#tw religious paranoia

[thebloggerthatjesusloved]

Have you ever just accidentally revealed for the first time an OCD compulsion or a neurosis you’ve had your whole life? Couldn’t be me….

#tw ocd #tw paranoia #OCD #religious ocd #scrupulosity #it’s not THAT embarrassing #me slipping is more embarrassing #ohhhhhh now other other people can find out too oh nooooo #like it’s a neurosis that other Catholics who don’t have it specifically won’t get #and superstitious Catholics will think I’m I dunno #it’s not even objectively bad #just weird #I stay embarrassed about things for years this is not gonna be fun #just the waiting to see if anyone in the group of people notice #*prays that they aren’t observant* #they’re also the type that won’t say anything so I’ll never know if they know ahhhhhh #personal

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

Primetober Day 6: You Are An Obsession, with all extra prompts (“I am your possession”, Obsession, and Intrusive Thoughts.

First human AU. Dream panics after seeing Tommy make friends with a human boy, and Tommy has to reassure Him to make sure He doesn’t just murder him- not that He can stop thinking about it, along with the far more distressing thoughts of hurting Tommy. Warnings for paranoia, restraint, HEAVY religious themes, abuse, (imagined) graphic violence, possessive behaviour, obsession, violent impulses, intrusive thoughts of hurting a loved one, isolation, suicidal ideation, dehumanisation, pedestalisation, infantilisation, referenced child death and murder, and extreme codependency.

ao3 link

—— “You’re going to leave me again.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be- Dream wasn’t stupid, nor was He naïve. Not anymore.

Not after last time.

“Dream, what the fuck.” Tommy looked up with what Dream could only see as contempt from the holy chains holding him completely still, kneeling like he was in prayer as he should be. “W-what did I even do?”

“The boy.”

That damned servant boy, hair a rusty mess of curls, eyes grey like stone. An ugly blight upon the title of Human that Dream had so kindly blessed upon his ancestors. Such a pathetic little thing should hardly have been compared to Tommy, the first made in Dream’s image, and the only one that should have ever been made. Dream had been naïve to listen to the prodigal son’s needling, to create pale imitations of His masterpiece and allowing him to grow independent, like a spoiled brat.

He wanted to tear the servant boy’s pitiful head from his body. Rid the world of his hideous countenance and duplicitous nature, tear imperfect and rotted ichor from his hide and make him suffer for the blight he represented. Humanity’s existence outside of the blessed child, crafted in Dream’s holy image to follow and obey Him and learn alongside Him, was a disease on the world, a sickness that warped and ravaged His perfect creation. Making such insects suffer was noble and just. They should all bleed eternally for the sin that haunts their bloodline, tempting the holy one away with promises of knowledge he could not be allowed, tearing him from his Eden with his Father. No repentance was possible except in eternal suffering.

“Tubbo? This is about Tubbo?” Tommy looked confused. Of course he was, poor thing. Created in innocence, to be forced to sin, to be torn from his Father and creator, was a complete rejection of his purpose, even his name. Tommy, “to me”, a gift from Dream to Himself, one his own creations had tried to turn against him.

He was going to tear out that servant boy’s throat, to make it so he could never deceive His poor, innocent child again. Images of him bleeding on the floor filled His head, and then morphed to that of Tommy, choking the life out of him, removing the enchantments keeping him alive and watching him fall to the ground a statue, burning him again like He did last time, the same anger bubbling in His chest.

Dream shook His head, biting His tongue. The ideas were painful, a nightmare beyond imagination. Seeing Tommy crumpled on the ground, charred remains and quiet, so so quiet, was the worst moment of Dream’s everlasting existence. He’d been so, so alone before He’d created Man in his image, created Tommy. He couldn’t be without him. Not now, not ever. The dark patches across his skin, burnt and bleached bone, were as much a reminder to Dream as they were to Tommy- never, ever repeat what had happened that day, lest they both suffer.

He liked to think of Himself as firm but fair, at least in this century. The nagging rage in the back of His mind, supplying thoughts of violence and pain no matter what, was like a constant needling, a frustrating and frightening reminder of what He’d once been and would be again someday. After all, a God never stayed static in a changing world.

“The servant boy, yes,” Dream said, waving His hand, the moonlight His body was made out of lighting the room in silver hues, at least where the bright sunlight weaved into His hair hadn’t bathed it in gold. The glow illuminated Tommy’s features, an identical match to Dream’s, made out of Earthly materials instead of the universe itself. Bones of behemoths for skin, opals for eyes, copper and silver and gold in intricate patterns for his hair. He looked like a work of art because he was, crafted by Dream by hand. “He’s trying to make you sin again.”

“I genuinely don’t have a clue what the fuck you’re talking about, man.” Tommy furrowed his brow. “You’re in a mood again.”

“I’m not-“

Tommy squeaking as Dream involuntarily made the chains tighter and tighter made Him stop in His tracks. He took a deep breath, willing them to loosen a tad, and ignored the awful images in His head of squeezing tighter and tighter until Tommy’s bones shattered, and then he couldn’t run. He was better than that. He was. He didn’t need to use force to keep Tommy behaving, no matter how much His head screamed at Him to do so.

“I- Tommy, I- I’m just worried, y’know?” He ruffled His creation's hair gently, his instinctive leaning into the touch calming His racing heart a little. “Remember when- when Humanity stole you from me?”

“Oh. Oh.” Tommy laughed nervously. “I mean, I- I chose to leave then, y’know? I know you don’t wanna believe it, but I just- I really wanted to be with people like me, y’know? I’m not gonna do that again, dumbass. I’m yours. I don’t- I’m not like them. I’m not. So, don’t be a fucking prick, man. I fucked up, not them.”

Dream dismissed the chains with a thought, blinking off the horrific images that entered His head about wrapping them around Tommy’s neck. He bit His tongue.

He was going to go take His anger out on that stupid fucking servant boy. Just to make the thoughts intruding into His mind go away.

He was going to tear out every part of him before He let him perish. He was going to break every bone in his body and hear him scream and revel in it. And then, maybe then, the thoughts would stop.

Tommy wrapped his arms around Dream as soon as he got to his feet, stopping His thoughts in their tracks. “I’m sorry for scaring you and shit, though. I- it’s not Tubbo’s fault, okay? Don’t hurt him. Please, don’t hurt him. I won’t- I’ll never speak to him again, okay? Just let him go.”

An image popped into Dream’s head- the first Human tribe, burning and screaming as Tommy is forced to watch. He shut His eyes intently, unwilling to see the worst day of both their lives play out again, yet it didn’t stop. Blood seeped the ground, still bearing the mockery of ichor modern Man did not possess, as screams filled the air. Some, the children born of the first generation, spilt red as they wailed for their parents, a thin imitation of His and Tommy’s bond.

Strands of metal burnt into the ground as charred remains of gemstones once used as eyes lost their lustre. The hides and furs of animals- cut in ugly, roughshod patterns, unlike the beautiful wolf-skin hood He’d made for Tommy, faded to dust. The feeble structures they hid under collapsed, trapping the few who survived as they screamed for a God who held no mercy for them.

A God that only held mercy for His only friend.

And then Tommy, stupidly, ran to save a pointless, miserable excuse for a human, a crying cub that Dream saw as no different from the ones He and Tommy hunted. Before Dream could react, he’d wrapped his body around the pitiful thing, and another poor excuse for a shelter fell straight onto him, setting him alight. Dream didn’t know what to do as he burnt, paralysed by the fear of losing the only thing that gave His life worth.

Without Tommy, He was alone. The animals were no equals, the Earth no company. He could see the joy a bear had with her cubs, a wolf had with his pups, but He could not experience it. Tommy was created to remedy that. In a way, Tommy had been Dream’s entire life- because He hadn’t had one before then. He simply created, as felt natural, and then for a long time, He just watched, numb, bored, wishing He could die like the animals who He’d carved from clay.

Tommy had been His entire life- still was His entire life. He had never felt happiness until He and Tommy spent all night talking, never realised the beauty of His creations until He showed Tommy them for the first time, never felt like He wanted to live until He had a child of His own, sculpted in His image and perfect in every way. In a sense, Tommy was far more important than He ever was. After all, He’d only created the physical- Tommy was the wellspring of all emotion.

And He’d brought him back, sure. The rest of the Humans too, after he’d begged Him. But those moments He thought He’d never feel again were the worst of His life. He’d never, ever hurt Tommy like that again. He’d punish him, sure. In the past, He’d done anything short of killing him, at least when He was more a war God than anything, and Tommy’s role was His eternal training dummy. But never kill. No, no. Never again.

“… You can see him. If you want.” Dream murmured. “If it will make it so you don’t leave.”

Crystal tears sprang up in Tommy’s eyes, flowing in fractal patterns. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Just remember.” Dream smiled softly to himself. “You’re my prized creation, Tommy. You belong to me and me alone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours. I know that. I’m your possession, your child, whatever the humans say.” He snorted at that. “They’re funny, aren’t they? Trying to figure out who we are. They’re not that bad, right? Don’t hurt them, please.”

That was true, Dream supposed. The Humans were entertaining- that was why He enjoyed their worship. Over the years, seeing their ideas change was fascinating- Dream had been assigned a million different roles, and Tommy a million more. Whether they were “he’s” or “she’s” or something else entirely switched almost every generation, even though they were more like “it’s” than anything else. They changed, yet they stayed the same, mouldable like clay in both body, like Dream was familiar with- yet also mind, using Tommy’s unique, impossible power over that.

Maybe making humanity wasn’t a mistake. After all, Tommy cared for them so much, and that made sure he’d stay so Dream would never hurt them.

And then He’d never have to be completely, utterly, alone again.

#My writing #cprimetober #c!primeboys #dream smp #paranoia tw #Restraints tw #religious themes tw #abuse tw #violence tw #posessive behaviour tw #Obsession tw #intrusive thoughts tw #suicidal ideation tw #Dehumanisation tw #pedestalisation tw #Infantilisation tw #Codependency tw

[laikacore]

question mark

art and writing by laika wallace

#trauma poetry #trauma art #vent art #psychosis #religious trauma #paranoia #paranoia inducing #bug tw #ant tw #insect tw #hallucinations

[aspd-culture]

Religious guilt... Related to the feeling of being watched by G-d... Is it the same as remorse?

aspd-culture is

No. Religious guilt is actually a type of PTSD symptom from religious trauma. The fear of being watched by G*d is a type of hypervigilance, another symptom of PTSD.

Many pwASPD or other disorders causing low remorse still hold religious guilt, paranoia, and hypervigilance from their time with religion, but this does not invalidate their experience with low/no remorse.

#tw religion #tw religious guilt #tw paranoia inducing #tw ocd #tw schizophrenia #catholic guilt #religious guilt #aspd-culture-is #aspd culture is #aspd culture #actually antisocial #actually aspd #antisocial personality disorder #aspd #aspd awareness #aspd traits #anons welcome

[starboy14176]

Vialism mood board

#ty talks about tøp #moodboard #mood board #tw religious imagery #tw paranoia #trench #vialism

[schizospecdreams]

Tw religious paranoia, unreality, general (id probably block me if unreality or paranoia triggers you <3)

Guys?? If I summon an arch angel will it actually make my schizophrenia worse?? or can we just be homies, I need him :,(

#tw psychosis #tw religious mention #tw angels #tw paranoia #tw unreality #moth mumbles #actually schizospec #schizospec #schizospeak #paranoid schizophrenia #schizoaffective #actually schizophrenic #psychosis

[gxlden-angels]

The fun thing about about paranoia and delusions is that they don't count if they're within the expected beliefs

#oh you think you're being watched recorded and judged? well boohoo that's just Jesus and the Mystery Gang #he's tryna see if you deserve to die 10000 deaths or an all expenses paid trip to his home #just don't think about it :) #but yea I can't make phone calls around people most of the time cause I feel like I'm being recorded #ex christian #religious trauma #unreality tw #paranoia tw

[skeletonin666]

yeah, not what i was planning to do at first, but yk...ill do what i was originally thinking in a little bit

#religious trauma #tw religious imagery #tw religious themes #tw weirdcore #weirdcore #tw eye imagery #tw paranoia

[scorpihoe1111]

💔Chiron In the Houses💔-Part 2

Chiron in the 8H👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 TW: S*xual Content

People with this placement could struggle with themes regarding sex/sexual health. This could be somebody who’s had a bad experience with sex, such as being used/manipulated into it, made to feel shamed or guilty for having it and/or (TW: SA) sexually harassed/assaulted. I’ve also noticed people with this placement may have grew up with a very conservative family who had strict views of sex, so the individual is hard on themselves or feel almost guilty for having it or interacting in sexual things. This placement could also struggle with contracting STD’s, or having overall genital/uterus health problems often in their life. I also noticed that people like this are drawn to the occult early on in their life, and something happens that traumatizes them and ruins their outlook on it. A VERY common placement I’ve seen with people who dabbled in witchcraft and it backfired or someone who consistently goes to witch doctors/psychics/mediums and depends on these people. Also, something about the mother with this placement as well. This placement is also seen in people who have been permanently scarred by the death of someone or a near death experience themselves. The idea of death in general haunts this native and they usually refuse to accept it as a part of life. They could have paranoia of those around them dying and leaving them, or them dying themselves. The mother could have passed early on, and/or the mother could have been abusive or overly possessive and controlling of the Chiron person. Could also indicate someone who went through financial abuse as well, such as a mother or other feminine figures in their life being stingy with money that was owed to the Chiron person, or stealing Chiron’s actual money from them. This placement usually has a hard time getting along with the women in their family or women in general.

Chiron In the 9H🌍

Chiron here is one of the placements I sympathize with the most tbh. These people could have grown up in a strictly religious environment and may have had religion forced upon them from an early age. This person could have went through something that traumatized them in regards to church, church goers, pastors or religion altogether. They could have had really negative experiences or mistreatment from those in the church who were supposedly supposed to be good people they can trust. Could have been gossiped about, judged for their interests/personality/looks, or sexually abused as well by those in the religious group. These people are very conflicted when it comes to religion, usually choosing to be atheists/switching religions as they grow up in order to find one that doesn’t hold them back from what they wanna do or who they wanna be. This could also be someone who had extremely controlling parents who prevented them from developing, growing or having their own free will. This was someone who always had to obey their parents even when parents were wrong. Somebody who didn’t have the freedom to do fun or normal things everyone else in their age group may have got to do. These people are deeply traumatized by a lack of freedom and being controlled and refuse to go through that again in their future relationships. These people start to rebel in their teens/early 20’s, and once they’re free they become their own boss; however because they were sheltered so much they could be still naive and overdo their new freedom to the point of getting themselves in legal trouble or creating baggage in their personal lives. These people could have a lack of responsibility and self control and end up in debt, jail, a criminal charge, unwanted kids, addictions etc.

Chiron In the 10H👨🏻‍💼

Those with Chiron in the 10H could be sensitive about their reputation. This is a placement that has been judged and gossiped about mercilessly in regards to their character. These people may have done something scandalous within their life, or they may have made a mistake that many people throughout their lives have done but get heat for it way harder than others. This placement is usually found in those who care about their reputation and image more than anything else. They put how others see them and think/talk about them on the forefront of their lives. These people unfortunately can also be yes-men, or people pleasers due to wanting to receive validation from others at any cost. These people could have been well known and placed on a pedestal at some point in their lives which is why they usually tend to get gossiped about so much, or on the flip side this person does not get the recognition or acknowledgment they think they’re owed and this can lead to them feeling like they failed at life. I usually see this placement as one that’s money hungry or honestly an attention whore in most scenarios, since I’ve mainly seen those with this placement live for approval and validation even from those they don’t even know. These people could have grown up as an only child or favorite child, and parents could have exaggerated their talents and worth to the point they grew almost narcissistic and convinced they’re owed something from everyone. Obviously, this can have bad consequences as one steps out into the real world and this placement could be humbled quickly leading to their failure feeling of not being #1 in everything. Another scenario I see is those with this placement who have been involuntarily placed on a pedestal, to where each and every one of their actions, goals and mistakes reflected on their reputations heavily. In this case, this placement could have been severely judged/bullied in their youth, and/or had something happen to them or did something that they became known for and unfairly held against them. It’s important for this placement to heal in both scenarios, as if they’re unhealed this trauma can lead to excessive insecurity, co-dependence, anger and very low self esteem. This person needs to learn to live in their authenticity and honestly just stop giving a fuck what others think or say.

Chiron In the 11H👩🏻‍💻

These placement could have suffered from bullying online or in social groups. Definitely a black sheep placement, they’ve probably went through excessive outcasting or rejection in their early years from people their age. These are people who were probably loners in school, or simply didn’t know how to make friends. Many people weren’t nice to this native, and they might have always felt like the odd one out in any friend groups they have been in. This placement honestly gives me Janice Ian vibes. That 1 outcast that becomes friends with cruel people, and ends up being vulnerable to the wrong people. They could have been the target of bullying, subject of gossip etc. They may have had friends who were intimidated of them, and friends could have projected HEAVILY on them. These people could also be naive and easily influenced, usually ending up in the wrong crowd or friend group and trusting the wrong people due to desperation of needing to fit in. These people have a hard time being accepted within society as they may be different from most people, or have interests that are considered weird among peers. They could also be subject to online harassment and bullying as well, being the main target of being harassed by fake/anonymous accounts, secrets leaked online, personal information leaked online, posting something that the internet community may not approve of and attack the Chiron person for; etc.

Chiron In the 12H💤

This placement is really interesting for me, I think because I had to do extensive studying and research as well as trying to find people with this placement in order to really figure it out since it’s such a complicated placement. From what I’ve learned so far, those with this placement may have grew up with sleep paralysis and/or horrifying nightmares growing up. These are people that had an imaginary friend growing up. They’re very in touch with their spiritual side whether they want to be or not. These people could be scarred by the things they’ve seen in their dreams, or may have lived in homes that were possibly haunted and may have trauma in regards to things that may have happened in those homes. These people are usually deeply afraid of the paranormal, because of some type of experience they may have had when young. In another sense, I’ve also noticed that these people may have been isolated throughout their life a lot and felt very alone. They may have or still struggle with mental health/illness’s. These people could also be deathly afraid of random things, such as fire, insects, heights etc. with no personal reason as to why, it just provokes something in them. This is because those with this placement have TONS of past life trauma that needs to be healed. The sad thing about this placement is that it feels vulnerable and unsafe to things bigger than life, such as a higher power etc. They could be afraid of the paranormal, God, the Devil, Demons, Angels, ghosts etc. These are very sensitive to others spirits as well. These people often experience a deep, overwhelming sadness and pain without knowing their root cause. They feel uncomfortable and hate that the world is a negative place. Sometimes they might feel like there’s an invisible wall holding them back from reaching their full potential. In a way, this placement could feel almost as if they’re being punished by these higher powers I was talking about. Like their mind and overall future is being destroyed and blocked by something bigger than us, and they have no control over it. Overall, I feel like this placement wants to be safe. I feel like this placement doesn’t feel safe or comfortable in the world in general, which is why this placement is one of the very special ones for me. I truly think they are angels sent down from earth. I also feel it’s important that this placement heals deeply, and finds themselves a higher power that brings them comfort. I deeply feel this placement may need religion or spiritually to reach their full potential and happiness, as they seem to be so connected to the divine it’s best to confront their fears and accept the calling they’re overthinking about.

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #scorpio #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini horoscope: star sign dates #cancer #leo astrology #virgo #libra #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #12h synastry #12h placements #1st house #2nd house #3rd house #4th house #5th house #6th house #7h ruler #7th house #8h synastry #8h placements #8h sun #8h moon

[harestigm]

pls read tags, dm if u want me to add more !!”

I used to be really comfortable with my sexuality and gender identity (not telling for privacy lol)

But religion fucked all of that up.And when I say fucked up I mean 

they thoroughly tore me apart and set me on fire. and now I’m here trying to pick up the fucking pieces. the charred, burnt, cut up, small, billions of pieces.There are still some of us trying to fit into what they want. there are still some of us sobbing over what used to be, what we thought we were, what we thought we wanted…needed.There are still some of us repeating what has been said to us. 

Over and over again, in means to cope, in means to be good, in means to please. In means to keep others in line, in means to drive, in means to be led, in means to listen.  all the details and faces are blurred, but it’s still weighs on our mind every time we look at the rainbow. Every time. All the time. It never leaves. 

We are breaking ourselves. For the sake of our mental state.

How could we not try to put everything back together?

It’s what we were made to do.

Be seen not heard. Rest when we’re dead. Reach the expectation. Do good. Do our best. A child of God. He’s watching. He knows what you’re doing. Be saved. Good people are not saved, saved people are saved. He knows what you’re thinking. Pray about it. Pray about it. Pray about it.  a corpse on the floor, rotting into the ground, flies on its liver, broken hands, dead eyes (no one tells us but the corpse, this carcass, charred and ripped, small and frail, is us.) A quiet not so peaceful in these cold merciless woods. After all of this. And I cant escape. The guilt, the agony, the pain.  The cost to obey comes at the price of my life.

#tw gore #tw religious mention #tw christianity #tw God #tw vent #vent tw #tw paranoia

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Wordcount: 6.8k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious trauma, PTSD, Hallucinations, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: You ran from it all for a reason, it's easier to disappear when everyone thinks you're dead, but what happens when someone wants to bring you dangerously close to your past, the one you've been trying to run from for so long?

A/N: Trying to not panic over the fact i'm finally releasing this- Hope you enjoy it!!

[Next Chapter]

Through all your problems in life, your most prominent ones always seem to have a connection between the weather, and unnecessary questions. Since the dawn of time people have had this annoying notion of being very nosy.

There aren’t many places in the world you've been to where it's different. They can deny it all they want, it's all the same no matter where you go. Simultaneously the weather has never quite agreed with you. It makes your nonstop travel tedious, a draining task that often takes more time than you'd like it to.

Even here, with the amount of time it took you to get here in the first place because of the weather. It's an ironic turn when only a few days after your arrival, the sun turns the concrete into a fire from hell. A stark contrast to the storms and rain, that kept your flight delayed, again and again.

The heat makes you want to never leave that little flower shop, with the big fan in the corner. If it wasn't for the sharp floral smell, and the continuous buzzing of the thing, you could even have considered working here. It's not prone to traffic of many people, and those who are here are usually in a hurry, so they don't engage you in too much meaningless chatter, while you would work.

Unfortunately, you rarely have that luxury, every turn and twist in your day-to-day life, threatening you with the underlying feeling of being caught, of being known.

A loud sound erupts from the back, when the old man drops a pair of scissors. Children squeal outside the shop, as soon as the ball goes into the hoop placed above the window. It's a disaster waiting to happen. However, it kept the children happy and busy, in the early hours of the morning, when there was nothing to do yet, and the heat wasn't high enough to spoil their activity.

The quiet sound of snips continues soon after, the man continuously giving you odd looks from your request. You don't pay it any mind. Your hands nervously clutch at your wallet, the ache in your knuckles barely noticeable anymore.

One of the kids outside pick up the ball again, launching it at the hoop but missing by an inch. The ball bounces back, and you realize it before you see it. The silence between the kids is almost comical, the squealing and happy yelling gone within an instant.

A little streak of crimson runs down from the kid's cheek, the bruise already forming with unnatural colors. The other kids flock around them, fuzzing about with caring tones and careful touches. One of the older ones finds a rag to gently dab away the blood.

You wonder if it would still be warm to the touch, metallic in taste, an awful sign of life.

The kid's eyes keep staring ahead, through the window. You could pretend that they're looking at the pretty flowers, but you hold their eye contact with purpose. They look defeated in their shock, too big of a reaction for a little accident in your flawed opinion.

You could've stopped them, prevented it before it happened, they wouldn't have gotten hurt.

They continue to stare you down, a frown settled on their lips. Do they really think that you could've stopped them. The kids would've laughed at you at best. The eyes multiply tenfold when the other kids notice the injured one's staring. You keep it up, not backing down despite the uncomfortable feeling of too much attention on you. You've been too exposed today.

You've had eyes in the back of your neck ever since you left your room this morning. Not the usual way either, this time it's been from an unknown source.

You don't miss the man leaned up against the wall to a clothing boutique. His hood raised up, his lips moving to speak every now and then. He's doing a good job at pretending to watch the kids have fun and play.

The old man clears his throat. He's already arranged the flowers beautifully, they now rest on the counter, waiting for you to pay up.

You put down your payment in coins, ignore his grumbling in favor of grabbing the flowers and getting out of there in a hurry.

The café has been your only place of respite. A quaint little space you found when you first came to this place. It sits open to the streets, while still managing to feel packed away. Behind those old curtains, and dainty accessories adorning yellowish walls, is the best coffee you've had in years.

Ding

A pleasant little sound fills your ears every time you open the door, and step down in the lowlight place. As much as you liked it, every time you were here, you'd be fighting your instincts to make the sound again and again and again. Your own mental oblivion urging you forward.

Coffee is already placed on your table. Steam rising from the little blue cup, the one with a chipped side, unofficially assigned to you. The little corner is always free when you come in. There was always the question of whether the little spot was unpopular, or if there were other external factors for its lack of use.

It was hard to tell, by the already general lack of customers and patrons, but the little seat was always there for you.

Confined in your own little corner, you would spend the mornings of the past month sipping coffee, and looking like you belonged in a prison cell. With the amount of paranoia your posture exuded, it's impossible to not think you had something going on.

Luck has a tendency not to follow you in places like these, so you refrain from interacting too much with anything. It leaves you looking a bit like a social reject, but you comfort yourself in the knowledge that in a month, none of these people will see your face again.

At least people don't ask questions here.

You walk over to the counter and place the bouquet of spider lilies down next to the registry. Being careful not to disturb the beautiful order the nice old man had put them in. Your eyes linger for but a moment.

A meek old woman owns the place. Elena. She took a quick liking to you the first you arrived here a few weeks ago. She seemed to understand you in an underlying way, she never asked you the hard questions, she accepted your secrecy in a way only a mother who's seen the worst can do. It freaks you out.

You still feel bad about lying to her.

Had she been someone else, you might've been more inclined. To let the woman know who -what- you really are, would only put her in more harm’s way than necessary. That would even be before she could get a chance to hate you, for the things you've done to stay alive.

The wood protests when you settle into the chair. You pull back on the urge to wiggle in it. The old woman was nowhere to be seen, but the little rustle of pots and pans in the back gave you clear indication of where she is. There's always the fresh smell of newly baked pastries in the mornings, just before everyone wakes up for their daily hustles.

Not many people would come this early, making it a regular occurrence for you to spend that time here. Little hole in the wall only really served the continuing patrons, most others took to the more populated places.

A flash of light shines through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust swirling around in the air, as well as the colorful pillows carefully placed in each chair. They felt out of place to everything else in here. Newer. You quickly learnt a lot of things about the mentality of the people living here, you had to if you intended to blend in inconspicuously. Something you found out the hard way, was that the old woman tended to take things personally.

It didn't matter how much you meant it positively, negatively, no meaning at all. One little comment a faint evening, and the next day the pillows were all replaced.

You squint your eyes from the raging orange and put your focus back on the coffee. It's no longer steaming as much as before. You hadn't originally picked this place because it would provide you cover. In all fairness, if the place wasn't as cozy on the inside, it would likely be shady enough to be conspicuous, from the odd looking outside alone.

Yet still, it serves as your little paradise.

You find your brain goes quiet when you're in here. You can sip your coffee in peace, unaware of the shadows creeping in the corners of your eyes. It's numbing. Your little respite away from the danger outside, the danger within, and with Elena's nurturing soul, it makes you not want to leave.

Ding

Unfortunately, fate has a funny little tendency to give you the middle finger. It has never been on your side, and you doubt it is ever going to be.

Your little paradise is about to be invaded. With lingering smells of gunpowder, and blood so thick it will stain your soul. Patches of blonde and black hair, one making its way to your corner, and the other stationary at the door.

You take a sip of your coffee. It tastes wrong.

The blonde woman pulls out the chair opposite of you. She takes a moment to get comfortable before leaning in, her arms neatly folded on the table. She's playing on your domesticity, your familiarity, you know her too well to expect anything else. You don't doubt if you were look up, you'll see those blue eyes full of desperation, ready to ask you to move heaven and hell for her.

She's a few years too late.

Much to your surprise she keeps quiet when you take another sip. How kind of her. It doesn't last long. As soon as you put the chipped cup down, and acknowledge her, she opens her mouth to speak.

"No" you intercept her.

She closes her mouth, opens it, closes it. "You haven't even heard what I have to say," a small smile plays on her lips. It seems innocent enough. You know her better. She has blood on her hands, the same way you have blood on your teeth.

"The answer is no."

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't serious," her folded hands tighten, "You know that." She's honorable, as far as you know, but you're not ready to get back into your harness, so she can pull on your collar.

The next sip burns your tongue. You bite down on it, choke the yelp deep down in your throat. "Laswell..." you speak her name with urgency. The quicker you can shut her up and get her to leave, the quicker you can get back to making your plan to move.

"I need you to just hear me out alright?" she pauses, "it's in your best interest."

She's not letting you leave this place unless you agree.

Your eyes dart over to the man standing at the entrance. There's more than one way to get out of here, the one he is blocking is the least convenient. But you suppose you do owe it to Laswell to hear her out.

If you narrow it all down to the dirt and bones, she is the only reason why you're sitting in this café alive, while remaining dead to the world.

Your would-be grave is far from here. Dug and scraped with your own charred hands and broken nails.

Crack crack, bury the sin beneath blood and bone.

You can still hear it when you unfocus your brain, they won't let you forget.

"It's him, he's back" the words soil your throat, and they didn't even come from your own lips. "He's brought his group back along with him, and they're causing a bigger disturbance," It's sickening that she's even bringing this up.

She continues despite your grimace, "I would have pulled out every other resource I could before coming here, but you're the only person I can rely on to see this through."

She wants you to go back.

Go back, Go back, Go back.

"You're the only one I know that has both skill and cause."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you bite down on your tongue to not retaliate. You can taste the metal before you relent. The last thing you want to do is cause a scene in here.

The old woman doesn't deserve this.

"I understand your apprehension to this, but you know how important it is that we put a stop to him, you should want this more than anyone else."

The chair screeches as you push yourself to your feet. Your palms connect with the table, and it in turn rattles. The man who was standing stationary at the door breaks form. He reaches behind him, and let's his hand settle on something.

Not that you thought she would come here unarmed.

Laswell calls your name, bringing your attention back to her. She's a lot calmer than her jumpy backup. "It's just a talk, nothing more for now," it's all lies is what is.

"Bring attack dogs to all your family meetings?" you don't settle back into the chair. You were done with this place the moment Laswell and her soldier set foot in it.

She spares a single glance back at her friend, something reassuring in her face, it makes him ease back up to form. "Fine, there's no going around it with you," she wants it to all be lighthearted, to ease you in, you won't fall for it again.

"I am cashing in the favor, you'll be properly paid of course, and you can settle a score, does it really sound that bad?"

"Yes."

You stare into her blue eyes. She smells faintly of smoke. Her eyes won't leave you, but you see the contemplation in them, the searching of your figure. She's looking for the right bait, looking for the best way to sink her hooks into your ribs and drag you along.

"I don't want to have to do this to you..." her voice is quieter. It almost surprises you, but you know what she's talking about. She's in a bind herself.

She's not going to wait forever for you to say yes, and she needs you. On paper you are the perfect candidate for whatever she has planned. Though you doubt your mental profile lives up to the required standards. Certain things can be overlooked in desperation, you suppose.

"I'll hear you out," you start "somewhere else." The determination in her eyes border hope. It's pitiful that she thinks you'll have so much influence on her mission. You're really not all that.

You have the basic training, but also enough history to disqualify you, from any position within the military ever again. Laswell let's out a sigh of relief. Was she really that worried?

"Everything alright petal?" your eyes snap to Elena, a pot of something steaming in her hands that she places on the counter.

Laswell's backup twitches, seemingly surprised that the place wasn't as empty as he thought it was. You give the old woman a curt nod. It's enough to make her go about her day as normal, and you silently thank God that she isn't one to question.

"Always pick the jumpy attack dogs?"

Laswell stands up, breathing in harshly. If she doesn't like your resistance, she can pick someone else. "The squad is still weary from the last op." She explains.

You nod quietly in response. At least that's one thing you can sympathize with.

"Come, I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind."

You hope Elena likes the flowers.

You feel like an idiot. Not even an hour out of the town you resided in, is an off the map military base. You are disgusted, appalled, shocked, disappointed. Every word in the book they could find.

You had prided yourself in being able to outrun anything. When Laswell helped you fake your own death, it was even easier. The amount of preparation you had to do when moving from place to place, was to put it mildly, extensive.

Somehow you completely missed this place.

It has your head reeling. Not even the rumbling of the car, or the passing outside, is enough to distract you. You catch Laswell eyes in the rearview mirror. She was first to get behind the wheel, which is a...choice.

Allowing out a soft sigh, you let your head rest against the window. The base is out past the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy if you had to count all the corn fields you've passed by now.

Oh look...a cow.

"Nervous?"

The man next to you startles you out of your thoughts. You spare him a glance, not allowing yourself to linger too long at a time. He's casually dressed, his weapons hidden cleverly beneath layers of clothing.

If you remember right, Laswell called him Gaz. Odd nickname but not like you can judge, you've been called way worse.

He's got a good build, even with the blue hoodie you can see how his muscles fill it out. You don't doubt he could deck you fast if he wanted to. There'd be very little you could do about it, so out of form as you are. Occupied with everything else and staying out of sight, you haven't much time to keep yourself excessively fit.

Laswell picks her attack dogs well.

How sweet the sound of his bones breaking beneath your boot would sound.

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought. The little cracks that fill your ears are deafening.

"Don' worry, Cap's nice enough"

You don't doubt it, you just can't find it in yourself to care. Promises can so easily be broken; at the end of the day everyone wants something. That something has a tendency of putting you in danger, so you're not particularly excited.

"Gaz..." Laswell looks through the rearview mirror, making brief eye contact with the sergeant. Does she really think you that unhinged to not handle a simple conversation. A bit insulting.

"What...jus' making conversation," Gaz mumbles and turns his head to the side, subsequently joining you in looking out at the passing cows.

How much would she even tell Gaz about you. He couldn't know much, over half the things you're included in would be classified, and he's but a sergeant. His standoffish stance in the café was likely just to assess the danger, but the switch up is kind of freaking you out.

He seems nice enough overall, but you can't decide whether or not you actually want him to be. In a way it would be easier if he wasn't. You're not here to cultivate new friendships, you're here because you don't have another choice.

Whatever conversation he tries to make, dies out for the rest of the ride.

As soon as the car is put in park, Gaz jumps out. Gone within a blink of an eye, which you came to expect. The rest of the way was spent in awkward silence, and as much as you'd rather have silence, it was bad even for your taste.

Laswell takes it upon herself to lead you through the base. It's hard to ignore the looks and glares you get. You're an unknown variable, and without Laswell, you likely seem like an outright danger. It's a bit uncanny, to think that you once stood on their side, shoulder to shoulder with a sibling made of war.

She doesn't talk to you as you walk through base. You rely on your prior knowledge of the layout of UK military bases, to know where your exits would be. She parts with you in front of the "captains" office, a small throwaway promise to come get you once she has talked to him.

You don't question it, but it does make you raise a brow. Has she even told the captain you'd be coming? He would be the one supervising you when Laswell wouldn't be there, it's a pretty big thing to leave him in the dark about.

As soon as she closes the door, you let out a frustrated gust of air. This was already turning more complicated than you wanted it to be. Why didn't you resist a bit more, protest a bit more, you didn't even negotiate better terms with her. The shock alone, of seeing her again so soon after everything, rendered you unable to think logically.

At least the hallway is relatively empty.

Shadows start to creep in the corner of your vision. Thousands of little things hide there, occupying the otherwise empty space around.

You read the inscription on the door; Captain John Price.

The captain wasn't completely unknown to you. Though it all stems from rumors you heard, when you were a recruit. A few of your teammates had spoken about him in quiet whispers. Back then he didn't have the rank of Captain yet, nor a whole taskforce to command. He's come a long way.

Could they be similar?

No.

No one else could be like that, not that far. Especially not an old Idol, that would just be cruel.

"Kate you can't be serious...have you seen their file."

You perk up when you hear the slightly raised voices from inside. They're talking about you. You tilt your head closer. A grumbled brass voice sounds out, it reminds you of that of a dragon, most likely one belonging to the captain. You try to put a face to the name, but you can't remember any of the old pictures you saw. Every vivid image in your mind is distortedly different.

"You asked me to find extra help, this is it."

You'd laugh in her face if she was out here. There are much more qualified people than you, even with dealing with a group such as this.

"You could read one line in this and know they should not be handling a gun; much less be sent out in possible high-pressure situations."

You nod along for no one to see. You've done this song and dance trying to get reenlisted, twice before. More for the protection aspects than anything else. It would’ve been a lot easier getting your hands on weapons that way, instead of the unconventional way you've resorted to in your time away.

You did give yourself a bit of credit. Despite everything you had fared quite well for yourself, without Laswell's extended help. It came with strings, so you had turned it down.

At least you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, which to be quite fair, you wouldn't put it past you for it to happen.

"John..."

"Kate..."

You start to wonder if Price would look like a dragon in human form. He already has the voice to match. Maybe he has a fiery beard, a tone that commands the respect of thousands. Would he hoard his possessions, to a disturbing extent?

The door scrapes against the floor when its opened. The sound makes you want to tear your ears off.

"Come on in" Kate waves you inside, making sure to close the door behind you. His office is simplistic, no personal touches around, only the standard issued items rest on his desk. From what you remember, he's used to moving from place to place often, it's likely that this office won't be his anymore by the end of the week.

"This is Captain John Price" She introduces you, and you offer him a nod of hopefully mutual respect. It's not reciprocated.

At first glance you notice two things about the captain.

One.

He stands tall. You don't doubt no matter how many meters you have in you, the man has ways of making you feel small.

He has a beard, beautiful eyes too, when you find it in you to look past the serious expression. It tells you all you need to know about him. At least he's not incompetent, he knows you shouldn't be here. Anyone would know after a single glance at you, even if Kate seems to think otherwise.

And two.

Price doesn't look like a dragon.

You don't know why it disappoints you. You knew very well he would not, and still, you find your heart sinking just little at his dismissive look.

It's a fantasy.

You stopped dreaming years ago; you have no intention of starting the childish notion again. You see enough things that weren't real, why add to it.

Price let's out a long sigh. His frustration with you is clear, but Laswell is steadfast in her opinion, no matter the resistance she wants you in this. The look she's sending his way, does as much as a firm set of words would. He folds his arms over his chest, looking back at her with as much determination as she is.

The quiet is...intruding.

You feel like you're witnessing something that you shouldn't be. The type of conversations, that your boss would have about you in private, to decide what to do with your behavior. You feel a need to say something, to break the silence and remind the two in the middle of a staring contest, that you're still here.

"Fine" Price concedes reluctantly, "but if there is anything-"

"There won't be any problems," she assures him "right?"

You freeze up the moment she refers to you. What were you supposed to say to that. You didn't want to be here, it was only out of obligation to her, to pay the blood debt you owe her.

You shrug your shoulders, finding a spot in the floor to stare at. The stain morphs and changes, subtly getting bigger and smaller, wider, and thinner all at once. It bleeds into the tile. You try to place a shape to it, but it changes too fast for you to decide on anything.

"Right then," Price moves over to his desk and pulls out a folder of multiple files. "You're going to want to know who you're going to work with," he slams the folder down on the wooden table. It creeks. You fight back a flinch.

"Kate has promised me you're going to be able to help," he doesn't sound convinced, "we'll see what you can do."

Laswell gives Price another glare. It would be comforting -her protectiveness- if it wasn't shrouded in obligation. It's laughable how much she believes you can solve her problem.

"You'll be accompanying the 141 in this, they've been working on this for the past month." Laswell chimes in as Price gets out the files of each respective member.

"I thought you needed my help immediately."

"I told you I was going to pull out all other resources before bringing you back into this." There's something pitying in her eyes, it makes you feel sick.

You were always going to be in this. No matter how much you hated it. It has been a part of so much of your life, there's nothing you can do to peel it off your skin. Lord knows you've tried to.

"Yes...We've been gathering as much information as we can on the group," Price leans his hip against the table. "We haven't found much, like the last time they were around, their efforts are very secretive, but we know where they're grouping. We have received reports, threats, missing persons rapports, all the signs the same group gave a few years ago, it seems very possible they have the same leader as well."

"The Divine Principle" you dig your nails into your palms. Your eyes catch the captains, now suddenly more attentive of you.

"You-"

"That's what they call themselves. I've hunted them before; I thought Laswell said." You don't bother looking towards the woman on your left, this is between you and the captain. He didn't seem to be quite convinced of your knowledge or skills. You didn't blame the man. You couldn't prove your skills worthy just yet, so your knowledge had to suffice.

You don't know why you suddenly feel the need to prove it to him, but there's something about his presence that makes you want him to like you. It's a rare feeling, the last time you felt like this you-

"She did, but she did not explain much about you, other than what's available in your file."

"I know enough to know they aren't good people," you switch up your stance, mimicking the way he was standing when you first came in. Your attention catches on the files again. You wonder who they could be, what their skills would include, if they would collide with your own.

You weren't used to working in groups like this, it was going to be different.

"Then you also know how important this mission is, they've done irreparable damage in the past, we can't have it happen again."

Price pushes one file towards you, holding the other three files in his grasp. "Gaz, who you already met as I understand it." You nod, thinking back to the man. Part of you had expected to meet him again, you should've realized he likely already was in the taskforce if he was accompanying Laswell.

"There's Soap, he'll be enthusiastic having a new member on the team I'll assure you that." Price places his file for you to see, giving you a moment before moving on. John MacTavish, Scottish by the looks of it, and an interesting hair choice of a mohawk. You're almost surprised they let him keep it.

"Lastly Ghost, and myself" he puts down the last file. It has no attached picture, but that isn't what initially grabs your attention as out of place as it is. What settles deep in your bones, is his name.

Simon Riley

Simon.

That Simon.

Your brow furrows as you read his name over and over and over again, gradually wishing he had a picture so you could confirm it for yourself. You hadn't seen or heard the name in years, not since you left Manchester. Was there really a chance it could be him.

"There's no picture," you pick up his file, as if reading his name closer would bring clarity to your adding questions.

"Never is," Price observes your hesitance the way you give Ghost's file more attention than the rest, "Do you know each other?"

"Might, it was a long time ago though, I doubt he'd even remember me."

He observes you for what feels like forever, trying to look past your carefully crafted mask, to gouge out the state of the relationship. "Well, it'd be good to have some familiarity on the team," he shrugs "can make the transition easier for you."

Yeah, if he doesn't despise you still.

You don't feel the need to tell the captain of your possibly declined relationship with the man. There's still a chance it's not him. You don't know why you're trying to fool yourself that it's not. You knew even back then that he wanted to join the military, that it had been all he ever wanted.

He's a lieutenant now. Despite everything you can't help but feel a little proud of him for making it this far, even if it's tinged with sadness.

"Will it be a problem?" Laswell brings your attention to her. Her voice layered with a sense of supposed knowledge that she is not supposed to have. It's hard to not get a little irritated, at this point you have no idea how much information the woman has in her skull. Information that you'd love nothing more than to erase from her memory.

"No, it will not" she isn't expecting any other answer. It's not like she's suddenly going to let you go if you do. Worst case scenario she restricts your workspace to avoid a conflict, and if she so desperately wants you to do this job, then you need your space.

"Make it quick, yeah?"

Gaz comes to a stop in front of the door to your little motel room. He makes a quick glance down each side of the hall. Deeming it clear, he leans back against the yellow tinted walls. Too bad he can't see the shadows breathing down his neck.

Though you'd never experienced anything shady or violent, you knew there was a rising criminal activity in the motel. You just never really spent enough time here to witness any of it.

"Yeah yeah," you grimace fumbling with your keys. You really should get rid of some of them, most of them didn't have a purpose anymore. Though like with most things, you had a hard time letting go.

The inside of your the little room you rented is exactly as you left it. Dresser door broken and splintered, curtains half closed, shadows looming in every corner and crevice.

Home sweet home, or something to that effect.

It's not a lot, but you don't complain, you've certainly lived with worse. Not staying in one spot for more than a month at a time didn't leave many options for work, so you had made do.

As much as you trusted Laswell's skills, and her promises, you had your own wariness to battle against. This way was the only one that actually made you feel like you had an advantage, against those that meant you harm.

The duffel bag with most of your belongings, had been hastily shoved into the dresser the morning prior. You find it uninterrupted in the same place, as expected. You glance towards the window and mark your possible exit. Should the man outside turn for whatever reason, the window would be loose, and you could break through the rusted glass frames.

For now, though, you had to trust that this taskforce you were to temporarily join, didn't actually want you dead. Yet.

Your variables are changing, and fast. There isn't a bigger part of you that enjoys this, and meeting up with Simon again could only prove trouble. He probably still held some resentment towards you, there's only the small hope that he keeps things professional.

You look down into your bag, rummaging around in the sealed pocket to locate your pile of papers. Years old and stained letters, some answered, some not. It was your only means of communication for a time, until it all stopped. You don't think he ever found out why, he would've contacted you if he did right? Or maybe he had decided then and there you weren't worth his energy.

Pushing the thoughts aside proved a much harder task than normal. You had gotten used to putting all into a tightly sealed box in your brain, but now that you knew for certain it would all come flooding out, it proved it harder to contain overall.

There isn't much to collect from the room itself, most of your things were already packed and ready for an easy go. You pick up an extra set of shoes and stuff them in before venturing to the bathroom.

You had to give it to this place, they had some of the most uncomfortable bathrooms you'd had the pleasure of occupying. The mirror is stained and dirty, the tile an ugly brown color, and not even to talk about the toilet itself, or the odd smell. Though the latter could be explained by you and your own ministrations.

Your eyes land on the cross tossed into the tub. Little thing on a chain, the same one you had worn for years at a time. Dried blood still gives it that discoloration.

Your knees click when you reach down and place it in the cup of your hand. To think that this little thing carries so much of you. It has seen it all, witnessed your greatest heights making you feel light as a feather, and watched all your sins unfold, burning like hellfire against your chest.

You've never hated a thing more.

Slipping it around your neck is a thoughtless process. The muscle memory in your fingers do the work for you, securing the chain on the back of your neck, like reattaching a leash.

You stand up straight and walk to the sink. Your toothbrush has fallen, it's green hue so faded it's turning white in some areas. You really should just get a new one.

Your reflection catches in the mirror, and you make the mistake of not looking away. Your face turns to a blob of colors and bleeding effects. There's nothing to tell and nothing to see. Your eyes cave in, your nose splitting apart, your ears fuse with your hair and your fingers are too long dragging off your skin.

You barely recognize yourself anymore. You know it's in there, begging to come out, but it'll only come worse than before if you let it.

It all morphs together. A thousand different shadows standing behind you, their long digits running over your arms and shoulders, beckoning you forward. They lean into your ears, fester in your brain, in your eyesight. The shadows in the corners are always the worst in front of mirrors.

It's your fault. You know what you did. You know that they would've still been alive if you hadn't done it. Why are you still here. Why do you think you can hide? You always go back, it's your place, it's ingrained on your skin.

There's never been an out for people like you.

You grab your toothbrush and exit the bathroom.

"You really been livin' in here?"

You clasp a hand over your mouth, masking the shriek you would've let out. You thought he was going to stay outside.

Gaz looks into mirror hanging next to the dresser with the broken door. He inspects his reflection, rubbing a thumb over a smudge of dirt on his neck.

"It was a temporary solution," you tell him as soon as you get your spiraling mind under control. You walk over to the duffel bag on the bed, throwing in the rest of your dwindling belongings.

You can feel his eyes on you, likely judging you. At least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut. You couldn't afford nicer in your current situation, and moving as frequently as you were, this was the least costly option.

"For how long?"

He walks over to the bed, glancing into your bag once before continuing his move around your room. You didn't truly know the answer to that question yourself.

Very long, too long, as long as you can hide like a coward.

"As long as necessary," you answer him while zipping up your duffel bag. It slings around your shoulder, fits neatly against your back. It's a familiar lightweight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, you were planning your move anyway.

He gives you a curious look, waiting for you to elaborate. You don't. His shoulders sag a bit when he seems to realize. "Hurry it up," he says and walks to the door, "don't got all day, we have a plane to catch."

He leaves you alone in the hollowing room. It turns a shade darker when the sun shifts outside the window. The shadows consume more of the room. Millions of little eyes watching you in secret.

You walk over to the wall and kneel. It feels wrong to do. There's so many little dents and scrapes hammered into it, the pattern of the wall hiding the little room perfectly. You bang on it once and quietly. Moving the cutout piece out of place, you reach inside to find the gun.

You check it, still fully loaded, and put it down amongst what little clothes you have. It's only for necessity of course, nothing vicious yet.

Come come come.

Your head tilts towards the window, the curtains managing to flow ever so slightly. They bleed into the background, the murky watery color splitting with the patterns on the walls, and the greenery outside.

All of it dark and gloomy. Threatening.

Your legs carry you there. The sun has disappeared behind a set of clouds, leaving dark promises of rain and thunder. The whispers are always the loudest when you're alone. They're not always saying anything. Sometimes they're shaming you, reminding you, other times it's incessant noise.

Occasionally they take shape. Shadow figures with creepy smiles, wide bloodshot eyes. It hides down in the forest behind the motel, to watch you through the window to your room. It's crooked grin bleeds and oozes. You forcefully blink a few times, trying to will it away, but you know it won't disappear until you get distracted, or it wants to go.

You don't hear it; it merely mouths it to you.

He'll find you.

And the scariest part is, you know it's right.

There's never been anywhere you could hide.

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[whumpshaped]

can we see something of helle making the transition from the kind of person they were as a whumpee to the kind of person they are as a whumper?

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, emotional whump, past trauma, guilt, paranoia, manipulation, lady whumpee, religious themes

"Am I really allowed in?" Helle asked cautiously, hesitating at the threshold of Isabella's bedroom. They'd never been invited in by any of their siblings — they didn't even know that was an option.

"Yes, of course." She walked over to her bookshelf and started looking through her collection, an eclectic mix of various rewards amassed over centuries of captivity and torment. "Come in, come in."

They glanced down at the line separating the hall from the bedroom, then took a careful step inside. Nothing happened. Nobody tackled them to the ground and beat them. "I have never... been in either of your rooms."

"What a great day to start." She picked up a thick, leather-bound copy of the Bible, then turned to them with a little smile on her face. "Nikolai has never been interested in God. He says he has already been abandoned. But think about it; if we were despised as vampires, would the humans' faithful blabber not hurt us? Yet it does not! No amount of waving a cross around can harm us! I can hold the Holy Bible in my hands and read from it, and I feel only love."

The Bible hit the bottom of the trash can with a loud thunk. Helle was going through the collection, keeping some of the books they hadn't yet gotten around to read, and tossing all others. They felt delightfully empty even as the bin was beginning to overflow with remnants of their past, and they took it as a sign that they were finally letting go.

They moved onto her wardrobe next, getting rid of all the ruined, dusty dresses. There were holes in almost all of them, courtesy of two centuries of neglect and several hungry moths. They could've probably mended and saved some of them, if they'd had any reason to. As it stood, they just collected all of it into a pile in the middle of the room, ready to be bagged and thrown away.

"Why do you never wear this one?" they asked curiously. "It is a gorgeous dress."

"It is precious to me. I do not want to get it torn or bloody."

"Clothes are meant to be worn, are they not?"

"Not this one." Isabella ran her fingers down the length of the fabric, looking nostalgic. "I will never wear this one again, I think. I want to keep it for as long as I can, without a lot of wear and tear."

How stupid. They grabbed the wooden hanger and took it out, their hand only shaking a little as they placed it on top of the others. There was no saving it. And there was no need to save it! If Isabella had wanted it, she would've come back for it.

"If possible, I would like to go back to my hometown. Just once." Nikolai lifted the little souvenir from his nightstand, showing it off with a bittersweet smile. "Just to see how it has changed. Whether this building is still standing. This might be a good replica, but it can never replace the feeling of standing in front of a mighty palace, small and insignificant in the presence of greatness."

"I suppose we would not know anything about that," they remarked coldly. "We have never been made to feel small or insignificant."

"Not like this." He walked over and took their hand, placing the miniature model on their palm. "Believe me. Never like this. Never in such a beautiful way."

They wanted to break it. They wanted to grind it to dust and let the wind blow it wherever it pleased. Why hadn't any of them taken anything? These were things with great sentimental value to them, or at least he'd always assumed that was the case. So why? Why had they run away so suddenly? Why had they given up everything?

Had they really been so scared of getting trapped in here with them?

It was their fault. Things worsened significantly after their stupid 'escape'. It hadn't even been an escape, no one was keeping them hostage. At the most they'd fled from memories and demons of the past, not them. They'd done nothing to them.

They stood in front of the third bedroom door, hesitating. They could just leave it as it was. They could simply tell Beck that it was off limits, like their own old bedroom, and they'd never have to deal with it.

"I brought you some more," they said as they slipped inside, quickly closing the door behind themself.

"From that new store?" Aurora asked excitedly, rushing over to them. "Show me, show me! Isabella told me about the grand opening, she said there were all manner of trinkets and treasures!"

Helle pulled a box from their pocket, handing it over with a smile. "She was quite right, I could barely decide which ones to bring home. But I do believe you will enjoy all of them."

They pushed the door open, and the dust immediately made them cough and sneeze. It was bad. Likely not as bad as their own room, but probably the closest to it. They opened the windows to let in some air, stepping over old clothes and a collar on their way.

Everything was exactly as they'd left it. The signs of a hasty escape would've been obvious to people who hadn't been the cause of it. Still, they detached themself, murmuring reassurances about how it wasn't their fault. They had only been trying to protect her. Keep her safe.

Keep her locked up and docile.

What were they supposed to do after realising two of their siblings had fled, without any reason or a word of explanation? They couldn't let Aurora leave. She had always been so weak.

"I want to go to the store myself."

They sighed, lowering their hand with the offering in it. "Well, sometimes we want things we cannot have."

"Even the lady let me go outside eventually," she spat. "You are worse than–"

"Do not," they cut in, and Aurora flinched at the tone. "I hate to remind you of the rules, but they were put in place to preserve both of our sanity. Do not bring her up."

"I cannot go outside," she said miserably. "How is that preserving my sanity? I appreciate the gifts you bring me, I do, but I want to see the store myself! You– you promised it would be better–"

"It is preserving your life. You are no match even to an amateur hunter. How do you not see that?" They placed the trinket on the shelf, walking over to her and grabbing her by the wrists before she could've backed away. "How do you not see that you are the only one I have left of my family? I cannot simply let you walk into traps or– or an ambush."

"Let go of me," she asked quietly, fear crossing her face. "I understand. Let go."

"You are thinking of running, are you not? Just like them."

"Helle, let go. Where would I run to?" She winced when their grip tightened, but didn't struggle. "Helle?"

"If I ever see you outside of these four walls," they whispered, "I will chain you to your bed. At least until I can trust you again."

She blinked at them, tears slowly gathering in her eyes. She swallowed, nodding only when they prompted her to.

They glanced at the empty chains by the bed, the discarded hairpin used to pick the lock so long ago. They hadn't touched any of it. Couldn't. They hadn't managed to keep their sister in the room, but her touch still lingered, the ghost of her presence trapped in all the items she'd left behind. How were they supposed to get rid of any of that?

They wondered, for the millionth time, whether she was still alive. Had she turned to ash a century ago? Were these the last things on earth that carried her memory?

They tried not to think about any of it. Their days with Lady Marie had been nothing but torture and cruelty — but their days afterwards were nothing but paranoia and heartbreak. The scared expressions on their siblings' faces haunted them, forever making them feel like a worse monster than the one they'd slain.

They were supposed to be the hero.

The four of them were supposed be okay afterwards. Happy, even. Peaceful.

Helle turned around and left the room, slamming the door shut behind themself. They needed a snack before they continued. Maybe a priest– his faithful blabber would at least be good for a laugh.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda

#at my beck and call #whump #whump writing #helle #vampire whumper #vampire whumpee #emotional whump #past trauma #guilt #paranoia #manipulation #lady whumpee #religious themes

[curiousitycollective]

thinking about that post about how the line between non-psychotic and psychotic is very thin and how it mentioned ocd and god that's something that we don't see talked about nearly enough

we are pyschotic and have ocd and i don't think people realize how close those two experiences are. honestly in our opinion its there isn't actually a line so much as a gradient between them where how you identify and how other people perceive you is often just as much about individual experiences and biases as what's happening in your brain

tw for vauge but possibly unsettling descriptions of ocd/psychosis from someone with both

you see visions of horrible things in detail and the only way to stop those things from happening and you seeing is a specific ritual. am i talking about hallucinations and delusions or intrusive thoughts and compulsions?

you brain constantly tells you over and over that everyone around you hates you and shows you how. paranoia or socially focussed intrusive thoughts?

if you ever step on a crack you know that someone you love will be hurt in a horrific way, so you carefully walk on the grass as much as you can and sometimes just won't leave your house because of the risk. delusions or intrusive thoughts leading to related compulsions?

actual answer for all of them, either or both because these aren't hard and fast categories and there can be a lot of overlap*

a large part of the reason we don't have a diagnosis for schizophrenia is because for years our delusions were thought to be part of our intrusive thoughts + compulsions, and the only reason we can say we have delusions for sure is because we have some that don't fit into the pattern seen with ocd**

and yet i don't think i have ever really seen anyone talk about that before. people talk about the similarities between adhd and autism but that was the first time i've seen anyone even mention the connection between ocd and psychosis.

this is already long enough, we'll say we hope that more people talk about this and that there's more talk about the similarities between psychosis and other experiences.

and we've chopped out a bunch of tangents that are now under the cut for the sake of people's dash

-smile/wren

*fun fact treatment for ocd often involves acceptance of the intrusive thoughts, for us our love of horror was actually encouraged because it helped act as exposure therapy for graphic intrusive thoughts by giving that type of content a positive association.

yes this means we read and watched adult horror books and movies as a preteen. it was actually encouraged and supported by our therapist and parents and it greatly helped in dealing with our ocd

this is also the same approach that can be taken to help manage psychotic symptoms. i (smile) identify as an endel because being able to have my somatic delusion(s) be part of our identity greatly reduced the distress it causes.

**we have somatic delusions which aren't seen with intrusive thoughts as well as delusions that could be intrusive thoughts but that don't have associated compulsions, and while not all intrusive thoughts have compulsions the specific way our brain works and other contextual stuff such as content: these are religious, all of our other intrusive thoughts are violence/gore/death in horrible ways stuff and pretty similar in the focus; and the fact that these are usually present tense (this is a thing that is true now) thing over future possibility thing (this will be true if you don't stop it) makes us sort these into delusions.

#actually ocd #psychosis #pseriouslypsychosis #collective chatter #accounts and narratives #dyspunktional

[zephrunsimperium]

Okay so I've been thinking a lot about what I want to draw cause I really really want to art but I've found myself in an inspiration drought after Inktober. And I was like, "I want to draw stuff from me and @ch4rl13-ch40s's AU but I don't think people on tumblr would love that" and then I realized that I should take my own advice and draw what I want dammit!

Zeph's Human Bill AU: A Summary

I will provide context for each individual drawing, but here's a summary of the AU beneath the cut. I've made it as brief as possible, but it is long please read it I spent hours on it. It's also BillFord stuff, I know this is primarily a FiddAuthor blog.

TW for religious trauma, child abuse/neglect, and drug use/addiction.

Part I: Bill's Backstory

William Cipher was born in the year 1951 in middle of nowhere Oregon. Shortly after entering kindergarten in 1957, Bill received an autism diagnosis (or what was autism in the 50s) and his mother was distraught, especially so because the local pastor told her the autism was caused by a demon possessing him.

Bill's mother quickly pulled him out of kindergarten to "home school" him and broke his leg to keep him from leaving the house. Bill would spend the majority of the next 7 years alone in the attic, reading old books left from the house's previous owners, favoring the thick and dusty math textbooks over the rest. Any time he got to leave the attic, he would collect things - anything to call his, random objects like bottle caps, spare change, pieces of thread, rocks - a habit that would later develop into kleptomania.

Bill grew extremely malnourished with a leg that never healed right. His father rarely interacted with him, but his mother made sure that Bill understood he was corrupted and needed to heal the only way anyone could - through Catholicism. Of course, as time passed, Bill didn't get "better" so his mother got angrier and angrier while Bill's anxiety got worse and worse, his religious rituals developing into crippling OCD. Triangles and the number three in particular became something of a holy symbol of the trinity to him. Arranging objects into threes, drawing triangles on himself and his possessions, counting by threes during panic attacks...

One day, Bill lashed out after his mother discovered the items he'd pilfered from downstairs and tried to take them away along with his precious books. As punishment, his mother splashed acid on his face, an injury that blinded his left eye. In his anger, out of pure impulse, Bill started a fire, fully intending to burn the house down with his parents inside. But while he waited outside, hearing their dying screams, 14 year old Bill realized too late that he regretted it. The police and firemen discovered him nearly catatonic outside the smoking building.

Part II: Backupsmore

After being passed around the foster system, Bill finally graduated high school. Grade school had not nearly been the utopia Bill was hoping it would be, but he still had a little bit of hope left that college would be a bit better. Though he didn't remember much from his childhood, his memories teaching math to an old teddy bear inspired him to declare a major in mathematics education.

Although Bill initially regarded his roommate warily, it didn't take long for him to find common grounds with Stanford Pines. The two bonded over being labeled freaks as children and found comfort in the strange new experience of being understood and seen. Eventually, after battling some internalized homophobia, the two started a secret romance

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Summer separated the two lovers and in the terror of being alone, Bill turned to hard drugs to cope. Although he was happy to see Ford again their sophomore year, hiding his budding addiction became a constant anxiety. And to add to his paranoia, Ford made a new friend out of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Bill despised the skinny blonde southerner immediately, terrified that Ford would replace him. After months of tension and open hatred between the two, Bill's homicidal impulses reared their ugly head again and he broke Fiddleford's arm. He would have done more, but Ford was able to separate the two. Naturally upset, Ford initiated a roommate swap as soon as he was able.

Part III: Gravity Falls

Bill graduated college out of pure spite and moved back to Oregon since it was familiar. Bill's students there had very mixed opinions of him. Sure, he was a little creepy and his dark humor wasn't for everyone and everyone had a different story to explain his limp and his eye patch, but one thing was undeniable: if you wanted to learn complicated mathematics, he was the best teacher you could hope for. Students from several small Oregon towns took his class for college credit.

After four years however, Bill's teaching career would come to a screeching halt when an accidental meth overdose landed him in the hospital. Unable to find any family or valid emergency contacts, Ford was contacted. Though it was not his initial plan upon being summoned without warning, pity and the softening of memory over time drove Ford to pay Bill's bail for drug possession and take him in with the hopes of keeping him clean.

It only takes a week for Ford and Bill to fall back into their old romantic patterns which come with mixed feelings; Bill is terrified of being abandoned again and Ford is worried about being let down again. Things go quite well for them for about a month or so - and Ford buys a cat for Bill which he names Pythagorus - until a familiar face fresh off of divorce proceedings arrives in Gravity Falls.

After Ford broke up with Bill in college, he and Fiddleford had a brief fling before Ford admitted he was just trying to get over Bill. Fiddleford arrives with the hope of getting back together with Ford, but is horrified to find Ford right back in Bill's "evil clutches." Fidds gets more and more unhinged as his memory gun usage ramps up and Ford tries to keep things civil between the two men.

#gravity falls #bill cipher #stanford pines #human bill cipher #zeph's human bill au #billford #gravity falls au #fiddleford mcgucket

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Blood, nightmares, night terrors, attempted sexual assault (nothing happens), mugging, stalking, religious stuff, mentions some gross af Egyptian lore (reading about that in my textbook was... whew. A lot)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Obviously inspired by this version of Day 'N' Night from the Moon Knight soundtrack/trailer.

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Chapter 2:

Stressing My Mind (Mind)

After that day, the bag sat on your tiny table. You would spend at least two hours out of the day or night just... staring at it.

And when you fell asleep?

Your previous dreams, confusing, and nonsensical seemed a vacation compared to the ones that haunted you know.

You would hear screams, piercing your ears and causing pain. It wasn't until your senses returned that you realized the screams were coming from you. You would look down at yourself to find blood pouring out of you from your abdomen.

No matter how much pressure you applied, your blood would flow from you like a broken damn, pooling at your feet and running outwards like a river, the end promising a light in the twinkling darkness your dreams often had you in.

You heard the whispers, louder, still indiscernible. It was a man's voice.

You figured it was coming from the light at the end of the bloody river, so you screamed again. Only this time, you made ghastly gurgles, before you would cough violently, blood flowing up and out from your lungs to join the river beneath you.

And that was when you woke up.

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It was after days of consecutive restlessness that you decided to say fuck it.

You unwrapped the "gifts" Jezebel had given you, along with her handwritten notes on what to do, and what kind of offerings to leave once you'd set up your altar. It even included a basic prayer for protection from this god, Khonshu.

You weren't sure how to go about it... so you did some extra research into this "Khonshu".

God of the Moon, indeed he protected those who traveled at night. He was also associated with justice, healing, and even fertility. An odd combination, you mused. But from what you knew of Egyptian gods, they were associated with some weird shit sometimes.

You even unfortunately spent so long clicking on Wikipedia links that you wound up reading about the Contendings of Set and Horus. The stuff Isis did on behalf of her son made you want to rinse your mouth out with the strongest, mintiest mouthwash you had in your cabinet and swear off salads forever.

Well... at least Isis going to the ends of creation for her husband Osiris was romantic... ish.

Once you were done, you decided... hey, what's the harm in offering up a little prayer before you go in for work? You'd be working a later shift tonight, the worst time to walk home was... okay, well any time after the sun went down, really.

You lit the incense, consisting of cinnamon and myrrh, at the base of the statue, along with the fresh fruit your measley budget could afford until you got paid; then you kneeled down and bowed your head.

"Here goes nothing..."

You feel a chill rush through you when you complete the prayer, goosebumps forming on your skin.

A wind blows on the fire escape outside, knocking over your potted plant.

Surely, your apartment is drafty. That's it...

You clear your throat and stand, putting the incense out as you shove your metro card in your empty "work" wallet. It had your name on it, but not your address. So if somebody snatched it they wouldn't be able to track you down.

It wasn't paranoia if it was a very real possibility, after all...

You didn't realize you forgot your mace and taser.

You were so buried in the thoughts of your night that you didn't notice the shadow looming in the dim light of your apartment.

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"Hey, kid, you all right?" Your elderly co-worker, Alec, asked you from his hunched posture. He had told you he was in some sort of accident, and as a result of a botched surgery he had a permanent hunch. He'd been dealing with it for a little over twenty years. In some places he was listed as "disabled" but Alec having his hard-set personality, he wanted to work, earn his keep, not languish in bed somewhere.

He'd taken a shine to you because you were the only one there who didn't treat him like... well. The awful things your coworkers whispered and giggled about behind his back. Sometimes in front of him, too. But never you. Alec felt like family, in the past two years you worked this job. He was like the kindly uncle you wished you always had.

But apparently he'd taken note of the dark bags under your eyes lately, worse than usual and hanging like shadowy curtains over your cheekbones.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I just... haven't been sleeping well, 's all." You mumble, focusing on the particularly dirty spot on the floor from where some idiot made the previous printer that had been there explode.

You would have paid serious money to see the poor sod it exploded on.

"You're working too hard, kiddo." Alec said with a click of his tongue, as he wiped down a nearby table. "Gonna work yaself to death."

You smiled when his accent slipped in. Born and raised New Yorker, you knew. Unlike you. His accent was one of his endearing qualities.

"I'll keep that in mind, Alec." You chuckle, leaning over to scrub roughly with your mop at the ink stain in the linoleum.

"If ya keep hunching like that kiddo," He winked at you. "You're gonna wind up like me, sans the accident!"

"Oh I should be so lucky, Alec! You're resilient as hell."

"Ha, thanks kid. But seriously. You gotta take it easy. If you don't let yourself rest, something else will." He warned you.

And yeah. You knew that much already.

But... money is money.

And money made the world go 'round.

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You hated it.

Hate, hate, hated it.

You felt someone following you, your "feeling" kicking into overdrive. This particular feeling you got well acquainted with. It happened just before every time you got mugged.

Your fears were compounded when you looked in the blacked out windows of the shops you passed in front of, and saw the silhouette of a man marching several paces behind you, this hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, jaw set tight as his pace kept adjusting to match yours.

You didn't have any money. And you were afraid at what he'd do if he attacked you. Would he rough you up and let you go because of a poor mark?

Or would he want to do something... worse?

You up your pace again, the soles of your shoes tapping the pavement.

The chill you felt earlier slipped into your bones, your hair standing on end not from the cold, but from your "feeling".

You all but skid and burn the rubber on the bottom of your shoes when you dart into an alley you had well-mapped by memory, the sound of heavy footfall close behind.

But then it hit you.

If the guy kept following me you, and you ran to where you felt safe...

He could find out where you lived.

Which was worse.

You turned to try and backpedal; fumbling your pockets for your protection, only to realize you left it on your dresser earlier... but the moment you try to turn and escape the other direction, you're clotheslined; splitting your lip and sending you stumbling onto the concrete below.

A taste of copper flooded your mouth and you realized you bit too hard on your tongue when he hit you.

You barely had a moment to recover from your discombobulation before you were hoisted up by your collar, shoved hard against a wall... and felt something cold press into your belly through your shirt.

"L-look... I don't have any money on me. You can search me, and I won't tell anyone..." You say, trying to stay as calm as possible, holding your hands up on either side of your head trying to make the man feel like you weren't worth the effort.

You knew nobody would hear you if you screamed. You knew nobody would come save you if they did. You knew that some people just wouldn't care.

"Well it's a good thing I'm not after cash..." His disgusting breath spewed in your face.

Fuck.

The barrel of his gun slowly rose, catching one of the buttons on your blouse as his knee forcibly parted your thighs.

He used the barrel to undo the buttons one by one.

He tries to force his mouth onto yours, but you turn your head and he raises the gun, pistol whipping you and knocking you down again.

He fists your open shirt again and pulls you back to your feet and throws you against the wall again.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you feel his stinking breath on your neck, the barrel of his gun digging painfully into your ribs.

You choke back a sob as his free hand reaches for your jeans, ready to rip the fly down.

Goddamn that stupid prayer. It was fucking pointless. So much for praying to some god to protect you when you walked alone at night.

Some god of justice--

All of a sudden, the weight of the man was lifted off of you. You whip your head around to see if someone had saved you, but you saw nothing.

Your would be-rapist stumbled to his feet and raised his gun at you.

"I don't know how you did that, you little bitch--"

"Please! I didn't--"

You threw your hands out towards him, the moment you did, he hit the ground like something violently slammed into his gut; crumbling to his knees, gasping and retching for air.

He fumbled for his gun again, but it skittered away across the pavement.

"What the fuck." You breathed.

His head jerked back and you heard the crunching of bone, and he fell back, limp.

You breathe ragged breaths, watching and waiting to see if he indeed tries to get up again.

He doesn't.

Your adrenaline takes over and you clutch your shirt against yourself, running through the alleys until you make it home, safe and tucked away into your apartment, shaky hands sliding all the locks into place and snatching your window curtains closed.

You collapse against the wall, breathing hard, lungs and leg muscles burning.

You stare at the statue sitting on the pitiful altar you DIY'd yourself earlier.

It sat, offerings still there and incense half burned, the statue so... serene, it unnerved you.

"...What..."

You took a deep breath to try and ease your nerves.

"...God... what happened?"

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Chapter 3: Link

#moon knight #khonshu x you #khonshu x reader #khonshu moon knight #khonshu #khonsu #my writing

[schizospecdreams]

ahahagagsfsgffcchyt I sure would like to answer my friends texts instead of spiraling that people are stalking me and hallucinating in the bathroom, send prayer

#tw religion #im not even religious #actually schizospec #schizospec #moth mumbles #paranoid schizophrenia #tw paranoia #tw stalking