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dvzaiosamu · 11 months ago

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just a rushed oneshot about osamu dazai, once again. This one is about how he was never happy; nothing could fill more his heart, for he will live forever in the solitude. But he has you, he does, but for him, it doesn't feel enough. Dazai x fem.reader. This has two parts.

tw: suicide, self-harm mentions, depression, not mentally stable, sensitive topics, blood mentions, ect...

song recommendation: the lobotomy by maebi and old doll, mad father.

parts: 1/2

note: In fact, I already had the oneshot for this post done... but, when I wanted to schedule its publication, an error occurred and everything I did was deleted, leaving only what you are going to read below. I literally cried :( I hate my fucking luck. I'm tired now so I won't be able to upload the second part, I'll upload it one day when I feel motivated.

A night with a single moon, a strangely bright starry night. There have never been as many stars as there are today, or at least not as visible as the ones he glimpsed. His heart gave small muffled beats, an audible sigh as he stared at his already fired gun. On the ground lay the body of a weakness that did nothing, was only pierced by a bullet in that dark street full of dangers where he, Osami Dazai called himself the boss of the dangers of those streets, a mere attempt to disconnect from his intrusive thoughts.

He knew better than anyone what was going through his mind; Thought after thought, tiredness once it was over and tired of life, a strangulating stone blocking his throat, a pain and suffering that this world housed him. How was he going to die? He tried and failed, he didn't succeed. In a weak attempt he rubs his forehead, trying to get rid of the headache... Thoughts or headache? Headache or thoughts? Not even he knew it. He was overwhelmed by the burden of living.

In the darkness he continued to find himself, a pool of blood was created in front, obscured by the poor lighting. He couldn't care less about the life of a citizen. He tried to hide it, drown out his thoughts by killing. He thought that if he killed he would be happier, that at least it would be a distraction to get rid of everything. It wasn't like that.

Darkness took over this night, giving it an eerie appearance. Osamu used to love nights like this, when he most enjoyed scaring and then shooting his victims without any remorse, without mercy. He was a cruel murderer.

On the other side you were, considerably far from the young man. You were at your house, a house shared by you and Dazai. It was spacious and quite cozy: it had simple windows that were covered at night by lowering the blinds, for the sole reason that people could clearly see what was going on inside. It was itself a two-story, two-bathroom, three-bedroom house with its own amenities, space, and beds. One of the rooms was yours, the other was Osamu's, and the third was guests'. On that same floor (upstairs) was one of the bathrooms, with all kinds of luxuries, but minimalist in its own way. On the ground floor was the living room with its respective large and long sofa accompanied by a rug, television, shelves for books on one side, some furniture to store things and that's it. Then you had the kitchen and dining room where you were currently, preparing today's dinner, eagerly waiting for your partner to show him another wonderful dish that you decided to prepare.

You finished cooking and preparing a copious table, and you waited, waited and watched the clock tick, with its sound memorized in your brain that repeated like a broken record: tick tock, tick tock...

He always came around the time you finished cooking and getting everything ready for a cozy night in for Dazai after hard work in the mafia. You were worried that something had happened to him, that maybe Mori had detained him a little longer until he finished his missions or that he had simply forgotten that you made him dinner every time he wasn't home, it frustrated you at an end that he had forgotten, but then it quickly melted into worry, you didn't know what to believe and you were confused.

"Why does he takes so long to arrive? It's been over half an hour now and I have no calls, texts or messages from him." The question stood out and resonated in your head: why? Why did it take so long? You sighed and let time move forward. "Guess I'm just going to call him."

Moving your hand to your pants pocket, you grab your phone, tap its screen, and deftly enter your phone's password. Biting your lip repeatedly, you nervously reach his profile and press the call button.

The phone vibrates as you wait for Dazai to answer on the other line, a characteristic sound as you wait impatiently: vzzzzzt. You wait a few minutes and the wait ends with a message: ‘Osamu has not responded.’ Your condition worsens and you press the ‘call again’ button. This time you will finally be able to witness how the young mafioso accepts the call. "Hello Dazai, are you okay? How are you?"

A short two-second pause, overwhelmingly giving off a bad vibe. "I'm fine, what do you need?"

"I just wanted to know where you are. I made dinner and you were nowhere to be found, and look, that's the time you always show up. Something happened?"

"You see... Maybe I dallied on the way home, but you don't have to be so desperate, I'm already on my way, it won't be far away," He explains to you on the other end of the phone, with a carefree voice, still maintaining his soft but icy tone. In the background you can hear his footsteps stepping on the asphalt.

"Well, I guess I'll wait until you get there... Take care, I love you," You hang up the call with a sigh.

Back to Dazai, the youthful mafioso, crude and indifferent. He was walking through some very dimly lit streets. The crickets sing while there is a silence so unusual that it seems pleasant to the ear. There was no wind or noisy people talking on those same streets, there was just him. He was alone.

On the way home, he repeatedly thinks about jumping off an icy water bridge he was passing over. He didn't know what else to do, he wanted to die but without pain, he wanted to die but without losing close ones and friends, he wanted to die but find a reason to live. There were only knots in his mind, he was tired. He thought about committing suicide once and for all with his gun, drinking poison on purpose... So many ways to die and so few possibilities of achieving it.

*sigh*

#bsd #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd headcanons #angst

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octoberautumnbox · 2 months ago

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happy box gf day <3

what is your preferred date with yuri? also, any plans to make a full series involving any other idols? (mayhaps a certain mega gigantic girl group👀)

love your works box, yubin fic made me swoon so much ><

~ e

I love how yall give yourselves codenames like e and 🍵 and 🛢 as if im smart enough to decode who u are LMAOOOO my vocabulary has been overestimated twice today alone (thank u tavern peeps for teaching me about lobotomy and cbt not the therapy kind)

perfect date w yuri just a rainy day in bed with some nice ramyeon and co-op games to waste time on I think, I was never really the go out kind and I feel given the choice she'd stay in too :blushh:

as for series irdk ahahaha I'm in the middle of one alr :nolookk: but besides the seoyeon one that's gonna be a two-parter only I kinda doubt it, like I said I'm not smart enough for that sorta stuff fhlfhaldjlglda

I'm glad u liked Hell Week! it was great fun to write tho it did fuck up my schedule and inadvertently thrust me back out of hiatus LMAO i took in ideas in my inbox and planned sub 1k for all of them and then that happened and idk, actually I still have a shit ton of other ideas in my ask box I'd love to turn into fics HAHAHAHA WATCH OUT

thanks for the ask e! still no idea who u might be but I appreciate nonetheless :uwuge:

#ask box

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ahmedmootaz · 8 months ago

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Since it is Angela's birthday today, I've got some birthday asks for you.

How would the everyone in the Library celebrate Angela's birthday, both as her original self and her child self?

Do you think Angela and Carmen share a birthday or Angela and the Lobotomy Corporation share a birthday day/anniversary?

What gifts would Angela recieve from everyone, especially Ayin and X?

What kind of gifts would Angela even want?

Dear Anonymous,

Yeah, yeah! It's totally Angela's birthday, ahah! Ahah...hah...ha...

Looks at date

Erm, sorry for that delay, Anon. I hope you're not too upset with me. But as for your questions...well, they're quite fluffy, so I am very happy to hear that~

When it comes to how everyone would celebrate Angela's birthday...I think they would give her a day of complete rest. She wouldn't sort books, she wouldn't tend to the Library, she would just rest while everyone serves her. While she can always use the Light, the fact that everyone is willing to serve her despite her massive advantage with the Light is a nice gesture of affection. Allowing her to share her thoughts freely with them, taking care of the Library at full attention (yes, including Netzach) without slacking off...And I'm sure giving her lots of new information and perhaps introducing her to new technologies she hasn't seen before would be considered a very lovely gift in her eyes.

But if we're talking about widdle Angie, then I'm inclined to think they'd try to throw her a normal party. It's not like she needs anything too fancy considering her age and inability to eat or drink, so all she needs is a ton of happiness and she'd be okay. Maybe she'd love being pampered by her uncles as well as her papa, as well as playing with the rest of the kids all day while maybe watching 'A-ni-meh' as well. She's not a very demanding girl, I think, she just wants some happiness and she'll be okay.

As for Carmen and Angela sharing a birthday, I want to say that they do, but I just don't think Ayin had the time for such details. I mean, he did make Angela in the likeness of Carmen, but at the end of the day, he didn't want a 'new' Carmen. He just wanted Carmen, not to mention that he was building Angela when he had nothing. He had no friends left, the Old Lab was destroyed by Garion, there really was nothing left for him except using the information in Garion's mind and attempting to create Angela to lose himself in his work, so I doubt he had a specific schedule in mind when creating her. It's a 50/50 on whether or not he was lucky enough with the time to have Carmen and Angela's birthdays match or if he had to choose date because if he waited for too long there was a chance for The Head to swoop in and ruin everything he ever worked for...again.

As for the gifts everyone would give Angela...I think it varies. Malkuth would likely give Angela historical books, but she would also present them in a nice way. Maybe Malkuth would make a play with the other Librarians to present certain historical facts or battles to spice things up a little. Yesod would like cobble together a mechanical gadget from the City Angela hadn't seen before, even if it is quite simple, and he'd let her toy around with it and explore it to her heart and curiosity's content. Hod would likely help Angela with the poetry and perhaps show her some poems she may like. Netzach would...stop lazying about and maybe draw a portrait of Angela. Tiphereth would just hang out with Angela and keep her company, I think. Gebura would show case some combat techniques, weapons, and City factions to Angela, in addition to telling her about the nature of words and language so that Angela doesn't feel confused by some of the ways language is used. Chesed would probably brew her coffee if she could taste it, but otherwise, he'd likely tell Angela about what it was like belonging to a rich family and he'd maybe compare and contrast with Gebura. Hokma would spend time with Angela and tell her more about the Old Lab and how it was like before everything went down the drain. Binah would probably host a tea party of sorts and invite Angela and the rest of the Librarians while still speaking cryptically to everyone.

And as for Ayin and X...I think X would be very classic: He's a sentimental fool through and through. I think he'd maybe offer flowers, or perhaps a group-picture of Angela and the Librarians + Ayin and X, or maybe he'd offer her tea cups with 'World's Best Librarian' printed on them. Maybe he'd also offer her watches and such.

But as for Ayin...I think his gifts have to be something more...personal. Perhaps he would ofer her gifts that change or modify some aspects of her mechanical nature that she always had problems with. Or perhaps he would spend a day looking at her and listening to her, something she always wanted from him but he never gave to her. Perhaps he'd even allow her to vent her frustrations by maybe beating him up with a pillow until she feels somewhat satisfied. I think Angela doesn't really care what gift is offered to her so long as it was truly from the heart, and I think just being offered gift would be very touching for her considering she spent almost a (perceived) million years without receiving any affection at all.

But those are my (very belated) thoughts on Angela's birthday! Thank you for the very interesting topic, Anon, and until then, be well, take care, and see ya'!

#lobotomy corporation #library of ruina #ask #my writing #ayin #angela

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littleguypumpkinsheep · 1 month ago

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Today I went to speak with a college counselor to decide on new classes/scheduling etc. Wheels fell off before anything even started. It was immediately bad. Wearing the worst outfit known to man and also already in another universe doing and living a life elsewhere mentally. Anyway. I get in there and immediately I incorrectly explain what I’m there for by leaving out the most important part. I remembered the background information because apparently my brain likes to choose the stupidest and meanest options for my life like in rdr2 so I have the lowest possible honor. I finally manage to spit something out that’s semi intelligent and even vaguely similar to something an alive creature would say. After that it just gets worse. I don’t know what the hell happened to me but I think I got a colony of ants to perform the slowest lobotomy on me in history. All of my answers were some form of “uh.. um… huh…” and it took me a while to even say that. I just. I don’t know. The counselor was laughing at me because she could probably see the ants making me an active lobotomite. Don’t know what the Fuck was happening to me. It was terrible. It wasn’t just her I did this to I did it to everyone I talked to at my college. They probably called hr to report an actual fucking zombie wandering around their campus harassing all the staff by struggling to say basic sentences. Not even sentences. Half of a sentence.

I just fumbled a social interaction so badly I’m now depressed

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bcdrawsandwrites · 4 years ago

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Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T

Genre: Angst

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Loboto’s parents

Warnings: Surgery, lobotomy, hallucinations, child abuse, EVERYTHING IS HORRIBLE AND NOTHING IS OKAY WITH THIS (but there’s nothing graphic)

Description: Just be still, and you'll be fine.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Rocket (who I’m not sure is on Tumblr?)

Notes: who let me write Psychonauts fanfic. also some of the phrases in this fic were taken from this site.

---~~~---

“Scattering sparks of thought energy

Deliver me and carry me away”

“Here in my kingdom, I am your lord

I order you to cower and præy”

- The Mind Electric, by Tally Hall

---

Sometimes it was nice to just lay down in the park and watch the clouds float overhead.

He often had a lot of energy, both normal and... well... unnatural, but sometimes it was nice to relax, especially when he didn't feel like himself. His energy was ebbing, and there was something… something...

"Can you tell us another?"

He glanced up. Several of his usual playmates were standing around him, their faces lit up in interest. He grinned a wide, toothy grin.

"The boy babbled blatantly but was blessed with a brilliant brain!"

"Good!"

The compliment made his brow furrow. Normally they might cheer "cool!" or "awesome!" but he shrugged—he'd take it. It gave him a warm feeling inside, unlike the frequent chill of his own home. Plus, he couldn’t help but light up as he watched the smiles on his friends’ faces—some of them were still losing baby teeth, he noted, and the progression was fascinating. He knew what he could do to see more of those grins, too...

Without raising his head too much—it hurt a little, and he could see well enough from where he was—he glanced around to make sure his mother wasn't too close by. Luckily she was way off in the pavilion, talking to several other adults. Good; she wouldn't see, and neither would the other prying parents.

"How about this?" he asked, and with a tiny bit of concentration lifted a few rocks off the ground, spinning them in circles. Instead of cheering, however, the children backed away, their smiles fading.

"Look, he's trying to—!" one girl whispered frantically.

"Don't worry, he's fine for now."

He frowned, dropping the rocks. "O-oh, I'm sorry! I didn't think they would see..."

"That's okay. Can you tell us another?"

"Disappointed dogs don't do dangerous deeds." Wincing, he closed his eyes—there was a breeze that seemed to pass over his head only, running through his hair.

His scalp felt cold.

---

"Go on, Caligosto. Show the doctor how you can pick it up."

"Like this...?"

"No, the other way."

"But... mother doesn't like it when I do it that way."

"Do as you're told, Caligosto."

"...Okay..."

The fish swam all about the pond, but came closer to the surface when they realized he was watching from his usual spot on the shore. As they nearned him, he settled over the grass, staring down at his scaly friends. The fish seemed to like his company, and they wouldn't snitch to his parents if he did anything they wouldn't like.

On top of that, he felt a connection with them, almost like the sort of connection he could feel with people. They couldn't talk, and they didn't have facial expressions… but he could almost read them somehow, more and more as he continued visiting. Now he could sense what foods they wanted, or when they were scared of a nearby predator. It was nice to help them out.

It was also interesting to see the different kinds of teeth the fish had—some had sharp fangs, some had tiny flat teeth, and some had teeth in weird places, like their tongue or throat!

"Can you hear us?"

He would have jumped, but that would have scared the fish. As it was, he leaned forward, his eyes wide beneath their glasses. "Yes! I can hear you!" He could hardly contain his excitement. "I'd always thought I could hear you before, but never this clear! Do you think—"

"Good! Can you tell us another?"

He blinked. "Another what?"

"Another phrase."

Oh, right. In his excitement he'd nearly forgotten that he'd occasionally show off for the fish as well, though he'd never been sure if they could understand. "Friendly fish flip-flop fast when facing fearsome foes!"

"Very good!"

Giggling, he settled himself back down on the soft grass. "I'm glad you think so... my parents always tell me to be quiet."

Apparently, the fish had nothing to say to this, for they remained quiet, swimming just under the surface and watching him. So he kept watching them too, observing the light that reflected off their scales. But one creature caught his eye: a small turtle swimming in place. It was odd to see to begin with, but the paddling of its little feet seemed strangely frantic, its front legs moving in big sweeping arcs. It didn't speak, but he swore he could hear it—

Away, away—

---

"Is that... all he's capable of?"

"I'm afraid not."

"D—Father, are we done? I don't like it here..."

"Only speak when spoken to, Caligosto."

"Can we see anything else?"

"Yes."

"I-I don't want to—"

"Caligosto."

"Okay, okay! Let me—"

---

The seas were calm, and he had worked hard today as a navigator (or was he first mate? he couldn't quite remember, but that was okay), keeping a close eye on the compass and making sure they were staying on course. They were nearing the shore, but for now, he was taking a break, resting against a coil of rope with his eyes closed, enjoying the smell of the ocean air and the feeling of sunshine.

And also trying to forget his headache—he was pretty sure he bumped his head coming down from the crow's nest.

"You're doin' good today, mate! Squawk!"

He opened one eye, noting the parrot sitting just behind him. "Thanks, Crackers!"

Birds hadn’t been something that interested him too much at first; what kind of silly animal didn’t have teeth? That is, until he’d learned that birds have a weird organ that acted as their teeth. Fascinating!

The parrot cocked her head at him. "Do you know any more?"

Oh right, of course the parrot enjoyed those phrases. "The pretty parrot perched upon the putrid pirate's peacoat!"

Crackers gave a pleased chirp, ruffling her feathers.

Wincing, he found his headache was starting to get worse, like a bad toothache, and closed his eyes again. "Do you think we'll reach shore soon?"

We won't if you don't get out.

He opened his eyes. Crackers was gone.

---

"STOP! STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"

"What are you doing?!"

"I-I just did what you asked—"

"I didn't tell you to—!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Put him out, hurry—"

"We've seen enough, doctor. We'll schedule an appointment for your son next week."

"N-next week?!"

"Very well. He'll be there promptly."

---

The kids’ expressions had changed from bright smiles to tightly-drawn lips and wide eyes, and it made him shudder. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, it's fine. Tell us another."

"The store..." He paused, concentrating. Strange, he didn't usually have trouble remembering these things, but it must have just been his headache. "The store clerk stood and... stared at me in stupor."

"I would too after what I've seen," one kid muttered, only to be shushed by another.

His heart gave a pained jolt. "Wh-what?"

"Nothing!"

He didn't like the way they were talking—it reminded him of... something else. Someone else. Another child stepped closer to him, looking down at him with a furrowed brow and frightened eyes. He felt the sudden urge to scoot away.

You're in danger.

---

"Wh...where am I supposed to go?"

"Just in through these doors."

"Okay... Why do I have to come back here to the doctor, though? I feel fine."

"Nevermind that. Do you remember what your father told you to do?"

"Yeah! The fun phrases. I know a million of those!"

"Good."

"Would you like to hear... w-wait, who are all these people watching? Wh... what are those?"

---

The fish were swimming in circles and starting to make him dizzy. He rested his head down in the cool grass, but it did little to help. "Oh... sorry. I'm not feeling so good. I should be going home..."

"You can go home soon. Tell us another first."

"Ugh... My mom... m-my... mother makes a... marvelous... meat... mincemeat pie." Recalling these phrases was starting to feel like what he imagined pulling teeth felt like, but a lot less fun. Was his mother missing him now? How long had he been gone? "I... really need to go home now."

"No you don't."

His eyes shot open, and he shivered as he stared down at the fish. "Wh... what did you... say?"

"Don't try to move. You'll be all right."

All of the fish watched him eagerly... but the turtle was still waving its front feet even more frantically.

---

"Don't worry about that."

"N-no! I know what those tools are—I've read my dad's books. You're gonna hurt me!"

"Nonsense. Just lay on the bed and you'll be fine."

"No, I don't want to! You can't make me!"

---

The ship heaved up and down with the swell of the waves. His insides rolled with it, and he remained lying on the coil of rope, waiting for his stomach to stop lurching and his head to stop aching.

"You stopped. Keep going."

"Ugh... The newt... nuzzled in a... n-narrow... nook."

"Good."

"No, it's not, Crackers! I don't feel good..."

"You're fine, squawk! Try to distract yourself."

"Okay..." Opening one eye, he raised a shaky hand, lifting the end of the rope and making it snake through the air, though it shuddered all the while. It was a lot more difficult than usual... Normally he could lift several objects at once, and delighted the crew by juggling them. He felt like he should be able to do other things too, but what?

---

"Oh mercy! He's going to kill someone!"

"Caligosto, if you don't stop this at once, I will call your father!"

"So call him! I want him here! Why didn't he come with me?!"

"Oh no, he's trying to light the chair on fire—"

"Go get the earmuffs, now."

"MOM! DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"GET THEM NOW!"

---

The sun was covered in clouds, and the humid air brought a promise of rain. Why were the other kids still here? Surely their parents would have called them home by now. He wished they would. Surely his mom would have called him, too, wouldn't she?

"Tell us another," one girl asked urgently, taking a hesitant step forward.

His head was swimming. "I-I don't wanna..."

"Tell us now."

Focusing, he managed to force his mind to concentrate. "She sniffed... and s-smelled... the stirring storm."

"Good, tell us another," one fish bubbled from the water.

A sharp pain like a broken tooth filled his skull, his insides felt sick, and the rain was beginning to fall. "I... I can't..."

"Tell us, Caligosto."

"B... Bernie read a book... b-by the... ba—babbling brook." He wanted to wipe the rain from his face, but he felt too exhausted to move his arms. "C-can I go... home..."

"Squawk! We're not to shore yet. Give me another."

He stared up at the blurred vision of the bird. "Why...?"

"Do as you're told."

"Th-the... hummingbirds... hovered... a-and hummed in... heavenly..." His voice broke off into a choked sob. "I wanna... no... I wanna... go home..."

"Caligosto?"

---

"I WANT TO GO HOME!"

"Get it on him, get it on—"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Where did he go?!"

"The monster's turned invisible!"

"I WANNA GO HOME!"

"There! Put it on right—there!"

"STOP, I WANNA—"

---

"...go home!"

He blinked.

"You are home, Cali," his mother said, beaming down at him with a wide, pearly-white grin.

"I am?" Blinking again, he looked around. Indeed, he was in front of his house, with his parents both standing on the front porch, as they had been when he'd left. On top of that, his head didn't hurt and he didn't feel sick. "I... I am!"

"You're all done with the doctors now," his father said, smiling. "We're so proud of you!"

"You... you are?" He stared open-mouthed; his father had never told him that before. "I'm all done?"

"Yes you are, dear." His mother knelt down, but he didn't come closer—something was making his hair stand on end. "Almost."

His stomach twisted.

"Just tell us another, son."

"N... no..."

The smile on his father's face faded. "Do as you're told, Caligosto."

"N-no... no, no..." He tried to shake his head, but couldn't. "I... I want to go home..."

The pain was coming back, spiking through his head, and he cried out.

"We're going to lose him—"

"No, just a little more."

"No," he sobbed. "No, no! Mom! Dad!"

The park was flooding. The fish were swirling around his head. Waves crashed over the boat.

He had to do something. Anything.

Focusing with everything he had left, he tried to think, tried to move something, tried to make something burn, tried to call for help—

Did—did you hear that?

Cali?

The agony peaked, and his vision turned orange.

---

"Ooooh... ugh..."

"Is this safe?"

"It's safe for us. The psilirium will keep him under control during the procedure."

"But can he still hear us?"

"Son, can you tell us one of your funny phrases?"

"Sure... grass grows greener in the graveyard."

"You see? He'll be fine."

---

There was no park.

There was no pond.

There was no ocean.

There were several doctors staring down at him, a great many more people seated in the theater behind them, and an empty feeling within him.

Something was gone. Something important.

"How do you feel, Caligosto?"

His brain was slow to work, and he could not form the words, but if he could have, he would have answered:

Like... a cavity.

#dr loboto #loboto #caligosto loboto #psychonauts #my art #my writing #fanfic #who let me in this fandom

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kelyon · 3 years ago

Text

Golden Rings 22: An Offer

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Lacey has a meeting with Mayor Mills

Read on AO3

Content warning for verbal abuse and sexual fear

The clacking of Lacey’s heels against the sidewalk was music to her ears. She felt right, dressed like a whore and parading herself down Main Street. After her conversation with Mayor Mills, the stupid voice in the back of her head was quiet. Finally, things were back to normal.

Now it didn’t matter that Mr. Gold had been acting like a stranger since October. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want her, that he was fucking somebody else. She didn’t need him. She didn’t have to be “Mrs. Gold” in order to get what she wanted out of life. All that bastard did was pay her. He didn’t own her. He’d given up that privilege months ago. She didn’t have to belong to him. There were lots of other people out there. Mayor Mills wanted to help her. Mayor Mills wanted her.

At least, she was pretty sure she did. It was hard to tell. Lacey had never had a woman look at her the way Mayor Mills did sometimes. It was a sharp, laser-focused look. A look that cut her to the bone and then began to saw into her marrow. Like everything Lacey was, everything she had ever been or had ever dreamed of being, was laid bare for Mayor Mills’ approval.

Mr. Gold used to look at her like that.

Lacey dug her nails into her palms. Or maybe she was an idiot. Maybe she had been imagining the little signs. Maybe the mayor of Storybrooke would try to help anybody she came across in town, offer them rides in her sporty black Mercedes-Benz. Maybe she would arrange an after-hours meeting with any married woman who called her up. Maybe it was a public service.

Or maybe not.

She remembered this feeling, this knowing-but-not-knowing. The anticipation. The unanswered questions. The tension gave her a thrill. A thrill she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe that was why it was so easy to lie when she walked into the pawn shop.

Mr. Gold looked up from his inventory book when he heard her. His eyes were cautious. Afraid? Was this sad little coward really afraid of her? Maybe that was why it was so easy to grin at him, to reassure him with bright eyes and a lilting voice.

“I wasn’t sure what you were doing for lunch,” she chirped. “Want me to pick up something from Granny’s?”

The corners of his mouth lifted up. It was almost a smile. “No thank you, Mrs. Gold. I brought leftovers from home today.”

She nodded, and tapped her fingers against the counter in front of him. How many times had he fucked her against these display cases? How many times had she dropped to her knees behind the cash register while the shop was still open? He would challenge her to hurry, to suck him off before a customer walked in on them. He told her he would beat her black and blue if she failed.

What kind of things would Mayor Mills want her to do?

“Hey, I’m sorry about this morning,” Lacey lied. “I’ve just been really stupid and emotional lately.”

“You’re not stupid,” Mr. Gold said softly. “I know I haven’t made things easy for you. I’m sorry about that.”

A plastic smile was a wonderful talent. She was used to using it on other people, but now Mr. Gold was as easy to fool as everyone else.

“It’s not your fault,” she said sweetly, even though she was ready to spit acid in his face. “I just needed some time to myself this morning. But I feel better now. Later today I’m gonna get my hair done. I scheduled an appointment for around five.”

Easy as it was to lie, there was a specific delight in letting him get the wrong idea from entirely factual information. He had taught her how to do that. She would go to Janine’s and get her hair styled. And then she would have her appointment with Mayor Mills at five o’clock on the dot.

And he just nodded, just went along with it. Idiot. “The shop will be closed by the time you’re done. I can pick you up at the salon.”

She wrinkled her nose. Playful, casual. Not a care in the world. “No, I don’t know how long I’ll be, and the weather looks like nothing but blue skies. Besides, you’ll want to start supper. What are we having tonight?”

He began to ramble on about spring onions and fricasseeing, while Lacey counted the hours until her appointment at City Hall.

****

Officially, the city offices closed at 4 PM, but everybody knew that Mayor Mills stayed as late as she needed to keep the town running. Everyone admired her devotion, but pitied how often she had to leave her sweet little boy unsupervised. Rumor had it that was why Henry was so troubled, why he kept hanging around shady characters like Sheriff Swan, his birth mother. But his real mother was doing the best anyone could under such circumstances. Henry had appointments with Dr. Hopper several nights a week to keep his moods under control.

Why do you know so much about Regina’s life? Why is that woman the center of the universe in this town? Think about it!

Of course the voice was back. Lacey wasn’t sure if she wanted a stiff drink or a total lobotomy. Whatever would get it to shut up.

City Hall was quiet, that was part of the trouble. The empty hallway echoed so much she could hear her heart beating along with the sound of her footsteps. The voice always started jabbering at her during moments of stillness, moments when she should have been at peace.

She couldn’t tell if City Hall was serene or creepy. Like most buildings in the rich part of New Town, the design was sleek and modern. The interiors were stark white trimmed in black--plaster walls and gleaming tile floors. Right now, it had the terrible oddness of a place that was supposed to be filled with people, but wasn’t.

At this late hour, the fluorescent lights were dimmed. During the day the brightness was intimidating, but long evening shadows didn’t inspire confidence either. The doors lining the hall were a fake wood laminate, so dark they were almost black. The only other color came from the occasional piece of corporate art hanging up on the walls. Black and white photos of Storybrooke, all in frames as red as blood.

This is a bad place. You need to leave!

“Shut up,” she hissed. She would try not to tell Mayor Mills about the voice right away. No need to let the mayor think she was crazy. Besides, if all this went right, Lacey would feel a lot better very soon.

The door to the mayor’s office was ajar, but Lacey still knocked on the ebony frame.

“Come in,” Mayor Mills’ voice was brusque. For a split-second, fear clenched at Lacey’s stomach. She should listen to the voice in her head and run! Run away from this place that felt like a haunted house, run back home to Mr. Gold or to her father or to Sheriff Swan or anyone but Regina!

But she didn’t.

All Lacey did was adjust her purple bustier and walk in.

“Close the door behind you.” Mayor Mills didn’t look up from her paperwork.

Lacey did as she was asked--did as she was told. Her pulse quickened to be obeying orders again.

Like the rest of City Hall, the mayor’s office was nothing but black and white. The only difference was the clutter of prints and patterns. The wallpaper, the curtains, the upholstery on the conference table chairs--they were all a different print, but they were all monochrome. There was no illusion of serenity here. The room looked designed to disorient.

Even the stone floor was inlaid with black and white. An outline of a circle took up most of the space between the door and the desk. The circle was black, with tapered black flags coming out from the center. It looked like a pinwheel, or a clock, or something a bad guy would use to hypnotize someone in a cartoon.

Without any other instructions, Lacey decided to stand in the middle of the circle. She waited, at the point where black and white met and disappeared into each other.

Mayor Mills stayed at her desk. After a few more signatures, she set her pen down in a drawer and began to stack the papers neatly into a shiny black file folder. So she was meticulous. Lacey could appreciate that.

She kept waiting. The mayor didn’t look at her until the desk--a white slab of polished stone set on top of two carved stone pillars--was empty.

“You were seven minutes early,” she said at last.

Lacey swallowed and kept her hands at her sides. “Mr. Gold says that punctuality is the virtue of princes, Madame Mayor.”

One perfectly outlined, jet-black eyebrow raised on Mayor Mills’ forehead. “Mrs. Gold, if you’re looking for a prince, I don’t think I can be of any help to you.”

Would it be okay to laugh? Or would Mayor Mills think that was impertinent? Lacey just pressed her lips together and said nothing.

“Do you want to tell me what you are looking for, Mrs. Gold?”

Now she opened her mouth, but she didn’t have the words to answer.

Rumple. Rumple, help me! Rumple!

“R--r--really, I… I don’t know if I can put it into words, Madame Mayor.”

Mayor Mills gave her a considering look. She stayed at her desk, but leaned back in her black leather office chair. “Sit down.”

Two black and silver chairs sat in front of the desk. Lacey put her purse down in one and perched on the edge of the other.

“Would you like something to eat?” Standing up, Mayor Mills went to the conference table that took up most of the space on the right-hand side of the room. A large white bowl--ceramic, and shaped so that it looked like a collection of bleached, dead coral--was full of apples. All of them were as red as blood. The mayor took two and held one out to Lacey. “I often find that when I need to think, one of my prize-winning Honeycrisp apples always helps me focus on what’s most important.”

Lacey took the apple and held it in her hands. If she had seen this in a grocery store, she would have sworn that it was a Red Delicious. But of course the mayor would know her own apples. She had grown apples since she was a little girl. The tree that grew these ones was right outside the window behind the desk.

“Are you going to thank me?” The mayor was quiet, but it was the quiet of a viper about to strike.

“Yes,” Lacey said automatically. “Yes, I’m so sorry, Madame Mayor. Thank you for the apple. And for your time. I--I know you’re busy.”

“I am,” Mayor Mills agreed. Behind her desk, she pulled open a drawer and took out a silver knife. There was a design carved into the handle, Lacey couldn’t tell if it was an apple or a heart. After walking back to the front of the desk and leaning against the edge, the mayor began to cut into her apple. “There’s a lot of trouble brewing right now in Storybrooke. But I’ll make time for you, Mrs. Gold.”

“Why?” Lacey muttered. “I’m just a cheap, trashy slut.”

Grinning, the mayor took a slice of her apple. She chewed, swallowed, licked the juice off her red lips. “Is that what Mr. Gold told you to think of yourself?”

“Yes,” she whispered, looking down at the apple in her lap. She had said the words before to people, said them with a smile, like they were an honor. She had puffed up her own performance like a balloon. Only now she had popped, and there was nothing left of her but tattered shreds of rubber.

Lacey felt something cold on the bottom of her chin. Mayor Mills held the flat edge of the knife against her skin and lifted her gaze until they were eye to eye. Sitting down, she was looking up at the mayor. “Is Mr. Gold in charge of you, dear?”

She blinked. “I--He was. But I don’t want him to be anymore.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yes.” Lacey wanted to look down again, but the mayor hadn’t released her yet. “He--he cheated on me. And he’s been keeping secrets from me. And--and he’s just different, I don’t know how to explain it, but I hate it. I hate it, Madame Mayor!”

Mayor Mills took the knife away, and cut herself another slice of apple. She smiled. “He’s not the man you married.” She seemed almost smug to say it. “So now you’re looking for someone who can take his place. Someone who can remind you of why you were put in this world.”

“Yes!” Absurdly, Lacey felt her eyes begin to well with tears. Those were the words she had been looking for! She had been so right to come here. Mayor Mills knew exactly how to make everything right again! “I--I hope you’re not offended or anything. That I thought of you first when I wanted to find someone who would--would treat me the way I like to be treated.”

“The way you deserve to be treated, you mean.” Her voice was so low, so dark and so dangerous. “You cheap, trashy slut.”

It was like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and she was just perverted enough to love it. Repeating the same words that had just caused her shame, rubbing them in her face. This was exactly the kind of pain she had been looking for. Mayor Mills was brilliant.

She wanted to kiss her boots.

Lacey looked up at the mayor, at the way her crimson dress clung to her curves. Her silhouette was an absolute hourglass, tapering down into legs wrapped in tasteful nylons. So much classier than Lacey’s whorish fishnet stockings.

Mayor Mills’ eyes were dark and intense. Black, where Mr. Gold’s were brown. Her makeup was dramatic but flawless. Her lips were as red as the apple she was eating, her teeth as white as its flesh.

Lacey had never felt so small before, not in front of another woman. Not in front of anyone but Mr. Gold. She looked down. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper, a breath. “What can I do? In order to deserve you?”

The mayor’s laugh was rich and throaty. It sounded like red wine at a midnight feast. She set down her apple and her silver knife and held Lacey firmly by the jaw with her own silky-smooth hands.

“Let’s make sure we understand one another, Mrs. Gold: You don’t deserve me. You can’t deserve me. Nothing you could ever do would be enough to get you even close to my level. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Lacey whispered. She couldn’t move. Fear and arousal were too overpowering. “Yes, Madame Mayor.”

“Good.” She took her hand away and went behind her desk. “You know, you’re actually a very lucky girl. Until quite recently, I was content with the submissive I had. But then he… disappointed me, and we had to part ways.”

You killed that poor man, you vile--

“So!” Lacey said, too loudly. “Are we agreed then? Will you take me on as a ‘submissive’?”

Mayor Mills looked at her from her office chair. Her gaze was steady and unblinking. “Do you think you can submit to me? Even though I’m not your husband?”

“Yes,” she said. “At least, I’d like to try.”

“Have you ever served a woman before, dear?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “No, of course you haven’t, not properly. Well, I’ll warn you, we’re not like men. We’re not easy. There’s no one-and-done climax while you lie back and think of England.”

Lacey opened her mouth. Her instinct was to defend Mr. Gold, to say that sex with him had never been like that. But that wasn’t anything Mayor Mills wanted to hear.

“I’m going to demand a lot more of you than a man would,” the mayor went on. “I’m not satisfied by anything but perfection. And the cocks I use never go soft.”

She shifted in her seat. Were these threats or promises? “I would like to satisfy you, Madame Mayor,” she said softly. “I would like to please you.”

The mayor smiled again. “Of course you would,” she purred. “I think everyone in this town understands the benefits of having a happy mayor.” Her eyes flickered over Lacey’s body. “Are you wearing anything underneath that ugly skirt?”

A flash of heat went through her body. Partially it was the shock and pleasure at the sudden shift in the conversation. But there was also a bit of embarrassment. Lacey liked this skirt--black vinyl with blue tulle ruffles underneath. Was it really ugly?

“Well?” Mayor Mills said patiently.

“Oh! I--yes. A thong. It’s purple, like my bustier.”

“Mmm.” The mayor smiled like a cat with a bluebird in its paw. “Well, that I simply must see.”

Lacey sprang to her feet. She moved to unzip the tight skirt, but then she got an idea. “May I take off my blouse as well?”

“Oh, if you insist.” Leaning back in her chair, the mayor picked up her knife and cut off another slice of apple. She ate it, while Lacey stripped down to her lingerie and folded her clothes neatly on the conference table.

Then she stood in the center of the circle again, in front of the mayor’s desk, wearing nothing but purple silk, black lace, high heels, and jewelry.

Looking at her, Mayor Mills crunched into the last bite of her apple, then threw the core into the trash.

“Turn around,” she ordered. “Slowly.”

Lacey obeyed. God, this was amazing. Under the mayor’s scrutiny, every inch of her felt alive. This was what she was made for. This was the reason she existed in this world.

“You're groomed, at least. And it looks like you have some marks,” the mayor said coolly. “Am I safe in assuming they’re not recent?”

“No--I mean yes. They are not recent. Mr. Gold hasn’t touched me since October.”

“I imagine that would be frustrating,” she smirked. “For both of you. Come closer.”

Lacey stood directly in front of the desk. It was like she was here on official business, like she was going to ask for funding to re-open the library or something.

“Bend over, with your elbows on the desk. Lean forward until that pert little ass of yours sticks up in the air like a bitch in heat. I’m sure you’re familiar with the position. Keep your head up, but your eyes lowered. Don’t look at me.”

She did the best she could, remembering that the mayor was only satisfied by perfection. Once she was settled into place, she kept her eyes downcast. Her head was spinning. For some reason, it was hard to breathe.

Then Lacey felt the mayor’s hands on her throat.

She gulped, but didn’t move. Do the brave thing. And it wasn’t that she was afraid of Mayor Mills. But the movement had been so sudden, so unexpected that it caught her off guard. And the mayor did have a very tight grip.

Her hands weren’t cold, but Lacey would have been hard-pressed to call the touch warm. A better word would have been to call the touch… proprietary. Appraising. She was inspecting the goods before she made a claim on them.

Obediently, Lacey kept her eyes down while the mayor touched her. She couldn’t see her face. She heard her chuckle as her fingers explored the skin of her neck.

“All these little scars here look like you lost a fight with a rose bush. How did you get them?”

You gave them to me, you bitch! You and your dragon! She made thorns grow into my skin while you made me fuck you!

“I don’t remember,” Lacey said. Honestly, she didn’t remember having scars on her throat. “I don’t think Mr. Gold gave them to me.”

“Hmm.” Despite Lacey’s ignorance, Mayor Mills sounded pleased. Her hand moved from Lacey’s neck down to the upper edge of her bustier. There was enough space between the cloth and Lacey’s skin that the mayor could have slid inside and copped a feel. But all she did was trace her fingers over the mounds of cleavage and pinch.

“Ow!” Lacey yelped, but stayed braced against the desk. It was a little shameful how quickly she reacted. But a sharp pinch could hurt more than a spanking and she was out of practice. Besides, Mr. Gold always liked her to be vocal. He liked to know exactly how much pain he was causing.

The mayor rubbed at the sore patch of skin and gradually expanded her touch so that she cupped the whole of Lacey’s breast.

“Oh poor thing,” she cooed. “I’m just surprised to see that they’re real. Of course, it would be a waste of Mr. Gold’s money if you paid for tits and these were the best you got.”

The mayor emphasized her words with a sharp twist, digging her long nails into the soft flesh.

Lacey gasped in pain. The heat of it started at the mayor’s hand, coursed through all the nerves in her body, and eventually settled between her legs. The gasp turned into a whine, and then a moan.

“Good girl,” Mayor Mills said quietly. “But remember, slut, this is a public building. I can’t have you defiling these hallowed halls with your grunts and groans. You disgusting animal.”

Pressing her lips together, Lacey tried to swallow her hungry noises.

“Ugh.” She could imagine the mayor rolling her eyes. She could imagine the disdain, the contempt on her face. Lacey was so worthless. And now she had finally found someone who understood that she was worthless, who would treat her like she was worthless.

God, she was so wet.

“Here.” The mayor took Lacey’s apple from where she had set it down earlier. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you refusing to eat this. That was exceptionally rude. Ungrateful, even. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s ingratitude.”

“I’m sor--” She began to apologize, but as soon as her mouth opened, Mayor Mills had shoved in the apple. Lacey’s teeth broke through the red skin and she tasted the sour-sweet juice on her tongue. After only a moment of having the apple in her mouth, she felt the juice dripping down onto her chin. It mingled with her saliva and made her a slobbery mess.

“Better.” Now Mayor Mills’ voice was gentle, sweet. She was happy. It was good to make her happy.

Lacey heard her footsteps move around the desk. She couldn’t see the mayor, and she couldn’t make any noise. Apple flooded her senses of taste and smell. All she could do was hear. And feel.

The mayor was behind her. Manicured nails scraped at the exposed flesh of Lacey’s ass. She would have made a noise, to show how much her body liked the attention, but the apple was an excellent gag.

“You know, I can smell how wet you are, you tramp.” Her hands rested on either one of Lacey’s hips. “You stink. You’re filthy. You’re a disgrace.”

Unable to moan, Lacey shivered. Her hips rocked against the desk for a minute, until Mayor Mills dug her nails in and she stopped.

“Why do you even wear panties?” She plucked at the straps of her thong. “You always soak right through them. Every time I walk by you, you reek of pussy. You needy, greedy little cunt.”

She couldn’t stop herself. She jerked up, pushed against the desk in a desperate search for any kind of friction.

“Wriggling like a worm,” the mayor sneered. “You’re not even really a person, are you? You’re just a sex machine, like a junkie looking for a fix. You’re nothing but your need. Just a trio of fuckholes, desperate to be filled.”

When had Lacey started crying? She was bent face down on the empty desk. The apple in her mouth was the only thing that kept her face from pressing against the cold stone. Her hands were balled into fists on either side of her. She didn’t dare move her arms.

Everything the mayor had said echoed in her mind until she felt the vibrations of the words in her body. Her flesh trembled and shook. Her cunt clenched and it didn’t matter that it had nothing to clench against. She just wanted. Her body wanted...

“Don’t you dare!” Mayor Mills roared. “I forbid you to come. Don’t you--”

But then there was silence.

Desperate to obey, Lacey tried to stop her orgasm. She had done that often for Mr. Gold. There was a trick to it--pretty much the same thing as stopping yourself from having hiccups. As her body calmed, she became aware that Mayor Mills hadn’t spoken.

Then she became aware of a breeze swishing back and forth over her nearly-bare ass. It was like when Mr. Gold would pretend to spank her, just to see her jump. He would laugh at that. But Mayor Mills didn’t seem to find it amusing at all.

“What the hell?”

Even without seeing her, Lacey could tell that Mayor Mills was clenching her jaw. Again and again, she felt the breeze of phantom spankings. Did the mayor not want to spank her? What was going on?

“Hands flat on the desk!” the mayor barked. “Let me see your fucking wrists!”

Her wrists? Why? But Lacey did as she was told. Gracelessly, the mayor pulled on her hands. She turned them around and examined them. While she was distracted, Lacey dared to look up at Mayor Mills.

She was livid. Her breath came out in huffs and her red lips snarled around bared teeth. Suddenly, she slapped her right hand beside Lacey’s left.

“This ring,” she hissed. “That’s your wedding ring, isn’t it?”

Lacey lifted her mouth off the apple and nodded.

Mayor Mills looked angry enough to burst into flames. “Take. It. Off!”

Hands shaking, Lacey tried to obey. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken off her wedding ring. Mr. Gold had wanted her to wear it day and night. But what the fuck did Mr. Gold matter now?

When the ring was off, she set it on the desk next to the gnawed apple. She stood at attention, with her eyes downcast.

The mayor took the ring and held it between her thumb and forefinger. She looked at it, and shook her head.

“Unbelievable.”

Yes, it was unbelievable that Lacey would go to a seduction still wearing her wedding ring. What a stupid whore she was. Thoughtless. Sloppy. Ungrateful.

Mayor Mills tossed the ring back down on the desk, like touching it made her sick. Then she stood up again.

“Let’s try something else.”

For a moment, her anger had abated. Her hips swayed softly as she walked over to Lacey. Gently, she put one hand on Lacey’s neck, and cupped her cheek with the other. She tilted her head back.

Lacey closed her eyes and parted her lips--but nothing happened. The mayor’s hands moved away. After another moment, Lacey opened her eyes.

Mayor Mills had one hand extended toward Lacey’s face. It was flat and open, like she was about to slap her. But she wasn’t. She hadn’t. Aside from some pinching, Regina hadn’t been able to do anything to her.

Rumple, you genius!

When Lacey caught the mayor’s eye, she started and looked away. Without a word, Mayor Mills walked over to the other side of the room. There was a cabinet by the fireplace, from which she pulled out a bottle and a glass.

Her back to Lacey the whole time, the mayor poured out a measure of clear alcohol and drank it in one gulp. Then she took a deep breath.

Then she turned around.

“Mrs. Gold, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to continue this relationship.” She gave a bittersweet smile. “You see, unlike some people in this town, I value marriage. I couldn’t possibly engage in an affair with a married woman.”

“What?” Lacey’s voice cracked. “No, you can’t mean that! I-- Mr. Gold isn’t taking care of me anymore. Our marriage is dead! I--I need you, Madame Mayor!”

“And you can never know how happy I am to hear you say those things, dear. But the facts are facts--as long as you’re married to your husband, I can’t touch you. Not in any way that matters, at least.”

“Fuck.” Lacey put her hand over her mouth. “Oh fuck, Madame Mayor. I--I really need this, you know?”

“I know,” she nodded. She went over to the conference table and picked up the stack of Lacey’s clothes. She held them out to her. “And I am truly sorry that I won’t get to punish you the way you deserve. But this is how it has to be.” She turned back to her desk.

“Wait!” Lacey clutched her clothes to her chest. “You--you’re just doing this because I’m married, right?”

The mayor nodded again. She had pulled out a paper towel from a desk drawer and was wiping up Lacey’s spit and apple juice.

“Well, what if--what if I left him? What if we got a divorce?”

Mayor Mills stopped cleaning mid-wipe. For the first time in a while, she looked Lacey in the eye. “Divorces can be messy. They can take a long time. I thought your issue was more pressing than that.”

“I--I don’t know what else to do, Madame Mayor.” Dumping her clothes on a chair, she got on her knees in front of the desk. “You’re right, I do need what you can give me. I need it now, and I’ll do anything to get it!”

She smiled. A light shone in her black eyes. “Anything?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Hmm.” The mayor stood. She began to walk around Lacey in a slow circle. “Well, my point still stands. I simply can’t do anything worthwhile to you while you’re married to Mr. Gold.”

Lacey opened her mouth to beg again, but Mayor Mills lifted a finger and she fell silent.

“And, as we’ve established, a divorce might take a while to finalize. Especially with your husband’s thorough approach to contracts. So I suppose I’m forced to meet you halfway. I’ll just need some proof that your marriage is dead.”

Lacey licked her lips. “Proof?”

“Yes.” When her circle was complete, Mayor Mills was in front of her desk again. The golden ring was still on the surface. She picked it up and handed it out to Lacey.

It was a bizarre reverse-proposal. Lacey was the one on her knees. The mayor was giving her her own ring back to her, in exchange for a promise to end a marriage.

“This is part of a matched set, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s useless on its own. Your husband wears the other one?”

Lacey nodded.

“Alright,” Mayor Mills said. “So in order for me to have you, I’ll need both of them.”

“What?” Lacey felt her eyes going wide. “You want me to take Mr. Gold’s wedding ring?”

The mayor shrugged. “If your marriage is as dead as you say, he won’t miss it. If it isn’t, then, well, I have no power over you.”

“No.” Scrambling to her feet, Lacey took the ring from the mayor’s hand. “No, I want you to have power over me. I really do!”

A knowing, full-lipped smile. “There’s not much that would make me happier than having absolute power over you, dear. And it will happen, just as soon as I have both of your wedding rings.”

“It will,” Lacey nodded. “I’ll make it happen. I won’t disappoint you, Madame Mayor!”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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minghaocouture · 4 years ago

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Pairing: Templar!Kim Mingyu x Elf Mage!Reader Genre: Dragon Age AU, enemies (?) to lovers, angst, established universe WC: 5k+ Warning: magical lobotomy (through branding), language

A/N: So this is for @merakiiverse job au collab! I’ve been wanting to write a Dragon Age au for like...ever, and this just gave me the push I needed. So there are some terms from the game used in the fic but I did my best to explain them without taking away from the story. Also really glad i finished this before i got sick lol.

“Come on wake up!” You groaned, slapping away the hands of your best friend as he tried to shake you awake. You had gotten to sleep pretty late last night, having snuck into the circle library to do a bit more reading after hours so you were trying to bask in the last few minutes of sleep before your lessons today.

You heard a loud groan from the younger male before everything seemed to turn upside down and your frame was sent tumbling to the stone floor of the Apprentice Quarters with a loud thud and a shriek. Your eyes snapping open to glare at your dear friend Chan with his hands still gripping the mattress that he had just thrown you from.

Quickly you shoved your palms against the chilled stone flooring to push yourself up, as the male laughed hysterically and dropped the mattress back onto the simple wooden frame of your bottom bunk.

“Chan, I want you to remember that we are trapped in this tower together for the rest of our lives. So I will be getting you back for this.” You muttered angrily as you brushed off your scratchy white sleeping robes that the circle had provided for you. Fueled by frustration, you quickly fixed up your bed so that the senior enchanters wouldn’t be angry with you for making a mess.

“Hey come on, don’t be like that!” He quickly exclaimed, offering you some assistance with fixing your bed if only so he could get on your good side once again. It’s usually what he would do to try and get on your good side, things like taking your cleaning duties or distracting the templars so you can sneak into the libraries at night. “I woke you up for a reason!”

“And what would that be?”

“They brought in new templars, fresh new faces for us to make fun of!” He made a good point. During your extended stay in the circle Chan and you had taken to picking at the Templars that were assigned to ‘guard’ the tower, well the Templars that wouldn’t immediately attack or detain you for your teasings. You shuddered as you remembered being thrown into the cramped cell that was used for solitary confinement.

“How many this time?” You questioned, pulling your daily robes from the chest at the foot of the bunk beds that you and Chan shared. You swiftly stripped yourself of the uncomfortable white material of your night robes and slipped on the navy blue skirt, once again curious as to why the skirts had such delicate embroidery on the hem if they were simply to be given to mages. Maybe it was something to make your people think they were in a higher position than they were, either that or a small ‘oh here are some pretty robes, we definitely consider mages people!’ kind of thing. You weren’t too sure.

Chan took a seat on the bed as you tied the skirt to fit your waist, he wasn’t bothered by your disrobing at this point. After all, the two of you had been in this tower since you were children and it wasn’t like the tower offered much privacy for any of the apprentices. If you wanted that you would have to pass your harrowing, only then would you receive private quarters.

You struggled with your skirt for a moment, it being far too big for you, but it wasn’t like they made new robes for every apprentice; everything you owned was a hand me down from either a senior enchanter or...a tranquil.

“There were four of them, they all looked like they came right from training too. No old farts this time,” He explained, lounging on your too thin mattress as you slipped the top piece on, the long sleeves and thick fabric felt just as suffocating as it did every day, and it also continued to show your status as a lower being in the eyes of these people. The small gold trim wasn’t as nice as it was on the human’s robes, and you were sure that was the point. It was something that looked nice, but not as nice as the human mages robes that Chan wore. It wasn’t enough that your mage abilities make you a lesser being but your elven blood as well, you were certain that the Maker had a sense of humor when he made you.

With practiced ease you tied the laces of your sleeves around your wrists before working on the clasps of your belts. It was a constricting and suffocating outfit that made you feel quite claustrophobic at times. As if the robes were just as bad as the tower itself.

“Well, I guess let’s go check them out. Gotta let these newbies know that not all mages are just gonna let them walk over us.” You tried to seem optimistic but after being in this tower for almost 16 years, it was a little harder to force that smile sometimes. Which was why you were grateful you had Chan with you, the two of you looked out for each other no matter what happened.

He hopped off of your bed and took a firm grasp on your wrist before pulling you out of the shared apprentice chambers, ignoring the strange looks from the templars and other apprentices as the two of you dashed into the hallway on the first floor of your prison.

The two of you peered around the corner into the entrance hall as you watched the initiates be inducted by Knight Commander Greagoir, the head of your captors, he was telling them all about their duty to the citizens of Ferelden and the Chantry, all that nonsense. It was basically just propoganda to make these people feel like they had the right to place themselves above you.

The new initiates weren’t too impressive, once again all humans of course, because the precious Chantry couldn’t trust elves such as yourself to become Templars. Most likely because elves would be more likely to opposed the confining of people just for circumstances of their birth, at least the ones who weren’t already brain washed into believing the Chantry’s inane teachings. That thought always reminded you that even if you weren’t trapped in this tower, you would simply be in an alienage in one of the many towns around Ferelden, another prison. Elves simply weren’t welcomed or free anywhere, at least not in a human society. There were surprisingly three women and only one male this time, which was abnormal because women seemed to stray more towards becoming Chantry sisters than Templars. So that was interesting, you’d have to figure out their names. The only interesting thing about the male was his ridiculous height. He looked almost tall enough to be a member of the Qunari, all he was missing was the horns, or at least you assumed since you had never seen a Qunari in real life.

If only you knew what would follow this day.

***

“You know, you aren’t supposed to be in the library after lights out.”

You almost screamed in surprise at the unfamiliar voice. You knew the schedule for the Templars and usually you were able to skirt around and hide whenever it was time for their rounds to reach the libraries. Apparently tonight was determined to be different. Glancing up from your book you flashed the Templar a sheepish smile, instantly recognizing this man as one of the new initiates whose name you had yet to learn. It wasn’t exactly...forbidden but initiates were definitely encouraged to not give their name to the mages or learn the names of the mages either, it was probably so they didn’t connect that you were real living beings and develop a conscience.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I had an incurable illness that causes me to sleep walk around the tower, would you?” You were likely to be in deep shit because of this. Knowing how new recruits were, usually the super brown nosing type, they wanted to make superiors happy so that they could get promotions. Unfortunately for you, that usually meant getting mages into trouble.

Knowing this was probably why you were so shocked to hear the giant male snort, in an attempt to hold back a laugh. In all the years of living here, you hadn’t met a Templar who actually laughed at your jokes or smiled at you...like this male was doing right now. He glanced over his shoulder looking towards the opening in the shelves that hid the two of you from view. This library was almost perfect for hiding, the rows were like their own little hallways with bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling which was perfect for blocking the light of your candle when you were here at night. He must be checking to make sure that none of his co-workers had entered the library after him.

Soon his attention was back to you, a small boyish smirk on his faces as he spoke. “Well I suppose I’d ask you to tell me about this terrible illness, is it contagious? I’m not sure the other mages would like it if I was roaming the halls in my sleep.”

You were once again dumbfounded by this human. You wouldn’t expect him to think about what would and wouldn’t upset the mages, usually the Templars just did what they wished with no regard for those they were meant to be watching over.

“No, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t like that. Lucky for you, I was born with it just like my hideous magic.” You didn’t truly believe that your magic was horrible. If everything was done by the Maker for a reason, then so were mages! People were just taking Andraste’s “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” thing a bit too far.

“I don’t think your magic is horrible. It’s a gift from the Maker! The Maker doesn’t give bad gifts,” He confessed, quite a controversial opinion for a Templar to have. With one more glance over his shoulder to make sure that the two of you were still alone, he pulled out the chair across from you and took a seat.

“I’m Mingyu. What’s your name?”

***

After that fateful night in the library, Mingyu and you kept in contact but only in the dead of night and only when he was scheduled to patrol the first floor library. Tonight was one such night.

“Chan is getting suspicious, ya know?” You mentioned, laughing softly from your seat at the table the two of you frequented. He raised a brow at you and tilted his head slightly, his lips jutting out in a small pout. He honestly looked pretty adorable like that, nothing like the fearsome Templar act he had to put on during the day.

“He thinks I’m shaking up with another apprentice and not telling him.”

“Imagine the look on his face if he knew you were just hanging out with me.” Mingyu retorted, going to rest his cheek on his palm only to remember that he was wearing his gaudy templar armor and deciding against it. This caused him to pout more and for you to laugh, making sure to keep your volume down so you weren’t caught by anyone else patrolling the area.

A silence fell over the two of you as your laughter subsided. It was here where the two of you were illuminated only by candlelight that you felt safe. That was something you weren’t used to feeling. In the Circle, there was a constant need to watch your back and be on your guard just in case some random Templar got pissy because you ‘looked at them funny’. It was a struggle for survival.

These nights were different though. You could almost imagine that you weren’t locked inside this tower you could dream about possibly being free and in the outside world that you vaguely remembered. Hell, how long had it been since you had seen the sun?

"How long have you been in the Tower?"

The question was innocent enough, but it definitely threw you off guard. It wasn't something you liked to think about often. It had been so many years ago and it wasn’t exactly a...pleasant memory.

"It's been...I think about 17 years almost? I developed my magic when I was around 6 years old and my mother was very devout. So she turned me into the chantry, saying that the Maker had frowned upon her and her family by giving them a Mage for a daughter." It hurt a lot thinking back on the day that your mother had abandoned you. Her pleas to the Chantry mothers, begging them to take you as she also begged for the Maker's forgiveness. Thinking she had obviously done something wrong if she had given birth to a mage.

You watched a frown set it self onto his face, obviously not having expected to hear such a thing. Most parents went so far as to hide their children from the Chantry, making them apostates, illegal mages, so that they wouldn't lose their precious bundles of joy. Just like Chan's parents. They had fought tooth and nail to keep him when the Templars came, it even cost them their lives. Chan didn't like talking about it but you knew that he still had frequent nightmares about that horrible day.

"What about you?" You questioned, diverting the attention from your situation and onto Mingyu. "Why did you become a Templar? I'm sure being a regular knight would have been just as nice, if not easier. At least knights aren’t also stuck inside the Circle tower." It may not have been a prison to the Templars, but they were still trapped inside these halls as well. Most weren’t really able to leave either unless they were going to visit their families, and even then that was rare.

He chuckled dryly at your words and shook his head.

"Something we have in common, I suppose. My family is also very devout, very deep into the teachings of the Chantry. All the men end up becoming Templars if they can. It's in our blood. So of course, as soon as I was old enough to hold a sword I was sent off to training to try and become the best Templar the Kim line had ever seen." The look on his face was one of melancholy, one that you recognized as a look that you had seen on other mages. The look of someone trapped in their own fate.

"Guess we're...kinda in the same boat, huh?" You gently nudged his arm that rested on the table with one of your fist. It was a small gesture, but one with meaning for both of you. Reaching out he gently, or as gently as he could while wearing full plate mail, took your extended hand in his own. The cold metal was a stark contrast against your heated skin, causing you to shiver lightly. He gave a small squeeze and a tiny smile made it’s way onto his face, as if he had been comforted by your words.

You felt your heart stutter for a moment, watching the features of his face in the candle light. It was still for a moment before he released you hand and stood from his chair.

"I should get back to my patrols before any other the others get suspicious. I'll leave a note in our spot when we can meet up again."

You were moments away from responding but stopped short as he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against your forehead. You were stunned still and silent as you watched him pull away, smiling at you once again, before slipping off into the night.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared after him in shock. Your face flushed with heat, and you knew that Kim Mingyu would be the death of you at this rate.

***

"I hope this doesn't offend you but...what is so bad about being made Tranquil?"

You winced slightly at his words, the thoughts of the Tranquil always frightened you. Of course, being a Chantry boy, he had been told from a young age that being made Tranquil was a mercy for mages. Because if you were Tranquil then at least you were alive. It was all a lode of rubbish. Instead of just answering his question, you decided to ask one of your own.

"Do you know Owain? The Tranquil who runs the Circle stock room?" He nodded slowly, unsure of where exactly you were going. "I arrived at the tower before he was turned. He was a kind man who took me under his wing and helped me adjust to life at the tower. I was very young and so very scared, but Owain had basically turned into a father figure for me. I cared for him so much." You felt tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as you recalled the man you once knew.

"One morning, a few years after Chan had been sent here. I had to have been around 11, well we woke to find Owain standing in front of the stock room just like he does now. Only he was no longer the kind, father figure I had grown to love. He was so cold, lifeless. Being made Tranquil isn't a mercy to mages, it's taking every part of them that makes them who they are and ripping it away." You tried to keep quiet, but the more you spoke the more anger and fear bubbled in your guts. You had barely even registered that you had begun crying.

"You become a lifeless husk that holds the shape of who you used to be."

You couldn't bring yourself to look up from the table, to watch the emotions that were surely playing out on his face as he watched you cry. You were surprised at how silently he had moved, because you were soon pulled to stand and held tightly against his armored chest. It wasn't too comfortable because of the plate mail he constantly wore, the metal poking into your skin and it reminded you that while this embrace was comforting...it was also dangerous. Against your better judgement, your arms quickly wrapped around him and pulled him closer as you tried your best to keep your cries quiet. As you sobbed you heard him whisper soft nothings to you, but one stood out from the rest.

A promise that he would never let you be made Tranquil.

***

It wasn't long before those soft forehead kisses from before became kisses of passion. Soon you didn't need the candle light as your guide as you followed the curves of his body under his armor. Things changed quickly, and before you knew it two years had passed and you were hopelessly in love with Kim Mingyu. Something that should have never come to pass.

You were certain that at least First Enchanter Irving knew, he somehow knew everything that happened in the Circle Tower, and while you weren't a very religious woman, you found yourself praying to the Maker that Knight Commander Greagoir was still clueless. Unfortunately the one person you wanted to talk to about this was the person you were most determined to keep in the dark.

Lee Chan, your best friend.

"You should tell him." Mingyu, gently caressed your cheek, his gloves had been taken off long ago as the two of you lounged in your usual spot in the library. Your meetings had gotten farther and fewer between as he rose in the ranks of the knights and you stayed a simple apprentice.

If you were being honest you were a bit worried about that as well, but Mingyu assured you that it was nothing to be concerned about.

“Oh sure, that’ll go well. I can picture it now. ‘Hey Chan, you know the Templars who watch our every move and are sometimes ordered to strip us of our entire sense of self, yeah I’m in love with one of them. The tall lanky one that has been trying to joke with you, yeah the one you complain about all the time that’s him’.” You chuckled to yourself as you thought about his reaction to that, and not really realizing what you had just admitted. Not until you glanced over at Mingyu and found him staring at you dumbfounded.

“You love me?”

You froze, like a A million thoughts raced through your head, all of the best and worst possible outcomes. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if this was just fooling around? What if he said he could never love an elf and he had just been using you? What if, what if?! Your heart thudded loudly inside your chest as you stared at him, unable to enunciate the way he made you feel.

Luckily for you all of those what ifs were cut off as his hand grasped the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss filled with such fire that you could almost feel yourself being burned. Everything he wanted to say was trapped inside this kiss, you weren’t alone with your feelings and this kiss told you all you needed to know and more.

After a string of long, intense kisses that you were almost certain would lead to another round of light touches and soft moans, he pulled away. His forehead pressed against your own and a large almost blinding smile was plastered on his face.

“I love you too.”

***

You stared at the small flame of your candle in silence, he was late. Usually he was exactly on time, never early and definitely never late. It was too dangerous otherwise. Your stomach was in knots at the thought of what could possibly be keeping him. That’s when you heard the sound of armor clanking against the stone flooring, almost like the person was running. Since you weren’t entirely sure it was him, you quickly blew out your candle and slid under the table to hide.

The footsteps got closer and your heartbeat seemed to be almost as loud as the steps themselves. You only relaxed at the small call of your name. The familiar voice had you out from under the table in record time.

“You scared the daylights out of me Mingyu, I was worried something had happened.” You confessed, using a small bit of your magic to light the candle’s flame once again. The light gave way to the terrified look on his face, streaks of tears stained his cheeks, and you found yourself running to his side to wipe away the fresh batch that was threatening to spill out.

“Mingyu, baby what’s wrong?” You whispered, doing your best to comfort him by taking his hand in your free one and using the other to gently caress his cheek.

“We need to go. The Phylactery chamber, we need to find yours. I need to get you out of here.” His deep voice cracked as he tried his best to control his tears. He looked so frightened and pale even, despite his tanned skin. Your heart sunk as you thought of your Phalactery, the vial of blood that had been taken from you when you arrived and was stored inside a chamber with all of the other apprentice’s. It was the templar’s way of tracking you if you had ever escaped, and was the biggest reason you had never attempted to escape the circle.

What he was suggesting was crazy though, there was no way the two of you would be able to storm the Phalactery chamber, there were two locks and it required a fully realized enchanter to unlock one of them and you...had yet to be called for your Harrowing. So you tried to console him.

“Baby, what are you talking about? You know we can’t do something that crazy. If we get caught you’ll be kicked out of the order or worse, sent somewhere like Aeonar. Why are you ev-”

“They want to make you tranquil.”

Your heart stopped at his confession, eyes going wide as your blood chilled within your veins. Subconsciously you took a step away from him in disbelief, you didn’t question the legitimacy of his words because you knew for certain that he wouldn’t lie to you like that. Not when he knew your fear of being made Tranquil. You watched as he stared helplessly at you and began speaking once more.

“Knight Commander Greagoir thinks that...he thinks that you might be a blood mage. Even suggesting that you- that what we have is because of a demon’s influence.” He took a step forward to close the distance between the two of you, taking your hand back into his own. He liked holding your hand, he had said in the past, it made him feel loved so very loved.

“I know it’s not. I tried to talk to him but he...he wants me to perform the rite. Which is why we have to get you out of here!”

Your mind seemed to be going a million miles per hour but also seemed to stop all at once. Your limbs had gone numb as you stared blankly at the floor in terror, you weren’t sure what to do. If you ran on your own then they would just send Templars to find you and with your phylactery, it would be quick work and both you and Mingyu would end up dead. If you followed Mingyu’s plan, you would most likely be caught and turned Tranquil anyway only with this route he would also be punished for his crimes. Lastly, If you stayed, you would be made tranquil at the hands of the man you loved. There was no winning in this situation, there was never a winning choice for a mage.

You pulled your hand from his grasp, causing a small pained sound to leave his lips, breaking your heart as it did so.

“You have to do it…”

“Y/N no! We talked about this I won-”

“We don’t have any other choice!” You cursed yourself after your outburst, though at this point you weren’t sure you could get into anymore trouble. “If you got caught you would never be able to see Minseo or your parents again!” You had spoken of his family in great detail before, and you couldn’t bear to know that he would never see them again just because of his attachment to you.

You didn’t want to be made Tranquil, but you also didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. This was the only option where at least one of you would be able to keep living freely.

Thinking about the fact that your days were now numbered scared you, the numb feeling from before seemed to linger but you couldn’t find it in yourself to cry. Not now, not when you had to seem like you were certain of your decision. He needed that from you.

So you swallowed your terror and gently cupped his cheeks in your hands.

“You have to do this Mingyu. There isn’t any way of getting out of this. Not that will actually work.” You muttered, voice soft as you kept eye contact with the male. You felt his hands reach up and rest over your own, and took solace in the fact that what the two of you felt was real. At least for a little while longer.

“If it’s you...it’s okay.”

You had never lied to Mingyu before, but...this seemed like a good time to start.

***

The grip on your forearms was sure to form bruises, but at least after this you wouldn’t feel them.

You stared before you as the branding rod held in Mingyu’s tight grip lingered over the open flame, making sure that the metal would be hot enough to etch itself into your skin.

You couldn’t stop the tears that fell from your eyes, and you had sure tried. You knew that seeing you cry could cause Mingyu to hesitate, falter or even flat out refuse the order which would make this all for naught. At that moment, you felt so hopeless. Everything you had worked for, everything you had lived for would be coming to an end. All because of that simple, unassuming brand that your lover held.

At the command of Greagoir, he moved the brand away from the flame and stepped towards you. Reciting the Chant of Light as he did so. It was supposed to bring comfort to the mages and remind them that this was the Maker’s will, you found the words mocking even coming from Mingyu’s lips.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.” His voice strained as he spoke the Chant of Light, it broke your heart to hear him in such pain. His grip on the haft was so tight that you were almost certain that the metal of the rod would break.

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift, and turned it against his children.” His armored footsteps echoed against the stone flooring. Tears threatening to spill as he stepped closer to you. You felt the grip on your arms tighten as his fellow templars held you in place.

“Remember, that...that this is a mercy.”

With those last broken words escaping him, he lifted the sunburst brand and held it above your forehead. You saw the heartbreak burning in his eyes, and he hesitated refusing to move the brand any closer to your forehead.

Your eyes met his and watched as he desperately tried to keep his composure. You forced a small pained smile onto your face, and that seemed to be the only thing he needed. Not a second later, the metal pressed against your forehead and sparks of blue lyrium seemed to burst forth as the sunburst brand stripped away every bit of emotion you had to replace you with a husk that could no longer connect to the fade, to magic. A husk with free will but a husk nonetheless.

“I’m sorry.”

#caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kdiner #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen drabble #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt scenario #svt drabble #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagine #mingyu drabble #mingyu scenario

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everything-laito · 4 years ago

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Hey corn pls ignore my other one because it was really late when i thought of it so heres my new one. Do you think if soneone some how tied up Laito and hit him in the head witha baseball bat not hard enough to kill him/turn him ibto a vegetable, and he’d develop Amnesia and Yui/someone could convince him that hes a good person and a loving BF and his brothers are bad and evil people that need to be getting rid of? (assuming when he gets hit he forgets about yui, himself and everyone else.)

Hi! Sorry, I already did answer your ask earlier today, it’s scheduled to be posted at 8pm est (roughly 2 hours); regardless of either ask, my answer would still be the same. Basically, I explain that amnesia caused by blunt force trauma doesn’t exactly work like that. And the situation you’re describing is a bit similar to wrongful psychological reconstruction. Take the movie V for Vendetta, for example.

I don’t go over this in the analysis but in order to psychologically reconstruct someone like that, you would need to put them through more psychological trauma that would induce amnesia or some kind of brainwashing tangential to that. Regardless, it wouldn't be good and it’s pretty bad to mess with the brain like that in general. It would be better for Laito to confront his emotions himself with some outside help, which Yui does indirectly within the series. We’ve learned from our mistakes from the 1940s neurosurgeries!

Also, his brothers aren’t evil, they’re suffering through their own traumas as well. It would definitely make his situation (along with the Sakamaki’s situation) worse. What you’re talking about reminds me of the anime Bananafish, which is a pretty fucked up anime but involves unethical manipulation and brainwashing of the brain but through a drug; and it is pretty fucked up. I do know that there are some psychological therapies that involve some snippets and version of these tactics (like I recently read an article that there’s some form of “new lobotomy” being developed but not as extreme as what it was in the 40s), but that’s on a professional level and we’re still figuring that stuff out. It’s not as simple as a bonk to the head like some movies display.

Hope I could help and hope that makes sense! -Corn

#ask corn

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mirrorfalls · 3 years ago

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Lego Liveblogs ST: TOS, part 10 (of who-the-hell-knows-how-many?)

Things I should’ve done last night: read at least a Sparknotes of Macbeth so I know what Dagger of the Mind is supposed to imply.

Things I didn’t do last night: that.

* Prisons? In my enlightened 23rd century? How depressingly plausible. * Now this is some straight-up Beagle Boys shit. I love it. ** Guy, I sure hope you know what it means to put on a redshirt on this ship. * "A cage is a cage, Jim.” Again, how depressingly resonant. * Don’t know if this is supposed to be deliberate foreshadowing, but: the warden never gives a name (or even a number) for the fugitive so the crew can look up his record. * “Where there is no emotion there is no motive for violence.” What Earth history have you been reading, Spock?! * Oh, the crew is in rare form today. Not even the first ad break and the guy’s caught. * Bones, try not to let your mad-scientist show so much. * Ah, here’s our real plot: go down and explore Ye Olde Space Prison, boys, and decide for yourselves... are the inmates running it now? ** ~Wacky Sitcom Music Cue~ * Okay, Kirk, I know she’s not Nurse Christine (Barrett’s schedule couldn’t fit this in, I guess?) but that’s no reason to get snippy. * That’s one accommodating warden. Too accommodating... * Okay, whatever effect they used on this lady (glass eye? Contact?) it’s creepy as fuck. * Important Theme: Can someone be rehabilitated not by being convinced to live with their wrongdoings, but by having those wrongdoings outright erased? ** Spoiler: Probably not. * Knock it off, Kirk. I guess this is supposed to be banter, but it just comes off as spiteful. * Spock, I appreciate your needing to Get To The Truth and everything, but if he’s in too much pain to talk just give him a keyboard or something to write with. * ... say, was this before A Clockwork Orange came out? * Somehow it never occurred to me this’d be the Mind Meld’s debut. ** I have to wonder what audiences back in ‘66 thought of this - today even non-fans are casually aware of it as a part of Trek lore, but in the context of the episode it comes with no foreshadowing. Hell, people probably expected Bones to be the one with the fancy mind-massage techniques. * Probably continuity-by-accident, but I do love how Kirk’s a lot more reluctant to trust the Big Scientific Authority after how things went on the last planet. ** That said: Jesus Christ man at least radio in your situation before you "test out” the Lobotomy Beam! ** Aaaaand this has turned straight into the Unprofessionalism Olympics. Someone’s got it bad for the Captain. * Gasp. Shock. Who could’ve seen this coming. * Aww, our villain ships the heroes! ** Wonder how many fans rewrote this episode so Spock was the companion... * Again - probably not by design, but Shatner’s trademark overacting really highlights how artificial all the emotions created by the beam are. ** Hinging a cliffhanger on it, though, is good for nothing but laughs. * Uh, you alright, Kirk? ** Uhh. *** Uhhhhhhhhhhh. **** Oh thank God. * Anyway - this is more proactive than anything the other ladies have gotten to do in the last nine episodes, which is nice. Alas, it still involves a hot girl crawling around on hands and knees ‘cuz Roddenberry gonna Roddenberry. * Okay, how did you guys not see him shoving her into the vent?! * Can’t believe it took me this long to realize this was where TNG got the iconic "FOUR LIGHTS!” scene from. * Tsk, tsk. Shoulda strapped him down, doctor. * Holy shit, is this the first time one of the heroines killed a villain? You go, girl. * Ah, here’s our villain’s Karmic Fate: to be reprogrammed by the same machine- ** Oop, no, wait, it just plain killed him. Another point to Mr. Spock. * Also: every second of these lovey-dovey scenes is mutually nonconsensual. Pipe down the jolly music, guys. * “Hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness.” Bit silly as a line, but it’s a deft enough show of how Kirk’s now knows penal cruelties that Bones can barely imagine.

Act for act, this episode manages to feel even pulpier than the last one - the fanservice is still cranked just north of creepy, none of the Big Themes get off the ground, and the villain barely even pretends he has some higher motive behind lobotomizing everyone (with a spinny sun lamp, yet). And yet, somehow I’m more excited at the prospect of rewatching it two or three months down the line. Maybe it’s a matter of the script being more self-aware, maybe I just want to watch Dr. #Girlboss frying that mook again and again...

Next: Our third character-based title! Will she manage to succeed where Mudd and Charlie failed? Let’s hope so.

#Lego Liveblogs Star Trek #Star Trek: The Original Series

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gvaf-radio-blog · 5 years ago

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I'm in an open relationship with coffee and mental trauma

I’m hunkered down inside my favorite coffee shop in Southeast Portland having a cup of black liquid love to recharge my body and mind due to me having to dodge a blitzkrieg from the flying commie bastards. The Cupids are a unique kind of chaos as they are technically survivors of a horrific nuclear accident that irradiated an entire Provence. You know the one I’m talking about, y’all won't stop posting screen-caps of the damn thing on tumblr clogging up my steady feed of nihilism and satanic teddy bears. These cupids where re-homed to Portland because the social worker was from Los Angeles and since it works for them and another hundred thousand overpaid yuppies they thought Southeast would be perfect for the bastards to rehab. So the main problem with this (other than rising rent costs) is that their brains got rewired and now do everything hell-bent for leather. So where I get involved with the soviet love bastards is that they got dropped into my neighborhood and there is a sense that they have of loneliness and urgency for love that attracts them to a person and to help them scratch that itch. The problem is that sense is corrupted and given a slightly sadistic bent and they have started matchmaking and sending people that I am comically ill-suited for or in some cases homicidal, Cat eared woman would be an example. Love is a battlefield, I’m a veteran of this war and I got tired of pulling heart arrows out of my ass so we’ve been fighting ever since but today is going to be a major encounter.You see I have a date in one hour and they started to fly around in attack formation as soon as I left the house firing toxic love arrows at me trying to get me to return to past modus operandi and self-sabotage this relationship that hasn’t even started yet. I dodge an arrow called “new love energy” and panic at might bit at how close it came to hitting me. They can’t get into the coffee shop, the smell of burnt bagels and french roast causes them to enter a seizure state that takes days to recover from, honestly french roast has that effect on most people but are too tired to give a fuck and just assume the annoying anaphylactic shock is just a morning caffeine detox. I already thinned the ranks a bit by blowing up a fully automatic bow, this monstrosity looks like a mad man combined a Roman ballista and church pipe organ that can fire arrows like the President throws out lies and is painted pink and violet with both Greek and Russian equivalents for “love is a wet prophylactic”. I had left my own bows hanging at home since I was heading for a date and we agreed on melee combat for this round so I armed myself with only a bokken. I couldn’t reach the artillery positioned on the house across from me I had to do something and that something set the bastards to full rage mode. I took a bag of cans and bottles from the recycling bin shook it good and violently like I did last night before bed while reading the new Warren Ellis comic and threw the bag at the little winged artillery battery. There was a moment of confusion and I might have heard the Russian equivalent to “what the fuck” but then from all over 82nd Ave tweekers arose from under their rocks smelling of steel reserve and four dollar cigarettes and converged on the Cupids moaning about spare change and smokes. I felt bad about doing that but I was left with no choice! the Eros tribunal might clear me due to the circumstances or as a penance, they might require me to date a vanilla person who thinks beige is a proper color for everything and fucking lights on in doggy is kinky with “ow” being a safe word. Wouldn’t be the first time but I’d rather join a monastery than do it again, I can only hear so many Cake songs before my psychotic side goes into Hulk mode.Between the Cupids dive-bombing the windows like some kind of Russian kamikaze toddler pilots and rattling the hipsters enough that they had to go get a vegan vodka shot and this little crotch goblin bouncing around and getting into people’s faces, I'm thinking about how this date is going to affect my partner and I’s relationship. I’m also wondering how my date’s spouse is going to handle things if we hit it off. Polyamory on paper sounds like a plot to a high production value hardcore porno but the truth is (mostly) different. You have to navigate multiple schedules, expectations, and multiple people's emotions and try to figure out how to get what you need without hiding pain, jealousy, and your own fears. Being poly also means being on the outskirts of society in away, there is a sense of resentment and fear from others that don’t get it but not nearly as the violent oppression that us in the LGBTQA+ have had to duck for a few hundred years.My partner and I don’t tell others that we are dating since there is a fear of them being disowned, I tell my family the type of relationships I have because they really can’t take anything away from me since I lost the ability to care about their thoughts on my life. I’m not completely happy with this situation where I feel like a secret but it’s not just my life it’s my partner and their spouse’s lives that would be effected. I’m not saying that everyone in a poly or open relationship should go out with a megaphone and belt out a manifesto of why they decided to break their minds with more than one neurotic trauma victim at a time or telling what happened when you tell a lovers wife that you pegged their husband with a strap on because the wife refused because she felt it was icky and has a lube phobia. What I am saying is that those of us in relationships should start a conversation about non monogamy with our partners and maybe others so we can hear their thoughts and help root out our own.It’s not Polygamy, lets get that one out of the way because I talked with a lot of very intelligent people (and at least one military mandated lobotomy survivor) and they all have said “Oh like the thing Mormons do?” No, more love, openness, and freedom less magic boxers and misogyny. With poly all relationships there are going to have vastly different dynamic from person to person where Bob and Tim are more open and each can have a person to have casual relationships with and sometimes they both have that dynamic with another person. Karen and Jess now are in several relationships that run casual, serious and potential for a marriage. Stacy, Jim, and Jared are in a closed trifecta where Jim and Jared being straight and not with each other they only have relationships with Stacy who only wants to have a relationship with Jim and Jared.Honestly the only thing that all these relationships have in common is communication and the bad poly relationships are non communicative, half truths, full lies, or worse one sided. I've heard the stories where on person would be dating (fucking) someone new every month but their partner was told to be monogamous and not date outside or they would be dumped, to add to this they lived together and the other partner can’t afford to live on their own. So basically one person was a Controlling , cheating waste of mommy and daddies quicky and the other was borderline being mentally and emotionally abused. Predators and halfwits will be part of every aspect of life and will find a way to manipulate or destroy said aspects of life given enough time and opportunity.Nothing is Idiot proof, nothing is safe so get your life set up how you want it and be prepared to guard this fortress against predators. When (not if) the halfwit comes stumbling in like a newborn colt on ice and manages to destroys your life because the dumb fuck is trying to help or by removing the wrong brick in the wall because it was shiny and it’s now their favorite red rock thingy, you better have a plan B to rebuild. The good news is that you now have enough bricks laying on the ground to stone the halfwit to death, I’m a silver lining kinda guy.The Little crotch goblin in the shop is now skipping to a fro all while chanting what I think I recognized as the ritual to raise an evil elder thing that resembles a puppet from some children's program and then banging their fucking little fist on bookshelves. I’ve ordered a hot chocolate for the little bastard and added a bit of full spectrum oil so the crotch goblin will either soon enter torpor or start seeing a god in whatever app the frazzled parent downloaded and handed off to the kid to try and quite the goblin down. I can write now without the music blasting through my headphones being drowned out but I did check to see how the goblin is doing, they passed out on a couch, maybe pissed themselves or just spilled water on the floor hard to say . My date shows up and we talk about ourselves or I talk too much and have to stop myself to ask them a question, after both realizing that the online interaction , attraction, and communication is also very present in a real life situation we agree it was time for the duel . We meet via social media site that specializes in the way of the Gaijin and us weebs must prove our saiyan power rankings so we walk outside and I unravel the sacred condom of holy audience and stop the Cupids dive bombing us while each and every one of these sawed off Kalashnikovs are humming “rock you like a hurricane”. The cupids form a half circle around us and since the invoking of the spirit of The holy Pope Ruth Westhimer the Cupids agree to not interfere and will also leave me alone until after I get off work the next day.Later that night after coming home bloodied , bruised and then the injuries I sustained during the duel I think about the date and how good it went. Talking about our partners, wants, needs and what we can and can not provide for each other, we hold off on saying we are in a relationship, we decided we’re in a trial relationship pending approval from our respective partners. Important to remember that our other partners can be affected by what we do and the clear communication transfers (or it SHOULD) to the other partners. Poly is not easy it can be worth it or as I’ve found utterly heartbreaking at times but I’m not built to be monogamous so my options are to be lonely the rest of my life, be constrained in a monogamous relationship that I may or at least fight like hell not to cheat in or I can just be honest and say this is who I am, you can stay or go. I find a dead mouse on my front porch with a note stating they were worried I hadn’t been eating, one day I’m going to spay this cat eared woman with a soldering iron.

#bourbonsexual #gvaf #poly #writing

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beckaroomemes · 6 years ago

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random shit i’ve heard sentence meme pt. 3

change pronouns as necessary !!

❛ is it just me or does she wanna bone me? ❜

❛ i don’t believe in $10 bills. ❜

❛ this is why i can’t hold things. ❜

❛ where that onion went? ❜

❛ i almost died in this area too. ❜

❛ i will kill you. ❜

❛ i was having a little mental breakdown and it was great. ❜

❛ if she hated me i would cry every night. ❜

❛ i’m a whole bruja. ❜

❛ that ain’t got shit to do with shit. ❜

❛ if you get one hepatitis and then get another hepatitis it cancels out like pemdas. ❜

❛ someone needs to kill bambi over here. ❜

❛ isn’t ben 7 an anime? ❜

❛ my street is always peaceful and then i get yelled at by my neighbors. ❜

❛ i stubbed my thumb on my own ass. ❜

❛ lord phillippines 13:19 blah blah blah . . . ❜

❛ the only parts of the bible i know about are the parts that are wrong and contradictory. ❜

❛ if you get a call that i cut a guy off on the highway, i did, and i don’t feel bad about it. ❜

❛ his tongue was so soft, like wet satin on your skin. ❜

❛ are you ready for the best day of your life for like an hour?! ❜

❛ why were you sleeping in the first place, numb nuts? ❜

❛ everyone but me, eat a dick. ❜

❛ because i like bacteria. ❜

❛ you haven’t leveled up to drink water yet? ❜

❛ so y’all didn’t fuck? no? what the fuck?! ❜

❛ you fuck with your clothes on on the first date. we have zippers for a reason, why do you think our underwear has a little peep hole? ❜

❛ fashion, bitch. ❜

❛ that was such a cute sneeze. ❜

❛ whatever you say, stone cold steve austin. ❜

❛ holy fucking shit fuck, what the fuck. ❜

❛ it helps if you grunt. ❜

❛ if i’m scheduled at 7, i’ll be there at 7:15, you can count on that. ❜

❛ i might be fat but i’m healthy, i promise. ❜

❛ i was hoping you were gonna stab yourself with the fork. ❜

❛ i got a call from bexar country prison today, i thought that was interesting. ❜

❛ you’re not my mom . . . ❜

❛ he didn’t even say bye, i was pretty upset about that. ❜

❛ that’s not an excuse for butter hands. ❜

❛ everyone else can eat a dick. ❜

❛ fuckin’ ballsack. ❜

❛ throw the spaghetti at the cat. ❜

❛ you look like a whore, go to school. ❜

❛ bulbasaur can hear you counting. ❜

❛ it’s a big ball now. ❜

❛ just trying to hold my life together somehow. ❜

❛ they invented superglue for a reason. ❜

❛ he’s doing that weird pectoral muscle twitch, i hate that. ❜

❛ he t-bagged them in front of others! ❜

❛ there goes the neck, the whole neck. throw away the whole neck. ❜

❛ he picked santa claus up, that’s incorrect. ❜

❛ smack his pectoral muscles. ❜

❛ calm yourself, sir. ❜

❛ he grabbed that man by the peepee. ❜

❛ this is pornagraphic. ❜

❛ this looks like the purge but censored. ❜

❛ this maui-lookin’ motherfucker. ❜

❛ he’s being a whole fucktard. ❜

❛ we’re looking for a third, she doesn’t think we are, but we are. ❜

❛ why can’t you be abusive like my last relationship, i was losing weight like crazy then. ❜

❛ girl, it’s cold as titties. ❜

❛ i’m sorry, my app doesn’t say when it’s cold as titties it just shows the temperature. ❜

❛ you’re so homosexual, i’m getting concerned for your homosexuality. you have reached peak lesbian. ❜

❛ it’s like a whole thing right now. ❜

❛ everyone but me, eat a dick. literally everybody except me. ❜

❛ he’s an agent of semen. ❜

❛ my birth was a mistake. i am god’s mistake. ❜

❛ your existence makes me realize that god has a sick sense of humor. ❜

❛ guess what he did to fuck up his life today! ❜

❛ it looks like the grinch took a dump on your pancakes. ❜

❛ that was the worst lobotomy ever. ❜

❛ why does ___ eat poop? ❜

❛ only one fire, i’d call that a success! ❜

❛ more goddamn butter?! ❜

❛ we don’t wanna scare you with our homosexuality. ❜

❛ i really hate you as a human. ❜

❛ did you just refer to yourself as large? that’s a mood. ❜

#rp meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #roleplay meme #mine.

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ofneitherworld · 6 years ago

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i’ve got shadows in hiding way down inside me, sometimes they work to the surface. in just the right lighting, you can see them beside me.

The apartment is bare-bones, empty walls with wallpaper peeling due to the wear and tear of lives that came before him; in the living room, there is a couch that has seen better days, odd stains painting the grey fabric, seams tearing at the ends of cushions and turns of the armrests. The floor is hardwood, cold against the evening air slipping through the windows; he liked to let a little air in, as the room often got too hot without it. Never mind that the temperature outside was still dropping, and never mind the snow drifting from the sky outside; the space heater roars in a corner of the living room, spreading its warmth to a relatively small portion of the room, and the teen of only sixteen years sits curled up on the floor, back pressed up against the couch cushions, all at different angles and poorly placed together. A blanket is draped across his lap, binders open and spread out in front of him, business cards doodled and scrapped all around him in a tornado of paper and debris. He taps a pencil loudly against the floorboards, attention dancing between the schedules and ideas in front of him, the cockroach slowly climbing the wall across from him, and the cool breeze drifting from the window behind him. He thinks the bug will fall soon; he hears a door slam shut to his right, and his mind says it was only the wind. His heart, however, can feel the pressure against his throat, can feel his lungs struggling to take in enough air --- he’s here again, he thinks, dropping the pencil to the floor with a gentle thud.

In a soft pink shirt, buttoned up with a white blazer over it, he stands alongside his two best friends, both dressed much nicer than he is. Jacques, in a regular suit and tie, towering over his date for the evening, Ginger, in a sequined red dress with matching heels that stand much too tall for her comfort. BJ feels out of place, just as he always does, but he tries to hide this feeling with a small joke, a cheap jab at the two kids in front of him. They say that it is okay he doesn’t have a date --- he doesn’t tell them how his supposed date told him it was only a joke, that she’d only said yes because she didn’t think he would actually show up. He’d wiped any stray tears, then called Jacques, creating an elaborate lie; she came down with a cold, he said, and now he didn’t have a date. He could hear Ginger on the other end of the line --- you can come with us, she’d said, and here he now stood, between the ever-lovely couple as they waited for the courage to actually enter. It was their senior prom --- he’d dropped out a year before, but still kept in contact with his friends, with a handful of acquaintances that often loudly insulted him whenever he was in earshot. After about five minutes of waiting, he takes a step forward; better now than never, he says, before leading the trio into the building. Lights flash around, eyes dart towards the three of them as they enter; this would be the big story down the halls on Monday, and BJ was mostly thankful he wouldn’t have to hear any of it.

It makes his head spin the first time he does it, the world nearly collapsing in; he loves it, and lies across the couch, all crooked cushions and mysterious stains. The curtains rattle as the wind blows them around, the window left wide open. The cool air feels like an icicle lodged in his brain, a lobotomy of the soul, and then he feels that same familiar twitch against his throat, like rope digging into his skin --- like a noose tied around his neck, all tight and unforgiving. Cut it out, he mumbles into the night, staring up at the ceiling; there is a spider-web in the corner to his right, the threads weak against the force of the wind and space heater, waging a war in the middle of his living room. C’mon, he adds, I know what you’re doing. Leave me alone already. He knows it won’t work, knows the other occupant in his shifty little apartment would only strengthen his grip, would only force him to feel things he would rather forget. And so, he sits up, smokes a little more. He feels better like this, numb and euphoric against the dirt and the filth, the emptiness of the apartment he’s called home for a little over a year now. His friends were busy with their own lives tonight --- it was just him, the supply he got from his dealer, and this poltergeist he can’t seem to get rid of. He feels a rush of warm air rush past him, feels that same familiar sense of loneliness, of being forgotten --- of being invisible. He hates it, but can’t seem to shake it for the rest of the night. He eventually falls asleep on the couch, blanket tossed haphazardly across himself, windows wide open, space heater roaring across from him. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he won’t see it until the next morning. It is his mother, asking him if he can afford rent this month; he will tell her no, and he will use the money she gives him to support a growing addiction. He will do it all again soon, like clockwork. Like habit.

A cigarette dangles from his lips as he stands outside of the building, black tuxedo a stark contrast to the dirt on his shoes, the grime beneath his fingernails painted black. He rolls his eyes as families pass him by, and he takes another long drag from the cigarette as he steps to the side, watching the strangers enter the venue; it was graduation day, and he would get in trouble if he were caught loitering outside. He wouldn’t take too long --- he was only waiting for his friends to arrive, and soon enough, he sees the families walking towards him. One, an older Hispanic couple, the mother offering him a forced smile as her daughter sprints quickly up to him and wraps him in a hug. He abruptly drops his cigarette, being sure to stomp it out as she chirps loudly in his ear --- I’m so happy you actually showed up, she says, and before he can really process it, he hears another voice, French accent slipping into the silence easily. Mon cheri, he says, you look as stunning as ever. BJ smiles sheepishly as the taller of the three of them hugs them both, and he takes in a sharp breath as they step away. He was not graduating today --- he’d dropped out two years ago, but still snagged a ticket from Jacques as soon as they were available. There was no way he would miss his best friends’ graduation --- he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he did. He easily joins the crowd as they enter the building, and takes a seat next to Jacques’ father as they file into the rows. The adults mostly ignore him, but he doesn’t mind; he cheers all the same as his friends cross the stage, grinning with pride. If he couldn’t become something --- if he was destined for only a mediocre existence --- then he would want only the best for his friends. They were the only ones he’d ever had, after all, and he expected they would be the only ones he has for a very long time.

#suicide ment //#drug use //#you're invisible when you're me. || oneshots.

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mama-ghostie-61542 · 3 years ago

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Daily 21July2021

2115 Central Standard Time

Whelp....Thought myself into a corner again. When it gets like this...I start to think I am actually crazy. That whatever this was, was all in my head. That thought brings along with it all of the pain and disappointment. The loss of hope eats at me on days like this.

Days like this make me wonder which lie I am supposed to believe today? That you are out there; that you are coming to claim me? Or that every one has some one made just for them?

"Don't do this. Baby, I love you."

Right. That lie.

I can almost feel his flash paper temper flare at that.

"Dammit, Woman! What the hell else am I to do?"

You know what to do. I am tired of merely hearing your voice in my head, of feeling you touch and hold, but never knowing. I need to know I'm not crazy... I need to know I matter to some one on this earth.

He sighs, finally catching what is really the problem. "C'mere, Baby," he says as he reaches for me. "Ghost," he says as he wraps his arms around me tenderly, "Mami, you are the most important person in the world, to me at the very least. I hate to see you hurting like this. I wish I were there to hold you and cuddle you so you wouldn't feel like this, so you would know. However," he sighs, "I did it again. I keep forgetting the simplest things mean the most to you. I keep forgetting that you are content with five minutes here and fifteen there. I keep forgetting that I need to show you that I care, not just say it. Please don't be upset. I need to try harder to bridge the gap with the distance. I'm sorry, Sweetness, that I got caught up. Sway with me for a bit?"

"But your schedule?"

"I don't care. You are much more important at the moment. Plus...I'm a bit ahead of schedule, so I have at least," he pauses as he checks his watch, "Half an hour. Closer to 45 minutes. I can sway with you and still make this interview. Don't go though. Afterwards I get my lunch and I've got a two hour break."

There is silence on his end for the time I need to tuck in my middle kid. When he comes back, he is laughing.

"Hey, Baby, guess what."

"What?"

"The girl we were supposed to do the interview with just called and cancelled. I am free until 3, my time. Think that is enough time to sway and snuggle?"

"Three hours? Yeah. As long as kids go to sleep in a timely fashion."

"Love them to bits, but some times," he says as he shakes his head, "Some times, I think you need a nanny."

"Some times, I think I need a lobotomy with a rusty spoon," I quip back.

He looks at me, "Uh, no. No primitive brain surgery for my Mami. I want all those amazing grey cells to function properly. Come here, you," he says as he pulls me close and gently presses a kiss just above my eyes. "You requested some snuggles," he smiles as he catches my hand in his. Then, he presses a kiss to the heel of my hand and holds it to his chest, just over his heart. His arm slides around me to hold on. I can almost feel the tender way he splays open his hand on the small of my back.

He is too short for me to lay my head on his shoulder, being only a few inches taller than me. Some how, my hand always ends up either in his hair, gently carding it and smoothing it back down; or my arm is wrapped around his shoulder and my chin is on my hand.

Tonight is a night where his hand on my back isn't still. He will momentarily trace his fingers up my spine, before smoothing his hand back down and returning it to the same spot it was. It isn't long and we are both relaxed and better than we were.

I sigh, "I'm sorry, Sweet Pea. I know it bothers you when I get like this."

"Hey," he chides me softly as he tenderly tips my chin up slightly so I am looking him in the eye, "Sweets, if I forget to do something, like kiss you good night, or tell you good morning; tell me. I'm not going to be upset if you remind me. Although, I might get upset if you don't remind me. When you don't say anything, I can feel your hurt and it hurts me. I don't know why you are hurt to start with, but I start feeling like you are leaving again. I don't want you to go. Not 'go', but ''Go' go. Do you understand what I mean?"

I nod, "Yeah. You know I have to go back, but you don't want me to leave. Leaving means no more snuggles."

"Exactly," he sighs. "Anyway, my love, it's late there and you need to go get ready for bed."

"Not tired, I grumble from his shoulder.

"Liar," he whispers as I yawn. "You are exhausted. Baby, go to bed. I'll be there to tuck you in. Give me five minutes to get up the stairs."

#the ancestors are at it again #daily essay #my writing #original writing #twin flames #astral travel #spirit projection #soul connection

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starnova-between-two-worlds · 7 years ago

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I’m holding on...but why is everything so heavy?

Music: Heavy/Battle Symphony/Iridescent-Linkin Park (so much Chesterspam today...)

So um.

I was cut from the marine research team I had been so ecstatic to be accepted on...

Specifically, I was cut because they could not accomodate my conditions, and my conditions could not accomodate them.

Receiving the acceptance letter to be on that team--my first real research team, working with a real scientific organization in my area, doing real research to put together in a real presentation to present to real scientists--was one of the greatest days of my life. And finding out that I had to be cut loose because I could not mentally or emotionally keep up with the schedule was one of the worst. The very worst. On that day, I realized just how much of a mathematical error, a glitch in the programming, something that simply should not exist I really was. And I genuinely considered removing myself from the equation. I started thinking about chemical lobotomy and ECT. Maybe if I drugged the crazy out of me, I could be a real human being. Maybe if I shocked the crazy out of me, I would get to be a scientist. Not only that, but I could finally be a real person in general. Maybe I’d be able to drive. Get a job. Get off assistance and have real medical insurance. Have a boyfriend, a husband...maybe it would all come when I shocked the crazy out of me.

Yeah. It’s not like that. And I was promptly talked out of it. There’s too many risks. For one thing, it’s a process done under general anesthesia and my dad’s surgery and his description of what it’s like to be under general anesthesia has effectively rendered me terrified of it. For another thing, the memory loss. You don’t exactly get to pick which brain cells get caught in the crossfire. I could be losing some important pieces. Entire chunks of my brain gone forever. How can you be a scientist with entire chunks of your brain gone? Idk, ask my hero, Tannis. And then there’s taking people like Tannis, and my other soulbonds, into account.

Personally? Nothing will convince me that my soulbonds are coming out of my head. They are separate entities from me entirely, who have taught me things I never would have known without them, who have done things for me that I didn’t think other human beings did for eachother, who have shown me that emotions and feelings and love exists that I never got to experience for myself before I knew them. Maybe they’re hyper-dimensional beings, created by the minds of those who dwell in this physical, corporeal universe. Maybe they’re spiritual entities of some sort. My more religious acquaintances like to think they may be angels. The tulpa subreddit describes them and people like them as “mental companions created by focused thought and recurrent interaction.” They aren’t “headmates.” They aren’t “alters.” I would argue with you till the world ends if you told me they are products of my mental state at all.

That being said, knowing what I do now about my mental state and what schizotypal is a part of (I learned some SHIT and some STUFF last week, guys), I still do not want to take that motherfucking risk, however miniscule it may be. So no, I will NOT be putting substances into my head or hooking it up to machines.

I’ve decided that I’m going to have to do what I have been doing all of my life, and just keep going. I’ll keep seeing where my independent research project on ecotonal songbirds, which I’ve been keeping up for a month now, is going to take me. It’d be nice if it did take me somewhere. I really am making a lot of breakthroughs with that project. I’m actually making discoveries. I did not start this project intending to make any actual discoveries, and yet here I am, making discovery after discovery after discovery. At the end of the summer, I was going to bring it in to the ornithologist at my school. But my guardians told me I should bring it to my environmental professor first, as he knows me personally, I have a class with him and therefore he’s more accessible, and he has connections to the organizations that might be interested in a project like that. So I’ve got that. Without my other project, I’ll have plenty of time to keep it up.

I just hope it gets me somewhere. Anywhere. Please let me be a scientist. I’ve failed at everything else. I’ve got nothing else in this world left to be...

I feel as though there isn’t a single person in the world who has utterly failed at being human as much as I have. Even my dad’s wife, who it turns out has full-blown antisocial personality disorder by the DSM (rather than the suspected narcissistic personality disorder, but more on that later on), has at least managed to keep a place in the world by luring in a husband who has taken care of her for 40 fucking years. Honestly, if that’s what it’s going to take for me to secure a place in the world as well, I’d rather just not have a place in the world at all. If I ever become like her, if I ever destroy a life the way she has destroyed every single life around her (mine included), I would rather just not continue to exist as a human being. But that means that there’s a possibility that I am just going to continue to fail, and fail, and fail...

I’ve decided that I’m going to keep on trying, and trying, and trying, until I am at least 40 years old. 15 years from now, if I’m still nothing in the world, if none of my research ever goes anywhere, if every single aspiration and prospect I’ve ever had has turned to dust, if I’m still completely unable to keep up with human life by the time I am 40 years old, and if absolutely nothing has changed at all between now and those 15 years from now, then I will take it as an understanding that the human world was simply not made for people like me, and check myself out of it. I know that I was born into the wrong world. I know that the fact that I am here at all is on account of some kind of glitch in reality. But yet I’m here. I was born into this world and now I’ve got to live here, and now I’ve got to make it here. Somehow. But if I’m 40 years old, and I still haven’t made it or even come close, then I will admit defeat for the final time and have myself checked into a facility, where I can at least remain alive among the other glitches in the system.

I’ve got 15 years to go. Anything AT ALL could happen in 15 years. Until then, I’m holding on. I’m gonna keep on trying. I’m gonna continue my research. If this project doesn’t work out, then I’ll start some new one. And some new one. And some new one. I have a better understanding of what’s in my head now because I actually was FINALLY able to find the answers (more on that later on, but let’s just say my psych is a brilliant man who taught me how to find these answers on my own). I’m going to use that understanding. I’m going to use that new awareness. I’m going to live. I’m going to go on just EXPERIENCING the world, because it’s always been what I do best. Despite my hostility and the morbid thoughts up in my head, I’m actually a pretty happy person because the smallest, simplest things make me happy. I’ve got more than enough to keep on living right now.

Anything could happen in 15 years. Hell, anything could happen in ONE year.

#reflections #mental illness #schizotypal #autism #reality

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