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brawltogethernow · 1 year

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—

L fell over from his customary seated position, died in his nemesis's arms, then came to in his customary seated position.

He fell over.

"Richard?" said Wammy, the alias he'd been using four cases ago. "Are you alright?"

"Watari?" he said dumbly, into the floor. Wammy was dead. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but he had been sure when he saw the data kill switch had been flipped, pieces of information slotting together to form a whole even when he didn't want them to. His own hand had carved him into a device that did this process automatically. It was too late to deny facts.

"What?" said Wammy like he didn't recognize the Japanese alias.

L pushed himself up halfway off the ground. "Fuuuuuck this," he said, and fell over again.

⁣

"Why me?" he wondered aloud. "Does this happen to everyone killed by the murder notebooks? I can't investigate an infinite multiverse, Weatherby."

"Probably not," conceded Wammy. He was currently humoring L gamely. L had been able to provide multiple descriptions of future events that would confirm he wasn't cracking up, but none of them had happened yet. He had never been much of one for keeping track of the date regarding matters where someone could do it for him, which didn't help. Well. Wammy would come around.

L was humoring himself, too, for now. There was no point assuming his mind wasn't reliable. Using his brain to run diagnostics on itself could wait until it seemed necessary. If he was having an Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge moment it was certainly going on for a very long time.

He ground his molars against each other. The Kira murders had been supernatural, but clearly guided by a hand that either was mortal or thought the same way. So far, this seemed...random.

"I don't like this," he informed the room, and incidentally Wammy. His latest sugar cube tower collapsed and split into two factions, one falling into his tea and the other scattering across his desk. Tea sloshed out of its cup in futile pursuit of the desk faction.

He picked up the teacup by the mostly not sticky handle and sipped it, pursuing the grit at the bottom of its basin. He put it down and but his thumbnail. It was slightly sweet. He needed to wash his hands. He added, "Well. I like it better than being dead."

⁣

He sent the party interested in his current case an e-mail with enough key bullet points of the solution for them to clean up what was left of it themselves, which was more than he felt like doing for a rerun of a case. If he were stuck only rehashing already closed cases he might entertain the theory that this was Hell. But the world was wide, he had only lived a year or so beyond this in the first place, and the Kira case was still open.

He tried to console himself that Light Yagami possessed one of the most ruthlessly brilliant minds L had ever encountered. This did not make him feel any better about being beaten by a fucking child. L was an extremely petty man about things like that.

(He had been a worse minor. If he had been eighteen as well when faced with such an infuriating suspect, he would probably have been the one instigating physical altercations. He would have broken Light's perfect nose instead of playing around with him, and then maybe he wouldn't be undead.)

He gnawed his thumbnail, brain too itchy to be content just pressing it against his bottom lip where he could usually stop. He knew on one level of thought he was risking ending up with sore and bloody cuticles, but it was not the level primarily in charge of his teeth and hands when he was stressed. Was he stressed? Extremely, yes. But should he have been? His life wasn't even in danger, nor was Wammy's. Kira hadn't claimed his first kill yet, probably hadn't acquired his weapon, that awful, intriguing, unassuming notebook. And when he did, L could just...

L didn't even have to do anything. He could just ignore it, and stay ensconced in whatever HQ he chose. Name unrecorded, face unknown, existence not relevant to Light Yagami's twisted morals. He already knew all the key mechanics of Kira. The method, the means—he was sure he'd already known the why. He had all the answers he wanted. Light had given him his answers.

His true face... It was all the confession L had needed. An honor, even.

Ha!

L didn't need anyone's sanction to solve the Kira problem, either. He could steal the notebook. He could hire a hitman.

Dull pain and the taste of blood alerted him that he'd bitten through his thumb.

He popped it into his mouth to keep blood off his keyboard. No, he didn't want to kill Light Yagami. He probably should kill Light Yagami, but he didn't want to. He wanted to... To...

⁣

Of the many casualties of the Kira case, there was no one he cared to intervene for he hadn't led to danger with his own hand. (Should he have cared more about Beyond? Eh, he'd interfere if Wammy brought it up.) Even Naomi, who he hadn't spoken to in years, should have no reason to return to her home country if L didn't repeat old plays.

...He wondered if he was perhaps taking the wrong lessons about treating people as expendable from the situation.

He tapped his fingers. Naomi. He had liked her.

He spent an hour at the keys confirming where she was. The sun had set around him, at some point, leaving him in a black room with the monitor a white inferno at the center. Moved to Burbank, engaged, retired. She must be bored out of her mind in an empty room of her own making. No wonder she had died over this case too.

He hoped it was exciting first. Light had never mentioned her.

Focusing all of her faculties on her boytoy only for a killer to take him away... She must have gotten very unlucky to have not proved a bigger obstacle.

⁣

After it came clear that L was reporting his experiences accurately (or hallucinating his confidant's confirmations), Wammy sat silently for a subjectively long minute and forty-seven seconds.

"What is it like?" he asked at last. "Dying."

"I don't know, I was kind of distracted," L deflected, because this is true.

Wammy gave him a blank yet communicative look.

L bit down on his other, less raw thumb. Why hadn't Wammy come back with him, possessed of his own experience to draw on? Was there another Wammy, elsewhere, who has gone back alone?

Could it be he really didn't die? No. L was sure.

Kira had done that, but even spider-scrabbling blunted fingertips at the bottom recesses of the linty pockets of his heart, L couldn't find it in himself to feel too righteously indignant. L was the one who had wanted to win badly enough he'd anted up his allies in their game. He had been cocky. He had been too cavalier.

"Frustrating," he answered. "Like when you can't stay awake even though you're in the middle of a project."

The brain, whirling determinedly away even as it stopped receiving fresh blood, as the vision narrowed down to a thin line, a screen shutting off uncaring of whether it was the end of the program.

⁣

He researched relevant players he hadn't been aware of at this point. All were transpiring to be about where he'd have plced them.

The web of events was elaborate. But that could have been dream logic. He'd tried, but never gotten the hang of, lucid dreaming. He was not sure he would be truly convinced this was happening until he'd discovered a why.

He hovered his overful teacup not quite at his lips. Next, he could find a backdoor into the TCPD systems, but...maybe...

He wormed into Yagami Light's computer instead. After 24 hours of passive data collection this provided him with Souichirou's passwords and how Light concealed he was using them.

It was very amateur, which was the best way to hack an organization that thought it was going to be hacked by professionals. Casual exploitation of loose security.

It was child's play on top of this to get a day-old visual on Light. L looked at the security photo and felt a thrill up his spine. Ah, death really didn't change me for the better at all, he thought.

⁣

"What's next in the docket?" asked Wammy, tidying up the workstation they were slated to abandon. (L remained on his computer chair and let this happen around him.) He was content to follow L's lead, even knowing he had led them both to their deaths.

"I want to find out why I've come back in time, and how," said L. "...But I don't have any leads to speak of."

"Except young Yagami," concluded Wammy, who was not an unclever man.

"I don't want to return to the Kira case," L admitted.

"Completely understandable," said Wammy without judgment. He was not an overly moral man, either.

L fidgeted. Flopped somewhat. "The Kira case is the most interesting case on the planet right now," he said.

Wammy waited.

"But I already know how he kills," L sulked. "And dying kind of hurt."

Wammy's mouth pursed at this. But he only asked, "What are you planning, L?"

"I'm going to insert myself," announced L, rising and stepping out of his chair. "What do we have in liquid assets right now?"

"What will this be put toward?" inquired Wammy.

L rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and thought about it, chewing his lip. "Shenanigans," he declared.

He realized he had forgotten a social step and stopped his creep for the exit. He swiveled his head around. "Though Weatherby, if you want to return to the school for a year or two, or perhaps go on vacation—"

"I'll go where you go," interrupted Wammy, chilly.

L pursed his lips, finding now he'd began it that this was not the perfunctory check-in he'd taken it for. He said, "I would prefer if you didn't die."

Wammy sighed. "A similar sentiment is why I will accompany you."

L turned back around. "I see," he said, nodding. "Emotional blackmail."

"This time I trust you to take the appropriate precautions," said Wammy.

"Ugh," said L. "You're no fun."

⁣

To enact his very ingenious and only partially driven by general doubt in reality and spite scheme, L got a job at a pastry chain in Tokyo.

After less than a single afternoon, the manager deemed L unfit to serve customers (this was correct), so he was shuffled onto glazing duty. He accepted this without complain as, due to the pop-up-cum-cart-style layout of the establishment, this still allowed him a clear view of anyone patronizing the establishment. Moreover, he did not especially want to serve customers.

He despised the thin plastic sanitation gloves, which felt like rather than protecting his hands they moved the barrier of contaminated flesh up to his wrists, oils creeping and substances splashing upwards, until he wanted to decontaminate his arms up to the elbows and down to the bone.

It's for the case, he told himself even though there was no case, not really. It was the same process of steeling himself to put discomfort aside for a greater cause.

The greater cause this time was just bullying Yagami Light.

This is a cinnamon roll of great justice, he told himself, then held it up to eye level and examined it, debating whether to eat half of it in front of his manager. For great justice.

⁣

His fingers twitched. He solved cold cases from his backlog and sent in tips about them thumb-typed on a PDA on his lunch breaks. He was so understimulated he contemplated playing some stocks, which he was trying to cut back on. He had more money than one person could ever need and than he had any inclination to redistribute responsibly, and also he acclimated to them the way some people did to pachinko.

⁣

The manager sat him down. "I have been informed I can't fire you," he said.

"Yes," said L, who had purchased the chain before applying for the job.

"But I want to," said his manager, like it was important L knew.

"That's fine," said L. He pulled an industrial tub of cold icing over, stuck one finger into it, and licked it.

The manager's mouth flexed murderously. L entertained himself briefly by imagining this scheme if Light was his manager.

⁣

When Light finally walked in, L had been shuffled back to cashier duty to get him to stop licking the donut icing, where he would remain until customer satisfaction dropped untenably low. With a pull that was gravity-inevitable, they locked eyes across the room, and a realization was clear to L at once:

He's bored again.

Without anyone challenging to oppose him, Kira was already getting bored. A smile spread like an ocean oil slick over L's face. Or perhaps like the mysterious and ever-widening sticky spot under the second stove that no one could seem to mop up.

Everything was falling in line with his loftiest expectations. Light would crawl on his knees right to L. He didn't realize it, but he was desperate.

And L would lead this insufferable man, in his supplication, right through the mystery floor goo.

L favored Light with his (he was told) very unsettling customer service smile. "Welcome to Cinnabon," he said.

—

AO3

#death note #fic #w #l lawliet #cinnabon au #how do you spell..........how do you spell the baseball video game one.#quillish wammy #quillsh wammy #EACH VARIANT WORSE THAN THE LAST

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lokilysolbitch · 29 days

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literally the least educated ppl on DID/OSDD1/PDID i've ever seen are fake claimers

these are inspired by tiktok comments i see on other systems videos:

"too many j names,,,,,,you must be faking" so true babes they actually have "can't have too many j names" in the diagnostic criteria great work you got it

"too many alters" pls open google

"me when i make up friends bc im lonely" so what if you used your brain and considered why a disorder caused by trauma....and unstable attachment to caregivers.............could correlate to someone being lonely. :D. next you should tell someone with eczema "me when my skin is just itchy🙄"

"DID is caused by trauma so why are you posting silly videos on tiktok" so actually you can be traumatized and use tiktok. funnily enough. especially in the disorder with amnesia that can make you forget you are traumatized hope this helps but maybe you can try thinking on your own next time tho okay?

"DID is only in 1% of the global population" yes babes. so in a school of 1000, 10 people will have DID. so in the millions of fucking tiktok users guess how many will have DID please learn your fucking percentages also pretty sure that statistic is outdated and doesn't count OSDD1, PDID, and undiagnosed folks

"but you're not diagnosed" yes DID only kicks in after diagnosis good catch

"they probably made up their diagnosis" that's just a theory you made up. do you want them to post their psychiatrist saying they have DID for a tiktok to prove themselves to some randos on the internet. you're not entitled to proof of diagnosis in the first place because remember. you are a rando on the internet

"whoever diagnosed you is wrong" THANK YOU SO MUCH RANDO ON THE INTERNET FOR YOUR VALID RESEARCHED UNDIAGNOSIS VIA TIKTOK COMMENT. you've truly convinced us all

"but you're young" okay so when do you think DID starts. google that. hope that helps

"but you're too old" okay so when do you think DID stops.

"these are oc's" well yes ! so if your brain makes up people to cope. that would make them original. if those people can control your body and hold different parts of your memories and you can't control them. that would likely be alters.

"faking hurts actual systems" which part of faking hurts systems. the part where hoards of people harass someone they decided was faking? the part where hoards of people don't do any research say someone is faking for reasons they pulled out of their ass? what specifically hurts systems. when people don't fucking believe them and are assholes about it for no reason?? okay so then it's not the faking that hurts systems then. it's you! go take a nap and stop having temper tantrums in peoples comment sections. people trying to find themselves actually won't hurt you or systems nearly as much as your blatant harassment and ignorance. hope this helps xoxoxo❤️❤️❤️

istg y'all really lose it when someone with dyed hair and eyeliner is a little weird or confusing. you are no better than a boomer. pls get it together people are staring

#did #osdd 1a #osdd 1b #pdid #did system #pdid system #osdd system #osddid #dissociative identity disorder #partial did #partial dissociative identity disorder #handmadeorganicpost

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yuwuta · 10 days

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i loveeee your toge hc’s omg what if he was able to talk like normal words and he had the ability to control his curse how do you think he’d be in a rls then

honestly i don’t know…. i never really imagine toge to be able to use normal speech even in non-curse aus i think his limited speech is the largest part of what i like about and what i find interesting about his character yk?

in a non-curse au i always imagine him to either be selectively mute or unable to speak for whatever diagnostic reason, and usually supplement it with the ability to use sign language as an alternative. sometimes with the former, there are exceptions he makes, times he chooses to speak or certain words/phrases he can or wants to verbally say

in canon aus id also like to believe that there are non-ingredient words he can say—it’s hard because we don’t get much knowledge about toge’s backstory or cursed technique 😔😔 and the tidbits we do have don’t reveal much, but there isn’t evidence against him Not being able to speak “regular words,”—just that we know that his words can cause harm and that he chooses to speak in riceball ingredients to keep others safe. to me, in theory, that means three things are possible: he can say other, non-ingredient words as long as they’re neutral/don’t by “default” cause harm, phrases that aren’t commands/that don’t carry verbs can be safe, and that toge’s technique is always “on”—which should mean that with practice, he should be able to control the degree to which his speech magnifies the power and compulsion of his words. which is all to say that, in my mind place, toge can learn to control his technique and cursed energy to speak and say things like “i love you,” without it being a curse. but then again, i also think that he’s shown to be canonically cautious and kindhearted so even if he learns to speak normally without using his curse, part of me thinks he wouldn’t still unless he thought it was extremely important that you hear him say what he wants to say out loud :(( at the end of the day, his soul is so gentle and deliberate that a lack of words wouldn’t be enough to stop him from showing you that he loves and cares for you

#anonymous #he’s so :((( writing this made me re-realize that toge really was my number one boy 😔💘💘💘

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likeabxrdinflight · 2 years

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I want to, somewhat out of nowhere, discuss why I think some of the mental health/neurodivergence awareness posts that have taken off, especially on tiktok and instagram, can be...a bit troubling to me. And it's not because it isn't important to talk about mental health or to discuss ways in which developmental disorders impact people- it's not that. and it's definitely not wrong to encourage people who might be struggling to seek out care, community, and if possible/helpful, professional diagnosis.

but what is concerning is that a lot of these posts paint with...very broad brushes.

for example, I am not autistic. I have never been autistic, I am never going to be autistic. and I know this because, frankly, I have access to professional autism screening tools, I have diagnosed autism before, I know how this process works. and in the process of learning how to use these screening tools, I did what basically every psych in training does- I practiced them on my classmates, and they practiced on me. for self-report forms, I filled them out myself to learn how to score them. I know damn well that I do not reach diagnostic criteria for autism, I never have, I never will.

but if I was getting all my information from doctor tiktok? I might think it was more of a possibility. because you go on tiktok and you click on videos like "signs you have undiagnosed autism" and it gives you things like "anxiety at school" "don't like itchy tags" "exhaustion after social interactions", etc. very generic experiences that yes, could be affected by/a sign of autism, but are also things a lot of people without autism also experience.

as well, the thing that people pay lip service to but no one seems to actually understand, is that autism is a spectrum. and if we consider something a spectrum, we have to assume there is a middle ground between "definitely not autistic" and "very obviously autistic". most humans fall in this middle ground. which means most people are going to, at some times, display some autistic traits. I guarantee you if I gave every person on the face of the planet a standardized autism screener, not one person would score a perfect zero. that just does not happen.

I'm seeing the same thing happening now with trauma. everything under the sun is a trauma response now, apparently, with absolutely no lip service being paid to the fact that a lot of things that can be symptoms of and/or related to trauma, are not, by themselves, actual definite indicators of trauma. again, for some reason social anxiety comes up a lot. as if social anxiety disorder isn't a whole diagnosis by itself that is very definitely not always linked to a specific trauma!!!

and on that note it's also very troubling how attachment theory is taking off at an alarming pace, as if it is the end all be all of understanding trauma. holy hell people, I like attachment theory, I use it with patients all the time when it's relevant, but I know damn well it is an imperfect theory developed in the mid-20th century using now outdated methods of considering family life. attachment theory does not consider attachment to fathers/father figures, was deeply heteronormative, both idealizes and demonizes mothers simultaneously, and absolutely fails to consider how attachment systems might get disrupted later in life by peers and other significant figures. it's also a categorical theory which has inherent problems by itself. we are not always a perfect embodiment of one of the four attachment types, and dimensional measures of attachment show this pretty clearly. it's not a perfect theory, and you cannot possibly try to explain every single mental health system under the sun in relation to it. not everything is attachment trauma, s t o p.

anyways, these are just a few examples. but the point is, stop trying to play psychologist on tiktok. there is a reason it takes 5-7 years on average to get a damn PhD. I understand there's benefits to making mental health information accessible, and in general I'm in favor of that, but please. consider some information shouldn't be consumed in short form video content or in three slides on instagram. it is perfectly well and good to talk about your own experiences with a given diagnosis or condition, but the problem starts when you think that makes you an expert on diagnosing everyone else, when you think your experiences can generalize to others, and when you think that gives you permission to "educate" people on theories and ideas that you've not actually studied in any real depth. and it's especially troubling when it's obvious that this stuff is trendy right now, and you're a content creator who wants clicks and views.

#and quit trivializing my expertise down to a few 30 second hot takes #I'm not writing a dissertation for y'all to make it palatable for an algorithm

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ereemos · 1 year

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my not-so-comprehensive list (very personal 3am opinion) on books about how to deal with someone with bpd (i’m sure this is applicable to other conditions)

it’s very difficult to deal with a mentally ill oved one, and no matter how much suffering they’re in, the pain it causes those around them is not to be discounted.

this pain can stem from not understanding certain behaviours, fear for their loved one’s wellbeing, seeing someone act violently towards others or themselves, powerlessness, etc.

i whole heartedly believe that these people deserve support too, and that their experience is valid and important to verbalise.

either way, sometimes this can be taken to the extreme, where the person suffering for their loved one starts feeling like “the real victim” and this creates extra stigma, this post being about bpd, an already incredibly stigmatised disorder (both in and out of the medical community).

how do i support my loved one with bpd, or find resources to help myself get through this situation, or understand my loved one better, without falling for evil-bpd-manipulator-woman-propaganda?

look no further! i’ve read enough bpd self help book for loved ones, to be able to tell you what to look out for. i’m sure there’s good ones out there, haven’t seen a single one though ! hah! (only because my mum buys them btw, i promise they exist)

WHAT TO LOOK OUT FOR … in a shitty book

- “most cases of bpd are caused by childhood trauma, but not your child, you are a good parent” books that use this sort of language seem more like they’re trying to reassure someone who is, most likely, a contributing factor to their child’s bpd

when the book is more about self help than it is about therapy… any book framed as self help, i’d stray from. you are not qualified to talk about bpd in this setting.

when the actual victim seems to be treated as an abuser, or written about like an annoying ex who won’t stop texting you, miiight be a sign someone doesn’t care about how people are treated, just wants to make their readers like they need a cuddle.

when they start talking about wanting to expand bpd criteria and diagnosing bpd in minors - why are you talking about this in a self help book - you’re spreading medical misinformation by mixing official diagnostic criteria with your own personal (BIASED) theories, seems like every patient you don’t like has bpd…

w hen the main “how to help a bpd sufferer” is just “give up on trying to help them, they’ll never amount to anything, think about yourself” HUH

too much personal judgement . you’re writing about a disorder .

look at the authors bibliography! are they self help authors who have written nothing other than “how to leave your ex boyfriend behind” “how to be happy in 10 steps” or maybe actual doctors whose mainstream published works include “how my bpd wife ruined my life” “the real victims of bpd” etc???

personal pet peeve, but people talk about bpd patients as only being women. rubs me the wrong way, especially, with the bod/hysteria parallels.

emphasis on either fixing the patient or cutting ties with them/ letting them live an unfulfilling life “because that’s just how they are”

(tl;dr keep away from self help books, as a society we have moved past the need of self help book-capitalism--self-affirming-pseudo therapy)

RESOURCES TO HELP YOURSELF OR A LOVED ONE WITH BPD

DBT !!! there’s so many free resources out there, exercises, pdfs etc, its really worth looking into!

research BPD on your own, looking at multiple sources, both medical and personal experiences, and remember that if you’ve been abused by someone with a cluster b personality disorder, that doesn’t make everyone with the same illness a monster

readings that emphasise on how to deal with situations (still, DBT is useful for this), how to de-escalate a meltdown by behaving empathetically, protecting your peace and your loved one’s, rather than trying to “fix” them.

it is important to hold people accountable for their actions: people with bpd are people, not just victims. Having tough conversations w sufferers can be hard. consider contacting an actual therapist, when things are too much to handle.

there is no shame in going no contact if the person is genuinely abusive, or dealing w them is beyond your abilities. you are not their psychiatrist.

keep in mind that psychology and psychiatry and constantly evolving, and what is a diagnosis today may be laughable in 10 years time ! (just look at the history of bpd)

this post was specifically written for my mother but i just had to put it out there i hate self help books i hate them it’s so much worse than telling me “have you tried yoga?” because yoga actually helps, unlike self help books, which are making psychology and mental illness a big soup of buzzwords to pick out and capitalise on! hmm what will it be today? narcissistic abuse? how to handle your autistic child? soooo sick and tired . stop making money off of me. give me money if you want but stop exploiting disordered individuals.

thanks for reading, sorry for the long post/ramble, it’s 3am

#rant #self help cult #bpd #self help #self help books #borderline personality disorder #cluster b #dbt #bpd vent #anti self help #actually bpd

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lunarsilkscreen · 8 months

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Tech Illiteracy hurts our Military(Power).

Tech is taking away the ability for the average user to fully understand their devices.

Tech and OS{Operating System Manufacturers) have taken to making the user device experience easy for the lowest common denominator user to learn the device form scratch.

Unfortunately, that means a decrease of those who understand the devices they hold at all times. And there's a very large disadvantage for military members in order to use their devices.

<aside>There's even a conspiracy theory about making the average population increasingly tech illiterate and therefore more reliant on the tech companies. And their intent to ensure that a device is not owned by the user.</aside>

There's a lot one could say on this pressure, but what does it mean for our military forces if the average user can't diagnose simple issues with their own phones?

It means being stranded without being able to contact technical support.

Military members and civilians are routinely in situations with a lot of distance between them and civilization. This means that tech support and repair will most likely*also* be far out of reach.

And therefore, there'll be need for at least one person to be able to perform on the fly diagnostics when a piece of tech ultimately stops working. This is true whether it's your weaponry, your vehicles, and your cellphone.

There it costs a lot to bring extras, and even more for every extra position that needs a person taught to fill that slot.

And yet, we expect this not to be true for technology? "I'm sorry, the telephone you're holding is no longer in service."

It has been true to keep radios simple and in small kits for children to put together for a time of crisis. And yet we assume that a phone is different?

We assume that the company who owns the device will always be alive and available. Until a certain company paints a target on their back to be hit in order to disable all communications nation wide.

Look, there's "Anti-World Bankers" propaganda, and the twin towers were famously targeted for being "The world's banking hub." And you think you'd be safe when *Comedy Central* thought they were not?

Everybody is worried about a border wall, and there's this giant time bomb sitting in each of our pockets, just waiting to go off.

The loss of the internet is a technological disadvantage when it comes to World-Wide politics. Not being connected means you can't even get the 24/7 borders feed Tik Tok to sate your nightly "Mexican Invader" anxieties and fetishes.

They are not mutually exclusive. No.

Where is this middle ground where the companies win, the country wins, and our national security isn't held hostage because large tech companies don't feel they make enough money.

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justanothersyscourse · 3 years

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It’s Debunk Time!

So I came across some interesting points that I want to talk about. It was sort of a list of points/arguments that endogenic systems commonly make, and I want to talk about them. The truth is, everything from the list has been studied and proven to be wrong/not possible/unlikely to the point of impossibility.

So let’s go through it, point by point.

1. The TOSD is a “new” “theory”-- untested and unproven

The TOSD isn’t new. While The Haunted Self was published in 2014, the research for the book started long before that. In 2005, it already had a name, and was being used as a basis for many papers in relation to treating CDDs. Even before that, it was a concept-- Going as far back as Pierre Janet in the late 1800s. The authors of The Haunted Self simply put a name to what had been described over the course of nearly a century and a half, and put it all together in a handy-dandy book.

It’s essentially a “theory” in name only at this point (and it’s catchy, don’t lie, I can’t think of a better name for it). It’s been tested and the results have been peer-reviewed and recreated over and over and over again. I don’t know how many more times we need to test it before people stop saying it’s “just a theory”.

In order to test it and get to 100%, the last thing to do would be unethical and cruel. Is it really necessary to take that step? Or can we stay confident at 99% proven? It’s still called the Theory of Gravity, but you don’t see people running around calling that, “just a theory”.

It’s also not likely to be proven wrong, either.

At this point, it'd be like every astronomer and geologist going, "So we just found out that the earth is flat. Like, nobody knew at all. We just found out yesterday."

Flat earthers still exist, and they're still spouting that the earth is flat. That doesn't make the earth flat or the possibility that it's gonna be discovered to be flat any more likely.

Or, you know, there’s still a small chance the megalodon might exist? Like, a 0.1% chance. Does that mean we need to accept that it does exist? No, common sense, and repeated testing has proven otherwise.

Inb4 “but we don’t know much about the brain Dx”

We know more than you think-- we’ll get to that shortly.

Also, the ToSD is currently being updated! That’s exciting, and I can’t wait to see what comes out. Chances are, it’s going to be more of the same, and based on the research that has consistently proven it to be true, and it’ll be updated based on the new technological advancements that have given us better insight into the mechanisms of DID/OSDD.

Like THIS!! This is an MRI study that has pinpointed areas of the brain affected by early trauma and that play a crucial role in the development of DID/OSDD. This study is the stepping stone of moving diagnostics from self-reporting, to visual scans-- physical proof. It’s the link that proves DID/OSDD are trauma disorders.

Switching and the damage of trauma-- these are things we can see now. Sure, the brain can do a lot of things, but it’s still limited by physical restraints. If an endo system and a DID system are side by side, and they both claim to have a system, and only the DID system is exhibiting PHYSICAL EVIDENCE of switching... At the very least, they’re not comparable experiences, and they shouldn’t be lumped together.

2. Natural Plurality

Going by point 1, natural plurality simply isn’t possible. The natural progression of human cognition and personality states integrate over time, until a cohesive sense of self is formed. This is supported by more than just the ToSD-- developmental psychology is longstanding and accepted, and attachment theory also follows this basic principle. But oh no :( there’s that word again. “Theory”.

But seriously, this one doesn’t even need to be debated, does it? Are we going to argue that developmental psychology is new and untested? Or can we get on with it?

So, combining ALL of the information-- there’s no reason for there to be any interruption to this natural integration outside of trauma. You’re not “special” that your brain didn’t do the thing without any cause-- that has literally never happened to anyone ever, and there’s zero reason for it to happen. It would be like saying your body refuses to age, or instead of pooping, you cry every time you need to go.

Some things are natural and they don’t change without a reason.

That reason has consistently proven to be trauma.

NOW, there IS a case to be made about what trauma is. What constitutes trauma, what’s considered severe trauma, how does age play into it (though we’ll get into age in the next point).

Neurogenic seems to be the new hot topic of debate, with people consistently claiming that they’re a system due to other disorders-- without acknowledging that those disorders make them more prone to experiencing trauma.

People seem to forget that trauma is a REACTION, not an event. You can experience trauma in reaction to anything that you might find overwhelming. Comorbid disorders make you significantly more prone to having a traumatic reaction to something everyone else might consider to be less “severe”.

3. Splitting Later in Life

Just... No. Once you’ve integrated, you can’t undo it.

I actually heard a really good analogy the other day. The brain is like putty, and at first, as a child, it’s soft and malleable. As you age, it hardens until it’s considered one cohesive identity. It can’t be shattered or broken or split at this point.

Someone responded to this with, “what if you just added some water to make it more malleable again? Maybe it won’t be as malleable, but it’s still possible, right?”

The answer is yes, but we already have names for those disorders-- BPD, PTSD, Anxiety, Depression.

BPD specifically has a trauma cause, and can very much feel like separate identities, but it’s just not. Yes, something made your brain more malleable, and you “split” (in BPD, they do “split”) but it’s not an alter, and it’s not the same as DID/OSDD. To someone experiencing untreated BPD, though, and with no therapeutic guidance, it definitely, absolutely can feel like you are a system-- only because you don’t actually understand what DID/OSDD systems are experiencing in comparison. Physically, mentally, they’re not the same.

BPD is actually considered the sister disorder to DID, and it’s what can happen to someone if the trauma is experienced for less time, and/or at a later age (after the integrative process has already started). [x] [x]

4. Any Kind of Trauma Can Cause DID/OSDD

This is... not necessarily true. My followers will know I’m the absolute first to throw around the valid gold star when it comes to trauma, but that doesn’t mean “any” trauma can cause a system.

While trauma (the reaction to events) is very much subjective to the individual and their circumstances, it still must be prolonged trauma. This is trauma that lasts weeks and years and doesn’t stop long enough to give you a break. Nothing else will cause the level of dissociation needed to cause a system to form. Again, BPD is what happens when trauma is not prolonged. PTSD is from singular traumatic events. There are already names for what happens in those circumstances.

5. Multiple Forms of Plurality

This is already acknowledged-- plurality can be a personal, philosophical experience, or it can be in reference to internal mechanisms, like in IFS.

These are not the same experiences as DID/OSDD. My alters are not me “viewing myself through a different lens” (social), it’s not, “I think, therefore I am,” (philosophical), it’s not mediumship, ghosts, spirits (spiritual), or anything of the sort, and to imply they could be comparable experiences is doing an extreme disservice to those with DID/OSDD and what we’re going through.

6. In Utero

Birth trauma has been sufficiently disproven as a thing that exists, let alone causes plurality.

Womb trauma-- trauma that can come from things that the mother is experiencing or doing, can play a part in the development of certain disorders. It can make a person more prone to developing DID due to other disorders making them more susceptible to trauma, but alone, will not cause the dissociation needed to develop DID/OSDD, and up until about three months, the child really doesn’t exist as anything more than... a meat sack, to put it bluntly. The development of attachments doesn’t begin until 3-6 months, memories don’t form until 2, so unless the trauma intervenes, again, the integration will naturally just... happen.

7. Genetics and Genes

Again, no. This has been studied extensively. There is no genetic component to DID/OSDD. Genetics play a part in making a person more susceptible to dissociation and trauma, but there are no faulty genes that will cause it alone.

#did #osdd #actuallydid #actuallyosd #actuallytraumagenic #syscourse #ptsd #anti endo #system #debunk #long post

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crossdreamers · 3 years

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How to see through anti-trans propaganda, a review of two books

Right now the anti-trans/anti-gender movement is publishing books that aim to give their transphobia a more sound scientific footing. Given that mainstream science says that gender is real, that trans identities are real and that the best thing you can do for trans people is to help them become who they are and stop pestering them, this is a difficult task, indeed.

In a review of Helen Joyce’s Trans: When Ideology Meets Reality and Kathleen Stock’s Material Girls: Why Reality Matters for Feminism, Alex Sharpe explains how and where they go wrong.

Here’s some extracts to get you going:

Sexual fetishism

Having painted a background of Weimar republican decadence (p 12), Joyce introduces the reader to the sexological and medical categories of ‘transvestism’ and ‘transsexuality.’

However, while she criticises the theories of Magnus Hirschfeld, Harry Benjamin and others, she makes no mention of the fact their theories have been extensively critiqued by feminist, queer and trans theorists for decades.

Before long, and via the discredited theory of sexological outlier, Ray Blanchard (pp 37-45), we arrive at the idea trans women are erotically aroused by the thought of themselves as women and that it is through such arousal we can best understand gender dysphoria, at least in trans women.

Yet, research by Julia Serano and Charles Moser shows ‘autogynephilia’ to be neither a sexual orientation nor a cause of gender dysphoria.

Indeed, studies have shown many cis women (as many as 93%) experience erotic arousal at the thought or image of themselves as women.

What the term does is enable ‘gender critical’ activists and others to embed in the public mind the idea trans women should be understood in sexual terms. It is important to recognise how sexualisation of trans women lays ground for claims to come: our gender identities should not be taken seriously; we pose a threat to cis women and girls.

Health Care Professionals and Trans Kids

Joyce presents medical professionals caring for trans kids as irresponsibly endangering their well-being. This claim has several aspects. In the first place, she argues most children experiencing gender dysphoria desist from a trans path, with most growing up to be cis gay men or cis lesbians (p 71). This suggests high rates of desistance and therefore dangers of medical interventions.

Yet, the studies on which she relies include children who are gender non-conforming as well as children who are gender dysphoric. It is hardly surprising children falling into the former category do not become trans as adults because they were never trans to begin with.

Moreover, as Joyce notes, ‘if gender dysphoria persists well into puberty it is more likely to be permanent’ (pp 33-34). Indeed, much more likely, as evidenced by a high correlation between starting puberty blockers and progressing to cross-sex hormones.While Joyce frames this correlation in terms of the overdetermining effect of puberty blockers (p 73), we might view it as evidence of good diagnostic, and given very low regret levels, prognostic medical practice.

In opposition to this medical account, Joyce immerses herself in another debunked theory: ‘Rapid Onset of Gender Dysphoria’ (ROGD) (p 96). This theory presupposes sudden onset of gender dysphoria due to social contagion. It imagines kids with no prior gender identity issues suddenly develop them through internet communities and are then medically ‘transed.’

The theory was first asserted by Lisa Littman, an American Jungian psychoanalyst. Interestingly, the participants in her study were not children, but rather parents recruited through 4thwaveNow (based in the US) and TransgenderTrend (based in the UK), two groups sceptical about the very existence of trans kids. In these, and in other ways, the study’s methodology is seriously flawed.

Indeed, the Coalition for the Advancement & Application of Psychological Science (a group of 50 psych associations, including the American Psychiatric Association, the American Psychological Association and the World Professional Association of Transgender Health) recently called for abandoning use of the term ROGD, ‘given the lack of rigorous empirical support for its existence.’

Once again, Joyce prefers outlying figures to medical consensus.

In other words: The anti-trans propaganda is not based on science. It is based on lies.

Read the whole article here!

See also:

The Autogynephilia Theory Debunked by New German Study

“Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria” is not real science

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtqa #lgbt+#transphobia #terf #gender critical #anti-trans #queer #rogd #autogynephilia #rapid onset gender dysphoria

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

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Proof of Life, part 1

As a followup to this post where I muse about Moonshadow assassins being able to sense all life, I offer a more specific theory borne of recently rereading "Lunabloom" for the first time in a while. It always helps to let things sit for awhile and then return to them.

Heartbeats. I think Moonshadow elves can sense heartbeats.

In "Lunabloom," Runaan hops up a tree to fetch a star plum for Ethari's birthday, and while he's up there, he senses Rayla's pounding little heart.

He does have big ears, and I bet he also has great hearing, but I think something else is going on here, because there's a lot of evidence in Moonshadow culture that hearts are very important to them in many ways.

When pregnant people visit their doctors, one of the simplest and most reliable diagnostic tests is listening to the baby's heart with a stethoscope. Heartbeats alone can tell someone a lot about their current condition.

Lujanne does something similar with Zym's egg. She reaches toward it and holds her hand there for a while, clearly doing something that gives her the understanding that Zym isn't going to make it unless he can be freed from his egg very soon.

Which is what the Dragaang already knew, thanks to the animal doctor down in the village. Science and magic agreeing? What kind of progressive show is this? Ahaha, seriously that's pretty cool.

Then we've got Rayla sensing Runaan's presence on the castle battlement. She's absolutely certain he's there, and she's right.

It seems plausible at this point that an ability to sense a living creature's heartbeat might explain all of this.

But I'm nowhere near done, and here's where it gets angsty.

The real kicker for me isn't whether I think Moonshadow elves can sense heartbeats or not. It's that Viren believes they do!

When a clever antagonist who does his research believes something about a protagonist, they're probably onto something.

Viren's plan to swap Harrow's soul for another came from Claudia, so I assume she knows whatever he knows about how the Moonshadow assassins track targets. And Viren went to Harrow with Claudia's idea. He wouldn't do that unless he was confident in its success! He must know exactly how the Moonshadow assassins track their targets, and he must know that the soul-swap idea will stymie that sense of theirs.

I hadn't really put my finger on this specific detail before. I used to wonder if Moonshadow elves could sense souls. But if they could, and Viren successfully swapped Harrow's soul with someone else's, the assassins would know something was up with who was in whose body when they got close enough to the king, and Viren's swapping idea wouldn't fool them at all. He knows better than to use mere surprise on an enemy. He needs solid tactics.

But if the Moonshadow assassins could sense their target's heartbeat no matter where it was, they could indeed track it wherever their target tried to hide.

If the assassins burst into Harrow's chamber, tracking the king's physical heart by its beat and then Runaan stopped that heart, then it doesn't matter whose soul is inside Harrow's body. Not to the binding ribbon, and not to the assassins' oath. Once that specific heart stops beating, then the binding ribbon believes the assassins oath has been fulfilled and the targeted life has been taken. It turns red and releases the assassin.

Runaan, honey, what is that now, four ways to release? Come on.

If this mission had gone "perfectly," the assassins might have yeeted back home to Xadia and never been the wiser that Viren's soul-swap had spared King Harrow from death by putting his soul into someone else's body--a body with a different heartbeat! Viren's plan would have succeeded. He really could've saved Harrow's soul, and therefore his consciousness and personality. But there was no way to save his body from the assassins' blades. He never bothered to try that. He knew it was fruitless from the start.

If heartbeats are what matter to the oath and the ribbon, then, plotwise, it doesn't matter whether Viren meddled with Harrow's soul with a swap or not. The heart in King Harrow's chest stopped either way.

Runaan may believe that he killed Harrow properly. And maybe he actually did. Or maybe he saw something in that chamber that told him dark magic had messed with his target, and yet his binding and his vaunted honor compelled him to stop that particular heart anyway. Maybe Runaan realized exactly what he had to do to an innocent soul and how wrong it was. Maybe he realized it and still really wanted to stab Harrow's body for what he'd done to Avizandum. One day, one day, I believe we'll finally know what really went down in that royal chamber, and it's all I'm gonna talk about for the next week. Can't wait, man.

Until then, though, we're all getting the Moonshadow treatment regarding whether Harrow's soul is in Pip or not. Because, once again, it doesn't matter either way to the binding ribbon, and that binding ribbon has a plot-critical job to do. It's telling elves, humans, and dragons alike that Harrow is dead, and the plot is moving forward accordingly. If that's what really happened, then it's a straightforward development. If it's not what happened, then the more consistently everyone has reacted to the misdirection, the more exciting it's gonna be when Suddenly Boom, Harrow!

You know I'm voting for Dadbird, right? Dadbird. It's angstily delicious.

part 2, because image limit

#tdp meta #tdp theory #tdp #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #tdp angst #runaan #viren #harrow #rayla #moonshadow hearts #lujanne #zym #dadbird #moonshadow lotuses #lunabloom

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achaoticeternal · 4 years

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THIS IS ME TRYING

AVENGERS X READER (tony stark x daughter!reader, platonic peter parker x reader) masterlist // taglist

Request: @big-galaxy-chaos “Hey so I see that you also need requests as much as I do 😚 so here is mine! So it's Peter x stark!reader angst. Where Tony is afraid of becoming like his father but in reality, he is worst than him. He favors Peter more than her. Even though she is smarter than her own father, and won tons of awards and shit. Tony doesn't realize what he lost until the reader is gone. Btw the relationship between the reader and Peter is platonic! Also, everyone is oblivious to how she is feeling. Just pure angst”

Summary: Dads and daughters are supposed to have a beautiful relationship. But you could never be the song he always wanted. Word Count: 2.5K A/N: Based on the song this is me trying by Taylor Swift. Reader and Peter are both 18+; takes place after Thanos and Tony lives. Warnings: Heavy angst, cursing, self destructive behaviors, mentions death

“Mr. Stark, I’ve been working on the chemical formula of my webbing and I’m pretty sure that I’ve completely perfected it,” Peter talked while walking with your father to the lab.

“That’s great because I’ve been working on your web-shooters. Now, they can shoot up to 200 yards in length and the error rate of them getting jammed is less than one percent.”

Tony rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder as they left the room together. Neither of them acknowledges you on the couch, reading another novel involving quantum physics. But you’re used to the cold shoulder your father has given you since he first met Peter Parker. You’re used to the way he’s turned you away all your life, justifying his choice by saying he’s protecting you.

You knew that he feared to become his father. Pepper explained that to you when you were a child and you couldn’t leave your room until Tony’s lady of the night let. Or as you and Pepper called it at the time “taking out the trash”.

Maybe that was when you became more interested in the mathematics and science you found in the book and the workshop over good ole bonding time with dear old dad. If he wanted to neglect the time and opportunity to raise you, you would at least make sure to put his money and name to good use for your own personal benefit. And in the back of your mind, you knew that part of you was doing this to earn the attention and love you desired from your father.

Tony just saw it as taking an early interest in your future. So he didn’t stop you when you preferred to sit with tutors over playdates, draw out designs for engines and inventions instead of scribbling in coloring books, or even reading through scientific theories over watching Disney movies. He didn’t think it was strange, because that’s what he did at your age. Hell, by the time you were 10 you had won three first-place national science fair ribbons, third place in the national spelling bee, and began developing a prototype to turn the emissions from cars back into breathable oxygen.

Everyone noticed your brain, and how much you had achieved now at 18 years old. You held 2 Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering and Organic Chemistry from MIT and a Master’s in Astrophysics from Georgia Tech. And you were now planning out when you wanted to go to Law school and earn your doctorate. But you were living at the compound now, taking a gap year.

When you went away for school, you learned from others how normal life was for everyone else. You met kids who were the first in their family to go to college or were looking for opportunities outside of the small towns they came from. When you came home from your second semester at MIT, you told Tony about all this and he created the September Foundation in order to fund the projects and inventions those kids were creating. It was another punch in the gut to you, because you realized that you would never be enough for Tony.

If you were enough, he would have passed the mantle of Iron Man onto someone else after he almost lost you and Pepper to the Mandarin. If you were enough, he wouldn’t have enlisted Peter to help him in his fight against Captain America. If you were enough, he wouldn’t have gone into space for a final fight. If you were enough, Morgan wouldn’t be in the other room watching cartoons. And if Tony acknowledged you, just even a little but, maybe you wouldn’t be trying so hard to impress him and the world.

“Ms. Stark, your package has arrived. Shall I send it over to the labs?” F.R.I.D.A.Y echoed into the room.

“No, send it over to my personal workshop. In fact, send all of TS-2008 to my personal workshop.”

“Of course, miss.”

“Oh, and F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes, miss?”

“Please stop referring to me as ‘Ms. Stark’, (Y/N) is fine.”

“Alright, CASS, reboot the system diagnostics and run test C-24,” you yawned as you asked your personal AI system. The personal AI system you built for yourself, bu yourself - no help from Tony at all.

“Systems are checked out, shall I launch the test?”

“Go for it,” you groaned and took to Advil for your poundingheadachee. It was now two in the morning after another long night of coding, calibrating, testing, and perfecting the project you’ve been working on the past two years.

When you were younger, you tried to replicate the Iron Man suit, but your father quickly discovered the helmet and nearly perfected arc reactor you’d created in his lab. He trashed all of it and told you never to attempt to create the suit again. He said you were better than that, that you had more potential than pretending to be a superhero. You realized as you grew older that he didn’t care if you were trying to become a hero or not; but that you were copying his work. His precious Iron Man that he took months to perfect only took a week for his child to solve.

Dear old dad couldn’t let you have things the easy way. So instead after SHIELD fell and Tony began working to finish wiping out HYDRA, you began working on your own original model suit. Now it was almost ready to showcase to the world.

“Test C-24:successful. Shall I continue to run diagnostics to watch the processing and reaction time of TS-2008?”

“Yes, CASS. Run virtual simulations L-29, O-400, and T-38. Let me know when the trials have finished running and whether or not they were successful or not.”

“Yes, Ms. (Y/N),”

You pushed away from your desk and left your workshop. Before you knew it, you were in the kitchen pouring yourself another cup of coffee. You had been through 3 pots already tonight and no one noticed. Guess that was the nice thing about being Tony’s kid. Everyone else acknowledge your accomplishments and paid no mind to your destructive tendencies. In fact, maybe you’d celebrate tonight and snag a bottle of champagne from the extravagant wine fridge next to the dishwasher. You’d done it plenty of nights before when you wanted to drown out and numb the pain in your heart.

“(Y/N)? Why are you awake? And why are you holding a bottle of champagne?”

Ah, Peter... of course he would be spending the weekend at the compound. It’s not likely he has a perfectly good and happy home back in Queens with a guardian who loves him very much and would give the world to him. Guess that’s something May and your Father.

“Hello, Perfect Parker”

“You know I’ve never understood why you call me that, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t make sense from your end of the looking glass.Why are you up?” You tried so hard not scowl or be too rude. Peter had tattled to TOny before about you having a ‘bad attitude’ towards him.

“I believe I asked you that first.”

“That you did, but if you want an answer out of me, you’ll have to answer first.”

“I couldn’t sleep. thought I would get myself a glass of water. You?”

“I’m getting wasted, just like all my potential,” You faked a smile and started peeling the gold wrapping off of the cork of the bottle.

“Don’t say that, everyone knows how talented and brilliant you are,” He sighed while grabbing himself a glass and walking over to the fridge, “You’re a Stark”

“Tell that to Dad, because you’ll always be more of a Stark than I’ll ever be,” You huffed as you pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer near you.

“That doesn’t make any sense, (Y/N), are you sure you haven’t been drinking already? Because you sound delirious. Maybe you should spend some time outside of your bedroom, maybe even get out of the compound. When was the last time you left to go somewhere?”

“Thanks for the concern Parker, but I’ve been able to hold my own for at least fifteen years now. And I know I don’t leave here a lot because I don’t have the opportunity too. If there’s a private event, either Pepper attends with Tony or Spider-man makes an appearance with Iron Man. I’m just surprised that there aren’t rumors across the media wondering ‘Is Spider-Man the lost of the Iron Man, Tony Stark?” You waved your hand in the air to match the dramatic tone.

“Haha, you’re so funny,” He took a sip out of your water, “People know you exist”

“Yeah, maybe if they do a quick Google shirt. But I’m not offended, I know that I just live in your shadow. But I’m used to it,” Your poured the alcohol into a glass and began to sip from it, relief flooding through you.

“Okay , I get it. You’re just in another one of your dramatic moods, maybe you should just go to bed before you say or do something stupid,” he took a step towards you.

“Don’t I always?”

“Always what?”

“Say or do something stupid?”

He halted and shook his head, “That’s not what I meant, (Y/N), I-”

“No, that’s exactly what you meant, Parker,” You brushed past him and stormed into the living room, “You don’t understand how lucky you are.”

He came stomping after you, “Oh, so you’re feeling brave, huh? Well you just sound like an idiot. I’m not just some lucky kid! I’ve lost my parents, my Uncle was killed in front of my face, and I disappeared from existence! The only people who care for me are Aunt May and Tony.”

You turned to face him, face completely red, tears threatening to spill, “Well at least you have Tony, because I don’t! I’ve just run around all my life trying to be perfect, be easy for him to deal with, live up to his and everybody's expectations! But I’m not good enough, I’ve never been good enough, and I’ll never be good enough. I’m just Tony Stark’s bastard child who built herself from the ground up without the slightest bit of help from her father!”

“(Y/N)...”

“No, don’t you ‘(Y/N)’ me. You’ve gotten everything you wanted from my father since day one. I never had that. You didn’t have to work to really make your own suite, you didn’t have to endure a lifetime of pain because of his arrogant ass, YOU didn’t have to wonder where Tony was on your graduation day for MIT - his alma mater - because he attended your fucking high school graduation instead!”

“What the hell is going on?” Tony yelled from the opposite end of the room. Pepper stood behind him and you could hear other door creaking open to here the events down the hall, “Not only are you two fighting in the living room and woke up half the compound, but you woke up Morgan and now she’s crying in her room because you two are screaming at each other.”

“Well boo-fucking-hoo, poor Morgan woke up in the middle of the night,” you mumbled to yourself.

“I just came to get a glass of water,” Peter attempted to defend himself.

And from Tony and Pepper’s angle, he did look to be more innocent. He had a glass of water in his hand and was completely cool. While you stood opposite of him; a bottle of booze in one had, dark circles under your eyes, a tear stained face, and looking to be in a mad frenzy.

“(Y/N), explain yourself,” Tony spoke sternly.

You took a deep breath in and wiped away fresh tears with your sleeve, “No, I don’t have to.”

“Excuse me,” your father marched across the room, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight but-”

“What’s gotten into me? Do you even listen to the bullshit that comes out of your mouth? No, of course you do, because you like listening to yourself talk more than you’ll listen to me. So talking to you is as fucking useless as talking to a deaf man!”

Peter and Tony now stood stunned at you and your sudden tantrum, but you knew it had been coming, you had always known. You knew one day you were going to explode, and it just happened to be tonight.

“I get it, I’m not precious Peter, or your beautiful Morgan. I’m just your bastard child from some broad you met on Malibu Beach. Even though I’m just a kid, I’ve always been your competition, a threat to you and your name. And even after every nearly life-ending event, I thought things would change - that you’d finally love me. But that never happened not even after Extremis infected not just Pepper’s body, but my own! And now I’m dying, I’m fucking dying, dad. I’m running out of time and trying to do everything I can. I go to school and get these diplomas and certificates to impress you. I invent and build thing to get your attention. I do it all because I still desire your validation and I’m running out of time,” you fall to your knees, everything becoming to much, “this is me trying, just like I have been all my life- but it’s still not enough.”

The room went silent. Only sobs echoed around the room as champagne poured out the bottle, staining the carpet. Neither Tony or Peter knew what to say or what to do. How could they begin to comfort the crying girl on the floor, or fix everything that ha occured over a lifetime.

Tony finally knelt down, “(Y/N), you know I never meant for any of this to happen, for you to ever feel like this. I’ve always been so scared of becoming your grandfather... I thought I was doing right by never pushing you, I guess it just never clicked.”

“Oh yeah, is that why you pushed me away and found Peter? And then when you realized you had messed up and forgot about your first daughter, you had another one in order to make things up?” You raised to head and shoulder up first, then finally rose back onto your two feet, “well congratulations, you’re worse than Howard Stark. And I hope you’re proud, Dad.”

With that, you left the living room. You couldn’t deal with in anymore that night, maybe ever again. Because when Tony came to check on you the next morning, you were missing. Only a note by your bedside remained as the only proof you had even lived in the room.

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back I have a lot of regrets about that Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway I just wanted you to know that this is me trying

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crazy-loca-blog · 4 years

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Personal thoughts on Open Heart, Third Year, Chapters 2, 3 and 4

Note: As the title says, these are just personal opinions on Choices books and chapters. Of course, you may agree or disagree with them, I only use this platform to express my thoughts on what I read every week and what I’d like to see in the next chapters, because none of my friends play Choices so I have no one to comment the books with.

I was actually planning to post this last week (and the week before) and I just couldn’t come up with a consistent piece of text to do it. I only had a lot of random ideas that for some reason couldn’t connect because there is something about Open Heart 3 Leland Bloom that blocks me when I want to write and I just can’t find the right words to explain what I want to say. So this will be some kind of “hybrid” between Chapters 2, 3 and 4. I’m the kind of person who trusts her guts a lot, and I’m getting so many different vibes from this book… but by now one thing is clear to me: it will be all about Leland Bloom, both directly AND indirectly. Even though it’s no news that he is the actual antagonist in this book, Chapters 2 and 3 left me thinking how much he was already controlling at the hospital and how much we hadn’t seen yet… and thankfully, Chapter 4 began to give me some answers.

But first, I want to make a recap on the influence that Leland has had in our friends so far: - He gave Rafael a job even though he had only taken a few courses that probably weren’t enough to perform the type of job he’s doing.

- Elijah has been given a chance to work in research (his dream job).

- Jackie was promoted to chief resident (the perfect job for her).

- He gave Ethan the power to hire a new doctor for the team (to make him believe that he was still in control of the team).

- Just as Elijah, Baz was given a chance to work in research (let’s remember he almost left Edenbrook in Book 2 to pursue a job in research).

- Esme’s problems with Levi’s family were solved because of Leland Bloom’s intervention millions. There is also Bryce, Sienna, Aurora, Ines and the MC. Right now it looks like he’ll offer Sienna something regarding the pediatric area, and there’s nothing clear about Aurora and Ines, but I’d like to stop specifically on Bryce and the MC. For some reason, all this Bryce’s overconfidence thing got me thinking… what if this is Leland Bloom’s influence, too? We know Bryce and the MC are the best residents in their respective fields… and we know he’s been trying to praise our MC’s work every time he has a chance. What if he’s doing exactly the same thing to Bryce? Like pushing him to be the best doctor he can be (very Ethan’s style), but in the wrong way? There is also Naveen. Where is he? Well, I may have a theory. So far, we’ve seen Leland Bloom’s influence in almost every area of the hospital, except one: the administration. And we don’t have Kyra or Harper working in that area anymore, so our only hope to know what’s going on there is through Naveen. So my guess is that PB is saving him for some future chapters when his help will be needed (remember that even though we all hate it, he stopped having a major role in Book 2). And finally, I don’t know if this is just a coincidence or if it may be something that we should consider for future chapters, but I wanted to point it out. So far, there are four characters (besides the MC) that we can tell don’t trust Bloom: Jackie, Esme, Ethan and Zaid. And there is one thing they all have in common (besides being doctors): they’re probably the characters with the strongest temper in this series. They also perform different roles in different areas of the hospital. I don’t know if this will have some type of effect when discovering and fighting all the mess that Leland Bloom is making, but I never forget that in Open Heart, almost everything has a reason to be. There are many other things that are causing me some doubts. For example, don’t you find suspicious that, if you’re romancing Ethan, you have this apparently perfect relationship and if you’re dating Rafael, Bryce or Jackie this is not happening? Does this mean there will be “trouble in paradise” in future chapters and that these troubles may have an effect on the diagnostics team? Also, we’ve been having a chance to choose between three very different types of answers when solving the cases (giving credit to the team, accepting all the credit, and another one that seems to be random or related to the case/patient) and when making decisions inside the team (we may agree with Ethan, agree with Harper or stay neutral/have no opinion at all). Will our choices regarding the team have any effect in the future? And then we have Harper. What’s going to happen to her? We know that it was Ethan who convinced her to join the diagnostics team (and this might mean that we have an ally) and so far I love the role that she has in the team because she seems to keep the balance when it comes to making decisions, but at the same time, she seems to be very naïve and easy to manipulate and Bloom might use her “weakness” for his own benefit. And last but not least, of course we’ll have Tobias. There were several reasons why he was always meant to be the new member of the diagnostics team, but the most important one for me was that they needed someone as brilliant as Harper, Ethan and the MC, but who also could be Leland Bloom’s pawn inside the team. Of course, there was also that plot of Ethan vs. Tobias that was left unfinished in Book 2. Then, is he our friend or our enemy? I think he originally accepted the job not only for the big paycheck that Bloom (who is giving me some Silas Prescott vibes by now) must have offered him, but also to mess with Ethan and to rebate every decision he makes. However, I don’t think Tobias knows as much as we do about all the ethical issues that Edenbrook is dealing with (I wrote some paragraphs specifically about Suzette’s case here) and the control that Bloom is having over the patients and the doctors,

and I don’t think he’s willing to throw his career away to save some rich man ass, so he may have Ethan’s back faster than we think. Also, I think he will create a professional conflict for our MC (and maybe a personal one if you’re dating Ethan): Ethan will expect to have the MC on his corner, but let’s not forget that Tobias literally helped to save our MC’s life in Book 2... so there is a chance that our MC will be left right there in the middle of their mess. Anyway… I have to agree with all those people who claim the book is going slow. But as I’ve said in the past, Open Heart has always been a slow series and the writers take their time to develop and solve the conflicts in the book, to the point that I think they take the phrase “patience is a virtue” to a whole new level. So be patient and let the writers do their jobs, most of the time they actually have a point when doing things the way we don’t want them to be.

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years

Text

Under My Skin (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW

Summary: Set in the middle of chapter 6, Ethan and Naomi have it out over the current state of the diagnostics team.

Tags: @colourmeshy @virtualrain202 @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune ~v~

Naomi stares at the textbook in front of her, eyes tired and blurry. She checks the time on her cell phone and 3:22 AM stares back in bold, white letters. Craning her head slightly, she spots Ethan standing at his kitchen island, looking at something on his laptop.

She never thought she’d be back in his apartment, but he invited the entire diagnostics team over so they could get some research done on Leland Bloom’s case. Ethan wants it to be solved as quickly as possible, and he wants to be rid of the tech billionaire, so after work they all congregated in his apartment, eating Chinese food, drinking wine, passing around textbooks and throwing out theories.

They’ve been at it for almost 6 hours now.

The energy in the room is off. Ethan’s been pissed ever since the board told him they’d need to be for-profit and start accepting wealthy clients and potential donors, and everyone feels it. June, Baz, and Naomi have been walking on eggshells around him, but aside from occasional snark from Naomi, they’ve been extremely curt.

Jenner likes her though. The golden retriever took a shine to her the moment she crossed the threshold to Ethan’s condo, sniffing at her feet and attaching himself to her hip. He’s now lounging with her, head in her lap and she pours over this book, and she’s glad. The friendly dog provides an excellent distraction and Naomi is thankful, because his owner currently sucks.

Naomi has dealt with a lot of Ethan’s moods before: upset, defeated, angry, happy, the works. But she’s never had his ire directed at her before. They’re in this mess because of her, and it’s a tricky space to occupy. It’s not fun.

“As much as I love reading, if I look at another word, I think my brain might melt,” June says, breaking the tense silence. She stifles a yawn.

“I’ve tapped out for the night as well,” Baz adds. “I’ve looked up every possible kidney and bladder disease and disorder known to mankind. I’m on sensory overload. I think it’s time I go home.”

Ethan looks up from his laptop. He knows his team is probably exhausted. He can’t believe they’ve actually stayed over this long. “Well, thank you for staying. Go home, get some rest, I’ll see you at the hospital.”

June and Baz gather their belongings and all of the study material they brought along with them, returning Ethan’s living room to its original tidy state. Muttering goodbyes, the two of them exit the apartment.

And then there were two. Naomi ignores the tension, ignoring the fact that they haven’t been alone together in over a week. Instead, she buries her face in her book, trying to focus on the words.

Ethan doesn’t bother sparing Naomi another glance before asking, “You didn’t want to leave with them?”

“Why, are you about to go to bed?”

“No.”

“Then, no.” She’s not going to stop now, and give him the satisfaction of thinking she’s given up for the night. Her stubbornness won’t allow it. “I don’t want to disrupt the process. I want this guy diagnosed and treated as badly as you do.”

Ethan scoffs. “I doubt it.”

Naomi has been giving as good as she gets when it comes to the passive aggressive snark, but it’s just exhausting at this point. She refuses to be his emotional punching bag any longer. She whips around in her seat. “God, is being a petulant little crybaby a second full-time job for you?”

That manages to get Ethan’s full attention. He levels a cool glare at the young resident, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You’ve gotten real comfortable calling me out of my name recently. Care to repeat that, Valentine?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Ramsey. You’re being a petulant little crybaby. You’ve been trying to pick a fight with me for the past 2 weeks. Look, I apologized, multiple times, for going behind your back or over your head, but I will not apologize for doing what I believe is right, not just for the team, but the hospital.”

“And you’re an insubordinate know-it-all!” Ethan shoots back. “You’re the type to touch the hot stove despite being repeatedly told not to because you think you’re a special snowflake who’s above getting burned. You lack foresight and analytical thought and self-preservation.”

Naomi recoils, having not expected Ethan to snap at her like that. “Excuse me?”

Jenner recognizes the change in tone between both adults. Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, he moves from his spot on the couch and trots out of the living room, disappearing into the hallway.

“You thought this was going to be easy, that patients would just come flocking to us, but look at us, and everything would be perfect. We’re part of some social media...something or another’s video diary, we’re competing with a subpar hospital for patients despite being better than them, wasting time and resources because he wants to treat this like a reality show contest, and who knows what’s next, because you’ve opened Pandora’s box. We’re whoring ourselves out to the highest bidder, and the integrity and core foundation of this team has been compromised. So please spare me the martyr act, Naomi, and while you’re at it, please remember that I’m still your boss the next time you want to spout off at the mouth.”

Naomi’s hands are shaking, and she can practically feel the anger boiling in her blood. The nerve of this man. She stands up, ignoring the heavy book that fall out of her lap and onto the floor as she does so. She charges over to him, and sizes him up. Ethan’s almost a foot taller than her, but Naomi doesn’t care about the height disparity. She tilts her head back so she can look him in the eye.

“I’m not a martyr, but you’re a self righteous hypocrite. You’ve been pouting and waxing poetic about Naveen’s mission when you were the first one to mess with his legacy.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“Last year, you got into bed with Declan Nash and big pharma, compromising your own shaky moral code in order to save the life of one person. I’m trying to keep the team around in order to save a lot more people than just Naveen!”

“That was different!” Ethan argues. It doesn’t even feel right coming out of his mouth, but they’re far too deep in the argument for him to do anything besides dig his toes in.

“The only difference is you were the one in control then. But because it is my idea, you’re rejecting it. You’re being completely unreasonable here, Ethan. We’re standing in the middle of a sinking ship. Edenbrook is in trouble. My friends and I didn’t get our new salaries upon becoming residents, there’s talk of them shutting down the free clinic, and they’ll be coming after our team next. Who knows, maybe they’ll decide that mental health isn’t important and the entire psychiatric department should go. And then the nurses. And then they’ll start ordering less and less supplies, just to stay above water. And maybe you don’t care, because you’re Ethan Ramsey, you’re so wealthy that you only get a one dollar salary from the hospital, you’re established, your livelihood isn’t on the line, and I’m sure any hospital in the world would kill to employ you, but the rest of us? The little guys? We don’t have that option, so again, if you’re looking for me to kiss your ass and grovel because I made an executive decision, you’re going to be looking for a mighty long time.”

Ethan studies her, his gaze coolly fixated on her as she rants because he’s waiting for the second she stops talking, so he can jump back into his own argument. He realizes that it’s not an effective way to debate, and he falters slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi goads, her voice taking on a singsong tone. She’s embroiled in the fight now. “Cat got your tongue?”

In his 37 years of living, Ethan can confidently say Naomi Valentine is the most infuriating woman he’s ever met. A stubborn, impulsive, hot-head with a smart mouth.

And fuck, he’s made a mistake.

Her mouth. Now his gaze is fixated on it, her full lips that she’s repeatedly bitten down on during this argument, the tackiness of her lip gloss, the way her tongue darts in and out.

Their argument is now the furthest thing from his mind, and he’s actually annoyed by it. What is it about this…woman that completely bewitches him? He wants to argue, not be transfixed on how pretty she is. She doesn’t even have to do anything and he’s under her spell again.

A sharp jab in the middle of his chest pulls Ethan back to reality. He looks down and realizes that Naomi poked him in the chest, out of anger or to get his attention, he’s not sure.

“Hey!” The fact that he’s ignoring her only makes her more incensed. He started this fight, he doesn’t get the right to dissociate and shut down in the middle of it. “Have you listened to a word I just said?”

“No,” Ethan answers honestly. Naomi’s eyes darken at the response. He didn’t say that to piss her off further, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight.

He can tell she’s going to launch into another tirade, one that’s completely separate from their original issue, because that’s just how things are between them; they spiral before either of them knows what’s happening.

Before she can even fix her mouth to call him another name, his hand cups her jaw, tilting her head back, and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her fiercely.

She gasps. This is the first time he’s ever caught her off guard and initiated a kiss. She’s usually the one to be in control.

All too quickly, Ethan pulls back, locking eyes with the young woman in front of him. She’s dazed, chest heaving and eyes glazed over.

“Did you do that to get me to stop talking?”

“No, I kissed you because I wanted to. But the fact that it got you to stop running your mouth is a personal bonus.”

Naomi huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. God, he could be such an asshole at times.

“I want to do it again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His blue eyes pierce into her own, and it suddenly becomes hard to focus on anything other than him. “Can I?”

She doesn’t know why it’s so sexy, him asking for permission, but she feels the butterflies in her stomach rumble at the question. She’s barely able to nod her head before Ethan launches himself at her, sending her flying back into the kitchen counter.

It’s so different from any other kisses they’ve shared. This one she can feel all the way down in her toes. His tongue darts out, gliding against her bottom lip and demanding access to her mouth, which she eagerly grants him.

Everything about him invades her senses: the feel of his calloused hands touching her jaw, the scratch of his beard against her face, the smell of his cologne (something by Gucci that she’s been yet to narrow down), his taste (she can still taste the wine on him, even though he drank it earlier), his sounds (the little groans that only she’s privy to, always gravelly and smooth, that make her knees buckle). It all culminates into this one man that is so all-consuming, it makes her lose her mind.

The kisses become shorter, more teasing, allowing Naomi the opportunity to actually breathe. He leaves kisses along her jaw and neck, making her whimper.

Ethan wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist and spins them, pushing her against the wall. She winces upon contact. “Warn a girl next time.”

“You want to know what’s been on my mind recently?” Ethan asks, nipping at Naomi’s earlobe.

“W-What?”

His hands find purchase underneath the grey Henley she’s wearing and he lifts it up. Her stomach clenches under his touch and it’s maddening just how responsive she is to him. “I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind since I came to pick you up from your apartment the other day.” With trembling fingers, Naomi helps him remove the shirt, and it’s tossed somewhere behind them.

She’s not wearing the grey bra he saw the other day, this one is a soft pink, and he groans at how it contrasts against her skin. There isn’t a color that doesn’t look good on her. “I stood there…” he only pauses to place opened mouthed kisses on her collarbone. “...like a floundering idiot…” this time he kisses slightly lower, earning a sharp inhale from Naomi. The noise does nothing to soothe the erection straining in his jeans. “...while you decided to tease me.”

“You’re the one who decided to stay,” Naomi shoots back with a shrug. “So I had to put on a little show.” He hums in agreement. His tongue darts out, flattening over her lace covered nipple. “Fuck, just take it off!”

“You still have no patience,” Ethan observes. He yanks at the material, until he hears a loud tear.

“That’s La Perla!”

Ethan blinks, struggling to find the significance in that statement. Was it supposed to mean something to him? “Okay?”

“It was expensive, you jerk!”

“I’ll buy you 10 more,” he replies with a shrug before resuming his previous activity, pulling one of her nipples between his lips, sucking lightly. Naomi’s breath comes out in quick bursts, and it’s becoming harder for her to stay grounded to reality. She reaches out, wanting to touch him, but he intercepts, catching her wrist. “Hands to yourself, Valentine.”

Ethan’s fingers make work of the button holding her jeans together, and he drags down the zipper. He yanks at her jeans with the same care he afforded her shirt and bra, tugging them down until they pool at her feet. Naomi does the rest of the work, hopping around until the pants are fully off.

“You and the thin scraps you call underwear, have been driving me insane all week,” Ethan confesses. “The other day when I came to pick you up, part of me was so mad at you because of your blatant defiance, but the other part of me wanted to push you onto that bed, and do very, very inappropriate things to you.”

The wetness that floods her panties is overwhelming. She clenches her thighs together in hopes of alleviating some of the tension, but it doesn’t help. Figuring out a new strategy, she wraps a leg around his waist, pulling him flush to her. She rolls her hips, grinding into him. The growl that escapes his lips only fuels her and strokes her ego. “You should’ve.”

Ethan kisses her again, reveling in the needy way Naomi claws at him. Her fingers are desperate, fingering into his t-shirt, twisting at the fabric. He’s unsure if she wants to take it off, or if she’s impatient enough to say ‘fuck it,’ and just rip it.

Whatever the case, he doesn’t let her continue. Grabbing both of her hands, he forces them on either side of her. “You really do have a problem with listening. No. Touching.”

The gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, but whatever rebellious side of her that wants to challenge the command is squelched with one look into his eyes. She can tell he means business and now isn’t the time to challenge his authority.

With restraint she didn’t know she had, Naomi places her palms on the hall behind her, and she stays as still as she can.

“Good girl.” Ethan smirks and drops her hands. He untangles himself from her and steps back an inch to admire his work. “You followed directions for once.”

Whatever smart aleck reply that was about to fly from her mouth is stifled by Ethan pulling her soaked underwear down and slipping two digits past her folds. The noise she lets out is a mixture of a high pitched yelp and a strangled moan, something that threatens to choke her.

The pace he sets is random and uneven, never giving Naomi a chance to settle into a rhythm, and she wonders if this is his way of punishing her, keeping her keyed up and writhing on him for what feels like eternity, trapped in her own form of purgatory.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and bucks her hips wildly into his hand, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stop doing that,” Ethan demands, using his free hand to pull her lip out of her mouth. “I want to hear you, Rookie.”

Something about the use of her former nickname makes her moan, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ethan.

“You like the nickname,” he states. “It’s funny, you know. You take every opportunity to defy me, argue with me, and push my buttons, yet you get off on me controlling you.”

She can’t focus. He’s too close, it feels too good, and her brain can’t function properly under these conditions. He presses forward, the heel of his palm pressing into her clit, earning a hiss.

“Admit it.”

At this point Naomi would admit to committing armed robbery if it meant he’d keep doing this. She nods frantically. “Yes, Doctor.” He groans at the use of his title, and he pumps harder, curling his fingers inside of her.

Naomi stands on tiptoes and desperately claws at the wall behind her. “Fuck Ethan, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want?” His lips find her neck again, and he sucks on her pulse point, only making things more hazy. “Use your words, Rookie.”

She wants a lot of things. She wants to cry out, she wants to dig her nails into his back until she draws blood, she wants him to keep talking her through this, his gruff voice in her ear as she shatters around him.

Unfortunately, Naomi cannot form a coherent sentence to save her life. She just rolls her hips, shamelessly grinding herself into his hand. “I...I…” The pleasure mounts, building in the pit of her stomach, spreading out. She’s so close, she can almost taste it.

“Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I want–” Ethan rewards her for her honesty and his thumb drags into her clit and he rubs the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles. That’s all it takes, and she orgasms with a strangled cry and she’s thankful Ethan is right here because he holds her upright as her legs momentarily give out.

When Naomi regains the ability to stand on her own, Ethan lets go and slowly removes his fingers. Moving fast, Naomi grabs his hand, and without breaking eye contact with him, she slides the two digits into her mouth, licking them clean.

Ethan’s next breath is a shaky gasp that leaves his lung far too quickly. “Fuck, Rookie.”

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” Naomi suggests, releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

Ethan shakes his head. “No.”

He registers the confusion on her face, but Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her again, walking them towards the living room. He only breaks the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head, and it joins the growing pile of discarded clothing scattered around. Naomi helps him speed the process along, getting rid of his belt and popping the button on his jeans. Her fingers hook into the belt loops of the pants and she pulls them down.

Before she can do anything else, Ethan stops her wandering hands. “Wait, wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Ethan knocks his forehead against hers and he sighs deeply. “Naomi, if you don’t want to do this, please stop me now.”

She thinks it’s cute that he’s giving her an out, but she doesn’t need it. Her fingers slip past the waistband of his soft cotton boxers, a warm dainty hand wrapping around him.

Ethan shudders as a warmth spreads through him at the touch of her hand, and he mentally curses himself. He pushes her hand away.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not cumming into your hand.” Ethan spins Naomi around and bends her over the arm of his couch.

While it’s not the desk in his office, Naomi won’t complain. She feels one of his calloused hands trace the length of her spine and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

No patience left, Ethan tugs down his underwear, letting the material pool at his ankles. Without another word, he lines herself up at Naomi’s entrance and thrusts into her all at once. He groans at the sensation.

Naomi has never been more thankful for couch cushions, as they muffle the scream that escapes her.

“Fuck, Naomi.” He digs his fingers into her hips before pulling out and slamming back into her. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust, but she doesn’t mind. They both know patience isn’t her forte. “You’re...so...tight.” His words are punctuated by sharp thrusts that threaten to steal the air straight from her lungs.

He leans forward slacking against her, but Naomi welcomes the weight. His beard scrapes against her shoulder blade, his breath warm against her ear, his fingers which are no doubt going to leave a bruise, all of it makes her dizzy, and god, this isn’t going to last much longer.

His thrusts become sloppier, more frenzied as the pleasure mounts, his blood boiling in his veins like molten lava. The only thing he can hear is the sound of the skin slapping, and his ragged breaths.

“Are you close?” He asks. But Naomi can’t think, let alone actually speak words, even if something monosyllabic would suffice. Why does he keep trying to make her speak? Her head drops with a thud and she mumbles something incoherent.

“For someone who had so much shit to talk earlier, you’re mighty silent.” Letting go of her hip, Ethan tangles a hand in her hair, yanking it back so she can’t hide her face in the cushions anymore. His other hand reaches around and he rolls her clit with his middle finger. Still way too sensitive from her last orgasm, she thrusts back, clawing at the couch with her nails, but he holds her in place, refusing to let her move.

“Ethan, fuck, don’t stop!” The words fly out all at once, shaky, fast and jumbled, but it’s all Ethan needs.

With a burst of energy he didn't know he possessed, he drives into her, plunging deeper. “Cum for me, Rookie.”

Naomi screams. Loudly, and she’s sure his neighbors might be very annoyed, but she doesn’t care. Everything goes white behind her eyes as he all but pushes her over the edge. She clenches around him and Ethan hisses as she’s holding him in a vice-like grip. A few quick thrusts later, and he’s joining her in ecstasy, spilling inside of her. The hand holding her hair tightens for a second, then relaxes.

She’s pretty sure she blacked out for some period of time because when Naomi is finally able to focus, they’re no longer obscenely bent over the arm of Ethan’s couch. They’re on the floor, in the cramped space between the couch and the coffee table.

She’s hot and sticky and absolutely exhausted. She places her hand over her heart, willing it to stop beating so erratically. Stealing a glance, Naomi peers up and looks at Ethan. He looks as disheveled as she feels, his hair tousled, lips swollen, chest and neck flushed red.

Her voice is horse and completely shot to hell when she finally speaks, “If that’s how our fights are going to play out from now on, I’ll let you pick more fights with you. And I’m a Cancer, we’re stubborn people.”

“I think we can find a happy medium somewhere.”

Naomi rolls over, until she’s nestled into his side and her head is on his chest. She can feel his heart beating rhythmically under her cheek. “Are we still fighting?”

“No.”

“Are you still mad at me?” He doesn’t answer the question right away, and a sense of dread fills her.

“I was never really mad at you,” Ethan admits after a long bout of silence. “I’m just mad at the entire situation. I’m mad at the budget cuts, I’m mad at our country’s healthcare system, I’m annoyed with your inability to listen to me. I’m mad at Leland Bloom’s obscene wealth and the fact that he gets to dangle his money in our faces like we’re horses waiting for carrots.”

“You made the right call, Naomi,” he continues. “But it’s a call you shouldn’t have been forced to make in the first place. I’m sorry for making you carry the brunt of my misplaced anger.”

“Apology accepted. And since we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for calling you a petulant little crybaby.”

Ethan chuckles. “Do you apologize for calling me a goddamn diva, as well? Don’t forget ‘entitled jackass’ and ‘spoiled child’.”

“You co-signed ‘spoiled child’ so I am not apologizing for it.”

“Fair point,” Ethan concedes.

Blindly searching with an outstretched hand, Naomi finds her cell phone and checks the time. She has to be at work in 2 hours, though she’d much rather get into Ethan’s bed and go to sleep.

“That happy medium that you mentioned? I think I have it figured out.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, yeah?”

“First and foremost, I promise to never go over your head again, if you agree to do a trial run on whatever ideas I may come up with. You can’t shoot me down immediately.”

“I’m...willing to agree to that.”

“And once this all settles down and the hospital isn’t on the verge of complete financial collapse, maybe we can convince the board to only take on one or two billable patients a quarter.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Yeah, I tend to have those every once in a while,” Naomi teases.

Ethan stares at Naomi as she laughs at her own poor joke. Everything about her is an anomaly to him. She blew into his life a little over a year ago and here he is, willing to adapt his entire ethical code for her. And here they are, entangled together as if he didn’t spend 2 months on a different continent in order to get her out of his head. What is it about her that he can’t shake?

He gently cups her jaw and kisses her as if she’s a precious gem, like he didn’t just try to devour her. “What are you doing to me?”

Naomi smirks, recalling that it’s the same question he asked her in Miami. “Hopefully something good.”

He kisses her again. “Better than good actually.”

Realization washes over her that once she leaves this apartment, things are going to go back to being the way they were. He’ll go back to pushing her away. “So does this mean you want to have another reset?”

The question throws him off, but he soon understands what she means. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ethan repeats. If there’s a happy medium to be found between his team and the board, maybe there’s one for him and Naomi.

She doesn’t allow herself to get swept up by his words, but instead she braces herself for the chance that he pulls the rug from under her feet. “Well, what does that mean?”

“It means you and I are going to take a shower together, go to work, and we deal with our obnoxious patient. And after work, you’re going to put on something fancy because I’m taking you out to dinner. How does that sound, Dr. Valentine?”

Naomi can’t stop an annoying grin from spreading across her face. “I think it sounds pretty damn good, Dr. Ramsey.”

#playchoices #open heart #dr ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ns*fw

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olivish · 3 years

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Here it is! Part 3 of the "Who was Alex's father?" / "Melanie becomes friends with Ben" story. (I really should make a title at some point.)

Part 1 Part 2

Quick Recap: 8 years pre-Freeze, in the leadup to launching Snowpiercer's first commercial iteration, Wilford sent Melanie to oversee track completion between Jerusalem and Tehran. While she was overseas, she fell in love with a photojournalist who was covering the refugee crisis in Lebanon.

On the day Melanie was supposed to return to Chicago, there was a massive earthquake in which he was killed and she was badly hurt. We pickup the story from Ben’s point of view:

Part 3

1. When Ben found out that Melanie was alive and expected to make a full recovery, he stopped calling. He considered visiting in the hospital, but one of his coworkers tried that and ran into Wilford, who flew into a rage. He demanded to know if his engineers really had nothing better to do than deliver teddy bears.

“She’s doing more work than you are,” he said. “Now go away!”

Day and night, Wilford guarded Melanie like a gargoyle.

“That’s his guilt,” went the chatter in the breakroom. “Guilt? About what?” “He sent her over there.” “You’re nuts. Wilford doesn’t feel bad about anything.” “And yet, he won’t leave her room.” “Here’s a thought. Maybe Melanie’s really dead, but he doesn’t want us to catch on. Figures we might try and bail before the ship goes down.” “Weekend at Bernie’s?” “She’s fine! She’s fine! Melanie says get back to work!” [chuckles] “Seriously, though. Is she okay? Should we send a card?”

2. Nobody sent a card. In five years of development, Melanie had never given anyone a card, for anything. She once told Ben, cards are a pointless waste of paper. “And the glitter,” she went on, rubbing her fingers together with a grimace. “They all have glitter.”

“They make cards without glitter.”

“Doesn’t matter. They sit next to the cards that do have glitter, and it transfers. And card shops always smell like scented candles. Have you noticed that? The miasma of rose hips and vanilla?”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Also, he wasn’t sure what a miasma was. Ben watched as Melanie went back to work. She seemed to have forgotten why they were talking about greeting cards in the first place.

“So, I’ll just sign your name to this one?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“There’s a party. With cake. And booze.” When she didn’t say anything, he offered, “You should come.”

“Oh. Well. Sure. Maybe. If I finish this work in time.”

Ben knew what that meant. Melanie hated staff parties. If the idle conversation weren’t enough to keep her away, Wilford had started bringing Audrey along as entertainment.

And there was nothing more glittery than Audrey.

3. When Melanie came back to work, her coworkers didn’t find it strange that she kept to herself. She’d always been like that, after all. People welcomed her back and asked how she was, but with Wilford always looming, there wasn’t much opportunity for conversation.

“It’s just a few broken ribs,” she said. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look fine. It was obvious to anyone with eyes, she wasn’t revealing the half of her injuries. Most glaring of all was a crushed right hand, which Ben knew must be killing her. Not just in terms of pain, but Melanie was a notoriously tactile person.

“You can’t understand something unless you put your hands on it,” she once said. They were testing a new diagnostics program he’d written, and she was sure the readings were off. She could feel it. He disagreed, and when it turned out Melanie was right, she gave him a little lecture.

“Fingertips over sensors,” she said. “Get your hands dirty once in awhile, you’ll have better instincts.”

Ben chaffed at the criticism, but there was no arguing with someone who was always right. When it came to machines, Melanie had the magic touch.

Now, maybe half the magic touch.

But Ben couldn’t bring himself to be cute or ironic about it. Melanie losing her dominant hand only a year from completing her magnum opus seemed like a kind of cruel, cosmic joke.

4. Wilford pulled out all the stops as he tried to help Melanie adjust.

“You haven’t got one hand,” he said, standing close behind her, bringing his arms forward, palms up, fingers wiggling. “You’ve got three.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But really, I can manage on my own.”

“And miss your chance to command two of the devil’s finest playthings? Nonsense! It’ll be just like old times. Perfect sympatico.”

Wilford gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and while he was still behind and unable to see her reaction, Melanie seemed to slip. She was... repelled. Then, her eyes snapped up, realizing for the first time that Ben was standing there.

“Oh, bother,” Wilford sighed, still not releasing her arm. “Can we help you?”

“I have upgrades for the harmonic module,” Ben replied, presenting a thumb drive. “It’s a secondary system, designed to kick in for high volume calculations. It’s stochastic, so it should give us faster results, without-"

"-without a statistically significant impact on accuracy," Wilford finished his sentence. He smiled, impressed for once. "Well, well, Bennett. At least someone was working while the bosses were away. How about it, my dear? Are you in the mood for some nondeterministic computational theory, or is that too dull for this, the week of your triumphant return?”

Again, Ben met Melanie’s eyes. And again, every neuron in his brain screamed, something was very wrong.

Down the assembly line, a forklift dropped a pallet of supplies and Melanie flinched, though her facial expression remained unchanged. Blank. Empty. Not like she was somewhere else, but like she existed nowhere at all.

5. That night, for the first time in fifteen years, Ben dreamed about the car crash that killed his youngest brother.

Everything came back, as vividly as the day it happened. The bang-and-ring. The sickening spin. Shattering glass. Inversion. Crunching. The smell of gasoline and the taste of blood. And little Ian, just 8 years old and perfect, lying in the back seat next to him, his eyes open but unseeing. There were no final moments. He was just gone.

Ben awoke gasping and sweating. He ran to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. “Fuck!” he yelled into the towel as he dried off. What the fuck was that!?

But it didn’t take a genius to figure this one out, did it?

“Christ,” he mumbled, pulling out the bourbon. He poured a double, but stopped with the glass an inch from his lips. With another curse, he pitched the amber liquid down the sink. He filled the kettle, boiled water, and made tea.

As it steeped, he closed his eyes in meditation, counting every breath until his timer went off. 4 minutes.

When he opened his eyes again, it was snowing. Thick flakes, landing softly on the balcony. The Chicago cityscape twinkled in the background.

He thought about Melanie.

He thought about the vacant expression on her face. He’d never seen her like that before. But he recognized the look, from his own reflection, many years ago.

He remembered being numb, exhausted, white knuckling every moment, startling at the slightest sound. After the accident, his older sister, Cecelia, took care of him. She slept next to him at night. She taught him breathing exercises. She took him to a doctor when things got really bad. And then she took him to another doctor, when the first one turned out to be useless.

Cee probably saved his life.

Ben wondered if Melanie had her own Cecelia, or if it really was just Wilford. To his credit, the master engineer seemed to be doing everything in his power to put his broken protégé back together. And yet.

Ben frowned as he watched the snow come down. He just knew, something was very wrong.

There is a Part 4, it's coming soon...

#snowpiercer #fanfiction #Alexander(SP)

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jossielrs · 3 years

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Tomatoes

-Shane Koyczan

People always ask me, "How do you memorize all that?" And the truth is, the first girl I ever kissed tasted like tomatoes. I know this because the second girl I ever kissed tasted like pepper. It wasn't unpleasant, it was just, I was expecting tomatoes. When I was a kid, I learned that time slows near a black hole. Inside a black hole time stops all together. Whether or not this theory will ever be proved, I am moved to believe, this would be the perfect place to love someone. In grade four my gym teacher gave me the nickname half ton. It was a name that stuck. I remember it because it was the first time I ever told someone, "Go fuck yourself," and meant it. He quit calling me the name after he called my house trying to get me in trouble for what I'd said, to which my grandmother replied, "Mr Shithead, I told him to say it!" I remember my grandfather's blue toolkit, where he hid a secret stash of raisins. I recall thinking, "My granddad has the worst taste in candy." But he did teach me how to tie a tie. My first opportunity to apply this knowledge was my first date. A seventh grade classmate who showed up wearing acid washed jeans and a death leopard t-shirt; I wore a suit and tie. When she asked why I was all dressed I had to think quickly and told her, "I thought it'd be funny." I don't wanna say it ended badly but she wound up leaving me for a boy who could make farting noises with his armpit. I'm forced to admit, it was pretty cool. In fourth grade my teacher had a rule about speaking out of turn. Failure to learn and practice this lesson would result in having to sit outside. I know this because I tried it once. When she finally came out to check on me she asked, "What was so important that it couldn't wait?" Knowing that it's rude to point but needing to illustrate my position, I gestured to her chest and said, "Your boob is hanging out." She quickly covered up and corrected me, "Breast." She was a good teacher. When I was twelve I was given an academic diagnostics test. The instructor later informed me I had an aptitude for history. He looked puzzled when I replied, "Yeah, but that was yesterday and today I'm more interested in tomorrow." I remember it because the next day I asked a girl if I could borrow a pen. When I offered it back she said, "You should write me a letter with it first." So I did, I wrote her a note which the teacher then intercepted and read to the class. It was something we'd learned in science that day. About how the way gravity affects mass and weight in relation to how quickly something will fall. Example: A crumpled ball of paper will fall at the same speed as a chunk of granite. It doesn't matter how much something weighs, it stays the same until you consider surface area and resistance, at which point the persistence of gravity loses force. Example: Crumple a piece of paper into a ball, it'll fall more quickly than a loose sheet. They're both composed of the same mass and weight so you'd think that the rate of velocity measured by the force of gravity would fall each to fall at the same speed. But that's when you need to consider the greater surface area of the loose sheet adds resistance, so the crumpled ball will fall quickly and the loose sheet will slowly float. I wrote a note, saying that "When two people fall in love, they do so at the same speed." There's no need to factor in the physics. Explanations are something we can make no use of. Einstein once wrote, "Gravity will not be held responsible for people falling in love." I wrote a note saying, "If I fall in love with you, no one will ever be able to explain it," and I think that's beautiful. Despite the class laughing, and she did as well. Which is how I can tell you that I then knew and now still know, she tasted like tomatoes. I don't remember the way every song goes, I can't recall every person I've ever met, I get names mixed up all the time, I'm terrible with birthdays. But I remember all the ways people have affected me; how our stories became memories; and if you're brazen enough to make one with me, you're

in there somewhere. Maybe it was a truth or dare kiss, or a simple act of kindness, one that reminded me to remember the moment and mark it as a memory so I could have it to look back on. From this life, I've drawn conclusions so big that you can't fit into the tiny comic book boxes. Because I don't wanna risk losing the details just so I can make the story fit.

It's not a trick. I remember how things felt, which in turn makes me remember how things happened. Like my first attempt at skateboarding, when I received a down to the bone skinned knee. I remember a tree that looked like a man with huge arms trying to hold up the sky. I used to try and climb to the top until one day I did and couldn't get down. I remember the man with the brown car who tried to convince me he was sent to pick me up by my mom. Number one: I lived with my grandparents. Number two: You didn't know the safety word. I recall when it finally occurred to me, I'm pretty fantastic. It's not magic. I remember because I make comparisons, and not in terms of better or worse, just different. And not all of these memories are great, but they're mine. Which lends weight to the belief that none are our lives are put together on an assembly line. We're not prepackaged with emotions or programmed with stories, we have to make our own. And they all come batteries not included. Amid the endless opportunities we have daily, seldom do we take the time necessary to pause; to stop; to record, rewind, and press play. In our own way we are all ghetto blasters at top volume. We consume silence with noise. Speakers pounding at our heartbeats as we write refund receipts for the broken eardrums of people that could hear us live. We give of ourselves time, precious because it's quality is limited only by your ability to live within it. Put yourself into every second of every minute and you will have a life worth remembering. Just because we don't have forever, doesn't mean we have to move towards the end as if we're on a conveyor belt. I feel nothing short of astonished when people ask me, "How do you memorize all that?" The fact is, it's not a trick. There's no fake curtain you need to pull away. No little old man making it all work from behind a locked door. You yourself probably remember when I told you before that near a black hole, time slows. Inside a black hole, is where I wanted to grow tomatoes.

#poem #poetry #slam poetry

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