#secondary dissociation

[hauntedselves]

The Continuum of Dissociation

[Image description:

An infographic describing the continuum of dissociation and the theory of structural dissociation. From left to right (more integrated parts to less integrated parts), are:

Altered states - Altered states of consciousness: Includes things like daydreaming, normal absorption, 'highway hypnosis', flow states, meditative practices, and imaginary play

Primary dissociation - PTSD / single incident trauma: Where a person has what can be described as a 'Going on with normal life' part that does daily life, as well as a 'Trauma part' that holds the experience of trauma

Secondary dissociation - C-PTSD / complex trauma: Where a person has more than one 'Going on with normal life' part as well as multiple trauma parts that often are caught in defensive actions and patterns of trauma

Dissociative disorders - OSDD / UDD: Other specified and unspecified dissociative disorders are diagnoses given when a person does not meet the full criteria for a specific dissociative disorder

Tertiary dissociation - DID / polyfragmented DID: Characterised by two or more distinct personality states, and in the case of polyfragmented DID, a person has a large number of 'alters' or identities, each with their own sense of self

Outside of the parts model, but still within dissociation, are:

Dissociative amnesia: Where a person cannot remember important information about their life (more than ordinary forgetfulness)

Depersonalisation & derealisation: Where a person experiences feelings of detachment from their body or cognitions, including a disconnect from their self or environment

End image description]

[Image description:

An infographic describing primary structural dissociation.

In primary structural dissociation, there is a 'Going on with normal life part', which avoids traumatic reminders to function in normal life goals. Daily life functions include rest, play, socialising, relationships, and intimacy.

There is also a trauma part, which is engaged in survival / animal defences and is often in hyper- or hypoarousal. Trauma responses (defences) are: fight, flight, freeze, submit, and attach.

End image description]

[Image description:

An infographic describing secondary structural dissociation.

In secondary structural dissociation, there is a 'Going on with normal life part', which avoids traumatic reminders to function in normal life goals.

There are also multiple trauma parts, which are engaged in survival / animal defences and is often in hyper- or hypoarousal. Trauma responses (defences) are: fight, flight, freeze, submit, and attach.

End image description]

[Image description:

An infographic describing tertiary structural dissociation. It gives an example of a system, the collection of all alters (parts) within a person.

In tertiary structural dissociation, there are multiple 'Going on with normal life parts', one or more of which may be called the 'host(s)', who are engaged in daily life. Examples of going on with normal life parts are a worker alter, a caregiver alter, and a partner alter.

There are also multiple trauma parts, which are alters engaged in survival defences. Examples of trauma parts are a gatekeeper alter (who decides who fronts), fight alters (e.g. Ann, a 24 year old primar protector part, and Don, a 30 year old persecutor part), flight alters (e.g. Sally, an 8 year old trauma holder), freeze alters (e.g. Marcus, a 10 year old trauma holder), submit alters (e.g. Pia, an 18 year old trauma holder), and attach alters (may be called 'littles', e.g. Lily, a 4 year old and Jack, a 6 year old, both trauma holders).

End image description]

- Natasja Wagner

#actually now that i read the 1st its kinda shitty. starts off good but when it gets to OSDD & DID it loses it - where are the DLP & TPs? #wheres the text explaining that DPDR and DA arent part of the ToSD but still dissociative disorders (which i added in the description)? #maybe i'll make a better one. #actually all of these are shit. lol #described #described in post #structural dissociation #dissociative identity disorder #primary dissociation #secondary dissociation #tertiary dissociation #altered states of consciousness #dissociation #theory of structural dissociation #dogpost

[mooncurses]

Look it's true: things do tend to get better. I mean if you put in the effort to take proper care of yourself and get the help that you need then chances are that you're eventually going to feel better than you do during your darkest times. This is factual and it's important to be reminded of it when you're feeling down. However if you're like me and you struggle to keep tabs on reality and to have any sense of continuity about your life, it may be pointless to tell yourself that "everything's going to be alright". In part it's because when you're heavily dissociated you lose your sense of time and usually you cannot even picture yourself as an individual at all, let alone an individual who is capable of change and progress. You may know that this person is you, but it doesn't mean anything when the emotional connection to things simply is not there and everything feels foggy anyway. This is why if you're going through a hard time as a dissociative person, my advice is that you take your time to learn how to feel like an individual again before you even worry about tackling all the steps on the road to become healthier and more productive as a person with depression or anxiety or whatever. It may be slow and feel like you're just doing nothing, but it's fundamental that you first feel grounded in your own body and mind, because chances are that many of the mental issues that you experience can be traced back to your messed up sense of self.

Sometimes it'll seem that you have your hands full just trying to think and feel like yourself again, after so much time spent feeling like a ghost. If you want to get better emotionally or physically, remember to find and maintain a solid grip on your identity first, otherwise everything else, no matter how good or bad, will just keep being something that merely happens to you instead of something that you actually do.

#dissociative #depression #anxiety #mental health #dissociation #secondary dissociation

[polyfragcultureis]

polyfrag culture is always being surprised when non-polyfrag systems talk about only having one host for their system while you're over here needing like 5 at minimum to function semi-normally (not to even mention how many co-hosts there are too)

.

#bro same #we have like #a primary host #a secondary host #technically a tertiary host but we just call him the primary co-host #and a secondary co-host #and then theres a sidesysfsm host #its wild #polyfrag culture is #c did #cdd #cdid #complex dissociative disorder #complex dissociative identity disorder #did #dissociative identity disorder #polyfrag #polyfrag system #polyfragmented #polyfragmented system #polyfragmented did #osdd did #osddid #did osdd #complex did

[falled-over]

this is what it’s like inside my brain all the time. it’s like having a conversation with someone in a restaurant and when you stop talking you suddenly pick up on the other tables conversation, which you weren’t paying attention to, but knew was happening. and there’s music too

#this is not an exaggeration my mind is very busy all the time #the secondary conversation and music are involuntary #it’s currently in japanese #and the music is usually something i heard in a video that was catchy or a song i just paused #i can stop them but i have to do concentrate on making my mind quiet #also it’s not a dissociative identity it’s just brain noise #i can tune into one by pausing the layer above it #so when i’m thinking (i think in full sentences the same way i would speak. some people are different) i’m aware of the other 2 happening #but i’m not paying attention to the details #and then when i pause my active layer i can pay attention to what is being said under it. but i don’t really control what it’s saying. and #i can hear the music behind a little better #and then when i pausd both conversations i know what the music is #the secondary conversation is usually a bunch of unrelated sentences or phrases. i have tuned into it counting before. and another time #it was having some sort of structured thought pattern #i dunno. i’m curious as to if anyone else does this #lmk

[saewin]

New boss: "so do you have any hobbies?"

Me: "...Currently no, but I guess they, uh... cycle?"

#sysblr #secondary structural dissociation #i actually groped around for one and said “baking bread?” because I have memories of doing it with enthusiasm but haven't for months #3 hours later remembered that I'm learning violin and Spanish??? #really do not have access to the rest of me when at work #gotta drill saying “learning new things” as that's basically what's happening

[discworldwitches]

being grounded or not dissociated can be painful for people. “mindfulness” for some can be extremely distressing (and then subsequently trigger other forms of dissociation).

#people always talk over people who experience chronic dissociation #or like secondary/tertiary structural dissociation

[midwestmotherhood]

I've been dissociating for weeks, months maybe. I just want to get back to myself and I don't know how.

#dissociation #depressing post #kinda depressing #sad thoughts #secondary infertility #infertility #ttccommunity #trying to conceive #ttc #ttcjourney #motherhood #mumblr #ttc journey #fertility treatment

[didosddinfo]

The Basics of DID/OSDD

DID, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, is a trauma-caused disorder that forms in early childhood, anywhere before the age of 9 (cutoff age is debated but the typical range is before age 6-9, but some people extend it to 10 because that's the typical age where your identity starts forming independant of your primary caregivers)

Most of the established and spread facts about DID come from the Theory of Structural Dissociation (TOSD)

Here's a good resource explaining The TOSD:

To sum things up, there are levels of dissociation that can occur, and disorders that fall into each level. The lowest end of this spectrum is PTSD, and the highest is DID. Here's a graphic of those levels, and I'll go into each disorder briefly:

Altered States

Altered states are normal, and likely to occur in everyone at some point. No trauma is required to cause these states. Altered states include normal daydreaming (not including MaDD which is disordered)

Primary Dissociation

Primary Dissociation occurs in people with PTSD. This presents as having one ANP (Apparantly Normal Part, aka you) and one EP (Emotional Part, which occurs when having PTSD flashbacks)

This level is specifically for single-event PTSD, as C-PTSD falls under the next level:

Secondary Dissociation

Complex-PTSD falls under this level because of the occurance of multiple EPs, but still one ANP. These EPs are for a myriad of traumas a person with C-PTSD has experienced.

Dissociative Disorders

This is where we start touching on systems. This level includes OSDD and UDD.

OSDD (Otherwise Specified Dissociative Disorder) is a bit of an umbrella disorder, and it encapsulates multiple different types of OSDD. The one you've most likely heard of is OSDD1b, but I'll go into all of them.

OSDD1a is a disorder in which a person has multiple identity states but they lack distinction. They have intense enough amnesia to qualify for DID, but their identity states aren't differentiated enough to fully qualify for DID. This can sometimes (not always, of course) present as multiple identity states that are all one person, just at different ages when trauma happened.

OSDD1b is a disorder in which a person has multiple identity states that qualify for DID, but have no amnesia. A common misconception is that to be diagnosed with DID, you have to have blackout amnesia (will explain amnesia types later in the post), but any type of amnesia can qualify. OSDD1b is for systems who have absolutely no amnesia.

OSDD2 is a disorder in which there are identity disturbances and dissociation caused by brainwashing, torture, cults, and things of that sort. From what I understand, OSDD2 occurs after the cutoff age of DID or OSDD1, hence why this disorder does not cause a system.

OSDD3 seems to be a temporary diagnosis for symptoms of dissociation, derealization, depersonalization, amnesia, sudden loss of motor skills, ect for less than one month, occuring directly after a traumatic event. If the symptoms persist after this one month period, another diagnosis may be looked at.

OSDD-4 is a disorder in which people experience dissociative trances that do not have any known cause. People slip in and out of these trance states, often unaware of their environment while in them, and may "come to" confused and with amnesia from their time in the trance state.

And lastly, UDD. UDD, or Unspecified Dissociative Disorder, is exactly as it sounds. It's a catchall diagnosis for when a dissociative disorder is present, but it's unknown exactly which one. This can include systems, or it can include other dissociative disorders.

Tertiary Dissociation

Teritary Dissociation is what includes DID, C-DID, and HC-DID.

DID is the disorder we are all reading this post for. It is a disorder that causes multiple identity states that are distinctly different, called alters (or other terms depending on the system's comfort, such as headmates or sysmates), and amnesia between these identity states.

C-DID is a community term which stands for Complex DID. It is synonymous with Polyfragmented DID; they both mean the same thing. C-DID is characterized by a more complex system structure and the presence of many fragments, occuring because of more complex and longterm trauma that starts before the age of 5 (so earlier than the DID cutoff), and typically continues long after the system forms. There are many signs of polyfragmentation in a system, but the most siginifigant are the earlier onset of trauma, presence of many fragments, and more complex internal structure.

HC-DID is another community term which stands for Highly Complex DID. This term is synonymous with programmed systems/RAMCOA systems. These systems formed because of childhood trauma involving Mind Control (the MC of RAMCOA), aka programming. I won't go too in-depth on HC-DID systems, because I'm not confident in my knowledge at this time. However a great blog I can recommend for anyone wanting to learn more is @cultishhellvent

Misc.

You might have noticed at the top of the graphic I included earlier a little blurb about DPDR, or Depersonalization Derealization Disorder. This is a dissociative disorder characterized by, well, persistant depersonalization and derealization. This disorder cannot co-occur alongside DID, but DID can cause depersonalization and derealization. The DPDR diagnosis is for those who don't have another dissociative disorder like DID, but do experience those specific symptoms of depersonalization and derealization.

P-DID, or Partial DID, is a version of DID in which one alter is almost always fronting. Other alters are present, and may front in specific situations, but typically the one alter will stay at front and other alters will come and go from co-con or co-front.

Things To Know About Systems

So here is a bunch of catagories of info about systems that I feel are necessary to know if you're looking to know the basics.

Amnesia Types

Blackout Amnesia is amnesia that is full and total. Periods of blackout amnesia will be fully gone from the person's memory. However, contrary to popular belief, blackout amnesia does not entail literally 'blacking out' and 'waking up' at a later time. It simply means the memories from a time period are totally and utterly gone and inaccessable to you.

Greyout Amnesia has two typical definitions. The first is amnesia that slowly occurs as time goes on, like slowly forgetting the days as you pass them, at a faster rate than would be considered typical for those without a dissociative disorder. The second definition is similar to blackout amnesia, except some memories can be retained. So you may not fully remember an event you went to last week, but you might be able to recall a few blips of major things that took place. Most detail is usually lost.

Emotional Amnesia is when you remember the actual event or time frame, but none of the emotions attached to it. This usually presents as being able to remember a traumatic event, but feeling numb or disconnected to it, or like it happened to someone else.

And something important to keep in mind is that these amnesia types are not hard rules, and amnesia is often somewhere between these three labels.

Innerworlds

Innerworlds, or headspaces, are internal worlds in which alters can go when they aren't fronting (fronting meaning to be in control of the body)

Not all systems have innerworlds, and many systems with Aphantasia (when you can't visualize) simply don't have the ability to create them.

Innerworlds are often created unintentionally as the system grows up, but they can be intentionally created and that can be a beneficial process to the system.

Alter Roles

Alter roles are labels systems can assign to their alters to describe what role they play in the system's life. Some common ones include Host (primary fronter), Protector (self-explanitory), Persecutor (causes the system harm for whatever reason), Traumaholder (alters who hold trauma), and Littles (child alters)

These roles are not hard set, they are simply labels to help explain and put words to what certain alters' jobs in the system may be. And, not all alters have a discernable role.

Introjects

Introjects are alters who form based on an existing identity. This is common in fragments, since they aren't as fully formed, but can of course also happen in fully formed alters.

There are two main catagories of introjects, however many people like to get specific with the terms they use.

Fictives are introjects of fictional characters. This can be from visual media, books, OCs, ect.

Factives are introjects of real people. This can be from friends, abusers, family, celebrities, ect.

Introjects are NOT the same as the thing they are sourced in. They are their own separate people, and should be treated as such.

One of the specific terms I mentioned could be songtives (introjects from songs). I wanted to briefly mention that as an example of the specific terms systems may use.

Co-Con/Co-Front

Co-con, or co-conciousness, is when two or more alters are present at the front. This is usually used to describe one alter fronting, with one or more other alters hanging out nearby and talking occasionally.

Co-front, or co-fronting, is when two or more alters are sharing the front together fully. Think of two people trying to drive the same car at once.

I think I've covered everything I wanted to cover. If I missed anything, said anything incorrect, or you'd like something added please feel free to send an ask or comment/reblog.

#did #osdd #udd #pdid #anti endo #anti tulpa #polyfrag system #c-did #hc-did #ramcoa #actually traumagenic #endos dni #did community #traumagenic did #system #osdd system #actually osdd

[actual-changeling]

It was actually rather hard to decide how to begin this meta post because there are essentially going to be two main parts: why Crowley does not actually avoid/run from his problems and why "going off" is not a bad thing regardless.

Then I wrote the first part and realised this is now 2.5k words long, so uhhhh I will grant part 2 its own post.

With that, welcome back to Alex's today-not-unhinged meta corner!

I am going to approach this topic from a psychological angle, which a lot of people have already done, but without explicitly mentioning it or going into depth. All my information comes from personal experience, research, my therapist, and my psychiatrist, just so you know I am not making shit up. I actually dug up some resources my therapist gave me a while ago.

Generally, there are four different fear/survival responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Most people have probably heard about fight and flight, since those two are usually the only ones that are mentioned/taught, so I will stick to explaining the other two.

"Fawning" refers to actively being submissive and subdued, both physically and emotionally. The goal is to appear non-threatening and to calm whoever is causing the fear response in the first place. It shows up as being overly agreeable, not having thoughts/opinions of your own and ignoring them if you do, your body language changing (e.g., making yourself smaller, taking up less space), and generally attempting to 'keep the peace' or reinstate it.

"Freezing" is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin—you freeze. It means slipping into a dissociative state, which disconnects you from your body, your emotions/mind, and/or the outside world. Usually, people stop being able to talk well or at all, they do not move, and if they do, it is on autopilot; you do not fight or flee, you simply exist until what is causing the fear response is over.

While dissociating, your brain is unable to form full memories—and depending on how heavily you are dissociating, it does not form any memories at all. 

Freezing as a response happens when fight, flight, and fawn aren't possible anymore, e.g., a child who has no internal mechanisms to deal with large amounts of fear because it's a child, so the only way to escape the pain and aggressor is by fleeing into your mind and shutting down.

Why am I telling you all this? Because most people tend to have one or two survival responses that dominate/they usually fall back on, and the same goes for Aziraphale and Crowley.

When faced with an outside problem and a lot of stress, Aziraphale's first instinct is to fawn, to placate the person, to diffuse the situation, to make sure everyone is agreeing, or, at the very least, submitting to authority figures or aggressors. It is what heaven teaches them—stick to the rules, don't ask questions, do what you are told. If fawning involves lying, he will do so, here the need for safety is stronger than his desire to be truthful and stick to his morals.

Unfortunately, the fact that this is his primary fear response is also the reason behind his extreme cognitive dissonance. How can you stick to the rules when you do not know what the rules ARE? So he is stuck trying to figure out what is "good" and what is "bad" so he can be a good angel and avoid doing anything that might be seen as bad or disobedient.

His secondary response to stress or fear is to fight—once it's clear that fawning won't work, he can and will switch over to being more direct and aggressive/less submissive. We see that happening when he gets discorporated in season 1 and needs to get back to earth, at the airbase, or when the bookshop gets attacked.

If I were to ask you what you think Crowley's primary fear response is, how would you respond?

Well, if you said "flight"—you're wrong, and I will explain why.

Flight is his secondary fear response, it is what he falls back on in absolute emergencies when everything is doomed and there's nothing he can do anymore.

Before that, though, he fights.

Even as an angel, he was already questioning the system, he was ready to go and tell God she was doing a terrible job, that her ideas were bad, that he wants to keep his stars and the universe— six thousand years are nothing! If you actively oppose existing rules and defy people's authority over you, fighting is the only option you have unless you plan on giving up or the response becomes too much to deal with.

Fear itself happens when you or someone/something you love is being threatened (whether that threat is real or simply perceived as such doesn't matter), plus there are a large number of more irrational fears.

Crowley's creations were threatened -> He goes against the rules, he wants to fight for them.

On the walls of Eden, he questions God and talks to an angel, his hereditary enemy, once again defying the rules, questioning them.

Job and his children were threatened -> He goes against orders to try and save them.

There is good reason to believe he went against God by saving some of the children from the flood.

He showed Jesus the kingdoms of the world—do we really think that was based on orders? No, it was once again Crowley not playing by the rules.

Wessex? He proposes the Arrangement, which is one gigantic "fuck you" in his fight against celestial rules. Everything after that goes back to Crowley knowing that their jobs suck and that they can cheat, fight the system by working together. In 1827, it gets him pulled to hell and punished, and yet he does not stop; he keeps fighting.

Crowley is the one who immediately tries to stop the apocalypse. Aziraphale needs to be talked into it, needs to be convinced with selfish reasons and personal pleasure.

The reason why both heaven and hell absolutely loathe him is not because he is a runner; it's because he constantly and consistently defies them. He fights.

In season two, he immediately tries to deal with the Gabriel problem while Aziraphale is standing behind him and saying "I don't know" to all of his questions. Taking him somewhere so they can figure shit out in peace is not 'running'—it's smart. Sure, it's far from ideal, but we see what keeping him in the bookshop brought them, don't we? The hiding miracle is what tipped heaven and hell off in the first place.

Aziraphale goes to Edinburgh based on a hunch, but once again—did that help? Did his journalist roleplay trip actually provide vital information that solved a single puzzle piece of that mess? No. Finding out that Gabriel was at that pub with some mystery person was a nice fact to know, but that's it.

During the ball, Crowley is scared, vigilant, prowling around the shop, checking windows, telling Aziraphale to "stop this charade" so they can figure out what to do. Aziraphale, in that moment, was already convinced that sticking to the rules would save them—a heavenly embassy on a technicality, surely the group of fallen angels who got booted due to not following heaven's rules will respect that.

Crowley goes to heaven, which is once again him actively looking for a solution, while Aziraphale also falls back on fighting because fawning is not going to do shit.

There are three times during which Crowley suggests fleeing—which is his secondary fear response—but those are exceptions. Let's have a look at them.

The first one is at the bandstand, the evening before the Apocalypse, and since Aziraphale is lying to him, the situation seems hopeless to him. Yet he is still having his 'agents' look for him, is still fighting.

Do you know why he even suggests running? He is about to leave when Aziraphale calls him back with "there isn't anywhere to go," and now allow me to insert the following passage from the scriptbook.

Crowley looks back. He looks at Aziraphale. Above them, a beautiful starry sky. And Crowley softens.

"Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together."

The sentence in the show is slightly different, but they have one thing in common: If.

IF the world ends, we can still leave and be together. IF.

Crowley is NOT saying "let's leave", he is presenting Aziraphale with a contingency plan in case stopping the Apocalypse does not work. He is NOT running, he isn't even SUGGESTING to run.

It's a "if the world ends, we can be together. We don't need to be with hell or heaven; we can be in the stars," because remember what the end of the world would mean? Eternal torture for Crowley while Aziraphale bores himself to death in heaven.

The next time he suggests it again—when he stops Aziraphale on the street—several things have happened.

First, he did not leave. If he truly wanted to flee, he would have by now, but he didn't. He sits in a cinema waiting for the end: "Out of time. Out of hope," as Neil puts it. Then Hastur and Ligur show up on screen and tell him, 'You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history. […] We're coming to collect you'.

We all know that means "eternal torture in hell," but if you're not convinced for some reason, have another snippet from the script book that did not make it into the show.

Dagon is speaking from the Bentley's radio while he drives towards the bookshop, saying that something has gone wrong and they're sure he has a 'perfectly reasonable explanation' for it. Once he gets out of the car, however, Dagon still keeps going and says the following:.

"Your explanation, and the circumstances that will accompany it, will provide a source of entertainment for all the damned of hell, Crowley. Because no matter what agonies the damned are suffering, Crowley, you will have it worse."

Crowley already knows that. He has been punished by them before, heard, seen, lived torture, there is no doubt as to what will happen should they catch him. So he does what any person with a single fucking brain cell would do—he tries to get his loved one and FLEE.

Flight is the best response in this situation, and if you need me to explain why, then honestly, I cannot help you anymore. I won't go into detail about Aziraphale's response, but, tl;dr, it was shitty and incredibly hurtful, go figure.

Now, let's get to situation number 3, which is his speech during the final fifteen. We do not have an official script for that, but someone did make transcriptions for all episodes; you can find them here. Additionally, I will copy some of what I already said in a different meta post.

Crowley, stuck in his trauma-induced hypervigilance and paranoia, suggests putting as much distance between them and the problem as possible. I think it is interesting that in ep1 he wants to get Gabriel away from them, while at the end of the season, he is ready to get them away from the problem.

So far, I have never seen anyone mention that change! And it’s important! The entire season, it is hammered into our heads how much they love being on earth. It is THEIR bookshop and THEIR car and THEIR life.

Crowley wants to protect that home, and Gabriel is a threat to it, a threat to both of them, their life, the bookshop—everything. He does not want to leave, he wants his peace and angel in one place.

Yet by allowing Gabriel to stay, Aziraphale destroyed the sense of comfort and safety Crowley had slowly developed over the last few decades. Heaven nipping down every now and then to check in with Aziraphale is very different from him sheltering the Supreme Archangel who is running from ‘something terrible’ without even asking if he’s alright with that.

Aziraphale calls it their bookshop, but he fundamentally still sees it as his space to govern and Crowley as a guest; he even calls it a 'heavenly embassy'.

After another horrible week and having his previously safe space violated by several different times and beings, Crowley is back to where he was before—without a home. That fragile existence broke apart, so he is standing in the heap of shards and telling Aziraphale 'I don’t feel safe here anymore, let’s leave’.

He lost his safe space, but he still has his safe person, his best and only friend, the person he loves. I doubt he cares where exactly they go as long as they’re together and it’s safe.

Returning to heaven—it is the one place Crowley cannot follow him to. It’s literally the worst option, he can’t go back, he won’t go back. So he invokes the bookshop again, if you don’t want to stay for me, stay for the bookshop, your books, your corner of existence that I thought we had carved out for ourselves.

There is a common error that people make regarding the timeline, which is assuming that during this conversation they are already aware of the impending apocalypse—but they aren't. Aziraphale himself has no clue, and while Crowley saw the conversation and trial, he does NOT know when it will happen. For all he knows, it could be tomorrow, could be in a thousand years, and, even if he had been given a date, I doubt they laid out all the details and how to stop it.

Considering that his original plan was "get drunk at the Ritz and then have us time," I don't think he knew literally anything about how or when to stop it. So no, Crowley does NOT suggest running away from earth and leaving it to die.

All he wants is some bloody peace and quiet where no demons, angels, or power-hungry floating heads can interrupt them. A space that is safe and theirs. There are also zero mentions of where he wants them to go; he is not talking about the stars or the universe. He wants to get away from where they currently are because heaven and hell show up uninvited whenever they please.

If your boss and ex-boss constantly kicked down your front door and stated their wish to torture you, would you stay there or would you move? Yeah.

This post got very long, but it was long overdue.

I am tired of seeing people call Crowley a callous coward who always runs away from his problems when he is the literal opposite. You take three sentences said under exceptional circumstances and apply them to Crowley as a whole, when it is nothing but his last ditch effort to keep himself and Aziraphale safe.

One last thing: If you come onto my post and start aggressively arguing about this, I will block you. Genuine discussions and questions are always welcome, being a dick is not, and I also simply cannot handle some of the rhetoric people in this fandom perpetuate because it's very triggering.

Make your own post, don't do it on mine.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #crowley meta #aziraphale meta #crowley deserves better treatment from this fandom #and people that actually remember canon and don't take some fanfic version of him they have created during the hiatus #so many straight up factually incorrect takes #i dont know if i will make it until season 3 guys

[hauntedselves]

I'm a bit confused about Apparently Normal Parts in BPD? I'm doing research to better understand my disorder and have got most of it down, but I haven't been able to understand ANPs yet. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about them? Thank you!!!

there's only one ANP in BPD, the part of you that is disconnected, numb, and avoidant of trauma.

This page from did-research has some more info:

"[In BPD] the ANP might contain comparatively little due to avoidance of the numerous EP and so struggle with feelings of chronic emptiness, loneliness, and boredom and with identity confusion and a need for others to help them know who to be."

ANPs are also called "going on with normal life" parts, if that helps you conceptualise it better.

Here are some pictures that might help (the purple one is from did-research & the flowchart is from Janina Fisher’s Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors, i don't remember where i got the others from but if I remember I'll edit this):

#i think the flowchart one was from janina fisher? #dogasks #anp and ep #structural dissociation #theory of structural dissociation #secondary structural dissociation #bpd parts #no bold #undescribed

[gojhoes]

Flesh Wound

summary: Yuta shows up to his new school with a single goal in mind: stay under the radar. Only he lands in the direct path of the school's outcast- you, with your hemp cigarettes and permanent scowl. An unlikely friendship, dark pasts, and sweet nothings.

warnings: mature topics, TRIGGER WARNING: dissociation, description of self-harm, suicide pairings : yuta x fem!reader (as teenagers and adults) contents: slow burn, hurt/comfort, time jumps, no curse au, not canon, reader has piercings/tattoos/dyed hair (mentioned), aged-up in next part wc: ~7k

“You’re in my seat.”

So much for laying low, Yuta thinks, which he has been successful in accomplishing up until this moment. He raises his head to see your steely gaze threatening to tear him to pieces and his mouth goes dry. He's too startled to get a proper look at you, but he immediately notices your septum piercing and the dark kohl lining your eyes.

“Oh, sorry!” he says lamely. He scrambles clumsily to his feet and resultantly knocks his binder to the floor. You're staring daggers at him as you lower yourself into your unassigned-assigned seat, and he bends to retrieve the fallen binder with shaking hands.

The desks in the classroom are arranged in pairs, most of which were already filled by a body or a backpack when Yuta walked in several minutes ago. Upon a quick survey, he sees that the only remaining option is the desk to your left, and something tells him there's a reason why it otherwise sits empty. He smiles at you nervously in hopes to dull the tension, but you've already looked away to pull a pair of headphones and a book from your dark green tote bag.

It's his third attempt at his first day of upper secondary school, and Yuta has already decided that there will not be a fourth. In his head, he'll joke that three schools in six months is probably some kind of record, but the reality is that it's embarrassing. His introversion and awkward nature already make socializing difficult for him, so his new plan to avoid it altogether. The two vices have only increased in intensity since leaving primary school, but he's grown accustomed to being alone.

It's normal to him, to lay awake into the early hours of the morning as the knife of loneliness cuts through him and twists savagely. It's normal, he thinks, to daydream about having tons of friends who sling their arms around his shoulders at parties as they hand him a red cup made of plastic. Everyone eats their lunch by themselves outside on the sidewalk...every day. Even if he is aware of the truth deep down, it's much easier to cloud his conscious mind and live as though he's not really there. As though he is an observer of his own body, watching the movie that is his life from above.

But you looked right at him and ripped him from that daydream he so desperately clings to without awareness. Before he can put his head down and lull himself back to safety, the tardy bell rings, and the cacophony of students' conversations quiets as the teacher commences roll call.

Yuta is painfully aware of when she goes straight from Ogawa to Ryu, skipping right over his own last name. His pulse jumps- he knows what's coming, and regardless of how many schools he's been in and out of, he always hates this part. No one really cares to know him, but he obliges to limit the awkwardness and speed up the exchange.

"Please welcome your newest classmate," the teacher says, gesturing toward him with a smile. "Yuta Okkotsu, stand up, please."

But he's already standing, so he waves awkwardly as every head in the classroom turns in his direction. Except for you, whose eyes remain trained directly on the book in your hands, and Yuta swears he hears you tsk under your breath. "Please call me Yuta."

There is a unified murmur of empty welcomes and the teacher allows him to retake his seat. Yuta eyes dart around the room, doing everything he can to avoid pissing you off further. He catches sight of the perfectly painted black polish on your nails and pauses at a nasty looking scar stretching across your knuckles. Otherwise perfect hands marred by silvery tissue knitted over bone. You catch him trying to read the title printed on the cover of your book and you scowl, placing your tote on top of the table to block his view.

Yuta sighs as he opens his binder. He wonders briefly if the next six months will be like this, every day spent a few inches away from someone who despises him. It's not his fault if there aren't any other open desks, but somehow guilt riddles him anyway.

The next several hours pass without incident, and Yuta is shocked to see that you've done nothing but read for the entire class. The teacher seems to ignore you largely, even skipping over you when she goes around the room with handouts. You've said nothing more to him, so Yuta adopts the attitude that everyone else seemingly exhibits toward you.

There's a tap on his shoulder, startling him, and Yuta flinches as he turns around to glimpse the assailant.

"Sorry," says a boy with pinkish dyed hair. "Do you have a pencil I can borrow?"

Yuta waits for the jests and laughter to follow, but it doesn't come. The boy holds his stare until Yuta realizes he isn't being cheeky, and stutters out a reply. "Yeah, hold on."

It's already a few minutes before lunch and this guy is just now asking for a pencil?, Yuta thinks to himself. But he doesn't voice the thought, only twisting to hold out the utensil as the boy smiles. "Thanks, uh..Yuki?"

"Yuta," he corrects gently. The boy laughs nervously as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Right, sorry. I'm Yuji, just so you know. Thanks for the pencil."

Yuta nods, but as he turns around he struggles not to cringe visibly. Everything about the exchange makes him want to crawl into a hole and die. He curses himself for the ineptitude of his social skills as the teacher wraps up the rest of her lesson.

The second that everyone is dismissed for their lunch break, you're on your feet and tearing out of the room without a word. You are distractingly strange, from the piercing in your nose to the odd scar painting your hand. As he pulls last night's leftovers of kimchi stir-fry from his bag, Yuta's wondering where you've gone in such a desperate hurry. He doesn't notice Yuji standing beside him until the other boy drops something on his desk unceremoniously.

"Here," Yuji says cheerfully. "For giving me your pencil."

Yuta pauses to take in the packaged sweet bun that now graciously sits before him. He looks up at his classmate as though the kid is God himself.

Yuji gestures at the seat beside him. "She's scary, right?" he says. "I'm surprised she let you sit with her."

Yuta lets out a breathy nervous laugh. "Yeah, I don't think she likes me very much."

Yuji's leans in, straight-faced as he holds eye intense contact with Yuta. "Nah, she doesn't talk, like, ever. Ever ever."

There is an uncomfortable pause until Yuji suddenly pulls back and smiles. "You seem like a cool guy, so don't let someone like her get your mind twisted. Where are you from?"

Yuta decides he likes this Yuji kid very quickly. Since the seat next to him is yours, Yuji stays upright to chat while Yuta picks at his lunch. Before he knows it, Yuta has spent the entire break period talking (mostly listening), until the bell rings and snaps him out of the conversation. His heart is pounding, but he can't deny that it was a nice chat.

You, on the other hand, slide back into your seat two seconds before the tardy bell goes off. He considers asking you where you went, but his thoughts get interrupted when he sees you pull a pen and an actual notebook out of your bag. The lesson after lunch is biology, which is one that Yuta doesn't care much about, but you seem to be perking right up as you date a blank page.

The end of the day arrives at last, but the teacher has apparently decided that the torture of an eight-hour span of learning is not enough. Before dismissing the class, she announces a quarter-long group project that "is to be completed with your tablemate".

Yuta feels like he's been dipped in acid the way his body tenses uncomfortably. Anxiety deprives his mind of words, but fuck, he has to ask you because it's worth 30% percent of his final grade. And he's trying to be a better student, a better person, blah blah blah. So he follows you as you sprint out the door, unwilling to back down.

He opens his mouth to call out your name only to realize that he doesn't know it. You had given no introduction, not acknowledging him or anyone else the entire day. In the haze of his desperation, Yuta thrusts his hand out and wraps his hand tightly around your forearm.

You flinch and gasp loudly as you whirl around to face him, eyes wide with panic. Upon realizing it was him, your shock turns to irritation with a nasty scowl. "What?" you snap. "What the fuck, let me go!"

He loosens his grip and drops his arm to by his side, highly aware that you just screamed "let me go" at him in a crowded hallway. However, no one seems to be paying attention to either one of you in their hurry to escape.

"Don't run," he says firmly.

You're gripping where he'd grabbed you with your other hand. "That fucking hurt, you asshole."

He ignores you, even if he does feel a little bad for grabbing you as hard as he did. "We need to figure out our project stuff."

You laugh, sharp and humorless laugh right in his face. "I'm not doing that shit."

It's not often that Yuta gets angry, but he can't help but to feel irritated by your flighty attitude. He had come to this school for a fresh start with a plan to do well and keep to himself. He, of all people, understands the hatred of group projects, but you still have to do them. He wants to argue with you and remind you that it's not just your grade at stake, but he knows that it's useless. You're already halfway down the hall, and he knows that you aren't going to look back. *** Yuta walks into the classroom with a set jaw and squared shoulders. There are exactly two days left until the deadline to submit the first draft of the project. True to your word, you have contributed absolutely nothing and have not offered to help once. And Yuta can't stop putting it off any chance he gets because at heart, he is a procrastinator, and it's complete bullshit that you get to blow it off without consequence.

So, he is on a mission, channeling every ounce of confidence that he's capable of producing. He's crafted his approach very diligently; he's going to demand that you participate in this project. No stuttering, no softness, no taking "no" for an answer. The shred of confidence he's got holds true as you walk through the door with your head already buried in a book.

You're late, as usual, and Yuta finds himself wondering how you haven't been kicked out of the school with your observably poor attendance record. He's come into this expecting to be shot down, or for you to yell at him or maybe slap him with one of your hardcover novels. He does not expect the simple and submissive "okay" that escapes your parted lips.

Yuta blinks at you. "Okay?"

You shrug, closing your book after marking your place with a sticky note. You're looking at him head-on with no trace of evidence that you might be messing with him. "If I say no, you'll probably cry, and I don't want that on my conscience."

A part of him screams that he should argue against such a statement, but the surprise at your cooperation overshadows the usual bite of your disrespect. Yuta relaxes visibly as he launches into phase two of his mission: organizing the project.

He explains, "Well, the first draft is due in two days, so we should work on it as soon as possible," noticing how you frown at the end of his sentence. "What?"

"You haven't even started?" you say dubiously, drawing your brows together.

Yuta's jaw drops. How are you going to turn this around on him when you insisted you weren't going to help in the first place? But as usual, he holds his tongue and replaces the quip with the first words that come to mind. "Well, I- I've been busy and I'm not good at science-"

As is typical of you, you interrupt him mid-sentence once again. "One: you're a terrible partner, and two: how can you be bad at science? Literally all you have to do is read." You sigh sharply and pinch the bridge of your nose. "It seems you really do need my help."

If tolerating your backward insults was what he had to do to get you to help, then so be it. Your jests were something he was growing used to, anyway.

"When should I come over then?" you ask nonchalantly.

A normal teenaged boy would be doing somersaults at the prospect of having a girl ask to go to his house, but Yuta can only feel his anxiety soar as he grimaces. Every millisecond seems to last a full minute as he tries to think of answer. He hadn't thought about the fact that he was going to have to see you outside of school.

You can't come to his house, not with the state of it right now. Yuta would rather die than you lay eyes on his place. The lamest excuse tumbles out of his mouth. "Oh, my mom doesn't let me have-"

"God, fine," you groan, rolling your eyes. "You can just come to my house after school, I guess."

Yuta blanches. "Today?"

You glare at him, and he raises his hands defensively.

"You said "as soon as possible"," you spit matter-of-factly.

"No, no, it's fine," he says quickly. "Thank you."

He's never been to a girl's house before under any circumstances. He's nervous, no- he's terrified to be alone with you.

"Don't think this means I like you," you say as you jab your finger at him.

Yuta shakes his head insistently as if to prove just how much he understands. *** The rest of the day drags on, and by the time the dismissal bell rings, Yuta's nails are nothing but bitten-down stumps. He is so nervous that he's sure there will be sweat stains when he takes his uniform off later. He has a mental image of a bedroom with black-painted walls and a spiked coffin in place of a bed.

The walk to your house is short and painfully quiet. You move surprisingly fast, as though as you can't stand to slow down in fear of wasting time. And he's disappointed by the quaint house that you approach with your keys in hand. He'd half-expected a vampire's den, but the place is nothing of the sort. There's a lawn statue designed to look like a cat sitting by the front door. There are several large pothos plants hanging from the spandrels, lush and bright green- clearly well taken care of.

"My mom gets home at 8:30, so we have a few hours," you say as you turn to unlock the front door. "Want a snack or anything?"

The offer is kind and so uncharacteristic of you that it takes him aback slightly. He declines, silently trailing behind as you lead him into the kitchen.

Something soft brushes at his ankles and he glances down to see an orange cat head-butting him. Yuta smiles and bends to rub its ears as it purrs against his hand.

"That's Momo," you say. "She's super friendly." The cat rushes to your side when you say its name and you scoop it up easily with one hand. You're not smiling, but there is a softening of your gaze as you scratch behind Momo's ears, who has their eyes closed purring contentedly.

"Want to give her a treat?" you ask. "She'll love you forever."

Yuta grins. "Hit me." And you're handing him a blue tube with pinkish gel creeping out the open end. Momo goes ballistic, springing out of your arms and racing over to Yuta's ankles once again. He bends down to give it to her, laughing at the zeal with which she devours the treat.

He glances up to see you smiling a little, and it's shocking. "Churu's her favorite."

"I can tell."

You snort. "Let's go up."

Yuta follows with Momo on his heels as you ascend to the upper level. The anxiety has really settled in as he realizes he's about to be alone with a girl in her room.

He sheds the backpack hanging from his shoulders and retrieves his binder in search of the incomplete project outline. Your desk is impeccably organized and Yuta notices a pair of succulents on top. The single window in the room sits behind the desk, overlooking the street below.

"You can take the mushroom," you point to an impossibly tiny mushroom-shaped stool in the corner. Yuta doesn't dare risk facing your wrath by declining, so he drags it over to your desk and settles himself down awkwardly.

"So, I was thinking we do a visual," Yuta starts.

You hum, peering over his scarce notes with your brows drawn in concentration. "Sure."

Yuta has spent every day of the last two weeks sitting a couple of inches to your right, but it feels very different doing so in your room. You're still wearing your school clothes, but your hair is clipped back and strands of it fall into your face as you write down ideas. The light here is different, and he sees you from other angles. More than once, he finds his gaze straying to the exposed flesh of your thighs spreading across your desk chair.

It's a lot of back and forth, but eventually the outline looks decent enough that Yuta is satisfied. He's writing out the remaining formulas, feeling burnt out as he tries to recall the specific elements. A quick glance at his phone tells him that it's 8:02PM, meaning you've been at it for nearly three hours.

"Ugh, give me that." You reach to yank the pencil from his grasp, fingers lingering on his as you frown. "Why are you wearing a ring?" you ask.

Yuta glances at the silver band around his finger which has been there so long it may as well have been part of his body. It feels strange for you to be touching his hand, so he drops the pen and lays it flat on top of his thigh.

"It was a gift," he replies with a tone that welcomes no further questions. You're surprised by the hardness of his voice, only nodding as you hold the pencil properly to write. Yuta thinks that perhaps, one day he will tell you, but it's not a story he wishes to recall in any sort of detail. You're quick to change the subject, asking him to read off the measurements so you can fill them in. It seems that you're apt for reading the moods of others, so much so that Yuta sends you his silent appreciation. *** The weekend comes and goes all too quickly, and before he knows it, it's Tuesday again, and up in your room, you're arguing with Yuta about which colors to use in your project.

"Warm colors are not scientific," you insist. "Our project is biology, so it should be green. Life equals green, or whatever."

"Why do you suddenly care so much about the quality of your work?" Yuta shoots back. He's not angry, the argument being more so teasing than real. But he's learned recently that he kind of enjoys seeing you get riled up, so when you first expressed your discontent with his color choice, he decided to hang back and see where the altercation would go.

You sigh sharply and squeeze your eyes shut for a second. When you open them, you reach into your desk drawer and pull out something he can't see, because you've already shoved it into your pocket.

"I need a break," you say. "Let's go."

You're walking out of your bedroom with intention in your every movement. Yuta follows, letting you lead him through the house, then outside behind a garden shed. He's sandwiched between two feet of space between it and the tall wooden fence surrounding your home. You stand just before him, thrusting your hand into your pocket to pull out... a pack of cigarettes?!

"Come on, it's just CBD," you say, rolling your eyes at Yuta's stunned expression. "My mom knows a lady who rolls them by hand."

As if that makes it any better. There's a lighter in your other hand as you slip a cigarette between your lips. Expertly, you hold it over the small flame and take the first drag.

"What does you mom do?" Yuta asks. Neither of you have talked much about your families, but the way you speak about your mom makes him curious.

You exhale, and smoke billows around him. "She's a ballet instructor."

"Oh."

You're puffing on the cigarette as though it's natural to you. He watches the way you drag on it, counts out how long it takes, and he likes the way you blow the smoke out through your teeth. It's captivating, and he feels for a moment that he might be in a movie.

"Oh, sorry," you say, holding it out to him. "Did you want some?"

Yuta slips the cigarette between his index and middle fingers, observing it as he contemplates whether to try it. He raises his eyebrows at you before bringing it to his lips. "You're sure this is CBD?"

You nod. "Scout's honor."

So, he takes a drag, trying to copy your exact motions down to the exhale. He coughs a little, but aside from a smoky flavor on his tongue, there is no noticeable difference.

"Do you like it?"

Yuta shrugs and passes it back. "I don't really feel anything."

You roll your eyes and scoff at him. "You need to have more than one hit, dummy. It's not supposed to feel like much of anything."

He doesn't understand your logic (he rarely does), but he watches as you finish it off, flicking ashes into a small hole dug into the dirt under the shed.

*** "How do you get away with your nose ring?" Yuta asks.

He's sitting at your desk with his hands hovering over his laptop keyboard, halfway facing it while also trying to look at you over on the bed. Summer has come more quickly than anticipated and with it, the project's deadline is fast approaching. It's the weekend, but you called an emergency study session to start working out the fine details of the presentation.

"I get away with a lot," you reply. "My mom works for the school board so I'm basically invincible."

Yuta is pretty sure that he has finally met someone more emo than he is. Despite the leveling out of his relationship with you, you still give the entire school the cold shoulder, and aside from the project, the rest of your work remains untouched. You're reading manga in class now, having replaced your giant hardcovers with smaller volumes. Yuta doesn't know you well enough to know that you only read manga when you're doing poorly.

You take it to a whole other level, though, with all your frowning and the dark clothing. But today is different. You're on the bed lying on your stomach, wearing a blue tank top with your hair pulled back, kicking your feet while propping your chin on curled hands. You're more talkative than usual, and you seem relaxed as a warm breeze musses up your bangs.

"I did them myself," you say after a few moments. "All you need is a sewing needle and some rubbing alcohol."

You can google this, but when some people are depressed, their pain tolerance increases. Some meds can affect it too."

Yuta could only stare. "Right."

You always seemed to know so much about medicine and the body. Despite the lack of work ethic you exuded, you seemed really into the anatomy chapter in class. Since he'd started spending more time with you, he'd learned that you had a true affinity for science. You liked knowing how things work, how A relates to B so you could understand it better.

"Would you do one for me?" he asks.

You visibly hesitate, but your expression is a concerned one. "Are you sure? It hurts like a motherfucker, Yuta."

He nods. "Yeah, I think I want my left ear. Stop looking at me like that."

Your giggles fill the room, and it's the sweetest sound ever to grace his ears even if it's at his expense. "I'm tougher than I look," he says indignantly, smiling widely.

The work has been abandoned. You scramble from atop the covers and quickly murmur your destination before bouncing out of the room. You return a minute later with a sewing box, a red wash rag, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"Come to the bed," you instruct him. He does, accidentally disturbing a napping Momo when he lowers himself down. You set the sewing box and rag down on the desk right on top of the script the two of you'd been half-assing for the last hour. He watches as you soak a bit of the rag with rubbing alcohol and turn around to face him.

There will be blood," you say seriously.. "Red so it doesn't stain, or my mom will bitch at me."

Yuta leans back on his palms as you stand to his side and reach up to hold his earlobe so you can disinfect it. The scent of the alcohol burns his nose a little, but part of him likes it. You hold him by the chin with one hand and rub small circles over his earlobe with the other. He watches you as you work and realizes that he likes seeing you in your element. Your brows are drawn in concentration, but your hands are steady.

You pull back, dropping your hand from his chin and your eyes meet his. "You ready?"

Yuta nods, trusting you fully not to hurt him more than necessary. You turn to reveal a sewing needle and the red rag from before. You place the rag in his hand before moving to situate yourself in front of him. He's waiting for you to go for the same position, but you're hesitating, biting your lip and you pinch the needle between two fingers.

"Uh, sorry," you say, and he thinks it's the first time he's even seen you act even a little flustered. You stand just to his left side, the outside of your knee brushing against his ribs and you're holding his chin again. Yuta's heart rate jumps at the contact.

"Want me to count?"

He shakes his head and squeezes a squishmallow in his fist. And then you're putting the needle in and he sucks in a breath. He makes a mental note to apologize to the plushie later because right now he's damn near destroying it.

"You feel okay?" you ask. Your voice is serious, concerned yet steady.

It stings, it burns, a fucking needle just went through his flesh, but the pain seems somehow faraway now. Your face is just a few inches away from his, and you're so close that he can smell the traces of hemp cigarettes on your breath. He is aware that blood soaking the wash rag you're holding against his neck, but he's too lost in your gaze to care as he answers breathlessly, "hardly felt it."

Your half-lidded eyes flick down to his lips. His heart hammers against his chest and he can see your pulse jumping on your neck. And he's reaching for you, acting more on instinct than rational thought. He thinks of sliding his thumb across the expanse of your jawline, of tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Blood roars in his ears and he lets his eyes flutter closed as you lean in, and his nose just barely brushes yours-

Then your phone is ringing, shrill and annoyingly intrusive, and you jump backward as you both flinch. Yuta feels hot, his shirt suddenly too thick and the room suddenly too small. He takes over holding the rag as you answer the call, getting up to go into the hallway.

Yuta's mind is reeling. He'd almost just kissed you...WHY DIDN'T HE JUST DO IT? He's cursing himself, cursing the cowardice that seems to be his default setting. What would've happened if your stupid phone hadn't started ringing?

And his thoughts are cut off when you burst back into the room and start cleaning up the papers strewn about your desk. Yuta notices the frown marring your face, any trace of your excitement having disappeared.

"My mom's gonna be home in like five minutes, so you gotta go," you say quickly. "Like now. Or she's gonna ground me."

"What about my ear?" he asks, rising to his feet. It's so painful and he's wondering how in the fuck you truly tolerated doing this to yourself.

You groan. "Yuta, I'm sorry, but you have to go. I'll text you what to do with your ear later."

And so he gathers his things, bids Momo farewell, and walks himself home with a bloody rag and a confused spirit.

Nothing like that happens again. You don't bring it up, and he takes it as a message to do the same. Even still, his mind will wander to the feeling of the tip of your nose touching his, and he often wonders if he'll ever get the chance to touch you again. *** A few weeks later, the project is nearing completion, and Yuta can't deny that the final draft is coming together well. He has spent every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon at your house while Momo oversees production and the two of you share snacks. He's learned that you prefer fruity flavors over milky ones and that you can devour an entire bag of seaweed snacks in ten minutes. It amuses him deeply, especially in comparison to the darkness you exude on a normal basis.

He's also learned that you love cats, and you sleep with three squishmallows every night. You have a green thumb when it comes to houseplants, and you paint every pot yourself. So, Monday night he asks his mother to get an extra bag of seaweed snacks so he can bring it to you the next day as a surprise.

But when Yuta arrives to the classroom that morning, you're not sitting in your unassigned-assigned seat. You beat him there almost every day now that he's doing library duty with Yuji, so he shrugs it off until it's well past roll call and you're still not there. At the next break, he shoots a text asking where you are, feeling awfully lonely without the usual annoyed glares sent from his left side.

Lunch comes and he's anxious when he looks at his phone to see there's been no reply. His thumbs hover over the screen as he debates whether to send another text, knowing it will annoy you, but his curiosity threatens to win the battle. Yuta glances up to see Yuji holding out a small handful of multicolored rock candy.

"I hate these," Yuji says, making a face. "You want it?"

Yuta blinks at him. “Uh, no, thank you.”

The other boy groans before tossing them right into his backpack, surely now gone forever. Yuta cringes a little, suddenly wondering what other…treasures might linger at the bottom of Yuji’s bag. But then his phone is buzzing in his hands and Yuta’s heart rate jumps thirtyfold. And it’s you (you’re alive!), and the excitement he gets from the three words you’ve sent is embarrassing, but he doesn’t care.

>the doctor >why

<you missed a quiz.

>idc

A smile tugs at Yuta's lips. Of course you don't. His fingers fly over the keypad as he types out the question that's been burning in his mind all day.

<am I still good to come over?

And you're quick to reply, making him wonder what was taking you so long before.

>u might get there before me but there's a key under the cat statue

Yuta is triumphant throughout the rest of the day. It's around 4:15 by the time he makes it to your front door, buzzing from how excited he is to deliver the bag of seaweed snacks. He glances around the porch, searching for the statue that looks like Momo to retrieve the alleged spare key.

The door is unlocked, so he concludes that you are home after all. He quickly returns to the key to its holder and closes the door behind him. It's dark inside, all the curtains drawn and the lights shut off. Momo is not there to greet him, and you are nowhere to be found. Yuta calls out your name in question.

There's a trilling sound as Momo descends the stairs and pads over to him, weaving in and out from between his shins. Yuta bends to give her some pets, but she darts away toward the stairs once more. She looks back at him before running up, tail flicking back and forth as she meows, and then it clicks.

"Oh!" he says. "Lead the way, ma'am, by all means."

So he follows, and as he reaches the top of the stairs he hears the sound of running water.

It's deja vu. He's seen this film before and is currently living in the end credits waiting for another scene that will never come. Is this the sequel? The parallels are so uncannily similar that it has to be a joke. It's a prank- it has to be. Your name tears from his mouth as he tries the doorknob knowing that it will be locked. And as predicted, it doesn't budge, so he knocks once, twice, three times, but there's no answer.

"Yuta, stop!" you say from the other side. Even from those two words, he can hear the distress in your voice. He feels desperate, shaky, and he knows he has to get you to open the door before you do something stupid. The words tear from his lungs,

"I will break this fucking door down if you don't open it right now!"

The water stops running. The only sound is Momo scratching at the door, trying just as desperately to get you to stop.

And it's you, and the sight makes his blood run cold. There are so many horizontal marks on your arms, and there's blood seeping from each one. Yuta is acting purely on instinct as he surges toward you.

He grips your forearms uncaring of the blood that's going to stain his skin. You're hyperventilating, hot salty tears streaming down your face as Yuta tries to get you to look at him. You're rasping something shakily over and over, and he's trying to get you to speak up so he can hear properly.

"Talk to me," he says gently. "It's okay."

He reaches to grab the washcloth hanging by the sink to press them to your cuts, but before the fabric makes contact, you burst into tears once more and shake your head frantically.

"No!" you cry. "Get the red ones from under the sink."

And it clicks for him then. This was not an isolated event, evident by the tall stack of red washrags and how you'd been so dead set on using one when you pierced his ear. You rarely wore short sleeves even when it had been so hot lately. He remembers grabbing you in the hallway at school and how you'd clutched at your arm then.

He holds one rag to each of your arms and instructs you to keep them there. On the bathroom counter is an assortment of pill bottles, each of which had your name printed on them with your date of birth. Drugs like fluoxetine, alprazolam, and lithium, all of which are ones he's been on himself over the years. A certain numbness flows through him as he detaches himself from the situation.

How close of a call was it? How long had you been planning? What triggered you? When? You've left him speechless, completely stupefied because of course, he should've seen the signs.

"Unlock your phone for me," he says calmly, handing the device to you. You comply. He scrolls through your contacts until he finds your mother's and instantly he taps the call button.

"Hello?"

It's a woman's voice, an unfamiliar one. Yuta keeps it brief, not wanting to upset you further by going into detail and acting like you aren't in the room.

"Yes, I'm staying with her until you get here. We're in the upstairs bathroom."

Yuta does not raise his voice. He does not scream, does not yell. He only regards you with sadness in his eyes as his fingers wrap around yours clutching the bottle.

"Yuta, why?" you wail.

It breaks his heart. It shatters his soul in a way that he knows is going to affect him longer after this moment, but he has to do it. Yuta tilts his wrist and lets the pills fall into the toilet until the rattling stops and the bottle is empty. There are tears streaming down your face and your eyes are wide with something that chills his blood as he glimpses you.

"I can't let you," Yuta says in a calm voice. His throat feels tight, like he might scream or burst into tears any moment, but he wills himself to remain composed for your sake. He cannot break when you need him so dearly.

You're sobbing as the words tumble from your mouth while you sink to your knees. "You don't understand..."

And Yuta's kneeling before you, resting both of his hands on either of your shoulders to pull you into him. You let him wrap his arms around your shaking body and he lets you weep. It's uncontrollable, it's animalistic, it's desperate and the sadness infects Yuta's heart. 17 years of pain, trauma, and too-heavy crosses fill his ears and poison his soul.

The two of you stay like that until your mother arrives several minutes later. Yuta hears the garage door open through the bathroom floor. You're still clinging to him, your sobs having turned into soft yet consistent cries and sniffles. He hears the jingle of keys and a set of footsteps that fly up the staircase until a woman stands in the way of the bathroom door.

You look like her, Yuta thinks. Your mother's tired eyes meet his and she thanks him. Yuta gently guides you to sit on the edge of the bathtub, feeling awkward to touch you so intimately in front of your mother. Your face is a mess, red and puffy with an empty expression that squeezes painfully at Yuta's heart.

"Yuta..." you say, gazing at his face sadly.

He knows it's his cue to leave, but his feet are rooted in place beneath the weight of your presence. He doesn't want to leave you. He thinks of the cries that ripped from your throat just moments ago, knowing that he will hear them in his dreams now. But it's not his place to rescue you. You'd said so yourself- you're not his girlfriend. So he squeezes your arm, keeping his eyes downcast, before rising to his feet and ducking out of the bathroom door.

Walking home is torture and sleep does not come that night. Nor the following, because his mind is devoted to replaying. And he goes to school that Monday half-awake and swaying as he stands in the breakfast line with Yuji. He sees your tear-stained face and empty eyes, the despair riddling your voice.

And he's heard nothing from you. No one at school asks about you, not even the teachers who see the empty seat that no one will take because it's yours. They see the dark circles painting his undereye, yet there is no mention of your name. He is so clearly on the edge of falling apart, but the world moves on around him despite claiming to care.

One week after that Monday, Yuta goes to the records clerk in the administration building during his lunch period. He asks for your emergency contact by name after briefly explaining your episode. The clerk agrees to give him your mother's phone number after insisting that he's your cousin. And those digits are gold to him, more precious than any gemstone money can buy.

"She's been admitted to a psychiatric facility," your mother explains. "We've pulled her out of school for now. Just want to give her time to get better, you know?"

All Yuta can see is you dressed in a hoodie with no strings and pants with no zippers as you trudge silently through hospital hallways. Your face devoid of all emotion, numb to the world as you recover from your dance with death.

Your mother said it's what you wanted, so Yuta had no choice but to let it go. So that following Monday, he goes to school. Not one person mentioned your name in passing, nor did they ask him about you.

But days turn into weeks, and months into years, and Yuta never saw you. Texts go ignored and every social media account you'd had was deleted. Selfishly, he feels that you've abandoned him, as desperately as he tries not to blame you in any way.

He walks by your house one afternoon to see a moving truck parked in the driveway as strangers, not you or Momo, march in and out of the front door. The cat statue on your porch isn't there, and Yuta's heart sinks to the ground. You're gone.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #yuta x you #no curse au #jjk yuta #hurt/comfort #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta #jjk yuuta #yuuta x you

[missmastectomy]

I’m honestly really saddened by the trans movement. There’s so much that I could write a whole book, but what really makes me sad is how hard people are running away from reality. I was talking to this “butch trans woman” and they were arguing with me about how it’s transphobic to assume someone’s sex by looking at them, that you can’t always tell.

Yes, you can’t always tell someone’s sex by looking, but in 95% of cases it is very clear. I legit think a lot of them don’t get that masculine women being misgendered is the direct result of harmful stereotypes, that short hair + boy clothes = man. Even then, a lot of masculine women have no problem being seen as what they are: women!

A trans person on HRT being gendered as the other sex is being gendered as such because of their artificially induced secondary sex characteristics. If anything it reinforces that gender as a social construct is inherent to sexual characteristics. Nobody views a non-passing trans person as the gender they want to be, but well intentioned allies will lie to you about it.

You can’t remove gender from sex. And even if a trans person passes, that doesn’t mean they are the sex they ID as. It means they are hormonally or surgically altered. Like I was never male even though I passed, and even then I was still affected by misogyny because of my sex. You cannot escape the sex you were born as and dissociating from it in such an extreme way is what’s going to hurt you in the long run.

#detrans #transition #radical feminists do touch #radical feminist safe #gender critical

[moonlightsapphic]

I just want to announce that I think this is the sexiest moment in S1. The music, the lighting, the choreography and framing. The sudden, sharp eye contact. The entire football field scene is perhaps the most gorgeous part of the show, but I never fail to get goosebumps every time this particular bit comes around.

The music in the background drowns out Wille and Simon’s dialogue. The words they are saying (“Pull yourself together.” “I don’t want you to be mad.” “Come on.”), while heartfelt, are secondary to what is really happening. The lyrics Let’s start a revolution ring out as Wille swings his hair out of his face—and for a fraction of a second, Wille seems completely sober. There is a sense of profound clarity in his gaze, while Simon meets his eyes in a frenzy of panicked concern.

Simon looks incredulous at his impulsive decision to bike all the way to school in freezing temperatures in the dead of night—all to rescue a boy who had effectively dumped him earlier. He is bewildered and upset by Wille’s physical state, and his state of mind. Simon has every reason to avoid men who engage in substance abuse. Despite his anger and annoyance, something in him intuitively trusts Wille, and in Wille’s abilities to respectfully accept support from him.

Each boy is suddenly discovering the staggering extent of their affection for the other; it feels real now, and the enormity of a potential affair crashes into them.

Wille has been fighting to keep thoughts of the collateral damage of his feelings for Simon at bay for so long, but right now, he looks immune to his anxiety. He has finally admitted to himself that the conventions and traditions that his family and late brother cared deeply about were simply made up. In a world where everything is fake—where he mostly tolerates his life by dissociating—Wille’s feelings for Simon are so tangible that suppressing them have been driving him over the edge. The surety he feels (towards his authentic identity, his wants, his needs) when he is with Simon has grown to become his anchor, the only thing that might keep him sane. With Simon, he feels relief.

They face each other directly across the scene, and we watch closely from behind as an audience peeking in. With their stance and the way they take up space, the music and lyrics egg on a sense of victory. This is a turning point in both their lives, but not because they decide now that they will truly commit to a revolutionary relationship—It’s altogether too soon for that.

This moment is just a simple, beautiful, wondrous realization: I would start a revolution, with you. For you. It would be worth it.

#young royals #wilmon #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #gay #i just love this show so much #i have never seen a scream for revolution that is so quiet and so loud at the same time #lisa ambjörn #bi #lgbt #queer #lgbtq+ #lgbtq pride #unlabeled #young royals s1 #yr s1 #yr season 1 #netflix yr #yr netflix #wille young royals #omar rudberg #edvin ryding #friends best #achillean #mlm #men loving men #elias #young royals clip #omar and edvin #edvin and omar

[saewin]

It's humbling when you think you're nearly there with integrative work... then you go to another country and have to do all the interactions you thought you'd mastered in another language

Like oh

Oh no

Too many variables again

I am a myriad of learnt responses held together with springs, I'd just curated my home environment so the tensile strength was never tested. UNTIL J'ÉTAIS EN FRANCE 🇫🇷 🇫🇷 🇫🇷

I clocked a trigger/lens switch when the toll road ticket (new concept!) didn't work (surprise fear unknown!) and a car was behind (time pressure!) so I had to press the help button and explain (can't see person! And it's tinny audio! And in French!) and this accumulation was in retrospect outside my tolerance and a trigger for the childlike fragment / lens.

We got through fine as it clearly happens a lot but I worked out I was triggered because:

1) When the ticket process failed and I would have rationally known I needed to press the help button (as I was checking where it was as we pulled up and had imagined pressing it on previous toll booth experiences) all that "practice" evaporated and it took me a good ten secs to realise I had to (re)find and press the button myself and a mysterious adult wasn't going to do it for me

2) Soon after the event I described the woman on the other end as "a nice lady" as she felt very much like A Mothering Adult, even though objectively going off her voice she was likely not much older than me. In retrospect with an adult lens in place I'd actually say she was professional and friendly

3) After I spoke she immediately told me not to worry in both French and English, then explained what she was looking up in French in the same tone one does when talking to a child - the child fragment often elicits this soothing and protective parental reaction from people, that's why it developed/didn't mature and one of the surefire ways I identify it's been running the show

4) The stock French I'd been drilling to mitigate stressful situations when I panic ("Désolé pour mon Français, c'est mauvais") evaporated when triggered and again I had to grope around for it, more so than in the usual anxiety situations I did the drilling for - fragments lose or get reduced access to memories they didn't make (rough pseudoscience explanation)

5) Zero perspective - it felt like the worst thing ever and that we were going to cause an incident involving an authority figure, rather than knowing that it likely happens all the time and that's what the help button is there for (child vs adult view)

6) (SH TW this paragraph) within the space of less than a minute despite hanging out a window with a bank card in hand I'd managed to chew/tear a thumb hangnail and draw blood but had no memory of doing it - my typical childlike premptive self punishment from when the trigger is a negative one

Child lens fell out the main slot a minute or two after because of all the work I've been doing to identify these triggered states, but it does cause a shake up and left me tired and refusing to go out to find dinner because that's where the Suprises live (it's cool we had food in). I'll be ready to go again tomorrow, though.

Riding a fine line with this holiday exposure therapy. Think the car breaking down just before we got on the ferry(!!! Eleven hour wait for what turned out to be a jump...) was a good test that I can handle a surprise crisis when my buttons aren't pushed. Just gotta avoid those buttons.

#complex dissociative disorder #cptsd #secondary structural dissociation #schizoid process #trigger warning self harm #TW: self harm #child fragment

[ircn-mvn]

tw: omegaverse (omega!naruto, alpha!shikamaru), canon disability

The War was over. 

Shikamaru had it on good authority that Naruto and Sasuke had made up, and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn the pair had bonded. They were meant to be after all. Or at least, many of their peers thought so.

It was the reason Shikamaru had yet to go looking for Naruto. He wasn’t certain he could handle another heartache so soon. Mourning Shikaku was hard enough. He didn’t have it in him to mourn what could have been. What Naruto and him had shared and what they could have had together.

Thankfully, Tsunade and Kakashi kept him busy. 

Shikamaru managed to avoid facing the truth for a little under 24 hours before Tsunade was summoned to the hospital. The message said Naruto wasn’t doing as well as they had thought. His recovery had slowed significantly.

It made sense if they had locked up his mate right after they bonded.

Still, Shikamaru followed Tsunade to Naruto’s hospital room.

The scent of an omega in distress hit them immediately. Yet Naruto wasn’t acting like one. He was sitting with crossed legs on his bed, listening to whatever Sakura had been telling him with a soft smile on his lips.

He wasn’t hiding in a nest — an instinctual response to trauma. He wasn’t crying or dissociating as Shikamaru had hypothesized.

“Baachan —!” Naruto started. 

However, he promptly interrupted himself as he noticed Shikamaru behind Tsunade. His blue eyes widened, and his face did something complicated, his emotions unclear to Shikamaru.

“Shikamaru,” Naruto said at last.

It was barely a whisper, but it still caught Shikamaru off guard. As did Naruto’s next move. The omega got up from his bed, and the alpha took a step forward on instinct. 

Was he even supposed to be standing? 

Naruto swiftly crossed the distance between them, his exhaustion betrayed by nothing, but a faint blush. Shikamaru briefly thought about pressing his lips to the overheated skin. 

But that was before all his thoughts came to a halt as Naruto put his only arm around him. The omega brought their bodies together, leaving no space whatsoever between them. Naruto’s face found itself pressed against Shikamaru’s neck — his nose rubbing his scent patch — and Shikamaru’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t mated-omega’s behavior. Naruto hadn’t received a thorough education on Secondary Genders — Shikamaru knew as much from their shared childhood — but he couldn’t imagine him disrespecting his mate like this. That and the fact Shikamaru couldn’t smell Sasuke on him at all. 

He also had a pretty good view of Naruto’s neck. His scent patch was missing, but so was any trace of a mating bite. Had Kurama healed it already? Or was Naruto truly unbonded?

Did it matter?

Naruto was in distress and seeking comfort from Shikamaru, and truthfully, it was all that really mattered to him at that moment.

He took off his scent patch, having completely forgotten about Tsunade and Sakura’s presence. 

If he believed Temari, Shikamaru smelled of the forest and something akin to a campfire. Naruto smelled of sunshine, as ridiculous as it might sound. A warm summer breeze, red peppers — the ones used to spice up ramens — and something else he never could put his finger on but was what made Naruto’s scent unique, and the best Shikamaru had ever encountered.

Shikamaru’s arms closed around Naruto and the omega immediately relaxed further against him. His scent was turning from obvious distress to… Was it happiness? In any case, it soothed Shikamaru’s pain. At least partially. 

His head fell to Naruto’s shoulder before he tentatively imitated the omega and brushed his nose against Naruto’s scent gland. The omega jumped slightly before clinging to him even harder. His scent got sweeter. It was intoxicating.

“Well, I suppose I’m not needed after all,” Tsunade said.

Shikamaru tensed but didn’t move. Naruto mumbled something against his neck, his lips brushing Shikamaru’s skin in the process and distracting him from trying to make sense of any of it.

“What was that brat?” Tsunade asked.

“I said I’m fine,” Naruto said. Or more like exclaimed a little too close to Shikamaru’s ear but he still couldn’t bring himself to break their embrace. 

“Hmhm… You know, we would have understood if you had told us you two were pre-bonded, Shikamaru. Kakashi is actually more capable than he likes Iruka-Sensei and you to think.” Tsunade added.

“We are not —” he started. 

There was a slight tremor in Naruto’s hold on his jacket. He needed to choose his next words carefully.

“There hadn’t been any time for anything of the sort,” he said in the end. “Also now the war is over, I was hoping to ask him — you, Naruto — out, on a dat —?”

“Yes!”

They moved just enough to be able to look each other in the eyes. Naruto’s flushed face matched his own.

“But we already went on dates, no?” Naruto asked. He sounded uncertain. “I mean, you invited me to eat every time I got back to the village and I thought… Iruka and Kakashi said you were courting me?”

Iruka and Kakashi, uh? The latest was lucky he was Hokage. 

“I was,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure you were aware of it… or if it was something you wanted.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to date you? You are… you! And you were my first friend!”

“Yeah, and you are you, Naruto,” Shikamaru replied. “Usually, omega bond to alphas who match their strength or are even stronger, I’m not —”

“You are strong!” Naruto protested. “And even if you weren’t, I don’t need protection, I need…”

Shikamaru wished they weren’t having this conversation in front of an audience but here they were. (What a drag, ah.)

“I love you,” he said as Naruto trailed off.

There was a squeaky sound in the background that Shikamaru suspected to be Sakura’s reaction while Naruto didn’t outwardly react at first. However, because he had been paying attention to it previously, Shikamaru noticed the way Naruto’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh,” Naruto said. The brightest of smiles suddenly appeared on his face, his blue eyes watering slightly as they never left Shikamaru’s. “I love you too. A lot.”

And well, maybe all hope wasn’t lost after all.

#shikanaru #naruto x shikamaru #naruto #shikamaru nara #omegaverse #omega naruto #alpha shikamaru

[lovelycureaestetic]

Hello everyone, I'm using this secondary account as a temporary back plan as I wait for Tumblr to wake up and give me back my main: Cureaesthetic.

What happened is that last night (for me around 1am of Jan 17th) I casually opened the app after just a few minutes and the message "something went wrong" popped up. It happens at times so I closed the app and tried again. I did this a few times and since it kept on not loading I decided to log off and back on. "Email or password invalid".

Panic.

I access another account and look up my url. Gone. I search for my name and find some asks from me that people have answered. Click on my blog. "There's nothing here". I acces through my computer "Your blog has been deleted".

12 years. 12 years of my life just gone in the blink of an eye. It broke me. I alternated between spiraling and dissociating. Felt sick to my stomach. I tried filing a ticket using the email associated with that account and got nothing, so this morning I did it again with another email and immediately got a reply saying they got my ticket. This is probably because the email attached to that account also got nuked? Who knows. This is insane they JUST finished talking to me the day prior (Jan 16th) for another issue. I checked and for that whole debacle I got an answer back from a human in four days, so I suspect this time will be the same but the thought of not having Tumblr for four days is simply absurd. It's the only social I use, all my beloved friends and mutuals are here and to not be able to casually open the app to check on them saddens me immensely.

So I decided to use this other account for the time being until I get my other one back.

If you followed me and noticed I was gone, you can stay updated by following me here so you will know when I'll be back on main. If we were mutuals I'll shortly reach out to you and if I don't it's because I'm shit at names SORRY ABOUT THAT. Again this is CUREAESTHETIC the cool and sexy proship blog who made the "proship love zone" banners and many more endeavours. I'll try to tag this with various things.

I just want my home back ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

Edit I'll tag some of my mutuals here just in case

@midorikawawas @dante-redgravee @puppyfan9000 @fishjoshi @semephobic @redcurrantorchard @anisecandy @bl00dalchemist @reaversanctuary @hangfiretales @aralezinspace @zenosmalewife

#cureaesthetic #proship #proship safe #proship please interact #sebaciel #dottoscara #aelumi #kamisatocest #risem #akuroku #hisokura #yaoi #yaoicore