#i cant believe i drew this/neg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rxttenfish · 1 year ago

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hi !!! sending this on anon because i am rather nervous all things considered <:3 (i am lying to you, i have not considered 'all things'.) one monster prom fan to another (can we be compared using such broad terminology ? i feel as if i am domesticated compared to you... [compliment, or at the very least not inherently negative]) , i wanted to thank you SO SO SO VERY MUCH for giving miranda so much love and thought and mulling her over in your mind in such a ... refreshing way

i also really really really like miri , but i can only aspire to have your level of dedication . it feels almost like we are of totally different worlds... !!!!!

thank you for bringing in real world biology too :3 i absolutely adore your design for her so much (this is most likely not proper grammar, but it is very late and i am very cold and so i will hope with all my heart you will excuse this mistake. one of many, i should assume) - though !!!! i do have a question if that is alright ?????

i cant say that a marine macropredator of a significantly vibrant pink really strikes me as advantageous colouring - does the abyssal environment that you say the merfolk live in negate the need for camouflage and such ????? i apologise for sounding passive aggressive !!!! i am merely asking a question. cocking my head to the side if you will

additionally, i would like to ask something foolish. how do they acquire food? i dont want to say 'hunt', because that might seem insulting. historically were they built for stalking, or high speed chases, or...???? please, talk 'nerdy to me' as they say !!! <- in an entirely normal way befitting two strangers of course.

you know, i would have expected to hit the ask word limit by now. but it seems i have not. yippee !!!!

with my extra space, i shall add this: I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THE WAY YOIU WRITE MIRI . GOOD LOOOOOORD IT IS AMAZING HAVIJNG SOMEOENE WHO KNOWS WHAT THEYRE DOING IWIITH HER thank yoiu for making her at least moderately intelligent. i feel blessed <- is this all too harsh sounding???? im a little new to all this letter/ask-writing thing <:3

IN ANY CASE !!!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOIU SO VERY MUCH. AGAIN. drops this and scuttles away

https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761693443676045363/1183251697129226270/ordered3.png

also i believe you can indeed tell, but i drew that in ms paint with my finger .. sorry that it looks like poop <:3

(moving the image out of the link just in case it breaks-)

AAAAAA THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!! this looks so WONDERFUL i love the way that you've shaped her head and how you've captured how Chunky it is... i know its one of the things people have the hardest time drawing with her so its just all the more impressive how well youve managed to capture her!!!

i also love the little doodles eeeee..... please feel free to toss all ocs at miri, its enrichment for her <3 ironically gentle chewing/biting is a Play and Bonding thing for merfolk so she shall happily Bites Bites Bites back-

(also i LOVE her smile!!! you arent anthropomorphizing in the slightest for that - miri often does have very human expressions in a way that's odd for a merfolk, because she effectively got imprinted during her time spent inland... and its politically useful if you smile and match expressions with the people you're trying to work with anyways)

ill also go ahead and answer your questions because i can! very easily clarify on them!

the color: actually, being bright red and pink is actually very common for deep sea animals, due to the way light works at depth! its why i decided miranda was abyssal, because that felt like the most natural way to explain why she's pink, since it's such an uncommon color in nature.

basically, different colors of light have different lengths! red is the shortest wavelength of light, and blue is the longest. water might be clear, but there's a lot of water in the ocean, and the more water you add, the more it filters out light - which is why the bottom of a pool might be dark and shady, but if you hold a little of the water in your hands there's no shade. the ocean is a lot deeper than a pool, and so it gets darker as you go down, but because it's also clear, it doesn't filter out all that light at the same rate.

red, being the shortest wavelength of light, gets filtered out first, so red often gets quickly darker the deeper down you go, until it's completely black! camouflage is dependent on the environment, so their color and brightness has to match the background, but it also depends on the light that's hitting the animal. it's why fawns have dappled spots, or animals might have black stripes, so they can mimic the light of their environment. and when your environment has no red light, well... red's a pretty good color to be!

because of this, a lot of animals in the deep sea can't actually see red either, which is doubly the reason why you might want to be red! think of it like tigers, and how ungulates often can't see their orange, making them look just about the same color as the foliage around them when they're hunting! miranda might stick out on land, but that's just because we aren't seeing her in the environment she's made for, where she blends in with everything else around her as much as a pure black animal.

(it's also why her bioluminescence is blue - blue is the longest wavelength of light, and the one most animals can see at that depth. if she lights up, then she wants to be seen, and she can even alter her silhouette to appear larger or smaller or breaking it up into multiple shapes if she needs to. it's why her tapetum lucidum is blue when light's shone on it, because there is blue light to be seen at depth, it's just very dim!)

(this is also why giant squid are bright red, and why the stoplight loosejaw fish is so special! the latter actually produces its own red light, and can see red light, which means that it has a secret light that won't reveal where it is but will reveal to it where its prey is!)

food: this is something that depends a lot, because there are actually multiple different species of merfolk, which is mostly my fault because i don't always feel like i communicate this the best. they're all slightly different in how they evolved to capture prey, with abyssals in particular being fuckoff huge ambush predators that attack from below, and others being shallower-water hunters or more adapted for smaller, faster prey - but they all evolved from an ancestor with a fairly consistent prey-capture method.

in short, all merfolk are ancestrally evolved to hunt whales and other large prey items, with all the extant species still holding at least a degree of this. primarily, they were ambush predators who were good at getting in close to their prey before a sudden burst of speed. they would work together in close-knit groups (one of the big pressures for their increasing socialization and larger brains, to coordinate such groups) to all mob a single prey item at once, hitting with force to cause sudden trauma, and then using their claws, double-thumbs, back feet, and mouths to hold onto their prey and refuse to be dislodged. they'd repeatedly claw and use their strong bites and massive heads to rip deeply into their prey, causing further massive trauma and shock, and if that failed, bleeding their prey to death.

think of it like the raptor prey restraint model, just further taking advantage of the fact that they were underwater, where no one else has hands that could potentially rip them off. being smaller and somewhat less-optimized for marine life compared to things like sharks and whales and large fish worked for them, because they had a novel adaptation that allowed them to take advantage of things no one else could, and the numbers to make up for it. this is, likewise, why they never lost their hands and fully developed flippers, instead making their limbs as flipper-like as possible to make up for it.

then as time went on and certain populations became separated from each other, they adapted for slightly different niches, but all remain fairly closely related to each other as a genus.

in the modern day, most merfolk don't really "hunt" for all of their meals, at least not in the same way that we might think. don't get me wrong, they still absolutely hunt and it's a larger part of their lives than it is for most humans, but they have options.

mostly, the merfolk theory for their relationship with nature is to invite it in. this is not to say they aren't controlling and pruning it, but they do live underwater, and it's far harder to keep animals out than it is on land, so merfolk accepted it and worked with it. they'll work to promote growth around their buildings and where they live, fostering the growth of sea grass and algae and coral and other sessile animals, encouraging them to set down and grow in these areas, and they'll then let more wild animals move in, further encouraged by these natural sources of food and shelter, on top of merfolk working even further to encourage them in. they serve as a functional cleanup crew for the merfolk in these settlements, being allowed to eat anything that merfolk might drop or go to waste, and even moreso might be purposefully fed at times, or have specific homes for them built. merfolk will keep encouraging them and taking care of them until they become a biorich hotspot, creating unique oasises for wildlife to live alongside merfolk.

however, this isn't just a free-for-all, persay. merfolk will also purposefully prune these populations and control how they form, often removing "problem" animals and encouraging certain behaviors which makes it easier for these populations to live alongside merfolk, not viewing them as a threat, but also not viewing them as an opportunity either. they will directly shape how these areas grow and cultivate them on a physical level, often using them as an easy shortcut to literally grow their settlements and buildings. but they will also harvest from these populations and selectively breed them, until their cities and towns act as massive public gardens full of food to be caught, picked, and eaten at any time

as there are also a lot of (very politically powerful) nomadic groups, they also do this, albeit not always so directly. they'll have specific shoals or "runs" of fish that they will follow behind and take care of, managing as they move through the ocean in accordance with the seasons. this is where the whales still factor in, because the nomadic groups will also take care of the whales, purposefully keeping an eye on their pods and taking care of them and, when the time comes, being choosy and particular in which whale they select at any given time to be hunted, harvested, and eaten.

(there's also the way in which food is distributed and managed throughout the merkingdom, since some food is indeed shipped and moved throughout the different areas, but that's a different story for another time and i've talked enough)

BUT!!!! thank you so much and thank you for enjoying all of this that ive been making with miri, and thank you for giving me an excuse to talk more about her <3

#all the care guide says is 'biomass'#asks #Anonymous #Monster Prom #Miranda Vanderbilt #i am wholeheartedly a ''miri is smart'' person because i mean. cmon.#of course shes smarter than she looks you dont just trip your way into knowing how to play people like a fiddle #manipulation requires cleverness!! knowing how to use it well just comes with the station she has #(honestly to the point where i think her playing stupid is just. well. that! playing stupid!)#(and sometimes just Playing too tbh. she seems to enjoy just. being silly. more than fully fitting into her role)#(which from what i can tell she DOES fit into her role VERY well)#(and absolutely means that yeah no miri acting the way she does isnt just because she has no idea how to be any other way)#(and is instead a deliberate choice that she's making for some other reason)#(which continues to frustrate me because CANON STOP MOVING TOWARDS ''NO SHES JUST STUPID'')

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21ate · 2 years ago

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i got my new tablet and so far its pretty nice! here, i drew up some stuff for my sonic forces au hehe. someday id like to produce a legit comic for it, so if youd like to know more, ive put some context under the read more :)

i also have a separate blog just for sonic stuff which will be where i post the rest of my au art, so check out @mobianstrip as well!

SONIC FORCES AU (official title still pending)

okay, i think its fair to say that sega did a poor job writing a war story with any kind of point and the confusing tone is frustrating, so my au takes the dark themes present in the game and actually follows through on expanding upon them.

it always bothered me that sonic just lets eggman go even though he almost took over the planet in a literal war he started, displacing and killing (er, roboticizing?) thousands, if not millions of mobians. i dont care that infinite was the stronger threat - eggman is still responsible for finding the phantom ruby and teaming up with infinite to begin with. why would anyone allow eggman to get away with something on this scale of destruction???

obviously sega has to keep their games formulaic and they cant just kill eggman or something, but this is the one storyline where allowing him to get away doesnt work in my opinion. the unusually high stakes implied/explicitly stated versus the practically nonexistent consequences leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

this au takes a more realistic approach to the aftermath of the war. eggman has been captured by the resistance and imprisoned indefinitely and sonic, for whatever his reasons may be, doesnt believe eggman should be imprisoned. he advocates for his release and this causes massive backlash across mobius. soon enough, tensions rise so high that a riot breaks out in front of his home.

you could argue that this may not justify burning his house down, but sonic is not supposed to be in the right here either and his comment about peaceful protests is intentionally a pretty bad, tone deaf take. im sick of sonic's characterization as a perfect hero who is always in the right and always happy, so i decided that this would turn into a negative trait in the context of a war story.

so, being really into the superhero deconstruction genre lately, thats sort of the tone im aiming for here as well.

i dont want to give too much of the story away though, so youll just have to wait until i write and draw so more (or check out my sonic blog, though i consider the designs to be a bit outdated. also, it will no longer be called 25 years later! take the old stuff with a grain of salt, ive got lots of new ideas now hehe)

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic forces #shadow the hedgehog #sth #my art

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spiderling-space · 3 years ago

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Hey so this thought has been on my mind for like ages and I think that you'd be able to write a headcanon about it in a wonderful way, so I'm presenting this idea to you hehe ( I love ur blog so so so much btw!)

So let's say that whatever miracles of seven happened, that Yuu overblots. Being constantly pushed around by other students by being magicless, solving the idiot trio's problems, trying to survive overblots and dealing with Crowley's neglectful ass cheeks sure is not easy. With all the piled and bottled up negative emotions, Yuu like the previous boys, overblots. Yuu wasn't that hard to defeat cuz you know, they're magicless, but the twst boys did struggle and Yuu's quite the challenge too. So what if, after Yuu's overblot, they had a full on mental breakdown. Not like crying mental breakdown, they're full on SCREAMING, their voice are cracking too, and very painful to hear. They started to unconsciously harm themselves so they have to be tied down to prevent to hurt themselves further. How would the dormleaders react to that?

(Sorry for my English and if I ever break a rule, it's OK if you decide to not do this too. Btw I got this idea when I watch ATLA aka Aang the last airbender, for reference of the breakdown of Yuu just search "Azula's breakdown" that practically how their breakdown looked like :D)

I cant write headcanons because you basically wrote everything. I will just make comments and additions to this. first I mention the background, secondly Azula’s breakdown so non ATLA watchers can understand a little and lastly, MC having breakdown like Azula. For the record, I could write about ATLA for pages since it is something I love since 2005. LOL This became a bit meta xd

You can join the discord server here 😉🤣

Firstly, the back ground:

I was 7 years old when ATLA started airing. I’d be excited to get back home to watch ATLA after school. Azula’s breakdown was awful back then when I first watch it as a kid. And of course, when they aired the episodes again and again. I rewatched again because I remembered the show being dope when I was in 12th grade which was stress relief while studying for university exams, and then I rewatched last year and even founded a Zutara server. Now I’m getting back to the point. In the last two rewatching, I saw Azula in a different light and her breakdown at the end of the show was understandable. I can recommend some ATLA meta that you might like.

Secondly, Azula’s breakdown:

Azula lost everything. In the flashbacks, you saw she was getting along with Zuko, laughing and playing tag until Ozai’s influence on her grew while Ursa showed more affection towards Zuko since Ozai basically hated Zuko. These two triggered each other and it grew like snowball effect which came to the point that Ozai-Azula and Ursa-Zuko. She didn’t get love from Ozai, she was just a puppet, someone to empower him more, not his daughter meanwhile to Ursa, she was a monster. Azula was 8 years old Ursa disappeared. Imagine how this would affect the child. After this, she had estranged brother that she was jealous of because of Ursa’s love, a father who manipulated her, and an uncle who was too in pain to do anything and he was more focused on Zuko. She only had Mai and Ty Lee as “friends” but it was toxic and Azula used fear to control them. After Zuko got banished, Mai and Ty Lee went to their own places, leaving Azula alone with Ozai. Just when Zuko got back, she was being like the last times, cruel teasing, Mai and Ty Lee with her. Later, Zuko went away and probably got lectured by Ozai for her lie. Mai and Ty Lee stood against her. In the end, she had no one. Ozai didn’t want her with him either because he only wants power. Being alone drew her to the edge. In the Royal Hair Washing, the girl sje fired had her face. Her self hatred was palpable. She started to reflect this via Ursa, the mother who thought her as monster and didn’t love her like she did Zuko. I believe she would have had breakdown if she actually killed Zuko. At the end, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Being all alone, not being loved, self hatred and finally failing at something which is something she knows Ozai would never tolerate like he did with Zuko. This 14-year-old wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore and had breakdown.

Now last section, MC having breakdown like Azula’s:

Let’s see the things MC went through:

Stripped away from home

Doesn’t have much memory of it

Is thrusted into a world so foreign to them, where everything is foreign to them. There is no familiar thing that can make them recall home or feel at home

Is forced to study things that they have no prior info where the others have prior info and they are expected to ace the tests. This puts on pressure on regular students, can’t imagine the pressure they would feel since they barely understand the magic.

Is treated like trash by everyone at least once. From the first moment they came to Twisted Wonderland, they were like dirtbag. Dire gave them a house where they could get Hepatitis A to C, tetanus, hypothermia and any other disease. They have lived in that state for months and the house barely got fixed by the end of exams. They got belittled or used by almost all characters at least once. Examples: Vil calling them nobody; Azul trying to take the only thing they have from them, the dorm; Riddle calling them uneducated because not having magical parents; Leona acting like they are a toy in E2; Jamil literally manipulating their choice; sometimes NPC characters talked; Cater making them do his work etc.

They are given more than a person should handle. They are not certificated psychologist, they aren’t superhuman, they don’t have super healing... They are just human but has to fight enemies than can easily kill them if it were not the magic users around them. They are given the task of dealing with the emotional breakdown of the other people.

All of these are building up more and more. Maybe they started to get along with people after the belittlement and being used but every new character does this. At one point, it will be too much and they will think “they are only nice to me because I did a favor to them. If not for that, they wouldn’t be nice to me” which would lead to self doubt. When one starts doubting themselves, everything else starts to go down. Also, new characters treating them that way adds salt to the wound.

MC isn’t a professional psychologist. They can’t handle other people’s issues without taking a toll at themselves. They don’t even catch a break between everything.

Dire is deliberately keeping them away from home as they all do the errands he say. To him, what MC wants doesn’t matter much. The game doesn’t show but if MC has family and friends or pets, you can’t tell me that they wouldn’t miss them once or see, hug them or know their state, alive-dead, healthy-sick etc.

Lastly not being invincible. The end of Episode 5 shows this well. They couldn’t stand against Grim who isn’t as powerful as the other overblot characters. They are mortal who can get hurt easily.

Now all these build up meanwhile we don’t see an MC centered chapter, how they are etc. It’s all about the others. Maybe there were a few chapters asking if MC is okay after everything but it feels like it is in the second plan.

Everything that I mentioned can lead to a breakdown like Azula’s. Everything is just too much to handle and they don’t talk with a professional about it. When they finally let out everything, it feels much better, screaming out their lungs, lashing out like all of them did. They are finally letting out all of their emotions, crying and screaming; yet still feels better than bottling everything up. They think maybe that’s how overblot characters felt.

All in all, everyone in NRC needs a counselor.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst mc #twisted wonderland mc #MC/Yuu #twisted wonderland meta #twst meta #twst yuu #twisted wonderland Yuu

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crazyalien87 · 3 years ago

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angry rant about being a gender critical trans person and people denying my own experiences and agency as a human being while lying through their damn teeth

Being a gender critical trans person is so annoying sometimes because people on both sides deny my experiences and tell me I hate myself while lying through their fucking teeth.

gendies will say I hate myself for admitting I'm a woman (do they think being a woman is a negative trait? or honesty?) and tell me to start believing in their shit instead of what terfs say.

As if I didn't believe in their ideology for YEARS. I CHOSE to go and see what gender critical people said because it got to a boiling point and I couldn't handle the hypocrisy of gendies anymore. I'd been both tucute and truscum and saw the ridiculousness on both sides. Tucute said nondysphoric nontransitioning transwomen is the same as cis women and dysphoric transitioning mfs and whether someone is a man or woman is based on basically nothing (self-id). Truscum/transmed say someone's gender dysphoria isn't "real" dysphoria if it isn't inherent instead of caused by environmental factors or if they choose not to transition. someone could literally deal with dysphoria nonmedically in the same fucking way as transmeds, but if they didn't plan to follow it up with medical transition later, they weren't actually dysphoric. they said detrans people were never trans (despite fucking medically transitioning) and were 100% cis. they drew stupid fucking arbitrary lines over a fucking mental illness with no science to back it up. I realized that neither of these groups fucking cared about actually helping gender dysphoric people (aka me) fucking deal with their damn dysphoria. they just cared about stupid fucking lines over concepts with wildly different and contradictory definitions (trans & gender id).

So then I decided to go their ideological opponents (except gender stereotype conservatives bc i heard that shit my whole life like "real men cant wear dress"), gender critical people. Maybe they actually made sense and cared about gender dysphoric people. And guess what? They did and do make sense and care and are actually helpful. instead of obsessing over gender dysphoria and whether I was a "Real Trans" like I did as a truscum, I stopped fucking worrying so damn much. With gender critical people, I could ask questions without getting shunned or banned. I was allowed to disagree and seek the opinions of dissenters. So, I kept asking questions. I kept asking and found out that gender critical ideology still made sense. Whereas, the whole foundation of gender id ideology came crumbling down as soon as I started questioning it (when people actually gave me answers instead of banning and blocking me for being curious).

gendies like to call terfs a fucking c*lt. and yet who tells their followers to never think, ask questions, see the other side's point of view, to think for oneself? gendies do that shit. they ain't a cult by any means but they ain't the one to talk.

and yet gender critical people ain't perfect either! some talk like medical transition is the worst thing in the world. they act like touching hrt causes someone to disintegrate. as if trans people like buck angel, blair white, laverne cox, and caitlyn jenner don't exist and look healthy for their respective ages. as if they haven't been around for years after obviously getting hrt and maybe even surgery. I am not saying transition isn't risky. but it's not instant death either. yeah maybe you disagree but I think consenting adults should get to have body mods. yes, even if these are risky like surgery. everything has risk and reward. driving a car is risky. you could get in a car accident and die instantly. and yet you maybe get in a car every day! why? because adults can use their damn brains and decide which rewards they want and much risk they will take for it. like if you said no transition before 25 or something I get it. but to say like a 30 year old isn't smart enough to carefully take risks is fucking demeaning.

#yes im vaguing about ppl on tumblr and other soccial medias #yes im mad #fuck you #angry rant #angry #rant #personal

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

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Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 4]

<- Part 3

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only! Suicidal thoughts. Nonconsensual blowjob, dubcon smut with reader (gender-neutral). None of the smut in this chapter is healthy! Two messed up people falling in love, only one is a lot more abusive than the other (Chilton. It’s Chilton). Reader is not in the healthiest of mind states to interpret their relationship. Everyone more or less gets what they deserve by the end.

6,400 words

Red morning light flooded into the bedroom through expansive panoramic windows that gave a spectacular view over the bay. Dr. Chilton—no, Frederick—was still beside you, rolled onto his back, snoring lightly. The bed was warm and smelled like him. A spicy, timeless fragrance. Expensive and a little off-putting at first whiff, until it melted into something complex and beautiful.

You felt hollow. Numb. Like you could float away or sink to the bottom of the ocean and never claw your way back out again. But calmer, at least. The impulse to hurt yourself was gone.

The negativity that had been devouring you from within had been washed away by a flood of tears and joy—crying until your eyes burned and your throat was hoarse, fucking your boss, going home with him, and then falling asleep crying again while he held you.

This morning, you had nothing left except static.

And there was Frederick Chilton, asleep beside you like a dreaming titan—the silhouette of his body beautiful and ominous. You resisted the urge to cuddle up next to him. He reacted badly to being touched without warning, and besides, you dreaded waking him up. What if he wasn’t happy? What if everything from last night was a mistake?

It all seemed surreal. That he had wanted you all along was too good to be true. Now that he had you, you were certain to be a disappointment. Your chest heaved unexpectedly, and you bit back a fresh sob. Suddenly your face was wet again.

Your nerves were so raw.

The peaceful static buzzing through your mind was fragile. Any sudden movement or loud thought might set you spiraling back down that hole again. You’re just going to screw this up, just like you screw everything up. Maybe it would have been better if you’d just gone through with it—saved everyone the inevitable heartache.

But if you had gone through with it, you never would have found out that Frederick returned your feelings. That knowledge—that something wonderful happened after your planned date of expiration—was reason enough not to try again. Sometimes good things happened. Things could change. Things could get better, and you could be happy again. You had to believe that.

So you moved slowly, and thought quietly. You listened to Frederick’s breathing in and out, and remained wrapped in the warm cocoon of blankets.

***

On the spectrum of touch aversion, Frederick Chilton was hardly a dramatic case. There was a Mr. Walton in his custody at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane who was imprisoned for murdering his four-year-old daughter because she would not stop hugging his calves as he walked by. Restraining the man for treatment required four muscular orderlies prepared for him to kick and bite at the slightest grazing of his skin.

That was touch aversion. Dr. Chilton considered himself perfectly normal by comparison.

He was able to shake hands with an acquaintance, hug a close friend or relative when social normalcy dictated he offer one, and even engage in sexual intercourse when his libido overrode his discomfort. As a man with a very high libido and next to no dating life, sex won out at every opportunity.

Yesterday, the hasty, frantic encounter with you in the medicine storage closet had been almost fully clothed. His hands explored your body as he rutted into you, but yours were braced against the tile wall, passive.

It was impersonal, and he was in control.

This morning, he awoke wrapped in the warmth of your body heat after you spent the night in his bed. In his home. He fell asleep watching you and awoke to you watching him thrashing out of a nightmare, your eyes full of so much emasculating pity that he lunged forward at once to kiss the look off your face.

Fuck—he did not know what he was thinking. A muffled noise of surprise escaped your crushed lips and then melted into a moan as you reciprocated. You opened compliantly to allow his tongue entrance. He meant to bully away your perception of his weakness with the aggressive kiss—he had not expected you to coil your fingers deep into his hair and pull him closer. Your leg pushed between his, and as he pulled back, panting, you quickly closed the gap and kissed him again.

Your bright floral scent was everywhere, surrounding him, invading the familiarity of his sheets. Your hands were pulling at him, softly caressing up and down his back.

It was intimate.

And he was terrified.

You saw him freezing up, and your hands stopped grabbing at him. Some of his tension evaporated as soon as you gave him space. A worried smile thinned your lips.

“Sorry. I forgot,” you murmured. “Is this better?”

You remembered. This was usually where his bedmate would call him too cold, or roll their eyes in annoyance. There was the usual guilt trip: if he was attracted to them, he would want to be crowded with physical affection. But you asked if he wanted to stop—asked him what he needed. No one had ever done that for him before.

“I am fine,” he swore to your skeptical frown, and it almost wasn’t a lie.

Knowing that you would stop put him at ease. The sunny persona you used at work may have been a forgery, but your gentle kindness was not. With you, he almost was fine.

He kissed you again, this time as tenderly as he had while you were sleeping. Felt you breathe in as his lips met yours, and then melt into him as you breathed out. He caressed your hair, and when your eyes opened again, taking him in, his heart felt full.

***

As a general rule of thumb, it is not a good idea to fuck your boss. This rule goes double when you are in the middle of a mental health crisis, and increases geometrically when said crisis was precipitated by your boss’s callous, condescending, cruel behavior in the first place. Or—that is to say—when your boss is Dr. Frederick Chilton.

But when you wake up in your boss’s bed having already fucked him, he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and the twitching of his erection against your thigh makes you feel alive again, you might as well accept you’re in too deep and go for it.

Dr. Chilton’s cock was already slipping through the open fly of his pajamas, and your hand helped it the rest of the way out. You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him on your tongue, his salty taste filling your mouth. Bracing a hand on one of his thighs, you lowered yourself to the pink dome.

“N-no,” Frederick stammered. “You do not have to do that.”

“I want to,” you hummed, a seductive rumble to your voice.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward once in appreciation for your willingness, but his eyes kept a haunted dullness that told you there was more behind his refusal than politeness. There was a story there, and you knew better than to push it.

You couldn’t have known it was his conscience intruding.

Taking control, he pushed you back down onto the mattress. The sound of lube squeezing from a bottle shortly preceded a cold slickness spread between your legs. You reached for him instinctively, trying to make it romantic, but he pinned your hands down by your side. The crown of his cock pushed against your tight entrance, which burned at the penetration it was unprepared for. It was cold, rushed—but as he canted his hips forward, his fingers laced through yours.

“Oh god,” he moaned as if he were kneeling in prayer, whispering his sins in confession—guttural, yet barely a breath.

You grit your teeth to cage the pained cry that leaped in your throat, stifling it into what passed for a whimper of pleasure. The stretch of his unceremonious insertion was the punishment you deserved for being so dramatic and causing so much trouble yesterday. For making him bring you home, worry about you, feel like he had to take care of you. For being weak. For all the incompetent mistakes. You didn’t complain that your body screamed in protest at being forced open too fast by such a large implement. It wasn’t that bad, and the sensation was mixed with pleasure. Satisfaction of seeing the handsome doctor’s face contorting with lust warmed your stomach, and soon your body relaxed around his cock, warmth pooling and coiling in your lower back.

Chilton’s first thrusts were controlled, experimental, rocking forward by slow inches and then retreating until the crest of his cockhead was barely hanging on to the tight rim of your opening. Then he rocked forward again while his analytical green eyes studied your reaction.

After a few of these slow strokes, the pain was gone. Perhaps he had been cognizant of it, waiting until you were letting out soft moans, your pelvis tilting to meet his, before continuing. Then his leg muscles tightened, and his next thrust slammed his hips into yours, filling you completely. You cried out in unison—his a satisfied growl, and yours a wail like you’d been punched in the gut but got off on it.

He lost his thin facade of control after that, rutting into you with force, pressing sloppy wet kisses over your mouth, down your neck. Your fingers clenched his tightly, your knuckles turning white, and he gripped back just as hard. He only slowed to arch his back so he could tease your nipples into hardened peaks with his tongue, releasing new yelps and whimpers from your throat. A possessive bite drew a more resounding cry of pleasure and a dark bruise.

The only thing restrained about his performance was his voice. After his first shout of pleasure, he grew silent except for a few strained noises that told you how hard he was working to strangle back the others. You wondered what wild howls Dr. Chilton hid within him.

“I want to hear you,” you panted.

His face was a mask of effort, already covered in a sheen of sweat that betrayed his poor physical shape. He stared down at you like an enemy soldier in a trench—a spy picking at his weaknesses—and gave no reply.

A strange sort of bravery born of lust came over you. “I want to hear it when you come inside me,” you challenged.

The rhythmic motion of his hips stuttered, and a moan slipped past his defenses as if by your command.

“That’s good,” you purred. “That’s a good boy.”

Something shifted in his suspicious eyes at your praise. A wall came down. “Yes,” he rasped. “You want to hear it—” his voice was punctuated by a powerful snap of his hips and a wet sound of flesh “—when I fill you with my seed.”

“Fuck—yes. Please. Fill me, come inside me!” your voice shook as you moaned your assent. You were so hollow. You needed him—needed him to fill that emptiness inside. Needed his thick cock splitting you open, punishing you, claiming you.

“When I make you mine.” His eyes were wild, almost frightening in their focus upon you—perfect green tunnels into a soul as volatile as yours. He pounded into you deeper.

And he was loud. He had been loud yesterday when he took you fast and hard against the wall, but that encounter was a blur in your memory. Now his voice was the only music filling your head, replacing the static. He spoke continually in filthy promises and eloquent details of what he wanted to do to you, but his words were punctuated by inarticulate grunts and moans. An aching need built with each primal noise that was so unlike the repressed, cynical Dr. Chilton you knew at work.

Every trembling declaration of your name, every prayer to god that passed his lips sent a shock of arousal to your core, and when he half-begged, half-demanded, “Mine… you are mine,” you couldn’t help but agree.

“Yours!”

You were close, all of your senses lost to an overwhelming need. Chilton released one of your hands and slipped between your legs. Every nerve in your body came alive as he stroked you. Your back arched as you went rigid beneath him, crying out.

His head fell against your shoulder, hips bucking wildly, and he sobbed, “Oh god… yes… yes. Mine… mine… mmm—!”

He shuddered as his warmth flooded you. Though his hand became lazy as his own climax overtook him, you eked out an orgasm from the friction between your bodies. It was enough. Enough to leave a slippery mess on his bedsheets, and enough for the resulting crash.

Your emotional high popped like a soap bubble and left you just as hollow—somehow emptier than before—even with Dr. Chilton’s cock still inside you and his seed filling you. You felt wrong. Guilt churned in the place arousal had been occupying. You almost started to weep as he pulled out of you.

Chilton didn’t seem to notice, glowing with the opposite effect of his completion. He ducked between your legs, grabbed your thighs, and began sucking your overstimulated flesh with renewed enthusiasm.

“Ah! W-wait,” you squirmed in his grasp, but it was firm. “What are you doing? I-I already came!”

The sloppy wet noises paused. His chin was soaked and he took sadistic delight in your distraught whimpers. “Therapy,” he smirked. “I have a theory you have another one in you, and that it will benefit your health.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Be a good little subject for me and try,” he answered, “or we shall be here a long time.” Then he buried his face between your thighs.

It felt sickening at first, like swallowing a cup of sugar—too much of something good that becomes painful. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as his tongue worked mercilessly. Then his fingers pumped inside you, his slick cum serving as a lubricant, and that aching need began to return. Choked cries of misery dissolved into ones of pleasure. He didn’t stop until you came again in his mouth, legs quivering and bruised under his grip. This one was more powerful than the first—you could feel it through your entire body, in every limb, and when it finally passed and his mouth popped wetly off of you, your body was too leaden to move.

Chilton smiled, quite satisfied with himself, licking your release off his lips.

***

Work was less stressful when you returned to it on Monday. Dr. Chilton was suddenly understanding of your mistakes. Though you were terrified he would decide he was wrong about you—you were too much of an idiot and failure for a relationship—things at least improved to the point that you could pretend to be cheerful again. Fake it until you make it was your mantra.

Everyone could tell something had changed.

Shifts were rationed out fairly without the express aim of frustrating employees. Patients received actual treatment. Dr. Chilton’s mood was so much less spiteful that a new hire unironically called him nice.

“He must be getting laid,” was the rumor around the hospital, though no one could decide who in their right mind would sleep with him. Your grin dropped at an orderly’s suggestion it was a prostitute.

You were gathering up your keys and jacket from your personal locker in the staff room when the sound of expensive leather shoes clicking on the stone floor signaled the doctor’s approach. It no longer made you flinch.

Chilton glanced in from the hallway and, seeing you were not alone, politely said, “Good work today,” and continued on, his step lighter than usual.

“You didn’t,” Nurse Clerval said flatly.

“What?”

“You didn’t,” they repeated. A raised eyebrow caused worry wrinkles to erupt beneath a hairline steadily turning grey.

“Of course not!”

“Then what is all this about?”

Your entire body was shifted in the direction Dr. Chilton had gone as if straining to follow, and a tell-tale smile shaped your lips into a fawning curve. Oh, you were so busted.

“We happened to talk the other day, that’s all. In private.”

“How private?” Another brow raise.

Your cheeks burned. “It’s not like that! He’s shy. When we talked one-on-one, it turns out we get along. He apologized for always singling me out, and he’s just trying to be more supportive. As a management style.”

Clerval stared at you hard. Your chest puffed out, really proud of that lie. The older nurse had seen enough within the hospital walls to know the administrator suddenly adopting a kinder, gentler management style was horseshit. But their jaded heart had not lost all compassion. A young nurse caught fucking the boss would get ripped to pieces by the gossip mill in this vicious place.

“OK. Fine,” they surrendered. “Just don’t go around making googly eyes, or people will get the wrong idea.”

***

A timid knock sounded on Dr. Chilton’s door, although it was still open from his last meeting—a junior psychiatrist who hurried out fuming and near tears. Perhaps that was why the next appointment was hesitant to come in.

He looked up from his computer, and the crankiness entrenched in his bones shook off at the sight of your face. You were his eighth performance evaluation that day, somewhere in the middle of the pack, and he’d lost track. Now his demeanor shifted, and he did something he hadn’t done for the others by rising from his desk to greet you.

“Close the door, if you would,” he said before you got too far into the room.

The latch clicked shut.

You were nervous. Though you had been dating for months, you remained distant during the workweek to avoid scandal—if news of a relationship got back to the board, you might be transferred to another hospital. Alone in his office, it was unclear whether Dr. Chilton was your boss or your boyfriend. Letting you dangle in suspense sent a thrill of excitement up his spine.

“Take a seat. Let’s get started, shall we?” he said, sitting back down behind his computer.

His massive desk was known as “the moat” by his staff, and it created an impersonal distance between you. He eyeballed you from across the moat, tapping his fingers together as he sank into his tall-backed leather chair. You sat on a small wooden chair, feeling very much like a specimen, and focused on the space between his eyes.

“You have been late five times this year and had to have an ID card replaced,” he said in clipped syllables, launching right into the review with one “needs improvement” after another.

Your stomach twisted into a familiar knot, but you managed not to spiral into an attack of self-loathing and anxiety. If you were going to cry, you could hold it until later.

Talking to someone helped.

Even Chilton admitted it was unethical for your boyfriend to be your therapist, and recommended you to someone with more expertise. You had been seeing Dr. Bloom for three months, and the dark fog was slowly receding. She taught you how to beat it back. Finding another job, for example, was not an outrageous, impossible idea if your current one was making you miserable. And most of your mistakes were no worse than the mistakes of your coworkers whom you very much wanted to keep living. She started you on a bupropion prescription that helped stabilize your moods, and you found yourself able to focus better because of it, too.

It also helped not being bullied at work every day.

The more your self-esteem improved over the months, the more you came to resent the shameful way Frederick used to treat you. Yet, as those same months went by, his actions drifted further into the territory of Past Frederick. That man was a stranger now—you could hardly hold Present Frederick accountable for his actions. Present Frederick was attentive and warm, always surprising you with lavish meals from Baltimore’s finest restaurants, spa days, and quiet nights at home. And as your boss, he was aloof but polite whenever he had cause to speak with you.

Why was he acting so cold now?

Dr. Chilton’s green eyes bore into you over the top his computer screen. “Tsk tsk… I am afraid your performance has not been exceptional, nurse. Perhaps there is something you can do to improve what goes into my report…” A thin lecherous smile spread over his lips.

You weren’t sure what he meant until he beckoned you to his side of the moat, and his hand slid under your shirt.

“What are you willing to do for a better evaluation, my little pet?” He winked mischievously, a hint of playfulness lighting his eyes, though his desire was deadly serious.

“We said never at work.”

“Yes, but now we have reason to be locked in my office, alone. Nothing that would raise suspicion. You are all mine for the next twenty minutes.”

A gasp rushed from your lips as his fingers expertly found a nipple and pinched. Your skin prickled with need.

“In that case, doctor… what will it take? I’ll do anything!” You added a desperate tremble to your voice as you got into the role he wanted you to play.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to bend you over this desk?” Frederick growled with lust, his breath hot in your ear as he grabbed your arms and spun you to face it. It had been a fantasy for far longer than you had been dating. His erection pressed against your ass.

You twisted your neck to catch the side of his mouth in a sloppy kiss. He smirked against your tongue before shoving you down.

The flat of his hand trailed up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades to push your cheek into the polished mahogany.

“Good… very good,” he said. His breath shook with excitement.

Pulling your scrubs down, he rubbed the thickness of his cock over your opening. You shuddered at the cold sensation of lubricant and moaned as he reached between your thighs to stroke you.

“You are always ready for me to take you whenever I want it. To do anything I ask. It is my favorite thing about you—did you know that, my needy little pet?”

His hips rocked, the blunt head of his cock circling, pushing at your tightness. You let out a strangled whimper that almost sounded like a, “Yes, Doctor Chilton.”

“Be quiet now, remember,” he chided as his strong fingers dug into your hips and drew them against his in one fluid motion.

A gasp erupted from your throat—you fought to comply as he stretched you open, biting down on your fist. You were so tight around his cock, but it was the rush of power that drove him into a frenzy. He felt so in control, gripping your hips as he pounded you against his large desk. The desk was his own furnishing, and he was proud of how substantial it was—too heavy to scrape across the floor even as he fucked you. No creaking to indicate cheap construction. The height of refinement. Silent. No one would know what was happening just behind the closed door of his office—his domain. He had control here. It was something he was desperate for after two near-fatal attacks left him weakened and helpless, and his office was one of the few places he could exert his will absolutely. His office was his safety. And you. You completed it.

“You’re mine,” he grunted. “So submissive for me, bent over… God, yes—”

The one thing Dr. Chilton desired in life more than control was to be adored, and you adored him. The most pleasant ray of sunshine to grace the BSHCI was secretly broken like him. Was secretly his. All his. He had everything he wanted—your obedience, your affection, your strangled cries as you fought to stay quiet, your body writhing in pleasure beneath him—

He shuddered and came.

He finished sooner than he intended, and awareness of being old and weak came flooding back as his release dripped out around his cock and dribbled down your thighs. Fuck. He fucked it all up. But you turned and wrapped your arms around him anyway, kissed him like you weren’t even disappointed, and made him forget he wasn’t good enough. God, he could get lost in you.

Every day, he was a little less self-conscious. More comfortable having you close. He learned to trust you.

After a life of suffering, you were his happy ending.

***

“I love you.”

You hadn’t said it yet, but you were going to today.

Frederick Chilton’s hand was always in yours wherever you went—under the dinner table, on your thigh in the car, on the couch while the other hand typed away on a laptop. Soon he wouldn’t be able to hide his affection at work. You already caught him nearly slipping up and calling you “pet” in front of another nurse. It wouldn’t be long before it all came out. And it would be alright.

You were already looking at jobs at other hospitals in Baltimore. Most even came with a pay increase. Then when your relationship went public, there would be no scandal, no dating your boss, just the two of you together. A real couple. He was going to invite you to move in with him so you could still see each other every day—you were sure of it. The thought sent thrills of goosebumps tingling up your arms.

For once, when you looked to the future, you saw something bright.

“Hey Clerval, have you seen Dr. Chilton? I tried his office, but…”

The old nurse sighed heavily. Swinging their feet off the breakroom table, they set aside the yogurt cup they were halfway through and gave you a tired look. You hadn’t exactly told Clerval about your secret relationship, but they knew, and so far, no one else did. Not that they approved. In fact, you had never seen Clerval so worn down as when the topic of you and Dr. Chilton came up.

“His schedule says he’s in his office, which means he’s probably in one of his ‘unorthodox therapy’ sessions.”

Your head cocked. “His what?”

Clerval pinched the bridge of their nose, giving yet another sigh at your naivety. (At this rate, they were going to run out of air.) “Experimental procedures. Things the good doctor doesn’t want on record.”

There was a bitter bite to their words, yet at the same time, resignation. This hospital sucked the soul out of everyone who entered it, and Henry Clerval had been a nurse here longer than anyone. Longer than Frederick Chilton had been a doctor.

“Oh,” you said. “Well,” you scuffed the white rubber sole of your sneaker on the stone floor. “I’m sure he has a good reason.”

“I always see those hypnotherapy lights flashing around Ward A when no one is scheduled for therapy. Try there,” Clerval suggested with defeat.

“Thank you!” you called, sneakers already running down the hall in the direction of the women’s ward.

“Are you sure you want to interrupt his session?”

“I want to surprise him! I’ve got something important to say!”

***

If anyone had been outside women’s wing cell 4B on any Wednesday around noon, they would have heard a wet choking sound, but the staff was too jaded to care. If the guards had any idea what was happening, they got off on it, and didn’t try to stop it.

“Am I good girl, daddy?”

“Yes… yes,” Dr. Chilton hissed between his teeth, biting his lower lip to keep his breath from exploding out in a tortured moan. “A good girl.”

It was an accident the first time a hypnotherapy session regressed Julianne back to a sexually abusive childhood. She grabbed for his belt, and he froze. He almost yelped out in terror and called for a guard, but then she had his cock in her warm, wet mouth, sucking it to fullness, and moaning for him (or rather, for the memory of the father and brother she eventually murdered).

This wasn’t therapy.

When you became a soft part of his life, he stopped trying to justify his actions as anything other than more exploitation in her long life of being exploited. He let it happen because he was lonely, and he continued doing it because he did not care who else got hurt. There were no possible therapeutic benefits for the patient. He himself noted an exacerbation of dissociative symptoms, if there was ever any doubt that he was not thinking of her care. He only wanted a warm mouth to service him, even if it was not the one he longed for.

Then you became more than a daydream, and he recognized how deeply he hated himself. Because he had you—not only your body, but your heart.

But he never stopped.

Every week, like clockwork, he continued the hypnotherapy sessions and left Julianne confused with the bitter taste of his ejaculation in her throat.

You could have been his happy ending.

It wasn’t too late. You filled his lonesome days with affection and understanding he never thought possible. You taught him that he wasn’t too old and broken to love. In forty-five miserable years, he hadn’t ruined things so badly he could never find happiness.

You could have been his epilogue if he only loved you as well as you loved him.

It was not your fault what happened next.

But of course, of all the nurses and orderlies, doctors and guards in the BSHCI, you were the only one kind enough to want to surprise him with lunch. The only one who would have a sinking feeling about the rhythmic squelching coming from cell 4B. Anyone else would have said it was someone else’s business and walked away before seeing something that might obligate them to fill out paperwork.

You were too kind for this place. Too kind for the scarred doctor whose heart died a long time ago.

He watched your eyes widen from the other side of the bars. Saw your face turn from confused to nauseous, then crumple into tears as an involuntary groan escaped his lips—Julianne kept sucking at an unwelcome, now painful pace.

Then you turned and ran.

Julianne never stopped until he finished, though he was no longer in the mood. He never touched her, but he tried to back up, wanted to run after you. She stayed with him. This time he broke his rule and placed a hand to her forehead to push her away. Grasping his thighs, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder. Blood hammered in his ears. If he ripped her away, she could become violent or wake from the hypnosis, and he did not know how much was she aware was real. What her reaction might be. She was surprisingly strong as she held on, teeth grazing threateningly along his shaft the more he struggled.

She never stopped until he finished.

He was trapped.

He whimpered, cock going soft even as she bobbed faster. He tried to close his eyes and think about you, but that was ruined. You were gone forever. There was nothing he could say to explain himself, unless he drugged you with the right cocktail of psychotropics to make you suggestible, your memory malleable…

Solutions he knew would never work raced through his mind as the throbbing between his legs became an agonizing burn devoid of pleasure.

Panic rose and tightened his chest.

***

An anonymous call was made to the board of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The subsequent investigation found “no conclusive evidence” of Dr. Chilton’s alleged breach of ethics, owing not to the lack of such evidence existing, but the board’s desire to sweep the incident under the rug. He was, however, summarily fired and replaced by Dr. Alana Bloom. A forward-thinking move—if the truth ever came out, the hospital would have a friendly feminist face for public relations.

He never went to jail. Never got what he deserved.

Within a month, his book Hannibal the Cannibal became a national best-seller, and he was on tour, raking in wealth and acclaim. He probably would have left his position at the hospital anyway.

There was only one thing he lost, and he used much of the book’s royalties hiring a private investigator to keep tabs on you. It was the only way he could be sure you were safe when you would not return any of his calls.

As much as he was terrified of you becoming suicidal again, the truth hurt more.

You were doing well.

You resigned from BSHCI. Within a month, you had a new job as a graphic designer of all things. He never knew you were an artist. There were so many things about you he never asked, and now he never would.

Every so often, he would drive by your house and slow down, trying to catch a glimpse of you. He imagined seeing you hanging a rope, and rescuing you just in time. A thousand versions of the confrontation played in his mind—you screaming, “Stay away from me!” with disgust. Tears streaming from your puffy red eyes. Him pleading, “Do not hurt yourself because of my mistake.” The bark of your sardonic laugh at the realization that he cared.

In a few, precious few, of these fantasies, you would throw yourself into his arms and forgive him.

But he never saw you in danger, and he rarely indulged dreams as unlikely as reconciliation.

Eventually, he didn’t even get to hear your voice directing him to leave a message—only an automated recording that the number has been disconnected. Sometimes, however, you were sitting on the couch in your living room near the window, and it was enough to justify the forty-minute detour through your neighborhood.

One day, your silhouette was not alone.

***

Nurse Clerval quit two days after you left.

They couldn’t forget the shock on your face when you burst into the breakroom and nearly collapsed. It was the most heartbreaking thing to see someone so innocent crushed.

“Ch-Chilton… he—”

Sobbing and stuttering, you told them what happened, and Clerval took care of it. You were in no state to get on the phone, be put on hold, and fill out the miles of paperwork that went with everything in a government-funded hospital. It was a pain in the ass, and nothing would get done anyway, which was why no one ever bothered… but they couldn’t ignore the look on your face.

“You’re going to get through this,” the nurse said when you hadn’t moved for a long time. “Just breathe. It’s going to be bad for awhile, but you just keep breathing, keep surviving, and one day you’ll wake up, and… you’ll be through it.”

You rubbed the tears from your eyes to look up at Clerval with new appreciation. The jaded nurse had been haunting these halls for too long and it hardened them, but they were always watching out for you.

When you tried to throw yourself at them, desperate for stability, they turned you down, patting your head like a child. “You’re not in a clear mental state.”

***

A brown paper takeout bag sat on your kitchen counter. You’d missed your own “congratulations on the new job” party, and Clerval got worried, hiding their relief when you answered the door. Your eyes were lifeless.

“I couldn’t face everyone. If any of them knew I was… seeing him”—you shuddered and avoided saying his name—“they wouldn’t be caught dead with me. How could I be so stupid?”

A calloused thumb wiped a tear from your cheek. “I miss your smile.”

They gave you a small, sad smile of their own. It was the first time you’d seen Clerval smile. Their face looked like it was made to smile, you decided—like it used to a long time ago, but forgot how.

“When you were dating Dr. Chilton... fuck that bastard, but you were happy. I loved coming to work and seeing you smile like that. It brightened up the gloom. I’d like to see you smile like that again someday.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked. “I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Suddenly you were wrapped in a hug, with a comforting voice in your ear. “You can. You will.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Shut up, I’m clair-fucking-voyant, and I goddamned know you will. Now go on and live your life like you believe it too. Don’t you dare turn into an old cynic like me.”

***

Frederick Chilton thought his lungs would burn through his ribcage—that his throat would close up, and he would die. Seeing you with someone else was more than he could stand, and he drove home with a death wish, gas pedal to the floor. He would rather be wrapped around a telephone pole than make it back to his empty, too-large house.

But the universe does not dole out fair consequences.

He deserved to die in a jealous rage. To be arrested. You should have thrown wine in his face in a dramatic public confrontation. Screamed at him. But you never did.

There was no satisfying comeuppance or divine punishment.

There was only the memory of your heart breaking, and knowing three things in that moment: You loved him. It was over. And it was his fault. There was a time in his life when he was happy. When he had you to hold in his arms, kiss away his nightmares, and fill his days with love.

And then he didn’t.

All he had left was the smell of you on his sheets and a hoodie you had forgotten. He laid it out on a pillow beside him and inhaled until even your scent was gone.

Years later, lying in his own charred remains inside an oxygen chamber, he wondered if you would visit and start to cry at the sight of him. Forgive him.

He never saw you again.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg

#Frederick Chilton x reader #darkfic #angst #gender-neutral reader

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nightswithkookmin · 4 years ago

Text

GOING ON A HIATUS

Thanks to everyone who's taken the time out to read my posts and has enjoyed it so far. It's really been fun and entertaining exchanging thoughts and having these much deeper ship discussions.

I thought this issue was gonna go away but I woke up this morning to more people messaging me about finding my last video analysis on several other platforms without appropriate credit.

But that's not disturbing. The disturbing part is the people sliding into people's DM'S on other platforms to get them to take down my video because they don't want people sharing my content on other platforms as they believe it would only make my blog popular.

For those worried about this whole credit business, thanks for showing this much concern for me? I really appreciate the love and concern if it's from a genuine place of concern. Thank you...

I think some of you already know this by now or might have figured it out, I am a law student, I am very much well aware what is and what isn't within my rights? Lol

I honestly didn't see this whole credit thingy as a big deal. It's not. Not to me. Lol. I repost people's photos without credit too all the time. Often, it's because I don't know who to credit and most time my lazy ass just forgets to. Lol. I think it's normal? It's inconsequential I mean.

The videos I use are usually often water marked by the appropriate owners so I don't go through the hustle of figuring this whole credit business out. If I should decide to come back here again I will check that habit of mine?

While this whole credit business is not a big deal to me, malicious slander and defamation to my character is and I don't take it lightly.

It has been brought to my attention that some Jikookers from Tumblr have since been sliding into people's DM's on other platforms asking them to take down my video and or remove the credit they give to my post.

They are telling people I am problematic, calling me the Taekook Lives of the Jikook community. That I have been spreading lies about Jikook, that the Jikook Tumblr community hates me or something like that and to further caricaturize me and make me appear more evil in order to get people to turn on me and hate me, they make up the most ridiculous lies about me claiming that I believe a notorious serial killer is innocent.

Now I have since deleted my YT account because I don't want my colleagues to find out I am into shipping too lol- shipping is a guilty pleasure of mine and I know how this fandom works unfortunately. I've been a silent part of it since 2014. I mean it's started already. The Doxing and shit.

The original post under which these replies are from couldn't save sadly as my account has been deleted but you can see from my notifications the general feel of what my interests outside shipping looks like.

I am interested in a myriad of topics, from literature, Aliens, writing, Harry Potter, history, activism, advocacy, philosophy, law, politics, NASA, and mystery and murder among other things.

My quora is mostly filled with notifications from my Book community and True crime community and often I do share my thoughts and answer questions with regards to the psychology of murderers, legal evidence, notorious villains in literature- well I guess now you know the kind of lawyer I want to be if and when I'm able to complete law school.

But what has my interest in these topics got to do with Jikook and shipping please?? How does this prove I hate Jikook and spread lies about them?

This Kookie Min Monsta person slipped into someone's DMS and asked the person who had put up my video analysis to take it down or discredit me because to her I am problematic. She is not the only one.

You want so bad to paint me black- no pun intended just to win an argument? You claim I am the evil malicious person here but I am not the one sliding into people's dms trying to take credit away from people for their hardwork, spreading hate and negative energy, making things up to manipulate people's perception of others and get them to hate and turn on them- and all because of A SHIP? Damn. This is pathetic.

Who died and made you the gatekeeper of the jikook shipping community? Honestly antics like these don't work on me try again.

I made a video commentary on my Booktube YT account- yes I am part of the book YouTube community as well sue me or better still slip into their inboxes and tell them I voted for Trump therefore I hate chipmunks.

The commentary I made on YT months ago was when I was in the highs of finding a new passion and it was on Ann Rule's book, The Stranger Besides Me- a true crime novel on Ted Bundy which I found so poorly written that at the end of the book it left with me wondering whether or not Ted Bundy was guilty at all!

The Author's writing style which deviates from most writing styles of True Crime novels I have read gave me trust issues as I stated in the video. It felt more as if she was writing a made up fictional novel than an actual True Crime novel but because she knew Ted Bundy in person she made it seem as if we just had to believe her account.

Then there was this whole thing about the police not being able to match the DNA samples taken from his rape victims, to his own Semen because his Semen was DNAless- in lay man's terms. I'll spare you the technicalities involved.

As I stated in that video, I do believe Ted Bundy was guilty but I do not have much faith in the Judicial system, or criminal procedures or even the Author of that book- a sentiment most people within the true crime community share as well. We just had differing views on whether the writer's style took away from the narrative and waters down on the extent of Bundy's guilt.

We had a Similar conversation about Chris Watt. If the community I was engaging in didn't have a problem with my commentary why do you? Please don't meddle in things you know nothing about. It's embarrassing.

The conversation about whether or not Ted Bundy is innocent is moot but a philosophical one. It has nothing to do with Ted Bundy's guilt but more so the criminal procedures involved in his case and the different accounts that exists surrounding his case.

He was electrocuted, he confessed to his crimes no damn person with brains would think or assume he is innocent and I never said anything of that nature drew any conclusions to that effect.

Besides, I moved on from Ted Bundy a long time ago. Now I am into the Serial Killer who writes death poems and signs it off with drawings of the size of his dick at his crime scenes- mind your own business please or don't and let's have an intellectual discourse about him? Lmho.

I am also into cat memes if you care to know and have a whole IG dedicated to cat memes. I believe human beings are the most dumbest species in all the galaxies and when the Aliens arrive I am snitching.

When my mind is at rest, I often wonder if Aliens have masculinity complex and if they do whether or not their masculinity is contingent on the size of their dicks or whether they have to engage in a battle to the death with an alien grizzly bear to determine who is the man.

I love BTS memes too- a little too much and often end up debating over the internet with random people over whether BTS memes are funnier than cat memes- I'm weird, true. But how does all of that make me a bad person?

It's crazy how these people can go on these other platforms to ask people to take down the credits to my posts as well as my posts itself but can't ask people who run to these other platforms with misinterpretations of my work to take those down.

Instead they come on here to call me out for people's interpretations of my work?? It doesn't work that way. You are the author of your own opinion and interpretation of other people's work. You don't call out the original author for someone's opinion of their work. If that were so I would be emailing Stephanie Meyer for Anna Todd and her After series. Get some education.

I have since blocked this person and others whose Tumblr I have been able to find thanks to all those that's helped me finding them on here.

My gf also tried reaching out to the persons who shared my post after we realised this was becoming an issue and had asked them to credit her or my blog- but honestly I don't care about that yet she won't give it a rest. Lol. My ride or die this one. Sigh.

However, we realized soon that this is not about 'stealing' credit- can't call someone out for not giving credit when I suck at that myself. Lol.

This is about people's malicious intentions and their attempts to silence me and take away my right to freedom of expression however way that they can. This is wrong and evil.

I honestly don't care for all these ship politics these people are engaged in. I've had enough intelligent conversations to know the distinction between arguments that flows from bruised egos and actual conversations around a subject matter.

This whole I am right, she is wrong politics... y'all get that the point of having an opinion is not to be right, right? We all cant have the same perspective and you can't call someone a liar for holding views that is different from yours. That is a bizarre mentality to have.

As I stated in my post, that content I made was a rebuttal to the Taekook theories running around on the internet alleging JK glared at Tae when he pulled on his shoulder because he was jealous Tae and Jin were having fun behind him. He wasn't. He was worried Tae was gonna expose him and JM holding hands behind Suga.

If you don't think they were holding hands then Taekookers were right and his reaction was because he was Jealous of Taejin I guess...

But thats your truth. That's not my truth. I don't believe Taekook is real. JK isn't jealous of Taejin he is not Twelve- but then again he was sneaking around behind Suga holding his boyfriend's hands so I guess he is twelve? Lol. Jikook!

Do you.

But please stop the evil malicious attacks and seek immediate help. There is such a thing as right and wrong and this is just plain wrong. Your Karma and chakra are in the negative nodes and you need to fix it. It is not funny anymore.

Thank you to everyone who has shown genuine concerns for me in the past few days and thank you so much for trying to stand up for me. There are good people on here and I have met and interacted with a lot of them and thank you so much for such a wonderful experience and insightful discussions.

I don't hate people because of our differences in thoughts, beliefs, opinions. There's always room for dissenting opinions in every sphere. At the very least, we can agree to disagree and shake on it. But You can't make up shit about people just to prove your opinion is right and their opinions and views which differ from yours are 'wrong.

I am not a victim though, and they are not bullies, psst. They are just vile pathetic human beings exposing the greens of their insides. What you do says more about who you are as a person and human being. And this is who they are.

Just be a nice decent human being. That's what this world needs. Fix whatever is broken inside of you and free your mind and spirit. Hate is never the answer.

I'm going to be away for a while because I have studies, work and other interests I want to pursue at the moment- it's just my AADD flaring up so if you see me henceforth raving about Nana at least you'd know why. Lol. She's wrecking my Jimin bias. Lmho.

Spread positivity, do the right thing, stand up for a good cause and keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Until we meet again.

Signed,

GOLDY

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notnctu · 4 years ago

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first of all, i just wanna tell you how MUCH i loved the color series, just everything. You are AMAZING. the stories, the moodboards, the songs (especially "like i need you", it's such a good song) 💙 but at the same time i was a little sad that blue, my favorite color, was a angst because of that i am dying to see a fluff drabble with blue yn and yellow johnny. do you think it's possible? 🥺 i may be a little melancholic but you brighten up my day and just the thought of you makes me smile

wow i cant believe people actually listen to the recc songs LOL like im actually genuinely so surprised! also this entire feedback just makes my heart fucking full lakjksjfmla the color series was one of the first things ive written after a long hiatus so for someone to appreciate it makes me feel sososo whole.

lmk if you enjoy this blue y/n + yellow johnny fluff and that it makes up for the blue angst :) you can read it underneath the cut hehe

-author doie ❀

blue & yellow

You’ll never forget his warm sun rays the very first time Johnny entered your life. He was a sweet, bright yellow that splattered across your blue walls. You were grateful that he was there for moments that you drowned in.

The core difference was that you were already stained by a blue that was too hard to remove. As much as Johnny made you feel yellow, it was never consistent to paint you the same.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Johnny was the sole reason behind your one in a million smiles. Whenever you were approaching a vicious wave of emotions, the thought of your sunshine steers you in the other direction. Just the thought of him alone puts you in a better mood.

Some might even say you looked more content after meeting Johnny. Like your colors started to mix, his yellow and your blue made you green. That he was helping you grow out of your melancholic color, not make you two alike.

“Did you go shopping recently? I’ve never seen you wear that color before.” Johnny dropped his sunglasses down on the bridge of his nose. His eyes scanned your light green skirt that you paired with a blue top.

You shyly looked down at your attire, not expecting him to notice the shift in color palette. “I’ve always had this shirt---”

“--No, no. I know your wardrobe consists of blues. I’m talking about the green.” He gestured to your bottom half.

You nodded, yet embarrassed at the fashion icon who had adapted to your limited color range. Your hands gripped the ends of the flying skirt from the wind, but also out of slight nervousness of why Johnny pointed it out in the first place. Those ruthless negative blue thoughts that often made you second guess yourself.

Johnny’s smile bloomed on his face, automatically pushing away the clouds in your head. “While I think your signature blue is a beautiful color, the green is a new and subtle change. I really like it, it brings out your smile.”

Your droopy eyes perked up at his statement. The ice on your heart melted by his warmth. He took your hand and drew you in between his legs. His towering figure hunched forward slightly and concentrated on your shirt.

“I got you this pin the other day. Can I put it on you?” The tiny enamel pin of the sun sat in the palm of his large hands. It was simple, the color was not entirely jarring but notably yellow. The simple sight of it made you gleeful and happy. It was everything that Johnny was.

“Of course. Yellow and blue.. Interesting combo.” You motioned to the place on your shirt for him to attach the gift.

The corners of his lip curved again, “it’s nice. The sun needs his sky.”

He didn’t have to explicitly say it for you to know that you were his sky. It was obvious that he loved being around you as much as you did for him. Even though you didn’t beam as brightly as him, you were the clear blue sky that supported him. You stayed by his side when others didn’t.

“Then, this also means..” he paused and dreamily gazed into your glossy eyes. A soft grin before he spoke, “i’ll always be with you, even through your blues.” He kissed your forehead gently, the sweetness of honey dripping down your skin.

And you had previously thought, how silly it would’ve been for you to fall for another primary color.

#nct #nct drabbles #nct request #nct scenarios #johnny scenarios #johnny suh #suh johnny #nct johnny #nct fluff #nct soft hours #asks #nct 127 scenarios #127colorseries

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 5 years ago

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Hi love! Can I request a part two for the cevans x reader where the reader misses her period again and she takes another pregnancy test? Only this time it's positive?? You would melt my heart

A/N- I so hope he gets to be a daddy one day, cause he really would be such a great father! I so entirely want this for him one day.

You and Chris decided after that first pregnancy test to really give it a proper try. And Mr.Christopher Evans, well he was all about giving it every chance the two of you could.

Your house, well if it wasnt christened before, it certainly was now. And afterwards, he was more caring and gentle then even before if that was possible. He would feather kisses down your body, while he eased your hips up with a pillow and stretch out next to you, nuzzling your neck with the slight scratch of his beard and whisper how beautiful you were to him, all while massaging any sore spots you might hint you have.

“Im so lucky to have you” He would say as you were still coming down from your orgasm. His fingers brushing through your hair that had fallen out of your ponytail out of your face. Your cheeks would go slightly red at the compliment.

“Your just saying that Chris”

“I certainly am not just saying that.” He would huff slightly and grasp your chin to place a deep kiss on it, slipping his tongue around yours and inhaling your sigh as you were still recovering from before. “Baby or not, I am the fucking luckiest man.” Your eyes would glaze in between lust and love for him, for you felt the exact same way about him.

Time passed, and a few drs visits, they informed you and Chris that it might take a while, and not to get discouraged. It was hard sometimes to take it to heart though, and every negative test you got, having to step out of the bathroom to see Chris look so hopeful, it broke a little bit of you. But he was good about it, everytime.

“Babygirl, you know he said it could take a while.” His arms would ease you to sit in his lap, your own loping around his neck to balance, and he would tip his forehead to lean against your own, blue eyes filling your gaze. “How about tonight you pack a bag, and we will drop Dodger off at Scotts?”

You slide your arms around his neck and give a small smile. “I would really like that Chris.” His arms tightened around you and give you a loving kiss, letting you go about packing an over night bag for the two of you while he went to drop off Dodger.

That night was exactly what you both needed, the two of you took the few hours to go into New York City, Chris had reserved a beautiful hotel room, a night out at one of your favorite restaurants in the city, along with dancing. Chris was pulling out all your favorites, to finish the night, the two of you walked to times square, just to admire the sight of it all.

Later that evening, your love making wasnt about trying to reach a goal. That wasnt the purpose of your fevered kisses, the way Chris’s body traveled down yours, and loped your legs to brace against his shoulders as he kissed you so intimately, you came crying his name, hands fisting in his hair. Nor the next time when he had you pressed against the hotel rooms floor to ceiling windows, your gaze filled with the dark skyline glowing softly in shades of purples and gold twinkles with the thousands of lights, of others unaware you were on display should they take the time to look. Nor when he laid you out on the bed, and took his time exploring you, unraveling you for the third and final time, both of you spent. No this night was all about appreciating one another, and as you sunk back to his chest, his kiss were hard and possessive against your neck, breathing out. “I fucking love you always Y/N”

Weeks later your sitting on the bathtub edge, thrumming your fingers against the ceramic, staring at the box. Should you take it, maybe just another week? Its not uncommon anymore for your period to be out of whack, and you just didnt want that disappointment again. Dodger sits with his head in your lap, sighing softly as your hand moves to rub his ears, confessing to your favorite Good Boy.

“Buddy I dont know if I can handle another heartbreak again.” You whisper and press your face into the softness of his fur, looking to find peace in the canine. He grew impatient and started to wriggle, in which you let him go. Dodger lifts to place his front paws on the edge of the tub and licks your face, causing that sorrow to uplift a bit. Laughing, you wrap your arms around him and hug before letting him go to race and jump up on your bed, his fluffy tail wagging, slapping his front paws in a invitation to come play.

You reach down and grab his lion near your feet where he ditched it earlier, and toss it for him to catch on the bed, which he snatched and raced out of the bedroom to collide into Chris’s legs. “OOF!” He stumbles into the bedroom just as your coming out of the bathroom. “:Whats gotten into him?” He asks as he looks over his shoulder at Dodger tossing the lion up in the air to catch it.

“I think he was trying to cheer me up Handsome.” You wrap your arm around him and the two of you watch Dodger continue playing in the upstairs hallway before loosing it down the stairs. Your head rests a bit on his chest, and you giggle when he seems a bit lost staring down the stairs, and launches himself down.

“And why do you need cheering up Babygirl?” Chris ponders, his fingers sliding under your chin to tilt to look up at him, you bite your lip and shrug.

“Well I still havent gotten my period, and just ‘fraid you know? What if its negative again Chris?”

“Then its negative baby and we will go back to normal. If you want me to stop loving on you all the time, I will. Theres really no pressure for us to get pregnant.” Chris turned you to face him, covering your cheeks and across your nose in gentle kisses. “Y/N, baby or not, I just love being with you and that will make me just as fucking happy to.” your hands fist in his shirt, and you listen to what hes saying. You know kids mean alot, you both got caught up in this rush, but maybe hes right. You give a nod and move to tip toes to press your lips with his, his hands tightening a bit along the curve of your waist and moaning softly at the sweet taste of your lips. He growled out softly afterwards in a tease.

“Although Im not complaining these past couple monthes have been mindblowing.”

You laugh softly, and rub his chest, winking at him. “You know what, Im not upset about it either, it really has been. How about we check this last one, then... we just enjoy what were doing, and if it happens, it happens?”

“Its a deal babygirl.” He gave you a encouraging smile and once more, for what felt like the hundredth time, you went to take the test. Chris moved over to lean his shoulder against the wall, waiting for you to step back out, and when you did, he drew you into the circle of his arms, while you two waited. This time your head laid on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. You timed it that way, counting with each one. This time no words were shared, neither of you wanted to really get the hopes up of the other one. His hands though told there own story, heavy in the small of your back, they followed up your back, and down, his chin resting atop of your head, and you could feel the scratch of his beard tangling in your hairs, his adams apple bob up and down when he swallowed, you burrowed in closer. Praying, please let it be this time for us. You knew Chris would make a wonderful Daddy, and you wanted to give him that. You wanted to be his childrens mother.

“Okay baby, lets go take a look” He sounded calm as ever and you fidgeted your hand in his shirt, nodding. Together you two went to go peer at the stick. Lifting it up, the both of you studying it. Were you.... Your eyes dart back and forth to the box to confirm.

“Handsome were....” You start breathing in deeply. Chris’s holds tighten on you and turns you to look up at him.

“Y/N, Babygirl, your pregnant, we did it! Baby you got a little Boston Baked Bean growing in you!” His voice had lifted in its excitement, and your bust out in tears, streaming down your cheeks and your laughing in your joy while he encases you into his hold, lifting you off your feet in his joy.

“I cant believe it Chris!” your nuzzling in against him as he covers your tear covered face in loving kisses and nips to your lips, pulling you into a deeper kiss, his tongue tracing yours, tangling and you can feel your head rushing at it. Panting when you part, you pause the two of you with a brace of your hand against his chest.

“Did you call our baby... a Boston Baked Bean?”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “Uhhh, its kinda been stuck in my head since we started really talking about it.

Only your man would ever think that, but you loved him all that much more for it.

#amber request

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cinna-wanroll · 5 years ago

Text

*Is not writing the Obitine novel since apparently Disney cant fit it into their schedule*

That was a lie, in case you hadn’t already guessed lol. Anywho, here’s an excerpt from the first chapter since I’ve been a bit slow on uploading any original content. Keep in mind that this is a first draft, so I’ll probably end up editing it later

“Hey, buddy,” Vos clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically.

“Hello, Quin,” Obi-Wan offered the Kiffar a good-natured smile and continued his walk.

“Off to the races again already, I hear,” Quinlan continued, following his friend.

Obi-Wan cocked a suspicious brow, “Yes,” he kept his tone mild, almost adding ‘unfortunately’ to the end of his sentence, “who told you?”

Quin shrugged and turned, beginning to walk backwards casually, “Oh, you know, my usual informants. Word travels fast around these parts, especially if you’ve got connections.”

Obi-Wan grinned disbelievingly, “Mm.”

“So,” his friend gave him a little nudge as he pivoted back around, “who’s this lady you’re off to rescue, hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan hated to admit it,, but Quinlan was actually quite charming, so he let the insinuation slide.

“The duchess of Mandalore.”

Vos’ eyebrows shot up in disbelief, “The duchess?” Quin repeated in shock, “Damn, Obi-Wan. Aren’t people like her, like, hardcore Jedi haters or somethin’?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “Not anymore, since the treaty of Kal’desh almost 82 years ago,” he cast a pointed gaze at the Kiffar who he’d obviously lost at the word ‘treaty’, “You’d know this if you’d paid any attention in Galactic History.

Quinlan grinned, “Hey, I passed that class.”

“Only because you bribed Bant with Gumbah pudding for a month and a half.”

“Whatever, man.”

Obi-Wan smiled adding, “Not to mention, she’s supposedly the leader of some pacifist group there. The New Mandalorians.”

Quinlan wrinkled his nose, “Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me. Nothing ever got done by pacifist legions in the past- at least not anything that lasted longer than a couple of years. This galaxy needs structure, not some peaceful delusionists. Besides, how peaceful can a Mandalorian organization be?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and looked down, forced to admit he’d thought the same things. How peaceful was a group that’d managed to stay alive among even the harshest of cultural climates? Obi-Wan was guessing not very peaceful at all.

“I’m not sure, but Master Windu said that this mission is of utmost importance.”

Quinlan sniffed, “Yeah, to his paycheck, probably.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “Quinlan, you know Jedi don’t get paid.”

“Most Jedi. I’m just saying, those council members always seem to be a little concerned with issues outside the Republic, than with issues at home.”

Obi-Wan grimaced- he and Vos had never agreed on that particular subject, “We are defenders of the galaxy, Quin.”

His friend shrugged again, changing his tone immediately and smiling, “Yeah, well, just don’t fall too in love with her, mmkay? She might chop that pretty little head of yours off for peace”

“Isn’t that technically what we do sometimes?” Obi-Wan made a pained expression, despite the fact that he was willing to admit it. There was just something about it that made him feel guilty.

“Yeah, but at least we’re upfront about it.”

“And who’s to say they’re not?”

“Fair enough.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

Although unlikely friends at first glance, Obi-Wan and Quinlan actually got along quite well. They were both calculated, witty, mischievous, and sarcastic fighters with a knack for getting themselves in trouble.

Except while Quinlan owned up to causing his antics, Obi-Wan was always the unfortunate person who could be convinced to join in for a cause when things were already taking a turn for the worst.

They stepped up to the entrance of the mess hall, which was bustling with masters and padawans alike cramming generous heapfuls of muja muffins and mist-pudding onto their trays.

“Mm-mm,” Quin rubbed his hands together, “I am starving!”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but nod eagerly in agreement, eyeing the tantalizing food as a group of creche students passed them.

He wasn’t surprised to spot Qui-Gon at the very front of the extensive line, on time for the food, of course. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Good morning, boys.”

Obi-Wan turned around towards the direction of the voice, lighting up.

A familiar emerald face greeted him, serene and kind.

Quin turned his head to her as well, “Mornin’ Luminara.”

Obi-Wan bowed and nodded towards the food line.

“Can you believe this?”

Luminara smiled faintly and sniffed, peering in, “On buffet day? Certainly.”

“Aka the only day they serve real food in this Force-forsaken place,” Vos chimed in.

Obi-Wan and Luminara shared a look, but inside Obi-Wan couldn’t help but agree.

The Temple was many things, but it definitely wasn’t a diner.

“What do you think our chances are of paying off some people at the front for their spots?” The Kiffar queried, gazing back at Obi-Wan and Luminara for suggestions.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help the sarcasm that snuck into his tone, “and with what credits do you intend to do that?”

“Dunno. I was thinking more… services,” Quin countered.

Just as Obi-Wan was about to ask what services Vos was implying, Luminara interjected, “At this point, I doubt we’d even get close enough to the masters at the front of the line without being taken away.”

Obi-Wan nodded as he followed her gaze to where a group of large, burly-looking masters stood glaring at the passerby. It looked like they hadn’t gotten their caff yet that morning. He gulped.

“Luminara’s right, Quin, we should forget it and wait until the line dies down.”

His friend glanced over at him, “Don’t you have to leave by then?”

Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath as Luminara frowned.

“What? You’re leaving again?”

He nodded, glaring daggers at Vos and refsing to look at Luminara.

“Yes, I was just notified about it this morning. Had I known sooner, I would’ve told you.”

“And yet Quin knows,” she quipped, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms indignantly.

“I’m tellin’ you people, I’ve got connections,” Vos emphasized, leaning against the entrance wall.

Ignoring the Kiffar, Luminara began, “They’re over-working you again.”

Obi-Wan threw Quinlan an accusatory look that was responded to with a simple ‘here we go again’ eyeroll.

“It’s not fair to you, or to the other padawans who want mission opportunities. They want and deserve experience too! I cannot understand why the council is doing this. My suggestion would be-” she was cut off by an approaching figure, which turned out to be her master.

Obi-Wan winced.

“Padawan Unduli, do you really think your time is best spent here, dawdling with these hooligans?”

Obi-Wan disregarded the snide comment, instead trying to throw an apologetic gaze at his friend. Although out of the corner of his eye he saw Quinlan bristle at the remark.

Luminara bowed and lowered her head, “No, master.”

“Then come along, it’s no wonder you’re always hungry.”

She followed obediently, but not before shooting Obi-Wan and Quinlan a sad, apologetic gaze as she left.

Quin snarled when they were out of earshot, “Now there’s someone I’d like to pay off. With a good kick in the-”

“Vos,” Obi-Wan chided sternly.

His friend huffed and glowered, “What?”

“Don’t be crass. At least, not this early in the morning.”

Quin shrugged and rolled his eyes, finally stepping away to look for an open table.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan added while following, “I’m pretty sure you’’l have plenty of chances to do that when I’m gone, and am unable to provide you with proper impulse control.”

Quin laughed.

“Nah, it’s not as much fun without someone there sassing me.”

He returned his friend's cheerful look, “That’s a fair point.”

Luckily for the pair, Obi-Wan spotted a good amount of free space beside Qui-Gon, mostly because his master had a reputation of being a messy eater- not to mention, he had taken two trays.

“Bingo,” Obi-Wan grinned at Vos.

The two padawans approached Jinn and sat beside him, Obi-Wan respectfully nodding while Quinlan eyed the food on the second tray.

“Hello, master,” Obi-Wan greeted.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied after swallowing a mouthful of food. He took a swig of blue milk and then turned to acknowledge Quin, “Padawan Vos.”

The Kiffar snapped his gaze away from the food, nodding quickly.

“So,” Obi-Wan began, “are there any other details I should be aware of during this mission?”

Jinn turned his full attention on Obi-Wan, “The duchess is young- about your age, I believe. She’s said to be stubborn but kind, with a deep passion for all living things… much like someone else I know.” A playful spark lit up Qui-Gon’s eyes, something about them very knowing.

Obi-Wan did his best to concentrate on what his master was saying instead of Vos’ waggling eyebrows and his hand, which swiped a biscuit from Qui-Gon’s tray. He nodded, encouraging his master to continue.

“She’s also just returned home from a political academy located here. But most importantly, she probably won’t take kindly to our help. This mission was administered by her advisor, not her. And, despite the current peace, I’m sure she hasn’t been brought up in an environment that is… encouraging of the Jedi.”

Point two, Quinlan grinned like a fool as he stole a piece of meat of Jinn’s tray.

“Not to mention,” Qui-Gon continued, oblivious, “her father was a warlord.”

Oh, Force. Suddenly, Obi-Wan was a whole lot less enthusiastic about this whole thing, and that wasn’t saying much considering his attitude towards it was already pretty negative.

He had to protect a war-monger’s daughter? Perfect.

“Wow,” Vos mused, “talk about impressing the father in-law,” he chuckled as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan turned to glare at him, “she better be really worth it Obi-Wan. Is she at least ho-”

He was interrupted by Qui-Gon’s harsh tone, “her father is dead, padawan Vos.”

“Oh,” Quinlan replied faintly, looking down, “my condolences.”

Qui-Gon shook his head and turned back to Obi-Wan, “All in all, our goal is to be an unseen protection service. After all, we don’t want her getting into more trouble just because we put her off.”

“Why is it that we don’t want her getting into any more trouble, master?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning slightly.

Qui-Gon mirrored his expression, “Because, padawan, she requested our help.”

“I thought her advisor was the one who requested our help,” Obi-Wan retorted under his breath, although he knew he shouldn't've. Although he was surprised to admit to himself that he didn’t quite care- after all, the burly masters in line weren’t the only ones who hadn’t had their caff yet.

Qui-Gon’s frown deepened, “She is her people’s last hope for peace and civility, Obi-Wan. And you will do best not to question her, our assignment, or the council again.”

Obi-Wan looked away dejectedly, “Yes, master.”

He left out any remarks he could’ve made about Qui-Gon doing both of the aforementioned things constantly.

“Now, just let me finish my-,” Qui-Gon turned to his practically empty tray, where Vos had mysteriously disappeared, and sighed.

Obi-Wan stifled a chuckle, leaving behind only a mischievous sparkle in his grey-blue eyes.

“Master?” He asked, encouraging Qui-Gon to wrap up his thought.

“Let’s just be on our way then, Obi-Wan.”

They rose and exited the mess hall, out into the long corridors and what would be a much more eventful trip than what young Obi-Wan was expecting.

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

The temple docking bay was huge, containing as large as a republic freighter to as small as a landspeeder.

Droids whizzed about everywhere, attending to some business or another. A few officials or Jedi stood out against the field of endless gleaming metal, but besides that there was nothing else living operating within the place.

Enormous ceilings towered over Obi-Wan’s head as his master led him through the maze of docking bays and landing platforms, until they finally reached a small doorway towards the back.

A droid met them there to provide them with a datapad of information on the ship; mostly a run-down of the controls and its condition.

Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction, “Everything seems to be in order here.” He handed it back to the droid, who whisked it away immediately.

“How long will our journey be, master?” Obi-Wan inquired, hoping he didn’t sound whiny.

“Not very long. About six standard hours, providing there aren't any hyperspace issues.”

Obi-Wan nodded, stepping out of the doorway and into the bright light of Coruscant.

The ship was a pretty good size; a standard model with red stripes running along its sides.

The Trial, curious. Obi-Wan didn’t pay ship names much mind, but that was just rather odd.

Qui-Gon went to go check with the official while Obi-Wan spotted Quinlan leaning against a couple of crates near the door.

“Vos? How did you know this is where I’d be?”

“Relax man, I just came to say goodbye before you left to go out and find your true love or whatever.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Vos grinned and pulled him into a tight hug, Obi-Wan squirming beneath him.

“Stop that,” he said, finally managing to push his friend back.

“Was Qui-Gon pissed about his food?” Quin asked, gazing hopefully to where Obi-Wan’s master and the other man were still conversing.

“Probably, although not any more than me- I still haven’t had any food yet.” His stomach growled, as if to prove a point.

“Eh, you snooze you lose.”

Obi-Wan grimaced as Vos began to saunter away, his finally parting words being, “Later, buddy! Don’t, like, become a father or anything while you’re gone- I’d hate to miss that.”

Eyeroll. “Goodbye, Vos!”

He shook his head at the sound of his friend’s distant laughter, pacing over to Qui-Gon without so much as a glance backwards.

“Is everything alright, master?”

“Yes, just making conversation while you and Quinlan said your goodbyes.”

So he did know. Well, that showed Obi-Wan not to underestimate his master.

“Then lets away.”

Obi-Wan nodded to the man and walked up the ramp into the ship, glancing back at the gleaming building one last time before he took a seat in the cockpit, not even bothering to explore the rest of the ship. He already knew what this model’s interior looked like, and wanted to get this assignment over with as quickly as possible.

Later, Obi-Wan found irony in that wish as he sat in the exact same seat upon the departure of his mission, where the room and his heart had seemed a lot more empty.

Qui-Gon sat beside him, taking control and handing Obi-Wan the mission log from earlier.

“What am I to do with this?” He asked, frowning at the tablet-like device.

“Make notes of the journey,” Qui-Gon replied, “the council emphasized everything is to be included, and since I can’t ever seem to write it the way they want, I thought I’d have you do it.”

“But-”

“Do you have something more productive you could be doing, padawan?”

He shook his head and took the log obligingly without further complaint. It was light in his hands, and he placed it in his lap as he strapped himself in.

“Our belongings have already been loaded on, everything is in order,” Qui-Gon said, still fiddling with the ship’s settings.

“Do we have any food?” Obi-Wan asked hopefully.

Qui-Gon nodded, “It’s back in the kitchen area. Why didn’t you eat earlier?”

Obi-Wan scoffed, “You saw the line, right?”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “How about caff?”

Qui-Gon shook his head no, and Obi-Wan deflated.

“Something tells me that despite my hopes, this is going to be a very long couple of months,” Obi-Wan pouted, leaning his head back against the seat.

Qui-Gon smiled, “You’re such a pessimist, Obi-Wan. Ready?”

Obi-Wan nodded, “I suppose.”

“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

The ship lifted off, soared out of the atmosphere and into space, and Obi-Wan made sure to note in his report that Qui-Gon forgot which lever to guide forward for hyperspace. When he did find it, darkness and impossibly bright specks of light blended together, and they rocketed forwards before coasting through space, towards destiny.

#obitine #obi wan kenobi #satine kryze #qui gon jinn #obi wan x satine #quinlan vos #luminara unduli #fanfic

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iblamemikegreen · 4 years ago

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nobody talks about the destruction that being sexually abused as a child actually causes

ramblings by a survivor fighting to survive: pt 7

narcissism (noun) - selfishness, involving a sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, and a need for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.

my mother was beautiful. it’s true. a real bonafide beauty queen. armed with poise, grace, talent, natural beauty, carefully practiced soft spoken words, and a constant polite smile.

so shiny and perfect and wonderful. on the outside.

on the inside, however, she was one of the ugliest people to have ever stepped foot on this earth. she was mean, vindictive, manipulative, vain, narcissistic, cruel, selfish. ugly.

another doll in the dollhouse. fooling everyone she came in contact with, having them all think that she was so demure and innocent.

when I was 11 and finally came forward about being repeatedly sexually abused for 6 years by my own grandfather (my mother’s father), my mother decided to sacrifice my safety and well being in order to protect her “Christian reputation.”

“this is embarrassing” “what will the rest of the church think of us?” “Lindsey don't say anything to anyone about this, it’s shameful and gross” “I cant believe this is happening to me”

she never told me that it wasn't my fault. because she blamed me for ruining her perfect world. her perfect family. her perfect image.

instead of blaming my abuser, she blamed me, the terrified and lonely 11 year old victim.

she made the abuse that I had to endure, about herself. her permanent victim mentality bled through into everything, even her own daughter’s sexual abuse. she decided to stick her head in the ground like a coward and pretend like the abuse didn't happen, and if I ever tried to bring it up or exhibited a behavior attributed to PTSD she would cry and make it all about herself. because everything was always about her. always.

more often than not, I find myself wishing that I had a mother that loved me. but she never did, and she never will. so I've decided to lay it all out in the open here and write a public letter to her in order to obtain the closure I need to move on with my life:

Dear Stephanie,

I would like to start off by saying that you lost the right to refer to yourself as my “mother” the second you decided to protect the man who destroyed my childhood instead of protecting me. because of you, the monster that ripped away any sense of safety, happiness, comfort, trust, and humanity from me didn't go to jail. he wasn't even registered as a sex offender. a cretin that sexually abused his own granddaughter from when she was the ages of 5-11 wasn't even registered as a sex offender because YOU and your wretched family cried to the judge and prosecutor because you wanted to protect your false pious reputation. what you did was beyond the realm of evil, and I hope you feel shame for it for the rest of your empty pathetic existence.

when I was 13 I overheard you while you were talking to your morally bankrupt mother on the phone. you were complaining about how I “wasn’t getting any better.” and how “it was embarrassing that I couldn't just let the past go.” well, while you tried to pretend like the abuse just never happened, I couldn't. you don't know what it’s like to have someone hold complete power over you. you don't know what it’s like to live in desolation as a child, fearful of being trapped in a room alone with your grandfather because you know he takes pleasure in hurting and destroying everything that you are. you don't know what it’s like to have your innocence and childhood completely ripped from your tiny fingertips before you even know how to spell your own fucking name. you never even bothered to try and understand the pain and suffering I had to endure. you didn't care about anything other than yourself, and your public image.

you never apologized. and you never will, because you’re too far gone to even being to understand the calamity of your shitty parenting, and your heinous decisions. you created your own false reality, and separated yourself from the true world because all you wanted was attention. me being the victim of sexual abuse was just too much of the “spotlight” not being directed to you, so you decided to make yourself the victim in all of this. any mention of what I had to endure and you’d cry, asking why this happened to you. your reputation, your family, you you you you you you you.

a few years after the “scandal,” as you so gracefully put it, happened, you and I were shopping at the mall. all of a sudden you pulled me aside into a store, giggling as you did so. when I asked what was going on, you pointed across the hall and there he was. the monster that tortured and molested me for six years, walking with his enabler of a wife, hand and hand, shopping at the same mall as us. you were treating it as if it were some kind of innocent game of hide and seek. acting as though me having to see the embodiment of detrimental and ground wavering fear and pain was no big deal. you got angry at me when I started crying, because I was ruining your shopping trip.

you’re impossible to reach, because you don't even exist anymore. you just don't get it. you’re not even human. you’re just a phantom, remnants of some washed up beauty queen who was so narcissistic and vain that she couldn't stand her own daughter surviving life destroying trauma at age 11 because it drew attention from you.

you were my biggest bully throughout the entirety of my life. no matter what I did, it was never good enough for you. or maybe it was, and you just thought it was fun to build me up one step, then cut me down five steps. I was always too ugly, too fat, too smart, too stupid, too untalented, too poorly dressed, too bad at makeup, too this, too that, not enough this, not enough that. it was exhausting, talking to you. being around your suffocatingly negative and jealous aura. you were so insecure about yourself and your fading beauty queen looks that you took it all out on your only child, like a miserable old hag. and yet you wondered why I never wanted to cultivate a relationship with you.

I still vividly remember the moment I realized that you never loved me. it was June 2010, I was 15, and you and my dad were in the midst of a stressful divorce. it was stressful because you refused to leave the house, even though you weren't welcome, because you just loved to make everyone around you completely miserable; but I digress. we were sitting in your car in front of the house, and I told you that when the divorce was finalized I wanted to live with my dad full time, and for him to have full custody of me. it was then that you turned, looked directly at me, and said, “Lindsey that’s not fair. I don't want to have to pay child support.” you truly a miserable monster, just like your mother, and just like your father.

there aren't enough words in this galaxy to explain how much you completely and utterly failed me in every aspect of being a mother. and honestly, I just don't have the time to waste on you anymore. I'm writing this to fully stop all of these thoughts, all these words left unsaid, from continuing to circle around in my brain. you aren't worth the stress, you really aren't. I cant even remember the last time I spoke to you, or saw you, because I cut off all contact years ago. maybe once upon a time I needed you as my mother, but when I realized that you were never one to begin with, that need faded. I grew strong on my own. I am who I am because I made me, and I did a hell of a good job. you don't get to take any credit in my successes, in my life, in my survival, because you are nothing to me. congratulations, Stephanie. you finally get what you’ve always wanted, the unwavering heat of the spotlight, because I'm exiting your stage for good.

I don't forgive you, I'm not sure I ever will. because you don't deserve it. saying, “I'm sorry for whatever I may have done to upset you,” is NOT an apology. it’s not even a small step in taking actual accountability. but I don't expect much from someone as selfish and fake as you.

before you try to pretend to cry and say that I'm being mean to you, just know this, you aren't a victim. I'm not your true adversary here. you are your own worst enemy. these are just the consequences to your own narcissistic and evil actions, and you have to live with them forever in your empty, loveless, fake life.

you’ve always preached about how much of a “good christian” you are, and threw me away in order to protect that precious reputation of yours, so I'll end with this: I hope you’re somewhere praying.

Sincerely,

The Daughter Who No Longer Thinks Of You

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