#when i was younger most people's advice for this topic was just: well actually you just can't!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

furiousgoldfish · 2 years

Note

Hi, general TW for physical abuse, mental/emotional abuse, sexual abuse, mental health topics (just to be safe). Apologies for the length.

(i sent this twice in case the first one didn't go through, I know sometimes long asks disappear in the system. If you got two please ignore this one, thank you for understanding)

This is.. going to be odd but I'm the person that sent the ask about learning how to be more like a typical human after being semi-feral? you asked a few questions and I can answer them, and maybe get some advice too on it as well. Sorry if this is disjointed, I'm in a bad head space right now but I haven't seen your inbox open in a while so I wanted to answer you while I could.

You asked me about how I survived. And honestly it was mostly because I didn't have an alternative. For physical abuse, I developed a high pain tolerance and don't much have the ability to cry or react to pain. I genuinely don't understand why people describe certain things as being painful, I can handle punches, cuts, etc without reacting.

For starvation my body has stopped reacting to hunger. I haven't felt hunger in many many years, and even then it was a rare occurrence. While it's most likely that I have stunted physical growth because of malnutrition, I can go days without eating without feeling any negative side effects. This is similar with water as well. I can go over a day or two without water and still be okay, actually most of my childhood I drank some water in the morning and then didn't drink anything until 5pm.

As for everything else, I wasn't really allowed to express emotions growing up after my birth parents. While my birth mother would sometimes beat me just to see me cry because she thought it was funny, in the foster home I spent the most time in any reaction from me that wasn't positive or praise was considered problematic. (more about the foster home later)

I'll also add that one of the things that kept me alive, ironically, was the thought of how easy it was to die. The first time I tried killing myself was when I was 5, where I had trained the dog I was living with to lay on a pillow wherever it was put. I'd then lay down and get the dog to lay on that, effectively suffocating me. The dog left after attacking a different kid (who tried killing it) and I was removed after.

My entire childhood I planned my own suicide in all sorts of ways. I've tried stealing and taking pills, I used to keep cups of bleach by my bedside to trick myself into drinking it, I tried laying on streets so cars would crush me, all the way to more elaborate plans I won't share. I don't remember when I started self harming, however I always was sneaky about it because I was always under what was called "arm check" watch. So it stuck mostly to things I could get away with.

I, though I don't know why, have an unnaturally high tolerance to medication, drugs, anaesthetics, and alcohol. I need 3 to 4 times the regular dose of medication for it to impact me, I've never been put under anaesthetics because they've never been legally able to give me a high enough dose to knock me out, and though I've been pressured to drink by adults when I was younger I've never gotten drunk, not even when I was a teen and drank a whole 6 pack.

This has stopped me from overdosing many times, because I've reached the point where I've taken enough medication to actually overdose but didn't. Perhaps this is due to overactive survival instincts, perhaps it's a bizarre quirk. Perhaps my birth parents used to drug me and I gained an early life tolerance. But in summary, only the idea that if I were to die it would be under my own terms was what kept me alive. That and spite, and a fear of abandoning any current foster siblings or pets that I protected from foster siblings that tried killing/maiming them.

To answer you about alters, I'm not entirely sure if I have fully formed alters or not? While my dissociation isn't as bad as it was when I was younger (I'd zone out to the point where I was completely gone for hours. No matter what anyone did I wouldn't react at all) and I eventually learned how to at least move and somewhat speak when it happens.

I do have like a co-host? There's two of me inside my head, and majority of my communication in life has been us talking to each other. However I think it's important to mention that when I was 6 there was a shift? I'm unsure how to word it but this is the closest way I can put it: when I was 6 the original person of the body died and left us two behind.

We had completely different interests, reactions to things, thoughts and dreams and everything. It's to the point that I was moved to another foster home because I was no longer the kid the previous foster parents wanted. And it felt like we had to re-learn how everything worked all over again, because I only knew how to survive.

Every few years that "rebirth" cycle happens again, and the two co-hosts seem to shut off for a bit and then turn back on, but when they turn back on we loose sense of "us" and have to relearn a bunch of things. And not just small things, but big things like school concepts, social rules, what is and isn't acceptable to speak about, how to properly move our body, all of that. Everything feels brighter and more real for a week or two after before it goes back to being dull.

But after that we're still like a new duo living in the head and living in this body. We may have different interests and do differently in school, and I have no clue why it happens. If it is all alters, maybe we're stuck in a perpetual loop of being born, barely surviving, and dying over and over again. It's the only way I can keep track of periods of my life, on which 3 or 4 year period certain iterations of us control the body.

I guess this sort of internal cycle also adds to me not feeling like a real person, because I often loose all the person-ness I've gained and have to read-build my illusion of humanness all over again. What comes naturally to me isn't what a human should be like, and it's unsafe for me to ever be me, at the very least until I can someday find a place safe enough to live.

My main reason for learning how to speak, even though it physically hurts me to do so for any length of time, was so I could learn how to beg people not to kill me. As soon as I sensed adult disappointment I would crouch on the ground and cover my head and beg the adult not to kill me, which got me moved from another foster home after the school called the foster parents too many times asking why I did that.

Eventually I learned that doing that would make people more likely to kill me, so my general perspective of the world my entire life has been "everyone in the world belongs on a ranking system of how much power they have over another person. Teachers and parents have the most, while kids older than you will always have more power. I have less ranking than everyone else around me, so any hurt done to me will always be acceptable. If someone kills me it's well within their ranking to do so." I still struggle to not have this outlook, as I'm used to being treated as more of a pet or novelty than a person.

I don't know if that answers your questions, but that's the best I can do. If there's any more questions you have I can try answering them whenever I find your inbox open again.

Here's the more about foster care, and what I have some questions about. I've mentioned this to someone once, and they said it sounded similar to human trafficking? though I consider it normal.

In the one foster home I stayed at, the one I stayed at the longest, was one where every child that went there had a "ranking". For some extra context: every child there was a legal orphan, all through having birth parents so bad they couldn't stay with them.

The ranking system was based on how "adoptable" the child was. For instance, if you did well in school, didn't have attention put on you, stayed quiet and followed chores and "requests" at the foster home, and basically did what you were told you'd keep a good ranking. This also included not reacting to any trauma you have, not mentioning previous parents (foster or birth), and basically being a child that raised themself. HOWEVER it didn't matter what happened at home, just keeping up appearances and not bothering the foster parents.

While at that foster home over the years I had over 8 foster siblings, though only 5 of them stayed for longer than a few months. When I was 6 the boy already living there tried, and likely succeeded at some point, raping me. The only reason why he was ever caught (he was left home alone with me to babysit, despite him being no where near capable of doing so.) was because a new girl (around 8) had moved in and caught him in the act. She had just come from a place where she'd witnessed rape and freaked out enough that they eventually moved the boy.

Even though she saved me then and at times acted like an older sister, she also was... not happy with her life. She tried killing me multiple times, usually through drowning (both when we were left alone and her telling babysitters that I could swim and putting me in situations where I'd nearly drown). She also tried attack me with a knife a few times, however all the cabinets and drawers in the house were locked so it was rare for her to get anything too sharp.

She also had been planning to murder our foster parents and blame me for it, however someone reported her for trying to get a teacher to have sex with her when she was 13 and got sent away. There was another boy that lived there around my age a few years later that also tried killing me multiple times, usually through strangulation, pushing me onto the road, trying to hang me a few times, attacking me with a knife, and in other ways. He was rather sneaky and had been 2 weeks away from being officially adopted by the foster parents before he tried threatening someone on the school bus.

He had threatened people before and had never actually attacked someone at school, but the bus driver had gotten mad enough that he was suspended. Our foster parents only called him "devil child" and terminated the adoption process and sent him away, despite him doing that and worse to me for years at home.

I had a few other foster siblings similar to that, two other ones that showed sexual interest in me. One simply harassed me while the other raped me nightly for years before eventually being sent away because 3 foster kids at once was "too financially difficult" (even though the foster parents were paid to care for all of us, covering school supplies, clothes, and more. The only clothes I got were the clothes of older foster siblings, sometimes even stuff from previous foster kids I'd never met that was kept in garbage bags in the attic).

There's a lot more I could add, like how in that foster home I was often put to work in their construction business, and how the foster mother was grooming me to have a "special" relationship with her, and more, but first I want to talk about the foster home.

So the ranking system was used not only to basically tell us foster kids whether we'd be able to still stay there/not get abandoned again. It was also used to consider how "considerate" our removal would be. If you had a poor ranking you'd get insulted and lose certain privileges, and if it got bad enough the foster parents would refer to the kid as "devil child" (regardless of age).

A "considerate" removal was where a foster kid would be told they'd be removed a few weeks or months in advance, a bad removal was being kicked out suddenly with all the things you were allowed to keep in garbage bags.

Part of the "considerate" removal (and what the person said sounded like "human trafficking") was the videos we had to make. We would make videos about us doing homework, our likes, us doing chores, stuff like that. A sort of general introduction to the kid, and why anyone watching would want to foster/adopt that kid. These videos would show off all the best qualities of a kid, be burned onto a special CD with the kid's legal name on it, and then played to groups of potential foster/adoptive parents.

The foster parents and the potentials would meet in a room and watch the disk, and whoever was interested would stay behind and ask the foster parents more questions. Whoever was the kid that was staying at the foster home the longest would go and act as a sort of "fact checker" of sorts, because "children are worse at lying".

That, after a few years, ended up being me. I've been in many meetings with groups of adults I don't know and asked about how good my foster siblings were, and sometimes even asked which potential foster parents I liked the most, which would get taken into consideration on which potential foster/adoptive parents my foster sibling(s) would go to.

I'll admit to being selfish and not wanting them to leave, even if they had hurt me. It hurt more having to lie about where I was, but it hurt more seeing adults I mildly recognized come to the door and take my foster siblings away. I always tried to get my foster siblings controlled in some way to avoid them having to be removed, which often made them more mad at me and more likely to lash out, but we'd all been abandoned and I didn't want them to be abandoned again. But perhaps they were luckier, because they got to move out.

Those foster parents of that foster home has a copy of every CD made for all the foster kids, though there's a few that didn't get time to make CDs before they were kicked out. It was all through our local child protective services, but I wasn't allowed any internet presence and few photos of me which means there is a possibility that I was kidnapped (or "misplaced") in the system.

Those foster parents were also... not great. It turns out that the foster mother had had her own biological children removed from her decades ago, and they couldn't have biological children of their own. They wanted a child to replace the one they couldn't have, and were cycling through children until they found one easy enough to control (i remind you children all with birth parents abusive enough that we were all declared legal orphans).

I ended up being controllable enough, though that was also because my social worker abandoned me and I had no outside contacts and a panic-attack inducing fear of adults. Eventually they adopted me and changed my name to one of the foster mother's birth child's names. They forbade me from learning anything about my past OTHER than whatever terrible things my birth parents did.

Unless I was physically working for the foster father (construction business he mostly ignored me. By the time I was 7 I was tiling bathroom floors, and by the time I was 9 I had helped (without ladders or any safety measures) put roofing on roofs). He ignores my physical ailments and always changes the topic whenever I mention anything that isn't "positive" or school, so we lack much of an emotional bond. However he also has never hurt me physically, touched me in any way, or purposefully made me cry. He does ignore everything the foster mother did.

The foster mother had wanted a "special" relationship, and I don't know what else to describe it. Once I knew enough language to speak and make up stories she was telling me about her own trauma and the trauma of her self-help-group/clients. (The foster parents didn't want a disabled kid so I was forced to do home schooling over the summers to "make up" for "my defective brain". They weren't trained and it got ugly many many times because of my brain damage and general inhumanness. Due to the treatment of my birth parents I have brain damage that no one ever checked up on.)

I was raised on stories of rape, abuse, murder, and trauma. The only TV I was ever allowed to watch was construction-work related stuff (so I could better help in the business) or shows with murder. The birth mother would pit the other foster kids against me because I got the "special privilege" of being allowed into the foster mother's office (the only time we ever would see her, other than watching tv._

This "special privilege" included her removing her shirts so I could give her back massages (starting when I was 7), and her telling me about her clients/friends. It also included her sharing her delusions in a religious sort of way, and training me to "be more human".

No matter what i did I could never fully please her, because no matter what I do I will never be a real human. I was never allowed therapy and was the closest thing to therapy I've had was those "Special meetings" with the foster mother. And there the core lessons for me was the following:

No matter what I do, I will ALWAYS be worth less than everyone because I am fundamentally inhuman.

Everyone else is always telling the truth compared to me, because I'm fundamentally incapable of experiencing reality.

Everyone plans out their life before they live it. That means that I planned out every single thing that ever happened in my life. That means I wanted every bad thing that happened, and there was no one to blame but me.

That it's not actually that hard to hide a body, and if I try talking to outsiders I'll learn that first hand (this was partially why the foster mother had me watch so many murder and murder mystery shows. It was a reminder of how she could point out all the mistakes the murderers made, AKA how easy it would be for her to kill me and get away with it).

My life is a mistake, something that should have never happened, and if I talked to other people I'd only spread my curse them to be like me.

Never talk about what happens at home. Or your life.

When I was 17 the foster parents moved me to another place in the country where the nearest towns were over an hours drive away and the nearest town with police was 2+hours away. And where the age of adulthood was older than 18, all so I couldn't legally leave them (they have made far far too many stalking, kidnapping, maiming and more threats because they "love me too much to let me go"). And in general keep me as isolated as they could, a thing they've done since I was placed in their care.

There's so much more I could talk about, but this is already far far too long, so I have a few question I hope you could answer?

First, I'd appreciate any reaction or thoughts you could share, I find it helps give me an outside perspective from someone who doesn't think all this to be normal (and therefore more comfortable than the alternative).

Second, would the CDs and method of foster children getting new foster/adoptive parents be considered similar to human trafficking? I really don't think it is, but that comment the person made has stuck with me, and I wanted to get someone else's opinion (it's... not something I can just go and ask someone)/

Third, is it normal for parents (foster, adoptive or otherwise) to want you to raise yourself? I basically was feeding myself (making meals, packing lunches, etc) since I was 7 and helped my foster siblings do so too. I helped do everyone's laundry since I was 6 (my foster siblings and I were so small that just for one basket all three of us would have to grab on and drag it upstairs lol) and have continued to do mine and the foster parents's laundry since. I never got homework help, never did outside activities that would require the foster parents taking me places, I spent all my time in a forest (sometimes camping in it for weekends until I was old enough to be taken seriously if I complained about living conditions (around 13?). etc

Fourth, is it weird that I was required to do so much construction work? I've helped with the demolition and construction of many houses since I was 7-ish, ranging from taking down walls to plumbing to electrical wiring, creating walls, tiling, carpeting, roofing, making decks, etc etc etc. For a few years my bedroom was also used as a tool storage area, with tons of saws, knives, and tools all over the place. The foster mother was well aware of my suicidal tendencies and she would tell me to do it, put my in situations where I could do it, shame me for being "like that", and only cared if it ruined the foster parents' combined reputation.

Fifth, is it wrong for me to be upset at the idea that the only reason why I've ever been considered a wanted child (or wanted in general) is because how my trauma manifested as internal reactions rather than acting out (aka making me more controllable)? I should be happy that I had so many chances at having a family, even if I never stopped feeling like an orphan, right? (sorry, I've been thinking about this a lot for a while. I can't help but feel mad at the friend I have and school peers in the past because they never had to struggle at just the chance for family. They take it for granted. It's unfair.)

Last, does this fall into continued emotional and/or psychological abuse? Compared to my birth parents and other foster parents they seemed amazing to me, however from reading about other people's families I realize that my foster/adoptive parents sound equal or even worse (NOT to make it a competition, I mean "worse" in the sense that I didn't know those things were considered abusive, NOT that other people "have it easy". pain is pain, and no one likes being hurt.)

For instance, for a few months the foster mother was in the hospital and the foster father went to work and then went to the hospital, only coming home to sleep and make sure there was food for us to eat. I thought they were both at the hospital. We had no baby sitters, even though the oldest kid was 8 and the youngest was 5. Or the time that the foster mother threatened to break down my bedroom door and beat me because I was sick and didn't want to go out somewhere that gave me migraines. Or the many times the foster mother would keep insulting and berating me until I cried, but if I ever said anything I was "defending the fact that all I want to do in life is to suffer". Or how much the have laughed at me for trying to explain to them that I need psychological or physical help (the hardest I've ever seen them laugh is when I told them I was suicidal as a kid. They made jokes about me killing myself and how for months after). Or not being allowed water, or having food withheld, or how the foster mother's delusions have grown to the point that for years I've been denied not just the idea that I'm human, but the idea that I'm a living individual.

According to her I'm an extension of herself without autonomy or personhood, no one but her exists, everyone in the world is an illusion, and far far more. Constantly having to not just listen to multiple hour long rants and having to repeat/speak about how right she because she'd remove my access to water or food or online school (this was during the pandemic, which for me was 3 years straight of being in a new place knowing no one and left with 100% of my interaction being her or the foster father. Those years of psychological mind tricks (I have no clue how to explain it, brainwashing is the closest thing but I don't want to say that in case I'm wrong) definitely not done me good.

(That's also ignoring what happened at other foster homes I've lived at. There was a foster father that was... too "loving" towards young children, another who would lock me in a closet if I was in his eyesight too long, and a foster mother that had gotten frustrated at me for only meowing and hissing as I was had been beaten so many times I was afraid to try learning how to speak so she threw me outside to live with the dog. She'd clean me up and say I was telling stories if I said anything about it through my limited language skills, basically just wanted the money).

Apologies for how long this is, I completely understand if it takes you a long time to answer, or if you choose not to answer at all. Thank you for what you do for everyone, and thank you for taking time to answer everyone's stuff. I hope you have a good day and a good life.

Thank you for answering all of the questions and explaining to me how you survived. I appreciate all of the time you spent explaining it, and everything you said makes sense to me. This is going to be a long response as well, so I'll put it under 'read more'.

The way you survived is something I wouldn't even think possible, your entire body has adapted to the point where all of your senses have turned off, almost permanently, in order for life to still be possible. It is scary to know that this can even happen, and I hope dearly that this doesn't mess up your health (and I want to say, quality of life, but, uh.) I am sorry the lack of nutrition stumped your physical growth.

While your endurance over pain, hunger, and resistance to medicine might seem impressive, it is a sign of how harsh and dangerous your environment was, and how far you had to adapt in order to survive. It's understandable that it's very hard for you to relate to other people, when you're adapted for much different circumstances of life.

It's also incredible you managed to survive at all, and it makes sense you were always look for a way out, it would not have been possible to survive what you did, without hoping that you could end it. It is devastating what you felt compelled to do, but I'm going to try and stay collected to answer this, because I don't feel like you're looking for a display of emotions.

What you describe as co-hosts in your head, that definitely sounds like alters, but I've never heard of a case like yours, where they're shutting off, dying, and then regenerating and re-learning everything, in order to survive. Again, it makes sense with your living circumstances, that it has to be like that, anyone would burn out and shut off in any way possible, and you have to go thru that cylce in order to keep being alive. Still, I'm very sorry that you have to suffer thru this, and struggle to keep any personality you develop. It sounds like your personality forming was shattered into pieces, and it might take a long time to start recovering it, if it's even possible (I'm not smart about this, I really can't say.)

It would make sense that it stops you from feeling like a person though. I doubt there's a lot of people you can relate to, or even talk about this.

I said I would stay collected writing this, but when I read that you learned to speak only to beg people not to kill you, that felt like a physical blow. I had to close my laptop and take a few minutes. That proves unimaginable cruelty and life danger from humans that you had to endure, and your instincts had to over-write everything, even pain, in order to give you a slight chance of survival, and I know that this type of danger erases everything, your personality and sense of self, until there's nothing but pure survival instinct and it takes over.

People who called the foster parents asking why you did that, likely also understood what kind of cruelty trauma this implied.

The ranking system you described, it makes sense. It's not supposed to be like this. In a humane world, we do not have a ranking system, we are, in theory, supposed to all be equal, and none of us is supposed to do harm to another, thats the theory that society's foundations are set on. There are laws protecting it, or at least in theory, there are laws protecting people from the greatest harm. However, what you experienced from society was not like that. A lot of society is not like that. There are people who are intent on building a hierarchy everywhere, and they do feel entitled to do harm to anyone they set on a lower level. It happens in systems of corporations, education, economy, government, family, any system where there are people with authority over other people. And you have experienced the absolute worst of the worst of it. So you had to pick up their rules, the rules of those who need this hierarchy in order to get away with hurting others, who feel entitled to it and constantly need victims. Me and most other people are disgusted by it, and a lot of people want to believe that people in authority would not abuse the authority to cause harm, but by vast majority, they do.

The reason why this hierarchy is so prevalent among children, is that children are always the most vulnerable demographic, being small, defenseless, and in complete power and dependency of others. So they are the ones who get hurt first from the hierarchy system, who are most likely to fall victims – and not only that, but children will mimic whatever behaviour is presented to them, so they will mimic the hierarchy as well, and continue building it among themselves. This also means that the bigger, more aggressive and opportunistic children, will abuse smaller, more scared, more vulnerable, and more sensitive non-violent children. It is not how things are supposed to work, all children are supposed to be protected and safe from abuse. But you have lived the reality of it, and you know how the system works. Anyone who wants to do harm, will pick someone who can't fight back, and who will not be believed, and they can do to this individual whatever they want to, leaving this person with trauma to recover for ages. This isn't right, it's not humane, normal, or compatible with human life, it's an evil hierarchy that not all humans subscribe to. But it is, in the systems that people with power abuse, extremely common. And utterly devastating to live thru, as someone with no power over anyone else.

And I know that the rule 'anyone who kills you is well within their ranking to do so' feels incredibly true (I've felt this in my family as well), but it is not. Nobody's ranking gives them an authority to end your life, or to take it from you. Nothing can grant people the right to do this. What they're doing is getting away with it, when they shouldn't, and they have no right. This is people acting out of their right, out of what is normal, allowed, or humane. I know it doesn't sound real when so, so many people have done this to you, have tried to kill you, and acted like it was the most normal thing imaginable. But all of this was wrong. I'm sorry if what I'm writing right now is painful, I'm not sure how much I can say without making it worse – if something I said feels bad, feel free to disregard it completely.

I think the ranking you describe in your foster care is built in an inhumane way. Rewarding children for being extremely convenient, hiding trauma, hiding emotions, obeying and doing work, and punishing them for any actual normal child behaviour, like being openly traumatized, in pain, defiant, acting out, that's not done in child's benefit. Children deserve better than to be suppressed and play pretense in hopes that someone will some day find them worthy of love. It also invites foster parents who only care about 'keeping appearances' and nothing else to benefit from this system. I want to believe there are foster parents who'd want to help a child recover and live a happy life, and not just to have a convenient person who obeys them in the house.

I am so sorry about the amount of sexual violence, murder attempts, and abuse you had suffered in your foster home. I can see you're writing about it as if it's nothing, so I can assume this was very normal and common for you, and not something devastating and life-damaging (you've been thru worse at that point, so it's no surprise that this doesn't come to you as a huge deal). I'm glad you noticed that it is incredibly hypocritical of the foster parents to send that boy away for threatening someone at the bus, when he'd been doing way worse to you for ages – it had only mattered to the parents when someone else was involved, while you were treated as if your experience didn't matter, and he was again, allowed to do anything. This is wrong, and he should have been sent away for hurting you right away.

I can also kind-of, understand that you bonded strongly with your foster siblings, even if they were hurting you or trying to kill you. Your sense of bonding at this point is so strong, because your survival within the community depends on you having someone on your side, at least a little, at least sometimes. And murder attempts are so common for you, it doesn't seem like a deal breaker, what you needed was someone to make life a little more livable, and despite all the harm, your foster siblings still were that for you. So you didn't want them to go away. That is human and normal. We humans will pick abuse and harm over being completely neglected, alone and isolated. I think your reaction was completely understandable.

It is terrifying to find out that foster homes have removals of kids in such brutal and punishing manner. This is cruelty to children, and I didn't know how horrid the reality of it was. I am so sorry that you were forced to live in such a place.

About the human trafficking claim, the thing is that the ranking system they had for you, and the videos, do sound extremely oppressive and messed up, almost like they were training you to be obedient and then creating a catalogue for potential 'owners' to watch. It doesn't sound like something loving parents would want to do when picking out a kid, they'd want to spend time with the kid, get to know them personally, not hear about 'qualities' and watch a video that proves obedience. Coupled with the fact that after you were adopted, you were forced to work from the age of 7, and construction work as well, makes it sounds extremely like human trafficking to me. I mean, it's not a 100%, because I assume even in these circumstances, it's possible for a kid to get adopted without necessarily being put to work for no wage (which is human trafficking, being put in a position where you're forced to work to survive, often in bad conditions and without money, or benefits, you only get your life), but the situation they set up sounds like it was made specifically to attract traffickers – in this case, people who wanted a child laborer, with a promise that the kid would be extremely well behaved, obedient, and would do any work required of them. While for complete diagnosis of human trafficking, the foster home would have to take money from the parents in order to take the kids – and I don't know if this is the case or not, I'm not knowledgeable about how foster systems work, it's possible that the money exchange is secretly taking place, or that the person who set it up this way did it on purpose, and is financially benefitting from kids being given to those who are most likely to use them for free child labour. So what I think is that it definitely does cause human trafficking. It created the perfect setup for it and it attracts people who can pick out who they want for free labour. If anyone reading this knows more about it, or could give a better analysis of this, please do. It does look like trafficking to me. Not even necessarily because of the CD's, more because of the obedience training and hierarchy, but the CD's sound so cold and alarming and not like something genuine adoptive parents would want to experience.

It's alarming to know that your foster parents changed your name, modifying your entire identity, and forbade you from learning a lot about your past. It sounds like they were set on controlling who you are allowed to be, and who they are in the story (it's probable they were trying to build a story of saving you, from your horrible birth parents, they would surely look good in comparison no matter what they did, given how extremely you were abused in the past.)

The fact that you worked construction, without any safety measures, without protection or any regulations or rewards, proves that this labour was extracted from you in return for your life, which is trafficking. Even your physical illnesses and pains were ignored. This is something that would be brutal even to an adult to endure, and is generally considered a cruel and unsurvivable thing to go thru. I can tell that after your past, a person who doesn't physically hurt you or make you cry is a big improvement and gave you a sense of physical safety, even if you were required to constantly offer labour in return for life, at least it wasn't pain, damage, life threats and murder attempts, so it makes perfect sense that this just felt, a little off! It's extremely common for victims of abuse, to continue going thru life while suffering some lesser amounts of abuse and thinking it was nothing, or it's no big deal, because we're so used to horrid treatment, anything better than the worst seems like a walk in the park, and we're just grateful that things aren't worse for us. So your reaction to it is completely logical. It's only in the context of looking at it from the eyes of a not-abused person, that it looks pretty horrifying, having to work construction as a child, with a person who fails to have any bond with you, while having effectively no caretakers, nobody to emotionally rely on, all while just being grateful things aren't worse.

Your foster mother was parentifying you, meaning she wanted you to take care of her, instead of it being the reverse. It's disturbing that they called your brain 'defective', because it's anything but that, your brain is one of the most brilliant masters of survival, you should be given a lot of credit for going thru all of what you did, and ending up this intelligent, coherent, communicative, clear and understanding. I understand you had to become this way out of necessity and because you had no other choice, but I believe you should still be given credit that you did all that, despite how little you had to work with.

It's also disturbing they only allowed you to watch construction and murder, it's like they wanted your entire world to be reduced to working, and knowing that you can be killed at any minute, it's almost like a threat and a blackmail in order to keep you obedient and working at all times – not that they needed to, you were already in so much terror it was unlikely you would disobey.

The 'special privilege' your mother was claiming to give you was really just parentification, possibly emotional incest (asking massages and expecting you to emotionally cater to her needs). It's very likely that she could be narcissistic. The core lessons she taught you were so dehumanizing and put you in a position where you could only have worth as much as you can be of use to her – which is how narcissist view others. This is not normal or common. You were human the entire time, more human than she was.

You are more than capable of experiencing and effectively describing reality, the way you described it here to me is both eloquent and easy to understand, regardless of how horrifying and dark your reality is. You are good at expressing what happened, and at analyzing it as well. So why would she set rules that would blame you for everything bad that ever happened to you, when you had absolutely no control over it? In order to be able to do more bad things to you, and never be held accountable. She also wanted to keep you silent from ever telling on her (if you talk to others you'll spread the curse) and if you are inconvenient or troublesome we can kill you (it's not hard to hide a body). I feel like you already understand that all of the rules are only self-serving for her, and made so that again, she'd have so much power over you, she could get away with anything.

But in reality, all of those core values are bullshit, and only a cruel, inhumane and evil person could ever impose that on a child (or any other person, really).

I know it can feel devastating that even after all that abuse, you ended up in another threatening, dangerous and exploitative situation, but again, this is pretty common for victims of heavy abuse, that we often find ourselves in some other version of abuse, and usually we go bit by bit until we reach a healthier stage. You can move on from this and find a better environment that will value your humanity in a real way. You were never anything other than human, but you were put in a lot of situations that made it hard for you to feel that, or rather, too painful to feel it. It's easier on the heart to believe you do deserve all this, and that you are to blame, rather than to think that you were a helpless, blameless kid subjected to cruelty for no other reason than someone wanted it, and could get away with it.

To answer your questions:

Even though your life is so dark, I find myself relating to the parts of the story, which scares me, but also gives me hope that you can find a way to freedom, even with a situation this dire. I can tell that you're calm and collected thru it all, which I admire, but it also makes me think you are completely numb and dissociated from the pain you're experiencing, so that you could talk coherently and calmly. However, you're asking for an outside perspective of someone who doesn't think it's all normal – while I don't think it's normal at all, I might not be the best outside perspective, since I'm also viewing it from the lens of abuse. I think true outside perspective would be to be completely and utterly horrified, shocked, devastated and shaken by everything you've been thru, which I do feel as well, but I'm not going to be of much help if I give in to feelings.

The CD's themselves, I don't think are a proof of trafficking, though they are weird, cold, and combined with everything else, do play a part in enabling the trafficking. It is good to ask questions, there are people who know and understand far more about human trafficking, and you should keep asking, and pointing out what feels off to you. You did end up in a situation where two people with absolutely no desire to care for a child, have gotten a child who was sure to obey their orders, work for them for free, take care of one of them emotionally, and endure dehumanizing and threatening environment. This is a form of trafficking – and I should say, trafficking doesn't always feel like you're trafficked. It feels like 'this is just what life is and I should be grateful that it's not worse, because I know worse, I could be dying on the street right now, but if I do this I'll be allowed to live'. And I believe that you are in this situation, and it's not your fault, and there's not much you can do about it immediately.

I don't think its normal for any kind of parents to expect you to raise yourself. That is just severe neglect and parentification (expecting the child to act the role of a parent or a caretaker). You should have had meals and clothes provided to you, you should have had actual care and gentleness and opportunity to talk about what happened to you and what is bothering you. And you should have never been give to people who would mess you up even further, do damage to your brain, threaten you or try to convince you that you're not human. You should have gotten help with homework and everything else. You shouldn't have been put in a situation where you're responsible for the care of very young children when you were 6. You should have been taken places and given happy experiences. You should have been given good living conditions and peace of mind. You should have been told that you're a good child, that you're doing well, and that everyone wants you around and is proud of you.

I'm curious about the forest, because I love the forest, does it feel safe for you to be in the nature? I want to be in the forest forever.

4. And your fourth question about the construction work – no, thats trafficking. Your room should not have been used as a storage either. You were used as a free worker and a servant, and not treated as a child there to be cared for and healed from sever trauma. Also your foster mother pushing you to suicide, thats hateful and gross. It should have never happened.

5. It's not wrong for you to be upset. You were wanted as a free worker because they realized it would be easy to threaten you into obedience, and that you're way too scared of adults to ever disobey, or complain about anything. Your trauma put you in a situation where you would once again, be exploited. It's also normal for you to still feel like an orphan, since none of your parents did any caretaking, or took the role of actually parenting you at any point, they did not build a bond with you, they only kept using you, and you had no idea of knowing that this wasn't normal, or that it was neglect and abuse. It's normal to be mad at other people who take their families for granted, when it's something you sacrificed everything for. It really is not fair.

6. You did well to figure out that your foster parenting experience is not normal, that could not have been easy. Compared to your birth parents, I believe, anyone would seem amazing. Just less violence and less murder threats is amazing compared to constant attempts and constant violence. The only way you could have judged them is by comparison, and your birth parents were off the charts, most cruel and vicious beings imaginable. And I appreciate you pointing out that you're not making a competition out of it, it's true, we're not making a competition, but we can say one type of abuse is more life threatening than the other, and that different abuse brings out different kinds of feelings and consequences, and that some types of sever abuse, make other types seem invisible, harmless, no big deal, or even amazing.

What you describe about your mother saying 'all you want to do in life is suffer' and laughing at you for needing psychological and physical help, even when you're suicidal, is once again, hateful and cruel behaviour, and nobody should have done this to you. Accusing you of 'wanting your suffering' is insane. Laughing at a suicidal kid is inhumane. That is not funny, to normal humans it's devastating.

Your mother treating you as an extension of herself sounds a lot like she's trying to achieve enmeshment and engulfed relationship, like what narcissistic mothers do, because she wants you to be bonded to her, but in a way that you care for her, while she doesn't care for you. This isn't fair, and it's not normal. You are not an extension of anyone, you are yourself, and you have the right to do things that benefit you, and only you, and it does not make you selfish. You also have the right to refuse the things that hurt you, and everyone should respect that. Removing access from food, water or online school, is violation of your human rights, and not a punishment that is normal, or legal to use. I am so sorry you were alone with them and brainwashed for so long. I feel that you are so incredibly intelligent that you will see thru it, and I'm sure you're right to say it. Being isolated with people who see nothing human in you, would brainwash anyone.

Again, I am so sorry for what everyone have put you thru, they had no right. The other events you're describing are also horrifying and sound too painful to bear. You were treated worse than people treat animals, and they could have not do any of this to you, and they would have been just fine. It was their choices to do this.

Thank you for reaching out and for answering my questions, I knew it was selfish of me to ask, but I'm glad you got back to me and responded. I hope my answer helps you a bit, and you can keep talking to me if you want to. I'll try to open my inbox sooner this time.

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incendio22 · 2 years

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FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL

Chapter 25: A Gaunt Family Dinner

It's a foggy morning in April when Ominis is heading to meet his family. His fake visit to St Mungos had worked out perfectly and Nurse Blainey was extremely worried about him. Everyone at school seemed to know about his medical condition and it really was the trendiest topic at Hogwarts at the moment. I overheard a younger Slytherin talking about how tragic it was that he finally found love, and now was going to die. I hate rumors like that and even though that could have been the case if he was actually sick, it was highly unlikely to die from Ominis' fake disease.

At first Imelda had been worried sick, which made Ominis eventually give in and tell her that he wasn't actually ill. He didn't tell her the full story, but he did say that he needed to leave school for some personal matters. She didn't like it, but she accepted it.

Ominis had three days to make the prophecy never come true, leave his family with his life intact and return to Hogwarts. It was a very limited schedule and a lot at stake. Lately, Ominis and Sebastian had snuck out of the castle to practise apparition, so that Ominis could transport himself quickly between the locations. He could now do it successfully, but Sebastian and I were both still struggling to master it.

Sebastian and I follow Ominis to the Forbidden Forest, where we walk in silence. We are all nervous and tense, Ominis more than the two of us. Sebastian reaches for my hand and squeezes it quickly before he lets go of it. We reach our decided location and stand still.

''We'll meet here again in three days,'' Sebastian says firmly.

Ominis nods and looks bitten.

''Please, be careful,'' I tell him with a worried look on my face.

''You know me,'' Ominis says in a confident voice. I think it's his way of processing all of this, because I highly doubt that he is actually feeling confident right now. ''I'll come back, so that I can keep giving the two of you relationship advice.''

He has been extremely good at giving the two of us advice, I have to admit that. When I struggled to understand myself, he was there. When I was in doubt, he was there. I feel sad when I think about how good of a friend he has been to me, because I feel as if I'm letting him down now that he's doing this all alone.

''Y/n,'' Ominis says. ''Please make sure Imelda doesn't forget about me.''

''It's just three days,'' I tell him. ''She'll be fine.''

''I know. But still,'' Ominis voice is low.

''I promise, Ominis,'' I tell him and give him a hug.

Sebastian and Ominis hug each other for a long time before Ominis finally says goodbye and disappears within the blink of an eye. I stand in silence with Sebastian, both in shock.

''We must tell the Keepers,'' I say to Sebastian and start walking back towards the castle.

We promised to update them when Ominis left, so they could work their magic. They still haven't told what their part in this plan is, but we figured that it might be our only chance to protect Ominis from afar.

It feels as if the day never ends and it's painful to know that Ominis is out somewhere, sitting at a table being nice to the people who hurt him most. The amount of courage that takes is immaculate. Before he left he explained that despite the pain they put him through, it's going to be painful for him to do what needs to be done. He said that just because people have wronged you, you don't get the right to destroy their lives. And while I know that he's right, I could never put myself through that. Maybe that makes Ominis a better and bigger person than me and that is something I can live with.

Sebastian and I are sitting against the wall in the Undercroft. We have barely spoken throughout the entire day. This is a day of sadness for both of us and it pains us even more that there is absolutely nothing we can do. We are well aware that the fate of the wizarding world lies in Ominis' hands, but his fate is still unknown.

''Come here,'' I tell Sebastian and pull him closer to me. ''What's on your mind?''

''I'm just so worried,'' he says in a low voice. ''And I feel as if all of this is somehow my fault. Of course I know that it's not, but still.''

''I feel the same,'' I admit. Even though it hurts me to know that Sebastian is blaming himself, I find some peace in knowing that I'm not the only one feeling like that. ''He'll be okay.''

''We don't know that,'' Sebastian argues. ''I'm just so upset because our friendship finally recovered from all the awful things last year. And if something were to happen to him, I would just blame myself.''

It kills me to know that he's in so much pain and blames himself over a prophecy that he is in no way responsible for.

''Sebastian,'' I whisper, taking his hand in mine. ''You are in no way responsible for this. You have to stop holding yourself accountable for other people's choices and actions. People have free will.''

He squeezes my hand back.

''I know,'' he says in a low voice. ''I know you're right, but that doesn't make it easier to stop blaming yourself.''

I nod understandingly. He has been through more pain than anyone should experience in a lifetime. Losing his parents, Anne getting cursed, his uncle not wanting to keep trying, Anne leaving him. He lived through so much and I just wish I could take his pain away from him. I'd take it and carry it myself if I could.

''I just miss Anne so much,'' he says. ''I've been trying to forgive myself, but it's just so hard when I know I did the wrong thing.''

''It takes time, love,'' I tell him softly.

Neither of us manages to fall asleep that night. Instead we just sit there in the darkness, holding each other and hoping that everything will work out okay.

The three days have passed and we head back to the Forbidden Forest to meet Ominis. We go there early in the morning, since we have no idea when during the day he will return. The morning turns into afternoon, that turns into night. And there's no signs of Ominis' return, making me and Sebastian extremely worried.

The night is getting colder and darker. After waiting in the forest for almost 14 hours we decide to head back to the castle.

''Maybe he didn't find his way back to our spot and headed back to the castle,'' I say, lying for myself.

''Let's hope you're right,'' Sebastian says in a low voice as we're walking through the forest.

We are standing outside of the entrance to the Slytherin common room when we hear rapid footsteps approaching us. It's almost midnight and we are definitely not supposed to be up at this hour, nor do we want to draw any suspicions to Ominis' trip.

''Mr Sallow! Miss Y/n!'' Sebastian and I turn around to see professor Weasley, who has a concerned look on his face. ''Nurse Blainey has requested the two of you to the Hospital Wing. Try to get there as quick as you can, it's rather urgent.''

Sebastian and I exchange extremely worried looks. His eyes are filled with worry.

''Professor Weasley,'' I say. ''What's the matter?''

She gives us a compassionate look and walks closer to us. I can tell she really does not want to tell what this is all about.

''I think it's best if you see for yourselves,'' she says. Now that she is standing closer to us I can see the worry in her eyes, too. ''Off you go.''

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #slytherin #fanfic #fanfiction #for the hope of it all

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moderncryptid · 1 year

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Furry Little Bastard Chapter 2

(Re-posting this here from ao3)

The first time Damien told someone what to do and they actually did it, was when he was on the playground at nine years old. He can still remember exactly where he was sitting; the cracks in the pavement that hadn’t been fixed in several decades and the weeds growing in the empty places. The shell of the rusted monkeybars sitting over him dividing the autumn sky into neat blue squares. Nobody wanted to use them because they were old and small and sat on the edge of where the playground met a long, empty field. Which made it the perfect place for him.

Damien had always been a bit like a puzzle piece that was put into the box slightly bent. He never seemed to know how to talk to the kids his age so he just elected not to talk at all. He never knew how he was supposed to act around them, so he kept his distance. It wasn’t that he didn’t like being around them, but he felt like he was trying to play a game where everyone else knew the rules but him.

He wanted to understand how it worked. He wanted to know what to do the way everyone else seemed to. And more than anything else, he wanted people to like him. The three most solid, defined wants he’d ever known and even his ability couldn’t make that happen. Even if he thought it did for a while.

When it happened, he was doing what he usually did during recess. Sitting and watching the other kids. Observing the dynamics between them and trying to learn those mysterious rules. He was so intent he didn’t even notice he was being approached and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone kicked the bars closest to him.

“See? Told you he’s alive. He’s just creepy and doesn’t like to move.”

“Gross.”

Most of the kids in Ithaca knew each other. The population was so tiny that there weren’t that many of them to begin with, so they weren’t really allotted that much space to separate between grades. The boys that usually gave him the most trouble were older than him by a few years. Probably middle-school age.

“Does he talk?”

“Why would I know?”

He considered speaking up, but this happened frequently enough that he knew it wouldn’t do any good. If anything, they wanted a reaction from him and it would only make it worse. So he just pretended that he couldn’t hear what they were saying even if it was making him feel horrible.

“A sensitive kid” was what his teachers called him. That seemed to be code for “easy target” as far as the other kids who bothered to acknowledge his existence were concerned. It really didn’t take all that much to upset him and most of his peers thought it was the only fun thing about him.

“Just ignore them Robert,” was the extent of his mother’s advice on the topic.

He tried. He really, really tried. And it worked out about as well as everything else he tried. Which is to say it went great for the first few minutes then went to shit very quickly.

It was the one whose name he was pretty sure was Mat who threw a rock first. It was only a pebble, really, and it clanged harmlessly off the bars. But it was loud and terrifying and the second fingertip-sized projectile actually did bounce off the side of his head. It wasn’t hard enough to do anything but scare him and sting a bit, but he immediately burst into tears and the two of them started laughing.

Apparently that was finally loud enough to draw the attention of one of the teachers who somehow hadn’t noticed a thing until that point. He was a notoriously strict guy and all three of them got yelled at for being disruptive. Damien tried cutting in to tell him that he’d had nothing to do with it, but wasn’t even allowed to explain himself.

It ended with Mat and the other one being shooed away and Damien being sharply told that, “If you can’t handle being outside Robert, then you should go sit in the classroom with the younger students.”

He was so angry. He was so angry at the unfairness of it and glared as fiercely as he could at the teacher’s retreating back after wiping his tears on the sleeves of his jacket.

It’s not my fault! I didn’t even do anything! They’re the ones who should get in trouble.

It wasn’t that big in the grand scheme of things. Being bullied by some assholes was par for the course in most people’s lives at some point. But he was just a kid, and every bad thing that happens is the worst thing that’s ever happened because you have nothing to compare it to when your world is so small.

He was incandescent with rage, and a stomach-turning sadness that only provoked more frustrated tears. It felt like the entire world hated him and in that moment he hated it right back. But more than that, he wanted someone to listen to him. More than anything.

They should get in trouble.

They should. Not me.

He was staring hard at the teacher’s back, willing him to understand, and suddenly he stopped walking mid-step. Damien watched him stand there for a moment, utterly still, then abruptly turn and started walking after the two older boys.

He started yelling before he even reached them. Damien couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but sat up to watch as the two boys shared confused looks. He watched them try to argue, and though they pointed in his direction several times the teacher ignored them. The last Damien saw of the exchange was him marching the both of them back to the school building.

He’d been so relieved and happy in that moment. He thought the teacher just changed his mind. That he’d understood what Damien had been trying to tell him and was making it right.

He had no idea that something inside him had just woken up, and was about to change everything for the worse.

The sound of his phone going off jarred him out of sleep. Damien groaned and rolled over and blindly slapped at his bedside table until he managed to turn off his first alarm, filled with the full intent of going back to sleep.

Why do I even set it so early?

He always seemed to get all these great ideas at around 11pm that he’d get up early in the morning. That a good night’s rest would finally make him a functioning, normal person and he’d go run errands or jog or whatever the hell people do when they don’t sleep until they have to go to work.

Not once had any of that actually sounded appealing at 7am.

Seize the day my ass.

Damien dropped his phone back in place and rolled over. And came face-to-face with a squinting pair of eyes. His mind and body were still in that sluggish state of half-sleep, so instead of flinching back or yelling his reaction was to half-raise his head from the pillow, blinking several times to be sure he was actually awake.

The furry interloper stared back at him and stretched. It arched its back and stretched out its legs, and that was when Damien noticed the horrible smell.

“Dude,” Damien sat up very quickly, putting some distance between himself and the crusty ball of fur and mud. “You smell like death.”

The cat had the nerve to look offended. It stared at him with those lamp-like eyes and made a noise in the back of its throat like a grumbling complaint from its place on the empty pillow it was taking up. From a distance, Damien could see it was leaving a fine dusting of crap all over the white case. He could also track its progress from where it had jumped up on the bed in the night, evidently walked over him, then settled down.

Guess I’m doing laundry. He sighed and stood up, scrubbing hands through his hair.

“Alright. Hope you enjoyed your stay, but it’s checkout time. Let’s go.”

He motioned for the cat to follow him. He was surprised when it actually seemed to listen as he heard the sound of paws hitting the worn, gray carpet and padding along behind him on his way down the narrow hall. It chirped several times like it was trying to get his attention but Damien pointedly ignored it and flipped the lock on the side door.

“Out,” He opened it up only to be greeted with the sight and sound of a torrential downpour.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Damien looked back at the cat, who was already looking at him. For several seconds they stared at each other in silence.

Damien debated exactly what kind of asshole he wanted to be. The kind that put animals outside in the rain, or the kind that let animals stay in his house when they smelled like (and were probably covered in) literal shit.

He slowly closed the door, never breaking eye contact with the little monster.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable,” he said. And before he could think too much about why he felt the need to not let a cat of all things think he might have any kind of soft spots he sharply added, “But you’re taking a bath. You’re not tracking that all over the place all day. Have some damn self-respect.”

He reached down to pick it up, hesitating slightly before actually touching it. It did occur to him that this thing could probably bite just as well as the possum he’d tried scooping up once. It was also weird to touch things that were actually alive.

Damien made a point to avoid touching people and nobody seemed over-eager to bridge that gap, which was one of the many things he’d convinced himself he didn’t care about. Because if there was a wrong way to do it, he was going to find it, and when it came to living creatures (even filthy, home-invading ones) there was a lot more room for error than grabbing an inanimate object.

Am I seriously nervous about picking up a cat?

Yes. He was. His mind was providing vivid imagery of all the ways he was probably going to scare it or hurt it without meaning to. But before he could lose his nerve entirely it butted its head into his outstretched, indecisive hands.

It wasn’t soft. It was like touching a dirty sponge that had been left to dry on the edge of a sink for too long. He’d absolutely describe the texture as unpleasant, and there was no way it could guess what he’d been thinking. If anything it was probably just sucking up. But with the timing, the nuzzling of his fingers felt like gentle encouragement. Assuring him that he wasn’t going to fuck it up as much as past evidence suggested he would.

The suddenness of it, and of feeling warm life under his hands made his throat feel tight.

God, I need to get out more.

He picked it up before he could have a third breakdown of the week courtesy of an animal headbutting him. Cringing internally and outwardly gagging at the thick, damp smell; he held it and hurried to the bathroom. With every step he kept having to turn his head away from the bastard that had begun trying to shove its face into his.

“Don’t get too excited. This is not me telling you you get to stay here. This is me telling you that if you’re crashing here temporarily, you can’t smell like ass.”

He was not getting suckered into keeping this thing. He was not the kind of sad and lonely that started looking for love in random animals because people wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Yeah. Because you already tried that and they didn’t like you either. That wonderful voice in his head chimed in brightly.

“Oh shut up,” Damien said out loud as he shouldered the door to the tiny bathroom open. He spent a lot of time talking to himself these days and should probably stop. “Dumpster boy, or….I don’t know, maybe dumpster girl, wishes they could have me. I’m fucking delightful.”

As if in response, it twisted its liquid body around and scraped a sandpaper tongue over his chin.

“Gross,” Damien said, very quickly pressing flat the twitch of his lips that he told himself was only there because the timing was funny.

Just the timing. It’s all just a coincidence and you’re a sad little weirdo who wants things to mean more than they do.

Damien clicked on the light and tried to focus on the task at hand. The landlord white of the tile, tub, and walls did give it a bit of a hospital vibe, but there was no visible mold like in his last place. The fact that he was proud of that and was proud of showing it to a cat was not something he wanted to dwell on either.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s make this quick.”

#this really is just a story about two wet little beasts #damien gorham #damien gorham fic #tbs

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erigold13261 · 2 years

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if expert levitators can lose the orb [e.g. milla] then expert telekineisis users can lose the hand [im pretty sure this is the case for queepie]

I thought you meant like they either lose their power or mess up so all I could imagine was Milla falling on her ass because she lost concentration or something! lol

But I think that hand and orb might be something some people just do and has nothing to do with the skill level of the psychic. We see in the beginning of Psychonauts 2 that Loboto is being held to the chair by a hand but is also levitated into the Motherlobe without a hand.

Both of these actions could be telekinesis, or it could be telekinesis when he is held and levitation when being moved. These two abilities seem to be fairly close to each other in how they work.

So like, some people could end up just using telekinesis on themselves to look like they are levitating or use levitation on an object to look like telekinesis.

To me, this mean that whether there is a hand or an orb (or any other shape) depends on how the psychic thinks. Both Raz and Queepie are self taught. Raz probably read a lot of books but Queepie most likely did everything himself and didn't have Raz actually helping him (either because Raz just didn't know, Queepie refused the help, or one of them was too afraid to accidentally be outed as a psychic to their parents).

Raz could have easily been given advice in comics and books that were along the lines of "Think of a hand picking up an object" which is why he makes a hand. He can also be using his experience as an acrobat/circus performer to think about levitation and how balancing on a ball or balloons are similar to levitation, which is why he uses orbs/balls when levitating.

Queepie is much younger, and seems to have been using his psychic abilities for much longer to gain the reputation of being the strongest boy (or whatever he is called). So he could have easily as a toddler or just a few years younger started levitating things because his brain went "Come here" so he never actually needed to make a hand. I'm pretty sure other than levitating the radio and holding his family up (which can be a debatable one) we never see Queepie use any other psychic ability, so he could very well make orbs/balls like Raz if he knows/starts to learn how to levitate.

I'm also sure that people can change how they think. So Milla could have easily made an orb or hand when she was younger and then learned how to levitate without creating a visual helper. Maybe she didn't like how it looked. Or she could have just been a levitating prodigy and could naturally levitate stuff without a visual helper.

Morris and Gisu are similar in that they probably see real life objects and replicate what they see. A normal skateboard and a wheelchair have wheels, so naturally the two would create orbs to simulate wheels to help them use their abilities. As time goes by they might learn how to hide the orbs they use, or they might keep them.

That is to say, all of the hands and orbs we see might not actually be visual. This would be similar to the wind in Avatar the Last Airbender. We as the audience can see the blue wind, but the people in universe can't. So maybe the hand and the orbs are just representations of how the characters pick things up but no one can see them except us (and potentially the one using the ability, but it is more like a mental image). I doubt this is the case though because Helmut can make mental figments in the real world, so the hand and orbs are probably also visual.

Um, I think I got off topic a bit. The hand and orbs, to me, are just how someone thinks to do their psychic ability. If you need to visualize a hand picking up an object to levitate it, then a hand appears. If you need to bounce high you can either levitate yourself without a visual, think of a ball to jump on, or think of a trampoline to jump on, and any of those will happen.

Masters of a skill, or people who can do things naturally, will most likely not need a visual. Those who needed a visual to help them at first can learn to do that ability without a visual, but there is no reason to force yourself to do that if the way you are doing it works for you. There are all kinds of ways to be psychic!

#psychonauts #erithinks #noart #asks #i think i answered this correctly #lol #it's late #i probably got off topic

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champagnepodiums · 1 year

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this is a completely different topic from what you've been discussing here...

but, um, the way fans nowadays babify drivers is so weird... not only that but also some of the tweets that cross limits while jokingly 'shipping' drivers. maybe that's just how most of the new fans tweet / talk abt drivers but psychoanalysing every little thing abt them and the extent to which some of them are babified is genuinely kinda insane to me lol..

i believe that also plays a big role in how the casual fans/on insta/even media to some extent behave towards certain drivers, especially the ones who are believed to have only female fans, which is so not true. it also doesn't help in reducing the amt of misogynistic comments made by men bcuz it makes them believe more in what they say abt watching the sport only for looks etc etc. but this just leads them to not take such fans seriously at all and yeah i mean ppl will probably say enjoy the sport like u want to and all but it would be easier for other fans as well if such ppl were a little more normal in the way they talk abt drivers i guess.

i know there's nothing anyone can do abt it and it's probably just the way the new generation of fans behave and act but i just wanted to get this out of my head..

okay so like no offense to you, everything I'm going to say right now is not directed at you, personally anon because i do think you mean well and i don't think you had any idea that you have touched on things that i feel strongly about but also things that are kind of sore spots for me atm but there are a few things i want to go over:

do we all know what psychoanalysis actually is? its not just this anon but i see this word tossed out so casually and like it's this terrible, awful thing and i do not think as a whole, this fanbase actually has a good grasp on what psychoanalysis actually is. it's become this word with a negative connotation and I just think we should generally have a conversation about that. Now, I am not any of your guy's mothers nor do I have the time to handhold everybody through this explanation for you today so I invite you to read this. I would like to tldr it to make a point and it's this quote from the article: "Psychoanalysis, in providing multi-layered and multi-dimensional explanations, seeks to understand complexity." When people are psychoanalyzing drivers (and it's something that I've been accused of more than once), usually what is happening is a person or a group of people are trying to use the information that we know about a driver through interviews to understand this driver. And sure, sometimes lines are crossed but I do not think psychoanalysis is some terrible thing that is ruining this sport.

Men are going to devalue women in motorsport spaces no matter what- I would suggest you reflect on the idea of women not participating in babifying drivers (which I think you're talking about fangirls essentially which i have thoughts on fangirls in general but im staying on topic kind of) will somehow make men respect women in motorsport spaces. i do not want to assume anything about you, anon but i have a sneaking suspicion that you might be younger (and that's okay!!) and i just -- it really doesn't matter how "good" of a fan you are, men will find a reason to discredit you. i spent a LONG time trying to be a perfect motorsport fan and you know how much respect it has earned me among men? absolutely none. men are either going to respect you as a motorsport fan or they're not, it doesn't really matter what sort of fangirl type behaviors you partake in (or not). I'm not saying that women who aren't interested in the fangirl behaviors are wrong or anything but trying to refrain from them in hopes of avoiding misogyny is honestly a waste of time (I've been in sports fandoms for a decade so while this probably sounds harsh and pessimistic, I've been around the block a few times and if i could give any advice to 16 year old me, it would be to not give a flying fuck about what men in sports fandoms think of me).

I think i had a third thing but it's gone now lol. I think motorsport fangirls are amazing and kickass and honestly so incredibly knowledgeable about motorsports and i will always defend and advocate for their right to exist in motorsports. anon, if you're still reading this i really hope you know i'm not yelling at you or anything, like i'm not mad or anything. if you wanna keep talking about it, feel free, you can even dm me!!

#i did not proofread this #i think there are runon sentences galore and im sorry but not enough to proof read #i fear i come off as aggressive but i promise im not mad or anything im just passionate!!

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muu-kun · 1 year

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Muse Masterpost: Psychiatric and Therapist team mini blurb

Something that doesn't get discussed much on this blog, yet most certainly requires a conversation is what exactly are the resources utilized by Muu personally. Especially when considering the overlapping mental health concerns and cognitive deficit. What is specifically in need of noting is in regards to a question I've never been inquired upon, but I'm definitely sure people wish to know: can Muu give proper consent to sexual intimacy as an individual with the occasional high support needs comparable to that of someone much younger in years than himself? I consider this a a fair request of information that I'm more than happy to offer as thoughtful as I can.

Due to a very eye opening conversation with his psychiatrist in which he revealed to them two specific revelations (1: that he would very likely stay with a physically abusive partner due to being under the impression the violence was his fault, and therefor something he is capable of preventing and 2: that he would be equally as likely to have sexual intimacy with a partner regardless of his own interest in the event just as long as he knew it for certain would make them happy with them), Muu was essentially placed immediately into contact with a particular association known for their services made available to neurodivergent individuals such as himself.

It became almost a requirement for him to do so as it became apparent his safety would have been at risk otherwise. At least in regards to his inability to define and recognize what it is to be abused. As well as what being ABUSING may look like as that too has an inclination for occurring even without purposeful malicious intent.

Hence why he was unapologetically assigned to a team designated to not only be available to him via messaging whenever a concerning social situation appears in his vicinity, but also to meet with him in person on the second Friday of every month (whereas he sees his psychiatrist every third Friday of every month to keep conversations amongst all members as updated as he can) to ensure he is still working, living comfortably, and isn't posing as a hazardous concern to his own (or anyone else's for that matter) wellbeing.

One common discussion of many is that of the topic regarding consent. Another is how to decipher when something might be particularly dangerous, and one is a natural consequence. Such as how being hit by someone is dangerous, whereas being ceased from a social event for prior out of hand behavior not apologized for is a natural consequence.

Regarding consent, however, the conversations are typically built around what options are available when he does want to engage in sex, and when he definitely doesn't. Such typically involve offering him words of suggestion to convey his desires of intimacy in a proper way, and of advice on how to properly navigate a situation where he may need to confide in someone a time in which that had not been made available to him. At least in more present situations over those incredibly leering in the past.

And while some might say that by a person at his age shouldn't really need the resources to remind them of bad touch vs good touch, or when someone is being a friend vs a harmful foe; however, I have to remind the masses as carefully as I can that Muu is not a typical twenty six year old individual. There are neurological pathways curated in his mind left exactly the way they were at sixteen years of age, and even earlier. They are not all like this, though, so it is important to note that he's simply an adult who at times may require more care in certain areas than in others.

I have said it before, and I'll say it again: it is completely alright and available to you if your muse's instinct on meeting someone like Muu is to treat them like they are feeble, or near infantile minded. I'd actually strongly recommend a dabble at doing so if concerns over where to gauge his comprehension levels persist. The more questions of what he's understanding, or how he is feeling through particular events, the better really. I'd rather people do that than hold onto the expectation that Muu is no different from all other adults his age only to fall to disappointment and almost disgust when shown / reminded of otherwise.

#; ♡ ; mental health masterpost #I would stir far away from referring to muu as being child minded #and would much prefer people describe him as landing in various and all valid spots on a map of support needs #all of which varying in degrees as is and at any given time might shift in any available direction #he has been described as a muse that is autistic all of these ten years on here and I'm not removing that from his character ever

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines.

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.”

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.”

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time.

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse, WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.”). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

#PSAs #asker concerns #diversity #motivations in writing #writing with diversity #blog housekeeping #internet hygeine #asks #WWC

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ayamturd · 3 years

Text

bisexual│mcyt hc

warnings: small mentions of hate, fluff

prompt: (requested 1 & 2) “Hello uh I saw one of your posts about the dream smp reacting to you coming out so I was wondering if you haven't already done it can you do dream smp reacting to you coming out as bisexual?”

“Hello yamturd so I was wondering if maybe you could do tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo reacting to reader coming out as bisexual or lesbian if you haven't already done it :)”

pairings: irl platonic! dream, ranboo, tommy and tubbo ; c!technoblade

a/n: if i offend or misinterpret anything in this hc, please feel free to message and correct me otherwise. i will always try to correct or delete this post if asked so <33

sending my love to all those who identify as bisexual <33

wc: (1.5k) - m.list

dream -

considering his prideful personality sometimes, you probably wanted to play with his ego and drop subtle hints

not anything too obvious, but enough to make him kick himself when he realizes

though it was admittedly difficult since he plays into the dnf ship so much that he thinks you’re also joking more than half the time

imagine you two were in a voice call one evening and randomly discussing the recent fanon and what would be funny to turn into canon (to mess with the fandom)

you’ve been recently shipped with two other content creators, both of opposing female and male gender, separately and together

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind hitting that.” “Which one?” “Both.”

He’d laugh, but you didn’t.

“Wait, you’re serious? You actually identify as…?” “Bisexual. Yeah, I’m pretty sure anyway.” “Y/n, that’s amazing.”

takes pride in the fact that you trust him, but would feign being upset that you messed with him for as long as you did

be jokingly offended if he found out someone knew before him

“Wait…” “Yes?” “You told Bad??” “Yeah, he was one of the first.” “W— Why??”

It was your turn to laugh while he gawked in disbelief.

“It’s Bad! Of course I told him.” “… Fair enough.”

hate is a given, and he’ll always be there to support and defend you

he’ll always ask your permission before taking any action, however, because he respects you too much and knows you can fight your own battles

dream is someone will show relentless support, whether that be through words or moral support, he’ll always be there for you

c!technoblade -

i honestly feel like you never officially came out to techno

as you began to recognize yourself as bisexual, you slowly expressed yourself around him more openly to the point where he unconsciously knew

it’d probably would have hit him in the most random moment after months of assuming he knew

imagine you’re in the midst of battle when techno paused entirely with wide eyes

“Y/n!” “What!?” “Are you gay??”

you would tease him when discussing your love life in one-sided conversations with him; him basically choosing to ignore you when you talk to him

“Honestly, Techno, how could you not want to hit that?” “Please, just stop.”

(i’ve written this before but will stand by this that) he truly doesn’t care for your sexuality

you’re a friend, someone he trusts and relies on, he doesn’t need to consider who you’re attracted to since he sees you for your skills and friendship

the only, and only time he is mindful of your sexuality depends on others unnecessary comments about it

the smp is a known judgement free land, but there will always be someone with ignorant opinions that he is always quick to shut down (or kill)

nothing much can be said besides the fact that you’ll always be y/n to him: a loyal friend and someone he would fight the world for

ranboo -

oh sweet ranboo, dear ranboo

considering how openly supportive and kind he naturally is, you didn’t question the idea of telling him

i’d like to imagine that unlike most where you planned or waited to tell, the moment you knew, he would know soon after

imagine you called him before he began his lore stream to hype him up

you both were talking about more mundane things to calm his nerves as people joined when you brought it up

“Oh actually, before you start, I wanted to tell you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Well, I— I’m Bisexual.” “…You’re tELLING ME THIS WHEN I’M ABOUT TO START MY STREAM??” “Y/n! I’m so happy for you, that’s amazing!”

he’s incredibly patient concerning how you wanted others to know or when you were ready to be completely out

similar to c!techno with the same beliefs you’re still y/n, and nothing has changed besides you coming out as yourself

he’s your go to when days are rough, because he knows how to help you understand you’re still loved as the same y/n and nothing less

“Hey, hey, listen to me. I love you, y/n. We all do, and you’ll never be alone when things get rough, alright?” (love /p)

knows how to silently deal with hate in his chat unless it becomes evident enough to address it (doesn’t want to bring attention to meaningless words until it becomes serious)

ranboo’s your rock and makes show that he’ll never believe anything other than that you deserve love

tommyinnit -

as someone who took pride in defending the LGBTQ+ community, you had no hesitation when coming out to tommy

if any, your reluctance would come from accepting yourself to the point to be open with other people

it’s not as if he didn’t accept you, he could never imagine doing so in the slightest, but he probably wouldn’t know what to say initially

imagine you both were in the midst of playing bedwars together in a recording for a video

he had been busy gathering emeralds while you remained at the base, and the comforting silence gave you the confidence to blindly address it

“Hey Tommy?” “What, y/n? I’m in the middle of something right now.” “Oh, um, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” “…” “…Tommy?” “…” “T— Tommy?”

it’d be dead quiet for a few seconds before you heard the noise of him rustling in realization

“Wait wait wait, you’re serious? You’re bisexual?” “Haha yeah, yeah, I am.” “WHA—!”

he was happy for you, to say the least

tommy loves to joke, and one he loved to make would be your attraction to both genders

you like women? pog!

you like men? a shame, honestly

if you were publicly out, his favorite bit would be to include you in his obnoxious swooning

imagine he was streaming while talking about his love for women

“Boys, honestly, the ladies just can’t resist me.”

The ding of discord notified you entering the call, the sound of your laughter immediately coming through.

“I agree, Tommy, I definitely agree.” “Y/n! You are attracted to women, and I am also attracted to women. You can agree women are amazing, yes?” “I can, Tommy. Women are indeed amazing.” “Good lad!” “Tommy, you do realize I’m not only attracted to w—” “Shush, we don’t speak of that.”

he showed his support by normalizing your sexuality, his acceptance quick and easily integrated into your lives

(this is getting long but—) tommy was well aware he lacked some knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community, but openly voiced his ignorance as a sign of awareness itself

he was always quick to correct either himself or others, he refused to accept slander of any type in his streams

would probably try to keep it light heartedly, but scold nonetheless

tommy was your figurative cheerleader, always there to include and uplift you, whether that be through the smallest gestures or loudest cheers

tubbo -

poor tubbo

since he wasn’t the most careful with secrets, you probably withheld telling him till you were ready for most to know

this isn’t to deter anything of not trusting him, he’s still supportive and loving tubbo that wouldn’t dare do anything purposeful against you

if anything, you might have forgotten that he didn’t know when you were casually taking about it within a group

imagine you and Ranboo were trying to get him to sleep one early morning but gave up

you started talking about personal stuff and the topic of your love life came up, specifically the attraction to someone of the same gender

“I don’t know, Ranboo, I mean, I think I like them but at the same time I’m not sure.” “That’s fai—” “Wait, y/n. You’re gay??” “Bisexual, actually.” “WaAA—”

his very sleep deprived state was extremely happy and emotional for you

he’s like the little duckling with a knife, like he loves you completely but will try to hurt anyone that offends you

like tommy, he has no personal knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community but will solely learn for your sake

whether you’re younger or not, tubbo never fails to remind you that he looks up to you

he gives his all and won’t hesitate to provide in any way he can if needed

“You matter,” he’ll always say, “you’re important and no one else’s opinion matter.”

is proud to be your friend and expresses his platonic love in full, for you’re you and are so brave to be yourself despite all

choosing not to tag my usual taglist just cause its a headcanon with a specific request <33 (huge ty to @basilly and @inniterhq though for the advice/motivation to finish this)

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merakiaes · 3 years

Text

Captain Jealous - William Lennox

Pairing: William Lennox x reader

Requested: By @neemonroe

Prompts: #20, #41, #42 from the smut-list.

Warnings/notes: Takes place before Transformers. Not proofread so sorry in advance for any mistakes. Might be a little bit OOC but I still hope you’ll enjoy it. Please reblog and comment, it would make my day <3

Wordcount: 3806

Summary: Flirting with Will only seems to result in annoyance, but when you finally turn your attention elsewhere, he’s not very pleased.

Growing up, your mother had always told you to be the kind of woman that, when your feet hit the floor each morning, the Devil says, “oh crap, she’s up”.

You lived by those words every day of your life, not once backing down from a fight, always standing up for what was right, as well as holding your own and never giving up on getting the things you wanted.

To most, you were one of the strongest and most admirable women they’d ever gotten the pleasure of meeting, but to others… well, let’s just say that you might have taken your mother’s words a bit too literally.

You were absolutely relentless when you put your mind to something and one of the many people who had fallen victim to that stubbornness was William Lennox.

Having enrolled in the army around the same time and being equally as good at what you did both back in training and in the field, the two of you had always respected each other and rather than being competitive, tried your best to lift each other up.

If one of you took control of a situation and started shouting out orders, the other didn’t question it, not even when Will eventually passed you in ranks. Because your minds worked in the exact same ways and so it didn’t really matter who gave the orders since the orders would be the same in the end, anyway, no matter whose lips they passed.

But you did differ in the way that Will much preferred to keep his personal life separated from his professional life, while you had a habit of letting them merge together, which inevitably resulted in you bringing the obvious attraction you felt for him with you out on the field.

Will was one of the people who thought you had taken your mother’s advice a bit too literally. That was what he told you on a daily basis as a response to your endless flirting, at least. But you knew better; you knew that he, at least to some extent, reciprocated your attractions, thanks to the few moments you had shared back in training.

“It was all fun and games back then”. He liked to say in that stern, military voice he had picked up the second he was promoted to Captain. “But this is the real deal. This is serious, and this, this thing you’re doing, is unprofessional.”

Ever the workaholic soldier, he was, at this point basically having dedicated his entire life to the job with no time to spare for fun. But no matter how hard he tried denying it, you knew that the two of you shared something, and so did every other member of your squad.

The only ones who seemed completely clueless to this were the newbies and as you gradually lost hope that your stubborn captain would ever admit and give in to his feelings, you found it to be a breath of fresh air to be able to spend time with people who weren’t constantly making suggestive remarks and fueling the attraction from your side.

One, in particular, caught your eye; tall, dark and handsome. He had yet to gain more muscle than the bare minimum and was, admittedly, kind of lanky. He was one year younger than you which was way too young seeing as you’d otherwise not even go for guys the same age as you, but he had banter and shared your flirty, dirty, cheeky sense of humor which, most definitely, made up for what he lacked in life-experience.

Will had smugly watched all of the newbies try to make a move on you only to be shot down quicker than your enemies, but then the last of the soldiers had swept up by your side, put a long, lean arm over your shoulders, and hit you with the cheesiest pick-up line he had ever heard.

“How you doing, mama? You must be a parking ticket, ‘cuz you got fiiine written all over you.”

While Epps, Fig and the rest of the team broke out into laughter at the man’s poor technique, Will’s face transformed from smug to stone-cold murderer.

Why? Because he knew that you didn’t want a man to tell you the stars reflected in your eyes or that you took their breath away with your beauty.

What you wanted was someone who could make you laugh, and when you threw your head back and joined in on the seemingly endless laughing fit, he was overtaken by a feeling so strong that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

And you noticed the change of demeanor immediately. The long, hard stares were only the tip of the iceberg, as was the way he would move closer to you and find a way to touch you as much as he possibly could without making it inappropriate or suspicious.

The most extreme part of his change in behavior was how hard and strict he suddenly became with the rookie, who had quickly earned himself the reputation of your very own lapdog.

He got scolded even for the most insignificant of mistakes, always got put on parade as the “example” in exercises in which he was usually thrown to the ground by Will himself and totally and completely humiliated.

Of course, those moments were just poor thinking on Will’s part seeing as you, besides being incredibly flirty and witty, also happened to be one of the most caring members of the team.

Not only did he have to watch you laugh until your stomach hurt at the rookie’s bad jokes, but he also had to watch you comfort and reassure him after his one-on-one’s with the Captain.

And still, Will couldn’t stop himself from making the same mistake again and again, the consequences every time being that he was stuck watching you fuss over the younger soldier, because no matter how much it vexed him, he knew that you knew why he was acting the way he was.

It was all a game to you and he played along because he wanted to keep showing you that he was the better option. Unluckily for the rookie, though, Will’s method of showing dominance was through physical contact.

You knew what Will was doing, how he was trying to punish the rookie, mildly and legally, of course, while simultaneously trying to show you that he was displeased with what was going on; that he wanted it to stop.

To a start, you only showed interest in the rookie to fuck with Will, but you quickly realized that he was actually a fun guy to hang around.

You enjoyed spending time with him. Not a second with him went without laughter and it was nice to be able to have fun like that for a change, and soon enough, you’d more or less forgotten about the silent war between the two of you.

You probably knew that it wasn’t a real interest, judging by the way you didn’t even care enough to remember his name, but it was fun to have another banter-buddy.

You’d had an identical friendship with Epps since the start, but two people could only keep the creativity up for so long; after a while, you just couldn’t come up with witty remarks and sarcastic jokes, anymore.

Up until then, Will had still kept his disapproval about the whole thing lowkey, because as long as you were only doing what you were doing to make him jealous, you were still interested.

But when you started making moves on the rookie with genuine interest, without looking over at Will while doing it, it was no longer a game.

While already on the topic of games, you were completely useless when it came to cards. It didn’t matter what game you played; you’d always end up as the loser. And although you enjoyed the banter that followed the teasing of your poor card-playing abilities, your patience wasn’t endless.

“Alright, I’m calling it.” You chuckled after losing the fifth game of the evening, dropping your thick deck of cards onto the table in front of you.

“Really? But it was going so good for you.” Epps wasted no time in firing back with feign-surprise, to which all you did was deliver a sharp slap to his head.

The table broke out into laughter. “You had that coming.” Fig shook his head, successfully starting a metaphorical war.

You chuckled at their antics and pushed back your chair, getting to your feet and stretching your arms above your head.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” You said, and wasted no time in starting to collect your things.

The rookie’s attention was instantly piqued, and so was Will’s, who had been playing in silence nearly the entire time you’d been there.

“You know, I need to shower, too.” He stated, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. “So, I should probably join you. You know, save water. Provide some extra heat.”

“Oh, yeah?” You raised a playful eyebrow and chuckled. “Tempting offer, but I’ll have to take a raincheck on that. Glad to know I have options, though. Maybe next time.”

Without waiting for his reply, you snatched your jacket from a nearby stool and playfully flicked his forehead, before turning around and walking away, completely oblivious of the pairs of eyes that kept watching you from the table you had just left.

You went about your shower routine like you always did; get undressed, wash hair, wash body, turn off the water in-between washes, get dried and get dressed again. Sharing the water with so many people could be hard, so you couldn’t really take the long, thoughtful showers you did when at home.

You were out again as quickly as you had gotten in and took your time getting lotioned and dressed, getting as much self-care into your night as you possibly could when at a military base.

“What are you doing with the new kid?”

You should’ve been significantly more aware of your surroundings as a soldier but in your defense, everyone dropped their guard to some extent when in a safe environment, so the scream that came out of your mouth at the sudden sound of a voice was completely justified.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You swore as you jumped around, hastily reaching for your damp towel to cover your bare chest.

Coming face to face with a furious-looking Will, you glared. “Knock much?”

He didn’t look amused in the slightest, crossing his arms over his chest. “Knock, knock. Answer my question.”

Your mouth snapped shut at the dominance behind his voice and your eyes instinctively flickered to his biceps, veins and muscle more defined than ever in the way he had positioned his arms.

You were, however, proud to say that you were quick to come back to your senses, your eyes snapping back to meet his.

“Do you, maybe, oh, I don’t know, want to turn around?” You asked sarcastically with a raised eyebrow.

If you wanted him to turn around to gain privacy for yourself or simply because you couldn’t stop glancing at his bulging biceps, you didn’t know, but no matter the reason behind your wish, he didn’t move an inch.

“Answer the question.” Was all that he said, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m just having a bit of fun.”

“Do you like him?” His questions kept shooting out as quickly as bullets and, again, you couldn’t refrain from rolling your eyes.

“He’s fun to be around.” You said simply, giving him a slightly annoyed glare before turning around and dropping the towel to continue getting dressed.

Will didn’t even try to cover the fact that he was checking you out, eyes shamelessly traveling your form and taking his sweet time to remember all the details his eyes could reach.

It wasn’t like this was the first time one of you saw the other only partly clothed – you know, it was kind of inevitable for all of you to catch a glimpse of each other’s birthday suits once every blue moon - so once the shock of his sudden appearance had melted off, the nervousness followed.

“But do you like-like him?”

At the sound of that question in particular, you couldn’t help but snort.

“What is this? Third grade?” You threw him an amused look over your shoulder. “Say that I do like-like him, do you think I should ask Epps if he can give him a note asking him to check yes or no on whether or not he’d like to be my boyfriend?” You gave him a sarcastic pout.

At this point, Will was completely fed up with your inability to take anything seriously and spun you around by your arm.

Luckily, you had just finished hooking your bra behind your back, said bra thankfully covering your chest from his view.

“Can you not make a joke about everything?” He asked, your wrist firmly held in his hand. “You have to realize how bad this looks to our superiors. First me, and now him. You can’t go around flirting with everyone. It makes you look unprofessional and uncommitted and that, in turn, makes it look like I can’t do my job.”

“Is that really what’s got your big-soldier-boy panties in a twist, though?” You narrowed your eyes challengingly, and slowly fought your wrist out of his grip to, instead, grab a hold of his hand.

Further proving your point, he did nothing to protest, the glare remaining in his eyes, but the rest of his face being overtaken by exasperation.

“I just don’t get it.” He said. “You spend all this time pushing my buttons, being completely insufferable with your never-ending flirting, and now you’re suddenly interested in someone else?”

“I think the real question here is why you’re suddenly interested when I’ve spent so much time trying to get your attention to no avail and now, what? You suddenly want me because I might be interested in someone else?” You raised an eyebrow, and couldn’t deny the flash of heat going through your body when he lowly growled.

“I’ve never not wanted you.” He objected. “And you’re not interested in the rookie.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I know you.”

“So what you’re saying is, basically, that you can’t be with me, but I also can’t be interested in anyone else.”

“We both know that relationships in this work are highly frowned upon and-“

“Highly frowned upon, but not forbidden. You’ve still had the option to choose, and you actively chose not to act on it. Just making that clear.”

“I haven’t acted on it because it’s wrong.”

“If it’s so wrong…” You started, a sharp shiver going down your spine as your bare back hit the cold, wet tiles. “Then why did you just corner me in the shower?”

During that short minute of back-and-forth arguing, he had done just that, the two of you now standing chest against chest in the darkest corner of the room.

Your face was pulled into a determined glare, as was his, and the tension and intensity behind your shared stare was enough to have all of the previously discussed issues forgotten in less than a microsecond.

The proximity between you in combination with the fact that you were at an obvious disadvantage in height and size made you feel both hot and cold at the same time. You felt like prey under his stare. You found yourself liking it all the while you were hating the feeling of being so powerless, and your inner conflict only added to the tension.

“You have no idea how much willpower it’s taken me to keep resisting you, to keep turning you down.” He spoke slowly, and lowly. “Each of my thoughts about you are improper and you put all of those thoughts into my head every day, pulling my strings, pushing my buttons, just walking around being… you.”

In one smooth motion, he intertwined his fingers with yours, and your eyes automatically flickered down to watch your now joined-together digits; rough and calloused meeting even rougher and more calloused.

“I like you. I care about you. More than I should.” He continued, prompting you to look back up with an eyebrow raised.

“And?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, exasperated and impatient. “Do you want me to say that I want to be with you? Because I do. I. Want. To. Be. With. You.”

You snickered at his over-dramatic emphasizing, finding it nothing short of amusing that he’d been protesting and telling you how wrong it was only seconds before, and now he was more or less proclaiming his love for you. That, more than anything, just showed how stubborn he was.

“Took you long enough.” You mused, leaning your head back into the wall and smirking, all while looking him straight in the eye. “It’s just too bad that I’ve grown so fond of the rookie. You know, he’s quite-“

Before you could finish your sentence, you were interrupted by Will’s lips crashing into yours, roughly and urgently. In the process, you were pushed even further into the wall behind you, and as the sudden force threw you off balance, you instinctively reacted by moving your arms up to his neck to hold yourself in place.

In return, his hands moved to each side of your waist, big, warm hands squeezing down on the flesh that had long ago turned cold from being bare in the nippy air for so long.

You had always imagined what it would feel like to be touched by him like this, but not even your wildest imagination could compare to the intensity of the tingles that spread through your stomach and chest.

Your hands slowly sneaked up the back of his neck, your body reacting automatically, but just as you were about to tousle your fingers in his hair, the moment ended when he pulled away.

Both of you were left panting in silence, the only sounds available for your ears to hear being your ragged breaths and the rhythmic dripping of the shower beside you.

“Wow, Captain.” You were the first one to speak. “I knew you were hot for me, but try to keep it in your pants. That was hardly professional.”

Just like that, your sarcastic persona returned as if it had never left in the first place, your eyes opening after having been closed up until then and meeting his with a playful grin.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I’m pretty sure you threw professional straight out the window the first time we met.” He pointed out and much to your dismay, stepped back. “Are you going to stop encouraging the rookie, now?”

Getting straight to the point, okay.

“I don’t know…” You shrugged casually, bringing your hand up to your face to inspect your nails and peeking up at him through your lashes with a devilish smirk. “Jealousy looks kinda good on you.”

“I’m not jealous!” He exclaimed quickly, and you immediately raised an eyebrow as a way to say ‘really?’

“I’m not jealous.” He repeated, this time in a lower, calmer tone. “It’s just, you’re mine.”

Those two words alone were enough to make you inwardly groan, like one would when eating that first scoop of ice cream after not having been able to eat any in a week. Or a day.

But in a brave attempt to not make a fool of yourself, you remained in your teasing element, raising your eyebrows and hitting him back with a feign-uncaring: “Is that so?”

To that, he stepped closer to you once again, brought his hands up to cradle your cheeks, and playfully glared.

“Stop flirting with the rookie.” He repeated.

“Is that an order?” You asked.

“I’m asking politely.” He lied.

“Hmmm….” You hummed, pretending to think only for a moment, before flashing him a shit-eating grin. “No. I’m having way too much fun watching you squirm.”

Still leaning against the wall, you carefully pushed yourself up, pushed your chest against his and watched in success as his eyes flickered down.

Taking your sweet time, you brought your hands up to his chest with agonizingly slow movements and leaned your head up to his.

His breath shook as you brushed your lips over his and whispered against them lowly.

“You’re hot when you’re mad.”

Will pushed his head forward with obvious intentions, but before he could press his lips against yours, you slid out of the tight corner, resulting in him having to catch himself on the wall left behind.

With a proud smile, you walked over to the bench by which you had previously been working on getting dressed and snatched your shirt where it laid.

“You’ll drive me crazy before all this is over, you know that?” Will spoke from behind you, which only made your smile widen.

Quickly pulling on your shirt and collecting the rest of your things, you turned around and walked back up to him where he still stood in the shower.

“That’s always been the plan.” You replied simply, placing a quick peck to the corner of his mouth before once again turning around and walking away, this time leaving him completely alone in the room.

He had to take a few moments to collect himself and regain his composure, and by the time he walked back out, you were nowhere in sight.

With only you on his mind, he headed back to the table where the rest of the team were still playing cards, and sat down in the chair he had occupied before leaving.

“So, now that it’s just us here, I could use some advice on-“ The rookie wasted no time, but didn’t get to finish.

“You couldn’t handle her even if she came with instructions, kid.” Will interrupted without even looking at him, reading his mind without struggle since the person of his interest was one they had in common.

Growing up, your mother had always told you to be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the floor each morning, the Devil says, “oh crap, she’s up”.

To some, this was an admirable quality while, to others, you might have taken your mother’s words a bit too literally.

When it came to Will? Well, he just had nothing bad to say about you. You might’ve gotten on his nerves ninety-nine percent of the time, and been completely and utterly insufferable, but God did he love it.

Taglist: let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Will Lennox fics!

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