have exactly two friends, neither of whom live in the state so, at first, I spent 99% of my time just sitting in my apartment crying over what a huge terrible irreversible mistake I’d made and eating cookies.” You explained. Spencer opened his mouth to interrupt but, before he could, you shot him a pleading look, and he let you continue, “And I know it must’ve sucked, not having me around. I know you must have felt completely hurt and betrayed and confused, and I swear to you, I’m not trying to minimize that at all. All I’m trying to say is...it wasn’t easy for me. I didn’t just step out of those doors into some sunny, perfect idyllic life where all I did was bake cookies and read books. It was hard. I worked hard, and I don’t want to have to feel bad about that.”

You looked so sad in that moment that Spencer wanted to cry. He had never truly considered the implications of leaving the BAU, of how hard it must’ve been starting over when being in the FBI had always been your dream. Instinctively, he reached out and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, just so you knew he was there.

“I don’t want that either,” Spencer promised, “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, Y/N.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as a few stray tears slipped down your cheeks, “I know that, Spence, I do. I just-” You let out a deep breath and seemed to pull yourself together, squeezing his hand in return, “it felt like the only person who cared about me was Garcia,” you admitted, “and so, coming back, I was really scared. I didn’t quite know what I was walking into. I thought I knew, but I wasn’t sure so I just-” you shrugged, “acted like nothing had changed. And maybe that’s my fault but-”

“It’s not your fault,” he interrupted, feeling a swell of protectiveness ballooning in his chest, “none of us knew how to handle a situation like this.”

“But I should’ve considered how weird this must be for you,” you insisted, “I should’ve known that you-that you’d need more time, or more space from me than the others.”

“I don’t want space,” he said earnestly, “I promise you, Y/N, the last thing I want is to be away from you again. I’ve made that mistake once and it didn't work out too well.

You gave him a watery laugh and Spencer felt his spirit lift just a little. It was crazy how simple everything became in Spencer’s mind when you needed him, how easily he could be open and vulnerable without fear. It was you, he’d do anything for you, even bare his soul to make you laugh.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say,” You continued, “is that I’m scared. I’m so scared that, the minute this case is over, I’ll be alone again, starting from scratch, with nothing but two Murder Storefronts that no one is going to want to come within one hundred feet of, and you guys will just go on without me.”

Spencer smiled and tugged you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug.

“That’s not going to happen, Y/N/N,” he promised.

“How do you know?” You whispered into his hair.

“Because,” he replied honestly, “I won’t let it.”

-----------------------------------

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[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 01

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.2k rating: sfw warnings: none except the appearance of battered gabriel fresh out of asmodeus’ hold notes: welcome to my first dive into writing for supernatural! i saw someone say that s13 lit a fire under their ass like nothing else and honestly i don’t think i could have described it better. i binged so much while catching up the past few weeks idk who i am anymore

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe...

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

next.

“Honeys, I’m home!”

The bunker has the same light aroma of musty air and metal as you let yourself in through the heavy front door, feet carrying you, out of habit more than anything, to the steel landing that marks the entrance to the fortress. It’s been so long since you were last here that the two men you used to hunt with regularly have likely forgotten they gave you a spare key. Well, they hadn’t exactly given it to you so much as you’d made a copy on the down-low and kept it for occasions such as this.

One hand keeps pressure on your arm, an attempt to stem the bleeding, and the other carries your single carry-on bag. You make it about halfway down the stairs before your gaze swings out over the foyer and you freeze, mid-step.

Sam and Dean, the two figures you expected to find here, are standing stock-still with their guns half-poised (not directed at you) and expressions on their faces that are a combination of shocked, pissed, and extremely confused (mostly directed at you). Following the line of their weapons leads you to the other two occupants in the room, most definitely unexpected and completely unfamiliar.

One is in rags, cowering, and whimpering, unrecognisable underneath filthy tangled hair that covers his face, and the other is in a prim suit marred only by blood and a bit of dirt, barely a single strand of dark hair atop his head out of place.

“Twinkletoes? What the hell are you doing here?!”

It’s Dean’s stupid, old nickname for you that breaks you out of your shock, a glare already falling onto your face with the practised ease of muscle memory.  

“I’ll answer that when you tell me what the hell I just walked in on—” You come the rest of the way down the stairs, slower and more cautious now, with your gaze trained on the two at the other end of the table. It’s when the man in rags finally looks up from where he had been cowering and you catch a glimpse of his face, bloody and bruised but instantly familiar, that your words swell and catch in your throat.

“… Gabriel?”

The brothers in front of you heave a great, unanimous sigh, a look passed between them telling you that you’re about to be on the receiving end of a very ludicrous and typical Winchester story.

x     x     x

The first time you met Gabriel was not long after you’d gone through the biggest plot twist of your entire life. You’d gone to sleep in your bed, in your home, and woken up in a completely different part of the world, like some magician had snapped their fingers and you’d been the punchline of their very next trick. Much to your regret and distaste, some minor investigation revealed that where you’d woken up in the backseat of a car on the side of the road was in some state in the US. You’d sworn to yourself that you would never step foot here in your entire life and then, like God or whoever reigned above was laughing straight in your face, you’d just up and woken up in some random car in a place that made you long to be literally anywhere else.

Preferably somewhere where the occupants didn’t have such easy access to guns.

…like the two men who screamed and pointed theirs at you when you popped up from their backseat after they climbed into the cabin, fast food in their arms.

That was the first time you’d met the infamous hunting brothers, the Winchesters, and the first time of many you’d nearly died in their company.  

It had taken a while for them to trust you, but after you inviting yourself onto a few of their cases and saving their asses a handful of times (ignoring the amount of times they saved yours because you forgot that almost every American slept with a gun beneath their pillow) they’d eventually taken you under their proverbial wing. It helped that you had literally nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on your back and a bare handful of belongings to your name. Once they figured out you weren’t hiding anything up your sleeve and that you’re just naturally annoying and a little dumb, they’d happily invited you to become an official-unofficial part of their little hunting gang. This means you’re also familiar with the hilarious angel they have in their back pocket. Castiel is a riot and one of the things you miss most when you go off to hunt on your own.

Having been around during the whole ordeal of Lucifer and Michael going through the motions of continuing their family spat on an apocalyptic scale, you too grew to be familiar with their youngest brother, the archangel Gabriel. Of course, while you’d been there for a fair amount of the angel-turned-trickster’s shenanigans, you weren’t there for the final appearance he made at a hotel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. In complete juxtaposition to the fact that you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d interacted properly with Gabriel, the sensations you experienced at the news of his sacrifice, his death, were unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You like to consider yourself much more emotionally healthy and with an emotional range far larger than that of a teaspoon and the Winchesters’, but that… that news was something that it had taken you months to recover from fully.

And even then, apparently your recovery wasn’t as complete as you’d thought, because hearing what the boys have told you now has made your eyes burn and your stomach turn into a nest of manic bees, your insides lined with flowers and pollen. You think, for a moment, that you just might be sick.

You’re sitting in the library, Gabriel having been taken to a room of his own by one Winchester while the other fills you in before they’re both reunited before you, and you’re in the kind of mood where you sort of want to just sit there and dissociate for a few hours, truthfully. You can tell you’re not going to get that opportunity though, so in the wake of the bombshell they’d just dropped on you about all you’d missed in the past few months—that they had apparently forgotten to tell you over the phone when you checked in occasionally— you do the next best thing you can think of for the moment.

Put it on the backburner, baby.

You massage your temple with your fingers as you lean your head into your hand, a sigh escaping through your nose. “See, this is why it feels like I have been brought on as a babysitter—I leave for a few months and you old men manage to dig up another almost-apocalypse and find and raise Lucifer’s kid?”

“Alright, first of all,” Dean whips out a finger to point at you, filling you with glee. You’ve barely been back a few hours and already you’re stepping back into your favourite “stir-the absolute-shit-out-of-Dean” pants. As always, he is almost pitifully quick to rise to the bait. “Old? Who are you calling old? Alright so maybe we have a few years on you but that’s just because you’re a toddler and w—”

“Dean,” Sam places a placating hand on his brother’s shoulder, a look that seems to be a mixture of amusement and exasperation crossing his features. “You’re making it too easy for her.”

The older Winchester pauses, turning to pin you with an accusing look. You smile, not even attempting to appear innocent. After staring at you for several long moments, Dean makes the ‘eyes-on-you’ gesture with his fingers before turning away, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he takes a seat across from you.

“You were gone for almost a year this time, did you have any luck, well, leaving?” Sam brings your attention back to him, the question dragging out a sigh that feels like it’s been dredged from the very depths of your being.

“No,” you answer, sounding somewhat petulant even to your own ears. “Why is it so hard to leave this god-forsaken country! I hate it here. I’m sick of trying to make a run for it and being zapped back into a swamp, or—or a pool at the top of a penthouse suite in the middle of some random city! It sucks balls.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean waves his hand, enjoying the dirty look you give him. “So you still haven’t found whatever purpose you’re meant to fulfil while here?”

You huff, shaking your head. “No. It’s been years and I still have no idea why I woke up here that day. Or why I can’t leave.”

Over the time you’ve spent with the Winchesters, a few things became apparent to the three of you about your stay here. One, it was indefinite. You’d discovered quickly that you are, quite literally, unable to leave. Every time you get close to escaping this country you black out and wake up back inside. Sometimes in a helpful place, sometimes…. Not.

Two, the three of you had thrown around and entertained the idea that maybe you’d been brought here for a reason, that like them maybe you’d been divinely allocated a role to play. But you’ve been through a lot with the Winchesters, whether in person or by association, and still…

You’re no closer to being able to leave and return from whence you came.

You have no idea why you’re here!

This is something that has really contributed to your temporary career as a hunter here. That isn’t to say that this profession isn’t something you were involved in before you came here, but you’ve really… you really dove into it, whether as a distraction or as an ongoing investigation as to what on earth was going to set you free of your tie to this place. A part of you thinks that each case you take on, each person or family you save and creature you slay might be the one reason that brought you here, and the one task that with its completion will grant you freedom. You’ve never been a fan of being caged; just because this one spans a grand total of 9.834 million square kilometres doesn’t make it any less of one.

This most recent expedition that led you to part from the Winchesters for such a long time was another of your failed attempts to leave. You think you’ve tried escaping at every possible point along the coastline and border by now, with a definite lack of success.

“Well, if it really is some divine intervention keeping you here, then it’s better if you just sit back and settle down, twinkletoes.” Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair with an accompanying creak from the wood. “Those divine types have proven to be… kind of assholes.”

You frown, but he isn’t saying anything you haven’t already thought. It’s part of why you’d settled so easily into hunting here, actually. ‘When in Rome…’, as they say. You’re familiar with the hunting grind and there is comfort in familiarity.

“Are you going to stay a while?” Sam asks, opening the first-aid box he’d first brought over when you’d settled down. Ah, right—you’d almost forgotten about the injury on your arm, despite the fact that you are still pressing a palm to it. You listen as he speaks, almost swearing you can detect a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “You still have a room here for you, of course. We haven’t touched anything inside.”

“Yeah, mostly because we didn’t wanna deal with the mess and the booby-trapped doors—” Dean’s under-the-breath mutter is cut off by your coo, a wide smile pulling your lips.

“Oh, you two missed me, didn’t you?” Instantly, you are successful in ruffling Dean’s feathers— Sam might take a bit more work, though. “I know I really light this dark, dingy place up but I didn’t know it was that bad without me! Ah, perhaps I will stay a while. You know, out of charity.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, beseeching. “It’s not too late—you hold her back and I’ll find her key. It’s not too cold, she’ll be alright outside.”

An appalled and affronted look slips onto your face and Sam has to clear his throat so that he doesn’t laugh and add to his brother’s torment.

“I’m not a misbehaving puppy,” you say, holding your arm out for Sam as he comes over and finally freeing your bloody hand. “Wait, unless you want me to be. Been broadening your horizons beyond animated tentacle porn have you, Deanie-bo-beenie?”

On cue, Dean’s face flushes light red, whether from anger or a brief spritz of embarrassment, only God knows. You can see Sam’s face grow tense from the effort of holding back noise in your peripheral as he tends to your arm.

“You know what? I’m better than this. I’m gonna let it go.” Dean rises from his chair, making a show of dusting off your metaphorical drama. His light eyes flick to you, squinting. “I’m tired; I have a date with my memory foam pillow and nice, warm, feather duvet and a good night’s rest, so goodnight. I hope your bed has bed bugs, twinkletoes, and I hope they bite.”

“I hope you sleep well too, Dean!” you call after him, deciding you’ll have to give him a break from the bullying tomorrow  or else he’ll explode before you can have much fun. “Do you want me to come tuck you in?”

“No! Goodnight!”

His yell and disappearance down the hall is followed a few moments later by the familiar sound of a door slamming shut,

“That’s not very fair of you,” Sam announces, sounding strained and very much like he’s trying not to laugh lest Dean has an ear pressed to his door. “He’s too tired to fight back right now.”

“I know,” you answer, wincing as he wipes down the laceration on your bicep and cleans the blood away with an alcohol wipe. It burns, but it’s definitely not the most painful thing you have ever experienced. “I hadn’t seen you guys in so long, though. I couldn’t help myself.”

Sam simply snorts, reaching for the needle and thread to being stitching the skin back together, and you breathe harshly through your nose as you reach for another topic to distract yourself.

“Are the two—sorry, the three of you actually dads now? To… to Lucifer’s half-angel kid? I thought angels getting frisky with humans was, uh… illegal up in heaven.”

You feel rather than see Sam roll his eyes, your own pointedly directed away from your arm where he has begun to get to work. “It’s Lucifer, y/n, I don’t think he cares about what’s illegal up in heaven.”

You purse your lips—he makes a fair point. Honestly, you feel a little silly for questioning it. “Right, and he’s… trapped in some other dimension? An alternate world where the apocalypse really happened.”

“Yep,” Sam says, hitting a particularly painful spot with his needle. You hiss, giving him a glare.

“I wasn’t even gone a year! Just hearing all this shit is stressing me out so much, dude.” You sigh, attempting to adjust your position in the wooden chair without jostling your arm too much. Thankfully, practice has made Sam quick at his job and already he is almost done piecing you back together. He finishes up with a knot, snipping the thread and then placing a large bandage carefully over the wound. He dusts his hands once done, standing from where he was leaning against the table and proceeding to loom over you like a T-Rex.

“You’re blocking my light, bro,” you inform him, narrowly avoiding a subsequent good-natured smack to your good arm. “Damn, what the hell! Didn’t you take an oath or some shit? I’m your patient!”

“I was studying law, not medicine,” Sam retorts dryly. He turns to leave and put the first aid supplies away, his back facing you but not before you see how his lips twitch. “So your annoying ass is free game.”

“Maybe so,” you acquiesce, rising from your seat with a light grunt as you jostle your arm. You consider asking Sam where Castiel is, to see if you can get a hit of the good stuff and skip the healing process, but think better of it. You always feel a bit bad asking him to heal you, though you barely ever have to since he’s like a rabid mother hen the second he sees blood on any of you. “God, I’m beat. I didn’t think I could get any more tired than I was before, but as always catching up with you two has aged me a few years and now I’m just about as tired as you two are all the time.”

Sam doesn’t rise to the ‘old man’ bait you dangle in front of him—never really does, if you’re being honest; that’s mostly Dean’s vice— but he does offer you a smile that is unexpectedly sincere and fond.

“Go to bed, toddler,” he retorts, before continuing in a softer tone, “… It’s good to see you again, y/n. I’m glad you’re here. Dean and Mom are going out on a hunt in the next few days and I think you can really help with, uh… the whole Gabriel thing.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. You’d sort of been trying to avoid thinking about the elephant in your mind, for the very same reason that makes your eyes burn once more. It hurts, a lot, thinking and imagining what he must have gone through at the hands of Asmodeus. It feels like your heart is going to tear itself to pieces in your chest from the sheer extent of your empathy and how terrible you feel for him. The Gabriel you saw cowering before you earlier is nothing like the confident feathery asshole you used to know.

Even having only seen him once, it’s enough to make you fearful of the possibility that… he might be too far gone to ever return to that last echo of his previous self.

“I’m not sure what I’ll even be able to do to help,” you respond, approaching the doorway to the hall with your bag in tow. You pause to finish what you’re saying, meeting Sam’s puppy-like gaze from across the room. “But I’ll try. It hurts to see him like that, so… I’ll stay a while, to do whatever I can.”

Sam’s answering thankful smile and nod is all you can ask for in response as you turn and head further into the bunker, dragging your bags back to the room you’d come to call your own over the years. Your gaze strays on the way to one of the doors that has a little note taped on saying, ‘please do not open suddenly or loudly’, undoubtedly the room that they have allocated to Gabriel for the time being. Heart heavy in your chest, you continue on down the hall and tear your gaze away.

You’re not sure how much you can do for him, but you hope you can do something.

next 

[uncloseted]

Hey! I’m the anon (and also Gay!Bama anon) who sent the asks about BPD and being rejected by that closeted guy. I guess the reason I think I have BPD is because I’m in my 20’s now, and I just have issues with perceived rejection for whatever reason. Anytime someone rejects me or something, I get really depressed and question myself a lot, or I question my worth, and it’s over things that should not be a big deal, but to me they feel like the end of the world. It’s like I have no emotional skin, if that makes sense, so everything hurts more than it would someone who is normal. It’s just so hard sometimes. I get so emotional or upset over things that there’s no need in being that upset over. I just wish I could change it, but I can’t. I feel like I’ve destroyed a lot of potential relationships and also friendships by overreacting and it makes me feel so crazy. (1/2)

(2/3) (Gay!Bama anon) I think it might be because my Dad and me always had a difficult relationship, and now that he’s gone things are really more difficult than before. I started going back to therapy and I’m about to go back to school to finish up my degree, but I just wish I could manage these feelings better. The only way I have been able to deal with them is by either numbing them with alcohol, drugs, or fulfilling them with anonymous encounters, or just cutting myself off from other people, so that way I have nothing to react to. It just really sucks because I’m so lonely all the time, but I don’t know what else to do about it other than that. I used to self harm to help me cope with my feelings, because then I could hurt myself and not hurt the people in my life by lashing out over trivial things, like irrelevant rejection or changing plans. It feels like every small thing is a seed, from which sprouts a tree of paranoia and depression.

(3/3) (Gay!Bama anon) I also have had such a hard time trying to figure out my plans for a career and goals because I’m always switching them up, because one personality trait might take the forefront, but then that could change and that influences how I feel about something or what I want to do. I just wish I could turn all of these feelings off for a while, or something, and just be like calm or something.

Hi Gay!Bama anon!  Always happy to see you in my inbox, although I’m sorry to hear that you’re struggling. The fact that I know it’s you and I know you’re in your 20s changes my answer slightly.  

There are a number of symptoms that need to be present to be diagnosed with borderline personality disorder; rejection sensitivity is definitely one of them, but not the only one.  The DSM-5 requires five or more of the following symptoms for a BPD diagnosis:

Chronic feelings of emptiness

Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events (e.g., intense episodic sadness, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days. Generally, these are out of proportion to the event that triggered them)

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment (e.g., calling a friend/partner/family member several times a day during working hours and getting upset when they don’t answer)

Identity disturbance with markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self (e.g., frequently and suddenly changing goals, beliefs, vocational aspirations, and sexual identity, or assuming the identity of people they’re close to)

Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, gambling, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating, committing crimes)

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)

Pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation (also known as "splitting"- basically, thinking a person is the best person ever, the love of your life, your best friend, someone with no faults, and then switching to thinking the person is the worst person ever, who has never cared about you, who has no redeeming qualities.  This typically results in alternating between over-involvement with the person and withdrawal from the person)

Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-harming behavior

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms (typically only lasting hours or days, and triggered by an external stressor.  Dissociative symptoms may include feeling like your body is unreal or altered in a strange way, feeling that the outside world is unreal, and illusions).

People with BPD will also typically have a compromised ability to recognize the feelings and needs of other people, and have intense, unstable, and conflicted relationships that are marked by mistrust and neediness.  It’s also important that these symptoms have persisted over time and across different situations.

If that doesn’t resonate with you, there are a number of other different conditions that result in being particularly sensitive to rejection, including social anxiety, depression, generalized anxiety, ADD/ADHD, eating disorders, and childhood trauma are just a few things that could cause a fear of rejection.  I would talk to your therapist about this symptom and ask for help coming up with some coping mechanisms.

If all of that does sound like you, I would talk to your therapist about a possible BPD diagnosis and potentially a referral to a therapist who specializes in dialectical behavioral therapy.  DBT is the most studied and effective treatment for BPD, so it’s a good place to start if that is what you’re struggling with.  In the meantime, you can learn the principles of DBT on your own and try to begin applying them to your life.

DBT combines mindfulness with techniques for distress tolerance, emotional regulation, and interpersonal effectiveness.  Having a therapist and attend group therapy sessions are an important part of a full course DBT.  However, there are several exercises you can try at home:

Keeping a Diary

One of the easiest things you can do at home is to start tracking your behaviors.  Note any self-injurious or life threatening behaviors, behaviors which indirectly cause harm to yourself or others, and quality of life issues.  Write down any triggers you’ve noticed.

Mindfulness

There are a few different types of mindfulness exercises you can try.  Since you mentioned that you want to be able to turn your feelings off, trying meditation might be a good place to start.  There are some good apps, like Headspace and Calm, that can help you learn how to meditate and encourage you to practice meditation, and there are also a ton of videos on YouTube that do the same.

DBT encourages the concept of “radical acceptance”- the idea that one should face situations, both positive and negative, without any judgement.  Try to let go of fighting reality and accept a situation for what it is.  When you’ve accepted a situation, then you can figure out how to change it.

You can also try using “what” skills when practicing mindfulness; these are observe, describe, and participate.  They’re “what” you do when you’re practicing mindfulness. Nonjudgementally paying attention to the present moment is an important component of DBT, so the first thing you can do is observe.  Try to nonjudgementally observe your environment within and outside of yourself.  Notice the feelings you’re experiencing, and then try to let slide off of your mind.  Next, describe: express what you observed, either to someone around you or to yourself.  Try to use your five senses to put words to what you’re observing.  What can you see? Hear? Smell? Taste? Feel?  Finally, participate: try your best to be fully focused on and involved in any activity that you’re doing.  When your mind wanders, gently pull it back to the task you’re currently doing.

Distress Tolerance

One of the goals of DBT is to help people develop the ability to calmly recognize negative situations and decide if and how to address them.  It’s important to learn how to be distressed without becoming overwhelmed or hiding from that feeling.

TIPP is one of the fastest and most popular distress tolerance skills, since it alleviates distress quickly.  Tip the temperature of your face by splashing it with very cold water, intensely exercise for 20 minutes, do paced breathing- breathe in for four seconds and our for six to eight seconds, and then do progressive muscle relaxation- starting from the top of your body, tense and relax each muscle group until you get to your toes.

You can also distract yourself from unpleasant emotions using ACCEPTS.  Engage in activities that you enjoy, contribute by helping others, compare yourself to people who are less fortunate or how you used to be when you were in a worse state, evoke a different emotion by putting on a happy song or watching a comedy special, push away your situation in your mind, and put something else first by thinking about something else, and finally, create sensations that are intense, such as holding an ice cube or eating spicy food.

Another thing you can try when you’re in distress is to IMPROVE the moment.  Imagine relaxing scenes, things going well, or other pleasing scenarios, find meaning in what you’re feeling, pray, if you’re religious, relax your muscles using the progressive muscle relaxation we talked about above, do one thing at a time, and focus all your attention on it, vacation if you can (by taking a break from the situation), and encourage yourself.  Tell yourself it’s possible to make it through your current situation and cope with it.  You can be your own best cheerleader.

Emotional Regulation

Since people who have BPD frequently have intense emotions, it can be helpful to learn how to regulate those emotions.

First, try identifying and labeling your emotions.  Tune in with yourself and ask yourself what you’re feeling.  Is it anger? Fear? Sadness?  Then, you can try to change unwanted emotions using opposite-reactions.  With opposite-reactions, you do the opposite of the urge you’re feeling in the moment.  For example, if you want to isolate yourself, instead, reach out to a friend.  

Fact-checking is also an important technique- ask yourself, “do the facts warrant the intensity of the response I’m feeling?”  Then ask yourself, “what is the event prompting my emotion,” “what are my interpretations and assumptions about the event, and are those true?”, “am I assuming a threat? How likely is it to actually occur?”, “what’s the disaster? How can I cope well with it?”, and “does my emotion or intensity fit the facts?”  There’s a sample fact-checking worksheet that you can find here: http://edencounseling.com/resources/dbt-emotional-regulation-group-4-handouts.pdf

If your facts are correct and the situation is the problem, then you can problem solve.  First, identify your goal in solving the problem- what needs to happen for you to be okay, and what’s reasonable?  Then, brainstorm as many solutions as you can come up with, without being critical of your ideas. Choose a solution that fits your goal and is likely to work, using a pro/con list to decide if necessary. Act on your decision, and then evaluate if it worked.  If it didn’t work, go back to the “choose” stage and pick a different solution to try.

Interpersonal Effectiveness

Interpersonal relationships can be difficult for people with DBT, so it’s important to learn how to ask for what you need, how to say no, and how to cope with interpersonal conflicts.  There are three techniques in this module: DEAR MAN, GIVE, and FAST.

The DEAR MAN technique focuses on conveying your needs to someone else. Start by describing your situation using specific, fact-based statements about a recent situation.  Then express the emotions experienced when the situation occurred, why the situation was a problem, and how you feel about it. Assert yourself by clearly and specifically requesting the behavior change you would like. Reinforce your position by explaining to the person what the positive impacts of changing their behavior might be for them. Mindfully focus on the situation, without seeking validation, and redirect the conversation back to your main point when it seems to be diverting. Appear confident and assertive, even if you’re not feeling confident or assertive. Finally, negotiate with the person to come to a compromise that both parties are happy with.

The GIVE tool focuses on relationship maintenance, whether that’s with friends, family, co-workers, or romantic partners.  It is used in conversations. Use gentle language, free of put-downs, sarcasm, or judgement, even as a joke. Be as interested as you can in what the other person is saying.  Give them your undivided attention by making eye contact and asking questions.  Really listen to them, don’t just wait your turn to talk. Validate their situation, either through words, body language, or facial expressions.  Often, people just want to be heard and for someone to understand what they’re going through. Finally, try to adopt an easy manner: do your best to appear calm and comfortable during the conversation.  Use friendly humor and smile.

The FAST skill focuses on maintaining your self-respect.  Be fair to yourself and to the person you’re talking to. Don’t apologize more than once, and only apologize for things that are your fault.  Stick to your values- determine what you believe and stand by it, without letting other people sway your decisions. Lastly, be truthful. Lying can only damage relationships and reduce the respect you have for yourself.

I know that’s a ton of stuff I’ve just thrown at you, so if you’re still with me, thank you!  You don’t have to adopt all of these skills at once or even at all.  Getting good at just one or two of them will improve your life.  A therapist will be able to help you practice these different skills so that when you need them, they’re already in your mind.  Good luck!  I hope you get the support you need and that things start looking up for you soon.

[maaji-maji-majima]

some kissing hcs for Majima?(if u can make it nsfw)

So I'm in a weird place with this. I don't want to leave you unanswered but I know you won't like the answer that I give. It has been a long time since I was active on tumblr and I'm not sure when along the timeline headcanon became synonymous with fanfiction. I appreciate fanfiction authors for their creativity, but I am not one myself. I use headcanon in the older definition of "this isn't in the source material, but it is true in my brain". They are either random things my half asleep mind thought of while walking home from work or a character analysis. At the same token your ask had crawled into my brainmeats and won't leave. So again, I apologize that this most definitely is not what you're looking for, but I hope someone out there finds this to be an interesting read.

Without further introduction, here is a character analysis of our favorite pansexual, gender fluid, emotionally stunted goblin in regards to relationships and why the he desperately needs therapy as brought to you by a different pansexual, gender fluid, emotionally stunted goblin who got therapy but probably needs more.

Trigger warnings: Abuse, self harm, mental disorders, poor coping strategies, unhealthy relationships, random tense changes, not fanfiction

Spoilers for the whole franchise, but very specifically for 0, K1, and 5.

Abuse does weird things to people's brains. In Yakuza 0 Majima has barely been out of the hole for a year. He might no longer be suffering the actual physical torture he had been subjected to the year prior, but he is still directly in the hands of his abusers and being watched every moment. He is still in a cage even if it doesn't look like one. He is depressed and likely suicidal, but doesn't follow through with those thoughts because he is determined to make sure Saejima has a home to come back to. He is willing to endure just about anything to allow Saejima a chance to exact that final moment of retribution because Saejima is the one who deserves it and Majima doesn't feel that there is any possibility for forgiveness. In all likelihood he hasn't sought out anyone for a hookup or paid company for an evening due to a combination of not feeling like he deserves anything that feels good and the fact that he's constantly being watched. The year in hole means he no longer really has a concept of privacy, but he's worried that getting close to someone, even for a few moments, could put them in danger if Sagawa or Shimano feels like holding something else over his head. It isn't worth accidentally dragging someone into his own personal hell. He no longer lives for the present, he is only living for that far-off future that he hopes isn't just a pipe dream.

Enter Makoto. At first she is a stand-in for Saejima's sister Yasuko, but it morphs rapidly from there. She is the light and kindness and hope that he hasn't seen in years and she's being dragged into his bullshit. He knows in his heart of hearts that she doesn't deserve what she is being forced into, so his mind snaps into the immediate and does everything he possibly can to save her. This is is the hill he wants to die on. Maybe, just maybe, he can end his miserable existence with a final act of good and he feels that Saejima might just be able to understand. But because he no longer has any relationships in his life that are not strictly professional or the abusers he cannot escape, he has little recollection of what a nuanced relationship or even friendship is any longer. Due to circumstance she is also the only person that he cannot keep at arm's length, no matter how desperately he tries. So he falls for her and falls hard. But in the end, after everything they go through he does the impossible. He lets her go. She has a life and a future, whereas he has neither of those. What would she do? Become his ane-san? Have some temporary happiness before she realizes she has a target on her back for the rest of her life? No. Majima believes she deserves so much more than that even though it hurts him deeply. What is one more hurt on top of everything else? He's gotten extremely good at burying his pain.

Getting to Tokyo flips a switch in Majima's brain. Like many people with mental trauma who don't have access to therapy he falls into excess as a way of self medicating. He fits virtually everything on the hedonism checklist. Drinking? Yeah. Violence? Hell yeah! Promiscuity? Yeah, but I ain't judging. Drugs? Probably, even though it isn't explicitly stated in game. Everything from his shift in personality to his wardrobe has become, intentionally or not, a defense mechanism. He has escaped from all of his abusers except for Shimano and he refuses to allow anyone to gain that kind of power over him again.

It is a double edged sword, however. His depression and PTSD are running unchecked. In all likelihood he hasn't fallen hard on vices as a way to reclaim ownership off his own body. Instead it seems more probable that he is dissociating. After everything he has been through he doesn't care what happens to his body in the long run because it isn't actually his anymore. Risky behavior, which is practically Majima's middle name, is also frequently used as a passive form of self harm because the end result is either temporarily feeling better thanks to endorphins and adrenaline or permanently feeling better after embracing death. He could achieve a similar feeling by taking up jogging and chasing a runners high, but that takes more time and energy than chugging a handle of whiskey or goading some chump into throwing hands. Sadly even now admitting to mental problems by seeking help is fairly stigmatized in Japan and it was only worse in the early 90s. Can't have a problem if no one tells you it's there, right?

Then he meets Mirei. She's intense but not wild like Majima. At that moment in time she is everything he needs. Head strong, domineering, and very, very determined. She knows exactly what buttons to press to wrap him right around her finger. And he lets her take the reigns, lets her run his life because he realizes he was doing a terrible job on his own. Better her than Shimano, right? Doing something wrong results in the cold shoulder instead of a vicious beating, and doing something right leads to more than simply the relief of avoiding a beating. He decides that making her happy is enough to make him happy. Until suddenly it isn't. He never wanted to be a father, but even the idea that he could have been was enough to cause a fundamental shift in his entire outlook on life. He could have had someone to live for, instead of just survive for. But he had no say in the matter and didn't know until the decision had been made for him. When Mirei told him she had an abortion he snapped. He hit her. The one and only time he raised his hands against her. Disgusted with himself, and wounded by her decision, he left. If he was capable of that, he knew couldn't be the person she had been trying to mold him into. He realized he was nothing but a weight around her neck dragging her down. And so that day signals the end of their short marriage. He spends the next several decades drowning in guilt for his actions while still resenting her for her choice.

That leaves us with Kiryu. Poor, oblivious Kiryu. Majima's fixation is multifaceted but in no small part due to the fact that Kiryu is one of the few people strong enough to hurt him, but is the only one that doesn't want to. And Majima just doesn't understand. After everything, he only deserves to hurt, right? Saejima, Yasuko, Makoto, Mirei. Everyone who gets too close to him ends up worse for it, so why won't Kiryu and his sense of honor seek justice on their behalf? So he does everything he possibly can to wind up Kiryu enough to Pay Attention Damnit, Fight Me. But Kiryu's response is always just flustered awkwardness because he doesn't want like fighting, it's just a part of his job, like wearing a suit or answering a phone. To Kiryu fighting isn't a thing done because it's enjoyable, it's done because it has to be. But he's still the only one who doesn't flinch when Majima brandishes a knife inches from his face.

And then Kiryu is arrested and in jail for ten years. And ten years is a long time to build someone up onto a pedestal. Like only wanting to talk about the best of a person after they've died. The same thing happened with Saejima. Build them in his mind to what he wants or needs them to be since they are not there to actively correct it. The decade is pretty miserable, going through the motions and trying to not make waves with the bigwigs while terrifying the minions into obedience. When he hears Kiryu is being released it is like waking up again. He all but waits at the taxi stand at the entrance of Kamurocho on the day of Kiryu's release, all but vibrating with excitement. It's a fight he has been waiting on for a decade, too bad it was little more than a disappointment.

So Majima decides to bring him back up to spec in that very Majima flavored way. Small fights, big fights, surprise fights. Kiryu is still reluctant because he doesn't have a reason beyond Majima's dreamed up training program he doesn't actually want to be a part of. Of course this only leads Majima to do everything possible to get under Kiryu's skin, including sharing his personal vulnerabilities while disguising them as jokes just to cause fights, but Kiryu just kind of rolls with it which leads to confusion and frustration on both sides. After a while Majima starts to get into Kiryu's hobbies, like pocket circuit, ostensibly as another form of picking a fight. And he discovers he actually enjoys a lot of it. And they are both too dense and emotionally stunted to realize they're basically dating at this point. At multiple points Majima takes potentially lethal blows meant for Kiryu and the excuse that he is the only one allowed to kill Kiryu is very, very thin. He just can't quite admit out loud that he doesn't want to see Kiryu truly hurt because that's weakness and he is Not Weak (tm).

Shimano's death and Kiryu's departure from the clan come as a whirlwind that destroys him all over again. He's left directionless. So he leaves the Tojo in an attempt to find his own way in the world, for the first time in over twenty years.

I think I need to call it here for now. I know I've left out Saejima and Daigo, among others, but I've been working on this for days and my progress has been eaten twice and I just don't have the energy to keep going right at this time. Maybe some day in the future I'll find the time and energy to write out the rest for all the other games.

tl;dr What Majima wants and what he needs are two different things. He wants to fightfuck, but he needs to be bear hugged into submission so that he can have that mental breakdown he's been carefully bottling up for over thirty years. He needs a good, ugly cry. And therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.

[scripttorture]

Sorry for the multiple asks. In Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom's parents were tortured to what I assume is catatonia by the cruciatus curse. Is this a realistic portrayal of the effects of torture, or does it involve some degree of magical handwaving? If realistic, then would you mind suggesting some avenues, both grounded in reality and more fantastical, by which their condition may be helped?

So I had a long answer written out for this and then it got eaten and I’d deleted my backup (both of them) and don’t you just despise technology sometimes? Join me as I scream into the void.

 Once more, from the top-

 No need to apologise for multiple asks. They are in fact encouraged. I’d rather you looked for answers to your questions then assumed you already know the answer. Thank you for coming to me. Thank you for taking an interest. It really does mean a lot to me to see people engaging with the subject. :)

 It’s been a long time since I read Harry Potter. From what I can remember I don’t think the books handled torture survivors well.

 I think this particular portrayal landed smack bang in ‘torture makes victims passive’. It was also pretty explicitly using that misconception about torture survivors being unable to live full, happy lives or make any kind of recovery.

 You could make the argument that these are magical, rather then the effects of torture. But I don’t think Rowling did any work to show that was the case. From what I can remember the stuff that’s actually in the books just suggests the curse causes pain and… that’s it.

 Which doesn’t stop you from trying to make a bad portrayal better.

 @scriptshrink is the mental health professional in the family and may disagree. From what I can remember I don’t think the description of the Longbottoms in the books was exactly catatonia. It seemed more like a combination of catatonia and late stage dementia to me.

 Which creates a bit of a problem for a narrative arc if you want to treat these characters in a more realistic way. Because catatonia is easily treated now with drugs and late stage dementia is… there’s basically no effective treatment. There are things patients can be given to slow the progression of dementia but what they’ve lost is gone. (I’ve spent quite a long time around people with various forms of dementia and I’m going to cite experience as my source there).

 The reason that’s an issue for a narrative is that there really isn’t a middle ground between ‘take this pill to recover’ and ‘there is no treatment at all’. And that’s not on you, it’s on the source material.

 So, suggestion time: I do have a few different ideas depending on what you want from a recovery arc and how you want to characterise Wizard culture in your story.

 Let’s assume that (like catatonia) this fugue state survivors of the curse are in is easily treatable. What happens when you take it away? When survivors are present, not dissociating and remember what happened to them?

 Well suddenly you get confronted with an actual torture survivor with all the loud, messy, complex mental health problems that implies.

 And if you don’t know a lot about mental health? Then it looks like you went from someone who is calm and ‘at peace’ to someone who is incredibly distressed and obviously in pain. It also means you went from someone biddable and ‘easy to handle/care for’ to someone who is exponentially less likely to put up with shit. Someone who demands explanations, cries hysterically, has panic attacks or flashbacks.

 With that sort of big visceral difference- A culture that doesn’t know how to deal with mental illness might well decide survivors are ‘better off’ in that fugue state.

 Because it would probably be easier to take care of a quiet, unemotional drone then to deal with trying to help someone with severe, complex mental health problems.

 With that kind of cultural background the dementia-like state might actually be the result of the treatment survivors are given. Because they’re ‘better off this way’.

 This would give you a much more traditional recovery arc in your story but by its nature demands a narrative discussion of how mentally ill people are treated by society. Which may not be something you want in the story.

 The other main suggestion I had was to treat this fugue state and this unrealistic depiction of memory loss as if it’s part of the curse itself.

 The cruciatus curse is supposed to be designed to cause the maximum amount of pain, so why not factor lasting generational pain into that? Stripping away important, foundational memories with longer use of the curse seems like it could be an additional terror tactic.

 ‘It doesn’t matter if they survive. It doesn’t matter if you rescue them. You’ll never get them back.’

 In that kind of scenario you’d probably end up with a different recovery arc, one that’s as much about magic as mental health. And I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing when you’re explicitly dealing with something magical.

 If you wanted a plot line involving some kind of magical quest this would be a really good fit. I think it would also work well with a more… straight forwardly heroic story? There’d be less of the cultural and moral arguments that are naturally brought up if you’re talking about cultural attitudes to different medical treatments. It would also be a good pick if you want to lean into the intelligence/research skills of some of the canon characters: a combination of cleverness and compassion resulting in a breakthrough that saves the day.

 I’ll finish off with a short general discussion about writing torture survivors realistically and writing them in fantasy.

 I’ve got a post on the common long term symptoms of torture here. And I’ve got a post on what memory problems look like in survivors here.

 We don’t have a way to predict symptoms. Different individual survivors get different sets of symptoms and we’re not sure why. Because of that variation I think that it’s best to treat symptoms as a writing choice.

 Pick symptoms based on what you think adds to the story and creates interesting narrative opportunities. If a symptom emphasises the themes in your story, creates good opportunities to show the readers something about the characters or makes for interesting conflict then it’s a good choice. Conversely if a particular symptom doesn’t appeal to you or you don’t want to write it for any reason, feel free to choose something different.

 I stress realism and writing survivors realistically. I don’t do that because I think fiction ‘must’ be realistic. I do it because the ways we choose to break with reality matter.

 And right now most of the ways we choose to be unrealistic tacitly support/condone torture.

 The majority of the time that’s not the author’s intention. I certainly don’t think it was Rowling’s intention here. (I’ll admit I haven’t been keeping up with her string of controversies but I don’t think active support for torture was ever among them.)

 But these tropes keep getting repeated. Partly because finding accurate information on torture is hard. It’s difficult to search for. It often costs money. A lot of it just isn’t translated (I’m actually saving up to get a bunch of core texts translated into English when the plague is over.) And oh boy do not get me started on the lack of inter-disciplinary communication because I will go off like an unplanned quench of an NMR’s super magnets.

 These are issues that hamper academic researchers to a huge degree. It’s no wonder they impact non-specialists trying to make sense of this mess.

 Having said all of that: I think that we should make space for metaphor and fantastical elements in our fiction.

 The issue is passing off tropes that are unrealistic and harmful as if they’re fact.

 I have significant issues with portraying torture survivors as passive objects. I think it really hampers general understanding of torture and ethical treatment of survivors today. It encourages people to think that real survivors are ‘faking it’ because they don’t look like the passive objects we see portrayed in fiction.

 That said, if a story explicitly states that what it’s doing is magical and unrealistic, it should be less of an issue.

 I do not think that’s what Rowling did in this particular portrayal. I think she presented a curse that the audience was supposed to read as only causing extreme pain and she linked that to the idea of pain turning people into passive objects. You can remove the magic from this scenario and it’s unmistakably torture apologia.

 But I can imagine alternatives where a fantasy story could separate these things out. It would be hard work and require a lot more focus on the curse itself.

 Say you have a fantasy story that takes one of the non-Western approaches to ideas about human souls. Particularly the idea that our memories and experience constitute a separate spiritual part of ourselves.

 Magic that stole and imprisoned that portion of someone would, by the logic of the magic system, create something a little like this catatonia/late-stage-dementia symptom set Rowling presents. And I think if that was presented, divorced from ideas about pain and what suffering ‘should’ do to people- Well it’s no longer really talking about torture. It’s talking about a fantastical scenario.

 We’re not really used to thinking through the implications of where we break with reality. But it does get easier with practice.

 I hope that helps. :)

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[clever-and-unique-name]

hi. i'm interested to know about 2 + 18, only if you feel like it :) have a relaxing weekend x

Aaa I’m trying to have a relaxing weekend, lol. Thank you! I answered 18 already, but for 2: 

Are you in therapy? What is your experience with therapy like?

I am in therapy, however that’s a bit of a tricky topic for me to talk about... 

I started therapy around this time last year, during the height of a major depressive episode. When I was looking for a therapist, I (collectively) was too anxious to search for anything more specific than a therapist who was comfortable handling dissociation but not necessarily dissociated parts. We had been in therapy once before as a teenager and found it uncomfortable and of little help, so it was difficult to even take that first step.

My current therapist acts as an accountability- and reality-check for me. I can talk to her about a lot of things and I trust her insight, so to me she is “good enough” for now, but she is out of her depth when it comes to dissociated parts. That, combined with the fact that I’m only seeing her once a month, can make it difficult for us to really “do the work” in therapy. Most of our parts-work is self-directed outside of therapy and therapy is used more for broad topics that we could use some support with.

Once we’re settled with this new job and can mentally afford to make another big change, we might start looking around for a new therapist who can help us more with the parts-aspect of things. But for now we’re making do.

[ittybittydragonfox]

Mental Illness is Not Psychic Power

That’s a doozy of a title, ain’t it? But it’s true, and it reflects the lies I was told by my earth-and-spirit-loving pagan and witch communities growing up. For those that don’t know, I’m a lifelong witch of 25 years from a generational family that’s been practicing witchcraft for 200 years. My parents are also pagans. My father is a legal, ordained High Priest.

And despite all that spiritual education, I still grew up hearing these two phrases: “Mental illness doesn’t exist. All you need is to connect with nature and your spirituality.” “You’re not mentally ill, you’re psychic!”

Sounds a lot like “You’re a wizard, Harry!” And just like Harry Potter is a pile of fiction, so are these statements. Let’s talk about it.

I don’t talk about my personal demons too much, but I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). These two things combined have resulted in two very real symptoms that the pagan and witch communities like to attribute to psychic awareness: hallucinations (”Visions”) and erratic, unpredictable, sometimes strange behavior that is complete uncharacteristic of me (”Channeling”). Those that live with me (my partner and, in the past and near future, roommates) have gotten to see me do some truly odd things in an attempt to hide my illness, but the things I do when I can’t hide it anymore are even more strange. I’ve hidden in sheds in my pajamas in -20 F weather because I thought my hallucinations couldn’t follow me there. I’ve spoken in a heavy accent from a country I’ve never been to. I don’t answer to my name. I ask people I’ve known for years, in homes I’ve lived in for months “who are you and where am I?”

Growing up, I showed a lot of these odd symptoms. I do have psychic abilities, and so, when I started hallucinating at the age of 14, my parents wanted to believe my Sight/Clairvoyance was just showing me “new things”. But the fact was, my PTSD had been so bad, and untreated for so long, that I was seeing things that truly weren’t there. These are not spirits. They are my fears incarnated into visuals and sounds. The more terrified I became, the more my pagan parents, our churches, and covens would tell me that “everything is alright. These are just spirits. You know how to banish spirits. We’ll help banish them. You’re just getting more powerful. You’re just becoming more aware.” And no matter what I did, no matter how powerful the High Priest/ess in my church, no matter how in-tune the witch in my circle was, they could neither sense these spirits, nor banish them. They assumed that because my psychic senses are overdeveloped anyway, I was seeing something invisible even to most powerful psychics. The truth was, I was just a frightened child being followed around by a grinning, white monster created by my own mind specifically to scare me. And the constant sound of doors being slammed or dogs growling that only I could hear was keeping me awake every night and ruining my straight-A performance in school.

I’ve had DID since childhood, and my parents were used to my erratic, uncharacteristic behavior. They shrugged off my not answering to my name, and my friends seemed to just accept that I called myself by 20 different names. The truth was, I was dissociating, and an alter had taken my place. And no, I couldn’t control it. I still struggle with control. DID is not something I get a choice in. It’s not fun and it makes my life extremely difficult. I don’t enjoy waking up after 3 days to find that my friends have been trying to call me, I didn’t attend my doctor’s appointments, and I may have done any number of things, none of which I can remember. And that’s if I get lucky and wake up at home. My pagan and witch communities believed I was channeling, because I am a spirit worker, and they believed I was one of the best at it, save for the fact that I couldn’t control it. They believed when they spoke to me as my child alter, that they were speaking to the Young God, or a child spirit, through me. But they weren’t, and they refused to believe otherwise. They never questioned that they were talking to God or a fairy or what have you.

This comes from a misguided belief that mental illness isn’t real. Or that it can be treated with some herbs and yoga. Because of this, I spent 10 years struggling with my mental illness untreated. Everywhere I went, people looked at me as something to Be. “A powerful psychic who sees into a whole other world.” They viewed me as dramatic or gatekeep-y when I said I wouldn’t want others to have this “power” or that I wouldn’t teach them to see. But the fact is, I was incapable of teaching anyone anything about these skills. Because I didn’t have them. I had a mental illness, and my brain was rebelling against me.

This absolute denial that mental illness exists leads to people attributing illness with power. It’s not healthy, and it leads to a really harmful culture where people with mental illness can’t see that they need help, and they don’t get the help they need. Often times we end up with people with illnesses leading groups, sometimes working with the “visions” (hallucinations) they’re having. Or worse, we end up with this toxic idea that taking the medicine someone might need is hindering their awareness, which is some ableist bullshit I still fight with all the time in psychic circles.

I’m not saying that clairsenses don’t exist. I have them, and I believe in them, but there must also be a balance of discernment in the pagan and witch communities. We have to learn to accept the science: The brain is an organ, and it can malfunction just like any other organ can. Mental illness is an illness, and it often needs the help of doctors and therapists to treat it. Loving ourselves and building a better community means it’s time to examine this ableist bias, and do what’s right, so that we stop passing these gross ideas down to the next generation of magic-inclined folx.

My psychic community meant well, but in their effort to erase illness, they made me sicker and used that sickness as a reason to both uplift me and spite me. They gave me undue praise and anger for a thing I can no more control than someone else can control their diabetes. And worst of all, they blinded my family into not getting me help before these illnesses very nearly took my life. My parents almost lost their son to the depression that comes with PTSD. And it took them almost losing my sister too for them to understand that while we may have psychic abilities, we are also sick, and we need help. My parents have since become an active part of my and my sisters’ recoveries. They support us, where once they had been afraid of us losing something if we took these steps, and do their bests to uplift us. We’re both better. Neither of us want to die anymore. I’m on anti-psychotics and an anti-depressant now. I still have hallucinations but they are manageable. I’m in talk therapy, and I’ve learned how to decipher what’s the difference between me seeing a spirit, and me hallucinating. I still do spirit work, but I understand that my alters are not spirits possessing me. They are fragments of my mind, and I am reflected in them. I’m learning to come to terms with that and trying to go through integration. It’s a long road. I still see spirits. My medicine did not take that from me. I still talk to deities. My medicine didn’t take that away either. But my medicine does help me approach them without fear, and with certainty that they are real, and not a figment of my ill mind. And because of that, I can have a meaningful, fulfilling relationship with spirits and deities, built on trust and love instead of the innate fear of “not knowing”.

So for anyone out there who needs to hear it, because it’s important: You are not a failure in your faith or spirituality because you realized you are ill and sought help. Taking care of your mind does not make it, or you, weaker. Let’s change the narrative, and learn as a community that seeking help is how we grow stronger.

Jake