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not-poignant · 4 years ago

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I was lurking in the discord, but I was wondering what exactly about Ef would classify him as a "soft client" to Dr. Gary? Is it just because he recognized that Ef is incredibly capable of loving underneath his trauma? Or like because he hadn't had like extreme cases of violence for a period of time? Or is it just like a combination of everything haha

We’ll probably have to give some actual context to Dr Gary’s job here, which I know I’ve done before but I can’t be bothered looking for the ask/s so I’m going to do it here in more detail.

Just a heads up that there will be a frank discussion/detailing of very disturbing themes which will include the malicious rape and murder of minors. (I.e. things that we do not deal with directly in the Spoils of the Spoiled universe at all). Mentions of client death by suicide.

Dr Gary is a specialist psychologist who actually focuses in on the clients that no one else wants to see. That doesn’t include people like Efnisien. Dr Gary sees the teenagers who have been raping their parents or terrorising them for years because it’s fun, he sees the juveniles who have raped or shoved foreign objects into their toddler siblings and killed them through mass internal bleeding, and felt nothing else about it except ‘well I ruined that one and now I think I’d like to find another one.’ He sees teenagers that are resistant, usually hit every part of the Macdonald Triad, have often/usually killed already, or have certainly raped before in a malicious or serial fashion, and almost always express no or minimal remorse for their actions.

They are manipulative, pathological liars who have very little interest in respecting the mental health system or psychologists, they often don’t want to get better, or show minimal interest in getting better, and they have a high recidivism rate (i.e. rate of going right back out there and committing crimes). A significant percentage of Dr Gary’s clients have eventually gone on to commit suicide or end up in maximum security prisons.

But Dr Gary is - due to his own personal interests, and due to his set of skills - suited to specifically helping these people, and also, he has a strong belief that everyone deserves some form of assistance, and that no one should be refused genuine psychological help just because other people believe they should be, as an example, put to death or sent to jail forever. Especially - to him - when they’re teenagers or young adults. He recognises that just because people don’t want to deal with these teenagers, doesn’t mean they don’t exist, or they don’t deserve help. He recognises that most of society will wash their hands of them and pretend they don’t exist, and he will metaphorically push his sleeves up and get to work. He strongly believes that ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away, and jailing the problem is rarely effective on its own.

This is one of the reasons why he falls back on ‘I don’t believe in good or bad people, I believe in good or bad actions.’ If he can reduce the rate of criminal activity, or change the action profile of these clients, even if they still want to behave maliciously, he considers himself on a successful journey. But it also means he works closely with juvenile detention facilities, created Hillview himself, and works closely with outpatients. (As well as in consultation, teaching, and sometimes working in court cases as a specialist). There’s a reason Mack has desk alarms and a sophisticated protection system and it’s not because of people like Efnisien; though Dr Gary wouldn’t see the most dangerous ones at his private office anyway.

I’m sure, when Dr Gary started out, he took more of a mix. But he soon distinguished himself as someone who was not only willing to take on those clients, but was actually more able to get results because his compassion is genuine (let’s be real, psychologists are only human, and a lot of them - despite their best efforts - are still going to really fucking resent someone who raped and murdered a toddler for the lolz), but so is his Take No Shit attitude. So after a while, he was only getting referrals for the most serious clients. And then he had so many of those, he had to assemble a team of specialists, and that was basically how Hillview was born.

In the end, his spectrum of clients were among the most difficult and some of the most dangerous. When Efnisien antagonised Dr Gary by saying ‘how have some of your clients not tried to kill you’ Dr Gary was probably thinking ‘oh, they have, they have.’ I like to think Dr Gary actually has a giant scar along his flank from a time when he was much younger, hubristic and under-estimated one of his clients, and that after that he got a lot more serious about his work and also his willingness to have security standing nearby when he’s working with the most serious ones.

Even his team of specialists take difficult and high risk clients, but Dr Gary is just known in the system as taking the worst of the worst (kind of like how Mikkel is known as being a public defender of domestic violence victims specifically). And these people do get known in the system. A lot of psychologists either won’t take on certain clients or do very poorly with them because they don’t want them or don’t have the tools to handle them or just are manipulated by them. So juvenile detention centres, lawyers, other psychologists and psychiatrists and facilities begin to get a bead on the specialists who will actually help, or at least try. And then they call them incessantly, forever. Dr Gary is a busy, tired man who tries to take at least two weeks off a year to sit on a beach and stare at the water lol.

Efnisien by comparison to Dr Gary’s other clients, molested people his own age - led to it by coercion, never raped anyone, and tortured animals. That’s still terrible, absolutely, but by comparison, he’s just not anywhere near the same calibre as any of Dr Gary’s other clients. He’s someone who is capable of remorse and demonstrated that before Dr Gary ever met him. He’s someone who literally has stopped hurting all animals and people by the time he’s placed in the hospital. And a quick interview with Dr Gary revealed he wasn’t a ‘psychopath’ as Gwyn thought he was, but someone with Pure O and complex PTSD who was exploited into acting on intrusive thoughts by an abuser (which we learn at the end of Spoils of the Spoiled, when Gwyn realises that Efnisien probably never would have grown up the way he did if it wasn’t for Crielle and it makes him very sad). As soon as Dr Gary realised that, he was like ‘oh no, turf him onto someone else, that’s too easy.’

The only reason he took him on was due to a complicated set of factors, including guilt and remorse that Efnisien was molested/sexually assaulted in Hillview by the psychologist that Dr Gary referred him to.

But being referred to Henton in the first place doesn’t mean Efnisien doesn’t have serious mental disorders (he does), and it doesn’t mean Efnisien doesn’t need serious care (he does), he just doesn’t represent the bulk of Dr Gary’s high risk clients. He’s an outlier. Efnisien feels his feelings and ultimately is a very soft person, not just a soft client. He wants to please everyone, he actually hates hurting people, he’s nervous and shy and fidgety, he’s sensitive and responsible and empathetic, and his biggest misfortune was needing to please a psychopath growing up that he was completely dependent on in order to live, who constantly reminded him that he was abandoned and that he’s only worth loving when he’s good (i.e. doing what he she wants), so he had no other choice. And his story or journey is literally the uncovering of his real self, or the self he is without being under the influence of Crielle. And he rebelled against that influence under his own steam, and she tried to kill him for it.

I also think Efnisien is helping Dr Gary realise that he maybe doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life working with ‘the worst of the worst’ just because no one else is equipped to handle them. Even if it can be rewarding at times.

These days he’s building a curriculum to educate more psychologists in aberrant psychology, and developing genuine compassion in the face of aberrant and malevolent behaviour and holding a centre in the face of that, and looking to spread the load a bit more, and work more as a supervisor for other psychologists who are learning how to deal with these clients. He’s realised that clients like Efnisien make him feel a lot more hopeful about the human race overall (not that he was ever a nihilist), and that maybe Efnisien shouldn’t be the only one. But we’re never going to learn that in the story, because it’s not a ‘Dr Gary story’ lol.

#asks and answers #dr gary konowalous #falling falling stars #fae tales #fae tales AU #efnisien ap wledig #dr gary and his clients #i don't really write about the worst of the worst #frankly #but dr gary essentially sees the teenage equivalents #of crielle #and as we know #some of those people are beyond any kind of redemption #and even dr gary knows that #but damn it #he believes every person deserves a genuine chance at someone trying to help them #and he will be that person #even if it does mean he drinks a bit too much red wine at the end of the day #it's also why NOTHING efnisien shares with him #ever shocks him #he's heard those stories from the words of the people #who enjoyed inflicting that torture on children like efnisien in the first place #i think the first time he learned a ten year old #could disembowel a baby with a candlestick #by raping them #and it happened to be their sibling and they did it for fun #he realised he needed to get his shit together #and either leave the job or knuckle down #dr gary knuckled down #and there's a group of folk out there who are *very* grateful for him and to him for existing in the first place

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phroyd · 4 years ago

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I’m not going to pretend that I know how to interpret the jobs and inflation data of the past few months. My view is that this is still an economy warped by the pandemic, and that the dynamics are so strange and so unstable that it will be some time before we know its true state. But the reaction to the early numbers and anecdotes has revealed something deeper and more constant in our politics.

The American economy runs on poverty, or at least the constant threat of it. Americans like their goods cheap and their services plentiful and the two of them, together, require a sprawling labor force willing to work tough jobs at crummy wages. On the right, the barest glimmer of worker power is treated as a policy emergency, and the whip of poverty, not the lure of higher wages, is the appropriate response.Reports that low-wage employers were having trouble filling open jobs sent Republican policymakers into a tizzy and led at least 25 Republican governors — and one Democratic governor — to announce plans to cut off expanded unemployment benefits early. Chipotle said that it would increase prices by about 4 percent to cover the cost of higher wages, prompting the National Republican Congressional Committee to issue a blistering response: “Democrats’ socialist stimulus bill caused a labor shortage, and now burrito lovers everywhere are footing the bill.” The Trumpist outlet The Federalist complained, “Restaurants have had to bribe current and prospective workers with fatter paychecks to lure them off their backsides and back to work.”But it’s not just the right. The financial press, the cable news squawkers and even many on the center-left greet news of labor shortages and price increases with an alarm they rarely bring to the ongoing agonies of poverty or low-wage toil.

As it happened, just as I was watching Republican governors try to immiserate low-wage workers who weren’t yet jumping at the chance to return to poorly ventilated kitchens for $9 an hour, I was sent “A Guaranteed Income for the 21st Century,” a plan that seeks to make poverty a thing of the past. The proposal, developed by Naomi Zewde, Kyle Strickland, Kelly Capatosto, Ari Glogower and Darrick Hamilton for the New School’s Institute on Race and Political Economy, would guarantee a $12,500 annual income for every adult and a $4,500 allowance for every child. It’s what wonks call a “negative income tax” plan — unlike a universal basic income, it phases out as households rise into the middle class.

“With poverty, to address it, you just eliminate it,” Hamilton told me. “You give people enough resources so they’re not poor.” Simple, but not cheap. The team estimates that its proposal would cost $876 billion annually. To give a sense of scale, total federal spending in 2019 was about $4.4 trillion, with $1 trillion of that financing Social Security payments and another $1.1 trillion support Medicaid, Medicare, the Affordable Care Act and the Children’s Health Insurance Program.

Beyond writing that the plan “would require new sources of revenue, additional borrowing or trade-offs with other government funding priorities,” Hamilton and his co-authors don’t say how they’d pay for it, and in our conversation, Hamilton was cagey. “There are many ways in which it can be paid for and deficit spending itself is not bad unless there are certain conditions,” he said. I’m less blasé about financing a program that would increase federal spending by almost 20 percent, but at the same time, it’s clearly possible. Even if the entire thing was funded by taxes, it would only bring America’s tax burden to roughly the average of our peer nations.

I suspect the real political problem for a guaranteed income isn’t the costs, but the benefits. A policy like this would give workers the power to make real choices. They could say no to a job they didn’t want, or quit one that exploited them. They could, and would, demand better wages, or take time off to attend school or simply to rest. When we spoke, Hamilton tried to sell it to me as a truer form of capitalism. “People can’t reap the returns of their effort without some baseline level of resources,” he said. “If you lack basic necessities with regards to economic well-being, you have no agency. You’re dictated to by others or live in a miserable state.”

But those in the economy with the power to do the dictating profit from the desperation of low-wage workers. One man’s misery is another man’s quick and affordable at-home lunch delivery. “It is a fact that when we pay workers less and don’t have social insurance programs that, say, cover Uber and Lyft drivers, we are able to consume goods and services at lower prices,” Hilary Hoynes, an economist at the University of California at Berkeley, where she also co-directs the Opportunity Lab, told me.

This is the conversation about poverty that we don’t like to have: We discuss the poor as a pity or a blight, but we rarely admit that America’s high rate of poverty is a policy choice, and there are reasons we choose it over and over again. We typically frame those reasons as questions of fairness (“Why should I have to pay for someone else’s laziness?”) or tough-minded paternalism (“Work is good for people, and if they can live on the dole, they would”). But there’s more to it than that.

It is true, of course, that some might use a guaranteed income to play video games or melt into Netflix. But why are they the center of this conversation? We know full well that America is full of hardworking people who are kept poor by very low wages and harsh circumstance. We know many who want a job can’t find one, and many of the jobs people can find are cruel in ways that would appall anyone sitting comfortably behind a desk. We know the absence of child care and affordable housing and decent public transit makes work, to say nothing of advancement, impossible for many. We know people lose jobs they value because of mental illness or physical disability or other factors beyond their control. We are not so naïve as to believe near-poverty and joblessness to be a comfortable condition or an attractive choice.

Most Americans don’t think of themselves as benefiting from the poverty of others, and I don’t think objections to a guaranteed income would manifest as arguments in favor of impoverishment. Instead, we would see much of what we’re seeing now, only magnified: Fears of inflation, lectures about how the government is subsidizing indolence, paeans to the character-building qualities of low-wage labor, worries that the economy will be strangled by taxes or deficits, anger that Uber and Lyft rides have gotten more expensive, sympathy for the struggling employers who can’t fill open roles rather than for the workers who had good reason not to take those jobs. These would reflect not America’s love of poverty but opposition to the inconveniences that would accompany its elimination.

Nor would these costs be merely imagined. Inflation would be a real risk, as prices often rise when wages rise, and some small businesses would shutter if they had to pay their workers more. There are services many of us enjoy now that would become rarer or costlier if workers had more bargaining power. We’d see more investments in automation and possibly in outsourcing. The truth of our politics lies in the risks we refuse to accept, and it is rising worker power, not continued poverty, that we treat as intolerable. You can see it happening right now, driven by policies far smaller and with effects far more modest than a guaranteed income.

Hamilton, to his credit, was honest about these trade-offs. “Progressives don’t like to talk about this,” he told me. “They want this kumbaya moment. They want to say equity is great for everyone when it’s not. We need to shift our values. The capitalist class stands to lose from this policy, that’s unambiguous. They will have better resourced workers they can’t exploit through wages. Their consumer products and services would be more expensive.”

For the most part, America finds the money to pay for the things it values. In recent decades, and despite deep gridlock in Washington, we have spent trillions of dollars on wars in the Middle East and tax cuts for the wealthy. We have also spent trillions of dollars on health insurance subsidies and coronavirus relief. It is in our power to wipe out poverty. It simply isn’t among our priorities.

“Ultimately, it’s about us as a society saying these privileges and luxuries and comforts that folks in the middle class — or however we describe these economic classes — have, how much are they worth to us?” Jamila Michener, co-director of the Cornell Center for Health Equity, told me. “And are they worth certain levels of deprivation or suffering or even just inequality among people who are living often very different lives from us? That’s a question we often don’t even ask ourselves.”

But we should.

Phroyd

#capitalism #economics #poverty #slavery

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago

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“Horikoshi is pathetic and an abuse apologist”

“Endeavor doesn’t deserve a redemption arc”

“Horikoshi’s just a bad writer”

“They shouldn’t fight Dabi’s who’s mentally ill”

That’s what I’ve hearing a lot lately. As someone who’s trying to become an author, I get defensive about creators getting slandered. If you find yourself in one of these camps, keep your opinions to yourself because I don’t want to hear it. You’re free to believe what you want, but just know that I think you need to either find a new manga to read or look a little closer because I don’t think we’re reading the same thing. I'm not asking you to unfollow and block me. Do with my opinion what you want to. I’m not going to address all these issues, but I will for most of them.

“Horikoshi is pathetic and an abuse apologist”

You say that with the same energy as Gen Z kids trying to cancel Eminem. You act like he abused someone in real life. If you don’t like his portrayal of the cycle of abuse, then find something else to read. And don’t pretend like you don’t read dark content for fun but don’t condone the things that go in there. Even if he was an abuse apologist, which he isn’t, his behavior in real life would reflect that. Unless you have a connection to Japanese newspapers declaring that he’s actually an awful person, think before you type.

What part of the manga makes you believe that Horikoshi is an abuse apologist? Is it because Endeavor’s not dead? That his family is pushing him to end the cycle of abuse he started and accept the responsibility of catching Dabi, the result of his actions? Hawks wasn’t getting an apology for Endeavor, he was getting an apology from Rei for what Dabi did to him. Hawks is likely never going to get closure for his own parental letdowns but at least he can see Shoto getting it. He even went so far as to ask if Shoto got the scar from Endeavor with a look on his face that would kill. I don’t think he would have let Endeavor get away with hurting Shoto if his expression was anything to go by. He’s accepted that he won’t get closure, but he probably thinks Shoto can.

Here’s a list of things from the manga that show Endeavor facing the consequences of his actions (abuse, neglect, and arrogance) that display the opposite of abuse apology

Throughly having his ass handed to him by that Nomu

Natsuo refusing to forgive him

Berated by his wife about how he’s suddenly assuming guilt for his actions

Distrust from the public about heroes in general

Dealing with the fact that his eldest son is a serial murderer and domestic terrorist because of the abuse he endured under Endeavor

Shoto hasn’t decided yet to forgive his father

Another near-death experience

Being unable to fight back when Shoto is attacked by Dabi and feeling guilty about it

Having his family push him to accept the fact that he has to stop Dabi, the result of his actions

Depression and the weight of guilt of so many years ignoring his affect on his family

Where 👏 Is 👏 My👏Reading👏Comprehension👏 People?

Ya’ll act and talk like you’re reading something entirely different and I won’t stand for smearing Horikoshi like this.

“Endeavor doesn’t deserve a redemption arc”

That’s your opinion. Some people would say otherwise. I’m not one of those, but I don’t share your opinion either. I’m in the camp that says this is a repentance arc, which is completely different. It’s not about Endeavor redeeming himself, it’s about him accepting the consequences of his actions and taking steps to make up for it. Whether or not the Todoroki family accepts his apology, that is up to them and their decisions are valid no matter what they choose.

The only reason why I’m not an Endeavor basher is because unlike most abusers he acknowledges his past sins and is taking steps to make up for them. I wish my own father would so much as acknowledge the damage he did to me and my sister, let alone apologize for it. At least Endeavor is trying to change. How many abusers do you know of in the real world who will ever admit to having done wrong and try to make up for their actions? Not many I bet.

“They shouldn’t fight Dabi. He’s mentally ill.”

So murdering 30+ people is mental self-care? Is that what we’re stooping to? Regardless of Dabi’s mental health, the decisions he made while on his own and away from his family were his own choices. Let’s not forget that Dabi blames his whole family for his neglect and abuse for either not doing anything to stop it or being too weak in his eyes. Dabi would burn his family alive and make Endeavor watch just for shits and giggles. Dabi is not some soft boy who needs some human affection and meds to make him feel better. Every decision he’s made on his own may be in spite to Endeavor, but they’re his decisions.

He killed 30 people plus gods know how many when he aided in a domestic terrorist attack that devastated cities. Dabi didn’t seem all that concerned for Twice (he was using the latter for his own goals and used Twice’s death as a means to end to ruin Hawks), Mr. Compress (when he had half his guts hanging out and Dabi didn’t lift a finger), Himiko Toga (whom he hasn’t even asked about), or even Shigaraki (whom he’s despised since the beginning and is also using for his own goals). Dabi does not care about anyone. Fanon Dabi is fun and probably more mentally stable, but canon Dabi wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone if they inconvenienced him in anyway. Sorry not sorry.

Do you know how many murderers and serial killers are out there have mental illness? Edward Gein, Edmund Kemper, Ted Bundy, Randy Kraft? Just because you have a mental illness, you don’t get to use that as an excuse. We don’t excuse Youtubers falling back on depression when they’re caught sexting teenagers and grooming children. Kill one person, maybe we can work something out. Kill 30 people and we need to put your ass in jail. I don’t care if Dabi is affected by mental illness, so has the rest of the Todoroki family and none of them decided to become serial murderers and terrorists. He’s helped throw the Japan of MHA into brutal chaos where civilians are getting hurt and killed and setting free 10,000 prisoners now causing havoc in the streets. Mental illness is no longer an excuse or even a good reason.

I’m just thankful that Dabi’s a fictional character because I don’t want to meet someone who uses mental illness as an excuse or reason why someone else killed 30+ people. We already have a big enough problem associating mental illness with serial killers and causing harm to the public, I don’t even want a fictional character being coddled because of his supposed mental illness after he gleefully admits to killing 30 people, participating a terrorist attack, and tried to kill his youngest brother, twice.

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sk-lumen · 3 years ago

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Need serious advice about setting boundaries or communicating when dealing with a person who:

Is a parent

Has unhealthy communication methods -- it takes very little for them to start full-blown screaming, shouting out all your 'negative' things/mistakes/past, can continue to scream-criticise you even after you've gone silent, for WHOLE MINUTES even if you've shut up, will not accept anything that even hints at them making a mistake

You can't trust since childhood coz u made the mistake of confiding in them with a serious issue as a young teen --- mental related --- and they belittled and invalidated you, and since then pretended you never confided in them and have NO IDEA how you've been coping without them or ANYone else for years... Yeah thanks, parent, what u said back then made me think I was the one at fault and so I stopped trusting even friends coz yeah, when ur own parent doesn't give a damn, why would anyone else?

Is a master at silent treatments without explaining what EXACTLY they're punishing you for, then when theyre in the mood, will start talking to you as if they hadn't ignored you for days. Lol I'd rather be water boarded I think. Especially for all the damage this caused when I was a child

Won't openly talk about what they want, yet expects ALL FHE TIME others (in the family) to know what they want, then will complain/scream/angry for AGES about how no one cares, no one gives a damn... And when someone asks them what they want, they either say: nothing, or "you should know! Can't u see?"

Upon asking them to please talk normally, will blow a fuse, and lose it --- happened multiple times today

Literally will use me as a scape goat to unleash their frustrations upon. Even when I leave the room, I can hear them b*tch about how much of a failure I am etc. The trigger being anything that bothers them, from a phone call to something other siblings did, bla bla. I limit my time with them... But it's like, it feels impossible to have them treat me normally, without ridiculing or criticising me. I'm already a very low self esteem person... This doesn't help AT ALL

In short, refuse to tell/ask/discuss important stuff, and getting mad randomly that no one read their mind, bcoz everyone's 'old enough to have enough sense' to know what they 'should' do... Eg will not pikc up the phone when we call them from the store to ask when what the needed isn't available, so what other alternative can we get... And then when we get home, will instead blame us for being fussy and not getting the alternative, completelt skirting around the issue they didn't deign to pick up the phone... I mean, I don't get it. In the past I HAVE in fact asked them to just openly tell me what they want/expect from me to make them happy... Got passive aggressive answers like "don't you know? Are you dumb?" Bla bla

Passive aggressive to the max when they've lost it

Expect me to drop anything I'm doing and immediately cater to them, and expect me to help them in their hobbies (while simultaneously, as I learned many years ago to much heartache, not being interested or even pretending to be interested in my hobbies. The disinterest taught me very quickly how much what I wanted meant, leading to years of self-invalidation. Luckily I've learned it really is them, not me. My hobbies are valid)

Will not talk about why they're feeling angry, what causes it. Instead will blame me, who's like the golden scapegoat in our amazing family, by saying :YOU made me negative. They've said it many times now... It hurts a lot, when I'm also struggling with my own issues which I ofc can't confide in them about :)

Today I manned up -- the outburst of hatred happened again! Over a simple thing. It was NIGHTMARE and made me angry/sad/frustrated/triggered---, and so I told them to stop talking like that... Boy was that the wrong thing to say... I don't think I can accurately tell u what happened afterwards...

Usually children learn communication skills from the parents... I at least learned to recognize the unhealthy ones, and what NOT to communicate like lol. Like, other parent is even worse, believe it or not. But that's another complex situation

I'm not bashing on the parent. Lord knows I even have that much of a right huh? I hate myself eveb more when they invalidate me if I try to show how MUCH THEY HURT me after a 'communication session'. As in, heaven forbid me if I BE SILENT afterwards and DON'T wanna listen to their retardation. Nope. Even then they provoke me, rage at me, you know how sometimes enraged people hiss vitriol thru gritted teeth? Yeah, that's what they did today after I stayed silent and tried to ignore them an hour later after the 'session' when they wabted something. It's like they don't even need me to say a word and will carry on and on for minutes 🤢

I feel alone, helpless and at a loss what to do

I want to move out. Due to severe mental issues I can't even move out rn coz it scares me even more. But this has to stop. Things are only okay if I'm absolutely passive, say yes to whatever they want, kill my wants and needs, and become a perfect robot bred to cater to them (parent)

I hope you can help me out, dear

Hi darling,

It sounds like you’re in a considerably toxic environment. I'm sorry you're going through this. Know that this is not normal, nor is it how a parent/child relationship should be. In case there's any doubt, let me start by saying you deserve to be supported, respected, listened to, to have your needs met. You deserve to live in an environment that offers you all of these things.

With that being said, from the many scenarios you’ve mentioned you’ve already tried reasoning and setting boundaries, to no avail. There is only so much you can do on your own, if the other person in the equation is not meeting halfway or at all. After all, a healthy conversation involves two people, not just one.

Here's my advice, in this order:

Calmly and maturely asking the respective parent to have a serious discussion with you and to listen to what you have to say. Share how their actions and behaviour is making you feel, let them know you care, and make sure to mention several solutions for the issue as well. If this doesn’t work…

Bring up the subject of needing help from outside, such as the assistance of a specialist/therapist. Family counselling can shed a lot of light on toxic behaviours that are ingrained from childhood (both in their case and yours), on fears your parent may have, stress from their work, whatever is causing their outbursts and anger - because there is always a reason. Behind anger is sadness, and behind sadness is some need not being met, or an underlying fear, trauma, etc. This is not a justification for their behaviour, they are responsible for it; this is simply the fact of how energy dynamics work. People bottle up their frustrations, fears, etc, and let them out on those closest to them, to whom they feel superior. It’s not fair, and it’s not healthy, but it is frequently how this pattern works. If this solution doesn’t work either…

Then unfortunately, all you can do is focus on yourself. If they refuse to meet you anywhere along the road, you have to pack up your things and go your own way. Literally or metaphorically. They may be your parent and you may love them even in spite of their behaviour, but you cannot hold yourself responsible for anything they say or do; that is on them. In those cases, you have to prioritize your own mental health and wellbeing, and focus on moving out. If your (home) environment is toxic, you have to focus on first changing it. That’s vital. Only afterwards can you start healing, refinding yourself, reclaiming your self-esteem and confidence, your sense of worth. As long as you stay stuck in a toxic environment, you cannot really heal; if there is abuse of any kind (physical, mental, emotional), the causes are still there, leading to re-traumatizing.

If for whatever reason moving out is not (yet) an option, I would emphasize seeking some sort of counselling for yourself, if nothing else. You need an anchor, some sort of support that will help you along your path until you do get out.

Now, I don’t know how old you are. I am going to assume you are over 18 and of age, so only mind my advice if that is the case. (As disclaimer, I don't provide advice to minors as it's not the scope of my blog nor am I specialized/focused on that area.)

I understand moving out seems scary because it is unknown, but with that line of thought you may wait another 10 years in the same situation. Wouldn’t you wake up 10 years later already having done the hard work on moving out, finding your independence, claiming your sense of individuality and moving on from this sort of environment, this phase in your life?

Sooner is better than later, but do so with mindfulness and care over your mental health, of course. I know it’s scary. But being an adult requires some difficult decisions at times, and setting boundaries begins with choosing your wellbeing and doing what needs to be done, even if it is something uncomfortable short-term, but highly rewarding and beneficial long-term.

Hope this helps... and wishing you much luck, clarity, gentle guidance and comfort.✨

PS: Lately I've been receiving longer and longer letters in my inbox. As solution, I was thinking of having longer asks/letters redirected to my blog where there isn't any length limit, and readers can more comfortably browse both my tumblr and blog - and those requesting advice can share and receive a more in-depth response.

-Lumen

#mental health #toxic relationship #toxic environment #boundaries #parenthood #ask #tw? not sure what to tag just in case #tw: swearing #tw: mental health #tw: anxiety

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ao3-sucks · 5 years ago

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An Archive of Someone’s Own: my experiences being groomed in fandom circles on AO3

TW: Childhood sexual abuse, grooming, mentions of incest and rape.

I used to be a big writer of fanfiction. It was the logical choice for me. I loved to write and create bold and immersive worlds, and I craved an audience who would enjoy my work as much as I did. Since my writing wasn’t actually good, I needed a community of other amateurs who wouldn’t mind that, and by tweaking my characters and settings into ones from canonical media, I got the audience I so craved.

I started writing fanfiction online when I was 14, posting initially on FanFiction.net and then moving to AO3 a few months later. As I got back into writing original fiction towards the end of high school, I lost interest in this community, and it’s been a long time since I posted anything much on AO3.

I’ve always struggled with the fact I display a lot of symptoms of CSA, and for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why. Throughout my teen years, I refused to get changed or bathe when anyone was even vaguely nearby, constantly paranoid about being spied on; I developed a severe touch phobia, and would have frequent panic attacks from something as small as brushing arms with a passerby; I resolutely identified as asexual and refused to get into anything resembling a relationship with others because the very concept disgusted and repulsed me.

Weird, considering I had grown up pretty normal and all of these symptoms had started around my early teens. It was only when I told my friends about my friendship with a 30 year old I had met online that the pieces started falling into place for me.

Child grooming is usually discussed in the context of one adult going out of their way to befriend a child with the goal of lowering their resistance to sexual abuse, through normalisation and friendliness. I’d like to talk about how that worked on the fanfiction website AO3. Since it’s an open website and most communication takes place between anonymous users or accounts in the comments section of a work, there is very little delineation between spaces for adults to discuss whatever dark topics they like and spaces for kids to do the same.

This frequently leads to pretty inappropriate conversations between people of widely varying ages and life experiences, which is how I ended up talking sex as a fourteen year old with people ranging from a couple of years older than me, who were generally okay, to more than twice my age. The 30 year old in question listed on her profile how many pedophilic ships she loved, and she knew my age but pushed me to keep discussing sexual topics with her. Sounds like a red flag, yeah? Well. I was 14, and very stupid.

This 30 year old woman, who I will call Aku (because it’s similar to her screen name and because it’s funny to name her after the bad guy from Samurai Jack) would start conversations with me whenever I posted anything to AO3 and would refuse to take no for an answer when I tried to back out of conversations with her, and since these conversations were public and occurring within comments, I didn’t want to be rude to her since this was taking place on content I was trying to promote.

I told her my age multiple times and she would either pretend she forgot from last time (saying her memory is super bad) or continue as though it was just trivia about me and not a sign she shouldn’t have been pushing me. My primary objection to what she would say to me (since most of it was just her being annoying) was her insistence on sexualising everything I wrote, and her determination to push me into writing pornographic content, which I eventually gave in to.

Yes, she was a terrible person. She emailed me using her personal email address, so I know her full name and place of residence, because she’s an idiot. These emails also contain sexually explicit materials. Nothing much ever happened between us except for these very creepy interactions and the fact we remained online friends for a few years. But here’s the thing: she wasn’t the only person pushing me into creating sexual content. Lots of people would comment on my writing demanding that I show explicit sexual content when I really didn’t want to.

After a while it felt like I couldn’t write a longer, romantic fanfiction without including explicit sexual content. Like my work wasn’t valid without it. Other, more popular writers were usually sexual in their content, and I wanted to be like them and bring in the views, right? So, when I look at my back catalog of works, I can see how my content moved from completely non-sexual to featuring sexual content over time, and the views usually came with. In this way, I was in an environment that was encouraging me on many levels to sexualise my own work, which impacted the way I thought about my creative process.

Here’s another example I remember. When I was a young sprout, I remember reading down someone’s list of fanfiction recommendations and seeing a work called Hug Therapy, which I promptly read. While the work is marked as explicit and containing the Loki/Thor pairing, the use of relationship and rating tags on AO3 is so poorly regulated that it didn’t really mean anything to me to see either of those. People tag hardcore material as non-explicit and tag friendships as relationships, because there’s no motivation to tag properly. Plus, someone I followed here on Tumblr had recommended it to me.

Now, you wouldn’t know from the listing, but while this piece starts out as comedy, it turns out in the end to include rape, incest, and BDSM in very explicit terms. The fact it was tagged as being explicit didn’t slow me down, because the liberal use of these tags could mean that an explicit tag was just there because sexual content was implied or mentioned, which I thought would be the case based on the rest of the listing. Out of curiosity, I recently tried to report this work to the moderators for containing no warnings about incest or rape, and I got this in response:

“Selecting “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings” satisfies a creator’s obligation under the warnings policy. Users who wish to avoid specific elements entirely should not access fanworks marked with “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings”. Our Terms of Service note: “You understand that using the Archive may expose you to material that is offensive, triggering, erroneous, sexually explicit, indecent, blasphemous, objectionable, grammatically incorrect, or badly spelled. ….. This decision is in accordance with our policy of maximum inclusiveness; we have therefore closed this case and will not be investigating further.”

Which, yeah, I guess. The frustration comes from how ‘Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings’ is an extremely commonly used tag, and most things that it’s used on are totally harmless.

This fanfiction, which I was recommended by a friend, is hugely popular, in the top 60 most read fanfictions in the entire fandom. You wanna hear the kicker? The author, Astolat, is one of the founders of AO3. They’re not just some random author who isn’t following the rules. They’re a creator of the whole website, and they made the rules. This is pretty telling about how seriously the website actually takes protecting their users.

My final example I want to give is one of fetish content. People in fetish communities generally (not always) say that fetishes are probably something one should work up to after the onset of sexual activity, especially potentially harmful stuff like BDSM. In the circles I was running in, if you weren’t sporting a fetish or two (no matter your age) you were a boring bitch.

Maybe this isn’t true of everywhere in the fanfiction community, but I used to feel that bizarre pressure until I got out. Bear in mind that my main time in this community was from ages 14 to 17. I never made my age a secret, either. I told people outright I was that age, I was in high school, I was playing hockey and studying The Great Gatsby when I wasn’t online.

Since I was in the Avengers fandom and I liked Loki and the Asgardians, I was frequently exposed to incestuous content between Loki and Thor, and a lot of it came out of nowhere or was poorly tagged. This was considered the norm, and while I at first felt completely horrified and repulsed, within a year or two I no longer gave a shit. It’s only in the last few years as I’ve begun to unpack everything that I’ve started to get that strong revulsion reaction to incestuous content.

In the circles I was in, it was relentlessly normal. Normal to the point that people who disliked it were usually shouted down. Even to this day, debate rages on in fandom spaces about whether or not content like this normalises this kind of abuse. In my own personal experience, which I don’t usually like to talk about, it absolutely does.

In real life, this normalisation started to have serious consequences for my mental health and interpersonal relationships. In fanfiction, any occasion when you are alone with someone could become sexual, any familial relationship is possibly sexual, and it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. I became incredibly anxious around male family members for fear of being sexually assaulted, and my OCD, which I had been developing since I was a child, turned from thoughts of physical violence to thoughts of graphically sexually assaulted by anyone and everyone around me.

My fear of being touched got to the point where I would have panic attacks if anyone came anywhere close to touching me. I quit sports, fucked up my romantic relationships, and didn’t hug anyone, not even members of my family, for years. All the while, I had bought my first laptop and was consuming more fanfiction than ever before. I struggled with my sexuality growing up, as I am bisexual, and while fanfiction provided LGBT content to help me, the content was frequently so disturbing that I viewed any expression of sexuality as something evil and predatory.

The community on AO3, whether you like it or not, is often sexual, and provides no barriers between the casual user looking for content and extremely intense fetish material. It’s sometimes called the Pornhub of fanfiction, but considering the wide range of people who use it, it’s more like if you opened Youtube and saw niche hardcore fetish videos just on the front page, recommended and trending.

Sure, you have to click a little button to confirm you’re 18 before you can actually read a story, but the tags and descriptions of readily available works can be extremely explicit. Fanfiction also brings you into close contact with fellow readers and the author, and encourages you to become a content creator, which in some ways makes it more dangerous.

I was affected much more strongly by what I saw than most people would be, because I was already treading shaky ground. But I’m also not the only person out there who has been hurt in this way. Most of my friends who grew up in fandom can report the impact that fanfiction culture had on them. One of my friends from high school knew a panoply of porn terms at age 14 or so due to reading fanfiction, and another of my other friends at high school almost exclusively read rape porn because it was her favourite. I didn’t have friends who watched porn; I had friends who read fanfiction. These are just as troubling to me as any other accounts of young people consuming visual porn from a very early age.

It’s frequently cited that fanfiction gives minority groups the opportunity for creative outlet. It was a great place for me to cut my teeth as a content creator, and a source of acceptance and kindness when times were tough. Fanfiction communities have historically been the domain of women and minorities, and create a space for these people to tell their own stories.

It’s largely because of this that fanfiction communities fear censorship and strict moderation, as they have been attacked in the past on homophobic or misogynistic grounds, resulting in mass deletions of works or the shutdown of websites. But there must be some middle ground between total censorship and the kind of free rein that puts vulnerable people in danger, and I strongly encourage the board of AO3 to seek this middle ground out.

But it’s the community itself that needs to shape up; AO3 is, after all, a community-led website built by fans for fans, so the fact that this website has such issues is a reflection of the issues that run deeply within the people who created it. Aku didn’t talk to me with the intention of doing me harm, or so I believe at this time, and she didn’t pursue me as a lone wolf or in isolation.

She was simply a particularly brazen member of a community that was used to having inappropriate conversations with young people and sexualising everything they did. Even people my own age were jokingly pushing me into discussing and consuming extremely sexual content. It was just normal. That’s what I want to say here. Inside the world of fandom on AO3, the grooming of children with sexual content is normal. And that’s scary.

- Mod Daft

#mod daft post #ao3 discourse #fandom wank #fanfiction discourse #fanfiction wank #csa//#rape//#grooming//#incest//

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cathyparrlyn · 4 years ago

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A warning to Tumblr and Discord users in the Six and WATT fandoms

Tw for stalking, guilt tripping, deception, suicide, death threats, and hate anons.

In the beginning of summer, there was an incident that showed the true colors of some of my former friends, especially one who has proven themself to be hostile and dangerous multiple times. I stayed quiet about this for a while as I wanted to forget the drama and the pain they caused me and my friends, but recently I’ve found out that they have continued to hurt many of my friends, claim a minor who was a victim of the situation had attacked them, and more. Because of such dangers, and because these people are present in both the Six and WATT fandoms, my friends and I found it necessary that we share this story as a warning to others.

On May 11, the Parrlyn Discord server was created. I, being an acquaintance of the server owner, was one of the server’s mods who would talk to everyone and work with the owner to make it a safer place. This server ended up being how I first became close with the person who caused so much drama: @Chess-exists (Chess).

Chess and I would talk on both the Parrlyn server and dms, and I soon joined other servers at their request. We considered each other friends, but they also set off many red flags. Some of the major of these being Chess lying about hacking into the Sixcord and deleting the server because “all the mods hated them”, claiming they can cry when ready and wanting to pretend someone on the Parrlyn server was dead to prank another person on the server.

In mid-June the Parrlyn Discord faced the 3rd big incident that has happened on the server. Someone jokingly entered under Moan-Jeutas’s (Lizzie’s) username, said “I’m 12, don’t attack me !!” and left when they noticed people were beginning to panic.

I was offline whilst this happened, and when I came online shortly afterward I found a few people panicked. Instantly, I was asked by multiple people to call them. I texted some of them while going on call with a friend of mine who is a young minor, @lakes-other-sixes (aka Lake), who was crying. I was then informed by Lake that they knew who had entered the server with Lizzie’s username. At the same time, a friend outside of the server had confessed to me through DM about being behind the Lizzie account along with one other person. They profusely apologized and explained what had happened.

Although my friend had made a mistake, I would like to give context of why they ever thought of the joke in the first place. When they were temporarily on the Parrlyn Discord, it was just starting out, with about ten people including us and nobody who had admitted to being triggered by Lizzie’s writing.

This friend and I constantly talked about Parrlyn fics together, and one of the things we mentioned was Lizzie’s Carrie AU and how I would have liked to talk to her about it but didn’t want to bother her as she disliked the ship. The friend and I had both been going through personal issues at the time, I will openly state that mine was how my uncle died not even two weeks before this happened, and they thought a small joke could cheer us both up.

So this friend and another person thought it would only be an innocent inside joke between friends to pop on the server and mess with me and some other friends. They had no idea how big the server was or that people were triggered by Lizzie and left immediately.

The joke was wrong, and we all have acknowledged that. They both deeply apologized for it to me and some others. They wanted to fix things with the server, but there was one problem; our friend Lake knew who they were.

Lake is an extremely sweet kid. They were never a part of the joke, but were extremely scared that if the people’s names were released then everyone on the server would hate them. It was to the point that they were crying on the phone to me for about half an hour because of the situation. Because of this, me and the friends figured it would be best to apologize anonymously; not for their sake, but for the others who were scared. So I talked with the server owner and made an announcement sending an apology from them through me.

This is just our side, and I know some will disagree with the decision we made, but I was informed that someone had talked to Lizzie about it and that she knew about the situation and the anonymous apology. We kept it anonymous because we would never want to put any kid into the panicked state that Lake was in, and I will take any responsibility if it means I kept a kid from anymore serious panic. I have also apologized to Lizzie formally, as well as getting consent from her to use her name in this post and offering to answer any questions she had, including giving her the names of the people behind the account if she wanted them.

This mistake from my friends, which they had apologised for, was what led to Chess showing their true colours.

A few minutes after I posted the apology announcement, I was instantly added to a separate group chat titled “Smack a bitch” where Chess and their friend, Aine, had requested the name of my friend behind the account. This chat was highly inappropriate and hinted they would possibly send them hate and I didn’t approve of that, so I said no and left. I then later got a message from Lake that Chess was now interrogating them to spill who was behind the account.

Not only had this bothered me since Lake was young and was open about their anxiety, but also nobody but me and Lake’s former partner had known that they knew who was behind the fake account. They were extremely nervous and asked for help and I said I would talk to Chess for them since it made them uncomfortable.

When I went to talk to Chess, I told them to stop interrogating Lake because this was giving people more stress and I wouldn’t talk to them if they continued. They refused and asked me to “back the fuck up”.

After this conversation, I thought it was over. That was until 3 days later when one of my friends behind the account got hateful anons and death threats over the situation.

These anons were alarming, so I went to talk to the server owner about them. After a long discussion, the server owner confessed to Chess telling them everything they had done to find my friend.

This next part might be triggering for some, just a warning about stalking. (Ends after the screenshot)

Chess had confessed to stalking both my Instagram and Tumblr by going through them and making a suspect list of mutuals I interacted with so that they could interrogate Lake, a 14 year old, into saying who was behind the account.

(Note, none of the people mentioned here were either of the people behind the account)

After I sent the message telling them to stop the interrogation, Chess made Lake swear not to tell me anything else, got them and Aine on voice call, and guilt tripped them into feeling forced to agree to be interrogated on who the person was.

After Chess had successfully got the name of one of the people behind the fake account from Lake, they told the server owner and a few others the name of the person. One of whom was @herequeerandreadytokickass (Lex). Chess had also confessed to Lex about wanting to send anons to the person behind the account whose name they had found out. Lex had not only told me this on call, but also told me that the “friend” Chess was referring to in the hateful anons was me.

Utterly disgusted by their actions towards the situation, I blocked Chess. That was it. I explained to my friends why I blocked them and told them that they could still be friends with Chess, and I left the Parrlyn server to avoid drama since I figured Chess needed it more than me and wouldn’t hurt anyone else after this.

Chess was very upset that I blocked them without talking to them, and I refused to unblock them since they made me uncomfortable by this point. They then told a few friends they were framed for the anons even after previous confessions that they had sent them, and the fact that the anons only pointed to them.

One of the people Chess talked to was Lake, who then tried to find who sent the anons. After I found this out, I called Lake and we both shared our sides of the story. This is when Lake told me how Chess guilt tripped them, but also figured out that Chess had lied to them about how they found out Lake knew. Chess had blamed it on me telling someone, when Lake’s former partner confessed to telling Chess that Lake knew.

This new information caused Lake to become extremely panicked. They were already dealing with stress and just found out they had played a small part in their friend getting sent anon hate and death threats. Chess lying had triggered them more. I talked to Lake and helped them calm down and they decided to block Chess as well.

Chess didn’t like this. They immediately began to spam Lake’s user on a server and also had three friends ask them to unblock Chess.

Not only was this disrespecting Lake’s mental health and decision, but one of the people who dmed Lake had angrily blown up at them. This was @flat-dr-pepper-chasers (Robbie).

By blowing up on Lake, who was dragged into this situation and emotionally manipulated, Robbie caused Lake to panic again.

Soon after this, I got notified that Chess was so mad at Lake, that they deleted a server collaborative fanfic because it was Lake’s “pride and joy”.

Lake had now been through so much and they didn’t tell me anything until it was necessary. I had received all this info from another source because I was an ex-mod of the server and a person involved in the incident, but Chess began to blame Lake and continued to hate them.

I couldn’t take it anymore when I found out that Chess, a 16 year old, deleted the fic to spite Lake, a 14 year old who they had until very recently viewed as a friend, when Lake didn’t do anything. I knew I couldn’t let this slide or more people would get hurt, so I rejoined the server as a mod again, kicked Chess and explained the situation so everyone knew what was going on.

Do to a limit on screenshots the next part of the post will be reblogged by me, might take a second though to add in the screenshots.

#six the musical #we are the tigers #watt #discord #warning #callout

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fl0ating-tree · 4 years ago

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spoilers for tommy’s stream (03/01)

Wilbur Soot can confidently say he’s experienced some boring things in his life. When Phil would leave for his trips he would lazy around the house, snacking on the food Phil stocked up for him, bored out of his mind. The days in Pogtopia before the festival announcement when he still had a grip on his mental health, when he would lounge around with Tommy after hours of ranting about Schlatt. There was only so much planning and preparing they could do in those first few days without Technoblade, so the nights were filled with boring small talk. Hell, even those months after they won independence, before the election, where he would wander L’manberg and get bored of talking to the same five citizens.

So yeah, Wilbur was well versed in all things boring. Which is why he can also confidently say that the afterlife was the most boring of them all.

There was no heaven, no hell, just wandering eternally. At least insanity had it perks of having things to obsess over. Now, he simply wandered through white voids and black tunnels and hoped he found his way to a memory. Occasionally he got to watch things from Ghostbur’s perspective, though he quickly learned anything he got to see was something the ghost wouldn’t remember, aka something awful. Watching Dream abuse Tommy, arguing with Fundy, seeing the aftermath of Phil and Techno’s destruction, Techno’s execution. The only glimpses he got of his friends and family were the worst parts. At first it was depressing, then it was somber, then it became a routine and now it’s just boring.

The memories were nice, at first. Taking Tommy under his wing and watching him grow. Sparing with Technoblade. Adventures with Phil. But there’s only so many times you can watch yourself do things that have already happened. And knowing the outcome of these memories, watching himself promise to never leave Tommy or never use Techno for his fighting abilities and knowing he breaks the promises just becomes sadistic. They became boring, just like everything else in the afterlife.

Schlatt was there sometimes. Wandering just like him. Sometimes they’d meet after a fun memory of their challenges against the sky gods, sometimes they’d meet after Wilbur gets pulled into the present by Ghostbur. They never stayed together long.

He could’ve sworn Jack Manifold was there, if only for a split second. And if he wandered long enough without finding a memory he could hear distance Mexican music playing. But maybe he was just going insane all over again. Those events never peaked his interest for long, though, and he went back to his mindless wandering.

The only thing that broke through the monotony was when he felt pulled, physically pulled, and suddenly could think of nothing but Tommy. Him growing up, always mature for his age but then maturing too quickly as he was thrown into war. Selfless Tommy, giving his prized possessions and two of his lives for Wilbur’s dream. The boy he came to see as his brother never giving up on him, even when he should’ve, in the end. The sheer loneliness Wilbur felt was overwhelming. It felt like he was missing someone, not just emotionally but physically. Like Tommy was supposed to be there, in the afterlife, with him. Suddenly he could smell fresh air and lingering gunpowder and heard a familiar disc.

Tommy and Tubbo were on the bench, listening to their discs, beaten and bloodied but smiling. Tommy must’ve gotten his discs back. He was proud.

And he told Tommy just that. Something must have thinned the veil between the living and the afterlife because finally, finally, Wilbur could talk to Tommy. The two boys seemed nervous, but Wilbur could do nothing but smile and run his transparent hand through Tommy’s hair. For a split second, the loneliness in his chest eased.

But once he was thrown back into the afterlife, that ache doubled. For the first time in what felt like year (time passed weirdly here) Wilbur wasn’t mildly annoyed and bored, he was curious and confused and horribly lonely. Schlatt stopped showing up quite a while ago, and he hadn’t been pulled into one of Ghostbur’s visions in a long time, so he had nothing but himself as he felt physically ill from loneliness.

However, it was an illness he was willing to suffer. The pull in his chest felt almost like there was something trying to push Tommy into the afterlife, and Wilbur would be damned if he let Tommy give up yet another life. So he wandered some more, watched memories that seemed only consistent of Tommy now, and tried to pretended like he was still bored instead of horribly worried.

He was watching a memory of Tommy, now. It was in the hto dog van, Wilbur had just been working on setting it up. Tommy came up behind him and scared him senseless. Jokingly, Tommy threw a carrot at him to try and calm him down. He wonders if this silly little bit that Tommy seemed to find hilarious is where Ghostbur got his “calm yourself, have some blue” catchphrase from. The idea doesn’t help the loneliness in his stomach.

He was honestly enjoying the memory when it started to shift. He felt his stomach drop, like he was reaching the peak of a rollercoaster.

“Schlatt? He’s fuckin’ dead,” Tommy says in front of him, still holding the carrots. This isn’t how this memory went. “His grave? I’ve seen his grave, his grave is real his corpse is there,” There was blood pouring down from a gash on Tommy’s head. A bruise was forming around his temple.

When watching memories, it felt less like a memory and more like a dissociative episode. Wilbur felt like he was watching himself move from afar, no effect on his own actions. But now, Wilbur could feel himself be grounded back in reality (can he even call it that?) as he grabs Tommy by the shoulders.

“Tommy what’s happening?” He cries out, shaking Tommy by the shoulders. Tommy’s completely unresponsive. More bruises and gashes appear all over him.

“No, no no no-” Tommy’s eyes are wide with fear now, the carrot gone and his appearance changing. He looks older now, he looks about the same as he did when Wilbur saw him after the end of the Disc War. “Stop it, stop it!-” Tommy was yelling now, before his voice harshly cuts out into a choke. He crumbles to the ground, Wilbur going with him.

“Tommy! Tommy holy shit what happened?!” Wilbur yells, clutching Tommy by the upper arms as Tommy grips onto the sleeves of his jacket. The boy is shaking like a leaf, blood gushing from his head, bruises all over him body and a black eye. The eye that isn’t swelling is blown wide, pupil no larger than a nail. “Tommy?!”

He inhales sharply, and as quickly as they appear the bruises start to fade. His eyes dart up, and connect with Wilbur’s. Tommy’s body feels heavier somehow, his presence stronger rather than a wispy memory. Every rational part of Wilbur knew what that meant, but he refused to believe it.

“I’m dead,” Tommy whispers, like it’s a secret. Like the idea isn’t shattering Wilbur’s perfectly constructed, boring world.

He doesn’t have some witty response, no jokes to crack to lighten the mood or counterarguments. But he knows Tommy wouldn’t be there, wounds fading and very much corporeal in the afterlife, if he wasn’t dead.

“What-” Wilbur doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

“Dream,” Tommy whispers again, “I was stuck in the prison, I pissed him off, I-” he chokes on his tears. “After everything,” anger quickly replaces the dispare, Tommy always coped with anger easier, “after you destroyed L’manberg,” Wilbur winces at that, but keeps his hold on Tommy strong, “after Logstedshire, after Techno fucking blew L’manberg up even worse than you did. After Dream nearly killed Tubbo. After fucking everything. What the fuck-”

“I’m so sorry, Toms,” Wilbur sobs, pulling Tommy to his chest, “I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve it. You never deserved this.”

“Why?” Tommy asks. Wilbur can’t tell who it’s directed at, or what exactly he’s asking why about. Him, for all he dragged Tommy through? Whatever God that abandoned them, for forcing him to die young?

Wilbur didn’t have an answer. He wished the world was boring again.

#dream smp #dream smp fanfic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #smp spoilers #leave it to me to make tommys death about wilbur teehee #please wilbur and tommy afterlife stream #tw blood

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

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HMM WATCHA SAAAAY Chapter 5

Kix was incredibly thankful that Master Che – Call me Vokara, Kix – had given him unrestrained access to the Halls of Healing. While it had been necessary for his research, learning more about physical therapy as a whole, it also came with the great bonus of access to the pills that made your mind clear up a little after crashing. It was supposed to be taken after long shifts, but Kix had gathered that it was usually given to anybody in a less fortunate state of mind that needed to get a clear head, such as Senior Padawans who had been out all night in the Lower levels and had a mission on the next day.

The last week had been hellish between accumulating whatever insights they could get from General Skywalker on his and trying to put together a physical therapy program for somebody who should be as healthy as a bantha. The fact that the Council had called upon them for the final report and Kix as the head researcher was supposed to lay out their findings was also not the highlight of this week.

“Medic Kix,” one of the Council members greeted him. “Master Che, Master Erin, Medic Coric, thank you for taking the time to present us your findings.”

Most Council members were off-world again already so the circle in front of him wasn’t particularly large. Kix wished that General Kenobi would be here at least, but he and the 212th had to be called back to battle. The 501st was to follow soon, but whether their General could come with them relied on Kix’s report. He had sworn not embellish anything, to pretend his General was better off than he appeared to be, but he was tempted to do so. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to go anywhere without knowing that his General had his back. He didn’t mind working with another Jedi, they were all equally kind and good, but they weren’t Anakin Skywalker.

And Kix would rather have Anakin, exhausted and terrified out of his mind, with him, than a stranger, no matter how kind.

“It is of no trouble, Master Jedi,” Kix replied.

This was another thing Kix had noticed during his stay at the temple. The Jedi refused to use military titles for themselves inside of it. They were Masters, Healers, Knights Padawans – but they were not Generals or Commanders. Kix and his brothers, of course, got addressed by their proper titles, spoken with honor and an edge of regret, but that was it.

“You have been taking care of Anakin from the beginning?” General Koon asked.

Kix liked Plo Koon. The Kel Door took good care of the men under his command and he was always ready to make sure Kix’s little Commander was in good fighting shape when she was in his care.

“Yes,” Kix replied. “Coric and I were the ones who oversaw the General’s transport back to the ship and then consequently watched over him for the week he was comatose.”

“Were the injuries he gained in the battle so severe?”

Kix shook his head. “No, not at all. It was an easy campaign all in all.”

“From my understanding of the events, as Kix elaborated them, Knight Skywalker experienced an immense shock when he was hit by the vision,” Vokara explained. “Consequently, he was disorientated and must have experienced sensory overload. His collapse was his body’s attempt at shutting him down to give himself time to deal with the onslaught of memories and unfamiliarity of his body.”

When they had attempted to figure out why muscle memory alone wasn’t keeping Anakin upright, Vokara had brought up pieces of Jedi philosophy so far unknown to Kix. Jedi viewed bodies as conduits of the Force. Only in a healthy body could rest a healthy mind and only a healthy mind could access the Force. It was the reason that Anakin’s one prosthetic was already viewed with so much heartbreak. Kix supposed it made everything that came after only worse.

“Can Skywalker be sent back with the 501st?” Master Koon continued, directly cutting to the most difficult part.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d say no. I don’t think he should ever actually handle combat at all again. While physically he will be back on top of his game within a few weeks, if not surpass it still, I cannot condone such an action when taking his mental health into account.”

While the Jedi all tried to keep a neutral expression, Kix had been trained to deal with the most stubborn no-I’m-not-injured-I-promise brothers and I-can-hold-off-an-army-on-my-own Jedi and he could easily spot when somebody was starting to slip. The Jedi were surprised, not at the latter aspect, it was clear as day that the General was far from possessing a healthy mind, they wondered about his strength.

“Councilors, if I may suggest, I believe it would be best if we started with our report now,” Kix inserted. “It will answer a lot of questions as to Master Skywalker’s precise condition.”

He wondered if he was already crossing lines, trying to make it all out to be better than it was just by taking their attention away from how the General was right now instead of how he could be, had been.

“Proceed you may,” Master Yoda said grimly.

Hearing how much stronger their enemy was, how he was luring them all towards their death, must have greatly disturbed the old Master. Kix thought of the old clones back on Kamino, those who hadn’t made it to the front lines and watched the Shinies instead. And he thought of the war veterans, those who had been on Geonosis. They all had the same look in their eyes when they assigned the should-be-still-cadets to the frontlines. The sadness for being responsible for the deaths of so many young lives, it was not easy to bear.

“Three months ago, in the aftermath of a campaign, Knight Anakin Skywalker collapsed,” Kix began to say, his eyes not even flickering to the text on the datapad he was holding. “He froze, then Force-pushed the nearest troopers away from him and lost consciousness. He had no visible injuries and was brought to the medbay for further examination. After twenty-four hours, he woke for the first time. He reacted with similar panic and it took multiple sedations as well as Master Obi-Wan Kenobi using a Force-suggestion to put him to sleep again. This manner continued for another five days.”

Those five days had been some of the worst Kix had to experience during the entire war so far. Coric and he had run themselves ragged to keep an eye on their General, never mind how exhausted Master Kenobi had been after staying awake for so long.

“He was catatonic when he woke up after this time period. Even while awake, he didn’t react to anything. He needed a breathing machine and we fed him intravenously. He snapped out of it after another three days…”

Kix trailed off. When they had discussed how they would present their findings, they had decided that Kix would speak of all events he had been there to witness with Vokara contributing the Jedi perspective. Bant and Coric didn’t actually need to be present for this, but they had all worked through this report together, they should do this together as well.

“As, at the time, no professional mind healer could make it to the 501st-“ Vokara’s voice was professionally cold, but after all these evenings spend in her office or apartment, Kix could hear the bitterness that was seeping into it. “Master Kenobi decided to take it upon himself to help Skywalker’s splintered mind. He was successful, though I believe that is largely due to the bond the two share and want it noted on Master Kenobi’s file that he is herby prohibited from attempting to do the same with any other Jedi. It could have backfired incredibly easily and then we would have lost two Jedi instead of one.”

The Council nodded in agreement and Vokara quickly swiped away their open report to replace it with her file on General Kenobi. She added a small note there, then changed the documents once more.

“When Master Skywalker finally properly woke up then, he was still confused and disorientated. It took a full day before he could breathe and speak on his own, both aftereffects of what he experienced in his vision,” Kix continued.

The General’s hoarse words had been difficult to understand. For one because it had felt like he hadn’t known how to string them together properly, on the other because of the low volume. The General was always loud which made it easy to spot him in a crowd. To hear him speak so silently was the first sign that something had been wrong.

“I have so far classified his experience as a new type of vision,” Vokara explained. “Our research on temporal physics is limited, I do not know if his claims of time travel are accurate, but it was certainly no normal vision. Not even Master Sifo-Dyas had experienced a vision as such. Skywalker has experienced twenty years’ worth of memories, hence his body being uncomfortable to him.”

“Forgive me my question,” Shaak Ti said. “But from the brief account Master Kenobi gave us, I had gathered that Skywalker was experiencing something more akin to body dysphoria than merely feeling uncomfortable.”

“That would be correct,” Vokara retorted and then sighed in defeat. “Or as correct as it can be. I will be honest, we are missing terminology to properly definite Skywalker’s condition. To put it simply, Skywalker is hardly used to having a body. From his account, and what we have gathered based on physical reactions, Skywalker spent twenty years with about 65% of his body having been replaced. In other words, only 35% of himself was still organic.”

“What!?” The hiss of one of the Councilors rang like an accusation through the room.

Horror, shock and nausea washed through the air so strongly that even Kix could feel it, be it though that he wasn’t even the slightest bit Force-sensitive. He understood their recoiling even without the pain that their understanding of life and the Force brought them. He half-expected the windows to crack under the might of their outrage, used to such displays from his General.

“He had lost both his legs as well as his remaining arm. It is the reason Master Skywalker spend the first days after his awakening in a wheelchair, though he refused to use it for long. He had to relearn how to walk. His fine-motor control is also still lacking slightly, his current prosthetic arm being the one he has the best handling of. His digestive system was also severely damaged and barely anything remained from his lungs. He was dependent on intravenous feeding and a breathing machine that he could manually override, but only at great cost to himself. Additionally, to his lungs, his vocal tract was also damaged to the degree that he needed a vocoder to speak.”

“And how did he sustain those injuries in his vision?” Master Koon asked. He had his hands laying folded on his lap. No movement betrayed him, but Kix distinctly got the impression that he was attempting to hold himself back from doing something rash.

“We aren’t entirely sure. Master Skywalker has been reluctant to share how exactly he came to be injured in such a way,” Kix stated. Reluctant was the most diplomatic way of describing how haunted General Skywalker had looked when Kix had just alluded to the topic. He hadn’t shut down, but the expression on his face, utter terror bathed in fear, had been enough. “The event must have been highly traumatic and evidence points towards him being burned alive, likely while he was completely conscious for it. He mentioned needed skin grafts on multiple occasions and is extremely uncomfortable around fire.”

Kix felt a little like he was betraying his General by sharing such information behind his back. Of course, Skywalker had been made aware that there would be an extensive report on his condition, but he likely thought it was just about his capability to return to the battlefield. The General didn’t seem to really consider that his mental health mattered as well. Kix was not one of the medics particularly schooled in psychiatry, Coric had started looking more into it and so he and Master Erin had been the one to draft a psychological profile on Skywalker, based on what they knew about his future-past.

They hadn’t gathered much yet, but that part of their report was about as pretty as the rest.

“And he lived with all those injuries for twenty years?” The hopeful disbelief, the want for it all to be a lie, was apparent.

Jedi were not in the habit of being in denial, speaking the harsh truths the senators seldom wanted to hear, but that didn’t mean that they wanted to accept it all.

“A little more, actually,” Kix was forced to admit. “I believe it was around twenty-five. He had made references to such years existing. The cause of his own death is unknown as well, though it was possibly the result of his failing health.”

“And, additionally, we have been led to believe that he spent most of those years being extensively tortured by the Sith Lord keeping him.”

“Master Kenobi had already mentioned so,” Plo Koon said.

Kix nodded slowly. He wished General Kenobi would be here now, listening to them give the report instead of reading it on his own onboard the Negotiator. The paper they had written was clinical, factual, but Kix had long since realized that there was a time and place for hard facts and gentle truths.

“I am aware, but Master Kenobi is not aware of the extent we believe this torture to have reached. Skywalker has mentioned Sith Lightning and apparently knows how to disperse it within the body instead of just bearing it and survive. This implies that he was exposed to it multiple times, likely not with the intention of killing him, and learned from those sessions.”

“How have you concluded all that?”

Kix and Vokara shared a look. Their report had already been all over the place, more a discussion than a systematic rundown of what looked like hell come alive.

“Perhaps, best we start at the beginning?” General Yoda spoke up.

The Master, though powerful he was, appeared so old now, almost frail like every gust of wind could swipe him away. And yet there was this determination in his eyes, the willingness and need to know what harm would come to them.

“That would be the easiest,” Vokara replied and began anew.

Kix had written this report, read it about a thousand times and repeated it to others as well. Its content was familiar to him, the words he knew by heart, and still, at times, he found himself caught off-guard. Worst was when Vokara, though she kept a distance to the topic at hand, would sometimes need to read a sentence twice. The two of them had seen gruesome injuries, Jedi and Brothers alike die of less than what General Skywalker had lived through.

Which was the precise reason why they needed to put him back on the battlefield.

“I am prejudiced in this,” Kix admitted freely, finally finishing. The sky had turned dark by now and he desperately needed to drink something. “I want my General at my back. However, there is also the matter that he survived all of this. I do not actually believe that we stop him from going out on his own should we attempt to keep him away from the fighting. He might even decide to face Sidious head-on, and we can’t allow that to happen.”

The Jedi looked troubled by his assessment and so Kix was not too surprised when they sent him and the other three out of the room to make their decision. Kix had done all he could at this point to protect his General.

He had done his job and fulfilled his duty.

Now he could only hope that it had been enough.

#star wars #clone trooper kix #vokara che #plo koon #jedi council #anakin skywalker #fanfic #medical trauma time travel AU #ask #anon #lmao you THINK im gonna make obi-wan go through the report when he's surrounded by people

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years ago

Text

↪ commissioned work! this was a request by @joy1579. for more info about my commissions, check my blog ♡

summary: when mc gets into a car accident, jumin ends up with her medical records. he never thought he would find out about what happened to his wife six years ago.

pairing: jumin x mc

warnings: mentions of suicide

words: 2.7k

“Mr. Han”

Jumin turned his head to his secretary, his right eyebrow arched in annoyance. He knew it was uncalled for, but it had been a really stressful morning for him. He was in the middle of his third and longest meeting and it didn’t seem like he would be getting any results n that day, no matter how different proposals he brought to the table. Knowing beforehand how difficult this particular client used to get, he had asked Jaehee not to interrupt him under any circumstances. And that was the first thing she had done. Jumin massaged his right temple with his fingers, his gaze hardening under Jaehee’s concerned expression.

“Assistant Kang, I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“It’s MC,” she quickly said. “She’s been in an accident.”

Hours later, Jumin couldn't remember if he apologized to his client or if Jaehee had to do it for him. He just knew a couple of seconds later, he was riding the elevator to the main floor, his assistant by his side, her face much paler than usual.

“You weren’t picking up and apparently she set Zen as her other emergency number. He’s on his way to the hospital but called me to let us know.”

“How bad is it?”

“They didn’t tell him specifics but it seems a car hit her while crossing the street."

Jumin wasn't surprised when he realized Driver Kim was already waiting for him when he arrived at the main floor. Jaehee was definitely diligent and was used to thinking ahead in any situation. He muttered a 'thank you' and got in the car in a hurry, closing the door a little louder than usual.

He fixed his tie as Driver Kim hit the engine. He stayed silent the whole journey, his mind fixed on the memory of her wife's eyes as she wished him a good day that morning.

The messenger had been blowing up after Zen had announced MC's accident. Jaehee and Saeyoung were trying to calm down Yoosung, promising him they would inform him about MC's status as soon as they heard something.

"Could you stop?" Jumin muttered, looking at Zen's shaky leg. The actor shot back a glare at him, his leg still moving.

"I'm worried, okay? It's been more than forty minutes since we got here and she's still in the Emergency Room. We still don't know how bad it was."

"I know. But you shaking this bench with your leg isn't helping."

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Trust-Fund Kid, what have you been doing to help this situation other than looking at your phone?"

"I've made arrangements for MC to be sent to one of C&R's partners’ clinics as soon as she's out of the ER," he replied, looking back at his phone.

"Why am I not surprised this is about money?" Zen snickered. Before Jumin could reply, they both shot up their heads at the doctor calling out MC's name.

"I'm her husband," Jumin said and just at that moment, Zen noticed how his eyes were a little wider than usual. It seemed not even Jumin could maintain a cool head under the situation, even if he pretended to do so. "How is she?"

"Your wife was hit by a car. She has two broken ribs and a concussion. No internal organs were compromised, but she needs to stay overnight for observation."

"I've made arrangements for her to be sent to a private clinic. The ambulance is awaiting orders, when will they be able to take her?"

"In that case, please go to our information module and they will help you," the doctor said. Without wasting another moment, Jumin started walking to the said module, faintly hearing Zen thanking the doctor before following him.

He ignored the actor's rant about him being impolite to the doctor as he signed over several paperwork for MC's transfer. After huffing at him for the third time, Zen told him he would be heading to the clinic before him, as he rode his motorcycle to the hospital. Jumin nodded as he kept writing his name in almost every form, his hand in pain from the tension he was under.

He was about to sign the last one when he noticed the words "mental health", "psychiatry" and other things that weren't related to the accident.

"What's this about?" he asked. The lady behind the desk took a quick look at the paper before going back to her computer.

"Due to the nature of the accident and her past medical record, you have to sign this. It just says you will be responsible for her mental health as she will leave our facilities without staying at the psychiatric ward,” she said in a monotone voice.

"What does her accident have to do with mental health?"

"Your wife’s records show she was admitted here six years ago for a suicide attempt, so it's policy to keep a watch on her after accidents that could potentially be something else," she explained, without taking her eyes off her screen.

Jumin blinked, trying to process what he had just heard. His pen shook in his hand as his mind raced with different thoughts, the threads becoming more and more knotted the more he tried to make sense of it. Without another word, he signed the last paper and handed it back to the woman, turning in his heel to go to the ambulance.

He didn't remember when they got MC on the ambulance or if they asked him anything before driving to the clinic. Sitting on the passenger's seat of the vehicle, his eyes were focused on an idle point in front of him, the words of the woman playing on loop inside his head.

One week later, MC was discharged from the clinic without major complications. Jumin had been by her side as much as he could, going to the extent of hiring a nurse for when he had to go to work. She had refused at first, but after Jumin’s insistence, she reluctantly accepted. They had told her it would take from six to eight weeks to recover, so she guessed she could make an effort to make her husband feel safe.

Almost one month after MC’s accident had passed, and still, thoughts about her medical records ran across Jumin’s head every minute of every day. He felt a lump of his throat every time his mind considered the possibility her latest accident may have been an attempt to end her life. Was she unhappy? Did she want something he couldn’t provide? Was there anything he could do to spare her from her pain?

He knew he wasn't supposed to have that information. Her medical records were private and if it weren't for the car accident, he wouldn't have been able to know otherwise. To be honest, he was still doubtful the woman behind the information desk should have given him that kind of information. He was sure it was supposed to be against the law. He huffed. He knew public hospitals were definitely not the best, but he never anticipated a breach of information. Medical records were supposed to be private. He should have never had access to that kind of information. Without the lack of professionalism from the medical staff, there couldn’t have been any other way for him to get the information. The only other way he could have known was for someone to hack--

Saeyoung.

Jumin had never taken out his phone as fast as he did in that moment. Entering the messenger, he found Saeyoung’s picture and hit the call button.

“Hello~ Is this by any chance my dear Elly?” Saeyoung greeted him.

"Did you know?"

"I know a lot of things, for I am God Seven!" he chuckled.

"Did you know MC had tried to kill herself six years ago?"

The immediate silence on the other side of the line only confirmed his initial suspicion. Jumin heard a sigh from the hacker, along with some movement that let him know Saeyoung was changing rooms to talk privately.

"Yes, I knew," Saeyoung said, his voice with no remnants of the teasing tone he had just used. "Did she tell you?"

"The hospital wanted to keep her in the psychiatric ward before I sent her to the clinic. They didn't believe it was an accident".

"Oh, but it was!" Saeyoung assured him. "Remember they caught the guy a week later? I was the one that sent the videos to the police so they could identify him. Well, Zen sent them, but I gave him the tapes from the surveillance cameras that caught the accident and posterior escape."

"You are… sure it was an accident?" Jumin muttered, sitting down on the sofa.

"Jumin," Saeyoung said. "I would never lie about something like that".

The call was cut short after that, Saeyoung wishing MC a quick recovery and cracking a joke before saying goodbye. Not even a full minute after the call had ended, he saw MC coming from their bedroom, slow steps as she made her way to the kitchen.

“My love, you should be resting,” Jumin said as he stood up and joined her, his arm trying to steady her healing body. “If you need anything you can just call for me.”

MC shook her head. “It’s okay, I have to start with small steps, right?” she said, but let Jumin guide her to the kitchen table and took a seat. “But if you could brew some tea for me, that’d be great,” she smiled. Jumin nodded and started filling the kettle with some water.

If the accident had been just that-- an accident, then it was the right call not to tell the clinic about her medical records. Even if he was glad she hadn’t tried to take her own life this time, it didn’t erase the fact there had been an actual attempt a few years ago. What had made her take that choice? Had she regretted it? Would she ever consider it again if she didn’t find herself happy by his side?

“Are you okay?”

The voice of his wife brought him back to reality and saw the kettle had overflowed long ago, water still coming from the faucet. He closed the tap and nodded, pouring the excess of water on the sink.

“Are you sure?” she insisted. “You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

Jumin turned around and looked at her wife’s concerned face, his walls breaking down almost instantly at her doe eyes and small pout. He took a deep breath, knowing it would probably be the hardest conversation he would have with his wife.

“I saw your medical records,” Jumin confessed. It pained his heart to see her expression change to a fearful one, her eyes leaving his own as she seemed to search for something on the floor. MC began fidgeting with her hands, rubbing them together hastily.

Jumin let out a long sigh and sat next to her. There was nothing he wanted more but to take her in her arms, never wanting to see her afraid again, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He knew her ribs were still healing. Instead, he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently, trying to calm her down.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, his thumb stroking the back of his wife’s hand. “I just… I don’t understand. I want to know why.”

“Does it matter why?” MC quickly answered, her eyes still not meeting his.

“It does to me. I never felt more afraid than the day Assistant Kang informed me you had been in an accident. The sole idea of losing you is a nightmare I never want to go through. I wish I could understand why you took that decision so I make sure you never feel that same way again.”

A faint of a smile appeared on MC’s lips.

“Jumin… I-- I was in a very bad place. And I got help. I went to therapy and I… I’m fine. I was ‘clean’ for over a year before I met you. You don’t need to worry about me,” she assured him, her hands squeezing his back.

“If this isn’t supposed to make me worry, why didn't you tell me?”

He saw MC tensing up, a small grimace on her face as she turned her body to him. Her expression was stern, but her trembling bottom lip gave her away.

“Because…” she started, making an effort not to shed a tear while making her point across “that's not who I am anymore. Meeting you, someone that didn’t know me at my worst-- that was all I ever wanted,” she admitted with a sad smile. “I wanted a chance to meet someone who wouldn’t look at me like I’m broken, or like I can break again. Because I won’t. I’m not that woman anymore, Jumin, and I don’t want you to look at your wife and only think about her worst times.”

Jumin listened intently to MC in silence. He had never thought of her as broken, not even before finding out about what had happened. But it made sense his worry could make her feel insecure about her progress. He was thankful she put it into words, he wouldn’t have wanted to make her feel uncomfortable in any way.

“And I also didn’t tell you because I don’t owe my story to anyone. Not even my husband. This story is mine to tell or to silence. And I know it’s not like you looked for it, so I’m trying to be as open as I can, but--”

“MC,” Jumin interrupted her. “My love. My wife,” he took her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “I’m so happy you stayed,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly at the end. Tears started falling down from MC’s cheeks and she bit her lip, trying to calm herself down. “Maybe I wasn’t there for your worst. But I can promise I’ll be there for your best. I hope your best can be by my side.”

MC smiled and tried to dry the tears on her face with her shoulder. She winced in pain at the motion and immediately Jumin let go of her hands and offered her his handkerchief. MC accepted it and softly patted her skin.

“I didn’t want to tell you about it because of what happened to Rika,” MC confessed in a soft voice, her eyes searching her husband’s. “I know how dear she was to you. I didn’t want you to relive any bad memories.”

“Losing Rika was… worse for Jihyun than it was for me.”

“Maybe. But you told me she was your only female friend. That must have meant something,” MC reasoned, giving him his handkerchief back. Jumin set in on the table.

“I miss her,” he sighed. It was MC’s turn to take his hands in comfort. “But… It's been already six years since she left us. It still hurts, sure, but never enough to turn a blind eye at my wife’s pain. She was my friend but you’re the love of my life. There’s never going to be anything or anyone more important than you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I… I understand why you would want to keep it private but please, never do so in fear of upsetting me. With you by my side, there isn’t anything I can’t handle,” he said, taking her hands to his lips and leaving yet another kiss on them.

“I love you,” MC whispered, cupping Jumin’s face with her right hand. She smiled when her husband leaned his face against her palm and placed a kiss there.

“I love you too,” Jumin said, his eyes fixed on hers. “And I mean every word. I will make sure our years together are the best for both of us. I’ll keep the promise I made the day we got married five years ago: from this day on, you have a safe place in my arms.”

MC smiled and nodded, remembering her husband’s wedding vows. As he kissed her palm again, she realized she had nothing to worry about. This was still her second chance for a new life.

#mystic messenger #mysme #jumin han #mysme jumin #mm jumin #mm #jumin x mc #mysme jumin x mc #allie does commissions

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diavolodigitale · 3 years ago

Text

Heart of Stone

Cullen + red lyrium = the Big Sad

One of the favourites of mine when it comes to my own works. I absolutely loved writing it so I do hope it will find its reader one day.

Genres: Angst, Drama, Dark, Deviates From Canon, Hurt, Mental Health Issues

Pairing: Male Inquisitor Lavellan & Cullen Rutherford, (optional) Male Inquisitor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford

Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Cassandra Pentaghast, Solas, Cole, Vivienne

Rating: M for Might be disturbing for some readers

Size: around 18 pages

THE PAIRING IS OPTIONAL! This work is not intended to contain the pairing male!Lavellan/Cullen, but I am also completely fine if somebody chooses to read it that way.

The numbers in the text stand for the songs in my playlist you have to listen to while reading to get a better experience.

Here's the list of songs: 1. Soap&Skin - The Sun 2. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Katabasis 3. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Noir-Etang 4. Soap&Skin - Deathmental 5. L'Enfant De La Forêt - ...For The Love Of God 6. Soap&Skin - Janitor of Lunacy 7. Soap&Skin - Sugarbread 8. Soap&Skin - Marche Funèbre

(01) “Why won’t you let me out, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I thought you came here to talk. You always do.”

“I said don’t talk to me!”

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here… Have you abandoned?” Cullen twitched forward; the chains holding him clinked loudly in dead silence of the prison cell. “Have you? Have you, Inquisitor?”

Inquisitor turned away, afraid to look at the face of somebody he once called a friend. Pale, worn-out, and distorted, it resembled a shadow of a person, a spirit who escaped the Fade and now lurked among others with nothing reminding him of what he used to be.

“I want to see your eyes, Inquisitor. You made me like this, you keep me here. It’s all your fault.”

“It isn’t. You are here because I have faith in you. You won’t make me hate you, no matter what you say.”

“Oh, you already hate me,”—Cullen laughed insincerely—“I know you do. I can sense it. But there is still a chance…”

Inquisitor raised his head. He gripped the bars tightly and leaned forward, so close that he could feel cold iron touching the skin on his cheeks and forehead.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Cullen closed his eyes. His body was relaxed, hands were loosely hanging. The veins visible under half-transparent skin were pulsating red.

“If you could let me share the song with you…” he muttered under his breath. “It’s so serene. You’ll see, you’ll understand then. You left me here on my own with it, and I accepted it, and so will you.”

Inquisitor’s hands exploded with a burst of magic as he clutched the bars with all the force he had left in his weakened body. His teeth were grit and his head hurt. He tried to say something, but no sound came out – his throat seemed swollen and a feeling of pressure in his chest made it difficult to breathe.

“You owe me this. I’m here because of you. Listen to me”—Cullen made a pause, waiting for the Inquisitor to react—“Listen to me!” he shouted, gripping his fists and rattling the chains that bound him.

Lavellan looked him in the eyes, ready to suffer through whatever he had to tell him.

“The song I used to hear is nothing compared to this one…” went on Cullen in a less agitated manner. “It embraces, caresses… I would hear it in my sleep, but now I don’t sleep anymore... First, the dreams left, and now I don’t need to sleep at all. I just listen.”

“I’ll find the cure,” said Inquisitor in an attempt to persuade Cullen, though, not sounding confident enough to believe it himself.

“I don’t need any cure, Inquisitor. I am not sick. I need to get out of here, I need to feel the wind, the heat of it is KILLING me!”

“You have to withstand it. The lyrium will devour you if you don’t resist, you know that!”

Cullen chuckled. His voice was crispy and low after spending so much time in a cold cell without any food and water. He wasn’t denied it, he just refused to take any.

“You’re not supposed to resist,” he made a special emphasis on the last word. “It makes you stronger, it lets you see so much more… You have no idea.”

Inquisitor let go of the bars frozen by a sudden outburst of his magic. He barely managed to keep it inside as it wanted to get out so eagerly and uncontrollably. This place smelled of despair and desolation and it took away all the energy he had. He wanted to leave, but could not force himself to do so.

Cullen slowly hummed a few notes while crossing his legs on the bare stone floor. He drew deep long breath and a hint of a smile touched his chapped lips as he spoke.

“I hated mages. You already know that, I recon. As any other reasonable templar would do. I was afraid of their power, but now… Now I am not. Your magic doesn’t scare me, Inquisitor, because soon even you won’t be able to stop me.”

“I don’t want to stop you. I just want to help.”

“Help yourself, Inquisitor. You look pathetic.”

Lavellan looked not much better than his former Commander. He barely got any sleep, always having to help others, being not himself, but the Inquisitor. Those few free moments he had he would spend in this dungeon of anguish, chiding himself for what had happened to Cullen and making himself suffer by looking at the sufferings of the templar.

Time was passing by mercilessly. He wished he could stay there without any movement forever, but the whole world was frantically spinning around him and without his intervention everything could fall apart any minute. He threw one last tired look at the templar and left the prison, foolishly hoping the next time he came everything would be different.

“I’ll be here, Inquisitor. In case you want to chat.”

Cullen didn’t stop smiling. His posture was stiff and eyes were blank, glowing crimson red.

(02-03) “Inquisitor.”

“Yes, Solas?” Lavellan stopped to greet the elf with an exhausted half-smile on his face. He knew he couldn’t fool him, but the habit of pretending had already become a part of him.

“You’ve been there again. Don’t deny it.” Solas’ eyes were piercing the Inquisitor. It was not a question because he did not really need the answer, he knew everything intuitively. This terrifying power of his never left Lavellan any chance of retrieval.

“Yes, I have. I am trying to understand…” Inquisitor looked down in a kind of shame, like a child who did what was not allowed. “There must be something I can do,” he added quietly.

“If you really want to help him, you must put him out of his misery. This is the only option. The longer you wait, the more his condition deteriorates,” said Solas in a tone that did not allow for any disagreement.

The throbbing pain in his temples made Lavellan feel as if he also heard the song. The one that outvoiced all his thoughts and common sense, forced him to say what he didn’t mean and let slowly crawling insanity possess his mind.

“I don’t care. I do not care what you think, Solas!” he yelled, not paying attention to all the other people in the castle yard who were startled by his outburst of anger. “I will not abandon him, even if it will be the death of me!”

Solas frowned. This was the only visible sign of his dissatisfaction. Even though he greatly disapproved of what the Inquisitor’s opinion was, he would never lose his temper.

“You don’t belong to yourself anymore. People rely on you, and you have to remember that. Sometimes thousand lives are more important than one,” he simply said.

Lavellan shook his head, now feeling ashamed for his behaviour. He did not mean it, merely didn’t know how to defend his position anymore.

“I know… I am sorry,” he replied. “I promise to think it over. I just need some rest; it’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has. I understand, my friend. Great responsibility lies on your shoulders.” Solas patted Lavellan on the back. “Don’t try to carry it on your own. We are all here to share it with you.”

Inquisitor nodded gratefully and hurried to leave the unpleasant conversation behind.

“Varric wanted to see you. He looked worried,” said Solas after him.

“Thank you. I will see him at once,” answered Inquisitor, disappointed that he couldn’t be left alone even for a moment.

The dwarf was right were Lavellan assumed he would be – near the fireplace in the great hall, working on his drafts. The mage approached a wooden table and took a seat on a chair near Varric.

“Your Inquisitorialness,” said Varric and took his gaze off the pages scattered all over the table. “You look… good enough.” The expression on his face suggested he was of a different opinion.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Varric. You’re the only person here allowed to criticize me so we’re friends no matter what you say.”

“Okay, well, a little rough around the edges, but I’ve seen worse.” The dwarf smiled in a friendly way, finally put aside his soaked in ink quill and diverted all of his attention to the conversation.

“I appreciate the honesty,” said Lavellan. His head still hurt, but the tender warmth of the fire in the fireplace and the calm air always present around Varric made it easier to endure.

“Chuckles probably made it sound like a big deal, but there wasn’t really any significant reason I needed to see you. Just wanted to tell you that Cassandra took over all of Commander’s plans and… Well, she’ll take care of everything. Things will continue as planned.”

“I appreciate that as well,” said Inquisitor, his voice gradually becoming quieter. He knew he should talk to Cassandra. After all, her role in the Inquisition was already great enough, and now she had even more responsibilities to deal with. Yet he did not know what to tell her. He could neither congratulate her not say that he was sorry. All seemed wrong.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but let me say something. I know how it feels.”

Varric also possessed the ability to know what people around him thought about and it made the Inquisitor consider the fact that he was the only one who couldn’t see past the pretension of others. He couldn’t even understand his own thoughts, let alone somebody else’s.

He didn’t answer, just looked blankly in front of himself, right into the void, at nothing in particular.

“I lost my brother to it…” continued Varric.

“I’ve never heard you had a brother. What was he like?”

“Stubborn would probably be the best word to describe him.”

“Seems like you two had quite a lot in common,” said Inquisitor jokingly.

“Not really. He was this “businessman” type of guy – always thinking about profits and dubious affairs. And, unlike me, he wasn’t a charismatic and talented hero-lover.”

“Obviously. It is hard to find another dwarf like you.”

“Impossible, I would say”—Varric heaved a deep sigh and his tone shifted to a more serious one—“It’s difficult to come in terms with at the beginning, but sooner or later you just do. It’s long and complicated, but we’re all here to support you. We knew what we signed up for.”

Inquisitor thought that it wasn’t true. He didn’t know. Cullen didn’t know. Nobody knew. Even so, he would probably be able to accept any consequences if they applied to him personally, but he was not ready to watch others degrade that easily.

“You should go and lie down. My talks make you sleepy, apparently.” Varric gave Lavellan an encouraging wink in an effort to end the conversation on a higher note.

“It’s good to hear at least one actually useful advice today,” said Lavellan. “Let me know if anything needs my attention.”

“Of course.”

Varric dipped his quill in ink and continued writing. Inquisitor headed to his quarters, trying not to pass out from fatigue on his way there.

(04) The next time Inquisitor entered the dreary prison, he barely managed to hold in a scream of terror. Cullen’s state was rapidly decaying. Red lyrium crystals were nesting on him, tearing the pale skin from the inside, feeding on his flesh. The whole cell was illuminated by appalling red light emitted by the crystals that were now part of his body. It was unbearably hot down there – apart from light, the lyrium also radiated heat. Cullen hardly moved since the last time Inquisitor saw him.

“I thought you’d never come,” he said with the same ominous smile he demonstrated previously. There was neither kindness nor hospitality in it.

“I was busy.” Inquisitor swallowed his horror before the intimidating creature dwelling in the basement of his castle and approached the cell. “Does it hurt?”

“It used to. It was more painful when I tried to oppose my addiction. Now, having given in, I see that there was no point in it. The most difficult path isn’t always the right one.”

“I refuse to believe that this is really what you think!”

Lavellan’s right hand flushed with green light. His constantly pressured and distraught state of mind depressed his control over magic abilities, especially those concerned with the Mark. Closing small tears grew more and more troublesome, as his power did not obey him and instead forced more demons to come out of the Fade.

“I gain power while you lose it. How ironic.” Cullen’s red eyes were staring right into Inquisitor’s soul, omitting what was on the outside. Lavellan’s appearance made it obvious that he was also experiencing drastic changes, but Cullen did not need to see how he looked to know that he was broken already. “The Anchor doesn’t belong to you, so soon it will turn against you, the way it should’ve done long ago. And then the Master will take it.”

“The Master? Now you serve him? Cullen, have you forgotten what he did to our people? Haven’t you seen how the Sanctuary was destroyed?”

“I remember everything perfectly, and that is why I understand how fast he will achieve dominance over everything else. You’re blind, Inquisitor, and I gained my sight here, in this dark basement, thanks to you. I pity you for how miserable your efforts to defy us are.”

“You have never talked to him, Cullen. He is insane, he blatantly uses everyone who supports him. They are disposable! Do you really want to be one of them?”

“I don’t need to talk to him, I have the song. It’s with me all the time. Unlike you were.” Cullen stopped smiling and grimaced. “If the song I heard from usual lyrium reminded the voice of the Maker, then this one sounds like the Old God. Something greater than all of us, something indescribable and immensely strong. There is no Maker in the Golden City, Inquisitor. Nobody cares about your soul, might as well sacrifice it in the grand battle for this world. But betting on the right side.”

“Cullen, you’re not yourself anymore…”

“Have you just noticed? What kind of leader are you if you don’t pay attention to what is going on with your advisors and trusted ones? To how Leliana bends down under the weight of the decision she makes for you, to how the Bull is torn between what is dear to him and what he must do, to how Cole suffers every minute he is present in this world affected by the vices and sins people commit… And all because of you.”

Lavellan tried not to yield, not to show that every word pierced him like a dagger. Every day he thought about all the lost opportunities, missed chances and mistakes made. Every night he lay sleepless because of the regrets and guilt haunting him whenever he closed his eyes. He did not see darkness under the lowered eyelids, only the faces of people he lost to the war nobody was ready for. However absurd templar’s words were, he would believe them because he himself was disappointed in what leader he turned out to be. He tried not to yield but did it quite poorly.

“Even though you don’t admit it, I know you’re crushed. You’re as lost as the day the Breach opened and you were the only one to survive the explosion. I could show you the way… or end you. You decide.”

“I don’t need any help from you. You are not the person you pretend to be anyway... We’ll talk everything over, but only when I bring back the Commander I know.”

“How persistent,” said Cullen, stretching every word as if he was savouring them. “It’s a shame you weren’t so determined previously. Perhaps it would have saved a lot of lives and your beloved Commander in his previous form. Although, I am quite upset that you prefer to disown me now that you don’t like the way I am anymore. You turned out to be so shallow…”

“We’ve all seen what lyrium does to the templars, Cullen… Your words will not influence me because I know that it’s the Blight talking in you. Once you get rid of that filth—”

“You’re not really so certain, are you?” asked Cullen mockingly and laughed. “You think you can just rip it out of me, but it runs through my veins now. You can try whatever you want, you can break the crystals, you can cut them out, you can use your wretched magic, your Mark, yet you will not make the song go away. It will grow louder and stronger, and so will I.”

“You haven’t eaten for days, Cullen. You don’t sleep, you don’t talk to people. Your life slips through your fingers. Nobody is allowed to go down here except for me, so I am the only one who can help you. Please, don’t make it worse for the both of us.”

“I’m not the one making it worse. You are.”

Cullen turned his head away from the Inquisitor, not willing to talk anymore. The crystals on his body glimmered with red lights. There were no other light sources in the basement so Cullen’s face was illuminated only by this sinister glow. His eyes as well as the veins visibly pulsating under the dead-white skin of his drained body were red. Everything about him was red. The fetters around his wrists were covered in rust, but the glow of the crystals made it seem like they were rotting.

Lavellan couldn’t help but notice that most of the crystals were growing on his left shoulder and the appropriate side of his neck, forming a cluster. A number of smaller ones was spread over his stomach and forearms. Although he had already spent days in the cell, his body wasn’t as weakened and feeble as it should have been, and it scared the elf. He really wasn’t going to die or surrender that easily.

Inquisitor did not know how long he stood there without saying anything, just examining the former Commander. At one moment, the realization that he hated being there just dawned on him. He slept for a few hours and even tried to eat before coming, but now felt as if he hadn’t had any rest for weeks. The heat produced by the lyrium crystals made him feel feverish. His vision became dizzy and he thought that he may lose consciousness if he stayed here.

The room that always felt so empty now seemed to be filled with presence. Cullen was the only prisoner, but to Inquisitor the basement seemed overcrowded: he couldn’t breathe freely, his whole body hurt as if he was pushed around with heavy shoves. Convincing himself that there was nothing he could say or do to help Cullen right here and right now, he decided to leave.

Cullen said nothing.

(05) “Oh, dear, you look hideous,” said Vivienne, catching Inquisitor on his way to the war table. Her voice suggested that she was both unsatisfied and a little bothered. “We need to do something about that immediately,” she added, looking him up and down.

“I am sorry, Vivienne, but there is no time for that. One of our scouts went missing and we need to decide where we should start searching. I promise I’ll get some sleep later.”

“No-no, beauty sleep will not help you anymore. I’m afraid, we need to eliminate the cause of your worries or else you’ll scare all our allies away.”

“I know what you want to tell me and no, I will not—”

“This is not a discussion, my dear,” said Vivienne, interrupting Lavellan who already raised his hand as a sign of protest. “It’s difficult for all of us, but you cannot show your weakness. You represent the Inquisition and appearing like that is almost the same as telling everybody we are just a group of worthless bandits. Look at those clothes, at that face… You look like you were the one who sat in that cell with no fresh air and good company. Please, I beg you, don’t make me feel ashamed of you.”

“I cannot promise you to deal with what bothers me, but I will pull myself together,” managed to utter Inquisitor after a few seconds of silence.

“And the clothing.” Vivienne looked skeptically at the old torn leather armor Inquisitor had been wearing for god knows how many days.

“Yes, I will surely change it.”

“That is what I wanted to hear. Don’t let others use your vulnerability against you. Don’t look like you have any in the first place.”

Inquisitor nodded to the Grand Enchanter to pay his respect. She gave him a polite nod as well before leaving him in the great hall. In reality, he rarely shared her point of view regarding pretty much anything, but he just could not resist her openly: she was too powerful and too valuable. Her knowledge of Orlesian court and magic powers were of great use to the Inquisition so sometimes he just needed to say what she wanted to hear in order to keep their temporary peace.

He hurried to open the heavy wooden door that led to the command centre. All of his advisors had already gathered at the war table. All, but one.

As days went by, Inquisitor slowly descended into madness. He frantically slaughtered all enemies he met on his way being as merciless as never before. His magic powers grew to be more effective on the battlefield, burning, freezing, and crushing, but, at the same time, almost uncontrollable. There was no middle ground for him, only lethal blows. Each red templar he spotted made him furious beyond all reason – he used every single spell on them to see what dealt the most damage. He couldn’t use his healing powers anymore, but instead gained the ability to bring the strongest pain to every red lyrium addict he saw. Blackwall, Dorian and Varric shared his hate for the enemies they fought, but certainly did not approve of his methods. They thought nobody deserved that much suffering, no matter what they did.

When time allowed it, Lavellan would stop to examine the bodies of the deceased templars. He paid special attention to how the crystals rooting in their bodies developed and grew, how the skin around the ruptures looked and behaved. He killed countless knights, guards and marksmen, observing how different were states of their corruption. He noticed how crystals pierced their armour, making it part of them. Some of them wore helmets overgrown by it, so he wondered how they could even see anything. A few shadows he eliminated had arms completely covered in lyrium which made them much more dangerous than the others, raw lyrium being extremely harmful in any state, but at the same time filling their existence with agony: contact that close made them lose their humanity faster and degraded their physical and mental state.

Once on the Emerald Graves, Inquisitor, accompanied by his loyal followers, met a Behemoth. An enormous lump of red lyrium barely provoked the thought that it used to be a person – not a single part of its body remained intact, everything was completely covered with crystals. The air around it was pulsating with heat, and the red glow it emitted blinded them. The fight was long and tedious – Blackwall was severely injured after receiving a massive blow in his leg and Dorian exhausted all his magic forces and couldn’t continue without a dose of lyrium to boost them. When the existence of the monstrosity was finally ended by Inquisitor’s ice spell, they managed to catch a glimpse of a silhouette resembling that of a human being inside the Behemoth before it collapsed to the ground. The atmosphere became heavy, as they were crudely reminded that the creatures they were forced to fight used to be people at some point. Some of them, perhaps, didn’t choose this fate and would rather continue living their ordinary lives.

While his companions stood gloomy and silent, mulling over what happened to the world they once knew, Lavellan approached a pile of dust left of the Behemoth. He couldn’t lose such an opportunity to study it because it was the first specimen that was so corrupt that it wasn’t able to say a single word and could only scream and produce inarticulate sounds. Lately Inquisitor became almost obsessed with researching how lyrium developed in the bodies of templars, so all he could think about was finding out how it influenced human organism and seeing if it could be prevented somehow. He approached the pile and was extremely disappointed to see that there was almost nothing left in it. Being in some kind of frenzy, with his bare hand he grabbed a small lyrium crystal – the only visible part of the templar that hadn’t disintegrated yet. A few moments passed before Varric noticed what Lavellan was doing and hurried to him to drag him away from the pile and throw away the crystal. Inquisitor’s hand and fingers were already influenced by the mineral and a few deep burns were left on the skin.

All the way back to Skyhold Lavellan listened to Dorian lecturing him about how irresponsible he was. Blackwall silently frowned and lagged behind, holding on to the handle of his sword hanging in a scabbard on his side. Varric occasionally sighed and said that he agreed with Dorian. Inquisitor’s hand throbbed with pain but he did not really care. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he didn’t make any progress in researching the influence of lyrium.

He stopped visiting the prison at Skyhold. He was afraid to descend there and see something more terrifying that he had already seen. He wanted to send somebody down to check on Cullen occasionally, and Leliana agreed to come herself, not wanting anybody else to become the witness of what happened to the Commander of the grand Inquisition. She feared they would lose their influence and authority if the details about Cullen’s corruption became public; the Inquisitor feared he would lose any hope left after seeing his friend one more time.

After one of the visits, Leliana reported that Cullen’s left arm is covered with red lyrium crystals up to his elbow already. Apart from that, she added that he also refused to talk to her. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

(06) “So… how are you doing here, Cole?” asked the Inquisitor his ghostly companion one gloomy evening. He couldn’t forget what Cullen said about him not caring about his friends. He was troubled to learn they were down, but recently just didn’t have the time to address that.

“This place is not a home. Too dark. Everybody’s hurt.” The spirit lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat.

“Are you hurt too?” carefully inquired Lavellan.

“I don’t know. They are. I absorb the pain, it stings like bees, but stronger. But it brings relief to the others.”

“You don’t have to help them if it is hard for you. It’s impossible to help everybody. I don’t want you to feel pain because of that, Cole,” said Inquisitor, concerned about the spirit. He knew that comforting others was the actual reason his friend existed, but didn’t want to tolerate such state of affairs nonetheless.

“I came here to help. Pain is temporary, death is not. I take the pain and put up with it for a short while, and they are free and calm. Better than listening to their screams.”

“I see…”

It was always difficult to communicate with Cole. He was there but also in hundreds other places at the same time. He responded to questions, but was talking about something only he saw and understood. He looked like a young boy, so everybody perceived him as such, but, in reality, he knew much more than any other person in the castle. He knew about misfortunes of every soldier in the Inquisition, about their worries and fears, but nobody really knew anything about him. Inquisitor was sorry that he didn’t take enough time and make enough effort to get to know this sad entity better.

“You are the only one I can’t help. I see your pain, it’s red and dense and floats like a haze. You are surrounded by people, but they are not there. You’re alone and lost in the fog and you suffocate. I want to help.”

Lavellan moved the hat from Cole’s eyes to see his face. Usually there was no expression on it, but it was important to see his eyes to establish at least some kind of contact.

“I know, Cole. I know. But it’s my burden, and I will carry it. Others here are also miserable, so just do what you can for them. Whatever you feel right.”

“I tried to take away your fear.” Cole looked Lavellan directly in the eyes. “I come when you sleep, I watch, try to lead the demons away. They are strong, bloody, proud, drag heads of their victims as trophies. You don’t let them in, yet the fear stays. You need to rest, but not sleep. Watch yourself.”

Cole suddenly disappeared as he sometimes did. Lavellan remembered him standing beside him a second ago, but now he wasn’t there anymore. Some of Inquisition’s soldiers and commanders were against Cole’s stay in Skyhold, but the Inquisitor remained unshaken in his decision. He saw what the boy did to help those who were in need, and it was more than he himself could have ever done. The spirit didn’t disappear out of a sheer wish, somebody needed him. He always answered the call.

(07) Lavellan was lying on the side of his bed, twisted and rolled up in a blanket. The bedsheet around him was crumpled and wet from sweat. He was in fever, as if instead of frosty mountains outside of Skyhold only sand dunes enveloped him with unbearable heat. He was delirious and mumbling something to himself. Before his eyes was the same prison cell he chose not to visit anymore. Crystals grew from every wall, from the ceiling and stone floor. They seemed to be alive, breathing and singing the song. Parts of mutilated human, elven, and dwarven bodies were stuck in the lyrium, feeding it with last drops of blood left in them, making its red colour more prominent and vivid. Inquisitor saw familiar faces captured eternally inside the crystals, lifeless, pale, and distorted. He gripped his staff tightly, ready to fight whoever would come to face him. His injured fingers hurt but he tried not to focus on the pain.

“I hoped to see you once again,” said the voice he knew all too well. He turned around and saw Cullen sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the wall. He wasn’t chained. “I was so upset you stopped visiting,” he continued.

“I couldn’t…” started Lavellan, but Cullen did not want to listen.

“I know what had really happened. You thought I was a burden and you had no wish to continue coddling me. But who will take the responsibility, Inquisitor Lavellan?”

“You should ask your new master about that!” yelled Lavellan angrily. He didn’t really know how much responsibility laid on him for all what had happened, but now he didn’t want to admit anything at all. Not before Cullen.

“He is doing what he must, and you are making things more complicated. Do you really believe you are a hero? A Herald of Andraste? You’re just a thief!”—Cullen spat on the floor in front of him—“All you know is stealing and deceiving. Who gave you the right to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Why do you think it was better for me before I changed? Tell me, I want to know.”

“I’ve seen what this “transformation” does to the others. They become inhumane, forget their language, families, friends. They live in constant pain and their life is deprived of meaning. You don’t need to be the Herald to understand that.”

“I am different. They are unworthy, nobody cares about them. Do you know the names of all your soldiers, Inquisitor? Do you mourn the death of every one of them? Then why do you worry about those templars so much? They have their own fate and will be rewarded for their diligence. Unlike all those people stuck in here with me,” said Cullen and smiled, waving his already corrupt hand in the direction of ghastly faces behind the glass surface of red crystals on the walls.

“Are you now tormenting people who worked with you and admired you?” Lavellan felt dizzy. He used his staff to help himself stand straight, but his energy was being drained by the red lyrium filling the room. “What kind of commander are you?”

“An improved one. You should’ve noticed how insecure I used to be. Afraid that people would judge me for what I say or do, afraid to confess to you about my decision to stop taking lyrium. Wasn’t it hilarious? Perhaps, you kept me close because I amused you.”

“No, I didn’t. You were one of the best people I have ever known. It’s a shame you turned into this.”

The mark on Inquisitor’s hand started glowing and he felt as if he would lose consciousness soon. His vision got blurry, making it difficult to concentrate on the templar.

“Oh, I know what you feel now…” Cullen laughed repulsively. “Fear, regret, disbelief, disappointment… A little bit of sorrow maybe? Don’t try to lie to me.” He stood up. No shackles held him, now he was free to do whatever he wanted. “Are you ready to face the truth?”

Lavellan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to escape the nightmare. He knew this couldn’t be real.

He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the bed in his quarters. Cole was sitting beside him, silently saying his mantra. He stopped when noticed that Inquisitor was already awake.

“I heard your scream. Nobody here screams that loudly, only whimpers. It was almost too late. The haze swallowed you, I didn’t see, couldn’t find. I am glad you believed me.”

“The thought that it’s just a dream… Did it come from you?” Lavellan removed the blanket and sat on the bed.

“Yes. I wanted to destroy the fear and regret, but could only take you out of the nightmare. You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Thank you, Cole… Could you stay with me?”

“That is what I implied.”

Lavellan didn’t feel like closing his eyes again.

(08) “This is impossible! We do not have time and resources to do it!” said Cassandra. Her voice sounded as agitated and decisive as always.

“I need it! I’m not asking you to bring me Coryphaeus himself, just a few red templars.”

“You have lost your mind! How can we capture them alive if even touching them may be lethal? It’s too dangerous. You know that they never surrender.”

“It can change everything. The lyrium in dead templars is most likely also dead, there is no use of it, but if we bring them here alive… I will be able to study it, I’ll examine how it responds to different treatments and…”

“They already suffer! Even if they look like monsters, they are under the influence of it. You want to torture them even more, doesn’t it bother you?”

“What bothers me is the absence of any results in my studies, Cassandra. I need at least a tiny bit of useful information.”

Inquisitor was uncompromising, but Cassandra did not want to agree to his proposal. After all, the Inquisition was still part of the Chantry and they simply couldn’t capture templars and experiment on them. She was one of the people who started the Inquisition and didn’t want to see it come crashing down.

She sighed.

“We will make a decision at the council meeting.”

“Then tell everybody to gather.”

As one of the advisors, Cassandra made it clear that she didn’t support this endeavour of the Inquisitor. Leliana, being more practical and open-minded, decided that they should take the risk in case there was at least one possibility to gain some intel in the process. Even if they didn’t learn how to cure the corruption, they would probably discover the templars’ weak spots. Josephine was inclined to support Cassandra out of her morals, but seeing Lavellan in such despair made her budge.

Two people were in favour, so they started the operation.

Cassandra feared that soon they would not be able to keep Inquisitor in line. He was becoming more and more radical in his methods and didn’t share his thoughts with them anymore. He was grim, slept only three hours a day and most of his time spent in the libraries or on the battlefields. From the latter he would often come injured without even noticing it, as if he couldn’t feel it or didn’t care enough to notice. Their cause was still a priority to him, but determination and hope vanished from his eyes. They became dull and cold.

When first templars were delivered to the castle, he locked himself in the forge with them and didn’t come out for a few hours. Nobody was allowed to enter. There were no screams, but the silence made it seem even worse. Everybody was on the edge, not knowing what to expect. It happened a few more times, but the Inquisitor never shared anything about what he did or what results his experiments showed. As time passed, he became even more withdrawn and solitary. Solas tried talking to Lavellan about the Commander and what his inertness did to him, but with no success. Inquisitor was deaf to all inquiries.

When the blizzard settled down and the sun managed to send a few rays through thick clouds, one of the Inquisition’s soldiers knocked on the door to Lavellan’s quarters.

“Come in,” said Inquisitor, not bothered to look away from the book he was reading.

“My lord, Sister Leliana went on her usual check and he wasn’t there…” The soldier started stammering as Lavellan abruptly pierced his gaze into him. “He escaped,” mumbled the soldier.

Inquisitor knew it would end like this. He awaited it and feared.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #Cullen #Inquisitor #Fanfiction #Fiction #Varric Tethras #cassandra pentaghast #Solas #Cole #Lavellan #Cullen Rutherford #Vivienne #Angst #red lyrium

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