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rdrhoe · 4 years ago

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what I need 2/2 (part 1 here)

daddy dutch x fem reader

warnings: dom/sub, rough sex, choking, bondage, orgasm denial etc, all the good stuff :)

also on ao3

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

You stilled as Dutchs promise washed over you. What did he mean your punishment wasn't over? Surely that had been enough!?

When you tried to voice this to Dutch however, he responded with a sharp slap to the back of thighs, his dark eyes meeting yours with a glare when you turned back to look at him, agape.

"I decide when you've had enough, girl. Have we not established that already?" Dutch sighed at you, pawing and kneading at your reddened backside, before tracing his fingers through your slick folds, but never entering you or touching your clit.

You tried not to protest or squirm, aware of how furious Dutch still was with you. Usually after he was done spanking you he was fairly quick to pin you down and have his wicked way with you. Eventually letting you come after he decided you were sorry enough.

You could sense his fury in the way he was holding you, the way he was yet to call you his good girl. But you knew you had to earn that, and although you tried to take your punishment well, you could tell Dutch was less than pleased with your attitude. It mainly stemming from the fact that, sure, you were sorry, but you were still mildly pissed about your pride being bruised. Having Dutch treat you like a possession constantly, in spite of how if you really listened to your inner most self wants, you would find that you almost certainly had no issue with being Dutchs play thing, but it was like, hey, at least ask you first?

You pushed your inner brat down, going docile and pliant in his lap, deciding to allow Dutch to do whatever he wanted with minimal complaining.

"That's my girl" Dutch purred above you, in recognition of your sudden complicity.

Dutch pulled you up gently, cradling you in his arms and kissing your forehead.

"You know I only want what's best for you, don't you sweetheart?" Dutch asked you, caressing your skin.

What's best for you, you thought bitterly, but instead bit your lip and stared up at him with big, adoring eyes.

"Yes daddy," you answered quietly.

Dutch hummed, "Good girl."

Oh, there it was. Those words. The ones that went right through you. Giving you goosebumps, and making your core heat up and your heart flutter. You tried to hide your smile in the crook of his neck, you adored being his good girl. At this point, you were fairly sure in yourself there wasn't a thing Dutch could inflict upon you that you would have an issue with, just as long as you always remained his good girl.

"Now then, sweetheart," Dutch began, once again sounding horribly wicked. "let's find out just how sorry you are"

And with that, you were suddenly tossed onto the bed, landing on your ass with a squeal. Dutch straddled you, grabbing your wrists and tying them to the headboard with some rope.

You tried not to wriggle around too much as you gazed up at him. You knew the rules; the more you fought against a punishment, the harsher he would be with you. Usually you'd struggle a little bit, both of you enjoying the battle you knew you would never win. But this wasn't a usual occurrence. There had only been a handful of times Dutch had truly been angry with you, and in those moments, you knew your only hope was to be as obedient as possible.

Dutch finished tying your hands, looking down at you with a look you couldn't decipher. Bringing his down to your breasts, squeezing and slapping them, before pinching both your nipples. Hard.

You tried and failed to suppress your squeals, the pain causing you an unfathomable amount of pleasure. Your body squirming beneath him out of your control.

"Such a pretty little thing... and all mine, isn't that right my love?" Dutch asked you, the slightest of smirks on his face. He loved this, loved when you knew you had crossed the line and he was going to put you back in your place.

"All yours, daddy" you agreed, trying to keep your voice steady, though it came out as a strained whisper.

Dutch hummed, apparently pleased with your response. He moved lower down the bed, tapping your thighs in order for you to stretch them out for him.

You displayed yourself appropriately, legs spread wide for Dutch. You pussy glistening and swollen with want. The look in his eyes made you shake. Still annoyed, but filled with hunger and lust.

His hands ever so slowly made their way up your thighs, heading towards where you so badly needed to be touched. Dutchs eyes remained glued to your expressions the whole time. He loved seeing what he did to you. In all honesty, if he could have you tied beneath him like this 24/7, desperately dripping wet for him, well, that's his vision of heaven on earth.

Dutch ever so gently began sliding a finger around your cunt, enough pressure to make you dizzy with want, but no where near what you really desired. Slowly, too slowly, using just his finger tip to enter you, just for a moment, before removing it and bringing his pad down on your clit. Again, just for a moment. The pleasure being overwhelming and instantaneous. You were moaning and withering beneath him in seconds, begging for more. He repeated this, ignoring your sobs and pleas throughout it all.

"... Daddy," you whimpered eventually, not having enough stimulation to bring you to your peak was driving you insane. "please... I need, more... Please"

Dutch ceased all movements then, his sinister smile could send the devil packing.

"Oh?" he answered, horribly amused. "And do you think you deserve that, princess? You know only good girls get to come"

You stilled then, trying to figure out if he was serious. He wasn't going to leave you hanging all night was he?

You stared up at him, trying to determine the best route possible for you.

"Dutch! M'sorry, I.. Daddy, please I just, I need..." your wrists were straining against your bonds already, panic beginning to set in that he'd only just started his ministrations on you.

Dutch laughed at you. Cruel and mocking. Before his hands reached for his belt buckle, and he released his hardened length.

You gaped at him, astonished. He never usually fucked you until you'd come two or three times from his fingers. Both because he loved seeing you come undone with his fingers alone, but also to help you with his size. He was big, and you'd always been a bit more on the petite side.

Dutch grabbed a hold of your ankles and raised them, pushing them back to each corner of the bed so you were folded in half, but still spread wide for him. He kept a hold of your legs (you thanking your lucky stars you were flexible enough for this) as he positioned himself, his dick sliding between your folds, causing you to mewl and whimper.

"Now then, my pretty little brat" Dutch spoke, demanding your attention. "I'm going to fuck you. Hard and deep, and you're going to take it like the good little whore I know you can be. Daddy's going to fill you up, and take his pleasure."

Your brain started scrambling. He wasn't going to let you come? Surely he wasn't serious? You looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Daddy, what-"

Before you could say another word, Dutch forced his length into you, the burn making you stiffen and shout. You both moaned as he bottomed out inside you. You tried to move your hips, either to escape or to chase the further pleasure, you weren't sure which. You pleaded with him, vague moans of "Daddy please I'm sorry I'll be good" and the like. Dutch ignored them all, his grip on your legs unrelenting, giving you no room for escape.

Dutch closed his eyes for a moment, sighing with content. "Perfect.." He stated, as he suddenly retracted fully from you, before slamming himself back into you, making sure you felt every inch of him.

You yelped and shouted as he started drilling into you, his pace hard and unforgiving. The stretch and burn inside you feeling more pleasurable by the second. Dutch kept a brutal pace, grunting at your tightness around him. You were so wet and needy for him, it wasn't long before you felt your orgasm building.

You bit your lip, trying not to make it obvious you were close. You were fairly certain he would stop if he did.

And sure enough, just before you felt the explosion you craved. Dutch halted his movements, and removed himself from you completely.

"Trying to come without permission are we? You really are bad aren't you?" Dutch sneered down at you, unimpressed with your sneaky attempt at pleasure.

You whimpered pitifully. Sure, Dutch was strict with you, but you usually knew how to get what you wanted. He couldn't resist your pleas, always so desperate to give his girl what she desired. But this time, he seemed to be in no mood for your games. Raising an eyebrow at you, he slowly continued to stroke himself, before entering you again once your budding release had elapsed.

"Mine, girl. You're all mine. And you need to learn to do as you're goddamn told"

Dutch started fucking you in earnest again, your moans and whimpers adding fuel to the fire.

"Daddy.." you gasped out through your moans, "can I... Can I please come, daddy... Please"

Dutch huffed a laugh.

"No"

You whined again. Pouting up at him. You were met with an equally unimpressed glare.

"I told you, only good girls get to come" Dutch said, bringing his hand down over your throat, enclosing your delicate neck in his iron grip.

Your eyes widened and you thrashed around beneath him in your bonds. Desperate for release and struggling to breath.

You tried to keep your eyes trained on Dutch, knowing he liked seeing you utterly wrecked. But it was hard, you could feel everything so intensely, but couldn't suppress the fear that was budding in you. There was something in Dutchs eyes you weren't quite used to. An almost primal glare. It could've almost looked like hatred.

"You know, I really was very upset with you, sweetheart" Dutch said as he eventually released his grip on your throat, allowing you to breath just as you were at your breaking point. He stilled his hips, but kept himself buried deep inside you.

"I'm still not sure entirely how this is going to end for you, my girl. So I really do recommend it to be in your best interest to behave"

You sniffled at him, blinking away your tears. Clearly in no mood to compromise. You knew you weren't getting out of this. And tried to express your obedience through your expressions, not wanting to piss him off further.

Dutch smiled at you, almost sweetly, but not quite.

"Now, don't you even think about coming. If you do... Well, there's always another hole I can use.." Dutchs implication was clear. You did not want that. Nor did you want him to be displeased with you any further.

You found yourself sinking deeper and deeper into the comfort of being his. It was times like this when you wondered why you were such a brat with him, when you truly adored having Dutch take care and control of you. Giving yourself up to him completely was one of life's greatest pleasures for you and him both.

Dutch was still looking at you. An expression on his face you couldn't quite comprehend. Want? Annoyance? Both seemingly pressed into one. You could hear the wheels turning in his head, no doubt thinking of your earlier misdemeanours, how best to further punish you.

"I'll never disobey you again, daddy. I promise" you tried, hoping to get back on his good side.

It didn't seem to work.

"Darling, we both know that's a promise you're not going to keep. But don't worry sweet thing, I suppose I've been too lenient with you. How can I expect my best girl to behave if she's not being properly disciplined. .." Dutch mused above you. Making sure you were hanging on his every word.

Your mind was racing, biting down hard on your tongue to refrain from quizzing him, not wishing to annoy.

You searched his eyes, pleading silently for him to take pity on you, and let you come.

It didn't work.

Dutch continued fucking you well into the night, never letting you spill overboard, but never giving you enough time to relax. The constant need and burning inside you becoming too much to handle.

You were long past the point of sobbing. You had tried everything. Promises of complete devotion and obedience. Promises that you wouldn't ever do anything without his permission ever again. Nothing worked. Dutch would merely answer with an "mhmm" or a particularly vicious snap of hips, leaving you crying and helpless.

He'd already come inside you twice, leaving his seed in you each time as he left you tied to the bed. Watching over you as you sobbed and pleaded with him, a cigar dangling from his lips.

Cruelly smirking at you, this time Dutch seemed to be enjoying seeing you so pitiful and desperate.

Usually by the time the water works had started, he was always fairly quick to give in to you. Not wanting his princess to suffer, but when you'd been bad, you needed to suffer. So Dutch knew you wouldn't fuck up like this again.

"Two whole nights you were gone, my girl. That's the longest we've been apart since we met" Dutch told you, taking a puff from his cigar, a malicious twinkle in his eye.

He was right, your infatuation with each other had been instant. You leaving your old life the second he offered you the opportunity to take you away with him. Keep you safe, and close, and his.

You blinked up at him through your tears. The knot in your stomach tightening. Where was he going with this?

"As a result, my love, the punishment should fit the crime." Dutch spoke, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

"Dutch, I, what are you-" you tried

"You know how helpless I felt? Waiting around for you?" Dutch interrupted you. "Well... that's how long you're going to go without release, sweet girl" Dutch told you as he watched the meaning of his words sink in.

You started sobbing again, "No! Daddy! Please I'll be good I swear, just please-"

"Now, sweetheart, this is for your own good. I can't have you running around here being a little brat now, can I?" Dutch answered you, revelling in your discomfort.

"You'll be lucky if I ever let you out of my sight again after your little stunt, let alone out of your current... predicament." He told you, looking dreadfully smug.

You wanted to slap him then. But all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and pray he would take it easy on you, but knowing and wanting in your truest of hearts, that if he was to keep you here, however long that may be, there wasn't a thing you could do to stop. And that's just the way you liked it.

#Dutch Van Der Linde #Rdr2 fanfic #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #n s f t #tell me im good

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xiyao-feels · 4 years ago

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A Comparison of the Stairs Dialogue in CQL vs MDZS, Pt 2

(Pt 1)

CQL

NMJ: 孟瑶你少在我面前耍花腔你那一套在我这早就统统不管用了 Meng Yao. Don't try to get clever with me. I am already used to how you operate to get your way.

MDZS

NMJ: 孟瑶，你少在我面前耍花腔，你那一套早就统统不管用了！ Meng Yao, don’t speak such pretentious words in front of me. Your whole thing stopped working on me since a long time ago!

And now NMJ calls JGY Meng Yao, which is awful and humiliating and /not/ JGY's name. Rather it's the name of a famous joke, famous enough that even NMJ recognizes it when he first hears it in ch 48. And, of course, it's the name of NMJ's servant, and not the man who—as his sworn brother and the son of a fellow sect leader—is something approaching a peer. It's also worth noting that in MDZS this is very much happening in public, and during the day. As to JGY's pretentious words, see confusion-and-more's recent post for JGY's success rate on talking NMJ down when he's angry (spoiler: it's pretty much nonexistent).

As a side note, I prefer ER's "whole thing" to the CQL subs "how you operate"; I think "My whole thing? Which whole thing?" more nicely preserves the parallel structure in 你那一套 / 我那一套我哪一套 than "How I operate? What are you talking about?" does.

JGY: 我那一套我哪一套大哥你总骂我工于心计不入流你说你行得正站得直天不怕地不怕男子汉大丈夫不需要玩弄什么阴谋阳略好你出身高贵修为也高可我呢我跟你能一样吗我一无修为根基我长这么大谁教过我二无世家背景你以为我现在在兰陵金氏站得很稳吗你以为金子轩死了我就扶摇直上吗金光善他宁可再接回来一个私生子都没有让我继位的意思要我天不怕地不怕我就是怕天怕地我还怕人 How I operate? What are you talking about? Da-ge, you always scold me for indecent scheming. You always say that you are just and straight, being fearless when face everything. A decent man shouldn't resort to devious stratagems. Well. You're of noble birth and have profound cultivation. What about me? How can I be the same? First, I don't have the foundation of cultivation. No one has ever taught me that since I was a child. Second, I don't have any background. Do you think that my position is very solid in Jin clan of Lanling? You thought that I could be promoted all the way up after Jin Zixuan's death? Jin Guangshan would rather recognize another bastard than letting me succeed him. You told me to be fearless when face everything. Yet I can do nothing but fear everything and even the people!

MDZS

JGY: 我那一套？我哪一套？大哥，你总骂我工于心计不入流。你说你行得正站得直，天不怕地不怕，男子汉大丈夫，不需要玩弄什么阴谋阳谋。好，你出身高贵，修为也高。可我呢？我跟你一样吗？我一无你修为高根基稳，我长这么大谁教过我？二无世家背景，你以为我现在在兰陵金氏站得很稳吗？你以为金子轩死了我就扶摇直上了吗？金光善他宁可再接回来一个私生子都没有让我继位的意思！要我天不怕地不怕？我就是怕天怕地，还怕人！真是站着说话不腰疼，饱汉不知饿汉饥。 My whole thing? Which whole thing? Brother, you’ve always yelled at me for calculating people and being too dishonorable. You say that you’re a proud, righteous person, that you aren’t afraid of anything, that propen men shouldn’t need to play with schemes. That’s fine. Your background is noble and your cultivation is high. But what about me? Am I the same as you? First, my cultivation isn’t as firm as yours. Ever since I was born, has anyone taught me? And second, I have no prominent background. Do you think that I’m in a steady position, here at the LanlingJin Sect? Do you think that I can rise into power the moment Jin ZiXuan dies? Jin GuangShan would rather bring another illegitimate child back than want me to succeed him! You think that I should be afraid of nothing? Well I’m afraid of everything, even other people! He whose stomach is full believes not him who is starving.

As you can see, the Chinese here is broadly the same. In addition to a few character changes here and there, however, the MDZS has a whole extra sentence: He whose stomach is full believes not him who is starving. (Actually there's an extra clause just before it that—doesn't get translated? just gets folded in to the starving man? Not going to comment further because again, my understanding is very low, but I thought it was worth noting.) I have to say, I'm not really sure why they cut it—maybe it makes the actual difference between them too obvious? Though the rest of JGY's speech does a decent job of that regardless!

As a note on the Chinese, when JGY talks about NMJ wanting him to be fearless, the phrase he uses is '天不怕地不怕'; it's an idiom meaning, well, fearless, but Pleco also gives "fear neither Heaven (天) nor Earth (地)". JGY's assertion that he does fear is then '就是怕天怕地，还怕人！' Modifying the ER translation, perhaps 'Well I’m afraid of Heaven and of Earth, and even of other people!'

I don't know that this adds any particular meaning, but I appreciated the parallel structure and wanted to point it out :P

CQL

NMJ: 说到底你不杀薛洋不过是不想动摇你在兰陵金氏的地站 After all the reason why you keep Xue Yang alive is to stable your position in Jin clan of Lanling!

MDZS

NMJ: 说到底，你的意思无非是说不想杀薛洋，不想你在兰陵金氏的地位动摇。 In the end, all you mean is that you don’t want to kill Xue Yang, that you don’t want your position at the LanlingJin Sect to waver.

As you can see, NMJ totally fails to understand or accept the significance of what JGY is telling him; he refuses to understand that JGY is in /danger/, that JGY's stable position in the Jin isn't just a matter of political power, it's essential to JGY being able to stay alive.

CQL

JGY: 我当然不想不过大哥我一直都想问您一句话您手下的人命只比我多不比我少为什么我当初只不过迫于形势杀了几个修士就要这样被你一直翻旧账翻到如今 Sure it is. But da-ge, I always want to ask you a question. Lives taken by you can only be more than those I took. I just killed a few cultivators under that certain situation. Why do you stick to it until now?

MDZS

JGY: 我当然不想不过大哥，我一直以来都想问您一句话：您手下的人命，只比我多，不比我少，为什么我当初只不过是迫于形势杀了几个修士，就要被你这样一直翻旧账翻到如今？ Of course I don’t! But, Brother, I have always wanted to ask you something—the lives under your hands are in any regard more than those under mine, so why is it that I only killed a few cultivators out of desperation and you keep on bringing it up, even until now?

I prefer 'Of course I don't' to 'Sure it is' as a translation; with 不想 he's agreeing with what NMJ's use of 不想, and I think Of course I don't! captures this more nicely. Incidentally, this is the first time in this exchange that JGY uses 您 for NMJ, though he also uses 你 in 被你.

CQL

NMJ: 好我告诉你我刀下亡魂无数可我绝不会为了一己私欲而杀人更不会为了向上爬而杀人 Well. I can tell you. So many had died under my blade. Neither would I kill anyone just for my own satisfaction. Nor would I kill for promotion.

MDZS

NMJ: 好！我回答你。我刀下亡魂无数，可我从不为一己私欲而杀人，更绝不为了往上爬而杀人！ Good! I’ll give you my answer. Countless souls who have fallen under my saber, but I’ve never killed out of my own desires, much less to climb up the ladder!

This is an interesting reply on a couple of fronts. First, it seems worth noting that having been born as the heir of a major sect leader, the only person he could have really killed to climb up the ladder would be his father. NMJ's principles here are of the kind that cost him exactly nothing. Similarly, whatever he might characterize as satisfaction or greediness or selfish desire or whatever, we might note that NMJ clearly regards himself as entirely entitled to judge and kill for moral reasons, and conversely he has never known the lack of security and power—physical, social, material—that might drive a man to kill for reasons other than righteous judgement…or including righteous judgement but not being in a social position NMJ recognizes as a legitimate dealer of said judgement. There's a certain quote about the law and its majestic equality that rather comes to mind.

Second of all, this is a very odd characterization of JGY's killing. The 'certain cultivators' JGY is talking about are the Nie cultivators at Sun Palace, possibly also the Nie captain or Jin captain. It's…you could say? That the Nie or Jin captain at least was for JGY's own satisfaction, though NMJ would certainly have killed anyone who treated him like that and especially insulted his mother like that. But it's not at all obvious how it leads to climbing the ladder (unless I suppose you argue that the Jin captain killing was part of his setup as a spy, but at any rate I don't think NMJ thinks so). And /neither/ of these seem accurate for JGY's killing of the Nie cultivators at Sunshot! He was keeping his cover, and with that cover kept he proceeded to save NMJ's life and kill WRH. Now, it's true that this led to his legitimation, and he probably did go undercover in large part because he wanted his father's recognition, but characterizing this as killing out of a desire for promotion seems…a stretch, to put it mildly. Killing the Nie cultivators directly doesn't get him anything but his life. "You only killed my men so you could stay alive, which means you could save my life and kill WRH, thereby pretty much winning the war for us, which made you famous, therefore you only killed my men to climb the ladder!" The logic is kind of tortuous. If anything, what NMJ is upset at him now is for refusing to kill someone, refusing because of his own selfish desires and desire to climb the ladder, etc etc.

CQL

JGY: 大哥我明白您的意思了您是不是想说您所杀者全部都是罪有应得那么敢问您是如何判定一个人是否罪有应得您的标准就一定公正吗若我杀一人活百人这是功大于过还是罪有应得欲成大事总要有些牺牲的 Da-ge. I see what you mean now. Are you trying to say you kill all of them for justice? Please allow me to ask this. How can you judge whether one should be killed as a punishment? Are your standards necessarily just? If I can kill one for saving a hundred, that's "merits outweigh shortcomings" or "just punishment"? To achieve something great, there must be some sacrifice.

MDZS

JGY: 大哥，我明白您的意思了，您是不是想说，你所杀者全都是罪有应得？那么敢问，您如何判定一个人是否罪有应得？您的标准就一定是正确的吗？设若我杀一人活百人，这是功大于过，还是罪有应得？欲成大事，总要有些牺牲的。Brother, I understand what you mean. Are you saying that all of the people you killed deserved their deaths? Then, may I ask, just how do you decide if someone deserves death? Are your standards absolutely correct? If I kill one but save hundreds, would the good outweigh the bad, or would I still deserve death? To do great things, sacrifices must happen.

When it comes to the question about what it means if JGY kills one to save a hundred, the Chinese is almost identical: 设若我杀一人活百人这是功大于过还是罪有应得 in MDZS, and then in CQL it drops the 设 from the beginning, although I don't think that really results in a change in meaning (?) But the second part is translated differently in the ER translation (would the good outweigh the bad, or would I still deserve death?) vs the CQL subs (that's "merits outweigh shortcomings" or "just punishment"). I just mention this because I'd always interpreted JGY's question in CQL as being about his own hypothetical killing, but I think it makes more sense as being about his own moral standing in NMJ's eyes after said killing; it's hard to see how killing one to save a hundred could qualify as the one being justly punished, but of course it's something you could think JGY should be punished for.

CQL

NMJ: 那你为什么牺牲你自己你比他们高贵吗你跟他们不同吗 Why don't you sacrifice yourself then? You're more precious than them? You're different from them?

MDZS

NMJ: 那你为什么不牺牲你自己？你比他们高贵吗？你和他们不同吗？ Then why don’t you sacrifice yourself? Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?

One thing I think that is worth noting about the original text here. When JGY was saying that NMJ was of noble birth, the phrase he used was 你出身高贵—this is true in MDZS and CQL both. NMJ's second question, here, is 你比他们高贵吗？ Observe, again, the 高贵. The ER translation preserves this parallel by using 'noble' in both (and from what I can tell from Pleco it has a not dissimilar double-meaning to 'noble' in terms of referring to both good character and substantial privilege), but it's lost in the CQL subs. I think it's important to note because at this point I think JGY would be pretty justified in concluding that NMJ hasn't been listening to a word he's saying; he /is/ different, precisely because his background is /not/ more noble.

CQL

JGY: 是我和他们当然不同 Yes! Of course I'm different.

MDZS

JGY: 是。我和他们，当然是不同的！ Yes. I and they, of course we are different!

Again, what he affirms here is the difference, not the being more noble; and again, it's very true that he's different, precisely because of his less-noble background.

CQL

NMJ: 混帐娼妓之子无怪乎此 Bastard! I can't expect more from the son of a whore, can I?

MDZS

NMJ: 娼妓之子，无怪乎此！ It’s no wonder, coming from the son of a prostitute.

CQL adds the 'Bastard!', which MDZS doesn't have. I have no idea if it conveys the illegitimate child meaning in Chinese as well, or if it's just an insult.

NMJ unsheathes his sabre and points it at JGY, then, in CQL but not MDZS, staggers as the qi-deviation sets in.

CQL

JGY: 大哥又该给您弹清心音了 Da-ge, it's time for Cleansing Music.

JGY: 大哥自从二哥教了我清心音之后每次给您清心凝神都是我来做的再也没有劳烦过二哥 Da-ge, ever since er-ge taught me Cleansing Music, Every time you needed to settle your mind, it's always me who played the music. We never bothered second brother again.

JGY: 大哥不要怪小弟说你你也太不细心了你竟然没有发现我弹的请心音和二哥弹的有什么不一样吗 Da-ge, please forgive my impudence but you can't be more careless. Didn't you notice any difference between the Cleansing Music played by me and that by er-ge?

None of this is in MDZS, of course. Interestingly, at one point JGY refers to himself as 小弟, xiao-di, which I don't believe he does otherwise (at least in MDZS; I can't speak to CQL). I think it's also worth noting that we're not actually given a timeline here on how long JGY has been playing Turmoil, just 'ever since er-ge taught me Cleansing Music'—I think people sometimes believe, possibly from this, that the Turmoil-playing was going on for quite a while in CQL? But we do get a timeline from WWX, later, at the beginning of ep 43: "three months," which is not so long, after all.

MDZS

LXC comes out of the palace, sees what's happening, unsheathes Shuoyue

LXC: 你们又怎么了？ What happened, this time?

JGY: 没怎么。多谢大哥教诲。 Nothing. Brother, thank you for your advice.

NMJ: 你不要拦着！ Don’t hinder me!

LXC: 大哥你先把刀收回去，你心神乱了！ Brother, sheath your saber first—your mind is in turmoil!

NMJ: 我��乱。我清楚自己在干什么。他无药可救，��这样下去非害世不可，早杀早安生！ I am not. I know what I’m doing. He’s beyond hope. If these keeps on going, he’ll do the world harm for sure. The earlier he’s killed, the earlier we can relax!

LXC: 大哥你这说的是什么话？他这些天清河兰陵来回奔波，难道只能换来你一句无药可救吗？ Brother, what are you talking about? These past few days he has constantly been rushing to and fro between Lanling and Qinghe. Is it only in exchange for your comment that he is beyond hope?

(This causes NMJ to pause)

LXC (to JGY): 三弟，你回去吧，我和大哥说。 You can go back. I will talk to our eldest brother.

LXC (to NMJ): 大哥，你怕是不知，三弟现在处境真的很不好。 Brother, I am afraid that you do not know. Our third brother really is in a terrible situation as of the moment.

NMJ: 在他的口里，他仿佛永远处于水深火热之中。 In his words, he seems like he’s always in awful situations.

LXC: 谁说不是呢。他方才是不是顶撞你了？你看他以往会这样吗？ Who says he is not? A moment ago, he talked back to you, did he not? Do you think he used to do this?

LXC: 他母亲原本就不喜他，子轩兄逝世之后，对他更是动辄打骂。他父亲近来也听不进他的话，将他上交的提案全都打回了。 His mother never liked him to begin with. After ZiXuan-xiong passed away, she often hit him and scolded him. These days, his father also refuses to listen to him. He returned all of his proposals.

LXC: 暂时别逼他太紧吧。我相信他清楚该做什么。只要多给他一点时间。 For the time being, let us not force him with too much assertion. I trust that he knows what he should do, as long as we give him some more time.

NMJ: 但愿如此。 Hopefully so.

Just as JGY's dialogue about his doing something different with clarity isn't in MDZS, LXC intervening and saving JGY isn't in CQL. I think it's worth noting: in MDZS, JGY would very likely have been killed by NMJ if LXC hadn't intervened. Certainly JGY cannot hope to match NMJ in combat. But in CQL, we see no such intervention! Rather, he survives because NMJ qi-deviates; which is to say that in CQL, JGY /only survives the stairs incident because he has already been playing Turmoil to NMJ/. I think this is very much worth taking into account when one considers the morality of JGY's actions towards NMJ in CQL.

CQL

NMJ: 你你竖子敢你 You! You! You lout! How dare you!

MDZS

NMJ: 竖子敢尔！ How dare you!

As with LXC's introductory dialogue, in MDZS the section this comes from isn't the stairs incident, but just before NMJ's qi-deviation in chapter 50. It's worth noting I think that what he's saying How dare you! about there is not JGY's confession that he's been doing something differently with the Song of Clarity, but rather that JGY is privately complaining to LXC about NMJ's treatment of him, treatment that includes kicking him down the stairs and calling him son of a whore.

(Previous)

#long meta #anger burned in his heart #more than one tag could contain #we can't change places

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rideboldlyride · 5 years ago

Text

The Morning of the Dragon (Pt. 1)

This is all @doodleladi‘s fault. I love the art in this post of theirs. Please go look at this art... and all of their other beautiful Zutara art! Here’s AO3: Link

It’s under the break- And this is just part one of two. I can’t guarantee part two will be out before Zutara Week (I’ve got to finish those prompts first) but the second half will come soon, I promise!

She had only been in Caldera City for a few days, staying at the Palace at the Fire Lord’s particular request. It wasn’t an unusual request; it was a standing invitation to all of his old friends. In official capacity as a representative of the Southern Water Tribe, she was making her semi-annual visit to reconfirm trade agreements between her people and the Fire Nation. In an unofficial capacity, she had been written by her friend, Zuko, to help with an imminent threat of unknown form. It was rumored as an attack against the throne but no intelligence had been retrieved to give this looming threat any substance.

Finally speaking in person with him, he had seemed only mildly concerned, in contrast to the tone of his letter. When she pressured him over this he moved from his desk and paperwork without comment. Upon reaching the door, he dismissed his guard retinue before closing and latching it tightly. He had been studiously avoiding her gaze during all of this, and when he returned from the door, he sat down in the second guest chair with a rather undignified flop. A deep sigh escaped him.

“Sometimes I forget that others don’t have to play the mind games…”

A dark brow rose at his words, her blue eyes questioning. He began to absentmindedly rub his forehead directly above his scar. Golden eyes avoided her.

“Yes, Katara, I am concerned. I’m too close to some major changes in the nation. Change doesn’t always sit well with those comfortable in their positions.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that they’d rather my father or my sister on the throne.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she now understood his request for help. But why her? Not that she was upset, she admitted only to herself. That question wasn’t worth asking, and she was quite content to metaphorically stretch her legs again in something other than politics.

“What can I do to help?”

With that, the next two days were spent elbow deep in intelligence reports, and meeting with the Fire Lord’s Head of Intelligence, a stern faced, graying woman. From as far as they could determine, it was Azula sympathizers. As for the date and actual form of the attack, Katara was at a loss. These dissenters were a well-organized crew and tight lipped. The first sign of their existence was a misplaced pamphlet. And while some of their activities were easy to track, there were large brush strokes missing in the overall painting. By the third morning, she awoke feeling more frustrated and inexplicably drowsy rather than rested.

As she withdrew the curtains, the brilliant morning light was sharp and piercing. Her head pounded. Pulling the water from her nearby water bowl, Katara’s hands glowed as she placed them over her temples. As the pain eased, she was surprised to find that the drowsiness refused to budge. On instinct, she followed her Qi lines downwards, following a small ripple in their flow. The ripples grew into a full turbulence in her belly. Even through the fog, her mind snapped into place.

She had been drugged.

With a wave, she leeched the toxin through her skin, and flicked it out the open window. Mind finally clear, a sudden litany of observations flooded her consciousness: there was no fresh water in her bowl, no attendant at her door trying to rouse her at this late hour, no Zuko doing his morning kata in the courtyard. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. With a mad rush, she sprinted first to the Fire Lord's office chambers.

No guards outside the door.

No Zuko inside.

Next, to the throne room, and once more, there was no guard.

Another empty room.

With bile rising into her mouth, she bolted down the hallway. In the transit, she was amazed to find no staff or guards wandering the Palace. Outside the Fire Lord's chambers, two guards sat slumped. Scorch marks and melted armor told her who had been there. However, she was mollified, in a morbid way, to see that smoke still rose from their mortal wounds. Their visitor was recent. And potentially still within.

Moving quietly to the door, she laid an ear against the wood grain. Ever so slightly, she could make out the familiar quiet but frantic female voice. A meaty thump echoed, followed by a muted groan. Katara's heartbeat pounded in her ears. She didn't need to wait any longer. Pulling water from the very humid air about her, she coiled it like an angry snake, and with it's strike it broke open the door before her.

Anger sparkled like icy crystals behind her eyes, as the waterbender took in the room. While she was certain there were others involved, the room held only Zuko and Azula; the former, bound and gagged on the floor. A mist rested over his eyes, and Katara was certain he too had been drugged.

A cackle escaped his sister's mouth, and she turned to the angry gaze of her older brother.

"Look, Zuzu! We're having a reunion!" Wild amber eyes flicked back and forth between the two. The younger woman was ready for this insurrection to end before it had truly started, but as she reached out to pin Azula to the wall, she saw the fear slip over Zuko's eyes. Katara faltered in that moment.

Azula smirked, pointing two lazy fingers at her.

"Bam."

And Katara's world went dark.

***

She awoke again, sick to her stomach. While not sure of what had hit her, she was sure it was not Azula's lightning. For one, Katara was certain that if she had been shot through with lightning, she would not have woken back up again. Secondly, the only thing that ached was her head. The pain was only exaggerated, she found, by the pressure and sway from her motion. In her addled brain, Katara felt the sea swell around her but as she reached out blindly, there was only a haze of water about her. Something held her hands in a solid clasp, and they moved together only, still drawing nothing from the ocean that must exist beyond her eyelids.

Confusion seeped through the fog enveloping her mind. How could she sway without the sea, be bound without seaweed at her joints, have her head throb without the pressure of the ocean's depths?

Sway…? Bound, pain…? Her mind was jumbled, until they crested a wave, broached. The jostle forced her eyes open, as she struggled to make sense of her last waking memory. Through pure muscle memory, her body remained limp, allowing her eyes to take in her surroundings before moving. Her joints remained loose, and as she swayed, she attempted to make sense of what she saw.

Instead of the blues and greens of the ocean, or even the inky blacks of the sea at night, she found rock and dust, cast in a flickering red glow. She swayed, not with the waves, but with a gait. Seaweed did not rest around her wrists and ankles, but rather coarse rope. And the pounding in her head, she suspected, originated more from the cause of the drizzle of blood that seeped from her hairline to one of her eyes.

The waterbender was dazed, her thoughts still a jumbled mess, but she tried to sew together the tapestry. With a sudden pop of recognition, she saw her last moment before the dark.

Azula… Zuko!

The memory of her dear friend brought the unease from her stomach to the back of her mouth, and she swallowed the acrid taste back down. It was better for her captors to think her still incapacitated, and unaware, as she gathered whatever intel she could glean from them. Through the roar of a non-existent surf, she could make out the shape of the words spoken around her, but only with intense concentration.

"... over there. I want her fully within view." It was a growling voice. Angry, dismissive, sneering. Solidly masculine.

Her current mode of transportation stopped, pulling themselves upright, before moving again. As the joint of the wall and the floor came into view she willed her body limp. Her courier was less than gentle, but she forced the pain away from her face, allowing a neutral facade to stay in place, as she was dumped unceremoniously against the wall.

Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on the rest of her senses, including the pull of the moon on her skin. She knew they must not be too far from the surface, for while it was distant, it was not unattainably muted. Maybe midday? The waterbender had not been unconscious for too long.

The floor under her felt cold but dry. Around her, past the smell of dust, a faint rancidly sweet smell permeated from every pore and crevice. At the rustle of fabric, she heard metal jangle, being dragged both across stone and something else metal. Heavy metal. Desperately, she tried to piece together the puzzle, but the only connections she could make were hardly settling her concern. A hearty thump reverberated near her, bracketed by a pained grunt.

It took all of her willpower not to open her eyes at that moment. Fear danced in her belly, for Katara was certain she knew who had made that noise. Instead, she waited until footsteps moved towards her. They stopped just shy, closer to the origin of the enclosed space's newest inhabitant.

"Here, Father. And that peasant is the one I spoke about." Azula. Her voice was high. Too high. The water tribeswoman wondered if she had stopped taking her herbs, or if the seeming taming of the young woman over the past few years had been an act all along.

Wait. Father?!

Katara's heart jumped into her throat. She had never heard Ozai's voice before but it was easy to place that scathing voice with the warped scar on Zuko's face, and she felt a bitter anger grow from her chest, down to her fingers, tingling. All she had to do, Katara knew, was reach out, and she would be able to feel his heart beat, the blood rushing through his veins. And with a snap, she could end it right there. It's what Zuko would deserve- a fresh slate wiped clean with the blood of his father. Her mind wandered to Azula- how she might actually be able to heal without the presence of Ozai…

But in that half breath, she released the tension in her body, and let the thought crash upon the rocks of her mind. It's not what Zuko would want- not what would be good for anyone. Instead, she waited and the dark wave washed over and away.

"Good." The older man purred, and she listened as a ruffle of fabric brought him closer to the ground. "I thought I told you, Zuko. Defiance would be your downfall. Consider this the push."

With a flurry of sound, she heard the footsteps retreat, along with the scraping of bare skin upon the stone. A grimace tried to cross her neutral expression, but she caught it in time. The healer knew she was going to have her work cut out for her once it was all said and done. Far enough away now from the sounds, she felt confident to open her eyes to slits.

They were in a meat locker. An old, unused one, but its original purpose was obvious. Meat hooks of various weights and sizes hung across metal grids, above. Blue eyes watched worriedly, as the older man reached for one of the stockier hooks hanging, dragging it to where his son laid discarded and bound on the floor. A growl on his lips, Ozai snatched his bound hands and caught the rope on the hook overhead, latching it into place. It was just high enough that she recognized that Zuko stood high on the ball of his feet.

Father and son stood eye to eye.

"So." Ozai began, his voice only betraying disgust at the young man before him. Katara's heart sank, as she spotted the one thing Zuko was desperately trying to hide, to tamp into the deep recesses of his expression. Fear. "You thought you could usurp my throne."

A strangled noise came from behind the young woman and Katara recognized with a pang of surprise, that Azula stood directly behind her. The thought caused an immediate reaction, so quick that she couldn't suppress it. The waterbender jolted. Evidently Zuko wasn't the only one who couldn't control the fear these two wrought.

Azula jumped upon it like a cat-wolf on its prey. Fingers with jagged, raw nails, dug into the flesh in her arm. She felt the prick of blood breaking through the surface of her skin.

The pretense was gone, and Katara turned to face Azula, fury behind the tumultuous seas in her eyes. While Zuko had been gagged, she had not, and in the moment she took advantage of it.

"I wish I had been wrong about you." Katara's words were like venom, and the noble woman's expression fell. Taking advantage of the lull, and the sudden release of pressure from her arm, the waterbender turned, and bit down hard upon the closest thing she could find. It ended up being Azula's forearm.

There was a certain level of justice she felt when she withdrew, leaving bloody teeth marks embedded in her flesh. Azula withdrew with a cry and fell back, clutching her arm. With a spin, she knocked the young noble off her feet. Reaching for her bound ankles, Katara pulled at the water around, but could barely gather enough for a small wisp of a stream.

Behind her, she heard a degrading laugh, and it lashed like a whip across her back. Defiant eyes flashed towards the prior Fire Lord.

"You." Her voice was rough, growling. "You're out of your crate."

She watched with satisfaction as her words hit home. His unblemished gaze turned in rage towards her.

"Mongrel." He sneered.

Disgust rolled through her, as she pulled at the rope coiled at her ankles, feeling it finally break free. A sound caught her attention, as Zuko released a muffled cry towards her. His eyes were wide.

Water was nearby, but too far away for her to pull to her easily, and with an unhinged disgraced princess and an infuriated ex-Fire Lord so close, the effort would be deadly. For a moment, she questioned her verbal jab, but didn’t have any real time to consider it, before she heard the crackle of fire. Rolling, legs now free, she ended back on her knee and foot, sitting low, as blue fire licked at where she had stood just a few moments prior. As much as Katara wanted to focus on Zuko, and getting him away from his father, Azula forced her attention on to her only.

Desperately, she reached again for water, but found it still inaccessible. But like a whisper in a room, she felt a tingle at her arm, now dripping with her own life force. There was another option…

***

Zuko watched the fight starting across the room from him, leaning into the heat from his sister’s fire. Straining against his binds, he had dismissed all thought of his now non-bending father, until his face swam before him. As powerless as Ozai now was compared to him, the young man was not naive enough to think he held no threat.

“This was going to be an easy transition, you ceding the throne to save your little peasant friend.” His words sneered, hinted at something more, but Zuko didn’t care. “But now, it seems we’re going to have to go about this the old fashioned way.”

A flash of light off steel, and Zuko knew what fate his father had in mind for him. Instead of watching what neared him, he tore his face away, desperate to watch for Katara’s success and survival. A hand behind his head, gripped at his hair, pulling him forward, and his father’s words were in his ear. Amber eyes refused to turn to him, but the words were as cold as the steel he felt slip through his skin.

“I should have just let you die the night you were born. You’ve been nothing but a disgrace to me.”

Zuko knew of the night he had been born, under a full moon, in the depths of winter, for he had barely breathed, and was far too cold. He had been told of how his father kept him warm for the next day, against his skin. That was when his family still had a chance of joy. Of happiness. And now… this final betrayal of his father’s love hurt more for the lack of surprise.

Abstractly, he felt the cold steel slide out of his side. The pain had yet to flare, but his knees gave way, and he sagged, all his weight now hanging from his arms. Ironically, he thought, the pain in his shoulders was worse than the one in his side. A shot of electricity from his side flared and a groan escaped him, unbidden.

Oh. He thought. Oh, there it is.

***

She danced, feet light, slowly working her way around, while the enraged princess spewed fire about. Katara's head still pounded, and it made her work hard to concentrate on through the haze. The small sliver of water she had pulled at earlier was slowly working its way through the ropes at her wrists as she twisted away from yet another geyser of flame.

A groan reached her ears, and she turned in time to see Zuko sag as a dark line grew across his abdomen, and slid effortlessly down his lines.

"No…" it wasn't a cry of anguish, a scream of rage, but rather a whisper of fear.

The distraction was all Azula needed, and she felt the heat wrap around her shoulder. A smell of scorched hair, fabric and flesh tickled her nose, as the fire blossomed on her. She rounded, fury now in her eyes, as the ropes fell away.

In her peripheral, she registered Ozai's retreat up the stairs, his prison garb flashing red, but she watched the more dangerous of the two- Azula. The action of the fight brought Katara to bear, and the wild-eyed woman now stood between her and her goal: Zuko, who's belly was becoming slick and dark in the dim light, and the skin around his eyes was becoming tight. Even still, his gaze was locked on the battle before him.

A new feeling coiled in her belly, one of warmth, certainty, when their eyes met over the head of his sister. She was familiar with the feeling- she had felt it years ago, when she had to fight her way to him across the coronation plaza. The difference now was that she was old enough and experienced enough to put a word to the feeling.

Now wasn't the time to name it though, and instead, she used it as fuel to clear her mottled brain. The tingle was back at the liquid pooling down her limp arm, since the pain of the fire rendered it temporarily useless. It wasn't water, but the flow of liquid, and intuitively, she knew that while it may be slightly more sluggish to move, bending it was fully well within her reach.

With her free hand, she pulled the blood away from her arm, and it twisted threateningly, it's shadow purple in the blue flames. Eyes narrowed, she matched the harried gaze of Zuko's sister, and dropped her tone to ice.

"You have a choice. Either you move," she dipped her head menacingly, "or I go through you, Azula."

An angry, broken cry echoed through the room, as blue fire flared from her fingertips, following the wild swing she took towards the tribeswoman. Uncontrolled and wild, Katara easily sidestepped, bringing her whip of blood around, grazing it's sharp edge against her cheek. It drew its own line of crimson. Light brown eyes filled with tears, and she stumbled for a moment.

Twisting to round again on Azula, her bloody whip (disconcertingly) growing, Katara turned onto her heel, leaned back, and softly molded the dark mass of fluid before her. Her fingertips danced hungrily at its shape, crafting something new. Standing back, one leg drawn in closer, but loosely placed before her, she eyed the other young woman. The look in Azula’s eyes was familiar, as she paced like a caged boar-hound. As she passed directly in front of the water tribeswoman, something popped behind her eyes, and the unsteady girl dropped low, knees bent and arms drawn up to her chest.

Letting loose a volley of fire balls, Katara’s dark mass of blood surged, flattening before her like a shield. Foot sliding forward, she leaned into the motion, dragging her arms, even as the smell of metallic burning reached her nose. She pulled more from the open wound in her arm to replenish the blood burnt away by the saving motion. A shift in her hands, and the free flowing blood became a circle over her head, as she swept the noble’s feet from under her. The strike of the bent material on Azula’s already wounded cheek acted like a splash of cold water, and she came up sputtering. Katara used the moment to keep her on her toes.

“What are you hoping to accomplish, Azula? Ozai’s already gone.”

“He’s gone to secure my throne!” Her dark eyes flashed, and she recovered, sending out a new spray of fire. Katara merely side stepped, gripping her wrist with the now-whip, and using it to tug her forward and off her feet.

“It didn’t sound that way to me…” A dark brow rose over a too-blue eye. “Sounded like he was warming the throne solely for himself.”

“That’s because you’re a peasant!” The girl spat back at her. “You wouldn’t understand the throne!”

There was no fire in Azula’s hand as she leaned forward again, still struggling to regain her footing. Her ragged nails were the only part that made contact with Katara’s cheek. Three new lines of crimson blossomed across her cheekbone. The blood bender merely added its contribution to the crimson pool before her.

“And I have no desire to, in the way in which you rule. Tell me, Azula,” she slid sideways again to avoid the flailing of the other fighter. She had no fire, no spark in her actions. Katara had no more fear for Azula. All of hers now waited on the other side of the room, where Zuko’s head now dropped forward loosely. “Tell me, who would you rather care for you? Rule over you? Ozai? Or… or Zuzu?”

The nickname felt like poison on her tongue, having only heard it used derogatorily. But she also knew that, once upon a time, that nickname was everything to both of them. She hoped her words might stir that memory more than before. Azula stood stock still before her for a moment, and blue eyes watched her warily.

The prior Crown Princess, however, was defeated, and not by Katara’s whip.

Slowly, a knee quivered, and then crashed to the ground, followed by the rest of the young woman’s body. The heels of her palms crushed into amber eyes. Sobs, slow and heartfelt escaped her as she crumpled onto the floor.

"...he left..." her words were full of pain, slipping between sobs, "... gone…t-took it all away… again... but Zuzu…"

Sharp nails clawed through disheveled hair. Katara sat up, recognizing the threat as now non-existent, but still moved cautiously around her. As soon as she moved away from the kneeling figure, the waterbender bolted to Zuko's side. His body hung limply from his wrists. With a twist of her hands, his binds fell away, and he slid to his knees with a loud thunk, but she caught him before he fell the rest of the way. His head slumped on to her shoulder. Panic flared in her belly, and tears sprung behind her eyes.

"Zuko? Zuko?" Fingertips slipped into his hair, trying to rock him into consciousness. "Please. Please. Don't leave me."

Desperation clawed up her throat. All the things that had sat unspoken, desires and fears, that were at the back of her brain, always at the tip of her tongue, and she couldn't do anything. There was no water, nothing she could pull to heal him. Eyes tight, tears began to trace lines down her cheeks.

Tears.

She pulled what she could: tears fallen, sweat on bare skin, condensation on the walls and steadily the water gathered at her hands and glowing, gently, she laid her fingertips on his open wound.

"Please, Zuko…" she pressed her lips into his hairline, "don't leave me. I have too much to tell you…"

***

Part One/Part Two

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amwritesstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Forget Me Not 3 (final): We Found Our Way (Bakugou/Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Films had a habit of using weather to depict whatever mood was happening. No matter how bad the hurricane, the main characters would come out basking in the shining light of a new day. Good things happening when good news was given. Bakugou understood it was all metaphors for visual entertainment, but he couldn’t help wishing movie makers were a little more realistic, maybe his expectations wouldn’t be so high.

He swore loudly as his foot sank into a pothole, cold water now soaking his sock and pant leg. He had been doing so well with trying to keep dry from the downpour, only for this to happen in the parking lot. His car got a flat tire on the long road from the highway to the property. He didn’t have a spare, so he called a tow-truck but refused to sit an wait, giving them permission to do what they needed to while he hoofed it the rest of the way, huddled under an umbrella. Like hell he was going to waste any more time.

He entered the familiar lobby, making a ’squelch’ with every other step. The woman behind the counter smiled when she noticed him, scowling and shaking his foot in vain. She handed him his visitors pass without anything being said. He’d been coming long enough that staff knew him.

Bakugou all but stormed down the halls, the unfortunate plight of his car and shoe making him irritable. However, once he rounded his final corner, he faltered in his step, suddenly nervous. The hall looked a lot longer than it ever had before. Your door looked that much farther away.

How many times had he made this trek? Enough, he felt. The shitty carpet pattern and smell of old people would be forever etched into his brain. It was automatic now. He wasn’t aware that he had been moving until he stood before your door.

And he just stood there.

He felt unsure. Would anything be different? Would it all be the same? The weather indicated that there was no happiness to be found here. That whatever miracles had been taking place recently were washed away.

He was afraid.

Afraid that he’d open this door and find nothing but a blank stare. Find that the past few days were flukes, that your mind had begun caving into itself, much like his chest had been for so long. Afraid that this was a calm before the storm and it was just going to get worse. Could he handle it if that were the case? Or would he finally crumble away beside you?

Another door banging shut in the quiet was enough to jar him from his thoughts and nerves. He scowled to himself. What was he getting worked up over? He was Katsuki fucking Bakugou! He didn’t back down from anything! And he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn tail from you. You were improving, that’s what was happening now. Everything else be damned!

His newfound vigor was near instantly put out when he heard your startled yelp from his harsh bangs on the door. He could have kicked himself. You were confused more often than not, sudden aggression was not going to help. The hell was wrong with him?

The door was suddenly wrenched open and Bakugou found himself pinned under your harsh glare. There was a fire in your eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long while. A burning he knew so well, that challenged anyone to dare rub you the wrong way. A challenge that he always found himself tackling because it was you who initiated it.

However, he didn’t jump into it with his own shit-eating grin and snark. He simply stared. You weren’t asking who he was, what he wanted, asking if you could help him with something. There was recognition in that heated gaze. It held him in place, crushing him under its weight, much like years ago when he started getting to know you better.

You were looking at him. You knew him… But, you weren’t seeing him. Not in the way he was looking for, but a vast improvement to all the previous visits.

God, he wanted nothing more than to hold you.

You sighed, looking unimpressed. “Is there a reason you're trying to break my door down?”

A handful of seconds passed before his brain finally caught up. “Just... wanted to make sure you heard me.”

“Rooms so small there's no way I wouldn't hear you,” you pulled the door open wider. “Well, come in then.”

Bakugou stepped in and almost immediately felt like he was suffocating. He hated how stuffy and cramped the room was. He usually tried to get you outside whenever he visited. It was currently a mess, clothes all over the place and objects in the process of being moved around.

“So,” he snapped his attention back to you, watching as you started folding clothes and putting them away. “What brings you to my humble abode? Dropping off a house warming gift? Something that was salvageable from my now flattened apartment?” You pinned him with a hard, accusing stare from over her shoulder.

Ah. He knew exactly what memory you were playing through. A duo of pretty nasty villains had popped up, just wreaking havoc. Bakugou had been among those called in to take care of it. The Heroes had gotten the all clear that civilians had been evacuated, so the fight turned from trying to just keep them contained to a spot, to trying to actually take them down.

One of them was more or less brushing off the hits being dealt. The best thing Bakugou could come up with was to set a trap and simply bring a building down on the villain. It worked. The guy was knocked out and sustained very little in the way of injuries. However, that building he used? Yeah, your apartment had been in it.

It was a hell of a thing for you to cut your vacation short for. You were understandably upset, but you didn’t hold it against him, not entirely. You were offered a temporary stay at the agency, in what staff jokingly referred to as ‘sleeper cells.’ They were basically tiny rooms with a bed, meant for those not well enough to go home after pulling an all-nighter, or in need of a break before going back to the paperwork grind. You were living out of a suitcase during your time there, which you didn’t really have any problem with. You seemed to be more perturbed over losing your apartment overall if anything. However, you did come off a bit cold to him, which made him think you did lose something important to you. It had annoyed him that you wouldn't say anything about it.

Honestly, though? Bakugou couldn’t think of a better place for your current headspace to be in. At the time, he had been coming to terms with… feelings that had manifested and grown without his knowledge or permission. He actually had stopped by with what he had hoped was a peace offering. A little something the cleanup crew had found near where your apartment had crumbled, thinking of you the second he had seen it. While also mildly hoping some kid wasn't missing it.

He didn't have anything with him now, so he fell back onto the banter that he enjoyed partaking in with you. He shrugged, matching your stare with a smirk. “Is my presence in this shithole not gift enough for you?”

Your cheeks turned a pretty red, in embarrassment or irritation, he couldn’t tell. You turned back to your task, now stuffing drawers with such force that the clothes were coming undone.

“I’m in this ‘shithole’ ‘cause somebody thought it’d be a good idea to use an entire building to stop one villain.”

“And you could've done better? Besides, you said you weren’t mad about it.”

“Well, if you’re going to come here and be a prick about it, I just might change my mind!”

“So, you’re admitting you couldn’t have done a better job?”

“No! I’m not admitting- I can catch bad guys without resorting to property damage! Don’t change the subject, asshole!”

“Hm, can you back that claim up?”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you! You-you… you, porcupine!”

He almost choked at that. He was remembering now. How could have forgotten? This had been the first time you’d called him ‘porcupine’. Over time it turned from a cute insult, into a term of endearment.

You were facing him now, red-faced and flustered. Trying in vain to keep your emotions in check. You were so fucking adorable. Fuck, he missed this.

“Porcupine?” He hadn't meant for it to come out as breathless as it did. He was supposed to sound amused. Luckily, it seemed you didn’t notice. Too caught up in the memory and high emotions.

“Yes! Porcupine! A big rodent that puffs up its quills and attacks anyone that tries to get too close to it! Quills that get wedged up under the skin of the unfortunate victim, and are incredibly painful and obnoxious! Just digging right up in there! Then they pull a complete one-eighty on you! Completely out of nowhere! And return something that meant so much to you when you thought it was gone! Just turning into the cutest little shit, never once thinking they could be so sweet, and will actually let you touch them if they trust you enough, and you realize that maybe they're not all that bad. Maybe… maybe they just need… a chance…” Your voice lost its momentum as your eyes glazed over, staring off at something on the bed. Bakugou felt his heart clench at your words. He remembers the more biting bit, but the rest… Did you really think that about him after he gave you that toy?

You stood there like that for several long, agonizing seconds. Bakugou knew better than to disrupt whatever your mind was trying to do. Instead, he followed your gaze, eyes widening at seeing the well-loved stuffed toy.

That was what he brought you. Turned out it had been yours. You had been so overwhelmed when he presented it to you that you had flung yourself at him in a bone crushing hug. You explained it had been given to you the day you were born, and, if it was still intact, you wanted to pass it down if you ever got the chance. If Bakugou had to think about it, that little thing was the catalyst to the start of your relationship.

“You… you're going to pester me about calling you that…” your voice was light but firm in conviction. “You're going to bother me for weeks… use it as a reason to talk to me more… you'll never admit you're doing it to watch me get flustered...” Your gaze shifted to the shirt in your hands. “I'm not going to realize that you're doing it to… not until your friend mentions it…”

You blinked rapidly, eyes coming back into focus. You looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time. Your back was turned more to him. He was doing all he could to keep himself from throwing caution to the wind and embracing you.

You set the shirt down, gently picking up the stuffed toy. “You never said anything about this. Not once.” You hiccup out a laugh. Bakugou found himself holding his breath. “I was so sure you'd hang it over my head, use it somehow to mock me. But, you never did. It honestly surprised me.” Your grip tightened. “You… well, you didn't ask me out. You gave me a time and a place, and I guess you hoped that I'd show up. I wasn't sure that I should… but, I'm so glad that I did!” Your voice held a smile. A watery one, but a smile nonetheless.

“And your stupid proposal!” A laugh forced itself out of you. “You weren't romantic, you didn't plan it- Hell, you were just coming out of the bathroom! You just… handed me this,” the hand holding the toy flopped to the bed. “Said it was in good condition, good enough to be given to a kid, if I was ready to part with it!” You started laughing in mirth. “I'll never forget how angry I got! I thought you wanted me to get rid of it!”

Just as quickly as it came, your laughter became choked. Your hand came over your mouth as you struggled to pull yourself together. “But, I did…”

Bakugou felt his chest clench painfully at how broken you sounded. He had his teeth clenched so hard to keep from making a sound. You needed to sort through your head without interference. It was killing him.

“I forgot I was a Hero. Forgot everything I'd gone through. People that I've come to know and care about. That I had been attacked… my quirk is-” You choked, unable to get the words out. You straightened and turned to face him. Fat tears were streaming down your face as you looked him over. As you saw him.

“I forgot you.”

Bakugou shot forward, clutching you to him as you broke down. Your grip on his shirt was weak. He tried to give comforting words, saying he was there, he had you, only to realize that he was also crying too hard to get anything out. He sat you both on the bed in fear that his legs would start to give out as well.

The two of you sat there for a time, letting out all the pent up emotions. The sobs died down to hiccups and sniffles, eventually simmering to Bakugou lightly running a hand over your head as you held him. The quiet was comforting in a way.

It terrified him. He had been in this position before. Every second that ticked by caused his fear to grow. How long would it be until you pulled back and asked who he was? Until you looked up at him without any recollection of who he was? Could he continue to be strong so soon after such an emotional breakthrough?

And yet, the longer you kept your face buried in his chest, the more hopeful he couldn't help but become. You knew him when he showed up at your door. You remembered him as your husband not even ten minutes after. This was the longest that you've remembered him for. You were getting better. It took some time to get the ball rolling, but now you were getting so much better with each day.

His heart nearly stopped when you shifted, pulling away from him. No. No, this was still much too soon. He was trying desperately to keep his breathing even. He just had a breakdown, he didn't know if his heart could handle another.

As you looked up at him with puffy eyes and a small smile, he felt that he still might break from relief. God, you were so beautiful. You reached up, taking his face in your hands. He felt a couple tears escape. You gently brushed them away as you brought him into the most tender kiss he swears has ever existed.

If you forgot again, so be it. He had promised to be by your side through thick and thin. And it was well known that Katsuki Bakugou didn't make promises he couldn't keep.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #angst #reader insert #forget me not #mha #bha

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the-ash0 · 6 years ago

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surviving paradise ch 26 - loss

Lekus was dead.

They stood outside Frieza’s on-world throne room, the giant doors slammed on them after the shortest debriefing ever, and it just would not stick. His head throbbed with the attempt to find the logic in a timeline of completely unrelated events.

Lekus was dead. What had just happened?

The Saiyans had returned a day late. Just a day, but one day should have been enough for another epic prose session detailing their failure. Not to mention that Vegeta had expected another public debasement, another one of Zarbon’s great tales. He had also expected Frieza to reiterate its proposal where the tyrant implied that Vegeta was not cut out for command. That he shouldn’t bother with any delusions about being self-reliant; he should just sit at Frieza’s side from now on and wait on the Icejin’s orders before he acted.

He had been ready to accept the offer.

But none of that occurred. Frieza had given Zarbon one warning to ‘keep it short’, then still cut him off after less than a minute, dismissing his elite with a: “so, the mission was a success. Great” Next, the Icejin turned to the Saiyans and addressed the whole group in another out of character act. ”You’re all on stand-by until further notice. Well done.”

It wasn’t fucking well done. Vegeta was infinitely aware of that; aware that he’d finally and irrevocably messed up. Frieza should have sensed that. The lizard should have been well aware that any advantage the Prince had gained last time could have been taken back with interest in that very moment. Yet Frieza had acted distracted and absent-minded. So, apparently, any game they had been playing was already over.

Why had Frieza lost interest? Vegeta was nearly sure he could have just ordered his squad to turn around and go back after one look at that planet and their defences. That he could have reported to Frieza the job was impossible and he needed to send the Ginyus or something, and he’d still have gotten the same glowing review. Hell, in its present state of mind, Vegeta could have taken the squad on an intergalactic pleasure-cruise and the tyrant would still have complimented him on a good job and sent them on their way.

It didn’t make sense. Frieza was nothing if not perfect: immaculate, obsessed with cleanliness and time-tables, and devoted to micromanagement. For the lizard to just drop his modus operandi was unsettling. And Lekus? Lekus was dead, and it didn't even seem to matter.

Nobody gave a fuck. Not Frieza, not his Saiyans... No one. Couldn't they see? Couldn’t anyone see? Granted, Vegeta supposed he should not have expected the lizard emperor to care. But his own men, he had at least expected to be somewhat upset. Instead, they stood around outside the doors, clapping each other on the back in congratulations. An odd relief was expressed on their faces, any tension long gone. All his Saiyans, except for Raditz, who was still in the tanks because his wounds had worsened on the return trip despite cryo sleep. And Lekus...

Lekus was fucking dead, and Vegeta had just gotten congratulated on a job well done.

“A celebration is in order!” Jack roared, as coarse and boisterous as ever.

Nappa guffawed right back. “Let’s get shit-faced drunk!”

Even Nion, who believed himself to be the voice of reason, laughed. “Drinking is called for.” He paused, then looked the prince's way with uncertainty. “Will you toast with us? In memory of Lekus?”

Why were they happy? Vegeta snarled, countering his own pounding head. “In Lekus’ memory? You fucks crazy?”

“My prince, please relax. We did well. We received a good review and some down time, finally. And he earned it for us, together with your outstanding tactics, of course. We should celebrate!”

Vegeta wasn’t really sure why that set him off. Nion was not smart enough for this level of sarcasm. Still, a ‘job well done’ was a bald-faced lie, and it lit the Prince’s face bring red as he screamed. “Fuck that dumb fuck for getting himself killed. And fuck you all!”

With a punch to Nion’s gut, Vegeta shoved the elder out of the way then growled a warning at the others. They stepped back, cowed. Still, the Saiyan teen felt suffocated. Smothered, like he was drowning. Outside; that’s what he needed. With an angry tread he took the fastest way out one of the ornate balconies, then pushed off and flew up into the white clouds overhead.

The air was frigid cold on his face, whipping in his ears so loud it hurt. But the cold, wet air calmed the rage and numbed his pounding head. After a little while, it felt good to just dive down and wind through the white-topped jagged peaks that covered most of the planet’s surface. Vegeta was not one to notice beauty, and he hated this planet too much to consider such a possibility. But the action was mildly entertaining, perhaps even enjoyable when done at a speed that made the curves a challenge.

When the novelty had worn off, Vegeta returned to the heights above the clouds, watching his long shadow in front of him in quiet contemplation. A prince should practice cold logic, even if his gut felt like it was on fire. Vegeta felt like that a lot lately, and he hoped it was an age thing. He was royalty, and only lower classes were supposed to be susceptible to bloodlust bad enough that they could not see past their own rage.

And looking at it now with a literal cooler head, he wondered why he had been angry at all. Vegeta had planned to downplay the loss. But he had been so sure he would have been called out on Lekus’ death, that when it did not happen it caught him off guard. In fact, Vegeta though he would have preferred it if someone had blamed him. It would have made it easier to brush off.

Yes; brushing it off had been what he had intended to do. Act casually. Drinking with the men would have been perfect for that. It's what commanders did. Probably. He’d just been blindsided by these fool reactions. And Frieza’s. Which worried him to his core.. But. No, he should have accepted the offer to go drinking.

It would not do to turn around and find his squad though. If Vegeta showed up now, someone might think he was apologizing for his earlier behavior. But he couldn’t keep flying like this indefinitely either. At the rate he was burning through his ki, even a Saiyan could not keep the cold at bay for much longer. The small sun was already half-hidden behind the jagged peaks, so it would be dark soon and colder still. Besides, he had worked up quite an appetite. After getting his bearings, Vegeta grudgingly opted to go back to Frieza’s ship and get a filling meal.

On return, he checked the med-bay first to find Raditz still immersed in healing liquids. At least the third-class was going to live. Not that he cared; at least not enough to have his mood lifted. Vegeta trekked to the mess hall next, thankful that most staff had disembarked. He was in no mood to talk to anyone.

Sadly, there was still a short line at the feeding station. Five men out of the six in the room stood waiting, and the line did not move. At all. After a minute, Vegeta shoved past the waiting men until he found the culprit: a tall, thin green alien that moved slowly and deliberately, collecting his slob with agonizing slowness. Like an old man, although Vegeta doubted the creature could be much older than himself. Vegeta growled at him, but when the man turned, recognition fluttered inside the Saiyan’s mind.

The feeling, it turned out, was mutual. The creature froze, and the closer Vegeta studied it, the more disgusted he felt. It was too thin and had grown up weak. Then the man started to shake as well. This was not an unusual reaction to the Prince of Saiyans from a civilian but for a soldier… it was just odd.

“Don't I know you?” Vegeta pondered.

The green man’s face contorted, either in rage or fear. Or both. “You...” it hissed. Then it seemed to lock up and as it looked down at its ugly, crooked fingers.

What a mess of a man. How could Frieza allow something like that to work for it? Vegeta mused, and yet. He knew this creature… well, it didn't really matter. Food, now that was important.

“What the hell is the hold up?” he inquired.

The look of shock that came over the man’s face sparked another memory. Of someone younger, a lot healthier looking, and... Yes, this was the boy... The one that could... cook … right? Vegeta certainly didn't remember him being this ugly and crooked, or this weird in the head.

A purple face pushed the tall green thing to the side, and this one Vegeta definitely recognised: Cui. “Can't even remember his name, can you, Vegeta? This is Cordwell. You’ve caused him a lot of suffering, you know?”

If Cui had meant to talk for the gaunt thing, he met some opposition from the creature in question. The thing called Cordwell leaned over Cui’s shoulder, and pushed round fish-like eyes close to Vegeta’s face as it spat out: “It’s all your fault!”

Vegeta returned the challenge with another snarl. How dare he speak that way? Lekus... No. And now this creep? No. he was not responsible. “You might want to be more specific. You upset I didn't kill your mom before she had you or something?”

Cordwell made an attempt to climb over Cui, long limbs reached out and twisted fingers grabbed for the prince. “You put me up to it. Put us up to it.”

It foamed at the mouth now, and the spectacle was disgusting enough to make Vegeta rethink fighting the creature. Maybe he’d eradicate it from a distance, but he didn't want to catch whatever madness held the lanky alien. Its words made little sense, and despite any real belief that this thing was capable of intelligent conversation, Vegeta heard himself ask: “What?”

“We tried to run,” Cordwell panted, having made a path over and past Cui, who now tried to restrain him from behind. The squid didn’t have enough footing, and so the green mess inched closer to Vegeta. “You told us we’d die if we didn't. That we should take the pods. But we were caught.”

Confused, Vegeta fixed Cui with a questioning glare. But he was met with such a hostile look that he had to ask: “What nonsense is this freak talking about, squid?”

Cui tisked at him, then violently wrestled the much larger alien back. “You gonna deny this now, monkey? Everyone knows your father was a traitor. But you had to go on and pull us down with you, didnt you?”

“What are you talking about?” Vegeta inquired, disgusted.

The foaming, sick thing accused with a voice that jumped another octave: “When your stupid old man got himself killed. You told us they’d come for us too. That we’d be killed. That we should run. But we only ever got the pods to lift off before we were retrieved. And we ran, so we were guilty. I’m... I’m all that’s left. We... we... we should never have listened to you. You killed them.”

That didn't make sense. Vegeta had not known about his father’s coupe until after it had happened. He’d not had the chance to tell anyone anything, with Frieza smacking him around. And even if he had... What the man claimed was impossible. No one could get a pod to take off without clearance.

Nothing the boy said made any sense. None of whatever was supposed to have happened to those boys was his fault... and Lekus...? That wasn’t his fault either. Vegeta stared down at the tray in his hands, red pushing up and around his vision. The tray shook as his hands threatened to bend it, until found the perfect place to bury it: right in that lying green slime’s lying face. The Saiyan didn’t pause before he socked Cui in his tentacled mouth. Vegeta turned again to charge a blast at Cordwell, but the thing was already swinging its own tray at Vegeta. It contacted with a smack to the side of his skull, but the Saiyan took it with a grin, just so he could fire off the ki he held.

It was not rage that overtook him, rather something empty and uncaring. Vegeta swung punches without even blocking, and when he felt Cui rain blows on his back he took the punches to his kidneys and spine as well. He was probably smiling, perhaps even laughing. Vegeta’s fists throbbed with every impact, and he clung to that feeling regardless of any other body parts screaming that he was taking actual damage.

Vegeta didn’t give a fuck anymore, he just methodically punched the tall green creature to the beat of some alarm that had gone off and now blared across the mess hall. He turned to exchange fists with Cui again, only slightly hampered by the green beanstalk that now tried to restrain him. Vegeta swung out his elbows left and right, not even caring what he hit. This bought him a few seconds, which he used to turn his assault back to Cui, until something dropped on his head hard enough to daze him.

It must have been Cordwell, dropping something hard on him. But it was impossible to tell, because his head was ringing. It didn't matter though. With a shake of the head, Vegeta waited for his vision to clear enough so he could pummel the first shape he made out. He’d drink it up, all of it, drink it up and spit it out tenfold. And it was working. Cui and Cordwell were so confused and rattled by Prince’s willingness to take anything they dished out that they guarded more than attacked.

With one last hard hook, Vegeta pushed Cui back far enough to make another one-eighty turn and lounge at Cordwell. But the creature had already backpedaled at least six paces and then dropped to his knees, eyes wide as he looked off to Vegeta’s left and cowered. It was not as the Saiyan had it pissing its pants though.

“Dodoria.” It shuddered, like that monster was something worse than the Prince. Vegeta was less impressed. He just turned to face this new threat, and charged up another blast.

The pink brute reached out a large fist and engulfed Vegeta’s entire arm, blast and all. “Making trouble, little Prince? And while our master is getting ready for his guests no less? Bad timing.”

What guests?

“Fuck you,” he raged and tried to pull his arm free, unwilling to extinguish the shot, even when he started to smell cooked flesh. That ki was intended for Dodoria’s face, to wipe that ugly smile off it. Vegeta bared his teeth.

Dodoria blinked, then smiled a toothy smile. “Oh yeah. I think you need a little time to cool off, don’t you?”

“Fuck. You.” It burned, and it occurred to Vegeta that his hand would sear off before he even pierced Dodoria’s thick skin. Logic. He was going to think, not act like some blood-raged… The ki went out.

“I’m guessing that’s Saiyan for yes.”

read the rest on https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338988/chapters/35590152 or ff.net

#surviving paradise #vegeta #fanfic #dbz #dragonball

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boschlingtumbles · 4 years ago

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Chapter 41

“Beric, get out of bed,” Thoros cajoled, tugging a foot. Beric grabbed a bed post and made what Thoros assumed was supposed to be a growling noise. Mostly he just sounded disgruntled. “I cannot face your parents over breakfast alone dressed like this,” Thoros said plaintively. “Melisandre left ages ago and I’m starving and I need somebody to talk to your parents while I eat so I don’t have to explain what I’m wearing and how much it cost.” Beric cracked an eye and looked him over. “The suit is nice,” Beric said mildly. Thoros knew that was Beric-speak for the tie is hideously pink. “Nobody will be looking at the suit, the tie blinds anybody who gazes directly at it,” Thoros rolled his eyes. “I look like I’m rolling up for the Spring Service. Now c’mon, I can smell your Mom’s cooking and if Melisandre ate all the cinnamon rolls before she left, I will do terrible things to her.” “Do you think Robert will really care if I don’t go?” Beric asked glumly. “No,” Thoros frowned. “But I will care. Who will I talk to?!” “You’re a groomsman. You don’t get to talk,” Beric said wryly. “And I will be sitting alone in a pew trying to pretend like half the female population isn’t staring at me.” Thoros sighed. In a perfect world, Beric would have taken this experience in stride and maybe used it as a growing opportunity to become less self-conscious and more comfortable in his own skin. But he supposed that was the kind of journey that took years and lots of therapy, not two months as a viral phenomenon. Which left Thoros no choice. “I hate to burst your bubble, but they won’t be,” Thoros grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Beric. “That’s what you said about Dorne,” Beric began doubtfully. “Yes but this time’s different,” Thoros started trying to peel the bedsheet off him (a process made more difficult by the fact that Beric appeared to have rolled himself in it). “Why?” Beric huffed as Thoros managed to get the first layer free. “This time I have empirical evidence that your three minutes of fame are over,” Thoros said cheerfully, setting to work on the second layer. “Oh?” Beric raised an eyebrow. “Yup,” Thoros smirked. “Are you ready? As of four days ago,” he took a dramatic pause, “Jenny Oldstones has a boyfriend.” He was expecting some applause honestly. Or a gasp. Beric only rolled over. “Hey!” Thoros poked his shoulder. “This is good stuff! Do you have any idea how much high school gossip I had to listen to for this?! He’s from some fancy prep school and she’s at public. It’s all very scandalous.” “Great, I have ONE fewer admirer. She wasn’t going to be at the wedding anyway!” “You aren’t seeing the bigger picture,” Thoros attempted to tug Beric back toward him. “It’s not just Jenny and this Duncan kid. Once Cersei got Vogue, she pulled the commercial. Your fan base has an attention span of approximately ten seconds. They’re moving on and Jenny is indicative of that fact.” Beric grudgingly rolled onto his back, meeting Thoros’ gaze. “Well I certainly hope you’re right,” he mumbled. “And I wasn’t entirely serious about not coming to the wedding. It would be rude to not show up after I RSVPed.” “So rude,” Thoros agreed, smiling. “And I suppose I can come down to breakfast with you.” “Great, I think my stomach has started to devour my other organs.” “But I’m not coming with you to the sept early,” Beric said sternly. Or as sternly as he could manage with bedhead. “There will be no waiting around to be ogled at by wedding guests.” “I TOLD you, your five minutes of fame are over...” Thoros tried again, but Beric’s expression was unmoved. “Fine,” Thoros sulked. “But if there’s only one cinnamon roll left, it’s mine.” As it turned out, there were many cinnamon rolls left over. And Beric’s presence WAS the perfect buffer for his parents’ well-meaning but occasionally claustrophobic interest.

“No I’m still working at the bar,” magically became “Would you pass those scones?” and “Yes it is an ugly shade of pink” became “More honey please.”

So although the car ride was boring and quiet and he was stuck in traffic the entire time, he actually arrived at the sept in a fairly good mood.

That was until he saw Ned, standing with Mace Tyrell. Mace was holding his son Loras and looking like he was having a bout of indigestion. Which was an improvement on Ned, who was looking like someone had just killed his dog. Not that Ned was naturally the super cheerful type. Thoros sometimes wondered if he didn’t need a hug and a good slug of whiskey.

“Okay, the pocket squares are terrible but you two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Thoros tried to joke. Mace at least attempted a smile. Ned just turned, face taut with dismay.

“Mace... forgot... the ring,” Ned ground out with a positively venomous glare at Mace.

Hmm okay, well a hug probably wasn’t going to fix this. A slug of whiskey might not either, but you never knew until you tried. Thoros took a swig from his flask as Mace and Ned proceeded to freak out about Robert’s whereabouts, and then another sip or two as they dragged him along in their search of the sept. Honestly, Thoros wasn’t sure how helpful Robert would actually be in this situation. What they needed to do was find a ring.

“We need to find a substitute ring,” he said, when it became apparent that neither Ned nor Mace were reaching that conclusion on their own. “One that’s nice enough that Cersei won’t freak out.”

“It’s going to have to be REALLY nice,” Ned frowned. Well yeah. Didn’t he just say that? Fortunately for these slowpokes, this was not Thoros’ first time coming up short one really expensive ring. Or even his second.

“Let’s see,” he said, staring at Mace pointedly and waiting for him to get the hint. “Who on earth might possibly have an incredibly expensive ring that we can substitute?”

Mace shrugged and shifted Loras in his arms. Thoros might be waiting a while. “Like a SIXTY THOUSAND dragon ring?” Thoros said the number loudly, willing him to remember.

“I mean we can look around the wedding guests, but that’s super high end,” Mace scratched his head. “And we can’t ask anyone who might tell other guests.”

Seriously with this guy?

“Oh we should definitely borrow it without asking,” Thoros crossed his arms. Ned said something about ethics and morality, Thoros wasn’t really paying attention, he was too focused on trying to get Mace with the program.

“Mace, who could we steal a very expensive ring from that you would be in a very good position to return it to after the wedding?” He ground out as slowly as possible.

There was a start of recognition and then a tremor of terror. Ah, there it was. “You don’t mean...” Mace stammered.

“Gam Gam!” Loras shouted.

“You can’t be serious,” Mace hissed, and then she was on them.

“Who’s my favorite boy?” Olenna Tyrell demanded, whisking Loras away from Mace.

She was much as Thoros remembered her from his lackluster tenure at King’s Landing Prep. Elegant in a rather cold and sharp kind of way. Every third word was a barb, and Thoros, who did not consider himself particularly easily intimidated, was nonetheless relieved when she departed, Loras in tow.

“Do NOT steal my mother’s ring,” Mace growled, still shaken from the encounter.

“Of course not,” Thoros patted him on the back. That would be ridiculous. Think how much trouble he could get in. “YOU’ll steal the ring.”

Mace tried to protest, but Thoros raised his voice to talk over him.

“Ned, tell Robert he’ll have a lovely ring. It’s taken care of,” Thoros said firmly. Ned shot him a relieved look and hurried off, probably to continue the hunt for Robert.

Thoros looked over at Mace.

“You can’t make me do it,” Mace sulked. “I won’t.”

Thoros took another swig from his flask and considered his dilemma. How to get a guy whose primary character trait was a groveling fear of his mother cross his mother?

What Mace really needed, Thoros decided, was a hug and a slug of whiskey. Metaphorical hug. Literal whiskey.

He put on his best ‘I’m a bartender and that’s basically a therapist’ face. “So how have you been Mace?”

“Well Loras got into a fight with another boy at daycare, and Alerie thinks they don’t provide enough supervision. She thinks we should take my mother up on an offer of a full time nanny, but I think it’s important for Loras to get socialization with other children his own age and mother says—“

“Wait,” Thoros stopped him. “That’s how Loras is. I want to know how you are.”

“Me?” Mace stared at him, genuinely baffled.

“Did your mother find out about the tattoo?” Thoros prodded, looking for some kind of resentment that he could turn into a grand gesture of defiance like say stealing Olenna Tyrell’s wedding ring.

“Oh almost immediately,” Mace swallowed. “She knew before I even landed in Highgarden. She goes over her credit card statements like a hawk.”

“Was she upset?”

“It really doesn’t bear dwelling on,” Mace shuddered. “Certain things were said that I really couldn’t bring myself to repeat.”

“It’s just a stupid tattoo, hasn’t she ever made a mistake?” Thoros waved his hand.

“Not ever I don’t think,” Mace said seriously.

“Doesn’t she know you’ll get it removed?”

“She considers it indicative of one of my primary personal failings, which is that I’m too easily pushed around,” Mace explained.

“Ridiculous!”

“I know!”

“And the worst part is, it’s hypocritical! She complains about you being too easy to push around AS she pushes you around!”

“She’s always been like this,” Mace huffed. “Nothing was good enough unless it was her idea done her way.”

“It’s sad seeing somebody lacking such total self-awareness,” Thoros shook his head.

“But she’ll never change.”

“Unless...” Thoros trailed off, pretending to hesitate.

“Unless what?”

“Well what if she had concrete proof that she was dead wrong about something? Like wouldn’t that at the very least give her a moment of reflection?”

“She’s never wrong about anything,” Mace sighed deeply. “It’s intolerable.”

“But she’s wrong about you,” Thoros elbowed him. “Obviously you’re not some spineless wimp who gets pushed around by his own mother.”

“I most certainly am not,” Mace puffed out his chest.

“What if you stood up to her? Said once and for all how you feel and get it off your chest? She would respect you for it, she would reconsider all these preconceived ideas, and think how great it would feel!”

Mace was slowly nodding along.

“It would feel great!”

“The most important thing is to make sure you have her attention though. You need to take her hands in your hands. You need to maintain eye contact. And when you apply pressure for emphasis, you need to slide her ring over the first knuckle and palm it.”

“Wait what?”

“Mace,” Thoros grabbed his hands. “Look at me.” Mace’s gaze skittered toward the floor but finally, reluctantly he looked up. “You need to do this. For Robert. For yourself. For your mother,” Thoros squeezed.

“I’ll mess it up, I mess everything up,” Mace fretted.

“You won’t,” Thoros let go and tossed Mace’s ring in the air before catching it. “It’s remarkably easy.”

“Hey!” Mace stared at Thoros then down at his hand then back up. “That’s mine!”

“So it is,” Thoros slipped the ring onto his own finger. “Let’s practice.”

It took a solid twenty minutes before Mace was passable. Thoros was gambling on Olenna’s rather bony fingers and the fact that she would be so flabbergasted by Mace standing up to her.

“Time to find your mother,” Thoros said, conceding that this was probably as good as they were going to get in one lesson. He spotted Olenna Tyrell through a window mingling in the garden.

“Are you sure this will work?” Maced asked nervously as Thoros towed him along.

Not even slightly.

“Absolutely.”

They covertly watched from behind a tree as she embraced a middle-aged woman within ample bosom and golden curls who was obviously a Lannister. Now she moved on, like an angular bird of prey toward Tywin Lannister, insinuating herself between him and Steffon Baratheon. They drifted after, trying to keep several wedding guests away at all times. At one point, Thoros could have sworn she was glaring directly at them, and his throat felt unaccountably dry.

“I don’t have to tell her off in front of Tywin Lannister do I?” Mace had gone very sweaty.

“Of course not,” Thoros assured him. He wasn’t that heartless. “We’ll just wait this out.”

So they waited.

“It’s just.. what do I say?” Mace fretted.

“You are an adult. You are capable of making your own decisions. Her constant interventions in your life do neither of you any favors,” Thoros said firmly.

Mace repeated this to himself, nodding along.

“And then?” He asked expectantly.

“Look, at some point this needs to come from you. It can’t sound rehearsed. And this is about you standing up for yourself, remember? Just start with that and then let the rest come from here,” Thoros poked Mace in the heart.

Mace’s stomach growled and Mace looked down doubtfully.

“Just one more thing,” Thoros slung his arms around Mace’s broad frame. “The secret weapon,” he passed him the flask.

“It’s a wedding,” Mace whispered, looking around furtively.

“Do people not drink at weddings?” Thoros asked bemusedly.

“Well usually not before the ceremony!”

“I mean if you don’t want it...”

“No, wait,” Mace took a long swig. He straightened and smacked his lips. His face was flushed, his eyes were bright. A new man.

Olenna meanwhile had leaned over to embrace Tywin, murmuring something in his ear, and then turning to kiss Steffon on the cheek. Steffon guffawed, Tywin harrumphed, Olenna floated back toward the entry courtyard.

“This is it,” Mace squared his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Olenna had picked up speed, so in their haste to keep up, some of the stealth necessarily fell by the wayside.

Mace was puffing slightly when they reached the valet stand, only for Thoros to spot Olenna slipping in the main sept.

“There!”

They hurried after, barely catching a glimpse of her leaving the reception hall, then another sighting as she rounded a bend.

Thoros was so focused on not losing her ahead of him and not losing Mace behind him, that he barely had time to ponder where on earth she was going.

She was well into the administrative side now, messy offices, outdated computers abounding. Had Thoros had any modicum of nostalgia for the Red Temple, he might have felt it now. As it was he didn’t, if anything it annoyed him, and he took the stairs she’d walked up two at a time, only speeding up as he turned a corner at the top, pausing briefly to stick his head in an open door and—

Olenna Tyrell stood waiting in what appeared to be a library, arms crossed.

“Do I know you?” She said in a voice that might have cut glass.

“Doubtful,” Thoros said, never having been so relieved of that fact.

“Can we just stop for half a second,” Mace panted as he puffed into the room. Then he saw his mother and gasped.

“Mace, thank the gods, I was worried I’d have to deal with your scruffy friend. Just like you to be following me around all morning and then the second I want you you’ve evaporated,” Olenna tsked.

Mace blinked at her, utterly befuddled.

“Here take this,” she handed him her handbag.

“Mother I need to talk to you,” Mace protested, trying to regain momentum, even as he took the bag.

“Not a good time,” Olenna studied her reflection in an antique mirror and fluffed her hair.

“No, Mother, it really can’t wait! I—“

“Oh and take this,” Olenna took off her wedding ring and dropped it in the purse.

Mace stopped, mouth open.

“You’ll catch flies dear. Now off you go,” Olenna waved an imperious hand.

Seeing as Mace appeared frozen in place, Thoros hastily grabbed him by the elbow and towed him out into the hall, shutting the door to the library behind them.

“I don’t understand,” Mace stared at the ring in his hand.

“Do we need to?” Thoros shrugged, plucking it from Mace’s grasp and depositing it in his pocket. “It’s for Robert after all. Things always have a way of working out for him.”

“But I didn’t get to stand up for myself! I didn’t get to tell my mother what I really thought!” Mace protested.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Thoros patted him on the shoulder, then heard the familiar creak of footsteps coming up the same staircase they had just used.

“Hide,” Thoros said immediately, a lifetime spent prowling parts of the temple he wasn’t allowed to access kicking in. He shoved Mace into a coat closet and followed after, frantically trying to drag the sliding door shut before the creaking stopped. As it was, they still had about half an inch of daylight, and Thoros braced for a scolding from some arthritic septon.

Instead, they had half an inch of daylight to watch Tywin Lannister round the bend, look in both directions, and knock on the library door twice.

Half an inch of daylight to watch the door swing open and a slightly bony and definitely ringless hand grab Tywin’s lapels and pull him in.

Half an inch of daylight to watch the door click quietly shut.

There was a brief pause.

“...Mommy?” Mace said in a shaky uncertain voice.

Thoros pushed the sliding closet door back open.

“Well now that we’ve gotten the ring we can go back to the party and find Ned,” Thoros said briskly.

Mace sat down on the carpet, staring at the library door.

“I mean there’s really no point to linger here,” Thoros tried again, nudging him with his foot.

Mace looked at the door unblinking.

“In fact I would definitely leave before they finish um whatever it is they’re doing in there,” Thoros coughed. “Which could obviously be anything.”

No reply.

Thoros shrugged, and started down the steps.

You can’t just leave him there! A voice that sounded eerily like Beric interjected. Thoros ground his teeth.

“I thought you weren’t coming early,” he snarked to nobody in particular as he headed back up, grabbed Mace’s arm and twisted it behind him.

He found Ned with Robert, who had FINALLY made an appearance.

“Ned!” Thoros released Mace from his forced march through the sept and pulled Ned in a hearty handshake.

“Great to see you again!” He slipped him the ring.

If Robert found this behavior odd, he gave no sign. He gave them all a beatific smile.

“It’s my wedding!”

“Hells yeah it is!” Thoros said cheerfully. Mace sat back down on the carpet. Ned continued to look twitchy.

“Thoros, can I talk to you... over here?” Ned jerked toward a side hall. Neither Robert nor Mace paid them the slightest attention.

“No thanks necessary, but if you want to leave a tip the next time you stop by,” Thoros started smugly as they departed.

“Thanks?” Ned look confused.

“For the ring?” Thoros raised his eyebrows. Because he didn’t like to brag but he had kind of saved the day and was the most amazingly awesome dude ever.

“Right! Thank you,” Ned recovered. “I just need one more thing. There’s been a um... hiccup? On the bride’s side. And I was hoping you could keep Robert distracted while I deal with it.”

“You just want me to hang out with Robert until the ceremony starts?” Thoros repeated back, confused.

“Yes,” Ned wrung his hands. “Just so he doesn’t worry about anything unnecessarily.”

“Yeah sure,” Thoros shrugged. He’d just spent an hour with Mace Tyrell. This would be easy compared to that.

He already had some ideas about how they could spend the time.

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ridleytheknight · 8 years ago

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Perfect (ly Useless)

Langst inspired by the lovely pink-paladin-lance!

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It was always interesting. Standing in front of a world leader at least. They always looked so regal, so important. Looking down with either kindness or as if they were better than you. And either way he had to smile and take it. They needed allies. Besides, it was okay. Lance knew how to play the game. After teachers and authority figures looking down on him he knew how to play the game. Play it well. Don’t let them know you’re playing it. Simple. If there was anything Lance was good at, not much, but games were one of them. He’d had six siblings’ worth of practice and strict parents. So, playing the game on a moment’s notice like now, was no surprise or issue as they all stood in front of this world’s leader. The five paladins, Allura, and Coran. The king was smiling broadly at all of them, hands spread out in that way that people always depict in a royal’s honesty and blessings. He regarded the team with reverence and gratitude as he bowed his head a small bit.

“That was a battle well fought for you all! We are most grateful and very reassured. Voltron is certainly in quite capable hands if I can say so myself. It’s with all our gratitude that we thank you valiant heroes for helping to save my kingdom and home.” The king let his hands down to brush back a long wisp of hair that escaped past his face. Lance grinned widely with pride at the words, almost glowing as his chest puffed up. Pleased and happy at the praise and recognition. Though, with his reputation Lance knew that it could look like cockiness as he spoke.

“Well, thank you very much!” Lance’s grin was so wide that it probably could have split his smooth and tan face in half, which only made the other team mates smile as well. Until that grin faded into a tight lipped and strained smile as the king barely seemed to recognize he spoke. Looking over him with cold and calculating eyes that Lance knew all too well. Lance threw on another smile as he braced for the words he knew were coming to hit him.

“Except you, blue paladin. You seemed to be… idle today, did you not? I may be mistaken however; my sight is not as good as it once was. Do you have a specialty like the others on your team or?” The king seemed to get an idea, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, I’m very sorry. You must be a substitute for the true blue paladin. They must be out of service hmm? Then I’d have to say, as a substitute in need you were truly an inspiration. A job well done for such shorthanded notice!”

Even after all these years, the verbal lashings, the disappointment, fake sincerity. It never really stopped hurting… did it? No… not really. Even when he knew it was coming, it still could sting. Well, more than sting. It felt like one of those hot knife complications that Lance had watched back home. Except, it wasn’t a random material the knife was going through. It felt like the knife was going through him, digging deep into his back. Again. And again. Just like always. It hurt. Lance was good at only a few things. Playing games. And faking masks. Of goofy fun. Of seriousness. He probably would have been a damn good actor honestly. That’s why it was just, so familiar and easy to put that joking and happy light in his eyes before anyone could see just how it dimmed with pain and rejection, before they would look through the mask of his eyes and read the words that his head filled in to remind him, beat him, and torture him with all of his insecurities.

Chemical imbalances to make you hate yourself really sucked didn’t it?

But, there was nothing he could do but smile and laugh through it, right?

The rest of the team however, weren’t so easy to brush it aside. Not so, ‘happy’ or even mildly okay with the words that the king had said. Furious, enraged, disgusted are the only adjectives that really came to mind. Hunk’s fists were clenched at his sides and he was holding a tight grip onto his tongue so it wouldn’t get loose and spew out curses, or get more physical and tear the asshole’s tongue off for daring to insult someone who’d risked their life for his planet. Pidge herself wasn’t much cooler, glaring silently with a death stare that looked like she was going to put someone six feet under with a simple stare of sear anger and her own will power.

No one would put it past Pidge either.

Allura was handling two people’s anger together as she discreetly kept an iron grip of Keith’s hands. The red paladin’s fingers were twitching so bad it was hard for her to hold on, but she held on through determination. If she didn’t she knew there was a high possibility of losing an alliance and having one of her paladins face an assault with a deadly weapon’s charge. Even though, for just a moment, of judgement blurred by anger and hurt, of diplomatic relations and the well-being and love for her paladins. She almost wanted to like the long-haired raven go and let Keith’s abundance of anger and violence exact vengeance for her. How dare he. Dare her make such accusations at their team’s sharpshooter, the one kid on the team who thought of everyone, to tell bad jokes and smile at his own expense when everyone was fed up and stressed. Wanting to give in.

But, the anger turned on a dime, the burning and toxic emotions turning into horror and shock as Lance just grinned again. Wide, and almost convincingly as he looked the king right in the eyes unflinchingly, still clad in his rightful blue paladin armor with his back straight and his posture screaming confidence and deserving of respect.

“Yeah, that seems about right.” And Lance spun on the heel of his white and blue shoes, walking briskly away and heading straight towards the place where he knew he’d left blue for this small and obviously bitter meeting. Still smiling. Smiling so painful wide that it hurt his cheeks, even when his eyes burned agonizingly. Crying was so weird, right? He felt like he did it all the time anymore. For such stupid reasons too. Of course they couldn’t follow him, they could risk losing an ally for anything, much less a pathetic paladin who was too easy to get upset. A faux paladin. So easy to replace. After all, when they could dig up a better blue paladin, he’d be gone right? No more stupid, goofy, flirty player of a clinically depressed paladin, right? All he had to do now, was try his best and live up to the standards he knew he’d always fail, until they found the one to be the right paladin. Then, he could go home. To Sophia, his mama, and all of his siblings and family. He could go back to everyone. And no one would ever think twice. No one would have to know.

Besides, they were all so busy and cool. He couldn’t drag them down with some stupid insecurities. He could deal with them. He’d been fighting for his life and mind ever since he was diagnosed after all. He was used to it. He’d win the fights, and do a good job for now. He couldn’t let them down, they were all so, powerful, and gifted. If he tried hard, maybe. Just maybe he could impress them before it was time for him to be brushed away and aside like always. Everyone always got tired of him eventually, but, maybe he could make an impression before he faded away. Like when the tides erased the messages on the soft beach sand of his home, washing over the words and whisking them away. Sometimes, he could make it deep enough so that the imprints lasted for a tide or two more… Yeah, he’d do just that.

Just one day at a time after all. He’d be perfectly fine when they asked. Smile even as he felt like he was going to die. He was a perfectly useless seventh wheel. But, with the chance he had now, the present, life, he wouldn’t be happy, but okay was possible. Being happy was great, but being okay…

Being okay was just fine too.

#langst #lance mcclain #voltron lance #vld lance #depressing thoughts #self-hate #clinical depression

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personalcoachingcenter · 6 years ago

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Why There's No Such Thing as Hypnotherapy

New Post has been published on https://personalcoachingcenter.com/why-theres-no-such-thing-as-hypnotherapy/

Why There's No Such Thing as Hypnotherapy

Hypnosis is so ubiquitous it’s easy to miss

“I don’t believe in hypnosis!”

Robert looked satisfied and smug, as though he’d just rested his case by dropping it squarely on my toes. Clearly, he wasn’t one to be bamboozled with superstitious nonsense.

The house party had been in full swing and Robert, seeing a giant pair of ears (aka me) started making one way conversation. During a narrow crack of silence I’d made the mistake of telling him I “did hypnosis” to which he’d proudly thrown in his trump card: “I don’t believe in hypnosis”.

I could have pointed him to our free eBook on the research into hypnosis, but I had a sneaking suspicion my efforts would be fruitless. Instead, I asked him whether he believed in the unconscious mind. Beaming, he proclaimed, “No! I believe in common sense and logic.”

I was tempted to ask…

Did he consciously control his heartbeat?

Did he consciously plan each night’s dreams?

Did he consciously mobilise his immune system when he was unwell?

Did he consciously decide to blink when an insect neared his face?

And how, I wondered, would he explain why ex-servicemen and women experience horrendous flashbacks to wartime trauma, or why shy people blush when the social spotlight shines their way? Would he have tried to argue that these are conscious decisions?

I wanted to take the bait. I wanted to wipe the smugness from his face. I wanted to say that not just a little, but most of our behaviour is driven by unconscious processes.

Every second, our five senses take in an estimated eleven million pieces of information. We know this because scientists (yes, scientists!) have painstakingly counted the receptor cells on each sense organ and the nerves that connect them to the brain.

Yet we can only consciously process about forty bits of information a second. What this means is that large parts of our experience are unavoidably unconscious.

So did I regale him thus?

Well, no. That particular axe was ground blunt early in my career. I left the bait hanging and instead asked him to talk about what he did for a living. I listened (well, sort of) for what felt like the longest ten minutes of my life to a detailed description of his accountancy practice. Even as his mouth moved, his words seemed to fall away, and my thoughts drifted…

An unintentional and ironic induction

As Robert droned, I entered a kind of trance. I forgot to pay attention to him as my focus wandered inward. If he’d been paying attention I’m sure he would have noticed my cataleptic glassy-eyed expression – but he was probably too absorbed in his own story!

Boredom is a kind of hypnotic technique. Indeed, it was occasionally used by the great Dr Milton Erickson, especially for ‘straight-line thinkers’. When we deem that there is little for us ‘on the outside’, our attention strays inward.

This kind of disassociation and abstraction is key to the hypnosis we experience on an everyday basis. And it happens so often, and feels so familiar, that most people wouldn’t even recognise it as hypnotic.

Wishing and hoping and dreaming… and counselling

When you dream at night you disassociate from your bed to the point where you forget all about it. You are completely absorbed by whatever hypnotic scenario your brain conjures for you, as your imagination goes into overdrive. We don’t think of this as deep hypnosis, but that’s exactly what it is.

Hypnosis is a state of abstraction in which the conscious mind becomes less dominant and the powerful unconscious mind is more directly accessed. The unconscious mind is responsible for emotional reactions, immune functionality, physical healing, and the creation and maintenance of high-performance states such as ‘flow’.

As soon as a person becomes even slightly abstracted, as soon as their attention is split, they enter an hypnotic state. And, though you may not be aware of it, it probably happens to you every day!

Wandering and wondering

Have you ever been wandering around the mall and found that some piece of music triggered a memory? This is a kind of everyday post-hypnotic suggestion. You become less focused on the shops and more focused on a memory that had, until the music triggered it, been buried deep in your unconscious.

When this happens, your attention is split. This splitting occurs naturally. Hypnotherapists are trained to spot it happening and use this kind of natural trance as a gateway to deeper hypnotic experiences, if that’s indicated.

The same thing is happening when you dream at night or enter a deep hypnotic trance during a formal induction: your attention becomes split. And you become naturally more open to suggestion.

On learning and being suggestible

During hypnosis you become more open to learning, more suggestible. Unless a counsellor has their client totally focused on the present time and place, the client is probably abstracted to some extent: their attention is split. All you have to do is ask someone to focus on the past or imagine the future and you are inviting them to split their focus from the here and now. You are inviting them into trance.

Just as storytellers hypnotise their audience, people can also take themselves into a trance state when they tell their own stories. Especially if it’s about something highly emotional.

Emotions narrow and fixate our consciousness and are therefore inherently hypnotic. This naturally occurring trance is such an important concept in psychotherapy, yet so many practising therapists don’t understand it.

Everyday trances in everyday therapy

When someone in therapy is asked to focus their attention, of course part of them still knows they are in the counsellor’s office. But if they’ve been asked to talk or think about a painful event such as a recent divorce or a childhood humiliation, part of them may also be experiencing that pain in a very real sense. Their attention is split, and a kind of trance has been established.

To maximise the benefit of the inevitable trance states that occur during any kind of therapy, the therapist needs to know how suggestible their client becomes during these trance states.

But perhaps even more importantly, the therapist needs to know how to make sure these trance states don’t end up causing more pain.

During trance we develop unconscious associations that act like naturally occurring post-hypnotic triggers. Unless the therapist understands this basic psychological principle and knows how to use it, therapy may cause problems for their client.

Post-hypnotic response happening all the time

Hypnosis is a natural process, and it happens naturally – not just when it is induced by a hypnotherapist or stage hypnotist. Life is hypnotic.

I worked with a woman who would feel nauseous every time she went to the hospital where she had received (nausea-inducing) chemotherapy. She would feel like vomiting the minute she stepped through the front door, even though she was now perfectly well.

Association isn’t conscious, but it is powerful. Another woman told me how she had felt after receiving a year of ‘therapy’ from a therapist who had encouraged her to repeatedly focus on the pain in her life:

“After a while just sitting in his room made me feel tearful, before we even started talking. It’s like the chair, his face, even the time of day I went to see him would automatically trigger me feeling anxious and upset.”

Did that therapist understand the power of naturally occurring post-hypnotic association? Hardly. I bet he would have sworn he wasn’t doing hypnosis with his client.

There’s no such thing as hypnotherapy… or is there?

In a sense, you could argue that there is no such thing as hypnotherapy, since all therapy contains hypnosis. Or alternatively, that all therapy is hypnotherapy. But there’s good hypnosis and then there’s bad hypnosis.

It’s only when you as a therapist know how to use naturally occurring hypnotic states that the hypnotic self, this central part of what it means to be human, is no longer accidentally activated but purposefully utilised for therapeutic gain.

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Personally, I’m not quite ready to make the term hypnotherapy obsolete! But I’m careful about how I use it.

When I talk about hypnotherapy, I’m not just talking about hypnosis. I’m talking about the purposeful recognition and use of hypnotic states to achieve benefits for the client.

This is something all therapists and communicators need to understand. This is also why going to see a well-trained hypnotherapist may be the best therapy you can have.

Suddenly, my thoughts snapped back to the present.

The diminishing power of CBT

Perhaps sensing my abstraction, Robert broke into my thoughts. At last, he seemed to be trying to appeal to something he thought I might be interested in.

“I read today that Cognitive Behavioural Therapy has become less effective than before. That it’s about half as effective for treating depression as it used to be.”(1)

Shaking myself from my reverie, I agreed. That did seem to be the consensus.

Depression has a lot to do with expectation, which is almost always negative for depressed people. Hope is so important in overcoming depression, which is one reason depression is so responsive to placebo.(2)

In fact, a large part of the efficacy of antidepressant medications seems to be related to the positive expectation that taking them engenders. Hypnotherapy is all about knowingly creating positive expectation.

Robert seemed mildly interested, but it didn’t last. As the conversation drifted back to spreadsheets and tax returns, I sunk once more into the depths of my own musings…

CBT and hypnosis

Early on, the success of CBT seemed to rest partly on its reputation and the hype that surrounded it. But as time went on, the novelty wore off and so did the placebo effect. In this context, the benefit of the placebo is about the focus it creates – a hypnotically engendered state of unconscious expectation.

Expectation plays such a critical role in human experience, from misery to happiness. That’s why therapeutic presuppositions are part and parcel of modern hypnotic training: because they help shape positive expectation.

So if expectation is such a large part of CBT’s efficacy, why aren’t all CBT practitioners trained to use and engender that expectation, just as hypnotherapists are? It all comes down to the widespread lack of understanding when it comes to hypnosis and hypnotherapy.

Hypnotherapy is often described as a complementary therapy, but I have to question that description. Hypnosis happens naturally in all therapies and, in the cases of CBT and antidepressant medication, may actually be the main active ingredient.

Hypnosis vs hypnotherapy

Far from being ‘complementary’, hypnotherapy is central to the experience of human change and development.

A hypnotherapist is simply a psychotherapist who understands and uses this central aspect of human psychologyTweet

A hypnotherapist is simply a psychotherapist who understands and uses this central aspect of human psychology. And in so doing, they open up the possibility of treating physical pain, nightmares, PTSD, depression, panic, anger, and even addiction – because these conditions are all at least partly hypnotic in nature.

They all focus the mind narrowly and produce unconsciously conditioned responses.

Hypnosis is not a therapy in itself; it’s a natural state of mind that can be harnessed by well trained or naturally gifted practitioners to produce powerful healing effects.

In short (though I don’t think I bothered trying to tell this to Robert!):

Hypnosis is natural, and happens all the time, especially within any therapeutic context in which the focus is internalised and the room is defocused or ‘forgotten’.

For any therapy to work, even if the therapy itself works at the level of conscious processes, the therapeutic gain needs to be made unconscious. Only then can the person assimilate these changes naturally in their day-to-day life.

Hypnosis isn’t therapy any more than water is swimming. And as Dr Michael Yapko argues, hypnosis does not in itself cure anything. It is what happens during hypnosis that has the potential to be helpful. Identifying and utilizing clients’ natural hypnotic abilities enables the therapist to match the therapy to their needs.

As hypnotherapists we are working with an important and often overlooked part of the human being. Hypnosis doesn’t have to be obvious. It doesn’t even have to be intentional! But it needs to be understood, and it needs to be harnessed for benefit.

I let my consciousness come back to the room and found Robert still contentedly chatting away. Though I bore no malice, it was time to interrupt.

“I don’t believe in accountancy!” I said bluntly.

As he backed away from me he looked stunned… almost hypnotised.

To learn hypnotic techniques you can blend into your therapy, counselling or coaching approaches, take a look at our online Uncommon Hypnotherapy course.

FREE Reframing Book! Just subscribe to my therapy techniques newsletter below.

Download my book on reframing, “New Ways of Seeing”, when you subscribe for free email updates

Click to subscribe free now

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ghostsinthewoods · 8 years ago

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Cole. It was god damn puke magnet Cole. There he was, sitting right across from Mae, talking to some dude in a camo hoodie. Thankfully, he hadn't seemed to notice Mae yet. But with her sitting right across from him, it was only a matter of time.

"Shit," Mae whispered. Her throat was all prickly and hot. It felt like she'd swallowed a fire ruby or something. Mae clumsily got off of her barstool and slid behind Germ, trying to obscure herself from her ex. Germ continued sipping on his milk.

This was good. This wasn't weird. Mae was being very reasonable. Really, she was just saving both herself and Cole from further embarrassment. So long as he didn't look at Germ too closely, or notice Mae's ears poking out from behind him, Mae would be fine. She'd be totally fine.

Mae looked cautiously over Germ's shoulder, over to where Cole was sitting. He'd stopped talking to his friend. Now, he was looking over in her direction. He was squinting his eyes, as if he was trying to get a closer look. With how Mae was positioned, though, she was mostly safe.

It was at that moment Germ hopped out of his seat and walked off to the side.

Mae practically froze stiff. Cole was staring at her, recognition slowly dawning on his face. A big smile broke out on his face, and he raised his hand to wave. Mae didn't know what else to do except wave back.

"Germ," Mae whispered out of the side of her mouth, "what the hell, dude? I was hiding behind you!"

"That guy was staring at me," Germ said. His bottle of milk was in his hand, and he took a sip from it as he paused. "I didn't like it. That's what you get for hiding behind me. You wanna dance?"

Mae gave Germ the most what-the-eff look she could manage. "What the hell, dude? Now's not the time to—"

"Hey, Mae."

This time, Mae was frozen stiff. While she'd been talking to Germ, Cole had moved. He was no longer sitting across the bar. He was now right next to her. Talking to her. And Mae was still waving at him.

The gang's eyes were on them as Mae turned to face her ex, trying her best not to seem terrified out of her mind. Why had he even come over here? The last two times they'd met, Mae had puked on or near Cole. Did he not know that history repeated itself? Get a clue, man!

Gregg and Angus both looked mildly concerned. Bea looked mildly uninterested. Germ looked like he was enjoying his milk.

"Heeeeeyyyy, Cole," Mae said. She had to force herself to stop waving. Slowly, Mae lowered her hand and tried to give a smile that didn't make her look like a crazy person. The corners of her mouth were starting to hurt. "What are you doing here?"

Seriously, what was he doing here? Wasn't he at some big out-of-state college? After the party in the woods where Mae had thrown up, she'd taken solace in the fact that she likely wouldn't see Cole again for a long, long time. Unfortunately, that hadn't worked out. Here he was, at some weird honkytonk that used to be a club.

Mae nervously reached her hand towards the bar and grabbed her drink. She took another sip of the cocktail. It tasted gross, but she needed to look casual. Drinking things was casual.

"Oh, god, it's a long story," Cole said, laughing. What a jerk. Smiling like it wasn't even a big deal that Mae had puked on or around him twice. How could anyone possibly be that well-balanced?

"So, what are you doing here?" Cole asked. His attention eventually turned to the rest of the group. "Oh, hey. Something going on?"

"It's Mae's birthday," Gregg said. "Sorta." He didn't have his usual chipper tone. This situation was so awkward it was even affecting Gregg.

"Oh, wow! Happy birthday!" Cole said cheerfully. "Wow, so you're finally 21, huh?"

Mae made a noncommittal noise and took another sip of her drink. A long, long sip. Her head was starting to feel light, but whatever. It was getting her mind off of the mounting panic inside of her. She could get through this. She could make it through a conversation with Cole without having an outburst or puking on him.

"Wow, it's been a while since I've seen all of you guys," Cole said with a laugh. He looked over at Gregg and Angus, then Germ, then Bea. A curious look slowly dawned on Cole's face. "Hey, where's Hartley?"

Mae nearly choked on her cocktail as she took a long, long, long sip. The straw made slurping noises as the last of the cocktail was sucked away, leaving nothing but ice and air. Mae didn't stop drinking. She kept sucking on the straw until she felt like she'd explode.

Angus was the one to answer Cole's question. "Casey… left. He hopped a train last year."

Cole's smile faltered a bit. "Oh, wow," he said. "That's… wow. I didn't really know Hartley that well, but I hope he'll be okay."

"Too little, too late, Cole-io."

Oh, god, shut up, Dream Casey. Mae finally set her drink down on the bar counter. Why did Cole have to bring up Casey? He didn't know Casey. Casey hadn't even liked Cole all that much. Stupid, well-balanced Cole and his stupid, genuine concern.

Cole sighed, and then finally spoke up. "Anyway, Mae… I just wanted to say I'm sorry for—"

"You're sorry?!" Mae felt herself say. The words just came out of her, like a… thing out of another thing. "I puked on you, nearly killed you, and threatened you, and you're sorry?!"

Cole visibly flinched at Mae's words. "Well, I mean," he said, "Last time we saw each other, I feel like I really upset you. And I don't want there to be bad blood between us. You're a really great person, Mae, and I'd like if we could still be—"

"I don't even think about you at all!" Mae shouted. For some reason, she decided to snap her fingers sassily. She wound up just kind of flicking her wrist in the air. Wow. The cocktails here were really potent. "I don't even care! We were dumb high schoolers. We just, like, played video games and had sleepovers."

Cole's eyes flicked nervously from left to right. An anxious chuckle escaped him. "Well, I mean," he said, "When you put it like that, it wasn't really serious. But, I mean, I really liked you, and—"

"There's a hot girl who's into me," Mae said, her words slurring slightly. She was vaguely aware of people staring at her. "I'm gonna get her number, and talk to her about pizza every day."

"Oh, okay!" Cole said, genuinely happy. That jerk! How dare he want Mae to be happy! "That's great!"

"I feel as if I've lost the train of this conversation," Germ blurted out.

"You know what'd really fix this whole situation? If you headbutted Cole right now. Like, really hard."

The idea was tempting, but Mae wasn't about do what Dream Casey said just because she was drunk. Drunk off of a single cocktail, no less. Wow. "Oh, god, shut up," she moaned at Dream Casey.

Cole, who was apparently the world's biggest idiot, thought that Mae was talking to him. "Oh," Cole said. "Okay. Sorry." A moment of awkward silence. Then, "I guess I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah, you'd better run!" Mae said. With that, a very confused Cole walked away, and Mae hopped back up onto her barstool.

"That was… certainly something," Bea said.

"Dude, why did you let her order alcohol?" Gregg asked, his voice testy. "I mean, this is hilarious, but still." Horror began to creep into his tone. "Oh, god, I can't believe I'm being the responsible one here."

"You're always responsle," Mae said. She slung her arm over Gregg's shoulder, pulling him into a side-hug. "You's my brother, Gregg. We was separated at birth."

"That is demonstrably not true," Angus pointed out. "Mae, you need to settle down. You're drunk. Already. And you're getting worked up."

Mae didn't listen, though. She just kept on talking. "Gregg, you're my bestie…" She said. "You, and Bea, and Angy, and Jermar… you's all my friends. I… oh god…" Mae felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "I don't deserve any of you guys. I'm the worst, and I don't know why you all like me."

Despite the jovial rockabilly music playing throughout the club, the mood around the five friends took a sharp nosedive. Bea reached out, placing her hand on Mae's shaking shoulder. "Mae, stop. Okay? You need to relax. You're good. Stop worrying. You're good."

Mae shuddered as her friends gathered in close around her. Everyone, even Germ, looked incredibly concerned.

"You don't deserve it, though. You're a murderer, and a liar, and you can't even do your own laundry."

"Oh, god," Mae whimpered. She looked at Gregg, tears in her eyes. "Gregg… I'm sorry, I've been all dumb… You and Grenggus are moving away… and I'm all dumb… I'm gonna miss you guys so much." Mae's vision began to get all blurry. She choked back a sob.

"Oh, dude," Gregg said. His voice was trembling as well. "Dude, we're gonna miss you, too. The whole move's, like, bittersweet."

"It kind of is," Angus said. His normally calm, stoic voice was showing signs of emotion.

"But I've been a bad friend!" Mae bawled. "Part of me wanted to like… lock you in your apartment… make you live in it forever…" Mae sniffled. "And I don't… want to do that. My brain's bad, guys. It makes me want stuff I don't want. I just wanna be cool with the thing."

"Dude, you are cool with it," Gregg said. "You don't have to apologize. I get it. I really do. I felt the same way when you went off to college."

Mae sniffled, her vision getting blurrier and blurrier. "There's more, dude," she said. "I'm sorry… I betrayed you, man. I betrayed my Greggory." Mae lifted her arm to her eyes and tried to wipe the tears away. She missed somehow. Everything was moving around too much. "I-I was eating pizza with the Bombshell… and I… I…"

"Dude, it's okay," Gregg whispered.

"Mae, calm down," Bea said. "You're making a scene."

"I…" Mae swallowed a lump in her throat. After a few seconds of stammering, she confessed. "I stole your pizza scale!"

Gregg's eyes went wide as he heard Mae confess her sins. "What?" He asked, his voice a whisper.

"I-I stole your scale, dude," Mae sobbed. The tears were streaming down her cheeks now. "I told her the pizza scale was my idea, and I didn't even get to make out with her or anything, and the pizza was awful. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Dude," Gregg said, his voice hitching as his own tears began to flow. "I forgive you! Of course I forgive you!" He pulled his best friend into a hug as they both bawled their eyes out.

People were starting to stare now. Bea cleared her throat and hurried to help Mae out of her seat. "Okay, well, this has been a fun fifteen minutes, but we really should go." As Mae pulled away from her hug with Gregg, she felt herself being guided towards the club's exit.

"Okay, thanks for the fun, Beebee," Mae said. "I'm sorry I made a mess."

"It's fine," Bea sighed. "I'm used to it by now. Let's just get going."

And so, Mae's friends led her out into the Beaver's Rook parking lot, where she promptly threw up.

Even if she was drunk out of her mind, Mae knew an awkward car ride when she saw one. Angus had taken Mae's place in the front passenger seat. Mae had taken his place, sitting in the back, her head resting against the passenger's side door. Germ sat beside her, staring forward enigmatically.

"God, I'm such an idiot," Bea muttered. "I really thought she wouldn't get wasted this time. I really thought she'd learned some effing self-control. Shows what I know."

"It's not your fault," Gregg said. "Mae drank that whole thing in one go. We should have stepped in and told her to pace herself. Instead, we got distracted watching that train wreck of a conversation."

Mae could hear her friends talking, of course. She was too busy being drunk to really understand most of it, though. She had a feeling it wasn't good. Mae had screwed up yet another party. Hell, she'd screwed up her own party. Jeez.

"Hey," she groaned, her speech slow and slurry. "Hey, Grangus…"

"Yeah?" Gregg asked, turning to give Mae a concerned look. "What's up, Mae? Need Bea to pull over?"

Mae shook her head. She didn't feel like she was going to puke. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later. "Hey," she said. "If you and… and Angy have kids… will you name them all after me?"

Gregg blinked. "I mean, I guess?" He said. "I guess we could do that."

"You don't get to pick a kid's name when you adopt them, Bug," Angus pointed out. "You're thinking of puppies."

"God, puppies are so much better than children," Mae grumbled. "I'm gonna howl at the moon with my Iowa wife."

No one seemed to know what to say to that. These people had no respect for relationship goals. Mae pitied them all.

Mae lifted her head away from the door and turned towards Germ. He looked all wobbly. No, wait. That was Mae, moving her head. Everything looked wobbly when she did that. Wobble World. "You're real quiet, Germy. You're a quiet little boy."

"I'm 18," Germ said, his eyes still focused dead ahead.

"Shush," Mae said, placing a hand on top of Germ's head. "You're a little Germ. You've got big dreams, though. Aim for the stars, Jeremy. You do you, man."

"'Kay," Germ said. "Stop touching my head, please."

"What's under your hat?" Mae asked. "I never seen you without your li'l hat, Gregg." Mae blinked. Had she just called Germ the wrong name? Nah, probably not. She was overthinking things.

"Speaksing of hats," Mae said, turning her attention dead ahead to Angus. "I never see… I didn't see Angus without his hat on ever. Never." Mae looked at Gregg out of the corner of her eye. "Hey, Greggory. You ever seen this guy without his hat?"

Gregg just nodded. "I have, dude. We live together, remember?"

Mae shook her head. "Sometimes I don't," she said. "Sometimes I thinks it's still two years ago. And I think one day I'll wake up, and Casey'll be alive, and I'll have to leave everyone all over again."

Bea looked over her shoulder at Mae, Mom Friend'ing it up to the fullest. "Mae… are you talking to Dr. Feldman about this? I mean, how long have you felt this way?"

"Does 'forever' count?" Mae asked. She placed her elbow on Germ's shoulder and leaned on him, her eyes half-closed. Germ didn't move at all. It was like the dude was made of stone. Mae wished she could turn into stone, and punch people.

Germ smelled like old tires.

"I mean, I gotta lotta promblems, guys," Mae grumbled. "If I tell Dr. Feldyman about all of 'em, they'd put me in a brain hospital."

"Mae, I…" Bea sighed. "God damn it, Mae, how do you expect to get the help you need if you don't talk to this guy?! It's what he's there for!"

Mae winced as Bea started yelling at him. Mae didn't like yelling. She wished Bea wouldn't yell. Mae's head was starting to hurt, and she didn't need all of this noise making it worse. "You're bumming me out, Beebee," she said.

"Yeah, dude, calm down," Gregg said. "Let Mae rest."

The car skidded to a sudden halt, and the sound of brakes screeching momentarily woke Mae up. She got off of Germ and looked up to see Bea had stopped on the side of the road. They were out on a lonely stretch of highway; nothing but farms and fields as far as they eye could see. The sky was turning dark.

Bea turned around in her seat and glared at Mae. "No. Okay? No. Mae, I know you're drunk, but you need to hear this. You put off finding a therapist for months. And now that you finally have a therapist, you're not talking to him?"

Bea's expression softened a bit. In that moment, she looked incredibly sad. "Mae, you're practically my sister. And, like… shit, Mae, you haven't been getting better. Like, we've all seen it."

Mae blinked. "Whaaaa?" She asked. Everyone in the car seemed to be trying not to look at her. They were glancing off, all looking sad and guilty.

"You've been spacing out a lot more than usual lately, dude," Gregg finally said. He sounded like he didn't want to admit it. "And, like, you've been muttering to yourself."

Mae tried to think of any times she'd done those things. She guessed she'd been spacing out a little more. And, yeah, maybe she had been muttering a lot. But that was just to talk to Casey. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Wait, no, that was definitely a little crazy.

"Oh, god," Mae grumbled. "I'm am nuts."

"You're not nuts, Mae," Bea sighed. "The stuff you went through last year… That, and all of the issues you already had? All of that combined would make anyone stressed. We're all feeling stressed. I keep having dreams the world is ending."

"I feel fine," Germ said. That got him an angry look from Bea.

"My point is…" She said. "Like, you shouldn't be worried about getting locked up or anything. If you don't want to talk about the mines and the cult, then fine. But you do need to talk to Dr. Feldman about how you've been feeling."

"His name is Bort," Mae said. "I dunno… it's scary, Bea. It really is."

"Bort's not a scary name," Gregg said, confused. Angus gently shushed him.

"I know it's scary," Bea said. "But, please, we all need you to take this shit seriously." She paused for a moment. Mae could have sworn she had a hitch in her voice.

"Look, when my dad had his breakdown," Bea continued, "he refused to see anyone about it. He just locked himself up and barely did anything. And he's not getting better. I know that. He's spiraling. And I don't want to watch the same thing happen to my best friend."

A moment of silence followed Bea's tirade. What could anyone say to that? Mae knew Bea was right. At least, when she was sober, she knew Bea was right. Right now, though, Mae was just kind of confused. She felt like she'd made Bea sad somehow.

"I'm sorry, Beebee," she slurred. "I don't wanna be your dad."

Bea opened her mouth to say something, but she seemed to be unsure of how to respond to that. "Okay," she said. "I guess that works? Thanks, Maeday."

Bea turned forward in her seat again and turned the key in the ignition. The car moved forward, and within a few seconds they were on the road again. Mae looked out at the long stretch of highway in front of them. Everything seemed infinite out there.

Mae closed her eyes, leaned against Germ, and fell asleep.

And in her sleep, she dreamed.

#night in the woods #nitw #nitw postgame #nitw fanfic #part 10 #mae borowski #gregg #greggory lee #germ warfare #bea #beatrice santello #fan fiction #angus delaney #postgame #ghosts in the woods

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personalcoachingcenter · 6 years ago

Text

Why There's No Such Thing as Hypnotherapy

New Post has been published on http://personalcoachingcenter.com/why-theres-no-such-thing-as-hypnotherapy/

Why There's No Such Thing as Hypnotherapy

Hypnosis is so ubiquitous it’s easy to miss

“I don’t believe in hypnosis!”

Robert looked satisfied and smug, as though he’d just rested his case by dropping it squarely on my toes. Clearly, he wasn’t one to be bamboozled with superstitious nonsense.

I was tempted to ask…

Did he consciously control his heartbeat?

Did he consciously plan each night’s dreams?

Did he consciously mobilise his immune system when he was unwell?

Did he consciously decide to blink when an insect neared his face?

I wanted to take the bait. I wanted to wipe the smugness from his face. I wanted to say that not just a little, but most of our behaviour is driven by unconscious processes.

Yet we can only consciously process about forty bits of information a second. What this means is that large parts of our experience are unavoidably unconscious.

So did I regale him thus?

An unintentional and ironic induction

Wishing and hoping and dreaming… and counselling

As soon as a person becomes even slightly abstracted, as soon as their attention is split, they enter an hypnotic state. And, though you may not be aware of it, it probably happens to you every day!

Wandering and wondering

The same thing is happening when you dream at night or enter a deep hypnotic trance during a formal induction: your attention becomes split. And you become naturally more open to suggestion.

On learning and being suggestible

Just as storytellers hypnotise their audience, people can also take themselves into a trance state when they tell their own stories. Especially if it’s about something highly emotional.

Everyday trances in everyday therapy

To maximise the benefit of the inevitable trance states that occur during any kind of therapy, the therapist needs to know how suggestible their client becomes during these trance states.

But perhaps even more importantly, the therapist needs to know how to make sure these trance states don’t end up causing more pain.

Post-hypnotic response happening all the time

Hypnosis is a natural process, and it happens naturally – not just when it is induced by a hypnotherapist or stage hypnotist. Life is hypnotic.

Did that therapist understand the power of naturally occurring post-hypnotic association? Hardly. I bet he would have sworn he wasn’t doing hypnosis with his client.

There’s no such thing as hypnotherapy… or is there?

FREE Reframing Book! Just subscribe to my therapy techniques newsletter below.

Download my book on reframing, “New Ways of Seeing”, when you subscribe for free email updates

Click to subscribe free now

Personally, I’m not quite ready to make the term hypnotherapy obsolete! But I’m careful about how I use it.

When I talk about hypnotherapy, I’m not just talking about hypnosis. I’m talking about the purposeful recognition and use of hypnotic states to achieve benefits for the client.

This is something all therapists and communicators need to understand. This is also why going to see a well-trained hypnotherapist may be the best therapy you can have.

Suddenly, my thoughts snapped back to the present.

The diminishing power of CBT

Perhaps sensing my abstraction, Robert broke into my thoughts. At last, he seemed to be trying to appeal to something he thought I might be interested in.

“I read today that Cognitive Behavioural Therapy has become less effective than before. That it’s about half as effective for treating depression as it used to be.”(1)

Shaking myself from my reverie, I agreed. That did seem to be the consensus.

Robert seemed mildly interested, but it didn’t last. As the conversation drifted back to spreadsheets and tax returns, I sunk once more into the depths of my own musings…

CBT and hypnosis

Hypnosis vs hypnotherapy

Far from being ‘complementary’, hypnotherapy is central to the experience of human change and development.

A hypnotherapist is simply a psychotherapist who understands and uses this central aspect of human psychologyTweet

They all focus the mind narrowly and produce unconsciously conditioned responses.

Hypnosis is not a therapy in itself; it’s a natural state of mind that can be harnessed by well trained or naturally gifted practitioners to produce powerful healing effects.

In short (though I don’t think I bothered trying to tell this to Robert!):

Hypnosis is natural, and happens all the time, especially within any therapeutic context in which the focus is internalised and the room is defocused or ‘forgotten’.

I let my consciousness come back to the room and found Robert still contentedly chatting away. Though I bore no malice, it was time to interrupt.

“I don’t believe in accountancy!” I said bluntly.

As he backed away from me he looked stunned… almost hypnotised.

To learn hypnotic techniques you can blend into your therapy, counselling or coaching approaches, take a look at our online Uncommon Hypnotherapy course.

FREE Reframing Book! Just subscribe to my therapy techniques newsletter below.

Download my book on reframing, “New Ways of Seeing”, when you subscribe for free email updates

Click to subscribe free now

Notes:

Read more Hypnotherapy therapy techniques »

Search for more therapy techniques:

Go To Source

#coaching #coaching business #coaching group #coaching life #coaching life style #coaching on line #coaching performance #Coaching Tips #Coaching from around the web

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