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alottiegoingon · 7 days

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the last night

shauna shipman x fem!reader

summary: shauna comes back after 19 months in the wilderness

warnings: shauna and r had a situationship, very suggestive content but nothing explicit, wilderness time, mentions of mental illness (depression, anxiety), r cheating on her actual gf, manipulative shauna (?), angst but happy ending, not proofread

"i can't believe you're leaving me," you complain in a purposely whiny tone, your voice ringing in shauna's ears as you sit across from each other on the bed. she grips her familiar journal while you help her go through her checklist of essential items.

"i'm not leaving you. It's only a week," she murmurs, her head bowed over her journal, but her eyes lift to catch yours. a playful smile dances on her lips, secretly entertained by your antics.

shauna played as the midfielder for the yellowjackets, a girls' soccer team. their recent victory had secured them a spot in the nationals in seattle, and it was all she could talk about.

you were genuinely excited for her, but the thought of spending so much time apart made you anxious. it wasn’t a full week, technically, but you couldn’t help worrying about shauna meeting someone much cooler in a much cooler place.

"remember the last time?" shauna reminisces about her trip to denver five years ago, also for soccer. you were just middle schoolers then, and you were forced to make new friends while she was gone for days. "you found new friends," her voice crackled slightly.

"so we are friends now?" you say, your voice constricting. shauna doesn't look up but you hear her snort, contrasting with her muscles tensing up. the silence settles in and you don't wait any longer to fill it, not wanting to make things any weirder than they already were.

"anyway. it's just not the same now," shauna understood your words perfectly well, especially considering the kind of friendship you had. still, she questioned.

"why's that?" she inquires, her hands absently rubbing the pen against her journal as she finishes her list.

"you know why," three words of yours were responsible for the abrupt stop of her writing. shauna places the journal and pen aside, focusing on you.

"because no one is as cool as me?" she quips, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her lips.

"that's debatable," you retort, feigning skepticism as you mock her with a playful expression.

"you hurt my feelings like that," her false frown deepens as she leans in.

her hands move surreptitiously toward your legs, eventually landing in a gentle and not so innocent touch on your knees. inch by inch, she traces your skin with her fingertips until her full hands were on your thigs and crawling up to your waist.

"i'm so sorry," you try to keep yourself unbothered by her touch but she's smarter. her nose strokes your cheek, stopping to give your upper lip a messy kiss, and she kisses her way town to your neck.

brushing your hair out of the way along with the heart necklace, her teeth gently grazes on your skin.

"nuh-uh. this won't do," her hot breath into your skin makes you shiver. "i have a better idea."

𖠋

everyone remembers where they are when an upsetting event happens. the death of a celebrity, a natural disaster, a medical trauma. you remember, clear as water, where you were when you read the newspaper. walking back home.

it was all over the news. flight 2525, the private plane that lottie matthews' dad had chartered, had disappeared. the plane shauna was in. making everything worse, the news would often use the word 'crash' instead and you couldn't bare the idea.

soon enough, it hit you that the night before her trip was the last time you would ever see her again. the only thing more unbearable than that was the uncertainty; not knowing if shauna was still out there.

after a month of silence, you thought you had your answer.

people don't move on from things like that, not completely. especially if their best friend was envolved. spending your days in bed, skipping meals and not going to class became part of your new routine. you lost track of whether it was day or night, whether the sun was shining or not. your mind was consumed by her.

moving on or not, life goes on and the world doesn't slow down for anyone. after six months, normalcy had returned for most. apart from the parents and a handful of students, the yellowjackets had faded from people's memories, just like their plane. this pissed you off. you barely had time to grieve as the rest of the world rushed forward.

forcing yourself to merely exist, not truly live, you returned to class. like a ghost, you attracted curious glances and avoided them like the plague. after graduation, college was the next step.

a year later, shauna’s parents asked if you wanted anything from her room. something special, or perhaps just to visit. you were certain it wasn’t a good idea, but you went anyway. under her pillow, you found an envelope from brown university—the same school you were attending, the place you and shauna had planned to go together.

that was all it took to break you down into a sobbing mess on her bed.

𖠋

things got better. not perfect, not the way they used to be, but better. you weren't alone anymore but always had to push away the idea of losing all of your friends at once, one in special. luckily or not, college kept you busy.

"have you finished tomorrow's essay? It's so boring I might just drop the class," your girlfriend says, dropping a pile of old books on the cafeteria table and sitting across from you.

"i have dark circles under my eyes, what do you think?" you groan, lifting your head. she leans over the table to kiss your forehead.

"i think you still look pretty, baby."

"thanks, but I'm not letting you copy my work."

"worth the shot," she chuckles, placing two cups of coffee on the table, sliding one towards you.

your plan was to finish that damn essay and be completely free. the cafeteria was buzzing with students, but at least they were minding their own business. that's what you get for studying in a campus cafeteria.

"did you hear what happened to them? i'm so glad they're alive. It must have been so tough," her sudden comment startles you, taking a moment to register.

you swallow a lump in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at the TV, where crowds of people are watching the news: 'yellowjackets rescued'.

"holy shit," you whisper, the shock setting in as you realize you hadn't revealed not only your awareness of their situation but also your complex connection with one of them.

𖠋

a week after shauna got back, her parents had called you your stomach was turning upside down and your anxiety levels were through the roof. you couldn't manage to put your feelings into words.

you knocked on her bedroom door, too anxious to wait, just to announce yourself. for the first time in almost two years, shauna stood before you. she bore a few scars, nothing too severe; her hair had grown longer, losing its waves; her eyes seemed somehow larger, fixed on you as if she had just saw something extraodrinary.

she leapt from the bed, a cautious gaze scanning you, before rushing toward you and embracing you tightly.

her arms wrapped around your shoulders, her fingers digging into your clothes so intensely it almost hurt. you reciprocated, holding her waist tightly to keep her close, unsure when the tears started flowing, but you feeling your shoulders becoming wet.

"hi," she whisper between tears, her voice crackling.

"hi," you echo her. "i thought i would never see you again."

"i know," she sniffs, clinging to you. the last thing she murmurs for the long time you two spent hugging.

shauna was back, but she was much quieter, easily irritated, and frightened by everything. she had every right to feel that way, but you were worried. no one was allowed inches close to her journal and you respected that, encouraging her to write about her feelings.

your finals didn't matter anymore; nothing else did. for the next few weeks, you were constantly by her side. even waiting outside the bathroom door like a loyal dog.

however, you weren't the same as before. you weren't as touchy or intimate, especially after shauna discovered you were dating someone else. she became distant and strange, pushing you away and ignoring your calls.

"hey, I bought you a new book. It's from that author you used to like before..." you stop yourself mid-sentence. "you know."

forcing a smile, you place the book on her desk. her vacant eyes meet yours, but she remains still, lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

"is everything okay?" you ask hesitantly, walking towards her and offering your hand.

the silence lingers but she accepts your hand and joins you.

"shauna?" you say. as soon as she's on her feet, she drops your hand quickly.

"everything is fine," she says sharply.

"right... it's just that you've been acting weird lately," you explain, trying not to upset her.

"in case you didn't know, I was trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for almost two years," she snaps, her body stiffening.

"yes, i know," you say, inhaling deeply. "but I—"

"don't you have to go back to your girlfriend anyway?" she interrupts, glancing at the door and then back at you. she clearly wanted you out.

"no, I don't," you reply, frowning. "is she why you're acting like an idiot?"

she snorts, taking a step forward, her eyes narrowing.

"It's funny how I'm the idiot when you've replaced me with someone else so quickly," you would feel bad thanks to the pain in her voice if it weren't for her absurd words.

"replace you?" you scoff. "she's my girlfriend, shauna."

"and what was I?"

"you were my friend! we were friends."

her face shuts down completely, lips parting as if ready to shout something, but she stops herself. you weren't sure if you agreed with your own words, but it’s too late now.

"i thought you were dead," you say, taking a deep breath to keep your voice steady. shauna, however, seems perfectly fine with letting her voice rise.

"you sure did," she says, shaking her head slightly.

"well, you left me."

"not because I wanted to, you fucking idiot!" she snarls, suddenly pressing her forearm against your collarbones and pushing you backwards. you gasp in surprise as your back hits the cold wall.

"shauna! what are you doing?" you try to push her away, but she’s stronger than you remember and hold you in place.

"do you ever think of me when you kiss her?" she whispers, ignoring your question. her breath is ragged, her chest heaving. she tilts her head slightly, studying your face. then she leans closer, her lips just brushing against yours.

you can hardly make sense of her words, stunned by her sudden change in behavior. your mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out.

"answer me," she growls, pressing her arm harder against you. her jaw clenches, making you yelp, and you immediately whisper a faint 'yes.'

she smirks, crashing her lips into yours. though you hesitated for a moment, you quickly recovered, syncing your movements with her rough rhythm. when you try to pull her closer by the hips, she lets go of your chest, grasping your wrists and pinning them along with you.

the urgent kiss didn't last much longer as she trailed her way down to your jawline with small bites and feral kisses, eventually reaching your neck. in her preferred area, you cry out her name when she sinks her teeth into your skin, drawing blood.

when did she got so into biting?

#shauna shipman x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #well this got a bit too dark #still counts as a happy ending tho right?

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krikeymate · 1 year

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You remember how you told us that you laugh when you're in pain? It's a natural reaction to pain or trauma (laughing in shock). Lots of people do it.

Sooo... people say that Tara laughs/smiles after stabbing Ethan and that it proves that she enjoys the killing, too. To me, it doesn't look like enjoyment or amusement AT ALL. It's relief. It's shock. It's trauma. It's completely different from Sam's tiny smiles.

Sam's smiles convey dominance. They're unnerving. Almost maniacal. Tara just looks like she's smiling because the alternative would be sobbing hysterically. Tara might be fine with Sam killing people but I don't think she'd ever willingly kill anybody, and she definitely wouldn't find enjoyment in it. That's why I don't think Ghostface-Tara will happen, whereas I can definitely see Ghostface-Sam happening.

I feel like Tara really just wants to live a normal life. Sam wants that too, but she does have that darkness inside of her, and sometimes she really has to fight against it. Like, I believe (or I hope) that most people don't think about killing people - not even when they're super mad or disappointed or something. But for Sam, I feel like her brain would immediately go to 'I could just kill them' - and she means it! - if someone's messing with her or - especially - the people she loves, and she has to remind herself that that's not a normal response. You know what I mean?

In canon, I believe Tara doesn't really have an ounce of evil in her. At least not more than any other person on earth. She does have a very good survival instinct, though (mostly, maybe not in that Chad scene where tiny Tara wanted to fight 2 Ghostfaces without hesitation or in the party scene, where she was ready to willingly go upstairs with that douche). She's acting on pure instinct and adrenaline in most of her scenes in both movies. She's just trying to survive. Sam's also just trying to survive (and protect) BUT she does seem to find some sort of enjoyment once she gains the upper hand. There definitely is some evil slumbering within her.

So yeah, I feel like more people seem to expect Tara to become Ghostface eventually, and it doesn't make sense to me at all. Like, there's basically nothing in canon that would lead to that. She completely accepts Sam, yes. All of her. She fully embraces every part of her sister, without a single trace of judgment (as seen in Bailey's death scene). But to me, that's just a little sister thing. Sam's the coolest person on earth to Tara, and she can't do wrong in Tara's eyes. It's sort of infantile because most kids outgrow that phase sooner rather than later - but Tara obviously hasn't, which might be a childhood trauma thing.

So yeah, I don't even know where I'm going with this, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it - if you feel like replying! I'm definitely open to changing my mind :)

Oh 100% Tara's laughing is because the alternative is crying. She's traumatised and it's this moment of relief that she's still alive and she's beaten him and she's won.

I think a lot of people have jumped on Tara should/will become Ghostface because they want a returning survivor to 'go bad', as that's something we haven't seen in the franchise, and although Sam is the obvious answer to that, given the story set out for her, she really can't. She's mentally ill and on antipsychotics, so to make her Ghostface would be a terrible and damaging choice. Plus, her story is about overcoming the darkness. For Tara however, you don't have that, but you can very easily have the opposite happen, a story of succumbing instead. I myself love the concept, although I hold no expectations or allusions that we will get that at all in canon. I also think people are focussing too much on the 1 -> 5, 2 -> 6, 3 -> 7 idea, and think oh Ghostface is going to be a half-sibling, well Sam and Tara are half-siblings. I don't think they're gonna do that.

I don't necessarily think we could get a Tara who is a straight-up killer in the way Sam could become, but she's definitely the type of character who could easily turn into a mastermind figure, if she wanted to. Now, does she want to, no. I do think however that it would be interesting for 7 to play on that, to put both sisters on the edge of becoming what they hate by having them hunting down a Ghostface instead of waiting to be hunted, but ultimately without them actually falling over it. In that movie anyway lol.

I don't think Tara's reaction to stabbing Ethan is what really condemns her however, it's the nod to Sam at the end. She's saying finish it. That act shows there is some darkness inside her, that she's not entirely innocent. If she hadn't done that, Sam would have backed away, and Bailey would have been taken away by the police/paramedics. Maybe he would have died anyway of his wounds, maybe he would have survived, the end result for that doesn't actually matter. Sam put him down, because Tara let her, because Tara wanted her to.

As for what you said about how often people think about killing - I think you might be surprised! It's a very common intrusive thought, the thought of murder or suicide. We have to remember that Sam is mentally ill, and so yes she would have those thoughts of 'I could just kill them', but those would be unwanted intrusive thoughts. The more severe your mental illness, the more severe and frequent those types of thoughts. They can be terrifying to deal with and really mess with the way you interact with others and the world.

If Tara was to go down a darker path, it wouldn't work just from where we leave her in 6. Where we leave her, she's realised she has to get therapy and work through her problems if she wants to keep Sam in her life, and she promises to do so. There is however a lot that can go wrong for her that could push her further into going down that path, as opposed to say, Chad, who I could not see ever doing such a thing, from what we've seen of his character.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter

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multiplicity-positivity · 1 year

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I'm wondering and I honestly need an opinion here: Why do I feel SO endlessly sad and incomplete whenever I think I might NOT be a system?

It even seems a little morally wrong, I'm afraid I end up subconsciously faking it because of that feeling :(

Any suggestions why I feel this way and what to do to improve?

Whenever I "believe" that I'm a system, that feeling stops and becomes a VERY great joy, but I also have very few traces that I might be a system and most of them can be explained, in some way, by BPD. I feel like this feeling is the only thing keeps me questioning myself, so I want to know what it could be :,D

Hey, so we don’t know you personally, and there could be a ton of different factors as to why you feel this way! Off the top of our head though, we can think of a few potential reasons:

1) The community.

The plural community isn’t exactly tight-knit, but it’s pretty active and uplifting, from our experience! There’s a broad variety of systems with different experiences, sharing their stories and building connections with others who they can relate to. If a singlet were to immerse themselves in plural spaces and surround themselves with plural culture online, it makes sense that they might start to wonder if they themselves are a system, or wish they could be a system so that they can belong to the community.

Many singlets do become plural later in life, through consciously creating their system, having a spiritual awakening, or simply viewing their sense of self through a different lense. And we honestly think that a singlet immersing themselves into plural life might cause them to be drawn towards creating a system, or believing they already are one.

2) The framework.

For some people the concept of being multiple, having more than one presence in their own mind, is reassuring, hopeful, and beneficial for their mental health. It may help ease depression or chronic feelings of loneliness. For these folks, even if they did not develop a dissociative disorder as a child, they may still choose to create a system. In our master post we have some resources on different types of plurality.

We know someone personally (our wife!) who created a willomate because the plurality framework worked for her and helped her to better deal with issues of loneliness and self-hatred. It’s been an amazing journey for her, and her willomate is such a delight! 💖

3) Symptoms of something else.

There are many symptoms of different mental illnesses that may look like plurality or systemhood at first glance. DPDR, identity confusion, weak sense of self, depression, anxiety, amnesia, racing thoughts, intrusive thoughts, and all sorts of other potential symptoms of dissociative disorders can manifest in different mental illnesses too. Some people may think that plurality best explains their symptoms, when they’re actually dealing with something completely different (like a personality disorder, a non-dissociative trauma disorder, mood disorder, or comorbidities of multiple disorders).

In plural spaces, we do admit there is a big rush to convince people they are plural at all costs. For vulnerable people who are dealing with a serious mental illness, this culture of “radical acceptance all the time with no exceptions” may convince them that they’re plural a bit prematurely. It ties back into our first point; someone may be lonely/dealing with mental illness, they stumble into the plural community, they are convinced that they are plural by their peers, and as a result, they’re unable to receive treatment for the mental illness that is actually at the root of their troubles.

4) Maybe you really are plural.

In the end, only you can decide for yourself whether or not you’re a system. Our master post (hyperlinked in our second point) has plenty of resources for questioning systems. If you truly think you may be plural, we recommend checking out those resources, preferably beginning with the CDD-specific ones. Doing lots and lots of research is essential to learning more about plurality and ultimately discovering if you are plural.

Remember, you don’t have to be a system in order to be loved, cherished, and respected for who you are. And even if you realize you’re not a system, you’re still welcome here on our blog. This space is system-focused, but respectful singlets will always be welcome here.

We are not a medical professional, a therapist, or a mental health worker. We don’t know you better than you know yourself. These are just our thoughts - you can do with them what you’d like. Regardless, we hope this response will be somewhat beneficial for you.

💫 Parker, 🖋 Cecil, and 🐢 Kip

#questioning system #plural community #plural framework #mental illness

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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hey guys !! i am back lmao ,, sorry ive been a bit busy with irl stuff but MANNN that quackity stream huh ????

i’ll be working on asks today, but first have this quick snippet i wrote up following that stream bc holy hell that’s gonna be the only thing on my brain for days now. take care of yourselves, and PLEASE be cautious - this is DARK content, thanks to this frickin arc jfc the streamers did NOT hold back huh.

for anything to do with quackity’s stream and its implications i’ll be tagging with -> q stream aftermath , so feel free to block that if you don’t want to see it!

tws: aftermath of torture, (physical/emotional) abuse, blood, head trauma, trauma, death mention, dissociation, mental illness, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dark content, injury, c!sam critical, c!quackity critical

A hand runs through his hair.

Dream blinks, slow. His eyes are heavy. Sam's hand is in his hair, his head in his lap, and it's nice. It's so nice. He blinks again, feels his eyelids slide over his eyes, lashes brushing against his cheeks, and for a moment he doesn't know if he has the strength to draw them back up.

The hand in his hair stops, pulls. "I said stay awake, prisoner."

Dream's eyes snap open. The Warden stares down at him, eyes red and narrow through the mask. He's angry. Dream whimpers, pulls away, stops; that's not allowed. The hand in his hair tightens and another soft, high-pitched noise leaves his lips; his throat hurts.

The Warden sighs, and Dream stares at the wall. The block he's facing is crying obsidian; a drip runs down its leftmost edge, tracing a crack in the dark block. Dream watches. It's purple. Purple is a pretty color. He didn't have purple before the Warden put in the crying obsidian but now he has purple all around him and it's pretty. He likes purple.

The hand loosens, goes back to running through his hair, and Dream relaxes. It's nice. Nobody's done this in a while; it must be special, for Sam to be here. Usually it's the Warden (or worse, Quackity) but right now it's just Sam brushing gentle fingers through his tangled hair and making tap-tap-tap noises of his fingers against the obsidian and moving to the rhythm of his breathing at the side of Dream's face. Sam is nice.

Not many people are nice anymore.

"Prisoner-" the Warden is back again, pulling his head back harshly with one hand so he has to look up into the creeper mask, "What did I say about staying awake?"

Dream looks up, watches the Warden; he has to stay awake, or the Warden will be mad. He has to stay awake, or the Warden will be mad. He has to stay awake or the Warden will be mad. HehastostayawakeortheWardenwillbemad-

"Prime," the Warden grumbles, grips him by the side of his jaw, moves him to look at him closer. "He got you hard in the head, didn't he?"

Dream blinks.

"That regen potion better do what it's meant to do; we still need the information from the book." The Warden lets go of Dream's head, and it falls back into his lap. It's soft. Not many things are soft anymore either. He hears a heavy sigh above him. "You there, Dream?"

Dream nods. He has to respond when the Warden asks him a question. He'd talk, but his tongue feels heavy and his throat hurts and everything hurts if he thinks about it too much so he floats, instead, focusing on the feeling of Sam's hand in his hair.

"You can just tell Big Q everything, you know," Sam's other hand brushes over one of Dream's bandages, and he flinches away. Quackity went too far today, the Warden said. He nearly died. He's not allowed to die until he tells them about the book. His head is hurting a lot, just like everything is hurting a lot, but the world is going fuzzy in the edges a little like when he'd go floaty, push himself as far away from the cell in his head as possible. "If you just tell Quackity then we won't have to keep going."

It's tempting. Dream won't ever tell Quackity, because Quackity wants to hurt people and isn't going to stop at anything to get it. Dream saw it, during the election, then with the creation of Mexican L'manburg, then the first time he entered the cell - Quackity doesn't care about much at all besides his city, and Dream wishes he could care as little as him. He won't tell Quackity, he can't, but this isn't Quackity.

This is Sam, his green hair flopped over his face, crown shining soft and golden over his forehead, gentle hands smoothing Dream's hair from his forehead. This is Sam, holding him in a way no one has for months, warm and soft and kind, and for a moment Dream's back at the community house roof, sprawled in a mess of blanket and pillows and watching the fishes with his friends on all sides.

It's not a perfect image. Sam's armor is scratched and the air smells of blood and the eyes looking down at him are dark and flinty and cold, the Warden's eyes, and Dream aches all over in a way that makes it hard to breathe but it's - close. When he blinks and his eyes are closed for a moment he's away and out and the world is lovely and kind and it's enough.

It has to be enough.

"Dream," the Warden calls, voice steely, and the image fades. The knowledge he's kept locked rises in his throat, settles there. Sam watches him, prompting. "If you tell us everything, then we'll stop."

Please stop, he nearly begs. It doesn't matter if he does. He's learned that now.

He looks away, instead. He's done everything for this book. Lost everything, for this book. He can't tell, not when telling means Quackity can use it to hurt everyone, not when it's the last thing keeping him useful, not when useful is the last thing keeping him alive. The Warden sighs, heavy, damning.

"You better get ready for the visit tomorrow, then," the Warden says, standing, letting Dream drop to the ground. Something cold and sorrowful rises in his chest - where has Sam gone? Why did the Warden have to come back? "We'll continue this after, prisoner."

Sam, something in him calls, desperate, young. Please.

Out here, he just watches as the man disappears into the lava.

Sam is nice. He hopes that he can see Sam again, soon.

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windless-hurricane · 3 years

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Sparks

Chapter One: To You, 7 Years From Now

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This has been a few weeks in the making, so I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

TAGLIST: If you like this chapter and would like to be tagged in future chapters, feel free to let me know in the comments or send me an ask!

SPARKS MASTERLIST

NEXT CHAPTER

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

“I just keep moving forward...until my enemies are destroyed.”

The scene kept playing over and over in Reiner’s mind.

One second, he had been begging Eren to kill him. Then, the next, Eren had refused and took his hand instead. When Eren uttered those words, Reiner’s eyes widened in realization.

He thought this was a long awaited act of vengeance against him, but he was wrong. He hadn’t seen this coming.

As the blinding light exploded before his eyes, he turned to Falco in an instant.

Falco didn’t deserve this, he thought. Falco didn’t deserve any of this. He was just a kid who trusted the wrong person. So, if anyone had to live, it was him. Reiner had to save him and he did the only thing he could do in this situation. He brought his hand to his lips and bit down as hard as he could.

He knew he lost the entire lower half of his body because of Eren’s explosion, but he didn’t need much to create a cocoon out of his Titan hands. The last thing he remembered before falling into a deep sleep was cradling Falco.

He felt like he was in pain, but warm at the same time. He kind of liked the feeling. He could die like this, he thought. It was a death he believed he deserved along with one last heroic act of saving Falco’s life. Perhaps this was his peace.

“Reiner.”

Perhaps he could rest now.

“Hey, Reiner.”

He could almost see someone in the distance.

“Reiner, can you hear me?”

But who was he hearing?

“You’re still breathing, but your heartbeat’s so faint.”

That voice, he knew that voice.

You crouched within Reiner’s Titan hands as you stared at his unconscious form. He still had the creases of a transformation upon his face and his body was connected to his Titan by thick and veiny tubes. When you had pressed your ear to his chest moments before, the thump of his heart was incredibly weak. He was giving up, you thought. If his heartbeat wasn’t hint enough, then his expression truly was.

Dejected, he looked completely dejected.

You slumped over as a sad smile traced your lips, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“What you have been doing to yourself these past four years, Reiner,” you questioned, knowing full well he wouldn’t answer. “You’ve gotten so skinny. I mean you literally lost half your body.”

If Reiner could chuckle, he would have. You always had a habit of making terrible jokes in equally terrible situations. It was one of the qualities he had liked about you and it set his heart aflame.

You giggled at your own joke, unaware of Reiner’s gaining consciousness. “That's fine though,” you continued to say. “You’re still one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

A warmth spread throughout his chest as his heartbeat quickened. He felt himself moving closer and closer to the surface of his never ending pool of hate. You were the one doing it. You were the one pulling him up.

“I shouldn’t feel this way, but...I was hoping that when we met again, we could actually talk. So, much happened since then and everything that we believed to be true wasn’t. Everything about you...wasn’t true. I was supposed to hate you, but I could never bring myself to do it, even after what you did. I can’t hate you, Reiner.”

Your words pulled Reiner to the surface and gave him a spark of life for the first time in four years. You hadn’t hated him and that confession was enough to make him want to live.

“It seems like you’re doing it in my place though,” you observed, clenching your fists tightly. “You hate yourself more than anyone, don’t you, Reiner? It’s to the point where you don’t even want to live anymore.”

You were right. He hadn’t wanted to live ever since he left the island. He was only staying around for the sake of the Warrior candidates and his mother. However, you being there changed that. You had done it so quickly, but hearing your sweet voice was enough. Hearing you was enough to remind him of his promise and he didn’t want to let go.

“I’m sorry, Reiner,” you whispered, standing up. “I wish things were different. I wish we hadn’t been born in different worlds. Maybe then, we could’ve stayed together.”

The thought had you on the brink of tears, but you pushed them aside to shoot him a glance.

“It’s cruel, but maybe in the end, all this fighting will equate to something. Maybe there will be a brighter future ahead of us,” you hoped. “So, don’t give up until then. Live. Live, idiot.”

You turned to run, but didn’t get far as you felt a hand clamp over your wrist.

It was unexpected, but what was even more unexpected was the way you both felt once he did it.

The moment his calloused skin slid against yours, you both felt the spark - the connection. The one that was completely undeniable.

You gaped at him as you could barely mutter, “Hey, Reiner.” His touch had been so desperate and you had no idea why he was trying so hard.

“I can’t let you go, (Y/N),” and your eyes widened, the tears you had been holding in finally spilling. It was the first time you heard his voice in four years. The first time you heard him say your name. The first time you felt a spark of life...and you knew Reiner was feeling the same thing. You could feel it through his touch.

Gazing into your eyes, holding onto you, hearing you say his name. It caused the spark to nearly explode within him and he didn’t want to let go, not ever.

“Reiner,” you warned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him. You already felt yourself giving in.

“I can’t,” he whispered, tears swirling within his eyes. “I can’t let you go… Four years ago, I made a promise to myself. If I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t let go...”

“When I first saw you, seven years ago…I knew...”

__________________________________________

You were standing amongst the other cadets with your arms folded behind your back. You, like everyone else, was watching as Shadis made his way down every line; intimidating whoever he saw fit to intimidate, throwing insults at them, and questioning them about who they were and why they decided to be there.

While they cowered, you stood tall and unwavering with a clear vision of what you wanted. That was one of the first things Reiner admired about you.

While you were on the smaller side compared to him, the way you held yourself made you seem bigger than you actually were. You had confidence and pride in yourself. You were tough, determined, and sweet. You were beautiful with a delicate face, glowing white hair, and strong (E/C) eyes. You were a great soldier and an even greater friend. You had become one of the most important people in his life.

In those days, he was determined to become a hero for his country, but when he met you, his priorities started changing.

The moment your (E/C) eyes met his amber ones for the first time, both of you felt it. The spark. The connection that warmed your hearts. However, at the time, neither one of you could explain what the feeling was. So, you simply brushed it off as Shadis came to a halt in front of you.

Reiner longed for this experience again. He wished he could go back to the days where you only knew him as Reiner Braun and not a Warrior or the Armored Titan. Furthermore, he wished he could go back to the days where he only knew you as-

“You, cadet! What’s your name?!”

“(Y/N) Bauer, sir!”

Yeah…(Y/N) and only (Y/N).

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orangepurin45 · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫!! - 𝐂𝐨𝐩! 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐗 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐏.𝐭 1

WARNING: Guns, some Yanderish themes (Oikawa is protective of Bara-arms), Blood, Drug dealing delivery, 🔞triggering sexual content 🔞, Angst, Fluff?, Slight!IwaOi, Mentions of past humiliation & trauma (high-school bullying)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is my first time writing btw. Happy Reading! if not the exit is over there 👉🚪.

Papers sprawled all over the desk, strings attached each other to another. A loud sip from the bulky man and a paper flip to side then eyes rose up to the photo of you grinning like a mischievous fox with red lips and taunting eyes screaming "CATCH ME IF YOU DARE," vibe Hajime grit his teeth glaring at your dirty face.

L/n Y/n, also know as the dark phoenix, Japan's most notorious drug dealing, homicide, and man-woman torturer and murderer in the whole country.

Everyone fears you.

Everyone obey at you.

Everyone believes you are the end.

Everything they think, you were responsible of all of this.

"Iwa-chan! Chief wants you to-..." Tooru spokes but was stopped by the sound of Iwaizumi's chair screech. He stood up, shadow loom under his gaze as he walks out the door.

"Wait! Iwa-chan I was supposed to...!

SLAM!

Inform you, " he finished, his lips turned downwards at the cold room, his chocolate eyes scanned every detail of the room then stopped to your portrait of your scary taunting face.

"Thanks a lot, Y/n-chan... But I didn't know you were into kind of... mess, " he smiles sadly, tracing his fingers at your photo. Lips tighten softly at the flashback, of yourself and the other 3rd years. How ironic to see your sweet, sweet smile in the memories compare to your now scary one.

"But I'm not letting you hurt Iwa-chan...That's a promise!,"

He points at your portait, eyes of determination and protection to swearing to blood to bone of himself not want his childhood friend be hurt. He turned away as long he lives

He will never let Hajime's life on the line.

Blood splatter, and small packet of white powder in the sachet all over the floor. Blowing your gun, hot steam coming out of the hole. Soft red lips upturned wickedly, your loyal subordinates gathers the small plastic packets inside the black bag.

"Bring it on the trunk immediately," You grinned as they nodded, immediately running towards your car.

Although, all happiness and rainbows has to ended when your car exploded and a familiar gunfire break a loose killing at off your men in sight.

"Oh dear... here we go again," You giggled then smirked, eyes delighted to see the man, who is obsessed of you being arrested.

How cute! 💕

"DARK PHOENIX!!!," Hajime yelled, eyes filled with fury and justice glaring at your calm figure. His teeth angrily clench pointing his gun at you.

"What a pleasant surprise!... I never thought you were such a party pooper, Iwaizumi-san! I'm absolutely...hurt," you pouted furrowing your brows playfully at him, to which he just flinch remembering a memory, looking down at the thought.

But you took this opportunity to snatched the gun off of his Iron grip by sitting on his shoulder then do some acrobatics before jumping off his broad shoulders then before jumping back then throw him on the ground with a headlock.

"You know it was all good~ back in the day! My mom always taught me to take care of what mess it was...And that was me she was talking about, "

He grunt, trying to wiggling his way out of your grasped but no avail the tightness is stronger than he expected. You giggled when you heard him yelped.

“Let ME go this is instant! I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna rot in prison!,”

He shouted, throwing his saliva right at your face at each sentence he threat for you. But you only grinned, eyes in mischief and raising a brow at him.

“Oh please~ Cry me a river! Your the cop here aren’t you gonna do it but instead you’re just laying under me...shame on you Iwaizumi-san,”

Silence ... You saw how he looks down and saw sorrow at his face, seemingly remembers something, you hummed a growing smile on your soft lips.

“Ne, Iwazumi-san Do you remember the day Oikawa-san humiliate me?,”

He snaps out his trace, then looks at you eyes as larger as the china wares.

“You didn’t help me back then, instead you let him do what he did to me,”

Rains started to pour, as the steaming car slowly deflates it’s flame little by little by an hours. Hajime’s heart dropped at the statement.

Yes, It’s true he did only watched.

He just...didn’t know

He didn’t know what to do If he did help you back then.

Because of a certains rumors that you seduce your father, your uncle, other male students in any campus. That’s what Oikawa made up, He thought realising it.

You rejected Tooru because you view him as a brother only and nothing more.

“Isn’t because of Oikawa...was it?,”

“All of that wasn’t true SHUT UP!!,”

Unrealising you let him go and back yourself away from him, giving Hajime to sit up then slowly stood. He saw suprising seeing you hitting your head, slapping and punching your head. Snot and tears and all, pulling your hair out, heavily breathing then whimper and cries. Hajime was about to approach you giving the comfort you deserve, you deserve long time ago that he was going to give if he helped you.

But being a fucked out mentally ill you are, Throwing your head back flash of lightning. Red eyes and nose all bloodshot. Wet Hair stuck on your face.

“FUCK THEM ALL FOR BEING NAIVE ASS BITCH THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME!!,”

“Y/n I-,”

All of the sudden a hooded man engulf you in an embrace then took you, jumping in each delivering cubes. But before he left, he shot Iwaizumi by the calf making him grunt then kneel down to hold where the shot is.

“IWA-CHAN!,”

Oikawa runs afront of him, and by anger he tried firing his bullet back at the hooded man but failed when he fired back to disarm him then fled at the scene.

“That bitch had company I see... Iwa-chan are you alright,”

After the rage diminished into concern laced tone, he pulled Iwaizumi up throwing his arm over his shoulder. Gazing in greater concern at him.

Or Love, so to speak.

“Everything will be all right, Iwa-chan I already called back-up,”

Hajime grunt, he unlatch himself off Oikawa suprise at the action he give, he stumbled and winced but he then glared at Oikawa.

His heart ache’d at the facial expression, shattering to him into pieces.

“Get off me I can take care of myself, I’m not some type of baby being taken care of,” He explains, he took a second to look where you feld and the hooded man went, A breath escape his lips and just stumble ahead.

when the back-up came, they help him guide back inside the ambulance.

“I told you I can take care of myself! Lay off!!,”

“Japan needed you Iwaizumi-san...So you’ll be needing our guidance for now,” The medic discipline and explains The Cop as he guided Hajime at the back of the ambulance.

He click his tongue before the paramedics lift him up in ease onto the ambulance.

Oikawa on the other hand, chocolate-colored eyes darkens at the moment of Hajime's pained expression when he taken the bullet that strike his calf.

And the sorrowfulness of his face when he was about to hug you.

His staring directly at your self-hate state as if he was that main guy at a certain love story, but a fucked up one.

He wanted to comfort you so badly that he might forget you'll stab him by the back. He grit his teeth, his knuckles turning white at point of view of your being.

But first he had to make sure you will be torture to hell where you belong.

"Oikawa-senpai! Is everything is going to be alright?"

A turnip head guy pops out, eye'ing in concern at the ambulance where Iwaizumi resides in, left the scene. Tooru took a deep breath, as he face his youngest colleague with that well-covered smile.

"It's alright! There's no need to worry! Cause' He will have the greatest care in the hospital... For awhile I think"

"Oikawa-senpai... Your palms are bleeding"

Kunimi pointed out, staring boredly at the fresh wound that have his blood run down his fingers to his knuckles.

He hadn't realise in mad anger, he clawed his palm so bad at the thought of you gonna ruining Iwaizumi's life.

"Ahhh! My hand slipped in the strawberry jam! My bad hehe"

(；^ 3^）✌️even though it was rather darker than the sweet jam itself, Kunimi could tell it was a lie. He could tell the deep nail marks on his palm and blood mixing under his nails too.

"Uh... Okay I guess..." He pretend to buy it, much of Oikawa's satisfaction.

"Okay back to work! We need to investigate this piece of shit of a burning car!" He grin happily as he skipped towards the steaming car, not caring about the rain pouring down.

Hope you rot in hell Y/n dearest or else one touch on Iwa-chan and you are gone he thought with a deep frown thinking about you makes Oikawa sick upon his stomach but hopefully that one day, you'll be captured and rot in jail.

Or maybe suffer in death sentence because of the multiple crimes you make.

Hope you suffer He thought with sadistic grin.

-End P. T 1-

That was not I expected, but judge all you want all because of the grammar I've been working is still under- construction and I've been using writing stuff like this because of a certain mental stability I've got... Not all that set aside. Thank y'all for reading don't forget to leave a heart or not because due to my ungrateful grammar that make you sick... I'm sorry about that and I apologies for being born... Is all

-orangepurin45

#iwaizumi x y/n #slight iwaoi #first writing #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #x reader #criminalxpoliceau!#Minors don't interact #blood #imnervousethisismyfirsteverwritinghereintumblr #skskskksks #yandere oikawa

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bondsmagii · 3 years

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I’m rereading Vicious and after knowing everything about Vengeful everything that Eli did on vicious makes so much sense.

The first time I read Vicuous I always wondered what exactly went through Eli’s head, what was he thinking? When he looked for Victor when Victor was about to replicate his experiment? Was Eli concerned about Victor or was Eli was acting for selfish reasons? What was he thinking and feeling after he got his powers? What was he thinking when Victor attacked him and why was he so quick to think Victor was a devil in disguise? What was his last thought when he was about to become an Eo and how does it relate to healing? What was his thought process when he was trying to give up his life to god and when he decided that killing EOS was the “right” thing to do?

And after reading Vengeful everything becomes so much clearer, his last thought was probably about how he wanted to be “healed and saved” he internalized so some much religious trauma that it affected the way he acted and his thogught porcess, he witnessed his mother suicide on a bathtub and that’s probably why he chose that method both times before and after becoming an EO, his father used to beat him as a kid because he supposedly “had the devil in him” and he does feels like one through his life, doing his best to act as “normal” as possible.

His mother death also explains why he was so worried about Victor and even in the first book Eli talks very fondly of him even referring to him as his best friend and he explains to Serena he thinks Victor died and something sinister replaced him after becoming an EO and this conclusion although rash, it make sense he would try to rationalize and in a way justify the awful things that Victor did after turning into an EO.

And even in vengeful he started imagining Victor to kept him company when he was going through hell, he admits to himself that Victor was the only person who ever truly “saw” him and understood him, pretty much confirming that the “rivalry” Victor and Eli had was mostly one-sided and Eli really did loved him and consider him his best friend.

This also explains his weird behavior towards Victor when Vic himself was trying to turn himself into an EO, Eli witnessed his mother death and probably didn’t wanted the same to happen to Victor after Eli himself almost died trying to recreate it.

The first book also explains that he tried to take his life a second time after Victor got arrested begging for God to take away his power if it had been a mistake, he seemed to externalize all of this negative experience and feelings through his purpose of exterminating the EOS because he sincerely believed that was the right thing to do, his faith although horribly used and mishandled seemed to be genuine based on how we was him literally begging to god to take his life back if everything had been a mistake.

Everyone one of his actions seem to be driven by his childhood and religious trauma and it’s incredible sad to me, he wan’t a sociopath or a psychopath he was just very broken and delusional individual.

And his experience with Serena who forced herself into him also didn’t helped the whole “EOS are devils in disguise” perspective , even since I read the first book (when I didn’t knew anything about Eli yet) I was very repulsed by what Serena was doing to him, to the point that even though I greatly disliked Eli at first I kind of hated Serena more for what she was doing to him. I am also a little disappointed in how the fandom barely acknowledges that what Serena did to Eli was incredibly wrong and messed up.

I have already said this, but the fandom seems to treat Eli very unkindly, they brush over all of his story and just label him as a “sociopath” or “psychopath” barely understanding and completely missing the point of why he behaved the way that he did.

I don’t mind if people hate his character, I did so at first, but the way everyone brush over all of his trauma and the way people completely misinterpreted his character and actions don’t set up right with me.

It’s a little surprising how people can praise Serena, Victor and Marcella despite their awful actions while they hate on Eli for the same reason, overall Eli seems to have been the one to receive the shorter end of the stick by the fandom.

honestly I've read this so many times because you're so right and it's such a relief to know that somebody else out there is capable of critical thinking skills lmao. I think the problem with people's response to Eli is that they think his backstory is an excuse, when in actual fact it's an explanation. go figure, kids who grow up in abusive households will turn into adults with a boatload of issues, and some of those issues are more likely than not going to cause harm of their own. it's totally possible to be both a victim and someone who causes harm; yes, Eli thinks he's in the right, but his actions are still wrong. it's possible to understand both of these things and it's possible to still like his character and sympathise with him, while still understanding that damn, he maybe needs to chill on the serial killing.

it wouldn't bother me as much if people didn't think that Victor was absolutely innocent. people seem to revere him, and it's because in the narrative he's set up as Eli's opposite. the whole point of the story is that there's no good men in the game, but because Victor wants to stop Eli, people see him as the good guy and overlook how cruel he was to Eli throughout their entire friendship, and also how cruel he is to the others. (Mitch is probably the only one there of his own free will. Sydney was an injured 12-year-old child when Victor picked her up, and he did so only because she had information that he wanted -- his first thought was to torture it out of her, but when she gave it willingly and kind of hero-worshipped him in the way a neglected child would hero-worship their saviour, he decided she could stay. Dominic is there by force, because he's a disabled man in constant chronic agony that Victor fixes with his EO abilities, and if he does something to displease Victor or leaves him, Victor has threatened to bring the pain back even worse.) people rewrite both Eli and Victor's personalities to fit this, with Eli being cast as this unfeeling psychopath and Victor the person standing up to his evil, and in actual fact Eli is absolutely not a psychopath -- he's a traumatised adult recovering from a highly abusive childhood -- and Victor is not standing up to evil; he's settling a score. a score he kind of started in the first place, by being a jealous asshole towards Eli's thesis, trying to dominate it because his own sucked, seeking glory off the back of Eli's hard work, and then when he succeeded in his goals and became an EO, immediately murdering Eli's girlfriend and torturing Eli because he was jealous Eli's idea was correct. like, Victor Vale is a little bitch, on god. the reason it ended like this was because he was a god-awful friend to Eli, who was literally Victor's only true friend because he was the only person who would put up with him. go figure that the only person who could deal with Victor's behaviour was a grown abused child. nobody who hadn't been indoctrinated into believing that behaviour was acceptable would ever voluntarily deal with Victor.

literally every decision and action Eli takes can be traced back to his trauma, but go figure that nobody on this website can treat trauma with the nuance it deserves. people on this site seem to think that if you're traumatised you're always innocent and vulnerable; if anyone acts outside of this idea, they're written off. I take Eli's treatment very personally because I've seen people quite literally do this to real life people, myself included. because I wasn't a quiet, easy-to-deal-with traumatised person, I got all kinds of shit. it's the exact same with Eli. because he acts badly, because he does bad things, people seek to dehumanise him and set him aside because he apparently makes abuse survivors look bad or whatever -- when in actual fact acting badly is a very common response among abuse survivors, because we were brought up in an environment where that was normal and we don't know otherwise. not to mention the fact that the kind of mental illness Eli shows -- PTSD, mainly -- has many symptoms that make for unpleasant actions. it's not a crime to show the impact these things have, but people take it so personally. I've even seen people say it's ableist to portray characters like Eli because it gives people with trauma or mental illness a bad name, but no. that's literally not how it works. people with trauma and people with mental illness act badly, they fuck up, they can abuse people, sometimes they do harm or even kill people. ignoring this isn't going to get us anywhere, and if anything's ableist, it's looking at a clearly traumatised, mentally ill person and saying that he's a psychopath and evil and irredeemable. like, come on.

Eli didn't catch a single break for his whole life. everyone he's ever met has abused him horribly. you don't have to like him, but the people who can look at this and see nothing sympathetic about him? genuinely I don't trust them.

#long post #vicious #vengeful #anon #asks

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sorrowschengmei · 2 years

Text

cw for discussion of generational trauma and its common themes

today has been a very, very intense day.

first of all, i gave my last try to german classes. it’s just... too much. too fucking much. i have been enjoying trying to learn german but the thing is, roughly 50% of my deepest trauma happened at that mf german school, and BECAUSE they were german and i’m not [i mean, in theory i’m more german than a lot of people there bc of my citizenship status, but which racist 5 year old would look at riz ahmed and say ‘ah yes, that’s a Very German Person]

someday maybe i’ll return but for now i really don’t want to. you know trauma is deep when you FEEL it has been triggered, but you can’t trace the uneasy feeling to any specific situation...

plus, the course was way too fucking early for my current sleep schedule and my energy is already absolutely depleted bc of, well, that’s another whole fucking story

then, i got my new therapist appointment and... as soon as i commented i am suspicious i might have BPD, she was like ‘bitch you’re the walking diagnose criteria for BPD. congratulations’ [ofc not in these terms-- therapists might be terrible in general but they still have a modicum of decency]

so i’m like... yay i guess? i finally know with certainty wtf is so deeply wrong with me? see i’ve been reading on validation and coping mechanisms for people with BPD and it has been SO useful and helpful. like, they KNOW. i feel like i am roughly 90% of the time i’m awake yelling to the void trying to make people UNDERSTAND me, with a success rate of roughly 0,1% in an especially fortunate day.

they just don’t, unless they have it too but that usually mean they’re as lost as you regarding this whole ‘interacting with people’ shebang... are they noticing message frequency, tone, vocabulary etc as much as i’m doing rn? are they also deciding i Hate Them (tm) randomly and so i need to be put in the Emotional Fridge for People That I Hate But I Am Too Emotionally Attached to Block(tm)? :’’’)

this week also was the week i completed with my dad the family album of the Lebanese part of the family. it’s a very beautiful album, we asked my sister who knows Arabic to make a page with all the original and diaspora names of the people there, with Arabic script and Romanisation. the cover is also in Arabic traditional calligraphy [what everyone must know by now, is pretty much stunning]

as a person nearing his Saturn return and a qi gong practitioner, heritage has been pretty important for me lately. from learning how to affirm myself as West Asian diaspora w/o falling into other kinds of oppression [Chinese diaspora in the US who silence mainland Chinese ppl in this fandom, you have been my GREATEST counter example] to actually learning about the people i come from, a lot of my spirituality and energy has been spent in looking behind me.

i come from a lineage of deep generational trauma, in all sides, but the Lebanese side now i learn, their struggle is simply heartbreaking, ESPECIALLY the women. i come from a lineage of women who have dealt with incest, rape, war, mental illness, cultural assimilation, institutional sexism. despite not being a woman, i realise now i am the spiritual heir of their pain. i could not have been anything different from who i am, it’s as part of my blood as having curly hair and big black upturned eyes.

i also know i come from a lineage of silk weavers. of women who took part on creating beauty and prosperity, and keeping culture alive. who resisted everything thrown at them, the most inhumane ways of depriving one of dignity, and passed down their name and history to this day. it’s not a coincidence i’m SO invested in traditional dress and costume design, now i see. it’s as part of my blood as having full and arched brows and a downturned nose.

tomorrow i’ll have an appointment with a doctor to try to solve my reproductive system issues and then i’ll finally try on my Xue Yang costume. the energies this week are so, so, so wild. i hope i can thrive.

#it's my party and i'll cry if i want to

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newhologram · 3 years

Text

I know only a few of you are on IG so I wanted to give an update here on the past few days. I am doing this knowing the potential risk but I need to also record where I'm at right now in case anything weird happens.

My week has been like this so far. Sunday: Family Member 1 misplaced their Xbox controller. They kept asking me if I knew where it was, each time growing more and more aggressive. I don't have an Xbox, I reminded them. I have my own controller for my PC. But they kept knocking loudly on my door. They followed me outside where I was vaping and tried to accuse me of I don't even know what. Pawning off their controller? FM1 said, "Is there something going on that you're not telling me? SOMEONE'S messing with me!" Later that night they and their gf were making dinner. FM1 suddenly knocked harshly on my door and said aggressively, "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE OVEN MITTS" in an angry voice. I was already stressed from them harassing me earlier about the controller. I came out of my room, heart racing, and told them I had not used them that day. I helped find the mitts, which had fallen behind the trash can because the hanging hook had broken. I went to bed on edge, feeling unsafe and targeted, wondering why my family member was suddenly acting so paranoid and accusing me of misplacing their things... Something they actually have done to me my whole life, denying it until the moment my item is found, when they suddenly remember they did move it there (or accidentally throw it out/destroy it). The controller ended up being some random place in the living room. Monday: I went to leave for my acupuncture appointment. My booster seat/pillow thing was missing from my car. Not in the trunk or anything. I cannot drive without it. I'm too short to see over the steering wheel. I called FM1 and they have no idea where it could be, despite the fact that they drive my car every day. FM1's gf helped find it, in the garage. But I still had an epic fucking meltdown, sobbing the whole way to and from my appointment. I just cannot handle people moving my shit and disrupting my schedule like that. And it just hurt so much more knowing that FM1 was so awful to me the day before about their stuff being misplaced. I'm always having my personal belongings, my feelings, my personhood, disrespected. It hurts deeply. When I got home I stressed to them that this is my car, and my accommodation should not ever be removed from it under any circumstances. It was after this that I decided it was time to hold a family meeting. I called Family Member 2 and 3 over to the house. I read a long letter to them in which I told them about the talks I have had with my therapist, psychiatrist, and another psychologist. Even though I cannot be formally assessed and diagnosed at this time, I am being treated for autism. I detailed to my family my entire life of trauma that is traced back directly to my autistic traits, and my needs not only not being met, but being outright denied. I was denied empathy most of my life for my sensory issues, my pain, everything. A big part of this is gaslighting. Even if it's unintentional or not malicious, gaslighting is incredibly traumatic. Especially when it comes to my sensory issues. I have had even more problems with overstimulation the past year which means I can barely sleep, so my daily naps are even more important. I try to coordinate my naps when there is less activity in my house. But if I'm in a ton of pain and extra sensitive and ask for quiet, that's when I get in trouble and a fight happens. That's when FM1 tells me I "need to be realistic" and "can't expect the whole world to shut up for you"... when I'm literally saying "I have a migraine and need to rest, can you please not play loud music or slam cupboards in the kitchen for a few hours?"

I was emotionally neglected and abused by both parents. A lot of it is just the result of their own trauma that they have not dealt with... But I have also been physically threatened and assaulted by them at different times, though it only happened those specific times. (They won't ever admit to it though.) The emotional and mental abuse still goes on in my home. I am not allowed to have emotions. I have been told "STOP. WHY ARE YOU CRYING. LIFE'S NOT FAIR. WHEN YOU GET OUT IN THE REAL WORLD YOU'LL HAVE SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT" over and over--like... in response to me crying about my pet dying, or in response to me crying bc I'm in horrible pain from my chronic illnesses, or crying after my usual yearly ER visit. I am also not allowed to have boundaries. I have tried to communicate with FM1 that these things hurt me deeply. And their response is basically, "YOU'RE SO UNGRATEFUL. I PUT A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!" and threats such as "BETWEEN TAKING CARE OF YOU AND GRANMDA, ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GOING TO DRIVE OFF AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!" or "I'M THE ONE WHO SHOULD KILL MYSELF BECAUSE I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU"-- y'know, in response to having a disabled child. Ouch. The message is clear: I am nothing but an inconvenience and a burden to my family. I still have nightmares about them abandoning me, or abusing me more. I think in their heads they think that they love me. But this isn't love. If I try to talk to them about how dangerous it is for them to say things like that to me, they say "I never said/did that." Which brings us back to the gaslighting: I said that every time they gaslight me and tell me that my emotions/thoughts/experiences aren't real, it triggers me so badly that I self-harm and become suicidal.

I was very clear with them: I said that I can no longer have that in my life because one day it will kill me. I don't wanna die that way. I want to live. I have very bad PTSD and it's something I have worked on for 8 years but it has been worse the past year with so many disruptions and FM1's worsening narcissistic traits. I gave the choice to them. I said if they gaslighted me again that they were making the decision to not be in my life. Because this is about preserving my life. I'm trying not to die here. I'm literally trying to save my own life, even if that means not having a relationship with my family. They accept that I am autistic... But they then took turns gaslighting me. When I pointed out, "that's gaslighting. that's exactly what I just said in my letter. What you're doing is gaslighting" they went even harder on it. They said my experience and my trauma is "not in line with reality". They also said I "need to be reasonable" with the boundary that I'm setting (meaning: they don't believe in boundaries at all). They tried to guilt trip me with, "you can't cut someone out of your life because what if they DIE and then you FEEL GUILTY??" (I mean, what if I killed myself because you keep hurting me? Wouldn't you feel guilty about that?) They also guilt tripped me with "well we TRY to invite you to family stuff, and we try to include you, but you never want to go..." um... I guess they forgot I am chronically ill? Sorry if I don't have the energy or pain tolerance to drive an hour each way to a loud family party after I've worked all week? I cried and cried, I said this is exactly what I told you that you do to me and how it endangers my life... and you're doing it... while telling me you don't do it to me... They were all weird and told me "we love you and would do anything for you!" except... I guess, not gaslight me constantly? Idk. I felt so trapped. I felt so hopeless. I was up all night crying. I wondered, "Why is the idea of me having distance from them somehow worse than me being dead? Why would they prefer that I die rather than set a boundary that will save me?" And then I remembered: I had set the terms. They broke them. You do this, you're out of my life, because me being alive is more important than us having a relationship which will eventually kill me. I'm not trapped. It doesn't matter if they think they can prevent me from setting this boundary because they can't. I'm in charge of my boundary. So I blocked them on social media, as well as their phones. I have to unfortunately keep FM1 unblocked bc I live with them, they drive my car, and they look after my cats while I am at work. If I didn't have so many great things happening behind the scenes, if I didn't have my cats, if I didn't have amazing friends and followers who are supportive and kind... I can definitely see that I would have ended my life that night in some alternate timeline. That is how much pain I was in from them doing that to me. Them literally trying to gaslight me into not setting a boundary. I mean it would've been so ridiculous on their part, can you imagine? Me: Hey family, when you gaslight me, it makes me suicidal. I don't want to die, so either you stop doing that, or we can't have a relationship. Family: UHH NO *gaslights me anyway* Me: ok *kills self* Family: *surprised Pikachu face* Like???? Would they really have been shocked because it seems like they should have known since I told them directly? And that just shows that they really don't take my pain seriously at all. They think I'm overly sensitive and that my trauma is not real. That would have been a painful wake up call for them. I told my therapist all of this. And she agrees that this is good, this is going to not only ween them off of me but also allow me to focus on all the good stuff I have going on. I have to get moving. So much stuff has been lagging because I'm constantly recovering from them triggering me. I'm going to focus, and heal, and gtfo of here. Thank you for your support and for never invalidating my pain.

#teku #personal #d o nut #reba gel #!#donut rebagel plz

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rwhague · 3 years

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Trauma Survivor Kelly Hanwright Talks About Schizophrenia and her Survival Memoir The Locust Years

How did you become interested in the subject of mental health?

I really got interested in mental health awareness after learning in therapy that my mother had untreated schizophrenia all of my life. My mom was diagnosed with a “hormone imbalance” in the 1950’s after experiencing a psychotic break in her teens. Always terrified of being institutionalized or being on any long-term medications, she refused to ever seek treatment.

Some of my mother’s paranoid delusions were that my father was demon possessed, that random people were after us, and more. They were all terrifying. Once when I was about 10 or 11, she actually took us in the middle of the night to a preacher a few towns over who was supposed to be able to cast out demons. She didn’t even believe the preacher when he told her my dad was not possessed!

Her illness also caused a lot of neglect. She would have these fits – I don’t know how to describe them exactly. She would scream and cry. Sometimes she would take all her clothes off and beat on herself. Then she would just go to bed. I remember opening cans of corn or eating cold hot dogs out of the fridge. But hey, at least there was food around. I learned to fend for myself in a hurry!

Our house was always filthy and she never took a bath or shower. As I got older, she strongly discouraged me from bathing. When I finally decided bathing was important, I had to sneak and do it or I’d get yelled at. My neighbors gave me a toothbrush and a teacher taught me how to tie my shoes. Around age 8, my hair got so matted one time that I ended up having to get it cut really short. Personal hygiene was just not a thing for my mother at best, and at worst she almost seemed to fear it.

What do you write?

I dabble in a lot of things, but my main genre is poetry. My writing tends to explore my own mental health struggles and tries to share hope. I think I turn to poetry a lot because I’m a very visual thinker and it helps me express my feelings (not always an easy feat) when I can put them into the metaphors and imagery that poetry thrives on.

I’ve found writing poetry very therapeutic and I highly recommend it to anyone who has been through any type of trauma. This year, I published my first book – a trauma and survival memoir called The Locust Years.

Why do you write what you do?

More than anything, I guess I’d say that I write for mental health awareness. It’s a topic that is very important. As a kid, and even as an adult reflecting on my experiences growing up with an untreated schizophrenic, which was a lot like growing up in an alternate reality, I felt extremely isolated. And it was impressed upon me from a very young age that there were all these secrets no one else could know about our day-to-day lives.

The Locust Years started out as a collection of private poetry written in an attempt to process the traumatic experiences I’d been through including neglect, abuse, and the terrors of living in what felt like a daily war zone, as well as come to terms with my diagnosis of complex PTSD that those experiences caused.

It dawned on me that even though it is a very private topic with a lot of embarrassing things intertwined, if I remained silent about my story I would actually reinforce the stigma that caused my mom to decide against seeking treatment! I look at my book, my blog, and what I post on my Facebook page as ways to be a mental health activist.

My mom needed treatment – therapy… medicine... She needed love and support from the people around her. And I have to say that, looking back, I can trace the reactions of neighbors and supposed “friends” and realize they knew deep down something was wrong. But instead of trying to help, they turned a blind eye and avoided us. (My poem “Power of Neighbors” is about that.) Not only could I not contribute to that tradition, but I also knew I wanted to stand in solidarity with others and help break the stigma. Mental health is health! And it’s just as important as physical health. It’s high time we pay appropriate attention to it. We all have some type of mental health struggles. Lets just admit it and support each other!

Follow Kelly on Facebook and Instagram, check out her blog at kellyhanwright.com

and her survival memoir in poetry, The Locust Years. Please leave a review if you like it. It is Kelly’s sincere wish that you find it helpful in some way. <3

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aflyingcontradiction · 3 years

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The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 93 - Contaminant

Hope I haven’t upset Georgie too much. How can she be mad? She’s got you. Er, yep, that’s your arse. Thanks for that. Look, I know, I love you too, but can I have my lap back? - Jon

I LOVE ADMIRAL SO MUCH! (Also "Yep, that's your arse, thanks for that." is such a cat owner mood, it had me giggling weeks after listening to this episode just from randomly remembering it.)

Bet the world ends, and you do just fine. - Jon

Welp, that's a bit prescient of Jon!

Then, last year, the… unthinkable happened. Hereditary conditions, right? They… They can really ruin… everything. The doctors told us the chances of it happening were astronomical, like we should be proud of having something so unlikely march in and ruin our lives, but within ten months both myself and Greg were widowers. - Statement of Lester Chang

I didn't even have a connection to this statement giver yet but this was a real gut punch moment. He sets up this whole story of family life and then, just like that, it's all gone.

I didn’t handle it well. I was still deep in grief myself, and I almost broke down, pleading with him, telling him it wasn’t healthy. When I said that, he laughed. He actually threw his head back and laughed. It was one of the most unnerving sounds I’d ever heard.

I can imagine this scene quite vividly, including the unnerving-ness of the laughter.

I shook my head and turned to leave, but as I did so, I saw a small flash of colour in the bath. I pulled back the white curtain and looked down. Surrounding the edges of the plug’s pristine chrome was a small halo of purple. I leaned over to get a closer look. It appeared to be some sort of fungus, scrubbed away so only the faintest traces remained.

At the point where it became clear what this episode was going to be all about, my partner started to tease me a little because we, too, have mould (of the hopefully non-supernatural sort) in our bathroom and I have, at times, gotten a tad anxious and obsessed about getting rid of it (not cause of the health effects, just cause it looks ugly and also anxiety about what the landlord may say on the off-chance he actually comes around).

It looked like my father-in-law was moving, though. I remember, it was Breekon and Hope doing it; they had a depot a ways down the street, and I recall thinking how odd that was, using a couple of local lads with such a small van, given how much furniture they were having to load up from Greg’s house.

Hm, what ARE Breekon and Hope getting out of this? A stockpile of contaminated furniture?

I’ve already stayed here too long. It’s not fair, putting her in danger like this. Or the Admiral. - Jon

Yeah, don't endanger the kitty!

Are they a neutral party, carting round whatever horror needs delivering, just a piece of otherworldly infrastructure?

I adore the phrase 'otherworldly infrastructure'

Jon: Then, a couple of years ago, the Head of the Archives, Gertrude Robinson, she disappeared, and Elias, my boss, chose me as her replacement. Georgie: Why?

Georgie's got a sharp mind, gotta hand it to her. She immediately zeroes in on how Elias hiring Jon doesn't actually make sense.

Jon: Head Archivist. Georgie: Well that does make sense, actually. In context. (...) What I mean is, if there’s no-one above you, there’s no-one to point out you’re doing everything wrong.

She's being a bit rude, but also, she's not wrong...

Jon: Look, can we put my professional competence to one side, please. Because I’m trying to tell you monsters are real! Georgie: Okay.

This was both a "WTF" moment and a moment of relief. WTF because, well, that is NOT the reaction I expected at all, but a moment of relief because I absolutely loathe media dwelling on someone telling the truth and their friends and loved ones, the people that they should be able to trust, thinking they're delusional or lying. I can't consume media like that without becoming really, really anxious. So I'm glad TMA didn't go there.

Jon: Right, it’s… it’s just, I think I’m turning into one. Georgie: Really? That’s… not great.

Well, that's one way to put it!

Jon: What is something you would never choose to tell me? Georgie: When we first met I thought you were putting on that accent to sound more impressive.

Okay, but that's a hilarious thing to compel out of someone!

Jon: And sometimes they choose people to be… er, servants? Conduits? Georgie: Avatars?

Oooh, I had forgotten that Georgie coins the term 'avatars'!

Georgie: If your job is asking questions, I mean. You were always the one who pushed too far, and asked smart-arse, awkward questions. I always was surprised you never got punched.

Yup, Jon is natural Eye fodder.

Jon: Would be nice to meet a monster, and not have a scar to show for it.

Oh god. This line in hindsight...

My impression of this episode

I think on the first go this episode didn't impact me as much as it just did. Actually, the horror, the Corruption, here isn't the most impactful thing (though it's plenty creepy), but this time around I read it more as a story of the trauma of loss - the statement giver losing his wife and then losing his last connection to her (her father) through what he first thinks is mental illness caused by trauma (and there's where it connects up with real life) but turns out to be something worse. And that actually really got to me. Then there's the conversation of Georgie and Jon, which goes over a lot of stuff we already know but somehow manages to remain interesting despite that. And the cliffhanger the episode ends on - what is it Georgie knows? - is pretty exciting, too.

#tma relisten #the magnus archives

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drprettyboyspence · 4 years

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Memory Lane

Dr. Spencer Reid/reader

Summary: Reader just can't seem to get to sleep one night so she decides to walk around the house she shares with her boyfriend, Spencer Reid. As she travels around the house she remembers significant moments in their relationship.

words: 2.9k

warnings: season 12 spoilers, mentioning of mental illness, nothing else to my knowledge! (just a lot of fluff)

a/n: This is my first Spencer Reid fic and I kinda went off the rails with the word count, let me know if you enjoy it :)

I turn myself over in bed for what feels like the four hundredth time this hour, facing the ceiling now. I can hear the rustling of leaves outside and the distant sirens of the city, remembering how those sounds used to bring me some sort of comfort as a child, now all I can think of is the death and tragedy being an FBI profiler has brought me into contact with, the horrors at the end of the trail of sirens. Mostly noticeably though, I hear the steady breathing of the man lying next to me in the king bed, glancing over at my boyfriend of almost 4 years I smile warmly, his unruly hair draped over the pillow, glad to see him in deep sleep. Recently he hasn’t been sleeping well, suffering from PTSD from his time spent in prison as well as all the trauma the poor man has been through in the last 10 years of his life. I quietly get out of bed, making sure not to bother him, he deserves a good nights sleep and we have to be at the BAU in a depressingly minuscule amount of hours. My feet hit the cold wooden floors and I wonder for the uncountable time “Why did we decide on wooden floors?” A memory of an argument with Spencer answers my question,

“Because silly, don’t you know that carpets can hold up to 200,000 bacteria per square inch, this room is 100 square feet, 144 square inches per square foot, that is 28,800,000 bacteria in our bedroom alone.” I remember shaking my head at him, he’s always been such a germaphobe. In fact, when we first met, he shook my hand, and later when I confided in JJ and Penelope that I had pretty intense feelings for the resident genius of the BAU, they mentioned that he usually hates shaking hands, is known for refusing to shake the hands of many people the team comes into contact with on cases. He shook my hand right away, it’s one of the things I love about him and we always say we knew right away that we had a special connection. I glance at Spencer’s sleeping frame one more time before leaving the bedroom and making my way down the hallway. There are pictures there, pictures of me and Spence, him and his mom, pictures of the team at work, Spencer won’t admit it often, but he wakes up every morning scared that he won’t remember those he loves, his mother’s dementia and schizophrenia have impacted him greatly. I stop in front of a picture of me and Spence, it’s the first picture we ever took together, Halloween almost 5 years ago now, at the FBI Halloween party.

October 2015

“Come on Y/n! How can you not love Halloween!”

“Spencer, what’s so great about Halloween!” I had asked laughing while filling up a plastic cup with punch. The party is fun, but all this dressing up just seems silly to me sometimes.

“It’s a uniquely American holiday! I mean, despite its obvious origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian All Saints’ Day, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants’ traditions and beliefs. It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treat, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity!” I catch JJ’s eyes from across the room, she gives me a sympathetic look as I’m stuck in another of Reid’s constant statistics rants. Frankly, I don’t understand how the rest of the team can cut Reid off when he’s like this. He’s so genuinely excited by this holiday it makes my budding feelings for the man standing in front of me even stronger.

“Aw you guys look so cute! Say cheese!” the always-hyper voice of Penelope Garcia shouts from across the bullpen, snapping a quick picture of me and Spence before running after Derek. I glance down at my phone and see a text from Penelope “It doesn’t take a profiler to realize how gone you are for him Y/n” I blush profusely before continuing my conversation with Spencer.

Present day

Tearing my eyes away from that specific picture, I continue walking to the end of the hallway, painfully aware that the floorboards are squeaking with my every step, hoping Spencer’s just-finished-a-case level of exhaustion will prevent him from waking up. I pass the threshold into the kitchen and see the dim light of the clock over the stove, the red 2:15 blinking back at me through my tired eyes, I just can’t seem to get to sleep tonight, I’m sure Spencer would say something like

“Chronic insomnia is usually tied to an underlying mental or physical issue. Anxiety, stress, and depression are some of the most common causes of chronic insomnia but even if you do not suffer from chronic insomnia, 35% of Americans report their sleep quality as poor or only fair.” Dating a living encyclopedia definitely has its perks I suppose. I walk towards the fridge and glance at the refrigerator, my eyes traveling to a postcard held up by a doctor who magnet. Houston, Texas the postcard reads.

February 2017

Me and Spencer had been dating for less than 6 months but as we had known each other for over a year I was falling head over heels in love with him. The last few months hadn’t been easy, Spencer learned that his mother had been diagnosed with dementia and not a day had gone by where he didn’t try and find a cure, he had been traveling to Houston,Texas to talk with his mother’s doctor, he then brought her to live with him in Virginia, it had been difficult to say the least. My fingers traced the edges of the postcard I had received in the mail this morning, then flipped it over and saw Spencer’s familiar scraggly handwriting, it read

Dear Y/n,

I was able to speak with my mother’s doctors today, I feel as though there must be more I can be doing, she seems to be responding to the medicines but I am looking into new methods of treating the disease. I miss you so much Y/n, and I miss the rest of the team as well, tell them I will be back as soon as I can, I hate the thought of you putting yourself in danger on cases without me there, not because I doubt your ability to protect yourself, but because I doubt my ability to handle being 1,402 miles away from you. Please do not worry about me, if you’re anxiously awaiting my return, stop looking at the clock because remember, when looking at a clock our brains anticipate what we’ll see faster than we actually see it, so the clock seems to stop, Ill be back before you know it Y/n.

With all my love, Spencer Reid.

I giggle quietly at the added facts, only Spencer would describe the phenomenon of a clock appearing stopped when glanced out. I’m concerned about Spencer though, I’m not sure what is going on, but there is definitely something not right with him and if I didn’t trust him so much I would consider asking Garcia to do a background check to check the legitimacy of his travels to Houston.

Present Day

This postcard is extremely bittersweet, the next week we were all rushing to Mexico, responding to a call that Spencer was in jail, I was a nervous wreck, we all were, it was an extremely rough 6 months, truly showing me how strong the man I love is. I push some of those harsh memories out of my brain, choosing to focus on the happy memories if I ever want to fall asleep tonight. There’s a coffee machine next to the fridge, if there’s one thing Spencer loves more than me, its coffee, or rather coffee flavored sugar with the amount of sweetener he puts in his cup every day. Spencer smells like coffee, almost always, he struggles to sleep most nights and therefore is always hyped up on caffeine. It's actually played a huge role in our relationship.

August 2016

Dr. Spencer Reid and I are walking to the BAU together as we do every single day, we live close to each other, close enough that he walks about 5 minutes before arriving at my house, we then walk to the coffee shop on the way to the train station. We’re best friends, but I’ve been secretly in love with him for months. Walking into Quantico, we get the daily glances from Penelope, Derek, and JJ who are sitting together looking at pictures of Henry. Penelope always teases me that we’re both so in love with each other that everyone can see it but us, it’s ironic actually. As much as I don’t believe Pen, I have been noticing small changes in Spence’s behavior the last couple months, prompting me to, in the deepest corners of my mind, hope that maybe he feels the same way, our friendship is worth too much to risk him not feeling the same way though, so I’m forever stuck. We aren’t on a case right now, so there’s a lot of paperwork to be done, at one point during the day I get up, asking Spence if he wants another cup of coffee before walking to the break room. I return after a brief 5 minutes and am surprised to see Derek sitting in my seat, arguing with Spencer.

“Come on Pretty boy! We both know you’re in love with her! Just ask her out man, she’ll say yes!”

“Morgan, quiet down, she’ll be back any minute, besides I’m 35 and Y/n is 32, I’m not saying there would even be a chance that we would get married but the marriage success rate in the United States is only 50%, the worst it has ever been, that therefore shows the state of relationships in the country as well, I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I could never lose her. Besides, I’ve never been good with women.”

“But that’s the thing pretty boy, you don’t have to be good with women, you’re already good with Y/n, she’s the one who matters, just ask her out man, you’ll regret it if you don’t.” With that Morgan walks away and I take a deep breath, its now or never, walking over to Spencer and setting down the cup, whispering in his ear,

“You never know how good with women you are until you try, Spence” He looks up at me with wide eyes and licks his tongue across his lips, something he does often.

“Um, Y/n, y-you heard all of that?” I nod and I can see Spence take a deep breath just as I did before walking over, “W-would you like to um- go to dinner with me Y/n?”

“Hmm I don’t know…” Spencer’s face starts to fall as I quickly continue “Of course I would love to go to dinner with you silly, what did you think?” His smile lights up the entire room as he pulls me into a deep hug.

“Well finally you two. You couldn’t have waited just a few more months though, I assumed you lovebirds wouldn’t get it together until after Spencer’s birthday” Rossi says from behind us, passing a pretty hefty stack of bills to Penelope.

That was the day that started the greatest adventure of my life.

Present Day

I leave the kitchen and walk to the living room, a chilly breeze blows my hair slightly askew, its June in Virginia, warm enough that all I’m wearing is one of Spence’s oversized MIT shirts with pajama shorts, but the night air causes slight goosebumps on my skin, sending me into my memories once again.

August 2019

Spencer and I are sitting on the couch, participating in yet another Doctor Who marathon on the tv, it's a rare day off from work and the hot summer air fills our living room even with the fan blowing through the house. I lie my head in Spencer’s lap as we watch the tv and his strong hand strokes the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to pop up all over my arms. I giggle and glance up at him causing him to pointedly look at me asking me with his eyes “What is so funny that you dare distract from Doctor Who?”

“It’s just strange, its 95 degrees outside but your hands on my neck give me goosebumps like its a crisp fall day, isn’t that funny baby?”

“Of course the most common cause of goosebumps is cold weather, but when you’re experiencing extreme emotions, the human body responds in a variety of ways. Two common responses include increased electrical activity in the muscles just under the skin and increased depth or heaviness of breathing, resulting in goosebumps.” I roll my eyes at him and playfully swat his hair out of his eyes.

“Only you, Dr. Spencer Reid, would take a romantic statement and turn it into statistics, and I love you for that” he kisses me and well, the Doctor Who marathon was quickly turned off after that.

Present Day

As I turn the corner into the living room I smile warmly, it’s the room that Spencer and I like the best. There are book cases lining the back wall, Spencer loves books, I’d ask him what made his books so special and he’d tell me stories of his childhood, his mom reading him 15th century literature, I loved when Spence told me stories about his childhood.

December 2017

I knocked on the door of Spencer’s apartment, it wasn’t like him to be late for our daily walk to work especially because he had been on probation after his time in jail. I received no answer, prompting my concern as I unlocked the door with the key he had given me. I walked into his living room and saw him, Spencer was sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by books, running his fingers up and down the pages as he does when he’s reading at his top speed.

“Spence what on earth are you doing! Where did all these books come from? We aren’t on a case are we?”

“This year in the United States alone there have been 328,259 new books published, I read at 20,000 words per minute but at an average of 100,000 words per book, it would take me 27,377 hours to read all those books!”

“Oh Spencer how I love you, you don’t need to read every book ever published, are you going to start reading romance novels?” I tease while picking up a copy of 50 Shades of Gray from the ground at Spencer’s feet.

“Okay maybe you’re right, I just feel like I missed so much time when I was incarcerated, all that reading I could’ve done when I was trapped in that place, it's time I can never get back.”

“Spencer, I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you, but this is not going to help that feeling go away, let’s go to work.” Spencer nodded and began to tidy up the floor before following me out the door.

“Wait, Y/n, I have to ask you something that I’ve meant to say since I’ve gotten out of jail, and I might as well say it now, will you move in with me?” He’s chewing on his bottom lip again and I jump into his arms in excitement, kissing his hair as he caresses the back of my head.

“Of course I’ll move in with you! I love you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“And I love you Y/n Y/l/n.”

Present Day

I’m coming around to the opposite side of the living room now, sitting down on the couch in front of the fireplace. I love the fireplace in our house and I think secretly Spencer does too. We argued for days over the safety of having a fireplace in our house, Spencer of course supplied with enough knowledge of house fires to last him 5 lifetimes, “But Spencer it’ll be so cozy, doesn’t it sound romantic to cuddle up by the fire?” I had pleaded with him the day we toured the house for the first time.

“Y/n, there were an average of 357,400 residential fires per year in the US between 2012 and 2014, an average of 22,300 of those fires were caused by a fireplace or chimney!”

“But Spenceee, that’s only 6.24% of the residential house fires during that period, 43.9% were from cooking equipment, are you going to forbid us from having a kitchen too?” Hey, don’t underestimate how useful a cellphone calculator and a quick google search can be in winning an argument against your genius boyfriend. Obviously, we had ended up agreeing on the fireplace, but Spencer was still overly cautious whenever it was in use. As I stood in front of the fireplace I became hyper aware of the floorboards creaking in the hallway just as they had done when I left the room earlier, I felt a presence enter the room and the 6’1” frame of my boyfriend wrapped his long arms around me from behind while burying his face in the hollow of my shoulder.

“Hi, baby, what are you doing up so late? Are you feeling okay? Can’t seem to get to sleep?” I nod back at him and recline my head so it rests on his strong chest.

“I was just taking a trip down memory lane I suppose” I say before smiling up at the love of my life.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reader insert

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marvelandimagine · 3 years

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Hi I was hoping to get you opinion on a certain topic because I liked the way you handled the Ayo and arm discourse and this is a different but similar subject. I hope you don’t mind? I just don’t know who else to send this to. I see a lot of people now complaining about all the “ableist” writing surrounding Bucky (Sam making jokes about his attitude, “freaky magoo”, Bucky calling himself crazy, rocket racoon’s “I’ll get that arm” etc). They say that’s offensive and doesn’t take trauma or mental illness seriously.

I’m honestly having trouble seeing the problem. What’s wrong with finding the humor in a dark situation? Isn’t it realistic for a group of friends/companions to not always take eachother and themselves so seriously? I think a lot of people outside woke tumblr and twitter would appreciate if people weren’t always walking on eggshells around them because of past trauma and treat them like a regular person, and even make fun of them the same way they would anyone else. And are we really gunna say Bucky can’t call himself crazy without having to be all sad about it and go into a ten minute monologue about his past (or Marvel can’t write that line)? It’s ok to not take yourself so seriously either and be able to make light of your past, I would argue even healthier for a lot of people. Why is it better for Bucky to be depressed about his mental state constantly until it is all “fixed”? I just don’t get it and Marvel’s writing seems more realistic and how real people with past trauma would want to be treated compared to what twitter and tumblr say. Real people don’t always get triggered at the slightest mention of their past trauma, mental state, or behavior. They are usually able to make light of it and would prefer those around them don’t take it so seriously either. (It’s not like anyone is saying “haha bucky! It’s so funny Hyrda tortured and enslaved you!” Worlds different than Sam poking fun at him about his current self)

Someone pointed out ALL marvel characters have some sort of trauma that shapes them, why is joking around Bucky after he’s freed from the brain washing so unique? (Ex: Tony was captured and had PTSD) All of them are friends and don’t let that stop them from poking fun at each other and their behaviors even if technically that behavior could be traced back to some past trauma. And I think they’re better off because of it. Technically you could trace back everything about to Tony to the death of his parents but I don’t think he would appreciate everyone looking at him with a sad face 24/7. Neither would Bucky. (I would HATE it) And the thing is all these characters are very capable of recognizing when there’s a serious moment happening for someone and not to make any jokes but be supportive instead. Like Rhodey helping Tony during his panic attack in the beginning of Ironman 3, the scene with Sam and Bucky in the backyard episode 5. I just don’t think tumblr and twitter are a good representation of how overall real life people with trauma feel. Real life there is a time and place to be serious and time when you don’t have to be regarding the exact same situation, tumblr doesn’t seem to get the concept of “read the room”. Idk, if people treated me the way tumblr says the people around Bucky should 24/7 it would actually make me miserable... but they have to constantly keep people as victims to fit their narratives.

Sorry for the delayed response, anon!! But I LOVE THIS.

I totally agree with you that this idea that everyone universally handles unique trauma the same way, usually in being extremely sensitive/always having some kind of apparent negative reaction, is just bonkers. I ground my thoughts on this largely in my experience with Alcoholics Anonymous — aka the largest dark comedy club of people laughing at their own shit I’ve ever had the pleasure to be part of. The other day I just said we needed to get a plaque that says “if you haven’t wanted to kill yourself, you might be in the wrong place,” and everyone cackled. Recovery memes, I swear to God, have helped me through low points because the humor and connection remind us that we aren’t alone and can, as you said, stop taking things so seriously all the time. That’s moving forward.

There are so many factors that go into how people handle trauma, and I wholly agree that this blanket woobyfying doesn’t account for the nuances of that experience. You also might feel fine one day and not fine the next! Life is in the grey, not the black and white.

Anywho you’re my hero and thanks for dropping by ❤️

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scripttorture · 4 years

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My setting is a fantasy historical setting set roughly around the late 1800s to early 1900s that focuses on a fantasy species currently subjugated by humanity. They're generally forced to serve on the front lines of an ongoing war, in part because they're seen as "not people" and "repairable". A major antagonist is a human member of the military who is officially supposed to be treating their injuries but who has the blanket approval of the government to do what he feels is best. (medical 1/2)

As a result, he often purposefully lets soldiers die or lie there in agony if he feels they've been disrespectful or disobedient to him- death is not permanent for this species, so he isn't really wasting soldiers. His motivations are both to have a more "obedient" army and some degree of bigotry from being raised with the idea that these beings' lives don't matter. (medical 2/3) Would the withholding of medical treatment by a government official be torture if it were motivated by similar motives to most torturers (ie political difference, belonging to a specific group, wanting obedience/information)? Do you have any advice on this setting or story? Thanks in advance! (medical 3/3)

I think that this fits with a lot of the general pattern of how torture occurs but- My instinct is that the legal definition probably matters less in this case.

In terms of the time period I think this is before our world had international laws against torture. It’s before this sort of thing was codified in a standardised fashion. This doesn’t change the effects but it does change things like- what a culture views as torture.

In our terms? Yes I think this meets the legal definition of torture. It’s conducted by a government official who has power over/responsibility for, these victims. He knows his actions are causing pain. And he’s doing it to punish them, individually and collectively, which is one of the possible motivations listed in anti-torture law.

That means that it’s likely the research I talk about is relevant to what you’re writing.

But we shouldn’t ignore cultural views of particular practices. By which I mean that commonly held unethical views impact your world building and characters.

This pattern of individual and collective punishment was common in most armies historically and is still used today. Forced exercise as punishment has led to deaths in UK army training facilities and (prosecuted as such or not) this is torture. Whippings, beatings, stress positions and starvation have all been used historically to ‘punish’ members of the military. In fact much of today’s clean torture might come from European military punishments.

(Side note, the origin of any one particular torture is incredibly hard to trace and since they are simplistic it’s likely they don’t have one standard point of origin.)

As general advice- I think it’s worth considering what these subjugated people get from being part of the army.

There have been a lot of historical cases where subjugated people and second class citizens were an integral part of a country’s armed forces. But if violence and threats are the only ‘reasons’ for participation then the results are unlikely to be positive.

If you’re aiming for a system with a reasonable ‘success’ rate (we are taking success to be a non-human who is an obedient part of this army and makes a reasonable effort to fulfil most of their duties) then I think there should be some kind of benefit to the soldiers themselves.

It doesn’t have to be a big positive and you can use it to highlight just how shit their general situation is.

I’ve got a broadly similar scenario in one of my stories: with a fantasy sub-class that’s strongly associated with the armed forces.

The reasoning that I came up with was that life was genuinely better for them as part of the military. They were systematically barred from ordinary jobs and housing, the other main employment option open to them was a particularly dangerous form of mining and without some sort of patron they were routinely attacked and harassed. The military consistently provided shelter, food and a higher degree of comfort/security then the other options open to them.

In contrast to the mines, where their kind routinely went unfed and were typically dumped on the street when too injured to work, the military looked like a ‘good’ option. Not so much ‘positive’ as ‘better then the typical alternatives’.

I’d encourage you to think of similar back-handed ‘benefits’ in your story. Better food, better pay, perks that benefit their family, something that gives an understandable reason for these people to stick around.

I’d caution against trying to make it completely impossible for them to escape or refuse orders because that’s never the case in reality and doing that makes these people… well less human, less relatable.

For analogous situations in real military organisations you might want to look up the British Empire’s sepoys and the role of black soldiers such as Thomas-Alexandre Dumas* and the men who served under him in European armies.

In the sort of environment you’re building up I think that a lot of these supernatural people would know about what this doctor is like. They might not know the specifics of what he does, but the rumour mill is likely to make it clear he does something bad.

This doesn’t mean that characters will always be able to avoid him and it doesn’t mean every character would hear the rumours. But people in these situations, where an abusive figure is in an entrenched position of power, do try to warn each other.

It’s common for people in these situations to try and help each other and try to resist. The methods available to them are often small and sometimes ineffective but I think it’s important to try and capture the attempt.

One of the things I’ve noticed in fiction that uses abusive situations with this kind of hierarchy is that there’s a tendency to ignore any action that isn’t obvious and violent. You occasionally write about the victims attacking abusers or enablers and we write about escape attempts. But we generally ignore other smaller acts. Sabotaging equipment or plans, victims educating each other, helping each other, prayer, ‘magic’, keeping illegal traditions alive.

I think cutting out these smaller acts can flatten the portrayal of victims. It presents a false binary of responses: passive acceptance or violent resistance. And that makes resistance appear much rarer then it is in reality.

In situations like the one you describe survival and self expression can be forms of resistance.

If you’re not writing about a real world group of people then I think concerted historical research in that area is less important. By which I mean: if you’re showing a fictional group then you want to capture the kind of responses that happen in this situation rather then say specific aspects of Cuban culture and history.

I’ve found reading about the history of black resistance to slavery in the new world a really good starting point for understanding… well how people respond in systematically awful abusive situations. That’s partly because it is really well studied and recorded. (And also available in a variety of languages). I’m not sure what to recommend as a good starting point though. James’ The Black Jacobins is traditional, I also liked Barcias’ West African Warfare in Brazil and Cuba but it’s been a while since I read it and the focus was violent resistance.

People keep their humanity even in terrible environments and I think it’s important to try and capture that.

For the doctor himself there are two sources I’d suggest looking at. The first (somewhat inevitably) is the appendices of Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth where he describes two torturers he treated for mental health problems. The second is The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.

I’m suggesting that as well because of the examples it gives of doctors who were definitely not acting in the best interests of their patients. The focus of the book is the origin of the HeLa cell line, the standard cell line in all medical testing. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that Henrietta Lacks’ cells changed medicine and the production of pharmaceuticals forever. Research on these cancer cells has done immeasurable good.

They were also taken from a dying black woman in America without her consent. People have made billions off of these cells while the Lacks family never received a penny.

And doctors have done indefensibly dangerous things with them.

I think having a look at both will help you find a way to frame this doctor’s personality and the way he justifies his actions. Because while he is a torturer there are more discussions of that in a policing or military context then there are in a medical one.

I’ve found that discussions of doctors as torturers tend towards a different set of tropes. They’re more likely to assume that the abuse is an experiment, without questioning whether the record keeping, accounting for variables etc is strict enough to yield meaningful results. They also tend to portray the torturer as ‘charming’. And there can be significant ableist ideas (anti-disability and anti mental illness prejudice) built into the story.

The kind of situation you’ve outlined is already pretty realistic in a lot of respects: this is the kind of situation where you see doctors acting as torturers.

But it’s also not how authors tend to approach writing doctors as torturers. Which means I’m not sure what to add. I think you’ve already avoided most of the usual traps by virtue of how you’ve constructed the setting.

Overall I think this a pretty solid idea. It has enough similarities to real world historical situations that it feels ‘real’. And there are plenty of sources to draw from. It brings in fantasy elements in a way that I think is really interesting, almost playing out generational trauma within the same generation. And it feels like an original situation. I don’t often see doctors used in this way or the combination of period and fantasy elements you’re proposing.

I think it’s going to be a very interesting story and I wish you the best of luck. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*No not that Dumas, his dad. The other one.

#writing advice #tw torture #tw medical abuse #tw slavery #fantasy ask #historical fiction #writing victims #writing torturers #writing survivors #doctors and torture #collective punishment #military torture #military punishments #coercion #resistance #medical abuse

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alcxandros · 3 years

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I'm surprised it took me a while to actually talk about this - probably because I was still replaying the game and collecting data before jumping to conclusions on anything, but now that the ending is coming up, I feel like I can go ahead and talk about this.

Garnet is mentally ill. She is has had a lifetime of repeated traumatic event after repeated traumatic event. While it is true that trauma is subjective and the things she went through may affect other people differently - it is extremely clear to me how the events in her life has shaped her.

At six years old, her home was destroyed. She almost lost her life to the attack and nearly lost her life to the storm, which claimed her birth-mother. She never saw her father again, and her tribe and everyone she would know from it was gone. She’s adopted, mutilated, and gas-lite into a dead child’s existence, forgetting her name, her culture, and where she came from. She’s sheltered and kept nice and protected and safe, at the cost of never being able to take risks for herself, figure anything out for herself, or build any kind of confidence. The only places she travels are in books. Her life is consumed with how a princess should look, how a princess should behave, and has no identity of her own of who she even is.

Her adoptive father dies. Her teacher leaves. Her adoptive mother is acting strange since her father’s death. Every time she tries to speak concern about her mother, everyone continues to gas-light her, that she is imagining things and just upset over the loss of her father. She takes it upon herself to leave her country, something she likely has NEVER done for the past ten years ( as she does not understand Alexandrian territory when seeing it in person ), in efforts to try to contact her uncle so that he may be able to help her mother. Clearly, she didn’t feel like anyone else in the castle was helping her, and she couldn’t reach her mother herself.

Her mother attacks the ship she is trying to escape on. She watches as Alexandria is torn apart and homes are destroyed and people are killed in her mother’s attempt to reclaim her daughter - even at the risk of Garnet’s own life. Garnet is in denial, thinking these actions were to protect her despite her nearly dying by a harpoon, followed by an explosion from a Bomb. That guilt is on her shoulders of what Alexandria suffered at her mother’s hand, in spite of the fact she was discovered by a freak accident.

Her eidolons are forced from her. Her mother wanted to kill her. She watches helplessly as her own eidolons destroy Lindbulm. Her mother sends Black Watlz’s after her, and later on mercenaries with clear orders that her being safe is not a priority - they are permitted and encouraged to kill her. Even now - Garnet is in denial that this is true. Eventually, she has to learn that her mother used Odin to completely destroy an entire nation ie. Cleyra ( though she does not learn this in game ).

She is forced to watch Bahamut be summoned by her mother, for that summon to turn on her. She does everything she can think of to save her mother, but it’s no use - Leviathan can’t help. She watches as her mother perishes. There is no time to grieve. Alexandria needs a queen, and she must bare that responsibly now at sixteen years of age.

Just like Madain Sari - Garnet is once again subjected to watching the place she calls home burn down to ashes, as Bahamut makes another return and attacks her kingdom. Her mother isn’t here anymore. Zidane isn’t here anymore. For however long it takes Zidane and the party to get back to Alexandria - Garnet feels completely on her own and out of her depth. The trauma of losing her mother and her country to her own eidolon’s is too much to bare, and in a traumatic response she loses her voice for days following, completely overwhelmed in every since of the word.

Just to name a list of events and I”m sure there’s some I’m forgetting.

There is no way Garnet comes out of the other side completely fine. She isn’t fine. She buries her emotions, she doesn’t express herself to the depths of everything she’s feeling, and she doesn’t process and grieve. She pushes herself to just ‘get over it’ that ‘she can’t be depressed forever’ which does not actually help anyone. She isn’t okay. I heard something recently and I think it holds extremely, and sadly, true. “Everyone is a mental health advocate until mental health gets ugly” Mental illness is not something beautiful and to be inspirational porn. It isn’t something that makes you strong. It is suffering and it is ugly and it an effect everything in your life. Garnet is not her mental illness - but it is something she deals with and will effect her, how she rules, and her relationships with others. I have zero intention on erasing her hardships and struggles for the sake of painting a pretty picture.

“oh, that’s rough so we don’t want to see it; let’s put something nice in front of it instead” fuck that. As someone with mental health issues, I find that insulting. Traces of what she suffers will be represented in my writing without watering it down for the sake of a pleasant image. The reality is that mental illness can all nine of Dante’s circles of Hell.

Naturally, if these subjects are upsetting then please do whatever it is you need to in order to protect yourself; your own mental health matters. This just isn’t a subject I am going to shy away from representing and I am doing to take extreme care when going over these subjects.

Obviously not every roleplay is going to be this heavy; but it is something that isn’t going to be erased.

#this just got really long so read more #. ooc .#i am not comfortable erasing trauma and the mental health of my characters #it won't be happening here is the too long didn't read #rambles #. ramble .

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