#and that you can go confront HIS shadow! whereas in most confidants it's like. someone else's that's harassing them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yanderenightmare · 4 years

Note

Hello, I have been looking at your content and I must say that I really like the way you write and I hope you are doing well.I don't know if your applications are open now but I want to give you an idea, how would the yanders react if their beloved has depressive periods and low self-esteem?It may be a bit of an anguish at first but I would like how they would react, use it on purpose or go soft on their beloved.

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: depression, self-harm, abuse, manipulation, abuse, profanity, amnesia, anxiety, panic-attacks, arson, bipolar disorder, blood, death threats, eating disorder, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental illness, mind control, paranoia, noncon, dubcon, starvation, suicidal ideation, trauma

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

MELANCHOLIA –

She’s always biting her tongue, the inside of her cheek, her lip. So much so, he doesn’t even know what her lip normally looks like without it being bloated and swollen and red from having her teeth sink into to it. He’s okay with her chosen silence as long as she answers when she’s spoken to, which she does, lacking the will to refuse, knowing it will only cost her valuable energy, energy she needs in case Bakugo decides he wants to rip the breath from her lungs while he hunches over her, his hips snapping into her again and again, ramming at a pace so rough she both dreads it and welcomes it, for on the one hand it’s exhausting and she always wakes up with aches in the morning, yet on the other hand he makes her appreciate breathing which is always a nice reminder when she often times wonders what tranquility would be found in not breathing whatsoever.

He doesn’t want to confront her about it, sensing how she might not enjoy confrontation all that much, and not really wanting the whole ordeal to result in making her cry at the mere sound of his voice. He won’t alter the volume or the roughness of his tone, no matter how many times she cringes at how loud he’s being, but he does try being gentle, at least with his criticism. He showers her in compliments, which is a huge contrast to how he would usually handle fixing things. But, he finds using softer methods benefit him as well, loving the blush that adorns her face each time he does so, his own confidence probably boosting more so than hers.

He does nice things, not really knowing what or which way to help. He doesn’t make her do any chores, ignoring the nagging feeling that keeping her busy would probably help more so than having her sit and look cute all day, but… he’s afraid of admitting it, but… he quite likes taking care of her. He quite likes hugging her throughout the night, feeling her small tremoring sobs against him while stroking her back. He likes comforting her on those same nights where she wakes abruptly from some nightmare, stroking glossy diamond tears away from her cheeks, loving her bloated lips and that cute red wet irritation flushed on her nose and cheeks.

The only times he gets upset with her is when she refuses to eat. He tries so hard to make things she might like, but it’s scarce he sees her taking more than a few bites, if she makes a move to eat at all. He doesn’t want to make her cry, despite it being a constant hobby of hers, he doesn’t want to be the reason to her crying, but… he can’t have her starving. He finds the fear-tactic surprisingly effective on someone who spends most their time fantasizing about death. A few sparks in his palms has her all but quaking, scared half-way into catatonia or even comatose, so much so he has to pull her into his lap and spoon-feed her. Not that he minds that either, he comes to enjoy it quite a lot actually. How her small frame melts so perfectly against his chest, legs swung over his lap, head on his shoulder, remnants of her fear-stricken cries still evident as small spontaneous jolts run through her, being slowly comforted away with the same hand that caused the trouble in the first place.

DABI - TODORKI TOUYA

ANXIETY –

He couldn’t be happier with his little ball of blue wrapped up in soft-tinted crushed dreams with a heart made of honeycombs and dandelion-fluff. Whereas his misfortunate lack of happiness stems from a place of violence, where violence breeds violence, she’s nothing but a tender trauma. Such a soft despair, such a sweet despair, such perfection found in something so devastating. It’s artwork really. How she can cry herself to sleep, trapped in his arms, feeling as though she’s dying, yet wake up the next morning all velvety and soft in his arms, her heart finding comfort in what her mind rejects, what her mind fears.

He tries being a source of comfort for the most part, but teasing and haunting and poking fun at her is such a delicious past-time he cannot simply just refrain from. He’ll be a real villain about it at times. Having her as a complete blubbering pathetic hiccupping mess, poking fun at her crybaby-face as he licks the tears from her cheeks and gorges himself in her panic, his fingers dancing small patterns on her stomach as she wiggles beneath him.

She used to be so scared of him. So skittish and paralyzed, cold-sweating and eyes constantly leaking he had to imagine what her eyes would look like without being rimmed with red. She used to shiver and shake and quake and reel in on herself, curl up until her limbs ached from how small she was trying to make herself become, backed up into the corner beneath his shadow, his leather-boots looking like the onset of everything horrific as she coward in front of them. But wild untrusting childlike beings such as her is quick in nature to tether themselves to the first or only source of light. And though the transition was slow, her anxiety soon shifted from being directed at him and soon for him instead.

It was too easy, and it benefitted him so undeservingly as well it was cruel. How he simply took all those fears of hers, all those fears for everything residing in the new foreign room she’d been taken captive in, manipulating them into becoming paranoia for everything found outside the bedroom door instead. He went from being the source of her dread, of her panic, of her misery, of her pitter-patter heart and shattering teeth to her savior. Soothing her in her frenzied quakes as she spluttered on sobs containing what hellish monsters and dangers found outside, begging him to be careful, to come back to her, to stay.

She will hug him close throughout the night, hanging almost like a noose around his neck when he needs to leave in the mornings, tracing his scars with a stream of endless worried thoughts blubbering in her groggy voice. And he’ll humor her worry and tame the oncoming panic-attacks by giving her a little light-show of blue flames in his palm, words of his own coming to assure her how nothing will ever happen to him and how he will never let anything ever happen to her, assuring however many times he has the time for.

She’s too cute it’s unfair. Unfair that small creatures like her exist without anything to protect them from hungry wolves like him. And though he was never the type to fantasize about clingy things, he has to admit… coming home to someone who lunches at him in the most secure yet clumsy and desperate embrace, he feels as though that feeling of coming home is all he’ll ever need in the world, that she’s all he’ll ever need.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

INSOMNIA –

It’s nice. He knows it shouldn’t be the word he describes it with, but… that’s what it is. It’s nice. It’s nice to stay up with someone who expels the same type of energy as him, and not to mention the same amount of energy as him, or… lack of thereof. It’s nice living off of fumes together. It’s nice slipping to and from consciousness and how it almost turns into a game of who can survive the longest before collapsing, with the other shortly following, too tired to even bask in their victory.

It’s nice irritating over the same sharp sounds that attack their sensitive ears, not at all like the familiar sound of soft clicks of the controller in their hands. It’s nice communicating almost purely through mellow moans and groans and croaks, always understanding what the other is emitting despite it being but shapeless sounds.

It’s nice finding agreement in how the lights should always stay off, how it’s turned into some religious rule never meant to be crossed. It’s nice annoying over the same crisp bright light of the sun that violate their eyes those times they forget to shut the blinds before passing out after having counted stars and eating in the dead silence of night like nocturnal beings ignoring the light of day as though it were the plague. It’s nice how they can both find comfort in the glow of the moonlight or computer screen, leaching off of the energy like flies.

He’s found kinship in her presence, and despite it merely being himself and her in the darkness of his room, with flying specs of dust decorating the air and their computers the only windows to the world beyond their four walls, he feels as though the whole universe is looking at him when the softness of her glinting, beaming, sparkling eyes set their gaze and lock with his. It’s strange, but he always found angel-bright smiles and supersonic eyes to be too intrusive and annoying and scary to stand before, whereas her sunken dark eyes, ringed with shades of lilac contrasting her otherwise pale porcelain skin, kept almost albino in the darkness of his room… she couldn’t be more perfect.

Come to think of it, it’s perfection. Her in all her sleep-deprived glory, all her drowsy silliness, her sloppy harsh movements, tripping and stumbling with her droopy-eyes, in her soft giggling fits, where she’ll catch her stupidity just a moment too late and roll around on the bed, trying to shrug off Tomura’s teasing judgement as he pokes fun at her idiocy. Giving up on forming complete sentences as she almost always ends up toppling over her own words, settling for whining or sighing as she turns her head to bury it in his chest.

Utter perfection. Never bothering to get dressed, walking about like a little tease in only underwear and Tomura’s ill-fitted hoodie, hair pulled up into a messy-bun too messy, always defeating the purpose of keeping her hair from out of her face. Her unstable movements, disconnected to the ground as though she’s floating. Too grabbable and easily defeated in her weariness when being pulled into his lap, simply humming and moaning in response as he plants soft kisses down her neck, his fingers coming to destroy whatever’s in the way of him and her body.

HITOSHI SHINSO

HYPERSOMNIA –

She sleeps so soundly, like a little couch-kitten. All soft and cute, playing in her dreams. She’ll sleep whole entire days, only opening her eyes in small flutters every now and again and moaning ever so softly once he wakes her, though quickly scrunching her nose and twisting to fall asleep again. Her drowsiness rendering her pride invalid, causing her to pull at him to better comfort herself against his body, whining when he shifts, his warm presence leaving the bed when he needs to go to work. Her little unconscious protest making his heart twist in his chest, tempted to stay in bed with her all day long, yet comforting himself with the fact that he’ll probably come home to find her in the exact same position.

She’s so cute. She’ll curl and stretch, resting anywhere she finds comfortable: in bed, in the sofa, in the armchair, on his chest, his shoulder, his lap. Adorable with her little snores, all knotted up, remnants of her dreams spilling out from her sleep and coming to life in her limbs as she kicks and shakes her head, delving further into the pillow and twisting intricately in about the blanket. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes skittering beneath her puffy eyelids, caught up in whatever hurricane her mind has conjured up.

She seemed unfazed once she woke up in his room for the first time, and even then, she only gave him enough time to explain himself before nodding with heavy eyelids, laying her drowsy head back on the pillow. The situation dawning on her gradually over the first month, and if whether she was startled or angry, he couldn’t tell. If anything, sept for sleepy, he’d say she seemed confused, but alongside the confusion was the look that told him she couldn’t find the energy in herself to think too much about it without her fuzzy head hurting. Settling for eating breakfast with him in the mornings, and even thanking him on those occasion where she would forget the circumstances that led her to live there.

She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her limp body close to his own in the dead of night after he’s done for the day. He’s only mildly concerned, but it’s not his affection that shakes her from her sleep. He’s a selfish person, and he’s not one to hide those ugly aspects of himself. He’s selfish, greedy, controlling. He has to use his quirk on her sometimes… often times. Though she’s cute when she’s sleeping, he wants to do more than just watch her. He wants words, conversation, he wants to know what’s going on in that dark dreary head of hers, he wants to know what eerie things she’s been dreaming about, where she escapes to when her eyes slide close.

What more: he wants those eyes on him, those puffy, sleepy beautiful doe-eyes. He wants her to pay attention as he touches her skin and not simply to moan in response to it, he wants her to hang onto every single moment his skin touches hers. Telling her to focus reaches a long way. Those otherwise sleepy doe-eyes widening in such moon-bright curiosity, slaving at the hands of his quirk. Her otherwise limp and soft body shaking under his overwhelming touch, goosebumps springing to the surface under his tongue, a wicked glint evident in his lilac eyes.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

BIPOLAR –

She’s fragile on most days. Whether that fragility is in the shape of a daisy or a bomb is impossible to say until she either falls apart or blows up. It’s all rather uncertain, sporadic, spontaneous, where he’s given only a few signs where which he can predict what state of mind she’s in and how stable that structure is.

Most things depend on sleep, and upholding a balanced sleep-pattern has become one of the most important things in Keigo’s life after having taken his little darling. But, she manages to slip past his schedules more times than he would like to admit. When she refuses to go to sleep, his mind drifts to all the fun things they can do if they weren’t sleeping, and when she’s sound asleep and drowsing far beyond what time she should have woken up, he can’t find it in himself to wake her, not when he is the reason as to why she was so spent and sore and exhausted from the events and methods he used to make her fall asleep in the first place.

On little sleep one of two things can happen. She can either have the energy of a hummingbird or be tired to the point she almost looks sickly. On her lack-of-sleep-high she’s confident, cocky more so than Keigo, where she’ll test her luck on how far Keigo’s willing to bend his rules when she misbehaves, calling him all types of names, laughing in his face when he snaps and cackling even harder even madder when he decides to punish her, as though it’s all a game to quench her boredom.

With the absence of sleep causing her exhaustion she becomes irritated, seething with boiling rage, red in annoyance, whatever energy she has left focused on making her discomfort known as she scowls at him each time he smiles too loudly, but being too drained to physically act on her frustration or to even make up a snide comment without evoking a headache, left to simply snarl. He thinks it’s cute, where he knows well enough that if he pushes her limits too far she might just break. Break, and therefore let him gather her up into his arms and hush and tut at her to stop crying while he strokes her back, feeling her tremble with unparalleled frustration weighing down on her shoulders.

Then there are the days she sleeps too much. The same options are present here too. She’s either too energetic or too well rested. Either black or white. No grey. But with too much sleep she isn’t ever hostile, but still wild. Wild and enthusiastic and self-destructive and prop-full of ideas and insane in her passion. She’ll be unable to focus on anything, she’ll forget things seconds after they’ve been said or done, but… she’ll laugh and she’ll smile, and it won’t be one of those haughty nasty smiles she gives him when she’s feeling spiteful, but genuine in its playfulness or even bliss.

Then on other days sleeping half the day only results in her being even more drowsed out, yet accompanying her exhaustion isn’t irritation, but soft-tinted melancholia, where all she does is stay wrapped up in her blanket, quiet and still, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she focusses on how hollow her chest is, as though caving in on itself, where she’ll fall all limp and snuggly in Keigo’s embrace, humming appreciatively as he wraps her up in his wings. All the while a treacherous smile of satisfaction on his face.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

DESPOND –

When Izuku chose his darling it was done without compromise, without fault, it was done with perfection. Meaning, he fell for all of her, invested in all of her, determined to preserve all of her. Even her inexplainable unfounded absurd plethora of self-doubt that make her delirious and hopeless with anxiety and guilt. He let himself fall hungrily in love with her little terror-wide heart. He fell viciously in love with how desperate in need of him to come help ground her she was.

It was as though she’s made for him, he would argue. It was as though he’s made for her. Some breeds of people are just too vulnerable to take proper care of themselves. Some people just aren’t meant to take care of themselves. Whereas others are made to help, other people need to help.

Emotions are abstract fundamental tools meant to be used. Lesser minds might look down on his methods, yet Izuku came to understand quite early in life that things such as morals are chains meant to keep you from achieving your goal. He has no quarrels with using and abusing those tools presented to him, where her irrational feelings of doubt, hopelessness and worthlessness are a delicious opportunity to achieve his goal. Besides, her emotions are too easily abused and give such great unshakable responses, and even though he doesn’t want to tamper too much with her instability… they’re just too in-reach for him to ignore, too tempting for him to stay away.

The feeling of responsibility sits like an extra organ inside him, where his toes curl each time he sees her large doe-eyes look at him as though he were the sun, as though her whole life revolves around him. She’s just so dependent on him, so in need of his guidance and advise and praise, where he’s afraid she might just drown in her own guilt if she senses she’s displeased him. She makes sure she wears what he likes, has her hair the way he likes, letting him play with her like putty in his hands if he asks it of her. How can he be expected to not exploit what is so clearly offered?

Besides, he spoils her as well. He returns the favor so to speak, even though he knows she has given herself no choice but to worship him in her mindset of inadequacy. She’s so sweet he nearly feels undeserving, because she’ll blush so preciously when he compliments her, bashful and adorable and too good to be true, he wonders how such a creature can ever feel like less. He adores her, yet that doesn’t stop him from finding such satisfying bliss in the fact that he’s infinitely stronger and faster and not to mention smarter. Whereas she’s gullible and too eager to please, another attributing factor as to why he loves her, despite it is also being the cause of her demise, or maybe even because of it

The truth is she’s lucky that she belongs to him. Lucky that he won’t ever let anything happen to her, no matter if she’s the source of her own harm. She’s lucky to have him to anchor herself to as so to avoid floating away in her hopelessness. This is safer for her. Despite him sticking his bloodstained inky fingers and twisting her heart in his deadlock of a fist, she’s safe, safer than she could or would ever be on her own.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

AMNESIA –

It’s cute. He won’t deny that it’s cute, because it is. It’s adorable and unbelievable and annoying all the same. She’ll forget the rules, she’ll wander too far from her confines, not greeting him at the door, not kissing him on que, leave questions unanswered despite him having told her to always answer him when she’s spoken to, all things he feels he’s made blatantly clear through threats and countless reminders. But, not only will she forget his rules, but basic living necessities, she’ll forget to eat and drink, forget to get dressed, forget where she is.

She’ll say the strangest things sometimes. Mild and mellow passionate thoughts regarding the clouds and stars and moon and gods and how pretty his snake-eyes are, like great big lakes of molten gold. It’s strange but he finds such great comfort in her little philosophical blubbering, her soft voice kissing his ears like gospel. It’s a tender type of relief or resolution found in listening to nonsense as opposed to the serious matters he has to deal with in his position in the underworld, her view of the world somehow painting everything, even the ugly and the dangerous, in beauty.

Sometimes she’ll drift a bit too far away though. She’ll daydream more than sleep, absentminded when he’s speaking to her, unable to focus on him or anything for more than a few minutes at best. All dizzy and fuzzy, as though she’s just woken from some dream or as if she’s always dreaming. Irritation festers in his chest when she doesn’t answer, but as she turns her head, expression all soft and oblivious, his chest caving in at the sight of those doe-eyes, all anger simmering into nothing, rendering his annoyance nonexistent, replaced by a sense of hopeless forgiveness and somehow appreciation.

When it comes to her for once actually remembering what she’s supposed to do she’ll weigh each task as though one wrong decision would cost her life. Greeting him at the door in nothing but underwear, already having failed at picking out an outfit and resorting to wearing the lingerie Kai picked and laid out for her on the bed in the morning. The simple task suddenly becoming a battle where she’ll spend much too much time deciding whether to take his jacket first or give him a kiss or welcome him home. Too many decisions with too faulty statistics and unsure outcomes she ends up merely standing there doing nothing but hold her head in her hands and whimper slightly at all the noise that suddenly crowded her head, tears already threatening to fall as she stands before him, all guilt-ridden and trembling.

He can be patient as long as he knows she isn’t disobeying him on purpose, especially when he sees how guilty and how terribly sorry she is each time she fails on acting out simple tasks such as those he gives her. She’ll cry and apologize for the mere act of breathing on some days where she’s extra fragile, where she seeks nothing but his praise, his comfort, his hand stroking through her hair as she sleeps restlessly in her sobs on his chest, unaware of the mild smile of satisfaction and endearment displayed on his face.

TODOROKI SHOTO

SELF-CONSCIOUS -

She’s always hiding. Like a little mouse, she’s always squeaking and squealing and hiding. Hiding her face, burying it in the pillow when he compliments her gorgeous eyes, begging him to stop, small timid hands pushing ever so slightly at him. Hiding her chest, her nipples, when he admires them, his hands playing with the soft and supple flesh, whimpering as she tries to twist away. Her knees trying their best to wrench shut, to hide and protect what sensitivity find between them from Shoto’s hungry fingers and tongue.

She’s always hiding… but he likes to hunt anyway. If she drapes herself in pitch-black hoodies he’ll gladly rip them off, or scorch them off and expose her delicious artful body. If she refuses to leave the bed he’ll gladly attack her where she’s sleeping. She’s always hiding, but she quickly comes to understand that there will be no hiding from him.

He doesn’t understand why she would ever want to hide divinity, and therefor doesn’t respect the wish. Having made it his mission to expose every little piece of her, licking up long lines of bumpy purple and white scars, sucking and biting at those pointy cherry nipples strutting at the coolness of his breath, kissing those plump lips of hers despite her cringing to cover herself up in thousand layers of clothes, dark clothes, where only the very least of her skin is remaining on display. He won’t have it.

He has to tie her up on most occasions where she’s too difficult and shy to listen and let him play with her beauty. He’ll have to tie her up like a starfish on the bed, limbs spread in each direction, scars running along them, quite like the ones he receives in battle, only precise and matching and purposeful, his hands coming to touch them in reverence, worshipping every little altercation she’s added to her skin, further pushing its ever-changing perfection, watching as she hopelessly struggles to hide herself, yet the both of them knowing how she’s fully his.

He can’t allow her hurting herself anymore though, not with the fear that she one day might slip up and kill herself just a little bit too much, but he’s happy to help her through the tools of fire and ice. Frostbite flowers look even more as though they belong on her body, as well as blotches of burns, his markings, his teeth. He’ll never forget the moan he received on his first indulgence branding her body with his elements, how she purred in gratitude, small blissful squeals and mewls following, further egging him on.

Once she grew more comfortable with his hands and his stare… or rather… once the need for his hands outgrew her discomfort, she became somewhat addicted. And now, she can be wild in her cravings on some days, demanding it of him, threatening him, fighting him. She’ll bite and claw, begging for him to retaliate, longing for him to push her into the bedsheets and teach her what it’s like to feel alive by teasing her with the promise of death.

Without him she’s left to pick at scabs, counting the seconds until his return. She’ll pull at her hair until her scalp is screaming. She’ll ball her fists, creating those blood-red crescent moons in her palms, biting her nails until they bleed and then some. Then bask in relief upon his return.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

1K notes · View notes

linkspooky · 5 years

Text

Ougi and Araragi

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a meta about Ougi from the Monogatari series.

It’s impossible to talk about one of them without talking about the other, so let’s discuss the unique relationship between Ougi and Araragi underneath the cut, the special relationship between a boy and his shadow.

1. Character Concept: The Jungian Shadow

There’s a lot that can be discerned about Ougi just from the type of character they are. Their relationship with Araragi defines them entirely, without Araragi there is no Ougi.

Ougi’s design is intentionally meant to parallel Araragi’s. Araragi has a very bland light novel protagonist kind of look to him (hence why he never gets any cover art) his only distinguishing feature is that his hair is styled to cover one eye at almost all times. This is because Araragi’s primary character trait is obfuscation looking at things through only one eye you are never going to get the entire picture.

If Araragi’s character design is plain and normal, because that is what the primary protagonist type of these kind of series are an ordinary high school boy, then Ougi’s is the opposite, their design is attention grabbing and unique. If Araragi is normal, Ougi is visibly abnormal, you can already tell there is something subtly off by looking at them. What Araragi hides underneath the surface, Ougi is.

The primary feature of Ougi’s face and the one you notice immediately is their eyes, large, dull eyes, which are the focus of their entire face. Ougi is always shown staring forward with those eyes, unblinking, directly at you. It’s symbolic, eyes are symbols of insight, if Araragi obfuscates then Ougi sees everything. Ougi also wears the Naoetsu high girls uniform. They take the appearance of what Araragi cares about the most, a girl that he can save. Their skin is pale, and their hair dark, which could mean two things, either black and white, light and shadow kind of thinking that Ougi represents or, it’s just supposed to make them look like the kind of ghost that is common in Japanese horror.

Finally, Ougi’s sleeves are so long that their hands are almost never shown. This indicates two things, one human hands are signs of intimacy. What are your hands for? is a pretty famous quote from Evangelion, by never showing their hands Ougi cuts off intimacy because they exist as a symbol of isolation. The next is that Araragi is characterized as someone who always reaches out a helping hand, whereas Ougi is the opposite they stress individual agency and often leave others like Nadeko to their own fate. They may orchestrate things from the shadows, but ultimately Ougi never directly acts, and let’s the characters decide to step off the cliff all by themselves.

The fact that Araragi a boy, makes Ougi appear as a girl is also a play on binary gender. Ougi is technically genderless, but they appear as a girl initially because themes of binary opposition, and black and white thinking are at play in their character. Araragi is someone who tends to see the world in a binary way. Light and dark, black and white, male and female, they assume there is some kind of proper order to the world that needs to be followed. When Araragi begins to let go of these ideas Ougi is freer to express their gender any way they like.

A binary opposition (also binary system) is a pair of related terms or concepts that are opposite in meaning. Binary opposition is the system of language and/or thought by which two theoretical opposites are strictly defined and set off against one another.

Ougi is based primarily on two ideas. One of them is a pretty obvious reference to the King of Distortion from Boogiepop, which is the series which started what we now call ‘Light Novels’ in Japan by popularizing urban stories with heavy sci-fi or fantasy elements. Araragi even directly references the king of Distortion.

“Tell me, what are you thinking about now...?” “Don’t suddenly become the king of Distortion.” Out with the cool quotes, scolded my sister. I deeply reflected on it. (Nekomonogatari White).’

The king of Distortion is a character who’s physical appearance and personality changes with every character they interact with, and who is able to enter the dreams of other people and see the desires in their heart after which point he makes an attempt to correct them.

While the King's personality changes with whatever person's form he is taking, in general, he seems to share a soft-spoken, calm and collected attitude each time, always seeming confident, most likely because of his knowledge of distortions in the hearts of each person's subconcious he enters. He claims his goal to be to 'turn the people's suffering into gold', which involves having people deal with their inner turmoils and coming to terms with them, which is why Boogiepop does not consider the King an enemy of the world, as he doesn't truly do anything particularly villainous.

King of Distortion like Ougi is also born from a single character’s regrets. The King of Distortion was born the moment Shirou Tanaka arrived at the Moon Temple. The main cause for the King's creation was the pent-up regret Shirou felt after entering a relationship with Naoko Kamishiro even though he didn't love her, figuring that he would just develop feelings for her later. After the girl's death, Shirou's self-hatred grew as he realized he wasn't particularly affected by her death in any real way. These feelings were also amplified by the fact that he knew about Akio Kimura, someone who truly loved Naoko, and deserved her way more than himself. These complex feelings of his manifested as the King of Distortion, a being born from Shirou's MPLS evolution.

King of Distortion is an entity born from repressed regrets and self hatred, what a character refuses to acknowledge about themselves or confront. Therefore, both King and Ougi are Jungian shadow archetypes.

Both as one, one as both.

One is both, both are one.

The Niounomiya siblings with their slaughtering magic.

He and she pass their time in the same body.

Passing their shuttered time.

Passing their shuttered space.

She is Jekyll, and he is Hyde.

One as both, both as one.

Both are one, one is both. Hitokui Magical - [x].

Robert Louis Stevenson wrote the now famous tale, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a story famous for its astute psychological insight that “Man is not truly one, but truly two.”

In Stevenson’s novel, Dr. Jekyll is a well respected doctor who cares deeply about the admiration of others and strives to be a good human being. In his laboratory he concocts a potion that when ingested transforms him into Mr. Hyde a primitive, unruly and destructive man. Reflecting on the nature of his transformation, he discovers a truth about the nature of a human being.

“I learned to recognize the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could be rightly said to be the either, it was only because I was radically both.” [Source.]

The shadow exists in a dual relationship with the persona, developing in turn with it. In Jung’s terms the self, is the sum total of the psyche. Both is one, and one is both.

The persona comes from the latin word for “mask”, it’s the elements of personality which arises “for reasons of adaptation or personal convenience.” [Source.] It’s a simple idea, the way you talk around your friends is different from the way you talk in front of your grandmother. People are constantly choosing consciously which parts of their personality to show in front of others, especially in relation to how they would like to be perceived. It is a performance, but that does not mean it is not real. Every part of the identity matters.

It leans heavily on embodying only one’s best qualities, leaivng all those negative traits which contradict the Persona to form the “Shadow.” Jung called the shadow the part of the psyche the unconscoius aspect of the personality. Because one tends to reject or remain ignorant of the least desirable aspeccts of one’s personality, the shadow is largely negative. It consists of everything which exists outside of the light of consciousness, but it can be both positive and negative. “Everyone carries a shadow”, Jung wrote, “And the less it is embodied in a person’s life, the blacker and denser it is.” The shadow is unscious, things which our mind experiences but we cannot control, dreams, desires, instincts.

Without a well developed shadow, a person can easily become shallow and extremely preoccupied with the opinions of others, much like how we see Araragi act in Monogatari. Jung believed that, not wanting to look at their shadows directly, many people project those flaws onto other people.

In terms of literary theory then, the Jungian Shadow archetype is a character who is made up of all the flaws that the protagonist refuses to confront. They challenge the protagonist merely by existing, because the protagonist wants to look away and leave those qualities unacknowledged. Often, they are an antagonist merely because the protagonist projects all of the flaws they cannot see into themselves, onto that other person.

2. Araragi Koyomi - He Obfuscates

It is impossible to see the shadow without the light. It is impossible to describe Ougi without first talking about Araragi Koyomi. Just like Ougi, let’s start with the origins of his character. While this is just my own personal speculation I’m not NisioIsin, Araragi has always read as written in response to two things to me: First Ii-chan, the protagonist of his first series Zaregoto, and second harem protagonists in general.

II-chan and Araragi are both very flawed and non-confrontational human beings, but whereas Zaregoto is a story about how II-chan really does not want to change himself and instead just kind of wants to stay treading water, wants to never cause any more ripples, wants to hold onto the fragile sense of self he has Araragi’s is a story of a bad and hypocritical, shallow kind of person striving to grow up and become a good person, acquire depth.

The stereotypical harem protagonist is this, a plain guy with no personality who somehow gets girls to fall all over him, often for showing them the bare minimum of kindness. Monogatari is partially a deconstruction of harem series because it shows the kind of circumstances that would cause all these girls to fall all over one guy, literally they are all so deprive of affection that the smallest show of kindness does actually make them fixate on Araragi.

The thing is Araragi does have a clear personality. He is very cynical, he’s judgemental of other people, he really likes to snark. Part of the reason he likes talking to Senjyogahara so much is he can be meaner, and sharper tongued than he normally presents himself as around people. He has traditional black and white views of justice. He tends to meddle. He is observant, but his style of thinking is flawed because he tends to jump to conclusions quickly rather than thinking out the details slowly and methodically. He’s almost constantly anxious, but usually responds to the anxiety with avoidance. However, a lot of his more distinct personality traits sound more negative rather than positive, so Araragi has a version of himself he presents to others who he is less close to. This ‘self’ is much more vague, and wishy-washy, very go with the flow. Despite the fact that Senjyo and Hanekawa both comment that Araragi is well known among the students as a delinquent, Araragi himself says that he’s a typical high school student with a completely normal personality. He defines himself as vague on purpose, that sole purpose being to appear as more acceptable to others, because like an ego that refuses to acknowledge his shadow Araragi is very shallow and defines himself entirely on the opinions of the other people around him.

He is lacking a sense of self, or rather that sense of self eventually escapes from him when his shadow runs away Peter Pan style and becomes Ougi.

Araragi has three primary character flaws that manifest in the form of Ougi, Araragi is a hypocritical altruist who only cares about weak girls that need to be saved, Araragi obfuscates, and Araragi only thinks in black and white.

Araragi is not someone who helps people because it is the right thing to do. He does not do good deeds because they are good. He only helps others because there is something he gains out of it. One thing that’s important about Araragi is that he has a cripplingly low self esteem, to the point of self harm, self flagellation, and even suicide attempts.

He literally says so when he finds Kiss-Shot’s body, his first response is not to call for help but rather to try to let Kiss-Shot kill him, apologizing for living such a worthless life until this point. It’s not just that Kiss-Shot was in trouble, Araragi also made it about his own self loathing.

Araragi seems selfless to a fault, but he’s actually very self obsessed. While it’s true that Araragi desires to be a good person, and improve as a person, his methods for self improvement are faulty. He’s obsessed with appearances, and it’s more like he wants the appearance of a good person rather than actually having to put in the work at first. He wants to feel like he’s saved others. He wants to feel like he is someone worth something. He saves others because it increases his self worth, and also once again he gets something out of it. Araragi saving women that are weaker than him makes him feel special, like somebodyy needs him.

He wears the persona of a hero, rather than actually trying to be one. It happens again and again in the series. Despite the fact that Araragi actively does heroic things literally all the time, he also denies any role of being a hero because he does not want the responsibility of being one. Araragi wants the world to be burger king, he wants to have it his way. He wants the best of both worlds, Hannah Montana style. He wants to save girls, but he doesn’t want to be their hero and be entirely responsible for them.

“Araragi-kun, even if you can become a star, you can’t become a hero.” “I can’t become a star.” I shook my head. “I can only become a vampire.” And I even failed at that. “I see.” So you’re not going to be - my hero.

Nekomonogatari: White (Hanekawa and Araragi)

Take his actions in Nekomonogatari. Araragi claims it’s impossible to be a hero, he says that Hanekawa cannot be saved and calls for her to take personal responsibility and face everything that is wrong with her life. However, rather than trying to just support her with that difficult task Araragi immediately jumps to self harm.

It’s impossible for Araragi to become a hero, but he can swallow a katana and then trick Hanekawa into killing him because that is somehow easier than facing his feelings for Hanekawa head on. Araragi prefers bloody, painful self harm to the terrifying ordeal of being known. Araragi knows that Hanekawa is in need of help, but the fact that she is such a messy person different from the person he originally saw her as, makes him afraid of her.

The thing is human beings are really sloppy. They are a messy gray, and Araragi wants to save them, but he really is just a kid out of his depth with a lot of things. He sees the abuse of Hanekawa’s household, and because he’s literally never even encountered an abusive life he gets so terrified that he runs away screaming. He does care about Hanekawa, but she’s far too complicated for him. He does not even want to touch that mess. It’s much easier for him to see Hanekawa as a hero, all black, or all white, then try to attempt something he does not know how to do and could screw up Hanekawa even worse.

Once again while it is not Araragi’s responsibility to fix an abused girl, and it makes sense a normal high school kid does not understand coping with abuse at all, Araragi at the same time wants to help her. Instead of just admitting that he can’t do anything for Hanekawa, he play-acts at being a hero.

Here’s the thing about Araragi, have you ever once seen him try to save a boy? He only cares about helpless girls because those are the kind of people that heroes save. He does not care about people that are stronger than him, because then he is depending on them rather than the other way around. Araragi only interacts with about three male characters in the story significantly.

Oshino, who is an adult figure that Araragi aspires to be like, and then Kaiki and Seishirou who he both views as rivals for the two most important girls to him Senjyogahara, and Seishirou. Do you notice there is a far different tone in Araragi’s interactions with Seishirou and Kaiki? Araragi absolutely refuses to see Kaiki as anything other than a villain, and while Seishirou is clearly a victim, Araragi cares very little about actually saving him and instead prioritizes competing with him over Kiss-Shot.

Once again this is dude psychology that is present in Harem series. Did you notice if male characters do show up in harem series they are oftentimes, either comic relief, they are terrible people for the main character to look good in comparison, or they are old men mentor types. That is because any other man who would exist in a harem series is automatically competition for the girls. Araragi does not want to compete, he does not want to feel inferior to anyone else, because he always feels inferior all the time therefore he never has any male friends.

Therefore it’s hypocritical altruism, while Araragi is willing to help and that’s a good thing, he also never once helps unless there is something he gains from it. Even if it’s a chance to exercise his self loathing. Once again Araragi’s self loathing is incredibly harmful, he literally gets bones broken, limbs severed, and organs torn out almost every time he helps someone. Not only that but it’s always the first solution he jumps to. This is not the behavior of a healthy person, this is the behavior of someone attempting to punish themselves. Helping these girls by martyring himself is an act of attrition for Araragi, because he believes he deserves pain for all of his hypocrisies, but once again it’s still self obsession. Just hating yourself, just beating yourself up, is different from having to do the actual work of facing yourself and picking yourself up. Araragi will always choose dishonesty over honesty, obfuscation over seeing things clearly.

Araragi’s primary strategy of dealing with these many hypocrisies and contradictions in himself, and keeping his ‘ego’ in balance has always been obfuscation. Araragi is observant, but he presents himself as ignorant. He always goes on claiming how stupid he is, and how he’s nothing more than a worthless washout.

This is because Araragi was raised with an overpowering sense of responsibility. While his parents are not necessarily bad parents, they are police officers. He was raised made to feel responsible for things like justice, saving others, and especially made to feel responsible for his own flaws. Police officers are also symbols of justice, who as human beings often fall far short of the law and authority they are supposed to represent, because symbols are symbols and humans are humans.

Therefore, what Araragi wants to avoid at all costs is feeling responsible. He wants to be important, but he never wants to take the responsibility of actually being important. This is his immaturity, the part of him that refuses to grow. For Araragi, if situations are too complicated for him to handle, or he fears his meddling will only make things worse and therefore he will be indicated as responsible his response is to just avoid it entirely rather than struggle or try.

This is shown in the case of Sodachi Oikura, once again someone that Araragi knew about and sympathized with but at the same time could not comprehend. Sodachi lived in horribly abusive circumstances, and both times Araragi encountered her he was a child. Araragi at the same time takes far too much responsibility, and far too little. It’s completely understandable that Araragi a middle schooler had no idea what to do to deal with what was obviously an abusive household, most adults are pretty useless when it comes to handling abused children. Yet, at the same time Araragi avoids any responsiblity whatsoever, he just forgets about Oikura claiming he has a bad memory depsite encountering her at three different significant parts of his life. Rather than struggle and fail, it’s better for Araragi to just not know anything at all therefore it can’t be his fault.

When Ougi drags Araragi through Sodachi’s case, Ougi ‘deduces’ everything, but Ougi’s catchphrase is I only know what you know. Ougi cannot have come to a conclusion that Araragi did not already know or was not capable of figuring out on his own, Araragi just did not think of those things because it was too painful to think.

This is also present in his dealing with other characters. There are several characters who have heavy romantic crushes on Araragi while Araragi is already in a relationship, Nadeko, Hanekawa, etc... Rather than ever just going through the awkward interaction of rejecting them it’s much easier to just pretend he never even notices their affections. Therefore we see him hypocritically, have a girlfriend, at yet at the same time constantly hang out with other girls who have a clear attraction to him and romantic feelings for him and never do anything about it.

Nadeko turns into a god because of obfuscation, both on Araragi’s part and on Nadeko’s. Nadeko is called out for what a hypocritical person she is never wanting to face anything directly, but that behavior is only a reflection, a foil to Araragi’s own, hence why Araragi was never able to save her.

Once again, Nadeko clearly has several problems with her personality, and she also blatantly hits on Araragi several times despite one being a middle schooler, and two Araragi having a girlfriend. Rather than just reject her outright, or acknowledge these parts of her personality, Araragi chooses to ignore everything and reduce her to being a cute girl. Nadeko puts on the act, and Araragi perceives. He then ignores all of her feelings, until they repress more and more and then bubble out into a jungian shadow expression that is Snake God Nadeko who just indulges on all of her instincts and desires and gives up conscious thought and her persona completely.

Ougi always mocks Araragi has a helpless fool, because that is what Araragi wants to be, helpless, foolish, and therefore not at fault when there are unintended consequences of his actions.

Finally, Araragi only thinks in black and white. This is also part of his obfuscation, he never wants to acknowledge how complicated people are. When he’s forced to confront the ugly side of people he almost always looks away.

Black cats, white cats, hmmm, I wonder what that means. Araragi was only disappointed with the idea of justice, because he wanted to believe in it in the first place. He wants to believe that things like heroes can exist, and that his black and white perceptions of the wolrd are real. Araragi craves that order more than anyone else, perhaps even more than his younger sisters who just play at being heroes of justice. The reason he becomes so disillusioned is because he expects there to be an order of things, for their to be roles just like in a story, for their to be a sequence of events with meaning.

Araragi expects narrative rules to apply to real life. For life to have meaning. That is why he is a story teller. There are monsters and oddities, and humans with a clear line between them, despite the fact that Araragi himself is someone who blurs these lines by existing as a quasi vampire. Araragi’s life is a story that he tells himself, and that’s why it’s so important that his perceptions are so off. In Tsuki he even gets called on this twice, he calls his increasing vampirism punishment instead of just consequences for his actions and he’s told not to think he’s so special that god would go out of his way to punish him. Tadatsuru asks why they are facing off like this, why Araragi is protagonist and he is antagonist.

Araragi does not like acknowledging how sloppy the world is, because that makes him feel insignificant and weak. It would make anybody feel that way, because it means acknowledging that we are not as in control of things as we would like to be.

3. Oshino Ougi - They Reveal

Ougi Oshino is Ougo Oshino.

They are a vague existence, Araragi refuses to define them because defining Ougi means defining themselves and that kind of confrontation is the last thing Araragi wants.

Ougi Oshino is born out of a desire for Araragi to punish himself, the same way he always seeks external punishment by allowing people to beat him up and rip out his intenstines. Rather than confront what is inside of him, Araragi externalizes it and confronts it as an external force which he projects upon.

Ougi is a shadow born from the light of Araragi’s ego. It was not the darkness that created them, but rather Araragi himself and the shadow he cast. Therefore while Ougi can be seen as a corrective force, they actually embody all of those flaws that Araragi has, and their own character traits are always in response to those flaws.

Wheraes Araragi is a hypocritical altruist, Ougi is someone who exists to fix people’s mistakes, or punish them for their mistakes rather. Despite manipulating them, Ougi also ultimately leaves them up to their own fate. He leads them up to the cliff but does not push.

Ougi is a hypocritical fixer, because while he seems to be punishing others for their mistakes he really only exists to punish himself in the form of Araragi. All of the ‘mistakes’ he corrects are just Araragi’s own mistakes foiled in other people.

Nadeko is a foil to Araragi, she represents his own feigning of innocent and being unknowing. Kaiki is a foil to Araragi, he represents how much of a fake Araragi is by pretending to cling to ideals of justice and saving others but also denying them as well. Sodachi is also like Araragi, they both prefer to wallow in misery than try to work towards their own happiness. Araragi even says his famous line with his relationship with Shinobu, an ending where everyone is miserable, where nobody gets what they want. There are serious problems with his current relationship with Shinobu, a power imbalance, and both know they cannot last this way forever but rather than attempting to fix their relationship they both cling to the way thing’s are.

Repression and obfuscation is always favored over directly addressing the issues, especially the things which Araragi probably cannot control, or fix, like the complicated nature of abuse. Ougi claims they operate out of some imaginary set of rules that totally exist, but once again Ougi is the hypocrisies of Araragi laid bare. They are every bit the hypocrite that Araragi is.

They are just punishing other people who reflect Araragi’s negative traits. Those who do not acknowledge their shadow, will project their flaws onto other people and see themselves in other people in order to cope.

Ougi is made up of Araragi’s repressed desires. They are a girl he wants to save, which is the only type of person Araragi interacts with. At the same time, they are also connected to Oshino, who is Araragi’s model in the series for adulthood and maturity. Oshino who is always able to figure things out, and very self-collected often making fun of Araragi for his youthful excitement and his naivete for not knowing much about the world.

While Araragi presents himself as an idiot, Ougi is intelligent an capable of figuring things out from scraps of information. Araragi jumps to conclusions, Ougi is deductive and a good thinker. Ougi Oshino already knows Araragi better than himself, therefore Araragi does not have to carry any of the burden of self reflecting, or making himself known to other people around him.

During Ougi and Arraagi’s first meeting in the anime, he hallucinates that the classroom that he is locked inside of floods with water. The depths of the water, the shadow, dreams, these are all the realm of Jung. If the conscious mind is the water’s surface, then the subconscious is its depths.

Araragi obfuscates, whereas Ougi reveals the uncomfortable truth. Ougi always positions themselves as a detective. In the realm of stories, it is the detective who makes the big reveal at the end. After all Ougi even says when they are locked in the room together, because there is no famous detective that Ougi themselves will play the role and announce the culprit.

However, Ougi’s reveals are just as hypocritical as Araragi’s obfuscations. Ougi takes the shadow to be representative of the whole self, because they themselves are a living breathing Jungian shadow, but just like Jekyll and Hyde man is both. He is not one or the other, he is both at the same time. Ougi always act with the assumption that there is some kind of truth to be revealed, that this is just like a detective novel where there is a reveal waiting at the end.

Ougi takes the repressed desires to count as the “truth” of the whole mind, and ignores the conscious mind entirely. Therefore, in their view Nadeko is only capable of being a selfish cute girl who sees herself as a victim, Hanekawa is only something scary which Araragi must avoid. They at the same time as Araragi both read the same black and white narrative of the world. They do not care at all for the persona, or how people choose to present themselves. Desipte what Kaiki said to Nadeko that people can choose to be whoever they want to be, and they can try as many times as they like.

Ougi also views themselves as inhuman, and therefore incapable of doing anything, or defining themselves as anything outside of their role. Ougi is in a way, just as repressing of themself as Araragi is. They even lament this in front of Tsukihi, that once the detective reveals the mystery the novel is over. That if anybody would know the truth of them, they would come to hate them because they are abhorrent.

Ougi by repressing concious thought, silences other people and what they have to say about themselves. The only thing that matters is the repressed, what Ougi dictates as the truth must then become the truth. It’s just as much a limited way of saying the world as Araragi’s is. Hence Ougi’s famous catchphrase, I don’t know anything, you’re the one who knows. Ougi sees themselves as a person fundamentally incapable of knowing anything other than outside the bounds of what Araragi already knows.

Which is finally where the black and white thinking comes in. While the two of them seem like polar opposites, their views of the world are actually the same. Ougi wants what Araragi wants, for the world to exist like this is a story. For there to be roles, and order and most importantly meaning. The same way that Araragi just ignores things that fall out of step with their roles, when people contradict the way Araragi sees them he just pretends to be oblivious rather than see them as complex human beings. Ougi actively goes out of their way to punish people, for not playing the role in the story they were supposed to play. He acts like a corrective force, pushing people back into their roles. His wrongful assumption is not that people improve by “correcting mistakes” but rather there was a proper path in the first place. That there was a hero’s journey they were supposed to be going on. There is no path, there is no meaning, it’s all senseless but Ougi exists out of a desire for things to be sensible.

Ougi exists as Araragi’s opposite, because Araragi assumes that things like binary opposites exist in the first place. Heroes and villains, crime and punishment. They both believes these things exist in a fundamental order in the world, and they are not just made up values that humans invented and give meaning to.

“Let’s not joke. Virtue is the antonym of vice, not of crime.” “Are vice and crime different?” “They are, I think. Virtue and vice are concepts invented by human beings, words for a morality which human beings arbitrarily devised.” (No Longer Human, Osamu Dazai)

For both of them clinging to these hypocritical beliefs are better than the alternative, admitting to their own helplessness in the face of a world that is mostly indifferent to them.

That’s why, when they are separate both of them choose to stick to their ultimately restricting and punishing roles, as protagonist and atagonist, persona and shadow, hero and villain, rather than just trying to acknowledge themselves and live as people.

Both is one, and one is both. Araragi Koyomi and Oshino Ougi have a relationship that ultimately results in not antagonism, but rather union and acceptance. Just like the King of Distortion is not an enemy of mankind in the enemy, Ougi was never an enemy to Araragi in the first place. Araragi never needed to hate himself or punish himself. The true path forward lies in union and acceptance.

You can never be anything more than yourself, nothing more and nothing left.

#monogatari #monogatari meta #mg meta #araragi koyomi #oshino ougi #meta #nisio meta

67 notes · View notes

hecohansen31 · 5 years

Note

Idea : Hawthorne Michael in a secret relationship with shy Witch!Reader. After a while, she starts to think he wants their love to be secret because he is ashamed of her and at the same time, being the Wonder Boy, he is loved by all the warlocks and the witches, it will change if they knew he was with someone. The truth is that Michael is a intimate man, who doesn't anyone want to bother them, or her. It's their story, no one else need to know. At the end, they are two stupid idiots in love.

A/N: First of you… I LOVE YOU, NONNIE!

Literally this is my first ask I can actually write so I am excited, and I hope dearly that I won’t disappoint!

Also, I just wanted to encourage you to send me asks, even anonymously (I totally get that somebody might not like the spotlight, and I love you all the same you anonymous lovelies!).

I write only for fictional characters (and more specifically: Michael Langdon, Duncan Shepherd, Jim Mason, and I am working something on another fandom… but feel free to request something else, and I shall see what I can do about it!) and reader insert.

Also, I write smut, but please avoid subject as watersports, choking and extreme degradation (I am not kinkshaming you, but I am comfortable around those subjects, hope you will understand).

Also, if you want to send something with trigger warnings (such as drugs, non-con, mental issues or any other sensitive matters) please message me first and if you want to keep it anonymous just know that I will have to think about it, before accepting it, thank you for your patience…

(Also, I am glad that it is about Hawthorne! Michael, because I love that boy with all my loving heart and sometimes I worried I might seem too monotone, but Hawthorne hoes, be ready for something very interesting next week)

Now after this long, preface, here I am with the answer!

Trigger Warning: Mention of Abuse and Fight.

Being shy was her most common trait, the one you could see from the how she didn’t dare utter even a single sound in company of people, if not asked first.

She blushed easily and social confrontation put her at unease, preferring the confrontation of her mind and the comfort of a little circle of friends, who she trusted blindly.

Obviously discovering she was a witch was something that changed her life thoroughly and she had to leave her quiet life behind, for charms and magic and new people, the latest worrying her much more than anything else in the world.

She didn’t fit in the “strong witch” idea, preferring to be a gentler one such as Misty Day, although sometimes even her company was too much.

A company she seemed to enjoy instead was Michael Langdon’s.

They had been paired for a project, a charm had gone wrong in a club of New Orleans and they had had to avoid the possibility that it might have any repercussion on humans, and although Michael Langdon seemed al high and mighty, with his haughty attitude and his strong personality, he had been nice with her.

He had helped her, instead of making fun of her mistakes, teaching her a few things meanwhile they worked, which made her open up to him, and slowly they had developed feelings for each other, firstly shyly, each thinking they were unrequited, but then, slowly, they had each recognized signs of an infatuation and ended up confessing it to each other.

They had ended up sealing their confessions with a sweet kiss underneath the security of a shadowed spot in the gardens of Robinchaux.

And from then on, they had started a reserved relationship, made of stolen kisses and sweet notes passed through each other, birds singing her the “good morning” he couldn’t give her, and little trinkets being brought to his door with magic each time he needed comfort.

Who knew that Michael Langdon could be such a romantic man?

Or better boy.

Because although he was as strong as a mature man, he sometimes had childish manners, the only thing about him that annoyed her, such as the way he was always a bit flirty with anyone, justifying it as just wanting to be nice, but she could see witches and warlocks alike fawning over him and sometimes she wanted to just kiss him in front of everyone…

… but she just couldn’t.

They had been, since the start, reserved with each other and their relationship, since they both disliked PDA, but she had always thought it was her who was too shy for it, not Michael, with his smiles and smirks and always perfectly curly hair.

But slowly… she had started developing a strange craving for public displays of affection, amazed at the way Misty Day and Cordelia gently held each other’s hand under the table at dinner, or the way Zoe and Madison hugged each other softly in their most private moments (on which she had walked in, since she shared her room with the brown-haired witch) and finally the comforting way Coco and Mallory talked about each of their problems.

Slowly she had started craving that form of intimacy, which had prompted her to search it in her own relationship, and that day she had felt extremely confident, happy of an exam going well, a charm turning perfectly, thank to Michael’s suggestion to breath and think before speaking up.

She had found him outside her classroom, strolling around with his close circle, and immediately, overcome by happiness and confidence she had moved fast, throwing her arms around his neck or at least trying to.

Their eyes met for a brief moment and although hers were full of happiness and love, his were unmoving and annoyed, almost.

Which should have made her foresee what happened next.

He, swiftly, avoided her hug and she almost fell down, losing her balance for a few minutes and regaining it just in time, gripping his shirt, but he immediately pushed her, and this time she had nothing to grip, which made her fall and land on her ass.

The pain coming from the hit wasn’t as bad as the shame she felt inside.

So, she chose to stay down, meanwhile Michael and the other warlocks moved away from her, everybody giggling at her expanse.

From then on, she felt only heartbreak, moving to her room immediately and she hide there, for the entire day, avoiding lunch and dinner, no matter Zoe’s protests, to which she replied that she wasn’t hungry in the slightest, justifying her lack of appetite as a headache.

Whereas it was her heart which hurt.

Had he rejected her because he was ashamed of her?

It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, alongside the fact that she should have seen it coming.

Michael Langdon didn’t date little things like her, uncapable of even saying her name without stuttering, unable to keep up a conversation as his friends, not nearly as pretty as him or any of the girls he could have with those devilish good looks.

She had been so stupid to believe that he might have wanted her for what she was.

Her stomach grumbled, interrupting her self-destructive thoughts and she finally was able to think about something else, and hear the knocking on the door, behind which, she hoped, was Zoe, with some leftovers, since she had promised to bring her some.

So, she moved quickly to get to the door, opening it to find a very worried Michael, still in his elegant suit, and it was as if his perfectness was mocking her unmade hair and oversized pajama, with bunnies all over it, and she almost moved to close the door, as if this would make him disappear.

Sadly, it didn’t work like that.

-Hey, love! – he giggled, moving forward to touch her hand but she pushed herself away, something he gave not too much mind -… I heard Zoe, over at dinner, say that you had a bit of an headache…-.

-Yes, and because of that I would like to be left alone- she mumbled, trying to close swiftly the conversation, not wanting to confront him when she felt at her lowest.

He seemed confused and again tried to reach out for her, this time for her cheek.

-… hey, sweetheart, seriously… did something bad happen? – he seemed seriously worried for her -… can I do something about it? -.

-As I have said, leave me alone, Michael- they never used first names, so he immediately realized something was wrong, and not with her body.

-Whatever happened between us we can talk about it, love of…-.

-Don’t call me that- she replied bitterly, standing up on her toes, to look at him in the eyes and he immediately backed off, surprised more than actually scared by her.

-Did I do something wrong? – he asked, confused.

-The fact that you have to ask is enough to show how much you care about me- she replied dryly, turning around, offering him only her back, turning to move to her bed, adjusting her computer or iPad on it.

-…I care about you- the statement was extremely sincere and his tone looked pained as if he had seriously been hit by her previous phrase, and she almost wanted to turn around and comfort him, but decided that as much as he could be unresponsive like her, she would do the same -… and I would never do anything with the purpose of hurting you, you know this-.

-Oh, then it must have been for my own good that you shoved me down like a sack of potatoes, this morning, treating me like that, and then giggling off with your friends… I had a ton of fun, believe me- her sarcastic tone reached its peak and she giggled hysterically.

She expected him to finally leave her alone, but he did the opposite, moving closer and making her turn around and as she was halfway through order him to release her wrist, she found him looking at her with pain in his eyes and heartbreak curving down his mouth.

The truly look of somebody who had realized his mistakes.

-… I am sorry, (Y/N)- he uttered, his voice had become small and she tried to find any trace of mockery in it, but he was sincere, he had always been sincere with her -… I thought that you wanted to keep this a secret and…-.

-Oh, of course, your girlfriend moves in to give you an hug and you… you push her down…- she replied, meanwhile she felt terrible for kicking a man already down -… you were ashamed of me in front of your precious warlocks friends, ask them to cuddle you when you have nightmares-.

She was half expecting Michael to release his rage, she had seen it happen whenever he didn’t get his way, but this time he had only tears she allowed him a truce.

-I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear, (Y/N) … I am just… I am not used to this display and when I saw you coming my way… I didn’t realize you wanted to hug me till it was too late… I thought you wanted…- it all came out in broken moans, and it took all her soul not to hug him.

He had somehow thought that she had wanted to attack him, instead of hug him, that’s what he had wanted to say, and she somehow understood that she hadn’t been exactly calmed and controlled.

She herself had touch boundaries, so she should have recognized Michael’s.

-I would never hurt you, Michael- “although you would”.

-I know- his tone, of true trust and belief made her heart flutter -… you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, the sweetest, but…- he turned his head away, ashamed of what was coming next.

-Michael, explain to me what is going through your mind, so I can understand it- “and accept it”.

She didn’t feel like fighting with him no more, not after his tears and his heartbreak, they weren’t supposed to feel this way.

They cared about each other to let it go to waste.

-… people in the past have hurt me- he just said, but it all held a deeper meaning -… people who loved me, and it made me feel weak, the one thing that I am not supposed to feel, here, not when I am the Alpha. And now whenever I feel like somebody might hurt me… I just hurt first… and this doesn’t justify what happened…-.

-You are not weak because of this- she said, meanwhile finally holding her hand out, understanding what had gone through Michael that morning: he wasn’t used like her to hugs, and whereas she had thought that his reservation to any signs of affect came from being as shy as her, she hadn’t thought it could much more -… you are strong because you survived this, and I am very proud of you-.

She eve went as far as to mess with his hair, getting a little laugh from him, who gently looked up at her.

-I am sorry if my actions made it seem like I didn’t want you, I want you … a lot… (Y/N) – he pushed himself in her arms, promptly hiding his head in her neck.

-… and I am sorry I assumed too fast what was going on- she kissed the crown of his head, gently caressing his back -… I won’t bother you publicly anymore, if you…-.

He stopped her halfway through the sentence, looking up.

-… just start slowly, please- he mumbled, before reaching out for her hand -… I want to go anywhere with you and kiss you in front of anyone, but… I have my limits-.

-And I have mine- she agreed to their implicit deal, before sealing it with a kiss on his cheek.

And they were having a perfect moment, till her stomach grumbled.

-… I think that your stomach might have just asked for food- he giggled, before he separated himself from the hug, holding out his hand and gentlemanly asking -… will, my lady accompany me to a late night out in the kitchen to find something to cure her “stomachache”? -.

-Only if you carry me, like a true lady! – she joked, but Michael took it all a bit too seriously, pushing her in a bridal style hold, before kissing her fully on the lips to quiet her protests.

-Off to the royal kitchens-.

They passed the rest of the night eating ice cream (both from the bowls and each other faces since Michael had almost started an ice cream war), and although she knew that they would need to confront some of Michael’s demons soon, she knew he had been sincere that night and part of her heart cried for what had happened to him.

But now that she knew, she would do her best to make Michael Langdon feel cherished in every possible way.

Starting from kissing him “good night” after their little kitchen adventures, meanwhile he asked for more kisses, just to be shooed off since it was a bit too late, meeting Zoe halfway the stairs, a smirk appearing on the witch’s face who just looked at her roommate and uttered.

“Hope that you had a nice night, with your ‘headache’ ”.

#asks #ask #anonymous #michael langdon reader #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fem! reader #michael langdon #michael langdon x fem reader #michael langdon edit #michael langdon headcanon #ahs image #hawthorne michael #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon fan fic #soft

25 notes · View notes

pigeonacademic · 7 years

Text

Mr. Asshole

I’m sure you’re familiar with my old history teacher, the one I told you about half a dozen times. Well, that has been an abridged, Safe-For-School-Retelling.

You shall now get the uncensored, uncut version of The Curious Case of Mr. A.

Now before we begin, I regret to inform you that I have tried to push this guy so far back in my memory that I forgot his name. I can remember everything about Mr. A- from how he looked, from how he walked, the way he talked, what clothing he wore- I can remember everything EXCEPT his name.

So, I’m calling him Mr. A. A for Asshole.

Now, Mr. A, as you already inferred, was an asshole. Just from looking at the guy you can see that he thought his shit didn’t stink. I mean, what kind of person would walk around with their hands clasped behind their back, sticking a leg straight out in front of them like a drunken ballerina and waltz around the classroom with a little sway in his step, head held so high you’d think it was on a bearing rein and looking down at you while making a face that looked more at home on someone who just swallowed the world’s most sour lemon.

And to think that’s all before you hear him speak.

I mean, his rectum must have been jealous from all the shit that came out of his mouth. Mr. A wasn’t the type to hold back his negative comments about students, and I mean straight-up insulting them AND their parents, and liked to get up in peoples’ faces like a drill Sargent. Why he wasn’t fired was beyond me, although I highly suspect it was because it was his silver tongue against a bunch of middle school kids in a class that was well known for misbehavior.

Most people when they hear about him picture this crotchety old-timer who’s been around since the Cretaceous period, but no, Mr. A was a VERY young teacher. In fact, he was fresh right off the assembly line!

Oh, and just the way the guy LOOKED, you can tell something was up with him, looking like an extra in a vampire coven in Supernatural. He was absolutely pallid; he looked as if he had just emerged from his crypt and ready to feast on the blood of virgins. To add on to the vampiric look, he had dark bags under his hazel eyes, and his dark brown hair was short, but messy in the “I just got out of bed and I didn’t bother to brush it” kind of look, and he had this five o’ clock shadow. He was also thin-not bony thin, but thin enough to where his purple button-up shirts looked a little loose on him, popped collar and tight fitting jeans that had a set of keys dangling on it, so every time he did his little sauntering walk all you heard was a clink clink!

If this guy was a fictional character in Supernatural who happened to be a vampire, I mean, I’d find him attractive; too bad he had that butt-ugly personality to ruin whatever charmingly creepy aesthetic he had.

Nobody in the class knew what kept crawling up his ass every morning. Same old routine each day: Enter the classroom a few minutes later than everyone else, circle the room once or twice with his hands behind his back, give several condescending remarks to whatever poor kid happened to be his victim that day (guess who was his favorite bloodbag to pick on? Three guesses who.) and saunters right back up to the whiteboard where he’d begin the lesson.

The thing about Mr. A is that he didn’t just teach. The guy LOVED to hear himself talk, so one minute we’re talking about Rasputin and how un-freaking-killable he was, and the next minute he’s droning on about his own accomplishments or something going on in his personal life.

As much as kids love to hear their teacher talk about themselves (no really, y’all got great stories most of the time) everybody was sick of Mr. A and his holier-than-thou attitude.

As much as I got in trouble with him, I can remember THREE major infractions, all which resulted in me getting a one-way ticket to the detention room. I only told you about two of those, so I’ll tell you the third one first:

Mr. A and I had gotten into a confrontation (again) and I had been taking some help classes on dealing with anger. So, while he was getting up in my face and shouting me down, grew a pair of balls and told him I didn’t wish to speak to him anymore because I’m too angry, and I turned away from him. That’s exactly what the lady told us to do if we ever found ourselves in a confrontation with someone, and being the kid who had critically low self-confidence, I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for myself than I already had.

Most teachers would have either backed off, or at least take into consideration I was using a cool-down method. But of course, Mr. A was an asshole.

He started yelling at me again for being “insubordinate” and he marched his ass out of the classroom and came back with a detention slip.

So, a few days after that fiasco, we had another regarding Wicca and Paganism, because somehow it was brought up in school discussion.

I was around twelve or thirteen at the time, and I was going through a Wicca phase (which girl hadn’t?) and he said that Paganism was the exact same as Wicca. So I politely informed him that he was wrong, they are similar BUT they are not the same religion. For starters, Wicca doesn’t worship any gods, whereas Paganism worshipped gods and goddesses.

So, he gave me a detention slip for that.

Barely a day later we had moved on to Teddy Roosevelt and the legend of the Teddy Bear. HIS retelling of the story was that Teddy Roosevelt refused to shoot a bear cub in a tree. I told him politely that, once again, he was wrong, because while Roosevelt did refuse to shoot the cub, the cub had been TIED to a tree and had been beaten so badly that Roosevelt told his friends to put the cub out of its misery.

As you can guess, he gave me a detention slip.

Three detentions in one week, a personal record and something my grandparents were super angry about, until I explained what happened. Gran whipped up the internet stick (USB thing for internet, no idea what it’s called) and googled them, and printed out the proof and sent it to him.

Mr. A, being the asshole he was, refused to repeal the two detentions even when faced with the actual papers on the matter.

I remember we moved a few months later, and I can’t say that I miss Mr. A. Considering how new he was to teaching, I can only hope he either bettered himself over the years, otherwise, there’d be generations of students who had to deal with one of the top five worst teachers I ever had the displeasure of meeting. (Old Mrs.Willis is still the #1 contender, you’d have to be an akin to a dictator in order to surpass her.)

@ufolotus @dusty-gravedigger @diaroon @robert-the-asshole @nanasketchdump

11 notes · View notes

elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

Magnum Opus: Chapter 10

You can read on Ao3 Here

Chapter 10:

When Will got to Hannibal’s, another car was parked in the driveway. Although it wasn’t as new and conspicuous as Hannibal’s, it was far newer than Will’s –at the very least, it had an auxiliary plug in it. He knocked on the door and noted the Hawaiian floral car freshener wrapped around the rearview mirror and decided that it had to be a girl. He thought of Hannibal’s questions regarding his dating life, and he had to wonder –did Hannibal date? Although he’d only seen small portions of the duplex, there was no sign that another person frequented the place.

“Will, come on in,” Hannibal said, opening the door. Will glanced at him, then past him where he heard the unmistakable sound of talking in another room.

“If I’m early, I can wait,” he said, glancing to his watch.

“No, you’re on time, they’re late.” He ushered Will into the living room where a small group of what had to be college students sat, notebooks and textbooks strewn about in a chaotically organized fashion. At the center of the table, an artfully prepared plate of some form of food rested, sprinkles of herbs accenting the air with a sharp spice across delicately curled meat that looked like the petals of a rose. He recognized Alana Bloom among the crowd. She smiled when she saw him and waved, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

“It’s good to see you again, Will,” she said.

“A new study partner?” another girl asked.

“Everyone, this is Will Graham,” Hannibal said. “Will, you’ve already met Alana. This is her friend and my new acquaintance, Judy Halpert, and a fellow grad student, Frederick Chilton.”

“You’re rather young, aren’t you?” Frederick noted. While Judy was the antithesis of Alana with bleached blonde hair and brown eyes, Frederick looked to be the poor man’s Hannibal. Whereas Hannibal’s jaw and cheekbones were accentuated and sharp, Frederick’s cheeks were soft, his brown hair the owner of too much product. His nose was long, mildly narrow, and hawkish, set above shrewd, calculating hazel-blue eyes. Will scanned his clothes and noted that though he was well-dressed, there was a somewhat flamboyant fashion to his checkered vest and striped tie, almost an ode to Hannibal’s striped vest and chevron tie. Hannibal idled by the chair near Frederick and cast Will an apologetic glance.

“I’m old enough,” Will said with a shrug.

“Oh, leave him alone, Frederick,” Alana said. “You’re just upset that you’re the oldest one here.”

“Everyone just looks so young these days. I swear the freshmen gallivanting about the commons look like they’ve barely hit puberty, let alone graduated from high school,” Frederick said sullenly.

“Maybe that’s just your age showing, not theirs,” Judy teased.

“Will, if you’d like to wait in the study, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Hannibal said before Frederick could reply. Will nodded and headed towards the spiraling staircase, not needing to be told twice. As he ascended the stairs, he heard Judy whisper in a not-so subtle voice,

“He’s legal, isn’t he? I’ll snap him up if he is.”

“You’re already seeing someone, Judy,” Alana reminded her.

“That can change,” Judy said with a snort.

“As fascinating as that is, if we could get back to the task at hand…” Frederick’s voice carried away, and Will hurried up the last few steps, eager to get away from that conversation. He entered Hannibal’s study, and he turned on the light, looking about the warm and comforting room with unease. He was horrible with confrontation.

When Hannibal didn’t immediately follow him upstairs, Will perused the room, tucking his hands into his pockets as he peered at the spines of the elegantly embossed books, reading the titles. While most of them were psychiatric in nature, Will was pleasantly surprised to find books on Greek mythology, fantasy, and history. There was a small corner by the window whose shelves housed poetry, and Dante’s works were also present alongside Milton and Chaucer. Each book had been set with care, as though he’d measured just how many books it’d take to fit each shelf without having to cram them. If there was one thing Will would describe Hannibal as, it was meticulous.

A table that set away from his desk held sheets upon sheets of paper, and Will peered down at a sketch, surprised to see a park with various people in it, the architecture of the city rising up in the distance. Everything was realistic, from the swaying trees to the curving sidewalk, and he smiled, taking his hand out of his pocket to caress it.

“See something you like?” Will gave a start and turned, guilty. Hannibal stood in the room, surveying everything as though he could track Will’s progress through the space by sight alone. Will stuffed his hands back into his pockets and shrugged, looking back to the picture of the park.

“It’s lovely,” he said.

“Thank you,” Hannibal replied. “I love art. It has the power to evoke emotions, even if you don’t know the context of what it is that you’re seeing.”

“What is it I’m seeing?” Will asked. Hannibal crossed the room to look down at the picture, passing a hand just above its surface.

“First, what do you feel?” Will looked down to the drawing once more, studying the smooth, confidant lines of the pencil, the shadowing delicate and precise. The lines were fine, as though he’d taken a single hair and dipped it in ink before working.

“You’ve been to this place before,” he said. “It’s as familiar to you as your home, as comforting as an old friend. You know just how many trees, just how many benches and monuments. This place is special to you.”

“That is a park twenty minutes from here that I enjoy going to just before sunset,” Hannibal said affectionately. His fingertips touched the skyline beyond the park, and he nodded. “You are absolutely correct.”

“Did you do this from memory, or were you there?”

“This is mostly from memory, although I embellished the crowd of people moving about. When I close my eyes, I feel as though I could blend right into the spaces between that seem to exist at times like twilight and dusk. There is an almost ethereal presence in that place, although I could not say why. I think we make things that way, with the emotion we give them.” Will nodded and studied the faces, their heads downturned or away from the picture, as though he wanted them to have the potential to be anyone at any given time.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Will said.

“Is that why you keep your hands in your pockets? You prevent yourself from reaching out to touch something beautiful?” Hannibal asked. Will shrugged, although the question stung and buried deep.

“I don’t want to ruin it,” Will replied.

“That says far more about your perception of yourself than it does about how beautiful you find the art,” Hannibal said kindly.

“So you study psychiatry, you play the harpsicord, you make apparently grand and lavish food, and you draw. What else do you do?” Will asked, ignoring Hannibal’s observation. Hannibal laughed and when to the small pitcher of water, pouring two glasses of it.

“At the risk of sounding like I’m bragging, I play the Theremin as well.” He offered a glass to Will, then set his own on the end table by his chair, next to the notebook that had Will’s notes. Will studied it and wondered why he hadn’t opened the book to see what was inside. What sort of notes did Hannibal keep of him? Better yet, did he want to know?

That is impressive,” Will said seriously. “And I’d say that you can dance just as well as any, and you speak several languages?”

“If I say yes to both, are you going to think differently of me?” Hannibal flashed him a small smile.

“Seeing this house, no.” Will took a sip of water, but as Hannibal sat down, he couldn’t bring himself to do the same. He slid his thumb along the edge of the glass and studied the water, contemplative. He was aware of Hannibal’s eyes on him, waiting, but instead of crossing over the rug to sit down, he paced, walking along the bookshelves to find his words within the letters on the spines.

“Is everything alright, Will?”

“No…not really.” He frowned and took another sip of water.

“I apologize for the study group running late,” Hannibal said. “Frederick has a knack for debate, even in the smallest of circumstances.”

“Why did you lie to me?” Will asked, turning to look back at him. His tongue was like sandpaper, rough against the roof of his mouth. He took another sip of water to try and wash down the feeling of grit on his teeth.

“I wasn’t aware that I lied,” Hannibal said. A flash of concern, followed by confusion passed over his face, and he shifted in his chair to better observe Will.

“You gave me photos of a crime scene where a man was growing fungi off of bodies, and I found a gravesite just like that five miles into the Wolf Trap forest,” Will said. He scowled and looked out of the window, noting that the car that’d been previously parked there was gone. “You said that the man had been found.”

“I said no such thing,” Hannibal objected. He crossed his leg over his knee and leaned back into his chair, hands resting casually on the arm rests. “You said that you were comforted by the fact that he was behind bars, but I never said that he was behind bars.”

“You allowed me to assume that he was behind bars,” Will countered, walking over to him.

“Because it gave you comfort. You put yourself into a stressful position in order to better understand yourself as well as your connections to Jared Freeman, and I wasn’t going to shatter the safe space you’d created for yourself in the assumption that he’d been detained by the FBI.” Will opened his mouth to argue, but he found himself flustered, caught off guard. His eyebrows drew down, and he looked to Hannibal’s impeccably shiny shoes.

“You allowing me a ‘safe space’ for comfort made me feel like you were lying when I found those bodies,” said Will.

“I apologize for that. I had no idea or reason to think you’d find a new set of bodies from the killer, so I felt that it was harmless. I can see that you’re upset, though. Are you used to people willfully lying to you for profit or gain?” Will started to lie, but he stopped. He looked down at his worn, fraying belt, and he nodded. He couldn’t very well tell a lie when he was angry at someone else for the same.

“My dad has a habit of lying if he thinks it will buy him time or buy him a way out,” he said. He had to force the words out, a crowbar prying them off of his tongue.

“I had no intention of buying time for myself or buying a way out, Will,” Hannibal said lightly. “I feel that in our study of your mind, I’m going to find myself apologizing a lot –to not abuse or overuse the word or the meaning behind it, I will use it sparingly in order to not sully it by repetition. That being said, I do apologize for making you feel that I was lying to you in a manner that was reminiscent of your father’s behavior.” It wasn’t the most emotional apology Will had ever heard, but it somehow rang truer because of it. Hannibal wasn’t going to overexert himself with flowery or poetic words, and it occurred to Will that it was because Hannibal respected him that he wouldn’t. He nudged his shoe over the intricate, exotic design on the rug, and he sat down in his chair.

“Thank you,” Will said honestly. Hannibal nodded and took that as a sign to open his notebook and begin.

“Before we interviewed the students of your classroom, the FBI agents had us go through the files of each student to see if Dr. Du Maurier or I could spot something among the notes and behaviors. Your file was by far the largest, and I’ve never seen a student transfer so much. You stayed at that particular school for almost four years, but that wasn’t normal.”

“No, my dad had a habit of moving a lot,” Will said snidely.

“What would cause him to move so suddenly?” Hannibal asked. “That many different instances of uprooting you from your education must have made connections to people difficult.”

“Something at work would happen, and we’d move. He’d pay the rent late, and we’d move. He’d get into a fight at a bar, we’d move. I’d get in trouble at school, we’d move.” Will tacked the reasons off on his fingers, setting the glass down. “He’d get wind that maybe my mother was in town, we’d move. He’d get wind that maybe my mother left town, we’d move.”

“With each move, did a new beginning become easier for you?”

“It’s easy for my dad…I already don’t have an interest in people. I don’t…connect the way that others connect. I can’t grasp the mode of conversation or the tone, but I can see exactly why and how she covers arms with her jacket to avoid suspicion. For him, each place is a chance to change out the mask he’s placed over his face, and everything else just falls into line.”

“But not you,” Hannibal noted. “Does he struggle with your lack of social abilities?”

“Oh yes,” Will laughed. It was the kind of laugh that cut short too soon and left room for misunderstanding. He started to say more, but somehow the sound echoed in his ears, and he lost his train of thought. He looked down at his shoes.

“Do you want to be able to socialize with your peers on a level closer than what you feel that you’re capable of?”

“Sometimes,” Will said. “I know that sooner or later, though, I’m going to see something that pulls me right into their head, and I’m not talking to them anymore, it’s like I’m speaking with myself except I don’t exist anymore. When I can finally separate, I have to pick apart what is left of them that clings to me and what I truly am.” His voice lowered with each word until it was only a breath above a whisper; Hannibal had to lean in to catch it.

“Did that happen when you found the bodies in the forest?” Hannibal asked. “Did you go to run, only to be stopped by the chilling sensation that it was you who put them there?”

“No. I thought that I was seeing things, so I kept telling myself that what I was seeing wasn’t real.”

“When did it occur to you that it was?”

“When I kept trying to ground myself in the present situation, and it didn’t change. Then, when the police verified what I saw, I realized that all of it was real.” Will bit his lip, thinking of the horrific call to the police, how he’d stammered and stuttered until they were able to piece his string of thoughts together to understand the horrors that he struggled to convey. The operator made him stay on the line, promising that help was on the way. There was a dull ache in his head, something reminiscent of the day before.

“You don’t trust your mental state, so you rely on others to create the parameters of what is real and what isn’t,” Hannibal said, neither condemning nor agreeing. “Do you trust the average, day-to-day person to accurately create your reality?”

“I try to choose that person carefully…people of authority, government figures, teachers, peers with a stable head on their shoulders. That sort of thing,” Will said wryly. Hannibal nodded, pen artfully turning end over end along his fingers as he thought.

“You sometimes fall into dark places with no end in sight. You need a person that you can trust to help you out of those spaces when you find yourself led in.” Hannibal said at last, closing his notebook.

“I’m trying to trust you,” said Will. “That’s why I wasn’t comfortable with the thought of you lying to me.”

“Do you trust me to tell you reality versus what your mind conjures?” he asked. “Do you trust me to give you the truth of the world, rather than my own truth? Sometimes that line for any person is difficult to find.”

“I’ve been told that that comes with time and experience together. I get to know you better, and it helps me trust you to be that guiding force. I’m trusting you to treat me, and that’s more than what can be said for anyone else.”

“I don’t dismiss that as a crucial step,” Hannibal replied. “I appreciate that you’ve given me such a chance.”

“You say that like it’s a gift.” Will laughed and scratched his neck. Hannibal’s eyes tracked the movement, and he nodded seriously.

“From what I have observed and heard from you, I am of the opinion that any form of attention or consideration from the closed off and unsociable Will Graham should be seen as a gift and handled with care.” Hannibal’s stare was intent, unmasked in its attentions, and Will had to look away; he didn’t want to misunderstand, and he was certain that he was two seconds away from such a thing.

“How old is Frederick Chilton?” He asked when he trusted his voice. He gulped down his water.

“He is twenty-eight, I believe –why?”

“Alana said that he was the oldest in the room…how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-four years old,” Hannibal replied.

“You’re going to graduate from grad school so young?” Will asked, surprised.

“I graduated at seventeen from high school, then finished my undergrad a year early. It was grueling work, but certainly possible.” Hannibal stood and went to the pitcher to refill his water, and Will stayed put, turning the glass around and around in his hands. He pressed his palms to the sides, and he stared down at the distorted whorls and curls of his fingerprints through the water.

“How did you get your hands on FBI files of a man that hasn’t been caught yet?” Will asked.

“Dr. Du Maurier has consulted with the FBI, as you know. If she feels that I can give special insight, she allows me to accompany her to their headquarters. She’s spoken with them on the case, and I merely took the files from her office.” Hannibal crossed back over and sat down once more, setting his glass down beside him.

“Is she going to be angry that you have the files?”

“They’ve already been returned without her ever knowing of their absence,” Hannibal reassured him.

“Is Jack Crawford going to find out that you had them?” Will pressed.

“Only if you tell him,” he replied. He smiled slightly, a crafty twist of his lip that lit up his entire face. “Will you keep our secret?”

It wasn’t lost on Will that Hannibal called it ‘their’ secret. He bit at his bottom lip and considered the toe of his shoe before he gave a short nod. Hannibal nodded with him, and he leaned back in his chair, contemplating Will.

“I’m sure you heard Alana Bloom’s friend comment on your appearance. Do you have such issues at your school, too?” Hannibal asked.

“Not really,” Will replied. “Then again, I don’t put myself in a position where people just walk up to me and start a conversation.”

“No? But you expression is so amicable,” Hannibal stated with such a serious expression that it took Will a minute to realize he was teasing. He stared, and he let out a short laugh, reaching up a hand to wipe it away.

“I have that reputation,” he said, and he peered up at the ceiling, shrugging. “I think relationships like that are just as dangerous as seeing into a killer’s mind.”

“Oh?” Hannibal’s brows lifted in curiosity.

“I bleed into them…people talk about love where you become one in the same, and it’s the ultimate goal for couples, isn’t it? Metaphorically, they are one in the same. Two halves of a whole.”

“It is believed soul mates were once one person that was split apart because the gods feared them. People search their entire lives to find their soulmate; the one that connects to them on a level that defies all forms of logic,” Hannibal stated, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well they’d have a hard time finding theirs because I’d slowly become whatever it was I perceived them to be. They’d think they found their other half, and I’d have an existential crisis trying to put myself back together day after day after day.” Will sighed, shaking his head. He’d been asked out once, by a shy boy who’d written his number in a lovely shade of green ink. Will tried to explain why it was such a terrible idea, but the words came out wrong. He’d ended up apologizing to the trash can, unable to even look at him.

“Believing that you’d have an existential crisis implies you believe in God. Do you?”

“Well someone has to be getting a kick out of what’s happening to me,” Will replied. “Don’t you think?”

“I think God is phenomenally moved by many ironic things. Just last week, he dropped a church roof on over one hundred and sixty followers in Nigeria. Just like that.”

“Do you think he laughed, though?” Will asked. “Do you think he…felt saddened by it?”

“I think he felt powerful,” Hannibal replied. “Anyone in a position of power over another will sometimes push just to see how far they can go while maintaining the same imbalanced relationship.”

“Which is why I won’t date,” Will said with a cold, crippling laugh. “If someone found out that they could literally mold my perception of them as well as my realities, they’d probably play God and drop a church on me.” Hannibal smiled with him, and he nodded, making another quick note on the paper.

After their session, Will turned his collar up to the wind that tossed rain at his back, and he wasted no time hurrying to his car and climbing in. He exchanged the sodden napkin for a dry one at the base of the windshield, and he fired the truck up, windshield wipers unhelpful on the first setting and utterly terrifying on the second. He drove through the rain, squinting past the glass, and he thought of Hannibal’s lie by omission, and his request for ‘their’ secret to be safe. He figured that out of anyone that he’d met in his life, Hannibal was one of the first he’d ever consider keeping secrets for.

#hannibal #hannibal fanfic #hannigram #Will graham x hannibal #lias scribbles #hannibal slowburn #hannibal au

4 notes · View notes

foursprout-blog · 6 years

Text

10 Definite Signs The Two Of You Should Break Up

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/10-definite-signs-the-two-of-you-should-break-up/

10 Definite Signs The Two Of You Should Break Up

Thought Catalog Instagram

Breaking up isn’t merely hard to do, it’s downright brutal … that’s why so many of us avoid the inevitable!

A breakup can feel almost like a death. It’s the death of the potential of what could have been. You went into it with such high hopes of where it all would lead … and now you have to accept that maybe this is the end of the road.

Also, who really wants to start all over again? Who wants to jump back into the dating waters, get to know someone new, open up, figure out this other person and how well you mesh, meet his family and friends, have him meet your family and friends, and so on. It just seems so much easier to stay where you are, with someone you already know, notwithstanding how miserable you make one another.

This way of thinking causes far too many of us to stay in relationships that aren’t working for far too long. And there is a big price to pay for this. You can never recycle wasted time. When it’s gone, it’s gone. How many of your years are you willing to squander? There is also a big cost to your self-esteem.

Being in a bad relationship can wear away at you and turn you into someone you barely recognize. You know you’re unhappy, but you try to convince yourself otherwise because it just seems easier.

One of the most important relationship skills is knowing when to walk away. Knowing when it’s not right. It isn’t always the easy thing to do, but it is really your only option and you’re only delaying the inevitable and cheating yourself out of happiness by not facing the truth.

So let’s look at some of the biggest signs the relationship is done and you should break up.

1. You’re holding onto the good memories.

You’re not living in the present. You’re living in the past and holding onto the memories of how great things used to be. Nevermind the fact that things haven’t been good in a very long time. Once upon a time you got along, you were madly in love, you laughed and enjoyed each other.

You know things could be good because they were good. But how long will you hang onto these memories? When do you accept that the shiny past no longer exists and all you have is a gloomy present?

2. You don’t like yourself.

This is one of the biggest signs that this relationship isn’t working. Bad relationships have a way of turning us into bad versions of ourselves, into the worst versions of ourselves. Whereas we started off confident, happy, and full of light, now we’re insecure, angry, and full of darkness. You can’t remember the last time you smiled genuinely or felt genuinely happy.

You know this isn’t you. This unhappy, uninspired, miserable person is a shadow of your former self. So why do you stay? Because of how much you like him. Or how much you think you like him.

A good relationship usually brings out our best. In the process, we are sometimes forced to confront our worst traits, but overall, we feel seen and heard. We feel loved for who we are and this is invigorating and encourages our true selves to shine. Bad relationships do exactly the opposite. So forget about your feelings for him, ask yourself how you feel about you.

3. He isn’t trying to make it work.

In order for a relationship to work, two people need to be committed to making it work. One person can’t carry the team.

If he doesn’t seem to care about fixing things or he tells you everything is fine as it is and if you have a problem then it’s your problem or he won’t work with you to make things better, then there isn’t much you can do.

Relationships take work. They’re like plants. They need love, attention, and nourishment or they’ll wither and die. If he isn’t willing to put anything in, then there isn’t much to hold onto.

4. You feel drained.

Being around your partner doesn’t feel good anymore and it hasn’t for a long time. You don’t feel uplifted, excited, or inspired. You feel like you’ve been through an emotional war. You feel drained and exhausted like you have nothing left to give.

You know the feeling. That’s that feeling of utter hopelessness and despair because no amount of trying seems to get you anywhere.

5. You are both full of resentment.

Resentment is absolute poison for a relationship. It may creep in slowly over time, but will rapidly multiply and take you both over if left unchecked.

A buildup of a resentment is a strong sign that communication has fully broken down. You can’t express your needs to him in a healthy way because he doesn’t hear it, and vice versa. What stops you from hearing it is a wall of resentment that has built up over time. Instead of hearing each other out, you think, “Well why should I do anything for him when he can’t even XYZ for me?”

When arguments arise, which they do with increasing frequency, you fight dirty. Fights are a chance to let all your aggression and resentment run wild and it all comes out. Instead of trying to reach a resolution, an argument causes further dissolution. As a result, you may keep having the same fights over and over, spinning round and round in this toxic circle.

6. Your friends and family think you should break up.

Your close friends and family usually know the truth. Now the question is how willing are you to listen to what they have to say?

I was in a horribly toxic relationship years ago and not one person in my life approved of him. They didn’t care that I was in love and that I claimed he made me happy. They saw how bad he was for me because they had something I didn’t: objectivity.

I basically ended up isolating myself from everyone closest to me and clinging tighter to my toxic partner, deluding myself into thinking he was amazing and everyone else was crazy and didn’t know what they were talking about. Fortunately, everyone I shunned was sympathetic when the relationship inevitably imploded and they didn’t hit me too hard with the “I told you so” comments.

You may find you don’t tell the truth about your relationship to anyone. When you talk about the relationship, you leave out key details because you know how bad it will sound, and you know what the other person is going to say and you just don’t want to hear it. And if anyone says something even slightly negative about your relationship, you get disproportionately defensive. That’s because the truth hits us harder than any misconception.

7. You feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

You can’t just relax and just be. You’re always anxious and on edge. Your relationship feels like a minefield. A step in the wrong direction and here comes the explosion. So you tiptoe around the house trying not to make a sound. You’re afraid to do or say almost anything because everything turns into a fight.

You feel physically ill most of the time. There’s a perpetual lump in your throat and knot in your stomach and you are in a hyper-vigilant state, waiting for the next explosion.

8. You’re settling for what you don’t want.

This is one of the most common scenarios. You’re in a situation that isn’t what you want and you stay … hoping at some point in time it will transform into the magical, loving relationship you’ve always dreamed of. For example, maybe you want a certain level of commitment and he plainly tells you he can’t give it to you … but you stay, hoping he’ll change his mind.

We can keep ourselves shackled to all sorts of horrible situations while clinging to the hope of what could be and this is always, always a huge waste of time.

9. You cling tightly to “as soon as…”

This ties into the previous point. You aren’t living in the present, you are living in some idyllic future.

The only thing really keeping you in the relationship is the phrase “As soon as.” Everything will be fine as soon as he gets his depression under control … as soon as he isn’t so stressed at work… as soon as his family drama resolves … as soon as he’s ready to commit. You need to look at the situation as is, not what it will be as soon as…

10. You are totally incompatible.

Chemistry cannot override incompatibility, and yet so many people think a lusty sex life is all you need to survive as a couple! I don’t care how good the sex is, if you are incompatible, it will not work. If you have different values, different life goals, and are unable to fulfill each other’s fundamental needs, this relationship will not last.

Love doesn’t conquer all and it definitely doesn’t conquer incompatibility, despite what romantic comedies would have you believe. You need to identify what it is you want and need in life. What are your goals and values? What is your vision for the future? If he isn’t on the same page and his vision vastly differs from yours then you need to accept that this just isn’t a match and no amount of hammering away is going to make it fit.

#Happiness

0 notes

foursprouthappiness-blog · 6 years

Text

10 Definite Signs The Two Of You Should Break Up

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/10-definite-signs-the-two-of-you-should-break-up-2/

10 Definite Signs The Two Of You Should Break Up

Thought Catalog Instagram

Breaking up isn’t merely hard to do, it’s downright brutal … that’s why so many of us avoid the inevitable!

Being in a bad relationship can wear away at you and turn you into someone you barely recognize. You know you’re unhappy, but you try to convince yourself otherwise because it just seems easier.

So let’s look at some of the biggest signs the relationship is done and you should break up.

1. You’re holding onto the good memories.

You know things could be good because they were good. But how long will you hang onto these memories? When do you accept that the shiny past no longer exists and all you have is a gloomy present?

2. You don’t like yourself.

You know this isn’t you. This unhappy, uninspired, miserable person is a shadow of your former self. So why do you stay? Because of how much you like him. Or how much you think you like him.

3. He isn’t trying to make it work.

In order for a relationship to work, two people need to be committed to making it work. One person can’t carry the team.

Relationships take work. They’re like plants. They need love, attention, and nourishment or they’ll wither and die. If he isn’t willing to put anything in, then there isn’t much to hold onto.

4. You feel drained.

You know the feeling. That’s that feeling of utter hopelessness and despair because no amount of trying seems to get you anywhere.

5. You are both full of resentment.

Resentment is absolute poison for a relationship. It may creep in slowly over time, but will rapidly multiply and take you both over if left unchecked.

6. Your friends and family think you should break up.

Your close friends and family usually know the truth. Now the question is how willing are you to listen to what they have to say?

7. You feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

You feel physically ill most of the time. There’s a perpetual lump in your throat and knot in your stomach and you are in a hyper-vigilant state, waiting for the next explosion.

8. You’re settling for what you don’t want.

We can keep ourselves shackled to all sorts of horrible situations while clinging to the hope of what could be and this is always, always a huge waste of time.

9. You cling tightly to “as soon as…”

This ties into the previous point. You aren’t living in the present, you are living in some idyllic future.

10. You are totally incompatible.

#Happiness

0 notes