#I think it is just hard to internalize year after year our true insignificance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumbkombuchakid · 3 years

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I’m finding more and more that mindfulness and awareness play a massive role in everything. All the growth I’ve undergone has been rooted in cultivating those skills in myself.

Getting curious instead of judgmental, asking questions and being objective, letting go of outcome and expectations. All of these things seem tiny and maybe insignificant on paper; but in practice have made all the difference for me.

This past Thursday, I met with my therapist (as I usually do on Thursdays) and she told me she was proud of me. I am so grateful for that feedback, for her helping to contribute to my awareness of myself. Awareness extends beyond the present moment, it encompasses patterns and trends and habits and intentions and consequences. It informs decisions and aids processing and understanding. Awareness is the key to it all.

She commended me for staying in wise-mind while telling her about a situation that was upsetting me. She noted that though I had the opportunity to allow my emotions to take control, to pull me into a spiral, I made a choice to remain in control. That’s not what I would’ve done a year ago. That might not even be what I would’ve done a few months ago. Her providing that feedback about my new patterns and trends, specifically my ability to abstain from following old, maladaptive patterns and trends, brought that new data into my awareness. It’s very difficult to be cognizant of your own patterns. It requires parallel processing of data about several versions of yourself in different but comparable situations across a timeline. That’s not a skill that comes naturally; that depth of data about each version of ourselves just isn’t stored.

I am proud of myself. I’m proud of my ability to say that I’m proud of myself; proud of my capacity to believe that I’m proud of myself. For the larger majority of my life (I’m talkin 1st 19 years) I refused to allow pride to penetrate my consciousness. I grew up fearing that I’d slip into narcissism and lose who I was, instead developing into some spawn of my father; a figure I’d associated with all things self-centered and antisocial. Any shred of pride or self-esteem was too great a risk; I’d rather be humble and miserable but secure in my pro-social self-appraisal. I vividly remember the day I felt true self worth for the first time. It was in june, a month before I’d turn 20. That day came a few years after another significant (in hindsight) day when I began working with my current therapist. I fear I may accidentally catalog the past several years here for the sake of clarity and continuity, but the main takeaway point is that I’ve undergone immense growth, all a result of my own innervism.

Innervism is a term I’m borrowing from Elizabeth Lesser, the author of the book Cassandra Speaks. It refers to inward awareness and intentional growth. Tuning in to tune up. If not for facing the things about myself that I didn’t want to get true, I’d never have reached a point where I’m able to act with intention and display a self of whom I’m proud.

I’m far from perfect, and I’ve made a personal vow to never stop growing, learning, listening, and adapting. I will never reach my final form; there is always room for growth.

My point in writing right now is to address some of the cognitive behaviors I’ve noticed myself exhibit when in relationships. In the beginning, when things are wonderful and new and affection has a strong presence, I latch on. I start to fantasize about the future and how my life could play out with this other individual by my side, treating me the way they do at the beginning.

This tendency to idealize based on that first impression, that best-behavior scenario, extends into the period when things begin to slip. When the negligence begins, when manipulative tactics begin being employed. When I am expected both to change myself and also to unilaterally accept the other’s lack of change. I am projected to grow into a mould that aligns with their current state, rather than the two of us developing into a new shape, together.

Internally, this is accompanied by a fear of communicating my feelings. A hesitation to go against the grain and a tendency to shrink and abide by these new terms of engagement. I get quiet and small and they become all powerful. I am aware of the red flags and harm and damage and yet I remain docile and strive for perfection in their eyes.

This is how I’ve always done it, it’s how I’ve been conditioned to behave in relationships. I’ve been conditioned to accept that A) there will be a power imbalance and B) it will not favor me.

I no longer accept that. Today I did something that past me would not have done.

A few important things to note about the situation that allowed me to make this development are that:

1. my “picker” is getting pickier. I’ve always fallen into relationships with narcissists in the past, not because I chose them, but because they chose me and I only knew how to go along. This time, in my current relationship, I made a choice as much as they did. The quality of their character actually had a chance to play a role in deciding whether or not the relationship was worth pursuing.

2. I trust them. I trust that they care about me and want this to work. I trust that they want me to be happy and healthy and that they’re willing to grow.

We didn’t talk much today because he had a big day of doing things that I won’t get into, but then tonight when we did finally get to talk, we spent a long time discussing his day in depth and then never shifted to talking about me. Instead, he started multitasking and doing other things and talking and singing to himself. I told him if he wanted to do those things that was fine, but if we were going to be on the phone that I wanted to him to talk to me, to pay me attention. This didn’t actually turn a result, which hurt me.

Eventually, he got tired and said he was going to turn in, and wished me a goodnight. I said goodnight too, without my typical enthusiasm or affection, and he noticed that those were missing. Instead of asking why though, he simply told me to say it like I meant it, since he didn’t believe me. He has a tendency to make jokes when I’d really rather he be serious, and I’ve stopped laughing along and instead stay true to the tone I want to be received. I don’t want to diminish the weight and value my thoughts and feelings deserve. I’ve decided to not accept less than I deserve.

We hung up and I journaled a bit and felt myself getting worked up, and this is where I did a few things I’m proud of.

I called him back. He didn’t answer, so I recorded a snapchat video and told him how certain aspects of our conversation made me feel, and how I had realized that if I didn’t tell him then he’d have no way to know that those things had hurt and upset me.

This was honestly terrifying, and sending it (and not getting an immediate response) made me feel a whole other type of awful.

I decided to set a timer for 15 minutes and meditate. During my meditation, I focused on a few things. I repeatedly reminded myself that I must let go of outcome; remind myself that I spoke only about my feelings and my feelings deserve to be heard. Silencing all the spiraling thoughts about the conversations that could follow was hard, and I noticed the colors in my awareness shift as more potential outcomes forced their way in. I repeated the mantra “I deserve love” to myself and focused hard on not allowing expectations or theories about what could or may happen in. Those things aren’t real, they’re imagined. I forced myself to choose to refrain from processing events until an event actually occurred.

15 minutes passed and I felt a little lighter. Part of me still really just wanted to cry, but then eventually I got a notification. He said he was sorry, that it was more of a mental hiccup than a true representation of how he feels.

I thanked him - intentionally rerouting from a typical path of saying “it’s okay” in response to an apology. I then wished him sweet dreams and told him we’d talk tomorrow, and I meant it.

It was uncomfortable, I’ll admit. It’s never fun to confront something that hurts you, especially when it’s something or someone that you don’t want to lose. During my meditation I had to remind myself that if someone doesn’t value my feelings or have respect for me, then they aren’t the person I should be with. That’s terrifying - holding people to a higher standard. Choosing to not accept less than what I deserve is something almost completely foreign to me and is fucking scary, but it’s also sort of exhilarating. The idea that mutual respect is now a requirement, that my partner needs to give a shit about me and express that through their behavior is something I deserve. I never used to think about myself as deserving anything - at least not anything good. But now? I put so much effort into who I am and how I treat others. I’m a good, kind, caring person. I know that I am because I do it on purpose. I think that qualifies me as deserving someone who treats me the same.

It’s 5am now. My sleep schedule is off kilter in a big way. I’m going to finally stop and allow this day to end. I’ve already made a to-do list for tomorrow and I hope the day brings joy. I appreciate you reading what I have to write; it helps me to do this and I hope it helps you to read.

Goodnight and sweet dreams, remember that you deserve love.

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finalfantasyandnerdiness · 4 years

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da capo al fine

For eternal beings, the ebbs and flows of time mean very little. Whatever happens, the world will keep moving forward, and so will they. No end. No beginning. For a human, though? Every second counts.

Every word.

Every decision.

A mortal with the power to turn back time is a fearsome creature, because a mortal cares – and if they decide that they’re going to find a timeline where everyone they love survives, they will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Even if it means abusing a power that was never meant to be theirs.

A Fire Emblem Three Houses retelling where everybody lives, basically. Also: Dimileth.

Read on Ao3

Every word.

Every decision.

“You. How long do you intend to sleep?”

Byleth opens her eyes. A young girl she vaguely recognizes stares down at her from a throne of stone. Her eyes, as eerily green as her hair, are expectant and clearly annoyed.

Where am I? Byleth shakes her head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs clouding her mind. Who am I?

“Get on your feet. Right now!” the girl snaps. “You are just like a child, always needing me to hold your hand…” She sighs. “This is the last time, you hear me? No more restarts. This is it.”

Byleth has no idea what any of it means, but she still nods.

The girl’s face softens. “Make it count.”

The first seconds are always the worst. Byleth never gets used to those terrifying moments where her entire being is a blank slate. She knows she’s supposed to recognize the bearded man in front of her, but he could just as well have been a complete stranger. Then, it clicks. Everything falls into place. He’s her father. She’s a mercenary. And, most importantly, she’s been here before.

Even though most of Byleth’s memories are blurry, the ones about the three heirs are always crystal clear. One look is all it takes to remember their tragic fates. Blue eyes, full of barely restrained hatred. Green eyes, sharp as a blade. Violet eyes, burning with determination. Three young rulers, destined to tear each other apart.

Not this time. Byleth looks at them, one by one, treasuring the innocence they will all inevitably lose. She’s lived through this chain of events more times than she can remember, getting closer and closer to her goal just to see a seemingly insignificant detail turn her dream to dust. Not this time, though. Sothis has given her one last chance, and she won’t let it go to waste.

This time, they will all live.

To the boys’ obvious disappointment, Byleth chooses to join the house of the Black Eagles. The three heirs are all suspicious by nature, but Edelgard easily takes the crown. Edelgard trusts no one but herself, which isn’t that surprising considering her only experience with friendship comes from a man who can’t get through a single sentence without mentioning blood. She’s hidden her heart away behind walls as impenetrable as her armor, doing her best to smother the fear and loneliness that lures within her. To bring the true Edelgard out of her shell takes time. Lots, and lots of time. So Byleth picks the Black Eagles, and tries not to notice the flash of darkness in Dimtri’s eyes.

Dimitri is young. So very young. He’s yet to grow into the inhuman strength he’ll one day wield with ease, still grinning awkwardly every time he accidentally breaks another training sword. He’s a prince, charming and polite, the definition of picture perfect. No one has any idea what hides behind that flawless smile.

Yet.

Byleth sees the way he looks at her, how his gaze lingers when she swings her blade on the training grounds. Their eyes meet. Her body instinctively reacts, but she forces herself to ignore it. Chronologically, he’s only three years younger than her, but he’s still a kid. Her conflicted heart, however, still remembers the king.

Her life would have been so much easier if she hadn’t fallen in love with him all those lifetimes ago. He forgets. She doesn’t.

Before Garreg Mach, Byleth used to think of herself as a fairly unemotional person. People called her the Ashen Demon for a reason. She didn’t really get people, and people didn’t really get her either. Then, she met her students, and everything changed. Now, she cares a lot, and it’s more tiring than she ever could have imagined.

“There we go again,” she mutters to herself as she watches Raphael and Caspar race through the courtyard, up to goddess knows what. She loves them both with all her heart, but critical thinking is not one of their virtues. To be frank, neither is thinking, period. She sighs and hurries after them. She has no idea what they’re going to break this time—a plate, a nose, a window—but they’re definitely breaking something.

Byleth has just left her private quarters to head to class when she nearly crashes into Seteth.

“Professor. There’s an… issue, we need to talk about.”

Of course there is. She sighs internally. Sometimes, she wishes she could just skip past certain conversations. She’s gone through this particular one so many times by now that she practically knows every line by heart.

Seteth clears his throat. “Due to your unexpectedly extraordinary tutoring skills, nearly all of this year’s students have requested to transfer to your class. While the feat in itself is admirable, it has led to some unfortunate consequences. Hanneman and Manuela now only share four students between them, and I’ve heard that your classroom is running out of desks. It’s not a very efficient way to run a school.”

“I agree.”

Seteth blinks in surprise. “You do?”

She nods. “I’ve given it some thought, and I think the best solution would be to separate the professors from their assigned houses.”

“That’s a preposterous—”

“The houses themselves would remain, of course,” she quickly adds. “I only propose that we rethink the way we hold our classes. The three of us have different areas of expertise, and we could use that to our advantage if we split up the classes by subject instead of houses.”

“I see.” Seteth hesitates, furrowing his brow. “It’s an unorthodox idea, but… I do see the benefits of your proposal. It could be… efficient. I will get back to you once I have discussed this with Rhea.”

Byleth nods again. Rhea will, albeit reluctantly, say yes, because when Seteth finds something that can be described as efficient, he will make it happen. The classes will be split up between the three professors, and Byleth will get the chance to tutor all the students – including those stubborn last four.

She’s not losing them again.

At the night of the ball, Byleth makes sure that it’s the students of the Blue Lions house who make the promise to reunite in five years. Their carefree laughter makes her stomach turn. They have no idea what fate she’s just bound them to.

Dimitri’s smile hurts the most, but she goes through with it anyway. She needs him to be there when she wakes up.

Even though Byleth knows it’s hopeless, she still always tries to save Jeralt.

Losing him never stops hurting.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your old man’s diary, Teach,” Claude says.

Byleth snatches the notebook out of his hands. “You would have stolen it anyway if I’d said no.”

“Me? Stealing?” He grins, placing a hand on his chest. “Your lack of faith in my moral compass wounds me.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows.

Claude sighs, his façade flickering. “All joking aside, I have to admit that some of the stuff in there is pretty hard to swallow – especially the parts about you. I’ve got so many questions, and I doubt you’ll ever answer a single one of them.” His eyes twinkle. “You sure know how to drive a guy crazy, Teach.”

Byleth shrugs. His obvious frustration doesn’t bother her – not anymore. He’ll eventually figure everything out anyway, with or without her answers. He just doesn’t know it yet.

She loves all her students. She really does. But sometimes, she can’t help but think that if Ferdinand yells out his name one more time, she’s going to strangle him.

“It’s not my place to question your way of tutoring, but I do feel the need ask you about the attendance record of one of your students,” Seteth says. “Linhardt von Hevring has been absent from nearly half of your classes this month, and I’ve noticed a lack of disciplinary actions. I would recommend stable duty or—”

“He’s doing important research,” Byleth interrupts. “As long as he keeps passing his tests, I don’t see any reason not to encourage it.”

“Well… I suppose I will have to trust your judgment, Professor.” Judging by his frown, he’s clearly not trusting it at all.

Byleth nods. She doesn’t blame Seteth for being skeptical. She would probably have doubted Linhardt too if she hadn’t known just how important that research would be to give some of her students a chance to grow old.

While the inferno of hatred that sometimes flares up in Dimitri’s eyes is undeniably terrifying, it doesn’t scare Byleth nearly as much as the cold apathy in Rhea’s.

A high-pitched shriek echoes over the monastery. People start looking for its source with obvious concern, but Byleth just smiles a little to herself. The boys of the Black Eagles house always figure out sooner or later that the only way to get Bernie out of her comfort zone is to literally carry her out of it.

Every now and then, Byleth slips. She tries to keep everything in the right order, to remember what she’s supposed to know and what’s yet to be revealed, but her memory is far from infallible. Most of the time, no one mentions her little accidents. She’s a strategist, after all. Predicting things is a part of her job description. Some slips, though, are too obvious to go unnoticed.

“Professor… Did you just call me El?”

Byleth groans internally. Yes, she most certainly did. It’s late, she’s tired, and she just casually used a nickname the heiress would never, ever, share with a professor she barely knows.

“No one has called me that since I was a kid. Those who once did are long gone.” Edelgard’s eyes narrow. “How did you know?”

“My apologies,” Byleth says. “I just thought it suited you. I won’t use it again.”

“No… I quite like it.” While the suspicion still lingers in Edelgard’s gaze, a small smile graces her lips. “Please, keep calling me El. I’m not sure why, but I enjoyed hearing you say it.”

Byleth nods. “If that’s the case, I will.”

“Good.” A hint of shyness sweeps over the future emperor’s face. “Thank you, my teacher. It may not seem like much, but it means a lot to me.”

The next time Byleth uses that name, it’s not by accident.

Felix’ digs at Dimitri are as sharp as his blade, and so is the resentment in eyes. Dimitri takes the insults without blinking. Their friendship is laced with a burning hatred they both believe is justified. It’s painful to watch, especially considering how easily the swordsman would give his life to protect his childhood friend. He never hesitates. Not even once.

“You fool! What were you thinking, charging right into an enemy’s trap? Again?” Sothis’ sharp voice echoes against the stone walls. “Are you just a boulder rolling down whatever hill it’s on? No, even a boulder has more sense!”

Byleth lowers her eyes. Her least favorite part of the cycles may be the first awakening, but this is the one Sothis dreads the most. Not surprising, considering that this is where the goddess has to disappear. It’s inevitable, though, even if she doesn’t run head first into Solon’s spell. Sooner or later they always end up here, facing the same decision over and over again. Sothis always makes the same choice.

“Thank you,” Byleth whispers. “For everything.”

Byleth reaches out her hand, and the power of the goddess seeps into her soul.

Callused hands gently stroke her bangs out of her face. Her consciousness is fading, but she doesn’t need to see to know whose hand it is. She would recognize that touch anywhere.

“Sorry, Professor,” Dimitri says. “I have no choice but to carry you back.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows as Sylvain limps into the training grounds. “Ingrid?”

“Yes.” He awkwardly scratches the back of his head.

“Did you deserve it?”

After a moment of hesitation, he sighs. “Yes.”

The sight of Edelgard’s coronation is as breathtaking as it is terrifying. The ceremony marks the beginning of a nationwide bloodbath, but Byleth still can’t look away from the blinding beauty that is Emperor Edelgard with a golden crown on her head.

A cacophony of rattling armor and frantic prayers fills the monastery. The moment Byleth hoped to avoid is once again taking place before her eyes. She leans against the railing of the third floor balcony. In the distance she sees Edelgard’s army gathering, preparing for the first battle of the war that will tear Fódlan apart.

It can’t be stopped now. It’s too late. Byleth’s time ran out the moment Edelgard’s betrayal set Dimitri’s dormant fury aflame. The war is happening. Her only option now is damage control.

“Hey, Teach.”

Byleth flinches. Even after countless cycles of nearly identical events, she’s still caught off guard every now and then – especially when Claude is involved. He’s turned unpredictability into an artform.

Claude moves to her side. His calculating eyes roam over the area below. His expression and posture radiate confidence, but his desperate grip on the railing has already turned his knuckles white.

“It can’t be stopped now,” he says, echoing Byleth’s thoughts. “Neither of those two will ever allow the other to live. There’s going to be a war, and it’s not going to be pretty.”

“So much death.” Byleth’s voice cracks. She’s seen it happen before, and now she’s going to have to see it again. She knew, but she still couldn’t stop it.

“You don’t have to go down with them, you know.” Claude sends her a quick glance before turning back to the soon-to-be battlefield. “This is their feud, not yours. I mean, just consider it. Someone’s got to protect the people in this mess, and that someone could definitely use that strategic brain of yours.”

“And in this scenario, that ‘someone’ is you?”

“If the shoe fits.” Claude shrugs. “I don’t care about who wins this war. I have a vision, and that vision would be pretty useless if there was no one left in Fódlan to see it. What do you say? Have I won you over yet?” A grin tugs at his lips. “You’d make a good Deer.”

She would.

She has.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He tilts his head to the side. “Too fond of the kinglinesses, eh?”

She hesitates for a moment before deciding to, for once, tell the truth. “You’ll survive this war, with or without my guidance. You don’t need me. Not like they do.”

“Careful there, Teach. You’re starting to sound like you can predict the future.” His gaze sharpens. “Did you know that the Battle of the Eagle and Lion still keeps me up at night? I go over every move I made, every detail of my strategy, and how you managed to see through it all. It’s been driving me crazy – crazy enough to consider the possibility of you being some kind of mind reader. But that’s not it, is it?” He gives her a dangerous grin that almost reaches his eyes. “Come on, Teach, give a curious guy some peace of mind. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“If I told you, you’d never let me go.”

Her words clearly catch Claude off guard, which is a sight very few ever get to witness. For a moment he looks like he’s going to jokingly deny her claim, but in the end he just sighs. “I’d use you.”

She nodded. “And you’d end up hating yourself for it.”

“Fair enough.”

Claude studies her face, the cogs of his brilliant mind turning. His charming trickster façade flickers, revealing a taste of the unstoppable man he will one day become. “Let’s say you’re right, Teach. Maybe I don’t need you by my side to make my vision come true. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.”

Memories of wild wyvern rides, uncontrollable laughter, and pearls of sweat on copper skin flashes before her eyes. Heat rushes to her cheeks. He blinks.

“Oh, I get it.” The lighthearted tone in his voice clashes wildly against the intensity in his eyes. “There’s a version of this, whatever this is, where you choose me, isn’t there? One where you and I…?”

“Maybe.” She gives him a melancholic smile. “Just… not this one.”

Byleth knows she has to fall. She has to take that final blow that sends her down into the abyss. It’s the only way to make things turn out the way she wants to. She knows that, but she’s still just as terrified when the darkness claims her.

“You… how long do you intend to sleep? Get on your feet. Right now!”

The stairs leading up to the ruins of the old monastery are littered with butchered corpses. Carefully minding her steps, Byleth continues forward, heading towards the place where she knows she’ll find the wretched shell of the boy she abandoned when he needed her the most.

He’s on the floor, leaning heavily on his lance to stay upright. His pale skin is stained with blood. The dark circle surrounding his one remaining eye has the color of a bruise. Sweat, mud, wounds, scars – his handsome face is covered in layers upon layers of suffering. The guilt hits her in the stomach like a sledgehammer. Even though she always knows what awaits her at the end of her five-year slumber, she’s never prepared for that first sight of the haunted creature that used to be Dimitri.

Her dream comes with many sacrifices, and this is the one where Dimitri pays the price. The king that Fódlan so desperately needs can only rise from the ruins of a broken prince.

The prince in front of her is about as broken as a man can be.

Byleth knows he won’t accept her hand, but she still reaches out for him. She always does. And it always breaks her heart when he turns away.

“I should have known that one day you would be haunting me as well.”

The abandoned monastery springs back to life as its former teachers and students return. One by one they enter Garregh Mach, all of them bringing a shard of joy and a small shimmer of hope. Byleth smiles as she watches a highly frustrated Lysithea try to put a book back on a shelf she clearly can’t reach. Her smile widens even more when Raphael enters the library. She knows exactly where the situation is heading, and she never grows tired of watching her former students get into ridiculous fights over absolute nonsense.

Her happiness is genuine, but it’s also bittersweet. This is where the tricky part begins.

“Leave it to me,” Byleth yells as she crosses the battlefield, heading towards the trembling silver-haired foe. It’s not a very strategic decision, but no one questions her. Maybe they’re all relieved they won’t have to be the one dealing the final blow against the sweetest boy to ever grace the Officers Academy.

When Dorothea dances, she enthralls everyone around her. No one, friend nor foe, can look away. They see a rose in bloom: beautiful, delicate, and full of life. She doesn’t. No matter how many times Byleth tries to convince her otherwise, the songstress still only sees herself as petals slowly falling to the ground, leaving nothing but thorns.

Byleth is well aware of the location where Rhea is kept prisoner, but she still pretends to be just as concerned as the rest of the archbishop’s loyal supporters. She holds on to her worried façade with an iron grip, because keeping Rhea locked up is the only way to prevent her from crushing Byleth’s plan before it’s even started.

Though they’d never admit it themselves, Dimitri, Edelgard and Claude share a fairly similar vision. The three of them fight for a unified Fódlan, where the strong will no longer prey on the weak. In a world like that, there’s no place for a power-hungry demigoddess. Byleth knows it, and so does Rhea.

A part of Byleth hates Dimitri with her entire being during his feral phase. Another part still loves him just as intensely. Her exasperated frustration is, however, always present, because spending hours upon hours on building a strategy around a murder machine with zero sense of self-perseverance makes her want throw the prince off a damn roof.

She finds him in the cathedral as always, muttering morbid nonsense about ghosts and heads being ripped off their shoulders. While she doesn’t usually agree with Felix when he calls the prince a wild boar, she has to admit that approaching Dimitri when he’s like this feels a bit like cornering a wounded animal – an animal with a very bad temper and very sharp claws.

“Dimitri,” she says softly. “We need to talk.”

Dimitri slowly turns around. Despite everything that’s happened to him, he still moves with the proud confidence of a ruler. He stands tall before her, his broad shoulders blocking the evening’s last rays of sunlight trickling in from the windows. The resentment in his single eye is merciless.

“Leave.”

“No.” She raises her chin. “Your army expects me to guide them through this war, and I can’t do that if you continue to disregard my orders. The stunt you pulled today with those bandits… You’re going to get yourself killed, and you’re taking everyone down with you. I can’t allow that.”

“You can’t allow that?” His cold chuckle sends a shiver down her spine. “Who do you think you are, giving orders to the walking corpse of your prince?”

He takes a step forward, and despite her feigned confidence, she takes a step back. A grave mistake. He continues forward, and she continues to back away. The wounded animal has caught the scent of blood.

Her back hits the wall. He places a hand next to her head and leans forward, caging her in. She’s fast and clever, but he’s got more raw strength than a mere human should ever possess. She would never defeat him in hand-to-hand combat, and they both know it.

“If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me”, he says. “If you insist that you cannot… then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones.”

She swallows hard, but refuses to look away. Her courage might be wavering, but her resolve is not. “I’m not afraid of you, Dimitri.”

“You should be.” His gloved hand slowly traces her arm, her shoulder, her collarbone, until finally coming to a rest on her neck. His thumb caresses the vulnerable skin of her throat before giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t you dare pity me, Professor. We’re the same, you and I. After all is said and done, we are both murderers. Both stained. Both monsters.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “We are.”

His pauses. For the first time since their reunion, he truly looks at her. His trembling exhalation tells her he’s finally noticed it – her longing, her yearning, her need – and he snaps. His lips crash into hers. She melts into his ruthless touch, returning the kiss with a desperation matching his.

She’s back.

She’s home.

He pulls back, his eye roaming her face with childlike wonder. To her, this is just one of the countless kisses they’ve already shared, but to him, it’s their first – and, as far as he knows, possibly their last. A moan escapes her lips as he grabs the back of her thighs and hoists her up. His grip tightens to the point where it will most certainly leave bruises. He clings to her like a man on the verge of drowning.

“I won’t leave you again, Dimitri,” she says, entangling her fingers in his hair as his lips wander down her throat. “I swear it.”

“Good.” He bites down hard on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, a place where neither her hair nor her clothes would hide the mark. She can’t see his face, but she feels his feral grin against her skin. “I do not intend to let you go.”

Manuela and Hanneman have been bickering for nearly half an hour when Sylvain walks by their table in the dining hall. He pauses mid-step and leans down.

“You’re aware that everyone knows you’re sleeping with each other, right?”

Hanneman gasps. Manuela screams. Ingrid kicks Sylvain in the shin.

Some sacrifices are uglier than others. Rodrigue’s death, as necessary as it is, might be the ugliest one of them all.

“Your hands are so warm… Have they always been?”

The last remains of the broken prince is washed away by the pouring rain. The king rises.

One day, Mercedes drags a reluctant Death Knight into the monastery. She smiles proudly, reminding Byleth of a child that’s about to ask her parents if she can keep the stray cat she just found in the gutter. Byleth can’t deny the value of Jeritza’s skills, so he stays. On the battlefield, she appreciates his presence. Everywhere else, she’s ambiguous at best. She tries to believe Mercedes when she claims that her brother is just a little bit misunderstood, but he’s not making it easy. Not even once during her countless lifetimes has she managed to get share a cup of tea with the knight without receiving a poetic confession of how badly he wants to stab her in the chest.

Byleth is never as calm as when she’s lying in Dimitri’s arms, listening to the soft thuds of his beating heart. She can’t help but wonder what it’s like to have a ticking little machine in your chest that keeps you alive. According to Dimitri, people usually don’t even think about it. It’s just there. She wonders if she would get used to it too, if her heart ever were to start beating.

She highly doubts it.

Sylvain pauses mid-step as he passes Dimitri and Byleth in the dining hall. He smirks.

“You’re aware that everyone knows you’re—”

Ingrid clocks him in the head with a plate.

Byleth hates Gronder Field.

“If you’re going to lead Fódlan, then the Alliance lords will follow you.” Claude hands Dimitri his bow. The former leader of the Alliance is limping a little, but overall, he seems to have gotten through the battle more or less unharmed. He always does. It’s like his plans have so many backup plans that not even death itself can keep track of what’s going on.

“I’ve played my part now,” he continues. “Right, Teach?”

“You have,” Byleth says. “Thank you for trusting us.” Wordlessly, she adds, Thank you for trusting me.

“I knew you’d come. You’re a bunch of soft-hearted suckers after all.” Claude winks, and wordlessly replies, Always.

“Go to Almyra. Make your vision come true, Kha—” She bites her tongue, but the slip is already out. “Claude. Make your vision come true, Claude.”

“Your wish is my command.” He gives her a sarcastic little bow, keeping eye contact through the entire movement. His grin has a knowing edge. “Too bad I’ll never get to experience that other version, eh? I bet it was a fun one.”

Byleth smiles. “It was.”

Hilda manages to break an impressive amount of hearts – and furniture – during the few days she stays at the monastery before jumping back up on her wyvern to follow Claude to Almyra.

This is it.

Byleth clenches her trembling fists as Edelgard walks up to Dimitri. For the first time in many, many years, the two of them speak in earnest. Their conversation is calm and sensible, dancing around the unavoidable for as long as they can. Eventually, they reach the point of no return. They share the same vision, but they both conclude that their methods are too disparate to coexist.

In every other timeline, this is where Byleth loses. Dimitri and Edelgard go their separate ways, and one of them winds up dead. She takes a deep breath. Not this time.

“Neither of you will see your dream come true unless we defeat Those Who Slither in the Dark.” She looks at a highly skeptical Edelgard, and then turn her gaze to a very confused Dimitri. This is the moment she’s been preparing for since she first laid eyes on the three heirs. This is why she spent so much effort on returning lost items, organizing choir practices, and saving money for expensive tea. This is it.

“Do you trust me?”

The temporary truce between the Holy Kingdom and the Empire is anything but pretty. The wounds each side have caused the other are too deep to heal with a simple common goal. What they all share, though, is their loyalty to their respective leader – and their leaders have decided to put their faith in their old professor.

Together, they prepare for their march to Shambhala.

An unavoidable side effect of the truce is the liberation of Rhea.

If Rhea knows Byleth’s true feelings, she doesn’t show it. The demigoddess keeps giving Byleth that serene smile, treating her like a companion, a mother, and a daughter all at once. Byleth plays along, because she knows all too well how Rhea reacts when someone questions her authority. It always ends with fire. Lots, and lots of fire.

Byleth keeps up her dangerous act, because Rhea can’t show her true face yet. Those Who Slither in the Dark must be defeated before the world burns.

“You never told me about Those Who Slither in the Dark,” Dimitri murmurs, softly stroking Byleth’s hair. “Why would you hide such a thing from me?”

“If I’d told you, you would have gone after them yourself.” She presses a kiss to his jaw before settling back down on his chest. Her body relaxes to the sound of his heartbeats. “We wouldn’t have made it on our own.”

A lie, of course, but it’s a white one.

He sighs. “Even now, after all this time, you are still a mystery to me. My beloved, will you ever entrust me with your secrets?”

“When all of this is over, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

Truth.

Edelgard grabs Byleth’s arm and pulls her to the side. “For as long as the Church of Seiros controls Fódlan, this war will never end,” she says in a low voice. “I will continue down this path until the people of this land are free to decide their own fates. I have devoted my life to destroying the blood-stained cycle the church so desperately wishes to uphold. Defeating Those Who Slither in the Dark will not lead me astray.”

“I know.”

They stand in silence for a while, watching the army close in on the underground city.

“Will you go back to them, once this battle is over? To him?” Edelgard lowers her eyes. “You were once like family to me. I do not regret my decision to start this war, but I cannot help but wonder how things would have been if I’d walked down this path with you by my side.”

Better, yet so much worse.

After making sure no one’s listening, Byleth leans closer. “I want the cycle to end, too, El. So does Dimitri.”

“A highborn person like him will never understand the struggles of the poor and weak.” Edelgard scoffs. “He believes they cannot survive without their faith, that it’s their useless prayers to a goddess who will never answer that keep them alive. He claims to speak on the behalf of the people, yet he still refuses to let go of the system that is causing this injustice. Do you truly believe that he will change his mind, my teacher? That a man like him can ever see the truth?”

“I hope so. Just like I hope that you, once this is over, will see that you both share the same vision.”

“That’s a dangerous gamble, even for a strategist like you.” She snorts, her eyes glittering with amusement. “But then again, I do remember the days when you used to make plans based entirely on lucky hits.”

Byleth has never seen anything as terrifying or as beautiful as Dimitri and Edelgard fighting side by side. Power, grace, speed, skill – together, the two rulers are unstoppable. Edelgard gives Dimitri a short nod when Areadbhar blocks an enemy blade moments before it slashes her side. Dimitri’s lips twitch when she returns the favor, her shield blocking an arrow aimed at his chest.

In perfect synchronization, they both fall back as they reach their final foe. With the Emperor and the King guarding her back, Byleth raises the Sword of the Creator.

Thales falls.

“So, uh, are we still at war or what?” Caspar asks, casting nervous glances left and right as the army leaves the ruins of Shambhala.

Linhardt yawns. “I have no idea.”

In all honesty, neither did Byleth.

Back at Garreg Mach, Rhea, still affected by her years of imprisonment, once again tries to entrust Byleth with the leadership of the Church of Seiros. The demigoddess eyes turn cold when Byleth declines.

“The world is changing, Seiros,” Byleth says. “Humanity is rising up. Fódlan belongs to its people, and It’s time for the children of Sothis to let go.”

Rhea reacts just like Byleth knew she would. A guttural roar pierces the tense silence of the monastery.

The world burns.

The crest stones within the soldiers and monks of the Church of Seiros react to the Immaculate One’s calls, and soon, the monastery is crawling with mindless beasts. The two armies are once again forced to work together, and so is Dimitri and Edelgard. Putting their grudge back on pause, the two of them raise their weapons against the feral creature that used to be Rhea.

Out of all of Byleth’s battles against the Immaculate One, this should have been the easiest one. With two armies instead of one, she was certain the odds were in their favor – but, as always, it turns out there’s a detail she’s overlooked.

With Dimitri’s and Edelgard’s strength combined, Those Who Slither in the Dark went down much faster than Byleth predicted. Thales never managed to summon his javelins of light. Rhea never took that almost lethal hit to save them all.

This version of the Immaculate One, worn-out but mostly unharmed, is the strongest one Byleth has ever faced.

Over and over, Byleth sends the coiled blade of the Sword of the Creator through the air, but every time an enemy falls another one takes its place. All around her, soldiers of the Kingdom and the Empire alike fall victim to the Immaculate One’s merciless fire. True terror fills Byleth’s chest. She miscalculated, and this time, she won’t be able to go back and make things right. This is her last shot, and she’s failing. Again.

“What’s the plan?” Sylvain yells from his steed, blood trickling down his face from a wound on his forehead.

Byleth slashes down another white beast as she tries to come up with an answer. Not even Ashe and Lysithea have managed to get close enough to Rhea to attack. Dedue, who can usually withstand pretty much anything, was nearly killed in one single hit. There is no plan. There hasn’t been for quite some time.

Somewhere to her right, Edelgard gasps. “Look!”

Byleth turns around. Her eyes narrow as she stares at the horizon. A strange cloud is approaching from the east, and it’s moving fast.

“What is that?” Dimitri punches a church soldier in the face before piercing another one with his lance in one single movement. “More beasts?”

Byleth’s brain goes blank. They wouldn’t survive another wave of reinforcements. Her battalion withdrew ages ago. Mercedes is running out of healing spells. Felix, the one-man army, is surrounded, and he’s already tricked death more times than should have been statistically possible. Byleth has officially run out of strategies.

She squints at the horizon. Her heart skips a beat. She catches the glimpse of a banner, and it carries the colors of yellow and black.

“No,” she says, smiling. “It’s the King of Almyra.”

The master of unpredictability swoops in with an army of wyvern riders, and just like that, the tides turn. Eventually, Byleth stands before Rhea with the three young rulers by her side.

“You ungrateful piece of trash.” The Immaculate One’s eyes burn with manic hatred. “I gave you everything. You stole my mother from me. I will take her back!”

She lunges for Byleth, but her blow is blocked by a crimson shield.

“Your reign has ended, Rhea,” Edelgard says, her voice unwavering. “This battle marks the birth of a new world – a world where the strong will no longer prey on the weak.”

Dimitri rearranges his grip on Areadbhar, preparing to strike. “A world where people are allowed to choose their own beliefs.”

“A world where everyone, regardless of their heritage, can be free.” Claude draws his bow.

Edelgard gives the two kings an appreciative nod before turning back to Rhea. “A world,” she says as she raises Aymr, “where there’s no need for gods.”

The Immaculate One falls. One by one, the crest-bearing beasts drop to the ground as Seiros’ power leaves their bodies. Something cracks in Byleth’s chest. The Sword of the Creator slips from her hands, and then she’s falling too.

She knows what’s happening. She’s known from the beginning how her journey would end.

It was worth it, she thinks, and then the darkness claims her.

Byleth blinks. Her mind is blank. She tries to remember where she is, but her brain gives her nothing. She then tries to remember who she is, but she doesn’t seem to know that either.

“Professor.”

“Teach.”

“Teacher.”

The three names are called out all at once, and somehow, she knows they all belong to her. She blinks again and tries to focus on the three faces hovering above her. Blue eyes, green eyes, violet eyes, all staring down at her, sharing the same obvious relief. Her mind clicks. Everything falls back into place.

“I did it,” she whispers. “I finally did it.”

Dimitri scoops her up and hugs her to his chest with a desperation that makes her fear for the safety of her ribs.

Edelgard smiles, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Voice trembling, Claude says, “I like the new hair.”

Once the Emperor has made sure that the governing of Fódlan will no longer be decided by bloodlines but by the will of the people, she hands over the crown to the unified nation’s first elected king. The former Prince of Faerghus becomes the King of Fódlan, and with the support of the King of Almyra, he opens up the continent’s borders to the rest of the world.

The power of turning back time is lost forever. The human who once wielded it feels no remorse.

Byleth never stops cherishing the soft thuds of her beating heart.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimileth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #edelgard von hresvelg #claude von riegan #i mean they're all in there #all of them #everybody lives au #a very very ambitious everybody lives au #SO MUCH EFFORT

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

Text

Shared Walls. (m)

↳ chapter five: knock, knock

❧ genre: pro-hero shouto, coworkers to lovers, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: drugging, minor panic attack, blood

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

"So I guess it makes sense why we never ran into each other."

Todoroki looked at you as you looked out the window of the train, humming at your question when you turned back to stare at him and smile, making his heart warm.

"You know since you have to be at work much earlier and later than me, then with you taking Enji's place lately didn't give you much free time huh?"

Shouto nodded agreeing with you.

"Man, well I gotta say, I'm really relived that it's you living on the other side of me. I feel a lot safer."

Shouto quirked a red brow at you, this wasn't the first time you mentioned safety and it made him wonder what had you so ... scared.

"You know, you never told me why you moved here in the first place."

In the reflection of the window the man could see you biting your lip and looking down in the corner at nothing in particular.

"Well, to be honest Shouto it's a long and - complicated story, one that I don't really want to lie to you about but also one that I'm not exactly ready to tell you yet."

Todoroki sat there silently examining your body language. You had yet to look at him again and your fingers nervously fidgeted with the hem of your sweater while the other rubbed the back of your bare neck. Whatever your reasoning for possibly fleeing from the States, it had to be something serious and it made him worry. He didn't want to force you into telling him anything you weren't comfortable with yet though, he'd wait if he had to and show you that you could trust him.

Taking a chance, Shouto reached for your hand, it was the first time he had touched it since that dreadful handshake when you first met. Focusing hard on not letting his quirk get the best of him and possibly burn your skin, he enclosed your soft hand in his and squeezed lightly.

You looked from the window finally and to his hand holding yours, a tint of pink brushing your cheeks. You looked at him with those (e/c) hues that followed him home from work every day this past week, making him feel a little better at his choice of action.

"Tell me when you're ready then. I can wait, in the mean time if you ever need anything no matter what time it is or what it is, just knock on the wall twice and I'll be right over okay?"

"Thank you Shouto."

The rest of the train ride you and Shouto talked about everything under the moon that didn't involve delving too deep into your past. You found out he loves cold soba and that he prefers the cooler seasons over the warmer ones. He told you all about his years at UA, it sounded so amazing yet terrifying to you. He was only a teenager and went through so much shit and yet he was still here, not once running away from his problems.

"You really are amazing Shouto, all your experiences make my own seem so insignificant."

Your hand was squeezed again and a not so amused look crossed your friends handsome features.

"That's not true (Y/N), don't say that."

"I'm sorry Shouto. It's just, you see I don't exactly think so highly of myself, like I've said before I'm nothing special."

Todoroki looked like he was having an internal struggle going on, not sure what kind of face to make or what to say until he finally let out a deep breath.

"You know I really wish you wouldn't talk down about yourself so often. You may not think you're special but that's not how others see you (Y/N), especially me."

You grunted, the two-toned man was extremely serious and straight forward with his confession, making you get flustered as your hand and entire body broke into a sudden heat.

Air. Space - you needed just a little bit of space!

You chuckled and gave a sheepish smile towards Todoroki before shooting to your feet, looking for an escape to the bathroom to make sure you weren't sweating through your clothes.

"Excuse me Shouto, I need to go to the bathroom real fast before we stop."

He nodded and let go of your hand, letting you pass but at the same time the train come to a sudden harsh stop making you tumble and fall backwards into Shouto's lap. He grunted under the force of your body not so gracefully colliding into his, making him hunch over. His mouth nearly brushing your bare neck and shoulder and his hands gripping your hips. The sound that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy,

"Shouto~" you let out breathlessly.

He seemed to pull your hips closer to his as his name left your lips the way it did and you felt a sudden cold and heat flare up on your hips making your eyes widen and say his name again but with more urgency.

"Shit," he hissed out and let go of your hips. You both looked to see the left side of your sweater black and seared and the right side covered in frost.

You burst out laughing, wrapping your arm around yourself and covering your loud obnoxious noises. Shouto looked at you confused. One, you didn't bother moving from his lap, not that he was complaining and two because you were laughing at what could've been a major accident.

"You’re very strange!"

"RokiRoki, you didn't need to buy me another top, really!"

You complained as Todoroki handed the store clerk his card. The second the two of you got off the train he dragged you into the closest store to replace the sweater he almost burned to ash, you settled for whatever was cheaper considering he happened to pull you into a high end store. You picked out another slouchy sweater but it unfortunately hid your shoulders, ruining your plan to look somewhat attractive to your crush. As the two of you walked out of the store you quickly grabbed his hand and held it tightly making his eyes widen and stop and look at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, its just I don't know this place and it looks really busy ... I don't want to lose you."

Shouto smirked and nodded, continuing to lead you into the busy and noisy city.

"The place isn't much further."

Nodding, you walked along and marveled at the city, looking in every direction. As you looked over to the other side of the street past Shouto you could see someone walking along while staring at you. It looked like a male but they had a black surgical mask on not giving away their identity. Squeezing Shouto's hand you walked closer to him and clung to his arm. The hero didn't mind and even lifted his arm, letting you hide under the shelter of him as you both walked. You don't know when but somewhere along the way you lost sight of the stranger.

"Here we are, you like ramen right?"

Sitting inside of the ramen shop put you at ease, it was nestled in a alley far away from the city and noise, you both ordered your food and waited at your table with your warm teas in hand.

"It's your turn," Shouto stated out of the blue, causing you to look at him from searching the establishment.

"My turn?"

"To hold up your end of the deal, we're here on a lunch date, now you tell me what happened with my father."

Remembering the text exchange from the night before you chuckled and leaned forward on the table, crossing your arms, making the little bit of cleavage that showed push further out and made Todoroki chuckle as he drank his tea.

"So, get ready, I'm about to tell you all about how I met my future father-in-law!"

The man before you choked on his drink and coughed as he covered his mouth and wiped it clean. You laughed back and handed him a napkin, "Just jokes folks, just jokes!"

After his episode you told him about the scene that unfolded the day before with his Hulk of a father, how he walked in at the worst possible time but helped you out and even chuckled at your dumb word vomit and how he told you to call him by his first name. In perfect timing your food came out when you wrapped up the story.

Todoroki smiled, "And you think you aren't special? No one else in our office is allowed to call my father by his first name, not even heroes that have been there for years."

"Oh yeah? Well maybe you had already put in a good word for me, he mentioned hearing a lot about me. I wonder from who," you tilted your head, slowly sucking up a noodle and staring Shouto straight in the eyes.

Shouto only shrugged and smiled as he started to eat his own food. Relaxing at his good mood, you sighed and ate as well. You seemed to put on a good front so far, Todoroki not realizing how on edge you were currently, you've gotten good at it from being with your ex.

Your eyes scoped out the place here and there, watching to see if anyone was staring at you in particular. People seemed to be minding their own business chatting among themselves, some looking around the same as you did. You saw a group of girls looking your way as well, gushing over Shouto obviously. It made you chuckle, you forget most of the time that he's a very popular hero, to you he's just Shouto.

Once you finished your food you decided to go to the bathroom, "Excuse me Shouto, I need to go wash up real quick. If the check comes here's my part of it!"

You went to shove money his way and he swatted it away with a stern look, anyone else you'd protest but the man had a way with putting you in your place with just a look or phrase. Giving up you ruffled his hair and walked off.

Once Todoroki had paid for your meal he waited, and waited.

It had been nearly five minutes and still you weren't back, causing the hero to get worried. He noticed how you looked around the room constantly as you ate, as if someone was watching you, seeming on edge and trying to hide it from him which you weren't very good at no matter what you thought.

"Hey what are you doing to her? Help!"

A yell caught his attention and immediately Todoroki jumped from his seat and ran outside where the bathrooms were located to see an elderly man walking towards a woman sitting on the ground caving in on herself and bleeding from her arm. Shouto felt his heart stop as he realized who it was, it was you.

Crimson liquid cascaded from your forearm and around the fingers of your hand that tried to grip it, your chest heaved as you panicked and whined out. The elderly man crouched down and gently grabbed you by the shoulder and cupped your face, trying to calm you down. Todoroki grit his teeth, he should've been doing that, it was his job, he does it all the time but he was frozen in place, he couldn't move, couldn't get to you.

"Stay with me sweetheart, breathe! I'm gonna call for – hey you! Help!"

The man called out as he saw Shouto standing at the end of the alley, he continued to call out but his voice was muted as Shouto only focused on your cries. Your head fell back against the brick wall and your face lulled to the side and looked at him. Your (e/c) orbs dull and lazy, pleading and full of fear.

Todoroki's feet finally moved as he sprinted towards you, pushing the old man out of the way. His arms scooped you from the wall and into his chest, your head falling back as you were going in and out of consciousness, falling limp in his hold.

"I think he tried to drug her, to make her go with him but she fought. He cut her while I was running for him but I couldn’t hold him."

Shouto's heart was pounding and he pressed his ear to your chest, trying to listen to your heartbeat and breathing. It was slowing but it wasn't stopping. You struggled to keep yourself up and your eyes open.

"(Y/N), I'm here, just hold on and don't lose my voice, okay? Please say something to let me know you understand!"

He stood from his crouched position, cradling you in his arms bridal style and shaking you lightly, repeating his words back to you.

"Dammit (Y/N), you gotta answer me, please!"

Your tired head rested on his chest and your fingers loosely gripped his shirt as you looked up into his eyes and tried to smile and put on that dumb front that you were fine.

"Sh-Shouto ..." you breathed out as you made a fist and lightly knocked on his chest twice.

#shouto todoroki #shouto todoroki x reader #shared walls #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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sedehaven · 4 years

Text

Saving Ophelia Grace’s Toe

Y’all seem to like my stories about being a witch in the Bible Belt, so here’s another one. This is a coming of age story about a young witch (me), a bunch of adults of various degrees of uselessness, and Ophelia Grace’s rotten toe.

This is not a happy story.

Names changed when necessary.

CW: Body squick, graphic injury, incompetent nurse, malevolent nurse, poisoning, bureaucratic nightmares, dark DARK shit ahead

So, in spite of the crushing poverty that I grew up in, I was given the opportunity to attend a very prestigious boarding school for Juniors and Seniors in Klan Kountry, LA. It’s a public school, so it takes kids from all over the state.

My school was run by a dude named Brother Dave.

Brother Dave was so awful that one of our senior pranks (I DID NOT DO THIS) involved a password-protected screensaver on every communal computer in the school (including, I think, Brother Dave’s office computer) of a bouncing, 3-D image of this:

Dude was NOT well-loved. It is important to know that he and I did not get along. When I was still a prospective student, he told us that our mascot was the mighty Eagle, because Eagles Flock Together.

Y’all. Someone watched himself too much Mighty Ducks.

I replied, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear, “That’s not true, sir. Eaglettes push their smaller and weaker siblings out of the nest as soon as they can.”

He looked to the staff for support, red-faced and embarrassed by this ninety-pound child who stole his thunder.

The biology teacher (who left for greener pastures after my first year--rumored to have been forced out for being too fabulously dykey for the new administration) looked at him and stated, in her very particular and crisp fashion, “Well, she’s right.”

Safe to say, he hated me from the start. So, if you read this and you wonder, “Why didn’t this silly kid just go to the grown-up?” That’s why. He was our grown-up.

Brother Dave started at the school the year before I did. He was brought in by a local Senator, because said local Senator Fucked Up Colossally.

Senator Fuckup was running against Mr. Sketchy Businessman. Mr. Sketchy Businessman was backed by the Ku Klux Klan (a big deal in parts of the world, folks. My school was in David Duke country.)

Senator Fuckup had a fancy name--well-respected all around the state. Like, several statues of one of his relations decorate the state capital. Big name.

Problem is, Senator Fuckup is half-Black.

In Klan Kountry.

Y’all.

So he’s already at a disadvantage. As it turns out, it takes a village to start a magnet school. Senator Fuckup was one of the founding board members, and promised all kinds of benefits if they put the school in HIS district.

Their other offer was in my own hometown, the Hub City, where several of our major state highways cross with two Interstates.A place with art and history and culture. A place with one of the largest outdoor music festivals in the state--a multicultural, international music festival! With art walks and museums and Mardi Gras parades! With a three-story library, a library for French language and culture, and the second-largest university in Louisiana!

Senator Fuckup PROMISED that the school wouldn’t want for anything if they went to Klan Kountry.

So they did.

It was no great secret that this school was Senator Fuckup’s baby. At the time that I attended, the school was number one in the nation. Something to be proud of.

Except.

Except that in order to keep various forms of funding, the school was required to take in more melanin-blessed individuals than the locals liked.

Enter Mr. Sketchy Businessman, who ran a series of TV and radio ads claiming that our STATE funded school was stealing money from the local school district.

That’s right. He claimed that our school took money away from the poor Whites of Klan Kountry and gave to the diverse and metropolitan school for the gifted.

Senator Fuckup tried to deflect and dismiss, BUT did NOT rebut those claims. He didn’t believe that the school’s funding was THAT MUCH of an issue.

Any reasonable person would understand that the school was funded from the State taxes. Right?

As it turns out, Klan Kountry is not filled with reasonable people.

Senator Fuckup is a member of a particular subgroup in Klan Kounrty--a not-insignificant population of Catholic Creoles. So, after he wins his election--barely--he realizes that Something Must Be Done to help the image of the school that everybody knew as HIS baby.

Enter his old friend, Brother Dave. Brother Dave, who nearly bankrupted his previous school. His brother-in-law was a contractor who got a few really juicy contracts through him.

Protip: Nepotism only works if the person being nepotized is competent.

Spoiler: Brother Dave’s brother-in-law built schools about as well as Brother Dave ran them.

Brother Dave’s old school is attached to an order of monks who build cheap and simple caskets for people who are into that kind of thing.

They bake bread for the poor. These are good people.

Y’all, these people made it KNOWN--statewide--that they had a casket ready for ol’ Dave if he ever stepped foot in their town again.

Still, Senator Fuckup decided that THIS was the man who would lead my school into a glorious future.

Brother Dave took an aggressive stance on admissions. He wanted kids who didn’t have a lot of drama, and kids who looked (WHITE) good on the recruiting materials. He pulled hard from the local Catholic (Segregation) Academies.

Y’all.

Our Black kids were nearly White-passing mixed-race kids, one kid who was ACTUALLY from Africa, a couple of kids from Catholic schools, and one dark-skinned Baptist girl who is bombshell model-gorgeous. (For those glossy brochures.)

So as many White Catholic kids as possible.

Y’all.

I’ve competed with private school fuckwits in academic contests my whole life, up to that point. If it was something that required preparation (science fair, for example), they wiped the floor with us.

Because daddy the petroleum engineer did the project for them.

If it was a you-know-it-or-you-don’t thing (quiz bowl, for example), they lost so brutally that I might have felt bad for them. You know, if they had souls. Which they did not.

So Brother Dave populated our school with what he thought were “good kids”. White, Catholic kids.

Spoiler: My class started with 250 students. We graduated less than half of that, even after he backfilled our class with new kids between junior and senior year. The class after mine was worse.

Why is that?

White Catholic kids at segregation academies in the late 90′s basically did busy-work worksheet stuff all day. They were not ready for 10 page papers and 5 page lab reports and 100+ pages of reading and 20-50 math problems and projects, projects, projects!

Also, if all you do is worksheets and sit-down-and-shut-up, there has to be a certain...chemical element...to cope.

So, yeah. Drugs. So much drugs. And booze.

Brother Dave also hired Nurse Bitchy Fuckface. She was actually his first hire.

Nurse Bitchy was a walking disaster.

I was sixteen when I first met her, and because she didn’t smell like street drugs (I KNOW WHAT THAT SHIT IS), I missed a lot of signs.

Looking back, I think that she might have been a Prozac-and-wine kind of person. But, as the only drugs that I was familiar with came from street pharmacists, I thought she was just evil.

Hateful to the queers, pagans, Goths, and all assorted weirdos.

You know, all the kids who could actually handle the schoolwork and the pressure. *eyeroll*

I’m allergic to Sudafed. Weird, huh?

A senior at my school told me to be careful with Nurse Bitchy. She has a sensitivity to acetaminophen (Tylenol) and couldn’t have it. Nurse Bitchy had given it to her a couple of times.

It was on my senior’s medical chart. If you’re keeping score, that’s felony attempted murder.

Nurse Bitchy gave me Sudafed seventeen times (that I remember) while I was at that school. She very nearly killed me doing it. Some times I knew, and some times I did not.

“But why did you take it, if you knew?”

Well, you innocent dove, if I refused to take the medicine that the Nurse gave me, then I got written up. Enough write-ups and I got kicked out.

My home school in the Hub City? Eh...as bad as Klan Kountry was, I didn’t have someone assaulting me daily. I didn’t have a gang of girls who got away with attempting to rape me with a broom handle. I didn’t have a very big kid who was given liberties with me (BY THE STAFF) because he was special ed.

Or, as my guidance counselor liked to say (after my father was murdered and I was flunking chemistry--not because of dad’s death, but because the chemistry teacher put all the girls and Black boys in the back of the class--which had NO air conditioning on hundred-degree days--after Brother Dave’s brother-in-law “fixed” it that summer), “Stephanie, you know that you’re the poorest student here. Do you really want to go back to THAT?”

No. I did not.

Under pain of going home to poverty, rape, assault, and maybe death, I took her poison. She watched me do it. And she smiled.

I only went to Nurse Bitchy when I was forced to. This happened far more often my Junior year. The teachers would send me because I was sick (I come from a smoker’s home, and I’m an asthmatic who is allergic to tobacco. My family never quit, so I’d end up with smoker’s pneumonia most times that I went home. Thanks for the lung scars, fam.)

Eventually, when I was a Senior, my computer science teacher realized that I was unresponsive with a fever in her class. She was new that year, and didn’t know any better. So she woke me up and sent me along. Nurse Bitchy gave me the usual and sent me back to class.

Very few humans retain the ability to projectile vomit after age seven. Did you know that?

Lucky me, I did. I still can.

I hurled all over my keyboard. I hurled and hurled. My classmates screamed and ran.

My computer science teacher, an ice-cold woman of Indian descent with a very posh English accent, unplugged the vomit-soaked, ruined keyboard. She took it and me to the nurse.

She slammed the keyboard down on her desk and screamed at her to NEVER send a sick child to her class again.

Nurse Bitchy was (shocking, I know) a racist. She feared the angry Indian lady.

My computer science teacher, I believe, spread the word about Nurse Bitchy’s ineffectiveness. Teachers stopped sending students to her.

That left a vacuum. Nobody was being forced to get medical help. But medical help was still needed.

Before going to school in Klan Kountry, I was a veterinary technician. I worked under-the-table from too young. Illegal-child-labor-too-young.

But, I knew my stuff. I had a stocked medicine cabinet and a dissection kit.

I started doing everything up to and including prison surgery in my dorm room.

I could handle most anything. Which was better than worrying that the nurse was going to poison one of my friends into the ground.

I didn’t ask for money or food or anything (food was a commodity at that school because our cafeteria was infested). I worked for the goodwill of my classmates, which is the shiniest coin in the realm.

I’d gotten into witchcraft earlier that year. People trusted the witch over the nurse. That’s where my school was.

I only had one case that I really couldn’t treat.

Y’all.

It was traditional in the girls’ dorms that unless you were asleep or studying, you kept your door open. Mine was open that night. I was writing Sailor Moon fanfiction, procrastinating on one project or another. I don’t remember, it was twenty-two years ago.

Ophelia Grace (not her real name) came to my door in Doc Martens, favoring a foot. Her roommate or a suitemate or maybe another theatre kid was holding her up as she hobbled into my room.

I hadn’t heard that she’d been hurt, but apparently she had been. She was feverish and weak. Her face was bright red. She was babbling.

“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. She apologized for coming late. She apologized for coming at all. She was shaking.

I sat her and her friend on my roommate’s bed (we’d bunked them, and I had the top bunk). My roommate was out, in the art lab working on a particularly tricky painting. Probably for the best. He was squeamish (my ex-roommate is a transman, so I’m using his preferred pronouns.)

I grabbed a large bowl and a mug, filled both with water (salted the bowl of water), and went down the hall to the microwave.

The water in Klan Kountry was filthy. It smelled bad and tasted worse. Remember Mr. Sketchy Businessman? He wanted to relax EPA regulations for himself and his sketchy business friends.

They were actively dumping into the city reservoir. But Mr. Sketchy Businessman promised to KKKeep KKKlan KKKountry Lily, so he got 49% of the votes.

Racist douche.

I boiled the water in the microwave--first the mug, then the bowl. It was a walk I’d make several times that evening.

Ophelia had a fever, holding steady at “fucking HOT” by the estimate of her friend. My thermometer pegged it at 102. Not good.

I put a teabag and two whole cloves in the cup and let it steep while I took her temperature. I asked her what happened. I don’t remember the specifics of the injury, but I believe that something got dropped on her toe. I think it happened in the theatre.

Ophelia thought she could walk it off. I remember that.

She kept apologizing. I honeyed the tea and shoved it in her hands. The tea helped. She was shivering--hard--from the wracking chills of her fever.

I remember how her febrile shivers made the bunk beds shake.

I remember thinking that I was in over my head.

I remember grabbing my oldest towels, and closing my door.

I remember praying.

And then I took her boot off.

Y’all.

I’ve smelled rot. Some people think that all rot smells the same.

It does not.

Corpse stink has its own bouquet. Blood rot has a distinct stench. Necrotic yeast infections almost smell good--like yeast rolls and something meatier.

I’d smelled Ophelia’s particular rot before.

I was fourteen. A momma dog was brought in, heavily pregnant. She’d been delivering, and the third pup got stuck. There were 11 left. The stuck pup was dead, but we managed to save 4 behind him, plus the first 2, born healthy.

The uterus had begun to rot inside, and several of the pups had been dead for some time.

The spaying that happened after the pups were removed was green and black, with the consistency of pudding. We pulled as much out as we could, but the rest had to be rinsed out.

Thankfully, I’ve smelled that smell very few times after. It smells pungent and strong. Like garlic. Like a cream of garlic stew.

I thought I’d gotten a whiff of THAT smell when Ophelia walked in, and again when she sat down. Pulling her boot off was like the first deep cut into momma dog. Garlic and blood.

The smell of something rotting in someone still alive.

She had on two socks. I peeled off the first one. There was a stain at the toe. The second sock was worse. The smell hung around.

Our windows were screwed shut. I couldn’t do anything about the smell.

Ophelia cried into her tea. She was still apologizing.

The toe was purple and black. There was a lot of yellow pus under the nail, which was leaking out on either side. Red streaks ran up her instep, tracing her veins.

The toe was swollen and needed a lance.

I had no idea how she climbed the stairs to get to me. (I was on the third floor, and she lived below. We had no elevator.)

She started to get loud (peeling those socks off HURT), so I asked her a question. I asked about her history paper. The ten-page history paper was a rite-of-passage at the school, and I knew it was coming due for her. I told her to tell me about her topic and her sources.

She did.

Thank the Lord and Lady.

I got my dissection kit and rubbing alcohol. I made things as sterile as I could.

I told her that it would probably hurt, but that I would work quickly.

Her friend left after the first cut. She didn’t stay gone long, but I heard her vomit in our suite’s toilet.

Ophelia kept talking about her paper. I led her around on that topic, asking questions and asking for clarification. Asking about the books she’d read, and offering a few that I was familiar with on the subject.

This is why doctors and dentists know so many things about so many subjects. Talking keeps the patient calm.

Meanwhile, pus and blood dripped from the slits that I made in her flesh, onto a towel that bore the stains until I donated it to the animal shelter, years later.

I soaked her toe in the bowl of water. The salt burned, but she couldn’t scream.

There was an adult who was supposed to be watching us. If she was alerted to my low-tech medical unit, she would have stopped me and sent Ophelia to the murder nurse.

I filled another bowl, salted it, and microwaved it.

Ophelia’s friend rejoined us, and watched as I squeezed the rest of the pus out of her. Her toenail slipped off in the third bowl. The toenail was cracked. Ophelia kept it.

I wonder if she still has it?

Triple antibiotic ointment and a sterile dressing later, I told her to tell the nurse that she needed a doctor. Nurse Bitchy couldn’t keep us from a doctor if we asked for one. She said that she would.

I gave her a few oral anti-inflammatory pills and some Benadryl to get a good night’s sleep.

She left, with her boot in her hand and a soft smile on her lips. I cleaned my tools, my bowls, the floor where her foot was, and had to do a load of laundry because that one rag smelled so awful.

My roommate came back in time for headcount, and asked if I’d made ramen. Said it smelled pretty good in there.

It did. Rot can do that.

It was hard to sleep that night. I cried quietly until sleep took me.

Ophelia recovered. She became a witch some time later. In college, I think. We’re still friends, in a Facebook kind of way.

Brother Dave is still alive. After working for my school, he ended up helping the Church cover up three decades of sex abuse at a diocese school. Not sure what he’s up to, but probably nothing good. He’s a garbage human.

Nurse Bitchy just retired. She lasted twenty years at that school. God knows how.

Senator Fuckup died in a car crash and the school is being renamed after him. So are the new dorms that are being built.

Klan Kountry cleaned up their water after I left. That’s really good news.

The school continues. Apparently, it got better with Brother Dave’s leavetaking. I hope that’s true.

And me?

I’m still a witch. I’m still here.

And I can still smell that rotten toe on the edge of nightmares half-remembered.

~*~

I don’t want my diploma revoked or to be sued, so disclaimer time.

This is fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

#witchcraft #prose #proseriot #kitchen witch #healing #writing #amwriting #autobiography #true story

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jayyrayy90 · 4 years

Text

I'm so angry and disappointed. I'm so frustrated with my own self too bc no matter how hard I try I can't even force myself to hate you. I have numerous reasons to hate u but I can't. I guess I'll never be able to.

What's so fucked up to me is how you can just erase me like I'm nobody to you. How you can flip a switch in your brain and I've suddenly become your enemy. How you so easily can make so many promises to me, how you can look me right in my eyes and lie to my face so easily, and how you act like you've done absolutely nothing to me or act as if the things you done were something insignificant and dumb and I'm just being overdramatic about them. Like the shit you did shouldn't matter just bc of shit i did 5 years ago or simply bc u hated me so those things were justified.

To this very day you have no respect for me and treat me as if i meant absolutely nothing to u. I don't think you will ever understand how bad that hurts me Jasmine. You, of all people in this entire world, broke me down piece by tiny piece until there was nothing left of me. You drained me of my last bit of sanity, hope for love, and I will never let another human being get close to me again as long as I'm here on this earth. You took all of that away from me so effortlessly, carelessly, and easily. I never meant anything to you and I wish like hell I knew exactly what made u hate me so much that you'd even consider doing the things you've done to me.

In some sick and cruel way, I believe u got some kind of enjoyment out of watching me fall apart. You enjoyed knowing you could go do whatever you want and come back to me whenever you got ready bc like a dummy I'd always be there waiting. I was so stupid and foolish to even think any of your promises were sincere. What made me look even dumber was the fact that I believed you and in you. I had faith in you. I was so gullible and blinded to believe that the person you used to be was still somewhere inside of you. That loving, honest, sincere, faithful, and LOYAL person u used to be had been dead and gone years ago and you kept showing/proving that to me. Yet i kept fighting to bring her back. I kept praying, hoping, and wishing that someday I'd get my baby lovey bear back. I failed to even try and believe the things you were so effortlessly trying to tell me with your actions. You've been trying to tell me that you didn't love me anymore for so many years. I was trying so hard to be/say/do everything you wanted just to make you love me. I pushed the things you were doing to me so far in the back of my mind that i allowed myself to become blinded. I just kept telling myself that you were lost and didn't know what u were doing at the time, every time I would think about the things you did.

Truth is, you knew exactly what you were doing. You knew exactly what risks u were taking. U knew exactly what u were jeopardizing. You knew. Yet you still did it anyway. You didn't care and still don't about what happens to me or my life. You have no idea the amount of pain that causes me. Its honestly like I'm loving the shadow of a person who never existed.

The way you left me, I would've never left you like that, even if i did hate you. All those years we spent together and you just leave me like that knowing I was broke. I would've never in a million years plus some, NEVER left you like that. I would've bet my entire life that you wouldn't have ever done that to me.

When you came back in my life, the one thing you would always say was, "The way I left you last time was fucked up and I know it. I got my karma. I'd never leave you like that again." Something similar to that anyway. But guess what, you left me even worse than you did the first time Jasmine. And u don't even care. How can you not even care?!! I have no words to even describe the pain. Words couldn't even come close..

In the beginning i wasn't much of the person I should have been. I had issues and addictions. I wasnt really worth your time. I put you through hell and for that I will forever be sorry. If im being honest you terrified me, no one had ever saw me the way you did. No one had ever wanted me the way you did. No one had ever made me feel the way you did. I had walls that had always kept me safe and kept me braced from the world but you... you somehow made them fall over time with your undying love for me, even when i was awful. You saw me through the worst times of my life. If not for you i wouldnt be here today. you saved me.

To me, we had a beautiful bond and an amazing love. You were everything i ever wanted and i couldn't believe you were mine. Maybe looking back that is where the trouble started...I had such guilt for who i was and how i treated you at the start and i felt so lucky to have you that i started to compromise on the things that were fundamental to me. I started to give way more then i received and i started to let you think things were okay that honestly weren't. I let you start to walk all over me and looking back maybe if i had stood up for myself then, instead of just feeling like i owed it to you for sticking with me then maybe things would be different today..

I stood by you, i did any and everything for you. I let you take out your anger on me. I would pretend to sleep until i knew you were asleep so i could just make sure you were okay. I was watching you hurt in a way i couldnt fix. I didnt know how to help, so i decided to just be everything and anything you needed. I put my entire life aside and made you my priority, my world. I dont regret it, you needed me and i was there without question.

This is where it started to go downwhill, you were changing into someone i didnt even recognize and the worst part is you couldn't even help it. Our life had become one full of fights and make ups only to fight again shortly after. You were pushing me away and i didnt know why. I dont even think you knew why, so i took all the hateful words, the poor treatment, the lack of time invested and the lack of love being shown and made it into excuses for you because of what you were dealing with. Looking back i dont think this helped you the way i thought it did. It taught you that i was always going to take it. I was going to let you walk all over me and i was going to apologize when i didnt do anything wrong simply to avoid a fight. It didnt help, you left me in such an agonizing way. i was shattered, my entire life had just fallen apart and i was lost. You were my world and you were just gone!!

I was your friend. I was your family. I was your lover. You are a person that could have been any number of things to me. Heartbreak plays no favorites when it chooses people in life to let you down. I really always had faith in you. I trusted you and the promises that you made to me. I believed in your aspirations and disregarded your ambiguity. I let you in, against my best wishes. I relentlessly defended you. I saw the beautiful parts of who you were. I made plans with you and kept them in my head like a guaranteed magnificent destination. I loved you. I gave you all that I had and now I am left feeling empty and cheated. But do you know what the strangest and most unbelievably frustrating part of all of this is? I forgive you.

Your betrayal shook my foundation. Not just the foundation of us, but the foundation of everything I thought. All that I believed about love was up in the air. I wasn’t sure about anything. It wasn’t just about you. I was now questioning everything.

The truth is, you didn't really love me. Maybe you loved the idea of me. Maybe you loved having me around because I would have done anything for you, but if you really loved me, you wouldn't have destroyed me the way you did. That's not love.

I loved you so much that I lost sight in everything else, especially myself. I glued myself to you so tightly because I was so terrified of losing you. Lets be honest though, you were never really mine to lose, were you?

You always treated me so coldly, and I couldn't ever understand why when all I ever did was love you. Sometimes the harsh words you used still stay inside of my head.

I was never good enough, or at least that is how you would treat me. I was always wrong, I was the crazy one after the break up, it was never you. It was always me. You were poison to my heart, and I wanted so badly to save you, but I couldn't. You destroyed me mentally and emotionally to the point where I can’t even feel emotions anymore. To the point where I am literally completely numb to feeling anything or having real true emotions towards anyone or anything.

When I met you, I knew. I knew in some way, shape, or form, you would hold incredible significance to my life. I knew you were going to be a constant. I knew you would change me.

Yes, we had our disagreements, but we always made our way back to each other. I always felt you in my heart, there was nothing you could do to make me that upset for long. I already needed you. I knew, the second I held you close to me, I knew, that this was it for me. You were it. All I wanted, and all I would ever need.

You have issues, my love. Internal struggles with yourself, external issues with your family and others around you and it weighs you down. I never have held that against you. But the struggles you faced made it impossible for you to love me the way you wanted to, the way I needed you to. Still, I held on, praying you would stay with me, praying you would get better. Through all the fights, the petty disagreements, and the abuse, I stayed. Why?

I loved you blindly of course. I loved you without restrictions, and without caution. I loved you wildly. In my head, I knew you could be better. I wanted to see that happen for you. I wanted to help you get to where you should be. I believed in you. I loved you so deeply, I would have, and did do, anything on Earth for you.

The truth is, you are not who I once loved. That person is gone. That person took some of the deepest parts of myself with them. I will always love them.

Had you tried for me, love, had you tried for you, we would have been in love forever. But you didn’t, and sitting around waiting for you only made things harder on me. I’ve accepted the fact that the you I once knew is gone.

I didn’t want to move on from you. I hoped in the deepest cell of my heart that you would come back and sweep me up and make things better. But eventually, I chose to move on. I chose to heal myself. I chose to fix what you shattered. It didn’t come easily, and nearly everyday is a struggle… but I have to. You are the love of my life, but you are long gone now...

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talpup · 5 years

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I’m gonna request #49. “You think I’m jealous? Trust me, buttercup, you haven’t even seen jealousy.” With Shouta and Anna. NSFW if possible and you can just surprise me with the rest. 😁

FYI, I changed the ‘buttercup’ to Kitten. Thanks for the request! If anyone else wants to make a request, I’ll still take them.

Note: This scene happens after Abril’s death and before Shouta leaves hell, about six month after the remembered scene in chapter 10.

**Smut starts after keep reading.**

Hawks landed in the castles courtyard, hurrying up the steps and entering the main hall.

“Anna, I’m back!” The Archangel called loudly.

“My Lord, doesn’t need to yell.” Scolded a stern looking woman.

“Luna. May I remind you this isn’t your castle, you only work here.” Hawks said, effectively telling the Chief Maid that he could do as he pleased.

“You also don’t need to fly and land in the courtyard like that.” The woman went on. “It scares the dogs and horses.”

“Don’t know why we even have dogs and horses around.”

“Because, some of us can’t fly and require regular meals.” The Witch said, pointedly.

Hawks feigned appalled shock. “You ride the dogs and eat the horses!” Honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if the woman ate horses or dogs, she was a Witch and witches were known to be disgusting.

“I’ll set those dogs to hunt you.” Luna threatened. “The Mistress asked me to make this place seem as regular as possible, so the peasantry don’t amass and storm the place thinking witches and demons live here. Though you ruin all my efforts by flying about the way you do.”

He understood why Reyanna ordered Luna to make the place seem normal. Concealing such a vast structure would be an unnecessary hassle and peak the interest of heaven, hell, and Thirds who would be able to see past such spells. It was far easier to let the humans think that they were just regular people in a regular castle, and focus on wardings that kept the Host, hell-spawn, and Thirds out.

“Humans can’t see my wings, or see me when I fly.” Hawks dismissed.

Luna crossed her arms. “I see you fly and your gaudy wings.”

Hawks glared. His wings were one of his best features. They were not gaudy.

“You’re a witch. Where’s your Mistress?”

“My Lady is entertaining a visitor.” Luna answered, concerned disapproval supplanting her usual astringent tone.

“Visitor?”

“That dark Daimon she’s so fond of.” Luna elaborated, sniffing in displeasure.

Hawks’ wings bristled at that. Aside from Lucifer, Toshinori, and Kai, Aizawa was the greatest threat to Reyanna in his opinion. Yet Reyanna always left a way open for the Daimon to get through the properties barriers.

“I don’t care one lick for you, but at least you’re not connected to hell and bringing all sorts of risks and dangerous every time you come around.” Luna declared.

Hawks lived here, but he understood what the woman meant. If Aizawa really wanted Reyanna safe, as he claimed. If he truly loved her, as he professed. Then the Daimon should stay away.

“At least your attempts at playing Lord and Master don’t threaten this place and my Lady.” She went on.

Hawks turned, feathers puffing out. Did the Witch just say he liked to play house with Reyanna? Though she wasn’t entirely wrong, that was beside the point. He spun around and made for the stairs, Luna chasing after him.

“My Lady said she didn’t want to be disturbed!”

Luna’s words just made Hawks’ feet move faster.

“I’m sure she did.” He grumbled.

“My Lord! You can’t just go barging in!”

That made Hawks pause, Luna bumping into him. He continued climbing. Should he dare? Enter Reyanna’s chambers without knocking? Surely the door would be locked. There was little doubt what he would see. The idea both enticing and distasteful considering who she’s with

Hawks reached Reyanna’s chamber door and banged on it. “Anna, I’m back!”

Shouta lifted his head and slowly turned to the closed door, a snarl curling his lip.

Reyanna jumped at the sudden knock. Damn it! She had told Luna she didn’t want to be disturbed. The woman might not approve of her accepting Shouta’s irregular calls to the castle; but Luna’s unique interpretation of a servants code of service had her strictly adhering to any direct orders.

“Tell him to go away, before I make him go away for good.” Shouta growled out, turning to face her.

Reyanna swallowed, wiggling in the air, her Lover’s deep, gruff voice doing things to her. She would have placed a calming hand to his bare chest if her hands weren’t tied behind her back.

There was no need for Reyanna to call out anything. The two heard some harsh, heated words whispered back a forth between Luna and Hawks, followed by the sound of the Archangel and Witch departing.

“Sorry.” Reyanna apologized. She shivered at the fiery possessiveness shining in the Daimon’s dark eyes. “I told her I didn’t–”

“Stop squirming.” Shouta commanded, sharply.

Reyanna fell silent and forced herself to be still. She hadn’t even realized she was wiggling nervously in her bonds; but the way she swayed from the beam she hung from, her toes barely brushing the floor, told her she had been.

“Do you know how much planning and risk goes into getting away from hell and meeting you like this?” Shouta asked, circling around her, his fingertips grazing her naked body as he did so.

“Yes. That’s why–”

“That was rhetorical. Hush.” Shouta silenced.

Reyanna pressed her lips together, keenly aware Shouta was angry and she was at his mercy. Of course she could get out of such simple, non-spelled, ties if she really wanted to, and Shouta would never truly hurt her; but that knowledge didn’t mean much where her body’s reaction was concerned. Once again she unconsciously started squirming, her hips dancing, legs squeezing together.

Shouta’s gaze panned over her, smirking internally at the display. Though the thought of how Hawks had disturbed them. How Hawks had presumed to bang on his Love’s door and inform her he was back, as if the Archangel’s insignificant presence mattered one speck to his Kitten, made him frown.

Their time together was precious, sporadic, and never long enough, and yet the Archangel that lived with her had interrupted their time together. The Archangel that lived with her…

Shouta ground his teeth. Just because Hawks watched over and protected Reyanna when he or Hizashi couldn’t, didn’t mean that Shouta was grateful. If anything, he hated Hawks all the more for the Archangel’s free, unattached ability to look after his Love. It made Shouta want to remain and drive Hawks away, so he could see to Reyanna’s safe keeping himself. But he couldn’t leave hell yet. Not until he had some certainty that she was safe from Lucifer and Kai.

“Our time together is short enough as it is. I won’t abide disturbances.

“I said, sorry!” Reyanna sassed.

“I don’t want your apology. I want to hear that it won’t ever happen again.”

Something about his tone and behavior was turning her on and making her mad at the same time. Because of this she snipped. “I can’t control what other people do.”

Shouta smacked her bare ass, making her jump. Cute, he thought seeing the way her legs squeezed together at the spank.

“Someone seems to have forgotten the way of things.” He said, voice lightly scolding. His hand smoothed over where he struck, though the spank had barely been hard enough to pink-en the skin. “When I tell you to do something, you obey.”

“That was back in hell, when you were my Instructor. I do what I want now–” She yipped, another slap hitting her ass, this one harder.

“No doubt a great many things have changed for you in the two years since you left hell. This isn’t one of them. You will obey me, same as you ever did, and will continue to do so for the rest of our days. Am I understood?”

Reyanna glared at him, her bratty pout ruining the fearsome image and making Shouta internally fawn over her.

His expression remaining as unaffected as ever, Shouta questioned. “Do I need to remind you what happens when you don’t obey?”

“What?” Reyanna asked, sourly. “You gonna give me extra lessons?”

Shouta pressed his aching cock against her hip. “Oh, I’ll give you a lesson alright Kitten.”

Her breath caught, eyes lowering to the tented black fabric. She had somehow forgotten he still had his pants on, which strangely made her feel all the more helpless in her bound, nakedness.

Suddenly he stood back and spun her around. She was tied in such a way that the pull of the twisting cord that she hung from tightened but didn’t become uncomfortable.

“Shouta!” Reyanna squealed, legs flailing before stretching down in attempt to stop herself from spinning.

All she managed to do was slow herself down, as her toes brushed the floor. She began to turn in the opposite direction and cursed.

“Shouta.”

The Daimon chuckled. His eyes roved over her. She looked like the finest of treats hung up and on display, just asking to be enjoyed and savored. His mouth watered. Licking his lips he hummed, finding that remnants of her arousal still clung to them. Her taste drove his thirst for her all the higher.

Stepping back to her, he gripped her hips, and stopped her spinning.

“Where were we?” He asked, returning to his knees.

All ire at her Lover’s treatment left the instant Shouta licked a long stripe up her swollen folds. Reyanna sucked in a breath when his fingers spread her lower lips, exposing her completely to him.

“So pretty.” Shouta murmured, taking in the sight of her wet heat.

“Shouta.” Her tone completely different from the stern, scolding of before.

Shouta grinned up at her. “What’s the matter Anna? All that stubborn pride and willfulness suddenly gone?”

“You said it yourself, our time together is short. It would be illogical to see it wasted over petty grievances.”

He arched an eyebrow, thumb pressing lightly against her clit.

“True.” He agreed. “But I will take the time to show you just how dependent you are on me. Give you a refresher lesson on who you belong to. That way when that crimson feather bird brain knocks on your door, you don’t hesitate to send him away.”

What? Was she actually in trouble and going to be punished for something that wasn’t her fault? She had told—pleasure made her mind go blank.

Shouta smirked around her clit, humming in response to her moan. Damn. He love how vocal she could be. Loved her sweet taste and heady smell. He gave a light suck before moving to tease her entrance with his tongue.

Reyanna whined, Shouta’s tender sucks and light lapping tongue far more teasing than purposeful. It was more like he was licking the honey off a treat. Sampling instead of feasting.

When he finally pushed his tongue inside her, it nearly took her breathe away.

Reyanna bit her lip, swallowing the thank you that almost slipped out of her mouth. She would be damned if she was going to feed his already inflated ego.

Shouta felt her begin to flutter and clamp down of his invading tongue. His eyes flicked open to stare up at her. Damn. She was beautiful. Her musical moans, quivering body, and cute scrunch of her sweet face almost made him give in and let her have her orgasm. But he had said he was going to remind her who she belonged to. Show her just how dependent she was on him.

Reyanna gave a whining growl of frustrated disappoint when Shouta pulled back, leaving her at the edge of her peak.

“Shouta.” She said, her voice once again stern and scolding.

Shouta licked her juices from his lips. “I told you. You’re getting a lesson.”

“What happened to our time together being short?”

Shouta’s smile showed too many teeth. “Short as it is, I’ll always take the time to savor you, Kitten.”

Seeing the smile she loved so much made Reyanna’s heart flutter. She would do anything. Tolerate and suffer anything. Just to see him smile like that at her.

She groaned, hips swaying as his thumbs rubbed circles into them. She needed him to touch her; and though he technically was, it wasn’t in the way she wanted.

He put his mouth to her once more, alternating between licking and thrusting his tongue into her. He brought her to the edge again, and pulled back just before she went over.

“Shouta!” She thrashed in her bindings.

“What’s the matter Anna? Do you want to cum?”

“You know I do. Why are you being mean and teasing me?”

Usually he did it for the fun and control of it, but this time there was a clear purpose behind it.

“I told you.”

“So you want me to know that I’m yours and only you can please me. Fine! Consider me reminded.”

Shouta slowly rose to his feet, his eyes never once leaving hers. “You got the reasoning of it, but aren’t anywhere close to showing you know and accept those facts.”

His heated gaze and low, stern voice had Reyanna showing the first signs of breaking. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll do it…so long as it’s reasonable.”

Proud, willful Kitten, Shouta thought. If only she hadn’t added that end tag, he might have ignored the lack of pleading in her tone and shown mercy, telling her. Instead she earned herself another edging, this time with his thick fingers.

“Shouta please!” Reyanna whined when he pulled away again. “I want to cum. Tell me what you want!”

“So close.” Shouta tisked.

His Love was still making demands. Still carried an edge of authority to her voice, like she was the one in control here.

“I may end up drawing this out just because you’re being so difficult.” Shouta said, his deep, rumbling voice feeding the heated arousal in her core.

“How is saying, tell me what you want and I’ll do it, being difficult? If anyone’s being difficult it’s you.”

“Clearly this is a lesson you were in dire need of revisiting.” Shouta sighed. “I’m almost glad Hawks disturbed us.”

“Hawks?” Reyanna questioned, her needy, deprived system making her forget how Shouta had brought up and called the Archangel a crimson feathered bird brain near the start of this torment. “What does this have to do with Hawk–”

“Don’t say his name.” Shouta snapped as he spanked her sharply, his jealously making his hand come down harder than intended.

Reyanna squeaked at the stinging burst and blooming heat that followed. The slap hadn’t been more than she could take, but the surprise and force of it had her squirming. The slight pain adding to her hungry pleasure, making her writhe.

Recovering, Shouta’s hand caressed her heated butt cheek.

“You don’t say his name. Not while we’re together like this. Understood.”

She blinked at him, understanding finally dawning. “You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” Shouta huffed. “You think I’m jealous? Trust me, Kitten, you haven’t even seen jealousy.”

Before she could say anything else, his fingers dipped back into her.

When he pulled away again, leaving her literally and sexually hanging, Reyanna knew exactly what she had to say to get her way.

“Shouta please! I’m sorry!” She begged, far to desperate for release to care how pathetic she sounded. “I know I’m yours. Everyone in the estate knows I’m yours. There’s no one else I’d rather belong to than you. It’s you who loves me and protects me. Who makes me feel like no one else ever could.”

His lip curled slightly at that.

“Not that they’d ever get a chance to try.” She hurried to add. “I’d never let them. Cause, I love you. There will never be anyone else for me. I was yours long before our first time together.”

Shouta blinked at that. “You were.”

“Yes.” Reyanna said firmly, all stress and pleading gone for her voice. “I gave myself to you long before you claimed me.”

Shouta doubted that, but she was talking about his claiming her during their first time together.

“I love you, Shou. It kills me being away from you. I hate it when you leave.” She huffed. “Luna chastises me for weeks after, telling me to stop sulking.”

“It breaks me, having to leave you.” He told, his hand moving to tug at the knots that held her secure.

With a couple pulls she was free of her bonds, though still unable to touch the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Then stay. Please.”

Shouta growled. “I can’t. You know–”

She kissed him, not wanting to waste any more time on an argument she had lost countless times already.

He carried her over to the bed, lowering her down, and climbing over her.

“You’re not going to tease me anymore, are you?”

“No.” Shouta answered, the look in his eyes filled with predatory hunger. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want, till you’re begging me to stop.”

#aizawa shouta #yandere aizawa #bnha #chaos #asks #promtps

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infjabberwocky · 4 years

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imagine if she was on something...

ARCHIVE FROM SEPTEMBER 8, 2019

Having just turned 50, I decided to reflect on my life.

Why am I unemployed. Why do none of my old friends speak to me?

Why do I get angry at people for the slightest misstep that I perceive to be an attack against me?

Why have I been unable to hold onto any relationship whether it is romantic or platonic.

Why do I constantly feel attacked and insulted when there is no real attack or insult.

Why do I feel superior to everyone on the planet one moment and then start bawling because I feel like a worthless piece of shit, horrible person the next.

Why do I dwell for weeks on something that happened 30 years ago? Why do I beat myself up over something I did as a kid? Why do I beat myself up over nearly everything I do or say?

Why does someone bumping into me at the grocery store and not apologizing send me into a suicidal frenzy? A frenzy of self-loathing and tears and dread and believing that I have nothing but bad luck and that the universe must hate me.

I chain smoke and talk to myself while I plan my own demise. How dare someone give me a dirty look. How dare someone question my Twitter post. How dare someone not value my opinion.

So, I asked some acquaintances what they liked and disliked about me so I could, hopefully, change.

Their answers were not kind. They weren’t mean, but something about what they said shocked me because I never really viewed myself as what they described. I often view myself as better than most. Nicer than most. More polite than most. A better friend than most. Turns out, I’m none of that. I’m just a narcissist who overreacts to just about everything in (mostly) silent self-deprecation. Let me backtrack to the early 70s. I’m around 5 or 6. I’m across the street at my best friends apartment. We lived in Navy Housing. I run back to my house to grab something and run back, only I can’t remember what apartment she lives in. I’d been there 100 times, but I couldn’t remember. By the way, I have an enormous dent in the back of my skull that no one would tell me about. Anyway, I can’t remember what apartment, so I just start opening random doors. A large naked man saw me, laughed and invited me in. I panic, run out of the building, into my room and crawl under the covers where I stayed for days. I didn’t eat and spoke to no one. In fact, I was so mortified that I never saw my best friend, again. Seriously. And that’s how my brain has worked ever since.

The internet gave me the chance to whine to everyone. Any chance I got, I’d whine about my terrible life. My lack of friends. My lack of romance. How no one liked me because I was ugly. I valued myself based on my looks. No one is ever attracted to me. I’m too ugly to live. I should just kill myself and put everyone out of their misery by having me gone.

I drank. A lot. It either soothed me or heightened my insecurities like waking up to a flashlight in my face.

I’ve been told to seek therapy thousands of times, even by my employer, but was either too embarrassed or assumed that I knew better than any doctor. I am, after all, smarter than everyone…until I remember that I’m actually dumber than everyone. I wish that I had kept a journal. However, I’m pretty sure that it would just be a lot of nonsensical writings blaming everyone and everything for my behavior. Someone was mean to me. Someone didn’t appreciate all of the things I did for them. Someone thought I was ugly and fat. Someone didn’t like my hair. Someone molested me. Someone didn’t love me. Someone didn’t pay attention to me. Someone lied to me. Someone avoided me. Now I’m in the introspection phase. I’m trying to put my behavior and lack of motivation together like a massive jigsaw puzzle. Want to come with me? Put your seatbelt on. Better grab a crash helmet, too, because this may get bumpy.

So, in 2013 I had reached the tipping point of being miserable at work. I was a radio personality at a very popular radio station in southern California. I had worked there since 1989. My original goal was to be a DJ, but took any job I was offered just to keep my foot in the door. I started out answering phones for the jocks. I…I’m having trouble describing myself at this time because I was young and don’t know if I was just reckless or knee-deep into a mental disorder. In any event, I was hard-working, yet lazy. I chatted with listeners more than I worked. I was threatened with being fired weekly, but for some reason, never was. My behavior would change for a few days and when things cooled down, I’d go right back to doing what I was told not to. I assumed that I was so beloved, that I’d go far in no time. That didn’t happen. Around this time, I started drinking. I’d take a sippy cup full of King Cobra in the car with me to drink on the way to work or school. Eventually, I was kicked out of college for lack of attendance and poor grades and that just confirmed that I was stupid. I would take a break from school, make up an excuse, petition and be allowed to re-enroll. This happened over and over. I’d make friends, have sex with most of them and never speak to them again. I’d fall in love. I’d fall out of love after they’d do something insignificant that annoyed me. I struggled financially. I went to my parents for money constantly. I stole money from my parents. I’ve never done drugs, only smoked pot a few times but drank a ton of beer I needed it to survive. I was outrageously promiscuous. Always looking for someone to love me, even if it was only for a few hours. When they didn’t love me back, they were banished from my life. I was like this for decades. I could go into story after story and example after example of my lazy, destructive, self-loathing, whiny behavior but it will just trigger me and if you are relating to anything I’m writing, it may trigger you, too. Let’s just avoid that for now. I will add, however, that I chose friends who talked down to me. Who talked shit about me to our peers. Who paid attention to me in negative, judgmental ways. I hated my friends but begged them to like me. I would make friends who were truly nice to me and end up hating them over some minor infraction like using my hairbrush or playfully making fun of me. Nerves were always touched, or should I say torched. I’d plan to kill myself only AFTER I did something to make them regret hurting me. I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them, right? When I was younger, I’d keep my anger and bitterness internalized. When I started drinking, it came out for the world to see. When I got older, I’d internalize it again and when social media became popular, I’d write it for the world to see. Every gripe. Every perceived slight. Every comment was an insult. Every suggestion was a jab at me. Every joke was really an opinion of my faults. See how my brain works? I always assumed I had raging PMS even though my self-loathing and anger was constant. Then, I thought I had raging ADD, which may or may not be true, but probably not the cause of my suicidal tendencies.

After I became a parent, I was so afraid of fucking my kid up that I drank more thinking it would help. Obviously, it made things a gazillion times worse. I was a functioning alcoholic. I was drunk nearly all day, every day. I hid it. At least, I assumed I did. I was an awful human being, so I doubt I hid it well. Here’s the thing, though. I thought I was funny. I was named Class Clown in high school. People at the radio station seemed to like me. The listeners liked me. I got good ratings. Everyone loved me. I think. I became obsessed with sex. I watched porn at work constantly. I got in trouble at work constantly. I eventually became a DJ after 12 years. I slept with anyone who asked. I came to work drunk and left even drunker. I had sex at work, after work before work. I was a terrible mother. Not abusive, but only thought of myself. Everything was an inconvenience to me. I divorced. I slept around more. I liked unavailable men. I hated everyone. I loathed myself. I resented everyone. I was constantly struggling financially. I never felt in control of anything. Not my surroundings, not my brain, not my body, not my career, not my choices. I always felt as if I was being pulled by someone else’s strings, but nobody was there except me. I used to fly off the handle over the smallest incidents. I mean teeny. My poor kid. The shit he had to go through watching me lose my fucking mind over dead batteries in the remote. Jesus Christ if I could go back in time. I assumed my outbursts were because of my drinking. Then I assumed they were because I was a failure at everything and feeling sorry for myself. Then, after 26 years, I finally got fired. Oh. My. God. Wanna talk about a trigger? Thing is. I quit drinking. I quit cold turkey. A few years earlier, three family members died months apart so I was still dealing with packing up their house and I just didn’t have time to drink. No time for hangovers. I also decided to alienate myself from EVERYONE. I didn’t have a job, I was worthless. I lost my only sense of identity. Being that girl on the radio. Turns out that those who no longer HAD to talk to me, didn’t. I lost all of my ‘friends’ and that’s something that pissed me off immensely up until a few days ago. I harbored resentment for YEARS. So, I get fired. Get my real estate license for CA, realize that I’m terrible at math and have horrific dyslexia and decided to LEAVE CA and move to Colorado to live with my mother who I hadn’t seen in 10 years. There’s so much that happens in between this but honestly, my brain is going 5,000 mph so I’ll have to come back to it later. I mean, up until a few hours ago, I thought I was the nicest person on earth. I never kill bugs, I put them outside. I feed stray cats. I picked dead animals up in the rod and pay for their cremation. I pull furniture out of the road so cars don’t run over it. But maybe I’m not nice. Maybe I’m just seeking validation. Maybe I just wrote that so you’d think I was amazing. Yes, I had an unloving mother (still do) who either ignored me completely or verbally abused me. When I told her that a close family member was sexually abusing me, she became furious with me and said that she’d speak to him about it. Nothing ever changed. I digress. I moved to Colorado and have made no friends, cannot find work and am broker than a mother fucker. I take surveys for spending money. I have a car that has a broken computer and am unmotivated to do anything but whine and cry and contemplate suicide. None of my former colleges speak to me. They claim to be afraid of my wrath. Although, I must admit that there were times that I loved being intimidating. I loved that people were afraid of me. Maybe because I was bullied severely in junior high. I don’t know. So, like I said…and I’m sorry that this is all over the place…I decided to figure out what my major malfunction really was rather than blame everyone else for my woes. I started watching tarot videos and they were all on point (there were a few times in my life that I believed I was a sorcerer and could control everything though magic, but that’s for another time). These videos were mostly ‘pick a card’ or Virgo specific and they were all nail on head. One video would lead me to another, to another, and so on. Then, I started watching videos about having an unloving, neglectful mother. Then I started looking up how to commit suicide. Then I started looking up videos on how to change my personality. Then, I had a meltdown. I was waiting to make a left turn when I noticed the older female driver behind me waving her arms and screaming (presumably at me). I have a Jeep and it’s hard for a car to see what I see. As I waited for the two cars in front of me to turn so I could make mine, I couldn’t stop watching her flipping me off and flailing about in frustration over my lack of movement and it triggered me HARD. I came home and cried and planned my suicide and cried some more and begged God to kill me over this stranger who was in the wrong lane, freaking out over me abiding by traffic laws. Then I dawned on me that there may be something going on in my brain that is making me behave like this. This constant all or nothing overreaction. The, either you love me or you hate my guts thing. The anxiety, the depression, the whining, the negativity, the self-loathing, the hatred of every living person on the planet. I’ve even hated my own kid for weeks because he said something to me that hurt my feelings. Can you imagine? He’s 25 and still lives with me, but that’s also another story. Just like the fact I live with my narcissistic, unloving mother who makes me want to slit my throat. All for another time. I was so exhausted living in my own world of believing that everything inconvenient that happens to me is bad luck. Someone didn’t smile at me, bad luck I’d better burn the shirt I’m wearing. Do I sound crazy? Yes. Do I know what to do about it having zero income? No. Going back to my mother for a second, she just triggered me. I’m trying to self-soothe as I type this. She does this thing where if she needs help or wants me to do something for her, she screams. Like, a scream you’d make when you catch someone breaking into your car. Screams. So, I always end up running downstairs only to discover that she dropped something or her TV remote doesn’t work. She refers to me as, ‘someone’ and ‘anyone’. Never by my name. Waiting for my heart stop racing…you’d think I’d be used to this. Her behavior is my biggest trigger. I had a boss who reminded me of her. A boss who actually called me a cunt once for posting on my Facebook that ‘d be better off dead. Called me a cunt. To my face. For everyone to hear. Now, I’m glad she fired me. How much more of THAT could I have taken? Oh, wait. I’m still taking it, but this time I’m not getting paid. My goal is to get out of here and never return.

I’m going to assume that I’m mentally ill. I haven’t been in a relationship since 2007. I haven’t had sex since 2011 because I’m afraid ghosts are watching me. I haven’t had a drink since 2014 and I haven’t had a face to face conversation with another human being since 2015. What has happened to me? Am I mentally ill? It has to be more than depression. It has to be more than bipolar. Nothing brings me joy. I’m paranoid. I used to be fun and creative and now I hate myself even more than ever, yet I admire myself. I want to die yet I want to see if something good will happen. I want to be loved yet I don’t want to go through the trouble. I’m not hungry yet I’ll eat junk food until I can’t put on my pants. I can’t even masturbate because I feel like it’s going to bring me bad luck. The thing is, I am fully aware of how insane this sounds. I’m aware that this is not normal, I just can’t stop myself. I’ve learned to hold in my verbal abuse because I avoid confrontation like the plague now. I’ve always kind of avoided it, but booze made it easier. Now, I’ll apologize for things I’m not even sorry for. Things I didn’t even do wrong just to avoid ANY conflict. I’m even avoiding social media. Some girl came after me on NextDoor last week and I actually put a hose in my tailpipe. Over some stranger. On fucking NextDoor. The blessing is that no one will ever read this. No one likes me and no one reads my blogs and fuck if I’m going to advertise this. I need help. I believe if I can fix whatever is going on in my brain, I can function like a 50-year-old adult, find work, maybe even love and live adequately ever after. I guess you’re going to judge me, now. It will trigger me and I’ll cry and probably try to kill myself, but you’ll think I’m looking for sympathy or being melodramatic. I’m not looking for sympathy for the devil, just a little tenderness. Yes, I realize that this looks like just a massive blog of bitching, moaning and complaining but I’m trying to show how my mind works, not whine. Well, whine a little. It’s really all I’ve got right now.

Until my next manic meltdown…

#INFJ VIRGO

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lostlonelylotus · 4 years

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Another Hiatus?

straight up thinking of taking another hiatus from Tumblr...I hate to, but I’m thinking maybe this place just isn’t good for me, even after such a long time away in the first place. More under the cut, if anyone wants to read it.

So, I struggle with a lot on a daily basis. Things that I don’t even tell what few people are around me in real life, because frankly, I don’t really have anyone to tell that I think would want to help. I’ve had to end a great deal of my friendships because they were unhealthy/toxic and others ended because I’m disabled and cannot keep up with more “social” or outgoing people (which unfortunately is usually interpreted as disinterest because of constant rescheduling or inability to go out).

No one even knows that I’ve started a particularly hard round of chemotherapy that involves painful injections, because I worry that people just get sick of hearing how I’m actually doing versus the image of me they think should be real. I lie and say that I’m fine, when I’m struggling mentally and physically. Very few people know that I’m in such severe constant pain that even with strong opiates, medical cannabis, benzodiazepines and constantly watching my diet, I’m spending 12+ hours a day in bed. I never get below a 6/10 anymore. I can’t remember what anything below that feels like. My body tortures me every waking minute.

I’m back to where I started when I began treatment in 2012 and my mental health has taken a nose dive because it all just feels so futile, you know? Treatment after treatment, surgery after surgery, fighting tooth and nail to have the bare bones of a life only to fail and wind up at square one is...Hell.

Add onto that, that I can’t get a FT job (so no PTO or good health insurance) despite having multiple degrees and that I had a position lined up before COVID that might now no longer even exist when this is all over + that the Part Time job I have that I love has completely changed now that I’m work from home and I HATE these new tasks and miss my coworkers + that I live with an actively abusive family member + that I have no friends beyond surface-level acquaintances despite so much effort to try and make and keep friends + that I’ve struggled my whole life with internalization of everything...and you’ve got a walking disaster of a human being who should probably nowhere near this site.

My therapist is through the school I graduated from, so I can’t even see them, and it wouldn’t matter because our relationship has progressed too far and they just treat my visits like a social hour and we never even talk about my real problems. It’s pretty damn pathetic when your needs don’t even matter to your therapist.

In real life, I’m a doormat to people’s needs. You need a house sitter? That’s me and they’ll pay me pennies to do it. You need someone to teach your children during COVID because we’re co-distancing? You need someone to drop everything and help you? That’s me. But when I need something, anything? A cup of tea or a genuinely asked “How are you?”? Forget it.

I miss fandom. I miss the escape. I miss the discourse. I miss the photosets and the freaking out over characters. I miss fandom buddies.

My experience of fandom since I last left Tumblr maybe 2-3 years ago has been very solitary. AO3 fics that I *do* comment on or discord servers where I’m one of dozens or more of people that no one can really remember because it’s hard to try to “compete” to be heard with 5 other people who are friends that are talking in depth about parts of fandom that you are new to...that and Google bloody Images have been my fandom for the past 2 years.

It’s fucking lonely out here. I feel like a fandom cowboy, alone on a prairie, occasionally passing by other cowboys and wrangling the livestock together for a moment before heading on with a half-hearted tip of our hats. It’s more than likely the reason why I haven’t published a fic in nearly 2 years, even though I’ve completed 1 or 2 little ones. I used to write all the time, all the time. Fics, ficlets, drabbles, headcanons. Screaming into the void is so much harder than just sitting there with your eyes closed and pretending there is no void.

I got into Classic Doctor Who and back into a few “older”/smaller fandoms, and when there’s no fic to be had...your only option really is Tumblr. I was writing again (am writing again?), and the photo/gif sets and the meta had me fucking inspired for the first time in...so long. I was addicted to writing again. Wrote more in the last two weeks than I have in years. Started writing a fic that’s already longer than any I’ve ever written before.

I thought I could handle it, Tumblr helped so much before in the Golden Days of Tumblr. I became part of a huge fandom friend group on Skype back then. I had friends. I had true fandom, not this bizarre one-person-imaginings experience of fandom.

I was able to see something triggering or an opinion I disagreed with or deal with bad anons or any of the bad parts of Tumblr. I was able to see just the good, overall.

But, now, I don’t know that I can? I’m too internalizing now? Someone replies to a post with a minor disagreement and it makes me hate myself. I get a slightly disgruntled anon and I cry. People don’t tag very triggering or super stressful political items anymore, so I can’t “unplug” when I need to avoid seeing things about riots and horrendous crimes against people and so I wind up with an additional panic attack because I can’t do anything about anything.

I don’t know if the vibe of this place has changed or if I’ve become one of the dreaded and dreadful “snowflakes” who just can’t handle shit. I think both, honestly.

And it fucking sucks, okay? Because I was starting to get back into the swing of liking this place. I was starting to branch out and reconnect with folks I knew from before that were/are wonderful or make new fandom acquaintances. I had the carrot of having a collection of true fandoms in front of me. Of feeling connected in this time of horrendous isolation (both for the world and me personally).

But the stick is so much bigger than I remember. So much larger and harder; a tree trunk log instead of a twig switch. I’m not taking little love taps or slightly stinging slaps, I’m being beaten with it. By it.

I don’t know what to do. I want to keep Tumbling. I want to keep building friendships and talking about dumb fandom things. I want to reblog old gifsets and have convos in the tags. I want to share fics/art back and forth. I live for the discussions that I’m starting to have again. I live for seeing 3 bloody notes on an original post I made. I live for knowing that someone, somewhere is seeing something I wrote or made or said and likes it.

I don’t want the internalization of disagreements, of a perceived inferiority to other users, of feeling bad about myself over things that aren’t even a big deal on Tumblr but are to me. I don’t want to feel even more ‘less than’ than I already do.

I don’t want to feel extreme anxiety over the insanity of the world that I can’t escape even on here because tagging is a thing of the past and it’s apparently a major faux pas to ask for tags on triggering content, even if I fully support the matters tagged. I live the insanity okay? I’m a queer, disabled, person of color, in the small-town Midwest living in poverty. I’m not some racist who just doesn’t want to see your protest content. I’m struggling to get by.

Maybe I’ll just stop producing content? Only reblog and like? Only comb through character tags or chat with some of the fantastic people that have offered? My inspiration is declining, along with my mood.

I’d honestly contemplate a permanent hiatus (just not a deletion) if all of the fandoms that I was in had discords, but they don’t. If they do, I don’t know about them. Though, honestly, discord is not the same, and I always feel even more insignificant there. Drowned out or unimportant.

Huh. Drowned out or unimportant, that could really be the title of this pity post. Possibly the title of an autobiography, if I was ever self-indulgent enough to write one.

If you’ve read this whole thing, then wow. Thank you, because you’ve just given more of a shit about me and my feelings than anyone in a long, long time.

This post probably won’t be up long, it was honestly meant to be a pity-party cathartic release of feelings and will, no doubt, make me feel more pathetic the longer I leave it up.

#fandom #personal #I'm contemplating leaving Tumblr again #I just don't know

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markswoman · 5 years

Text

competition | hrj

there were three things that needed to change. first, huang renjun needed shitty vision again. two, he needed to go back to being shorter than you. three, he needed to stop trying so hard to compete.

pairing | slytherin!renjun x ravenclaw!reader | enemies to lovers!au | 5.1k

warning: profanity, sex jokes, mild violence

an: happy birthday @renjunite i hope all your wishes come true!! i love you so much and would give you the world ♡

At the age of fourteen, you met Huang Renjun as the boy tripped and fell in the aisle of the train as he accidentally got hit with the trolley. Not that it was your problem, however. You weren’t the one that had been run flat, so you minded your own business and went to show off the new magical watch your father had gotten you over the summer. The last thing on his mind was some petty boy who couldn’t see what was in front of him. An imbecile, he was, and that’s how you saw him. To your surprise, however, you found that Renjun was a transfer from another school for magical beings located in Scotland. Then, after he placed in Slytherin, he left you to wonder if the hat had caught mad cow disease or anything of the sort that might’ve caused its judgment to go awry. But then you shrugged. It wasn’t any of your business at all to even pay attention to an insignificant boy, who he later found out was a halfblood, son of two well-known professors in the magical arts. That must have also been a mistake, too. The kid didn’t seem like the type to be born into an intellectual family—according to you. – Things changed gradually over the years to a point where you were tossing and turning late at night because of him. Who the hell gave Huang Renjun permission to get praised? It was always you who were praised for your work, but now the latter was stealing it like he was stealing the eyes of everyone around them! You would sometimes mutter to yourself, cursing the bastard who fixed Renjun’s vision, ridding the boy of his thick black rimmed glasses. And then you’d curse the witch who was responsible for his polishing looks, because now, Huang Renjun looked like some super model out of a muggle mag.

Being in Ravenclaw, you took pride in being smart, top wizard in all your classes, but by the time seventh year came, your throne of glory was being threatened by the very kid who was once almost crushed by a trolley. – “You all should’ve studied harder, because it seems like Renjun was the only one who spent time doing so.” It was so tempting for you to flick your wand and have your fat eighty-nine marks gone from your sight. Almost willingly, you wished that Renjun would turn around and look back at you. For what reason? You didn't know. You just wanted a reason to hate the guy even more than you already did because that’s how the nature of things were. After class ended, you put all your things in your bag and stood behind the crowd with your arms crossed, waiting for everyone to get out. Not much to your surprise, Renjun was right behind you. “So, what’d you get?” “None of your business,” you dismissed quickly, chin raised in the air. Noticing how a few kids turned their heads towards them, you scowled, frightening them and their attention away. “I did ask if you wanted help studying,” Renjun said, shrugging off the cold attitude he was being given. “You told me no. If I remember correctly, you said, ‘Go to hell, like I’d ever want your help!’ and I don’t forget things very easily.” “Amazing! Then you’ll remember this!” You exclaimed as you finally reached the exit. Then you spun around flipping your middle finger in front of Renjun’s face before quickly merging in the busy hall. “Bye.” Admiring eyes were on you as you walked past several students. Grinning, you flipped your hair casually, running your slim fingers through it for effect. As much as you liked being above everyone in intellect, you also lathered yourself in their admiration. In fact, it was so— Then he heard the Slytherin’s name. Stopping in his track, you flipped his head around and saw the Slytherin shyly wave at the girls that were just admiring him. Oh, those wenches were never loyal anyway. Huffing, you took a left, heading to the library. – There were three things that needed to change. First, Huang Renjun needed shitty vision again. Two, he needed to go back to being shorter than you. Three, he needed to stop trying so hard to compete. At first, you didn’t think too much about it. So what if the Slytherin got a few higher marks than you? It was just luck anyways. Not everyone in Slytherin was that smart; this you knew from your experience of beating them time and time again on exams. Renjun shouldn’t have been an exception. But he was. And the minute he started appearing on your radar, it was clear to the Ravenclaw that the latter had an ulterior motive, and that was to dethrone you of your reputation. – “Baneberry Potion. Consists of ten Baneberry berries…fifteen drops of snake venom…a drop of…Fuck.” Resting your head on your book, you groaned. What time was it? It seemed like it was past midnight already, but you knew that wasn’t possible unless the librarian closed the establishment with you still inside. If that were ever the case, you could just file a claim against the woman and have the ministry fire her. Easy. Simple. Nothing like studying. Lazily lifting your head again, you flipped the page and closed your eyes, trying to recall the formulas and the history behind it all. You were almost sure you were muttering sluggishly through it. However, it was even difficult for you to hear yourself. “Drought of Living Death… Worm wood…a root of a…as…aspho—” “Asphodel.” Would you feel anything if you just inflicted the Avada Kedavra curse on yourself? Curiosity did kill the cat, but you weren’t about to die just yet. That would’ve meant letting Renjun win the silent war. Inhaling sharply to yourself, you mustered the strength to smile very coldly at the Slytherin who was leaning against the shelf with his arms crossed and head cocked at you. Having him stand in that position made you slightly irritated. What gave him the right to look like that? Or to look at you like that? It almost looked like he was staring at you with some type of admiration sparkling in his eyes… Disgusting. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Huang?” “Maybe. Isn’t it past yours?” “Yes, but let’s just say, like my house’s mascot, I’m slightly nocturnal.” Ruffling your hair, you asked, “What’re you doing here?” “Studying. Jaemin and Jisung wouldn’t keep quiet in the common room, so I had to come here.” "Then how unfortunate of you to randomly stumble in my corner. Now, do you mind?” Frowning, Renjun made no move to take the hint and leave. Instead, he stayed as he was. “If you’re studying for the Potions exam next Friday, I can help.” “I’m fine, Slytherin. You can disappear like your snaggletooth.” Unamused, Renjun walked over and closed the book in front of the Ravenclaw, taking it into his possession and placing it aside. “I can almost feel the love from here,” he said, smiling almost sarcastically as he leaned in, bursting your comfort bubble. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You don’t even have that snaggletooth. Since you fixed it with those things called…called, you know. Braces, or something. Now your mouth looks fine.” “Doesn’t it? I could’ve gotten it fixed through magic, but mother insisted I do it the muggle way so our neighbors wouldn’t be so suspicious. And for your information, braces fix teeth not mouths” For the love of all things good, why were they talking about teeth? Specifically Renjun’s? Disregarding the fact that they were perfect—as stated—and they did make him more attractive than you would’ve liked… “You’re annoying me, Huang,” you said, rising from your head and surprising the Slytherin. “I guess I’ll go study back in the Ravenclaw common room.” “Why don’t you ever accept my help?” The Slytherin said, both hands on the table.

“Simple.” Shrugging, you picked up your book. “I see you as competition, not as a friend. Why would I accept help from an enemy.” “But I’m not your enemy.” Rubbing his forehead, Renjun groaned. “Is this because I get higher marks than you?” “Did it really just hit you right now?” “Okay, I admit it that I do like beating you—” Ha! So you weren’t crazy and overly paranoid! You were internally celebrating the fact that you were right when all your friends told you that you were just an overly obsessive— “It’s really not hard to score higher than you either.” Okay. The victory celebration died a little bit. What? “And sometimes, I purposely do bad because you make that face when you think you do good and you look so cu—” Scratch everything. You were about to thrust your book out the castle, shattering historic windows while at it. You wanted to know when those times were—the times when Renjun let you score higher. Then you wanted to strangle the Slytherin for pitying so much that he’d ever do such a thing! But was it pity? Of course it was pity! What the hell were you? A charity case? For heaven's sake, someone might accuse you of cheating, and like hell you’d let that happen. You exploded, but because they were in the library, you only exploded a little bit, which meant you settled to gripping your book and smacking the Slytherin on the head. “No,” you said sternly. “The next time you let me score higher than you on purpose and I find out about it, I’ll kill you. I mean it.” “That hurt.” Touching his head, Renjun winced. “Christ, you hit hard.” “You’re lucky that wasn’t my fist.” “Oh, no. Your tiny fists. Ahhh….” Snorting, Renjun broke out into a chuckle. “Honestly, you’re very funny and cute even when you don’t try.” The only time when you wanted to burst into flames was when someone you liked when you were twelve rejected you in front of your friends. But here was Renjun saying weird things, and oddly enough, you wanted to be engulfed in flames again. “If this is some ploy to get me off track for my exams, you’re wasting your time,” you said confidently, tucking your book under your arm again, still warm with the heat of Renjun’s head. “I’m leaving. Go entertain Jaemin or something.”

You walked down the aisle, heading to the main exit, but was positive the latter was following after. “Hey.” Don’t answer him. It’s not worth it— “Go out with me.” Turning around wasn’t the best idea you ever had. Renjun with his hands in his front pockets was a sight that a lot of students fell for, and it was to no surprise why. “Nice joke. Why don’t you go share it with that elf friend of yours and his stubby dwarf.” “First of all, that’s not nice,” Renjun replied, brows raised. “Sicheng and his girlfriend are a lovely pair. Second, it wasn’t a joke.” “Third, I think you must’ve been mistaken. See here, I don’t like you,” you said slowly, enunciating each word. “You’re a cocky, pity giving, insulting transfer who seems to enjoy making me mad every step of the way.” Groaning, Renjun threw his head back. “I transferred here three years ago, and ever since then, you’ve been more of a villain than what you’re trying to make me sound like. And while we’re on the subject, I wanted to ask you—” Putting a hand up in the air, you signaled him to stop. “Goodnight, Huang.” “I mean it. Will you—” “No, I will not.” However, before you could turn around, Renjun stepped quickly towards you, rendering you dazed with a kiss on the lips. Shocked, you stumbled back, almost dropping your book, but the latter followed. “I did not give you permission to do that!” God, were you stuttering? You couldn’t tell and that was a freakishly bad sign. Did you even sound like yourself? “Why do you hate me?” Focus. What’d he just say? Fuck, your head was still scrambling. “I hate you because you’re you,” you sputtered without a second thought. “You steal the spotlight from me, like what the hell! I used to be every teacher’s favorite, and you just come from…from wherever and—” “Scotland.” “Yeah, okay, Scotland and ever since then it hasn’t been the same. Then you just flaunt your scores in front of me like oh-ha-ha and all I want to do is hit you, but I can’t because I’ve already gotten like ten detentions this year and I’m tired of spending my weekends with crusty professors instead of going to Hogsmeade!” Sighing, Renjun put his hands on his hips, displacing his robes. “Well, you know what I’m tired of? I’m kind of tired of spending hours and hours just studying so I can do better than you when all I’ve been wanting lately is just you in particular, you know that?” “No, and I’d rather not, thanks.” “But it gets you to notice me.” Oh, there were a lot of other things that made you notice him, but you weren’t about to admit anything. “Let’s make a bet.” Interested, you smiled. If there was anything your father taught you, it was to how to gamble, and you were very confident in your betting skills. “I’m listening.” “Score higher than me on two out of three exams. Potions, Herbology, Alchemy. If I mark higher on two, maybe even all three, you have to take me seriously and think about dating me. If you get higher marks, then I’ll leave you alone and we can pretend I never said anything. ” “That’s not fair. You’re number one in Potions.” “But you’re pretty good at Alchemy.” Drawing your lips together, you frowned. “Change Herbology to Arithmancy. It’s unpredictable in that class between you and I. The test is two weeks from now.” “You want me to wait two weeks for you?” “You waited three years, Slytherin. You can wait for two more weeks.” Realizing what you just said, you became flustered. “Not to say that once you’re done waiting, you’ll have me! I’m just saying, you have to wait and see, but fat chance you’ll ever see at all since–” “I understood you the first time, baby.” Who the hell was he calling baby? And why the fuck did you suddenly feel hot in the face. “Okay, well, I’m done talking to you. Bye.” As you walked away, you heard Renjun call out, “No cheating.” “Like I’d ever.” –

You lied but was that really surprising? Ravenclaws were clever, but not always in the most honest way. Shrugging, you walked up the spiraling stairs and stood in front of Slytherin’s door, turning the knob, only to be surprised by a deep, rumbling voice asking you a riddle. “What lies between two planes of existence?” Blinking, you frowned at the knob. Airplanes? Geometric planes? What the fuck was the door talking about? Stepping back, you crossed your arms, looking around to see if anyone was creeping up behind you. Two planes…Two planes… Rubbing your eyes, you groaned. You had no time to think too hard or much about it. Any minute, some Slytherin could make an appearance despite the fact that it was time for their afternoon meal. Thinking hard, you bit your lip as you went through all the possible answers, then suddenly, you remembered Montague, long gone and graduated, but hadn’t he been the poor fellow shoved inside the Vanishing Cabinet and was sent to— “Nothing… There’s nothing there, but limbo. A plane between two planes is where nothing exists, so nothing lies there…At all.” To your ego and pride, you were ecstatic to see that the door opened. Grinning, you quickly let yourself in and was surprised at how airy the common room was. And, of course, there was a bookshelf. There had to be books in a wizardry school. Snorting, you decided to take a fifty-fifty chance and turn to the right, heading to what you hoped was the boys’ dormitory. – Finding Renjun’s bed seemed more of a trouble than you thought it’d be considering everyone’s space seemed to look the same with all the notes and books lying around. Quickly, you flipped through a few books on each bed, checking the names. Eventually, you found the Slytherin’s little corner after finding his books neatly stacked near a perfectly made bed. Carefully placing one book after another off to the side, you stopped when you found the Potions textbook you were looking for. Quickly turning to a bookmarked page, you were pleasantly surprised to find all the notes jotted down on the side, some even on key details you haven’t even thought of. For a moment, you felt jealous, but then decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Hastily, you scanned the page, reading over the notes a few times until you were satisfied with your memory. Then, taking a step back, you pointed your wand at the book and unmercilessly said, “Incendio.” – Renjun's notes were far more useful than you primarily thought. The Potions test was something you could've done with a hand tied behind your back. Really. And when you looked up, you smirked at the struggling Slytherin who became so frustrated that he pulled his tie to become more loose. There were people distracted by the sight, but you who didn’t look at him with attraction like the others did. You had a bet to win, despite your unfair start, but that didn’t matter. Your head needed to be in the game and eyes off the Slytherin’s collarbones. Off. When time was up and the only people who actually finished successfully were you and a few others (though you liked to think that you executed the concoction more perfectly than they), other students stared at them in awe and jealousy and you drank in all their attention, smirking at everyone, intensifying your stare when your eyes met with Renjun’s.

Not to go on without any consequences, you walked a little slower, expecting to be drawn to the side and you were right. Hand on your arm, you were pulled from behind and, without resistance, you scoffed as Renjun walked them to an isolated corner and pressed you against the harsh wall. “What happened to my textbook?” “Hell if I know whatever happened to your stupid book,” you responded, batting your eyelashes. “Maybe you lost it?” “I never lose anything.” “Never say never.” Grinning, you patted the latter on your right cheek. “Because you might just have to get used to it.” Laughing, Renjun rolled his eyes before returning the gesture all the same, patting you on the cheek as well as it being accompanied by a smirk. “We’ll see. What’s next?” Turning your head, you rejected the touch five seconds in. Renjun’s hand was warm. Ew. “Alchemy.” “Then study up.” “No, you.” It was a childish thing to say, but you couldn’t think of anything better to say. “God damn it. I’m leaving.” Pushing against Renjun (it was quite the experience touching him), you smiled before immediately dropping your lips the minute you turned around. The only thing that should be on your mind are numbers and signs, and lots of it. At least, enough to maybe, somehow, predict something in the future. But you felt a little cocky since you ultimately had a feeling on what the future was already. – You cheated the first time, felt some satisfaction, but was confident enough to take the Alchemy exam without sabotaging Renjun’s belongings. However, you soon came to the realization, that, perhaps, you should’ve burned the Slytherin’s alchemy books and other belongings as well. For the second time in two weeks, you felt your face burning with your back against yet another wall in an isolated hall. “Thanks for not burning my textbooks this time.” Renjun grinned, cocking his head. “I really appreciate that you didn’t cheat on this exam.” Letting out a shrill laugh, you put a hand on your waist. “I didn’t burn your stupid book, Huang.” “Mhm.” Wiggling his finger in front of the Ravenclaw’s face, Renjun showed him that perfect row of teeth, making you kind of angry at the fact that he didn’t need those stupid braces anymore. “One and one. Last one’s the tie breaker. Study your numbers, love. Arithmancy is mine and then, you.” Smiling platonically, you raised your brows. “I think you’re confusing your pathetic dreams with reality.” Snorting, Renjun put a hand on the wall, closing in on the unfrightened (just a little bit) Ravenclaw. “Really? We’ll see.” “Huang Renjun, your face is uncomfortable to be in front of.” “Then just close your eyes.” Unamused, you ducked under the Slytherin’s arm and sidestepped him. “I’d rather not let myself be left unguarded for any lip attack, thanks. Bye.” Then you were off, thinking about things other than lips. – There was too much riding on the Arithmancy test to leave it all up to chance and fate. Going back to the Slytherin dormitory, you answered the same riddle and strode systematically with a purpose as you entered the boys’ dormitory. It seemed, however, that Renjun had learned his lesson the first time and hid his textbooks and notes. Even when you pulled out your wand and repeatedly said, “Accio Arithmancy book” or “Accio Huang Renjun’s notes”, nothing came about and it almost made you want to snap your wand in two. Just as you gave up, you spun around on your heel only to see Renjun leaning against the dorm’s door frame. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here, baby.” “Whatever.” You weren’t in the mood. It didn’t even bother you anymore that you were caught since you didn’t have the chance to find and destroy your objectives which were the books and notes taken. Walking over, you pushed Renjun aside and started to make your way out the Slytherin house. “Nice charm. What’d you use…” From behind you, Renjun answered, “I’m surprised you don’t know. Aren't you supposed to be smart?" "I am. So I guess I'll have to beat you the old fashion way." "Hold on, angel. Stop walking." Shockingly, you did stop, surprised at the way your knees buckled. "What?" You said, turning your head. "Since you cheated the first time, don't you think we shouldn't count that particular exam?" There he went. Trying to pry yet another win from your hands, but you weren’t about to uncoil just yet. “Let’s not play stupid, Renjun. You studied off one of your friends, right?” Renjun said nothing. “So regardless, you let me have it the first time, and it still would’ve been the same result regardless of whether or not I came in here to burn a book or two.” Hands on waist, Renjun let out a sigh. “Fine. Okay, I gave you the advantage but only because I knew you’d do well in Alchemy without batting an eye, so I spent most of my time studying that. But for Arithmancy, you and I have to do this exam fair and square.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you replied, grinning. “What’s sweeter than a fair victory?” “Us being together, obviously,” Renjun said without missing a beat. Before you could stutter out anything incoherent, the Slytherin stepped up and put his hand on your back, guiding you to the entrance door. “You have four days. Use them wisely.”

– “Jaemin!” Jumping, the Slytherin looked up and saw the menacing grin on your face. “Yes?” “You have access to Professor Kim’s potions supply closet, right?” Nodding, Jaemin confirmed. “I do. Why?” “I’m going to need you to get me some things.” “Why do you need these things?” As the two pressed around multiple bottles and jars, you shrugged. “I’m trying to save my ass in the most literal sense.” – There were so many books upon books that it looked like a book orgy, but you had no time to think about orgies or sex or anything in particular that had to do with the naughty things in life. You needed to focus, and you were about to go crazy after turning down an invite to roam the castle and cause some trouble with your friends. “I think you were sorted in the wrong house.” “Maybe, deep inside, you’re a Slytherin with all that ambition to beat Renjun.” They were all wrong and it made you mad as you scrawled your notes heavily in your books. If you didn’t study, then you’d have a Slytherin in you, and purely by consent because what moron wouldn’t open up their chamber of secrets if Renjun wanted to slide his Basilisk in there somewhere? Fuck.

You just scribbled nonsense about Basilisks in a book about numerology. Groaning, you flicked your wand, undoing the mistake. Then you grabbed your quill and continued jotting down notes on the theory of numerology before looking over past homework parchments. After studying for an hour, you gave yourself a break, taking the ingredients you stole from Professor Kim’s supply closet and made your way up the prefects’ bathroom, rarely used and often barren. Then, in a stall, you began mixing and stirring your backup plan to ensure that you’d win; the Befuddlement Draught. – Game day, game face. You put a defector charm on yourself so the Befuddlement Draught wouldn’t affect you. The potion made whoever took it confused and reckless, and that was exactly what you wanted to do to Huang Renjun just minutes before the test. Of course, you couldn’t offer him a tainted drink. That’d seem suspicious, but from experience, you did know that the Slytherin wasn’t so opposed to kissing, so you decided to take one for the team, which basically consisted of yourself, so you were essentially doing it for yourself. Taking a sip of the potion, you made sure to hold just enough of it on your tongue to last while you made your way over to Renjun’s desk. Looking up at you, the Slytherin raised his brow. “This is a surprise.” You held the urge to roll your eyes as you leaned down and kissed the boy on the lips. The second phase of the mission was to get the latter to open his mouth, but Renjun had done so willingly. In fact, his tongue entered the your mouth without you having to do anything. It wasn’t going as you had planned, but it wasn’t bad either. Unconsciously, however, in the midst of taking one for the “team”, you started to kiss back until you realized you were in a classroom and kids were beginning to pour in and the teacher was about to come through her office door and– Separating, you took a step back, flustered and red. Renjun, however, cocked his head, showcasing a wide and proud grin. “Anything else you got for me?” A kick in the balls? A slap on the face? You didn’t know what to do because you were so stalled that you just turned around, consoling yourself that it’d all be worth it when the potion kicked in. –

But it never did. At least, it didn’t look like it twenty minutes into the test, which made you worried that you probably kissed Renjun (and liked it) for no purpose at all. Regardless, you focused on the text in front of you. If it didn’t work, then fine. You’d have to rely on your own skill even if your lips were still tingling, which was annoying. Really annoying. God damn it. – The time of judgement came the next day when their grades were posted on the classroom wall for all to see, and you had to push your way to the front. “Are you kidding me!?” Stomping from the rest of the students, you made a beeline to Renjun, who hadn’t bothered to look at the paper because all he needed to do was look at your face and just know that he scored higher. “Okay, you cheated!” It was a fair accusation. Kind of hypocritical, but you didn’t care. “How did I cheat, baby?” Renjun challenged. You cheated when you didn’t react to the potion I gave you? Could you say that? Technically, not falling into one’s scheme of cheating doesn’t make the almost -victim a cheater… “I don’t know, but you did somehow.” “Says the person who tried giving me Befuddlement Draught through a kiss?” Laughing, Renjun stood up. “Not to say I didn’t enjoy that one.” “You’re unbelievable!” How the hell did he know that? You frowned. “Stop accusing me of things, Slytherin.” “So, what? You kissed me just to kiss me? Cause I’ll take that excuse any day.” Fuck. You crossed your arms. “It doesn’t matter. None of these exams were fair so the bet’s off.” “You can’t just call something off because it didn’t go your way, love.” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “Whatever. I lost. There, boohoo for me. Yay for you. Haha.” “Actually, no.” Gently, Renjun turned your face up towards him. “See, if you look at it this way, you already won me from the start.” “I don’t want you.” The frown on your face started wobbling and all you could wonder about was what the hell was wrong with your body functions. “Are you sure about that?” Renjun’s face was getting closer and gravity seemed to think it was opposite day because you felt compelled to move up instead of down to dodge him. “I’m pretty sure, Huang, now can you just–” “Absolutely positive?” Was your mouth getting super chapped? You licked your lips, but they were dry again. What the fuck. “Yes, yes, I’m positive! I swear to god, I–” How many times have they kissed before? You didn’t know. You lost count, which was ironic because they were kissing in a room that was all about numbers and had ten pairs of eyes watching them. It wasn’t as though Renjun had you gripped so you couldn’t move away, too. For one reason or another, you couldn’t move anything but your mouth, and for once, that was a good thing. – “Alright. How’d you know about the Draught.” “I saw Jaemin with you one night. Got a little jealous so I cornered him nicely somewhere and asked some questions.” “Well, for all you know, we really could’ve been doing something that night. A little action in a closet never hurt anyone.” “I’d like to test that out for myself.” “Test it? Fine. Whatever. When and where.” “Now.” And then they ditched a fifty-five minute lecture on numerology because, after discussing it over several kisses in the library, you both agreed you didn’t give a rat’s ass about numbers except that one plus one equals two, and two was a perfectly fair and even number.

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one-thousand-splendid-stars · 5 years

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How would Johnlockers react if Sherlock and John were forced to say “I love you” instead?

Not to rehash an old argument, but I’ve wanted to write an analysis like this for a long time, but never did cause I didn’t wanna start drama. But the recent TFP anniversary got me thinking about it again, and I think even though it’s been a few years, it still needs to be said. Because gifs of the ily scene, coffin smashing, and TFP montage still pass my dash on occasion. And there’s always, always some overconfident shippers in the notes talking about how the “i love you," was undeniably genuine, and that if it had happened between Sherlock and John, then we would’ve declared our ship canon too, so we should stop being “salty” that he said it to Molly instead.

I know we’ve all said we’d absolutely hate for that scene to have been with John. But seeing those comments over and over often made me genuinely wonder what I would’ve thought if that had happened. What we would’ve thought as a fandom, given how much we tend to read into everything. So out of curiosity, I really, truly did my best to imagine that scene happening the exact same way, but with John.

And here’s how I think I would’ve reacted to the ily, if John was in Molly’s place.

First, John’s confession.

If John said he couldn’t say I love you to Sherlock because “it’s always been true,” then yes, that would be significant to us johnlockers. As unfortunate as the circumstances are, it would still be a solid, irrefutable confirmation not only of John’s love for Sherlock, but of his bisexuality. So yes, that would’ve been pretty awesome to have.

But I think if Sherlock had just heard for the first time that John truly loved him, and his only reaction was “ok say it anyway,” I’d be like whaaa? I would’ve expected to see Sherlock’s world visibly shaken in that moment. So his somewhat dull reaction right there would’ve made my heart sink just a little. It didn’t matter to him that John loved him. (Though of course, that reaction was understandable with Molly since he already knew she had feelings for him).

Next comes Sherlock’s first attempt at saying it.

Yeah, that really pathetic one. If I saw Sherlock say “I love you” like that to John, I instantly would’ve doubted everything I thought was between them. Hearing him say it like that, as though cringing internally and wishing he’d rather be anywhere else, would’ve killed me inside. That certainly doesn’t look like someone who’s going to suddenly realize the words are true two seconds later. That jump from utter disgust/confusion to “omg wait, I actually meant it” makes zero sense.

Next, the second ILY

The clock is ticking down, and Sherlock has to say it like he means it or else his friend is going to get blown up. So he repeats it more convincingly to get a response.

That’s what I thought when watching the scene for the first time. And it’s still what I’d think if it was John. Even if I really, really wanted it to be true, that doesn’t make it so. Though, it’s possible to headcanon that the second ILY was genuine, or to make it fanon. But as far as arguing for actual canon, pretty much everything that comes afterwards negates that possibility.

They hang up the phone

If Sherlock’s “I love you” was genuine, then right here I’d expect him to take a private moment to evaluate what the fuck just happened - a deeply private, intensely emotional moment. He just learned that John loves him back. I’d expect his life [with John] to “flash before his eyes.” That’s a HUGE moment.

But that’s not what happened. In the episode, Sherlock snaps out of the act he put on and very quickly bounces back to reality. His only emotion is relief that he saved Molly’s life. It’s strikingly similar to his reaction to saving the child in TGG: Meaning the countdown was intense, but the second it’s over, it’s over. The “moment” is over. If that had been his reaction to saying “I love you” to John, I honestly would’ve been crushed.

At this point, I’d be feeling pretty let down. I’d be wondering, “Is that it? Was that the johnlock we were all hoping and waiting for?” But I’d think, hope, that there’s probably more to come.

Next comes the reveal that there were no bombs. And Sherlock smashes the coffin.

This scene would honestly baffle me. I’d think maybe he’s angry with himself for wasting so much time. Maybe he’s angry with John choosing Mary. But then again - why feel those things NOW as opposed to immediately after the phone call, immediately after learning that their love is mutual. Why is he only angry now after learning there were no bombs? Why did that trigger a reaction in him, but the actual phone call didn’t?

If the love is mutual, there’s no reason to be that furious. Because even if John was hurt in that moment, Sherlock still knows they can talk afterwards and be together very soon. So why smash the coffin? Why does saying “i love you” to him feel like torture or a vivisection? It wouldn’t make sense with a johnlock reading of the scene.

Perhaps then, it was just his pent up frustration at being manipulated and toyed with by Eurus. Perhaps seeing the coffin made him angry because fake-threatening John’s life was a joke to her. Then sure, that would warrant a good coffin smashing - whether it’s John or Molly in question.

The coffin smashing makes sense with Molly, i.e. a non-shippy reading of the scene. His first reaction to the phone call was relief that he saved her, just like the child in TGG. But after learning there was no threat and he just lied to her in the worst way, “destroyed her” for absolutely NO reason? After everything Molly has done for him, and how much he’s grown to appreciate and treat her kinder? Damn right he should be pissed.

Then the scene is brushed aside, the plot moves on, and we never see any follow through.

This would leave me furious. Why open a Pandora’s box by having your two leads say they love each other under the threat of death, and then never follow up on it? What terrible, terrible writing!

After that scene, I’d be left eagerly waiting for Sherlock to get home and explain that it was all Eurus’s doing, but he truly does love him. In fact, I’d be desperate for it. Because without that talk, there’s not much of a case for canon Johnlock. All we’d have so far is Sherlock barely caring that John loves him, struggling to say “i love you” properly before he dies, snapping right back into action afterwards, and then only showing emotion when he learns it was all a trick. So yeah, I’d be on the edge of my seat hoping that something more would come of that scene.

And if ALL we got in terms of follow through was a split second of John smiling in a happy ending montage. I’d. Be. Pissed.

Especially if Moffat came out later and said John probably went out for a shag and they went back to normal. It only means the scene was written for shits and giggles like “ooh wouldn’t it be so hilarious to write a completely pointless and disposable scene where they were forced to say they love each other hehehe.” They never gave a second’s thought to what that would do to their relationship, or to John. It’s so insignificant they basically forgot about it, and felt it didn’t even deserve a resolution. Their relationship didn’t deserve a resolution.

It would probably destroy any hope I had that Johnlock would become canon... if THAT was Sherlock’s reaction to John saying “it’s always been true.” If it was THAT hard for him to say it first, even after knowing John returns his feelings. If ALL he cared about after the phone call was that he saved John’s life, as if nothing else of significance just happened. If there was NO resolution except a split second showing that they’re at least still friends. If not a SINGLE cast/crew quote confirmed that yes, Johnlock is now canon.

If that’s how carelessly the writers treat a situation where Sherlock and John say “i love you,” then they care very little about this relationship.

SO... in conclusion. I never, ever, ever would’ve wanted Sherlock and John’s first “I love you’s” to go like that.

So to everyone who thinks Johnlockers are only salty that John wasn’t in Molly’s place during that scene: Please understand that Johnlockers would never declare our ship canon based on a scene like that. Our standards for “canon” are a bit higher.

To everyone who doesn’t buy our pity for Molly: Know that it’s completely genuine. We’d hate for our fave to go through what she did, so we certainly don’t wish it on her, especially given her history with Sherlock.

TFP didn’t make any ship canon. And I’ll prove it by asking one simple question. Let’s turn the tables a bit:

To everyone who thinks TFP confirmed Sherl0lly: You claim that we’d declare Johnlock canon if the roles were reversed . . . but if we did, would you agree with us? Would YOU think Johnlock was canon if the ILY had happened between them instead?

I don’t believe so. But I’d love to be proven wrong.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock #The Final Problem #molly hooper #sherlock s4 #john watson #ily scene #steven moffat #mark gatiss #sherlock tfp #sherlock season 4 #fandom discourse #ship discourse

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cringeater · 5 years