#been healing and as a result it comes up. everything i suppressed. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crosstheveil · 1 year ago

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Psyche: Emotions (I)

Emotions are deeply connected to the stories that we tell ourselves. The narrative spun by threads of our internal state and its interactions with the world. Far from being erratic or uncontrollable, these emotional narratives are not discovered, but rather constructed based on our experiences.

Unresolved Stories

Often, the experience of emotion can seemingly influence us from a subconscious place and this can be difficult for those unwilling to face their reality. It’s usually due to buried ideations and ties which come along with the emotion itself. If our mind and body aren't communicating properly, we may not understand what's happening or be able to handle the experience. This can result in unresolved or “trapped” emotions that linger in the body.

If you don't deal with an emotional event, it can stick with you long after it happened, changing the way you understand and respond emotionally over time. If you were scared during a past event and never dealt with that fear, you might be scared or want to run away from things that remind you of it, even if they're not actually scary. If you were rejected in a past relationship and never addressed it, you might start to carry a sense that you're always unwanted, even when that’s not true.

In the context of our emotional narrative, having unresolved emotion is equivalent to the protagonist of a story rejecting their call to adventure. They choose instead to live blindly in spite of what they’ve seen, dismissing the urge to embark on a journey that could potentially transform everything they’ve ever known. As a result, they find themselves trapped in a life of monotony, every day is the same as the previous with the veil of comfort and predictability serving as their shield against change.

When this happens, we essentially are choosing to live untruthfully by denying and ignoring our experiences. We allow issues from the past to dictate our future actions and perceptions rather than dealing with them to ensure our current responses align with our present reality. We’re not living our own truth, but a distorted version of ourselves.

Consider what has been left unexpressed, undigested, or misunderstood, as a lingering shadow of the psyche, existing in a peculiar state of temporal suspension. Something neither dead or alive—a ghost—ritualized, haunting the corridors of the mind and trapped in a cycle of reiteration.

Emotional Conditioning

Societal and relational expectations significantly influence our emotional experiences, shaping our understanding of when and how to express certain emotions. In addition, the familial and cultural context in which we grow up plays a prominent role in defining the emotions we should experience or suppress in varied circumstances.

Our past experiences and memories, both pleasant and traumatic, condition our emotional response in specific situations, and trigger certain modes of thinking and feeling. We develop specific thought forms and emotionally vibrate at a particular frequency which is not mutually exclusive.

Physical health also plays a crucial role. Just as a well-tuned instrument produces harmonious sounds, regular exercise, sufficient sleep, and good nutrition are instrumental in constructing a healthy emotional life.

Alongside these factors, our self-concept has a considerable sway over our emotions. From a more spiritual perspective, the animating force which brought us into being might be said to have an underlying motivation or a causal relationship to the universe and this has the potential to influence the deeper yearning of our emotional narrative in spite of physical limitations or even on behalf of them.

In other words, our conditioning might be interpreted as a lesson that our ego is meant to learn from and overcome in the direction that our true self is guiding us. A process of awakening to the illusions that have surrounded us, turning challenging experiences into opportunities for healing and rediscovery. In this context, the true self is conceived as the pure, unadulterated essence of our being—open, curious, and inherently wise—while the ego is seen as a collection of adaptive strategies, tactics developed to deal with adversity and suffering which is a consequence of physical limitation—illness, aging, scarcity, loss, and ultimately, death.

Making Decisions

Our environment, thoughts, and feelings are the most immediate co-authors of our emotional story. The external world influences our emotions just as much as the choices we make within it. Thinking and feeling is influenced by a social reality and our self-concept. Our thoughts can rationalize our emotional narrative by telling us what is correct or incorrect, while our feelings can intensify or mitigate them by appraisal or condemnation.

When overly attuned to feelings, people might experience heightened intensity or overwhelming emotions, which can trigger anxiety and excessive rumination. Our thought patterns can aid us in effectively coping with our feelings or they can heighten our emotional distress. By identifying and challenging misplaced affiliations or maladaptive thinking, we can alter our emotional response to various situations.

The act of writing and creating art serves as a conduit for our thoughts and feelings, allowing us to externalize and examine them in a tangible form. This process of externalization is crucial in refining our thoughts, as it enables us to confront and scrutinize them, thereby reducing the likelihood of acting impulsively or erroneously. As we dissect our thoughts, challenge our biases, and confront our fears, we gain a clearer understanding of our emotional landscape, guiding us to make more intentional decisions.

Surface Changes

Individuals who have suffered from experiences such as sexual abuse may exhibit patterns of frequent sexual encounters. This can often be an attempt to regain a sense of control over their body and sexuality, which was compromised due to their traumatic experiences.

These encounters can provide a temporary respite from deep-seated insecurities and a need for validation, each new partner offering transient affirmation. On the surface, they might rationalize their behavior as personal preference, desire for diversity, or belief in sexual liberation. They may see their actions as a natural expression of their sexuality or as living life freely.

However, these explanations often overlook the underlying psychological issues. During these sexual encounters, they might not be fully emotionally present, instead using the behavior as a way to escape distressing memories and feelings related to their trauma. This paradox of trauma responses can result in relationships that are less about connection, intimacy, or pleasure, and more about re-experiencing traumatic events or dissociating from the feelings they induce.

As a result, these individuals might find themselves in a cycle of fleeting satisfaction, which does little to address their long-term feelings of worthlessness, their continual need for validation, and difficulties in forming meaningful relationships. This cycle, while providing temporary relief, doesn't effectively help them navigate the impact of their traumatic experiences.

Not being able to effectively process and understand our thinking and feeling patterns, including how they are influenced by the environment and how they impact our self-concept leads to stagnation and pseudo-changes.

In the film "American Beauty," Lester Burnham is dissatisfied with his life. He is working a job he hates, his relationship with his wife is strained, and he feels disconnected from his teenage daughter. After developing an infatuation with his daughter's friend, Angela, Lester decides to make changes in his life. He quits his corporate job, starts working at a fast-food restaurant (a job he used to have in his youth and reminisces about), and buys the car he's always dreamed of.

In his mind, these surface changes will lead to happiness, but he doesn't confront the underlying issue—his lack of communication with his family, the lack of love in his marriage, and his inability to express his feelings effectively. Rather than addressing these problems, Lester regresses to a state of adolescent-like rebellion. He's more focused on fulfilling shallow desires and fantasies which only reinforce the status quo and inhibit personal development.

Another example of this is found in the film “Revolutionary Road,” following a couple, Frank and April Wheeler, in the mid-20th century, who are struggling with their identities, dissatisfaction with suburban life, and the realization of unfulfilled dreams. April comes up with a plan to move the family to Paris. The plan is for her to work and support the family, while Frank takes the time to discover his true self and his passions, which they believe will lead to happiness and fulfillment. This radical plan excites them, they feel invigorated, seeing it as a chance to escape their monotony, and it temporarily alleviates their emotional distress.

However, neither Frank nor April address their inability to communicate effectively, the dissatisfaction with their personal accomplishments, and their struggle to reconcile with the mundane reality of life compared to their ambitious youthful dreams. They shifted the blame to their environment with no effort to change behavior by developing their character.

Consequently, when Frank is offered a promotion at his job, he decides to take it, using the excuse of being "responsible." April gets pregnant, and their plans for Paris are completely abandoned. They return to their old life, their old roles, and their old dissatisfaction.

Curated Narratives

As a child, we’re born with seemingly limitless potential to take on any path if provided with suitable conditions. When bitterness and resentment is fostered in our upbringing, this negativity can manifest in various forms, such as criminal behavior, substance abuse, or continued cycles of harm. These struggles persist with cognition into our future, even if we manage to escape a damaging environment. Without the courage to confront deeply ingrained norms and to mature beyond our conditioning toward a sense of self-worth that is unconditional, changes in circumstances are inconsequential.

No matter how much control we desire to possess, if we aren’t aware of our emotions, we may find ourselves passively adrift, guided by unseen forces. Just as the moon sways the tides of the ocean while the sun guides the same undercurrents in a less apparent way, our lives can be pulled in various directions from what clearly happens on the surface to the subtler forces that are not immediately apparent.

We need to learn the difference between what is felt to be lacking and what is truly motivating that sense of lack. Let’s say that a man perceives a lack of intimacy in his marriage, believing his wife isn't affectionate or attentive enough. This perceived deficiency leads him to consider seeking affection elsewhere. However, the real issue is not his wife's perceived lack of affection, but rather the man's struggle with vulnerability which could be rooted in childhood experiences where his emotional needs were discouraged or even punished. We might say this led to difficulties in expressing his desires as an adult.

Inability to communicate this disowned part of himself effectively is the root of misinterpretation and miscommunication in his relationship. Additionally, there might have been a culture valuing his achievement or his role as a man led him to equate success with love, fostering a sense of entitlement. Instead of seeking affection outside his marriage, he should better address the problem by making an effort to develop where he is operating dishonestly with himself.

Each challenge we confront serves as a mirror, not merely reflecting our conscious perception of inadequacies, but also revealing the unexplored depths of our unconscious mind. They expose defensive projections of blame or doubt, and the hidden fears that often direct our decisions.

For those who dealt with relentless criticism during their childhood, they may unknowingly internalize these harsh remarks, developing into an excessively self-critical adult. This incessant scrutiny forms a constant reel of self-deprecation, ultimately undermining their self-esteem and eclipsing their natural desires. The persistent dismissal of their personal needs depersonalizes their experiences, thereby dampening their natural inclination towards intimacy and closeness.

Acknowledging these childhood wounds and the accompanying trauma allows us to identify the gaps in our perception and learn to fill them with kindness and compassion. This is not about rejecting or erasing past experiences, but reconciling the multifaceted nature of these experiences, fostering a balanced perspective that isn't overwhelmed by the narrow subjective echo of our past.

Emotional Integration

Emotional regulation aims to consciously navigate our interactions with the world, bridging our internal emotional state and external circumstances. It involves the balanced management of our thinking and feeling, responding not purely from an objective viewpoint, but from a place of accountability for an emotional life that is anchored coherently in time and space. Only by actively engaging with the world as it emerges in the present moment can we ground our abstract emotional narratives into tangible experiences.

Emotions reflect our past experiences, our present actions, and our future expectations. By understanding and managing them, we empower ourselves to revise their script. Our emotions are stories, and we are the authors. We have the power to steer the narrative and evolve in a direction that serves us more fully.

Focusing solely on the aspects that have shaped our identity, we risk deteriorating beyond our current state. However, by recognizing the potential of an ideal and our capacity for change, we have the ability to develop into a version of ourselves that aligns more closely with our true nature. Every impression contributes to the full image of who we are and it’s only by uniting our darkness with the light that we free ourselves from the oppressive force of denial and ignorance.

#emotion #regulation #thoughts #feelings #emotions #psychology #psyche #memories #continuity #potential #suffering #change

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entrepreneurstreet · 1 year ago

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Aarya Sufiana Explains Why Excessive Obsession with Positivity is Actually Harmful.

In today's fast-paced world, there is a growing obsession with positivity. We are constantly bombarded with messages telling us to "stay positive" and "focus only on the good." With books like The Secret, and so many abundance and manifestation coaches this problem is multiplying manifold today. But according to feminine empowerment coach Aarya Sufiana, this perpetual obsession with positivity can actually be harmful.

"Positivity is important, but it's not the whole picture," says Aarya. "Life is about yin and yang, and we certainly need both light and dark experiences to grow." She gives us the metaphor of the Japanese art, Kintsugi, where a broken pot is joined back together and the cracks are painted with golden light, making the pot even more beautiful.

Aarya explains that just like a battery requires both positive and negative ions to light a torch, our lives require both positive and negative experiences to create not just balance but also to bring out the best in us, like the torch. Moreover, she says, "When we live in a world that shames our dark qualities or emotions, we create a sub personality - our shadow side, where we hide our dark emotions with the fear of being judged, and as a result, our REAL SELF gets lost behind the FAKE MASKS leading to multitudes of physical and mental illnesses. Medical Science has proved this time and again with many patients who were diagnosed with life threatening diseases."

Furthermore, Aarya argues that by constantly striving for this kind of PERFECTION, we are also participating in what is termed in modern psychology as 'Spiritual bypassing', which is the tendency to use spiritual concepts to cover up the real psychological issues. This is not REAL spirituality, where everything is always expected to be shanti, shanti and so peaceful.

Instead, Aarya encourages her clients to embrace all of their emotions and experiences, dark and light. "If you wish to heal, you must be willing to FEEL", says Aarya with a playful smile.

Infact, this is the very reason why one of the most important lessons her Leadership students go through, is SHADOW WORK (a journey to re-integrate their rejected parts), which is the process that helps people have the biggest breakthroughs in every aspect of their lives, be it personal healing, attracting love, abundance, having a successful career etc.

The most important fact that she points out in spiritual bypassing is that our feminine side is also bypassed/suppressed which is- our intuition, gut instinct, our faith in the universal wisdom- "For instance", says Aarya, "what if universe had granted me my positive desires of being in perfect health, having my first love, family etc. etc., I would not have come on the path of spirituality, if I had not been DISEMPOWERED, I wouldn't have been so passionate about empowering other women. Just as there is Yin within Yang and yang within yin in the Chinese symbol, so also, there is a profound gift in our dark experiences, if they're met with love and wisdom."

It is for this very reason, one of the biggest teachings in shadow work sessions, is to hold the light of empathy and compassion for one's own dark side rather than judgement; as the famous saying goes- "Whatever we resist, persists." If Spirituality is the journey of TRANSFORMATION, Aarya reminds us that we cannot transform something unless we first fully ACCEPT it.

Focusing on being happy ALL the time and thinking positive ALL the time is the biggest cause of anxiety and other health problems as it puts people in fear/guilt and shame mode.

Aarya's approach to embracing both the light and dark side, is a refreshing reminder that life is not always sunshine and rainbows. It's okay to experience challenging emotions, and it's important to allow ourselves to feel them, talk about them, and normalize them. By doing so, we can create a more balanced and fulfilling life.

So the next time you find yourself obsessing over positivity, remember Aarya's words: "We can only create a POSITIVE life, by lovingly listening to the hidden messages in the negative side as well. Embrace all of your emotions and experiences, like accepting every wave in the ocean, and trust that when you meet every wave with the wisdom of your soul, your life will become THE GREATEST WORK OF ART, beyond your imagination."

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therewasatale · 3 years ago

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his scars

On Ao3.

Summary: Each Lord had their own rules, and you have broken Lord Heisenberg's.

Note: I saw a bunch of fanarts with Heisenberg having a lot of scars, so I played with the idea.

Each Lord had their own rules. Which if their servants did not follow, they had to pay a heavy price.

Rules like that; you must not go to the lower levels of the factory alone. If Lord Heisenberg said something, you had to do it without question, especially for your own safety. And if you visited his private room, you always had to knock before entering.

You’ve always followed two of them. However, your attention slipped over the last one as you hurried out of the elevator to Heisenberg's room. At each step, you could feel the slow, rhythmic thumping of the factory from behind and below you as the various machines and tools worked non-stop. Every click, tap, or squeak has become as familiar to you as your very being.

Pulling closer the book you got from him a month ago, you tried to gather your thoughts about what you wanted to say. You'd have never thought a darker fantasy would appeal to you so much. It had a mystery, a bunch of different, but still interesting characters, and an oppressive background that the story slowly began to bring to light by the end of the first book. The ending was open for a promising sequel.

And you entered his room. Without knocking.

Inside, the smell of thick tobacco and oil rushed your senses.

"Heisenberg, I brought back the book! And imagine it's already-"

"WHAT IN THE LIVING HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" He yelled.

You froze in place in the doorway. The sudden shout shook you up completely and you gripped the book tighter in your hand so you wouldn’t drop it.

Your gaze was immediately drawn to the man, as he was standing by the bed.

Heisenberg's shirtless upper body was covered in a myriad of thin scars, like cobwebs across his entire body. Starting at his neck, they ran down his chest all the way to his waist, and probably continued under the pants. The scars on his arms were gnarly, from long healed injuries, which were most likely the results of fights. However, some of those on his chest were too straight and clean to come from an accident.

"Get. Out." He didn't look into your eyes. Objects trembled around him. A knife rose into the air from his desk. "NOW!"

You didn’t look back when the door slammed close behind you. Not when the elevator was already climbed up a few levels. And not even when you got to your own room and threw your back at the door. You felt like a hand was wrapped around your throat and it began tightening its fingers, ever so slowly.

Long minutes passed and yet you still felt as if your heart was trying to break out of your chest. The only thing you could clearly hear besides the beating of your heart, was your own panicked breathing.

"Shit..." you slid down with trembling legs. You had to wrap your hands around your body to try stop the trembling.

It was over.

You broke his rule. And now he's going to kill you, if you're lucky, he will make it quick.

Each Lord had their own rules, and now you have broken Lord Heisenberg's. Like a stupid fucking kid.

"Shit!"

You were aware of the fact that the people in the Dimitrescu castle disappears and got replaced very often, and you were really surprised how different Heisenberg was from what you imagined. He shouted a lot and swore even more, but he never tried to hurt you, even on his worst days, he just grumbled impatiently and vented his frustration on his machines.

He was loud, but understanding in his harsh way. Impatient, but still a good listener on his good days. He was rough, but you knew he cared about you, in his own grumpy way.

You were happy. You enjoyed living here.

But now...

Now you had to get out of here.

The sudden thought helped to clear your head with such force that you have managed to get on your feet. You didn't want to die. You didn't deserve death for a complete nonsense.

You had to get away.

Heisenberg waited while as the elevator started upwards.

He didn't even have to move his hand. The knife spun around its axis then it slammed into the wall with tremendous force, then again and again and again. It didn't stop until the blade bent from the force. His fingers trembled, bolts and gears threw themselves around him in all directions. The legs of his bed buckled as the springs in his mattress straightened, pierced trough the material and then snapped and shot themselves into the ceiling.

"Fuck!" He grabbed his dirty-gray hair and pulled it hard enough so the pain would clear his head a bit. He needed to calm down before he smashed everything around him. The bed creaked behind him, as two of its legs finally gave up and fell to the ground with a thud. Then there was silence again. This snapped him out from his blind anger.

He shut his eyes tightly. Letting his shoulder sunk, he took a step back and threw his back against the cold wall. He needed to take a few deep breaths to slow down his pounding heart.

When he opened his eyes the first thing that caught his eye, was a scar running through his forearm. He clearly remembered getting it in a fight against a bunch of lycans. Years ago, when he started constructing his factory the territory of the lycans stretched all the way to the area where the main building would be. At the time, they didn’t even know who they were facing and sometimes they ventured through the fence. That evening, Heisenberg did not expect them in such numbers, let alone that they will attach wooden spears on their arm to counteract his powers.

With a sharp exhale he lowered his arm.

Those creatures became what they were thanks to Cadou. Technically, they were all related. He took a deep breath, knowing it well that these thoughts didn’t help and were not important right now.

He gave himself a disgusted look before he got dressed. When he buttoned the last button on his shirt, only then he let his thoughts wander again. An unpleasant feeling settled into his chest.

You saw him. And now you will run away.

It was over.

He knew that the body he had to live in was utterly repugnant. The body which was experimented on by Mother Miranda, conducting studies and surgeries until she was satisfied with it. The body she put the parasite in and which cursed him with this fate. He hated her for making him this way, and he hated himself for being her child.

He still woke up time to time drenched in sweat from nightmares where he has been implanted with the parasite over and over again.

It spread throughout his body and turned his existence into pure hell. His thoughts burned away by the eruption of the unbearable pain, he felt as if his chest would open up and his heart would tear itself out of its place. However, the worst part of it all, was the realization that something was trying to subsume his consciousness. Claws tore into his brain and tried to suppress part of his being. It was almost successful, but Heisenberg held on.

And when he woke up after the procedure, he found himself in a whole new hell.

You were the only thing, along with the constant building, that kept him happy day by day, and helped suppress his raging hatred. On the worst days he still could felt the Cadou trying to making its way into his head. But you always were there to help him, or at least, you tried and he was grateful, even when he didn't say anything.

He knew full well that this would not last forever. Because why would it last? In this godforsaken horrible place everything fell to pieces and rotted apart eventually.

He took out a cigar from the depths of his coat.

He didn't want anything; he didn't ask to being like this. And yet you stayed with him. He had you. But now, you saw him.

The bitter smoke slowly rose from his lips.

Everything was over.

Hours have passed. Night arrived, or just the tiredness told you that.

You thought about running away again and again trying to figure out how, and when you should do it. The first thing you thought was that you had to find a way to do it as soon as possible. The elevator was an option, but you would have risked running into Heisenberg, or, more dangerously, into his servants. He could send them after you at any time.

It was risky.

Or there was a ventilation system that weaved through the factory. You could use that, though you were afraid of getting lost inside of it forever rather than getting out. Escaping trough, the dumpster promised only similar chances.

You even started to think that maybe first, you should talk to the man. Or at least try to talk to him. Though your reasonable-self protested profusely against this emotional suggestion.

However, your pride also spoke up and somehow, it made you stay. You're not going to run. Not anymore. Not from him.

So, you waited.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you hoped you would have a chance to talk to him. You just couldn’t decide when to go to him. Every part of your body shivered as Heisenberg's angry voice echoed in your head. You had to go to talk to him, but you were simply unable to leave your room, at least for now.

Fortune was on your side for once.

Your door opened slowly. You felt your shoulders tense up and you swallowed dryly. You couldn’t look up at him.

"I thought you would have left already." His voice didn't sound as harsh, as you would have expected.

You glanced up at the man who was leaning against the doorframe. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his eyes were hidden behind his black sunglasses.

"Why should I leave?"

"Well," despite his words his voice sounded surprised "I yelled at you."

"You've yelled before."

Heisenberg snorted a little and rubbed his hair under his hat. This didn’t go as he thought it would. "Well yeah, but..." his words let him down.

"What happened to you? I mean your body…?" You got up from your bed. He was just a few steps away from you.

The man drummed with his fingers a couple of times on his arms. "I fell."

"Heisenberg..." you took a careful step towards him.

"Lord Heisenberg." He corrected you. "If my bitch mother is forcing this prestigious bullshit then we should keep to it." He sounded more annoyed than angry. He continued to drum slowly with his fingers, but you could also feel his eyes watching you from behind his glasses.

"I'm sorry that I didn't knock."

For long minutes, the only thing could be heard was the rhythmic thumping background sounds of the factory.

"Well...Yeah..." He scratched his graying hair slowly as he pushed himself away from the doorway. "Listen, if you want to go, then go. I'm not going to stop you, just don't ever comeback. All right? Have a nice life, or whatever. That giant trash is actually looking for new maidens," He turned around.

You managed to stand up and hurried after him stopping him in front of the elevator.

"What?" Heisenberg glanced down at your arms as you hugged him. "(Y/N)?"

"I'm sorry." You snuggled closer to his back, hiding your face in the fabric of his coat.

"For what?" His hands shook, he had to stop himself from touching your arms. The thought made him tremble a bit, but he realized that you were trembling too. You were so close to him, he could felt your body against his, your finger griped into his clothes.

"For not knocking. And not saying sorry. And for not trying to talk to you." His coat smelt like tobacco and oil, just like everything around him did in this place. For you, it felt like home.

When he didn't answer, you spoke again.

"I don't want to leave. I'm sorry."

There was another quiet minute. You were about to let him go when he finally found his voice.

"Are you sure? But you saw me." He carefully caressed your hand with his fingers. "You saw what that bitch did to me."

So, you were right, those wounds were too straight to be from some kind of accident.

With your eyes closed you enjoyed the gentle touches, as he run his fingers along the top of your hands, and then slowly moved up on your arms as well. He slowly relaxed between your arms and leaned closer to your body. Even his breathing became more even.

When he sighed, you let him out from your hug and stepped beside him, looking up at him "Come with me, Lord Heisenberg." You gently took his hand and pulled him after you. heading back to your room.

"Hm?"

"I need some rest, and you too. And I'm sure you've destroyed half of your room."

Heisenberg pulled down his hat into his eyes. Damn.

"Why would I have done that?" Oh, for the love of god, shut up you, idiot! He snorted to himself.

"Because you care about me, just as much I care about you. Come." You pulled him all the way to your bed. Turning towards him you took off his hat and glasses.

"Mh, what?" His tired eyes looked straight into yours.

"Your eyes are really beautiful."

"Oh shut up." Stepping next to you, he threw himself on the bed.

You never dared to ask why you got a bed which was big enough for two people. Whether someone owned this room in the past, or the man had some kind of plan for you. But right now, as he leaned back to the bed, you haven’t really found a reason to worry about that. Climbing next to him, you hid under his arm. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you sighed deeply.

"Well, I hope you're happy."

"Very much, thank you."

He snorted and listened quietly to your steady and calm breathing as he tried to ignore his own pounding heart. He fervently hoped you wouldn't notice this. This hope was unfortunately false considering that you were only a couple of centimeters away from his heart.

The redness spread through his face even more so than before.

He didn't imagine this could happen. You shouldn't have been here anymore. You should have gone to the village a long time ago and not looked back. You should have left everything...and everyone behind.

Instead, you were here. And you laid next to him so damn close. His skepticism struggled against the notion.

Like anything would just become magically fine after this.

"You know, you can't fix me with cuddling, right? I'm messed up in the head and even more fucked up in my body." He swallowed dryly.

"What are you talking about?" Raising your head, you looked straight into his eyes.

"I just told you." He let out an impatient huff. "You can't fix me, I'm this fucked up. And it won't go away after some warm cuddling and snuggling. Sorry to ruin your hopes."

"I don't want to fix you, Heisenberg."

"What?" Every answer of yours caught him off guard.

"Why would I want to fix you when I like you this way?" You leaned closer, slowly kissing him. His body tensed, you could feel his grip tighten on your shirt, then his lips gently kissed you back. The kiss tasted bitter, like his cigar. He pulled you closer and didn't let go until you yourself pulled back.

Looking into his eyes you smiled gently. "Besides, I've been here a long time, so I'm pretty sure I'm just as messed up in the head."

"Damn." His grey eyes almost sparkled. "God damn."

You let him pull you closer, snuggling up to his shoulder.

"So, we're messed up together."

"Pretty much, yeah. But somehow it doesn't bother me."

Heisenberg was sure by then that you could feel the pounding of his heart, but he didn't mind it now. He gently caressed your face with his fingertips from your forehead through the line of your nose all the way to your chin. He spent a lot of time under your eyes.

"Listen, I know she did something to you." You placed your palm carefully on his chest. "But your body isn’t scaring or disgust me." You gently caressed around his heart trough his shirt. "It's your body, it belongs to you and I like it. I mean it's yours and it's fine."

"Mh," he replied tellingly.

His heart finally started to quiet down. Good. He needed to think with his god damn head and not with his heart. Everything happened differently. For hours he believed, no, he knew, that you have already ran away. He wanted to give you time, that was one of the reasons he didn’t come after you for so long. And yet, deep within him he felt he can't just let you go. Who knew what he would have done if you would have told him to his face that you are leaving him? He felt as if his whole world started to tremble.

It was as if you could feel what he was thinking you snuggled closer and rubbed your head against his shoulder.

The man sighed softly.

But you stayed. You were here, and you were honest. Maybe he could be a bit honest too.

"Sometimes, I dream that I'm just a machine myself." He gently played with your hair. It was a long time ago when he touched something this soft. "That I'm lying on one of Mother Miranda's experimental tables, and when I look down at myself I see nothing but gears and bolts that work together inside me. It's not my body anymore, I lost my real one. Then I start to lose my mind as well. And she just watches me, every damn time. Calling me his son. " He rubbed his face into his hands.

Raising your head a little you laid it back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"What are you-"

"Sh."

The man snorted, in confusion and embarrassment.

"Hm, all I can hear is your flesh heart beating in your chest. The rhythm is pretty fast but maybe because of the many cigars."

"Oh, shut up." He hid his face in his hands and tried to rub the crimson of his face away.

"All right, all right." You snuggled back to his shoulder. "Still, I'm not going anywhere."

"You can be a stubborn bastard sometimes."

You chuckled, clearly proudly and as you embraced him a smile remained on your face.

The room around you was filled with the sounds of the thumping factory. It felt comforting. Your heart started to quiet down as you let your consciousness relax from the rhythmic noises around you two. His hand drew gently circles on your shoulder.

"Can we stay like this for a while?" You asked, what he didn’t dare to ask.

"Sure." He pulled you even closer and buried his face into your hair. He seemed to relax even more. He raised a finger, and his sunglasses slipped off, levitated under his coat, and raising it up gently laid it on the two of you, before it landed itself on your nightstand with a small clink.

"Thank you." You muttered as you gently drifted towards sleep.

"Yeah-yeah." He kept his face hidden in your hair.

You won't leave him, at least not now. Maybe you will actually stay with him, maybe you were stubborn enough to do it. He ignored his worries about the future, instead, to his own surprise, he let himself be happy for once. He slowly fallen asleep with you on his side, listening to your breathing.

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg imagine #heisenberg x reader #reader #re village #copper #heisenberg x you #house heisenberg

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years ago

Text

Hell Within Reach XII. Chrollo x F Reader

Rating: M (Violence)

Word count: 6.2k. Misc Info: Your Nen | Survosia

[Hell Within Reach index]

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“I want to visit Yorknew as compensation for being hospitalized.”

You open the window to Ash’s room, allowing the fresh breeze to enter. Estella’s face shifts to mortification at Ash’s brazen proposal. Her usual composure is abandoned, as she grabs Ash’s shoulders, ignoring how they grunt in irritation. They’ll be in for a scolding by the looks of it. You fight the urge to smile — how lovely and domestic this feels. Siblings bickering over nothing that matters while ignoring everything that does.

“Not you too,” she whispers. “You must focus first and foremost on your studies. Exam season is coming up, is it not? Traveling should be the last thing on your mind.”

Ash looks past her and toward you as you lean against the windowsill. “Well, what do you say, [First]? I can either go alone or tag along with you. It’s not like you have a steady job or anything.”

“Your ‘hospitalization’ came as a result of your own choices,” you remind them, to which they puff out their cheeks. “Besides, I don’t live a conventional life. I doubt I could take care of you well. Keep studying.”

“Yes, if you won’t listen to me, then listen to your idol—”

“Christ, you’re going to dislocate my shoulder, loosen up a bit,” Ash interrupts, rolling their shoulder to free themselves of Estella’s vise-like grip. “Are you forgetting that none of us live a conventional life? It would just be for a week. Then we could go to Heaven’s Arena, I’ve heard lots of stories about it.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Chrollo who suppresses a smile. How lucky that he doesn’t have to deal with a sibling flooded with painkillers and more time on their hands than they know what to do with. Your mind shifts to someone mature like Pakunoda, surely she’d be better at handling this than you. Her disposition reminds you of what an elderly sibling should be.

“People die in Heaven’s Arena! Or lose function of their body, not to mention that it’s televised for sport. It’s uncouth beyond words. Barbaric, even.”

“What’s the point of fighting if your life isn’t on the line?” Ash shrugs, much to Estella’s horror. “I could learn more there than I would reading biased books about our history that have been shoved into my brain since I could walk. What floor do you think I could make it to, sis?”

You swear that they almost have sparkles in their eyes. The hopeful expression, paired with the guilt they managed to stir up the past few days makes it difficult to smother their excitement. It’s been made apparent to you that Estella’s suffocating overprotectiveness and your apathetic approach hasn’t done Ash any favors, thus you decide to try something new.

“Judging from what I’ve seen, the 200th. The fights past that vary greatly. Some group together to keep a grip on their position because they’re weak, but then there are people…”

Trailing off, you recall how Chrollo is a Floor Master himself. Then there’s that grating man who masquerades as a clown, his matches are hard to miss with how heavily advertised they are. You recall how Phinks once threw a rock at a television that showed a rematch of one of Hisoka’s fights. He might be a member of the Troupe, though that didn’t mean you had to like him, so long as you were cordial.

“Who might present a challenge,” you finish.

Ash’s grin widens. “Say, Chrollo, how about we spar once I’m healed up? I’ve fought every person in a ten-mile radius from here who’s worth the time.”

You almost choke on your water. Do kids these days have no inhibitions whatsoever? The only times you’ve seen Chrollo fight is when he’s stolen someone’s Nen and wishes to test it — that and the night you two met. In each case, the brutality was unmatched. Ash challenged the leader of the Phantom Troupe to a friendly sparring match… you might need to lay down after this. Perhaps this is why Estella gets stressed so easily.

“That all depends on how you answer this,” Chrollo replies. Then, a mischievous gleam dances in his eyes. “Who do you suppose is stronger; your sister or me?”

Ash hums, giving the question considerable thought. They give you a once over, their eyes narrowing, then do the same to Chrollo. You have no idea what he’s getting at, other than wanting something to amuse himself with. It is useful to be able and gauge your opponent’s strength. Any trained Nen user can do so within seconds of seeing another.

Then they nod as if they reached a concrete conclusion. “I think [First] could kick your ass. No offense, though. You’d probably be able to hold your own for a bit if you’re lucky.”

You bury your head in your hands while Chrollo laughs.

The lighthearted atmosphere dissipates at a knock on the door. If you weren’t able to sense a person’s oncoming presence, then that level of skill narrows the scope of potential perpetrators down by a fair degree.

Estella is the one who answers. “Yes, who is it?”

“Xue Ya, my lady. I have received orders from Lord Victor to escort Lady [First] and Mr. Lucilfer to his office with haste.”

“Ah, yes, very well. They’ll be right out.”

So this is it, then, you think.

Estella gives you her most convincing grin, but you catch how the corner of her mouth twitches, her worry seeping through. Ash isn’t so fortunate to be able to control their facial expressions. They fold their hands together on their lap, avoiding your gaze and grimacing. Where the three of you might have separate ideals, there’s a common thread that strings you together — your aversion toward the Avalor family’s patriarch. Your father by birthright, whether or not you considered him to be personally.

Chrollo goes to the door and waits for you to join him. Breaking free from your temporary stupor, you walk by Estella, then Ash on their bed. who lurches forward and grabs your gloved wrist.

“Let’s all eat dinner together tonight, okay?” They mutter.

Your lips part and then close. Is this a promise that you can, in good conscience, make to them? Their concern isn’t unfounded. The last time you were called to your father’s office, well… that’s when you parted ways with your family without so much as a word. At the time, you never assumed your absence would hurt them; presumptuous as it was. Maybe you just didn’t want to be burdened by the guilt that’d come with acknowledging the truth.

Whatever the case, Ash’s current disposition reminds you of a forlorn child. There’s no false bravado, no puffing out of their chest.

You ruffle their hair. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Xue Ya bows her head upon seeing you in the hallway. She doesn’t say more than a polite greeting, wasting no time in bringing you down long and opulent corridors. This is a path that you’re intimately familiar with. On the second floor of the west wing, you would receive your father’s orders, then depart immediately to do what was assigned. There have been considerable changes made. For one, the eccentric man who walks by your side, unflinchingly heading toward goals of his own making.

Chrollo entered a world you thought you’d always keep locked away to yourself. Who would’ve thought you’d hand over the key?

The walk is dead silent, save for the heels of your boots clicking against the ground. Xue Ya stays a few paces ahead, her hands tucked behind her back, black hair in the same pristine bun she’s worn for decades past. Similar to you, she wears gloves, though hers are snow white. A gift from your mother, she once explained. She took great care in ensuring blood never stained the gift from the late Dinara, an impressive feat considering her line of work.

Xue Ya never spoke of your mother much beyond what few questions you asked. She was there to train you, not entertain conversation. Your father may have been the one to pay for her services, but it’s your mother she took to. They had known each other in their youth. The country was even more old-fashioned than it is now. Intermingling between social classes was frowned upon, and as such, you wonder how their lifelong friendship blossomed.

Mother did have a way with people, you suppose.

Unexpectedly, Xue Ya turns on her heel, her face not betraying her thoughts. She closes her eyes, as if in deep contemplation.

“... They’re not here for you.”

Without offering a further explanation, Xue Ya resumes walking. Chrollo glances at you from the corner of his eye, and you shake your head, hoping that he understands you’re in the dark too. Xue Ya wasn’t the type to waste time over superfluous words. Seeing as you spent most of your childhood and early teenage years with her, that was a quality that you must’ve inherited. What she told you must have a meaning.

Victor’s office comes into sight a few minutes later. You sense his presence behind the heavy mahogany doors, yet there’s something more mixed in; something vaguely familiar and threatening. If you’re able to sense it, then Chrollo can as well. What is Victor playing at? The timing couldn’t be a coincidence.

Xue Ya bows her head and stops in the middle of the hallway, likely intending to part ways with you early now that she completed her job. “Tell me, Mr. Lucilfer…”

He pauses as she did. You observe the exchange with muted interest, having never seen your former master so talkative. A side effect of old age, perhaps?

“If my memory doesn’t betray me, then I believe the adage is, ‘we reject no one, so take nothing from us’, correct?” A phrase that seems to register with him alone falls from her tongue. At seeing his understanding, she continues, her facial features relaxing. “And what would the punishment for taking from you be?”

Chrollo smiles in a manner you can only describe as eerie, replying without hesitation. “Death.”

You look from Xue Ya to Chrollo, blinking in confusion over whatever mutual connection they just established. She nods, pleased with his answer, then heads back in the direction you came. Had it not been for the gravity of the current situation, you’d ask Chrollo to elaborate. That discussion will have to wait until later. Your current priority lies with confronting Victor. He’s keen enough to pick up on the odd circumstances surrounding your engagement, you don’t doubt it. Whether or not he knows of your plan, there’s no saying for certain.

“Those doors are uglier than I remember,” you mumble to Chrollo who shushes you by placing a finger over your lips.

The remaining distance closes with each heavy step.

Ever the courteous gentleman, Chrollo opens the doors for you. Light from the high afternoon sun glares in front of your eyes, multiple hues streaming through stained glass windows, uncomfortable memories illuminating in the process. An entire year had come and went.

Nostalgia is at times a curse.

The most significant time in your life was attached, no, entangled to the husk of a man sitting behind an aging desk. It smells of leather and aged books, like a library from a forgotten past.

“Ah, if it isn’t [First],” a leisurely voice pipes up. “It’s been a while.”

You hone in on a man with long, black hair, wearing a gaudy outfit adorned with multiple golden pins. His eyes stick out to you the most, just as they had when you first made his acquaintance. They reminded you of a dead fish’s eyes — devoid of emotion or substance — a bottomless pit. Illumi Zoldyck. He’s joined by his father, Silva Zoldyck, who acknowledges you with little more than a grunt. That would explain the powerful presence laying in wait behind the door. Your heart almost drops to your stomach.

Was your father brazen enough to get rid of you like this? By hiring not one, but two of the infamous Zoldycks? You wouldn’t put it past him, but at the same time, that explanation doesn’t feel satisfactory. There’s no bloodlust permeating in the air. Not even from Chrollo, who for all intents and purposes, could’ve allowed it to slip out had he not been anything less than a master in Nen. The history of the Phantom Troupe is largely unknown to you. What you do know is that Silva killed a member before you joined, surely earning a burning grudge from the Troupe’s leader.

You break the tension by responding to Illumi, taking care to choose your words wisely. “Yes, quite some time has passed since then.”

Chrollo and Silva haven’t broken eye contact since you entered the room. They silently track each other’s movements, stoic facades set in place, daring the other to do something first. In the event a fight was to break out, you’re not sure what the results would be. You do know that this entire area would be leveled and soaked with blood by the end. Would your father risk an outcome like that, just to prove a point? This manor is his pride and joy, a plot of land passed down from one generation to the next.

“Reunions are a lovely thing, are they not?” Victor speaks up from his chair, his authoritative tone grating to your ears. The double meaning isn’t lost on you. “Why, Silva, what would your assessment of my daughter be? She’s grown into a lovely young lady, has she not?”

You want to impale your sword through his throat so he would choke on his own blood.

“She’s been raised properly.”

That’s almost an insult, coming from a Zoldyck, you think.

“Your words flatter me, old friend,” Victor shifts his attention from you to Chrollo, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, taking in every bit of information presented to him. “And what would you say in regards to this young man?”

Silva considers the question longer this time, his mouth drawn into a taut line. You hold your breath and prepare for whatever comes next. From this distance, you would be the one at an advantage. Your area of expertise is close combat and speed. Everything would be decided in a fleeting instance. Should either of the assassins step forward, the slightest bit of bloodlust emanating from their person, you would slit their jugulars in a single swipe.

Then, Silva says, “A formidable enough threat.”

“Such high praise,” Chrollo replies, agreeable enough to fool any onlooker not privy to their history.

Neither Silva nor Illumi gives you a reason to believe you’re their intended target. You can’t imagine that they’re present for a friendly get-together, those men are too obsessed with work to do anything else; so why are they here? That’s when you recall Xue Ya’s cryptic words, spoken to you in a hushed manner.

“... They’re not here for you.”

Was she referring to them? If so, then why would she warn you, when your father likely set this up to shake you? That is, unless…

“I’d hate to keep you gentlemen from your work,” Victor nods. “The second half will be wired to your account upon the job’s completion.”

They depart without further incident, Illumi waving at you both once before disappearing behind closing doors. The friction thrumming through the room remains in their absence, electric and enough to keep you on high guard. Your father’s attempt to throw you off was a successful gamble. Questions sprout like suffocating weeds in your mind. Should you anticipate an attack from behind? And if so, would they be targeting you alongside Chrollo, or just your boss? These possibilities keep you on edge.

Victor Avalor stands from his chair, maneuvering around his desk and extending a hand to Chrollo, who accepts. They exchange a firm handshake, your father wearing dark leather gloves just as you do. Your appearance takes more after your mother, though there are similarities to him as well; namely your piercing eyes. The shade of which is the same as yours. Victor stands tall over you and Chrollo both, with faint wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He dresses in standard attire to an elite man. A midnight black suit with a high collar to cover his neck, embellishments kept to a minimum. The only ornament that sticks out is a brooch on his breast pocket, gifted by your mother for their twentieth anniversary. You’ve never seen him without it.

He gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk and you both take your seat. Victor returns to his favored perch, the imposing leather chair with a needlessly high back. After sitting down, he leans his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers together. His posture is like that of a businessman seconds before closing a big deal. Rather than speaking to you, he focuses on Chrollo, who doesn’t so much as flinch under the unrelenting pressure.

“Now, what does the infamous leader of the Phantom Troupe want with my troublesome daughter? Marriage, was it?”

So he already knew, you think, suppressing a frown. No wonder he’s on high alert.

“Among other thing. My main priority is getting you to let me whisk her away, though.”

“It’s a commendable angle to take,” Victor closes his eyes, ruminating, and sinks back into his chair. “I was left with little choice but to meet you directly after receiving the news. Though I must say, child… I didn’t imagine you would burden your elder sister with the task of leading the family in my stead. Unless you intend to kill her alongside me? Ambition was never your strong point.”

You ignore the last quip and keep your voice monotone.

“Do you not fear death, Victor?”

It’s like you’re looking at your reflection when you focus on his eyes. Eyes that simmer with profound rage, a veneer meant to disguise the full extent of his thoughts. “If it is by my own children, then no. The opportunity is open to whoever is willing. Whether Estella, you, or Violetta take it.”

Your fingers twitch by your side. “You know nothing of your children if you can’t refer to one of them correctly. Is that the grand legacy you wish to leave behind? Echoes of the empty words repeated by generations past, those who grow more forgotten by the day?”

“Glare at me all you wish,” Victor chides, his voice unwavering, reminiscent of thunder roaring amongst storm clouds. “You may scoff at my answer, it changes nothing. If one of you is able to kill me, then I no longer deserve to be head of the Avalor family. It’s as simple as that.”

As if to further his point, his eyes flicker to Chrollo, who silently follows the conversation. “Would you be able to live the life you enjoy now, had it not been for your ability you honed here? I doubt the leader of the Phantom Troupe would’ve extended the same offer to join his ranks had you been weak. Please correct me if I’m wrong.”

Victor’s words are a venus flytrap, meant to draw in unsuspecting prey with the sole purpose of devouring them whole.

“If it was just me you burdened your archaic ideals with, I wouldn’t care,” you furrow your eyebrows together. “Ash and Estella… the moment you can, you’ll push them until they break. I won’t allow it.”

He smiles at that, lips curling menacingly, and he challenges you. “Even if that means they remain weak? You don’t want to always stick by their side to guard them, do you?”

There’s a pregnant pause in the air.

“I won’t choose for them,” you decide. “How they want to live will be up to them. Once you’re dead, that is.”

“Hm. You’ll say that, even when knowing the blood that runs through our veins? What that blood has the potential to do?”

Your breath hitches when he motions to your gloved hands.

“No one asked to be born. Not me, your sisters, or our guest here. It matters little. Whether you bemoan the circumstances of your life or overcome them; the choice is yours. The role of parents is to guide you, so that you may choose the latter option. In that regard, I have completed my role. If your Corruption killed you, then I would’ve failed. It’s as simple as that.”

The day you utilized Corruption for the first time, in a life or death fight with Xue Ya, both your hands were permanently marred. The inky blackness that ran through your veins then is visible to this day, even if you don’t use the technique. What you did was akin to picking up burning coals without the proper protection. Such a consequence is light, compared to those who die immediately after. Then there are the unfortunate souls who become bedridden, hooked up to cold machines, tubes shoved down their throats so that they may live another wretched day. People like…

“If that’s your philosophy, then why did you allow mother to use Corruption so frequently when she couldn’t withstand it? If, that is, you truly care about the strength of your family,” Your hands curl into fists on your lap. “Your words don’t hold up then, now do they?”

The mention of your mother takes him aback, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring. Had you managed to strike a chord within that empty soul of his? You’d love nothing more. If a fate at the end of your blade doesn’t frighten him, then may his wife’s ghost haunt him instead. Chrollo picks up on the shift in Victor’s disposition and conjures Bandit’s Secret. The pages flip furiously, then stop at his intended destination, ropes made of Nen ensnaring Victor’s torso into place. You kick yourself off from the chair, launching yourself toward him and extending your hand. Reaching into nothingness, a dark sliver appears, the gateway to your weaponry. You pull out Set A and prepare to slash at his throat.

“... She never listened when I asked her to stop,” your father confesses, his words holding enough weight to give you pause. You hesitate just enough for the window of opportunity Chrollo opened to close. By the time your blade reaches its destination, your target has lurched back, shattering the window behind him and falling alongside broken glass.

“Shit!” You curse, irritation raging in your tightening chest. “Boss, I’m so—”

“Follow after him.”

You both jump out the window as he did. While falling to the ground below, your eyes wildly scan the courtyard his office overlooks, the tall trees obscuring your view. His ribs should’ve been damaged by Chrollo’s ability if nothing else. This situation is exactly what you wanted to avoid. Victor would have the advantage should he get out in the open, where other servants could overhear the commotion and come to his aid. So long as there was breath in his lungs, he would be the one they receive orders from, even if the orders are to end your life.

Throwing your sword to the side, it’s absorbed back into the same opening from which it came. You conjure your sizable double-sided axe next — the weight pulling your body down as it materializes into your grasp. Moving your arms to the up, you slash through the thickets, using the momentum from your fall to add further force. Rows of trees are cut clean through. Within seconds, they fall over, accompanied by the resounding thump of your heavy axe making contact with the ground.

“Ten meters ahead,” Chrollo calls out. You catch Victor’s retreating figure and click your tongue. All that talk about strength, only to flee at the first sign of a serious challenge? The ropes wrapping around his chest are still present too, slowing him down further. It’s an opening you can’t afford to miss again.

Your axe sinks into a hole in the ground, faithfully awaiting your next use.

Next up is your spear; it’ll make for a nice makeshift javelin. Grasping the handle, you imbue Nen into your arm, then thrust it toward him. It whistles through the air in a blur from the speed at which it travels. The trajectory is on track to pierce through his heart, or if not, something else that’s vital.

Then the ropes binding him disappear.

Victor can move quickly now that he’s no longer constricted. He manages to dodge your spear, the sudden acceleration in his speed not taken into consideration when you threw it. Your attention goes to Chrollo, who is no longer holding Bandit’s Secret in his hand, much to your bewilderment.

“So that’s it, then,” Chrollo murmurs to himself. “Interesting.”

No longer fleeing the scene, Victor turns around and straightens out his tie. “How does it feel, Spider? I’ve been told it’s like having a part of your soul taken from you. A thief such as yourself must not be used to being stolen from.”

Victor’s aura encompasses his body in a swath of pulsing energy as he approaches you both, bloodlust seeping from his pores.

“My ability is Under Lock and Key. The moment my body makes contact with you, for every second until it is activated, I can seal away your use of Hatsu,” he says. “Explaining my ability is the final step to be fully activated.”

How long ago did he shake hands with Chrollo? Five or so minutes ago? This must be why Victor allowed talk to flow freely between you; he was biding time. Five minutes is plenty to change the tide of battle. Now that you know he’s going to stay and fight, your posture shifts from offensive to defensive. Victor came into this prepared.

“Don’t get close to him if you can help it,” Chrollo calmly orders. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pen, and clicks it. “Keep him busy until the timer runs out. Then we’ll finish him off.”

“Yes, boss.”

Victor reaches for a holster obscured by his outer jacket. The sun overhead reflects off a silver barrel — a revolver — the gun firing three shots in your direction. You reach out, conjuring your sword, eyes honing in on each piercing bullet. They’re fast, but you can parry them. Expanding your aura, you employ En, so that the millisecond the bullets enter, you’ll know exactly where each one is. Three shots, so he’ll have three or more before he needs to reload if it’s a standard revolver, you think.

The first bullet enters your En.

Using the fuller of your sword, you parry it, a metallic sound clanging through the air.

The second bullet is next — the speed and path just like the first. You deflect it with ease. After this, you’ll have successfully memorized the velocity of his formally unknown weapon, which makes the process much easier. Nen fights are often decided by the party who has the most information. Victor’s ability and preferred weapon have been revealed in conjunction with each other, putting all his cards on the table for you to see.

The third bullet approaches.

You ready your sword, but something shifts; almost as if the bullet has a mind of its own. Unlike the two before it, the bullet sharply changes directions in the blink of an eye. It goes from trying to hit your heart to aiming for your leg, diving down at the last possible second. There won’t be enough time to deflect it. Just as it prepares to rip through the flesh of your left shin, it unsuccessfully meets a steel wall, then ricochets off. The sheer force is still enough to send you back, knocking the winds from your lungs. So he’s encasing his bullets with his aura? Not just that, he can freely choose to change its direction after being fired…

“A Manipulator, huh,” you readjust your leg, which is now protected by dented armor. “How fitting.”

Victor hums. “Here I was hoping to take your leg out. A shame, truly.”

You click your tongue. He accomplished what he set out to do, the nearby servants began to make their way to the courtyard after hearing gunshots, filing in like obedient ants. He must be trying to overwhelm you both with sheer numbers. You can’t take your eyes off of him with that pesky revolver, but at the same time, your eyes can deceive you. There will be two types of shots — the kind which follows through to their intended destination, and the kind which can switch direction mid-flight. To avoid getting fatally shot, Victor will require your undivided attention.

Chrollo, who was standing behind and likely reaching the same conclusion, pulls his bloodied pen out from the gushing neck of the first servant to rush in. “Focus on him, I’ll deal with the rest.”

You nod. He can’t adequately defend himself without his Hatsu, so the task falls to you.

“And [First]...” he glances at you over his shoulder. “When you see an opportunity to kill him, take it. That’s an order.”

“Understood.”

If only you hadn’t hesitated at that moment. Victor’s words, whether they held truth or not, churned skepticism inside your mind like a bubbling cauldron. You desperately want to know more than he’ll tell. Surely, your mother wouldn’t have worked herself into an early grave? So why did his expression twist in a way you’ve never seen? Is he that talented of an actor?

There’ll be time to worry about that later, you remind yourself. You’ve been given an order. And when you have an order. you’ll follow it to absolute completion, regardless of what obstacles get in the way. Everything will be cut down.

Victor reaches into his breast pocket, procuring three more bullets. The chambers shouldn’t be empty if he fired only three rounds, so why risk reloading…? That’s when a realization strikes you. Even a skilled Manipulator wouldn’t have been able to send you back as far as his final bullet did. The window to change direction should’ve meant the impact itself would be lessened, but if anything, the force was more severe. You felt like you were hit with a miniature freight train. To accomplish this on the level he did, he must’ve used Vows and Limitations.

“I can manipulate the direction of my bullet after being fired, without losing strength. To achieve this, I will sacrifice half my bullet chamber, using only three bullets at a time.” You assume that’s the vow Victor made with himself to gain this edge.

Sure enough, he fires off three bullets in quick succession.

Rather than waiting like a sitting duck, now that you have a rough understanding to work with, you charge forward. The first bullet whirrs past where you once stood, while the remaining two follow after you, as if you were a magnet and they were metal.

Accelerating through the courtyard, the bullets stay hot on your heels, no matter how many steep turns and jumps you make. Deflecting with your sword is too risky; Victor could simply change the trajectory at the last second again.

Which means you’ll have to defend at the last possible second.

Slowing down just enough for the bullets to catch up, you take a deep breath and steady your mind.

One aims for your stomach, and the other, your heart; close enough to touch the hairs of your skin. You conjure your breastplate upon ensuring the bullets won’t change target. Sure enough, it comes into contact with the hastily applied armor, bouncing off and losing momentum. That was a risk you’d rather not take again.

Your head snaps in Victor’s direction.

He needs a few seconds to reload, you grit your teeth. A few seconds that he won’t be given this time!

Kicking yourself off the ground, you blaze forward, armor falling off of you and returning into an abysmal nothingness. Your spear materializes in your outstretched hand, thrumming through the air like a crack of lightning, infused with your aura. Left with no choice but to fight you in close quarters, Victor dodges to the side. He isn’t fast enough to avoid your swift strike — the tip of your spear grazes his face in a deep gash. Blood runs down his cheek as you land, your hands steadying yourself on the ground.

“The time to be judged has come, [First],” Victor speaks your name for the first time you can recall, glowering down at you. “Display the strength I allowed you to harbor.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You leap to your feet, maneuvering your spear and thrusting it forward in a relentless onslaught; his head your primary target. The two of you engage in a macabre dance with you as the demanding lead. Over and over again, you strike to render him off balance, switching between hitting him with blunt force to the legs or a concussion toward the brain. Just like you were uncertain of where he’d be aiming, he has no way of knowing the destination of your next blow. Arduous seconds drag on, accompanied by wild slashes and hissing metal.

Victor’s stamina is whittling down. It’s subtle, so subtle that you almost wonder if you’re imagining it, but his dodging grows less crisp from the constant pressure you apply. That doesn’t mean you’ll lower your guard. An animal is at its most dangerous when backed into a corner — the same applies to him. He’ll have to counterattack if he wants any hope of defeating you at close range. His strategy to keep a distance between you both means he knew that.

He digs his heels into the turf beneath his feet, his right hand extending out to touch you. So he’s going to try and seal away your Hatsu in a last-ditch effort…?

You react immediately, your spear puncturing through flesh and bone, mangling his hand into ribbons of blood. Through the carnage, his detached pointer finger hits its intended target, while the rest of his mutilated hand succumbs to gravity. For a second, you swear your heart stops beating. He’s going to seal away your Hatsu and leave you defenseless. Victor’s left hand reaches to reload his pistols, and you bite your lower lip, a single option remaining in your mind. To strike swifter than anything beyond what natural law allows. That’s the only way to end him before your Hatsu is sealed away — without your armor, he’ll have no trouble riddling you with holes. No amount of dodging will help you at this close range if he can control the bullet itself.

Corruption!

Smoldering heat sears through your hands, hot enough to incinerate the leather of your gloves, reducing them to nothing. The veins in your hand shine with the dullest of glows, taking on a pitch-black shade; and you grasp the hilt of your spear. It happens too fast for you to know for certain, faster than he can form the thought to seal your Hatsu. You plunge the tip straight through his heart of stone and send his body flying back like a ragdoll, the once green grass singed brown in the path he traveled. Victor’s eyes go wide as he sputters blood up, a gaping hole in place of where his torso should be. The brooch he wore fairs no better. Everything from flesh to fabric is annihilated from existence.

You fulfilled your orders.

Your body feels hot, your arms heavy, and your head light. The world around you doubles in its image, and you shake your head, trying to clear up the incapacitating dizziness. Faintly, you register an arm steadying you in place. Familiar cologne wraps around you and provides comfort. Cedarwood, musk, and spice. You’ve never smelled something so lovely, so comforting. There’s a lot you want to say, and even more that you don’t, but you focus on the basics. Remedying your past mistakes that put you both at a disadvantage.

“Ah, Chrollo,” you mumble, your voice feeling far away through the shrill ringing in your ears. “Your Hatsu… is it…?”

He squeezes you lightly in reassurance. “Yes, it’s returned. I can’t say I enjoyed the feeling of being without it.”

Chrollo doesn’t chastise you or linger on the subject, much to your internal relief.

“Mhm… well, that’s good then.”

This side effect is just as dreadful as you remembered. Through blurry eyes, you glance down at your bare hands, grimacing to see the taunting jet-black lines still present. They were starting to fade before today too. Now, who knows how long you’ll be left with this discoloration. Chrollo intertwines his fingers with yours, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your still warm skin. It’s nice, you think. He’s nice. I think I really like...

“How pretty,” he coos, his thumb trailing over a prominent vein that stops at your wrists. He dotes on you too much, truly. “I’ve never seen a color like it.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “You have questionable taste, boss.”

Chrollo pays no heed to your cynicism and kisses your hand.

“My, my,” Estella’s voice catches your attention. She lifts the skirt of her dress, walking over the substantial piles of bodies with pens protruding from them like it was an everyday occurrence. “Hm. I take it he said you two couldn’t get married, then?”

The most you can bring yourself to do is laugh.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #reader insert #hell within reach #my stuff

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layanasstories · 2 years ago

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First of all, I am not a doctor nor did I study any form of medication. So all you will read is made up stuff that sounds intresting...

Secondly... have fun reading!

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Oblivion

NINE

A month has passed since our first meeting. We've been on a few dates, he's told me more about my past. We click nicely, but I don't feel a real twinkle yet. That's why I'm taking it easy. I work my five days a week, trying follow my daily routine as best I can. Only today is different.

Three weeks ago, just a week after I met with Jake, I went to see a neurologist for the first time. One who specializes in amnesia. He was shocked by my story. And furious when I showed what pills I had been given to take. I haven't touched them since Jake told me not to take them. The neurologist, Dr. Jeffrey Millward, had told me that he didn't recognized the pills at all and wanted to do research for himself what exactly is in the pills. Today I'll get the results, he had called me yesterday and indicated that he wanted to speak to me urgently. I didn't tell Jake about my visits to Dr. Millward. I know I shouldn't keep secrets. Only I didn't want to give Jake false hopes that things could be all right again, as far as my memories are concerned.

I'm waiting in the chair, facing Dr. Millward. He is still busy working on his computer. "Sorry for the wait, but I really need to get the report." he doesn't even look up. It takes another five minutes, but then I hear his printer and he jumps from his chair. When he has taken the papers from the printer, he sits down in front of me. "Okay, I've done the analysis on the pills. And I've requested your records from after the incident. MRIs, scans, photos, blood work. I'm not going to beat around the bush, I'm deeply shocked." his face is soft, as if he is going to tell me terrible news. "Layana, I'm so glad your friend told you to stop taking the pills. They're pure poison. It's a custom-made pill. It contains substances such as arbiturates, amphetamines and alprazolam, among other excipients. These substances are highly addictive, so I'm surprised you didn't have any withdrawal symptoms.

But coming back to custom-made, these pills are specifically made to suppress your memory and bring any recovery of your memory to a halt. He looks at me and asks if I can still follow him. "Yeah, I'm definitely still following it. In other words, these pills are made especially for me because they don't want my memory to come back.". "Precisely!" he answers. "But there is also good news. I've seen all your photos and the like, the damage you described was exaggerated. The damage is not that bad, and after four years it should already be healed. What I want to do is a new scan of your brain. We can do that immediately after this conversation. There's also one other thing we can do, it's experimental, but I want to give you the choice. We have a medication, which purifies unwanted substances that come from medicines and/or drugs from the body. This could just speed up the process of restoring your memory. The only known side effect is diarrhea. This can last up to three days and drinking water is the most important."

He reaches forward and puts his hand on mine, the way doctors do. "Listen, what they did to you is indescribable. And if you want, I can and will testify for you if you want to report them. But besides that, I want to do everything I can to help you get your memory back." I sigh deeply, hope is a dangerous commodity. Only this time I think hope is justified. "Fine. Let's do it all. The scan, the medication.". He squeezes my hand in recognition of my choice.

The new scan showed that the old one had been manipulated. Yes I had some damage, but certainly not as bad as it was said. And now there is no damage to see at all. My brain should be working like no other. Which made the doctor realize that the pills had been working for longer and deeper than he first expected. I was on the drip for three days, to flush all substances from my body. And I noticed that all to well, almost three days non-stop on the toilet. But I no longer had nightmares. More and more images came back to me. The doctor had warned me that I would not get everything back, just the vast majority. That was enough for me.

On day four, when my diarrhea had stopped, I was allowed to go home. I certainly don't have all my memories back yet, so the doctor advised me to look at lots of pictures, listen to stories, and most importantly, visit places, anything to trigger the memories. And that's what I intend to do.

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x player #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood game #iamjake #duskwood fanfiction

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coralcatsea · 2 years ago

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PrUK Frozen-inspired AU

You know the older versions of Frozen where Elsa was more rude, selfish, and morally grey instead of /just/ scared? And how there was a prophecy that someone with ice powers would set off an eternal winter? There's a deleted song where after Anna comes to visit her she invites her to stay in the ice castle, but Anna thinks that Elsa should go back and fix winter so things can just go back to the way they were even though Elsa still feels suppressed living in her kingdom.

For a childhood friends instead of siblings version with Arthur and Gilbert, I could see these older elements being a part of it.

I wrote a whole plot outline for this. 😅

Prince Arthur always felt too much pressure to be a perfect gentleman and hide his wilder tendencies due to royal expectations and a looming prophecy that cast suspicion on him due to his secretive behaviour, while Gilbert (maybe a nobleman?) tried but could never gain the kingdom's favour due to prejudice over his appearance.

They gravitated towards each other as children and became close, but one day, when they were playing privately, Arthur struck Gilbert with an ice blast by accident. His parents came into the room and saw what he had done, and not wanting Gilbert's parents to find out, they hurriedly rushed him to a forest of spirits that would be able to help.

The spirits were mischievous, however, and after healing Gilbert, they erased Gilbert's memory and intentionally used disturbing illusions to show Arthur what would happen if he let his magic spiral out of control due to fear.

Arthur isolated himself because he knew his power was growing and he couldn't bear the thought of hurting Gilbert permanently. What was worse, he was always tempted to experiment more with his power, but he had a feeling that once he did, he wouldn't be able to resist the thrill of it. He couldn't let himself become the one in the prophecy.

As Arthur became more distant to Gilbert, even more so after his parents died, Gilbert wasn't sure what to do. His own parents had ended up passing away as well on the same voyage that sunk in the storm, and Arthur was really the only person he had to turn to. He wished they could lean on each other for support, but Arthur wouldn't let him in anymore.

Then came Arthur's coronation, the first time Arthur would show himself to the public in years. Gilbert wanted to take the chance to speak to him again, and he managed to approach when Arthur was greeting guests. Things went decently at first, until Gilbert started questioning him in regard to why he been shut out. Arthur wouldn't answer him and attempted to leave, but Gilbert kept pushing until he was met with an outburst from Arthur that resulted in several spikes of ice forming around him defensively. Seeing the horrified reactions of the guests and even hearing one duke call him a monster, he fled to the farthest reach of the kingdom and built himself a fortress, but accidentally started an endless winter in the process.

Concerned about Arthur and wanting to make the kingdom accept him, Gilbert offers to make the journey to find Arthur and convince him to come back and fix things.

Arthur, now thinking he's got a better hold of his powers after having the chance to use them in such a big open space, is at first delighted to see Gilbert and invites him to live there with him, figuring Gilbert wouldn't have anything to lose since the kingdom never cared about him anyway.

Instead, he finds out that Gilbert wants him to come back for the kingdom and fix everything, thinking things will be fine now that he knows Arthur's secret and can support him. Arthur takes this the wrong way, thinking Gilbert doesn't care about how he feels and just wants to put him back in a role where he feels trapped for the sake of helping people that never helped them.

Arthur expresses that he can't just keep trying to please everyone when he doesn't even know how, and besides, why should he? They never had faith in him anyway! They all suspected he was the prophecy from the start, and perhaps that truly is what he was always destined to be. Distracted by his overwhelming frustration, Arthur fails to notice when ice shoots out of him and hits Gilbert in the heart. He then creates a snow monster to escort him out.

Gilbert stumbles upon the forest spirits, who tell him that since his heart has been struck, only an act of true love can break the curse. Well. Gilbert has no idea how that's supposed to work when the only living person who ever cared about him is the one who cursed him. He goes back to the village and relays the bad news that Arthur doesn't know how to reverse the curse. Gilbert sees how the townspeople are suffering and when one of the children asks, "Will everything be frozen for the rest of the king's life?" Gilbert decides what must be done.

Killing the king to save the kingdom...that's an act of true love, right? Gilbert offers to end the king and the winter along with him, which the crowd agrees to easily since they don't care what happens to him. They do, however, wonder if Gilbert would really be successful considering he used to be Arthur's friend, so they secretly send another man to see that the job gets done.

Gilbert goes to confront Arthur. If ending his old friend's life doesn't break his curse, then at least they'll both die together. The kingdom would probably be happier without them, anyway. He draws his sword and begins to fight Arthur, who mostly holds back and shields himself with ice since he doesn't want to hurt Gilbert. Eventually, Gilbert manages to corner Arthur and raises his sword, but he can't seem to bring himself to swing. When the back up man realises Gilbert won't be able to do it, he sends an arrow for Arthur's heart – and Gilbert instinctively jumps in the way, turning to ice in that very moment. The force of the spell completing causes the man to fly backwards, and the arrow bounces off Gilbert's icy body.

Arthur realises that he must have done this to Gilbert and recoils in grief and horror at the ice statue of his friend now decorating his castle. He doesn't want to live here and see this every day as a permanent reminder of the tragedy he's caused, but he knows he deserves it and frankly, he can't bring himself to leave Gilbert here like this. He drags Gilbert over to stand beside his throne of ice, because in spite of their recent disagreement, he's still the one who tried to stand by him all those years.

Because I want to be mean to Arthur, I'm going to say it takes a little while for Gilbert to actually melt so Arthur has more time to reflect, but Gilbert eventually does indeed melt and tells Arthur that his sacrifice must have counted as an act of true love and returned him to his original form. Arthur makes the conclusion that this happened because love is a warm feeling and will melt away any of his magic ice and snow. With his love for Gilbert in mind, he tries his theory on the endless winter and it works. The two of them return to the kingdom and everyone soon finds out what kind of amazing and useful things Arthur can do for the kingdom with his power now that he understands it, and Gilbert returns as a hero for being the reason Arthur understands.

They begin spending their days together again and after some time Arthur proposes, Gilbert accepts, and gets to remain by Arthur's throne as flesh and blood, not ice.

✨ HAPPY END ✨

#hetalia #aph #hws #aph england #hws england #arthur kirkland #aph prussia #hws prussia #gilbert beilshmidt #pruk #engpru #disneytalia #frozen au #Hetalia au #hws au #elsa arthur #elsa england #anna gilbert #anna prussia

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kaypeace21 · 4 years ago

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The ‘parentification’ of Jonathan Byers (psych analysis)

“Parentification is defined as the phenomenon where children take caregiving responsibilities (acting as a parent) for their parents, siblings or other family members, at the expense of their own developmental needs.”

When can parentification occur?

1) After a “Divorce”

“If there is more than one child in the family, usually the eldest, is “chosen” to be parentified .When a father-figure is missing, it may be the eldest son who is forced to take on his father's responsibilities.”

2) When there’s a “parent with a mental illness “

3)“Parental alcoholism or drug addiction.” (lonnie’s place covered in beer cans could allude to this).

4) “siblings with a mental illness’

5) “Death of a sibling or parent” ( This point is kind of cheating - but the fact Jon as a 15 y old had to plan a funeral, for his little brother instead of either one of his parents just illustrates how he always was forced to do adult duties much too young.)

6) “mothers of low socio-economic status, are frequently associated with parentification of their children. “

“given the fact that there are many single parent families, it falls upon children from some of these homes to carry adult responsibilities while their parent is out working. Often, in these situations, the parent is asking or expecting the child to take on adult responsibilities in their absence. They become the parent of the household in the interim between coming home from school and when the parent returns to the household.”

***TO MAKE THINGS VERY CLEAR: we are NOT hating on Joyce, here! “The harm of parentification is usually done not out of malicious intent. However, when a child who is supposed to go through their natural cycles of development and self- evolution, is forced to grow up too quickly, there is a cost.” But, Joyce did what she had to do being a poor single mother - she had to work! Even when Lonnie was around- he had debts. And Joyce apologized to Jon for not being around when they were growing up (working since he was 5)- and she even mentioned working Hollidays . But at the end of s1, we see her celebrating Christmas eve with them (showing she’s trying to have a better work life balance for her kids and prioritize them more). I think Will’s disappearance gave Joyce a wake-up call of sorts about what she values most-her kids.She loves her kids more than anything- and would never intentionally do any harm. She has to work for all of them to survive and stay together. But it did force Jon to be parent to Will in her absence (especially cause Lonnie even when around wasn’t much help).

And in s3 it’s hinted Joyce plans to be there for her kids on Thanksgiving and Christmas- so she is trying to rectify past behaviors. Ok with that out of the way, now we can continue...

Types of Parentification

“Parentification can either be emotional or instrumental, or both.”

“EMOTIONAL PARENTIFICATION : is when the child becomes a source of constant emotional support to their parent or sibling.Emotional parentification often involves a child or adolescent taking on the role and responsibilities of confidant, secret keeper, or emotional healer for family members.”

“ Parentification can also be the the process of role reversal where a child is obliged to act as parent to their own parent. Examples being: Listening to a parent talk about their problems.Serving as a confidante for their parent or providing emotional comfort and support to a parent.”

“In cases of INSTRUMENTAL PARENTIFICATION: children take on practical responsibilities such as:Taking care of siblings or other relatives because a parent is unable to. Assuming housekeeping duties, such as cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping. And Paying bills and attending to other household tasks .”

“ It’s good for kids to have responsibilities such as chores around the house or babysitting for a younger sibling. Responsibilities should increase when a child becomes a teenager to prepare them for being on their own eventually. However, when a young child is responsible for , paying the electricity bill, or raising a younger sibling, that is when problems arise.”

“Imagine a child who is bombarded every day with the responsibilities to tuck in sisters or brothers, or read them bedtime stories; organize drinks or food, wash up dishes, pay bills, or a myriad of housework. When burdened with that many responsibilities, self-care tends to go out the window. If the child continues to attend school, they may be withdrawn, unkempt, and visibly exhausted.”

“The effects are worsened and more destructive for the development of the child, the more the care-giving efforts of the child become a normalized expectation.“

We see this in Joyce berating Jon for not parenting Will, properly (although her being upset was somewhat reasonable). But ,we also see this in how Joyce says Jonathan has “always been good at taking care of himself.” Assuming Jon is ok, when he’s actually not. While Lonnie simply insults Will saying “he was never good at taking care of himself.” The difference being Joyce criticizes Jon for not relying on her more. While Lonnie critiques Will for simply acting like a child and not being self-reliant, like Jonathan. Pretty heavily hinting, Lonnie even when around did very little parenting and expected the kids to take care of themselves. And since Will didn’t ‘take care of himself’ - it probably put the load on Jonathan to parent Will (when Joyce wasn’t around, even when Lonnie was physically there).

Consequences of Parentification

“ It is expected that complicated relationship patterns will develop between siblings. The parentified sibling can often develop a symbiotic, codependent relationship with their siblings.”

“These people are very likely to find themselves in similar relational patterns in adulthood. They believe they must serve, help and rescue everyone in need. As adults, they may find that they have a confused sense of self-identity beyond the helper role. The only way they learned to relate, was through being of service and providing caregiving- so it is extremely possible that they have to be the primary caregivers for their own romantic partners . Since they never learned anything different. “

“ The ‘helper role’ might have dominated their entire being. Their sense of self did not get fully developed before they were needed to care for others, so as a result, they don’t know who they are except when they are doing things for others. “

“Parentified children can become very angry people. Sometimes this adult child may not know why they are angry . They can have explosive anger or passive anger, especially when someone triggers their parental wounds of emotional exploitation.”

“Parentified children inevitably develop a distorted image of what love is supposed to be like, thereby growing up to be quite distrustful of interpersonal relationships overall.Complicated attachment patterns emerge as a result. An avoidant attachment style is not unlikely. In the absence of a nurturing provider of safety and care, the parentified child may have learned to utterly depend on themselves alone- thereby avoiding close bonds and intimacy in adult life.intimacy is both craved for and avoided, both a longing and a great threat. Underneath this facade, they are quite lonely.”

This is similar to Jonathan not having friends, ‘not liking most people’, having ‘trust issues’ caused by Lonnie (that caused distrust of Bob, a father-figure) and simply being afraid to talk to people in general. Or joyce calling out Jonathan saying “you act like you’re all alone in this world. But your not.”

‘They also tend to blame themselves for everything that goes wrong, and constantly try to fix things that cannot be fixed.’

“The child may appear highly capable to tend for themselves and others, very mature for their age, resilient and even wise beyond their years- but they lack the safe haven of a secure attachment figure that is vital for the development of emotional regulation.”

A parentified teenager or younger child may exhibit the following symptoms:

-”Anxiety”

Like... this hurt my soul! His face dropped the second Nancy left the room.He probably has anxiety but looks up to Joyce for trying to still be a good mom and keep it together. Why he said “WE’LL be okay” cause his mom is “tough”. He tries to lead by her example. But unlike Joyce, Jon probably always had to keep it together- even if struggling with similar anxiety issues as Joyce. Because he knew they both couldn’t act that way and “shut down” (for Will’s sake). He always had to put on a fake ‘grown-up’ front and keep the family together and help support Joyce and Will emotionally and finacially . And someone (unintentionally) saying the reason he’s like his mom is not because of her positive traits but because of her mental illness- must have HURT! Especially cause he’s probably already struggling with anxiety- and maybe even fears acknowledging it. Because he’s supposed to have it ‘all together.’ “The identity of parentified children actually depends on their ability to suppress their needs. Since it is likely that their family already had too many problems to cope with, and so they learned to be quiet, voiceless and without demands. In order to be a ‘proper helper’ .“

And it probably doesn’t help he’s afraid it could escalate into something worse. Because in s1 they mentioned Joyce’s aunt having hallucinations. And jonathan even says to hopper “she used to have anxiety problems. I’m worried it could be ... I don’t know.” So yeah , Nancy saying him and Joyce have the same anxiety problems probably terrified him.

-”Depression”

-”Inability to trust others (we covered that) and or social isolation.”

-”Compulsively overworking in order to fulfill responsibilities at school and at home.”

-”Feelings of guilt and shame.”

“Fortunately, there are many healing processes and routes to wholeness and recovery for a young adult or adult who has been parentified as a child.Acknowledgment of your past is the first step to healing and recovery (via therapy or other means). You have to accept the truth of your story. Because, if you continue to live in denial, your mental energy will be spent in suppressing the pain that was there, rather than healing what needs to be healed. Being highly self-reliant was your only option in your household , but it may be a strategy that no longer works for you. It keeps you in isolation and unable to connect with others. Therefore, challenging yourself to connect with others authentically would also be considered one of the most potent ways to heal. The thoughts, feelings, impressions, and emotions buried within are waiting to be heard, once and for all. “

Alright, thanks for listening I hope you enjoyed. I really wanted to do a psych analysis strictly based on what the show presents. Rather than inclusion of the s4 movies. I did mention how those movies did allude to Jonathan’s parentification, here (if interested though). I also didn’t go into the hints in the narrative of Lonnie possibly being s****lly abusive to Jonathan cause it’s a bit more speculative ( I did talk about it in my DID psych analyses pt 1 & pt 2 though). Only mentioning it here, at the end, since one of the causes of parentification is also a parent s****lly ab*sing their kids (quite literally stripping their kids of their entire childhood in every way imaginable- and frankly the worst way possible). Regardless,I think most people neglect Jonathan as a character- and the s4 movies hint we’ll finally get more focus on him in the upcoming seasons. So I wanted to dedicate a post to some of Jonathan’s issues that may get more attention in later seasons.

#jonathan byers #will byers #joyce byers #stranger things

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cancerjupiter · 4 years ago

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🌱earth moons🌱

Those with earthy Moons react in a very grounded, matter-of-fact way. The reaction may be so self-contained in those with Taurus or Capricorn Moon, in fact, that others may wonder if there has been any reaction. Those with Virgo Moon, on the other hand, react rather quickly, mentally, and sometimes nervously to any stimulus in a way obvious to everyone, even if the person is trying to contain his or her emotional reaction. Just like the earth itself, those with an Earth Moon have a crust over their emotional reactions; and they prefer to present a certain form to the public rather than to reveal their vulnerabilities.

taurus moon

The Moon is extraordinarily happy in the comfortable, stable sign of Taurus, for the emotions are steady and the person has little self-doubt. Those with the Moon in Taurus are not easily perturbed, even by powerful attacks or shocking events that would strongly affect others. They are in fact amazingly resilient, bouncing back from any defeat, disappointment, or trauma. Perfect examples are politicians Bill Clinton and Joe Biden, and celebrities Demi Lovato and Lindsay Lohan; who, despite unmerciful attacks, still manage to have their shit together and maintain at least some degree of popularity.

The poise with which Taurus Moon people face life’s demands and unpredictability is remarkable, and they therefore have a steadying influence on others, who appreciatively value their reliability. Note that I said “reliability,” not necessarily readiness! This sign is known for being the slowest in the zodiac, moving actively only when they are good and ready and insisting on their own pace in everything they do in life. Their inner contentment and resistance to change can thus make them frustrating to deal with if their considerable stubbornness causes them to dig in their heels to resist what you want. The other side of the coin is their remarkable persistence when they are focused on attaining a certain goal.

Those with Taurus Moon are attuned to the rhythms of nature and the earth, and this gives them their particular pace of life and much of their strength. They are notably physical and sensual, and have a great need for the “pleasures of life.” And they insist on taking the time to enjoy them. This unique attunement leads to a trust in earthly life that enables them to accept others with few demands and to take life as it comes. They are pleased with life (generally) and rather pleased with themselves. This can of course result in smugness, conceited self-satisfaction, and self-indulgent laziness. As Grant Lewi wrote, the key to improving oneself for Taurus Moon is to “turn self-satisfaction into active self-confidence”.

Emotionally, those with this Moon sign are not at all cold, but neither do they readily reveal their feelings. They are good listeners and are usually warmly responsive and solidly supportive, but not gushingly effusive. They really prefer not to allow anything to affect them. Some comments from questionnaire responses add additional perspectives to this lunar type:

1. “Seems very positive, giving men good relationships with women. It also appears to give talent in crafts such as cooking and other home arts.”

2. “ … sensual, heightened sense of material/physical aesthetics (e.g., clothing, home, colors, etc.), wonderful sense of humor, stubborn, and sometimes impervious to what’s going on beneath the surface of things.”

People with the Moon in Taurus like to be touched, especially to be hugged. Also, I’ve noticed a certain resistance to change. This resistance ranges (in different people) between a reluctance to accept the moods of another and a reluctance to allow any out-of-the-ordinary spontaneity to enter their life (usually hate surprises).

virgo moon

Those with Virgo Moon need a sense of order in their own minds and in the environment to feel comfortable and secure. This leads to their instinctive analytical reaction to all life experience, sorting their perceptions and thoughts into categories and discriminating between them according to their personal principles or prejudices. This need for order also motivates their obsession with neatness and cleanliness. They likewise feel more secure by making definite improvements in their environment, in their scientific, artistic, or intellectual pursuits, or—something not always appreciated with this sign—in other people. In fact, as one woman wrote in a questionnaire, “Sometimes they can be busybodies, putting others’ lives in order with advice—usually not so tactful. They’re so busy organizing friends’ lives that they forget about their own”. This “workaholic” tendency can also manifest as a broad range of criticism from afar directed even at total strangers who, evidently, just don’t measure up to the Virgo level of perfection.

Being helpful makes them feel better about themselves and aids them in overcoming their habitual self-doubt and sense of personal imperfection. In fact, “perfectionism” is a keyword for Virgo, and their unavoidable awareness of their own imperfections leads often to excessive self-consciousness, sometimes of a type so severe as to render them unable to use their genuine gifts with any confidence. Their tendency to notice the imperfections of others, and to voice those observations far too often, frequently makes the other person feel uncomfortably and unproductively self-conscious. Those with Virgo Moon would do better to heed their deep need to serve and to help others or improve things in the outer world. By doing so, they can eventually gain a sense of having improved themselves—at least in the modest way they will allow themselves to acknowledge. Virgo is the most modest sign in the zodiac—one of the few, in fact. Virgo Moon people can seem shy and reserved.

Habitually nervous types with a tendency to worry, Virgo Moon people often find their personal tranquility and self-validation in work and compulsive “busyness.” Work also provides an escape from the unpleasant emotions or depressing feelings of guilt or worthlessness that so often afflict those with this Moon position. But, because emotions interfere with productivity, as Donna Cunningham points out in Moon Signs, they are conveniently put aside or suppressed in the routine of daily life. Hence, Virgo Moons are among the few people who love all kinds of petty, boring activities — even housework. A friend with this placement even admitted to dreaming about being a mother/grandmother, so she could do chores and serve her family all day (of course, she’s also a Cancer Rising).

Doubt and skepticism pervade their mode of thinking and reacting, and of course there is always something to criticize in any person, place, thing, or concept. The infinitely small is always available as a target! This constant mental tension and the sensitivity of their nervous system, and their hyper-attunement to hygiene and purity, make these folks fascinated by and eager for involvement in the areas of nutrition, biological sciences, natural therapies, the healing arts, and/or the medical professions. This natural affinity also, however, bends them toward hypochondria, at its worst, or at least to a sensitive digestive and/or intestinal system. The quality of the food they eat is of utmost importance, since it directly affects their nerves and mental state, not just their digestion.

Their talent for detailed work is without equal (except for those with certain other planets in Virgo), and they often get great satisfaction from employing their natural craftsmanship in the practical or fine arts. Because their mind can always find something wrong with any idea or plan, indecision often afflicts those with this Moon placement. Moral indecision as well is often observed, as their perfectionist and puritanical tendencies battle with their more practical or sensual needs.

capricorn moon

Those with Capricorn Moon, as is also the case when other major planets or the Ascendant are in Capricorn, seem unnaturally old and serious when they are young, but they can lighten up as they grow older. In their youth, they are unusually capable, disciplined, and conservative, taking the well-trodden path to their goals of worldly achievement or to follow a vocation. Their real confidence is late-blooming, as their sense of inner security develops over time and they feel that their age at least, if not their accomplishments, has earned them some respect they have always craved. Capricorn Moon people eventually learn to relax somewhat and to trust life and other people to a greater extent. The aura of melancholy that those with Capricorn attunement so often carry around with them can also slowly dissipate over time, sometimes helped by a more and more adventurous—but dry—sense of humor.

The fluctuating, responsive, emotional Moon is not at all naturally comfortable in a sign that is often rigid and distant, and prides itself on not revealing any sign of vulnerability or personal need. People with Capricorn Moon have instinctive reactions to life that are characterized by self-control and caution, and sometimes by a defensiveness or negativity that is almost shocking. They feel that they need to manipulate and control the world (and their feelings) in order to attain the power, authority, and recognition that they deeply desire. In fact, they are most secure within themselves when their identity is confirmed by a social role, title, specific duty, or mantle of authority. Even at an early age, Capricorn Moon people are comfortable assuming responsibility and feel perfectly at home in the role of provider, protector, or organizer. They are most relaxed and truly themselves when they are carrying some weight, or when others have to depend on them! Very hardworking, these folks share with Virgo first place on the list of people who absolutely love to work, which often ultimately results in professional success. They may not always be fun, but they will often get the job done.

Perhaps the most oppressive thing about this group occurs in those who become too obsessed with being recognized as important and having authority; sometimes, there is a persistent “one-upmanship” that pervades their personal and professional lives. The constant drive to be “on top” can cripple their capacity for any human intimacy and eliciting automatic distrust from others. As psychologist-astrologer Glenn Perry, Ph.D., wrote,

“The tight controlled responses often lead to loneliness and despair as it prevents the individual from flowing and responding to the changing mood of others. Moon in Capricorn nurtures by taking charge and giving orders. This dry mechanical approach to feelings is not sympathetic and tends to imply that the other is incompetent. Unable to respond directly to emotional needs, Moon in Capricorn gives the impression of being callous, hardened and unaffected by the tender side of life. (Aspects magazine, Fall 1981)”

If the emotional suppression and denial become chronically extreme and rigid, the result can be a person who others may respect but not love. However, from another view (from the inside, so to speak) of this Moon sign’s emotional nature, I quote here from an interview with a Capricorn Moon young woman who characterized herself to me as having “a seriousness about the emotional life, an interest in getting down to bare bones, an impatience with small talk, and a need to get to the core emotionally.” She continues:

“All Capricorn Moons I know (there have been a lot) have a certain gravity to them, an ability to take the emotional life seriously. The women especially are almost never giggly or flirty — we’re too serious to flirt much. The women are kind of ‘masculine’ I guess, sort of businesslike in their manner (men too actually… it’s not a placement I ever see that is friends with everyone and instantly, openly affectionate). I think ‘a few serious, long-term friendships’ sums up all the Capricorn Moons I know.”

A questionnaire reply from another woman also emphasized that women with this capable, ambitious orientation are liable to feel “ambivalent about their sexual identity,” although they have strong physical needs, and that women with Capricorn Moon have “a great need for appreciation to develop their self-worth”. Two other questionnaires confirmed the self-disclosure quoted above regarding the practical agenda underlying emotional commitments. The words they used were “cool in affections and looks out for self” and “very calculating—not necessarily bad—just a lot of planning, no spur-of-the-moment reactions.” Another quite thorough questionnaire reply from an experienced practitioner of astrology included the following:

“this Moon placement shows marked proficiency in handling the self in the material world, or at least a lot of concern over and attunement to material affairs. They are very shrewd in taking care of their financial needs. Very often they are involved in some secure structure, like working for the government, etc. They like a secure financial position. For all, they take things very seriously; they approach many things cautiously. This is also a very sexual placement in laid-back ways.”

In conclusion, the Capricorn demeanor of slowness, caution, and hesitation should never mislead you. They may be conservative in most attitudes, but they are actually very progressive and results-oriented in action. They just don’t like to make mistakes.

#astrology #moon signs #taurus moon #virgo moon #capricorn moon #moon in taurus #moon in virgo #moon in capricorn #cap is longer bc that's my sign therefore i understand it better

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years ago

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Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

******************

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

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free--therapy · 3 years ago

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Any tips on how to trust yourself more?

Hey Anon,

This is a good one. Learning to trust yourself is a challenge because there are so many different parts and aspects to it, but it gets easier over time with intentional practice. I'm not really sure how to quantify it all really, but I can give you some general ideas of things you can practice to work towards being able to trust yourself:

Start with self-compassion and self-kindness. We won't be able to really start trusting ourselves if we can't be nice to ourselves. We are our worst critics and when we're dealing with mood disorders like depression, we love to self-sabotage, whether it's mentally or physically. We can't be mean to ourselves and expect to change. It's the same way we learn to trust others.

Spend some time alone. For some people this can be hard while others are already used to it. Spend some time with yourself and get to know yourself outside of the negative thoughts that you may have about yourself. Figure out your passions and dreams without discouraging yourself. Fantasize about a life you'd be happy to see yourself living. This helps to cultivate hope, meaning, and purpose. You can also think about things you're good at and things you enjoy and would love to get better at as well. Dare to dream and don't shoot any of it down.

Challenge your Negative Thoughts. We've been conditioning ourselves to hate ourselves with the repetitive negative voices in our heads. These core beliefs stem from our childhood and the things the people we looked up to may have said to us until we believed it. We've also been conditioned to never question everything and accept everything as truth and fact, when in reality these thoughts and opinions are not rooted in truth or fact. Not even a little bit. We end up adopting other people's thoughts and projections of us as our own thoughts and think they belong to us. Learning to challenge these inherited thoughts will allow ourselves to become more empowered as we begin to realize we're not those negative things.

Learn mindfulness and gratitude. Learning to be aware of your present moment and not focusing on the past (depression) or future (anxiety) can help to develop trust within yourself because this skill helps you to intentionally focus on what you can control: the present. When you see yourself being able to focus your attention mindfully, you can begin to trust yourself and your ability to self-control your mind and thoughts. It helps you to slow down, appreciate life, and come to a place where you can direct your attention to things that matter or need attention to.

Don't be afraid of your emotions! We've all been made to feel ashamed of how we feel whether it's crying, vulnerability, anger, jealousy, etc., but suppressing them will only make us feel numb. Let yourself feel what needs to be felt, even if you need to do it in private. When you give yourself the permission to be vulnerable with yourself, you're building on that self-trust.

Learn to stop caring what people think of you. When you get to know yourself better, you start to stop caring what other people think of you. This is a whole new liberating power in itself. When you know you, no one can tell you differently. It becomes so much easier to laugh at all the mean things people say about you because you realize that you're okay with who you are, you're comfortable with who you are, and there's strength in not letting another person's words harm you. This takes time too though, but it's a good goal to work towards on your healing journey and usually occurs as a result of being able to trust yourself.

I hope this is a start and can help you along the right path. Feel free to send another Ask if you need any further explanations or examples. 💖💖

#ask #answered #anon #self trust #trust #self compassion #self kindness #self love #mindfulness #gratitude #emotional intelligence

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years ago

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Heyo, reporting back to request a continuation of a continuation of a continuation, if you wouldn't mind! Aka, please more 3rd Life Villainpulse angst, I'm so invested (and very curious as to whether his latest murder attempt was an actual success, or if he really should have stuck around to verify the death...)

i genuinely rly love this! i’ve got such plans for it now that i think i’ll make it into an actual proper fic.

i’ve also now posted it on AO3, titled Stand For Nothing! link here

…

Impulse is getting concerned. It’s been over five minutes and no death message in chat. It should’ve happened by now. He had been worried about being found near the scene of a death — it’d already been about five minutes since the meeting and someone would’ve gone to find Skizz, so his items would almost certainly be found — but now he’s starting to think he should have stuck around anyway and made sure the job was finished.

He had been intending to stay here at his villager trading centre until the death notification came up and then he would run back to Dogwarts and play the distressed best friend.

But no death message. So his plan has to change.

When he makes it back to Dogwarts, he finds Ren standing outside the Renchanting building, his face pale. When he spots Impulse, he quickly beckons him. “Impulse! For the love of god, where’ve you been?!”

Impulse blinks. With no death message in chat, what can Ren be so worked up about? “W-What? What’s happened…?”

“Skizzle’s been attacked! We heard an explosion outside our walls and when we went to check, we found him out there, passed out. He’s in a critical condition but Martyn’s with him now and hopefully he’ll recover.”

Impulse can only stare at Ren with an open mouth and a pit in his stomach. Somehow, in all the possible outcomes he pictured for this scenario, he never imagined Dogwarts would actually find Skizz alive. After three perfect murders, it seems he got careless.

“O-Oh my god,” he manages to choke out. “C-Can I see him?”

“Not yet, but Martyn will tell us when we can.”

Ren takes him down into the living area under Renchanting. There, Etho is pacing back and forth in front of a closed door, clearly deep in thought, but he glances up as Ren comes in. “Ren, you found him.”

Ren nods, even though it wasn’t really a question. “Any word?”

“Not yet. Martyn has three healing potions in there with him though, so I’d say Skizz’s chances are really good.”

Impulse has to strain to keep his expression steady at that. “G-Good. That’s good.”

Something changes almost imperceptibly in Etho’s expression, but Ren, clearly not noticing, rubs Impulse’s back reassuringly. “He’ll be okay, Impulse. Don’t worry.”

All Impulse can do is nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the door opens and Martyn appears, his body blocking the view inside the room. “He’s awake,” he reports, a very serious look on his face. “Ren.”

Ren quickly ducks into the room, but when Impulse starts to follow, Martyn blocks him. “Not you,” he says coldly. “Etho, stay with him, please.”

Impulse’s heart freezes. There’s only one reason Martyn would stop him from seeing his injured best friend.

Skizz has told him everything.

He takes a step back and bumps into something behind him, causing him to jump.

“What’s going on, Impulse?” asks Etho casually, an only-just-discernible undertone of danger in his voice. “You seem a little tense.”

“My best friend almost died,” Impulse replies coldly, but even he can tell his words are unconvincing.

“Indeed. I wonder how that happened?”

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Etho. Why would you have any reason to suspect me?”

Etho just folds his arms and says nothing, infuriating Impulse. “You said I was the only person on this server you really trust!”

“That was before I joined these guys. I’ve had a weird feeling in my stomach about you for a while, Impulse. Something hasn’t felt right since this whole thing started, but I assumed it was just me trying to apply rationality to this irrational world. But one thing never changes, Impulse. No matter how much you try to change it.”

Impulse falls silent, scowling at the ground. He’s already given away too much in his tone and expression.

He glances sideways at Etho, who has his eyes fixed on the door Ren and Martyn went through. Realisation dawns on him: Etho isn’t expecting him to put up a fight. Etho thinks he has nowhere to go.

Now is the time, then. He can’t afford to wait any longer; when Ren and Martyn come back out here, it’s over. Impulse knows he can’t take on three people at once. This is his last chance to escape alive.

So when Etho shifts position a few seconds later, Impulse strikes. Before he can react, Impulse sweeps Etho’s legs out from under him and shoves him into the wall as he’s falling. Without waiting around to see the result of his attack, Impulse takes off running.

He makes it out of Renchanting and is just about to run down the hill towards the crastle when an arrow whizzes by him, nicking the sleeve of his t-shirt and causing him to lose his balance. Suppressing a scream, Impulse topples down the hill and lands in the shallow river at the bottom. He tries to continue onward but has to stop as he puts weight on his left foot and realises he must have twisted his ankle during his fall.

Gritting his teeth through the throbbing pain, he looks up in time to be able to dodge another arrow fired at him by the figure on top of Dogwarts’s wall.

He has to keep going.

Every step on his left foot is agony but he pushes himself on, half-galloping down the hill on the other side, the crastle in his sights.

“Bdubs!” he shrieks as he draws near, his heart racing. The Red Army is likely right behind him. “BDUBS!”

The person he’s calling rushes out of the castle over the drawbridge just in time to catch Impulse as he finally loses his balance and pitches forward.

“Impulse! You’re soaking wet!? What the-?!”

“Th- They’re coming for me,” he croaks. His eyes flicker up and he spots two faces in the windows on the second floor. It’s time for the performance of his life. “Dogwarts turned on me! They think I killed Tango and Cleo a-a-and made you kill Joel!”

“What?!” gasps Bdubs. “That’s ridiculous! Why would they think that?!”

“I-I don’t know but th- They’re gonna kill me, Bdubs…!”

“Not on my watch!”

Bdubs quickly ushers Impulse inside the crastle and into the waiting arms of Jimmy. Together, the two guide Impulse upstairs and lay him down in the bed Grian has placed in a position safely away from the slit windows.

“What happened, Impulse?” Bdubs asks softly. “How did they turn on you?”

Impulse takes a shaky breath. “Something happened to Skizz. He… He got attacked. Then he told everyone it was me and that I’d killed Tango and Cleo and manipulated you into killing Joel.”

“First of all, that’s utterly ridiculous,” Bdubs snaps. “I killed Joel because he was about to kill you. And second, why on earth would you want to kill Tango or Cleo?”

“I-I think you might’ve been right, Bdubs. I th-think Etho was responsible for Cleo’s death. And now he’s got Dogwarts trying to make me a scapegoat.”

Bdubs’s gaze darkens. “Despicable little-.”

“BDOUBLEO!”

“Stay there,” says Bdubs.

He strides to the window, flanked by Grian and Scott, armed with his crossbow. “What do you want, Ren?”

Down on the ground, having left Skizz in the care of BigB, stand Ren, Martyn, and Etho, staring up at the castle. The latter two hold bows, while Ren is armed with a sword and shield.

“We know Impulse is hiding out in there,” Ren announces, with the regal but dangerous air of a king. “Hand him over to us, Bdubs.”

“No way in hell,” Bdubs snaps back. “He told me everything!”

“We can guarantee you he did not,” responds Martyn steadily. “Not the truth, anyway. He’s using you, Bdubs.”

“YOU’re the ones using HIM! As a scapegoat!”

“Impulse isn’t the angel you think he is, Bdubs,” Etho says darkly. “You’re protecting the person who killed Cleo.”

“No, YOU killed Cleo,” snarls Bdubs. “And I bet you killed Tango too and tried to blame it on me! You’re just trying to frame anyone you can so you can get away with it!”

Despite the pain and stress he’s experiencing, Impulse can’t help feeling proud of himself. The seeds of doubt and suspicion he’s sown between Bdubs and Etho are paying off now.

“Bdubs.” Ren’s voice drops slightly as emotion creeps into his tone. “He attacked his best friend and left him to die. If we hadn’t found him in time, Skizz would have succumbed to his injuries alone and terrified in the middle of nowhere, murdered by his own best friend.”

“What exactly is Impulse’s motive supposed to be, here?” Scott asks suddenly. “You say he killed Tango and Cleo, orchestrated Joel’s death, and tried to murder Skizzle. Why exactly would he want to do that?”

“Skizz claims Impulse said it was because Tango “knew too much” about something,” Martyn says. “Some kind of secret that Impulse is keeping. And that Cleo’s and Joel’s deaths were “necessary to push the war forward”. That’s his motive, Scott. Impulse wants war, and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it.”

“We ARE talking about the same Impulse, right?” demands Bdubs. “Our Impulse? The sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly? Are we sure Skizz didn’t just misremember? He's a little unreliable like that. Maybe he said it was someone else who-.”

“Don’t you dare!” Martyn bursts out suddenly, his voice filled with the most venom anyone had ever heard it. “Don’t you DARE say that! You weren’t there, Bdubs! You didn’t have to fix his broken ribs and his fractured neck and his shattered arm! You weren’t there when he finally woke up after several minutes of crying out and panicked breathing like he was having a nightmare! You didn’t hear the way he cried, how terrified he was when he told me what happened, the raw agony in his voice! That’s not the demeanor of someone who MISREMEMBERED! Skizz has gone through hell today and it’s all Impulse’s fault! So I’m not leaving here without his head, in one form or another!”

“YEAH!” Ren yells in agreement, hitting his sword against his shield. “No more arguments. No more wasting time. If you don’t give us Impulse right NOW, we will declare war on you and take him by force.”

Inside the crastle, Impulse’s heart skips a beat. This is it: the moment of truth. Either everything he’s been working towards will finally come to fruition… or Bdubs will hand him over and he will die.

Bdubs straightens up, a steely look of determination appearing in his eyes.

“Then consider us at war.”

#3rdlifesmp #3rd life smp #impulsesv #bdubs #rendog #skizzleman #etho #vaunna’s requests

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