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darklydeliciousdesires · 9 months ago

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Light on the Darkside - Chapter Twenty Eight.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six Twenty Seven

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,724

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

He hadn’t attended the funeral service, but he knew where Carole was buried. She’d been interred in the same plot as her mother, his granny Gladys. He hadn’t really known his grandparents well, his grandpa not at all as a casualty of WWII and his gran passing away when he was just six years old. He felt like he knew her, though, from all Carole had spoken of her.

Arriving at the grave, it felt strange, seeing her name carved there in white marble headstone, sitting down cross legged. “Don’t really know what the fuck to say now I’m here,” he began, picking at the blades of grass before him. “Just knew I had to come, innit, get some shit off my chest. Not that you can hear any of it.”

It wasn’t for the benefit of a woman long dead, though.

“I dunno, mum. Wow, that felt weird, calling you that. You’ve been Carole and nothing else for a long time. Well, a few lesser pleasant names, too. All of which you likely reserved for me at some point as well.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of Benson and Hedges, the first he’d bought in a long time, using his old petrol lighter and lighting one up. He didn’t intend on starting up smoking again regularly, but definitely felt like he needed some on hand, with how life was right at that moment.

“I think I get it, you know, where you were coming from. You were scared to death that whatever you knew was wrong with you - but never acknowledged or spoke about - was what was wrong with me, too. You went about it differently to how I have, and I don’t forgive you for that. When I needed you, you were there, but you still fucking blamed me. Ain’t no forgiveness there, but I forgive you for being scared. I forgive you for not being perfect. No parent ever is, innit. I can see that now, now I’ve had my own kids. Now I have Lyra going through something so shitting similar.

“It’s frightening. Seriously, I ain’t ever been so scared as I was when I saw her there in the bathroom, whether or not her intention was as serious as mine was. Doubt it was, but I know she ain’t right. I think like, trying to be as far removed from how you were ain’t helping. Ella’s right there, not that you’d ever acknowledge that. I wish you hadn’t gone off the way you did, for your sake, because my wife is a fucking top grade woman. Best mother to our girls I could ever ask for, and she would have been good for you, too, in the time you had left. If only you’d let her.

He paused, taking a long drag on his cigarette, picking a flaked piece of leather across the crack in his boot. “It didn’t have to end the way it did, but I forgive you for that, too. Mental illness is tough as shit, and you didn’t know how to handle it, did you? I mean you must’ve been really sick, up in your head, to have it right there in front of you, all evident in the fact you lost your family cos’ of the way you were. It still never fell into place. I wish you would have let someone help you. I wish you would have let me help you, but nah. Just pushed me away, didn’t ya?”

The bitterness of his mother’s rejection, of her cruelty rose up in him then, his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. “I bet you probably hate that Alice adopted us, that to me and Sam, she’s mum now. She earned it, though. She accepted us, with our flaws and everything. Celebrated our triumphs, loved us through our failures, did what a fucking mother is meant to do.” He stopped himself there, realising he was giving way to an anger he was desperately trying to cleanse himself of, the years of bitterness caused because of her.

Taking another cigarette out, he lit it straight off the almost finished one, crushing it out into the grass beside his foot. “Gotta continue finding my peace now as I get my daughter through this, her lack of that exact thing; peace. She needs me to be there for her, and I will be. Probably gonna mess things up a bit along the way, but fuck, that’s being a parent. You can’t get it right all the time, can ya? For everything I’m unsure on, I’ve got Ella, too. Need to go make up with her there, admit I was wrong.

“Even though I say all the time that it don’t bother me, I think it does, you know. Bothers me that she has all this insight that I don’t, and then I end up doing the exact same thing Lyra does, the same thing I tell her, ‘nah, you mum don’t do that’ over and accuse her of analysing or therapizing me. All because I still resent Dr. Beaumont a bit and her methods. What shitting kills me is that Ella ain’t even close to her, innit! She’s just like Michael was when he was still practising!”

He wished he still was, so he could entrust his daughter to him for therapy, but that lovely man truly deserved his retirement. They were still in touch sporadically, mostly over Facebook, liking comments, having little catch up chats, talking about their joint passion of music.

“See, though? Admitted my wrongs there. Wasn’t scary at all.” Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he then snorted softly, a smile curling his lips. “Might have stung me a little bit in my pride, like, but nah. I’m fucking lucky as hell to be married to such a wonderful woman. I know you always hated her, but she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I wish you could have seen that. She never tried to take me away from you, like you said. Fucking right off the mark there, you were. Like when you said me and her were poisoning dad against you. Nah. Fucking laid that poison all by your bloody self.”

Again, he pushed his anger down, realising it was no good to keep on venting that. He was there to cleanse, not stoke a fire that he was trying hard to put out once and for all.

“If I’m really honest, I’m still fucking angry at you, mum. I am, but I gotta put it aside properly, and that means forgiving you for what I can, and I do. Wherever you are, and I don’t fucking know about any of that afterlife bollocks, but I hope you’ve found a bit of peace you were lacking when you were alive, innit. I at least want that for you.”

He sat there in silent reflection of everything he’d unloaded, everything he thought he had dealt with pertaining to Carole in the aftermath of her death, but what he’d experienced rising up sharply over the last forty-eight hours. Parents were not perfect, just like he’d said, he had his flaws as a father as much as she’d had as a mother. How he dealt with them though, it would be worlds apart from her methods, even now while dealing with the toughest challenge to date in being a father.

Finishing his cigarette, he kissed his thumb before pressing it to the marble, standing up and walking back to his truck. The drive home was taken at a sedater speed than usual along the motorway, stopping to collect Freya from nursery when he arrived back in Atherstone and buy a peace offering for Ella in the form of a massive mixed bouquet of flowers, cursing Waitrose under his breath for having the nerve to charge so much. She’d like them, at least. That was all that mattered. He also picked up some snacks for the kids, having his ear bent by the destroyer of worlds over her wishes for the mixed fruit bowl.

“Expensive chaos of the night, you are,” he spoke, kissing her cheek while juggling her and the basket.

“I’m worth all of the pennies!” Yes, she really was.

Once done there, he picked up Zara from school, her and her sister amusing him greatly with their absolute nonsense along the drive home, his girls the tonic he needed after such an emotional unload. It had soothed him, made him feel much lighter to face Carole’s last resting place and unburden himself, but still. His mental balance was obviously a little precarious at that moment, with all that was revolving around his eldest.

When he arrived home, Zara went straight upstairs to change, Freya being set up with her fruit and the jigsaw puzzle she’d demanded from the toy box in the corner. Once she was content and provided with her fruit bowl, he went into the kitchen to find Ella pottering, wiping down surfaces as she nodded along to the old Fatboy Slim album playing. She was likely distracting herself, he thought, from the fact Lyra was sitting in her therapy room right at that moment, receiving her first session with Sadie.

Turning to see him looking at her through the huge pink, white and purple blooms, a sheepish smile on his face, she took the flowers with a kiss. “Thank you, they’re lovely.”

“They come with a massive apology too, innit,” he began, reaching up to grab a vase from the cupboard while she peeled away the cellophane wrap. “I’m sorry I was a dickhead to you. You were right, but I just didn’t wanna hear it. Then I did that predictable bullshit of pushing you away, just like I used to when I couldn’t deal with my head being a mess. I’m sorting it, though. Started doing that when I went out earlier.”

“Oh?” she asked, grabbing the kitchen scissors and beginning to trim down a few of the flower stems. “How so? Before you tell me, though, I’m sorry as well. I know how I can get; I leave my therapist hat on sometimes and I don’t mean to, but I understand how it comes across.”

He was glad she’d acknowledged it, but he had to let her know that it was okay for her to have done so, in what her doing such had led to. “Nah, babe. In this instance, you were fucking right to. With both me and Lyra. As for what I did, I went to the cemetery. To Carole’s grave.”

Turning to him, she placed the scissors down, taking the vase full of water he handed to her and setting it down on the side. “Oh, oh... wow. I think that was the very last place I expected you to end up.”

“Yeah,” he laughed softly. “Me too until this morning and found myself driving up to the cemetery. I needed it though, darlin’. Had a lot of shit to get off my chest that all got stirred up after Lyra did what she did. I needed to forgive Carole for what I could, and emphasise the things I’d never forgive her for. Felt like a bit of a twat talking to a headstone, but I feel better for it.”

Winding her arms around his waist, she pulled him close, kissing his chest. “I’m glad that you do. I’ve been worried, what this might do to your own mental balance, with it all hitting so close to home for you. Hardly bleedin’ slept last night as it was,” she confided, James resting his chin atop her head, loving hands stroking her back as he cuddled her tightly.

“Yeah, yeah it ain’t great up there in my wonky brain, but I expected that to be fair. Just gotta pull myself together for Lyra, innit. That’s why I did what I did. Thought that was what Michael would probably have advised I do, and in lieu of him actually being able to tell me that, I did it for myself.”

Stroking his chest, she looked up at him fondly. “He gave you all the tools you need to navigate these wobbles since his retirement, though. I’m proud of you for using them. Twenty-three-year-old James would have snorted, curled his lip and given an absolute mouthful of disgust at that. The forty-year-old version is much improved,” she smiled, pulling him into a kiss.

“You two are disgusting!” Zara admonished upon entering the kitchen, James making a further show of it by bending Ella back over his arm and kissing her some more as she giggled against his lips. “Daddy, where’re my snacks?”

“In the bag, kid. Dried mango and those evil rice cakes you like,” he spoke, Zara grabbing the bag, opening it and wafting it in his direction.

“Sour cream and onion! Yum!”

“Get away!” he frowned, his lip curling. “They smell like manky belly button fluff. Top grade nasty.” Anything with a fake onion flavour and James heaved. Ella couldn’t even eat cheese and onion crisps without cleaning her teeth before coming anywhere near him. He left his daughter to her snacks and wife to her flower arranging, heading into his office to finalise a few jobs, finishing up just as Lyra was emerging with Sadie. The fact she flew into his arms in tears wasn’t the best sign.

“Now, Lyra. There’s no need for more tears. I’m very pleased with you, I think we covered quite a lot there in our first session,” the therapist spoke kindly, looking then to James. “She did really well, but as you know yourself it can be very emotionally exhausting.”

“I’m never doing that again!”

Her dad smiled a little thinly. “Thought she might say that.” Telling her to go through to the lounge, he managed to untangle himself from her embrace, leading Sadie through to the kitchen to sit down and discuss it with him and Ella.

“Now, like I said to James, she did very well there, but as with all twelve-year-old girls she does have a penchant for the dramatic, bless her little heart,” she spoke kindly, receiving her requested glass of sparkling water with thanks as Ella handed it over, taking a seat opposite her at the island next to her husband. “I think that little outburst of never wanting to do that again had a lot more to do with yanking at your heartstrings to get her own way rather than any genuine distress.”

James scratched his chin, nodding. “Yeah, she does that a lot. Tries to get round me first. It’s always me she’s clingy with too, when she’s upset or poorly especially.”

“Well, like I said, it can be emotionally exhausting, too. I shan’t discount that. Lyra is at her heart a very stubborn child, though. If she can get out of something she doesn’t want to do, she has no qualms about resorting to whatever she can in order to do that. In saying that, however, she did respond well. A lot better than she will likely make out in aftermath of her first session.

“Now, down to my observations. Quite comfortably, I would say she’s suffering from PMDD. Her fluctuations in mood all track to her menstrual cycle, and they also explain why this has only been happening with her since her periods first began last September. The suicide attempt I do tend to lean towards James’s inclining, that it was a cry for help from a young girl very jumbled up by her emotions and not anything truly relating to any serious wishes to expire.

“Tentatively too – and bearing in mind as psychologists our field does not stretch to prescription of medication – I would say she doesn’t need to be on anything for the time being. That’s something to chat to your GP about, should what I propose not yield beneficial results. I feel that at her age, they are likely to perhaps advise the benefits of the contraceptive pill for treatment as opposed to SSRI medication, but like I say, that’s a future we are not yet at.

“I think therapy would benefit her, as well as more regular exercise as by her own admission she does fall into periods of inertia. Perhaps up her swimming more than every other week, insist she accompany you when you walk the pom frites, too. Love that nickname, by the way,” she smiled, pointing down to where the dogs hovered by the counter.

“I think a gentle approach is honestly all that is needed, but by no means do I want to downplay any of your parental concerns. I’m happy to make time to come and see her here at home, too, as this is where she’s most comfortable. I can pencil you in for sessions on a Friday afternoon going forward, from five thirty until six thirty? I wouldn’t usually, but Ella, you of course get friend privileges.”

“So, for the unenlightened musician who don’t understand this jargon, what is PMDD, exactly?” James asked, catching Otis and hauling him up when he scrambled to jump into his lap.

“PMDD stands for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. It's essentially a type of depression brought about by hormonal fluctuations during the cycle, manifesting in the days prior to a woman’s period arriving. Similar to pre-menstrual stress, but more severe.”

Yep, that definitely tracked, he noted. She was always her worst in the sullen misery or screaming harpy stakes right before that time. It was a weight lifted from them, to have an answer beyond normal teenage moodiness as to why she was acting out and becoming a concern to them, but yet when Sadie left, Lyra didn’t see it as anything positive.

“I don’t want to see her again! You can’t make me!” she shouted, trying to wrap herself around her dad.

“Nope,” he spoke, unwinding her arms. “Lyra, you can’t get around me like that. You’ll be seeing her again next week, no excuses. She told us that you did a lot better than you’d likely let on in there, and it helped everything too because now we know what’s wrong and how to help you manage it.”

“What, that my body is a shit and attacking my brain whenever I get a period? Loads of people get that, it’s PMS! I don’t need a therapist for PM bloody S!”

“No, sweet, it isn’t,” Ella tried, reaching to stroke her hair. “It’s worse than PMS, it’s why you have your periods of feeling bleak and getting snappy. Nobody is downplaying this, and you shouldn’t either just to get out of it, but please, give the therapy a try. It’d be a lot better than the alternatives, which would be to include medication as well.”

“I’ll take a load of pills again if you make me!” she cried, rubbing her eyes on her sweater sleeve. Those words made a shard of discomfort slice sharp against her mum’s chest, but she knew it wasn’t a serious threat. Merely an emotionally manipulative foot stomp.

“You won’t, because as of now all the medicine will be locked away. You don’t have that trust any longer to leave it when you can access it. I don’t think you really mean that anyway, do you?” Ella continued stroking her head, Lyra sniffing, eventually moving to hug her. She was out of luck with James, her first port of call, so now trying with her mum.

“Please, mummy. Don’t make me,” she sobbed, Ella gently rocking her in a tight hug.

“You’ve got no choice, my little love. PMDD can’t go untreated. It’s serious, we need to look after you and you have to meet us halfway and be receptive.” A whine sounded, Lyra burying her face against her neck, Ella smiling in soft entertainment across the table at James. “Sadie’s nice, isn’t she? She said you opened up and talked very well to her, so what’s the issue there?”

Truly, there was no issue. Lyra was, as was her teenage nature and hormonal imbalance, being difficult for the sake of it. Also, as Ella correctly guessed, she was having a little moment of thriving on the attention. It was to be expected.

“Are you coming back out from my neck at any point, baby cakes?” she asked, turning her head to kiss her cheek. More noises of discontent sounded. “You can whine and curl your lip up just like your dad does when he’s pissed off too, but you’re not getting out of therapy. You can shout, foot stomp and be moody as well, but the answer will remain the same.”

Eventually, she emerged, combing her fingers through her hair. “Fine. I’ll see Sadie.”

Ella reached for her cheek, stroking the apple with her thumb. “Good girl, I’m very proud of you.”

Lyra smiled, giving her dad a hug when he told her the same thing before going into the lounge. A few minutes passed, the kid seeming to perk up a little for being with her sisters, her parents hearing her shouting and laughing as Freya decided to use her as a human climbing frame. They stood and watched the scene through the glass panels in the door, both laughing as Lyra pulled up her t-shirt and offered raspberries blown upon the destroyer of world’s tummy.

“Going to get my army on you! And do a black magic!”

“Yeah?” she chuckled, lifting her aloft as she lay back on the sofa. “I’m gonna use you as a tiny human weight. One, and a two, and a three!” she added, raising her sister repeatedly, Freya screaming with joy as their adoring parents watched, their laughter escalating.

Turning to James, Ella flopped against his chest, leaning her full weight on him as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head. “This parenting stuff is hard.”

“Innit?”

“But they’re amazing.”

She had that right. “They are, little.”

“But still, I have all this residual stress whirling around, so I’m going to require that you take me to bed and bang me like a shed door in a hurricane tonight.”

His filthy laugh filled the kitchen. “Done deal, babe.”

Later that night, he kept to his word, too, ensuring they both fell asleep with nothing but contentment abounding.

#original fiction #original stories #original story #smutty fiction #smutty stories #smotty story #romance fiction #romance stories #romance story

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hisui555 · 6 months ago

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Dunno if it's welcomed (inform me and I'll delete if it's not) but tacking onto that :

A "cult" definition can also apply to anything outside religion - political groups (think National Socialism aka Nazis, or what's going on in dictatorial countries currently like North Korea, China, Russia - just to name the most known), family or business groups (the mafia, which overlaps both) or in relationships (toxic partners - more often than not they're found out to have Narcissistic Personality Disorder or any other inflated ego sociopathic disorder), who set themselves as the "Only True and Right Thing" in one's life, cut off the rest, and instill such conspiracy theories, because having a common enemy allows to rally people : "These [insert designated enemy here] are why things are going bad for you, chose me, I can fight against them and provide you what you seek."

Instability and uncertainty are what the people chosing those cults are the most afraid of : the good old unknown of change, of maybe losing something that's important to them (routine, lifestyle, status, having to insert a new parameter in their lives), even if it doesn't affect them directly. Sometimes it's also just a general laziness to take the steps or make efforts (climatosceptics), but in short, they prefer to hand someone else their brains to think for them.

Like OP said above, people like this believe strongly in a "everything that happens to me MUST have a reason to happen to me", because it's easier to put the blame on someone or something else, or thinking it's "retribution" (earned or not : good old "Heaven or Hell" thinking) that makes up the meat and bread of Whackyland's conspiracy theories. Something must be out to get them, or else they have only smokescreens to justify their own infortune (be it general bad luck or changes they don't like).

A common trait is also this kind of "center of the universe" thinking (in their eyes, everything is out to get them, in a malicious way, like laser-guided unjustified bad karma), though it also goes hand in hand with leaving the common sense, brains, and sense of critic into the hands of a structure, person, group, etc, because said structure, person, group is doing the thinking for them, and, guess what, designating the enemy : "These [insert whatever] are the reason you feel unstable, sad, mad, bad, etc."

The whole paradox, naturally, is coming from a behavior-controlling manipulative cult forcing identities on their listeners and projecting what they're doing onto the designated "enemy" to comfort and consolide those people into the idea that the "enemy" is manipulating them, forcing them into identities, and controlling their behaviors. Two birds, one stone.

It's a very tail-biting-snake, egocentric way to want control in one's life but without the burden to make efforts managing said control : someone else does it for them, and they're comfortable with it. Consistency and their own routine is reassuring for them, and as long as said cult provides it, it's all fine, but when something arises that changes said routine and view of the world (newly established human rights and acknowledgement of them, for example), they lose footing and are convinced it's against them (and also never the cult's fault, of course, since the cult, and their way of life, is "in danger").

Anything they see as poking a bit at their sense of comfort, and comfort zone, is classified as a menace targetting them. An "absolute truth" is comfortable, 'cuz you don't have to think about other, way more varied truths. As if math could be solved with a single formula and you just have to apply it (or, should I say, "X is the answer to everything" ?), and if you follow that, you're made for life, without having to put in the effort to think or do much. It doesn't allow for change, it doesn't allow for unpredictability, for what's unsure, uncertain, unknown - yet again.

It's a mental fragility, actually, and a very strong yet paradoxically quite submissive sense of ego and self-preservation guiding those thoughts. Basically, it's a sense of feeling unsafe outside of the boundaries of one's little world, a world they passed control of and decisions on to someone or something else : wanting to watch TV, but letting the program decide instead of making your own. I could even go on with AI on that : you don't need to think, it's already done for you - minimum effort for maximum result, and if it's not to your liking, not your responsibility, it's the AI's fault ! Wonderful win-win situation, ain't it ?

Yeah, that's actually called mental dependency - and that's something conspiracy theories often correlate with : people paradoxically think they're doing independent thinking ("I won't be fooled like the other sheeple") but it's actually just a form of burrowing oneself into one's comfort zone and victim role, cutting ties with the world without truly seeking the right informations - just the first thing in their sense found on the Internet is enough.

Wanting comfort, certainty and safety in one's life is a very natural thing, but convoluting events and reality, thinking oneself as the center of the universe, and above all putting one's brains in someone or something else's hands is very harmful on oneself. Unpredictability and uncertainty don't equal "danger", they just cross at times. Knowledge (something cults ban, curiously) can help make uncertainty enjoyable and turn it into positive discovery, help discern what's potentially harmful from what isn't. Or else it's good old "Fear of the Other/Dark/Unknown" again.

Long story short : being a "comfortable 'victim of the system' " - in a place where you can complain all you want, control your life but without the burden of thinking and, correlating to thinking, responsibility for one's own actions. That "not my fault" thinking : conspiracy theorists are all about self-satisfaction and self-congratulation, and cults often encourage and drastically enhance that "snitch on the ones not like us to preserve yourself, leave the decisions to us, do as we say, be a 'good member' and it won't be your fault" mentality.

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

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lunarsilkscreen · 6 months ago

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The Melin Account

After a while; a couple of people decided to sell their accounts for $$. While SSgt Hicks had a Job, he knew, that Melin's account was important. Even though he might've not known why at the time.

I remember posting my age as my "Level" to my deviantArt account. One day; that level was simultaneously too low, and too high.

When that split occured? I dunno.

At one point, I just figured my level was just higher than my age.

A friend of mine blogs about their journey with DiD(Dissociative identity Disorder) I'm making spelling mistakes like when I was younger ... I fixed it tho.

They talked about playing video games and how they'd wake up to find another new character under their account. They knew it was theirs but they couldn't remember making it.

They came up with an elaborate scheme to "talk" with their other characters through in-game means. And when asked why they had multiple characters, and if they just focused on one or two; they could join the end game faster.

Games that allowed them to respec into different classes based on "who" *they* were on any particular day went a long way towards making their in-game experience more enjoyable.

Then they, all of them, buckled down and worked together to focus on a single character to enjoy the end game.

They talk about how it helped them a lot.

Melin was the child who could come out and experience life when SSgt Hicks was at work. Sometimes she'd come out at work; and it would be hard to do work.

In that regard; Melin was closer to a pet cat. Stuck in an apartment with her sisters: Roxie and Georgia. And I, wanted a character that represents myself, Hicks couldn't though, it'd take too long to level; so he'd chose the Male avatars in other games.

And then, those Male characters stopped serving their purpose. As Melin started taking over in game after game.

My roommate at the time... I think served as a pseudo-parental figure to Melin. Where Melin could play and be Melin, with the safe space of a trusted person.

Who, many times, got very annoyed at her penchant for mischief.

"You're like a whole 'nother person sometimes Hicks."

I wanna blame him for encouraging her smoking habit; and I wonder; if I simply "dropped her off" to random people I knew would take care of her... Like my parents sometimes had a penchant for doing.

Just so SSgt Hicks could sleep every now and again.

Which; sorry about that, and thanks.

I eventually created a second Melin Character on the same server. M'elin. Because Hicks needed to be the adult in the group of Raiders; and Melin still wanted to play more.

Some players that I routinely played with picked up on a "change in behavior" during certain times I was playing.

Many of them were used to watching their friend's kids play games on their friends accounts.

I remember applying to join a static raid group and saying something a long the lines of "Better than playing with teens and twenty-somethings"

And the hesitation in their voice like "Yeeee... Is this a joke? Who is *this* sassy child?"

Melin got really made at my mistakes too. She was always a better player than I was.

M'elin eventually took over the Main Melin character again, and didn't have a need to play "on the side". It was a much better arrangement for both of us.

It was around this time I was invited to play Pathfinder with friends, and I decided to let Melin deal with those.

She was terrible at it. But at least I wasn't alone in a group of people who desperately needed their "inner children" to have some freedom.

This is where the character creator inception comes in. Her character; Named Dirk Docks (After Dirk Gently,) a Detective and Alchemist.

For the first time; she was making her own characters, instead of trying to represent herself. Based on the person she used to be.

Er. Me.

I'm fairly certain it's more clear to the reader who can clearly visualize two distinct people. Where; I Am and also Am; and there isn't really a boundary line between the two.

My old Voice, however, isn't the main character anymore, and hasn't been for a long long time. So he, is in the background as Melin takes control.

She cries a lot less now, but she's still a brat.

During COVID... SSgt Hicks no longer had to show up at work. So Melin was able to grow and become a more complete "Person" while He, took a well deserved nap.

Melin may have also prevented him from showing up to a Zoom meeting or two when he really should've gone. (That's his excuse, I did no such thing.)

See, confusion.

She was the star of the show when we changed games. And sometimes SSgt Hicks would come out to play the single-player games on his bucket list.

And she dominated the servers when she was just... Allowed.. to be herself.

That artificial construction of Tommy was no longer necessary, and Melin has been in charge ever since. Every decision she made after that point was legitimately her own; aside from some *conscious* tweaks here and there because she has no filter.

Those decisions that *I* wouldn't have made before, were largely painful and hot-headed.

But I wouldn't make any other decisions if I had to do it over.

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appleberrymotif · 7 months ago

Text

response bc i am not adding dis to the doc(will b adding the ss johnny shared tho as i wasnt given the full context to those)

anyways! please read johnny's post urself here

going over everything johnny says point by point lets start with what he tried was a timeline. his timeline of events isnt very clear so.

johnny keeps defending this ship michael/oscar from the office & getting upset that i call it proship. when it is. it is not a ship with drama. michael sa's oscar directly & has power over him as his boss. this directly falls under being proship which is why i was so pissed off.

here is the clip of oscar's sa too tw since its really uncomfy u can see it for urself YT LINK

i dont have my ss any more bc heh i had to fucking delete my old acc due to this situation but i made abt 4 posts abt johnny + his ex friend, some i ended up deleting ofc but i left most up so johnny could bring them up to me in that gc we had.

johnny give more context to the ss which i wasnt given so i'll add that but these only address the ss from neil or whatever there were more which ig have been deleted ah!!!

i dunno why u really brought up the ask which i showed only bc it had to do with my timeline but anyways i showed them because anytime i have problems with u i start get harassed -

this was sent around that time. that post the reason i brought it up was becus i find it odd that i get told to kms then u make that post then when i brought it up to u in the gc u tried to lie abt what it says but um okay!!

ive accused u of stuff because of whats happened to me being directly because of my issues with u - but given the ss you have shown & the fact i think the timelines match up i can believe now that you directly werent the one who doxxed me.

i have never claimed ur a bad person either, since ur 15 & thats a harmful mindset to have & keeps people from changing.

but trying to fucking say i have victimized myself when buddy i am a victim? then trying to say ive blamed everything on my mental disorders when i only mentioned my npd in my doc when it came to the ableist things being said abt me & to me is fucking wild.

about your friend too since clearly u didnt see the part in my doc where i address this but. i did not do anything like she did & i suggest you re-read it & you tell others to read what i actually say. that specific server is invite only between dms. the server i joined under my alt is public & has no relation to you other than u being in it which i had no knowledge of when i joined - ive explained all of this. in my doc.

also abt that ex friend becuz we had a talk abt it the other day but i didnt have them do that. when i first deleted my acc i had blocked them on discord due to the fact i didnt want anyone who friends with u around me. i saw a post they have since now deleted & sent them an ask to add me on discord & asked them to not answer it as i didnt want u finding my new account.

we talked & i invited them to my server to explain my doxxing n such. i explained i issues with neil & cam on a call becuz i had been doxxed & cannot type well when im upset & becuz my bf had told me they we're involved with ur server so i figured they were in it. when i told the person i had been doxxed & such they told me that you're members had been saying some pretty awful stuff abt me in ur server & thats when they sent me ss. i didnt get them to spy on u nor force them to give me ss. they gave them to me becuz i had been doxxed due to my issues with u johnny -

that is a very clear fact at this point that someone in association to u doxxed me & the same day i put the doc out abt u johnny is the same day i get that strawpage message & suddenly im done being doxxed???

you cannot control ur friends actions n whatnot but u can control who u associate with but if u are still associating with people who u have had to say "hey maybe dont! say aaron should khs or die"

#🫐🍎︴txt ⋆

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goodlucktai · 3 years ago

Note

If you’d like another Rise prompt, maybe something about Donnie’s battleshell? If that’s too vague, maybe its origins, or maybe what Splinter thinks about it?

this is also set in the human splinter au <3

When Donatello was a baby, Yoshi didn’t worry quite as much about his soft shell. He and his brothers were all the same sort of fragile, questionable mutation and its potential effects aside, and Yoshi panicked over each of them an equal amount.

They played hard. They always wanted to climb and run and tumble. Yoshi is inclined to blame the ooze that psychotic goat-man alchemist pumped them full of, because blaming him is neat and comfortable and makes Yoshi feel warm inside.

But Yoshi has also spent a not-insignificant amount of his fortune on parenting books and magazine subscriptions, and according to the experts, children are just tiny crazy people who will run at full-speed into a wall multiple times for no reason.

Which is fine. Yoshi has been a papa for almost four years now and it’s quite possible that he’ll never want to be anything else ever again for as long as he lives. His boys have secured their place in his heart and no amount of broken windows or crayon-scribbled walls or gutted kitchen appliances (???) will change that.

The problem is that Donatello’s shell doesn’t afford him the same protection that his brothers’ do. He’s as fast and strong as the other three, and easily twice as smart, but he’s just not as hardy.

Yoshi has no idea what he would do without his credit card and his talent manager-turned-reluctant-godmother. Between the two of them, he has an answer for everything.

“I don’t want to,” Donatello announces before Yoshi has even opened his mouth.

“You don’t want to go roller-skating?” he says, affecting a tone of complete surprise. It causes Donatello’s chubby face to fold into an epic pout, which is adorable, which makes up for how frustrating he can be when he digs his little heels in about something.

“No, papa, I want to go. But I don’t want to wear that dum-dum thing.”

“Your Auntie Hala is going to cry for days and days when I tell her how much you hate the present she got you,” Yoshi tells him solemnly.

Donatello considers this. Then he says, “Don’t tell her.”

Ah, logic Yoshi can’t actually find fault with. He never would have guessed he’d spend his early thirties losing so many arguments with a turtle toddler.

“You are wise beyond your years,” he says, wondering what it will look like when Donatello is a teenager, and whether or not Yoshi will survive it.

The ‘dum-dum thing’ in question is a modified back brace, meant for children with spinal disorders. Yoshi is pretty sure this qualifies. The reason Donatello hates it so much is the modifications Yoshi made to it; namely, the memory foam cover for his leathery carapace. It’s bulky and it slows him down and he hates falling behind the other three. Lately he’s taken to sitting out of their games because he would rather tinker by himself than wear the brace.

Yoshi is a little worried about that. He hasn’t come up with a way to make everyone happy yet, and he’s losing sleep trying to figure it out.

Leonardo pokes his head through the doorway. “Papa you said we were going,” he whines. “How come we’re not?”

“Negotiations have broken down,” Yoshi says, kneading his forehead with his palm.

“Dunno what that is,” Leonardo declares and visibly puts it out of his mind as not his problem. “Don-don, come on. We’re gonna skate.”

“No,” Donatello declares. His mouth is screwed up, brow furrowed, fully ready to be a little monster about it. “I don’t want to go if I have to wear the dumb fake shell.”

Leonardo tips his head to one side, considering this. It’s no secret to his brothers that Donatello has no fondness for the brace. This usually culminates in one or three of them helping him to escape it, and then hiding it somewhere stupid for Yoshi to find like the world’s worst Easter Egg hunt.

“We’re twins,” Leonardo says with all the unyielding certainty of a schoolteacher discussing matters with an obstinate child. “So we have to share. I’ll wear it, and then Donnie will wear it, and then it’s fair.”

Somehow—Yoshi can’t believe this, but somehow the logic goes to work. Donatello’s expression shifts from mullish to thoughtful. The most stubborn little treasure in Yoshi’s entire life is giving ground.

“It’s fair,” he agrees. He and Leonardo turn their big brown eyes up to Yoshi expectantly.

Honestly, Yoshi can’t believe he’s not going to have to wrestle Donatello into the brace for once in their lives. He’s a little embarrassed his second youngest child thought of this neat little solution before him. It costs him absolutely nothing to agree, and he straps the brace onto Leonardo’s back instead. When they get to the rink, one that Yoshi has unapologetically rented out for the afternoon so his kids can play freely, they’ll switch, and Donatello will wear it while the four of them turn inline skating into a contact sport.

And nearly a decade down the road, when Donatello is building advanced technology the way other kids his age are building blanket forts out of the couch cushions and Yoshi’s best sheets (re: his siblings) and he has long-since traded the brace for an armored shell of his own design, he goes from absolutely refusing to put it on to pretty much never letting anyone see him without it, ever, or else.

Because no son of Yoshi’s would understand the idea of a happy middle ground. It’s all or nothing, go big or go home in this house.

This is when the twin thing continues to save the day.

“Oh Telloooooooo,” Leonardo sing-songs, audible throughout the entire house, “Shell Time!”

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Donatello replies, but it’s a token resistance at best.

And when Yoshi wanders that way to check on things a few minutes later, he’ll find the boys in the garage. Donatello is chattering a-mile-a-minute at Raphael about the computer he’s building, and his older brother is nodding along agreeably even though he clearly isn’t absorbing a single word. Leonardo is sprawled on his plastron, head pillowed on his folded arms, letting Michelangelo go to town with glittery stickers.

Donatello’s soft shell will be covered by nothing but the blanket Raphael tossed over his shoulders, and Leonardo will wear the battle shell just long enough for his twin to relax his spine and sit without pain—because fair is fair.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #lou jitsu #hamato yoshi #hamato donatello #ratdad #disaster twins #my writing #iwillkeepfighting #tmnt fic #prompt #human splinter au

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chopper-witch · 3 years ago

Text

I’m learning people thought they were setting Eddie up to be a villain and I’m lowkey shocked af.

The 80s and 90s was satanic panic era and Eddie is like peak 80s looking dude who would be a target for the satanic panic shit. My whole family spotted it from a mile away. We knew he was gonna be framed for murder or blamed for devil worship or something.

If you don’t know about the satanic panic at all or not a lot and want to learn (like, people were jailed over this shit and lost years of their lives, jobs, etc), here are some suggested reads that are shorter:

The wikipedia page (which is honestly super great)

A brief history of satanic panic in the 1980s

Dunno the title but this is from PBS and its very short

America's Satanic Panic Returns — This Time Through QAnon

Two Decades After McMartin: A Follow-up of 22 Convicted Day Care Employees

The Real Victims of Satanic Ritual Abuse

Michelle Remembers and the Satanic Panic (this is the third part to an okay series about religious minorities being depicted as violent against white women and children in America and the disproportionate reaction that occurs because of that. Part 1 is not great imo but 2 and 3 are stellar.)

HOW ‘SATANIC PANIC’ CAME TO ROIL THE NATION DURING THE 1980S

And some nonsense (and sense) from that era to show you how bonkers it was:

The wikipedia on Michelle Remembers - the book that kicked this all off and includes info on the debunking. Wikipedia is honestly the shit instead of shit at this point.

Satanic ritual abuse: A cause of multiple personality disorder. (Just the abstract - but satanic ritual abuse and all memories of it have been proven factually false in the ways people were describing it at the time. Leading questions were being used by docs and therapists and such)

Satanism, Ritual Abuse, and Multiple Personality Disorder: A Sociohistorical Perspective (again, an abstract primarily)

Sociological Views on the Controversial Issue of Satanic Ritual Abuse: Three Faces of the Devil

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #satanic panic #netflix #writing refs #impressed my mom was never accused of satanism or smth #she…#yeah #lmfao old photos of her #wowza!

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kthynes · 4 years ago

Text

the caller you have reached (chris evans x reader)

pairing: chris evans x fem!reader

summary: chris was trying to drunkenly call the woman he loved and wanted to get back with but instead he reaches you, a shrink.

warning: swearing (sailor level), brief mentions of mental health

**IMPORTANT disclaimer: I won't be dabbling into the hard hitting topics of mental health in this short only because I'm not a certified health professional and so I can't be providing a written, unbiased, often characterized diagnosis towards any sort of mental health disorder because really, those types of sensitivities need proper care and output. With that being said, I do want to emphasize the notions of seeking help and not being afraid to seek help when needed. It's hard, but we all fight a battle and no battle is big or small or better or worse.

If my followers or readers do feel the need to privately chat with me, I'm here and I can you lend you an ear. Otherwise let's be kind and uplift another while we can. No harm in doing good and being better, that's for sure!

-end rant-

This short is dedicated to the following lovelies:

@princess-evans-addict

@mrs-djokovic

@slut-for-chris-evans

@saltyflowermakertaco

@bitchyslut99

@patzammit

@itskikiyooo

@maximeevansblog

Being a working adult is dreadful but the work you do is the most fulfilling kind of anarchy. You are a therapist, you work to heal and you work together with people who willingly reach out to you and your facility of care. There is that balance, the altering nuances in between that allows you to do what you do best. You advocate for good prosperity of mental health and accolade of teachable moments that fosters a safe space for your clients, not patients, but the people who deserve to be heard and not be medically categorized.

Your salubrious passion keeps you grounded. In your lifetime, you've seen the imperial impacts of poor mental health and it has been a detrimental drive in how you retreat and give back to a small found community.

"Okay." You exhale to yourself while leafing through another client chart. You're working off the clock, stuck in the renaissance of your homey office space while the outside world turns pitch black.

In the appropriate fields you jot down important takeaways from your last sit in session with heavy concertation and reasoning, you try to congregate a treatment plan all before you cellphone cries for you in venturous fashion.

"Hello?" You answer without checking the caller ID, tucking the device between your ear and shoulder so that way you could work and talk.

"Jenny!" The man boisterously shouts. "Jenny baby please talk to me! Let me make it up to you, let's just do this right, please. I'm fucked up here."

"I'm sorry but you have the wrong number." You infringe sounding like the posh, automated answering machine lady.

"Oh what the fuck Jenny — oh cah'mon don't do that, don't be like that baby." You re-verify a local number and it doesn't belong to anyone you know of. So you wonder who this man is but choose not to press further instead you tell him what is right from the knowing wrong.

"I'm not Jenny."

"Seriously?" He yells, forcing you to hold the phone away from your ear. "That can't be... This is—" He recites the number that is similar to yours but the last two digits are off.

"You got 42, not 53." It's an easy mistake to recall, a swipe of a drunken thumb could've mixed that up, so this time around, you're forgiving. Not that it happens often.

"Oh no. That's—" The mystery man trails, something about his voice discerns you, it's familiar but in a hindbrain way that you can't put a finger on. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Wait hold on, hold up, is this Jenny's assistant, Nina?" You exhale sharply sometimes it takes more than one try and a side of convincing to get your point across and your passiveness was certainly to blame.

"No I'm not her assistant either."

"Then who the hell are you?" He exasperates. You make the snide mistake of telling him your name and he buffers for a bit.

"Oh. So you really aren't anyone of my concern then?"

"No." You mildly retort. "I wouldn't want to be anyways."

"Okay well I'm not sorry then because I'm here trying to reach my girlfriend and I can't get to her because I have you on the line being a smartass." With that accent of his you can tell he's a patriotic Bostonian. One of your own kind and that furloughs your need to engage in this mindless drivel, it wouldn't get you or him anywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself before shutting him down.

"Well then maybe you should learn to listen first, how about that?" You snap, dropping your pen before you note down angry nonsense into your actual work.

"Hey nowwww!" He yells as if he's trying to be Hank Kinsley.

"It's clear that you're drunk."

He brushes you off on the other end, enigmatic in what he wants you to know. "This is Chris Evans, you're talking to Chris-motherfucking-Evans, you hear?"

"I do now." You say tersely.

"Good." He huffs. "Good... Cause you know I'm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and this is what I get. This is what I seemingly deserve, god you women I swear..."

Your face changes. You don't agree to be a lending ear but somehow Chris forces you to hear him out.

"I told her Y/N. I TOLD her that I wasn't ready to take the next step but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be with her. And now she throws it back in my face by getting with some other guy she once dated back in high school. And somehow, I'm supposed to be ok with it and move on, as she tells me. How the hell am I supposed to do that, huh?"

"I, um, I don't know what to tell you." You sigh somberly.

"Of course you don't!" His Boston twang begins to nerve you as there some remitting frequency of it. Hearing him obnoxiously go off, reminds you of all your shrewd New England exes who were his exact counterpart when soused. A ludicrous memory that you relive again with time and perfect harmony.

"Listen lady all I'm saying is that I fucked up. I know I did alright? I mean it doesn't take much denominational math and the plot of Lost in Translation to get that. I get it!"

Jesus. You whisper the lords name in vain as you lean your forehead against the palm of your hand while your elbow rested on top of the desk.

"So, let me get this straight, you think yelling at a random woman will help get further?" You question a little acutely for his liking.

"I don't know but it sure as hell takes off the heat, sweetheart." Something about a man calling you sweetheart grinds your gears and now your molars.

"Okay, alright, let's talk." You begin, sitting up a bit and tearing out a blank page from your memo pad; you were doing a late night consultation, a small hash out.

"Schuwaaaaa." Chris enunciates the word sure and to much of his mayhem, he’s sprawled out on the curbside, somewhere in the nowhere land of L.A. He contented but also upset and you were simply crashing his little pity party.

"What is it that you want from Jenny?" You professionally prod. "How about we start there."

"Wooooah, what is that we're doing here?” Chris gets mildly defensive with you. “I dunno you like that. If we're gonna talk then you'll have to get through my publicist first because right now I plead the fifth.”

You exhale a deep and fulsome breath. No one troubles you like him. It's sanctimoniously unnerving.

"I'm a shrink, my job isn’t meant to incriminate my clients well-being, or anyone else’s for that matter.” You address calmly. “So, if you do require some solicited advice then we can keep this call under strict confidence. You have my word, Mr. Evans and the paperwork that will follow shortly after this call.”

Silence. There is some shocking silence which is brief before you're catapulted with disbelief and more cackles. "Holy mother fucking shit. You're kidding me?"

"I can run you by my credentials if you’d like?” You mention stiffly.

"God I’ve reached a cuckoo hotline!" Wrong. That's a horrible thing to say and you'd think a man like him would've been more sensitive about his choice of words, inebriated or not.

"Far from it."

"Tell me something, alright? How many grown, adult men come crying to you?" Chris is edging with curiosity even though his eyes are betrayingly reddened after crying into a bottle of Dewars 18. He doesn't make that known to you and you never cared to ask.

"Enough to know that they cry." You simply state.

"Huh. So this is just another Tuesday for you then.” Chris scoff, the bottle making it to his lips and then swishing back down again.

"Comes with the territory except I don't tolerate drunkenness." You motely add. "Can you keep the bottle aside for the time being? Just until we're done here."

"That's understandable and oh yeah sure, sure, I won't touch it." You can hear the glass bottle 'clink' when coming into contact with the pavement.

"Now tell me about Jenny." You softly inquire.

"What do you wanna know? How we fuck or how we met?" Chris giggles like a naughty school yard boy.

"How did you two meet?" You slam the words urgently, nearly spelling out the cause.

"Oh! Oh. We met on the job." Chris chuckles punitively.

"Okay and did you guys connect instantly or was there a slow build up?" You involuntarily took notes for any PR rep of his that wanted solid evidence that would preside this call, cover your bases and your poor ass along with it.

"Instantly. Our chemistry read was off the charts." He explains with a slight hiccup. "Sorry."

"Great. So it was more so a work relationship that later grew into something more correct?"

"Pretty much."

"So when did you start developing feelings for her?"

"Um I'd say..." Chris tucks his chin, burps and then excuses himself before continuing. "Just before we wrapped up filming. But then I think somewhere in between all that I realized that she was my kind of girl, my... better half."

"And what made you come to that realization?"

"Well for one she has this infectious laugh that would have you laughing with her, there's that sound of beauty and pureness to it. And then with that, there were all the little things she'd do for me that made me think, like damn she's the one, she's it for me and that for better or for worse, I'd need her more than she'd ever need me."

Chris gets sad and you feel for him. Your pen stops moving when you were about to prescribe him some mind memory exercises. He was human. Humans hurt. Humans make mistakes. Humans stray but they also love. That's all Chris did. He loved with all of his heart to not expect the same love in return.

"You know Chris, we don't always get the love we deserve and sometimes its sucks. Sometimes you wanna kick it back with a bottle of Dewars 18 and shake your fists in the air." Chris quietly perks up at your choice of alcohol that you didn't know he was forcefully downing. He fashions a small half smile that you don't see but hear faintly. "But there's also a time and a place and things happen, people come apart, people get together, people do people and there's that fine line of letting life run its uneven course."

"I mean you sometimes have to not be okay to be okay again and I know that from my many years of helpful healing. It gets okay, never fully better and I think that's just how it is. You acknowledge your pain, your trauma and then you go on while being mindful of that transition."

"Wow."

"Hey, um, look, I actually have to get going. But if you can, just down the rest of that bottle and get yourself home."

"Are you sure?" Chris gawks.

"I mean you were already halfway through and it's not like I can physically stop you, right? And besides this is what I'm prescribing to you. I want you to acknowledge your pain, drink away your sorrows and then smash that bottle so you can be relieved from that trauma and hurt. After that you need to fix up and start new, have a mature conversation with her, if you can and then have your feet hitting the ground again. Don't fall into the routine of heartbreak even if it becomes too hard, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." You sniff and start to put things away. "I know you're a good guy Chris, from how you are on TV and in interviews, I'm amazed by how articulate you are. You have the right mindset so I have no doubts that you'll fall back in any way. But if you do, please don't hesitate to reach out, I might have to hand you off to another cohort but nonetheless it can be worked out even if it does feel like you might be sparring on your own. You'll get the help you need."

"Great, thanks." Chris responds in his conscious state of thought. He feels pathetic with himself and that doesn't have you galling over the fact, instead you let him be.

"Do you need me to order you an Uber? Cab? Call a friend for ya?" You laugh easily and Chris hears it clearly, smiling in return.

"An Uber would be nice. I'll try to share you my location."

"Sure, on me and that'd be great."

"Thanks."

"No problem... And your ride should be here in two minutes, just look out for Raul in black Elantra." You inform him after checking your phone.

"Nice."

"You have a goodnight now Chris."

"You too." The line cuts and you're given a piece of your life back. You gather your belongings, flip off the light switch and make your way home. There's some truth and some brokenness in every situation. You knew Chris was going to be OK even if he didn't consult you afterwards. For you, there was no need. He's a smart man and he proves this over a prolonged period of time when he finally finds himself back on the market and then eventually in a relationship with a faceless and very loving woman from his own hometown.

He was finally happy, making you serendipitously glad that you were the caller he had reached.

#chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans

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natalieironside · 4 years ago

Text

So this is a topic I've been avoiding weighing in on, both because other people have been doing a fine job articulating positions I 100% agree with and because I generally like to avoid things (more on that later), but I've thought of something to add to the ongoing "Blaming all mental health problems on capitalism as if that fixes them is a bad take" conversation:

The way ableds interpret capitalist alienation leaves a whole lot of us out of the discussion.

I have Avoidant Personality Disorder. In brief & to the point, I prefer to work and play alone and I find social interactions exhausting & deeply uncomfortable; especially awkward social interactions can even be physically painful sometimes, and honey everything about me is awkward. Under capitalism, this sucks shit because the world I have to exist in in order to live a fulfilling life and have access to stuff like "food" and "a place to live" is fundamentally hostile to me and structured in a way that I don't think I'll ever be able to exist in comfortably even with years of behavioral therapy. A more worker-oriented economic paradigm would absolutely be so, so much better for me, but I need you to understand: Having my needs met does not mean that my needs cease to exist.

I'm reminded of an interaction I had here on Tunglr dot hell a few years ago. There was a screenshot of an article about some Minecraft youtuber describing his regular work day: Play video game, edit videos, moderate comments, for a lot of hours with very little human interaction. Ppl were sharing it talking about "What a horrible way to live, capitalist alienation is horrible," and, me being me, I added, "I dunno, y'all, this sounds fuckin dank and if I had my druthers I'd be doing more or less the same thing but with writing instead of video games." That ended with me getting roasted for "not understanding capitalist alienation," which is an interesting thing to say about me, one whole Marxist.

But it's true. I like being a reclusive shut-in weirdo. I thrive as a reclusive shut-in weirdo. A lot of people do. And when I think about what a better, more equitable world could look like, I very much picture a world where I can go about my day and do my silly little tasks while being mercifully left the hell alone.

#avpd

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt: NHS non-fatally qi deviates. How do NMJ and the others take that?

ao3

Untamed

It had always been something of a behind-closed-doors debate – a chicken-and-the-egg problem, what came first, what was the cause and what was the symptom.

Was the Nie sect’s atypical cultivation method the reason behind the notorious Nie temper? Or were they born with the temper, and the cultivation method merely built upon that? Which one was the reason for their clan’s tendency towards early qi deviations?

Nie Huaisang usually threw his money on the “blame the cultivation style”, almost entirely for the sake of pissing off his brother.

He was starting to think, though, that he’d been wrong.

Aituan wasn’t even anywhere nearby, after all, when he started bleeding out of his qiqiao, his qi disordered and violently raging inside of him and still somehow, somehow not enough to assuage the rage in his heart, in his head –

“Nie-xiong! Nie-xiong! Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang turned with a snarl, but Wei Wuxian was already holding up his hands in surrender, Jiang Cheng quickly following suit a second later, and in the end he wasn’t really angry at them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re done,” Jiang Cheng said cautiously. “You’re – you are done, right?”

“I dunno,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “I don’t think Wen Zhuliu is entirely paste yet – there’s still a few bones Nie-xiong hasn’t crushed down into dust…”

“Shut up.”

“I will not.”

The familiar bickering was soothing, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a tough day – like arguing with his brother about silly things, scoring a clever point and getting one of his brother’s rare smiles. Nie Huaisang felt his shoulders relax a little, and he lowered the stick –

“Why am I holding a stick?” he asked blankly, looking down at it. He didn’t remember picking it up at any point. “And why is it…uh…”

“Covered in the blood and guts and possibly brain matter of your enemy?”

Nie Huaisang swayed, suddenly light-headed. “…that,” he agreed, voice weak.

He slowly became aware that there was something squishy and wet under his feet, soaking into his shoes, and he very carefully did not look down.

“What happened?” he asked faintly. “What did I – actually, on second thought, don’t tell me.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression was a strange mix of being impressed with him and pitying him, and honestly Nie Huaisang preferred the pity. No one was impressed with him, not ever, and in retrospect he rather liked it that way, if the alternative was…

“You defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat,” Wei Wuxian said. “Congratulations.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“Don’t you remember?” Jiang Cheng said, blinking at him. “He said something about your brother, and you suddenly lost it –”

Nie Huaisang remembered, suddenly, and he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as his vision flickered red around the edges again, and he imagined he could hear Aituan shouting his name from thousands of li away. How dare that man, that stone-face bastard who looked so long-suffering and yet underneath it all was so cruel and unfeeling – how dare he say such a thing about his da-ge –

Nie Huaisang had been angry the entire time he’d been here at the indoctrination camp.

Really angry, not the silly little temper tantrums he usually threw back at home or the occasional shouting matches he had with his brother to vent steam. He hated it here. He hated the fact that he was here in the Nightless City, the one place his brother had always refused to bring him no matter how embarrassingly impolitic it was, the place Sect Leader Wen had murdered his father over a stupid dinner table conversation. He hated the fact that his brother had tried to protect him, and failed only because he’d gotten distracted by Meng Yao of all people.

(He hated the fact that he’d had to learn that fact from one of his retainers, weeks too late and him already gone to the Nightless City, too late to apologize or make it up; hated the fact that the last words he’d said to his da-ge on the subject were cruel ones, blaming him for sending away his friend, when in fact his friend had torn off his face to reveal something dark beneath. He hated that his brother had just taken those cruel words from him, suffered under his accusations, without defending himself from them, because he blamed himself for – for what? For being just, the way he was supposed to be? For protecting him?)

He hated the Yin metal, the vile corruption he could feel for all that they were in a different part of the palace. He hated Wen Chao making them memorize and recite, which he was terrible at, and he hated him for making them do it outside in the hot sun and the hot earth until he fainted from heatstroke, his weak golden core insufficient to protect him the way the others did them.

He hated Wen Ruohan, he hated Wen Chao, and he hated, hated, hated Wen Zhuliu.

Most of the boys at the indoctrination camp had gotten the idea that he wasn’t that bad, for all that he was terrifying, because he always looked so bored about everything, like he was having to fulfil all of this as a torturous duty instead of a pleasure, but he’d been the one to carry Nie Huaisang back inside after he’d fainted and he’d said some things about his brother then, when Nie Huaisang was too weak to do anything, and today he’d come by, watching Nie Huaisang struggle to set up the small tent he’d been given for their travels, and he’d said them again…

“He wanted to steal my brother’s cultivation,” Nie Huaisang said through numb lips. His hands were clenched, quivering with rage that was impossible to bury down in his heart – was this how his brother felt all the time? No wonder he was so straightforward about most things; forget scheming, it was amazing he could even think. “He wanted – he didn’t even think of him as a person. Just dirt beneath his feet, fruit ripe for the plucking, some animal he could slaughter as a prize to give to his wretched master –”

He’d even said, today, that they could use what was left over as a corpse puppet, and chuckled when he thought of what the great Chifeng-zun would have thought of that.

Nie Huaisang had been angry ever since they’d arrived, full of bile and choler and rage.

His family never did handle their rage well.

“You had a minor qi deviation,” Wei Wuxian said solemnly, looking at him. “You’re still bleeding – your eyes, your nose, your ears…We need to get you to a doctor.”

“We need to hide the body before anyone finds it, that’s what we need to do,” Jiang Cheng said.

“We can do both! Multitasking!”

He was very lucky to have such good friends, Nie Huaisang thought to himself, and toppled over.

He woke up back in the sorry excuse for a camp, with Wen Qing acting as his doctor and Wen Ning as her assistant, taking care of him (it had taken an embarrassingly long while before Nie Huaisang remembered their names, for all that they’d come to lessons at the Cloud Recesses, too, both of them, and even though they’d all gone on a whole mission to the village with the goddess statute together afterwards, but in his defense he was really bad at memorizing - anything), and while Wen Qing kept herself nice and professional, Wen Ning kept shooting him extremely impressed looks that Nie Huaisang didn’t think he deserved.

He hadn’t actually defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat, no matter what Wei Wuxian said. He’d launched a surprise attack at the back of a man who wasn’t expecting it, because no one ever expected anything from Nie Huaisang.

“You have remarkable arm strength,” Wen Qing said (she had looked amused when he asked about her name, blushing with shame), sounding casual but clearly fishing a little. “It’s hidden by your thin frame, and even further minimized by your choice in clothing, but actually you have significant muscle there.”

“Saber practice,” Nie Huaisang explained. “Sabers are heavier than swords, and rely more on brute force. At home, you train a lot with heavy things even before you get your own saber, just to make sure you can wield it properly – you have to have a good arm.”

He’d been barely mediocre by his sect’s standards, and even that level he’d only achieved through years of nagging, threatening, and occasional bribery on his older brother’s part. He shouldn’t have been able to win, but Wen Zhuliu hadn’t even been looking at Nie Huaisang when he’d said what he said, hadn’t seen the moment he’d snapped and attacked, his disordered qi giving him extraordinary strength even as it turned against him to destroy him internally, and if there was one thing that saber style taught you it was not to let someone who’d fallen to your blade get up again.

(Had his brother brought out Baxia against Meng Yao, before deciding to let him go? He couldn’t help but wonder – it was bad luck if he had, a severing of the relationship in an unfixable way, but he wasn’t sure his brother would be strong enough to resist trying to repair it if Meng Yao ever came back. Where was Meng Yao, anyway?)

Attacking a man from behind wasn’t really honorable, he thought glumly, and he thought he understood for the first time why his brother was so strict about such things: it didn’t feel good to have done it this way. It felt like cheating, made every approving gaze feel like a lie, like something he didn’t deserve.

“So what happens now?” he asked, and Wen Qing shrugged a little helplessly. “Does, uh…”

“Wei-gongzi and Jiang-gongzi are hiding the remains,” Wen Ning volunteered. He looked way too cheerfully when he said ‘remains’. Possible budding mass-murderer? Or maybe he’d just been a doctor’s assistant for too long. “Wen-er-gongzi hasn’t noticed yet – he’s still with Wang Lingjiao.”

“But he will notice,” Nie Huaisang said.

“As long as he doesn’t blame any of you, does it matter?” Wen Qing said.

“…if you have an example of Wen Zhuliu’s handwriting, I can probably forge it to look like a note saying he was summoned back by Sect Leader Wen.”

Wen Qing and Wen Ning exchanged looks he didn’t quite understand, but they brought him what he needed, and by the time they got trapped in a horrible underground cave with a gigantic man-eating Xuanwu the next day, Wen Chao still hadn’t figured it out, though he’d been in an awful mood the entire time.

“Why are you sitting down?” Jiang Cheng scolded him even as he dashed around fighting Wen sect soldiers, and see, this was why Nie Huaisang didn’t ever fight. It only made people expect him to do it more – Jiang Cheng hadn’t scolded him at all for hiding behind things before…

Before.

“Leave him alone,” Jin Zixuan said. He hadn’t been there, so he still looked disdainful and dismissive; it was amazing how much of a relief that was. “He can’t help anyway.”

“But –”

“My head hurts,” Nie Huaisang said plaintively, and it had the benefit of being both true and working very effectively to get Jiang Cheng to head as far away from him as possible in a sudden rush. After a while, he got up and picked up one of the swords some unfortunate Wen sect retainer had dropped.

“I have no idea what I’m doing with this,” he said, very seriously, to yet another unfortunate Wen sect retainer, before lifting it and bringing it down, saber-style, the way his brother had all but beaten into his head.

That one didn’t seemed like he was expecting it, either, even though Nie Huaisang was right in front of his face and everything.

It felt a bit better, though – Aituan didn’t like the Wen sect one bit, he thought a little muzzily, and wondered why he’d thought that, since after all Aituan was all the way back at home – and he was a little less ashamed to stand with the rest of them as they tried to figure out a way out of the cave.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” he said to the Lan disciple who picked up a bow and was trying to aim it at the Xuanwu. “You’ll miss.”

The Lan disciple glared at him.

“Not as bad as I would, mind you,” Nie Huaisang said, looking at it. He felt as though he was standing behind a pane of glass and nothing could touch him - not pain or fear or anything, anything but rage. “I’d probably miss the turtle entirely. I’m just saying that it’s angry now, so the shot’s a lot harder to make; maybe five people could make that shot.”

“Lan-er-gongzi could make it.”

“Yes, well, Lan-er-gongzi isn’t human,” Nie Huaisang said, quite seriously, and the Lan disciple’s lips twitched. “Seriously, don’t waste your time – or your arrows. If you’re anywhere good enough at archery to even think that you could make that shot, you need to keep them to protect me.”

“Are you in need of protection?”

“Oh, always,” Nie Huaisang said blithely, the way he always did, then paused and grimaced. “Most of the time, anyway. I got sick, earlier.”

He was pretty sure the Lan disciple didn’t understand what he meant by sick.

“You don’t really want me to protect you,” the disciple said, frowning. “Do you?”

Nie Huaisang wanted everyone to protect him. He never wanted to fight again in his life.

But the Lan disciple looked like he was a little pleased to have been asked, like no one had ever asked him before, and Nie Huaisang suddenly felt a sudden stab of empathy hitting him straight in the heart.

“I do. I’m pretty sure all the other Nie disciples here are short-range fighters –” His brother had sent as few of them as he could manage, and only sent any at all because he wanted someone there to keep an eye on Nie Huaisang. To protect him. “– and they’re mostly hotheaded idiots –” That was definitely true. “– and I really, really don’t want to end up in another situation where I get sick again, because my brother will never forgive me. So I could use an archer.”

“…okay,” the Lan disciple said. “I’m Su She.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I promise to apologize to your sect later on for taking up your time.”

He managed not to be sick the entire journey home.

Maybe it was an aberration, he thought, maybe –

When he got home, his brother was holding Aituan in his hand instead of Baxia – she was in her sheath on his back – and he rushed over to him at once, presenting the saber to him before he did anything else; confused, Nie Huaisang accepted his saber, wondering if he was going to need to go practice or something, and the second his hand wrapped around the hilt –

Oh.

His head abruptly cleared, the fog he hadn’t even realized was there finally lifting, the rage draining out of him and back into Aituan – not an especially angry saber, as they went, but still a Nie saber with all that entailed. His qi finally, finally straightened out, stabilized, and he felt like he could breathe again, his mind free and clear now that he had a saber in his hand.

Like all the other Nies before him.

Doomed.

And then he was in his brother’s arms, being held tight.

“Oh, Huaisang,” his brother said, and his voice sounded raw and broken, almost as if he’d been weeping. “I never wanted this for you.”

Nie Huaisang hugged him back.

“It’s okay,” he said, and the buzzing in the back of his head that was Aituan agreed with him. He’d been there the whole time, ever since the first incident; it didn’t matter how far away from each other they were. “It was a small one, it passed, it’s fine…”

It wasn’t fine, and they both knew it – Nie Huaisang might not know the details of all their clan secrets, but he knew enough to know what it was he was so carefully not knowing – but what was there to say?

It was still his family. It was still his heritage.

(He wondered what Meng Yao would say, if he knew. He wondered if he would pull his saber back the way his brother had, if Meng Yao ever betrayed him.)

“At least I can help fight now,” he said, joking, and his brother glared at him.

“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re going to go somewhere safe. You can go with –”

“Su She.”

“– with Su She back to the Cloud Recesses; it’ll be more secure there than here.”

It was about what Nie Huaisang had expected.

“Okay,” he said. “But not now.”

His brother’s eyes flickered down to his saber. His lifeline.

“No,” he said. “Not now.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #su she #nie mingjue #wen ning #wen qing #my fic #my fics #I actually wrote this before the other Su She one #funny to see how things develop over time #Anonymous

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kosmosguk · 5 years ago

Text

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation, mentions of suicide, gore

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

665 notes · View notes

rosiehunterwolf · 4 years ago

Text

Face the Music

Prompts: Karaoke

Word Count: 5,572

Characters: Cole, Kai, and Jay

Timeline: Between seasons 9 and 10

Trigger Warnings: Brief Mentions of Toxic Parent and Eating Disorder

Summary: If you ask Cole, there are some things in life better left forgotten. Especially embarrassing experiences that you would prefer not to talk about. They certainly shouldn’t be used as blackmail or as entertainment for others, and everyone should just learn to move on. Although maybe his friends aren’t the only ones that need to move on.

Link to read on Fanfiction.Net:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13904278/1/Face-the-Music

Cole burst onto the deck of the Bounty, swinging the door shut behind him. Zane looked up from the control panel, looking startled. “Cole?”

“Zane!” Cole ran over to him, gasping for breath. “Quick, what’s Kai’s cell phone password?”

Zane pulled back, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t play coy with me, I know you have the passwords for everything programmed into your database! Now hurry, what is it!”

“I never denied that I did, but why would I tell you? That’s confidential information.” Glancing down at the cell phone, he asked, “Does Kai know you have his phone, Cole?”

“Uh… yeah, if it helps you sleep at night.”

Zane crossed his arms. “Cole…”

“Come on, Zane, help a friend out! It’s important!” “Cole, that is not my secret to tell. Unless it is an emergency, you don’t need to know.”

“But it is an emergency!”

“Oh really? Who’s in danger?”

“My pride,” he snapped. “C’mon, Zane, please, what do you want? I’ll do your dishes for a month! Or- or, uh, take patrol duties for the next three weeks. Hey, hey, what about cooking, you like that, right? I’ll buy you some new appliances!”

“Cole, you cannot bribe me-”

“Hey guuuuys,” Kai larked, popping his head through the door and sliding over to Cole. Before he could even react, the master of fire was plucking the phone out of his hands. “I’ll take that, thanks.”

“Give it back!”

“It’s my phone!”

“I didn’t give you permission to take that video!”

Kai batted his eyes innocently. “What video?”

Cole lunged for him. “I will kill you, spike head-”

“Gotta catch me first,” Kai shrilled, neatly ducking his arm and dashing back belowdeck, laughing maniacally.

“Thanks a lot, Zane. Who knows what he’ll do with that now?”

“I don’t understand. What is going on?”

Cole sighed slowly. “He’s got… a video. I need it to be deleted.”

“What kind of video?”

“Seriously Zane? Can’t you take a hint? I obviously don’t want to tell you.”

Zane just stared at him expectantly.

Cole rubbed his face in his hands. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “He still has the video from… from Laughy’s. With the Sons of Garmadon.”

Zane is smiling now, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why you are embarrassed to tell me, Cole. I was there, remember? I saw you sing-”

“Okay, okay, Zane, I get it! Just stop talking about it!”

“I don’t see why talking about it would be an issue-”

Cole lunged forward, pressing a hand over his mouth. “You don’t understand,” he hissed under his breath. “They’re everywhere. They’re obsessed with that video, and they’ve been dangling it over my head ever since we returned from the First Realm. They’re trying to blackmail me!”

“They?”

“Oh yeah, it’s not just Kai- Jay’s in on it too, the jerk. You think you know who your best friend is.”

“Cole, I think you’re overreacting, what could they possibly do with it? Everyone here already saw you sing, it’s fine.”

“You really think Lloyd, Nya and Pix have spared a second thought to think about me after everything they had going on here? I was hoping they had forgotten about it by now, but if Jay and Kai have their way-”

“I’m not going to help you steal Kai’s phone, Cole. If you need me for anything actually important, let me know.”

“This is important,” Cole yelled after him, but Zane was already gone.

Fine, he huffed. If no one is going to help me, I’ll do it myself.

---

“Hey Cole? Kai and Lloyd want me to play Fist-to-Face 3 with them, will you take patrol duty for me tonight?”

“Yeah?” Cole reclined in the kitchen chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “And why would I do that?”

“Oh, I dunno… perhaps because you wouldn’t want a certain… video to accidentally leak…” Jay waggled his phone teasingly in the air.

Cole stood up sharply. “You wouldn’t.”

“I dunno… would I? I guess we’ll find out.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going, I’m going,” Cole grumbled. “Want anything while I’m out?” “We’re almost out of Doritos. And can you get the strawberry Fanta?”

“Are you a heathen? Who drinks the strawberry?”

“It’s not for you,” Jay snapped. “And for your information, it tastes very nice.”

“Whatever. You at least gonna pay me for this, bozo?”

Jay slapped a twenty into his hand. “This is all I got on me. Buy yourself a little somethin’ with the change.”

Cole mock bowed. “Whatever you say, master.”

“Ah, come on, I’m not cruel, come join us when you get back.” As Cole walked out the door, he called after him, “I’ll save you some Bagel Bites!”

Cole rolled his eyes. He didn’t know how he got into situations like this.

He was really starting to hate that stupid video.

---

By the end of the week, which had been filled with similar scenarios, Cole had had it. I’m not going to take this slander anymore! They can’t just push me around like this, I’m the master of earth!

The monastery was buzzing with the chatter of his friends on the hot afternoon. They were all wearing swimsuits, and Lloyd opened the door, leaning out lazily as a wave of hot air wafted into the cool monastery.

“Stop standing there with the door open, nitwit, you’re letting all the hot air in,” Kai snapped, shoving him out the door, nearly sending him to the floor, before Zane caught him by the wrist with his usual lightning reflexes.

“Kai, there is no need to get physical.”

“Can it, Zane, I’m just playing around, right bud?” Kai slung his arm around Lloyd’s shoulder, ruffling his hair.

Lloyd shot him a glare. “Get off of me, you lump, I’m melting here. Are we going swimming or not?”

“Ouch, looks like someone skipped his coffee today. What’s wrong, baby boy, did I hurt your feewings?”

“You wanna get punched? ‘Cause I will not hesitate to punch you.”

“You wanna throw hands with me, bro? I’d prefer not to have a squished pancake as a brother, but if you say so.”

“As soon as I cool down a bit, you are toast.”

“You cool it, mister. Are you forgetting everything amazing I’ve ever done for you?”

“Don’t mind him,” Nya called to Kai, coming over to elbow Lloyd from the other side. “He gets grumpy when he’s hot.”

“I hate you both.”

Zane sighed. “I swear, it’s like the heat is melting their brains.”

Nya shrugged. “They must have like, low heat tolerance or something. Don’t ask me why they always get so loopy like this.”

“Hey, it’s like 100 degrees, don’t blame me if I’m a little uncomfortable!” Lloyd snapped, his words slurring slightly.

“Yeah, bud, even I think you’re starting to get to be a little much now. Come on, let’s get you in the water.”

As the team shuffled out the door, Jay turned back to face him. “Hey, Cole, aren’t you coming swimming with us?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute, just give me a sec.”

Jay shrugged, and Cole waited for a moment, until he heard the door click.

Finally! I thought they’d never leave.

Hurrying down the hallway, he popped his head into the bathroom, where Kai and Jay had just thrown their clothes into a pile on the floor when they had changed. Getting on his knees, he dug through it and pulled out Jay’s shorts, extracting his cell from it. Pulling a slip of paper out from his pocket, he quickly typed the numbers in, and…

The phone unlocked.

Cole broke into a grin, praising Jay’s inability to remember passwords and always writing them down somewhere where a very desperate earth ninja could find them.

He opened the camera app and deleted the video.

There. Halfway done.

Kai’s phone wasn’t in his pocket, so he snuck over to his room and found it charging on the nightstand. Biting his lip, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the camera footage he had captured the previous night.

It showed a bird’s eye view of the living room, and Kai was sitting on the couch, watching TV. As he reached for his phone, Cole zoomed in on the device and watched carefully as he typed in the code.

Okay. Cole repeated the same code on Kai’s phone.

Incorrect Passcode.

Cole felt panic flare inside him. What were the chances that Kai had changed his password in the one night since he’d filmed this?

“It didn’t work because I have one of those fingerprint ones, too.”

Cole whips around to see Kai standing in the doorway, Jay hovering behind him. “Jay told me you were lingering, and I just got a feeling, y’know? That you were up to something.”

Cole huffed, tossing him the phone. “Why won’t you just delete it, Kai? This has gone on for long enough.”

“I like the video, Cole. It puts a smile on my face on the… hard days.”

“Oh, spare me the pity card. I know plenty well that you have more than enough other ways to keep yourself entertained.”

“What about Jay?” Kai grabbed the lightning ninja by the shoulders, shaking him gently. “Think of your friend, Cole. He has no sense of entertainment, he needs something to keep him going.”

“Excuse me-”

“Oh please,” Cole snorted. “Stick Jay on Youtube and he’ll be entertained for hours. He gets distracted way too easily.”

“Oh come on, Cole, this is way better than Jay’s stupid cat videos-”

“I do not watch cat videos!”

“Don’t lie to me, zaptrap, you’re lame.”

“Dude, who’s side are you on?”

“Look guys, I don’t have time for this. Just delete the video, and we can be done with this whole thing.”

“No, that’s not how this is going to work. You’re going to go outside with the others, and forget this whole thing ever happened. Otherwise, this little video might end up on the internet.”

“What?” Cole shrieked. “You can’t do that, dude, it’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“Last time I checked, this was a video of Rocky Dangerbuff, not you. Is it you in this video, Cole?”

Cole felt his face heat as he scowled at them, and Kai and Jay burst into laughter.

Kai slapped a hand on his back. “If it makes you feel any better, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. You really think we’re dumb enough to keep the only copies of the video on our phones? You’d be searching for hours to delete all traces of it.”

Cole balked at him. “Seriously? How many copies did you make?”

Jay grinned. “You forgot this wasn’t a solo operation, dirtclod. I’m the tech guy around here. There’s no way you’ll be able to override my programming.”

Cole groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I hate you guys.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” Kai laughed. “C’mon, dude, it’s hot, let’s go swim.” Cole reluctantly followed them out the door, grumbling.

“This won’t go on forever, you guys. Sooner or later, I’m gonna find a way to stop you.”

Kai laughed. “We’ll see about that, Cole, we’ll see.”

---

“Are you sure this is really something I wanna be getting involved in?” The nindroid asked, her glowing green eyes scanning the monitor screen.

“It’ll be fine, Pix, I promise. They might be a little annoyed at first, but within a couple days, they’ll have completely moved on to something else to make fun of. All you have to do is get rid of one measly video for me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that, exactly. Jay went pretty deep with this program. But I think I’ve located the source material.”

“And?” Cole asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Does that mean you can delete all the data?”

“Yes. Every known record of it developed into the Bounty’s database will be erased.”

“Do it, quick!”

Pixal turned to the computer again, and Cole held his breath as her fingers flew over the keys for a moment. Then, she pulled back.

“Is it done? Did you do it?”

“Yes. It’s gone.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Cole sighed, slouching against the wall. “I’m so glad that’s finally over. Pix, you’re a lifesaver.”

A small smile played on her lips. “I do what I can.”

“Well, you’ve just saved me a lot of trouble. I owe ya one.”

“We’ll see. Anyways, if we’re done here, I’m going to go help Zane work on those hull repairs to the Bounty.”

“Thanks, Pix.”

When he walked down to the kitchen for dinner that night, for the first time in weeks he didn’t feel a constant dread hanging over his head.

---

The relief didn’t last long.

It was only the evening of the next day when Kai came marching into his room, Jay on his heels. Cole glanced over at them nonchalantly from where he was laying across his bed, reading a Starfarer comic. “Can I help you?”

“You know what you did, stop acting so innocent.”

Cole grinned, stretching. “What can I say, bro, I outplayed you.”

“You could never,” Jay snorted. “You had help!”

“Hey, two against one was never a fair game. Let’s just say I was evening the odds a little bit.”

“Who helped you?” Kai hissed, pointing at him. “Spill, now!” “Sorry fellas, but I’ve sworn to secrecy. You’ll have to find your information elsewhere.”

“It has to be either Nya, Pixal, or Zane,” Jay insisted. “Nya’s the only one with the advanced enough technical skills to be able to override me, and Zane and Pixal are attached to the system, so they can get pretty much anything they want with enough computer skills.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “Great job, sparky, now we've eliminated it down to three out of the four possible suspects. What amazing deduction skills.”

“Hey, I don’t see you doing any better! And it’s actually three out of five. We know it’s not Master Wu, either.”

Both Kai and Cole raised an eyebrow at that.

“Jay, you’re joking. Master Wu. Helped Cole. Delete a blackmail video?”

Cole snorted. “Zaptrap, if Wu ever found out about what was going on, he’d give us a stern lecture, make us meditate for a few hours, then, probably like, stick us on patrol duty for the rest of the night or something.”

“Shut up! Look, it doesn’t matter, alright? If you just tell us who it is, we’ll leave you alone.”

“Fat chance.” Cole got up out of bed and strolled past them, towards the door. “You don’t have anything against me anymore. That blackmail’s not gonna work anymore.”

“Who told you that?”

Cole stopped, turning towards Kai slowly. “What?”

“Who told you we didn’t have access to the video anymore?”

Cole gaped, glancing back and forth between Kai and Jay. “What!? That’s impossible, she-” he bit his lip sharply, cursing himself. “I mean… we deleted all copies of the video. How could you still have it?”

“Aha!” Jay gasped, pointing at him. “Did you hear that? He said she! Which means we’ve narrowed it down to Pixal or Nya!”

Cole ignored him, narrowing his eyes at Kai. “You’re bluffing. You don’t have the video.”

“Oh yeah? Jay, you still have it?”

The blue ninja stuck a hand into his pocket, and, pulling it out, flashed a small blue object between his fingers. Cole looked closer, and felt his stomach drop as he recognized what it was- a flash drive.

“Yep, it’s all in here! Even the most advanced computer codes will do nothing to reach our backup. Looks like you’ve run out of luck again, Cole.”

“Are you kidding me? This is impossible!”

“Come on, Cole- all we want to do is have a little fun with it. Let us keep the video, and we’ll leave you alone.”

“And if I try to get rid of it again?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe it could find its way… onto social media.”

Cole nearly choked. “Kai! You wouldn’t!”

“Keep your nose out of it, and I won’t! C’mon, Jay, we’re done here.”

Cole flopped back down onto his bed. Social media. Kai couldn’t put the video on the internet. It would be all over the city by morning.

He had said he wouldn’t do it if Cole stopped trying to get rid of the video, but Cole didn’t trust that one bit. Now that the idea was planted in his head, Cole was afraid he could do it at any time.

There was no question about it. He had to destroy that flash drive.

---

Kai and Jay were out on the last evening patrol.

This was the time.

Glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was there, he eased open the door to Kai’s room and slipped inside.

He was fairly certain they would’ve kept the flash drive in Kai’s room, specifically to throw him off after he had seen Jay holding it earlier. Also, Kai’s room, while still a mess, wasn’t as bad as Jay’s, so Cole much preferred to search his, anyways.

But it was still going to be more difficult than he had hoped, he realized with a groan as he glanced around the room.

Kai’s bed had a small stack of comic books and magazines strewn across it, with more on the nightstand and even a few on the floor. His laundry had been mostly shoved into a corner, but a few lone shirts and socks had been left randomly. Most of his stuff appeared to be in bins that had been stuffed under the bed and in the corners, but there appeared to be no order to what was in them, just a hag-tag of random junk, save for one crate in the corner which was full to the brim with various weapons, leaving several of them spilling out just asking for a sliced toe in the morning.

The worst was the dresser, though- there were several hair products lined up, even though Cole knew he already had more than enough in the bathroom, a handful of letters, only a couple of them opened, some more comics, a couple empty cups, and enough earrings and other jewelry to last him a lifetime. Cole never understood why he needed so many. Sure, Kai had a ton of piercings, more than the rest of them combined, but Cole swore he had never seen him even wear half of these. Kai had almost as much jewelry, (or, as he liked to call it, “bling”) as he did hair products, which was really saying something.

Sighing, Cole walked over to search through one of the bins that looked like it may have had the techy stuff in it- or at least, the somewhat mechanical stuff- maybe- or, actually, not really, he had absolutely no idea what kind of system Kai had going on here.

Reaching in, he pulled out a tablet, a flashlight, a spare video game controller, a baseball cap, a worn stuffed dragon, a barrette that he was pretty sure belonged to Skylor- Cole blushed at that one, shoving the box away. These things were Kai’s. There could likely be things in here he didn’t want Cole to see.

He wasn’t trying to snoop, though- all he wanted to do was find the flash drive, and leave.

Turning away, Cole began to sift through another bin. A sword- small and uneven, but fairly solid- this one wrapped away with much more care than the others- had a label scribbled on that read “Kai’s first sword.” A photograph, ripped down the middle, the remaining side with a very young Kai hugging an even younger Nya, and a ripped shawl stained with blood that had never come out-

Cole jumped back. Okay, so maybe there was some sort of order to these boxes. And that one was none of his business. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to look any further, anyway. He didn’t doubt that Kai and Nya had been reserved about their lives before meeting them for a reason.

Cole was beginning to feel guilt weight down on his chest already, cold and heavy. He shouldn’t have seen that. He shouldn’t have seen any of this. He was blatantly disrespecting one of his closest friend’s privacy just to delete some stupid video he was embarrassed about.

I should go.

As he sped towards the door, he tripped over something and fell to the ground with a thump. Turning back, he saw it was a book that he had set aside while pulling things out of the bin, having spilled open after he tripped on it, allowing him to see that it wasn’t a book at all, but a photo album.

It was open to a page where Cole had his arm slung around a very grumpy-looking Kai, ruffling his hair, with Jay and Lloyd bent over laughing in the background. It was followed by a bunch of pictures of Kai with the worst bed hair Cole had ever seen- desperately reaching towards the camera, presumably to strangle whoever was snapping photos. Occasionally, one of the other ninja would pop in, holding him back for the photographer, or posing goofily next to the groggy fire ninja.

Cole felt a grin spread over his face. He remembered that day, when Kai had stayed up so late playing video games that he had forgotten about his hair in the morning- and the whole team had been more than eager to take advantage of the one time the fire ninja wasn’t looking so attractive. Kai had threatened to murder them in their sleep, but he had been laughing through it all, too.

That’s the same thing happening here, Cole realized. I’m being a baby about this. They’re just playing around with me. Like I haven’t done the same to them a thousand times.

Cole neatly closed the book and slid it back into a bin, leaving the room with his heart feeling significantly lighter.

It hadn’t been a moment too soon, either, as when he was walking down the hallway, he passed Kai and Jay returning from patrol.

“Everything okay, Cole?” “I’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly. Luckily, Jay didn’t seem to notice. Kai raised his eyebrow slightly but didn’t press the issue. “Whatcha’ up to?”

“Just heading to bed.”

“Sweet dreams, little glow worm.”

Jay burst into snickers, and Kai grinned wickedly. Cole put his face in his hands, and brushed past them. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite as over this as he thought.

---

The next morning, he was awoken by a knock on his bedroom door. Pulling on a tank top, he opened the door to find Zane standing there.

“What’s up?”

The nindroid had an apologetic look on his face, holding up his cell phone. “Have you checked social media yet?”

“No, why?”

“Kai posted your karaoke video.”

“He what?!” Cole shrieked, ripping the phone out of his hand. There, right under Kai’s grinning profile picture, was the video of him singing at Laughy’s.

“That dumbass,” Cole cried, flopping back onto his bed. “Do you know how bad this is? And it’s not just any old social media account, it’s Kai’s. The guy has like, seven million followers on Ninjagram, and almost as many on Chirp and ChatSnap. This will ruin me.”

“I’m sorry, Cole. I didn’t think he would do this.”

“I didn’t either. He promised he wouldn’t, as long as I didn’t try to delete the data!”

“...Didn’t you, though?”

Cole glowered at him. “Well, maybe, technically, I did, but he didn’t catch me! How would he know?”

“Cole, what kind of ninja headquarters would this be if we didn’t have security cameras?”

“Shit! Why would he be checking that? Oh, I’m never going to forgive him for this.”

“Cole, forgive me, but I think you’re overreacting a little. Sure, it’ll probably get a few laughs, but in a couple hours, everyone will have moved onto the next thing. You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that! I’m not just like some random cat video, I’m a famous ninja! Pretty much everyone knows about me, they’re going to linger on this for a while, trust me.”

“Cole,” Zane said patiently, amusement sparkling in his voice. “I think you’ll survive. Come have some breakfast, that always makes you feel a little better.”

Cole opened his mouth to argue, but Zane was already walking out of the room, so Cole reluctantly followed.

Cole sat down at the table, glaring down into his lap, as Zane slipped him a plate of waffles. He couldn’t even make it all the way through his meal before Kai and Jay inevitably showed up.

“Hey Cole,” Kai smiled, “wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“You shut your dumb mouth,” Cole snapped. “I don’t even want to look at you.”

“Woah, someone’s feisty.”

“I saw what you did! I can’t believe you did that.”

“I can’t believe you went through my stuff,” Kai barked back, and, despite himself, Cole felt himself flinch. “I was just upholding my side of the agreement.”

“Hey, Cole,” Jay interjected. “Look on the bright side. You’re practically famous! The video already has five million views!”

“I’m already famous, you moron, which, in this situation, makes it even worse.”

Jay blinked, obviously not expecting the hostility of his response. “Cole, chill, it’s just a-”

“Hey guys!” Cole looked up to see Lloyd, Nya, and Pixal walking in. Lloyd grinned as he caught sight of Cole’s plate. “Aww, Zane, you made waffles? Did you buy-”

“Yes, Lloyd, there is plenty of whip cream.”

“I’m just checking! It wouldn’t be the first time I was a few minutes late and some hogs ate all the whip cream.” He shot a glare at Jay, who shrugged nonchalantly.

“Ya snooze, ya lose, green machine. It’s not my fault you have no sense of timing.”

“I have plenty of sense of timing! I’m just…”

“Easily distracted,” Nya chimed in.

“Am not! You were just as distracted as I was!” “You’re the one who showed it to me just as we were trying to go to breakfast!” “Well, you didn’t have to watch it, you could’ve just walked away!”

“How could I not? That one’s a keeper-”

“What are you two on about?” Kai laughed.

“There’s this video blowing up on the internet-” Pixal began.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Cole groaned. He glared at Kai. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve gotten them-” he pointed an accusatory finger at Lloyd and Nya- “laughing at it too.”

“More like them and the rest of Ninjago-”

“Seriously? I can’t with you,” Cole fumed, then promptly spun around and stormed off to his bedroom, locking the door. He flopped onto his bed face first and yelled into his pillow.

He had wanted to laugh this whole thing off. He really had. But how was he expected to be chill when it was all over the internet?

Part of him was just angry with himself, though. Why did he let this rile him up so much? Why was he so upset? Zane was right, it was just another random video, wasn’t it?

Why was it the end of the world if people saw him sing?

---

“Back straighter, Cole.”

Cole flinched at the hit before it came, and the man rolled his eyes. “How do you expect to ever perform well if you can’t even have good posture?”

“I’m trying dad, but I’m tired. We’ve been doing this for hours. Can I go have lunch now?”

“It’s not time for that yet, Cole. First, we need to work on this piece more. Now, start again, from measure twenty-one.

He shuffled through the pages of music, and as he began to sing, all he could imagine was that stern face peering down at him, and all of a sudden his voice was coming out wobbly.

“Tone shape, Cole! You need to keep a consistent tone. Don’t let it sound wavery and messy.”

Cole’s stomach growled loudly, and he flinched at the look on his father’s face. “Please, dad, I’ll be able to concentrate more if I’ve eaten.”

“Fifteen minutes,” his father snapped. “Then right back to work.”

Cole remembered running to the kitchen, worried there wouldn’t be enough time, and eating as much food as he could manage. But it had been too much, his father would be angry with him, what was he going to do-

He had thrown most of it up in the bathroom later that night.

“Cole, you need to try harder. Singing and dancing of just “average” quality aren’t going to cut it when you become part of the next generation of the Royal Blacksmiths.”

“But dad, I don’t want to be a Royal Blacksmith. I don’t even like to sing.”

“Nonsense! This is a family legacy, boy! Do you wish to break such noble tradition just because you weren’t willing to work hard enough?”

“...No, dad.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, back to work.”

---

A knock. “Hey, Cole, can I come in?”

Cole pulled his face out of the pillow, frantic to find it wet. He quickly wiped at his eyes before getting to his feet and trodding to the door, unlocking it and opening it slowly. Kai stood there.

Great.

“What do you want?”

To his surprise, the red ninja flinched. “Can we talk?”

Cole turned and laid across his bed. “What’s there to talk about?”

Kai took a seat on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance from Cole. “Are you… are you actually angry about this? Like, for real? I thought we were joking around.”

Cole didn’t answer, merely grunting into his pillow.

Kai hesitantly scooted a little closer. “I’m sorry. I would’ve stopped if I knew it was making you so uncomfortable. I really wish you had said something about it.”

Cole shrugged. “Well, I didn’t.”

“I’ll take it down, if you want.”

“What?”

“Like, I know it’s too late now,” he said hurriedly, “and that a bunch of people have already seen it, that I’m not fixing my mistake by doing this, but- I can take the video offline now, so at least no one else sees it.”

Cole was about to thank him, when a sudden urge flowed over him. “Y’know what,” he said, sitting up, “No.”

“Huh?” “Don’t bother,” Cole told him. “It’s no big deal. It’s just some stupid video.”

“I thought you were upset.”

“I was. And still am, a little, if I’m being honest. But I’m tired of spending so much time worrying about what others think of me. It’s exhausting, and no fun. It’s time I started thinking about how I view myself.”

“Are you sure? Because I know you hate singing-”

“I don’t, though. I used to like it.”

“What happened?”

Cole shrugged halfheartedly. “Let’s just say… my dad didn’t make the right decisions. Pushed me too hard to be something I wasn’t. Kind of hard to enjoy singing with him barking over my shoulder about it every spare second. Basically sucked all the joy out of it.”

Kai swung his feet back and forth. “That sounds rough. I wonder if my dad would’ve been anything like that, if he… if he’d stayed.”

“You were forced, in a way, too. Forced to grow up too quickly, to raise your sister on your own.”

“Yeah, I guess I was.” He shot him a small grin, although Cole could tell it was forced. “We’re alike in that way.”

“I wish we weren't,” Cole sighed. “No one deserves to go through that.”

Kai laughed dryly. “I learned a long time ago that life’s never been fair.”

“Have you talked to your dad at all, recently?”

“...Not really. I mean, apart from letting him know we were alive and stuff… after the First Realm.”

“Maybe you should reach out to him. Before it’s too late.”

“I know, I know… but I’m not really sure if I want to. I don’t know if that makes me sound like an awful person, but… he was never there for me. They were never there. I know it wasn’t their fault, but… it still stings. Those years, before I came here, were some of the hardest of my life. And I was just a kid! How was I… how was I supposed to…”

“It’s okay,” Cole put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “I’m not sure if I want to forgive my father, either.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. What kind of person treats their kid like that? Judges them so harshly? Oh gosh, why didn’t you say something, Cole, I’m really sorry about that video.”

“I told you, it’s fine. You guys aren’t my father. I know you won’t judge me for my quirks. And, if you want to laugh at me, if the people of Ninjago want to laugh at me, that’s fine. So I’m weird. So I sing stupid songs about glow worms and sing out of key and put on really, really bad disguises. You can tease me all you want, but really, you love me for it, and I’m done doubting that. That’s what true family does.”

Kai smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry that you didn’t find that out sooner, Cole. You’re an amazing person, and you deserve a family who will treat you like one.”

Cole smiled, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I already have one.”

#ninjago #ninbingo #my fic #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #not 100% sure how I feel about this one...#it didn't turn out exactly how I planned but that's writing for ya #but while working on another project I accidentally discovered how much I like writing Cole and Kai interactions #so i had to do it at least once for the bingo #hope you enjoyed!#rosie writes

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dieamoric · 3 years ago

Note

Whats so wrong about being battleaxe bi? the other microlabels work relentlessly to erase and vilify bisexuality and strip it of its true definition to make their own labels valid, not to mention they love to divorce themselves from us and make us the binary transphobic sexuality and them the pure all loving ones

"what's wrong with being queerphobic" is what you really mean.

i dunno, anon. what's so wrong about being a transmed, then? gender dysphoria is a disorder, after all, because it was in the dsm! all the people coming up with microlabels, xenogenders, and neopronouns are just cis people wanting to be special, and making a mockery of transgenderism! /s

what's so wrong about thinking that 'cishet' ace/aros don't belong in the lgbt community, then? not wanting to have sex or be in a relationship has nothing to do with lgbt, they're just special snowflakes who want to be oppressed! /s

regardless of where labels like pan, ply, omni, etc. have originated and WHY, people are able to reclaim those labels, especially under the bisexual/multisexual spectrum umbrella. because. they are. MICROLABELS.

all mspec people experience bisexuality (or biromanticism, if you want to get more specific) because the definition of bisexuality is being attracted to genders like your own, and genders unlike your own. (which is usually written as any and all genders, two or more, etc.)

if people want to go further to define how they experience bisexuality with more specific labels that fit under bisexuality, they should have the freedom and support to do so.

afterall, bisexuality was reclaimed too as a label.

so anon, yes, there is plenty wrong with being a battleaxe bi.

blaming other queer people for misinformation and for cishetallos being transphobic is not it.

#i said id stay off today but i havent gotten a trick or treater yet so i have time to answer dumb stuff #IM SAYING A LOTY OF BUZZWORDS BUT ITS SARCASTIC #battleaxe bi unsafe #bi #bisexual #bisexual discourse

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sicparvismorrigan · 4 years ago

Text

Crisis of Faith

The will of God brings a young and impressionable Trinity soldier to the attention of Commander Konstantin.

Tomb Raider/Rise of the Tomb Raider/Konstantin

Viewpoint: 3rd person female Trinity soldier OC

Warnings: blood, descriptions of violence, PTSD, religious fanaticism, stigmata

Word count: ~2.5k [complete]

A short fic I wrote because I wanted to play with Konstantin’s heavily religious side.

Read on Ao3

Death.

Ailish sat up on her cot, freezing cold. She was drenched in sweat and panting heavily. It was pitch black in the gulag and she tried to slow her breathing so she wouldn’t wake her comrades. She listened carefully, there was snoring coming from all directions. Nobody had heard her, not yet.

She was safe. She was surrounded by big men with weapons, nothing could hurt her here. All the prisoners were securely locked up. Ailish reached down and felt the comforting cool steel of her own pistol in its holster.

She breathed in deep and counted 1...2...3... before breathing out again. Her pulse was still racing and she could feel her heart trying to leap out of her ribcage.

Safe. I’m safe.

It had been nearly two years since Yamatai and Ailish still had nightmares. She knew exactly what it was: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She had heard the guys talk, knew some of them struggled too. She had seen a few get discharged because of it. She’d spent a long time trying to convince herself she was fine. But in fact, she really wasn’t.

She needed air. Ailish quietly got out of her cot and shrugged on a few more layers before making sure her pistol was strapped to her body, just in case. She tiptoed past the guys by the light from her torch, and made her way out to the old guardhouse that was their temporary mess area. She just wanted some space to calm down.

Empty, thank God. The embers of the fire were enough to keep the warmth going. She pulled up a chair and settled in to watch the glow.

She kept replaying the last moments of her nightmare over and over in her head, despite trying her best to push it away. They were in that god-awful pit again, suffocating from the fumes. She checked ahead and yelled Clear! back to her second, Charlie. As he moved past her she heard something big land on the rock of the cavern floor behind them. Charlie swung back around and screamed at her to get down as a God-awful roar filled the cave, rattling her bones. He raised his gun to fire and Ailish shrieked at him stopitsgonnablow-

bang bang

BOOM

A flash of white light, then darkness. Waking up in terror once again from the memories that haunted her every night. At least she was alive, she had made it out. Charlie hadn’t, she couldn’t save him. She still blamed herself. The guys had tried to convince her again and again it was an accident, but she should have been there. In her dreams, she’d seen Charlie die a hundred times over, each more horrible than the last.

She had never been so close to quitting as she had after Yamatai. She had composed her resignation letter in her head on the helicopter ride back to civilization, but had never written it. Something told her it wasn’t time yet. She’d spent just over three years working with Trinity at that point and never questioned her beliefs before the clean-up mission to that hellhole. By all accounts it was even worse during the Nishimura expedition. She shuddered, it didn’t bear thinking about, how anyone could survive there for any length of time she’d never know. So many bodies. And in some places, the smell, it was unholy.

It didn’t help her sleep at night, but at least she had got a promotion out of it. The salary was great, which was a major reason for her staying put. Ailish was trying to help her parents put her younger sister through Yale, and every cent counted. Her mom and dad had just been grateful, and thankfully hadn’t yet asked where the money had come from. She didn’t want to have to lie. They’d hit the roof if they ever found out. As far as they were concerned, she was still working as a paralegal in Chicago. God, she missed her sister. She hadn’t seen her in months, and now Ailish was off-grid in Siberia. Freezing cold, snowy, desolate Siberia.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a voice outside. A deep voice, American accent. It sounded a lot like the Commander. She really hoped he wouldn’t come into the guardhouse. He was intimidating, and she’d never been in a room alone with him before. He sounded like he was talking on the phone.

“...and what did the doctor say?”

...

“Okay...Ana, are you smoking?”

...

“Yeah, I know, but-“

...

“Listen, she’s on the move. She may even already be in Siberia. I need you back here.”

...

“Got it, see you soon.”

Who was Ana? Was it his wife, girlfriend, daughter? Who was the other ‘she’ he was talking about?

Ailish heard footsteps coming up to the door and the latch lifting. Oh boy, here we go. I wasn’t eavesdropping, Commander, I swear.

He stopped dead when she saw her at the table. Obviously not expecting anyone else to be awake at this hour. He slid the cellphone he was carrying into a pocket and nodded at her before closing the door behind him. “Sergeant.”

“Evening-“ Ailish checked her watch. “Ah, morning, Commander. Sorry, sir. I’ll get out of your way.” She slid her chair back to leave.

“Stay. You were here first.” Ailish sat back down immediately, wide-eyed. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep, sir.” Not strictly true but she didn’t want to feel like a little schoolkid telling her superior she had a bad dream.

“Likewise.” He pulled up the chair opposite her and sat down with a sigh.

Something was bothering him, he seemed fidgety. Ailish didn’t really know what to do so she started twiddling her thumbs and rambling to fill the silence. “Gee, the weather’s really turned these past few days, huh? Ha ha...kind of makes me wish we were back in Syria. Although it was almost too hot-“

He cut her off. “Moscovitch, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re not on duty, you don’t have to call me sir.”

“Uh- yes. Okay, si- eh...Command- uhmm...”

“Konstantin is fine.”

“Okay.” It felt weird. Ailish wasn’t even sure if that was his first or last name. “You can call me Ailish. It’s slightly less of a mouthful than Moscovitch.”

“Don’t hear that name very often.”

“Yeah, it’s a weird one...my parents have always had this fascination with Ireland. It means ‘noble and kind’ or something like that...I dunno...”

He looked at her for a long moment. Ailish opened her mouth to speak again when a wolf howled up in the mountains. She grabbed for her pistol and her other hand tightened on the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white.

Konstantin saw her reaction and frowned. “Relax, it’s just a wolf, they don’t come down here-“

“Yeah, I know.” She started hyperventilating and bit her lip hard to fight back the tears. For God’s sake, don’t cry in front of the Commander. She hated hearing the wolves at night. Rationally, she knew they were miles away, but the sound still caused her pain.

For a moment she was back on Yamatai, wedged in a rocky crevice listening to the snarling as they hunted for her. The smell of rain, tree sap and decay all around. Her hands shaking as she pointed her rifle at the opening, just waiting for jaws and teeth to emerge around the corner and grab at her.

“Oh, shit.” This was going to be a bad episode. She’d had panic attacks increasingly often and could spot the signs of one approaching. Fortunately they usually hit when she was alone or could sneak away, but now she had no such luxury. Ailish knew this one had her beat.

Konstantin’s mouth tightened. “Language.”

She had time to blurt out “Terribly sorry sir!” before she slid off the chair onto the floor and crawled under the table.

The tears were now pouring out and rolling down her cheeks. What an embarrassment. She’d fought so hard to prove she was equal to the guys, and now she was being a silly little girl.

She felt the Commander’s boot gently tapping her back. “Mos- Ailish? Are you okay?”

“I will be, in a minute.” She panted.

Through the panic she heard the other chair scraping backwards. To her surprise Konstantin crouched and got down to her level under the table, facing her. Was he supposed to do that?

“You’ve normally got it together, Moscovitch.” Oh no, back on a last name basis. She’d definitely messed up. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Ailish shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just need a sec.”

The only sounds in the room were her panting and the low crackle of logs in the burner. She felt his gloved hand on her shoulder.

He quietly spoke. “Listen, I read the Yamatai report.” It was strange, how calming his voice was.

Ailish looked up, misty-eyed. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know they’d be sending a woman.”

“I’m just as capable-“

“Quiet. I’m saying it’s impressive you completed the mission, and even led part of the way, that place sounded like a nightmare.”

“It was.” Charlie, I should have saved you.

“And I am sorry you lost Corporal Collins. I know you were close.”

“Yeah...” she sniffed loudly. Her heart still hurt, so much. “He was like a brother. Charlie would have done anything for me. And I would have done the same for him.”

His eyes softened. “I know what that’s like.”

It meant a lot to Ailish, getting commiserations from a Trinity leader. Normally, you could forget about that sort of thing. Rourke had co-ordinated the Yamatai mission and hadn’t said a word to her when he had met them back on the mainland for debriefing. Dominguez had been silent too, though he had been one of those who had approved her promotion. They could be a heartless, insensitive bunch sometimes.

But she hadn’t expected the Commander to have a soft side. He actually reminded her of Charlie. Konstantin had a scarred-up face but there were similarities for sure. Blonde hair, blue eyes, they walked with the same purpose. He wasn’t bad-looking actually, as long as the light was dim.

Ailish eventually rallied and crawled back into her chair, still breathing quickly. Konstantin sat down too, regarding her with something akin to concern.

“Tell me the real reason you’re here by yourself in the middle of the night.”

She swallowed hard. “I...I have nightmares still.”

He shook his head. “I think you should talk to someone about this. If you’re serious about staying with Trinity. It would be a shame to bail out now that you’re a Sergeant.”

“I’m fine.” Ailish mumbled.

“You’re really not. I know someone who might be able to help, a doctor.”

“No, honestly...” Please no doctors, they might kick her out. She needed the money for Ellen’s tuition, she had to stay.

“I trust her, she’s with Trinity. Her name’s Wilkens. If I order you to see her you can’t say no.”

“Then I suppose it’s settled.” Great, just great.

“Indeed.”

He suddenly pulled his gloves off and took her hand in his. Ailish fought not to pull back out of his grasp. Was this really appropriate? Her free hand was reaching for her pistol when she realised he was just checking her pulse.

“Much better. Almost back to normal.”

She managed a small smile. “Thank you Commander.”

Ailish realised her hand felt strange under his, like a bug was crawling on her. She glanced down and started. “Your...uh, your hand is bleeding.”

Fresh blood was running down between her fingers onto the table. It was creepy as hell, she tried not to shiver. She’d been a bit squeamish about blood since she’d seen a literal underground river of it in Japan.

He didn’t react, just looked straight into her eyes. Ailish didn’t know what he expected her to do. She could still feel it trickling down her skin. Was he not alarmed that his hand had just started pouring blood? She was becoming visibly uncomfortable when he finally answered her.

“They’re old wounds. It happens sometimes.” He held up his other hand, palm facing towards her. “See?” That one was also dripping crimson.

Ailish almost gagged. Ugh, now she knew why he wore gloves all the time, even in the heat of Syria. What was the name for those wounds? Stigmata, or something like that. A sign of divine favour, apparently.

The urge to ask how he got them was overwhelming. Actually, she better not, it was maybe a touchy subject. The Commander could be...violent. She’d seen what he could do when he was pissed off. She had the fleeting thought that maybe he would hurt her, or worse, if the mood took him. Everyone else was asleep, who would know?

He spoke, jolting her back to reality. “Did you pray on Yamatai, Ailish?”

She nodded, not breaking the eye contact. “Yes sir, for my life, almost constantly.”

“And you truly believe in what we are trying to accomplish?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hmmm...”

There was a long pause, he seemed to be having an internal conversation she wasn’t privy to. Finally he nodded. “Keep your faith, Ailish. You have already been tested, and you’re still here. I believe you are destined for something greater, like myself.”

“Sir?”

He smiled at her, but it was cold and calculating, he reminded her of a shark. His eyes were suddenly dark and empty.

“The name Ailish is Celtic, yes. But did you know it has a different meaning in Hebrew?”

“You know Hebrew?” She asked in surprise. He ignored her.

“Your name means consecrated to God.”

She wasn’t sure she liked his train of thought. Ailish knew he was one of the more devout members of Trinity, but she didn’t know how deep it ran.

“I’m sorry, Commander, I’m not sure what you’re getting at...”

“I want to keep a closer eye on you, Sergeant. You report directly to me now, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” She nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“And let me talk to Wilkens. We’ll help you, don’t skip out on Trinity yet.” He finally let go of her bloodstained hand. Ailish could smell it, metallic.

Konstantin stood up, pulling his gloves on. “I have a feeling we’re going to need you for something important.”

Ailish was dumbfounded, what had she agreed to? She didn’t like not knowing, but the Commander wasn’t a man you just said no to.

As he opened the door with a blast of cold air Konstantin turned back, giving her that empty smile again. “Get some sleep, Sergeant. That’s an order.”

“O...kay.” The door clicked shut, and he was gone.

Ailish glanced down at the mess on her hand. She felt like she’d been marked in some way.

Stigmata.

What did he mean?

Consecrated to God. What was it that Konstantin, or some other higher power had planned for her?

What was her purpose?

***

Thank you for reading!

~ Anyone who has read Behind Trinity Lines will recognise the character of Dr. Joanna Wilkens, I couldn’t not include her somehow! She is awesome and I love her. All credit to @BrittanyTheScrivener on Ao3 for Jo’s character. Her work is brilliant, if you haven’t read it I highly suggest you do

~ Sergeant Ailish Moscovitch, her family and Corporal Charlie Collins are my characters, all other characters mentioned are property of the Tomb Raider creative team and I take no ownership of them

~ I feel I should mention that nothing in this work is intended to cause offence or be blasphemous in any way. I myself am not religious at all but I am respectful of those who choose to be and anything I’ve written is only exploring character traits already displayed in the Tomb Raider video games

~ I have no current plans to update this with more chapters, it was intended to be a one-shot. I just really wanted to play with Konstantin’s heavily religious side. But if there is interest I might continue the story...what exactly does Konstantin have planned for Ailish? Where does she fit in with the events in Rise of the Tomb Raider? What will Ana think of her? What would happen if Ailish and Lara ever crossed paths? This could get interesting...

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