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lheautontimoroumenos · 2 years ago

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cops + govt are absolutely bastards and i wish the one who killed nahel would get more than whats (probably) going to be given to him, and i support the riots going on for justice and to bring this issue to the forefront. but honestly how hard is it to not attack schools and places where people live? there were families in danger with the car on fire releasing fumes into the building. little kids aren't going to be able to go to school or will have to have counseling to understand whats going on

hi anon! I'm glad you're asking this and I'll try to be careful and kind in my answer. If my tone comes off kind of angry I apologize, I just meant to avoid this kind of reaction with my post.

I'm gonna try to answer this in two big parts where it seems we disagree : first the "how hard is it not to attack schools" side of the problem.

Then I'll go more widely on the questioned necessity of destruction and its nature.

(also I apologize if not everything is clear, the French to English brain on this topic is kinda weird, I'm open to more asks if you want something more precise).

Alright, PART UNO, Why Burn Down Schools

Okay, so absolutely no offense, but I'm gonna guess you were a good or at least okay student and therefore had a good relationship to school. I'm also gonna assume you didn't go to school in the banlieue or in establishments on the REP/ZEP list (Network or Zone of Priority Education), this classification is done based on the IPS or Social Position Indicator. Etablishments in REP in Paris today are around 90; the one I went to as a kid around 74; in Nanterre, where Nahel was killed, high schools are around 90 and middle schools between 80 and 90. By comparison Henri IV and Louis Le Grand, two very prestigious high school in downtown Paris have an IPS of around 140. The point being that in those spaces, even if you personally do well as a student, most of your peers have a very different relationship to the institution that is "school".

It has been widely accepted since Bourdieu's Les Héritiers (1964) that school is a machine that reproduces and legitimizes inequalities. We know children of workers, little employees, and people working low wage jobs do worse in school than children of teachers, or state workers, or people working high paying jobs, or that have already done high level studies. We also know these kids get to school at the same time but with a different baggage, and that the baggage from relatively rich (in economic or cultural capital) kids coming from relatively rich families is favored over the baggage from kids from poor families. That is because the first one belongs to what Bourdieu calls "legitimate culture", which is not legitimate in and of itself but legitimized by the dominant class to keep itself where it is. I'm not gonna talk about Les Héritiers the whole time, but in addition to the class difference and struggle in legitimate culture is a struggle especially present in banlieues of foreign culture being considered illegitimate.

The point is not that poor kids or kids of color are bad at school and that's just how it is, but that school as an institution is already a violence to them. It is traumatizing, built to make them fail, all the while telling them it's their fault because school is fair and based on merit. But it's not, because it values things and abilities as if all students start off from the same point (which is false) and make them believe the run was fair (which is false as well). Sometimes the blame is on the teachers, but most often it is the institution that inherently fails them and lowers their self-esteem. (Also, fun fact, I think it was a study done by IPSOS that showed that if they had the same grade, let's say an average of 9/20, in CE1, kids of workers were more likely to be made to redo their year, whereas rich kids would go to the next level anyway).

So you're right, it's easy to think that you shouldn't burn down a school when your rapport to it is: "what a great place, even if it pisses me off sometimes, I learn things and I can see my friends and have fun, burning it down would not help". But when school is a) a violence to you, and b) a lot of the time already breaking down because regardless of what they say on TV the State does not allocate enough resources to banlieues, well it's easier to burn it to the ground (this way maybe they'll actually rebuild it and be careful about abestos/amiante).

That doesn't mean it's good or right or forgivable and therefore forgiven (that's to your own discretion), but what it is, is understandable. These kids are fighting against a whole system, the police, its support by the State, and more widely the State itself and its shitty handling of banlieues and their inhabitants.

Okay, PART DOS, Is Violence Necessary, If So Which Kind

I'm gonna assume and hope you're not one of the people jerking off to theoretical revolution and praising the black block but getting scared when things actually get serious.

You're saying you wish they would be capable of keeping the riots to actual figures of police violence, I guess, or at least try not to harm innocents or do too much collateral damage (thinking about libraries, etc. I hope you can understand how schools also stand as violence to the rioters now).

My gut reaction is to say that's just not possible. If you really want the revolution and the change that comes with it (not just repealing the 2017 law), you have to be prepared to make sacrifices and for collateral damage (again, not saying it's good or right, or that you should thrive for it, just that it's virtually impossible to do without it).

I know some people have been saying they should go to actual places of power, go shake Darmanin out of his fascist bubble, but I also think people don't realize what this means. In the banlieues, they are in known and mostly friendly territory, which makes it easy for them to use the "be water" strategy (scatter when cops arrive). They know these streets and where to run, where to climb, where to hide. If they were to go to downtown Paris? they wouldn't have any of these advantages, plus they would be faced with the anti-riot plan built into the very architecture of the city streets (Haussman and Napoleon III I hate you). Just like the Parisians demonstrated against the pension reform in Paris, the place they know, the banlieusards are doing the same in the banlieues.

Now endangering kids is not the way to go, there we agree. The point of disagreement is that you think the rioters are going to be the ones making victims whereas I think the cops will, and already have (see the guy killed in Marseille by a flash ball impact, or the one from Mont-Saint-Martin in a coma).

(If you want to read something about the price of revolution, I'd recommend Les Justes by Camus, it's pretty short and you can come to different conclusions when you're done.)

You wrote "people need to have consideration for other kids in France". That sounds a tad condescending to me but I don't think you meant it that way. The problem is that they are not considered by other kids in France! as was showed in 2005 and as is showed today by the reactions on social media. You are asking the oppressed to make the first act of love here, and in a way you're right, Paulo Freire would say that next to violence, a revolution is only successful if it contains radical love, and that cannot come from the oppressor, but it is also a hard thing to ask of people. Especially when they know they will be ignored if they don't shake the political landscape a little.

I think you would enjoy reading Paulo Freire's Pedagogy of the Oppressed, it's not too long and it's very interesting regarding this topic.

Now I'd be careful with how you talk about the kids needing to "control themselves" because it sounds condescending here as well (though again I don't think that is how you mean it) and can be understood quite badly. I think what you may be alluding to however is the crowd effect that the riots can have. Once you start, breaking things with your friends, it does feel good, you release energy, you laugh, it's a good time really. The risk is to take the euphoria too far and not realize what you're doing, which of course happens but is really magnified by the media and is actually pretty marginal in the actual riots. But you're right that being in a group makes you forget about yourself (see: demonstrations, sport fans, etc.) and the rioters are not exempt from that.

I think, if anything, what one could fault the rioters for is that they are alienating themselves sometimes from their own communities. That is really going the same as in 2005 I feel like, with some worried moms, or people who agreed at the beginning but think it's lasting too long now. The problem is that politically, the people saying they will stop the riots are the National Rally (fascists) and at a smaller scale Rebirth (Macron's party, right wing). But Macron won't be able to run again next time (we wouldn't want him to) and I doubt his party is gonna hold without him. That leaves us with the fascist RN. So the kids could be building up to their own destruction.

(It is still important to say that even if the RN is elected next time, it will NOT be the rioters fault but the fault of the people who voted for a fascist party to lead the country.)

I don't think I have anything left to say right now, if you have other questions/need precision my ask box is open!

If you want to read more about school as a very imperfect institution I would recommend reading stuff from François Bégaudeau, Entre les murs (it's fiction inspired by his reality as a teacher, there was also a movie), he also mentions it regularly in talks that you van find on YouTube. I'll recommend again Paulo Freire's The Pedagogy of the Oppressed because it really is an amazing book.

P.S. I wrote this with less than 5 hours of sleep so I might be repeating myself and/or forgetting things

#upthebaguette #justice pour nahel #anon #ask #open to discussion etc etc

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ugly-sweater · 3 months ago

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i think the problem is that whenever asked if i have gender dysphoria i answer no because to me it implies there is some incongruence between myself and gender. i don't even feel particularly different from my assigned gender, i suppose, not that it matters. like if i was going to redo life and choose, i would choose woman. but what i feel is that my body doesn't belong to me in the way it should. i want to be able to put my shoulders back. i want to feel like i am experiencing my life rather than watching as i struggle through everything i do.

i think overall it was a big struggle because i have always been masculine regardless of choice and made to feel bad about it. i spent a lot of time attempting (and failing) femininity as a safeguard. like not only does that not work, but it doesn't fit and makes me feel bad. but also you get positive reinforcement from people. like obviously everyone to some extent is punished for failing to meet gender standards but i think for the most part people do not notice and/or do not want to acknowledge that they are working within a system that praises them for succeeding at their assigned gender, too.

anyway. this is all basically to say. i was seeing a doctor thru my schools clinic for maintaining my regular prescriptions. i am. done with school in about 2 weeks and my medical coverage ends in December. we are looking at temporary medical insurance until my PR application is processed, but it's costly and i habe always been extremely, uh, healthcare insecure. the last couple of years living in MA my best friend set me up on some ACA or MA original thing that i had no copay for and saw semi regularly, but like the dr here, it always felt like i had no idea how long it would last and so not to start something that would potentially be cut short. prior to that i saw the nurse practitioner at my undergrad campus. before that i was on my stepdads insurance, and i had always been raised to go to the doctor only as a last resort. off topic i guess but i think having a lack of reliable health care access throughout my life has certainly fucked me up in lots of ways.

anyway. i last saw my dr here in october i think. she gave me a blood work order that i never fulfilled and had talked about putting me on a pre diabetic drug i think? for my pcos. and i didn't like consciously decide that was the last visit but i did go damn i can't afford another drug and so never picked it up or refilled my other rx, except eventually for omeprazole which i can get otc but is cheaper prescribed. that included coming off my antidepressants that I've been on since 2017. i thought it would have been worse but i have to be honest, i think because i weaned off them, there has been absolutely no difference. however my gf thinks i have mdd or pmdd. maybe. but i also assume that everyone experiences everything just like me and they're not complaining so im fine.

i am rambling i guess. i don't have health care coverage from jan 1 until sometime in August for sure. but i don't want to wait that long until i start T. I shouldn't have to. i just don't know like, what my process looks like. and if we can afford it. i already feel like i cost so much and ive been unemployed for 18 months now.

i think the thing i hope T helps with the most is muscle development. i just wanna walk down the street and bot the dread it. do it for fun even.

earlier this semester there was a big traffic jam near campus so a friend convinced me tk get off the bus and walk and it was so humiliating to try and keep pace, to try not to be utterly exhausted and falling apart once we got to campus. and like she noticed i was a mess. i kept telling her to leave me behind because at least then i could go slowly and pace myself. idk.

i know its like a lot of things but i always feel like i am being slowly ejected from my body and ive had people hear me say that and say things likr well aren't we all and its like you don't understand what i am experiencing and its weird how i feel like i have so little control over my physical body and how all of that, all of that leads me to think, i really really want to take control of something that is mine but feels so distant

i remember the day my best friend came home from school and said hey i met somebody with dyspraxia i think you have it. i had just broken our water pitcher by repeatedly for months missing the entrance to the fridge and slamming it into the side. i remember asking my mom, telling her about dyspraxia, saying it was sometimes called clumsy child syndrome, abd she said, but you weren't a clumsy child. i don't know if it's one of those things that she doesn't notice because it's true of everyone in our family, or maybe because she and my dad always did physical activity (she's worked in the fitness dept of thr ymca my whole life), or maybe there really is some alien in my body pushing me out so i am losing control more and more. maybe i made myself disabled by being lazy. like i fundamentally don't think that's something that happens, but i haven't been able to sit up straight ny entire adult life.

naybe T does nothing for this but at least i know its my body and i can make it as comfortable to be replaced by an alien as i can

i don't know. i found one clinic that takes canadian newcomers in for gender services; this notice is at the top of their page

so. what do you do about that.

(im guessing go to walk in health center and see what they can do. but i don't have that kind of money. or any money, tbf.)

#gender stuff abd disability stuff i guess

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 1 year ago

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trigger warning: scary sexual situation and nondescript discussion of cptsd relating to history of child sexual trauma

seeking advice, validation, resources, but advice most

nickname/word to tag my ask for finding them more easily: toadstool 🍄

 i’m a freshman at college and i’m really struggling with something that happened a couple nights ago. i have cptsd and part of that trauma i had was childhood sexual trauma in various differeny forms/ways. (i am a nonbinary trans person my roommate is a cis guy, which is the same as the people in my past who hurt me in the way i mentioned above.) my roommate masturbated while i was awake and in the same room not even five feet away from him, and he knew i was awake, he just thought i couldn’t/wouldn’t see him. i immediately went into survival mode and froze, tensed and ready to defend myself, waiting for him to be done so i could flee the room. he didnt notice i saw what he was doing, and in the end i was too scared to move and flee the room. i am even more terrified now than originally. this triggered me immensley and ive been avoiding him and my room since, literally only going in when i absolutely have to which is hard for showering, laundry, sleeping especially, etc. before this, i wasn’t sleeping much at all due to distrust and fear from cptsd. now im sleeping even less, which is very negatively affecting me. its been really hard, i keep getting flashbacks to my childhood. its definitely bringing up my history of trauma. but idk what to call this. creepy? sexual harassment? something worse? we are both young adults but adults all the same, so even though i feel violated and scared (he is bigger and stronger, i am also physically disabled), i dont really know what i can categorize this as, what resources i can use, what i can do in general to cope. i have essentially been in survival mode and fight/flight/freeze/fawn since. i really need support but idk where i can go, what to call this (i have autism so my brain thinks categorically and that is part of what i need to process anything.) i know this has activated past traumas but idk if it counts as trauma on its own, or even what to call it. i also cant tell what is an overreaction from my cptsd and what is a normal reaction to something like this.

Hi anon,

I'm sorry to hear about what happened. Especially given your past experiences, it makes sense why this was such a distressing moment for you, and made you fear your roommate. While this wouldn't count as sexual harassment, you're still allowed to feel traumatized and distressed by what happened.

Please know that you're not alone. I had a somewhat similar experience where I was cuddling with a guy I hooked up with and he got a boner and I got so scared that I couldn't move (also a CSA survivor). I decided to talk to him about it afterwards and he was surprisingly apologetic and understanding.

It may be helpful to have a direct and honest conversation with your roommate about your discomfort and explore potential solutions together, like finding certain times he can do this that work for both of you. However, I completely understand if the idea of having this kind of conversation is intimidating or may not feel practical considering your relationship with him. Ultimately, it may be best to look into getting a different roommate if that interests you.

Depending on what kinds of accommodations your school has, they may include counseling in tuition. If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist could help you process this experience, heal from your previous trauma, explore potential solutions to this situation, and give you some helpful coping mechanisms that you can take with you.

If anyone has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #toadstool 🍄#toadstool #🍄#tw abuse #tw sa #tw child abuse #tw csa

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ventiskies · 4 years ago

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when he accidentally injures you | Xiao, Albedo, Bennett

a/n: hello anon!! im doing well, thank you!! hope you are too !! thank you for giving me the chance to add characters HHHH ive been DYING to write for Xiao, Albedo and Benny so i took the opportunity to! hope you like it !! also,,, this is probably my longest post !! i loved writing this <3

pairing: Xiao x gn! reader, Albedo x gn! reader Bennett x gn! reader

warnings: vague mentions of injury and blood

Xiao

★Xiao and you had been on a stroll, something you casually did together whenever Xiao was in a good mood. the adeptus wasn’t one to get out of the confines of Wangshuu Inn, so every time he does, you cherish it and spend it as if it was your last

★but this particular stroll didn’t go as planned, at all

★the two of you had left Wangshuu Inn in the morning, when the weather had seemed as if it would be sunny the whole morning, but it had betrayed you the moment you had set foot in Minlin, the skies had loomed with darkness and occasional rumbles of thunder

★Xiao could have easily teleported the two of you together, but a sudden attack with a ruin hunter had caused him to get distracted

★he could easily defeat the creation with a simple use of his elemental burst, but you were in the vicinity and he didn’t want you getting injured, despite the chances of hitting you were low, he wasn’t going to take the chance

★he had strictly told you to stay back and out of sight, making use of the terrain to jump and strike at the core with his polearm whenever the hunter was aiming to him, but he should have known you were stubborn

★the moment you had ran into the fight, arrow pointing to the ruin hunter, the said war machine had immediately turned towards you, all four of its arms aiming missiles towards you

★Xiao had been too slow, and when he had realized it was aiming towards you, you had already been sent back flying after the hit

★your name fell on his lips, his eyes widening in anger when he had seen what the creature had done, and without any hesitance Xiao summons his elemental burst and sends the creature falling to pieces

★“y/n,” Xiao mutters, worried that he would be met with the sight of you dead, “y/n, where are you?”

★you gave a weak groan, unable to raise your head after hitting it on the sharp rocks. Xiao made his way towards you, and the rain started pouting

★Xiao knelt down and cradled your head gently, seeing the gash on your head. you were most likely suffering from a concussion as well from the way you were unable to look at him in the eye, and your hands grabbing your forehead as if it had exploded

★his eyes showing evident worry, and this was the first time he had felt so scared

★he knew he was powerful, and he was beginning to regret even taking you out of the safety of the Inn. this shouldn't have happened, he was with you because he wanted to protect you,

★and here he was being the cause of your injury

★“y/n, can you hear me?” he asked, and when you hissed the moment he placed a gentle hand on your head, he curses lightly, unable to keep himself calm as he always had anymore, “hold on,”

★Xiao had lived for years and had suffered watching deaths and injuries of the people he had been close with since he had became the adeptus of Liyue, but for once, he had felt a different type of hurt when you had been injured this time

★because this was his fault; what if it had happened again?

★he had teleported the two of you back to Wangshuu Inn, and had asked Verr Goldet to help you just because he was afraid of hurting you further

★and she knew more than to question what happened, especially after Xiao had told her with the weakest voice she has ever heard him use, and pleading eyes to take care of you.

★when you had healed completely, you noticed Xiao had distanced himself from you more than when you had both met the first time, and it had worried you to no end

★it had came to a point where he would disappear whenever you tried to search for him at the balcony, and you were getting upset that he was running away from you because of the accident that was caused by your stubbornness; and the fact that you knew Xiao blamed himself had only made you more guilty

★”Xiao,” you gently said, walking outside with a bowl of his favorite almond tofu, “I miss you,”

★he had to contain himself to avoid disappearing on you again after he heard the words. Xiao wasn’t much of an emotional person, but the memories from the accident had left him afraid of getting close to you again, in fear that he would hurt you once more

★but when he had met your glossy eyes and saw the pained expression you held, he knew that it was only going to be worse is he had avoided you

★”y/n-” Xiao started, but you had only dropped the almond tofu and ran into his arms, hugging him tight as if you were afraid to let him go

★and (with reluctance), Xiao had hugged you back, twice as hard

★it would take time for him to get back to his usual self and trust himself to go out and adventure with you again, but for him, you would wait your lifetime.

Albedo

★An experiment going wrong was a part of alchemy. It was something Albedo would expect to happen fifty percent of the time he conducts something for the first time

★He has gotten a handful of injuries from it that he had sometimes forgotten that people outside of the realm of alchemy wouldn't know what it would be like to expect a burn or scars after the first test

★So of course, sometimes even the smartest people could be careless

★Albedo had brought you to his lab in Dragonspine, claiming that he had found a rare plant and wanted to see if it was able to withstand heat

★Putting it in a flask, he had placed it on a test tube holder and your curious eyes had caught sight of the glowing pink tube

★“What’s this?” you stepped closer to inspect the glowing flask, and Albedo wordlessly looks at you with a fond smile. your curious gaze at his work had always made him feel happy; you truly were endearing

★Albedo turns on the burner, and the moment the fire had hit the flask, the substance had instantly exploded, causing you to recoil back and grab at your face when the substance had burned your face

★instantly, Albedo had abandoned his failed test and attended to you, trying to pry your hands away from your face

★“My love, I’m so sorry,” he says gently, trying to see the damage that the explosion has gave you, “please look at me,”

★you felt tears well in your eyes, the burns on your cheeks combining with the coldness of the snow stinging your face

★when Albedo had successfully pried your hands away , he grabbed them gently and looked at you, “we- we need to see the deaconess,” he mutters to himself, feeling his heart ache seeing you holding back tears, never in his life had he regretted conducting an experiment so badly;

★he had wished he was able to take the pain away from you, he absolutely despised seeing you so hurt

★after you had healed, Albedo would make a rule that you weren’t ever allowed in the premises of his laboratory ever again, and that you were banned from joining him whenever he was conducting experiments

★it had hurt you when Albedo had adamantly decided on it, but you knew that it would only hurt him more if you tried to fight him about it

★he was still blaming himself for the incident; despite him knowing that errors were completely common in alchemy

★his greatest fear was hurting you, and if he was given a choice, he would rather have you far away as possible from anything that could lead to potential harm

★(and that especially meant that when the time comes and he loses control and destroys Mond, he hopes you would be far away from him as possible, too)

Bennett

★Bennett knew he was bad luck, he knew that was mostly the reason there wasn't anyone on his team. no one wanted to get hurt and gain nothing on an adventure. no one wanted to bring a bunch of medical supplies for when an accident that was bound to happen, happens

★no one but you

★you were the only member in Bennett’s team; you were a duo. you didn’t wield a vision, but that didn't make Bennett think of you any less, in fact, he thought you were the bravest person ever for being just a feet away from him outside of Mond, and now you were a team member of his

★injuries were common for you. there would always be some sort of scratch or bleeding whenever you went out on an adventure with the pyro vision holder. if there wasn’t a monster encounter, the two of you would accidentally trip and fall into a lake

★but when the latter happens, Bennett would have a fire for the two of you, and settle in an empty (at least, you hope was) hilichurl camp nearby to warm up in

★it was the norm now, and despite Bennett wanting you to just choose another team because he couldn't handle seeing you in pain from his luck, you had always reassured him that the unexpected turns of events because of his luck was just what you had loved about adventure, and you always trusted him to take care of you whenever something like that happened

★but of course, it was only a matter of time until it was Bennett himself who had hurt you

★you were both fighting a cryo abyss mage, the bastard’s protective shield already broken by Bennett’s elemental skill, causing the creature to start crawling on the ground pathetically

★you were sure its health had already decreased a significant amount that one slice could kill it off instantly, and you had wanted to give the final blow

★but Benny seemed to have a different idea

★the moment Bennett had saw you coming, it had been too late for him to stop, because the same moment you had ran towards the abyss mage, he had raised his sword and sliced the creature hard to the point that his sword had accidentally sliced your stomach as well

★thankfully, your clothes were thick enough that the cut hadn’t been deep enough to get stitches, but it still hurt so badly that you had fallen to the floor, clutching your stomach

★“y/n, what happened?!” he asked, too worried to remember that it had been him who did it, “are you okay?!- wait, no, that was a stupid question, let me see,”

★Bennett was an excellent team leader, but sometimes, he could be a little oblivious

★he gently lays you on his lap, taking out supplies from his belt. he had saw a glimpse of red, so he takes out towels to wipe the blood

★he had gently asked if he could lift your shirt, and when you had weakly nodded, he assessed the damage

★and that was when he had saw the burns by your cut

★burns. the abyss mage was a cryo one, and there wasn't any source of fire where you were but him

★Bennett felt his breath hitch, hands holding the towel clenching in fear. what had he done?

★“no, no, no,” he says in slight panic; this was exactly what he was afraid would happen, “no, no, y/n I’m so sorry. I was supposed to protect you,” his voice broke, gently pressing the towel on your wound to soak up the blood, and when he heard you hiss in pain, he felt tears well in his eyes, “I’m so sorry...”

★he knew the cut wasn’t deep, and you were going to be okay, but the mere thought that the fact you couldn't move and were in pain was because of his doing had caused Bennett to be unable to focus

★you were taken to Barbara immediately, Bennett carrying you bridal style the whole way back (he had been silent, while you had tried to start a conversation with lighthearted banter with him, he had only given you a half hearted laugh before focusing on his journey back) and was healed with a simple swish of the deaconess’ hands

★but afterwards, Bennett had started to spend less time outside of Mondstadt, saying that he had preferred to read at the library with you, and that was extremely unlike of him

★you knew it was because he was blaming himself for what had happened, so you had to let him know that you were fine, and that you knew that it was bound to happen anyways

★It would take a lot of reassurance for Benny to agree to even step a foot outside again, but in the end, it would be worth it to see his adventurer spirit once more

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intothevrains · 3 years ago

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here it is. the legendary kiyoshi kogami coma analysis ive been bothering several discords with. possibly also just a Part One

prefacing this with a general content warning. this will cover topics including a lot of medical jargon, including a whole lot of brain injury talk. i also want to mention i am not at all a doctor and this is merely a product of much research: please feel free to add on or ask any questions, even provide corrections where you see fit. please ask about sources and ill provide, one is just an essay paper that’s downloaded onto my computer.

three main topics i want to cover:

coma patients in general (and how it relates to kiyoshi)

a general very messy analysis of link vrains and its functionality

kiyoshi kogami & lightning

first things first; coma patients & similar have four states of consciousness, those being minimal consciousness, coma, vegetative state, and brain death. patients can also go between the first three states, but as far as i am aware there is no coming back from brain death, depending on definition (brain stem death and specific parts of the brain dying are different and vary in danger, AFAIK).

i believe kiyoshi is in a minimally conscious state, or was, likely even going between a minimally conscious state and a coma, however never into a vegetative state. I also don’t believe he’s braindead as he is still functional, and here’s why;

first off, i’ll provide a definition of a minimally conscious state; “The minimally conscious state is a condition of severely altered consciousness in which minimal but definite behavioral evidence of self or environmental awareness is demonstrated.”

minimally conscious patients are shown to respond to external stimuli, even possessing the ability to answer questions through brain activity. more on that; the study conducted that discovered this state of consciousness found that many patients in a minimally conscious state could respond to yes/no questions, even control parts of their body at will instead of only on reflex, like a coma patient would. the way that patients would respond to yes or no questions would be through spiking their brain activity. an example: someone asks the patient a question such as “is your name [name]?” and the patient would respond by thinking very hard of something, thereby spiking brain activity and declaring a “yes”. a no would be concluded by the patient not thinking of anything.

all of this has to be done with MRI scans which... ryoken just has in his home, apparently. I mean, have you seen the care setup he has for his father?

...yeah. a lot.

keep in mind, different reasons for brain damage happening also factor into how severe a conscious state is impaired. a stroke inflicted coma may put you into a minimally conscious state, whereas severe brain damage would put you into a coma, or worse. this relates to something i’ll cover in a bit. a complete (sort of) list of things that are common factors of comas: Severe head injuries, brain infections, brain damage from lack of oxygen, drug overdose, stroke, chemical imbalances due to illness, such as low blood sugar (hypoglycemia). keep in mind severe head injuries and brain damage.

anyways, this leaves a good segue into how exactly link VRAINS works. as things are at the moment any possibility or ability to plug ones mind into a computer or even import a HUMAN brain into a computer is basically impossible. for example... putting a nematode brain into a computer is the only thing thats been done, and even that took an insane amount of technology (nematode brains have 20K neurons, humans have a billions). link vrains is basically impossible, but i’m just going to go ahead and ignore that and put together what i can.

the only way a fraction of a human brain could be in a computer is through a host server that uses quantum computing which is..... fine for soltech but the kogamis? having a quantum computer? a device that requires temperatures a bit above absolute zero to work? No, almost certainly not. (soltech which is almost certainly founded by and supported by billionaires because its only billionaires and millionaires for the most part funding studies dedicated to putting brains in computers and thats for immortality's sake, by the way)

so, soltech uses quantum computing and a whole lot of nonsense im not smart enough to put together for vrains to work. but what about kiyoshi? well, kiyoshi only actually has an avatar in vrains, meaning its not actually himself. the lieutenants created an AI replica of kiyoshi, which asks kiyoshi commands throughout the series... or, maybe it only did at the start. this is where my theories start to converge; is kiyoshi in a minimally conscious state throughout vrains season one, or in a coma? was an AI developed on his input before the series began and did he fall into a coma afterwards, or is he always in a minimally conscious state? almost like his "input" (basal, subconscious IDEAS of direction) goes through a translator to become his speech/avatar movement.

i think the only fully human detail about vrains kiyoshi is that he transmits the actual kiyoshi's vitals and responds to them. ie cant manifest after his body dies. and then even that could be fake, there couldve been a separate little string of data that just shut him down if those vitals ever dipped too low.

there’s also something frustrating that is like a worm on my mind: using this information the kiyoshi that we see in vrains may be very inaccurate to how he actually is. he may be an AI build off of input from the lieutenants and ryoken, but that may not completely mirror how he actually was as a person. yes/no commands from kiyoshi himself can only do so much as well. it certainly leaves a lot to be considered. maybe he’s more of an ai than consciousness data of a person and exists as a moral compass/guiding figure for ryoken who felt guilty about his father's death, because at the end of the day, ryoken was 100% the one calling the shots for the hanoi and kiyoshi's seen multiple times just totally deferring to revolver and doing stuff on the side for him instead of really leading the charge

kinda like that trope of people making ai that closely resemble deceased people and are ALMOST the same thing but Not Exactly

also, kiyoshis in vrains avatar takes on the same appearance of the one he had 10 years ago. this could or couldnt have implications, who knows. i dont know.

and finally.... kiyoshi and lightning. lightning is an interesting case in himself i want to eventually infodump about BUT i want to talk about their relationship for a moment or how they relate to each other. or, just how lightning put him into a coma in the first place. same with miyu.

its never fully covered in vrains how much the ignis can interact with the real world, but im assuming to a very basic degree they can be touched and interacted with. i also want to bring back three possible coma causes that’re most common that i brought up earlier: Severe head injuries, stroke, and brain damage from lack of oxygen. any of these are possible, but i believe a stroke is the most likely. a stroke can be caused by an irregular heartbeat... it very well could’ve been lightning just electrocuting a specific part of him to force him into a coma. that’s just the best of what i can come up with with my extremely limited data on lightnings abilities and general ignis weirdness. my friends and i have come up with a lot of theories on this particular facet of kiyoshi and lightning and as much as it pains me, i might have to just chalk it up to ignis weirdness i dont know how to explain.

... i know the whole “it was probably electricity that caused a stroke that put him into a coma” argument becomes almost immediately null if you bring up that miyu came out of her coma after lightning died but, hey, i’m doing my best here.

anyways thanks for reading. thats all... i will return soon with more. please let me know thoughts and theories or anything i missed im dying to talk about vrains with people

#vrains #yugioh vrains #radon post #ping!#radon rambles #yugioh #long post #maybe someday my vrains is post arc-v ramble will come to fruition #none of this is proofread #some of it is also old or thrown in last second #i also want to write more on uh #lightning.. soooo badly.#soon. soon you will all see.#kiyoshi kogami #ryoken kogami #lightning vrains

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

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Vicious

Part VII

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, mention of blackmail, all characters are adults.

Words: 1864.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

________

You wanted to slap yourself. What the hell was wrong with you today? Why did you tell Peter that?!

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” Completely baffled with you behavior, you were deeply ashamed, unable to look the guy in the eyes and wanting nothing but fall into the earth.

“Ah, I got it. It’s Steve, isn’t it?” All of a sudden, Peter let out an irritated sigh, rolling his eyes skywards and rubbing his neck. “Of course, who else would say such nonsense. Blackmail, really? Funny he didn’t call me a stalker or anything.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean it, I’m really-”

“It’s ok.” He closed the locker, slamming its door loudly and making you jump. “It’s not your fault. If I heard that from somebody, I’d be scared too.”

He spent a couple of seconds staring into the wall until he rubbed his neck again tiredly and huffed. It took him less than a minute to regain his composure, and you heard him murmuring, “What a freak.”

He didn't return to the corridor, heading to the sports hall for his PE class, instead moving to the bench in the locker room and motioning you to sit. Feeling terribly awkward, you hoped he wasn't going to do anything out of anger, even though he had every right to be upset at your stupid behavior.

"About what he said," Peter took a deep breath, "it's nothing like that. I don't dig up some nasty stuff in the web to blackmail people. I've never done it. The reason why Mr. I-am-better-than-you said that is because I've made him take me into his little bodyguard group when I heard him talking to Loki. You're nice, and I wanted to help. Of course, Steve started acting like I was some creep, so he refused, and I had to remind him that, technically, he had to report your issue to the administration, not play a hero. I said that if I go and tell the whole story to the dean, Steve's gonna be in trouble because he knew who thieves were and didn't report them."

It was a loud off your mind. Goodness. Rogers called this a blackmail? Really? Just because Peter pushed Steve into taking him into their group?

You were less and less sure Rogers was sane. You definitely had to be careful around him.

"I can't believe he called it a blackmail." You admitted quietly, and the guy sent you a tired smile. "Peter, I'm so, so sorry. It was so stupid of me."

"Nah, don't worry. I'd freak out too if I didn't know the whole story."

You knew your apologies weren't enough, but you hoped Peter didn't take it to heart - if you can take such an accusation easily, that is. Shit, shit, shit, why did you believe everything these guys were saying? You didn't even know them in the first place! Why on Earth did you go asking them their opinions on others if all of them were biased, and every guy could twist the truth the way he liked? You shouldn't have let their words affect you that much.

"Whatever. At least now you know what Rogers is like." Peter sent you a grim smile and got up, picking his bright yellow sackpack from the floor. "Shit, I gotta go if I don't wanna be late. Let's meet in a library later, alright?"

"O-of course." You hurriedly stood up and left the lockers room after him, turning to the library: your Lit class was cancelled, so you decided to go study right away. At this time, the library was usually full, and you felt safe there.

Your thoughts were all about the guys again even when you were staring at your laptop, trying to focus on Excel numbers. Why did you feel like the atmosphere between them was so dense? If they were at such terms with each other, why did they group together to help you? What, because all of them loved you so much? It was ridiculous. There was something else to it, and you didn't know. You had a feeling no one was going to tell you the truth until you figured it all out by yourself.

Weird. It was all so weird. Steve's plan, their behavior, the relationships between them, and your nagging feeling they all were hiding something. Was it them who were actually following you?

The thought scared you to the point you started shivering. Oh shit.

"Hi there," the guy appeared behind your back so suddenly you almost jumped, looking at him wide-eyed, "sorry, did I startle you?"

"H-hi Jake! No, it's ok, I was just... studying." Both of you were talking in hushed voices, knowing the librarian would kick you out immediately if she heard some noise. "How are you?"

"I'm great, how're you?" You could hear concern in his voice: he was one of Thor's friends you met yesterday, and although you spoke briefly, Thor definitely told him more about you. "You look a bit worried."

"Oh, it's Math, I didn't really understand the topic, and we're having an exam on Monday... guess I'll be studying the whole weekend." You gave him your best smile to reassure you were totally ok, and the guy relaxed a little, smiling at you, too.

"I'm sure you'll pass. Thor said you're very smart."

What, he said that to all of them? Was he simply boasting about his girlfriend to his friends or was there something more to it?

"You're too kind. Thank you."

His smile grew wider, and he landed on the next seat to yours, resting his hands on the table. Apparently, there was something he wanted to talk to you about, and you grew uneasy.

"Listen, about these incidents... Thor told us all about it, so if you see any freaks following you around, you can message any of us, and we'll come right away." Looking at his serious expression, his bushy brows furrowed, you hoped he eas being sincere with you: you had enough with people you could no longer trust. "And also... that kid, if he's giving you troubles or anything, just let me know, and I'll tell him to keep his hands to himself"

Oh, he was talking about Peter, wasn't he? He had probably seen that silly photo. Wow, you though, Peter was totally right about Instagram: it was the best news source in the academy.

Thanking him for his concern, you laughed a little, convincing him there was nothing serious except for the theft and promising to tell him if anything weird would be going on. While it should have made you feel safer, in fact, you only grew more frustrated with this situation. You wanted to forget about these freaks and just spend you day like any normal student would, but everywhere you went people were staring at you as if you had a horn; one boyfriend or the other was always close to protect you from some unknown danger, and although you believed they tried to help, you hated the feeling they were hiding something from you. Why did you have to be going through all this? Wasn't it really better to drop off school, spend a year working and then apply to a better place?

Thinking of the faces your parents would make once you returned home, you realized it wasn't. This school with all those creeps wasn't worse than home that never felt like a safe place you wanted to come back to. Besides, all money you saved up until now were only good for buying food and things like that: you'd never afford to rent a decent place unless you found a well-paid job. It meant staying with your parents, and it wouldn't be much better than here, just different. If you wanted to drop off, you had to find a good place to stay.

Well, you could at least try, right?

When Peter met you in the library, the two of you no longer talked about anything important, simply studying together to prepare for the exams next week. It didn't feel off: from time to time you met his gaze, and the both of you smiled. You were thankful he didn’t talk about Steve or other guys or that weirdo in the lockers room.

Once you returned home, you went straight to bed, completely exhausted. Luckily, you did much more than yesterday, so you could rest now, but then you thought of Thor kissing you and bit down the pillow, angry at yourself. Why did you keep thinking of him right now?

______________

When you woke up the next morning, you felt like something was off: your body ached, your throat hurt, and your headache was only making it worse. Dammit, you caught a cold, probably. And that’s when it was finally the day to meet Steve, the guy you thought was a mastermind behind all these manipulations that were making you sick to the core.

Anyway, it’s not like a mere cold would prevent you from doing everything you had planned. You left your bed and went to the bathroom, moving the dresser before again.

Honestly, it felt terrible. It was definitely because of that flimsy dress you wore to school yesterday when the weather was becoming chilly. Argh. Watching your puffy eyes and swollen nose, you sneezed. Today you had to apply way more makeup to look decently.

Steve showed up earlier than either Thor or Peter: you had to skip your breakfast, hoping to buy something cheap in the cafeteria.

“Good morning.” He said with his everyday polite expression that soon shifted into a concerned one. “Are you alright?”

What, was it that bad? You did your absolute best to apply enough makeup and do your hair. Did you still look so sick?

“Good morning. Yes, I’m ok, just feeling a little sleepy.” You yawned on purpose, covering your mouth with your hand, and Steve’s face softened.

“Did you study all night?”

“Yep, exams are driving me a little crazy.”

“I understand. I also stayed late last night.”

Of course, the student council president studying all days long to be number one student in the academy. If you didn’t know of his twisted nature, you’d think he was the most typical nerd.

You spent most of the time either in silence or talking about studies, the academy, and everything related to it. Steve acted like a gentleman and a scholar, albeit a little too demonstratively. Walking with you as if he were a king of the place, he constantly replied to greetings of others, waved to his acquaintances and smiled. You felt so off you wanted to find Loki and walk with him: unlike Steve, he was considered unpleasant by the prevailing majority of students.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” America golden boy asked you for the last time, and you forced yourself to smile.

“Of course. Thanks for coming, see you later, Steve.”

As he finally left you in peace, you almost fell down into your chair, your fever only getting worse despite the fact you took some painkillers. It was going to be a long day.

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic @mariatietacapitu @d3monslust @maybesandohnos @ibeatuptwinks @mangobangi @nectav @whatever-happened-to-the-ducks

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #thor x reader #dark thor #loki x reader #dark loki #peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #yandere

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gothmods · 2 years ago

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Its not that i dont get peoples anxieties around ai generated images leading to fewer commercial job opportunities for illustrators rather that idk if it will really make a dent given for a lot of cases digital illustration could already be subbed out for stock photos/illustrations or low effort graphic templates etc (and if those options werent available i dont trust that employers wouldnt just, underpay for illustration gigs)

Ive fiddled around with ai enough to know that its not any faster than slapping together stuff in photoshop or doing simple graphic design

But more than that i personally feel the best solution rn is to support people in other fields in the fight for better wages - since a lot more people would buy or commision art if they had disposable income.

On a similar note i think the gig economy is just, precarious to begin with and its worth asking why there arent more salaried positions in the arts

Maybe my perspective is different because i dont do digital art and most of the artists i know also dont. Its a somewhat different field to navigate, traditional arts that is. Lot less commercial commisions and a lot more reliant on sales or securing grants funding. The only contract work ive done is curatorial.

I would kill for a salaried curatorial job.

But yeah while ai will definitely change the field idk if it will make it any worse. And it sucks because i do find ai art interesting and i do wonder if it can work in ways other than text prompting. I mean i know it can i just would like to see that really explored. Doing cool or weird tech experiments is unfortunately also stiffled by profitability. Its worth asking what we could do with ai outside of its commercial applications. I dont see it as different from other art mediums in that sense - in that they are all weakened by the demands of capitalism.

I do hope that ai imaging continues to suck a little though. I find the flaws in it more interesting than if it could perfectly replicate human processes. Its why i like playing around on artbreeder a lot. If you can work out why things are going wrong you can push that in interesting directions. Ive gotten good at using the slider controls to do other things. Artbreeder uses GANs whereas most text based generators use diffusion models, but im not techy enough to explain the difference.

Another problem with ai i do think, its intimidating to try and learn about and requires a base knowledge. I do think not understanding emerging tools absolutely puts creators at a disadvantage in terms of the development and direction new technologies go in.

Im trying though so i will report back if i actually get to a point i can explain it. Ive seen some analogies but id rather understand it as it is...

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aegor-bamfsteel · 4 years ago

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How long does it take to travel to King’s Landing from Dragonstone?

I wanted to focus a meta on a seemingly minor detail that, if you look into the likely circumstances surrounding it, reveals an important piece of characterization of Da3ron II that I don’t think has been discussed. AWOIAF says, regarding Da3ron’s reaction to his father’s death: “[he] departed Dragonstone within the fortnight after learning of his father's demise and was swiftly crowned by the High Septon in the Red Keep.”

If Aegon IV had died, and then Da3ron had arrived from Dragonstone and been crowned within 2 weeks (equal to a fortnight) of this death, that would’ve been understandable. However, the “and” signifies that Da3ron was crowned after the fortnight; it took within a fortnight of being told of Aegon’s death (not Aegon’s death proper, just when he heard the news) for Da3ron to pack his things and travel from Dragonstone to King’s Landing. The implication is that the journey from Dragonstone to KL takes nearly two weeks by sea. I was so puzzled at the idea that the Targaryen’s home castle was so far away from their capital (that they chose to build in that location partially because it was that close to Dragonstone) I checked the Errata of The World of Ice and Fire to see if it was a misprint in the way Myriah Martell’s name was; it was not. Da3ron took nearly two weeks after hearing of his father’s death to arrive at King’s Landing, and was “swiftly crowned” only after. Which leads me to ask, how many miles by sea does it take to travel from Dragonstone to King’s Landing?

According to a map of Westeros and assuming that it is to scale, someone worked out the distance as 420 miles/675km by sea; it is 100 miles/160km from Dragonstone to Sharp Point on the mainland, and then 320 miles/515km of traveling west along the coast to King’s Landing. It is not mentioned what type of ship Da3ron took (galley, longship, carrick, caravel, etc; all of which travel at different speeds based on how they’re built, with longships being the fastest and galleys the slowest), how experienced its crew was (although since Dragonstone is known for its navy, you’d think they would be experienced), or if the winds were favorable, so I’m going to estimate the slow, average, and fast speed of arrival from Dragonstone to KL based on the sources:

If Westeros is anything like our world and the equator is located south of Dorne, then the prevailing winds would blow from east to west (easterlies) south of the Neck and from west to east (westerlies) north of the Neck. Dragonstone and King’s Landing are located south of the Neck, so the prevailing winds would be trade winds/easterlies; in other words, Da3ron would’ve had the wind on his side leaving Dragonstone, which would’ve increased his speed by as much as 1 knot/1.15mi. Travelling at less than 4mph/3.5knots per hour generally meant a sailing ship was travelling with unfavorable winds, so we can assume Da3ron never reached below that speed.

Ideal Conditions:

Under ideal conditions (favorable winds, a skilled crew) a sailing ship could average around 6knots/6.9mph over a trip (pre-modern vessels could “sprint” up to 12 knots, but this wasn’t sustainable). This translates to 168 miles per day, assuming sailing in the day and night (which Da3ron would’ve had to do at least on the first part of his journey to Sharp Point, as he’s sailing the open ocean). 420mi/168mi/d= 2.5 days, or 60 hours at maximum speed

Assuming Da3ron took a caravel, the maximum speed of which is 9mph or 150 miles per day, it would’ve taken 420mi/150mi/d= 2.8 days, or 68 hours at maximum speed

I doubt Da3ron took a galley, considering it is a slow ship most often used for war, but non-ironborn nobility in Westeros do seem to have more of them to their name (Cersei, Stannis, Alyn Velaryon use them as flagships) than other ships, so I’ll put these numbers in to show that even at the slowest built ship Da3ron should’ve made better time. They are on average about 3/4 as fast as caravels, so at maximum might reach 6.75mph, 112mi/d, so 3.7 days or about 90 hours at maximum speed

Average conditions:

The average sailing ship could go around 5knots/5.75mph; this translates into 73 hours or 3 days 1 hour on average

Average speed for a caravel is 4.5mph or 90-100mi/day. The lower range indicates this trip would take 112 hours, or 4 days 16 hours; the upper range is 101 hours, or 4 days 7 hours on average

Average speed for a galley is about 3knots/3.45mph; this translates to about 122 hours, or about 5 days on average

Slow conditions (slowest possible with still-prevailing winds):

As explained before, going less than 3.5knots/4mph via sailing ship meant generally unfavorable winds. Assuming the absolute slowest, the ship could expect to make the trip in 105 hours or 4 days 9 hours

Using the ratio that a galley is about 3/4 the speed of a caravel, its slow speed might be 3mph, which translates into 140 hours or 5 days 20 hours

In conclusion, assuming that Da3ron did not stop at any harbors along the way and traveled at a consistent pace, he should have arrived in King’s Landing within one week, not two, of learning of Aegon’s death. Even at the slowest pace, taking the slowest method of water transport, the trip does not equal 6 full days of travel.

It’s possible that, like Corlys Velaryon at the 101 Great Council, he brought the full Dragonstone fleet to King’s Landing to support his claim to the throne if he feared it was in danger (which makes sense in that he took so long to arrive, but was “swiftly crowned” after), but that would’ve lengthened the trip to 6 days at most (since a navy can only travel as fast as its slowest ship, the galley), and certainly not to nearly two weeks, since time is clearly of the essence in thwarting a potential coup. The idea that it took so long to prepare such a navy after hearing of Aegon’s death seems like a stretch considering the old king’s slow physical decline (see below)

A more benign argument is that after he reached Sharp Point, he did stop during the night, but assuming a night is 8 hours, that means even if he stopped every night along the journey (a ridiculously inefficient plan that practically defeats traveling by water, but to stretch out the time let’s pretend he might’ve done it) would’ve made the trip 76 hours or 3 days 4 hours at the fastest, and 172 hours or 7 days 4 hours at the slowest. Again, even at the slowest pace, with the slowest method of transportation, and now with long stops, it still would’ve taken barely more than half the time Yandel noted Da3ron actually spent to depart Dragonstone and arrive in King’s Landing. And how many days did he really need to pack his things and leave? I doubt nearly a week was really necessary...

Of course, that Da3ron might’ve taken a slower ship and stopped every night from reaching Sharp Point on ignores why he’s journeying to King’s Landing in the first place: his father just died and he is going to be crowned king, unmistakably the most important event of his life. As the crown prince, he has access to the fastest ships and most experienced crew. This is no time to stop to rest and leave the realm without a king (especially if you believe that others are plotting to take the throne, as Da3ron’s actions after arriving regarding Daemon Blackfyre and his father’s Small Council indicate). There is no technical reason why a journey that should’ve taken 3-4 days instead took nearly 2 weeks. The only possible reason for such a massive delay is a character-based one: that Da3ron did not wish to arrive in the capital so soon. Waiting that long almost undoubtedly meant he was not there for the funeral (given Aegon’s condition at death, it makes me think he was buried shortly after; in addition, the news of the death would’ve had to have reached Da3ron before he could depart, which would’ve taken 1-1.5 days by raven), which would’ve been the best opportunity to show filial piety, or at least pay respects to the old king from the perspective of a successor. Da3ron wore his father’s crown allegedly to prove his legitimacy, but the gesture seems rather empty after taking so long to come to the capital that he missed the funeral, and the coronation itself was the only event described as “swift.” It makes it seem as if he did not care for his father, purposely avoiding the capital until all mourning was done and then claiming his crown. This might have been the case given they were estranged the last years of Aegon’s life, but no matter his personal feelings, it would’ve been politically wiser if he were to come to King’s Landing as fast as he could, especially given the doubts of his legitimacy and his paranoia over claimants to the throne. The very tense succession of Viserys I to Aegon II officially took place on a single day; understandably such a short passage of time wasn’t possible in Da3ron’s case, but potential problems in a succession makes Targaryens act faster, not slower.

What makes matters worse is that Aegon’s death was obviously not sudden in the manner of Viserys II’s. TWOIAF’s description of his demise includes, “he was grossly fat, barely able to walk, and some wondered how his last mistress—Serenei of Lys, the mother of Shiera Seastar—could ever have withstood his embraces.” Serenei was Aegon’s mistress for at least a year, and undoubtedly a man who was barely able to walk does not have long to live. Toward the immediate end “his limbs [were] rotting and crawling with fleshworms”; there was even debate over this condition: “the maesters claimed they had never seen its like, whilst septons declared it a judgment of the gods” in addition to palliative care “Aegon was given milk of the poppy to dull his pain, but elsewise little could be done for him.” It seems like the final stage of Aegon’s illness could’ve taken weeks or even months, if there was time to discuss its cause and for worms to start eating his rotting limbs, or for final treatment and a damning decree to be issued. The health of the king is obviously politically important, especially to his heir, so I think it’s unlikely Da3ron wouldn’t have known about this final illness. Certainly by the time Aegon was unable to rise from his sickbed, Da3ron should’ve been able to tell the end was near; he very well could’ve reached King’s Landing before Aegon’s death, let alone before his funeral. That could have altered the course of Westerosi history if he arrived in time to contest the will that decreed all of Aegon’s illegitimate children be legitimized.

It’s important to note that it’s never explained why Da3ron was unable to undo Aegon’s deathbed decree. The Greens were able to successfully contest Viserys I’s will that Rhaenyra succeed him and instead crown Aegon II, once they got the majority of the Small Council on their side. In real life, Henry of Blois was able to release his brother Stephen and the rest of the barons from the vows they swore to uphold Empress Matilda’s ascension to the English throne, on the grounds that her father king Henry was wrong to make them swear the oath because it would threaten the stability of the kingdom (in addition to bribing the royal steward into alleging that the old king had changed his mind about the succession and nominated Stephen instead, which at least worked for William the Conqueror regarding Edward the Confessor’s will). It would’ve been even easier for Da3ron to contest the will because Aegon was in horrific pain due to ill health and given milk of the poppy, a drug that is known to “fill one’s head with clouds”; Da3ron could’ve said that Aegon was not in his right mind when he made the will and that any deathbed decrees should be discarded. If only he had come early enough to King’s Landing to plead his case before Aegon’s death, or failing that, to try to force a reversal through the High Septon or the royal steward shortly after, things might’ve gone better for him later in his reign.

To conclude what is a much longer meta than I expected, Yandel claimed that Da3ron arrived in King’s Landing from Dragonstone within 2 weeks of hearing of his father’s death. Through estimating the speed of certain ships and the distance between the two castles, we can determine it should have taken at most 6 days and in all probability more like 3-4 days if he conducted himself with any sense of urgency. But instead, he chose to arrive so far after Aegon’s death that he probably missed his funeral, which, coupled with the haste with which he was crowned, shows a lack of respect for a deceased father that goes against the teachings of the Faith of the Seven, the moral authority of Westeros (and probably fed rumors of his illegitimacy). Even worse, the nature of Aegon’s illness was so slow that Da3ron could’ve made it to King’s Landing in time to change or contest his will if he had bothered, thus getting rid of his potential rival’s legitimization. I can only infer that Da3ron’s actions were not motivated by political necessity (and in fact could’ve hurt him politically and socially), but by hatred for his estranged father. I don’t blame Da3ron for loathing a man who abused his mother and tried to start an unprovoked war with his wife’s family. However, I don’t think the characterization of him putting political necessities above personal feelings can hold water, at least where his own are concerned (the feelings of others under his guardianship, such as those of Aerys I, and perhaps those of Princess Daenerys and Daemon Blackfyre, might be different matters). Nor do I believe that he should get a pass for making politically unwise decisions due to personal grudges when Aegor Rivers, who also had long-term vulnerabilities (disgrace at 2 weeks of age, the execution of half of his family at 6 years, invited into a court that hated his family...and that’s before the Blackfyres start getting cruelly murdered) is reduced to a one-dimensional villain for behaving similarly.

#ASoIaF #asoiaf meta #what if #anti daeron ii #worldbuilding #westeros #ships #aegon iv #aegon iv targaryen #valyrianscrolls #travel

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omegawolverine · 4 years ago

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I love it when people talk about things they're passionate about, tell me something cool!! Anything you want, just something you find interesting or want to talk about :D

hello anon my beloved, I am in a bad mood so you will be receiving a passionate, yet lowkey of pissy rant about why villainizing bakugou makes me wanna vomit and its NOT just because I'm a dumbass kinnie :)

tws: child abuse (emotional and physical), near death expierences, bullying, kidnapping, suffocation, lots of trauma in general tbh. if you've seen bnha then basically just keep all the general triggering plot stuff in mind incase i missed any warnings

also, note: I havent caught up on bnha in a minute, I'm at like the start of the war arc but I barely remember shit there tbh so like. probs missing new stuff. also bnha spoiler warnings lol

so, for starters, the homie bakugou has like,, a good handful of issues that come from his childhood that explain why he's an ass. he was always praised and never actually reprimanded for being a twat which led to him having a huge ego that ended up fucking him over majorly. this ego was something that his mother acknowledged him having, but literally didnt try to fix it with anything other than violence. see here:

like, instead of trying to help him, she hits and insults him, which is probably what led to his weird inferiority/superiority complex. being constantly told by others that you're outstanding and one day you'll be a top hero because you're rude and aggressive and then going home and being hit by your mother for those exact same behaviors is bound to fucking confuse a child.

so like, now that we've established that its definetly canon that his mother (parents? I think he said parents at some point but masaru doesn't seem like the type so 🤷) hits him though we don't know how much or how often (though if bakugou was as much of a little shit back then ((which as far as we've seen- he was)) then it was probably often), lets talk about how regardless of all that 1) hitting your kids as "discipline" not only doesn't work but is abusive lol like idc if it's spanking/popping them on the mouth for talking shit, slapping them across the face "on occasion", etc. shits not okay 2) hitting your kids!!!! does not work!!!!!!!! it is literally PROVEN not to work!!!!!!!! hitting a child who has done something wrong doesnt teach them to stop doing something it teaches them to be scared of you, which will cause the child to withdraw, removing part of their support system (assuming said abusive parents would even offer that up) and will most likely lead to them thinking they're a bad person, not that their actions were bad, which are two different things. so, ya know, that would clearly have an effect on a kid. like, as someone with a mother who reminds me all too much of mitsuki: I have acted like a complete shitbag and taken my anger out on people to feel better in the past because of the way my mother treated me. though it was nowhere near what bakugou did, I still know first fucking hand what a mother hitting and insulting her child will do, especially if they have no proper outlet for that (friends, a safe place to vent) which bakugou never fucking had.

theres also the fact that just talking to your kid the way mitsuki does (saying it's his fault he was kidnapped because he's weak, all while hitting him) is not??? okay?????? ive seen people arguing that this was just a joke in poor taste but like her son was KIDNAPPED and even if it was a "joke" there's literally NO WAY that would EVER?? BE FUNNY??????? she just sounds like the kind of parent who at the very least says shit without thinking that would traumatize bakugou (because being told right after being kidnapped it's your fucking fault by your mother is absolutely traumatizing) but it comes across as her being emotionally abusive.

mitsukis character as a whole comes across as a shitty mom who doesn't realize she's a shitty mom and thinks bakugou being an ass isn't at least partially her fault even though she's admitted to realizing he has always had an ego problem and doing nothing to fix it except for hitting and yelling which obviously did nothing but make him just as loud and violent as she is.

this is obviously not the entire reason why he's a dick but he was never properly taught that the shit he was doing wasn't okay and people not stopping it and/or praising him endlessly even tho he was a bully is basically the same as encouraging it, thank you very much.

moving on from that, let's talk about bakugous other traumas and how he naturally responds to them. hint: it's with either full blown panic or a fight response (verbal or physical, though usually physical. also sometimes it's the panic followed by the fight response.)

so far in bnha (keep in mind that I am not caught up, I've only read up to the beginning of the war arc and i barely remember those bits so) bakugou has...

nearly died via sludge villain (he was unable to move and was being suffocated to death- keep this in mind)

lost for the first time ever and against deku of all people (this nearly sent him into a full blown panic attack, likely because of that sexy little inferiority/superiority complex combo. think of this as like. gifted kid burnout lite. he has always been the best of the best and now suddenly he is being beaten by somebody who has always been weaker than him, which immediately makes him start thinking he was never actually that good, he's actually a fucking failure, a goddamn fraud)

won the sports festival by default (bakugou counts this as yet another failure because todoroki didnt try his best. had bakugou lost to todoroki full strength, he would've taken 2nd place with a bit of bitching, but he still wouldve taken it rather than refuse the medal as it would be a reminder that he failed. instead of accepting that like UA shouldve, the staff chained and muzzled him on live television and then had all might, his fucking idol, force the medal into his mouth. remember the sludge villain incident and how he couldnt move and was suffocating to death? yeah.)

been kidnapped because of the way he reacted to winning during the sports festival (he was aggressive and tried to refuse the medal because he felt he didnt deserve it and was then retraumatized by being chained up and muzzled. his "villainous attitude" was a fucking trauma response, do not tell me otherwise)

was then chained up once again by the LOV after being kidnapped,,, do we see the "retraumatize bkg" theme yet?

"ended all might" (he literally blames himself for all mights retirement because had he just not have been weak, all might wouldve had more time, right?)

my point with all of these is that bakugou has been severely traumatized and has then had his trauma responses (aggression, fight) used to further demonize him. not all people with trauma react the fucking same and the way the fandom just refuses to acknowledge anger as a valid form of trauma response is gross as hell.

moving away from that topic, bakugou has literally never had any actual friends, they all just used him and didn't care about him which absolutely will fuck up a kid, especially one who already has all that other shit going on. bakugou deadass never had a support system or people to help him grow as a person, let alone properly work through his fucking emotions so it's not surprising that he would take out his bullshit on the one person who tried to help him especially considering he saw dekus actions as him thinking he was weak. bakugou was raised to not seek help, he thought somebody strong shouldnt ever need it, so for somebody like deku (who bakugou percieved as weak and helpless already) to offer up help? deku must obviously think bakugou is even weaker than him, what other explanation could their possibly be!

speaking of which, there's his heaps of insecurities that he basically hid by being a twat and bullying others for most of his life. kid was so insecure he bullied deku for fucking years cause he thought deku looked down on him, thought he was better than him, etc. and that only got worse bc his idol then decided to take deku in, train him and even give him his quirk. there's probably some shit im missing but still he's got issues and always has had issues. that being said, he's actually improving and working them out now which is what makes him a really good, interesting character. it's also nice to see a character who is a dick without some tragic backstory (like his backstory is sad but its not the classic "my family was fucking slaughtered and i turned into a raging bitch who murders people" type shit) bc that rarely happens and it's like most assholes don't actually have a story like that they're just assholes lol

now lets talk improvement! lil bitch has been getting better since he got into UA and im so happy abt it!! he had a rough start what with deku suddenly having a quirk and all but like he is really improving now and it highkey shows that bakugou just mostly needed people who 1) didn't constantly praise him and actually criticized him instead 2) actually fucking punished him doing stupid shit and 3) some motherfucking friends

Since going to UA he's gotten actually feedback from teachers about his weaknesses and how to get stronger, he's lost against others, hes been told he has a shit attitude and is a dick, told he should be nicer and leave deku alone, etc etc. He hasn't gotten in trouble too much with teachers but others give him shit for what he does and aizawa has punished him too, while still acknowledging that bakugou is an amazing and dedicated student, something which no one else had done up til that point. and uh???? homie actually has friends who like,,, don't use him and also call him out when he's a dick. like specifically kirishima has done this shit and him and bakugous relationship is clearly very healthy and beneficial for the both of them. makes me feel all happy n shit, ya know

bottom line is: while it is absolutely valid to dislike or even hate bakugou because he is a massively flawed person who has been very cruel to others, villainizing him for the way he acts which in large part seems to be from a lack of guidance, a shitty mother and heavy amounts of trauma, is fucking awful. his actions cannot be fucking excused, he needs to apologize and continue to grow, but he is also a fucking teenager, who is just now being told that the way he acts is unacceptable by people who dont fucking abuse him (and I swear to god if any people who think mitsuki isnt abusive interact with this fucking post I will fullstop hardblock you, I do not fucking care) and actually treat him like a normal person instead of some prodigy child or someone who needs to be fixed.

people are free to debate my points or whatever bc I know some of this stuff is up to interpretation but like. dni if you're just here to say you hate bakugou for xyz reason or that he's irredeemable. also especially dni if you compare him to fucking endeavor yall bitches make me gag.

anyways thxs for the ask anon <33 sorry this is a kinda messy info dump lol

#shit self #asks #boku no hero academia #long post #bakugou katsuki #yes i am a bakugou kinnie shut the fuck up /lh #this is all /nm btw its just so much easier to make my long posts aggressive yk #this is just how i talk irl but Better Formatted #info dump #kinz #anti mitsuki #discourse #bangerz

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just-a-dumb-gay · 3 years ago

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I think I just found out why i crave validation online from strangers (like comments on fanfics). And why praise and compliments on something I done always make me so happy.

I rarely got rewards as a kid for doing good things. And Ive gotten even less as I've grown up.

TL;DR (because there's explanation and tangenting below the cut): I pretty much never get or have gotten praise or rewards or anything similar because I was doing things that I should be doing anyways because society perceives it all as normal and easy and it's only gotten worse as Ive gotten older. So now my achievements and cool stuff being acknowledged with genuine enthusiasm means the world.

SO GO GIVE POSITIVE VIBES TO YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR FAMILY, ESPECIALLY ANY KIDS IN YOUR LIFE, EVEN JUST A REALLY COOL STRANGER ONLINE!! IT MAKES SO MUCH MORE OF A DIFFERENCE THAN A LOT OF PEOPLE REALIZE!

Actual accomplishments? Nope. Perfect report cards (minus attendance because I'm not superhuman, I got sick like 99% of other kids. And just gym ew it was so boring) and endless praise during parents night (because gifted kid plus a pile of anxiety and autism that was scared to get in trouble).

Now I wanna specify I did get little things like some sweets or like a couple pounds as pocket money but that was 9/10 times for helping with chores or something that I didn't HAVE to help with. Those things I done because I wanted to help, and ngl a few of the tasks were fun so I wanted to do them without expecting anything in return. So just a quick side note but still somewhat relevant.

I should also specify since the adult Im closest to is my dad, his opinion and everything means way more tor me than it should.

I never even got a simple "I'm proud of you" from my dad (who has seen me every day minus like a month in total in my entire 18 years of living). And he taught me A LOT outside of school. Life skills, creative skills, problem solving skills. Even when I do good with all of that honestly I don't think he's ever said that to me even Once. Now I don't have it as bad as many many others because I would still get things like "Good job" or "Well done" but they were kinda half hearted and its still taken its toll on me. (Because even though others have something worse doesn't mean we're not allowed to have strong feelings about our personal situation)

I have an abundance of health issues and doing so many things has became extremely challenging for me. Yesterday, I went to my first medical appointment completely alone, and it was a dentist appointment and I have deppresso teeth so dentists are terrifying. When my dad got home from work I was telling him about it and everything and how happy I was it went well despite now having a temporary filling in a tooth Im most likely gonna lose. Yknow what his reaction was after I had tangented for like 10 minutes out of happiness then had to stop and take a breath? "Okay I'm gonna finish eating my dinner now" in his 'im pretending to joke yet I'm being serious' tone (which is a whole other issue). Like... dude... I managed to do my first bus journey, medical appointment and mild medical procedure completely 100% alone, 3 things that absolutely terrify me, AND YOU CARE MORE ABOUT YOUR FOOD?!

My partner said they were proud of me multiple times yesterday. My friend hyped me up and offered enthusiastic and entertaining support. Those 2 and 2 other friends (one I dont speak to quite as regular and another who ive been friends with for roughly 9 years and am super close to but we talk like 1 or 2 times a month) are always super supportive in their own individual ways and Im still not used to it, and I don't think I ever will be.

So I guess long tangent short. My accomplishments were always just treated as average things that were expected of me similar to just simply being at school on time. And anything I created usually had a flaw pointed out (not in a constructive criticism way, Im always open to constructive criticism) and the most that'd be said is "Looks good" or "Thats nice". So now praise and/or enthusiastic support (both are equal to me) for accomplishments mean the absolute world. And comments on fanfics or any other sort of positive acknowledgement of something I created makes me feel like what I done was actually a good use of my time.

I could say a lot more but I just need to rant for a bit, and this is probably gonna get like 3 notes max.

#neurodivergent #gifted kid burnout

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 5 years ago

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So We Refuse To Take it Tragically

A/N: I’ve just accepted my fate is to be obsessed with this man, so here’s yet another Obi-Wan fic. There will be a second part to this, and I’m thinking a mini series of in-between moments. I won’t give spoilers, but this is NOT my normal type of fic, but he’s an exception to every rule in my book, apparently. Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my beta on this, I don’t know where this would be without you!

Thank you also to @beskars for her post here that birthed this. Always blessing us with fuel for the thirst.

And to the one I know IRL that found my tumblr, one I will refer to as Top Voice, this is your final warning to gtfo before feasting your eyes on unprecedented filth and sap.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! Fem Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Cumeating, hair pulling, Comfort Sex, ANGST!! (It has a happy ending later, I promise, but it starts after ROTS, so it’s par for the course) If you’re gonna write not-particularly-pertinent-to-plot-porn, might as well make it unnecessarily detailed, right? As usual, too many feelings for porn, More warnings will be in the tags to prevent spoilers

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

Tatooine is no place for a baby.

There are no soft surfaces, nor comforts, nor surplus of anything. It’s desolate and deprived and oppressive, but you watch as Obi-Wan shields the child from its harsh, sand-pelting winds with his whole body, despite the fact the child fits in the space between his wrist and elbow. It’s overzealous, but you don’t say anything of it.

The past two days have ripped away nearly everything he held dear, insisting on devastating every tender place. Nothing sacred has been left untouched.

He broke the code long before he met you, and you know part of why his love for you came so easily, why he had no qualms with breaking his vows, was because he’d long since loved the man that became his family in every way that matters.

Love and Light so tightly knit together the fabric of his being one could not be separated from the other.

And you could take on the entire Force with your two fists for how it had rewarded him for it with Hate and Darkness coming from someone so close it shattered something foundational in Obi-Wan.

Yet even now, there isn’t Darkness surrounding his signature. There’s brokenness and his ever-present equilibrium has been replaced by jagged shards. But despite it all, those rugged pieces still reflect light erratically in their shine.

It’s a loss and betrayal that spans many different planes: on one level, there’s nowhere you look in the galaxy beyond just the two of you that isn’t marked by the Empire’s rise in power, marking the end of the Republic he fought for and the fall of the Jedi, his community, comrades, and only home he’d ever known. And on another level, you’ve seen the weight of war and worse in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but nothing, nothing like this.

The pain is panoramic, but it’s also profoundly personal.

Even still, his attention isn’t on himself, but on the fussy bundle in his arms.

You wonder: is it the galaxy that doesn’t allow this man time to heal? Or is it his own choice to throw himself into the need of others so he has a tangible reason to avoid his own torments?

When he places the baby into the arms of the young couple, you know the times ahead will give the answer to that.

Because there aren't the cries of the past few nights to wake either of you, there’s silence.

You long to fill it, to try to bridge this insurmountable void with something, anything you could say. But you know it’s bigger than you. So, so much bigger than you.

Monumental obstacles and tremendous loss find themselves standing in the threshold of an abandoned hut smaller than your flat was on Coruscant.

“Well… it’s not much to look at, certainly. But the moisture vaporator seems to be in repairable condition, and we’re just far enough from town to avoid any curious neighbors. What do you think?” He turns to you, and his eyes, dark circles under and all, turn sharp in their assessment of your response.

“I told you. I’m going wherever you are so long as you’ll let me.” Your voice is gentle but adamant as you remind him.

He walks up from the living room to the threshold of the kitchen where you are, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “Be that as it may, I’m asking your input on where we’re going, or living, as your happiness means a great deal to me.”

There’s still no smile, but it’s the brightest his energy has felt since the last time you saw him before he came to your door in Coruscant days ago, whispering a rushed, heartfelt farewell, which you quickly countered with an emphatic, unshakable, “I’m coming with you.”

You look up at him, gliding your hand across his cheek into the hair at the nape of his neck. There’s Darkness at the door of his soul that he’s fighting off every moment, and he has the audacity to speak of your happiness.

You don’t dare bring up his. It’s irony, at best.

So you smile, timid, knowing the gesture in itself might be blasphemous to the tone, but genuine all the same. “We can make a life here. I know we can.”

He scans your eyes, looking to find the authenticity in your statement. “Are you certain?”

He’s not asking about the hut anymore. Or, at least, not just the hut.

“Obi-Wan, I never had any delusion that any life I had with you would be easy. I thought I’d only ever be getting you in secret, sparse moments. Although I’d never, ever wish for it to be under the circumstances that it is, having you like this is better than I ever hoped.”

There’s silence as he processes your words, then a wry twist of his features. “How I wish that your expectations needn’t be so low.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” You incline your head, trying to find the words to convey what you mean.

“Nothing any person or any planet anywhere has to offer me holds a candle to what I’ve found in you, nor will it ever. I’d never trade unshakable wholeness for the transience of materialistic happiness.”

You know this has to resound with him. Is it not within the core set of values he was taught to forsake comfort in any avenue for something far greater?

His eyes flick between yours, gauging, and you can feel him reaching out to feel at your signature to solidify the truth.

If you knew him any less, you might be insulted at his questioning of your trustworthiness. But it’s not you he doesn’t trust. It’s something good willingly giving itself to him that causes his wariness.

The Force can have your middle finger along with your fists.

Then he’s relaxing into you, letting out an exhale that seems heavy with more than just air, and burying his nose in your hair for his next inhale.

****

By the end of the day, you’ve gathered enough supplies for basic necessities and to start on the repairs of the hut. You both snarf down a ration bar before shortly thereafter clearing the blown-in sand off what must have been the bed of the home. It’s a half circle indenture in the wall, and it has a dip obviously made for a mattress or cushion of some sort, but as all that’s available are the blankets bought in town today, you set to fluffing them to some semblance of comfort.

Fatigue pulls you into it far sooner than the suns setting. Last night was your first night without Luke, spent in a room you rented in town. Today was spent traveling to and from the hut, discussing details on what needs to be done, and you? You are absolutely exhausted. You can only imagine what he must feel like.

Obi-Wan secures the lock on the door before sitting on the side of the bed, looking off into nothing for a long, long moment.

You push up to your side, placing a hand on his back. “Obi…”

His shoulder nudges toward your hand, but he cuts you off. “It’s going to get quite cold when the suns set, and since the stove isn’t properly ventilating yet, we’re going to have to work with body heat.”

“I’ll try to mask my reluctance,” you retort.

He turns his face to you then, and just a smidge of humor sweeps across his eyes before he sheds his cloak, followed by everything else until only his pants remain. You’ve long since stripped down to your own sleeping comfort level, so before he can fold his cloak along with the rest of his discarded clothing, you take it and cover yourself with it.

He shakes his head a little at you once he’s done, settling down next to you, throwing the covers over both of you.

“Tell me what you need.” You’re face to face with him, but his expression is unreadable.

“I… I don’t know.” He considers you as if you held the answer to the question you just asked him.

“What about want, then? What do you want, Obi-Wan?” You wish he didn’t have his shields perpetually raised these days. It’d be so much easier to just read his energy.

His hand reaches up so he can stroke your cheek with his thumb. “You’re tired, darling. Rest.”

Ah, there it is. If the answer to the question of desire is him counter offering his own response with the fact you’re tired…

“So are you. But you still want.” You press your body fully against his, dropping your voice down to a whisper. “And so do I.”

You won’t push anymore than that, letting him take or leave the invitation. For you, it’s not even a question. It’s been four months since you last saw him. Since you’d last felt his touch.

You’d spent the last few nights in each other’s arms, but between Luke's shrill cries and the deafening devastation of the events of the days prior, it’d been just that: sleep. Or, what tousled, disturbed counterfeit the circumstance offered you both.

For him, though, there’s an abysmal weariness that digs far beyond lack of sleep, and you don’t dare infringe upon him in any way.

But there’s still a longing present, and even without his Force signature to guide you into his feelings, he can’t hide his eyes.

You watch the moment he makes a decision solidify across his countenance right before he presses his lips against yours. You sigh into it, letting the draw of his skin on yours pull you into orbit.

Because that’s exactly what happens. It’s a kiss for a kiss’ sake, for flavor and fervency and the fullness of each other, but it quickly gains its own momentum when his tongue parts your lips truly.

It’s an acute absence. Not having his energy surrounding you with his shields so far up. But it also gives sharp attention to the press of skin against skin, makes it an anchor and an outlet for all that is still too tender to even acknowledge.

You find grip in his hair, purposefully running your hands the opposite of the way he combs it as he takes your face in both hands and pulls you into him all the more.

When you both need to breathe, he only moves so far away that his lips still brush against yours on every exhale. “I..” he starts, then stops.

The hand still in his hair rakes through it gently, scratching your fingertips against his scalp as you wait for him to complete his thought.

“Let me taste you,” he says at last. You know it's a question from the way he stills, waiting for permission, but it’s phrased as nothing like it.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical quest…”

“Oh, hush.” He’s already nudging you over onto your back, situating his body over yours, claiming your lips again. You allow yourself to sink into it, cherishing his weight over you, his hand roaming your ribcage, before pulling back to speak.

“I’m sorry, are you now getting on to me for my sass? Because… oh!”

He finds a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, pinching softly with a small tug.

“By all means, continue. I was most intrigued.” His smirk is back, but it fixes you with a tinge of worry when it again proves to be a smile only skin deep.

You place two fingers just shy of his forehead, but he catches your wrist in an almost painful clasp. The alarm casted by his expression quickly is washed away by a carefully constructed impassiveness, and your heart sinks.

He has to see it, because he bows his head in apology. “Not tonight.”

And before you have any room to respond, he’s shifting himself down as he lifts your shirt up, placing a single taunting, wet kiss on each nipple before moving even further down, nipping at the skin right below your belly button.

He’s distracting you from what he’s not allowing you access to, and you know it, and you let him anyway. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Distraction from the barrage of the mind. If that’s what he needs, that’s what you’ll give.

As he toys with the hem of your underthings, and you lift your hips to assist their removal, you realize it’s exactly what you need too.

Except he apparently isn’t planning to remove your underwear at all. With a casual flick of his hand, your legs are parted and held like that with a no-nonsense sprout of Force energy. Then he’s simply pulling the cloth to the side and brings his mouth torturously closer, but stops just before contact.

You push up to your elbows to tell him you can’t take much of those teasing breaths he’s taking, blowing hot air against sensitive nerve endings. But when you hear his breath stutter as he just looks, unhurried in admiration, you decide against it, even as you flush at the undivided attention. Sprawling his palms out over your inner thighs, he dips down to press his mouth between his fingers, sucking not-so-gently into the soft skin, sending the flesh into tremors before he’s even really done anything to you.

He says your name as he opens you up with his fingers, parting your folds so everything is bared to his view. You start to squirm, the exposure starting to feel a little too heady, and you’re starting to appeal with the beginning of his name when he leans forward, straight away connecting his lips to your clit. You try to thrust up into it as some shameful noise leaves you, but there’s only so much movement you have with your legs still pinned.

He loves to tease, so you don’t expect him to retract the energy that constricted your legs at the first resistance. Instead, he slides his hands under your ass, pulling you on to his tongue and lets you push your hips into him unchecked.

He hums at your enthusiasm, the reverberation sending your hands into his hair again, which gifts you with even more noises from him.

It doesn’t take long at all, and you’re coming undone on his tongue, biting into your forearm to dampen your cry.

He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, signaling your tender surrender. He obeys, looking up at you from between your thighs, absolutely besotted, eyes shining a shade brighter than before.

Then. Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps his eyes on yours before dipping his head and tilting his jaw, running his beard right where you’re still open and vulnerable, abrasion grating in a way you know you’ll be feeling all day tomorrow.

He licks his lips as he moves back up to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on him.

He goes easily when you gesture for him to lie on his back so you can straddle him, carefully avoiding any contact where he’s throbbing for you. His hands fall right to your waist, stroking gently as he waits for you to initiate.

You focus your study on the section of his hair that’s fallen in his face, twirling a finger in it, happy to have anywhere to look but his eyes.

He’d normally at least be in your mind by now, and even though you understand it, well, the drought of it is as appropriate for the planet as anything.

You remember too late to raise your own shields against any accidentally too-loud thoughts, as Obi-Wan cups his hand on your chin, forcing your gaze to his, saying your name quietly in calling.

“You have to know, it isn’t anything to do with…”

You interrupt him. “No. No. I won’t have you addressing my insecurities of all things in light of…”

“Please listen, love. I need you to know, it hasn’t anything to do with the love I have for you. That hasn’t changed and never will. I think I need… “ He pauses, solemn in thought. “Time,” he finishes finally.

You knew this already in the pit of your stomach, but hearing him say it, hearing him affirm that it isn’t you insufficiency… you hate that you needed it as much as you did.

And if he needs time? That’s what you’ll give. But he also has a want, evidenced by the brush of him against you when you scoot yourself down his torso.

You take the hem of his pants with you when you continue down, ridding him of them and his shorts. But when you wrap your hand around him and begin to lower your mouth, he grips your chin again, shaking his head.

“I can’t… please, just.” It’s always an anomaly when he’s at a loss for words, usually ever-so articulate.

A gasp chokes out of you when you feel the phantom of his mind. Not in full, no. With barriers, and it’s projected out, not at all the same sensation to being within it.

It’s desperation. For how long it’s been, for how drained he feels, how he’s not sure how long this will last, and how much he yearns to be inside you.

There’s not even a second of debate in your mind as you take your position on his lap again, lifting your hips, intention apparent. He takes his cock in hand, holding steady so you can start to seat yourself onto the thick push of him.

The hitch in his breath is your only warning before he seizes the undersides of your thighs, halting you from taking him any further.

His eyes are tightly shut, and you know from watching him before that his facial expression is an attempt at borderline meditation, except it’s several long seconds before he achieves anything resembling calm.

It’s as good a time as any to push his hands off you and squirm around to take him a little deeper. You plan on rubbing your victory in, but your smirk is wiped away with a whine at the elation. Instead of stopping you again, he almost imperceptibly thrusts up, and it’s your turn to falter, slamming your hands into his chest, nails digging in, working against your weight trying to pull you down onto him.

It goes on like that, until you’re both bordering on hysteria before you’ve even fully taken him. You can’t figure out if it’s a worse torment to keep delaying or continuing.

Obi-Wan seems to have come to his own conclusion to that, as he finally opens his eyes, locking them with yours as he places his palms flat on the tops of your thighs and pushes down until your skin is flush with his.

You pull a hand up, biting on your fist, trying to stifle the exclamation in your throat.

He pulls it away, voice ragged as he speaks. “I want to hear you, little one. We needn’t hide anymore.”

It’s a dimensional statement. For one, no one is around for miles, a stark contrast to your quarters on Coruscant where you at least attempted to be considerate of your too-near neighbors when it came to noise. For another, it’s the irony of being in hiding from the Empire, but being allowed to be open in your relationship with each other finally.

And the deepest irony is that you both have your barriers up so firmly right now all you can concentrate on is bared skin.

Oh, but what a beautiful spanse of bared skin he is. Freckled and almost luminously pale, bending and curving with the strength of the form underneath.

He sits up slowly, generating a breathless plea from both of you at the new angle. A search of your eyes asks you a question, and you’re nodding, kissing him with the full brunt of your craving.

You slide up and then down again just as he drives up, and you’ve found your rhythm, just like that.

His hands push you onto him every time you pull up, and his tongue laves your breasts, sucking and biting along your collarbone, as you rake your nails down his chest, over the backs of his shoulders, his scalp, anything you can touch.

It’s enough to send him into a chorus of groans, shoving himself hard up into you.

He doesn’t even speak it aloud, just projects the apologetic warning that he’s on the edge.

When his thumb finds your clit, everything in you goes tense despite the relief. You clench around him, hard, and he instantly moves his hands to your shoulder blades pulling you flush against him as he lets out an unrestrained sound against your breasts.

You push his thumb away from where it’s stilled against you, replacing it with your own. His fingers twitch in their bruising grip, and you can feel him throbbing inside you.

You stay like that for a moment, just letting him ride out his bliss, whispering sweet affirmations into his hair.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are glassed over. You wonder if it’s ecstasy that is the cause, or something from the bedrock boiling to the surface.

He doesn’t give you a chance to elaborate, flipping you over on to your back. The moment he withdraws, you can feel the mess dripping down your inner thighs.

It takes everything in you to not come at the sight alone as Obi-Wan dips further down your body, parting you and lapping his tongue right where you’re weeping evidence of desire.

You know you have to be making a mess of his face and beard, but he certainly doesn’t seem to mind, indulging on his own spill infused with yours.

When he adds two fingers in you and curls them strategically, searing heat shoots through your lower stomach as you arch against his mouth, his name a high whisper with absolutely no suppression, echoing across the empty stone walls of the home.

He leaves a final tender kiss against you before lying down next to you, pulling you into his arms, and you pull him into yours right back when your limbs remember how to function.

His head drops against yours, and his eyes flutter shut, taking a deep inhale, like he’s trying to fill his lungs with more than just oxygen.

Nothing is fine, and the world is crumbling. But right now, as the suns finally leave the house in dark, as you clasp each other in tight embrace, as sleep pulls you under, you can pretend it’s fine. If only for a moment.

*******

There’s a flash of feeling that startles you awake and into the disorientation that comes from waking in a new place. The sensation worsens when you feel the reverberations of the equivalent of a slammed door in the Force.

You sit up quickly and look over to Obi-Wan, who sits on the side of the bed, head in his hands, fingers brutal in their grip.

You move toward him, and he turns around at the sound. “Go back to sleep, darling. it’s nothing.”

When you fix him with a gaze that essentially translates “bantha fodder,” he just lies back down, pulling your back into his chest, and you doubt the fact you can’t see his face like this is a mistake.

The rhythm of his breathing betrays the fact he is nowhere near sleep, but you find yourself fading off soon again anyway.

****

When you wake in the morning, you’re alone in the bed, which is no surprise. He’s not one to lounge, and if the height of the suns peaking through the window has anything to say, he’s already been up for a while.

His cloak is still tangled in the blankets, though, and you wrap yourself in it, padding outside after doing something about your morning breath.

The hut is situated on a cliff, overlooking a barren valley. The suns glare with their unrelenting eyes of heat even so early in the day, and you stare back as best you can without squinting, daring them to do their worst. They know nothing of the misery that’s already visited this home. They have no hope of competing.

You find Obi-Wan cross-legged near the edge of the cliff. Cross-legged and levitating.

Of course, you know he can do things like this. It’s just such a different thing to see him doing it . You’ve never had a proper morning with him like this, seeing his routine. He was always up before the sun, you with him, gathering moments and soaking them in before he had to leave again.

He looks almost peaceful now, not at rest, but peaceful.

How?

How does he still have so much trust in the Force?

A more lighthearted thought emerges through the grim train, as you notice he’s opted to not put his tunic back on yet.

It doesn’t matter out here, you suppose, there isn’t any other living being for miles around. For that matter, you wonder why he even left the pants.

His voice damn near startles you, not even opening his eyes to address you.

“Although that may be the case, there are some locations more bearable to get sunburn than others.”

You blush at being caught, and gently ensure your thoughts aren’t accidentally projected again, but he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it.

“Join me?”

As he opens his eyes and descends the couple inches down back onto the ground, you feel your heart do the same. He’s taught you little things, here and there, and you’ve enjoyed it, learning to tap into that constant humming you never had the tools to channel before.

But now?

What interest do you have with The Force that failed the man who served it without fail? You could burn it down for the atrocities it’s committed even in negligence against the man you love.

But there’s been enough burning.

Obi-Wan won’t speak of what transpired on Mustafar, but you’ve caught glimpses. Last night wasn’t the first night you’ve had him back, and it wasn’t the first you’d woken to a severe troubling in his aura.

You’re still not sure if Luke is a fussy baby or simply a very responsive one, as it seemed Obi-Wan was already awake before Luke started crying.

It was only mere seconds before his shields came slamming down, firmly in place, every time.

You can’t tell if he’s trying to shelter you from his feelings or blockade them away from himself.

Maybe both.

But those seconds? They’re long enough. For just a flash of a charred, severed body. Of hateful, pleading, golden eyes.

There’s been enough burning.

“I can’t ever be a Jedi, Obi.”

“That’s not what I’m asking of you.”

He knows your criticisms as well as your compliments over the Jedi. You’ve both discussed it at great length many times, always over a firm understanding and respect, but you’ve never really had long enough to have a conclusion. But you’re not going to push now, not with the fall of it all still so close behind him.

“I should think our relationship itself is testimony that I don’t inherently agree or adhere to all Jedi teachings.”

You drop your eyes, trying to ignore the sweat starting to trickle down your skin from the relentless heat. “I thought maybe you were with me in spite of your better judgement.”

His brow furrows. “At first, that’s what I may have thought too, but it made itself clear that although what transpired between us was forbidden by the Code…” he trails off for a moment, almost hesitant. “...the way Light was and is exemplified any time I have you in my arms presented a solidified case that not always is the Jedi way synonymous with the will of the Force.”

He says it wholeheartedly, but you can tell it pains him. It’s easy to never speak ill of the dead, either of individuals or groups. To glorify and wipe away any transgressions to ensure their memory sparkles as you grieve it.

The harder thing is to grieve everything, both the good you lost and the bad you experienced from the same source.

And there’s another level there. Something that has him patting the spot beside him and giving a heartbreakingly forced smile.

Even through it all, wariness of aspects of his own religion included, he seeks unity with the Force without reservation or resentment.

You don’t fight him anymore.

The war is over, but the battle has just begun, and so help you Maker, you’re going to fight for him to have the chance to heal.

So you sit, mimicking his position.

When he smiles again, it’s much smaller but not at all fake.

“First, clear your mind.”

*****

The days are afflicted with an underlying gloom, full of work that busies the hands but leaves the mind to wander, which wasn’t at all a luxurious thing.

But the nights are filled with unclaimed time, time in an abundance you never had with each other before.

Sometimes it’s shot with silence from the weight of the day, reveling in the presence of another as you work together on the supper dishes.

Or sometimes there’s almost an excitement, despite the labor ahead, of the plans for the place that’s now your home.

“Wouldn’t we have to have some sort of larger equipment to hoist that over the cliff edge?” You wonder aloud to Obi-Wan, speaking of the replacement unit for finally getting some very basic temperature control for the hut. “The way around back is too rough and would scratch it up, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to try pushing it up manu…”

You stop at his smirk he’s trying to hide with tilting his tea cup higher over his lips.

“...Or there’s a Jedi solution to this problem that requires neither, and you’re just letting me ramble on anyway.” You punctuate the end of your statement by tossing a pillow his direction, which just stops. Midair.

There’s so much legend surrounding Jedi, you haven’t really been sure what’s factual and what’s fairytale.

You certainly knew of some of his abilities, but he didn’t tend to elaborate on details of his missions before, and you never argued, knowing it was a liability for you to have that kind of information if anyone ever found out what you meant to Obi-Wan.

He chuckles, not even trying to look a little guilty.

Once you remember to shut your mouth, you get back to planning. “And that same principle just applies to objects of any size?”

He nods. “Same principle, just more concentration required.”

You tuck your feet under you on your chair as you think on that for a second. You’ll have to ask him to teach you that one next. Mediation alone could get rather dull.

“So, for instance, if a great amount of concentration is being spent Force-lifting an object up the cliff, it would leave a Jedi vulnerable to, say… projectiles thrown?” You throw another pillow at him, which just as easily halts next to the other, gravity defiant.

He could have lowered the first one by now. You raise a brow at the knowledge he’s putting on a show for you.

“You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”

More often than not, the time of the evenings are spent loving and lounging in sheets, savoring the difference of unhurried lovemaking, with no heart-wrenching farewell on the horizon.

But every time you gently ask to reach his mind, he pushes the request and your hand away.

*******

Obi-Wan’s visits to see Luke are met with a level of hostility. The man, Owen, seems wary of him, doing everything he can to cut the visit short as you and the woman, Beru, if you remember correctly, look silently to each other for some relief in the tension.

They already likely know his actual name, but you’re careful to only address Obi as “Ben” here, along with everywhere else that isn’t your hut. It’s precautionary, but if it’s for the sake of protecting Luke and Obi-Wan himself, you’ll do it without any further questions.

But Luke seems to be doing well, and that is ultimately what matters most. It’s hard to believe how quickly he’s grown in the mere weeks that you’ve been here.

The boy might be by far Obi-Wan’s greatest purpose being on this planet, but it’s not his only.

Master Yoda had given him Jedi texts, yes, but also another task for his time here.

You’re thankful to talk about either, as it seems to be one of the few things he’ll open up to you about as it pertains to himself.

But when he goes to meditate alone, calling for his mentor, his father in every right of the term, he comes back more empty than he left.

When you look at him with a too-knowing look, too infiltrating for his comfort, he easily slides into a quip.

“My old master, it seems, won’t appear unless on his own terms. I’m not sure what else I expected, honestly.”

******

You also learn that the man does not cook. Not that you consider yourself an expert, but at the very minimum, you know how to use spices, which on Tatooine come as hot as their weather.

“Is it a Jedi thing to have tasteless food, or is that just you?” You tease as he dices some sort of root at your direction while you sift through the cabinet.

His eyes are full of mischief when he’s quiet for a moment before speaking up. “I would argue there’s concrete evidence that I’m quite happy to indulge in the pleasures of taste.”

You can’t help your blush as his very pointed look.

Dinner is long forgotten after that, but the night is delectable all the same.

*****

Something has shifted in your own Force signature. Something you can’t put your finger on.

It doesn’t seem harmful or threatening in essence, but it makes you wary in a way that makes your skin itch with more than the dryness.

You try not to think much of it. After all, there’s plenty to do between tending to the vaporator, hunting, fending off the Sand People, and your learning to wield the Force.

After rumors of Tusken raiders being nearby, you ask Obi-Wan to teach you combat. This would be starting long before he normally would teach someone, he explained, but he does it anyway. It’s not exactly using the Force at first, having to start with how to even move your body in the event of attack, slowly enhancing those skills with the Force as you become more confident in them.

You look forward to it more than any other task. It gives you a strength you haven’t had before, and it’s a whole different level of connection to the Force when you trust it physically, not just in your mind.

It’s also another level of trust with Obi-Wan, knowing he’d never hurt you even as he enters the role of a potential threat, guiding you through how to handle it.

So you don’t know why today your stomach won’t agree to the way you want your body to move. You push through it anyway, despite Obi-Wan’s concerned questioning.

You lose your lunch into the rocks, and you really wish he wouldn’t pick you up to take you back into the hut, because the shift of what’s up and what’s down doesn’t help at all.

And you wish he wouldn’t dote over you the rest of the day, as if you didn’t feel useless enough already, as if the illness didn’t leave as quickly as it came.

You make a mental note to ensure you don’t let yourself become dehydrated again to that point.

*****

The trips into town are kept to a minimum, trying to keep curiosity away from the new couple. Also, there wasn’t much to do except barter and spend credits, something you both tried not to do a great deal of.

Obi-Wan was sent off with enough Republic credits to get you started here, but it was hit or miss if the vendors took them that day, and he also didn’t want to spend too much at once.

Nothing was more suspicious than surplus here.

The woman you brought the limited produce available from seemed… different this trip.

Obi-Wan was a couple of stalls down from you, negotiating with a man who had obviously jacked up the price on the items needed. Poor man didn’t know what he was in for.

You turned your attention back on to the woman in front of you, and tried to decipher what was different this time and why it felt so familiar.

As you pointed to a basket of hubba gourds, inquiring of the price, she gave you one that you knew for a fact was higher than last time.

You counter offered the same price as last time you were here, and she firmly stated her price again. Ready to stand your ground, you go to state your price again, she puts her hand to her belly, bringing her skirt in around, revealing a small bump.

“Can’t afford your low-ball offers with this one on the way, understand?”

The sky suddenly falls around you in thunderous clamor as the physical realm around you moves on, unaffected and unreachable. Almost mechanically, you place the credits she asked for on the table, not even capable of addressing the obvious manipulation.

Understanding drenches you in its brutal weight as you realize the source why she felt so different this time.

Your hands shake in their clasp on the basket as you pull yourself into a side alley, heaving your breakfast up.

Because you recognize the same difference in her is the exact same one that has changed your Force signature.

It’s because there’s a flickering light of another being’s Force signature within you.

Tagged as requested: @maybege

#obi-wan #obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #Obi-Wan fanfic #tw: violence #tw: pregnancy #tw: trauma #obi-wan x reader #obi wan x oc

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 29 (NSFW-lite)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-eight (NSFW)

Title: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

Words: 5.6k

Summary: I am very uncomfortable with the vibe we have created in the studio Infirmary today...

Warnings: mentions of abuse, suicide

ST Rambles: So... I graduated nursing school. And will be taking my licensure exam next month and start working as well...

In my time away, other than the above mentioned accomplishments, I've been reading a lot of books and even went to see an internet friend just last weekend. Life got insane and I needed to focus on school, and I do appreciate the patience and enthusiasm.

I hope this was worth the wait. I hope the next part will be even more so ;)

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Fucking, fuck!

“I know in academy you were told to pierce the skin at a forty-five-degree angle, but it works a lot better if you-,”

“Go in at a fifteen-degree-angle, go parallel to the skin. I know,” you huffed, embarrassment burning your skin. “That’s not the issue. I do that. The issue is-,”

“That is the issue,” Silver corrected, interrupted. Your preceptor-for-all-intents-and-purposes crossed her arms and stared at you with hard, unyielding eyes. “You won’t listen to me,” she spat. “You are the issue.”

Calliope Silvren, or “Silver”, as she’d informed you upon meeting, was everything you were supposed to be. And you hated her for that fact, hated her for that and so much more.

She was intelligent and concise and respected, she knew everything and made sure you were aware that you didn’t. During the past eleven hours, not with so many words, Silver had made it clear that you were never supposed to be here to begin with, that hers was the name in the original provider candidate pool and you were nothing but a fluke, a nobody, nothing.

Compared to Silver, compared to Calliope fucking Silvren, who’d graduated valedictorian, who had star-white hair and golden skin, whose eyes were a harsh sea of frozen cerulean, whose legs were long and lips were full and head was high and posture was perfect – compared to the program’s prototype? What were you other than a fluke? A whim? Compared to her, how were you anything more than the fascination you’d been labeled as from the very start?

As you stared up at her, her height almost that of Kylo’s, and felt the wrath of that frozen sea that resided behind her glare, you couldn’t speak. Every word of defense left you, and your mouth dried and your chest hollowed. Because her words not only rippled through your head but echoed through the unit’s halls so every nurse and physician and maintenance worker had heard them. Heard her and how superior she was, heard how incompetent you were.

Silver knew what she’d done, could feel the eyes of her coworkers gawking at her scolding; you knew by the smallest quirk to her lip, the slightest tick in her platinum brow. She had you trapped and on display, and all you could do was stand here and take it. The Board was watching, and so was Hux – CB-7070 always shadowing ten paces behind – you had no choice but to remain neutral-faced and silent.

She spoke your name and it was beautiful, a voice like sugar even when it slithered and bit like venom, “We’ll pick up tomorrow. If you absolutely need me, I’ll be organizing my report sheets for the oncoming shift.” When no one was looking anymore, her eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “Busy yourself for the next hour.” A sneer slipped past the benevolent mask she wore. “Don’t need me.”

With a steel spine, she whipped past you, stalking off toward her task, the white of her hair streaking from your periphery. And there you were, clutching an IV starter kit – missing the needle, much like you’d missed the vein – trying your hardest to keep from showing any emotion whatsoever. Less people were gawking now that Silver had left, but you still felt eyes on you. Whatever lay in those lingering stares, pity or humor or apathy, it all burned you, reminded you how temporary you were. Not only in this place – the “Infirmary” as the staff referred to it – but in your life, as well.

Smoothing the skirt of your uniform, you cleared your throat and turned to do as you were instructed, catching CB-7070’s visor for a second before peering around the unit. She faced you, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she may be the only one around who was on your side. The white of her helmet glinted as she gave a small nod in your periphery. Yeah, she wasn’t so bad, no matter who she’d report to the second you got back to the Consulate.

The Infirmary was a large unit, and, unlike any place you’d practiced in since graduation, it was efficiently staffed and stocked. Safe nurse-to-patient ratios, sufficient supplies, and an allocated provider available for any emergent orders or treatments. It was a surreal representation of the “hospital utopia” you’d heard of all throughout school.

But, aside from its apparent perfection, some characteristics of the unit confused you, but you didn’t ask about it because no one else seemed to think it was weird, and Silver didn’t exactly foster a great learning environment.

What struck you first was the Infirmary’s construction and layout. It was all glass, floor to ceiling windows that offered full views of each patient in their respective rooms. You’d watched the sun dance across the sky as the day went on, nothing hindering you from the beautiful view of the sea beyond the fanned-out city below. The only thing that offered a semblance of privacy for each patient was the wall-spanning mirror positioned in front of their beds. None of them saw each other, but it was still odd that there seemed to be no concern towards the errant lapse in privacy policy the design created.

At the center was the nurses’ station, large and circular, a skylight fixed right above. The staff used the lack of patient privacy to their advantage, peering above the counter to make sure their assignments were doing alright. Their assignments who were all under the age of twenty. Some much younger, just grasping at adolescence, others kissing young adulthood – those seemed much worse off, something darker rimmed their eyes, ghosted behind the lifeless face all of them wore.

It was a strange environment to be in, even more so due to how vague the progress notes were, history and physicals extremely short and never too in depth, especially when it concerned anything related to the patients’ family history or living situations. Something seemed off, something that tugged at you and made you yearn to break past the flat affect each patient met you with.

So many were here for a few hours and then gone the next, a constant influx of admissions and discharges. But, so strangely, there was never any patient education given, never any parents or guardians for the younger ones to go home to. They were always escorted from the unit by two “official personnel”. And watching their faces as Silver told them they were done with treatment and could leave, it killed you to see the faintest slash of fear quiver their bottom lips.

Beyond that, beyond seeing these younglings so fearful and defenseless, what clawed at your gut the most was that none of them had a name. They had no birthdate information, no address listed, no family contacts entered or even offered. They were all in the system only by the letters “FL” followed by a code of eight numbers. The nurses would refer to them by their room numbers to make it simpler, but none of them shared your concern for the lack of identity these patients were plagued with.

Yes, something seemed off, seemed wrong here. Something waswrong here, but you feared you would be gone before you ever knew what that was.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a tray left on an isolation cart next to a door. Heeding Silver’s command, you approached it, discarding the IV kit and feeling CB-7070’s focus catch your every step. You’d passed this door frequently, never seeing anyone approach it for longer than a few seconds at a time, assuming it was a closet for extra supplies or scanning machines. But the meal card on the tray indicated differently.

This was a patient’s room. The room number matched, there were no other doors labeled with it that you could see. No staff paid you any attention as you peered around. The only one watching was your white-armored shadow standing against a pane of glass.

Shrugging to yourself, feeling you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for delivering a patient’s food, you said over your shoulder to CB-7070, “I’m taking this in. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t follow me in here.” More to yourself, you sighed, “Even if I am the only one here concerned about privacy, I’d prefer not to violate anyone’s rights on my first day.”

CB-7070 nodded. “Affirmative,” her modulator croaked.

A swipe of your new badge gained you access past the door, a whoosh of air whipping through your skirt as it closed behind you. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from a holo-chart programmed into the wall. It appeared you were in an antechamber, those that often came with isolation patients, but there was nothing indicating this patient had any infection or ailment that necessitated a gown or mask.

The air was stale, like nothing and no one had stirred it in a few days, and the only glass visible was that of a window peering into the room beyond – or, it would be peering, were there not closed blinds on the other side of it.

You saw yourself in that darkened pane, clutching the tray to yourself, the first glimpse you caught of your face since the start of shift. Truthfully, you looked awful. Hair frizzed at your temples, a sheen of oil had gathered on your forehead, and exhaustion was evident in the puffy bags beneath your eyes.

But it was an earned appearance, no matter what Silver wanted you and everyone else to believe. Today you did your best and you interpreted and communicated abnormal findings, you assessed every patient without bias and documented everything you did. There were things you were unsure of, not having performed many skills while being assigned to Kylo, but you always asked for help, even though you realized it would be met with disgruntled aggravation after the first few times.

You had done everything right, understanding the consequences if you didn’t. As far as you were concerned, and even as much doubt as she’s caused you in the singular day you’ve known her, Silver was the problem. Not you.

And, not for nothing, the IV you missed earlier… not entirely your fault.

Kylo Ren picked the wrong day to Force-edge you. Or maybe it was you who really initiated the torture, but he’d been the one to follow through with his threat. Every hour had been memorable.

The first three had luckily occurred when you were away from patients but did earn you a few wary glances from the unit staff, your jaw set firm as you gave them a reassuring nod, hoping they couldn’t see how badly you were shaking as your cunt spasmed toward orgasm, but never got there.

There was something vicious in the rate at which he was forcing you toward the edge. Even though you couldn’t see or hear him, you felt like he was tormenting you with spite in mind rather than pleasure, like something you’d said or thought had angered him.

You didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the hours went on and you’d begged the stars that the slick slipping from your center wouldn’t go past the hem of your dress. A few times you’d cursed the damned uniform, but quickly turned to cursing Kylo Ren for the ever-so-slightly too high hem. It’d surprised you that he never acted on those silent curses aimed at him, that it hadn’t earn you another hour riding the edge of pleasure while choking down the gasps and moans he’d surely intended to draw from you.

During lunch, you’d found a corner and ate alone, speaking to the wall and scorning Kylo under your breath, spitting empty threats, telling him to stop, to slow down. When that hadn’t worked and the Force picked up in pattern and pressure, nudging your clit just right, your hands had clamped around a plastic fork as you held on for dear life. He was nowhere near you and you’d almost cum four times over the course of your twenty-five-minute break. At that point, you’d considered begging him to let you cum, but part of you knew that would only lengthen his schemes.

Other times during shift, when Silver was rolling her eyes when you’d asked for her help, you’d felt the light, teasing lance of the Force trail along your neck. When you were priming tubing for a new admission, you’d felt the strange, unseen presence caress your ear like Kylo’s tongue might. And one hour, right after the previous had left you wondering if you’d be able to stand the next time you needed to – that hour where you’d traded your curses for pleading, traded the harshness you were spitting for the simple, hushed breaths you needed to outlast the never-ending torrent of pleasure he kept surging through you – the Force was kinder, something sentimental in the way it’d weighted your body like Kylo would, draped itself along your shoulders as sweat dried on your brow and the shaking of your legs settled.

A delicate, “Thank you,” had breathed over your lips when the Force – when Kylo’s teasing – seemed it would let up for the remainder of your shift.

But, of course, that peace had been temporary, a strategy to lapse your guard, to make you vulnerable when you’d most needed a clear mind and a steady hand. It had started with the gentle lulls you’d been left with, a stroking tendril swift over the column of your neck, the tourniquet tight to the patient’s arm as you poked their forearm in search of a vein. And when you informed Silver you’d found one, the Force deftly switched its attention to your pussy.

Silver had been scrutinizing you before, but when your shaking hand and short, shallow breaths appeared as fear instead of the pleasure they were born from, her brow had narrowed that much more. When you’d anchored the vein and aligned the needle – at her all-important fifteen-degree angle – your hand had shifted, jumped as your thighs tightened and you fought to trap a moan in your throat. It was an accident that the needle pierced the patient – and, worse, through the vein – at a greater angle, and it wrought you with emotion. Guilt for hurting the patient, shame for screwing up under Silver’s icy appraisal, and unyielding anger for Kylo Ren for causing your fuck up and not being able to explain that.

So here you were, taking the brunt of criticism and punishment for a mistake you wouldn’t have made had it not been for Kylo Ren, and studying your reflection in the scant light offered from the holo-chart of a patient you hadn’t known existed up until three minutes ago.

“Kylo,” you breathed, reaching for the second badge-scanner, “I can’t look bad here. The Board is watching. Hux is watching.” You glimpsed the radar fastened to your wrist, directing your tired eyes at Kylo’s indicator like he could feel your attention on him. “Give me this last hour and let me be good. Let me do well. Let me prove that I can to everyone who believes otherwise.”

A few seconds passed by as you waited for a reaction. Nothing came. The Force remained absent from you, and your shoulders dropped in relief. With a final glance at the chart, noting the patient’s identifier and checking it against the meal ticket, you swiped your badge and the entrance rushed open.

Darkness met you once more, but this darkness was heavier somehow. Not in the way untouched rooms are usually heavy – not with dust or grime – but a heaviness that clutched at your heart. It pressed into you, taunted you even as you remained a step outside the threshold. It was only shadows, unmoving and unremarkable darkness, but it clawed at you. It writhed at your feet and stirred your heart.

This was the darkness that lived behind each of those younglings’ eyes, but here it was concentrated, like this was the very source of it. Like this was its home.

“Hello?” you croaked, still not daring to pass into the shadow-thick room.

No answer, not even a stir. Nothing but that unyielding darkness.

You cleared your throat. “I, um, I have your dinner.” You took a small step forward. “Sorry for the wait… if there was one.”

More of the same. More of nothing.

A light switch entered your periphery with your next step, and you reached for it, but before you could flip it—

“If I wanted it on, do you think I’d be sitting in here like this?”

The voice was weak, small, but not that of a child. Not even that of an ill person, or an elderly one. It was male, though. Boyish, but not a boy’s. Somehow, the voice was young and old at the same time, as if the boy had lived long years already, and those years had worn him down.

The voice was a singular stream against the dark’s thick, silent wrath, and it was hollow, empty like the shadows before you should be. As the question ended, you found that it wasn’t bitterness or pain that lived in its tone, but rather a broken apathy, like whoever this was had cared and fought for so long but had ultimately lost in the end.

“Not that anyone here is really concerned about what I want,” came the voice again, an edge weighting its words.

Finally, you stepped completely into the room. You had to swallow a gasp when the entrance at your back locked shut. The tray jostled in your arms, but you succeeded at remaining upright.

With a sugary tone, you asked, “How will you eat if you can’t see your food?”

A huffed laugh, tired and bitter. “You should work on that nurse voice. Not very convincing.” A long, deep breath filled a few otherwise silent moments. “Send that tray back. Give it to someone who wants it.”

Without your “nurse voice”, you said, “Why did you order it—”

“—I didn’t. I never do. I’m being kept here, why would I want to sustain myself to make my stay that much longer?”

“Kept?” you whispered.

The longer you stood in place, the more your eyes adjusted. The room was still suffocated by the swamp of darkness, but there was some light after all. Scant, but there, a beam of the setting sun speared the room, and from what you had begun to make out of the body in front of you – a small form curled in the center of a bed – you found he was staring out of the broken blinds from which it came, like he was looking at something. Looking forsomething.

“Kept. Held prisoner. Restrained but not restrained because thatwould make this whole operation illegal, right? Whatever way you want to put it, I’ve made it obvious I don’t want to be here.” A long pause and a sad sigh. “Starvation is a better fate than most here, anyway.”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his voice wasn’t hollow, but burning with quiet fury. For what, you weren’t sure, but you realized this was the first patient who had spoken all day. And his tone, his words, only solidified the fact that there was something very, very wrong going on.

You walked closer to him, past the foot of his bed until you saw where the small slant of light was focused, what he continued to brokenly fawn over.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, leaning down so you could match your view with his.

He turned his head from the mostly covered window, the creak of light only possible through a bend in the blinds, and he looked at you, a flash of realization spreading through his features before he reined his expression into a void of dull emotion.

He stared at you as you stared at him, appraising you just the same. He was young, but it appeared as though his youth had been leeched from him. Long dark brunette curls framed his face and teased his shoulders, heavy with oil inherent of unkemptness. An immense sadness lived in the downturned state of his mouth, a contrasting anger set in the crease of his brow. And when you finally found his eyes, you restrained a shiver, as the deep hazel burned with that cleave of sun and struck you with the anvil of pain and desperation that lived in them.

He wasn’t alarmed at your proximity but confused. With a shaky voice, and something of a weak sneer biting at his mouth, he said, “You’re a sick, brutal cunt, you know that?”

“What? What do you—”

“What am I looking at? Do not patronize me!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you stupid or just cruel?”

“I’m not either, I—”

“You’re both!”

“I’m temporary! I don’t work here! I’ve been here for one shift! I’ve been on this planet for one day!”

Without missing a beat, but less heated and more restrained, the boy said, “Just stupid then.”

He continued to glare at you, but your eyes wandered back to the break in the blinds, and with narrowed eyes you found something that resembled a racing track. It was far out in the distance, but you knew that was what he had been focused on, sure of it by the way his demeanor shifted when you looked back down at him.

“Help me understand, then, if I am so stupid,” you whispered.

“You aren’t any different from the others, no matter if you’re temporary or not. Whatever that means, anyway.” The boy’s jaw set so firm you swore you heard it crack. “You don’t want to understand. If you did, if anyone cared so much, the Infirmary wouldn’t exist.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Help me?” the boy barked. He considered you for a moment, sun and shadow warring across the hollows of his cheeks as he did. Those pained eyes narrowed a fraction. “Who are you? What does temporary mean?”

You leaned away from him, straightening your posture and setting his tray on a counter off to the side. You offered your name, just the first, and dragged an absent-minded finger over the embroidery of your uniform. “Temporary means…”

Perhaps it was his already non-existent trust in you, but you did not think that informing him of the real reason you were here – telling him that your license and life were on the line and you were here so the Board of Physicians would have ease in their decision to end your life or not – would do much to foster his confidence in you, you took a second to frame it in a way that would appeal to him.

Clearing your throat, you kept his stare and said, “Temporary means that I’m here for less than two weeks, and I have no loyalties to any staff here. Temporary means that I do care so much, and I do want to help because temporary also means that I’ve seen some weird shit today, and I don’t understand it.” The boy’s brows raised for a fragmented second, but you knew you’d gained at least a small portion of his respect, so you continued.

With a lowered voice and an unbreakable stare, you said, “Temporary means that I am on your side, and if you let me, if you help me to understand what is going on, I will help you as best as I can.”

The boy shifted, ringing a hand around his opposite wrist, toying with the identification band secured there. He never stopped looking into your eyes, and you knew he was searching for deceit, but the longer he stared, the more he came up short.

You offered him your hand, observing how he flinched away from it, but keeping it extended as he considered it for another few moments.

“I told you who I am. Will you tell me who you are?”

It seemed like the darkness that surrounded you was watching with bated breath, watching in awe as the boy’s gaze remained on your extended hand.

He swallowed, and ever so slowly, with a hesitation that struck through your heart, he lifted his hand and clasped it around yours. The light from the broken blinds coiled around your matched hands, and for the first time today, you felt hopeful. And no matter how dim and breathless it was, a flicker of that same hopefulness played through his eyes.

“I…” the boy hesitated, so you squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring nod. His shoulders relaxed with his next breath. “I am Quynnland. With a ‘Y’.”

“Quynnland,” you parroted, trying it out and letting his hand go. “Do you have any nicknames? Like Quynn? Quynnie?”

“No one calls me Quynnie!” he roared. “Nobody calls me that except…” Quynnland shifted in bed, away from you, turning his face back toward that racing track. His bottom lip quivered, and he appeared as if you’d just lashed him with molten plasma.

“Quynnland,” you soothed, “nobody calls you that except who?”

He remained quiet, but he shuddered, and you saw the light glint off a stream that found its way down the slate of his cheek.

“I want to understand. I want to help you.” You swallowed against your throat, which had become markedly thicker since you last spoke. “Please, help me help you.”

Quynnland’s chin rose, his eyes fell shut, and he balled his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t angry, but in pain, and you knew from the sight of how broken he was that he’d been in pain for a long time now. Perhaps, it seemed, he had never known a day without it.

Just when you were about to speak, Quynnland coughed against a sob and whispered, “They won’t let me see him. He’s there on his own. He’s never been alone for this long.” A tight breath whipped into his chest. “They’re keeping me here so I age out. They’re keeping me away from him.”

“Who is he? What are you aging out of?” The more he offered, the more questions you thought of.

“I almost got us out this time,” he whispered. “I almost saved us both, but they caught me and dragged me away from him. He’s young, but that never stopped them before.” A wheeze of pain slipped from Quynnland’s lips. “They probably broke him just enough so he could still work.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you kept quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quynnland spoke again. “My brother. That’s who gets to call me ‘Quynnie’. That’s who I tried to save, and that’s who is suffering because I failed.” He pushed an aggravated sound from his lungs. “The only way you can help me, is if you help him.”

“How do I do that?” you asked, watching as his fists relaxed at his sides.

Quynnland opened his eyes and bore the full weight of their pain into yours. He took a long breath and squared his jaw. “You get him away from the wardens, and then you get him out.”

“Where is he?” you asked, needing to know what that racing track he kept glancing toward was.

He went to answer, but a rush of motion sounded beyond his door, and just as quickly, the entrance to his room shot open. Quynnland ducked his head and balled his fists, and you turned to see that it was Silver who stood in his doorway. She wore an unfamiliar face, one of shock and terror, and you went to speak, but her hand whipped out and signaled that you would notbe saying a word until you left this room.

She stared at Quynnland a moment longer, surveying him like she’d never seen him before. “Eat your dinner. I won’t have you starving to death under my license, not now that this will be your last stay here.” Silver more so talked at him rather than directly to him, and her tone was hard and full of disgust.

It gave you another reason to hate her.

You wanted to reach out and take Quynnland’s hand, but Silver snapped at you before you could. “You,” she sneered. “Out. Now.”

The ice behind her eyes had seeped to her tongue, and her words froze the very blood in your veins. She watched you as you stepped around her and into the antechamber, and you glanced the final withering, aghast glare she shot at Quynnland as you did.

When you reached toward the door that opened to the hall, Silver caught your wrist just before your badge met it. She was eerily silent for a moment, and you swore she was practically shaking with rage, but then she settled herself and stared down at you with such concentrated antagonization that it knocked the breath right from your lungs.

“What made you think you could go into this room? I never went near this room with you today. Why would you be allowed to enter it alone?” She was seething, but she hid it behind something of a gnarled smile.

“There was a tray just sitting outside, unattended to. I figured I would find something to do and deliver it to the patient. No harm done.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on you. “Are you aware what this patient is here for?” she asked sweetly, but it came off as clear condescension.

Silver waited for you to answer, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted from humiliating you again. So you remained silent, and she sneered at you. “Exactly what I thought. So why would you interact with a patient you know nothing about? And did the double security not tip you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“Look, Silver,” you huffed, enjoying the disgust that smeared across her features as you said her name, “I saw a tray. I had nothing better to do. My badge had access to the room. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

She cast you an undying glare, and her eye twitched when she gave you a once-over. “This patient willfully tried to kill himself and his brother last week. Did he tell you that?”

Your heart blackened, and your ears rang with silence as she let her words sink in.

Silver was pleased with your shocked silence. She went on. “Oh, and did he tell you just how many times he’s tried to do this exact thing in the past?” You remained wordless, feeling betrayed for reasons you couldn’t understand. “No? Not even a guess? Well, he’s a unit regular, if that gives any indication.”

She waited again and was once more elated to be met with silence. “It’s the same story every time. The wardens say he takes his kid brother to the shore and plans on swimming out to the Falls and either drowning to death or dying from impact.”

You swallowed in vain, mouth drier than sand. A part of your knew you didn’t want the answer, but you still asked, “How old… how old is his brother?”

A sick, deathly smile creaked across her perfect face. “Of course, we don’t know exactly, but previous scans estimate that he’s no older than seven.”

Seven. A child. Quynnland had tried to kill his brother… had tried to kill himself and his kid brother…

“Next time, don’t poke around business you don’t understand,” Silver cut your panic short, her frigid tone icing your skin with gooseflesh. “Your shift is up.”

She shoved your shoulder on her way past, but before she could activate the door the room filled with bright red light, and a shrill alarm screamed through the ruby darkness.

It was your watch.

Endless, screeching notes sounded from your wrist. Your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t think for a moment, completely thrown back to that last hour on Starkiller Base.

Kylo was in trouble. Kylo was hurt. Kylo needed you and you weren’t there.

When you lifted your arm as your heart sank through the floor and you read the continuous scrawling message, your feet pounded the ground and carried you away from the unit to wherever he was, wherever your radar was guiding you.

All you could think of was him lying under you, his blood slipping along your skin, and his still, comatose body. And as you made your way to him, not seeing the world around you, hardly aware of CB-7070’s footfalls booming behind you, you kept rereading the message that raced along your watch’s screen, and as you turned corner after corner and fled down hundreds of steps and staircases, the simple, abbreviated message taunted you with the past.

ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

As it scrawled endlessly across the small screen, all you could think of was how this felt too familiar to the day Starkiller exploded. And the only thought that remained, the only one out of the thousand that flooded back from that day, was that you would fight for the future you’d realized you wanted then.

Only now did you admit the full truth of that thought: the only future you wanted was one where you could be with Kylo. The only future worth having, you realized, was the one where you would spend it with him.

So you ran toward your future. Just as you had run that day not so long ago, you ran toward Kylo Ren.

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #smut #angst

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violentviolette · 4 years ago

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please tell me what aspd is like for you since you're diagnosed? ive had a life time of antisocial (illegal/violent/aggressive) behaviour, im incapable of feeling love and i really lack affective empathy. im becoming 18 in a few months and it's not getting better so atm i think my personality is legitimately disordered but i don't know anyone who has it irl to ask questions

so there's a really good breakdown i saw recently of the core disordered thought processes and internal logic that guide aspd that I thought really hit the nail on the head so I'd absolutely suggest giving it a read here

as for my own personal experience, for me the biggest factors were my aggressive and violent behavior, my pervasive and obsessive need for control over both myself and others, and my lack of remorse and inability to conceptualize the feelings of others.

ive talked a lot about my anger issues in the past so if u want more info on that just go thru my aspd tag here

but my aspd now vs my aspd when I was in my early 20s is very different. ive done a lot of work in trauma recovery and it has drastically improved my ability to cognitively empathize with others, love and form bonds. it is a myth that antisocial ppl cannot experience genuine love and care for others, we just have a much harder time with it.

im much more social now and ive learned to become much better about not only recognizing the emotions of others, but caring about them as well. tho i still don't like the company of many people and am easily irritated and put off by others so i do spend the majority of my time either alone or in the company of 2 or 3 select ppl. I can also still be very callous and I tend to speak "out of turn" a lot. I dont really notice when something ive said could be considered upsetting or insulting usually until after ive said it. peoplw often describe me as harsh and say that im very blunt and straightforward. i dont give much thought to making my words soft or kind and whether or not I care about hurting others feelings depends completely on if the person in question is someone I like or not. I genuinely do not feel any negative emotions from hurting the feelings of people I dont deem worth my care or who I dont like and enjoy even to this day. so while my ability to care for others has definitely increased, its still well below nuerotypical thresholds.

this was much worse when I was younger and it was almost impossible for me to form genuine close attachments with others. i was paranoid and distrustful of people by default, I didn't care about peoples feelings and was extreamly self focused and defensive. if I didn't personally find it upsetting or if it didn't go against the morals I had set for myself, I just did not care. I still don't care about most things or people and when I dont care it feels like genuine torture to have to pretend to do so or to perform an emotion im not having for the sake of appearing normal

I also viewed all social interaction as inherently manipulative. people were not their own unique individuals, they were pawns for me to use for my own personal gain and interacting with them was a chess match to "win" what i wanted from them. I never considered their feelings wants or motivations and cared only about myself and my wants.

anhedonia has also been a big persistent symptom for me. its been very difficult for me to cultivate happiness and find things that both keep my attention and make me feel positive emotions. when I was younger this was also much more difficult and I would partake in increasingly risky behaviors in order to feel emotions because I could only experience them if they were at extremes. this led to things like breaking the law, self harming, doing lots and lots of drugs ect. anything I could do to dump as much adrenaline into my brain as possible in order to feel anything other than a pervasive numbness.

I still struggle with this but again to a much lesser degree. I still absolutely do drugs and struggle to find meaning and purpose with my life and am just kinda floating thru it, but most of my days are positive and im able to find hobbies that make me happy a lot easier

those are most of the big things for me, tho there is a lot more. but honestly working on trauma recovery helped SO much with most of my symptoms. unpacking the disordered ways I was taught to live and the abusive mindsets I was raised under help me understand the world around me better and view it through a more positive lense. also being surrounded by people who did genuinely care for me and whose company I found enjoyable. its very hard to care for people who clearly don't care for u.

I hope that was at least a little helpful but feel free to ask anything else if u have more specific questions!

#aspd #aspd tag #cluster b #cluster b pd #jack.speaks #anon

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romiithebirdie · 4 years ago

Text

From the Furthest Tether: Part One

"Oh, Izuku," his mother, Inko tsked, rolling up his shirt sleeve and checking over the scuffs and blisters along his arm. She honestly wished her son and the friends he chose to surround himself with would play more gently with one another. Knowing that children often played rough, Inko honestly had to admit that Izuku returning home each day with small burns and bruises was beginning to become more and more concerning.

She began chewing her lip in anxiousness when she heard the slap of leather shoes coming up from behind her and the front door of their home closing shut. A hand brushed through her own green locks and she let out a small giggle like a teenager when her husband pecked her on the cheek, returning from another long day at work.

Hisashi's light hazel eyes widened slightly at the marks on his four-year old's arms and he scowled, "Are those children still causing you grief, Izuku?"

Izuku's little friendship group consisted of three children in question, two quieter kids who went along with whatever their ringleader, Katsuki Bakugou implemented them in.

Bakugou, in Hisashi's own words was a temperamental little nuisance who took after his hot-tempered mother, Mitsuki far too much. The child had an air of superiority that was incredibly unnatural for a boy that age and his unpunished behaviour often set Hisashi's teeth on edge.

Especially when it involved abusing his gentle-natured son who only wished to befriend the little brat in question. Something that he found himself despairing over on a daily basis.

"That woman needs to reign that little demon in before he seriously hurts somebody," Hisashi growled, setting down his briefcase and muttering under his breath as he removed his blazer from his shoulders.

"You know how children can be, dear," Inko moved from crouching to kneeling on the carpet while glancing up at her husband.

Hisashi fought the urge to roll his eyes at his wife's attempts to reason with him. It was a common excuse that most people used to make light of a situation, something that many adults would often say when it came to dealing with Bakugou's behaviour.

"I blame that mother and soft-hearted father of his," he grumbled, folding his blazer over one of the chairs in their dining room. Inko watched from over her shoulder and she smiled warmly, trying to offer the man she loved a tiny bit of comfort.

"I'll call Mitsuki and talk with her about it, Hisashi. I'm sure we can work something out."

Hisashi let out a huff in response, leaving to fetch something from his study further down the hallway while running a hand through his white curls. Inko let out a soft sigh, shaking her head fondly yet tiredly, understanding completely how her husband felt about the issue with Izuku's supposed friends.

While she was proud that her baby was kind-hearted, she often had to admit she found herself growing concerned over the fact Izuku would make excuses for the children who treated him dreadfully. Inko was more lenient with situations like this but her husband was a different story...

Although she loved him, sometimes the odd spark of life in Hisashi's eyes triggered an emotion that she would try to blot out of her mind. It was something that she would find herself wondering about every now and again.

Her son snapped her out of her own thoughts when she felt a small tug on the sleeve of her crocheted cardigan.

"It's okay, Mummy," Izuku sniffled from the wooden stool Inko had fetched him. He offered her a watery smile and then uttered words that the woman was thankful that her husband hadn't been in the room to hear; "A hero sometimes has to deal with injuries worse than these! So I will too, so it can make me stronger!"

.-.-.-.

Stronger, huh?

The light bulb above his head needed changing.

Izuku watched from his bed as the dull light flickered like a burnt-out candle above him with a foggy mind, still fuzzy from recently waking from emergency surgery.

There was a howl of utter anguish coming from outside of Izuku's ward and further down the hallway. It almost sounded like Present Mic's voice, but the boy couldn't be completely sure. Something else was yelled out, about "her" being dead.

He had no idea who had died, nor did he want to know at this current moment in time. Closing his eyes tight, Izuku shuddered upon hearing the absolute broken wail that followed, echoing all the way up to his room and further along the other side of the corridor.

Everything had gone so wrong in the Jaku Raid. It was supposed to be simple for him and his class; evacuate civilians and leave the fighting to the Pro Heroes.

At first, everything had started smoothly. Izuku had gone with his classmates and followed orders like a model student, only a little concerned when the static buzzing of Endeavor called out to several heroes for back-up.

It's probably nothing, he had told himself, escorting an elderly couple along a footpath to where their family were waiting.

But then the decay began, killing heroes and civilians alike while tearing down multiple buildings and natural resources. Izuku and his friends had been forced to leap into action, immediately following one of Endeavor's sidekicks, Burnin, who was moving towards one of many areas of complete carnage.

Soon after, a voice spoke through his mind that would haunt him for years to come:

"It's down there."

One for All screamed out in response, like a telepathic wave telling him to move. To do something.

And he had complied.

He had lied to his closest friends and darted off into danger with the intent to lure Tomura Shigaraki's awakened form towards him and away from everybody in the vicinity. His childhood friend and fellow classmate, Katsuki Bakugou, had tailed him while wearing his trademark smirk. Together they had jumped straight into the lion's den and Shigaraki took the bait completely, immediately aiming for Izuku until his impending rescue courtesy of Gran Torino.

Shortly after narrowly avoiding death, Izuku had been spared from a painful demise by none other than Bakugou, who had pushed him away from the elongated, sharpened tendrils of one of Shigaraki's many Quirks.

Everything had become a blur from then, Izuku remembers the rush of fury emitting from his every being and he charged Shigaraki with only one intent in mind; to hurt the other male for almost killing his childhood friend.

The world had become a blur for Izuku soon after and he had appeared back in the dreamscape, brushing along the ghostly walls of the void of One for All and its' previous wielders. But this time, Shigaraki was also there, crouched low while All for One seemed to be growing out of his spine like an uprooted evergreen, coiling his arms around the younger male's body like thick vines ensnaring him.

He remembered how much All for One's words stung upon hearing the villain rasp them out at his younger brother who opposed him alongside Nana Shimura, the seventh holder of One for All who also happened to be Shigaraki's paternal grandmother.

"Your power has been wasted on someone who couldn't protect his own teach or friend, yet they were able to defend him! To think you conferred this power to somebody so worthless was a complete mistake!"

Although the vestiges had stood their ground against the century-old madman, the words clung to Izuku and ate away at his already crumbling self-worth. He had been utterly helpless, both in their realm and his world.

The rest of the fight was nothing but a blur, smudges of memories here and there as he fought consciousness upon his return to the physical world. Izuku recalls that he had tried to reach Shigaraki with Black Whip one last time because he had the sudden desire to rescue the manic villain from his inner demons, literally and figuratively speaking. To reach out towards somebody who had threatened his life on multiple occasions, taken Kacchan captive back at the Training Camp and then spent their most recent battle targeting the green-haired teen with the intent to snatch him away and tear his Quirk away from his body.

And then after that, I'd be murdered in the most gruesome way Shigaraki could think of, his mind inputted as an extra punch in the figurative gut.

Izuku had attempted to stand his ground once more, using a Froppy-inspired move with Black Whip streaming out of his mouth, but had been blasted back where he then remained consumed by the darkness until he awoke in a hospital bed attached to an IV drip and completely alone.

With everything that had transpired, he had barely done anything. The villains escaped and there were talks of a lot of heroes passing away in battle that Izuku had only heard through his bouts of drifting in and out of consciousness. He wandered if Gran Torino had survived the violent attack Shigaraki had dealt him. The elder had essentially been gutted in front of them all, yet Izuku had no clue where he had been taken. Izuku prayed he was alive, All Might had already lost a number of his closest friends, he didn't deserve the devastation of losing the man who cared for him after Nana's death.

I need some air, he told himself, struggling to his feet while gripping the IV with one shaking hand as he forced himself to move forward. He shakily began unscrewing the drip from his cannula, pushing the IV pole aside as he shuffled out of the ward.

He made it all the way through the empty halls and up the elevator until he reached the doors to the hospital rooftop, though he was still unsure of what the purpose of going up to the roof was about…

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