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#Everyone on this site is deeply mentally disturbed
millimononym · 1 year
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I am deeply concerned that a mspaint warrior cats gijinka comic meant to be purposefully shitty by emulating early 2010s cringe is the most I'll probably ever get on this hellsite. I should make another one
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renee00124 · 7 months
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*Borderline Personality Disorder*
What happens when a police department, LAPD, documented to be historically corrupt, intentionally hires common thugs?  The result is the making of the "Rampart Scandal, Part II".
"Rampart Scandal" 
Today the exact type is operating on an official mission within a unified, massive human experimentation program using military grade weapon system and devices, drones, for high-tech destruction of lives, in similar activity reported nationwide..  
Over and over they say, "We are getting ready to get you." Each time I think perhaps they are coming into the open so that the situation can be presented before the judicial system.  Instead I hear the optical lens antenna of the system being adjusted inside the wall, setup by military personnel in Happoldt’s house next, then a beamed attack. Today it was a beam slow cooking of my heart before the beam was redirected to my stomach.  
One thing I have learned, sadly, is that those involved in high-tech destruction of lives are so deeply mentally disturbed and far gone. The truth of ongoing human experimentation that began long before some of the military personnel were even born.  As useful puppets, the truth is not in them nor can it be.  They have proven time and time again that they will lie, lie and lie and deny, and deny the truth to keep this program hidden for obvious reasons.  The fact is while in denial of behavioral modification technologies, which date back decades, and while at the helm and targeting people reported nationwide.  They will try and try to Gaslight you and attempt to brainwash you by convincing target's that the truth of this program’s existence, is nonexistent and you and everyone else coming forth today are crazy. This program is historically so diabolical that they will take extreme measure to keep the truth literally under the radar.
"Tortured: When Good Soldier Do Bad Things vs. The Murder for Profit Club"
How could them and why?
Apparently when the government sanctions these technologies and use on the civilian population anything goes without remorse and as a result it create Borderline Sociopaths.  They care only about importance while involved ina horrific “Crime of the Century”.
There actions and the destruction ensued mimic a herd of those with characterist of the mentally distured and common criminals in uniform.  
The question is, did they bring this mentality to the table when assigned to this mission or did they have these characteristics and the delusional, distortion of reality necessary for this mission or was it fostered after official indoctrination?  
The question is, how in God's name could they do this to others while apparently blocking the truth and having no remorse?
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madisonlux · 2 years
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Week 3 Blog Post
I watched The Social Dilemma last year when it first came out. It was the first time that I had ever thought deeply about hoe much data social media sites keep about us. Social media uses big data and algorithms to keep our attention on their app. It is very powerful because it is a proven fact that if we see things that we are interested in, we will keep our attention there.
One app that has their algorithms down to a science is TikTok. Everybody’s “for you” page on TikTok is completely different. It is completely based on what the app has noticed that you pay attention to or interact with. For example, if you spend more time watching videos of dogs, then your page will suddenly have more dog videos. However, your best friend might be seeing completely different videos based on what they are interested in. It does get kind of creepy to think about how much data these apps actually have about us. 
The documentary describes the use of “positive intermittent reinforcement” when it comes to notification on our phone. It is like a slot machine every time we check our phone. We hope to see one or multiple notifications when we check our phone and when we do, we feel the need to open our phone and check it.
On a personal level, these problems could be solved by putting my phone on do not disturb or turning off unnecessary notifications. This would keep me off my phone for a certain about of time. On a professional level, businesses can’t really do much to stop the use of big data and algorithms because it is how they compete with other companies. The social media companies would only be able to stop this if they decided to stop making any profits for their service. On a societal level,  we need to stop believing everything that we see and read on social media. It will positively impact everyone’s mental health.
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lovingleehaechan · 3 years
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I adore you. - Jung Jaehyun (Part II)
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genre: fluff, angst(?)
word count: 1.6k
warnings: curse words
a/n: why hello there... long time no post T-T i know, it’s been too long since this awaited update but i’m back to writing now! it’s been a busy couple of months and i haven’t had time to sit back and actually enjoy writing without getting so stressed :( i hope this update is enough to fill the void for now. but for sure after this one, it’ll pick up. do you think y/n and jaehyun will have a happy ending? or will it end in an oof situation? stay tuned my loves! 
with all my love, summer x
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It’s December, everyone knows what that means, exam season. Though it’s the end of semester, Jaehyun’s stress levels were through the roof. He hasn’t felt like this in a long while, unprepared and panicked over the little exams he has. In order to ease his worries, he motivates himself to go to the library and make an attempt to get something done. He can’t stand sitting on his living room couch, aimlessly scrolling through his phone while simultaneously searching for a movie to watch. 
Procrastination is and always will be a bitch but hey, at least he got himself out of the house. Even if it was just for a cup of coffee and a couple of minutes of looking at his notes. He sighs as he catches sight of the grey and miserable building in his campus. How he dreads staring at the old and ancient site. Jaehyun exhales another breath and gets himself mentally prepared for what is about to come. 
“Death and a breakdown,” his mind answers. 
As expected, the library was full of students also trying to study for their exams. Some caught with panic in their eyes while they read through their notes quickly and a few with their hands on their heads, seeking comfort from what was an oncoming breakdown. Though it was a huge building with many spots to sit and settle down with books, laptops and notes, Jaehyun always preferred the third floor, where there was a hidden bunch of tables caught in the middle of a forest of books. Not a lot of people knew of this particular spot, the only ones who knew about it were you and a couple of other friends. 
What he didn’t expect is to see you there with your earphones on, highlighter in hand, studying. He’s momentarily distracted by your calm appearance. Jaehyun never thought that someone could look so gorgeous just by being focused. Your eyebrows are furrowed and your head slowly moves in time with the music you’re listening to. 
His heart sighs again. 
His breath caught. 
And his long legs lead him to where you are. 
Without realising, he taps your shoulder. 
You turn your head slowly, reluctant to look up from the notes you just wrote. Catching sight of Jaehyun you smile with your eyes. 
“Oh hey,” you say as you take one earphone out. 
“You didn’t tell me you were in the library today.” he blurts. 
“Yeah, I legged it out this morning and forgot to ask if you wanted to come. You know how it is during exam season.” you explain to him in a hushed voice. 
Jaehyun nods, and sets himself down at the empty seat next to you. He takes out his notes, laptop and pencil case. All ready to get himself stuck at all the information he needs to learn for the coming week. 
As he gets himself setted, it only causes you to watch him as he goes about his unknowing routine whenever he’s in the library. You smile slightly, and a light chuckle comes out of your mouth. Jaehyun, busy getting himself together, didn't notice. 
He sits himself down on the chair next to you with a highlighter in his mouth and a furrowed eyebrow looking at his books. He had no idea how the fuck he was going to get all this information in his head for his exam that was two days from now. You on the other hand, went back to studying soon after you saw Jaehyun settle down. It only took a couple of minutes to get your head back into focus and immediately forgetting that your friend was there in the first place. 
A couple of hours, maybe three or two, you sigh deeply. Jaehyun had heard it over the music he was listening to. He looks over to you with a questioning look. 
You mouth, “I need a break.” and a smile breaks out from your face. 
He smiles with you, “me too,” he gestures with his fingers. 
Using your hands, you point out towards the exit, quickly followed by a gesture that indicated you wanted to eat too. 
Jaehyun nods in agreement but you decide to leave your things there as the both of you would only be gone for an hour. 
Or so you thought. 
Jaehyun didn’t realise how much he loved to spend time with you. Having a simple meal with you at the nearest convenience store is enough to have him smiling for the rest of the night. 
Your plan only consisted of having a quick meal and a brief walk around the library. But no, here you were, lying down on the couches situated in the lobby of some random building in the campus. 
“Hmm… law building.” Jaehyun voices. 
“What?” you say, as you give your best attempt to look at him, too comfortable to get up properly.
“I think we’re in the law building-” 
“I honestly can’t give two shits right now. I’m in procrastination mode. Let’s not disturb my unsettled peace.” you interrupt, rolling your eyes. 
Jaehyun chuckles once more for the nth time that day. 
“Why is it that when exam season rolls around, I’m just so stressed to the point where nothing can ease my worries and anxiety.” you suddenly voice your thoughts out loud. 
“Maybe it’s because you’re scared of failing. I know how high your standards are of yourself. Sometimes they’re unrealistic but they kinda make sense. I mean, I’m the same too.” Jaehyun sighs, exhaustion finally catching up to him. 
You stay silent for a minute, or five. 
“I can’t help it. That’s just me.” you start slowly. 
He says nothing, only nodding to encourage you to keep going. 
“I mean okay, a lot of it mostly has to do with how I see myself. I want to do well but I can never reach that place where I want to be… Yes it’s just exams but I like feeling proud of myself. I like seeing those grades that I worked hard for. But the thing is, I’m also… how do I say it. I’m only motivated when someone is there with me. Company, that’s all I need to keep myself going.” 
He stares at you. Nothing again. 
“But not everyone can give you that company,” Jaehyun states. “Not everyone understands.” 
Just like that he knew. He knew exactly what you were saying and that was all you needed. That was what both of you needed. Though there was clearly a deeper meaning to the reason, Jaehyun didn’t pry. 
He’s patient like that, he waits for you to come to him. Just like everything else in your friendship. 
It's your turn to sigh, closing your eyes. 
“Exactly,” 
He gives you a small smile. 
“Not even my own boyfriend can give me that anymore…” you finish. 
Jaehyun’s voice is caught in his throat. 
Did you really just say that out loud? After all this time, all those moments you shared with your boyfriend, Jaehyun was the first person you told. He saw how you were like in the beginning of your relationship. 
Happy, wrapped around each other's fingers, and not to mention you spent every waking moment with him whenever you got the chance. What changed he wondered. 
He didn’t know, but you were also asking yourself the same question. “Where did it all change? When did it change?” 
Taking note of your furrowed eyebrows, he made the decision to change the topic. 
“So, any plans after the exams?” keeping the topic light, despite the heavy feeling you both felt. 
“I’m not sure yet. I wanted to check out some of the Christmas markets around the city. I still need to get a few presents for my family and Doyoung and his family too.” 
“Isn’t that your entire family then?” he chuckles. 
Your eyes widen in shock which makes you sit up from your earlier position. “Fuck. You’re right.” You palm your face in distress, “ugh no.” 
He laughs a little louder, patting your head to comfort you. 
“Stop it you’re not making this any better.” panic starting to rise on your face. 
“Don’t forget mine too.” he teases, grinning at you widely.
“Shut up idiot, I already got yours.” you say, getting back to your mental list quickly after replying.
This caught Jaehyun off guard once more. His heart did a little jump again. Dammit, how can a simple sentence from you have that kind of effect on him. 
“Now I’m stressed. Fuck you bro.” you tell him after finishing your mental list. 
“I can always help you shop, you know. I’m quite good with buying presents.” he suggests. 
“Maybe that can work. It’ll lessen my stress levels. Well either lessen them or add to them, really depending on what you’re like on the day.” you chuckle. 
He opens his mouth to say something, takes a deep breath to reply something smart but he stops and nods as he says, “yeah you’re right.” 
You both laugh out loud, relieving some sort of stress from studying all morning. 
“Should we head back?” you ask, looking to your side. 
“We haven’t gotten anything to eat yet.” he points out the obvious with a look. 
“Stop it, don’t look at me like I’m dumb.” 
He rolls his eyes. 
“You of all people know that Jae. Don’t start.” 
Jaehyun smiles widely.
“Oh no here it comes.” 
You put your head in your hands. 
“I- of all people know just how dumb you really are y/n.” he starts laughing louder, making the people passing by stare at him weirdly. 
You sigh, “I just knew you were going to say that.” smiling unknowingly. 
“Dude stop.” 
But he couldn’t, he loved to tease you like that.
He loved doing everything with you. 
Oh what life would be like if he was able to kiss the living daylights out of you. 
He’d be complete. 
He wouldn’t need anything else.
Just you. 
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Blood, tears and sea breeze
Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.
Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.
Hi!!! Long time without posting, work has been crazy, so many painful things, but I have a tiny space of time and I wanted to think about something else for a change, new chapter, more questions and so close to the end. I hope everyone is safe and healthy. Please take care of yourselves, mental health is so important, specially in times like this. We will get out of this, until then I send you a lot of love and hugs from here.
Atte: a still tired but more hopeful doctor
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Chapter 18: Reality
The stinging pain across your cheek somehow brought you back to reality, a reality that you had comfortably numbed away the moment the handcuffs closed around your wrists.
But reality could be tricky sometimes, because the brief stolen kisses on his livingroom, the innocent way he touched your face, and the hunger look on his eyes every night you escape to sleep alone in his room were part of reality, even when now they feel ages away, and numbing all the pain, all the desperation even those perfect moments was the best solution you could find, because the way the kindness evaporate from his eyes when he told you "Miss Y/L/N, you are under arrest for the murder of Jonathan Norbury" and was replaced for an empty void and disappointment in his voice, was enough to keep you from wanting to be in this reality.
But you were back, the echo of Ash words were hurting you, because she was wrong, you love them too, and you would have never wanted any of that trouble for them, she was wrong for believing that you wanted any of this, but she was right to call you all thos hurtful things, even when you were not sure of what you did you felt like you deserved it.
And what did you do? Did you really slept with Charlie? Charlie who was more like an awkward little brother that anything to you, did you really order him to ... kill Jonathan? Even thinking about it was to hard to process, you tried search for your bracelet again knowing to well it wasn't there, but your hands were handcuffed to the table and the more you pull from them the more they hurt, and the cold steel started to mark your wrists.
And somehow that pain kept you from blacking out, the thought of Alec angry and sad because of you alone in his house again, Ashley's words, and Jonathan's body on the floor, and you started crying, letting the pain wash out from your eyes, and then as your wrist started to bleed from the handcuffs clarity followed, you were not screaming as last time, because there was something you could not shake off your mind, something that was almost ridiculous, like the idea of even touching Charlie, and the sudden realization make you wanted to laugh, but you keep it quiet, because the pretty officer that had brought you in returned with a laptop and you didn't want to appear more disturbed than they already thought you were.
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"Sugar?" Miller said offering a small bowl to Ashley Langford, she seemed stressed and there were a few wrinkles around her eyes and her hair looked less shiny than usual, somehow Miller thought, she looked more human.
"Oh no, it's fine thank you" she said and kept looking at the door. " I'm sorry for the way I acted, is just that my parents are very old and having the police coming and trash the place was..." she put the tea aside and covered her face with her hands before starting to cry. "How did this happened? My brother is an asswhole but he would never... oh god what did he do?" She cried again and Miller offered her a paper tissue.
"Miss Langford I'm so sorry for the inconvenience that this process is causing you, but I can't tell you any details about the investigation, we are going to need you to cooperate with us and told us everything about your brother relationship with Y/N" she said and the woman rise her look puzzled.
"I'm sorry, but I already know, everybody knows" she said and Miller was shocked to hear that. "It's all on the internet, a friend of mine send it to me this morning, I called Charlie and he gave me a very confusing response and I run to my parents house to question him about them, but they had already arrested him" she said and took her phone out of her purse to show her.
They were not the explicit videos that Ramos had found, but they left clear that Y/N and Charlie were together and they had killed Jonathan.
"What did your brother said?" Miller asked when a quick search on her social media let her know that maybe all of Broadchurch had seen Y/N confession.
"I don't know, he sounded confused, angry, he said That count thinks that because that old jock is shagging her now she can dump me she is crazier than I thought, we'll see how much he likes her after this" she was convinced he meant some of the girls he often meet at bars, but the truth was clear to Ellie.
A couple nights before, in the middle of the night Alec had texted her to meet on the piers, on their usual spot. And after some crafted lie to Brian she was there, ready to fight whatever demon was torturing his mind, however what she found was different, he had a quiet smile, looking at the waves, and enjoying the sound of the ocean in the night, if she didn't knew him any better she would have swear that he was humming a song.
"Having a good night sir?" She asked and sited next to him.
"Miller, do you think I'm bad at my job?" He asked and she kept trying to guess his train of thought, a sixth sense told her she already knew what was happening, but she didn't want it to be truth.
"Yes, you are a nightmare, what is happening?" She said humoring him and he became all serious.
"Just answer the bloody question Ellie" the use of her name let her know it was serious so she looked at the ocean for a a long moment before speaking.
"You are not, you are capable, witted, yes you are a nightmare, but you are quite good at your job" She said honestly.
"Do you trust my judgment?" He asked then almost in a whisper.
"Without a doubt sir" she said, and before he could reply and make her part of something that was clearly against the rules she stoped him. "I trust you would never jeopardize an active investigation, and that whatever choice you make on your... personal... life, would be after a deep and conscious consideration" she said looking deeply into his eyes.
"Ellie..." He started but he knew he should keep it quiet, this was for the best. "Thank you detective Miller"
"You are welcome sir, and if I may... I hope you are happy, and have a good night" she said, meaning every word, even when the pain was pushing to make her cry. "I will change the patrol on your house tomorrow, to someone more trustworthy, you know for safety" she said and walked away from the piers, leaving him with that stupid smile on his face.
And now all she could think off was him alone in his house angry at himself and she had the need to run to his side, but no, there was only one way out of this for him, without damaging his image more, and that was with a conviction on Y/N, so she took Ashley Langford declaration and it was now certain for her that Charles had posted those videos, the how he found out Y/N was involved with a certain scottish man was still a mystery but she was determined to find out.
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But I like you and your cock better than Jonathan's, Charlie the sound of your voice coming from the laptop saying those things almost made you throw up, but you kept watching You should kill him already and we can leave this place, don't you think big boy? It was you, there was no doubt about it, it was you in a very ordinary and nasty room, acting like a drunk idiot, rubbing your almost naked body on Charles, who had the creepiest smug on his face and you wanted to slap that dump expression out of him, this was degrading and humiliating, but you were focused, as you had been the last few days, everything was more clear than it had been in the last year and your mind was running fast trying to focus on one sole detail.
You have seen at least four different videos of yourself and the dates on them click on your head with dumb fights with Jonathan, headaches or days that everything seemed blurry, and for a solid minute your mind start deviating and consider the idea that maybe you were actually guilty, that maybe this semi naked idiot was actually you, but before that ridiculous idea could consume you another stupid phrase out of Charlie's mouth made DC Ramos blush and made you remember something as DC Harford looked careful at you.
The last time you had blushed was a few days ago in Alec's couch, once you came back from the cliff and he turned up the heat since the both of you were wet from the rain that had made you run inside, kissing him had been a childish decision, and he kissing you back was just as bad, but now you were sitting on the couch covered with a blanket and holding a cup of tea, glad that Daze was god knows where and you could talk like adults.
"We shouldn't" you started, "I want to, I really do, but you are still leading the case, and I can't lie, and if someone asks me are you sleeping with detective Hardy I will say yes, and ..." You blush at the look he gave you and quickly hide your face away from his smile.
"Fine, you should lock your door tonight then" he said jokingly with a playful grin and for a moment you wonder were have this man been all this time.
"Sure detective, let's make dinner, I'm starving" you said and kissed him again, thinking at the moment that everything was alright, but now as agent Ramos looked uncomfortable away from you the little bubble of happiness was finally burst, and once again that anger make your memories come back to you the image of the night club cleared, the toothy grin of the man in the red shirt, finally had a name, and things became more and more focused and you looked up to DC Harford.
"Enough" You said a little more aggressive than expected, but they stopped looking at you with petty on their eyes if just for a moment. "I seen enough, what do you want to know?"
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"Look everyone in Broadchurch is talking about you" Miller started showing Charles her phone with the edited videos "Are you going to keep pretending that you had nothing to do with this or are you finally going to talk?" She said and the authority on her voice irritated him.
"Where is the guy?" He asked looking at the empty chair next to her, but he had abandoned the erratic tone, and was talking quietly.
"In the other room talking to your girlfriend here" she said pointing at the pictures. "Whom I think will say everything so I will recomend you to start talking"
"No the little eye candy, the other one, the old one" he said and smiled when she change her stoic look. "I liked the guy, seems tough" he said with honesty and she repressed the impulse to sigh in relief.
"He is not working today" she said and tried to regain her pose. "He is loosing all the fun".
"Oh sad, because this is so entertaining" he said sarcastically "What do you expect me to say? I post them, she is suppose to be mourning, and sad, but no, the little cunt is so happy walking holding hands with some arse, well what can I expect right? She cheated on Jonathan, why wouldn't she cheat on me too" he said it upset at the thought of the woman seeing another men, and the whole situation became ridiculous to Miller, and at the same time something was not coming together.
"Did you saw her with someone else?" She asked cautiously, knowing too well that until the las four hours she had been enclosed in Hardy's house and if she ever leave his place was with him.
"I did, a couple days ago, acting like Jonathan was nothing to her, like I was nothing" He said, and she desperately needed to know if he was lying, because if he meant Alec he would have said it since the beginning, but if he meant someone else, who? Unless... maybe he was fabricating the whole thing.
"How was him?" She asked and without hesitation she add "I mean she has a type, Jonathan, you... another how did you call agent Ramos? Eye candy"
"Yeah" he said smiling sardonically "Some bloke, you know tall, black hair, I could take him down" it sounded rehearsed, and it became clear he was lying when he nervously add "Clean shaved bastard"
She was about to say something else when the door was opened and a nervous Harford came inside.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but we need you" she said and Miller followed her outside leaving a puzzled Charlie behind.
"What happened?" She asked and Katie looked at her feet uncomfortable "She still hasn't talked?"
"No, that's the problem, she talks but she says she doesn't remember anything..." she started
"Well she make this idiot kill her fiance I'm not surprised she wants to pretend it didn't happen" Miller say spiteful.
"No that's not the problem, she says she will confess, but only to you" she said and Miller was surprised to hear that.
"Absolutely no" she said calmly.
"I say that and she went silent again" I try everything, we even show her how those videos are running through all the town, by the way how the fuck that happened?" She said and show her a link send to her by her dad. "But she keeps asking for you"
Ellie remembered the last time she walked inside that particular interrogation room, a part of her wanted answers, but she feared she would act up against her, and ruin the case as she have done all those years ago, but no, Haedy needed her to fix this, so she make up her mind an asked Katie to leave her alone inside.
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"Ellie" you said once she was sitted in front of you, "it may be in our best interest if you gave me 5 minutes before turning on that thing" you said looking at the tape recorder that Harford had turned off.
"Is Detective Miller, and why would I listen to you?" She said and her tone was not only dry and professional but also rude at some point.
"Because if you care about Alec as much as I do you may want to hear what I have to say first" you said and she raised her hand and you prepared to feel the pain in your face again but she only put the pictures of Jonathan's body and screenshots from the filthy videos in front of you.
"This is caring for him?" She said and this time was no longer any professionalism on her voice. "You have five minutes" she said finally.
"I didn't sleep with him" you said and she gave you an incredulous look "Alec," you said exasperated "I thought is better to let that out in the open, nothing happened, so he is safe on that end... and I have no intention of talking to a lawyer so you can rest" you said and her expression softened a little "where is he?" You couldn't help but ask.
"Alone in his house, probably wondering why did he trusted you" she spat at you "4 and a half minutes"
"Fine, I don't remember anything of this, ok? Completely blank, but I'm not an idiot I know how that sounds, and I won't play the victim, I will confess, to what is here to whatever agent Harford needs to put Charlie on jail, and me if I have to"
"And how are you so sure about Langford being guilty?" She asked.
"Because I remember now, the day I found him like this" you said pointing at the picture, I took the bus home and Charles was there, he put him there" you said since the images were flowing back to your mind, and you remembered, "I start screaming for help when I saw him, he said something about this being what I wanted, what I asked him to do all the time, and I fight him to run away and then I just remember his hand in my neck and the taste of something bitter he force down my throat and before everything went black again I saw him put my ring on his hand" you said and Ellie's eyes opened up drastically.
"The broken ring?" She said quietly.
"Yes, the next thing I remember was being in the front door reading Jonathan's letter, getting inside and freaking out over his body" you said very aware of how unrealistic all that sounded but she had to listen to you "He posted all this crap, but nothing about the parking lot, and I'm sure I fight that time, and this person that I don't remember is willing, drunk or drugged with a split personality or whatever, but she appeared to be ok with what is happening, then why will I need to scream, and run and fight on that car? What was different then, why did he needed to make a show out of Jonathan's dead, if he was so sure I wanted this, why did he have to make it all this big?" you said aware of the way that sounded but for some reason something on her eyes said she might believe you.
"I have no interest in understanding the train of thought of a lunatic" She Miller said trying to hide her own concerns "What is your point?"
"You are bsolutely right, but this was post right after we..." start dating? That sounded childish, we kiss? Sure Y/N rub it on her face "All I can think is that this is not over, and I can't let whatever else is coming affect Alec, so I'll confess so this ends quickly, but I need you to make sure he doesn't get dragged into this, I can't have that on me"
"Your time is up" she said and put out the note pad where you should write the declaration, completely ignoring your words.
"Ok, where should I start?" You said resigned.
"You are really going to confess?" She asked surprised and didn't turn the device on yet "why? If you really think there is more to it than the evidence, then why?"
"No matter how, I'm responsible for his dead, I might as well start paying, also this way I can make sure Alec's reputation and Ashley's life doesn't get more damaged for my mistakes" you said firmly.
"You really care about him huh?" She said and gave you a half smile. "I think I know exactly where you should start" she said and started writing instructions on the notepad, before you start speaking.
Tag list:
@allonsymexgirl @laciesaito @tf18unipups @dazedkrosupreme @timey-wimey-lovi @coffees-and-constellations @ladyaziraphale @acid-gurkerl @moonuvert @tennantious
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chickensarentcheap · 3 years
Text
Best Part of Me -Chapter 83
Warnings: none
Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​
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The call comes shortly before four in the morning; the shrill ring and the incessant vibration of the phone against the nightstand startling him awake. Tyler groans at the intrusion; annoyed by the abrupt end to what had been an uncharacteristically peaceful sleep. Insomnia had settled in their first night in Dhaka; rattled by the ongoing threats against his family and the turn to the very place  where he’d nearly lost his life. Seven years feels like seventy some days; given reprieve when the memories don’t creep up for weeks, sometimes even months on end. Yet there’s times where it feels as if it were seven days ago; vivid recollections of the taste of his own sweat and blood, the smell of gunpowder and spilt gasoline, the cries of the wounded and dying. It’s been years since he’s had what he considers a decent sleep; five to seven hours without being disturbed by pain or bad dreams or being woken by a crying baby or little ones climbing into bed alongside him.
 While it only been three hours since he and Esme had returned upstairs the short period of rest that had preceded their love making had been the deepest and most restful sleep in recent memory.   The day’s roller coaster of emotions finally caught up to him; initially channelled into languid and gentle -and ultimately desperate- sex. The realization that it may very well be the last time they would physically enjoy each other fuelling the need; hands and mouths working together to fully worship and pleasure one another before giving in to the act itself. Moving slowly inside of her at first; long, soft kisses being exchanged as her hands roamed his shoulders and back and travelled down his arms.  Those huge, dark eyes and her legs wrapping around his waist and heels digging into the small of his back signalling that she needed more from him. WANTED more. And he’d obliged; repeatedly driving into her with near brutal force. Thrusts that pushed her further up the bed and had her crying out in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort; teeth sinking into his shoulder and nails breaking the skin as they raked down his back and over his ribs. Enjoying the way his name sounded coming from her mouth; whether it be the whispers and whimpers or the begging and pleaded and eventually the cry of her released.  It’s always been her favorite thing to hear, even outside of sex. The way it sounds when she’s giggling while he teases her or when it’s sleepy and slightly disoriented after he’s woken her up after falling asleep on the couch.
He can remember what it had felt like when she’d said it for the first time; in that cramped and dirty hotel room in the city centre. Since their initial first meeting at that old shack in the outback, she’d been calling him by his last name; a habit picked up in both the military and her time on the job. First names are usually abode; too personal considering the unpredictable circumstances and the very short time you’re actually in someone’s life. But in that moment...in the heat of an intense argument between two severely obstinate people...with his hand around her neck and those dark eyes -stoic and unnerved- staring up at him, everything changed.
“Admit it,” she’d snarled. “For the right price, you’d leave me AND the kid behind. Admit it, Tyler.”
It was the first time she’d said it; his first name. And it had caused something inside of him to snap; that stubbornness and assertiveness and those eyes his complete undoing. It had been years since a woman had made him feel that level of want and need, and despite the rational side of his brain screaming at him to walk away, he’d given in. His hand still on her throat as he kissed her with a complete loss of control he’d never exhibited with anyone else. Spurred on when she’d so eagerly responded; unable to stop things from progressing even further. Taking her right there up against the wall, pounding into her with punishing thrusts that were fuelled by years of anger, guilt, and regret.  And that little body had taken everything he’d unleashed on it; hands tightly gripping his hair and her legs wound around his waist. Encouraged by the way she begged and pleaded for ‘more and ‘harder’ and the way his first name suddenly couldn’t stop tumbling from her lips.
After that, she never called by his last name ever again. And he’d have to stop himself from smiling every time she said his first. It sounded THAT good.
Propping himself up on his elbow, he reaches over his wife’s still, sleeping form and snags the phone before it can go to voicemail. There’s that brief moment of panic of late night calls while on a job; someone getting a hold of him to say that something to one -or all- of the kids. The tightness that forms in your chest and the way your heart hammers wildly. But the relief is instantaneous at the sight of Yaz’ name on the screen. Although it brings a whole host of other emotions with it.
“Yeah?” His greeting is simple. Voice laced with the lingering remnants of sleep.
“Be ready to go in three hours.”
“That was fast.”
“Guy I sent to try and get eyes in Asif’s place had other ideas; decided to go a different route. Grabbed one of the street thugs and beat the shit out of him and threatened to blow his knee caps and his dick off if he didn’t tell him where Neysa and Aarev are.”
“And he rolled over on his buddies?”
“Guess he really wanted to keep the family jewels. You were right; it IS a storage facility. One that hasn’t been in business for a while. About ten minutes outside of the city centre, going west. Sent my guy there to check it out; three separate buildings. They’re being held somewhere in the centre one. Sorry I couldn’t narrow it down any further.”
“I’ll work with whatever you give me. How many hostiles  on site?”
“My guy counted six. I was able to get some surveillance set up; I’ve only seen ten at the most. Not too bad, right? If you can take out a whole apartment of assholes…”
“I’m not the man I was back then.”
“It was only seven years ago. Not seventy.”
“Tell that to my body.”
“You gonna be alright?” Yaz asks. “Think your old bones can handle this?”
“It’s not my bones I’m worried about.”
“If you can’t mentally do this. I’m not going to hold it against you. If you think whatever is left of your sanity won’t hold up...”
“I’ll be fine. In and out, yeah? Sounds like a pretty straight forward extraction. Not too many hostiles to deal with, a pretty open space, we’re away from the market area. What could possibly go wrong?”
“You know better than to ask something like that.  It was a good call on Esme’s part; going north. Not a single damn roadblock that way. They’re expecting trouble to come over the Buriganga.  That’s why they’ve shut the bridges down. I’ll drop you guys off just north of Dhaka; there’ll be two SUVs waiting.”
“How far back into town?”
“Twenty minutes. I'll be waiting at the extraction point. By the time anyone realizes what went down at the storage place AND get there, you’ll already be on your way back. We’re going to cause a big old thing on the Sultana Kamal Bridge.”
Tyler grins. “Big old thing, huh? I’d expect nothing less from you, Yaz.”
“Got a couple guys coming to pick the three of you up. Seven. You good to go?”
“I will be.”
“I’d expect nothing less from YOU. See you soon.”
“Yep,” he confirms, and then disconnects the call and returns the phone to the nightstand and rolls  over onto his back. He groans  at the discomfort in his shoulder and across the small of his back, then rakes his hands through his hair and runs them down his weary face.
He doesn’t move for several minutes; a forearm draped over his eyes. Finding himself oddly calm; long ago relegating himself to both the seriousness of the mission and his chances of getting out of it alive. The latter has improved with news of location and the number of hostels; with Koen and Rata and Anil’s two men, there will be more than enough bodies to handle everyone on site. A large indoor space will be much easier to navigate, and provides more places to grab cover if needed. He much prefers working in that kind of environment; having more room to move and not feeling as he’s being confined and suffocated. While everyone assumes the apartment seven years ago had been easy, it had in fact been one of the harder take down’s he’s ever done. There’d been a lot of people in that little space, and he’d had to work quick and with whatever items were at his disposal once he was unarmed.
Tyler moves back onto his side; sliding closer to his wife’s sleeping form and wrapping an arm around her, hand settling on the small -but very visible- baby bump. The fear is there; that this is the last moment of this kind he’ll get to spend with her. That worry that he’ll never again experience that soft, supple skin pressed against his own or breathe in that familiar scent. That he won’t get to see her grow bigger with child. HIS child. The way her body changes and she becomes even more beautiful and desirable; the extra weight and curves and the way her face fills out and seems to glow. She’s never seen herself the way he does, especially while pregnant. And she could never understand how incredible she actually is; selflessly giving her body in order to nurture and protect a life that he had a hand in creation.  He never thought it was possible to love someone more with each passing day. That devotion that grows impossibly stronger when she watches her as a mother.
Esme stirs. Giving a long, content sigh and then pressing herself back against him; hand slipping down to briefly rest on top of his. Her fingers grazing along his own and then over his wrist and across his forearm. Her touch is soft and deeply intimate, and the quietness and the innocence surrounding it profoundly affects him; tears pricking his eyes and his throat and chest tightening with emotion. When her hand once more settles on top of his, he pushes his fingers through hers and holds as tightly as she can stand. It’s desperate; all of his fear and his worry communicated through something so simple.  And for several minutes neither move nor speak his eyes closed and the top of his nose pressed against the back of her neck.
“How long?” she asks.
“Three hours.”
“That was fast.”
“It was,” he sighs. “Way too fast.”
He’d thought he had more time. That it would take Yaz at least half a day to mobilize his teams;  to get eyes into Asif’s place and scouts sent north. And he’d planned on spending every remaining waking moment with her; doing whatever it took to make sure she knew exactly how much he loves and worships hers. Words have never come easy to him; often lost on what to say past those three simple -yet profound- words. The last thing he wanted -of the worst case scenario came into play- was her being left with doubts surrounding how he felt about her. Actions are easier for him; those small, thoughtfully little gestures that always bring a smile to her face. And he’d thought he’d get that chance; an opportunity to show her just how -and what- he feels. Three hours will feel like three minutes. With a deadline like that, he’s suddenly at a loss; not knowing  if there’s any words or actions that could ever truly communicate how much he DOES  love her.   How thankful he is for the second chance he’d been given seven years ago. And how he always thought they’d have more time together than that.
“How much do you have to do to get ready?” she asks.
“Everything’s ready to go. There’s nothing I need to do.”
“So we can just lie here like this? For a little while?”
“For the next three hours if you want.”  He raises his head from his pillow and presses a kiss to her temple, then her ear and her cheek and finally the corner of her mouth.
Releasing the hold on his hand, she rolls over onto her side to face him and slides even closer to him, settling her cheek on his pillow. The tips of their noses touching and their mouths mere inches apart, eyes locked. He tries not to notice the tears that sparkles in hers; the way she chews on her bottom lip as she struggles to control her own tsunami of emotions. He manages a small smile and presses his lips to her forehead, allowing them to linger for several seconds before pulling back to look at her. Eyes slowly scanning her face as calloused fingertips trace the burrows in her brow and move across the tops of her cheeks and down the bridge of her nose; travelling along the outer edges of her hair and across her lips.
“Don’t go,” Esme whispers. “Please don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“Let someone else do it. You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“It does. You know it does.”
“I thought I was prepared for this; that I was ready to see you walk away. But I’m not. I’m nowhere near ready. Please don’t go, Tyler.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he promises, and kisses the bridge of her nose before gathering her into his arms; pulling her flush against him with one hand on the small of her back and the other at the nape of her neck. “It’s alright,” he whispers, and places a series of feathery pecks across her shoulder. “I’m right here. I got you.”
The tears come now; loud, heartbreaking and gut wrenching sobs that shake her entire body and he feels to his very soul. All of those emotions pouring out of her; feeling the hot, bitter drops against his skin and the way her hands desperately clutch at his upper arms and the back of his neck. Even when things had been their darkest and their hardest, she’d never control to that extent. There’s nothing left to say; no possible words that could bring her comfort. Instead he lets her cry. His eyes closed and his lips pressed against the side of her neck;  a palm sliding up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her. There’s little more he can do; no promises he can make or words that will lessen the severity of what lies ahead. No snide or humorous comment that will bring a smile to her face. It’s way beyond anything either of them have ever experienced; a fear and uncertainty that no other job has ever brought with it.
Eventually the sobbing subsides; transitioning into light whimpers and then a silence that’s occasionally interrupted by soft sniffles.
“You alright now?”  Tyler asks when she pulls away. The hand that was in her hair now moving to her face; fingers clearing the remaining tears off her cheeks and the sides of her nose. He hates seeing her cry no matter what the circumstance. Especially when he’s the reason behind it.
“Not really,” Esme admits. “But I will be. When this is over and you’re back here. Safe and sound.”
“Hopefully it won’t be an all day thing. Sooner I’m out of there, the better. Last thing I want is to get trapped in the city. Didn’t go so well the first time.”
“This time you’re not doing it all alone. Or least you’ll have people watching your back. I could only do so much, and Ovi was just a kid. You pretty much had to carry the entire thing.”
“I think you totally underestimate how much you actually did.”
“I know I slowed you down. A lot. I know that you’d just listened to Nik…”
He pecks her lips. “We’re not going to talk about that. That’s the last thing I want to talk about.”
What DO you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. You have any more dreams?”
She nods. “A good one this time. A very good time.”
“About what?”
“About when we got married. How nice you cleaned up; suit, tie, the beard all trimmed.”
“I was going to cut my hair too. But I figured you’d be pissed off enough to turn around and walk out.”
“I so would have left you at the altar if you’d done that,” she teases. “That was the one thing I asked you not to do; cut your hair.”
“I will never understand your obsession with it.”
“It’s just how I know you. It’s how it looked when we met. I guess it’s just what I’m used to. I’m sure one day I won’t mind if you do something different. But I swear to God, if you ever ask me shave it off again….”
“I know it broke your heart the first time. I won’t do that to you again. Maybe I’ll keep the hair and shave the beard off.”
“Don’t you dare,” she warns, and presses a kiss to his lips. “Do you remember the morning after? The hotel in Byron Bay?”
“I vividly remember that morning. And the night before.”
“I don’t mean THAT. Although, THAT was pretty incredible. I remember thinking afterwards that it felt different. In a good way. An amazing way. Because now it just wasn’t my boyfriend or my fiance or whatever making love to me. It was my husband.  I don’t know; thinking about it that way made it seem different. Is that weird?”
“No. It’s not weird.  I remember watching you sleep and thinking ‘that’s my wife’.”
“You did?”
“Seemed surreal; my fake wife now being my real one. Especially after I said I’d never get married again.”
“After Mark, I told myself I’d only go for girls for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, it’s easy to see why he ruined all men for you.”
“I guess it just took a certain man to change my mind.”
“Yeah, one who could put up with all your shit.”
“I didn’t come with THAT much shit. You came with enough baggage for both of us. And I still didn’t run away. Maybe I’m the glutton for punishment.”
“Maybe,” he grins, and kisses her.
“But do you remember that morning? We had breakfast out on the balcony. And it was so nice out; it wasn’t too hot and the sky looked amazing and the way the sun shone on the water…” she sighs. “...it was like I woke up that morning and everything seemed even more beautiful than before.”
“I remember you had your hair down; the sun was making all the red in it sparkle. And you had that on this pink shirt that was off the shoulder and tied at the middle of your back. You were already showing pretty good with Millie; I remember thinking there was no way you could possibly get any more beautiful. And I remember wondering what the hell I’d ever done to deserve my life; a new wife, a baby girl on the way. You were really talkative and giggly that morning.”
“I was a newlywed. It was my honeymoon. And you’re the bringer of multiple orgasms.  We should go back there; stay at the same hotel. A little getaway.”
“We can do whatever you want, baby.”
“What I’m going to say next is probably going to sound sappy. Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Why would I laugh?”
“It’s really sappy. Like really, really, REALLY sappy.”
“Try me.”
“I remember watching you and seeing the ring on your fingers and thinking how good it looked on you. And I was the one who put it there. I remember thinking ‘I have a husband now’ and it felt really good to think it. And it felt even better that it was you I was thinking it about. Is that weird? That I thought that?”
“No, baby. It’s not weird. It’s not weird at all.”
“And I know you don’t think it sometimes, but you’ve been an amazing husband,” her voice quivers with emotion and tears once more sparkle in her eyes. “I know things haven’t always been easy; that I haven’t been the easiest person to be with. That I’m tough to love sometimes. But you’ve been the one person I can count on; who makes me feel safe and protected. And I guess I just needed you to hear that. That there hasn’t been a time I didn’t love you.  Even when things were shit, I loved you. Even when we didn’t know if we were going to make it or not.”
“But we did. We DID make it.”
“Seven years is not enough. And I’m scared that if you leave…”
“Everything’s going to be okay. In and out, right?”
“Nothing’s ever that simple.”
“Maybe this time it will be.”  He brushes her hair off her forehead. “Maybe this will be the one time things don’t go to shit.”
“Maybe. But I wanted you to hear all that. About how amazing you’ve been. About how much I love you. I didn’t want you to walk out here not knowing all that.”
“I’ve always known. I’ve never doubted it. Have you? Ever doubted it?”
“How you feel about me?”
Tyler nods.
“No. You’ve always made sure that I know. Even if you don’t say it, you’ve always found a way to show it. And I see the way you look at me sometimes; you think I don’t notice, but I do. And I can’t describe it; what it looks like. How your eyes and your face look.  I just know how it makes me feel when I see it. It makes me feel beautiful and incredible and...I don’t know…loved.”
“I’ve always loved you. I always will. I need you to know that. Just in case. I need to know that you know.”
“I know. I’ve always known, Tyler. I knew on the bridge. I knew before you did. It was in your eyes. It’s always in your eyes.”
“I have a confession to make. About seven years ago.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t know if I like the sounds of that.”
“It’s nothing bad. It’s just…it’s about the first time. In the hotel room. When I grabbed you.”
“When you tried to choke me out, you mean?” she lightly teases.
“I wasn’t angry. I mean, I was. I was pissed off that you didn’t listen to me. But I wasn’t THAT pissed off. That’s not why I did it.”
She combs her fingers through his hair. “Okay…”
“I was trying to scare you.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared. Because I liked the way you smiled at me. I liked the way you’d always find a way to touch me. I liked the sound of your voice and the way you laughed And I hated that I DID like all of that. I didn’t want to like it. I didn’t want to like YOU.  So I tried to scare you away. Because I didn’t want to feel anything else for you.  Because everyone I’ve ever loved? I’ve lost. And I didn’t want that happening. Not again. That’s why I did it. I wanted to scare you away.”
“Were you surprised? When it didn’t work?”
“I think it made me even angrier. Because you wouldn’t let me get away with it. But I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to protect you. From me.”
“There was nothing to protect me from, Tyler. You’re not the monster you think you are. You never have been. And I saw you; the real you. The one you hide from else. There was nothing you could have done to scare me away.”
“And to think you call me stubborn.”
“You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. But you're also the sweetest. And the most adorable.”
He frowns. “Shut up.”
“I’m sorry. You are. You have a huge heart in that big body of yours. And you may have been able to hide it from everyone else you’ve ever known, but you’ve never been able to hide it from me. And I love that about you; you’ve never felt a reason to hide it.  You’ve always trusted me; right from the first night in Dhaka. When you told me about Austin. You let me see all sides of you. Even the ones that aren’t so pretty.”
“Don’t call me pretty.  Or adorable. Or cute.”
“I don’t care what you say. You’re the most adorable mercenary ever.”
“How DARE you insult me like that.”
“I love you,” she says, and pushes his bangs off his forehead. “I only hope one day you’ll know how much,”
“I already know. And I love you. So much. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You. Us.  My kids. My life. Everything.”
She manages a shaky smile, then breaks down once more. Both arms circling his neck as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Can you just hold me? That’s all I want. Just hold me, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, then drops a kiss on the top of her hand and wraps both arms around her. As tight as he possibly can.
*****
Three hours later she finds herself standing on the front porch, watching as the last of the needed gear is loaded  into the trunks of the ‘getaway’ vehicles. Despite the stifling heat and oppressive humidity, she can’t stop shivering; the fear and anxiety so powerful it creates a damp, cold sensation that stretches from head to toe and seems to burrow into her bones.   It’s nearly a hundred degrees outside and she can’t seem to get warm. Not even with the fleece lined hoodie she keeps tightly wrapped around her.
Every time he leaves for a job it’s difficult; the uncertainty of the situation, the possibility of things going wrong, the potential for serious injury or even death. Normally she’s more optimistic; refusing to let doom and gloom settle in despite how dangerous a mission sounds. But this is beyond anything she’s ever experienced before; aside from seven years ago. How fitting that it’s the same place that carries such a heavy weight; the vivid and brutal memories of the past making it nearly impossible to envision a different outcome in the present.
“How are you holding up?” Koen inquires, as he joins her on the porch. A tactical vest slung over one shoulder, backpack perched on the other.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing.”
“You know me; I’m always up for a challenge.”
“Usually that means a red head with daddy issues,” she teases.
“You’re way too quick for me, you know that? I see how you keep him on his toes. Although I don’t think he stands a chance against you.”
“He’s been a good sport. He hangs in there for some reason. He’s been sticking around for seven years. I’m just hoping he’ll stick around for at least seven more.”
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere. I think he’s a little too crazy about you.”
“Yeah,” she smiles, and pulls the sides of the hoodie even tighter around her. “I’m pretty crazy about him too. Which is why this is so damn hard. I thought I was ready; that I’d be okay when the time came. But I’m not okay. I’m far from okay.”
“Just hang in there a little while longer, kiddo. You’ve come a long way already; be a shame to break down right before the finish line. Your man’s got this; he knows what he’s doing. Smart as hell. Even if he does do dumb shit sometimes. Has a knack of getting me into trouble, that’s for sure.”
“He appreciates it. Koen; everything you’ve done, everything you continue to do. You backed him right away; when he showed up at your place and told you about the business. And you didn't think twice about helping him when all this started. You just agreed to it. Knowing how bad it could get.”
“Well, as much as I shit talk him, I really do love that drongo. I’ve got a soft spot for him. And you and the littles. How could I not? You’re the one who made him who he is now.”
“I know you’re totally overestimating my role in his life.”
“You’re the one who gave him a second chance. Saw past the mess he was.  Made him a husband and a daddy again. You’re the one that’s stuck by him through all the bullshit; the booze, the meds, the job. And I know damn well he’s not the easiest person to love.”
“Well he’s made it pretty easy for me. Even at his worst, he’s better than most.”  
She watches Tyler as he finishes the last of the preparations before heading out. Standing at the open tailgate of one of the SUVs, quiet and focused despite Rata attempting to carry on a loud and animated -and most likely nervous- conversation. His eyes are darker and the furrows in his brow are present; lips set in a thin, grim line as he works at filling the pockets on the vest he already sports.  This is the old Tyler; the one that’s all business with adrenaline coursing through his veins and his instincts and senses running on overdrive.
“You know, I used to like seeing this side of him,” she says. “I used to love it, actually. Seeing the mercenary side of him. Intense, focused. I liked knowing what he was capable of. Now…” she sighs. “...well I don’t like it so much now. How sad is that? What kind of wife would even think that, let alone say it? How horrible am I?”
“One that loves her husband and hates what’s happening to him. You’re not horrible. Let’s cut the shit and stop pretending that this time isn’t different; that the stakes aren’t a lot higher. Has he ever walked into something where someone  was intentionally looking to kill him?”
“Not that I know of. Not since I’ve known him.”
“Hard to like anything about a situation like this. Considering what he’s about to walk into?”
“I can’t even believe it got this far. That Mahajan went so far off the deep end that we’re actually at this point? How did this even happen? It’s been seven years! Saju is dead, why would he still want revenge on his family? And to threaten mine? We took Ovi in; we gave him a life. A real life. A real family. We love him like he’s our own. And this is how Mahajan repays us? Threatening my children, putting a bounty on my husband’s head? How the hell did it ever get to this?”
“Some people are fucked,” Koen reasons, and she gives a small, dry laugh. “I wish I had a better explanation. But it’ll all be over soon. We’ll take care of shit here, Anil will handle things with Mahajan. He’s ready to go?”
“As far as I know. He’s got a couple guards he was able to pay off. They’re going to lead him right into the showers when Mahajan is in there. It should be over pretty quick. If you ask me, he deserves something slow and painful. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they.”
“Sooner it’s over, the better.”
“Should have been over a long time ago. If we’d been told about this when it all started, Tyler would have ended it then. But Ovi dropped the ball and then Allison and her games and I just…” she sighs and tucks wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “...a lot of people fucked up. And now my husband has to go and fix it. What else is new? Just watch out for him, okay? Have his back? Please.”
“You know I will. I’ve followed him this far. Might as well go balls to the wall.”
She struggles to hold back a flood of tears. “Would it be too much to ask that you bring him back in one piece?”
“You got it kiddo.” He draws her into a tight hug and presses a kiss to her temple. “Hang in there, okay? We’re almost there.”
“You be safe,” Esme says, and affectionately pats his cheek when he holds her at arm's length. “It’s kind of nice having grandpa Koen around.”
“I never said you call me that.”
“I don’t remember asking your permission.”
“Smart ass,” he smirks, then playfully tousles her hair before stepping away. Giving Tyler a nod and a small smile; patting him on the shoulder as he takes his place on the porch.
“I can’t look at you,”  she says, as her hands busy themselves tightening the Velcro secured straps on his vest. “If I look at you, I’ll cry. And the last thing you need is me crying right now. I can do that when you leave.”
He places his hands on the side of her face, then presses a kiss to her hair.  Neither of them speak; their eyes closed, his chin resting on the top of her head, her hands tightly gripping his forearms.
“Be safe,” she pleads.
“Always.”
“I love you. I love you so much. I wish that was enough; to get you through this”
“It’s enough,” Tyler assures her. “It’s always enough.”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she finally raises her head to look at him. “I won’t ask. I know you don’t want me to.”
“You ask, and I’ll do it. I’ll stay. And that’ll just bring even more problems.”
“I know.  I know why it has to be you. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“It’s going to be alright.”  He cradles her face in his palms and kisses her. Longer and more intense than usual. “I gotta go,” he moves a hand to the back of her neck and places a kiss to her forehead. “See you when I see you.”
“Yeah, you will.”
He pecks the tip of her nose, then runs a hand over the top of her head and down her hair before stepping off the porch.
“Hey!” she calls to him, and he stops and turns towards her.
“Remember the first time around, when we said we were going to travel when we got out of Dhaka?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You totally bailed on me. I think you owe me a trip, Tyler Rake,”
A grin plays in the corners of his mouth. “I definitely do,” he says, and then turns and heads for the waiting car.
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bigskydreaming · 4 years
Text
Just a general FYI for newer followers....
My oh-so-controversial stance on noncon, underage and incest fics and anger in such ensuing arguments is NOT based on some quest for abstract ideological purity or an attempt to be The Most Morally Righteous. Its deeply personal for me. 
I’m an abuse and csa survivor, thanks to my bio-mom who physically, emotionally and sexually abused me up until I was ten, at which point it only stopped because I literally fought my dad and stepmom on going to see her anymore for her unsupervised custody visits....which she only had because my dad, despite knowing full well that she was mentally ill and not safe to be around, never fought her on in order to keep HER dad happy, as he was the only one keeping my dad’s business afloat for years. I then grew up deeply closeted because when you’re raised conservative Catholic in a family that prioritizes appearances over childcare and basically pimped me out before I was ten, you tend to assume the worst case scenarios about being outed. 
Which ironically then came true when I went as far away from them as I could for college, to Georgia, where my freshman year of college I ended up gaybashed and raped, which resulted in me dropping out and a downward spiral for the next several years, and made a resurgence in fucking up my life a couple years ago when I ended up with chronic pain and health conditions I’m still trying to afford getting fixed, and that all stem from trauma to my jaw that began with me getting kicked in the head a lot one night sixteen years ago. With very little in person real life support system because my family and I flat out don’t talk or interact anymore and I’m currently physically incapable of getting out and about and holding down a job that doesn’t let me work from my computer.
SO. 
Those are my personal trauma credentials, and they’re why none of this is academic for me, nor will it EVER be. I’m intimately acquainted with pain and distress, which means I’m more than qualified to tell when things cause me pain and distress, and categorically, I’m flat out stating that being unable to go a DAY in ANY fandom without being surrounded by the awareness that people find fantasy versions of my Trauma Greatest Hits not only ‘sexy’ and ‘harmless’ and ‘hot,’ they would much rather defend them than survivors who say flat out, categorically, the casual ACCEPTANCE of these things alone causes us pain and distress......well, shockingly, this causing me pain and distress.
I’m tired, guys.
Its fucking EXHAUSTING spending your entire fucking life being told by everyone you meet that people value and respect abuse and rape survivors and only want them to be safe and happy, when push comes to shove, that’s almost NEVER proven true in my experience.
Its fucking EXHAUSTING spending your entire fucking life seeking out friends and found family of your own to replace the one you never really had, only to time and time again be blindsided when people you otherwise respect and admire trot out the oh so familiar “its just fiction” and “how naive/childish/ignorant are you that you can’t tell the difference between fiction and reality” lines.
Because its NOT just fiction, and this IS my reality: the constant, 24/7, everpresent awareness that the very REAL reactions I have to being constantly bombarded with an atmosphere of casual permissiveness about the very things that have for decades traumatized me.....like this is laughable to people. People literally LAUGH at this, when I spell this out. They tell me its my fault. Its MY problem. The only one doing anything wrong here is ME, for DARING to have a negative emotional reaction to constantly stumbling across proof that for a lot of people, literal narrative descriptions of some of the worst moments of my life are HOT, SEXY, FANTASIES.
And even the people who DON’T find these things hot or titillating prove time and time again they’d much rather defend THESE things than the people who object to these things....because the former are familiar, and comfortable and thus allow for a ‘civil, peaceable’ status quo whereas people making a big fuss about how fucking upsetting a constant casual environment where ANYTHING sexual goes, up to and including romanticizing and eroticizing peoples’ very real sources of trauma....like, we’re the REAL bad guys, we’re the REAL troublemakers. Why can’t we just let people write what they want to write? Why can’t we just let people have fun?
Well gee, I don’t know.
I honestly couldn’t tell you.
Because I’ve been asking my fandoms that exact same question for years.....why can’t you let those of us who are fucking DISTURBED by how EVERPRESENT these things are and how little people even want to question WHY they’re as everpresent as they are.....why don’t we get to have fun? 
Why don’t we get to feel safe? 
When do we get to be defended? 
Why don’t our feelings and upset and emotional distress matter?
And time and time again, the only answers I EVER get are....’stop being so sensitive.’ ‘Its just words, words are harmless.’ ‘Stop making this about you.’ ‘Other people don’t have this same problem so I don’t know what to tell you.’
Except, when have any of those lines EVER been acceptable defenses of the offense or harm caused anywhere?
*Shrugs*
So yeah. That’s my story, if you didn’t already know it. I didn’t start out on this site casually trotting it out TMI style, I only eventually started discussing it openly after years of being pressed to display my trauma credentials if I was gonna insist on participating in discussions about rape and abuse as a cis white man. And being so open about it in the years since I started to be, has NEVER granted me any kind of hall pass or given me enough ‘street cred’ to balance out the sheer VOLUME of hate and toxicity I’ve gotten from people happy to use specific details I’ve volunteered about my traumas to harass and try and get me to shut up and be quiet....even as they then turn around and blithely reblog stuff like that “reblog this if you support male survivors” post that I’ve seen on literally EVERY SINGLE BLOG I’ve ever fucking fought with people about on this subject. INCLUDING the ones who also openly argue in defense of ACTUAL pedophilia and incest on the very same pages of their blog where they argue in defense of the romanticized fictional depictions of these things, because gee, shockingly, THERE’S OVERLAP.
And yeah. Sorry to say, I’m probably always going to become upset and angry at reminders that people who I otherwise would respect and want to be around....would rather side with and parrot the arguments of SELF-ADMITTED PEDOPHILES than survivors of csa and so on.
Go figure.
I would love to not have to be so paranoid and cautious in my fandom interactions. I don’t make 90% of my fandom content be original posts that I start on my own rather than casually interacting with other peoples’ content because I’m self-obsessed and think I make the only content that’s worth shit.....I do it because its the only way I know how to keep SOME semblance of safety for myself and I’ve too often in the past been blindsided by happily interacting with someone who posted something I found interesting and fun....only to two posts later be snorting derisively at people who like me, are just too damn dumb to get that fiction is innately harmless.
Its exhausting feeling disrespected at every turn, even by people who are quite vocal about respecting me and my viewpoints...up until it comes time to laugh at those naive children like me, who are just so irrational we simply can not grasp that we have no basis for being upset about romanticizing our traumas.
So, just FYI....that’s why I get so heated on this specific topic, and that’s why I’m stand-offish about following people back and keeping my interactions surface-level until I’m fairly confident I’m not going to be happily perusing someone’s content only to then get whiplash again when it goes zero to “incest is so hot!” in three posts or less.
If that’s upsetting to people or a dealbreaker? Well there you go. That should be all the info you need to know that my blog’s not for you.
Because I’m tired of being treated like I’m the unreasonable one because I say incest, pedophilia and rape fantasies are dealbreakers for me....not SEX itself, not even kink, not even graphic content, but just those THREE SPECIFIC THINGS.
That doesn’t make me a prude. That doesn’t make me irrational.
That makes me a survivor who wants to be allowed to fucking EXIST in fandom spaces without having to constantly defend my RIGHT to act traumatized around LITERAL. ROMANTICIZED. DESCRIPTIONS. Of my traumas.
*Shrugs*
Sorry not sorry.
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hookaroo · 5 years
Text
Vocivore, Ltd. (13 of ?)
A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC
Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)
Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @cocohook38, and @killianjonesownsmyheart1 <3
***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY COCOHOOK38 HERE!!!!!******
Present (Wednesday, continued)...
His partner, fallen. Stabbed. Dead?
Chilled shock jolted through Detective Jones, stealing his air, prickling his limbs. He battled for calm as he started forward, eyes frantically searching the prince’s body for any sign of life. Slave Killian seemed frozen as well: he held his sword inches above David’s flesh, watching blood drip from its point, his eyes vacant.
And then David stirred. Just a slight twitch, the faintest of groans. Jones shuddered in relief. But the movement woke Killian, too, who inched his blade higher. It appeared as if… was he drawing back for the finishing blow?
The detective raced the final few meters, arriving just in time. Immediately after he thrust his own sword forward, the blade collided with the descending steel of Killian’s. Off-balance from the start, Jones was nearly brought to his knees by the resounding impact. But with a valiant effort, he remained upright, hanging grimly onto the handle with both hands.
“What are you doing, mate?” he gritted, arms trembling from the strain. Killian did not look at him; he gave no indication of having heard. Jones was certain he would give no response. But then Killian spoke for the first time in a low, emotionless voice.
“I’ve orders to kill him.”
Jones replied with a scornful scoff. “You picked a hell of a time to start following corrupt authority again.” He tried to steer the blade away from the fallen prince, the cut on his arm stinging fiercely as the muscle underneath bulged. Surprisingly strong for his emaciated appearance, Killian would not allow the adjustment.
“I must obey my Master.”
Though it was obvious, having the situation confirmed still sent a shudder down Jones’ spine. Killian truly had fallen victim to the killer. The torture, the brainwashing… and the fatal neurological condition that would follow. In fact, at this proximity, it would have been hard to miss the tremors, mild though they were.
Jones swallowed his emotions. Right now, what mattered was keeping David safe until help arrived. He had to delay things, draw them out as long as he could. With a big breath, he squared his shoulders.
“Your Master. Right then. Suppose you’ll be wanting to kill me too.”
As if suddenly realizing he could do it in any order, and that the finishing of David would be easier without Jones standing in the way, Killian swiveled to face his new opponent. His bloodshot eyes held no trace of fear, contrived swagger… or hope. That grim nothingness unnerved Jones more than any other expression would have. He took a step away from David, desperately straining to hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.
“I should warn you, I’ve probably picked up a thing or two which you haven’t seen before. Lest you’ve forgotten, I do have nearly three decades on you in terms of age and experience, despite my rather dashing and youthful appearance.”
Killian did not deign to reply; Jones could not tell whether he was even listening. Wordlessly, the slave set himself for battle, and Jones followed suit, ending in a perfect mirror of pose, ready and alert.
The Killians were matched in many aspects: size, skill, strategy. Even the unfamiliar blades they both carried were an equal hindrance. But where the detective was strong and agile, the slave was hampered by injury and malnourishment. Where Killian had a sworn intent to kill, and could attack with abandon, Jones had an aversion to the same and must use caution. Still, a long, drawn-out affair would favor the stronger man, and that’s just what Jones was counting on.
He allowed Killian to make the first move, which wasn’t long in coming. A quick and recognizable series of strikes, almost a warm-up drill. The familiar clash of steel brought back harrowing memories of a life lived recklessly, of far too much pointless bloodshed and outright villainy. Jones parried easily and followed up with a sequence he knew Killian would identify just as quickly. Prolong the fight, keep everyone safe... including the brainwashed slave before him.
Jones drew first blood--quite by accident--with an old move that now ended differently, thanks to a particular incident involving another failed cure for his poisoned heart. He had completely forgotten that the technique used to conclude in another manner. Killian went to block what he was expecting, and instead ended up with a deep gash down the back of his sword arm. Mentally berating himself, Jones withdrew to allow Killian time to regroup… and found himself sporting a slash of his own, right across the ribs, as Killian lashed out in fierce retaliation. This time, the step back was for his own benefit.
Now puffing and drenched with sweat, Jones found himself on the defensive. Apparently, the successful strike had given Killian a surge of vicious energy, and Jones was hard-pressed to keep up. With the increase in speed, though, also came a noticeably worsening tremor that rattled the slave’s limbs, causing his blade to scythe erratically and become that much harder to block. Jones was cut twice more before Killian began to slow: an inconsequential stripe across his upper arm, then a deeper line of blood marring his forearm that matched the dagger wound on the other side.
Keeping his focus through the burn of his injuries, Jones patiently awaited an opening. Killian’s stamina was fading. The force of his blows weakening, his tempo slowing. Blood dripped from his elbow and flicked in all directions with the clash of swords. Jones could see other wounds oozing, reopened by the exertion. He had turned a disturbing shade of gray that contrasted sharply with the crimson marks adorning his skin. No way would he last much longer.
In the distance--finally--came the faint and welcome wail of a siren. And then another. Their ominous melody provided a haunting soundtrack to the twin combatants as they panted and grunted their determined rhythm.
Killian stumbled. Jones went for his sword. Mechanical hand gripped twitching wrist, sword hilt hammered against weakened fingers. But with a growl that turned into a yelp, Killian swung his blunted arm at Jones’ face. The stake and ring sliced deeply into the detective’s cheek, narrowly missing the eye and releasing a torrent of blood down his face and neck. Half stunned, Jones staggered back, expecting steel through the gut at any second. But Killian had broken off as well and seemed to be hunched over his mutilated wrist.
Less than a minute. The double siren multiplied and grew louder by the second. Jones only had to hold him off for a little while longer, then fresh bodies with working weapons could contain him. Struggling past the raging pain from his face, Jones glanced over at David, who had grown frightfully still. The detective’s eyes--well, one eye, now--focused on the prince’s back… was he still breathing?
In the split second of inattention, Killian recovered enough to whirl, faster than Jones would have believed possible. The sword whipped around in an arc and crashed against Jones’, and his hurried tightening of his grip was not enough to keep hold. His blade went flying and he leapt back in desperation.
Without warning, an unexpected hand grasped his ankle. One of the stunned slaves, apparently not quite out of commission. Jones’ attempts to keep his balance were futile: shifting his center of mass did no good when the other leg was suddenly grabbed as well, yanked right out from underneath. He tried to roll as he fell, to soften his landing and protect his head. He managed the latter, but at the cost of twisting his knee and driving gravel into his elbow and torn forearm. Gasping for breath, Jones kicked out and contacted some part of the prone slave, who instantly released his ankles. But it wasn’t enough.
As Jones scrambled to right himself, he saw two bare feet just in front of him, and the shadow of a sword darkening the ground nearby. He rolled onto his back, casting about for any inspiration, any defense, and finding none. Defeated, he looked up and met the dead eyes staring down at him. Unchanging even as the sword reached its apex. Paused. Twitched only as a result of symptomatic spasms. And flashed down again.
*****
Jones wasn’t dead. That fact was almost as shocking as the stab wound itself. Sure, he hurt like hell, he couldn’t draw a full breath, and he may be hallucinating thunderstorms now, but it was a welcome contrast to whatever passed these days as the Underworld.
More wailing wind accompanied a frantic increase in the unnaturally rapid lightning flashes, there came another odd rattle of thunder and a gush of rain that fell nowhere near Jones’ bleeding form.
David. Dammit, David would be getting wet. Jones drew as deep a breath as he could manage, positioned both hands at his sides, and hoisted himself up with a groan. Through one bleary eye, he took in the scene of confusion, bits and pieces falling back into place as he waited. The fire. The slaves. Aid cars, firemen, the yellow Bug. David being tended: good.
Jones felt blood soaking the front of his shirt, and he placed a hand against the worst pain: the landing site of the strangely non-lethal sword point. Hearing low murmurs behind him, he winced and gingerly craned his neck until he saw the crouching form of Emma. She hovered over the still shape of her husband, wearing an anxious and sad expression. An EMT knelt nearby. As if sensing the detective’s gaze, she turned.
“Is he…” wheezed Jones.
“Unconscious,” Emma reported in an exhausted tone. “Had to tase him.” She took in the sight of his blood soaked hand, the reddened sword nearby, and asked, “You okay?”
“Significantly less dead than was my original assessment.” He stopped to catch his breath, adding, “Think I might lie back down, though.”
Another flash of worry crossed Emma’s face, but this time, she stifled it. “You do that. We’ve got things under control now.”
Jones couldn’t suppress his groan as he fell back onto his elbows, the movement and hard landing jolting though each of his wounds in scalding waves. But he bit out his foremost concern.
“Your father?”
Emma glanced David’s way. “Don’t know yet.” She sounded shaken.
“Don’t worry,” Jones grunted as he lowered himself to lie completely flat. “He’ll be irked to find he’s missed the battle’s conclusion... but he’ll get over it.”
He closed his eyes, not sure if he’d rather sleep or pass out at the moment. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind shaky exhaustion and a full awareness of pain. He heard Emma get up, apparently satisfied with her husband’s stability and security. She took a step in his direction, hesitated, then came close and knelt beside him.
“Let me see.”
He allowed her to nudge his hand away from his sternum, and a hot lance accompanied the shifting. “Don’t suppose belief will be enough this time.”
In answer, Emma replaced his hand, holding hers on top as she flagged a passing EMT. “I don’t think it’s too serious,” she told him. “Looks like the blade bounced off your hard-ass breastbone.”
“Said with all fondness, I presume?”
“Always.”
The medic arrived and began to ask questions, and Emma made as if to get up, but Jones caught her hand.
“Hey. It’s not your fault.” He glanced briefly at Killian, who was just being lifted onto a gurney to be loaded into an ambulance. “And it’s not his, either.”
She only smiled sadly, stood, and walked away.
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courtingstars · 5 years
Text
Notes for The Vanishing Prince, Chapter 1
I can’t believe I just typed that title… I’M FINALLY POSTING THIS FIC. Anyway.
This story is going to be a little different from the first two in A Spark of Light. Because of that, I have some really important stuff I need to say first! I’ll start with those things, then go into my usual notes about culture and timelines and KnB canon, etc. So, THE REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF…
(Cut for a whole bunch of warnings and info about dissociation disorders, family dysfunction, Japanese culture, spooky stuff, and lots of other bits and pieces)
1. This is a story about a very misunderstood mental illness. It’s not going to be perfect, but I’ll do my best.
I’ve alluded to mental health issues in the first two stories, specifically that Furihata has anxiety, and Akashi has an undiagnosed dissociative disorder.
This story focuses a lot more on the latter, which is a deeply misunderstood and stigmatized mental health issue. I’ve tried to do as much research as I can on these disorders, and on how the human brain processes trauma—which is connected to dissociation, a survival mechanism. However, I do not have a dissociative disorder myself, so I want to emphasize that I’m not an expert, and this is not based on my personal experience. I did consult first person accounts, and used them as inspiration. But in the end, this is a fictional story based on the canon of Kuroko no Basuke, which is imperfect and can be misleading/confusing, when it comes this part of Akashi’s character. (I’ll try to explain why as I post more of the fic.)
Also, not all people who have more than one self state consider themselves to have a disorder… I’ve sometimes seen the term “multiple” used for this. In addition, some people want to keep their different self states separate, and live as they are. I chose to depict Akashi as having a disorder because of his arc in KnB canon—specifically, how Last Game ends. So like in canon, this series is about Akashi coming to terms with having a disorder and making the eventual decision to integrate his selves. (Some fans were disappointed with that aspect of Extra Game/Last Game in part because psychiatry sometimes pushes integration as the only valid treatment goal for dissociation, which it isn’t. But since I felt Akashi made that choice for himself in KnB, I went with his decision in my fics as well. For a thorough article about some of the issues surrounding the integration process, I highly recommend this site.)
So I’m going to do the best I can, to make Akashi’s portrayal nuanced and positive, and use current knowledge about dissociation. But I know it won’t be perfect, and I’m going to make mistakes. (Especially since the experiences of these disorders can vary a lot, so what is true for some people may be very different for others… Since I based it on canon, Akashi’s experience definitely diverges from what tends to be described as “typical.”) So I want to apologize for any issues in advance, and I’ll do my best to address and/or correct them. The fic also deconstructs some stereotypes and misconceptions. (Especially as they relate to Bokushi.) One of the reasons I wanted to write this story was because I wanted to explore Akashi’s experience in more depth, and try to fill in some things we don’t know about him. On that note…
2. This story will include depictions of family dysfunction, emotional neglect, and some (mostly implied) abuse.
I’ve talked before about my portrayal of Akashi’s family in this series. But I think it’s worth mentioning again that I’m writing about Akashi’s parents—and his extended family and caretakers—as flawed people, who made some very misguided decisions about how to raise a child. For the sake of spoilers, I won’t go into more details yet. But I wanted to make sure to give a heads-up that this story will go to a darker place than the previous two. (Which I tried to imply near the end of Storming the Castle.)
For anyone who’s concerned that it might be too intense, I’m aiming to keep everything in this story to a solid PG-13 rating, at most. I’ll also provide content warnings for any intense scenes, so you can skip or skim them if you prefer.
That said, I intentionally avoided going with the darkest possible interpretations of Akashi’s family life. I don’t want this story to be overly disturbing, or make any of the characters out to be truly evil. But I did want to show that sometimes, caretakers make decisions they intend to be loving, but that cause real mental and emotional harm in the long term.
3. This story has paranormal elements. A LOT of paranormal elements.
On the note of getting darker, I should probably mention that this story will also have more spooky/paranormal stuff. While Storming the Castle took most of its inspiration from fairy tales, The Vanishing Prince includes some inspiration from ghost and horror stories, particularly Japanese ones. That being said, I didn’t want readers to have to stop the series early because it got too scary! So just like in StC, I’m aiming to keep the spooky parts to a PG rating, and to have a more “fantasy” tone overall, kind of along the lines of a Miyazaki movie. (As in no super gory descriptions, any past violence related to the paranormal will be implied instead of shown, nothing too creepy or viscerally gross, etc.)
Still, expect plenty of allusions and/or depictions of Japanese spiritualism, ghosts, youkai, Shinto beliefs, Buddhist beliefs, Japanese funeral rituals, graves, temples etc. There are also a few concepts borrowed from Western mysticism… That’s mostly Reo’s fault. Because, uh, tarot cards? Which is canon and I did not make that up.
As always, please note that I’m not an expert on Japanese culture! I try to make sure that what I include in my fics is as accurate as possible, but I’m not Japanese, so it’s better to assume that it includes at least some Western misconceptions and/or errors. (Plus there are probably about a million Westerners who know more about Japanese ghost stories than I do.)
4. This story includes some sexual tension, but it’s mild/implied.
One other thing I should mention… The characters’ sexuality is addressed more directly in this fic, so there are allusions to sexual tension. That said, because the characters are still teenagers, I’m going to keep it at a PG-13 level at most. (Basically, arousal is implied, no explicit mentions of body parts, etc.) You can see examples of this in Furihata’s scenes in Chapter One. I went with this approach for multiple reasons. But a big one is that I want people who were most comfortable with the ratings of previous fics in the series to be able to keep reading if they want to!
Okay, that’s it for the serious “here’s what you’re getting into” kind of stuff. Now for less important things…
Timeline of the Fic
This series takes place in the spring and summer after the Winter Cup in Kuroko no Basuke canon. The first three stories also takes place before Last Game, which happens in August. The Vanishing Prince starts right after Storming the Castle. Which means it’s set mostly near the end of July, partly during summer vacation in the Japanese school calendar. I wanted to mention this because this is a story about Oreshi and Bokushi, so establishing where it fits in the canon seems like important background info! And speaking of Bokushi…
Oreshi’s Point of View vs. Bokushi’s Point of View
So if you’ve already read the chapter, you know that this fic series finally has a third point of view! (YAY. I’M SO EXCITED.) Originally, I wasn’t sure if I was going to include Bokushi’s PoV… But once I started writing it, I was having way too much fun, so yes, it’s happening. XD
The one tricky thing is that both Oreshi and Bokushi like to use the same full name. (Which is not always the case with dissociation, by the way… It’s an interesting part of both of their characters, I think!) So I decided that for the scenes that are written in Oreshi’s point of view, Oreshi will continue to be called Akashi. And when a scene is in Bokushi’s point of view, Bokushi is referred to as Seijuurou. (I based this off of an aspect of his character that he’ll bring up later.)
So hopefully that wasn’t too confusing to read! Also, Oreshi and Bokushi will both refer to their other self as “my other self,” or sometimes “my brother.” (Which is a headcanon based off of that one line in KnB where Oreshi compares Bokushi to “a troublesome little brother.”)
Therapy and Dissociation Terms
This note is pretty serious again… This story will contain depictions of psychiatry and therapy. I’m not an expert on either of these things, and the culture around therapy in Japan is different than it is in Western countries. (I talked about that in some of my notes for Storming the Castle earlier.)
So while I’ll do my best to strike a balance between realism and fiction, this story is going to take some fictional license with the therapy process. The main reason is that I wanted Akashi’s situation in the story to seem unusual in certain ways, because the power he wields in terms of his family background is so unusual. Hopefully I conveyed that the psychiatrist in the story is choosing to go out of her way in Akashi’s case, and possibly making some exceptions that she wouldn’t make otherwise.
(That being said, from everything I could gather, parental permission is not strictly required by law for teenagers to receive therapy in Japan… Unlike where I live in America, where it is in a lot of states, though the specifics vary a lot.)
And on that note, I should mention one of the terms I used… When it comes to dissociation disorders, having more than one self state is often referred to as having “alters.” Not everyone uses this term. (I’ve seen some people say they dislike using it because it sounds clinical, for example.) On the recommended site I use for general information about dissociation disorders, they do use “alter.” So that’s why I used it too. (Also, the fic takes place in 2010, and I believe alter was standard back then as well.) But please keep in mind that some people might not use that particular term!
Oreshi and Bokushi’s Headspace, and Co-Consciousness
I also wanted to briefly bring up the “room” inside Akashi’s mind, where Oreshi and Bokushi talk… I based its appearance off of that scene near the end of the anime, where Oreshi confronts Bokushi inside their mind:
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My headcanon is that Oreshi and Bokushi use this as a space where they can both communicate with each other. This is based on something common among people who have dissociation, sometimes called headspace, which you can learn about here. In my fic, Bokushi and/or Oreshi’s presence in this room represents that they’re conscious at the moment. Meaning that they’re aware of what’s going on in the world around them, even though the other self may be in control of their body. When two alters are conscious at the same time, it’s called being “co-conscious.” In KnB canon, it’s implied that Oreshi and Bokushi are co-conscious at least some (and possibly most, or all!) of the time. I’ll talk more about that later, and why I went with the interpretation of canon that I did.
Also, I wanted to quickly mention these lines in the chapter:
“[Akashi] didn’t recall losing track of events against his will. But there used to be many instances where he would let himself drift away, on one level or another. He would lose a few minutes of time, while his brother would talk in his place.”
This is based on one of the Teikou scenes when Midorima noticed that Akashi seemed to have “another Akashi inside him” that said things that were different from his usual personality. This happened before the scene where Bokushi took complete control. So I headcanon that before Oreshi ever let Bokushi fully switch places with him, he sometimes let Bokushi speak in his place, temporarily. I also headcanon that he started doing this while interacting with his dad. (There’s a part in the manga that implies that Oreshi had feelings of being “separate” before Teikou, too.) So that’s where that theory came from!
Fast Train References
Also, just a quick reminder that Akashi’s promise to show Furihata around Gion at night is from The Fast Train to Kyoto! (And I’m very excited that Kyoto is going to be a setting again. <3) Also in that fic, I introduced the Akashi family estate in Kyoto for the first time. In my headcanons, this is the area where his family originally lived centuries ago, and they acquired the mansion in Tokyo later. Furihata hasn’t visited the Kyoto estate yet, but he will. ;)
And that’s it for now! Wow, this was a looong post. ^^; Kudos to anyone who read the whole thing! And I really hope you all enjoyed this introduction to The Vanishing Prince. I’m so excited to be sharing it, finally. <3
(And unlike in Storming the Castle, I don’t feel nearly as bad for that cliffhanger in Chapter One… Because that’s exactly how it’s been in my head for three years, and Bokushi makes no apologies. //laughs)
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elusetta · 5 years
Text
five photographs
Read on ao3 here!
It was in Jey’s favorite truck, the red one with four seats, that she first brought it up. Jess obviously hadn’t been expecting her to say anything- more often than not, these road trips were a well-deserved break for both of them, uninterrupted by talking.
The question had been bouncing around in Jey’s head for days now. Now was a better time than usual, too. They weren’t being shot at. It was sort of a weird question to ask under fire.
Jey cleared her throat. “So, uh, Jess…” Jess jumped slightly, but settled quickly, glancing at Jey with her usual stony expression. “What?”
Jey contemplated taking back the statement. It was too late. She knew Jess didn’t like small talk, but taking it back now would just irritate her more. She smiled more tentatively than usual. “Are you okay with having your picture taken?” Jess raised her eyebrows, face predominantly confused, but also the smallest bit shaken. “Why? You wanna put me on a magazine or something?” Jey laughed. “Bow Hunters Weekly. There’s probably an audience.”
A moment of blank silence passed before Jey realized that Jess may have actually wanted to know. She fidgeted on the steering wheel. “Nah, not a magazine. I just like taking pictures.”
“And you wanna take pictures of me?” Jess crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat in what Jey hoped was a thinking-it-over position. “Like, posing and stuff?” Jey almost laughed at the mental image of Jess in that weird hoodie striking a fashion-model pose, looking into the camera with eyes full of death. “No. Just, you know, being yourself.”
“Huh,” Jess said, looking out the window. “Well, sure, I guess. Prefer to be killing Peggies, but whatever.”
Jey smiled widely, watching the road twist and weave through the mountains. “Thanks, Jess.”
Jess mumbled something dismissive, and they fell back into silence.
--
Cult outposts were becoming further and further apart. At least, that was what it seemed like. Distractions came less often than they had originally, too. Now, for every reaping truck and hostage site, there was a celebrating patriot or a friendly dog to be pet.
So, to be totally honest, killing Peggies was at about number three on the to-do list right now. The pace of things was starting to slow down, and as they did, so did Jey. She hadn’t felt the real effects of everything she’d been doing for a while, but now it was all starting to kick in. She didn’t have the energy to liberate a cult outpost at the moment. Right now, numbers one and two on the to-do list were to take a nap and eat a goddamn vegetable.
But, of course, those weren’t going to happen right away, mostly because Jey had somehow gotten both herself and Jess stuck on top of a mountain. At the furthest point of the Whitetails.
She’d radioed the Militia, but it was going to take a while to send in a helicopter (and maybe even longer for the people who had received her call to stop laughing their asses off).
Jey sighed deeply and looked up at the sky. Yep, it was dawn and she still hadn’t slept. Way to go, Jey.
She looked over at her companion. “You okay, sunshine?”
Jess didn’t even look back at her. “I’m fine.” The cold silence resumed. Jey glanced around for something, anything, to break it. They were surrounded by a whole bunch of grass and trees, as well as the massive, smoking remains of three planes that had somehow managed to completely obstruct their way back. Hence the being stuck, and the helicopter, and the members of the Militia who honest-to-God could not stop laughing when Jey told them what happened.
Finally, the answer struck her. There was an outcropping of rock directly in front of the rising sun.
Jey jumped to her feet, startling Jess into nearly breaking the total cold shoulder she’d been giving the other woman since they’d gotten stuck. “Hey, Jess, go stand on that rock over there.” That was enough to confuse Jess into actually looking at Jey. “What the fuck? Why?”
Progress. Jey smiled to herself. “It’d make a good photo.” Jess muttered something about not sleeping for two days and just wanting to go home to Peaches, but still reluctantly stood up. “Fine. Which rock?” Jey took Jess’ arm, causing the huntress to wince, and trotted over to the rock in question. “C’mon. Face away from the sun.” “I’m not a fuckin’ moron, Dep,” Jess snapped, gingerly climbing onto the tallest part of the outcropping.
Jey inhaled sharply. It looked just as good as she’d thought it would. Jess looked like some kind of hunting god who was currently very pissed off. She took out the old camera she’d found somewhere- Henbane River, she thinks, but it’s honestly anyone’s guess- and snapped a picture, smiling brightly when the photo came out. “Hey, come here. It looks really good.” “I’ll pass. Does that mean I can get down?”
Jey’s smile faltered but didn’t die. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Helicopter rotors sounded overhead. Jey tucked the picture away and prepared herself for however long it would be until she could finally, finally eat a carrot and go the hell to sleep.
--
It was a few weeks later, in a different helicopter- not the one that gave them a helpful but very embarrassing rescue from the mountain- that Jey took the second picture.
Pretty much everyone she knew thought it was a terrible idea for her to leave Fall’s End so early. After coming back from her mountain escapade, she'd only barely made it to the Spread Eagle before passing out and sleeping for almost a whole day. Mary May hadn't let her leave for a few days. Said something about health. Jey had gone to Pastor Jerome for advice, but he'd just told her the same thing about taking care of herself. So she'd slept a bit more, had a good square meal, and left anyway.
It wasn't entirely for herself, either. Jess needed just as much sleep as Jey did- actually, probably more- but, being Jess, she had become extremely restless after the first couple of days. And Jey could only take so much pacing and mumbling before she had to do something about it.
Today, “doing something about it” meant calling Adelaide for a lift to some cult outpost in the north (with a request to, please, avoid the taller mountains). Which wasn’t exactly the best, considering that the whole point of leaving Fall’s End was to make Jess happy. And Adelaide did not make Jess happy.
(To be honest, pretty much nothing actually made Jess happy.)
Adelaide was rambling about another of her conquests- a “red-hot hunk of beefy sex vibes,” as she had so nicely put it- and going into a completely uncomfortable amount of detail about his pelvic muscles when Jey turned around in her seat to check on Jess. She’d been making the usual disgruntled comments, but had fallen silent for a few minutes (which was, coincidentally, how long Adelaide had been describing the more intimate details of her old boyfriend).
Looking at her, Jey could see why. An expression of pure, unfiltered, total disgust had settled so firmly on her face that she honestly looked like it would get stuck that way. Jey let out a small giggle that quickly turned into a half-suppressed laugh. Holding back tears of hilarity, she surreptitiously pulled out the camera and snapped a picture.
The sound of the camera gave her away. Jess turned her laser-eyes glare to the other woman. “What.” Jey stopped holding it back and let herself laugh until she was doubled over in the seat, wheezing. “I had to. Your face- oh my God-”
She held out the photo to Adelaide, who leaned over, took a look, and let out a laugh of her own. “Oh, sweetheart, you look like you smelled skunk.” Jess crossed her arms defensively. “You’re a skunk.”
Adelaide adopted an expression of faux offense. “Aww, darlin’, don’t you like Aunt Addie’s sexy stories?” Jess remained dead silent, so Jey replied for her, still giggling. “Adelaide, you’re the only person in this chopper who likes dudes.”
Adelaide raised her eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, I’ve done my fair share of exploration. You know, in 1976, I met this woman who-”
“We’re here,” Jess interrupted as loudly as she could.
Adelaide sighed theatrically. “Aw, damn, I was just getting to the good part.” She winked at Jey. “I’ll finish that story later, sweetie, don’t you worry.”
Jey smiled at her indulgently, opened the door, and jumped.
--
The third picture was Jey’s absolute favorite.
In another effort to cheer Jess up, Jey had taken Peaches along for the latest of their missions, and they’d taken a detour into the deepest south of John’s region to hunt for a few hours without being disturbed. From the little Jey could tell from Jess’s overall demeanor, it seemed to be working. The huntress had been making quips and shooting arrows with renewed strength.
After catching a couple of deer, Jey had sat down on the bank of the river and cast a line. It felt incredible to take a breather. Admittedly, her mind was never really off of everything she had to do, and she worried about Pratt regularly, but going at the breakneck pace she’d established without ever taking the time to breathe out seemed like suicide.
Jess didn’t like fishing all that much, so Jey had been expecting her to put up some resistance, make a few irritated comments or something. Instead, she’d quietly sat down next to the deputy and watched the water.
It was almost weird. She looked so… peaceful. Maybe the cult had something with all that “let the water wash away your sins” garbage.
Peaches stalked down toward them and stretched, doing one of those creepy huge cat yawns. To Jey’s surprise, Jess stroked the cougar on the head, and to even more of Jey’s surprise, the cat just laid down and put its head in Jess’s lap.
Okay. Jess was sitting on the bank of a forest with the head of a puma in her lap. If that wasn’t some kind of hunting-goddess animal magic shit, then Jey didn’t know what was.
More than that, though, the dark feeling Jess usually carried with her was gone. She didn’t look happy. She looked serene. Jey had seen “not angry” on her before, but this was something different.
Jey put down her fishing rod and took out her camera, focusing it for a moment before snapping a picture. As always, the noise startled Jess, but the shock quickly faded and she went back to petting Peaches. The cat seemed to be enjoying it immensely, purring loudly and stretching out so that it was practically flat against the ground.
The photo came out of the camera. Jey waited for it to cool off before tucking it into the pocket of her flannel.
“Why do you like taking pictures of me?” Jess said after a long minute. She glanced down at Peaches.
Jey cast the line again and thought about it. “I guess because I like you. You’re my friend. I wanna remember you when all this is over.”
Jess scratched Peaches behind the ears, looking exceptionally pensive for someone whose normal form of expression was racing around in the forest putting arrows through people’s heads. “I never had a friend before.” Jey laughed. “Well, you do now, like it or not. You have me, and Grace, and-” she gestured to the puma- “you have Peaches, if she counts.”
“‘Course she counts,” Jess said absent-mindedly. “She’s a good girl.”
Jey felt a tug on her line, but trying to reel it in startled the fish away. She fell back into the comfortable ambience of the forest.
After another few minutes, and even more uncharacteristically, Jess spoke again, still looking down at Peaches. If Jey’s eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, the huntress’s face had turned the smallest bit pink.  “Thanks for… for bringin’ me along, Dep.”
Jey smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The fish tugged again on her line.
--
The fourth picture was a little weirder than the first three. The picture itself wasn’t weird, more of the manner it was taken. Usually, Jey needed something to spur her into taking a picture. It was never really just for the hell of it. The rock against the rising sun, Jess’s expression, Peaches sitting in Jess’s lap. There was always something.
This time, they’d just been walking along the Henbane River, alone except for the nearly imperceptible padding along of Peaches. They weren’t really going anywhere. Sometimes, this was what the battle to save Hope County looked like- walking around, climbing on a quad occasionally, following the roads and taking down whatever the cult threw at them. In these moments, it was easy to forget. The mountains looked so peaceful, the trees were so pristine… it looked like a painting, not a battlefield.
It was a little harder to forget about the cult when an effect of it was walking along with you.
Jey had to admit that every time she looked over at Jess, she felt a surge of guilt. Maybe if she had gotten here a little earlier. Maybe if she’d used her connections, gotten the information about Eden’s Gate before they could take hold, she could have prevented everything that had happened. She’d even had daydreams where she, as her spoiled little ten-year-old self, came to Hope County with her parents and swept child-Jess away to Alabama.
Yep. Jey had gotten attached.
When she got too consumed with thinking, she had to consciously remind herself that none of it was possible- and that Jess was strong, could take care of herself. To be honest, the fact that Jess was as well-adjusted as she was spoke volumes about her resilience. It was sort of amazing.
Jess did like to say that one thing. “You’re lucky you got me,” in her rough tone, only a touch lighter than usual. It was true, after all. Sometimes Jey thought that maybe she was a little bit below Jess’s level. But, for whatever reason, the huntress still traveled with her. Put up with her bad jokes and her goofy smile. And didn’t freak out when she blew things up just because they were there.
Huh.
Jey glanced at her friend, and an undeniable warmth settled in her chest. She knew this feeling. It was that feeling of having Boomer jump up on her and lick her face, seeing Hudson for the first time in weeks in John’s bunker, hurrying Kim and Nick Rye to the clinic while taking completely unsafe shortcuts.
She pulled out the camera and took a picture. There was nothing really special about it. It was just Jess, face neutral, bow drawn.
Jey smiled to herself and slipped it in with the others.
--
The fifth photograph was a change.
Jacob’s blood was fresh on Jey’s conscience- not that it was any weight. Out of all the Seed siblings, she had hated him the most. What he’d done to Pratt was unforgivable. What he’d done to her was…
Well, Jey would prefer not to think about it.
But the depth of the fear and pain he’d put her through was nothing compared to the triumph that followed. It had begun in mourning- the loss of Eli had affected everyone- but slowly morphed into hesitant celebration. And when Jey left the Whitetails, her heart still heavy, there was nothing but overflowing joy from Fall’s End. Even Pastor Jerome, usually so solemn, had offered her congratulations.
Dutch had called her. Let her know that this was it; this was where it ended. She had been to the cult compound before, just to scope it out, but the thought of actually facing Joseph was something else completely.
In a way, it felt nostalgic. It had been maybe five months since the helicopter had crashed. For all his presence, all his influence, Jey had only seen Joseph once between then and now. This last mission, no matter how it went, would be like returning to that time before Hope County, moving back into the real world.
Jey knew something in her had changed. No matter what they’d done, you couldn’t mow down hundreds- maybe thousands- of people and come out the same. How long would it be until she could hear the roar of planes above her head without her hand snapping to her gun? How long would it be until she could hear a church song without flashing back to the cult? The answer to both of those things could very likely be never.
Maybe she couldn’t go back at all.
The dark thoughts sturred a lump in her throat. Jey forced herself to snap out of them. The Spread Eagle was dark, lit by its neon signs. Dusk fell outside.
She set down the beer she’d been having and left the bar.
She should be happy, but she wasn’t. Fall’s End usually felt like home. It didn’t now.
Glancing down at the radio on her belt, Jey sighed.
“You look fuckin’ sad,” said a sudden, familiar voice.
The tension went out of Jey’s shoulders and she smiled, a spot of warmth finally coming back to her. “Not really.”
Jess folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the peeling white paint of the bar. She stayed silent for a few moments, then tentatively raised her voice. “So, uh… I was thinking…” She trailed off for much longer than usual.
Jey smiled encouragingly. “Thinking what?” Jess fidgeted. “Uh- how it’s, you know, kinda unfair that you get to keep all the pictures you took.” “I thought you didn’t care about them,” Jey said, only a little bit teasing. “I can give you one, if you want.” Looking even more uncomfortable, Jess shook her head. “Nah. That’d be weird. Me having a picture of myself, that’s just-” She cleared her throat, looking up at the changing sky. “I was… well, I was kinda wondering if maybe I could take one. Of- of you, I mean.”
Jey’s smile dropped, but only because of pure surprise. Jess? Showing some kind of- well, Jey thought- affection?
That was new.
She shook off the stunned silence she was stuck in and replied, smile blooming even bigger. “Sure. Yeah. ‘Course you can.” Taking the camera off of its usual place by her neck, she handed it to Jess, trying not to look too happy.
Jess, who was a little bit more than red at this point, focused it for an unusually long time.
The shutter snapped and the photo came out. Jess looked down at it (was that a tiny little smile?), then tucked it into one of the many secret compartments on her jacket.
Not wanting to ruin the moment, Jey waited for a good half minute without talking. But eventually, she had to know. “Why’d you want to take my picture?” Without even making a sarcastic quip beforehand, Jess responded, still not looking Jey in the eye. “‘Cause I like you, and you’re my friend. Like you said. If we gotta say goodbye, I don’t wanna forget you.” She looked at Jey for a brief second. “You’re kinda the only thing I haven’t lost.”
The buoyant feeling in Jey’s chest became almost too much to bear. Without thinking, she pulled Jess into a tight hug that, to her surprise, the huntress didn’t reject. In fact, after a moment of awkward tension, Jess returned it.
Yeah. This was okay.
Everything would be okay.
Maybe she had found home after all.
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xoxopandapanda · 6 years
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InuKag Week 2018: Day 2: Reflection
Inuyasha sees himself reflected.
@inukag-week
The first time Inuyasha saw his own reflection in a modern mirror he was standing in Kagome’s room for the very first time. They had only known each other a week or two, and Inuyasha had barged into her home expecting her to be downstairs but was greeted by Kagome’s mother cleaning up from breakfast that morning.
“Oh Inuyasha, I didn’t know you were coming over. Here, I have some food left.” She quickly procured a bowl of miso, rice, and some pickled vegetables. Inuyasha tried to protest, even though he was deeply touched by the woman’s willingness to feed him.
“I’m afraid Kagome’s at school right now. Did you two have plans?” Mama Higurashi spoke to the boy as he quickly scarfed down the food. Inuyasha looked up at her, swallowed his mouthful, and responded, “No, no plans. Besides gathering shards.”
Mama Higurashi smiled at him, nodding her understanding. “Well, she’ll be gone most of the day. Why don’t you just relax here until she comes home?”
Inuyasha considered her words before silently nodding and being escorted upstairs by the woman. She gave him a brief tour of the upstairs, ending in Kagome’s room. “You can wait in here if you like. Or you are always welcome to walk around the yard. Grandpa might appreciate some help, if you want to offer. He’s usually in the shed during this time.”
Inuyasha was standing still, his nose working overtime, trying to take in the smells of the room. It was clearly Kagome, but it was Kagome from over the years. He was learning much of her just from being in her childhood bedroom, finding his own curiosity of the girl from the future being fueled.  Mama Higurashi patted his back motherly, before exiting to return to her cleaning.
Inuyasha stood in the center of the room for a long while. He was taking in the sites and smells, realizing that Kagome was so very different from Kikyou.
Kagome’s clothes were in a pile in a corner, instead of neatly put away like Kikyou always had. Kagome had pink and yellow frills on her bed, giving the appearance of being warm and inviting, unlike the simple futon Kikyou used. Kagome had images of people, other girls and oddly posed males, on her walls, a decoration he couldn’t imagine Kikyou even having entertained.
Although he knew Kagome was a very different person, the very vision of her room solidified his notions.
Walking to the desk pushed up against the wall across from the bed, Inuyasha picked up the books she had all over. Some of them were carefully tucked into a spot, some were propped open, and some were even bent as they lay at an odd angle. Inuyasha gingerly picked up the book, admiring the amount Kagome owned, as he knew books to be expensive and only for the richest of people. His mother had a book that she read to him, but he cast that memory aside, not caring to realized how much he had forgotten.
There were the writing utensils she insisted on carrying scattered everywhere. There were pages of paper with odd symbols strewn and crumpled amongst the books. Inuyasha slowly picked through everything, investigating the strange girl who was beyond insistent that they were friends through her belongings.
His hand picked up a particularly messy set of papers and books and found himself looking into his own eyes. Initially startled, Inuyasha jumped back at the sudden sight of himself, but returned, wanting to know more about what had shown him his own image.
It was a rectangle with a pink casing around it. It was shinier than any water he had ever seen, and suddenly, he realized he was staring at himself. He had never really taken time to look at himself and took the time finally to study his own image.
He had large, striking gold eyes. Eyes that stood out in a crowd and saw everything. His nose was sharp and shone from the wetness. His hair was a stunning silvery white shade. He wracked his brain to think if he had seen himself so clearly before. Water never reflected quite like this.
He was standing there for a long while, which was how Mama Higurashi found him a little while later.
She approached him, placing a warm, loving hand on his shoulder, her motherly instinct telling her he was having a moment and would need to be handled carefully.
Inuyasha jumped slightly at her touch, but she spoke before he could.
“You are such a handsome young man, Inuyasha. It’s easy to see how Kagome is infatuated with you already.” She also took in his image in the mirror, her eyes shining just like Kagome’s did when she was happy.  
Inuyasha looked back at himself, trying to see what Mama Higurashi was seeing. Him, handsome? Would anyone actually look at him and think that he was attractive? Him, the boy who had no place in this world?
Squeezing his shoulders briefly, Mama Higurashi left the room and Inuyasha to his thoughts.
Kagome was insistent on being clean, but Inuyasha realized that she wasn’t so fussy about her appearance like the other women he had observed. If her hair was messy or sticking up all sorts of ways, Kagome would only lean up to half-way attempt to smooth it out. Beyond that, she didn’t fuss or worry.
Inuyasha thought this reflected her personality very well. She was a loving and open soul but was never worried about how people looked or cared if people were concerned about how she looked. He supposed it was from the amount of time she got stared at for dressing so odd that made it so she didn’t care.
She was the first person to not comment on his appearance, or even to drag painful questions about his heritage to the surface. She simply spoke to him and paid no attention to his mixed blood. She was even known for stopping others from raising painful questions for him.
“There’s more to you than what you look like, Inuyasha,” Kagome had told him in a rare moment of separation from everyone else, “and anyone who doesn’t care to see that isn’t worth our time.”
He hadn’t responded, but he tucked away hope in his heart that Kagome would maybe, just maybe, care for him more than the others.
Kagome had eyes that shone bright enough to put the sun to shame. Inuyasha first saw himself reflected in her eyes on a warm afternoon day when he had presented her with a small daisy as a surprise. Kagome had been sitting on the hill, soaking in the sun, when Inuyasha held out the small blossom out for her. Her eyes lit up and Inuyasha saw himself as she did.
He was a special and beyond loved person. He was her protector and best friend. He was handsome and wanted.
He was things in her eyes that he never imagined he could be.
His flush and brisk departure didn’t dull Kagome’s joy at the simple action of affection and also didn’t hide from her that Inuyasha was pleased with her reaction.
The first time he held his baby, he saw Kagome in the little face in his arms. Kagome’s cheeks, lips, hell even her eyebrows. But the babe in his arms looked like him just as much. His ears, nose, hell even his frown.
As everyone came by to see the new baby and congratulate the new parents, Inuyasha kept mentally tally of who thought his baby looked like: mother or father.
People instantly commented on the bright silver ears on the top of the head, still pinned down from birth and not likely to perk up for some months, lowering their voices to a barely audible level as to not disturb the baby. Inuyasha was grateful for the villagers having learned something from him that would help his baby.  Kagome would smile knowingly and ask them if they thought the babe had Inuyasha’s frown.
Inuyasha didn’t find this particular question very funny, but all the older folk who came over would good-naturedly nod their heads and say, “Oh yes, I can see that very clearly now.” The younger folk who insist that they didn’t see any hint of a frown, and Inuyasha knew they were lying then. The baby distinctly only looked please when eating, not that he blamed the baby. Food and Kagome where the only things that made him happy, so to have both at once must be great.
The first time the babe turned human, the waning half-moon, the babe cried and could not be consoled. He saw his child express the fears that had often seized him that he couldn’t vocalize, afraid of not being able to smell or see as well as he was used to. He clutched to his mother, tears streaming down his face and now dark eyes pleading with her to ease his suffering, to give back his strength.
Kagome soothed her baby as best as she could, while knowing there was nothing she could do to ease his distress. Inuyasha looked on and wondered if his mother did the same for him when he was a baby. It was almost like looking back into his own past and seeing his own life replay before him.
Except now he could participate now and work to ease his baby’s confusion and fear along side his wife. He could build a family that reflected the love shared between Kagome and him, that reflected the happiness in their home, and reflected the hopes they shared.
He could have himself reflected in all of those things, to be able to see the person Mama Higurashi and he saw in the mirror so long ago.
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tgwtgrumours-blog · 6 years
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oh boy.....
I don’t know, you don’t post for 6 years and the whole fandom explodes.....
 So, I saw my name dropped on kiwi farms (I’ve been a Cwc lurker since Bluespike, yes, I’m old,) I decided that I probably should post with everything going on. 
I had resigned some time ago that I had put my days of internet detectivering (A word I made up) behind me, but I guess I gotta dust off my keyboard.
Who am I:
Ok, I was a fan of the tgwtg crew, a huge fan and I’ve always been strong with google-FYI so I thought I’d use my powers for good.  At the time tgwtg was pretty big and there were a lot of rumours going about, and being the kind of person who is #foreverlurking on sites like SA, the chans, ED, tvtropes, etc,  I was seeing a lot of shit talk about contributors who I liked.  I also saw that Rants who used to run (not sure if they still do) the tgwtg secrets tumblr was getting a lot of stuff at the time about various rumours going around, and Rants didn’t have the information to respond to them.
I thought I would provide my services as a sort of neutral  party who would purely answer this stuff factually and maybe try to stop lies being spread throughout the internet. I think my most significant post was about JesuOtaku, then Hope, now Jacob.
There had been rumours for a long time about homophobia on JO’s part, and I did some extensive research for that one.  On a hard drive I still have the hundreds of screenshots I made of literally every forum post in which JO had said something shitty.  I delved very deeply and spoke to people who knew JO IRL, they said that they felt JO was a nice person who had never been mean or nasty to them.  I concluded that while JO was younger he had made some shitty posts but had since become a better person.  Hence the rumour was technically true, but JO had reformed his opinion. Of course that was before all the stuff with Nash, so..... yeah.
Why did I stop posting:
There were a number of reasons.  I’ve always suffered with mental health issues, namely depression, ocd and ptsd, and that makes me erratic at times about commitments, which was a small part of it.
The other reason was largely to do with a video called “things tgwtg fans say” -this was made by mostly chez apocalypse people and there were two things which began to sit very badly with me in that video. 
The first one was, I believe Elisa, saying “I’m worried about spoony” - this was PRE Spoony meltdown, and I myself was one of the fans concerned about his mental health issues and his erratic behaviour.  We all know how that ended, don’t we?
I didn’t like the idea of this video taking the piss out of fans was not just poking fun, there was genuine reason to be concerned about Spoony’s behaviour, as was proved shortly afterwards. I don’t know who made the decision to include that line, but it made me feel very uncomfortable. 
The second was Kyle aka Oan Citizen saying “I hate Rants!”  Everyone thought that it meant Rants as in ranting, but after Rants of the tgwtg secrets tumblr had said they liked the video, Kyle went out of his way to let Rants know that line was directed at them personally. Kyle didn’t think this was inappropriate at all until Hagan told him off and he apologised and the video was edited to cut that line.
‘Shortly after Kyle’s apology was added to his ‘crowning moment of heartwarming’ section on tvtropes. I couldn’t help but think, “these guys make videos on the internet and get money for watches and they’re openly insulting the people who watch their videos to their faces.”
That made me feel sick to my stomach. 
It STILL makes me eel sick to my stomach 6 years later.  
Kyle had also tweeted (then deleted before I got a chance to screenshot) a tweet saying “I just want some people to know I hate them. Deeply.” This was aimed at Rants.
Rants ran a blog where people made posts about people saying they fancied this producer or thought that producer was cute - so yeah, I didn’t like this.
Then.... ugh...  I’m sorry, I started getting messages about Jew Wario.
I have various screenshots I will share, but can’t share some for various reasons, mostly I’m not at home right now, I’m on holiday abroad, and I’m posting on my iPad. I’m having a holiday because my Dad died last month from a long battle with brain cancer so I need to chill, y’all.
The stuff I was getting was really disturbing so I’m just going to post the one screen cap of me asking Rants if they’d been getting anything, though I erroneously refer to his victim as his girlfriend for some reason, I think I’d thought they were dating. When I get home I’ll go through all my archive and see what else I have saved.
 It put me off the fandom in a big way, I decided to take a break, which turned into a complete hiatus. I was scared of the information. I was just a girl, sitting in her room, watching videos about bad movies, then suddenly I was being told about crimes and fans were being attacked. 
I didn’t want to be a part of it and I ran away. 
I was a coward. 
I was much younger, more naive, and didn’t possess the social skills to be able to deal with it or process it properly. 
I’m sorry. 
I’m so sorry. 
I feel that I have a proportional piece of blame, but after Justin’s suicide I felt the issue was over, in a Jimmy Saville way and tried to move on. Even though I no longer visited tgwtg/channel awesome any longer, I felt intense guilt for years and that is part of the reason I stopped posting. 
Again, I’m sorry. 
During my tenure as internet detective I had the opportunity to speak with several producers, Lupa, Brad, Linkara, Holly and others, everyone who I spoke to personally was friendly and helpful and generally really lovely people. 
I didn’t start the blog to upset anyone, I just wanted to be a small part of something that I enjoyed immensely as a fan and the only talent I had was the ability to read through 149 forum pages in one night and make sense of it all.
I should have spoken up, and I can’t take that back now, but I hope I can find a way to make it up to the people my silence hurt.
Elf xoxo
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lookatthedawn · 6 years
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Ten Things I Won’t Miss
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I take a walk around the Ho Hoan Kiem for the last time.  It's been less than two months since I first set foot in Hanoi, and now I'm filled with nostalgia for the first days of my arrival when everything was a novelty.  I've grown accustomed to the language, to street vendors, tourists, to scooters swerving around me, crowded streets and little shops.  I can see why Lady came and stayed.  It's easy to stay here.  I shop for a few souvenirs then head to my favorite cafe in Hanoi; the Tous Les Jours!  I take a seat on the second floor, open my laptop and work while having one of their delicious pineapple bread.  The cafe has wi-fi and soothing golden lighting, while outside the window the blue sky gets darker with each passing minute.  The soft music is perfect and the staff is super friendly.  Today there are few customers besides me, and I appreciate that too. My only problem with the place, as well as most cafes in Southeast Asia, is that tea and coffee are served in such tiny cups.  In South America is the same thing; you ask for a cup of coffee and get a little sample.  They're rather proud of their coffee beans, but never want you to be satiated.  Instead, they dispense it like medication.  I miss the States' big mugs and free refills! I'm at the end of my summer internship, and I've loved being here.  However, there are a few things in Vietnam I will not miss.  Let's make a quick list, shall we? 
1) Probably the number one thing that really gets to me is the habit the Vietnamese have of clearing their throats and spitting on the ground.  This happens everywhere.  You're walking around the beautiful Ho Hoan Kiem lake, having the best thoughts conceivable to men, then you hear someone right beside you making a deep sweep in their throat and spitting its phlegmatic contents right on the path.  Gosh! I do avert my eyes, my ears, and all my senses as I find the habit deeply repulsive, but this seems perfectly normal and acceptable in the Vietnamese culture.  I want to ask them if you have to do that, can you at least spit in the nearest trash can?   Close related to that is their habit of picking their noses.  It's not that people all around the world doesn't do it, but there's a time and place for everything, which is a concept that evades the average Vietnamese.  Also, consider dropping the habit altogether and using a tissue instead.  
2) Poor sanitation. This is both a personal issue and a major social one.  I believe many people wouldn't want to visit Southeast Asia because they don't do well with a hole in the ground instead of a toilet bowl.  So, yes, my travels would have been much more pleasant if I could count on proper sanitation, but I also believe that these countries could get a major boost in tourism, and consequently in the economy if they just made sure that public restrooms were properly equipped and clean.  
3) Cutting in line.  This only happens when you're in line, so, it's not a constant pebble in my shoe, but when it does occur, it's unbelievably annoying.  How can anyone think that this is okay?  How do they feel when someone cuts in line in front of them?  I have talked to Vietnamese people about that and they laugh like it's a Vietnamese cute quirk.  It's not cute! A quirk shouldn't interfere with everyone else's schedule.  It's not that Vietnamese people are arrogant, because generally, they are not.  It's just that they don't put that much stock in this kind of social organization.  On this matter, China is quite different.  Even by visiting the Chinese embassy in Hanoi one notices that cutting in line is a major no-no.  Chinese people can be very rigid on a lot of things, not always sensibly, but in queueing they can teach Vietnam a thing or two.
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4) No sidewalk to speak of.  Well, yes, there are sidewalks, but they're not for walking.  They're used primarily as parking spaces for scooters. If there aren't parked scooters, or if there's extra space, then people may walk.  But most likely, it's been already taken by tables and people cooking, eating, playing checkers, or fixing appliances.  If you're walking on the sidewalk at rush hour, remember that the sidewalk is free game, and you'll most often see a motorcycle rushing at or behind you.  The fun never stops. 5) Smoking.  This is something that surprised me.  I thought that smoking was in decline all around the world, but apparently, that's not the case in Vietnam -- especially among young people.  The Vietnamese young men and women seem unmoved by the disturbing ads on cigarette packages. Everywhere you go, there are people puffing away. What I find ironic is that most people use a mask on the streets to prevent contamination by air pollution but see no problem in lighting a cigarette.    
6) Trash.  Sometimes I think of Vietnam as a person with low self-esteem,  who just doesn't realize his potential and how precious he is.  That would explain why they don't care much about some of their beautiful beaches and parks.  That's not generalized, and Hanoi has many places well cared for, but in a beautiful beach in Phu Quoc, for example, there was plenty of trash, so that you had to watch where you stepped. The rule of thumb seems to be that, unless a place is considered sacred, like a pagoda, or classified by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site, it doesn't require maintenance.  Therefore, if you visit the Temple of Literature, for example, you'll find it clean and well maintained, but if you take a walk around a small park or lake, it might be littered with empty bottles, food wraps, and dog feces.  
7) Toothpicking. After a meal, most people in Vietnam reach for the toothpick -- which is conveniently placed on the table -- to do some teeth cleaning.  Okay, this is a personal peeve of mine.  As a teenager, I worked as a dental assistant and that was something my boss hammered in his clients' minds; don't use toothpicks on your teeth, it does more harm than good.  The Carefree Dental site has the following to say about the habit: "...if you're not careful, you could be damaging your tooth enamel, lacerating gum tissue, and even causing a broken tooth... Additionally, aggressive toothpick use could damage the roots of the teeth, especially where the gums have pulled away from the teeth leaving root surfaces exposed. A broken splinter could also lodge itself in the gum, resulting in an infection if not removed."  I understand the drive to get food from between your teeth after a meal, but there are other ways, more effective, to do that, like flossing.  I also don't like the fact that this is done at the table, but that might just be me.  I'm one of those people who believe that a restroom is a perfect place to put yourself back to rights.  Especially if that restroom is well lit, has all the appliances and is clean. #see sanitation above.   Vietnamese people are notorious for bad teeth and oral hygiene, and I believe that toothpicking is only one more bad habit in a multifaceted issue. https://www.carefreedental.com/resources/16-dental-tips/153-10-bad-habits-that-are-hard-on-your-teeth
8) Unwelcome solicitation. Vietnamese people are very helpful and most of the time their help is quite welcome.  However, it can get annoying when you can't take a ten-minute walk without being offered at least five things.  It's fruits, hats, juices, food and, of course, rides.  There's a man leaning on a motorcycle at almost every corner, and every one of them asks if you want a ride.  That's also the case in Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos.  It's nice to have rides easily available, but it becomes a pain when you can't go twenty steps without having to decline something.  There are also those who follow you for a little while, insisting.   If you do accept whatever they're selling, be ready to haggle.  Sometimes haggling is fun, especially if you're doing it for exercise and are not very interested in the product. But in that case, I'd rather spend my time in more interesting conversations.  When making purchases, I like straight-forward transactions. I prefer fixed prices and being able to count on finding the same product at the same price day after day.
9) Scarcity mentality.  The scarcity mentality is the idea that there's never enough to go around.  I use the word never instead of not, because the scarcity mentality subscribes to a sort of pessimism.  It's not that there isn't enough for today, but a constant belief that tomorrow there won't be enough either. Some people with this mindset are very selfish, believing that resources cannot be shared since more for you means less for me.  I'd not say that the Vietnamese is selfish, much on the contrary.  The people I met in Vietnam were very considerate and extremely generous, especially my supervisors and colleagues at The Gioi.  However, the notion of poverty is very present in the Vietnamese society's words and actions.  This is hard to explain, so I'll give a few examples: the tiny teacup at homes and cafes, as I've mentioned before, the scant toilet paper, narrow streets, tiny bathrooms, little water in the shower, bath towel about the size of an American hand towel, recycled water for many needs like washing dishes, flushing, etc.  Anyone who knows me knows that I dislike waste and truly believe we should use our resources more effectively.  My problem is with the mentality itself, with the belief that we don't have enough, the posture that everything is scarce today and tomorrow will be worse.  While I can't speak much about the economy in Vietnam, I do notice that people have money to eat out, to buy cigarettes, to go to the movies, and to travel.  And yet, that cultural restriction is often present, as though the resources are meager and must be carefully divided.   I have often compared Vietnam with Brazil, and on this too the similarity is astonishing.  I was away from Brazil for twenty-four years, and at my return, I was surprised by the size of things like soap bars, peanut butter jars, mayonnaise, jam, tomato sauce, shampoo bottles, and of course, teacups!  Do people eat or use less of a product because it's in a smaller package?  Or do we use or eat as much as we need, independent of the container?  Like Vietnam, Brazil also keeps and encourages a scarcity mentality.  In a culture with this mindset, goods are distributed as though from a parent to a child -- this is all you can have, Junior, so make sure it lasts, -- while in places with an abundance mentality, goods are spread freely, even if they are meager, with the trust that people will responsibly take what they need and nothing more.  In this case, people are treated like responsible adults and not like children who can't be trusted. 
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10) Order and Progress. It could be the slogan on a flag, right? Oh, wait! It is! It's the slogan on the Brazilian flag.  And it doesn't work very well over there.  But, disappointment notwithstanding, it's a good slogan.  No.  It's a great slogan because you really can't have progress without order.  I'm sure if one day Brazil succeeds in attaining the first part of the slogan, the country will have no problem with the second. Order, or organization, allows us to take a full assessment of our surroundings. It's by organizing that we know the resources we have and can plan around what we don't have. While traveling in Southeast Asia I noticed that the absence of some basic structures -- sanitation, for example -- is not the result of lack of resources. Everything necessary for an efficient and pleasant rest stop, for instance, is already there.  The electrical wires in Phnom Penh is an example of that; apparently, the Cambodian capital expanded quickly and there was an immediate need for more and better electrical wires.  Instead of organizing and extending the existing cables, they haphazardly added more as demand increased so that now it's a tangle of wires which defy logic.  I can only imagine how electricians deal with that mess.   So, why can't it be organized?  I don't know.  Perhaps they have been dealing with bigger emergencies, putting out fires for too long, or maybe order is just not a high priority in the Vietnamese culture.  However, there are places where much thought and planning have been applied, like the Train Tien Plaza in Hanoi, a shopping center with all the organization and sophistication one can expect.  The airport, some hotels, stores and upscale restaurants show a stark difference to the facilities for the public, which have yet to benefit from the same kind of organization.
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multi-fandomtrashtm · 6 years
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My Personal Beliefs
I’ve been antsy about posting this for a while until I realized that I don’t have to care what anyone this site thinks. So here goes. 
If you can’t handle the topic of pedophilia or mention of rape, then don’t read. If you’re offended or “triggered” by my beliefs, then feel free to unfollow or even block this account.
Ok, let’s get the most controversial one out of the way first.
Pedophilia is a psychiatric disorder. 
Symptoms of Pedophilic Disorder as defined by Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fifth edition are defined as:
An individual who has had arousing fantasies about, urges for, or behaviors with a prepubescent child or children.
The individual has acted out these sexual desires, or is experiencing significant distress or difficulty as a result of these desires.
The Individual is 16 years of age, and at least five years older than the child or children.
Every pedophile is NOT a child abuser, molester or rapist. In fact, many go undocumented because they are ashamed of or feel guilty of their sexual attraction. Being a pedophile is not a choice. Acting on those urges is. 
Like many other disorders, it cannot be “cured.” It can be treated. However, getting treatment for this disorder is extremely difficult. Why? Because of the stigma surrounding it. If anyone wants to get help for this condition, they need to tell someone about it. And what happens when they do? They are ostracized and possibly abused. 
Let me clearly state this. I do not condone child abuse in any form. I do not condone sexual relations between adults and prepubescent children in any form. 
Now what about getting off on fictional children? Those fictional children do not have rights because they are NOT REAL. They are collections of 2-D shapes or words. Our laws (mostly) DO NOT APPLY to fictional characters. Therefore, if someone gets sexual pleasure from something like lolita hentai (fictional child pornography), it may be disturbing, but it’s leagues better than using actual child pornography of real children. 
Also, what about shipping adult fictional characters with fictional children? It’s not pedophilia unless you yourself have an attraction to the child character. 
I’m very tired of people blindly flinging the pedophile label around without knowing what it actually means. 
Alright, moving on. 
Regret sex is not rape.
Let’s say that you go on a date with X, your neighbor. You and X have a grand time and eventually go back to X’s place to fool around. You and X are both healthy adults and sober. You start feeling a bit uncomfortable, but don’t tell X. X begins to strip down and asks you to do the same. You can leave, but you don’t. You continue to show signs of sexual interest and get undressed as well. You and X have sex. In the middle of the act, you decide that you don’t want to continue. You do not push X away or give any visible/verbal sign that you do not want sex. The next day or later that night, you deeply regret and feel ashamed of the sex you had. Were you raped? In my opinion, no. 
Defined by the NIBRS:
Rape (except incest and statutory rape - NIBRS Offense Code 11A)
The carnal knowledge of a person, without the consent of the victim, including instances where the victim is incapable of giving consent because of his/her age or because of his/her temporary or permanent mental or physical incapacity
Sodomy (NIBRS Offense Code 11B)
Oral or anal sexual intercourse with another person, without the consent of the victim, including instances where the victim is incapable of giving consent because of his/her age or because of his/her temporary or permanent mental or physical incapacity
Sexual assault with an object (NIBRS Offense Code 11C)
To use an object or instrument to unlawfully penetrate, however slightly, the genital or anal opening of the body of another person, without the consent of the victim, including instances where the victim is incapable of giving consent because of his/her age or because of his/her temporary or permanent mental or physical incapacity.
People cannot read minds. Not everyone can read body language. Can you revoke consent? Yes. But, if you do not clearly communicate that you no longer want something after initially agreeing to it, how is the other person supposed to know? 
Let’s say that X is bigger or stronger than you. Is X actively threatening or intimidating you into sex? If not, then that is not rape. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t feel confident enough to say no, but if they didn’t actively intimidate or threaten, then it was just a bad sexual experience. But not a non-consensual one. 
Now what if both you and X got a bit drunk before the act? Legally, you’re raping each other when you have sex. At that point, there’s not much to do other than move on. 
If X got you intoxicated before the act, then X raped you. If you clearly state (i.e telling them no/pushing them away) that you do not want to have sex, but X forces the act on you anyway, then X raped you. 
I understand that people can freeze up in scary situations. That’s part of human nature. BUT, there’s a difference between freezing and continuing to act, but not for your own benefit. 
Labeling regret sex as rape trivializes actual rape. Before you label anything, please consider what your situation was objectively.
If you specialize in law or psychology, please feel free to correct me on any definitions stated. 
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