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csa-survivor-confessions · 1 year

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Hey there, i hope you’re doing alright :) i wanted to ask something that I’ve been struggling with understanding so i wonder if you have any answers for me on the topic. I hope this isn’t too many details im very sorry if it is.

Tw: mentions of SA and blood

I have memories of something happening when i was about five years old, there was a man who met my guardian and was getting closer to my family when at that time my father wasn’t around, so i was pretty desperate for a father figure. Now i dont remember much, most of it is blocked out and some memories i remembered after 12 years and throughout the process of remembering what happened i struggle a lot with identifying which are real and which aren’t. Basically i only have two kind of clear memories of it happening, and both were when he got me gifts. In one i don’t remember much other than the gift he bought me and then seeing myself and seeing him doing things to me from the side kind of? Like im watching it happen from outside of it, but that’s about it. The second was also when he bought me another gift, (he barely knew me and my guardian apart from a couple encounters yet he kept buying me things and basically acting like a father so idek) i dont remember much from this either apart from him taking me upstairs and then random flashes of things? I remember his hand on my stomach, on my mouth, telling me to be good, then again some flashes of him doing it to me. The thing is, i dont know if any of this is real, because i dont remember bleeding, and i feel like I certainly would have bled at least the first time? And if i had then either me or someone would have noticed, and second, i cant remember any pain at all. Sometimes i do, but it’s not exactly pain as much as it is a numbness. Even now as im writing this i feel breathless and hot all over, this week all these memories and thoughts got worse (it happens to me that for a bit i sort of manage to not think about them then all at once they come back worse than ever before) i feel numb, extremely nauseous for reasons that aren’t physical (i checked already) i feel like my chest is tightening and there’s a numbness in places where i remember things happening and more. Is that normal? Could i be making this feelings up? When someone mentioned almost getting SA’d irl i had the same reaction but i started shaking and sweating and couldn’t calm down for almost 2 hours. Do people have this reaction to mentions of sa as well?

Hello,

I don't see any reason to doubt those memories. They sound like common dissociated memories. These trauma memories often are remembered in the "third person" and not in a full narrative but coming back in bits and pieces. These memories are definitely normal for CSA survivors.

I of course can't tell you what is real or not. But I don't think there is any reason to believe these are completely made-up memories with the information you gave me. Again memories not being cohesive is not a reason to believe they are completely fabricated.

it's likely there is some degree of drift in the memories and they might not be able to tell you too much about the specifics. But trauma memories that are recovered in pieces are often less written over time.

If you experience a lot of body memories, and trauma responses when hearing about the sexual abuse I would say there is something to trust there that there likely was childhood sexual trauma. You can't just make up trauma responses without attempting to. "faking" or "making up" emotions is something that would be intentional. These feelings sound spontaneous. And getting stuck in a thought spiral or having intrusive thoughts don't equate to making up feelings, yes it comes from inside your mind but they are still real feelings.

As for the bleeding, it's not true that people always bled when raped. It's not uncommon but not bleeding doesn't mean it didn't happen or was consensual. It's possible your hymen broke from things as mundane as riding a bicycle.

If you don't have a hymen the same still applies bleeding when raped in the anus is common but not doing so doesn't mean it didn't happen. And it's just not true that someone would have noticed the abuse but that's just not true. Even if you had bled some it's possible people just ignored it. Guardians don't always act as they should when presented with signs of sexual abuse.

Having a numbness in the place you were abused is a common way for bodies to deal with sexual trauma. it's easier to disconnect from the body than to integrate the pain.

Discussions of CSA are a super common trigger for CSA survivors. It doesn't tend to be for me personally, but there are lots of things that can send me to a similar emotional state as you described. And you are not alone in CSA discussions being a trigger.

I can not tell you with certainty anything specific happened that caused these trauma responses. I would just say listen to your body and try and trust yourself. There is no reason to spend all your time fixated on if your memories are completely accurate. You have perfectly good reasons to trust yourself.

Be Blessed,

-Admin 2

#ask #flashbacks #repressed memories #body memories #trauma responses #rape cw #blood mention #info

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watcherfenix · 3 years

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A Vent long time coming

It feels like it has been ages since I wrote anything. There is so much I wanna write and comment on, simply hard to pin just one idea down. So, in sticking with the theme of vulnerable journey treading and wanting my experiences to help someone out there. I am going to decompress the last years and possibly go into more at a later date. I have been in limited contact with people for close to 3 years. This is due to moving to a new country compounded with COVID, which killed many attempts at being social. Coupled with that polite racism of Canada and recovering from a very traumatic breakup, have been in a low place. Also, in transition for a work visa which has been slowed due to COVID. Depression and PSTD make leaving the place is a chore and a constant mental battle. I was able to do a year of college in a small-town university. Learned a lot and nothing all at once. Learned about myself. Learned about my own Blackness (and still learning). Of course, this caused me to look at my life experience through a new lens as if pages have been restored in a tattered book. Seeing how my old, colonized self parroted some toxic garbage and did some” ignorant passable shit “that I wished I had never said or did. Angry at my parents for trying so hard to “protecting “me from my own Blackness. Leaving me under-prepared for the world I was going to be a part of. Instead, my father tells me as an adult, I am ungrateful and “raised by wolves,” and I told him I hated him. Pissed that he presented his side of the family as dangerous, volatile and “ghetto” and that being gay and black was asking for a short life in the family. Causing me to be averse to wanting to meet them. But with time, I will be able to accept “all of me.” By learning another country’s history, I realized I was on the wrong side of history. Referring to my time in the military and playing a role in destabilizing the Middle East (something the US military has quite a long track record of doing). This affects me in a couple of different ways. First, being a part of pain and suffering on such a grand scale goes against who I believe. Secondly, knowing that it is a family legacy (father being a weapons contractor after being retired Air Force and had a few generals in the family too). Lastly, I lost friends and a lover to the machine known as the military-industrial complex. And knowing that the government is getting worse makes their deaths sting a bit more than I care to admit. Thinking about my time in the military fills me with bittersweet memories now tinged with some guilt and shame. While I had stewed in these thoughts for long periods of time. Slowly getting comfortable with these truths. Only to be slammed with the ugliness that is America’s racism. Seeing white friends during BLM and all that led up to it go silent or worse, shit on the idea of BLM. Gay community leeches off black culture while making claims of being inclusive makes me want to rage cry. Seeing so much Racism and colorism in communities I used to call these spaces, my home is now quite repulsive . I was hoping for too much, wanting my communities to be supportive. Genuinely supportive, helping people because it is right, not causes it's trending. Wish POC communities would stop internalizing and perpetuating hate and start lifting each other up. Instead of determining “blackness” and gender roles. It has been absolutely heartbreaking to see so many people passing in such a short time frame. I am reminded of my older friends sharing their tales of the AIDs crisis and survivals guilt. I feel weird knowing these people for a while online, just too sudden.. they are gone. I develop a connection with these people but feel I cannot claim it because other people that knew them spent time with them in real life. Deep down, there is a feeling that my connection is less than because I am unable to meet these people. I do not fully subscribe to this idea, but every time another FB friend or friend dies, it comes to my mind. And I honestly do not know what to do with it. Though the thought of friends that have pass makes me feel things. I cannot help but mourn the relationships lost because of my selfishness, drugs, or toxic relationships before people I called my family. The concept of family seems and feels so foreign to me now, yet I still hunger for one. My parents and sister's relationship was polarizing and taking a toll on my mental wellness. But cutting ties with them does not make me feel better. Sure enough, feel guilty and ashamed because of some internal nagging feeling I needed to try harder to work things out. Must remember why I had to cut ties with them. I had to, being with them caused me so much emotional and spiritual pain, I would later choose homelessness than ask for their help again. Yet, I still love them just do not want them in my life or do not want to share my life with them anymore. Does not make processing the loss of my bio family any easier. It does feel more correct than sticking with them. I wish I were a better friend. I often feel like a failing friend. I regret missing so many chosen family life events. Missed both of my brother’s weddings a few people’s graduations. Burned a lot of bridges protecting people that were later discovered to be trash. Wish I could send messages to say I am sorry. Just feel too much has either happen or too much time has gone by to bring it up now. The feelings and thoughts build up so much that it stresses me out and becomes intrusive thoughts shaming me out of evening trying. And having been burned by so many shitty relationships, feel less like... me. More like a by-product of all the lessons I learn. A by-product that is very wary of trying to make new friends or form new relationships. To be honest, I struggle with who I am and have been struggling with my self-image for three years now. So, trying to attempt new friendships seem out of my depths. Trying to be compassionate and kinder to myself …. when... I feel I need to be better and stronger than average. Sadly, I am my own worse jailer and serving life sentences for things that I just do not know why anymore. My brain gets so loud feels like my brain is grated with sandpaper. Depression, shitty world events, insomnia and PTSD, have caused me to disassociate to the point time has no meaning to me and staying in the moment is getting harder to do. Battling the idea that this is a dream or this reality is unreal. I really dislike being dissociative like this, reminds me too much of when I was doing meth and how quickly the time went by and how time was filled up with all other manners of things. Also reminds me of the time I almost cut myself to discern between reality and dreams. Grateful I have my husband to keep me grounded. He makes me smile when I am down. Somedays, he is the only thing keeping me here. My mind is full, and my heart is heavy. The road is long and the burden heavy, but I will be moved forward in some way. Thank you for your time, love

Fenix

#ptsd recovery #recovery #mental health

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princeanxious · 4 years

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Part One; “A Wounded Snake Lies Still”

A continuation fic in the au i built from this art piece I did and this post that I’d written that inspired this whole idea. I don’t know how many parts there will be, but the plan is for it to be hurt/comfort? It’s just that the comfort comes in small increments, but I promise the ending will be happy!

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Ships: mentions of past healthy Anxceit, start of story begins w/ analogical, end goal is analoceit! Side royality, Remus is lowkey Aro.

Minor Trigger Warnings: in no particular order.. brief mentions of painful memory loss, brief food mention, Remus and Deceit as sympathetic characters in general, accidental revealing of a secret-Remus feeling awful about it and Deceit being completely forgiving on it. Deceit being sorta selfish but also being very selfless without realize it. Deceit lying when he speaks/ backwards talk.

Serious Trigger Warnings: (slight spoilers) Deceit ignores his own distress in favor of keeping up a nonchalant act around the others, and doesn’t process his inner emotions in a healthy way. Deceit repressing years of his own resurfacing emotional trauma that originally came from his separation from Virgil, Deceit also briefly relives said trauma in the fic and pretends nothing is wrong even though something Really Is. Patton has minor empath abilities in this au and accidentally gets hit with a ride of very negative emotions that Deceit is already internally feeling when he touches Deceit.

(Let me know if I need to tag something else!)

Summary: Virgil’s missing memories have always been a touchy subject. After Remus and Deceit gain their acceptance of from the Light Sides and Thomas, Deceit still seems to have a few secrets to hide. If you asked him, he’d tell you it was for the best that he kept them. Partially concealing the truth was a slippery slope, indeed. But, could you really blame him? When Virgil was dating Logan and finally seemed happy again? To him, All the repression of his own trauma was worth Virgil’s happiness. Their years of love were lost with Virgil’s memories of the past, and there was no way in hell Deceit was about to jeopardize Virgil’s current stability now, not when the only person at fault for losing was Deceit himself.(or, was it? He’s never sure anymore. Trauma is a fickle beast.) Well, one slip up from Remus is all it takes before Deceit finds himself faced with that exact dilema fast approaching, and he finds he is less than prepared to face the music..

[[MORE]]

“Ugh, gross. In front of my deodorant?? Could you guys like. Not?? Be romance-y in the living room?? You two remind me of when Dee and Virgie were dating.” Remus grumbled offhandedly, too tired to deal with his twin’s particularly loud and loving attention directed towards Thomas’s literal representation of the heart this late into the afternoon.

They’d been loudly and shamelessly flirting back and forth from across the room while everyone set up for movie night, Roman in the living room with the others and Patton in the kitchen with Deceit making snacks. It was only seconds later that the duke realized his slip up as everything and everyone around clattered to a halt, the other sides turning stare at him in confusion.

Three years. It had taken Deceit three long, painstaking years and counting to distance himself from the years of memories he’d spent in bliss, to separate his mind from the heartbreak of losing his only love. Three years to come to terms with the fact that his only love now held no memories of the time they spent together, to accept that his love now deeply loved another.

Three years to come to terms with the fact that Virgil would never know what it was like to watch helplessly as his love writhed in pain. To watch as The Line ripped the memories from his love’s very being, forcing Virgil into a clean slate. Three years to come to terms that Virgil would never remember.

Three years of patience and heartbreak and anguish and lies, telling himself that it’d be okay, telling himself that he would move on and heal eventually. Three years of painstakingly separating himself from the narrative he and Virgil used to share, and ensuring that Virgil never had any inkling to what had been of his past. It was the only secret Deceit ever asked Remus to keep.

Rest assured, he’d tried to respark Virgil’s memories many times in the first few months after Virgil crossed over The Line from Dark side to Light, having ultimately crossed for good. It’d only led to fight after fight, driving a wedge further and further between them with each escalated argument. With a bleeding heart, he’d eventually given in, and stopped any further attempts. After all, each attempt only seemed to fuel Virgil with irritation. It had been clear then, that whatever they’d had, was never going to be again.

Three years it’d been. He thought he’d nearly healed, really. Most days he found he could exist and interact with the others and not be reminded of the past, and be comforted that he himself would not be a reminder to the past. Repression had always been his strong suit, though, conciously or not.

The Line had diminished as of late, after Thomas had really begun accepting Deceit and Remus. They could cross The Line for long amounts of time now, and mostly be fine. Occasionally they suffered from a bout of fatigue when disagreements with the others briefly turned sour, feeling The Line tugging back at them insistently. It never lasted for long, but there was always that underlying worry that The Line would finally snap them back into the dark for good if one of them made a final wrong move. The Light Sides didn’t know about The Line, not even Virgil remembered stumbling away from it after all that had happened. And well, if it were up to Deceit? They would never find out about it. Too many questions, too many messy answers.

Three years later, Deceit finds his heart splintering once more, an ache sinking into his chest that he knows Patton feels as they stand nearby one another. Memories flood in harshly, a deep painful longing resurging from the depths of his mind as it always did when faced with his reoccurring trauma sinking its claws into his psyche.

It’s only been seconds, but the silence is starting to feel heavy. Instead of moving on from the previous comment, Remus glances to Deceit, eyes pleading and devastated by having made his mistake, breaking the only promise to Dee he’d ever been seriously asked to keep. And Deceit knows he must do what he does best to save face, there is still time to redirect the carnage.

“Remus, please don’t refrain from spreading lies, that’s certainly not my job, after all.” He teases lightly, keeping his tone precisely on the edge of amused confusion, though his eyes hold an understanding none of the others know to read for. “Next you won’t be telling me that your favorite animal is a squid, not an octopus. Not your worst try at shock humor, yes?”

Remus catches on after a millisecond, drawing out a full cackle. “Sorry, not sorry! You should’ve seen the looks on your faces though! Priceless!! Who knew a shitty joke falling so flat would shock everyone so good!”

Their reactions held the desired effect. Quickly, everyone around the room seemed to relax, Roman even firing back his own playful quip to further lighten the mood. In the end, it was just a bump in conversation, something Remus caused every once in a while as everyone adjusted and Remus learned. Not a single step amiss that wasn’t already expectedly out of line.

Still, he’d have to talk to Remus in private later. Remus was just as sensitive to rejection as Roman was, and paired with his inherently intrusive thoughts, it would come to no surprise if Remus already thought Deceit now hated him. He didn’t, it’d been an accident, and Remus’s first ever slip up in three years since making the promise. Even if Dee had been mad about the slip up, he wouldn’t have had any right to be. He’d be sure Remus was the first person he sought to soothe when they got a free moment alone, it wasn’t right to let those kinds of thoughts fester.

Remus first, Virgil next, as it wasn’t quite crisis averted. He could feel Virgil’s eyes on his back from the living room. He denied his bleeding heart the closure of meeting Virgil’s gaze, of sharing his expression. He was too vulnerable, even now the anxious side could read his tells far too well, often without even realizing why. There was no doubt Virgil would try and talk to him later about it, and no matter how good the terms they were on with each other now were, Deceit knew the conversation would be a rough one. Virgil knows he has missing memories, and only recently had he accepted Remus and Deceit’s vague answers when he’d asked lightly about his past. It was at least him acknowledging they had the answers to the past he doesn’t remember.

If he wasn’t careful, each and every brick in the wall that Deceit had carefully worked to build up in the past three years could crumble right before his eyes, leaving him stripped emotionally defenseless, his trauma bared for all to see. And who knew what the others would do if they knew so much? What would they think of him then? Deceit inwardly shivered at the thought. It would not come to that.

Slipping into the nonchalant act was an easy card to play, it being his strong suit and most comforting form of security, a version of his own little lie of omission to soothe the bumpy situation over.

What he didn’t account for, was Patton gently reaching to touch his arm when everyone else had settled and their attentions returned to their tasks at hand. Deceit fought against his immediate urge to pull away, knowing the moral side just preferred connection through touch when addressing another, and instead looked up to meet Patton with a questioning gaze.

Whatever Patton was about to say died on his lips as he suddenly seemed to reflect an absolutely heartbroken expression, tears welling up in his eyes. Pain and sorrow and surprise seemed to seep into the other’s expression, warring for dominance amongst the primary confusion. It was only then that Deceit realized that Patton was still touching him, his bare arm with an equally bare hand, to be exact. The memory that Patton bore minor empath abilities that were tied into his existence as the representation of Thomas’s morality and feelings sunk in two seconds too late.

Direct skin to skin contact, something Deceit sought often to avoid in general nowadays anyway, was a direct way for Patton to tune into another's current feelings through said abilities, often by accident. There were limits that Patton could control, of course, and Patton only ever seemed to struggle coping with that ability when faced with an overwhelming swell of emotions from the other side. And, well.. Deceit’s mind certainly hadn’t taken well to being reminded of his repressed past, seeping through his protective mental walls with all sorts of roiling negative emotions.

From self-loathing, to dread. From anger, to guilt. From longing, to grief, then to depression, and finally apathy. It just couldn’t be helped that Deceit, a master of disguise and deception, had had three whole years to perfect the act that hid it from the outside and controlled it all from within.

Carefully, Deceit pulled Patton’s hand from his arm, and gently tucked it against the moral side’s chest. Still, he keeps his gloved hand there, letting Patton grasp it with both hands to ground himself after such an emotional ride.

“Deep breaths, dear Patton. Whatever isn’t the matter?” He asks gently, still playing into his act but his eyes plead a different story. ‘Not now,’ they say, ‘I will tell you, but not here,’ they beg. Patton nods slowly, and Deceit carefully wipes away Patton tears. In a move he knows he might regret later if it raises questions, he slips his hat off to gently plop onto the moral side’s head, and gently presses against the others clothed shoulder with his own in a show of comforting affection. It has the desired effect of distracting Patton and lightening his mood, Patton’s lingering upset masked by a watery smile only they can share. Deceit silently mourns the loss of his safety blanket, but accepts that a few minutes of feeling vulnerable while comforting Patton is a good trade to escape having his distress found out. He couldn’t have the other sides cornering him into explaining why Patton had suddenly begun crying without reason. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he felt guilty for Patton having experienced second hand an echo of his painfully raw emotions, no, not at all.

Thankfully their little scene goes unnoticed by the rest of the preoccupied sides, who are far too busy bickering over the movies they want to watch. Well, unnoticed by all but the one who sits to the side. Said side keeps an unconcerned but intrigued eye on the two in the kitchen, glancing over every time he adjusts his glasses to avoid suspicion. Logan says nothing, but knows he has questions for his dearest Virgil when movie night is over. He can only hope that the answers Virgil gives will not raise more questions.

(..Unfortunately, they do raise more questions than answers.. However, they now know exactly who has the answers they seek. It’s only a matter of getting those answers that is a task far harder than they’d ever expected it to be.)

To be continued..

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Light Novel Club Chapter 32: The Faraway Paladin, Vol. 1

Welcome to our Light Novel Club discussion of The Faraway Paladin, Vol. 1! We’ve got a fairly unique light novel to discuss this time around, and this is a great time to discuss it, with an anime adaptation coming up soon and also the recent announcement of hardcover print editions for the series. So let’s jump into the discussion!

Joining Jeskai Angel and I is marthaurion, one of the members of the Beneath the Tangles Discord! This is a reminder that all Light Novel Club discussions are held on the public Beneath the Tangles Discord and anyone can join these discussions, so if you want to join future discussions, check us out over there.

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1. What are your overall thoughts on the novel?

Jeskai Angel: The pacing was a little slow at times, but overall I enjoyed this light novel. Also, it bugs me that I can’t narrow down a specific reason, but this story felt strangely old, like I might have picked it up at the public library back in 1998. I’ve written before about how I think Unnamed Memory doesn’t “feel” like a typical light novel, and I experienced a similar sensation with Faraway Paladin, though I don’t think it was for the same reasons (e.g., how magic works is actually explained quite a bit in Faraway Paladin).

stardf29: Maybe it’s because the author took inspiration from traditional tabletop RPGs like Dungeons and Dragons, as opposed to video game RPGs like “typical” fantasy light novels?

Jeskai Angel: Ooh, that’s possible! It’s not exactly “You all meet in a tavern,” levels of DnD tropey-ness, but I can definitely see the DnD resemblance now that you point it out.

stardf29: This was definitely an interesting read that is quite different from the usual isekai light novel. It does feel a bit slow-paced because a lot of the beginning is so focused on Will simply growing up with his “parents” and learning about the world. That said, that kind of start is nice every once in a while; it is kind of like Mushoku Tensei in that regard. The worldbuilding is great because of it, and the conflict against the god of undeath is nice, too.

Beyond that, I do like how this story delves into various themes that are worth thinking about. It’s a nice, thoughtful light novel, and as much as I like my brainless fun light novels, having something like this is good for a balanced light novel diet.

2. What are your thoughts on the characters?

Jeskai Angel: By far, my favorite aspect of this story was the active role the gods played. It actually sort of resembles my favorite aspect of Spice and Wolf in that regard. In most light novels, either there’s no evidence gods are real, or they are deistic watchmakers who jump-start the story by isekai-ing the MC but thereafter take a hands-off approach to the setting, or they are benign comic relief. The biggest exceptions I can think of are Invaders of the Rokujouma!? and Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?, plus Tearmoon Empire (which, thus far, has strongly-implied-but-not-explicitly-confirmed divine intervention).

I think one way to summarize this volume is that it’s the story of someone (Will) coming to know and put his faith in a loving deity (Gracefeel). Since learning about the Lord and then choosing to devote oneself to him is fundamental to being a Christian, it’s actually kind of a relatable process. Gracefeel, as a character, walks a fine line, managing to be knowable while remaining mysterious. She’s not just a human with superpowers, but neither is she a total enigma. She’s also a rare truly benevolent god; her power is finite, but she consistently seeks to use it for good.

Stagnate was…peculiar. Like, if the author had added a line about Stagnate twirling his mustache while cackling evilly, it would have fit right in; he acts almost ostentatiously villainous. At the same time he, doesn’t feel quite as “evil” as he acts. He DID help with sealing away the demon king, and even if he had an ulterior motive, that doesn’t entirely invalidate the goodness of aiding the struggle against the demon king. Then there’s issue of death. Stagnate isn’t wrong to see death a Bad Thing (TM). I got the the sense that he really had at least somewhat good intentions behind his flawed approach to the problem of death. Even his nefarious scheme to ensnare Blood and Mary consisted of…arranging for them to raise the child they’d always longed for. Like, as far as villainous plans go, “Give a childless couple a baby so they can shower him with love” isn’t actually all that fiendish. I can’t be too hard on Stagnate if that’s the best he can do for an “evil” plan.

marthaurion: For what it’s worth, I don’t really think I got the same impression of stagnate as being overtly evil, but maybe I wasn’t focusing on that at the time. From what I read, it seemed like his motivations were rooted in a concept that made sense, but his implementation ultimately brings him at odds with others.

stardf29: I have to agree that Stagnate is not so much “intentionally evil” as much as a sort of “well-intentioned extremist”. I think it’s interesting that Stagnate was originally a “good” god, but would later “stray from that path”; it shows that, putting the initially “evil” gods aside, the gods are not actual moral paragons and are indeed falliable. I’ll have more to say on this in a later question.

Jeskai Angel: Will was surprisingly relatable. The way he described himself, I got the impression that he suffered some real trauma which caused depression or anxiety or some other form of mental ill health, and as one commonly sees in anime / light novels, he never got adequate psychological / psychiatric treatment for it. I also appreciate that his past-life memories were important yet not intrusive. By that, I mean that the story spend a bunch time dwelling on Will’s efforts to replicate modern technology, business practices, or Japanese food culture the way so many isekai protagonists do. That sort of thing is sometimes done well, but other times just feels like a cookie cutter isekai trope. Memories from his past are both inspiring and useful for Will, but they can only carry him so far, something he explicitly notes when talking about how Gus’s lessons eventually surpassed his past-life education level.

Will eventually does end up as an OP Isekai Protagonist (TM), but it feels “earned” in a narrative sense. He puts forth a ton of effort to reach the point of being OP, and even then, it’s not just efforts that make it possible. He never could have reached the point he did without all the care and teaching Blood, Mary, and Gus give him. Mater and Gracefeel also contribute to what he becomes. He isn’t just handed phenomenal cosmic power from the start.

marthaurion: For my impression of will, it was hard for me not to draw parallels to Mushoku Tensei, since both protagonists come from that similar thought of feeling like they want to make something more of themselves in their new lives. It’s hard not to feel like Will’s reincarnation is more of an afterthought whenever it comes up, whereas Rudy’s reincarnation seems to more actively inform many of his decisions. Ultimately, it seems like Will’s reincarnation is mostly meant to tie him to Gracefeel. To be fair, i think this is fine, but the other attempts to tie back to his old life don’t really hit home for me.

Also, I would agree that will’s abilities definitely feel earned, in spite of what I said earlier about how I compare him to Rudy.

It’s more of a commentary on how the reincarnation aspect ties into things.

Jeskai Angel: I haven’t read the Jobless Reincarnation light novels, and only watched the first few episodes before dropping the recent anime adaptation. That said…the big contrast I saw between Will and Rudy is that the former is a relatively good person and the latter is a relatively awful one. I got the distinct sense that Rudy, was a Jabba-the-Hutt-like sleazeball in his previous life, AND that he carried over his perverted habits into his reincarnated life. In that regard, at least, Rudy didn’t even seem to be trying to do better than in his previous life. Perhaps I’m off base in this, and Rudy wasn’t as bad as in his first life as the anime made him seem, or perhaps he eventually turns better in his second life. I just know that in terms of comparisons, I found Will vastly more sympathetic and likeable.

marthaurion: Is that so wrong? Even if I don’t have the same traits, I can respect that Rudy carries over parts of his identity while working past some of the traumas that held him back.

stardf29: Regarding Will, honestly, I don’t really have anything to add here that Jeskai hasn’t already said. I like how his past life memories have enough of an effect on his current self that you’re curious what his past life was life, but not so much that I want the story to actually explain it, leaving that in the realm of fascinating mystery.

Jeskai Angel: I appreciated how each of Blood, Mary, and Gus contributed something irreplaceable to Will’s upbringing. They were well balanced, and had a fun rapport with each other. I also thought it was a fun touch how the story emphasized that some of their knowledge was dated and they don’t really know anything about the current state of the world. I can’t help but suspect all three are some kind of allusion to Christianity, due to in their names. First, having a woman named Mary who ends up with a baby through unnatural means is…not remotely subtle. And once you’ve introduced that, the names of the other two start to seem suspiciously coincidental. “Blood” is in fact a very important thing in Christianity (e.g., the Lord’s Supper / Eucharist). And Gus isn’t in the Bible by his nickname, but “Augustus” (of the Caesar variety) does get a shout-out in Luke 2:1.

stardf29: Man, Blood, Mary, and Gus are great. They are such a great parental trio, with each of them having aspects that are different from each other that allow them to balance each other out, which overall makes them quite good at raising Will. It definitely made me sad that their time with Will ultimately had to come to an end. And I definitely found the use of “Mary” for the mother’s name strangely familiar…

Someone took some creative liberties with their nativity display.

3. What do you think about the setting/worldbuilding in this volume?

Jeskai Angel: Now that you’ve said it, the worldbuilding and setting seem clearly inspired by tabletop RPGs (or video games closely based on tabletop RPGs, like Baldur’s Gate or something), which in turn drew from older western fantasy works (from Greek mythology to Tolkien). It contains a lot of traditional elements, and the end result is something that in one sense feels creative and unusual compared to typical fantasy light novels, but in another sense more derivative than many other fantasy light novels. That is, light novels that don’t draw so heavily on traditional fantasy have room to sometimes do some really interesting things, whereas Faraway Paladin never completely loses that familiar “I think I might have read this in the ’90s” vibe I mentioned before.

marthaurion: I really liked how magic was presented in this world. It feels more grounded to think of it as something that isn’t guaranteed to succeed in a general sense. With that presentation, Gus’s philosophy of choosing words that have the safest failures rather than the most effective successes makes a lot of sense. It truly makes magic feel like a feat of intelligence, rather than just a question of how well you can time or aim the spell, as is the general impression in other fantasy settings.

As for the pantheon, I’m less familiar with kind of the “official” pantheons for D&D, so I didn’t immediately draw that parallel. I felt the similarities to Greek/Roman mythology a lot more strongly when I was reading, where the gods are just presented as very powerful beings that preside over processes.

stardf29: As mentioned before, the current highlight of the worldbuilding is in the gods and how they relate to the people of the world. I do like how the worldbuilding is presented over time, as if we are learning about it alongside Will. This is especially notable since this first volume only takes place in a small area geographically, so there’s still a lot of world for us to learn as Will explores outside the city of the dead.

Also, I like how magic in this world works. It’s not just “oh yeah people can use magic,” nor is it too videogame-like or overly “scientific”. There’s a greater sense of mystique thanks to the connection to the “Words of Creation”, and even Will himself mentions it’s more like classic fantasy novels in this way.

Now, about those gods. As I mentioned before, the “good” and “evil” designation of gods is not static, and that does make me wonder a few things. For one, what exactly defines what makes a god “good” or “evil”? Gus does say at one point that he considers those designations something that their followers, i.e. the people, decided, and that makes me curious as to the greater religious sociology of this world. It also makes me wonder if there are any cases where an “evil” god ends up being more “good”…

4. What connections does this volume’s story have with our Christian faith?

Jeskai Angel: The conflicting divine approaches to death provide fascinating contrasts with the third possibility Christianity teaches. Gracefeel represents reincarnation with no memories. Life ends in death, but then restarts from scratch. In this system, a soul is basically an Etch A Sketch, getting erased & reused over & over. I find this a deeply unsatisfying concept because it makes one’s life meaningless. It doesn’t matter what you do, eventually you’ll die & get erased & nothing about you will carry over. This approach leaves no room for reward or judgment. It actually reminds me a bit of some of my issues the versions of predestination/election found in some circles of Christianity, in that by say God absolutely predetermines the outcome, they risk making this life meaningless.

Stagnate has beef with this, & thus offers undeath as an alternative to reincarnation. Your identity won’t get erased, but you’ll be stuck as some damaged or half-destroyed version of yourself (e.g., a skeleton, zombie, or ghost) that isn’t truly alive. By offering some degree of continuity, Stagnate’s undeath does have an advantage over Gracefeel’s soul recycling bin. Unfortunately, it’s rightly called ‘undeath,” not “life.” The solution to death needs to be life, so in that respect Gracefeel’s approach has an edge over Stagnate’s.

Finally, there’s Christianity, promising a transformative bodily resurrection. Gracefeel & Stagnate only have workarounds to the problem of death; they can’t do anything about death itself. On the other hand, in the person of Jesus, Life directly challenges & overcomes death. In the resurrection, we will still be ourselves in some meaningful sense, unlike Gracefeel’s reincarnation. But unlike with Stagnate’s static, flawed imitation of life, we will be truly alive as transformed, perfected versions of ourselves. In short, the contrast between Gracefeel’s reincarnation & Stagnate’s undeath really drives home how awesome our Lord’s promise of resurrection is.

stardf29: So one of my favorite moments in the novel is when Mater protects Mary, and shows that Mary’s “punishment” was entirely self-inflicted, and that Mater had long forgiven her. It’s a good picture of grace, and how we can sometimes believe we are being “punished” by God, and perhaps even try to punish ourselves, even though God has already satisfied all need for “punishment” through Christ’s death. Sure, we have to deal with consequences of our actions, but that is not some kind of divine judgment.

Now, this story’s theological worldbuilding is based on the idea that “if good is created, then evil must be created to balance it”. There’s also how Will feels like he needs to fear death in order to feel like he truly is living, in opposition to Stagnate who wants to remove death entirely. It’s this idea of “balance” that I think comes from one of the major Eastern religions (will have to do some more research on this) and is fairly popular in fantasy works. It’s certainly a nice-sounding idea, but I think Christianity shows how we can look forward to a future without death, and not feel like we’re “missing” something because of that.

The contrast with Stagnate, as Jeskai pointed out, is particularly helpful because it shows that eternal life, separated from God and His perfect design for life, is pretty crappy. (And I have to agree that Gracefeel’s reincarnation of souls feels rather empty.)

=====

Thank you for checking out our discussion on The Faraway Paladin, Vol. 1! The series is available digitally from J-Novel Club if you want to buy this volume or any later volumes for yourself, with a hardcover print edition planned for release in March 2022.

Discussion on our next Light Novel Club title, Tearmoon Empire Vol. 4, has started on the Beneath the Tangles Discord! The discussion will be open throughout the month of August, so there’s still time to read the series and join our discussion.

If you want to prepare for the novels we are discussing later in the year: In September 2021, we will be discussing Sword Art Online: Progressive, Vol. 1! And if you want to know what we are discussing in October 2021… we will be discussing the next novel in the “Rascal Does Not Dream…” series, Rascal Does Not Dream of Petite Devil Kohai!

#Light Novels #Christianity #The Faraway Paladin #Saihate no Paladin #BtT Light Novel Club #Articles #Author: Jeskai Angel #Author: stardf29 #Author: marthaurion

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Forsaken | Part 4

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

The bed was cold when you rolled over in the morning.

Had it been a dream? You were certain Jinyoung had held you close all night long, breathing words of longing into your ear. And yet, as you sat up, he was nowhere to be seen, his belongings simply waiting for their master to return.

Were you also waiting now?

Your mind was conflicted. It felt too warm, too comfortable to be back within his arms. As Jinyoung held you within the forest, you were unable to get enough of him. But as soon as he wasn’t against you, rational uncertainties crept up on you.

The Jinyoung you knew wouldn’t kill anyone.

What had led him down such a dark and twisted path? The fact that you wanted to comprehend why he was here bothered you more than you wanted to accept. It shouldn’t be something you needed to understand. You were morally against the Rebellion. You saw no need for the power-hungry force taking what didn’t belong to them. You believed of its warriors as nothing more than monsters, spewing out curse words whenever they were mentioned in conversation.

You felt the emotions spill down your cheeks as you grappled with this situation. You would never have those conversations again. Further, you were now inside the Rebellion. The need to survive made humans wicked, you thought.

As the door opened, you initially glared at the intrusion to your inner turmoil, Jinyoung pressing his lips together in a firm line. Why did he just accept your response? Was his guilt that overwhelming that whatever you did, he would deal with it without any complaint?

You remembered how infuriating he could be when he didn’t possess an opinion when you could hold many.

“You are entitled to be how you please,” he said as if he had read your mind. “And you’re welcome to decline breakfast as well. However, given you didn’t eat yesterday, and you’re recovering from your fever, I suggest you do.”

You looked towards the wooden tray he had carried in with a single serving of porridge upon it. You glanced up at him and he smiled weakly. “I ate with the men.”

“Would they dislike it if you ate with me instead?”

“Word travels,” he replied as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Is my stay here causing problems for you?”

“No,” he answered too quickly and inhaled a deep breath. “No, it won’t.”

“So then can I eat with everyone else later?”

Jinyoung watched you cautiously. “Why?”

“Do you think keeping me cooped up in here is good for my mind? I spend far too long contemplating who you are and being angered at myself for considering to accept all this. I have too many questions, like how I ended up in these clothes and-”

“I didn’t look, I went by feel. And I was very quick,” Jinyoung responded, his ears turning red in the process. You stumbled to a stop over your rant and began to giggle. Jinyoung merely stared at you, mouth agape. “You find me humorous?”

“I find you puzzling. How, as a grown man are you so frightened of touching a woman’s body? Don’t you take all you can whilst on the road?”

“Where is your husband then? Why aren’t you married? I see no ring to state that you belong to someone else.”

“If I did, would I have died back there too?” you asked without thinking and watched as the hardness reappeared in his eyes. You sighed. “I could have had one.”

“I still would have taken you. I’m cold-hearted man, isn’t that right? Husband or not, I would have taken you as my own.”

“Isn’t it a good thing I’ve always been yours,” you muttered and then swallowed as you felt his sharp focus snap back to your face. Spooning a mouthful of the food into your mouth, you then choked from trying to eat too quickly.

Jinyoung handed you a glass of water and crouched before you. “Slowly, eat more slowly. It’s not going to be your only meal. I make sure my people are fed here.”

“It’s a different camp than the one you were found within,” you said and Jinyoung’s hand on your thigh gripped it momentarily.

“We need to stop talking about the past.”

“It’s all we have that links us. I’m not meant to be in this world with you otherwise and you’re meant to be dead like I was told. Dead beside my parents who hid you and-”

“What?” Jinyoung cut in, his eyes rounding. “What did you just say?”

Your expression softened as you put down your spoon, not realising he was actually clueless to the proceedings that happened after his departure.

“Y/N,” your father said in a hushed voice, his eyes imploring you to look up at him. You had spent the past week in bed, falling ill after the army troops dragged Jinyoung away from you, the same man before you having held you back from chasing after him any further than you had. You hadn’t wanted to see your father ever again and yet with the way he looked at you now, you grew aware of the urgency in his expression. “Take this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a medicine that will help you sleep for two days without stirring. When I leave this room, you must take it, do you understand?”

“Whatever for?!”

“I just need you to do this without question, my child,” he pleaded, pushing the potion bottle into your hand. “Take it and hide the bottle immediately. I love you, please know this is the only way I can protect you.”

“From what, Papa?”

“Have you of my compass?” he continued and you shook your head. “Does Jinyoung have it?”

“I gave it to him before you dragged me back.”

“At least one of you will be guided well in this world,” he murmured and then produced another compass, this time, much smaller than the one you had once carried everywhere you went. Placing the chained gift within your hand, he pressed his lips to your head and then gave you a watery smile. “Use this to find him again.”

“But-”

“It will help you in life more than I will now. Please live.”

And with that the man got up and left the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you obediently took the potion.

When you opened your eyes again, the house was silent. You eased yourself onto the floorboards of your bedroom, noticing the door that was once closed now open. Dashing into the master bedroom next to yours, you found it empty. Turning for the staircase, you thumped down them and into the front room, rocking back on your heels and shrieking at the sight before you.

Stepping outside and wailing for help of your bloodied parents, you rushed up to the neighbour’s doorstep and knocked on the door repeatedly until you looked into the window. Your blood ran cold, and you felt the world spinning around you.

Shakily pulling out the chain around your neck you held up the compass and searched for direction.

Jinyoung was shaking you now, breaking you out of your emotional revisit to the death of your parents, of all that lived in your town, aside from the small few who managed to escape before the Rebellion entered. You looked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Stop shaking me.”

“Tell me what happened?!”

“What is there to tell of another town that was plundered and destroyed? Isn’t that what you know of so well?”

“They said you would be spared!” he exclaimed and you finally looked at Jinyoung, the tears running down his face freely. “If I went with them they would all be spared! I never ventured back there to keep you all safe!”

“Only I was spared. My father poisoned me so it looked like I had died from heartbreak. They killed everyone else.”

Jinyoung collapsed at your feet then, his head hung low, uncontrolled sobs leaving him. You didn’t reach out for him, feeling no comfort in reliving the horror of that time in your life. Before you had been found by a little old woman who was travelling through, you had attempted to find a way to take your life so you would be with your parents again. You had been told Jinyoung would be killed for hiding away in your town for as long as he had, and then your parents, along with everyone else who held the secret, paid the price for Jinyoung’s stay there. You hadn’t wanted to live without any of them.

And yet your father’s final plea prevailed, the lady taking you in and caring for you as her own. You carried on, trying to live in their stead as best as you could.

Your parents had died in vain and Jinyoung had been used as a pawn for a bigger picture. There was nothing that could make this situation any better.

At some point, Jinyoung got up and left the room. You hadn’t moved from the spot you were in when he left and didn’t even lift your eyes to the door when it reopened.

However, it wasn’t Jinyoung who entered.

“Hello,” a man said softly, edging around the room. You recognised his voice as one from the group you had travelled with and lifted your head to look up at him. He smiled gently. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m Jackson, Jinyoung’s right-hand man.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you care about Jinyoung though. You’re that girl he left behind, aren’t you?”

“You know?” you asked curiously and Jackson chuckled softly.

“Not much, just that he carries a compass around that he stole from a girl who saved him as a boy. When asked about what you stole in return, he said his heart.”

“Where is he?”

“Did something happen? He rode out on his horse earlier in the day saying he had to go see Jaebum.” You merely stared at Jackson, not understanding what he meant. “Oh right, you don’t know the people here. Jaebum was taken at the same time as Jinyoung was.”

You thought back to that moment, remembering another young man shackled and being dragged away with Jinyoung. He hadn’t been found in your town, though you heard he had been hiding in a neighbouring village who had alerted of Jinyoung’s existence in the first place.

You worried over what Jinyoung would do.

He arrived back after dusk with another person, Jinyoung surprised to find you waiting with Jackson at your side. He gave Jackson a look and the man beside you merely shrugged before laughing loudly. “Jaebum, are you here for dinner, my friend?”

“I’ve dealt with his mood long enough that you better bring out the wine you found at that little cove a few months ago. I know you hoarded more than you let on.”

“Now now, I don’t think you should paint me so poorly in front of Y/N here.”

“She’s aware we’re all evil bastards,” Jinyoung grumbled as walked right passed you, heading towards the communal area that you had been taken to whilst he was away. There you had helped with preparing dinner, Jackson saying with Jinyoung away that everyone would suffer from Youngjae’s bad cooking.

“I’m not that bad!” Youngjae had corrected and then looked at you with a grin. “But I could do with some help.”

Cooking helped you stay out of your thoughts, but it didn’t ease your worry any. It baffled you to be this concerned over a man who was more than capable of looking after his own back. However, you had only just rediscovered Jinyoung. For what sins he had committed in this world, he was still someone you had missed terribly.

You weren’t ready to lose him again so easily.

“Will you be staying here long?” Youngjae had asked as you peeled the potatoes together and you shrugged.

“I’m not sure of my fate. Just that I’m here now.”

“A lot of us felt like that. I remember the first day I came here. I thought Mark would have me hanging from that tree over there by the end of it.”

“Really? Why?”

Youngjae chuckled and you decided then that you enjoyed the energy he possessed. “Well, I don’t know how much you know about the Rebellion but they’re not meant to help people.”

“No, they take what isn’t theirs and end the lives of many.”

“They do help people, here at least. I was meant to be dead anyway. My left leg had been damaged by another battalion that had taken my farmstead. I was a produce grower for a town over. When Mark rode by me with Jinyoung, I begged them to end my life so I could be out of my pain. Instead, they brought me here.”

“They saved you?” you asked, stunned. You then frowned. “I thought they don’t take prisoners?”

“Are we imprisoned here?” Youngjae asked, gesturing to the open space that he could walk around in. He patted his leg that you had noticed he walked with a strange gait upon earlier. “Instead of hanging me, Jinyoung and Mark took me to Jaebum who is a healer. He fixed my leg as best as he could and now I’m here. I’m grateful to serve these people even if I’m only good at growing food, not cooking it. It’s a safe place here. I’d much rather be close to the enemy lines than out there, oblivious to how your life could be ended.”

You thought over Youngjae’s words for the rest of the day, and when you were seated for dinner, smiling gently at those who sang your praises for how delicious the meal was, you glanced in Jinyoung’s direction, catching his eye briefly. He smiled before turning to Jaebum who was talking about some adventure they once took together.

Could this place be the starting point of nowhere?

_________________

Part 5

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muzzleroars · 4 years

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Cake’s Bad End AU Part I - Akira

Here it is, the posts that will finally outline the events of my Bad End AU! I’m not a writer in any sense, but with so many people enjoying the content I create for this AU and several people asking about it, I wanted to write up a synopsis of the events that take place and, more simply, what this AU even is. This is my idea of what happens when Akira takes Yaldabaoth’s deal on Christmas Eve and all of its implications, so I hope everyone enjoys it and that it puts the pieces for my AU in context. There will be three parts: Akira, The Thieves, and The Holy Grail. This is Part I: Akira, which details the beginnings of the Bad End and what becomes of Akira under Yaldabaoth’s rule. (3,008 words)

(TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse and some descriptions of illness/pain)

The AU starts, of course, with Akira taking Yaldabaoth’s deal to return reality to normal and allow the Phantom Thieves to gain fame and glory. Akira is at a breaking point by now in the story – only a month ago he was badly tortured in an interrogation, leaving him permanently scarred physically and mentally with no time to process that pain; he watched Goro sacrifice his life for himself and the Thieves, losing him when they may have just closed the chasm between them, Goro gone before he could live a free life; and now he’s lost the rest of the Thieves one by one in front of him, ripped from reality and, as far as Akira knows, gone from existence. All of this comes after the responsibility of the Thieves, of the confidants, has weighed on his shoulders for months, the lost game almost causing his execution carried out by comrades, the betrayal of Igor, who was supposed to be the one guiding him, saving him. Akira snaps under that pressure in this moment, he can’t keep fighting for a public that doesn’t even want him after they’ve now so thoroughly forgotten what he and his friends risked their lives for time and again. They are ungrateful. They are undeserving. He wants his friends back, he wants Goro back, and now the public has lost his sympathy, so in this one moment, he no longer cares for them. He may be the Trickster, the great and mysterious leader of the Phantom Thieves, but he’s also a sixteen year old boy who’s now lost everything because of the public he worked so hard to shake from their apathy. He trades their free will for his own gain, a way of biting back at them in pain, in hateful selfishness that he deserves at least once...and the world reopens.

Arsène is rent from Akira’s heart, stolen from him and he’s hollowed out, his will of rebellion gone but replaced with incredible power. The process causes him to black out but when he comes to, he’s back in the attic of Leblanc, quickly grabbing at his phone to see unread messages from his friends. Every text sounds normal, none of them mentioning a thing about the Holy Grail or anything that happened in the Depths of Mementos. However...Morgana is gone. Akira is unnerved, but the relief he feels from all of his other friends being safe seems to blunt the emotion and, for a short time, Morgana’s absence seems to be the only thing wrong with the world. School goes on, all of his friends are safe and sound, and their work as Thieves continues without concern about Mementos or changing the public. It makes Akira feel vindicated and to his further relief, his friends never bring up Morgana, the concern about his whereabouts quickly fading to the back of Akira’s mind. The lack of concern causes its own twinge of worry, but the Thieves begin to pick up more and more work to keep Akira well occupied. He feels more fulfilled than he ever has with each job too, a wave of righteousness crashing over him with greater intensity with every heart stolen. The feeling is wonderful at first, but soon the thoughts, the emotions stemming from their work become increasingly intrusive, taking over in a way Akira can’t control and is terrified of. Akira had always been meticulous with their work, but now every thought begins to revolve around it, falling off in his studies, falling out of regular contact with his friends unless they’re traveling to the Metaverse, and all he thinks of is greater efficiency, finding new targets, and doing whatever Yaldabaoth asks of him. His love for their work and his god become fanatical without his input, but what disturbs him the most is how little he seems to care for his friends now. He tries to force it, tries to see them more, hang out with them more, put all of his focus on them, but more and more often his mind thinks of stealing more hearts, of how he’s wasting his time whenever he isn’t working for Yaldabaoth’s great design.

Akira’s friends begin to pick up on his odd and absent behavior, but Akira always brushes it off despite his words and actions growing more concerning. He pushes them into increasingly hectic schedules, running them into the ground and when that still isn’t enough, Akira starts to visit Mementos on his own, trying to feed the beast that demands more, more, more, always more. Here the blackouts begin, Akira losing time from hours to days and almost always waking up in Mementos where he stays overnight to steal more hearts. The shadows mill around him oddly, not attacking and not running as he repeats Yaldabaoth’s praises to himself. Still, he occasionally leaves in order to rest and to eat, Sojiro and the Thieves demanding answers that only produce evasive responses, Akira just claiming he had business to take care of and all is well. But the Thieves know dozens of changes of heart are occurring without the group as a whole, they know it’s Akira doing this, but being near him has become oddly oppressive, and something about the way he speaks to them or even just carries himself seems to shut down dissent regardless of the Thieves’ worries. They can’t explain it, but they find themselves arguing less and less, falling in line and finding their worry and even anger only coming to them when they’re away from him. It’s something they begin to discuss among themselves, creating a separate group chat free of Akira and full of concern, fear, and increasing hopelessness.

But one day, finally, Akira blacks out once more and travels deep into Mementos, lost in a rapturous fervor where he is found by Goro. Goro’s been exploring the Metaverse himself, knowing that his own life is wrong, that he must have died that day on Shido’s ship, and with the odd, altered mood of the public, he figures the two events must be related. He initially wishes to contact Akira about it but, unable to find him in reality, he assumes Akira is carrying out similar fact-finding missions in the Metaverse. However, upon spotting him in Mementos, he’s disturbed by the unhurried gait, the shadows that leave him alone or, even more bizarrely, follow along behind him with no intent to ambush him, and the fact that he can hear him muttering to himself when he comes in close. Upon confronting him, Goro is met with a gaze that seems unfocused, the sharp and intelligent spark in Akira’s eyes gone as he rambles almost incoherently about some god. He talks about his divine work, his chosen purpose, how Goro should be grateful he’s been brought back...Goro almost believes this can’t be Akira, unsettled by rhetoric that sounds like Shido’s but is somehow so much more unhinged and unwell, the exhaustion evident on his features even as he returns a constant, vacant smile to Goro. He attempts to force Akira back to the entrance but Akira vehemently refuses, becoming aggressive and dangerously so when Goro attempts to push it and, being exhausted himself, he reluctantly retreats to await him in reality...but Akira never shows.

Instead, he has stretched himself too thin, gone far into the Depths, too far to escape again on his own when he snaps out of his fugue. A voice calls him in deeper though, hurry, hurry – he knows he’s too weak to travel on foot all the way back out again, so he chases after it into the shrine of the Holy Grail. There, Yaldabaoth offers him shelter, safety to rest and recuperate...but it will take too long, and humans aren’t meant to last in the Metaverse, especially ones too weak to maintain their transformation. So Akira is offered the elixir of the Holy Grail, a panacea Yaldabaoth tells him will heal his wounds and hasten his recovery so that he may return home safely. Akira is skeptical, he wishes he didn’t have to decide this on his own...but in his pain, in his exhaustion, in his one wish to be home in the warm attic of Leblanc (in his fried mind, already half controlled by Yaldabaoth), he agrees and takes the elixir. The effects are immediate and violent, a spike in his chest that blooms across his entire body and shakes him into the tips of his fingers, to the core of his bones and rattles in his skull until it feels like his very life must come pouring out and he collapses into darkness.

The process is agonizing and it is long, Akira fading in and out of consciousness in a place he doesn’t recognize but can’t properly process. He feels sick, an overwhelming malaise as he sweats in fevers that never seem to break while his memories fracture and splinter in ways that make his head swim. He fights blindly and pitifully against more doses of elixir, brought to him by shadows in the shapes of angels...soon all he can do is try to call out for his friends, the ones becoming harder and harder to remember, their names and faces growing obscure and faded. Eventually, he falls into a still sleep, the pain piercing into an otherwise blank nothingness, the angels charged with his care finding him on the edge of death. They tell Yaldabaoth he will not survive, that a human is simply too weak, but Yaldabaoth tells them to continue administering the elixir so long as Akira does still survive. It is in Yaldabaoth’s nature to leave nothing half-done, yet he too begins to doubt the Akira will awaken again as days go by in the Depths and he never moves, only taking shallow breaths with thready heartbeats sustaining him...Yaldabaoth considers what sort of funeral he can give him.

But while the elixir does ultimately end his human life, burning through his body and stopping his heart, Akira does wake from the coma it’s put him in, albeit irreversibly altered. His hair’s been shocked a brilliant, iridescent white and his skin is pallid, his eyes blank but opalescent. He carries an ethereal beauty, yet it is sickly, skin flushed as though with a fever and tinted with a pallor, his ghostly body thinned and almost vanishing, the scar on his chest an angry red that burns sorely against his paleness of form. His movements are at first unsteady, but the angels assist him in going to see his father, the memories of his friends, his human life, his entire identity wiped clean and he now only knows himself as The Son. He bows before Yaldabaoth and he is bestowed with a scythe, although his father tells him he must continue to rest before he goes to work. True to form, The Son argues with him, saying he feels more than well enough to work, but as he has only just been created and Yaldabaoth sends him back to his bed.

The Son is a being of the Metaverse and, as he understands it, is a creation of Yaldabaoth’s meant to mirror humans but is superior to them and so must act as a bridge. Yaldabaoth has no recourse to interact directly with humanity but The Son may act as his proxy, residing in the Metaverse to reap the hearts of disobedient shadows and reform those that seek an escape from their suffering. With his creation a great cathedral rises in the Depths, clashing with the inky blackness of Mementos in a dazzling bright white that acts as a beacon to lost shadows, great droves of them congregating at its gates in hopes of being let in. The Son resides here, his throne sat high on the sanctuary that looks out over a seemingly endless nave, the floors constantly teeming with restless and desperate shadows seeking his forgiveness. He is often absent, however, the shadows offering their prayers to the empty seat as he roams the maze that makes up Mementos to seek out strayed sheep or entirely departs to fall a palace on his own. He needs no calling card, those he seeks out feeling increasing guilt, remorse, and terror as he carves his path through their palaces until he reaches their shadow to reap them, his scythe tearing through an errant soul and producing the treasure for him to take. Upon his return to his cathedral, the shadows clamor around him to receive his blessing, begging for his touch and his approval for it means an immediate place in the shrine of the Holy Grail (but never laying hands on him themselves, for it is a sin). The Son’s third eye sees the hearts of the believers in his church, showing many of them still too sullied to receive his hand but, should he find one fully committed to the word of his father, he will reach out to bless them. Outside of this, he often goes to sleep on his throne, the shadows continuing to pray to him quietly once he closes his eyes as it is considered a great sin to wake The Son, who works so hard for their God and who is the only one that can bring them to salvation.

The Son sometimes departs from the main hall of the cathedral, however, retreating to private quarters if he needs more sleep or simply some quiet. The angels wait on him there, speaking with him and bringing him more elixir if he’s feeling too overly drained from his work. The Son has been known to engage in human hobbies as well, prone to reading, crafting, and drawing, even sometimes writing a series of disconnected words or paragraphs (answers to worksheets he had in school, spilling out with no meaning) before he grows bored as he doesn’t even know why he chooses to engage in such frivolous tasks. However, he is interested in humanity despite their flaws and he envies them in some ways, aware of the myriad cognitions that impact him on a daily basis with thoughts and visions he can’t understand. His poorly pantomimed hobbies give him a sense of connection to them, he thinks, but his father counts on him to be better than them and he wouldn’t want such fascinations tainting him with their sin.

However, The Son is not wholly content...occasional memories resurface, broken and confused, but with them he distinctly feels how weak and wrong he is, the dead heart in his chest wrenching and forcing tears from his eyes before the agonizing visions fade and he forgets why he was crying at all. In these moments, he sees snapshots of himself but different, dark hair and dark clothes, glasses hiding sharp eyes and something screams that was real, that’s who he is and how he should be, and it’s often these visions that send him into hiding in his private quarters, away from prying eyes of shadows always watching him. And there’s other faces in those memories, not shadows but real human beings in the sunlight (he’s never experienced sunlight, it’s too bright for his eyes used to only using his second sight in the dark, dingy halls of Mementos), loud voices and shining eyes, shouting a name...a name he can’t hear but they look at him, smiling, laughing, memories and thoughts not from outside but from within. He feels it, these visions are his, they are not intrusive cognitions but instead memories, memories of a life he never had.

He often speaks to his father in these times, asking him questions about the nature of humanity and eventually about himself, feeling something is missing about his understanding of his own existence. In fact, he speaks with his father fairly regularly, finding the angels rather dull and too subservient to be of much use as conversation partners...and shadows are even worse. Yaldabaoth teaches him a great many things and even serves to allay his anxieties, with The Son harboring a deep reverence and affection for his father and for Yaldabaoth’s part, he too finds himself attached to his child. His attachment is difficult to define, but he experiences some amount of worry for him and he begins to engage in more conversation with him as well as reward him for doing well with his reapings. Ultimately, although Yaldabaoth does not experience human attachment, he defines his reality as richer having The Son being a part of it and so he wishes to protect him and nurture his growth (within Yaldabaoth’s parameters).

However, The Son is not in full agreement with his father – while arguments between them don’t occur often, they happen far too frequently for Yaldabaoth’s taste. Ostensibly, The Son should be fully under his control and yet he comes to him with prying or frantic questions about himself, he defends the sins of humanity and criticizes Yaldabaoth’s harshness toward them. He can grow combative, resentful, and even aggressive, and while he does generally acquiesce to Yaldabaoth’s assertions, he sometimes finds himself growing increasingly irate instead, burning with a righteous fury against a father he should follow with unquestioning faith. In those moments, the memories come back to him in sharper focus and painful intensity, overwhelming him with a wealth of emotion normally so absent from The Son’s composure. He fights back against Yaldabaoth in hysterics, his emotions tearing him apart as he makes claims and spouts words even he can’t understand, all taken from the pieces of those thoughts he thinks are his. In response, Yaldabaoth chooses to subdue him while always stating it’s for his own good, convincing him to drink his elixir if he can or using physical means to force him into submission before he has him drink. The elixir will always quiet him, locking out those memories and making him forget his anger, forget his objections...and truthfully, The Son welcomes it more often than not. He wants to forget and live in peace with his father, berating himself for his sin and imperfection.

#FINALLY AM I RIGHT #ppl have asked about a master post for all of this SO #this will be a full plot synopsis which i broke into 3 parts for ease of reading #it's...long for a synopsis and it's making me CONSIDER a fic or at least drabbles #i'm not a good writer tho so WE'LL SEE....#i just had no clue i actually had a full start to finish story here honestly lmao #p5 #akira kurusu #yaldabaoth #bad end #bad end synopsis

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hecallsmehischild · 3 years

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Recent Media Consumed

Games

The First Tree. So, I’ve concluded that this game is not for me, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. If anything, I’ve found it at the wrong time in my life. This is clearly a game meant to help people process grief, and I might recommend that anyone who is going through grief and loss give it a try. It might help.

Portal 2: Co-op version. SO. I can’t believe neither of us realized this… but around the same time, my husband and I realized that for years we’d both “figured we’d never get to play the co-op version of Portal 2.” HAHAHAH. We kind of sat there, stunned for a moment, and immediately dove in. MUCH FUN. And sometimes Glados has different dialogue for each player, trying to pit us against each other. Lovely extension of the game.

Books

The Housing Boom and Bust by Thomas Sowell. This was one where I didn’t understand everything, but the parts that I understood helped clarify a lot. My parents were one of the couples suckered by an institution that knew how to take advantage of the loopholes and risky creative home re-financing procedures described by Sowell. I have hazy memories of the situation because I didn’t care for finances and didn’t understand what was happening. I appreciated how Sowell tackled the failings of both political parties in this whole debacle, and the way he describes it, it stretches backwards and forwards and I can see the pattern and it is dismal and depressing. At the same time, very useful to know. It’s fairly readable and on the shorter side of his works. Very useful read.

Nutcracker and Mouse King/The Tale of the Nutcracker by E.T.A. Hoffmann/Alexandre Dumas. These two versions of the Nutcracker fairytale were paired in a Penguins Classic volume, along with a helpful introductory. I have to say that, though Hoffman’s is the original, I understand Dumas’ version far more easily. Maybe it’s a translation issue or maybe it really is a drastic difference in writing. Either way, it was interesting to read the roots of the George Ballanchine ballet I grew up watching, and getting a heavy dose of “author’s intent” lecture in the introduction.

Clara & The Nutcracker by T.K. Merchant (Jessica Kalei Sheffield). I was pointed in the direction of this story that someone had written as a follow-up to the Nutcracker story. First, I had to read the original Nutcracker story (as seen in the previous point) and then I read through this. I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I feel this story could have benefitted from more editing work. On the other hand, I have bittersweet pangs of jealousy reading what is clearly a published (and legal) fanfiction. It’s a good story with a solid core that (IMO) just needs some more spit and polish.

12 Rules for Life by Jordan Peterson. At this point I’ve seen enough of his lectures that I’m starting to get a real feel for what he says and believes in general. That being said, this was still a very polished and condensed version of it, and well worth reading. I think I was dragged into an alley and MUGGED by his chapter about friendship. It was a big, “Ow. But. True,” feel. Some of his chapters are straightforward and concrete and some are more abstracted, so this book ranges from chapter to chapter in terms of ease in reading comprehension. This book is geared more toward chaotic type people like me. Now I’m curious what he has to say to the more orderly type people. *eyes the other book*

A Conflict of Visions by Thomas Sowell. This was interesting. It was probably medium difficulty to read because it did deal with abstract concepts but grounded them pretty thoroughly in examples and historical references. Though it’s likely clear which vision Sowell ascribes more to, this work (as far as I can tell) is an academic look at the roots, paths, strengths, and weaknesses of the political divide. I think this is a good “bridging the gap” book because it does attempt to thoroughly lay out why each side is self consistent in its beliefs and behaviors. I think it is a read that leads to deeper understanding of both sides.

The Quest for Cosmic Justice by Thomas Sowell. This is a collection of essays that overlaps other works of his (Intellectuals and Society, A Conflict of Visions, etc) but focuses on this one aspect. It is definitely not unbiased, but it’s very readable.

Movies

Loving Vincent. I’d heard about this movie, off and on, for a long time. Is it too low of a pun to say, “This movie is art”? I mean… this movie is animation… but with HAND PAINTED OILS. In the style of Van Gogh. How even??? And the dialogue is pretty good, too. There’s a lot of emotion conveyed in this film, both through the visuals and story of it all. And the flashback scenes are, sometimes, nearly photorealistic in their style. I also love how you have to piece together who Vincent was through many different peoples’ memories of him, not all flattering. It is a painful movie to watch, and ends with the iconic song dedicated to Vincent. This is quality cinema.

Missing Link. I really shouldn’t have put watching this off for so long. Laika studio’s stop motion gets smoother EVERY. FRIGGIN. FILM. Gosh… I have to believe some of these shots were just them showing off, seriously. Once you are looking for it, you can see some scenes that are just there because they’re impressive under the circumstances of it being STOP. MOTION. But they’re done well enough that they don’t detract even a tiny bit from the quality of the film (as opposed to situations where I’ve seen some films do 3D effects very intrusively). So, all that said, I didn’t enjoy the story as much. Cardboard villainy isn’t as fun for me as it used to be, so my enjoyment of the story isn’t as high as for other Laika films, but it's good for one watch through.

#recent media consumed #child loves books #child loves movies #n00b gamer child

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pruinesce-a2 · 4 years

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META: TODOROKI FUYUMI + COMPLEX PTSD.

this meta is gonna probably going to heavily reference child abuse and domestic abuse, so please don’t read if you’re vulnerable to those topics. i used a read more but i don’t think they’re working. ON TO THE META

complex ptsd ( c-ptsd ) generally develops as a result of chronic trauma, over months or years, most often experience throughout childhood; it’s rare ( but definitely not unheard of ! ) that it will develop in an adult, because, as the article i’m going to pick apart states, “ when an adult experiences a traumatic event, they have more tools to understand what is happening to them, their place as a victim of that trauma, and know they should seek support even if they don't want to. children don't possess most of these skills, or even the ability to separate themselves from another's unconscionable actions. the psychological and developmental implications of that become complexly woven and spun into who that child believes themselves to be -- creating a messy web of core beliefs much harder to untangle than the flashbacks, nightmares and other posttraumatic symptoms that come later. ”

emotion regulation. “ survivors with c-ptsd have a very difficult time with emotions -- experiencing them, controlling them, and for many, just being able to comprehend or label them accurately. many have unmanaged or persistent sadness, either explosive or inaccessible anger [...] they may be chronically numb, lack the appropriate affect in certain situations, be unable to triage sudden changes in emotional content [...] it's also very common for these survivors to re-experience emotions from trauma intrusively - particularly when triggered. these feelings are often disproportionate to the present situation, but are equal to the intensity of what was required of them at the time of a trauma -- also known as an emotional flashback. ”

the first things that stand out to me here: fuyumi easily fits the criteria of unmanaged or persistent sadness, but what really catches my eye is the concept of inaccessible anger. the boys very clearly fall under explosive anger, but fuyumi ... is seemingly never angry. it's a common point of contention in many posts i’ve seen about her; that she’s not reacting the way she should as a victim of abuse, that she “undermines” her brothers’ trauma by wanting to forgive her father. first of all i shouldn’t have to remind the fandom that she, too, is a victim of that abuse but it’s also entirely untrue that she’s disregarding her brothers because she even canonically identifies that she feels the same way they do - she identifies that yes, she is angry, yes, she understands they’re well within their rights to be so. but unlike them, this anger is ... far away. fuyumi, physically, emotionally, cannot bring that anger to the front. it’s frustrating for her, too.

i also want to point out the last sentence in this point: emotional flashbacks + the phrase “ what was require of them at the time of a trauma. ” an important thing to note is that often times, throughout fuyumi’s experience with these events … she’s the level-headed one. she’s the calm one. she’s the one mediating. this isn’t a new behavior - in an effort to mitigate her father’s abuse, this calm, peaceful nature is what these traumatic events have required of her, and as such, when anything begins to show potential for going wrong, she reverts back to this behavior.

explosive anger + disproportionate intensities in a certain situation definitely apply to natsuo; see the way he gets so angry over seemingly minute comments. touya / dabi is just. all over the place w/ this one he’s in all of it

difficulty with self-perception. “ in its simplest form, how they see themselves versus how the rest of the world does can be brutally different. some may feel they carry or actually embody nothing but shame and shameful acts - that they are "bad". others believe themselves to be fundamentally helpless; they were let down by so many who could've stopped their abuse but didn't [...] many see themselves as responsible for what happened to them [...] and, countless others may feel defined by stigma, believe they are nothing more than their trauma, worry they're always in the way or a burden, or they may sense they're just completely and utterly different from anyone or anything around them - they are alien. startling as it is, all of these feelings and more can live inside someone whom, to you, seems like the most brilliant, competent, strong, and compassionate human being you know. ”

she holds herself partially responsible for her father’s abuse - this is ALSO outright stated as canon, as seen here and here. the idea of helplessness, and particular bringing in the idea of learned helplessness ( thank u @/unsighty for pointing that out ) is ALSO very important to note here ... note in the shifuku page she says, “ i couldn’t do anything for shouto. ” both fuyumi AND natsuo also probably struggle with the idea of being a burden ( that neglect says hello ! ) / being in the way, too.

i also really like this note about how these feelings can be present in someone labeled “ brilliant, competent, strong, and compassionate ” ... because that’s exactly what fuyumi is seen as.

interruptions in consciousness. “ some may forget traumatic events (even if they knew of them once before), relive them intrusively, recall traumatic material in a different chronological order, or other distressing experiences of what is called dissociation. dissociation is a symptom that exists on a spectrum, ranging anywhere from harmless daydreaming or temporarily "spacing out"; to more disruptive episodes of feeling disconnected from one's body or mental processes, not feeling real, or losing time; all the way to the most severe, which includes switching between self-states (or alters), as is seen in dissociative identity disorder. episodes of missing time can range anywhere from a few minutes, a couple days, or even large chunks of one's childhood. The larger gaps in time are typically only seen in did, but those with c-ptsd alone can still endure 'interruptions in consciousness' that result in memory gaps, poor recall, traumatic material that is completely inaccessible, or, conversely, re-experiencing trauma against their will (e.g. flashbacks, intrusive images, body memories, etc.). ”

while this is definitely a symptom we see more of in shouto ( my boy is dissociating 24/7 ) , fuyumi experiences it sometimes as well. memory gaps, poor recall, and particularly re-experiencing trauma applies to fuyumi here - i think by and large she deals with intrusive imagery; i.e., while she’s in the kitchen, if she hears shouto nearby, or sometimes if she hears the kettle whistling / crying on the tv, she gets a flood of memories of shouto and her mother on the floor in the kitchen.

i think dabi can definitely be HEAVILY attributed to the idea of these losses in time, disconnecttions and self-states - and like with fuyumi, he definitely experiences intrustive imagery. we see that here, i think.

difficulty with relationships. “ this refers more to a survivor's potential to feel completely isolated from peers and not even knowing how to engage, to harboring an outright refusal to trust anyone (or just not knowing why they ever should), trusting people way too easily (including those who are dangerous, due to a dulled sense of alarm), perpetually searching for a rescuer or to do the rescuing, seeking out friends and partners who are hurtful or abusive because it's the only thing that feels familiar, or even abruptly abandoning relationships that are going well for any number of reasons. ”

fuyumi, first of all, definitely struggles to know how to engage with her peers. she’s outgoing and clearly a people person - so it’s often a question why she’s so nervous and struggles to make relationships and ... well. here’s why.

i don’t think fuyumi outright refuses to trust anyone, but there is intense hesitance and unsureness, particular for certain groups of people: men, people who are much taller & bigger than her, people who have some kind of fire affinity / ability, and people who are loud. the idea of perpetually searching for a rescuer, or to do the rescuing ... while typically you might think she falls under the former ( and i think she does, in a way. fuyumi never talks about her trauma, but her concept of love ties into this - someone who can take her away from her father, someone who has the power to do that? someone who is unafraid of him, or someone that he has no hold over? yeah. looking @ kenta n nishiki w this one ), fuyumi also searches to do the rescuing. once again i’m referencing this page - “ she became a teacher to compensate the fact that she couldn’t protect her younger brother. ”

i’m also pointing at the “dulled sense of alarm” - in my canon, fuyumi, for example, went out and put herself in the way of danger and met with less than savory contacts in an attempt to find information on dabi, once she got the inkling he might be touya.

obviously shouto and natsuo also have this urge to rescue, and dabi doesn’t trust anyone.

the perception of one's perpetrators. “ this can be one of the most insidious battles for some survivors with c-ptsd -- even if it seems crystal clear to those on the outside. victims of such prolonged trauma may eventually surrender, assuming their abuser(s) total power over them, possibly even maintaining this belief once they're 'free'. "i'll always be under their thumb, they call all the shots, they may even know what's best for me more than i ever will." others may feel deep sadness or profound guilt at just the thought of leaving them - including long after they've successfully left, if they were able. some may remain transfixed by their abuser's charming side or the warm public persona that everyone loves; it may feel truly impossible to think ill of them. many hold a constant longing for their abusers to just love them - craving their praise well into adulthood, slaving away in their personal lives just to make them proud. alternatively, there are others who may obsess about them angrily, holding only hatred and disdain for them to the point of persistent bitterness and/or vengefulness. some can even stir desires to seek that revenge. (though, it should be clearly noted that it's not at all common for them to actually do so. It's more about the thoughts than the actions.)

many survivors can have a primary, more surface-layer set of thoughts and feelings about their perpetrator(s), particularly when asked. they may know what they're "supposed to say" or "supposed to feel", and then follow suit. but it's helpful to know that a collection of all these responses can, and often does, coexist within one person, vacillating between extremes underneath what's shown to the world or even to themselves. day to day, and year to year, their feelings may shift - and - what the survivor knows to be true intellectually versus what they feel emotionally may remain incongruent for a very long time. ”

OKAY SO. THAT’S A BIG ONE. THAT’S A LOT TO READ. but i think it’s very, very important to fuyumi’s reaction to her trauma, and also to the fandom misconceptions of her. fuyumi clearly is very attached to her father. there’s no denying that. and the particular sentences that stand out to me here are “some may remain transfixed by their abuser’s charming side or public persona” and “they know what they’re supposed to feel”. i’ve said continuously that her father being a hero, and one so well-known and praised at that, has HEAVILY affected her views of him ! as a child fuyumi conflagrated his public persona as the “real” him. she struggled with this...... idea that his violence + aggression were a kind of "fake" version of him - aka "that's not the real him", "he's not always like that", "he used to be a lot nicer", etc. etc. and it’s only as she got older that she moved away from this line of thinking, though she still catches herself with it now and then. and, of course, fuyumi only ever wanted his attention and praise. she worked tirelessly to please him, trying to get him to come to her skating competitions, getting top marks in school, attending todai, always having dinner on the table in spite of her obligations.

it’s also so important to note the second paragraph in this section. fuyumi knows she should be enraged, she should want nothing to do with him, but that’s just ... really difficult for her, i think, especially when unlike shouto and natsuo, she remains in that environment. so there’s this disconnect between her desire for his love + making him proud, to defend him, to make their family “whole” again vs. the knowledge that she shouldn’t want anything to do with him.

natsuo holds that persistent bitterness, and dabi definitely wants revenge so um. yes. next point

one's 'system of meanings'. “ of the many, many well-observed developmental disruptions those with c-ptsd face, one that many find to be the toughest to conquer [...] is what's referred to as one's 'system of meanings' ; an area that, after being subjected to such tumultuous trauma, can feel almost irreparable. what this criterion is referring to is the struggle to hold on to any kind of sustaining faith or belief that justice will ever be served to indiscretions of ethics and morality. these survivors' outlook on life and the world at large can be unfairly contorted, and understandably so.

they may doubt there is any goodness or kindness in the world that isn't selfish-hearted. they may worry they'll never find forgiveness. others may even believe they only came to this world to be hurt, so there can be no good coming for them. this level of hopelessness and despair, as well as these greater meanings assigned to their suffering, can fluctuate greatly over time. there may even come several years where things no longer feel so bleak or as though they were conned of a meaningful life. but, as more layers of trauma are processed in therapy, or new memories bubble to the surface, they may wrestle with it once more as new feelings strike a devastating chord inside their chest. this is a common experience for so many survivors, and can have lasting ramifications with each plunge. ”

this point is, clearly, much more extreme in her brothers. shouto’s aggravation at being reprimanded for breaking the law when it meant doing good; natsuo’s clear resentment of heroes; and this one is, of course, most prevalent in dabi. see: “ the struggle to hold on to any kind of sustaining faith or belief that justice will ever be served to indiscretions of ethics and morality, ” or “ they may doubt there is any goodness or kindness in the world that isn't selfish-hearted. they may worry they'll never find forgiveness. ” LIKE HELLO. the hatred of heroes, the idolization of stain. SCREAMS DABI

i think fuyumi’s ‘system of meanings’ is ... much less disturbed than her brothers’ ( COUGH DABI COUGH ), but there still is some disruption there. by and large, fuyumi still believes that the good in the world outweighs the bad - but the disruption in her belief is also going to be that the hero system is a falsity, it’s a sham, it’s glorified and she inherently dislikes the concept of heroism.

so anyway. i’m upset hbu

#✲ \ 𝚃𝙾 𝙸𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙽𝙴 ‚ meta.#head empty FUYUMI ONLY !!!#abuse //#child abuse //#domestic abuse //#ask to tag //#long post //

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scripttorture · 4 years

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I came across your Torture in Fiction tab where you reviewed a Doctor Who episode and mentioned your love of the show so I'm going to mention exactly what I'm writing. It's basically a Bill/Heather story after they leave together and I'd like to accurately take into account the type of consequences (short term and long termr) of the entire turned into a cyberman ordeal. So any input would be highly appreciated.

Anon, I think I love you. Lesbian romance in the stars with one of my favourite characters, you are too kind.

Let’s start at the beginning.

For those unfamiliar with Doctor Who, the Cybermen are a recurring foe. The idea behind them is that they are people, cybernetically enhanced people with all the ‘unnecessary’ bits removed. Like the ability to feel pain or hope or love. The ultimate aim of the Cybermen is to make everyone else like them. They believe that not having emotional connections makes them superior.

And in one of Bill’s stories she gets turned into a prototype Cyberman. Except due to some unique circumstances the programming doesn’t quite take. Bill is left with a Cyberman body but her thoughts, personality and ability to feel are intact.

Through more unique circumstances (which depending on your interpretation may include Bill dying and being resurrected-) Heather restores her body as it was pre-Cybermen.

We’re never told exactly what happens to Bill. But it’s clear from the context that the procedure is painful and not consensual.

We do see Bill for a few days afterwards. She struggles to accept that she’s a Cyberman and doesn’t seem to know how to process what she’s been through. She seems more or less OK, but given the short time frame we see her for it’s difficult to say if this is a bad portrayal or not. For some people it takes a while for things to sink in and for symptoms to become apparent.

Going forward I’m going to assume that’s the case for Bill.

I’m going to make a couple of other assumptions because there isn’t anything in reality which lines up that well with the Cybermen.

There is not anything that can really 'take away' all emotions. Some drugs can result in emotional blunting as a side effect, but less intense emotion is not the same thing as no emotion. The intense, invasive surgical procedures that are implied to make a Cyberman are completely fictional, and probably wouldn't be survivable in reality.

It's a scenario that you'd expect to be traumatic: an extremely painful, invasive act that re-structures the entire body and is done without consent. Given the particular circumstances in Bill's story, it's tempting to compare it to non-consensual medical procedures.

As a black, lesbian woman who is aware of both modern politics and history it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume Bill can make the same comparisons I have. Black women have been subjected to forced sterilisation and used for medical experimentation within living memory (see The Immortal Life of Henreitta Lacks for a discussion of unethical experimentation in the recent past).

Heather is less likely to be aware of this history and these issues.

As I said there isn't anything that lines up exactly; I keep thinking of forced sterilisation, though this often doesn’t cause lasting physical pain. It also brought to mind some of the… less ethical ‘treatments’ and ‘experiments’ in recent history.

We’ll assume that Bill has a realistic memory of what happened, that the experience was traumatising and that she isn’t in physical pain.

I’d also make the argument that turning someone into a Cyberman could be considered torture in the legal sense. It’s done by a group that effectively controls territory, to people who are under their power. It causes suffering and in Bill’s case it is arguably done to punish the Doctor.

You’ve read the blog before so you probably know the drill when it comes to the common long-term symptoms of torture. Here’s the Masterpost should anyone else want to have a look. I’ll get back to symptoms in a moment.

In the short term I think that it’s likely Bill would experience something similar to modern survivors of ‘clean’ tortures.

‘Clean torture’ is a term Rejali uses to describe techniques that don’t often leave obvious external marks. These are no less dangerous then other methods; people can still be seriously injured, disabled or die because of clean torture techniques.

But the lack of obvious marks makes it harder to prove a person was tortured. And when the public perception of torture is that it always leaves scars many survivors find they’re dismissed, belittled and denied services.

People don’t believe they were tortured. Because we are taught that torture ‘must’ leave marks.

And Bill has just come out of the Cyber-conversion process unscarred. In a world where most people believe that turning back once you’ve been made a Cyberman is impossible.

This is likely to be a factor if she tries to get professional help as well as in everyday interactions.

Bill herself might assume that her symptoms are overblown or somehow put on; that they’re not warranted because her body has been perfectly restored.

When it comes to more long term symptoms, the right choice will always depend on the characters and the story you want to tell.

Personally I wouldn’t want to give Bill suicidal tendencies or an addiction because I feel like those are symptoms that could shift the story away from the central relationship. I think they’re symptoms that usually demand more focus and that can make balancing them with the central story more difficult.

I usually suggest that authors try to include memory problems in a realistic way and I think they’d be an especially good fit here. (The Masterpost summarising the most common forms of memory problems survivors have is here).

Essentially I think that you could use memory problems to highlight how Bill’s time as a Cyberman has affected her mind. So much of our identity and self-image is rooted in our memories. Finding flaws in them, especially around important things, can shake our sense of self.

And that ties in to the way Cybermen are consistently used in Doctor Who to denote the loss of self. All of the common memory problems could be used to raise these philosophical questions and tie Bill’s symptoms more firmly to the plot.

Insomnia is a symptom I always find a little difficult because it has so many knock on effects.

The worsening of reaction times, alertness, coordination, combined with the pain and shakes and occasional visual hallucination or micro-sleep means that insomnia isn’t a symptom I’d recommend for a character like a superhero. If you want the character to consistently win fights then it’s not a good pick.

Similarly the long term effects on creativity, reasoning, concentration, emotional processing and learning mean it’s a bad pick if the character is supposed to be an inventive genius.

One of the nice (but underutilised) things about Doctor Who is that the way the stories are typically structured means that not every character has to be exceptional at everything. Bill’s strengths were not superhuman physical combat or exceptional genius (even though she was incredibly intelligent); they were compassion and her ability to form fast, strong friendships with just about anyone she meets.

Insomnia could fit your story but I think it depends on what you want the characters to do on a regular basis.

Chronic pain could be a good fit.

The conversion process radically changed Bill’s body, a change that she more or less refused to accept was real during the story. In those circumstances physical pain can be an interesting addition: it simultaneously acts as a reminder of what Bill suffered and ties her to her restored body now.

And since chronic pain in torture survivors can be psychological, or a combination of psychological and physical, there’s no reason why Bill’s body couldn’t be perfectly healed while experiencing chronic pain.

This is also a symptom that characters can be more proactive about. She can try things and find solutions much more quickly then she might be able to for something like depression. Stretches, exercise, mobility aids, organisation, painkillers and forward planning can all be helpful. And early success could help you to show the character feeling more empowered, reclaiming her body.

I’m not sure if difficulty relating to others would be a good pick, considering Bill’s canonical strengths. However social isolation could be interesting as an obstacle to gradually overcome.

Going beyond the usual symptoms- Have you read any of the Doctor Who comics? Because I keep thinking of The Flood, which was a Cyberman story with the Eighth Doctor.

It had a rather wonderful Cyberman design and had the Cybermen attempting to persuade large numbers of people to volunteer for Cyber conversion. They did it by chemically manipulating the emotions of an entire city; making feelings unbearably intense and then offering the conversion process as a solution.

Bill kept her feelings but she would have known she was supposed to lose them. And she’d go from that to having incredibly intense feelings. Because she’d have developed trauma symptoms.

She might be tempted to view her symptoms as the ‘natural’ consequence of regaining full capacity for emotion, rather then due to trauma. Latching on to a physical, rather then psychological, difference.

I’d also consider whether all of this changes Bill’s relationship with her own body. Relief at getting it back might be accompanied by a heightened awareness of changes, even natural ones.

I think if I was writing this I’d be tempted to add in little details, triggers or self-soothing behaviours tied to her body.

The Cyberman chest unit for that design looks heavy. Does compression around her chest make her panic? Do rubber gloves feel horrible? Does the sensation of something going over her face, like the ‘mask’ on these Cybermen, prompt intrusive memories?

The ‘handles’ on the head were supposed to suppress emotion in this version. Could Bill reassure herself that they’re gone by touching her own hair? Do short sleeves feel ‘better’, because she can feel the sun, wind or rain against her skin? Does she wear her earrings more often, because the weight of them and the way they move is comforting?

Good luck with your story. I hope this helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw medical abuse #tw suicide mention #doctor who #sci fi ask #writing victims #writing recovery #choosing symptoms #clean torture #insomnia #memory problems #chronic pain

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i-believe-in-soriku · 4 years

Text

Heart to Heart

He was on the beach that day, back home after so many adventures. He remembered another beach, much quieter and much darker. Dawn was breaking, the waves were crashing peacefully on the shore. He was sitting on the soft, cool sand, in a discreet corner. He was taking advantage of this calm and soothing moment before the inhabitants of the Destiny Islands rose.

As he breathed in the sea air, a figure came to eclipse the rising sun. He looked up and his heart missed a beat. Sora.

"Already up?" he teased.

"What are you doing there, all by yourself?" asked Sora, ignoring his friend.

He sat next to him without waiting for his answer and watched the sea before turning his eyes as blue as water to him.

"I enjoy the landscape…”

It was only part of the truth. Riku needed to sort through his thoughts. But Sora's presence made any attempt to do so futile.

The younger boy was beading the grains of sand between his fingers, as if he were totally elsewhere. He watched him do it, wondering what he could think of. He ended up giving it up. His own thoughts were far too intrusive. He was trying to calm his brain by focusing on the sound of the waves.

"Sora"… he started to say, on impulse.

"Hmm?"

"I ..."

He regretted speaking, because he couldn't put his words in order either.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. I... I need to talk to you about something, actually. "

Sora nodded, ready to listen, obviously curious to know more. He placed himself in front of him and had the attitude of an attentive child at school, which amused Riku.

He felt his heart speed up as a result of the anxiety he was desperately trying to repress. He forced himself to breathe as normally as possible, anxious not to let anything appear, yet his insecurity must be as visible as... an elephant.

"Hum…"

"I don't know what you want to say to me," said Sora, "but take your time."

Sora had really captured Riku's state. Very well then.

Riku knew he couldn't speak. How could he? He had never spoken to anyone of what was inside of him. Even Ansem - even if he was close to the truth - could not have detected this, because he had buried it deep in his heart.

His heart! He wouldn't lie. Riku lowered his head slightly and held out his hand to Sora.

"Huh?"

Sora leaned forward, puzzled.

"Take my hand."

Sora obeyed without saying a word. Riku then delicately brought Sora's palm to his heart, and placed it on it.

"Close your eyes."

He was imitating Kairi's gestures when she had helped Sora to understand that he was Riku despite his Ansem appearence.

Once again, Sora did what he was asked, but this time, he let out a small hiccup of surprise. His hand, placed at such a precious point in his being, allowed him to see the thoughts of his friend.

At first he saw himself, in the darkness, smiling. Then he found himself sitting on the islet tree with Kairi, and Riku, behind them, watched them in silence, looking hurt. They put me aside. Then he saw himself fighting against Riku possessed by Ansem, and Riku, inside, who shouted: Not against him! I don't want to fight him!

The next scene showed Riku and Mickey behind the Door to Darkness, and Riku's thoughts assaulted him again: I'll find you, Sora. Then came pictures he had never seen. Riku who, hiding under the Organization’s black coat, was doing everything to keep him safe, Riku who was leaving with Mickey after going out into the mansion, his dreams haunted by the fear that he would never wake up.

At this point, Sora backed away and crashed onto his back. Riku would have liked to stop the process, but other flashes came to his friend's mind: Riku ashamed to have taken the appearance of Ansem, and his immense relief when Sora had accepted him anyway, and the influx of love that followed. Their conversation on the beach of the Dark Margin, his gratitude, his fear, all his mixed up feelings...

Finally, it was over. Riku thought Sora was afraid, but then noticed that Sora was actually crying. Riku felt a twinge in his chest, and murmured, in a trembling voice:

" I am sorry. "

He wanted to help Sora straighten up. What had he done? Had he hurt Sora that much? However, when he held out his hands, Sora pulled him against him. Riku gasped in surprise when Sora wrapped his arms around him, and his face brushed against his bathed in silent tears.

"Sora ..."

Sora pressed him a little tighter.

"I didn't know, Riku ... I didn't know."

Riku also felt tears coming to his eyes. He let them flow, Sora's arms around him reassuring him.

"Why didn't you let me know? Why? I could have…"

He was cut by a slight sob threatening to flow back. Riku sighed.

"I ... I was ... not ready."

The emotions they had shared gradually left them. Their breaths subsided and their tears dried up. And despite everything, Sora remained hooked at Riku, as if he was afraid of sinking. With a shy but very gentle gesture, Riku wiped the still damp cheeks with his hand. He felt himself blush. He had never touched Sora's face that way. Sora did not notice.

"I... do you think ... can I do the same?"

Riku didn't know, but the request touched him.

"You can... you can try. But before that... maybe we should..."

"Yeah..."

They straightened up sheepishly which made Riku laugh, then sat down again face to face. Sora smiled at Riku, even if his eyes were a little red, his hair strewn with grains of sand. Riku was so relieved that his friend was not bothered by what he had seen in him!

"You don't have to do this, you know," he warned. "It's... well, you see."

Indeed, Sora saw. There was no more intimate way to express your feelings than that. Their hearts did not lie. It didn't stopped him. He imitated Riku's gestures, taking his hand in his, then placing it on his chest - the gesture in itself was already very intimate. They closed their eyes and plunged into his heart.

They found themselves on this same beach, when, before everything started, Riku had thrown him a Paopou fruit, and Sora had been disturbed by this gesture.

Then Sora's concern for Riku who was succumbing to darkness hit them. Then followed many scenes in which Sora was desperate to find his friend after his year of sleep.

When he finally found him, he had not dared to believe it. His strength had temporarily left him, his relief was so intense, and, like today, he had cried.

They revisited again their brief stay at the Dark Margin, during which Sora was happy to have at least Riku by his side ... If I had been able to choose someone else to accompany me there, I would not have done so, he had thought.

Memories of their recent life reached Riku: when Sora had cut his hair, and his heart had threatened to escape from his chest when Riku had thanked him, so happy that this page of his life had been turned. Sora’s memories were less dark than Riku’s, but emotions flourished, happiness, recognition, admiration, satisfaction, and, yes, love.

Riku didn't dare to believe it, but Sora did his best to bring out that feeling that he too had hidden deep inside. So the last memory, the clearest of all, came to him ...

Sora had his hand on Riku's heart, and everything he had felt then went back to Riku. In this whirlwind of sensations, a thought springs up: Riku ... Riku loves me? A heat then spread inside him: it was when he had took Riku in his arms. I would like to stay like this forever.

It was the last thing he perceived. After that, the colors faded as the bond broke. Riku couldn't concentrate on what he had seen. Sora gave him time to reconnect to reality without touching him. He had just experienced that, so he knew what it was like.

When everything was silent, Riku, despite his shortness of breath, dared to look at Sora.

"I think this time, there's nothing more to hide ourselves!" Sora said, laughing very loudly - the pressure released him too.

Without a warning, Riku threw himself into his arms, toppling him to the ground. It was not his type but he did. Sora kept on laughing and protested: "Riku!"

But actually, he was happy. However, he immediately stopped giggling when the other boy, his throat still tied with emotion, whispered in his ear:

"You know, Sora... I would like to stay like this forever, too."

Luckily Riku couldn't see his face: he had blushed like never before.

__________________♡♡♡__________________

Hi! I hope you'll enjoy this one. It is settled between KH2 and DDD.

I wrote it because I had the picture of Sora and Riku with each other's hands placed on their heart, sharing secret thoughts, and I could not forget this idea.

I love to imagine several ways for them to confess their love, and this is just one of the way I havr in mind 😂😅

It is on a pretty tender mood, I hope it's not too much! Anyway, thanks for reading this! ~

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patchwork-panda · 4 years

Text

If A Moment Is All We Are (part 4/???)

AO3 format here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121633/chapters/58072957

Genre: Romantic Drama/Comedy

Pairings: OC x Dazai, OC x Kunikida.

Story takes place after S2-S3 of the BSD Anime and follows OC’s adventures as she joins the ADA and solves cases with the detectives and falls in love with Kunikida and then Dazai (Dazai will be endgame).

TW: suicide ideation/mentions (see Dazai, see OC)

Thank you to @discoten for beta-ing (I changed this chap a lot tho)!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I think she’s waking up.”

“Then stop hovering over her like that, you’ll scare her!”

I groaned and brought a hand over my eyes. The after effects of my visions had been pretty bad in the past (usually ranging from feeling like a slight headache to a bad hangover) but never had I experienced anything close to this. My head was pounding like a drum and honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d guess I’d just been hit by a truck. All around me was the clean, sanitized smell of rubbing alcohol and fresh gauze so I had to be in the hospital and the two people I’d just heard talking must be the nurses assigned to my area.

Still clutching my aching head, I slowly sat up and tried to process the entire vision I’d just had. This was the longest and most vivid one to date; I must’ve seen an entire day’s worth of events in one go, so it was no wonder I passed out. There were so many people and so many names... I knew for a fact that this vision was of my own future and I could already feel the anxiety gnawing at my guts as I tried to figure out when it would come to pass. Everything else I’d seen within the last six months had already occurred, so why should this vision be any different?

I took my hands away from my eyes and the room slowly swam into focus.

Green curtains and white cot? Check. Medicine cabinets along the far wall? Yep. Looked like a hospital ward, alright.

But something wasn’t quite right. Where were the nurses I’d heard talking earlier? Rubbing my eyes, I slowly turned to my right... There, sitting at my bedside, was a man with a very familiar face, an attractive man with shaggy brown hair, cheerful brown eyes and a deceptively charming smile.

“Sleep well?” Dazai asked brightly.

Instead of answering, I screamed.

“Woah, Woah! Calm down!” someone suddenly shouted. “It’s okay!”

I twisted to the left and saw a skinny redhead in a white sweatshirt and jeans rushing into my field of view from behind the curtains. He was frantically waving his hands in the air in an attempt to get my attention.

“You’re okay!” he repeated, as I scooted as far away as I could from Dazai, who was somehow covered in more bandages than ever. “There’s no need to be scared! You’re safe here!”

“Then why is he here?!” I shrieked, jabbing a finger accusingly at Dazai, who merely blinked in confusion.

Without waiting for the redhead to respond, I grabbed the pillow from behind me and hurled it at Dazai, who caught it right in the face. With a muffled yelp, he tipped backwards in his chair and hit the floor and I immediately reached behind me for something else to throw in case he got back up. The redhead flinched as I turned my attention to him, second pillow in hand.

“Who are you? Where am I?” I demanded. “What’s going on?!”

“I’m Tanizaki Junichiro!” the redhead cried, backing away from me as I aimed the second pillow at him. “I’m a member of the Armed Detective Agency, you’re in the infirmary in our office building and you need to put that pillow down right now!”

But I was in full fight-or-flight mode and I was in no mood to listen to him. I threw, Tanizaki ducked and the pillow crashed loudly into the medicine cabinet just over his head.

“Why should I trust you?!” I snapped, reaching for the only thing left at my side: an empty glass pill bottle.

As I snatched it off the tabletop and held it between my shaking fingers, I watched Tanizaki’s expression go from startled to alarmed.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me like he did?!”

Tanizaki shot Dazai, who was still on the ground, an incredulous look.

“What the hell did you do to her?” he whispered, as the door behind him burst open with a wall-shattering crack.

“What’s going on?” a familiar, gruff voice shouted. “We heard screaming.”

I looked to the door and saw the familiar figure of a tall, blond detective in glasses running into the room.

“Kunikida-san...?”

I felt my grip loosen just a fraction on the bottle and at once, there was a rush of relief. If Kunikida Doppo, the man who saved me from capture, was here, maybe I really was safe.

Kunikida’s glasses looked slightly cracked and he had a fair amount of blood on his well-tailored beige ensemble but other than being slightly out of breath, the man seemed completely fine. He quickly readjusted his glasses as his gaze shot back and forth between Tanizaki, cowering by the medicine cabinets in the back, to Dazai, who was still on the floor with a pillow over his face, and finally to me, backed up against the headboard, hackles raised and a glass pill bottle clutched tightly in my hands. His green-gray eyes widened in shock.

“What the...?”

“Kunikida-san!” Tanizaki exclaimed, obvious relief flooding his face. “Thank goodness you’re here. I don’t know what happened! She woke up, saw Dazai and then she just started throwing things—”

“Of course I’m throwing things!” I shot back, “You’d throw things at him too if he had a gun to your head the last time you saw him!”

Tanizaki’s jaw hit the floor. As Tanizaki looked from me to Dazai and finally to Kunikida, the blonde detective slowly dropped his head into his hand and let out a very heavy sigh. His lips barely moved as he spoke and I had to strain to hear him as he mumbled something under his breath.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone with your plan, Dazai...”

My eyes widened. My fingers tightened around the glass bottle in my hands as the silence in the room seemed to deepen.

“What...?”

As my half-whispered question echoed around the room, it was as if the temperature had dropped several degrees. Nobody was moving. Tanizaki was still and Kunikida appeared to have figured out his mistake the instant my eyes locked with his.

“Kunikida-san...” I asked slowly, “What exactly are you all planning to do with me? Tell me... What was the plan?”

His eyes flicking momentarily towards Dazai’s prone form, Kunikida took a single, cautious step towards me. He slowly raised his hands into the air.

“Kusunoki-san.”

His hands still in the air, he took another step towards me. Something didn’t feel right...

“It’s not what you think—”

“Stop.”

He froze. I was squeezing the bottle in my shaking hands.

“I never gave you my name.”

A sharp crack echoed throughout the room; the glass pill bottle had broken in my hands. A warm trickle of blood ran down my palm.

“Get the hell away from me.”

Just then, a woman ran into the room. The tails of her white lab coat flew behind her like a sail as she dashed forward and a speck of gold glinted in her short-cropped hair, prompting a strange, nagging familiarity somewhere in the back of my head. However, the moment I spied the enormous cleaver gleaming in her right hand, the entire memory evaporated like a wisp of smoke.

“What’s happened?” she asked sharply, looking from one face to another, stiffening abruptly as her violet eyes fell upon me. “Why is she...?”

There was a low groan and Dazai finally stirred. He removed the pillow from his face, where a large patch of gauze had just been knocked askew, and sat up, looking fairly groggy as he did so. His was the only movement in the room; everyone else had stopped what they were doing to cast wary glances at each other and at me. I noticed Tanizaki’s eyes distinctly following the trail of blood flowing down my arm. Dazai turned to look at me and as he did, I suddenly remembered something important: just before he tried to cut off my legs, Akutagawa had said that the Port Mafia needed me alive...

The question was: did the detectives also need me alive?

Before anyone could react, I took the cracked bottle in my hand, the thin glass already splintered and weakened, and smashed it against the headboard. Shards of glass flew everywhere and all eyes in the room focused more sharply on me as I took the biggest shard and held it to my neck.

“Kusunoki-san,” Kunikida started, looking terrified, “Put that down—”

“I don’t know what you want with me,” I said quietly, “What anyone wants with me, but if organizations other Ability Users calling themselves the Port Mafia or the Armed Detective Agency wants me alive, well...”

My hands shook as I pressed the broken edge of the glass against my skin. In spite of myself, I grinned, weakly.

“That can’t be good, can it?”

I could hear something like static inside my skull. The intrusive thoughts I’d shoved away for so long began to emerge, clawing out from the darkest depths of my mind and fully breaking into my conscious thoughts. My fingers tightened around the glass shard and I could feel the warm wetness of my own blood dripping down my elbow as I spoke.

“I know... that I’m absolutely useless in a fight. I know that my power cannot be used to help people. I tried that earlier today and look where that got me.”

My voice shook as I spoke.

“I went out to try to get help for my neighbor today and now look what’s happened. People are hurt. People are dead. So what does that tell me?”

I swallowed uneasily.

“My powers can’t be used to help. They can only cause harm.”

I felt it: the whispers, the static inside my skull growing louder. My pulse throbbed in my bloodied hand and when I looked up into Kunikida’s eyes, I could see my own hollow eyes staring back at me from the reflection of his glasses, the pupils like bottomless black wells.

“I’ve heard it said that anyone who has an Ability has something wrong with them inside. I kept refusing to believe it, because I didn’t want to think it was true. I didn’t want to think that something really was wrong with me. For years, I kept it all to myself, even locked myself away for the past six months thinking that it would be enough... But I was wrong.”

I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t have to look at my reflection any longer and I was plunged into an even deeper darkness, my ears filling with a horrible rushing noise.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be the cause of any more pain.”

And then it came to me.

All of a sudden, the thoughts I’d been having on and off for some time now no longer seemed so intrusive or destructive. They were soothing and they offered me a solution. If I just did what I’d been putting off, what I’d been running away from, this could all end... Not just for me, but for everyone...

I opened my hollow eyes and took one last look around the room.

“Guess there’s just one thing I can do, huh...”

Taking a deep breath in, I readied the glass shard.

“Stop.”

Dazai stood.

“That’s not going to work,” he said quietly.

And without understanding why, I listened. My hands stayed exactly where they were and as I watched, Dazai softly pushed Tanizaki aside and strode towards me. Nobody made a move to stop him as he approached and as he got closer, I thought I saw something familiar reflected in his clear, brown eyes—a nameless, haunting something that I’d seen before though I did not remember where. The static in my head slowly began to fade as Dazai sat down at my bedside and continued to hold his gaze.

“You are in the presence of one of the best doctors in the city,” he said, inclining his head towards the woman in the lab coat. “If you try anything, she’ll bring you right back, I guarantee it.”

He held out his hand to me and as I looked at it, I thought felt the darkness inside me slowly reach back...

“And as they said,” Dazai continued, “you are totally and completely safe here. Now, if I was really going to hurt you...”

He smiled.

“I would have shot you before Akutagawa even had the chance to take you away. So, could you please drop what you’re holding and give us a chance to explain?”

I looked at him. I looked up and around the room, at the three people standing in the back. Kunikida nodded and without meaning to, I slowly loosened my grip. The glass shard dropped out of my hand.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Dazai asked, his smile widening as he took my hand.

And then I saw it.

There, in the depths of his pupils, was the nameless darkness that had haunted me for years. Somewhere in his heart...

He was just like me.

Still smiling gently, Dazai folded one half-bandaged hand over mine, his eyes never leaving my face and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. I could feel a strange sense of calm coming over me. And then I felt something warm and wet in my hands; my blood was soaking into his bandages and I had slivers of glass embedded in my palm.

“Thank you,” Dazai whispered.

He ran his thumb across the back of my hand, his expression softening further.

“But just so you know, if you’re still looking to kill yourself after this,” he continued, still gently stroking my hand, “I have been looking for a beautiful woman to join me in a double suicide—”

“Shut up, Dazai!” both Kunikida and the woman in the lab coat shouted in unison.

It was as if a spell had broken and I looked up towards the back wall where the woman in the lab coat was now striding towards us, her deep purple eyes blazing.

“Nobody is killing themselves under my watch.”

Her eyes flicked momentarily to Dazai and for a millisecond, I thought I saw a hint of unease. She put her hands on her hips and addressed me.

“Kusunoki-san, I can prove to you that no one here intends to cause you or any of the public any harm. Lift off those covers and take a good look at your legs. It’s as Dazai said. I’ve brought you back from death’s door once before and I can—and will—do it again.”

“Death’s door...?” I murmured, trying to remember.

Images of an exploding fire extinguisher and a brilliant sunset came flooding back and at once, I tore my hands out of Dazai’s and threw the covers off my body.

My eyes widened.

“How—?!”

My body was completely whole. Gone was the bloody gash in my left thigh, as was the numbness in my leg. I was still wearing the same jeans from this morning and though parts of the pants leg itself was still cut up, caked in dried blood and hanging by a thread, the skin underneath looked as smooth and unbroken as it had the moment I’d left the apartment. Gingerly, I reached up to touch my cheek, where I remembered a bullet grazing my skin while I’d been running down the stairs and was shocked to find that it too, seemed exactly the same as it was in the morning. However, my hair was nowhere near as long as it used to be and my fingers brushed against short, choppy, split ends where I used to have a long, tangled mess that had once stretched down to my rib cage.

I looked up at the woman once again and as I squinted at her, I spotted a flash of gold in her hair—a golden butterfly pin. As I stared at it, I suddenly remembered where I’d seen her before.

“Wait a second,” I gasped. “I saw you outside the art gallery! You showed up the same time the police did!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, the woman nodded.

“That’s right. My name is Yosano Akiko. I’m a physician and a member of the Armed Detective Agency. As you can probably tell, I’m also an Ability User.”

“Is that how you healed me?” I asked, poking at my undamaged legs.

She nodded.

“You’re lucky I got there when I did. You actually broke your neck when you hit the sidewalk. If my Ability wasn’t specifically able to heal people who were just about to die, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

My hands flew to my neck and I winced as I felt the glass move against my palms.

“Th-thanks. Sorry I messed myself up again.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Yosano chirped. “I can definitely heal you again. Of course, I will need to get you back to the point of near-death...”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Tanizaki shaking his head furiously and gesticulating wildly at me from the far end of the room. Judging from the traumatized look on his face, he wanted me to refuse her offer.

“No, thanks... I think just bandages would be okay.”

Shooting Tanizaki a dirty look, Yosano clicked her tongue distastefully.

“Fine.”

As she walked back towards the medicine cabinets, towards Tanizaki, the redhead took one look at her face and ran for it. I heard him call out a hasty goodbye to me as he abruptly departed. When Yosano returned, she had a magnifying glass, a pair of tweezers and a roll of gauze in her black-gloved hands. Taking Dazai’s seat as he vacated it, she pulled my bloody hand towards her and began picking out the glass...

***

“So let me get this straight,” I repeated, looking from Dazai to Kunikida as Yosano finished bandaging up my hands. “The plan was for Dazai-san to hold me hostage—at gun point—because the Port Mafia needed me alive and the only way to keep them from capturing me was to make it look like you’d shoot me dead if they tried?”

Dazai nodded, looking pleased with himself.

“And this was also a ploy to buy Kunikida-san enough time to set up the bombs downstairs so he could blow a hole through the floor and catch me when I came falling through. From there, he was supposed to escort me outside to safety...”

Horrified, confused and overall just stunned, I turned to Yosano who merely shook her head at me.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” she said, snipping the last bandage with a pair of scissors. “You’ll just give yourself a headache.”

“Dazai’s schemes can be... rather unorthodox,” Kunikida admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose, “But they do work...”

“Right...” I mumbled. “It’s just... a lot to take in right now.”

I shot a covert look at Dazai who waved happily and at Yosano as she stood and packed away her things.

“I didn’t know Yokohama had so many Ability Users.”

“People with supernatural Gifts aren’t as rare as you think,” Kunikida said, his green-gray eyes scanning me as he spoke. “But of course, they’re not exactly commonplace either. You just happened to have met some of the city’s most prominent Ability Users, members of the Armed Detective Agency included, within the last twenty-four hours...”

As he trailed off, I found myself avoiding his probing gaze and looking instead to the door, where the good doctor, having finished working on me, was now departing. Despite the fact that I had known Kunikida and Dazai the longest out of all the detectives, I felt a growing sense of unease at being left alone in the infirmary with them. It wasn’t that I still didn’t feel safe, I just wasn’t looking forward to the impending interrogation...

Noticing my anxiety, Kunikida sighed.

“I know it’s been a long day but your case isn’t quite closed. If you’ll bear with us for just a little longer, we have some questions. The Port Mafia doesn’t send its operatives after just anyone and we’d like to find out why they were interested in you. You mentioned having a non-combat Ability but something’s not right...”

He sat down next to Dazai and thumbed through his notebook.

“We decided to look in on your background earlier,” he stated, his eyes flitting across the pages. As he spoke, I noticed he sounded just a little apologetic. “And we learned a few things, the first of which was your name. From there, we found out that you left college about halfway through your second year and have been staying at that apartment you’ve been living in ever since. According to your neighbors, you rarely venture out of your room, which which is interesting considering we met you in front of that police station this morning.”

He put down the notebook and crossed his legs.

“What’s even more interesting is the fact that no reports were filed under your name at that station, even though we saw you go back inside after we spoke. Kusunoki-san... you mentioned wanting to report a murder when you met with us this morning. Do you mind telling us more about that...? About...”

He flipped back through his notebook and squinted at something on the page.

“Your neighbor, Yamazaki-san?”

I felt my pulse pick up in my chest.

“How did you find out about the murder? It seems she has no enemies, no hidden fortunes to speak of and lives in a relatively safe area... What made you think she would be killed in a week’s time? Is this related to your Ability?”

I thumbed the fresh bandages on my palm. I could feel Dazai’s eyes on me but I didn’t speak. Honestly, I did want to talk to them. I just didn’t know where I should start...

“I have a few ideas,” Dazai said abruptly, leaning forward in his chair as I gave him a curious, hesitant look. “But until you confirm it for me, it’s just a theory. Want to hear it?”

I nodded.

“Okay, then. Let’s start here: when we first saw you outside that police station (looking absolutely stunning, I’d like to add) you were pretty distraught. You’d tried to talk to the officers about the murder, yet they threw you out...”

He laced his fingers together, his eyes still trained on my face.

“I know those guys pretty well. They’re hard-headed but they’re consistent. They would never ignore something serious as a potential murder, unless the information they were given was unreliable in some way. That drawing you gave them... Why would you give them a drawing of a tattoo and not a photo of a face? Odd, don’t you think?”

At the memory, I flushed in embarrassment.

“The other odd thing is the fact that the second officer you spoke to seemed to have taken you seriously when all you did was give them the same information.”

He reached into of his pocket and took out my drawing, holding it up in a way so that Kunikida and I could both see it.

“This is the tattoo of a hired killer who only takes jobs from those he knows in the criminal underworld—of course a normal police officer, like the first one you spoke to, wouldn’t be familiar with it but if the second one was, that means she has some connection to the criminal underworld, the largest organization of which would be—”

“—The Port Mafia,” Kunikida finished, his eyes flashing in recognition. “Who we know for a fact has been actively capturing or recruiting Ability Users for the past decade or so, regardless of combat potential.”

“So, Kusunoki-san,” Dazai said, grinning, “Did I get it right? I really hope so because...”

I felt my pulse pick up as Dazai leaned in conspiratorially, bringing his hand up to his face as he whispered, “I have a bet going with some of the others, about what sort of Ability you might have, and I reeeeally want to see their faces when they lose—”

I pulled back just as Kunikida’s fist crashed down on top of Dazai’s head and their manzai routine started up again.

“Why the hell would you tell her that?! What bet? This is completely unprofessional, I’m going to have a word with the President about this—”

“Oh, Kunikiiii-da-kuuun. You’re just mad that you were left out of the pot. Small wonder when we knew you were going to react like this—”

“Of course I was going to react like this! Who wouldn’t?!”

As they jabbered back and forth, I felt all the tension in the room—and in my own body—vanish abruptly. A soft snicker suddenly burst from my lips. And for the first time in what felt like years, I was suddenly laughing. These two, these detectives, were Ability Users as well, and even though they dealt with life-and-death situations on a daily basis, here they were, fighting like children and making stupid bets—living their lives to the fullest even though they were cursed in the same way I was. Dazai and I had the same darkness curled up in the depths of our eyes and though he liked to make terrible jokes about suicide, he was still here.

If anyone were to believe me, if anyone were to understand, it would be these two...

I stopped laughing long enough to wipe a tear from my eye and looked up to see Kunikida and Dazai stop to stare at me, the former’s hands still wrapped around the latter’s neck (Kunikida appeared to be trying to choke Dazai again). As our eyes met, Kunikida immediately dropped his partner and sat back down, his olive-green notebook back in his hands, pen held at the ready. A tiny little smile playing about his face, Dazai adjusted his collar and looked to me as well.

Bringing my hands close to my chest and closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in.

“My Ability is called ‘The Story of Your Life.’”

I lifted up my fully bandaged right hand and extended it towards the detectives.

“It lets me see moments from the future. Usually, it’s mine but I can see yours too...”

I breathed out

“All I have to do... is touch you.”

#dazai x oc #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #kunikida x oc #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #doppo kunikida #kunikida x reader

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a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

Text

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs/au: modern #mdzs/au: uni #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #nieyao #xicheng #wangxian

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sunsetcurve · 5 years

Text

we’ll come together (state of the art)

Summary: Before, she'd gotten so caught up in all of it—trying to stop Captain Man from erasing her memories, then trying to get his back—that she hadn't really had time to process this. And now she does. And it's making her head hurt.

Because, well. Henry is Kid Danger.

Fandom: Henry Danger

Relationships: Henry Hart & Piper Hart

Word Count: 1,640

A/N: it took every ounce of willpower i had not to title this “Hart to Hart”.

(actual title is from one of my favorite songs by my favorite band ever, kids in the dark by all time low).

anyway, here it is, the “piper and henry have a talk” fic that i really just needed to get out of my system. this was really fun to write, but keep in mind that my general motto when writing hd fics (and fic in general, really), is “fuck canon i do what i want” so this is really cheesy and somewhat ooc. it’s fine. sort of. i had a good time, and that’s what we’re here for, right?

Dedications: i’m gonna tag some of the wonderful people here, but no pressure to read it at all! @rorythevambire @up-the-tube @ciara-knightly @cactus-con @mychenrymadness @charlottepage @henryhearts @bijerbear @taylorswiftrulestheworld @just-a-j-reallly

if you want to be tagged/untagged in the future just let me know! enjoy :)

* * *

When it's over, the Man Cave is quiet.

This is a strange, sharp contrast to the chaos that Piper had fallen into before, but now Captain Man's—Ray's—memories are back, and he's sleeping off the side effects in his room, and Henry, Charlotte, and Jasper are upstairs in the store and Schwoz is...somewhere. He went off with a vague explanation, and he's sort of a strange man so Piper's not really sure she wants to ask questions.

(Come to think of it, she's pretty sure she's seen him before—the German 'neighbor' who came to Henry's birthday party, the 'plumber' who came to fix their sink—she thinks she's even seen him around at the high school. Which makes a lot more sense now, but is still mildly unsettling.)

Piper tugs the headband out of her hair and fiddles with the bow in her hands. She's probably ruined her hair, and really the outfit isn't complete without the accessory but she can't really bring herself to care. She needs something to do with her hands, and her mind is running in circles that are way too fast to be satisfied by scrolling mindlessly through Instagram right now. There's too much to think about.

Before, she'd gotten so caught up in all of it—trying to stop Captain Man from erasing her memories, then trying to get his back—that she hadn't really had time to process this. And now she does. And it's making her head hurt.

Because, well. Henry is Kid Danger.

And if she really thinks about it, it's not that hard to reconcile the two. They've got the same hair, the same smile, the same stupid sense of humor—the same bravery that Piper pretends she doesn't see. And, if she really thinks about it, there's a part of her that's known for a while. Since he broke his arm, maybe. Or even before then.

But she never wanted to believe it. The difficulty comes when she tries to put Henry in that position in her mind. She's seen Kid Danger fight off villain after villain, take punches and be shot at and thrown into walls and god knows what else that wasn't broadcasted on TV, and she's always known that there was a teenager behind that mask but realizing it's been her brother this whole time is something entirely different. Something that's hard for her to wrap her head around.

She wonders how many times he'd snuck out and come back in the dead of the night without any of them noticing, wonders how many injuries he'd hidden just to pretend things were normal. She wonders why she and her family never even asked about his disappearances. She wonders, briefly, how many times Henry has almost died without them knowing anything about it, and then stops that train of thought before it goes too far.

That's not something she wants to consider.

Piper rubs at her eyes with the heels of her palms.

Then, the elevator dings, and she makes a show of putting her headband back into place and trying to look like she's just re-adjusting her hair and not her entire view of the world. Henry steps out, and there's still glitter in his hair and on his cheeks—the bubblegum-ploy Ray had come up with had been less than successful. He looks at Piper, sitting on the steps near the elevator, and tilts his head curiously as he takes a seat next to her.

"So I'm guessing you were never actually the playground pooper?" she says first, because she's not really sure what else to say.

Henry laughs, sounding a little relieved, like he was expecting something else. "Nope. I swear on my life I have never pooped on a playground. Or broken my arm doing it."

"That's kind of a shame," she hums. "It was really good blackmail material." This gets him to attempt at bumping her in the ribs with his elbow, but she dodges before he can and sticks her tongue out at him. "It was also a pretty shitty excuse, y'know," she adds.

He scoffs incredulously. "Uh, first of all, it was Jasper's idea, and also, you fell for it," he retorts, defensive.

Piper sort of glances at her feet, then, furrowing her brow just a little. "Yeah, but I shouldn't have." She shakes her head. "I should've figured it out a long time ago."

"I was worried you would," he says after a moment, and scoots closer to her. "All the disappearances, right?"

"Yeah, and your terrible lies, like...the 'makeup excuse'? You can't do a decent wing to save your life."

Henry scoffs at that but doesn't argue, and then it's quiet for a beat and Piper tries to figure out how to say what she wants to. She's not good at this part; she's honest and bold and unwavering with her words, always, but this is different. This is trying to voice the mixture of pride and worry and frustration and fear that's been sitting in her chest for the last few hours.

She takes a breath. "And," she starts, without really knowing where she's going, and she sees Henry look up out of the corner of her eye but doesn't meet his gaze, "I should've known that your stupid junk store was just a ploy."

He opens his mouth to respond, but she keeps going; it's hard to stop now that she's started. "And I should've known that your boss was way too intrusive for it to be normal, and I should've known your watch was suspicious. And you never let anyone near your bubblegum, I should've figured out that there was something weird about that a long time ago, and I should've—" her breath catches, and then her voice quivers a little and she hates it, "—and I should've known you'd be the only teenager dumb enough to risk your life every single day—"

"Piper," Henry says, and puts his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Piper, it's okay—"

"Don't say that!" She stands up, trying not to have a full-blown meltdown, because those are reserved for Jana Tetrazzini and Wi-Fi crashes, but then again, she decides, this outscales both of those things by miles. Her hands are shaking. "What if you had died? What if someone had—and we wouldn't even have known, and don't—" she says when his mouth opens, "don't try and tell me that you were fine; I've seen the news, I've seen you fight villains, I've seen people shoot at you with-with actual guns and you're not like Ray, you're not indestructible—"

"I know that, okay?" And Henry's standing now, too, and his voice is sharp—not angry, really, but frustrated, and maybe just tired. Piper deflates a little.

"I know," he says again. "But, Piper...Ray needs me. Swellview needs me. Someone has to do this, and...it just happened to be me, okay? This is my job now." He pauses, and then his lips quirk upward into a small smile. "I might not have the 'great power', but I still have the—"

"If you finish that sentence, I will hit you," Piper warns, and he shuts his mouth.

She's never seen him look this serious about anything, though. It's strange to her, that she could've missed a part of her brother that's so big, and now that she knows it feels like the mask couldn't change a thing. There's a voice in the back of her mind that wants to tell Henry to put his suit up for good, walk away while he's still living and breathing and okay (because maybe she'll never admit it, but her love for Kid Danger is significantly outweighed by her love for Henry Hart), but the rest of her knows that it wouldn't matter either way. He'd still be the same; brave and reckless and stupid, and her brother.

And she's trying to decide if she hates him for it.

"You're such an idiot," she says finally, and hugs him. She feels his laugh more than she hears it, and his chin comes to rest on top of her head and she's sort of trying not to cry, especially because she thinks her makeup looks good today and Henry's wearing something that isn't a flannel for once and she really doesn't want to ruin it.

"So...are we cool now?" he asks hopefully, after a moment passes, and she shakes her head against his chest.

"Nope. No way. We are so far from cool, Henry."

She doesn't let go, though.

Neither does he, and they just stay like that, and she can't remember the last time they've hugged like this and she would never say it out loud but she missed it. When they finally pull apart, he grins at her and tousles her hair like he used to do when they were kids.

"Come on," he says then, and steps up the low stairs. "I want to show you something." There's a familiar glimmer in his eye, the same look he gets when they sneak out to watch R-rated horror movies or pull pranks on their parents together, and she lifts an eyebrow.

"Show me what?"

He gestures for her to join him. "Just, trust me." His voice is tinged with fondness, and she scoffs as he continues, "It's like, a rite of passage."

Piper hesitates a moment longer before going to stand next to him. Henry glances at the ceiling, and then positions himself on the floor, and then tugs Piper close to him. She tenses, but wraps her arms around him. "Um. What are we doing?"

"You'll see," he says, and then looks up again. He clicks something on his watch, and a glass tube descends around them, and Piper yelps. Henry laughs. "You're gonna love this part. Ready?"

"For what?"

"Just hold on tight," he grins, and then, "Up the tube!"

#henry danger #henry danger fic #writing #my writing #henry hart #piper hart #hd #fanfiction #henry danger fanfiction #sibling bonding #sister twister #post sister twister #//umanawrites

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mysticmelove · 5 years

Note

We want more Jumin x MC "Hades x Persephone AU" 😉

*You, my friend, have offered me a moment of peace within the stress that is my life. Thank you.

King of the underworld

(Jumin x MC) [3]

Once again, she stood before him practically glowing. Her hair long and flowing effortlessly over her shoulders, holding the spikes of what appeared to be a crown upon her head- very much mirroring that of his own. No longer was she wearing mortal robes, but a dress so fitted it must have been crafted by Clotho herself. Her face was slightly older, wiser, and her eyes shone brighter than he’d ever seen, yet they were so dark and held nothing but power. She was so close before him, though she was completely out of his reach.

Jumin shot up in an instant, gasping violently as he opened his bloodshot eyes. His head was throbbing- to his upmost enjoyment- and he knew there was something important laying dormant in the back of his mind. He’d drank himself to sleep, he could tell from the fact he was on the sofa and there were empty bottles of wine on the floor from the cellar. The reason he did this: he wasn’t quite sure. Remnants of the night prior were not enough to paint a complete picture, and the two glasses on the floor were no help to him either.

He paced around the sofa, his head throbbing even more violently with every step he took. Nothing, besides the glasses, was too out of place: a dog toy here and there. Jumin almost caugh himself stumbling over one of Cerberus’ aforementioned chews when his eyes fell to the the clue that tied everything together. A single rose bud. Persephone.

All at once, memories of the night prior came crashing into his mind, not giving him a second to process how exactly it had happened. They were drinking for some reason or another and it was her smile, her smile that enchanted him effortlessly and turned him to putty in her hands. He was drinking to suppress the way she made him feel. Jumin sighed heavily at the thought, running a hand through his matted hair, it was ridiculous to think a woman of her size could reduce him down to nothing. After they drank for awhile, he recalled her retiring for the night; sashaying away and leaving him a drunken mess. He had only nodded like a fool, picking up his glass and continuing to drink himself stupid until he finally passed out.

Jumin’s hand ran down his face as he huffed once more, his clothes stuck to him in the most disgusting fashion. He needed to clean himself up and tend to the mess he’d made, yet the more pressing matter was finding the goddess hiding somewhere within his mansion. However, she could wait; she’d only be sleeping somewhere and he was in no state to present himself to her. His footsteps echoed through the rooms as he trudged to his bedroom, seeking clean clothes and a shower. There was no hesitation as he entered his room, and rightly so, yet he was completely frozen as he stepped into the threshold.

He’d found Cerberus, laying upon his bed despite knowing better, and Elizabeth was not too far either. The small feline had made herself comfortable, curled up peacefully next to the young goddess bosom. And she herself was nothing but at peace, her delicate features resting gently against Jumin’s satin pillows. The sheets draped elegantly over the curves of her body, her hands clutching as the fabric nearer her face. Jumin found his breath caught in the back throat, inhaling a violent, an audible gasp that didn’t seem to leave him. The short sound made Cerberus’ ears perk up immediately, one of his heads raising slightly. The god shot him a warning glare and he whimpered as he pawed off of the bed and away from her side. In hindsight he should have left them in peace, it would have caused him less heartache, because he couldn’t stand the sight of her turning to where the dog had been and mumbling under her breath. “Hades...” He scrunched his eyes together and took a breath through gritted teeth. She mumbled again.

Jumin swore silently under his breath; cursing his intrusive thoughts as he pondered on her dreams and his role in them. He shouldn’t have been standing there, just watching her in silence, but his legs refused to move from that spot in the doorway. Cerberus nudged at his leg, seeming to also remind him that he should have moved by now. Once again, he nudged but was met with no response. Jumin waved off the dog, his gaze unfaltering but his mind continuing to wander to a length unimaginable. Evidently, the beast’s irritation grew; he sat on his hind legs, eyeing the god calmly, before letting out a single howling bark. The sound echoed through the room, its power not phasing Jumin but sending waves through the sleeping goddess.

MC shot up, her eyes wide and her breath ragged in her chest. She scanned the room, like prey in dangers way, before she landed on his tall, rigid form. Jumin read of nothing but guilt, the shock on his face too evident that he’d done something wrong. “Hades...?” Her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to make out his figure, her eyes squinting and her voice hoarse as she held her hand to her forehead. “Gods... You shouldn’t have let me drink...”

With a small laugh, all the tension in his body seemed to disappear. All he could hear was a voice of silk that enraptured him in every way possible.

MC stretched her arms above her head as she yawned gently, her disheveled robes revealing more of her supple skin as it sloped down her shoulders. She traced her fingers over the sheets, encaptured by how delicate something so dark could feel. “Oh,” she looked to the furniture, the walls, Hades, and let everything click together as she laughed nervously: “Did I find myself in your bed...?”

“Possibly.” She was met with a low chuckle and an awkward smile. Jumin brought a hand to the back of his neck as he watched her cheeks flush a tender pink. “You don’t need to worry though... I slept on the sofa... And I didn’t really tell you where you should be going so.”

“Don’t you have guest rooms?”

“I do,” the two stared at each other for a second while Jumin tried to find the right words. “I... I passed out before I could go to bed.”

The young woman laughed innocently at his embarrassment, the pigment in her face only growing stronger. Still, she winced as her eyes strained and her head throbbed.

“Headache?” Hades spoke softly as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand towards her. She gave him a quick nod. “You’ll find we’re in the same boat then.” He sighed as he stood up from the bed, clasping his hands together. “Come on then, Persephone. I’ll get you some painkillers and clothes, and then I think we should think about getting you home.”

“I’ll be fine,” she dismissed, “I just haven’t had a hangover in centuries. There’s not much drinking for fun in the mortal realm.”

Jumin raised an eyebrow, “They drink in the mortal realm.”

“I don’t drink in the mortal realm,” she sounded deflated in her words, “...Mother would never allow it.”

Hades smirked- it sounded exactly in line with Demeter. He made his way towards the door, his tone calming and discreet as always, “Well, as long as you’re down here you can drink as much as you want. Red wine has its benefits.”

“Being down here has many benefits,” her voice was smooth, seductive even, as if she’d zoned out in that moment. Jumin was quick to turn on his heels, cocking an eyebrow at her. Persephone blinked at him before her face had time to turn its many shades of crimson again. “Sorry. It’s just like I said: the mortal realm... it’s mundane at best.”

“You’re welcome to visit when you get bored.” He leant against the door frame, folding his arms over his chest as he watched her. She was pouting, rolling her eyes at the thought of going back. “If your mother wouldn’t attempt to kill me I’d let you stay.”

“You’re a king,” she pleaded with a whine.

“And she is a scary woman.” He shot her an encouraging smile, gesturing out the door with a nod of his head. “I’ll escort you home myself. We can even take the long way around.”

She grinned a sweet smile at him and Jumin could have sworn he felt his heart melt within his cold chest. “I like the sound of that... Take me home, Hades.”

#mystic messenger #mysme #jumin x mc #jumin han #mystic messenger jumin han #mysme jumin #mc mystic messenger #mc myseme #mystic messenger drabble #mysme drabble #mystic messenger headcanon

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glowwormsmith · 4 years

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I wanna know ALL the angst questions for Iris, my latest fascination, because I’m always a slut for Eden’s Gate ocs and her playlist is full of BOPS seriously you have excellent taste in music 👌💕

asdfds thank you!!💗 I’m glad you like the playlist for her, I worked hard on it. It’s half sad, soft girl who loves her flower girlfriend, half horror movie villain lol. I also really like talking about Iris, since she’s an unrepentant follower of Faith and Joseph and I can make a complex villain. Let’s get into the angst.

oc angst questions here for reference!

(cw for child abuse/domestic abuse/mental illness/sexual trauma mentions/self-harm/suicidal thoughts and idealization below the cut. Let me know if you need anything else tagged.)

💙 If Iris were dying near Faith or Joseph, her final words would be nothing but gratitude and love for saving her, accepting her into their family and giving her purpose. With Faith, she would tell her she was the only person she ever loved and promises she’ll wait for her in the afterlife, even if she doesn’t truly believe in such deep down. If she is dying in the presence of her enemies, she will curse their names and go down like a bitch: taunting and spitting poison at them, defiant to the end.

In my story, Iris survives the Collapse and the events of “New Dawn;” she’ll most likely die of natural causes down the road, which the Deputy and Iris’s other victims find unfair.

💧 The worst physical pain she was in was when her father brutalized and locked her up in the basement for three days when she was fourteen because she was hanging out with a girl after-school and they came across her giving the girl a kiss; she doesn’t remember much about her past that was rife with abuse, but this moment has stuck in her mind due to the fact that this was the first instance of severe abuse and when she became a prisoner within her own family.

The worst pain she was in mentally was when Faith died. She had mainly healed from her past thanks to being with Faith and the Project; even when the Project was under siege by the Resistance, it was fine because she had Faith. When she came across Faith’s body in the river, Iris had a complete mental shutdown, simply holding Faith’s body in her arms and sitting on the river bank, talking to her as if she were alive. Only Joseph was able to pull Iris away from Faith and Iris needed time alone/with Joseph to process her grief.

🔷 While Iris does not regret leaving her dysfunctional and abusive family, she notes that it was a great leap of faith that culminated in more abuse while on the road; the only reason she never tried to go back was because she could not bear to be locked up again under the grip of her cruel and sadistic father, uncaring and cold older sister, and an awful uncle, aunt and cousins who helped in the abuse.

She was abandoned by her birth mother when she was ten, who had been her only source of comfort. Her mother’s abandonment gave Iris both a feeling of low self-worth but also a desire to be as brave as that woman to leave her prison one day, even if it was into an unknown and uncaring world.

🔵 Her home life was never pleasant and it grew worse when her mother ran off when Iris was ten. She became a captive within her own family at fourteen and she developed severe depression, anxiety, severe anger problems, suicidal idealization, and even sadistic tendencies as a result. She was able to escape after killing her sister in a fit of rage, though it didn’t get better as Iris became homeless and was further exploited on the road.

It is all a blur to her and she prefers it that way, with only a few key memories standing out in her mind. She had to overcome a lot of sexual trauma to show physical affection for Joseph and Faith, and even then they are the only two she allows to touch her. She has an inherent distrust of law enforcement (her aunt was a detective that helped to keep any suspicious people away) and has developed a fear of men, dogs, sex-repulsed, sharp objects, confined spaces and loud voices. She also wonders, in her moments of self-reflection, if she would have been a better person without her dysfunctional family, or if she was always this cruel and vindictive.

❄️ She regrets having to turn to prostitution, thievery and even murder while she was homeless. While she knows it wasn’t her fault that her family treated her awfully, she feels shame and disgust over what she had to do on the road, to the point where she wonders if she should have just died instead of kept going. Faith and Joseph have to continuously remind her that no, she’s not “dirty” or “bad” for having to survive and that if she chose to die, then they would never have gotten the chance to know her. While it makes her feel better to hear this from the two people she loves, the negative intrusive thoughts refuse to go away, so she copes by projecting onto others, becoming a bully and tormentor herself.

💦 She tended to self-harm before Eden’s Gate and she still tends to do it at her lowest of lows or if no one’s around. She also has the urge to be a huge asshole to others, as a way to get her pent-up frustration and bitterness and negative emotions out. This unfortunate habit is supported by EG because, even though Joseph wants to save as many people as possible, he allows his followers to fight the Resistance and she takes the opportunity to be cruel to “sinners.”

She has become somewhat reliant on the Bliss, since being in the Bliss makes all the bad thoughts go away.

🌊 Iris is a pretty mean-spirited and petty person, but she can hide it well to put up a sympathetic and sincere front. When she’s hit her low, she drops the facade and goes hard; pray you aren’t on the receiving end of her anger or if you’re dealing with her during an episode.

If she becomes triggered or has a panic attack, she’ll dissociate and find a quiet place out in the woods to curl up and wait to settle her mind. She’ll look to Joseph or Faith for comfort and reassurance she is fine, that they won’t leave her or let anyone harm her.

☄️ She does, though it has gotten better due to healing from Joseph and Faith. She only opens up to these two, though she has enough emotional intelligence (probably due to healing from them) to understand that they are the only two she can even genuinely love at this point. She is complex: on first glance, you’d think she wasn’t affected by her past at all, but more time and learning about her history that her experience has shaped Iris into her current personality and behaviors, even if she suppresses much of her memory. By the time of “New Dawn,” she has completely forgotten her past and only knows Eden’s Gate; the only trace memory of her past life is that “monsters made me a monster.”

🔹 She has scars on her arms and thighs from both self-harm and the abuse from her family. Her family were more careful not to leave evidence of the abuse, so most of the scars from them are mental. She hates looking at the scars because she sees them as her weakness and impurity, so she covers them up when she can. Iris has gotten so good at burying her past that most of the Resistance or even regular EG members simply believe she is an asshole or monster, without realizing that her past has made her this way.

To quote Daenerys Targaryen, “If I look back, I am lost.” Iris refuses to dwell on the past, purely seeing them as monsters she had to face before she found her true family, her true father who loves and protects her, and her true love of her life. By refusing to give thought to her birth family and life on the road, she both allows herself to bury the abuse and let the trauma and hurt manifest itself in her personality, relationships with others, and behavior. It’s both good and bad, and just like the Seed family, she really needs proper counseling but will never truly get it so she copes in different, sometimes even unhealthy, ways.

📘 Theme: Meet-Cute (have an angsty drabble with a happy/hopeful ending lol)

I want to die. I don’t want to, but I do. It hurts too much to keep going, but I’m too scared to end it.

It was funny how Iris realized the folly of her desire to both live and not live, how beautiful it would be to lie down in the field of white bell-shaped flowers, close her eyes and stop breathing, rotting back into the soil and letting her bones become home to the flowers and weeds and worms.

Before she was taken out of school, her English class had read Hamlet and she had been idealizing Ophelia since, a beautiful death, and she had looked at any river she passed with a longing to enter it and not come out. But then she remembered her mother, the ghost of a woman whose only true strength came in her running away into the unknown, and any attempt to end her life was half-hearted and abandoned, with the next thought turning to how she would get her next meal, with only three dollars in her pocket.

It doesn’t matter now. Food, shelter, dying by my own hand. They’re found me. Iris had seen them when she wandered into that small town, putting up pictures of her at sixteen near a dive bar and speaking to the town’s preacher. She had frozen only briefly before he slunk back into the shadows of the forest line and kept wandering. They had been searching for her the whole time since she killed the Bitch and left the Cage; the Monsters that had the nerve to call her blood. She allowed a small, bitter chuckle that it took two years to cross her path; she always knew she was the smart one among them...And then a hysteric sob burst out as she fell to her knees, her tongue tasting iron as her lip broke. She would die easy by their hands; they probably wouldn’t even kill her as they dragged her back “home.” The memories were coming back, no matter how she tried to push them down into the darkness: the Beast’s hands and voice and evil laughter, being dragged into the Dark Room again, feeling the pangs of hunger....Iris stopped her sobs, only letting the tears form but never cry.

No. She would not let herself be drawn back there. Not after escaping, not after putting herself through cruelty on the world just for the sake of freedom. Only she had the right to her body and mind and thoughts; no one, especially those Monsters, were going to take it away. Only she would be the decider of her fate.

Just as Iris was about to reach into her pocket to pull out the switchblade and steel herself to fight against her survival instinct, she heard singing. It was soft at first as Iris looked up and around the field of bell flowers.

“H-Hello?” she called out, voice hoarse. Perhaps I’m already dead. She then stood up and walked towards it, both curious and more of her survival instinct keeping her alive as long as possible.

The singing became clearer as Iris spotted a figure twirling in the field. It was a pretty sound, but there was no lyrics, just melodious humming and chiming.

The singing belonged to a beautiful young woman and Iris felt any unease at meeting a strange ease; she only had fear and mistrust of men, and this girl...was an angel. She was clad in a pure white dress, her dirty blonde hair hanging loosely to her shoulders and she was holding a flower as she danced without a care in the field. Even her bare feet looked untouched and mildly muddied, which only endeared Iris to this wood nymph.

She then took note of Iris, who was conscious of how dirty and plain she looked compared to the lovely girl’s pristine appearance, with matted red hair, grimy face, stench and tattered clothes she pulled from Goodwill and hardly replaced. Rather than look surprise or disgusted, the angelic girl smiled kindly.

“Hello, friend. Do you need help?”

“I...” Iris was unaccustomed to speaking to anyone in such a pleasant manner since her time on the road, let alone anyone asking her for help so kindly and without any secondary motivation. She blinked in confusion then looked behind her, afraid her family would suddenly appear with their horrid faces and harsh words to drag her away. She must have looked panicked when the girl’s brow furrowed in concern, though the sweet smile was still on her face.

Iris saw the girl open her hands towards her and she feared she would be touched so she drew back, but the girl kept her hands open, waiting for Iris to take them herself. Iris felt her hands fold together and began picking her skin with her nails, her eyes drawn towards the soft, clean hands. She had no right to touch them with her own dirty ones.

“I can take you to my home. We have warm food, showers and a place to rest. You seem to have been traveling for awhile. There’s no need to be afraid of me. My name is Faith; what’s your name?”

“...I-Iris. Umm...” God, she’s so pretty and kind. Like a real angel. Can someone like me be so lucky to be in her presence?

“That’s a beautiful name. Iris, would you like to come home with me?” Faith asked. “You’ll be safe there.”

Iris felt her mouth twist into a scowl. “Nowhere’s ever safe.” She cringed and thought that Faith would turn away from her now that she showed her ugliness, but Faith nodded and gave a quiet hum in agreement.

“I know all too well how unsafe this world and people can be. But there’s no where quite as safe as Eden’s Gate,” Faith said. “I know I’m a stranger to you, but all friends start as strangers, and if you come with me, you’ll finally feel the safest you’ll ever be.”

Iris looked to Faith and noticed her brown eyes, like a doe’s. All the barriers she put up with people melted away as she looked at the open, beautiful face, the soft lips curved in a smile. Iris gulped. Who knows how long the Monsters will be in this area for. “Alright. I’ll...I’ll take a leap of faith.”

Faith let out a chuckle at that, which sounded wonderful to Iris’s ears, and the girl took Faith’s hands into her own, was lead out of the field and into a new life.

#iris #fc5 oc #oc ask meme #abuse tw #self-harm tw #suicide mention tw #hope you like it #this really got long and heavy #casino-lights

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