#i also feel so angry at myself because i searched again for a trigger i have and i find it so difficult to stop

[formulapisces]

i’m starting to feel bad again after doing mostly fine all day

#i think it’s mostly just feeling guilty about leaving my job and the anxiety about getting my PiP application possibly being rejected #even though i feel relieved it’s affecting my anxiety #i also feel so angry at myself because i searched again for a trigger i have and i find it so difficult to stop #i tried so hard to resist the urge to do it and i still ended up doing it and it’s just too much all at once #its beginning to be a huge problem and i just cant stop #i’ve tried to distract myself in so many ways and nothing is working #so now that is making me anxious #i need to call my gp to ask about medication for my anxiety and ocd #i just need help

[paperclipbean]

I love stories. I joke that books are my best friends, but it's not entirely a joke. When GO first triggered such a deep emotional response from me, my husband noticed and couldn't understand. In my own effort to understand and explain it, I've looked back, looked up, looked around. I've spent so much time unearthing things in myself that I'd buried. I've brushed off the dirt, looked closely, and felt things awaken that hurt but need to be allowed to hurt to properly heal. These things have echoed the raw emotion of my first response, but I can tell they are not the whole answer. I've rewatched the TV series (a *few times), read the book, joined Tumblr to read other people's ideas, and kept notebooks full of analysis, ideas, questions. I've recommited to my writing because I can feel that part of me waking up again -- stirring and sitting up in a deep pit of despair where rejection had left it to wither. It's not just that the trigger was painful- it was also awakening. So much about myself that had just laid down and accepted "this is life" is waking up and it's angry, and hopeful, and confused. After all my searching, I think that part of the reason is how I relate personally to this story based on my past and my dreams. But, also, I absolutely love Aziraphale and Crowley. I love their story. It's touched me deeply and I'll never be the same. And really really good stories do that. I also think that so many of us feel like this because we are all Aziraphale and Crowley. They are in each of us. Personally, I'm much more Aziraphale- in so many beautiful and, also, unhealthy ways. And, I've followed the rules all my life. Full of love but at the detriment to myself, never allowed to even really ask what I want. When I think back to my young adult self, I remember knowing I really wanted children. But, also knowing I really did not want to be married. At that time, being married meant a man and a woman. That's all. And, if you wanted children, that was your only choice. I remember the deep shame of my thoughts about other girls, and the shame was so strong that I never even admitted those "temptations" to anyone. I thought, it's bad enough being tempted by lustful thoughts about boys, having these thoughts about girls, too, was some twisted act of the devil and if I even admitted to being tempted in that way, I'd be ... well, at the time, it didn't even bear thinking about. Let's just say, it would not have gone over well. With anyone. There were no allies. There was no one telling me to be myself. There were a lot of people telling me to follow the rules and be "good." Can you imagine Aziraphale if he'd never met Crowley? Imagine all those questions slowly pecking at his brain with no one to encourage him to explore the answers, helping him to look at things differently, showing him that love can exist and good can manifest-- outside the "rules." Imagine never tasting food because you were told it's unhealthy and wrong- all the while knowing you want to taste the food. But, never allowing yourself. Never allowing yourself to even ask if that's what you really want. Over the years, I've developed some beautiful friendships that have given me the space to question and to be myself. I'm so very thankful for those friendships. But, it's not the same as what I see when I look at Aziraphale and Crowley. And that's what I want. And that want is what is waking up inside, yawning and stretching, and it hurts, and it's bittersweet. But I refuse to try and put it back to sleep. Have you ever felt a deep sense of missing someone, but you can't place who? Or feeling homesick when you're home? I've felt that way before. It always puzzled me. I think that even though I like the analogy that we are all part Aziraphale and part Crowley, I admit that I'm much more Aziraphale. And, I think I'm searching for Crowley. I want that. I want what they have with my whole heart. But, like Aziraphale, I can't bring myself to hurt anyone else in order to find it.

Update: I left an abusive relationship. (Yes, I'm in therapy.) I came out to my mom after fearing that conversation for years. It was beautiful. I moved to the city. I was terrified at the time; but, I love it. I am writing. It makes me feel alive and whole. I am acting for the first time. It's something I've always wanted to do and I love it. I'm making new friends and I'm so very thankful for all the friends who have supported me on this journey. I wouldn't say I've met my Crowley. But, I'm learning how to ask for what I want. I'm learning not to be afraid of making mistakes. (Yes, and. Go improv!) I hope that anyone else who has read this and identified with my story is encouraged to stand up for yourself and have the courage to seek a happy, healthy life. I welcome any asks or DMs.

#good omens #my best friends are books #Aziraphale and Crowley #ineffable husbands #will anyone even read this #doesn't matter #i needed to write it #missing someone you've never met

[lotusthewriter]

What I've Done - Chapter 3

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)

Rating: T

Relationships: Alphonse (Wrath) & Edward

Characters: Alphonse Elric (Wrath), Edward Elric, Sloth, Dante, Envy, Izumi Curtis; MINOR - Roy Mustang; other characters to be added

Summary: “As soon as the homunculus decides to shove these feelings down his throat and take the alchemist to Dante for once and for all, his troubled opponent finally dares to say something that stops the world from going.

“… Al?”

It paralyzes Wrath.”

A Homunculus Alphonse Elric AU.

Word count: TBA

AO3

First chapter | Previous chapter

A/N: I actually already had this chapter planned but I hadn't written it out, so here you have it!

The next chapters will take longer to be posted, though, but I want to keep dedicating myself to this AU, because I really like exploring these characters and the idea of a homunculus Al. Even though this chapter specifically will focus more on Ed's side of the story.

If you want to check out my concept art for this AU, you can check out my art blog, @lotusthekat! I usually post it under the #homunculus al tag :)

Alright, so big trigger warning for suicidal thoughts/ideation in this chapter. It applies to the whole fic, but it's very present here.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - death, grief, repressed trauma, child abuse, physical and emotional abuse, emotional neglect, canon-typical violence, self-sacrifice, suicidal thoughts, blood and injury and loss of limbs. (More might be added)

P/roship DNI.

--

“... AL! ALPHONSE!”

His throat is sore at this point.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the forest, looking for that kid. Someone like that shouldn’t be this hard to be spotted.

Edward coughs roughly, exhausted both from the search and the fight that once took place. He has fought many, many powerful enemies before, but he never thought someone would be as quick as Ed, knowing his every move.

Ed has pretty much lost his strength at this point, unable to run or perform alchemy. He’s glad his automail hasn’t broken, but there’s too much inside his head and Ed doesn’t know what to do about it.

As he drops to his knees on the dirt, not caring about it dirtying his pants, there are desperate steps coming in his direction. Ed almost wants them to be that boy, but it turns out to be Ed’s alchemy teacher, Izumi, who also seems to have been hopelessly searching for someone in the woods.

“Ed!” Teacher exclaims. “Where the hell were you?! I’ve been looking everywhere-!”

She stops the yelling when she sees the state Ed is in, her eyes softening in concern.

“Oh, Edward… what happened to you?” She asks as she helps him stand up.

Ed looks away, gulping in fear. Izumi was really angry with him when she found out what he had done, so he doesn’t want to make her mad again. She notices, hence why the woman gently rubs his cheek, probably to clean off the dirt in his face.

“Hey,” Izumi whispers, “you can tell me, Ed.”

He’s not entirely convinced.

Thus, she sighs.

“I… I’m sorry I never made you feel safe enough to come to me all these years,” Izumi apologizes. “So, I want to do this one thing right. I want to be part of your journey. I wouldn’t have come all the way to Dante if I didn’t.”

Her smile is… truly soothing.

Ed doesn’t feel scared of her right now.

Though, it’s really not just her. It’s the fact that everyone involved with Ed will only get hurt or disappear. He doesn’t want that to happen to his teacher, either.

Regardless, Ed finds himself relaxing, letting out the deepest sigh.

“Okay.”

--

Close.

So damn close.

Yet Ed couldn’t even do this right.

His little brother’s hand was gone.

And there’s a monster in the transmutation circle.

He failed.

But most importantly, Edward failed his little brother.

And he couldn’t bear that.

With his own blood and an absent leg, Ed yells at the beyond, hopefully to bring Al back even if in this armor for now.

Once again, the bright light obfuscates the dark basement.

And Ed has no right arm.

Except…

“Al?”

The armor doesn’t show one sign of life. Other than the monster, there’s no other sign of life at all.

Still, Ed, obviously struggling, manages to cling to the metal armor, to see if it’s going to move.

“Al, can you hear me?” The boy begs.

Nothing.

“C-Come on, Al, say something.”

Ed starts shaking the armor, though pathetically since he only has one arm to do that.

“Please. Please, Al.”

It smells like tears, blood, and rotten flesh.

And dead metal.

“No…” Ed’s voice is a pitch higher. “No, no, no! I gave up my arm! Give him back! GIVE HIM BACK!!”

He’s pounding on the metal armor, hating it with every force out there, and yet unable to rip it apart in two. Ed is so angry that not even destroying a thousand armors would ever satiate the feeling.

Edward gradually sobs more painfully, growing numb to the pain and the blood coming out of him.

“He’s my little brother…” he whispers, his true priority. “Please…”

He’s probably going to die.

What’s the point, anyway?

"Al... come back..."

He won't.

The older Elric growls loudly and pounds the metal with force, not even caring about hurting his only weak hand.

"No! Al! AL!" He yells. "AL!!!!"

Ed lost everything.

And he’s going to die alone, all because he was too selfish.

“I’m sorry…” Ed cries, vision slowly darkening.

He has nothing. Nothing.

…

There are steps coming downstairs.

They sound like… boots.

Ed already feels rage just imagining who that could be.

Not him of all people…!

The steps rush to Ed’s direction.

The boy growls, “Go away…”

Whoever is there scoffs quietly. “Kid, you are literally bleeding to death.”

“I don’t care!” Ed ends up whining instead of sounding actually angry.

It’s not like he’s even able to resist much considering half of his limbs are gone, so Ed feels himself being held in the stranger’s arms.

“So, you did all of this…” the man mumbles.

The boy’s golden eyes are filled with tears again.

“It hurts…” Ed sobs.

He realizes he’s losing more and more touch with reality.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see Mom or Alphonse once he leaves.

“... Winry,” Ed whispers nonsensically, his last hope. “Rockbell…”

There’s silence, then a sympathetic sigh.

“You’ll be alright, kid.”

Beyond his better judgment, Ed finds himself hiding in that stranger’s firm arms, clinging to his wet coat. It’s far from comfortable, yet Ed has already lost everything to care.

The only things Ed will remember then are blurs.

--

When Ed wakes up, he’s in bed taking soup, Winry eyeing him with curious yet terrified blue eyes.

Winry and Granny are apprehensive, neither of them daring to speak. It’s quite a miracle that Ed survived, according to Granny. He expected her to give him a full lecture, and maybe she was about to do so… when Winry asked Ed about Alphonse.

With silence as their only answer, Granny is not even cranky. If Ed isn’t seeing things, she might be letting out tears in secret. Winry appears to have cried, too, and she still does every now and then.

It’s raining too much outside.

Ed knows that creature is still there in the basement, but maybe it’s just going to die due to its state.

Al, then… never came back.

Ed knows he can’t say anything. Nothing will be enough to explain what happened. No apologies will ever bring Mom and Al back. There’s absolutely nothing to justify the older Elric.

Unlike the Rockbells, he’s too empty to cry. Like all the tears were gone with the rain.

The boy doesn’t feel any pain.

He has nothing.

Nothing at all.

He could’ve just… died.

Why didn’t he?

Ed already lost everything.

What was the point?

He’s nearly claimed by the deep rain when the guy that saved him – and Ed already hates him for it – returns, after borrowing the house phone for the moment being. Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, apparently, was looking for the Elrics’ father thanks to a couple of unsent letters. Ed tunes out of the conversation entirely at the mention of that old man, almost wanting to tell everyone else to leave him alone to die.

Ed is staring at the window, golden eyes deprived of any hope, when he hears the same boots coming to him… gently this time.

“You may not think so right now… but I know you have talent, kid,” Mustang lowers his voice to him. Ed refuses to look back, and the man understands it. “If you want to use it, well… I hope you are ready for the next State Alchemist exam.”

Now is the time Granny Pinako yells at Mustang, appalled that the Lieutenant Colonel would suggest something as such to a bleeding eleven-year-old. At least he leaves before the older Rockbell can kick him out with her wrenches and automail limbs.

Ed, for the first time that night, frowns.

None of them see it.

State Alchemist…

--

“... everything has been for Al.”

Izumi’s black eyes are deep with sadness.

“Nothing else mattered,” Ed explains to her. “I would do everything to get my little brother back. I joined the military, I fought the fiercest and most dangerous enemies, all just for Al.” He could only stare at his automail arm… now knowing where his real limbs must have gone.

His metal limbs make noise, shaking.

“I… I never thought… I-I’d see his face again.”

Izumi tenses. “What do you mean?”

Ed’s head is lowered. “... homunculi.”

She gasps. “You mean…”

He sniffs.

“He fought just like Al, but he was much stronger and faster than me,” Ed narrates. “He was… the only homunculus I’ve ever seen performing alchemy.” He blinks. “I didn’t know why at the time… but I think he has my limbs, Teacher.”

Izumi grabs some of her own hair. “No.”

Ed chuckles bitterly. “Turns out I haven’t lost my right arm for nothing.”

His metal fist tightens, almost breaking into pieces. Winry would disapprove instantly.

“He really wasn’t like them. He only focused on fighting me. Until… I cut his hair with my automail, and he was suddenly really angry,” Ed recalls. “His hair was long and it covered most of his face, so it was only when he was about to punch me in the face that I… saw him.”

Growling teeth, intense purple eyes, profound hatred and resentment…

“It looked like… it was really him , Teacher.”

“Edward,” she warns, “you know that isn’t true.”

“It wasn’t just the- the physical appearance, it was like the real Alphonse wanting to beat me up for everything I did to him,” Edward’s voice breaks just imagining his little brother hating him. “And it’s even worse that the moment I called him Al… he looked terrified. He ran away from me. It was like he hadn’t heard that name in years, and… it meant something to him."

Izumi looks like she wants to deny that the homunculus is Al, yet she’s too pained to dismiss Ed’s suffering.

“I’m pissed off, too, that the homunculi never told me about him,” he bites. “They must’ve known this whole time, and they decided to play with my feelings to get what they wanted.” Ed can only remember Nina’s dead eyes staring deep into his soul, after he also failed to save her, after she brightened his darkest days without Alphonse’s sunlight.

The woman sighs. “I’m so sorry, Ed.”

“It’s not your fault, Teacher. It’s all mine.” His eyes grow wet, only for his left arm to dry them. “I’ve already suspected something was off for a while… but after seeing that boy…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, refusing to come up with the conclusion. Izumi notices, and while she does not force him to spit it out, she grabs him by the shoulders gently yet solidly, her eyes now serious.

“Edward,” she calls him, “you can’t run away from the past anymore. You have got to make a decision, to take up responsibility for what you’ve done. You must, or else you will regret it.”

The pain of a mother giving up her own child, and unable to turn back on it, is heard beneath Izumi’s stoic nature. Ed swallows the tears of his eleven-year-old self, the tears that rarely come out nowadays because he lost everything that night.

Izumi cannot ever go back on her choice. Ed wants to believe he can bring his brother back, but now that the truth has come to take him down itself…

He doesn’t want to give up on this. He can’t let Al go.

Ed doesn’t think he could handle living with his absence any longer.

“It’ll be okay,” Izumi reassures him, wiping his unseen tears for him. “I promise.”

She hugs him like he’s her own child, loving him despite all the mistakes he’s made.

Ed isn’t entirely soothed by the embrace, which is not Izumi’s fault. He knows she’s trying her best and will continue to do so.

The knowledge, however, of that lost boy in the forest, running forever and ever without a destination, and that ghost that keeps haunting Ed whenever he’s near the Führer…

He won’t be ready.

…

Not yet.

#fullmetal alchemist #fma 03 #edward elric #alphonse elric #elric brothers #izumi curtis #alternate universe #homunculus alphonse elric #homunculus al #fma au #suicide tw #suicidal thoughts tw #death mention tw #grief tw #fanfiction #long post

[intolerancecare]

Criminals or Slaves

Would you know if someone really has a tendency to kill or do criminal acts? Criminal would probably be the only person that will warrant a bad treatment.

When I was in rehab, I saw some people who have been quiet and obedient. Not as angry as me for being locked. When they got out, we still see each other in the facility weekly. Answering lies in our worksheet. At least for some. They are provided. Some speaks of wealth, but their family would immediately report disobedience and bad behaviour. I find that trigger happy, lies, power tripping. Same abhorrence that I felt when my family started stating the reason why they brought me in. In one of our sessions online. I can imagine others laughing at my misfortune. The people that I fed and sent to school. I scared them? Wow. I was just too lazy to do anything at home. I just watch IU and other Kshows. Duh! I used to suffer being with my cousins who watch nothing the whole day but MTv. De Vera would say again that they are me? Hear ye... Their just MYX (local Music Channel) Well, sometimes we watch movies. And yes, my ate's only local, VIVA shows. My kuyas yeah MTv only.

Anyways, they are now old and have their own family. I think they were told that I was crazy.

I was crying for help. I want them to stop. I think they profiled me as a mistress. F* you. Read ok. I said I am thankful, and that interaction is only that period where I'm supposedly have put everything to an end, but they are more secured that I am a whore. Their truth is that I should be cheap and desperate like Melojane, Cherry, Leleth, Arjun and Monatus. My fault that I am surrounded by them? Oh please, I am really not artistic.

I forgot, they are expensive for them.

Rehab, a dumpster for people whose family are prodded and triggered to manipulate and enslave.

I will not accept my family's good faith until they continue to thank my mother's family and not my father's. I am my father's. Not those filipina women who searched for a rich foreigner to earn and support their family. What I have given them are not enough because what my father's have done are also not enough. They forgot that they never asked for help, visited only on new year. No thank you after. My father is dead so no one will go to them and ask for help. My mother always fight and badmouth my father's so she can only asks her siblings who also were pressuring me to pay while supporting my family expenses. My siblings never asks anyone but me for help. Ingrates. They give me money now? My savings from my cancelled insurance is already emptying. They give me? I wish I can return them all this month. I wish I won't need to spend them for my needs. I want to be away from them. Yeah, were ok. We're casual but things will never be the same again. No sorries because they feel what? Ashamed? Humiliated? becaue of my posts? wow...

And me? Crazy?

I wish they suffer the same. I wish those who will say the same suffer too. The way I did.

They want me to kill myself? Cause my father wasn't able to kill my molester which made us all cheap?

One talk, Rehab? In rehab, itchy collar?

[x-rambles]

04.15.2023 @ 12:44PM

Unfortunately, I am simply not in a good place.

I stormed out of S's car and didn't allow him to help me with my bags. If I'm frank, I didn't let him help me because it's quicker for me to go by myself. I agree to allow him to help me, because speed isn't always the most important, and it makes us both feel good--which today, wasn't the case, nor necessary for me.

I am struggling with everything that I have going on. I'm glad that although my job search has been tiring, it has been positive. I am thankful for my success with job offers, and salary negotiation. This most recent job interview though, although it seems it was successful, has brought things.......DOWN for my relationship. The most recent application was S's idea, and he agreed to help me get to and from the job if I worked there, which also meant my interview, in my opinion.

We got to a place, where it became clear that arrangements for the interview were a misunderstanding. S was also helping me with transporting to and from viewing houses. Viewing houses is not only physically, a bit tiring, but it feels overwhelming because I have to talk to and listen to so many people, and the presenting offers situation is quite overwhelming. I am searching for houses, going through a job search, and enrolled in a coaching course that requires I pay over $900/mo for the next 5 months. I feel stupid. WHY would I be doing all these things? Truly, I want to give up, I do not want to keep doing any of these things. I feel anxious right now about going to see my parents, paying for the train, paying for groceries, and paying for the trip I agreed to do for Memorial Weekend next month..My laptop right now is acting slow, and messy, because it is around 6 years old, and I feel anxious. I feel anxious about everything, and I feel burnt out. I have to take my exam for the job I'll most likely accept next year...It's so important that I continue having faith in myself, and my abilities. It is easier to judge myself, easier to regret my choices, but I am here, things do have to change, so...I should keep pushing on

I had to leave S's house because I was too angry about how he was making me feel, how being there was making me feel, I had negative experiences being there and I needed to make a change. I wanted to be able to live my own life which meant that I had to go home. I am tired of hearing his opinions about things, and having to deal with those opinions while still figuring things out independently. I should use this time, to live slowly, and really do my best, on my own. I often move very strategically, I think about 1 million things, which is how things work out for me, but it is also part of how I become so overwhelmed.

I just cannot understand why he provides so many opinions, without providing resources, or actions to help. If you are not going to help, HOW can you have a thought or perspective? It has nothing to do with you. It began to feel triggering, making me think of the ways I've heard that behavior is common culturally, and I've experienced it myself, I began fearing that I'd have to experience that, that it would become my life.

I do not want to deal with that. I do not necessarily, want to be on my own about everything either. Maybe I would love to have the support--but it became overwhelmingly clear for example, when he suggested I take the job, that he would help me, he was also communicating that I should accept if he cannot do so, and go with the flow because that's the nature of life. But that is not what I want, not at all. He shared that the way things are now is exactly how it would be in marriage in regard to his actions, and since that, I've thought about so many things. Would I be okay with these things in marriage, is this what I want? But once again, unfortunately, I have too many things going on. I cannot be made to think about or figure out my thoughts or stance on that either. At this time, I deserve to simply focus on myself. I deserve to honestly, almost live as if I was single, for at least a couple of weeks because there is too much. Live as if I were single meaning not requiring my actions to include 2 schedules, not taking into account the tiredness, or bandwidth of 2 people, and not having to be intentional in my communication, or my strategy for moving forward. There's too much without having to navigate how he may be feeling, or what'll be best for our dynamic...

Transparently, I am not in a good place. I am overwhelmed with all of my goals. I am anxious financially--partially also connected to all of my goals. I am feeling suicidal once again. It may. be my feeling overwhelmed. I may simply need to be able to slow down.

I will keep trying, because. I really, do not know...I do not know, but will keep trying my best, and keep hoping for the best, I'll keep praying. I'm truly hoping this can all end soon.

XoXo, C.

[talisidekick]

Discovering I have ADHD, and Plurality, and getting a confirmed diagnosis lead me to go searching. Upped my bullet journal game, began task logging on stickey-notes at work, set one-off alarms based on my work queue to stay on track. Began talking to my alters, setting their needs and wants as priorities, and made a few posts about it here, liked a few neurodivergent posts that spoke to me, reblogged one or two, maybe added something in the tags beyond "reblog".

And now ... now my "for you" and discovery feed is just FILLED with neurodivergent posts, and you know, it was nice. Found a few things I related to ... and then made the "mistake" of reading the original tags later. And now ... now this dungeon adventure has become much deeper. I found the secret hidden door of: I likely DON'T just have ADHD Inattentive Type. And this ... scares me. Because now it's not just hyperfixation, time loss, difficulty remembering details, getting easily distracted, trouble focussing, etc. There's ... more.

I should really look into this more, but I really need someone to hold my hand as I go through this too. Not a psychologist or therapist ... just someone unjudging. My insurance also doesn't cover the gender affirming therapists in my area. I don't have an extended family I can rely on, I burned those bridges when I came out as transgender. On mine and my spouses side, I have no one. I'm alone. I have friends, but they're either too far away in different timezones and our schedules don't match up, and/or are neurodivergent like me and asking them to help would very likely send us both into a spiral. So ... I'm alone ... again ... in investigating not only what my texture triggers are, but how I can get better at dealing with what happens when I am triggered, and what this is exactly. I ... know I have OCD, didn't get the diagnosis but was 'not enough to classify it as a clinical disorder but close enough online self-help resources might help'.

I know the big trigger is gelatin, jello, or slime-like textures. I used to get angry or vomit, but that was my stress response, now ... since I started taking HRT, and stopped repressing myself, it's become panic attacks and still vomiting and nausea. I usually find a corner somewhere, suffer through not being able to breath and feeling ill, etc. Last time I broke my favourite choker because it suddenly felt like it was literally choking me and I couldn't get the clip to open so ... I ripped it off. I love that choker.

I'm scared, I'm alone, I hate this. I hate not knowing and simultaneously fearing the answer. I hate that there's more.

#neurodivergent #minor meltdown #transgender #trans #just me venting I guess?

[qtr-life-crisis]

Reasons Why I Decided to Leave Teaching

Today I got accepted into a master’s program so I can work towards becoming a mental health therapist. I am so excited, and yet I also feel so much anguish over what I’ve lost. I didn’t give up on teaching because I was bad at it. In fact the research interview I participated in today validated that I was doing what I needed to be doing. So why am I leaving if I was good?

1. Teaching fucking broke me, and I have zero faith in the public education specifically within my state. 

2. Teaching took me to the darkest place I’ve been mentally ever, and I don’t think it’s worth it to risk that happening again. 

3. My admin and some of the students in my school made me develop PTSD.

4. The stress I was under made me seriously concerned for my physical health. Not only was I having frequent panic attacks, but the stress that I was under made me fear health for my heart.

5. I don’t know how to trust school administration after my former admin tried to bully, manipulate, and gaslight me into submission.

6. I hated feeling like I was one of the only adults in my school who truly cared about my kids. 

7. I had zero support, and quite frankly, the stories I’ve heard from other schools have given me little faith it would be better somewhere else.

8. I’m so burned out (still). The little creative energy I have goes into writing these posts. Just thinking about creating curriculum right now makes tired.

9. There’s no way for me to make changes in the system from inside it. There was no shared vision, no unions, nothing. You can’t make change when everyone has different goals and visions for education.

10. We were expected to treat kids like machines instead of actual human beings, and when I did treat them like humans I lost support from those around me.

11. My prior trauma was triggered frequently by students no listening to me, talking over me, humiliating me, screaming at me, getting in my face, etc.

12. I couldn’t be myself. I had to censor myself in and out of work. You can’t state opinions or views online because students and parents will use that against you in the classroom.

13. I had students and parents complain about the curriculum I was using in the classroom because I taught on viruses and vaccines which were part of our state standards.

14. There wasn’t enough time to do everything that needed to be done, and I was left feeling like a failure frequently.

15. There was literally no way to get ahead on anything (see #14).

The sad thing is that this isn’t even everything. These are just the things that are sticking out to me right now. I’m so angry at what the system has taken from me. At what people have done to me. At what people have done to my students. And what they are going to continue to do to students now that I’m not there to advocate for them anymore. Why is it that teachers who care about kids, love teaching, and want a better future for our world are getting pushed out of the classroom? Why does it feel like no one who can do anything cares? Why does the injustice, manipulation, and abuse get to continue while the ones searching for justice, truth, empathy, and love are the ones getting pushed out?

I know life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It’s not like they’re just hurting the teachers who are leaving. They’re also hurting all the kids in our schools who are at the mercy of the adults in charge and making the decisions. Teacher guilt is real because we feel like we’re abandoning those kids that we truly deeply care about, and it feels like we’re leaving them with the parent that can’t take care of them. That’s why so many teachers stay. It’s because they love and care about their students like they’re their own kids. I’m not a mom, but I know that feeling. The amount of times my Mama bear instincts kicked in to stand up for and speak up for those kids in my class and do right by them when it felt like no one else would was more than I can remember.

All of it makes you wish you had never become a teacher at all because then you wouldn’t know what you’re losing. The love and support from your students who see you on your best and worst days. The random sticky notes left for you on your computer and desk. The artwork they give you and ask to have it hung up on your wall. The joy of seeing a student come out of their shell and make new friends. The bitter-sweet moments of seeing your students graduate or move on from your class. The reverence of being there for students during some of the hardest moments of their life because you’re one of the only adults they trust. The heartbreak of knowing you failed some students and don’t know how to fix it. All of it is so beautiful and special. It’s a gift to teach, and it hurts so much to lose it. It’s a loss so great that some days I don’t know how I’ll come out on the other side.

But I’m going to trust that the time I spent working in education hasn’t been wasted. I trust that me leaving is going to be better for me and others moving forward because I can’t help anyone if I’m broken and empty 24/7. 

#quarter life crisis #teacher #teaching #education #trauma #leaving #bullying #ptsd #mental health #emotions #new chapter #moving forward

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝑅𝐸𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅

PART ONE

𝙇𝙊𝙆𝙄 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 | 𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Bored after staying on Asgard your entire life, you decide to sneak on earth. But what happens when Steve falls irrevocably in love with you, the Queen of Asgard, wife of Loki.

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: yandere, obsession, death, violence, cursing, manipulation. If you find any of this triggering, please DNI. Also inform me if I left something out.  

ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ

As you know my previous account got deleted and therefore I have to post this again... Hope you guys like it!

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

You sat reading a book in the ethereal gardens of the Palace, with your back pressed against a tree. Loki had brought that book from Midgard. You loved reading, and Loki always got you books from all over the nine realms. That’s how you had bonded in the very beginning.

As you read the book, you had a feeling you already knew what was going to happen, as if you had already read it. So, you closed it and stared at the grand garden before you. Filled with plethora of flowers, the sweet smell diffusing in the air, the palette of colors pleasing the eye.

“Do you need something?” Your maid asked. You shook your head, “I don’t, and even if I needed something I would take it myself.” You gave her a smile at that.

You were the daughter of a common farmer; you were independent since your birth. You had a habit of doing everything by yourself and even despite it being years since marrying Loki, you still couldn’t quite get adjusted to maids. They weren’t servants for you, they were your friends. Your humility and intelligent was something Loki had fallen head over heels for.

The entire Asgard was happy and wonderfully surprised when Loki had announced that he would be marrying you. A common girl with barely any powers was marrying the God of Mischief and the king of Asgard; that had generated quite the rumors, some even thought it was one of his pranks. Even you were worried, but Loki had chased all your worries away.

Despite Thor being the elder brother, Loki had been crowned as the king. Though Thor was powerful and had immense strength, he neither wished to be the king, nor did he have the time to be one. He was rather busy with Midgard and thus Loki had taken the mantle.

When it came to you, even despite being the God of Lies, Loki never lied. He was the best husband you could ask for. Taking your opinions in consideration, asking for your help, cherishing you, loving you more than anybody else. He didn’t rule Asgard alone, no, he ruled Asgard alongside you.

You had changed him; from the selfish Loki whose heart was filled with vengeance, you had made him into a noble and beloved king. But still he never stopped pulling pranks on you, and you took it just as lightly. He was still very mischievous at his heart and you had accepted him with all he brought along.

There was just one thing he didn’t allow: you visiting Earth. And that was only because he was worried for you. The people of Midgard had not taken his attack lightly, and they were still very much furious. Though they were now on good terms, he didn’t want anything to happen to you. You were his everything.

And visiting Earth at least once was one of the only things you wanted. Literally everyone had been to Midgard except you. Even Loki and definitely Thor frequented Midgard, but not you. Once a month you both used to come to that topic and he would brush you off, promising you to take somewhere else. And that maybe fueled your need to go to Midgard even more.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” When you heard his sweet yet authoritative voice, you smiled softly. Lost in thoughts you hadn’t even noticed he was sitting beside you. You inhaled deeply, “I was thinking about the forbidden fruit. I was thinking what would go wrong if I went to Midgard. Just once Loki, just once. That’s the only thing I ask of. I’ve heard the Earth is circular, unlike Asgard!” You asked giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Now my beloved, how many times, huh? How many times do I have to list the reasons why you shouldn’t visit Midgard. I won't be able to live if something happens to you. I will go insane, there won’t be a point in living.” He gently took your chin between his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.  

“I know Loki, I love you too. But aren’t your relations with Earth better now? And Thor goes there all the time and so do you! And I have powers Loki!” You had the powers of making anyone reveal the truth. You were a rarity; a commoner with powers. Your ability to extract truth was really an ace at your side while ruling Asgard.

“We don’t know if someone is holding any grudge. I can’t risk it. Ask me anything, I will search the entire universe for it and bring it upon your feet. Just not Earth. Now I don’t want to ruin such a perfect day by arguing with you.” Before you could speak further, he shut you with a kiss.

As you both laid in each other embrace, you got lost in the abyss of his eyes. “Oh Loki, do you know how much I love you?” With eyes full of mischief, “Well you do know a certain way to show your love, my beloved wife.” He quipped.

~~~

Today Thor was leaving for Midgard. And at the same time, you had made your plans to sneak. You had started wondering if Loki had a mistress there, well what else could be his reason for not permitting you to visit Earth.

One part of the plan was already in action. You had shared your concerns with Heimdall. He had been awfully quiet but when you had pleaded and asked of it as a favor for his Queen, he had agreed. On the condition that you would return within 3 days, or else he would pull you back to Asgard. You had happily agreed.

The plan was simple, while he would transport Thor, you would go too, you just had to stand close enough to Thor. All excited, you got ready in the best of your clothes. You knew they didn’t dress like this on Midgard, but you had an impression to make as the Queen of Asgard.

The dark green silk robe complimented your emerald wedding ring; you wore button earrings and connected them to your hair clip with chains. You let your hair down but not without braiding few locks of hair; your right index and ring fingers were adorned with your best rings. You wanted to wear your crown, but decided it would be too much for Midgardians; after all you were going there for vacation, you had no plans of ruling earth.

Not many were there to say goodbye to Thor, the Prince travelled very frequently. You were glad that today neither Loki nor the warriors were there. “Goodbye Thor, have a safe journey!” You said as you stood a little too close to him. It was your signal for Heimdall to transport you to Midgard. “Thank you, sister...” before Thor could complete his sentence, you were both sucked into the wormhole.

~~~

It was a.... cool experience to say at least. To be honest, you had no idea. You had kept your eyes closed through half of the journey, and you had probably screamed your throat dry. You did travel through the Bifrost at times but Loki always held you tight. Today though you were spinning all by yourself in the rainbow tunnel. Thank the Norns, it was over faster that you expected.

As Thor landed gracefully in the Avengers compound, you landed straight on your ass and skidded halfway across, bruising you elbow and knuckles.

Thor’s voice boomed aloud, as you tried to get up rubbing your aching ass, “Oh dear Sister! Are you alright?” He said as he helped you get up, “Well, Heimdall didn’t tell me how to land.” You tried to lighten the mood.

“There must have been some mistake. Don’t worry I’ll call Heimdall to send you back.” He said softly while rubbing your elbow as he began praying to Heimdall.

“Uhh, well Thor, that’s not needed. And this... this wasn’t an accident at all. I kind of made a deal with Heimdall and he sent me here...” Thor’s eyes widened with shock and what you thought was anger. You had never ever seen Thor get angry at you, ever. And you were truly scared now.

Thor and you were best of friends. It was as if you two were siblings, not Thor and Loki. As you looked at him now, you knew you had truly screwed up. You knew your decision would anger Loki, but his anger you could handle. You weren’t quite sure about it with respect to Thor.

“You did what? You aren’t supposed to be here! You are going back to Asgard before anyone sees you.” He held you by your elbow and it hurt like hell. “But Thor,...” you tried pleading. Maybe you had not guessed the extent of your family’s anger correctly and you knew you were going to pay for it badly.

“I wasn’t asking you.” He said in an impersonal tone. “You need to understand this is for your own good.” You were tired of listening to the same thing over and over again for so many years. And you finally snapped.

“Tell me the truth Thor! I know that’s not the only reason, why don’t you people want me to come here? Does... does Loki have a mistress here? Huh? I’m so sick of listening to you people give me all kinds of stupid reasons to keep me away from here! You know, if maybe you had not reinforced the fact that I’m not allowed to visit Midgard again and again, then maybe I wouldn’t be so obsessed with coming here.” You couldn’t hold your tears back.

“It’s not what you are thinking, trust me sister, Loki only loves you. But we need to go now and don’t use your powers on me.” You snatched your hand away from him. He was correct in guessing your intentions, you were going to use your powers on him to make him say the truth. But his anger held you back. After all, he was your family, and this visit to earth was just three days long.

“There’s one catch; you can’t take me back. I told you, I’ve made a deal with Heimdall. It includes that He won’t open the Bifrost for me to leave Earth until the evening of the third day!”

~~~

The Avengers were all gathered in the briefing room. Thor was coming back and they needed to discuss an important upcoming mission. As Steve stood telling everyone about the mission, they could hear the tell-tale noise of the rainbow tunnel as they called it.

Tony yawned loudly and stood up from his chair, he was least bit interested in the meeting and just wanted to get out. “Thor is here. We should go meet him.” He said stretching. Steve rolled his eyes, while Nat and Clint got up.

“We can continue, Thor knows where to come.” Steve interjected. “I guess Tony is right on this one.” Wanda said shrugging. Before they could continue, they heard the noise of Thor and a lady arguing. Her voice was vaguely familiar.

“Let’s go!” Tony said excitedly as he hoped to get a little more spice on this dull day. Reluctantly even Steve joined the entire group as they walked outside. Thor was facing them and from his gestures even they knew he was truly angry. The lady had her back to them, her golden magic swirling around her hand, showing her anger and annoyance at Thor. She was dressed in the finest fabric.  

Thor stood still and suddenly stopped fighting as he saw literally all of the Avengers looking at the two of them with keen interest. You saw his stunned and somewhat worried expression, so before he could stop you whipped your head around.

The moment you turned, Steve’s heart stopped in his chest. He couldn’t believe his eyes. This was not true; this couldn’t be true. You were just like in his dreams, if not more beautiful. Your eyes pulled him in like sirens calls. Your voice a sweet balm on his heartache. You looked like a goddess, and he was sure you were one. But, how could you possibly be here? So very real, standing in front of him in all your grace, just as if to taunt him.

You tilted your head in confusion, all of them, literally all of them were staring at you as if they had seen a dead person walk out of the grave. “Uh, well, you must be the Avengers I’ve heard so much about! It was rude of us to fight out here, and I apologize for the commotion. Let me introduce myself, I’m Y/N, The Queen of Asgard and the wife of the beloved King Loki.”

As you said the words, all of the Avengers’ eyes widened with confusion, as fear and anger gripped their hearts.

#chris evans #tom hiddleston #mcu #marvel #loki #steve rogers #loki x reader #steve rogers x reader #loki x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers series #loki series #steve rogers x y/n #loki x y/n

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 24, Post #1 by @be11atrixthestrange

Title: I Love Wine Author/Artist: Be11atrixthestrange Pairing: Ron/Hermione Prompt: In Vino Veritas / Songfic (Difficult by Peppermint Ollie) Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): N/A

(Please note that one lyric has been changed - "Football" is now "Quaffle")

I Love Wine

You can talk to girls who aren't me. 

It's fine, no, I said it's fine. It's not like you're just mine

I'm not jealous,

wait...

Are you still mad at me?

When Hermione opens the hospital wing doors late one March evening, she pokes her head into the room to look before entering, scanning for anyone she doesn't want to see.

It's become a habit lately, especially knowing she might run into Ron. A true extrovert, Ron is never alone. It used to be Hermione always glued to his hip, but not anymore. Nowadays, it's Lavender, and Ron hasn't spoken to Hermione in months. Usually, her run-ins with Ron are accidental, but not this time. After nearly losing him to a bottle of mead, she'll do anything to get him back in her life.

As she had assumed, the Hospital Wing is empty save for Ron, who's sprawled out on a twin-sized bed. Madam Pomfrey has left for the night, and it's after visiting hours, so Lavender wouldn't be here anyway. In fact, Hermione shouldn't be, either, but school rules seem less important now.

She approaches Ron, noting that the hospital wing beds are too short for his lanky frame, and his pale, freckled feet dangle off the edge. The blankets don't reach that far, and goosebumps are forming on his skin. He must be cold. She almost reaches out to tug the blanket over his feet but stops herself. It's a loving gesture, but in the wrong way. It's definitely something Mrs. Weasley would do, and the last thing she wants to be associated with is his mother. Seeing him with another girl has made at least one thing crystal clear — her feelings for Ron are far from familial.

Hermione's gaze travels from Ron's feet to his head, cocked to the side, halfway on a pillow. His neck is bent, his mouth open, and each exhale brings a faint, raspy snore. His entire positioning looks so awkward. She tries to take comfort in the rise and fall of his chest, proof that he's alive, but even still, she can't seem to shake the fear that she's lost him forever.

What if she has? Just because he's alive doesn't mean he'll want her back in his life, not after the way she's treated him. He clearly doesn't need her; he has Lavender. Hermione's jaw tightens at the thought of her pretty, flirty, popular roommate, Ron's girlfriend. Four months of insisting that she's fine with their relationship, and no, she's not jealous have caught up to her. Her throat tightens, and her eyes sting, threatening to cry. Again.

Ron's breathing remains steady, his eyes locked shut, and it seems unlikely that he'll wake up. It was probably a stupid idea to come; he needs his rest. If she wakes him, he might be even angrier at her.

But fresh on her mind is the memory of his first moment of consciousness after being poisoned. The words that slipped from his mouth…

Er-my-nee.

He was dazed and confused, and hardly aware of what he was saying. But it had to mean something, right?

Hermione takes a seat in the chair next to his bed. She'll wait just a few moments to see if he wakes. It would be worth it to hear him say her name again.

She glances toward her bookbag, a bulging puddle of canvas on the floor. Wedged between her quill set and a stack of textbooks is a fresh bottle of wine, a gift from Dobby, plucked right from the kitchen. The bottle's nose pokes out of the top of her bag. Hermione distinctly remembers her anxious trip to the Hospital Wing as she tried to keep the bottle hidden under her arm, moving slowly and cautiously to prevent the liquid from sloshing around and alerting the authorities to her contraband. She could have lost her Prefects' badge if she had been caught with it. Even though it was offered to her by a Hogwarts employee, she should have denied it. Dobby isn't exactly keen on school rules. Or aware of them, for that matter.

And why would Ron want to drink wine when he was almost killed by a bottle of mead? She hadn't been thinking straight. She should just go back to the common room...

An abrupt snore pulls Hermione from her thoughts. It's followed by silence, and Hermione looks tentatively at Ron's face to see if he's woken up. His eyes are still closed, and his mouth agape, a glistening river of drool runs down his chin. She smiles— years ago, she would have thought it was gross, but now, she wouldn't hesitate to wipe it off with her thumb. Oh, how things change.

She should stop staring. How would he react to know someone was watching him sleep?

Unless he's used to it. The knot in her stomach coils further at the thought of Lavender and Ron. Has she ever watched him sleep? They're always kissing in the corridor, entangled on the common room sofa, tugging each other down the hallway in search of empty classrooms. She probably has.

Hermione reaches for the bottle of wine in her bag, if only for a label to read, something to get her mind off of Lavender sharing Ron's bed, giggling as he snores, wiping away a trail of saliva with her thumb, or even worse, her lips.

"Hermione?"

Ron's raspy voice pulls her back, and her cheeks sting with heat. It's not the drowsy, longing, 'Er-My-Nee' from before. This time his tone conveys confusion. Disapproval. He's probably wondering why she's here instead of Lavender.

She chances a smile at him, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of his piercing blue eyes.

"Hi, Ron," she says, forcing a cheerful, optimistic tone. "I—I brought us some wine."

Ron's eyes narrow as he studies her. He's still mad at her, isn't he? He's going to tell her to leave and go get Lavender instead. She clutches the bottle tighter when it begins to slip through her sweating palms.

Then, unexpectedly, a grin breaks across Ron's face, and Hermione exhales the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"As long as it's not mead."

Let's stay in tonight. Just you and me and a bottle of wine

We can talk about our feelings; everything will be just fine

"I promise it's not mead!" she says, almost too eagerly.

"Good. Don't think I can ever drink mead again! Hand it here?" Ron reaches for the wine.

He's smiling, looking almost giddy to see her. It doesn't make sense. He's so relaxed, as though they haven't spent the last four months fighting. How?

Ron pops the cork with a nonverbal spell, and Hermione lifts an eyebrow at his wandwork. Has she ever complimented him on his charms ability? She makes a mental note to do so more often — considering that they become friends again, of course.

Ron brings the tip of the bottle to his mouth and takes a long swig. Hermione's cheeks redden at the sight, and she hopes he doesn't notice.

He swallows a mouthful of wine with a heavy gulp and hands the bottle back to Hermione.

"You don't mind sharing?"

"Why not? It's just spit."

She prickles at his response. The Ron she knew, pre-Lavender, wouldn't have had such a nonchalant attitude toward spit. Sharing a bit of saliva must be no big deal to him anymore. Great.

Hoping her blatant jealousy isn't written all over her face, Hermione takes a sip, disappointed by its bland, almost metallic taste. She was hoping she'd be able to taste him.

But the wine warms her right up. Hermione doesn't drink often, never, really, and she knows she'll feel the effects quickly. Maybe too quickly.

"So. We have a lot to talk about," says Ron, as soon as she finishes her sip.

Or maybe, not quickly enough.

She nods and looks down at her hands. He's looking down too — she doesn't have to watch him to know that his eyes aren't on her anymore.

A few moments pass in silence, and Hermione figures she'll have to speak up first. How much does she have to explain? How much should she reveal? It seems like the best possible time to share, to tell him everything she almost said over the last four months. Everything she should have said before. They're alone here, why not clear the air?

She takes a deep breath. "I asked you to Slughorn's party as my date, and you said yes."

Ron's scoff confirms what she feared — her statement came off as an accusation. She hadn't meant it that way.

"I know that now," he says.

"But you didn't before?"

"No," he says, reaching for the bottle. "You're pretty subtle. Until you're not." He flashes his forearms at her, still covered with scars from her canary attack.

Her eyes sting with tears again, and she's suddenly sick to her stomach. "I shouldn't have set those birds on you."

"True. You shouldn't have."

No 'sorry's' or 'I forgive you's', just facts, not feelings. It's how they've always communicated, and it's still infuriating.

With a deep breath, Hermione continues, "I was angry at you for kissing Lavender."

A feeling. Not a fact. Maybe he'll follow suit.

"Why?"

Is he really going to make her say it?

"Because I was jealous, Ron. And jealousy makes people do irrational things."

"Well, don't do it again."

Is he asking her not to set birds on him again? "I won't! If you don't—"

She snaps her mouth shut. She almost told him not to kiss Lavender again. She can't ask that of him.

"Don't what?"

"Nothing," she says hastily, burying her expression with another sip of wine.

She watches as a smug smile spreads across Ron's face. "You were going to ask me not to kiss Lavender again, weren't you?"

Hermione keeps her mouth shut and passes the bottle back to him.

"You know it's not fair to ask that."

"I didn't ask that," she says, her jaw stiff. "I stopped myself."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "So you're still jealous?"

"Ron, stop." He's just gloating now. "Let's not talk about Lavender. I just want to be friends again. I'm not asking for anything more."

"Don't you want to know why I kissed her?"

"No—"

"Because I was also jealous."

His answer hits her like a brick. He was jealous. Does that mean…?

"Why were you jealous?"

That's until we start throwing knives. It's amazing how time flies.

Hermione waits for Ron to answer, watching patiently as his cheeks turn crimson. His eyes flit between her and the bottle.

"I was jealous because Ginny said you snogged Krum."

He averts his gaze when he speaks.

"She did?" asks Hermione. "That was two years ago."

Ron shrugs. "Made me jealous."

"So that's why you kissed Lavender?"

Ron nods.

"Even though I had just asked you out on a date?"

"Hermione, I didn't know you meant it as a date! I assumed it was a pity invite."

"You should have talked to me!" she protests. "I was completely blindsided."

"I should have told you how I felt?"

"Yes!"

"Why? You didn't! You just hinted at it, then fucking attacked me with birds for misreading your nonexistent signals!"

Hermione was about to respond, but his retort snaps her mouth shut. He's right. It doesn't matter who started it, but she's the one who got violent. As she searches for a response, their argument pauses, and the air thickens with tension. She can feel Ron's eyes boring into her again, and she pointedly looks away. Why can't she just swallow her pride and say she's sorry?

It's not that easy.

"Maybe I'm better off with Lavender," he says, barely an audible whisper. "She treats me well."

Hermione's heart sinks into her stomach, and her eyes water again. She looks away, willing herself not to cry in front of Ron. She's pushing him away again, and she knows it. His implication cuts deep — he deserves someone who treats him well, and Hermione doesn't.

She can change that; he just has to trust her. But that's a lot to ask, isn't it?

"You're right. Maybe you are better off with her," she says, dejected.

'Cause you're more difficult than trying to fold a fitted sheet

And I'm more difficult than trying to throw a quaffle (at least for me)

You know without you I'd be lost

To her surprise, he grins again. "So that's what you want? For me to stay with Lavender."

Does he really need her to answer?

He hands her the wine, and she stares at it, wondering if another sip would benefit her. She's already feeling the effects.

Eh, why not? She takes another generous sip, enjoying its warm trail down her throat.

"It's a simple question, Hermione."

"Is that what you want?" she asks.

He narrows his eyes and smirks at her, a dangerous combination. With Ron, there's a fine line between anger and flirting, or at least, she thought there was. Before Lavender.

But, Lavender's not in the hospital wing drinking wine with Ron. Hermione is.

She bites her lip to keep from grinning.

"No. It's not." He blurts his answer as though the words have been trapped, waiting to escape. His ears turn pink at his admission, and he eyes the wine in accusation. With a shrug, he continues. "You know what I want."

She's buzzing from the wine — the muscles in her face soften, and her pent-up anxiety about the approaching topic seems to melt away. It feels like there's a clump of wriggling flobberworms in her stomach.

At least, she'd be more willing to play dumb if it saves her the heartache of being wrong. Why can't he just say it?

"I think we want the same thing," she says, summoning her Gryffindor courage, "but I want to hear you say it."

Ron lets out a groan. "Is every conversation we have going to be this difficult?"

Cause you're more difficult than peeling onions without crying

Or pulling on freshly washed skinny jeans

No, I'm not lying; I'd be lost without you

Despite his groan, his shoulders are relaxed, he's sporting a goofy grin, and his answer is clear and direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Thank Merlin, the wine is hitting him too. "I want you."

I want you. The words are like music to her ears.

"Still?" she asks. "Even after the birds?" If the roles were reversed, she'd definitely be holding a grudge.

"I don't understand it, but yeah. Still."

She reaches for the bottle — she'll need another dose of courage before continuing. Especially since his next question is easy to guess.

"So," he starts, suddenly sheepish, "do you want me too?"

Hermione sets the bottle down between them and tries to mimic his serious stare from before, but she can't stop from smiling. "Yes. Still."

Silence overtakes the space between them, and Hermione can almost taste the tension in the air. What next? Her daydreams never got this far.

"Then why are you still sitting there?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.

He inches to the side and motions to the space between them in clarification.

Oh, she understood.

His invitation is so tempting, and she almost gives in and crawls into the bed with him, but something stops her. Lavender. He's still someone else's boyfriend.

"Because you have a girlfriend."

"I'm not so sure I do anymore."

"What? Why?"

"Do you really need to ask why, Hermione?" At her confused expression, he continues, "or should I call you Er-My-Nee."

"Lavender heard about that?"

Ron nods, and Hermione knows she should feel sorry for her but… she doesn't. Not one bit.

"So?" he repeats, glancing down at the space beside him.

Hermione rises to her feet and crawls onto the bed, very aware that she's holding her breath. The bed is so small that she can't put a few inches of space between them, so she settles against his shoulder. He reaches for her hand, and their fingers intertwine.

"Is this okay?" asks Ron, caressing her hand with his fingers.

"Yes."

It's another moment she's imagined for years — holding Ron's hand. Not in a 'let me help you up' kind of way, but in a loving, flirtatious, non-platonic way. She's surprised by how easy it is; how comfortably she fits there.

Hermione rests her head on Ron's shoulder, and the bottle of wine in his other hand catches her eye. If only they had shared that bottle four months ago, things could be so different. She pushed him away, and he pushed right back. She could have lost him, yet somehow, he's still right here.

The hurt is still here too. She can tell by the way his breath is shallow and anxious, and the stiffness of his arm against hers that he won't kiss her tonight. Even holding hands is clunky, awkward, and almost too much, and definitely too soon. Yet somewhere in all its dysfunction, it's perfect.

You're for me and I'm for you, you know it's true

The best dysfunctional team that this world has ever seen

The bottle is nearly empty — they've kept drinking but stopped talking. She only notices the stark silence between them when she can hear her own breathing and grows self-conscious that he can hear it too.

She opens her mouth to speak just to fill the silence but freezes. Her lips are too loose from the alcohol, and she better not say anything. He doesn't need to know what's really on her mind. Three little words could push him away, and she just got him back.

It's definitely too soon for that truth.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she asks.

He lets go of her hand and wraps his free arm around her shoulders, encouraging her to lean more of her weight against him. "I love wine."

Hermione laughs. His tone is playful. Knowing. Her stomach flips when he gently squeezes her shoulder as he says 'wine'. If she were sober, she wouldn't dare read too much into those words. Tomorrow, she'll probably wake up and second guess this whole conversation, but right now?

"I love wine, too."

And I love you

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione

[nastybuckybarnes]

Of Kings and Beasts  -  Four

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrusted to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Language, Kinda Slow Burn, Injuries, Fluff, SPOILER AND TRIGGER WARNING: miscarriage, 

Word Count: 3K

A/n: I took a nap so this is a little late, but I hope you guys enjoy!!! Also, I sprained my good wrist at work yesterday lmao so now I’ve got a brace on each wrist. Anywho, here you go! Have a wonderful night!!

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND VERY DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

~*~

You spend nearly every free moment with the King now.

He is at your door every morning, waiting to escort you to breakfast, of which he provides all the conversation. Afternoon tea is spent together as well as dinner, all of which you go to simply because you do not have the energy to fight.

However, you would be lying if you said you weren’t starting to enjoy his company.

He tells you tales of his battles and stories of him and Steven when they were children. He explains the story of how he lost his arm but doesn’t let you see more than his metal fingers.

You find yourself missing him in the moments when he is not with you. And he feels the same. Although you haven’t said a word to him, your presence is one that he longs to have in the moments when you are not with him.

He hasn’t come to you at night yet. Still far too ashamed of his behaviour, and for that you’re grateful. You’re not sure if you could handle being with him in such a way again. Not yet, anyway.

“I hope you like the flowers I sent you. I do not know which types are your favourite, but my mother was partial to daisies so I thought perhaps you may like them as well.” He looks nervous as he pours you a cup of tea.

“If you do not, I shall have them taken back and new ones will be brought until I figure out which are your favourite.” You bite your bottom lip, wanting to speak the single word to tell him which flowers you prefer, but after so much silence you’re not sure you’d recognize your own voice.

He hisses, the teapot nearly dropping down to the table, and you jump, looking up at him in surprise.

“I apologize. My shoulder has been acting up with the coming winter. It does not do well in the cold.” You raise your eyebrows in question and he sighs. “They did their best to fix it, but the nerves are not all proper and there is a fair amount of damage beneath the scarring.”

You hesitantly rise to your feet and walk over to his side of the table, your fingers trembling as you reach for his left shoulder. He stands tall, eyes focused on you as you cup his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

Your eyes ask the question that your lips cannot, and he nods. Your shaking fingers move to the buttons of his shirt and you slowly pop one open, then another, and another, until he stands before you with his shirt open.

A shaky exhale leaves your lips as your eyes roam his muscular torso. He’s built beautifully, and you can’t stop yourself from touching the warm skin of his chest.

He inhales sharply and your eyes snap up to his, hand jumping off of his skin.

“Your touch... it feels nice,” he whispers in explanation, smiling softly at you as you lift your fingers back to his chest. You press your hand against him, his heat warming you to your bones, and the thrumming of his heart pounds against your palm.

Slowly as to not startle him, you move your hand up to his left shoulder, pushing the fabric of his shirt away and down his arms in the process.

Your eyes widen a bit at the scars covering where metal meets flesh, and you can’t help but feel sorry for the man before you.

Soft fingers brush over the angry skin and James sighs, his eyes falling closed. He hasn’t felt the softness of a woman’s touch in... years.

One of his hands instinctively comes to your waist and you freeze for a moment before realizing back into his touch.

This is easily the most intimate moment the two of you have shared.

You slowly lean forward and press a gentle kiss to the scars, repeating the action when you hear the noise of appreciation coming from his lips.

After a moment more and a few lingering kisses, you pull back. His other hand has found your waist and his thumbs are rubbing gentle circles against your hips.

“This is how we should’ve started our marriage,” he whispers, his eyes shut tightly. He peaks one eye open in time to catch you nodding.

“How I have treated you... it is something I am not sure I will ever be able to properly apologize for. I do hope that one day we will grow to love each other. I... You have not spoken, and yet I am already finding myself entranced by you.” You raise your eyebrows in surprise and he chuckles, one of his hands moving to the small of your back. He pulls you flush against his chest and you gasp softly, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin through the layers of your dress.

“I should have been gentle with you.” His nose dips down and traces gently over your throat.

“I should have treated you like the delicate flower you are. Instead... I deprived you of sunlight and water and forced you to wilt. I only hope... that with the proper care... I can nurse you back to the beautiful bloom you once were.” His lips press a kiss to your throat and you sigh, fingers splayed on his hard chest.

You slowly bring one hand up, shaky fingers threading through his thick hair.

“I-” The door bursting open cuts you off, much to the King’s dismay.

“What is it?!” He snarls, glaring at the intruder. Natalia and Samuel stand in the doorway, Nat smiling widely at the two of you.

“He’s here.” Your stomach drops and you look over at your Husband.

The anger on his face melts away and he takes a half step away from you.

“He... You’re sure?” You can hear the hope in his voice. The absolute unfiltered desperation. Nat nods, Sam copying the motion.

“They’ve brought him to see Doctor Banner, but he was awake and on his feet. From what I gather, he escaped from where we went searching and walked back. He’s... he’s here. He’s alive.” Glossy blue eyes turn to you and you smile softly, nodding at him.

“I promise I will come and get you as soon as I know he is in stable condition. I know he is beyond eager to meet you, so much so that he will put his own health aside.” He leans forward and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before running out of the room, following behind Sam.

Natalia stands in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and a small smile on her lips.

“Come. Wanda has drawn you a bath in preparation for the King’s return.” You and her walk to your chambers in silence, you pondering all that has happened in the span of a few minutes and what awaits you with the return of the King. Nat, on the other hand, is proud of the change in the dynamic of you and James. It’s about damn time he realized what he has in front of him, in her opinion.

The bath is lovely and smells of lavender, however, it does little to ease your nerves.

What if King Steven doesn’t like you? What if King James goes back to treating you badly? What if-

“Stop worrying, Your Majesty. King Steven will love you. And if his behaviour today is anything to go off of, King James will not go back to how he used to be.” You look over at Nat, fear in your eyes and she smiles gently.

“What happened with the King today?” Wanda asks curiously.

“When we got word of King Steven’s return, Sam and I ran to find James. We... interrupted what looked like a tender moment between the King and Her Majesty. And before he left he kissed her in front of both of us.” Wanda raises her eyebrows, a smile on her face.

“Well, I would agree with Nat on this one then. King James has truly been different towards you. One might even say that he has been kind.” You nod in agreement, happy to have gotten one of your questions answered.

“Come now, let us get you dressed.”

You step out of the tub and Nat inhales sharply, her eyes on your rounded tummy.

“Your Majesty...?” You wrap yourself in a towel and give her a nod, letting her know that her assumption is correct.

“Have you told his majesty yet?”

You shake your head ‘no’ then sigh, gently stroking your stomach.

They dress you in a lilac gown that is fairly tight around your midsection. Tight enough to show off the little bump you’ve grown if anyone were to look long enough.

"The Kings will be thrilled! You must tell them today!” Nat exclaims, her face alight with glee. The edges of your vision get blurry and you shake your head, both at her and to try and clear your sight.

“It is up to you, your Majesty but I would recommend doing it soon.” You simply nod, one hand on your stomach gently.

A knock on the door nearly startles you out of your skin.

“The Kings have asked for the Queen,” a male voice says. You exchange nervous glances with the two women, however, they smile encouragingly despite the situation.

You take a deep breath and lift your head up high, determined to make a better impression on King Steven than you did on King James.

Natalia walks with you towards King Steven’s room, the room that the Kings shared before one of them was lost.

As you’re descending the staircase you stop, hand gripping the railing so tightly you’re surprised it doesn’t break.

“Your Majesty?” Nat questions, confused and concerned.

You open your mouth to tell her you need Doctor Banner, but nothing comes out. No, instead, you collapse right there on the stairs.

“Your Majesty!” Nat shouts, diving down to stop you from falling down the stairs any more than you already have.

“Someone help!” She shouts, holding your head gently in her lap to protect your neck.

Guards are rushing in, shock colouring their features as they see their Queen on the stairs unconscious.

“Pietro, carry the Queen back to her chambers and have Wanda gather water for her. I need to find Doctor Banner.”

~*~

There are tears in the King’s eyes as soon as he sees his husband.

Steve sits on his bed, eyes trained on the doorway while doctor Banner cleans some of his wounds. As soon as the two are in the same room Steve is on his feet.

“Buck,” he whispers. The brunet takes slow steps forward before reaching out and cupping his cheeks.

“Steve.” It comes out almost like a whimper and the blond frowns.

“I’m here, my love. I’m back.” They embrace tightly, the brunet’s shoulders shaking as he tries to control his sobs.

“Your Majesties... I need to tend to King Steve’s wounds,” Doctor Banner says softly. James pulls away and nods, sitting down on the bed beside his husband.

The two simply gaze at each other for a long moment before Steve finally speaks.

“Is she here?” James nods, a small smile on his lips. “She is. And she is everything we’ve wanted and more. I fear I have not been kind to her, but we are rebuilding our relationship.” Steve nods, his hand held tightly in both of James’.

“The King will require much rest before he sees anyone. I know it is hard, but he has undergone a lot. I will have food brought to him, but right now all he needs is rest.” The two Kings nod, content to spend time with each other and forget about the world, if only for one night.

Any semblance of peace is shattered, however, by Natalia throwing the door open.

“Doctor Banner, it’s the Queen. Sh-she’s taken a fall.” The doctor is on his feet quickly.

“Send for the midwife immediately,” he says, gathering his things and running out of the room.

“Wait, midwife?” James asks, rising to his feet. Steve follows suit and soon enough they're all sprinting through the palace towards your chambers.

Before the Kings can enter, Nat is pulling the door closed. Right as she does, a scream comes from behind the wood.

“What the Hell are you doing?” James demands.

“I do not believe this is how she would want to meet her husband for the first time. Allow her space.” The King shakes his head.

“My wife is in there, and she is carrying my child. I have every right to be in there with her, especially if she is in danger. I have only just got my wife back and I will not lose her.” Nat sighs but steps aside, allowing the two men into your Chambers.

You’re on the bed, one hand clutching your stomach while the other grips the bedsheets tightly.

“What's happening, Doctor?” Steve demands, moving to your side quickly. He gently takes your hand in his and you squeeze it instantly.

“It does not look good, Your Majesties. I cannot tell whether it was the fall or the stress on her body, but I can no longer hear the heartbeat.”

A sob bubbles out of you at his words and the Kings are moving quickly.

Steve climbs onto the bed behind you, propping you up on his chest and smoothing your hair gently away from your face.

The way he’s instantly able to care for you in a way that James still has trouble with causes the brunet pain, but he pushes that aside and kneels beside your bed, taking Steve’s place in holding your hand.

A heartbreaking cry of agony leaves your lips, the back of your head digging into the blond King’s chest as the Doctor urges you to push.

“Is there anything that can be done for the pain?” Steve asks softly. The doctor shakes his head solemnly. “We can only give it time and hope that she is able to push swiftly.”

Tears rain down your cheeks and James is reminded of the events that occurred to cause your pregnancy.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n),” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

~*~

Hours after your pain started does it finally end, with you bloody and sweaty and childless on your bed, your husbands both sitting by your side.

Steve presses gentle kisses to your clammy forehead while one of his arms wraps around your upper torso. You grab at his forearm with your free hand, bottom lip wobbling as the reality hits you.

You look to King James, fear evident in your teary eyes.

“W-will you have me beheaded for losing your heir?”

The first words you’ve spoken in weeks and he’s nearly crippled with guilt by them.

“Beheaded? Of course not. No one could have anticipated this. You need only rest and recover.” That’s the voice of King Steven, and for a moment you find yourself feeling embarrassed at the fact that this is how he’s meeting you for the first time.

“I will never be able to apologize enough for the pain I have caused you,” James whispers, raising his hand to wipe a tear off of your cheek. You subconsciously flinch away and Steve stares at you in shock before turning his gaze to his husband.

The look on his face is enough for the blond to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I know you do not know me, but I promise you that all I want is for you to be happy and healthy. Heir be damned.” You sniffle and nod, pulling your hand out of James’ grip and holding onto Steve tighter, anchoring yourself to him.

You cry yourself to sleep, body and mind exhausted after the trauma of the day.

The two Kings, however, do not sleep.

“What have you done to her?” Steve asks bluntly. The brunet closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head.

“You need to understand that I... I wasn’t myself. You were gone and she was meant to be for both of us.”

“Answer the question.”

“I... forced her. And I struck her. And by the Gods the words that came from my mouth... I will spend eternity in hell for all that I have done to her... all the pain I have caused.”

If you were not asleep against his chest, Steve would be on his feet beating his husband to a pulp.

Instead, he takes deep breaths to reign in his anger, determined to keep his cool with you so near.

He wraps both arms protectively around your figure, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head then closing his eyes tightly.

“I cannot excuse my actions, but if you will listen, I will attempt to explain them. Although there is nothing I can say that will ever make what I did right. And I regret every moment of what I did.” The blond slowly opens his eyes, giving his husband a glare.

“We will have words. Until then, she is my priority. I cannot bear to look at you knowing what you’ve done. Leave us.”

The brunet doesn’t argue, knowing that he’s getting far better treatment than he deserves considering all that he’s done to you and the pain he’s caused. He rises and leaves silently, avoiding the knowing eyes of Natalia as he heads towards his chambers, spending yet another night alone.

Steve presses kiss after kiss to the top of your head, his heart heavy with what little he knows of what you endured.

How the man he thought he knew could treat you so poorly is beyond him, but he’s determined to make up for it, even if James cannot.

#king!bucky #king!steve rogers x reader #king!bucky x Princess!reader X king!steve #king!Steve X reader #dark!royal au #bucky x reader royal au #bucky x reader royal au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #Steve/Reader #steve rogers/reader #bucky barnes/reader #James/Reader #bucky/you #bucky/reader #stucky/reader #stucky x reader #stucky x reader au #stucky x reader royal au

[curioussubjects]

I feel bad discussing spn now that’s over but I’ve been wondering. Do you think dean actually meant it when he said “why does that something always seem to be you” (15.03)? Usually people blurt out what’s on their mind all of a sudden even if they didn’t mean to say it out loud. But it comes out because the person either thinks about it or actually believes it. Do you think at one point Dean truly blamed Cas for Mary? I mean, putting 15.09 aside of course.

Why do you feel bad discussing SPN now the show’s over, anon?? Don’t feel bad!

The short answer to your question, in my view, is that Dean was lashing out because of how his unaddressed trauma over Cas dying (cf. 7x01, purgatory, 12x23) gets entangled with him processing his grief over Mary and Jack. Everything is further exacerbated by Chuck’s villain reveal, and the events that lead to Rowena’s “death.”  The longer answer to this question starts with acknowledging that feelings and trauma are complicated things that aren't always rational. And that's the crux of the matter for Dean in that moment he lashes out at Cas: he's not behaving rationally. We know Dean is angry, and historically doesn't handle anger well at all, but we also know, even without 15x09, that what Dean is really feeling is fear. In that moment, Dean is angry, and he's scared. If you watch the scene closely, too, you'll notice that Dean is still present enough to regret saying "why does that something always seem to be you" to Cas. He tenses up, he looks down and only looks up again in stubbornness defiance when Cas says he can't even look at him. Then Cas leaves, which has always been an issue for Dean. However warranted Cas's decision to leave was, it still hits Dean as rejection, too. All this is to say that the break up scene is extremely fraught, and Dean is the type of person who needs time to process events and emotions, and time to process is something he hasn't had since Mary disappeared.

So you ask: ok, cool, but what does all of that have to do with Cas dying, Liv? And here's where I say they have everything to do with Cas dying. I've talked about this before in tags and in other posts that I can't think of right now, but there are common occurrences in the events that have led to the more traumatic Cas deaths. If we think of Cas dying in 07x01, the context for that is as follows: Cas needs to solve a problem, he wants to ask Dean for help, but the desire to not burden him with it is greater, so Cas ends up handling the problem solo, which leads to disaster and also him dying. Or, well, apparently dying. But as far as Dean was concerned, Cas was dead, and he did struggle with it a lot during season 7. Now, fast-forward to s12 and the context of how Cas ends up dead then: Cas needs to solve a problem, part of him does want to cooperate with Sam and Dean to solve it, but he ultimately decides his desire to bring Dean a win, and to shield him and Sam from actions they'd suffer from are greater. Predictably, Cas ends up handling the problem solo, which leads to complications, and him being killed by Lucifer. Cas's death in 12x23 is significantly more traumatic to Dean than the one in 07x01 as season 13 starts with a grief arc that is devoted to Dean's suffering over Cas -- to the point that suffering overshadows even his grief over Mary. Granted, these are somewhat reductive summaries of the events of seasons 7 and 12, but the fact remains that those two deaths were remarkably similar as well as traumatic. 

If you look at trauma theory in regards to literary analysis, you'll notice that a key element is repetition. The story of trauma is a story of echoes, which is partly why triggers are what they are for people who have PTSD. In particular, a situation doesn't need to be an exact replica in order to evoke a traumatic memory. A situation need only be similar enough to the traumatic event to cause a trauma response. Therefore, if we keep in mind that the events leading to 15x03 aren’t exact mirrors of 07x01 or 12x23, but too reminiscent for comfort, then Dean’s behavior toward Cas starts making a bit more sense -- not excused, but understandable. A quick summary of these similarities goes as follows: Cas notices there’s is something off with Jack because of his soul; he decides to investigate on his own to avoid worrying the Winchesters and also because of his own fear of losing his family. He only comes forward with what is happening after something potentially disastrous has happened (Mary’s death). Later, Cas deviates from the agreed plan to close the wound leading to hell, which leads to another disastrous consequence (Rowena’s death). What does this look like? Cas makes a decision to act on his own, and doesn’t tell Dean (or Sam) about it, something goes wrong, someone dies. Notably, here, moreover, is that Cas obviously doesn’t die, but he has paralleled Mary before (when he was dead in s13) and there’s an argument to be made that he would eventually parallel Rowena (with heaven), but that’s from a metanarrative perspective rather than Dean’s, and I digress.

Oh, It’s worth noting, too, that the way in which the arc starting with 14x18 and culminating in 15x03 presents a similar, but not quite, chain of events as those of previous seasons signals the intentionality of the trauma narrative. 

But anyway, as we were: the resonance between the traumatic and triggering events, with the latter being traumatic in their own way, make Dean response in a way that is unfair for the situation at hand, but betray a deeper truth about Dean’s state of mind. Backtracking a little from 15x03, the first instance of Dean lashing out at Cas happens in 14x18 with the (heartbreaking) line: “Then you're dead to me.” At face value, those words are a condemnation of Cas and indicate a complete breakdown of the relationship, hinging on Jack having hurt/killed Mary. There is, however, another angle there, pain simmering beneath the surface, which makes more sense in its direction to Cas: the last time Jack, Mary, and Cas were involved in a tableaux like this, Cas died and Mary was gone. In what is an inversion of events, Mary is dead and Cas is...there, but as an echo of Jack’s birth, to say Cas is dead is a statement of fact: he did die, then. And as he was a parallel to Mary in the aftermath of Jack’s birth (and the rehashing of the John, Dean, Sam drama through Dean, Sam, and Jack), so is he a parallel to Mary here, except in circumstance. Both Mary and Cas had been after Jack. Mary happened to find him first, but Cas could’ve easily been the one to find him. Easily been the one who died. See the issue? This is obviously not to say that Dean’s grief and rage weren’t about Mary herself, but that the situations are entangled and murky. 

Further entanglement and murkiness happen when Cas is forced to change the plan to seal the hell wound in 15x03. We all know, including Dean, that there was nothing Cas could’ve done instead of what he did. But besides the change of plans, there’s an undercurrent of anxiety of the wound closing before Cas makes it out. He does, of course, but that’s the what if, always. And to illustrate the possibility, Rowena sacrifices herself to close the wound. It’s not coincidence that the similarities here are tenuous considering the stress burden from everything that has happened since 14x18 has continued to grow with no respite.

The stage is set then for the confrontation that leads to Cas walking out of the bunker. Dean is clearly on edge, and Cas is in a particularly vulnerable and hopeless headspace:

CASTIEL: Sorry about Rowena. DEAN: You're sorry? Why didn't you just stick to the damn plan? CASTIEL: Belphegor was lying. DEAN: Belphegor's a demon. CASTIEL: He was using us. He wanted to eat every last soul to take over Hell, Earth, and every... DEAN: Yeah, and we would've figured it out... after. With Rowena. CASTIEL: The plan changed, Dean. Something went wrong. You know this. Something always goes wrong. DEAN: Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?

The reason I went of this long journey to come back to this is so as to make clear that what Dean is talking about here isn’t about Rowena at all, and it’s not about Mary either. We know Dean didn’t really blame Cas for Mary, and that he didn’t blame him for Rowena, either. But do those bolded parts sound familiar?

CASTIEL: Listen. Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice.

DEAN: No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one.

CASTIEL: You don't understand. It's complicated.

DEAN: No, actually, it's not, and you know that. Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh, unless you knew that it was wrong? When crap like this comes around, we deal with it... Like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil!

CASTIEL: It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?

DEAN: I was there. Where were you?

DEAN: You should've come to us for help, Cas.

How about:

DEAN: Cas, you can't – With everything that's going on, you can't just go dark like that. We didn't know what happened to you. We were worried. That's not okay. CASTIEL: Well, I didn't mean to add to your distress. I – Dean, I just keep failing. Again and again. When you were taken, I searched for months and I couldn't find you. And then Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. And I just wanted I needed to come back here with a win for you. For myself.

[...]

DEAN : We will find a better way. CASTIEL: You mean, we? DEAN : Yes, dumbass. We. You, me, and Sam, we're just better together. So now that you're back, let's go, Team Free Will. Let's get it done. CASTIEL: I'd like that. DEAN: Great.

“Then, you’re dead to me.” “...why does that something always seem to be you”

Because it’s Cas, and Cas being dead and gone. The tragedy of the divorce arc is that Cas ends up gone, too. However, this time, it’s Dean’s fault for not stopping him. Here, Dean’s fear of Cas dying leads to the anger that ultimately pushes him away. So, yeah, Dean meant what he said, but not in the way Cas took it. Not in the way it appeared as. 

The other tragedy of Supernatural ending as it did is that Dean never got to heal from that trauma, he never got to confront Cas for it, either. Make no mistake, the empty deal is another spiral of Dean’s unaddressed trauma over Cas dying. The beats are the same, and the result is Cas, gone, and Dean, shattered. Sadly, we never got our final resolution, the climatic reunion that would mirror Dean’s prayer in purgatory and Cas’s confession in the dungeon. It’s a story left unfinished. 

#destiel #dean winchester #deancas #supernatural #spn #spn meta #questions and answers #my writing #i keep saying the remaining huge piece of unaddressed trauma from dean is cas's death #remember that thing i keep repeating about dean's unaddressed trauma re: cas? #as you can see i do yell about this a whole lot #this thing got SO LONG ANON IM SORRY #ksjdhfkasjhfklasd #hopefully it's helpful?

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Unfaithful | Part Four

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2900 

Warnings: angst, toxic relationship, emotional blackmail 

A/N: Please be warned there will be some themes of toxic/abusive relationship in this series. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part Three | Masterlist

- - - -

“Father?” 

A voice calling out in the church stops us mid kiss.

“Oh shit, it’s Pam!” The Priest whispers, eyes wide.

“Father, are you in here?” She calls out again.

Remembering his confession about hiding from her I can’t help but find it amusing we’re now both hiding in this tiny box. A tiny giggle escapes my lips and the Priest shushes me, placing his hand gently over my mouth. 

After a minute Pam finally retreats back to her room, leaving us alone. The priest waits another few seconds before removing his hand and letting out a sigh. 

“That was too close” 

“Was kinda hot though” I reply, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Yeah it was” he laughs, kissing me back “but we should probably move this back to my office incase she comes back” He kisses me again and takes my hand. He pokes his head out from the curtain to check no ones there before leading me out the confession box and to his office. He shuts the door and to my surprise spins me around till my back falls against it. He immediately resumes kissing me, letting out small breathless moans as our tongues explore each others mouths. His hands find their way from my hips, up my sides and to the buttons of my shirt. I place my hands over his, stopping him.

“Do you mind if we don’t, just yet.. I'm not- I'm not ready for that” I stutter “I'm sorry”

He plants a kiss on my forehead before leaning his forehead against mine.

“We don’t have to do anything until you're ready” he whispers and smiles a genuine, loving smile which I return. 

“Can we just cuddle for a bit?” I ask shyly

“Of course” 

He leads me over to the two seater sofa and sits down, gently pulling me down with him and wrapping himself around me. 

Laying on the Priest’s small sofa, my head on his chest and his arms around me, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. We stay like that for at least ten minutes, silently enjoying the blissful feeling of each others company. 

I tilt my head to look up at him and find him watching me. 

“What?” I giggle, feeling slightly self conscious under his gaze. 

“Nothing, just- thinking”

“About what?”

“It doesn’t matter”

He smiles at me and places a kiss on my forehead. He brings his hand up to stroke the side of my face, his thumb gently glides over my burns and his face changes. There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. 

“He did this to you, didn’t he?”

I nod, biting my lip slightly. 

“Because you were with me?” 

“No” I reply quickly, not wanting him to think this was his fault “lt was my fault, I called him pathetic”

“That’s no excuse to hurt you!” 

“It’s always been a trigger word for Daniel.” I explain and he looks at me confused. I remove myself from under his arms and sit up to face him “His father always used to call him that. He wasn’t a very nice man, he was an alcoholic with anger issues. He used to beat Daniel’s mother in front of him and tell him it was his fault. And if he cried, like any child would, he told him he was pathetic.”

“That’s awful”

“When Daniel’s mother died, his dad changed. Started going to church and completely turned his life around. He was like a new man. But Daniel never forgave him. Even after he died, he just couldn’t. And I don't blame him, I can’t imagine the things he must have seen. At the funeral all these people from the church kept telling Daniel that his father was up in heaven watching over him, and he hated it. The idea that this man who did such horrendous things was allowed be in heaven, it made him so angry. That’s why he’s got such an issue with you. It’s not really about you personally, it’s what you stand for. Just religion in general.”

“Then why get married in a church?”

“My fault again. I had to beg and beg him to let me have the wedding here. My parents aren’t around anymore either but I have such fond memories of being here with them that I thought if we had the wedding here it would feel like they were with me. I know must sound silly-”

“Not at all, it’s a lovely thought. I bet they’d be so proud of you.”

“I hope so” 

The sound of the phone ringing pulls us out of our conversation. The Priest goes to his desk and picks up the phone. 

“Hello?” He answers with a cheery voice. 

Suddenly the smiles disappears from his face and he looks at me with wide eyes.

“Oh hi Daniel”

My heart stops. I feel like I could throw up. What the hell is Daniel doing calling the Priest? Does he know I’m here? Does he know what we’ve done?

“Slow down, say that again”

I watch intently as the Priest listens to Daniel on the other end, trying to figure out from his facial expressions what they’re talking about. 

“No I haven’t seen her” he lies “Why? What’s happened?” 

He must be asking about me. I take my phone from my pocket and power it on. I had turned it off in the hospital and completely forgot to turn it back on again. Multiple messages and endless missed calls from Daniel. 

“Don't worry, I’m sure she’s fine. If I see her I’ll let her know you're looking for her okay? Okay bye Daniel” he puts the phone down and looks up at me again “he sounds like he’s really panicking about you”

“Good!”

“You need to go home” the Priest says, walking over to me

“I don't want to” 

“I know. But you're gonna have to face him sooner or later” he puts his hands on my shoulders and I look up into his eyes before letting out a sigh.

“You're right. I should go. Thank you, for everything” I smile at him giving him a quick kiss before heading to the door. 

“Y/N?” He calls after me and I turn back to look at him “none of it is your fault”  

— — — —

The moment I step through the front door Daniel comes running, full of apologies. 

“Oh my God, Y/N. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Please forgive me. I love you so much. What did the hospital say?” 

“It will heal eventually. They gave me some cream for the pain.”

“I am so sorry! I’m gonna change-”

“I’ve heard it all before” I snap

“I know, I know- but I mean it. Here, let me take your shoes off for you”

“I don't need your help” I say, kicking my shoes off

“Let me take care of you! Go to bed and I’ll come up in a minute. Please, I want to make it up to you”

I stare him out for a moment before giving in and doing as he says. I get into some fresh pyjamas and climb into bed. A few minutes later I hear him coming upstairs.

“I made you a fresh coffee, since you didn’t get to drink yours this morning” 

He puts the coffee on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. He takes the cream from the table and squeezes some onto his fingers. He reaches towards me and I instinctively flinch away from his touch.

“Please, let me do this” he says quietly and I give him a small nod. 

I can’t help but let out a small whimper of pain as he touches my skin.

“Sorry!” 

I can't even look at him. I can hear from his voice he’s trying not to cry and the last thing I want to feel right now is pity for him. 

Once he’s finished applying the cream he wipes his hands on a tissue and climbs into bed next to me. He cautiously reaches over to put his arm around me, and because I don't have to the energy to argue I allow him to pull me in to cuddle up to him. 

He takes the remote from his bedside table drawer and turns the tv on. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

“We need to talk” I say and he turns the tv off again, releasing me from his arm and sitting up to look at me. He looks terrified.

“Okay?”

“Look I’ve been thinking-”

“Please” he interrupts, grabbing my hands and begging “don't break up with me!”

“Daniel” I sigh 

“I’ve been panicking all day thinking that you’d left me. If you hadn’t come home, I don't know what I would have done… I can’t live without you by my side.”

“Stop! I’m not breaking up with you… I just think we need time to work things out”

“What do you mean?” He looks concerned. 

“We should postpone the wedding”

“No! No we don't need to do that. What happened today will never happen again. I promise.” He says and I smirk slightly at hearing yet another empty promise. He notices. “I mean it. Y/N, I have waited over half my life to marry you. I don't wait any longer. I want to call you my wife and show everyone how much I love you!”

I watch as he squeezes my hand tightly in his own, almost as if he’s scared I’ll suddenly slip away and he’ll lose me. His eyes search mine and I can see the desperate panic he feels. I let out a sigh. 

“Okay, we’ll keep the set date.” I finally say and I see the relief flood through Daniel “but I don't think we should get married in the church”

“I thought that’s what you wanted”

“I do- I did. But you clearly don't want to and that’s okay. We’ll find somewhere that makes us both happy.”

“No, I don't want my issues to be the reason you don't get your dream wedding. We’re getting married in the church, and I’m going to make things right with the priest. I promise. When’s the next meeting?”

“Oh, you really don't have to-“

“I want to! It’s the final one before the big day right?” He asks and I nod “then I should definitely go! When is it?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll be there.”

— — — — 

After another night of dreaming of the Priest, I was awakened by Daniel bringing me breakfast in bed. 

“This looks lovely, thank you” I say as he places the tray over my lap and gives me a kiss on the forehead. A memory flashes in my head of the priest pressing his lips to that same spot yesterday. 

“You're most welcome m’lady” he says in his poshest voice and bows like a butler, making an involuntary giggle escape my mouth “listen I’ve got to pop out but I’ll meet you at the church this afternoon”

“Okay” I nod, highly doubting he’s actually going to turn up. 

“I love you!” He kisses me again before leaving. 

Hearing him say he loves me sends a sudden pang of guilt through me. He loves me. And despite everything I do still love him. So why can’t I stop thinking about the priest? When I’m around him I feel more content than I’ve felt in years. I know I haven't known him for very long but I feel so strongly for him, its insane. 

How can I love two guys at once?

I let out a sigh and shake the thoughts out of my head. 

Once I finish my breakfast I get out of bed, have a shower and get ready for the day. I find myself counting down the hours till I get to see the priest again and as I finally make my way to the church the excited butterflies in my stomach are fluttering so hard I swear they’re going to burst out of me and fly right to him. I turn the corner and smile as I see him standing outside the front door chatting to someone. Our eyes meet and he smiles back at me, sending my heart soaring. That is until the man he’s chatting to turns around and I realise its Daniel. Then my heart feels like it stops all together. I know he said he was going to be here today I just didn’t believe he would actually show up. I’m almost disappointed he’s crashed my alone time with the priest. 

I snap out of it and remind myself I’m supposed to be happy, plastering an over the fake smile on my face as I greet my fiancé. 

“You're here!” I say, unable to hide the surprise in my voice. 

“I said I would be didn’t I? I have something for you, wait here” Daniel says before rushing off toward the carpark. I take my chance to talk to the priest. 

“I can’t believe he actually came”

“He also apologised to me”

“He did what?”

“I know, it’s a miracle!” The priest says sarcastically. 

“Doubt it. I’m sure he’ll be back to his usual self as soon as something gets him angry. I dread to think what he’d do if he ever found out that we...”

“Yeah about that. We both had too much to drink and I think we both said and did things we shouldn’t have. Maybe it’s best if we just... pretend that didn’t happen?”

My heart sinks as I realise what he’s saying. He regrets kissing me. But he told me he loved me! What if that just the alcohol talking? I realise he’s waiting for a response. 

“Of course, yeah you’re right! We were both drunk and I’d had a really bad day. Neither of us were in our right minds. It never happened” 

The priest doesn’t respond, just looks past me to something behind me. I turn around to follow his gaze and see the biggest flower bouquet I’ve ever seen walking towards me with Daniel’s legs. 

“Oh my God” I gasp

“I wanted to get you something as beautiful as you are, but nothing came close. This was the best I could do” 

“Thank you” I say quietly, blushing slightly “this must have cost a fortune!”

“You're worth every penny” he replies and I can’t help but smile as he leans in and kisses me. This is the Daniel I fell for all those years ago, not the man he’s become lately. Could he really have changed back?

“Oh isn’t that lovely” the Priest says, there’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice but it’s so subtle that thankfully Daniel doesn’t catch it “shall we head inside”

— — — — 

The meeting is nothing like I expected it to be. Daniel, being true to his word, was over the top friendly with the Priest. Every question asked, he would answer straight away. He was cracking jokes, telling stories about things we’ve done together and the places we’ve been. I couldn’t get a word in even if I wanted to. Although the Priest was smiling along, I could tell he couldn’t wait for this meeting to be over. He almost looks relieved when Pam knocks on the office door. 

“So sorry to interrupt Father, the Parish council are on the phone. Something about tomorrow’s fundraiser.. shall I tell them to call back later?”

“No no” he says quickly, jumping up from his chair “it’s okay, we’re pretty much done here anyway.” He turns back to look at us “sorry for the abrupt ending but…”

“Of course, we understand” Daniel responds getting up from his chair, and I do the same. 

“Pam will show you out” the Priest holds the door open for us and Daniel walks out behind Pam. I follow but stop at the door, face to face with the priest. 

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly and he nods, not able to look me in the eye. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He responds. I study him for a moment before he speaks again “better not keep those parish councillors waiting” I catch his hint and leave the room, taking one last look back at the Priest as he shuts the door before I run to catch up with Daniel and Pam. 

“Will we be seeing you at the fundraiser garden party tomorrow?” Pam asks as I join them at the door.

“I’m working” Daniel answers “but Y/N could”

“I’d love to but I’ve got my hen party tomorrow-” I excuse

“Yeah but that’s in the evening. You’re free all day right?” Dan argues

“uh… yeah I guess I am” I agree, reluctantly 

“Great! The more the merrier” Pam smiles “make sure you bring plenty of cash” 

“Will do. See you tomorrow” I say, giving her a small wave as Daniel and I head to the car. 

Daniel chats constantly on the drive home but I don't listen to a word. Instead my thoughts are consumed by the priest and his dismissive attitude towards me. How in the space of 24 hours can he have gone from telling me he loves me, to now not being able to look at me? 

Was it because Daniel was there? Did I do or say something wrong?

I guess I”ll have to wait till the fundraiser tomorrow to find out. 

Part Five

#hot priest #hot priest x reader #Andrew Scott x reader #fleabag #Andrew scott #fleabag fanfic #fleabag imagine #Andrew Scott imagine #Andrew Scott fanfic #fleabag fic #fleabag hot priest #hot priest imagine #hot priest fanfic #Andrew Scott priest #fleabag x reader

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Yandere Tubbo x Male Reader

Warning: little violence (not that detailed). 

This one is going to be short.

Requested from Pokadeathpony

Backstory: You live in Brighton, England, United Kingdom. (I don’t know where Tubbo lives nor do I know where Tommy lives) One day you were walking to go get some breakfast. Until you bumped into George one of your favorite Minecraft streamers and content creators. You were a small streamer, not that many viewers. You and George began to talk, he later invited you to see the dream SMP world, and you meet the other people of the dream SMP. You then got to meet Tubbo. You thought Tubbo was normal until it took a turn. A big turn. 

Btw you are 17. (Tommy will be turning 17 this year and Tubbo will be 18)

M/N: Male name

Y/T/N: Your Twitch Name.

M/U: Minecraft username

H/C: Hair color

S/C: Skin color

F/D/P: favorite donut place.

Sorry if this is bad.

You were sleeping peacefully until I heard the most annoying sound ever. 

*Beep, beep, beep,* “Ughhhhh.” You were trying to turn it off but you kept missing until you finally got it. ‘Finally got that stupid thing off!’ you thought to yourself. “What time is it?” I looked at the clock. “7:35 am. I might as well get up,” you said to yourself as you slowly got out of bed, stretching your muscles. 

You went to the bathroom to do your business and brush your teeth. After you were done, you grabbed my keys and went to go get breakfast.

As you were walking to go get your daily donuts and coffee, you suddenly bumped into someone causing me to fall. “You okay there?” the voice said, ‘I know that voice!’ you thought to yourself and looked up to see George, George Davidson!!

He handed his hand out, you grabbed his hand. “You alright,” he said, you couldn’t process anything, you just stared at him. You snapped out of your daze. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m a fan of you by the way,” you replied with excitement. 

“Oh? Really?” he said, “Yes! I’m a big fan of yours! I’m actually a streamer just like you,” You replied. “Oh, really what’s your twitch name?” He asked, wondering maybe he’ll check you out. “Oh, Y/T/N!” 

“Okay, maybe check it out later today. Hey, wanna talk and get some food?” you couldn’t say no to that, how many get to eat with their favorite celebrity? “Yes, I would like. Either way, I was going there before I ran into you.” “Alright, let’s go.”

Time skip (You and George went to go eat, and later he checked out your Twitch channel. 3 days later, you got a DM from George saying; “Do you want to tour the Dream SMP world?” and you gladly accepted the offer. And this is where it all began.)

Y/N POV 

I recently got a message from George saying, “Do you want to tour the Dream SMP world?” and you (Or should I say “we”) know I accepted it. He said tomorrow is when it's happening. 

Time skip to tomorrow. 

I woke up earlier than usual, even beat my alarm clock before it could ring. I went to the bathroom and did my usual. George said he will invite me at 10:30 AM. “What time is it now?” I grabbed my phone and checked, “It's 7:10 AM. Will looks like I’m going to have to wait a while.”

Time skip (3 hours and 20 minutes later)

I hopped onto my PC and started it up. After it started, I opened up Minecraft and checked my Notifications. I received the invite I quickly joined in.

Tubbo POV

I was on the Dream SMP world with Tommy, Corpse, George, BBh, and Dream, when an unknown player had joined the game. That shouldn’t be possible since this server is private nobody can join be us.

“Hey who joined?” I questioned. “Oh, I met this small streamer while I was walking to go get breakfast 3 days ago, and I invited them over to give a tour of the place!” George enthusiastically over discord. 

‘Mmm, so they’re a streamer? Maybe I should get to know them.’ 

Time skip (To be honest this one is rushed. It’s currently 1:08 AM where I live and my mind isn’t functioning right now) 

After I introduced myself and the others did, we began to talk about random things. Apparently, M/N is currently streaming right now, and I went to go check it out. 

After I introduced myself and the others did, we began to talk about random things. Apparently, M/N is currently streaming right now, and I went to go check it out. 

M/N has a facecam on, and I get to see what he looks like. He had looked pulchritudinous. Absolutely exquisite. He had soft fluffy H/C hair, his nice S/C, and how his dazzling E/C shine brighter than the sun. I’m going to say it again, he is ravishing.

‘Wait, why am I calling a guy beautiful?’ this boy is triggering something in me. Something I never experienced before. Something in me wants me to protect him at all cost. ‘No stop thinking about that!’ I pushed these unfamiliar thoughts and feeling down.

As time went on my thing for M/N increased. I don’t know why I’m so infatuated with him. Tried ignoring the thoughts and feelings but they keep coming. 

‘Something is coming out of ME.’ 

Time skip ( 2 months after the meeting)

It’s been two months since our little meeting, M/N is officially part of the SMP world. I’ve been binge-watching M/N streams, his YouTube videos, and I also follow him on all his social media accounts, and sometimes I’ll search the internet to find small information. 

I was currently on a website about M/N. it listed all of the information about him since meeting George is grew rapidly on Twitch and YouTube. ‘I already know all of this!’ I thought to myself as I kept scrolling down until I came upon something interesting. 

“M/n current residence in Brighton, England, United Kingdom.” my eyes widen as I read this, ‘He lives close to me!’ I yelled in my mind. 

I was fanboying until I heard my notifications sound. I stopped what I was doing went to go check who it was from. M/N invited me, I immediately accepted it. The world was loading. “Hello!” M/n yelled.   

It was me, M/N, Tommy, and dream on the server. I noticed that Tommy has been getting close to M/n, really close to for my liking. Tommy would sometimes even flirt, this obviously made me jealous for some reason. 

We were minding our own business until “Hey M/n! Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only 10 I see!” that was the most terrible pick-up line I have ever heard. “Oh my God Tommy?! Really?” M/n said but he was Laughing at that. 

This only made me INFURIATED.

M/n POV

I was minding my own business trying to build my home since I joined 2 weeks ago. The only other people on the server were me, tubbo, Tommy, and dream. Anyway, I was nearly done until Tommy said something, “Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only 10 I see!”

That has to be the most dumbest and funniest pick-up line I heard. “Oh my God Tommy! Really?!” I said while laughing at his attempt at flirting with me. 

Then Tommy went on to say more stupid pick-up line. Some of them were like, “Hey, my name's Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?” and “Are you related to Jean-Claude Van Damme? Because Jean-Claude Van Damme you’re sexy!” Just to name a few. 

I noticed that Tubbo hasn’t been talking as much. I wonder what’s wrong with him. I didn’t take note that was going to lead to something atrocious. 

Anyways we still had fun, Tommy kept trying to flirt. “Hey M/n, I was wondering if we could meet up since you know, we both live in Brighton,” Tommy with hope in his voice, hoping you accept his offer. I began to think, ‘Mmm, should I? Or should I not?’

“You know what? Sure. What time do you want to meet?” I accepted his request. “Uhhhhhh, Maybe on Thursday at 5:30. Meeting place F/D/P.” Tommy replied. “Alright! See you there,” I replied.

No One’s POV

Tubbo was fuming with anger as he was listening in on their conversation. ‘No!!!!! I can’t let this happen! I need to do something.’ Tubbo was thinking to himself, but he didn’t notice that M/n and Tommy had stop talking.

“Hey, Toby! Are you okay? You haven’t been talking,” Tommy said with concern. “Yeah, I’m just fine you know!” Tubbo said with venom and anger in his voice. “Wow there calm down, I was just asking. Geez,” Tommy backed knowing that his friend is anger. 

‘Why is he angry? I did nothing wrong!’ Tommy thought to himself, wanting to know what he did. “You know what, I think I’m going to leave,” Tubbo said as he left the game and went offline. 

“What’s his big deal?” M/n questioned. “I don’t know,” Tommy replied, “I gotta go. See ya later M/n!” “Bye Tommy!” Tommy has left the game. 

Meanwhile. 

“I need to find a way to prevent this meetup!” Tubbo said to himself. Then an idea came into mind. An extreme idea. 

New Messages 

Today at 4:23

Toby: Hey, Tommy. Sorry I lashed out at you today.

Delivered at 4:23 

Tommy is tying…

Tommy: it’s alright mate.

Delivered at 4:23

Toby is typing…

Toby: How about we meet up, so I can apologize in person.

Delivered at 4:24

Tommy is typing…

Tommy: today or tomorrow? Cause I have a meeting with M/n. 

Delivered at 4:24

When Tommy mentioned the meeting toby had to act fast. 

Toby is typing…

Toby: today at my place.

Delivered at 4:25

Tommy is typing…

Tommy: sure thing! When exactly?

Delivered at 4:25

Toby is typing…

Toby: 5:30 

Delivered at 4:25

Tommy is typing…

Tommy: Okay, see you at 5:30

Delivered at 4:26

‘And that WILL be the last time you see.’

Time skip (1 hour 4 minutes)

Toby heard his door knocked. Toby went to go open his door, and there he sees his target. “Hey, Toby!” Tommy let himself in. “So where are your parents?” Tommy questioned. 

“Oh, they’re on their anniversary vacation,” Toby answered. “Ohhh, okay. Wanna head to your room?” “Sure I just need to go get something.” “Okay.” 

While Tommy went upstairs, Toby went into the kitchen. He grabbed the knife and slowly began to walk, he hid the knife behind his back. Once he walked into his room, he locked the door and slowly began to approach Tommy. 

“What are you doing Toby?!” Tommy yelled as walked backward, but then he hit the wall. “It was never meant to be.” those would be the last words, Tommy would ever hear as Toby shoved the knife into Tommy’s heart. 

Toby cleaned up the body by putting it into the trash bag along with the knife. He quickly disposed of the body. 

3 days later

Tommy was reported missing by his parents and the police were on the search. M/n was worried. Toby called M/n to do a cooking stream. M/n was suspicious about this cause this came out of nowhere. But in the end, M/n agreed. 

A few hours have passed and M/n arrived at the residence of Toby. m/n knocked on the door waiting for an answer just then the door swung open revealing a smiling Toby. 

“Hey there M/n! Glad that you arrived!” Toby sounded a bit too happy for your liking. “Please come in!” he invited you in. But as you walked, you heard the door close and lock behind you. Just as you turned around you got knocked by a heavy object. 

You slowly began to wake, you noticed that you were tied up. You looked around until your eyes landed on Toby. He had a wicked smile plaster on his face. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked desperately wanting to know why. ‘Did he cause Tommy to go missing?’ You thought to yourself until you hear Toby coming to you. 

“You know, I always reject this feeling inside me. This feeling caused me to love you. Tommy was getting in the way of us being together, he had to be dealt with.”

“You’re a monster! You killed Tommy and you think I’m going to love you?!” this angered Toby but didn’t show it. “You’ll learn to love… cause you’ll be staying here…

Forever…”

#yandere tubbo x male reader #yandere tubbo #x male reader #male reader #tommyinnit #dream smp

[blackwidowyael]

One of those days

Hey y'all! I just received my first request from @thoughfulmilkshakeface, and here it is, hope you all enjoy! psa I am taking requests, mainly Natasha/Yelena/Wanda centric, and I dont do reader inserts or anything too smutty so feel free to leave smth in ma inbox ;)

Natasha has bad days. Clint knows this, and he also knows that the bad days will pass, making space for the good ones, where they can go out to the movies, or grab lunch, or take Lucky to play ball in the park without the change of routine sending her reeling.

It is these days that he treasures the most, when he can pretend, even if it is only briefly, that they are just another normal couple, with normal problems like squabbles over who’s turn it is to take out the trash or clean up after the dog.

Today is not one of those days.

Clint can tell from the moment they wake up. He cracks open an eye just in time to see the flash of metal handcuffs disappearing into Natasha’s nightstand.

The handcuffs rarely make an appearance anymore, and only on those nights where she is filled with an anxious restlessness, a sense of uneasiness that only the cool slicing of the metal can satiate.

She never talks about it, refuses to acknowledge that they still have a lingering control over her that she can’t quite shake. Clint understands what it is like to feel that lack of autonomy, and never pushes her to stop.

Lucky knows that Natasha has bad days as well. She stumbles past where he is eagerly awaiting breakfast, straight to the gym without so much as a glance in his direction. It is like she is barely even there.

Clint drags himself into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding hitting Lucky in the face as he reaches down to pat him through a haze of sleep. He fills Lucky’s bowl, and slides two pop tarts onto a plate. A smile almost reaches his face as he thinks about the plan Nat concocted to sneak them past the addicted demi-God upstairs.

And they wait for the last member of their family to return. Sometimes, an hour in the gym is enough to shake whatever demons were haunting her away and she returns more present, having slipped out of whatever funk she is in.

Today is not one of those days.

They watch the clock as the hands trail round the hour, and into the next. Lucky whines, pressing himself against Clint’s leg. He is weirdly intuitive, can always tell when something’s not right. Almost two hours have passed. Natasha’s coffee has grown cold in the pot.

“I guess you’re right, bud,” Clint sighs, rubbing Lucky behind the ears. “I’ll go check on her.”

At first, he thinks the gym is empty. Music blares out of the speakers as he scans every corner.

He finds her huddled in a crack between the wall and a punching bag. From her vantage point, she has a clear view of the entire gym, but she doesn’t even blink as he settles down in front of her.

Nat’s eyes are glassy, unfocused. Clint waves a hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention. He is wary of touching her when she’s like this, but he really needs to get her to the apartment. Clint can see the blood leaking through her pointe shoes, feet white with the ribbons tight enough to cut off her circulation. Slowly he loops one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees, narrating as he does so.

No matter what, Clint wants her to feel at least some semblance of control.

“Alright, Tash, back to the apartment. I got you, it’s okay.” He glances at her briefly, to see if he has gotten a response, but she has retreated so far into herself that she can’t hear him. Dissociated, the part of his mind that has attended many therapy sessions with her, supplies.

She has frozen by the time he tries to deposit her on the couch. Eventually, he just sits down with her draped over his lap, hoping that the feel of him breathing would help to ground her. He thinks back to the day before, trying to remember what could have triggered it. Nothing springs to mind, although new triggers still pop up now and then. Maybe something from a mission?

Lucky worries when he sees Natasha like this. It makes Clint sad, and then neither of them will take him to the park. He leaps onto the couch, burying his muzzle in Natasha’s face and showering her with kisses. Suddenly, she stirs, breath shuddering in her chest.

“Nat, you’re okay, you’re safe. We’re in the apartment.”

One hand comes up, shielding her face, while she desperately tries to wriggle out of Clint’s lap. Her breath is beginning to come faster as she squirms, unable to escape Lucky’s slobbery hold.

“Natasha, it’s just Lucky, you’re okay.”

“Clint?”

“Yeah. Can you breathe with me?”

She can’t.

She can feel her breath whistling in her chest, coming faster and faster and despite this feel the lack of oxygen in her brain. Lightheaded. She doesn’t think her legs would support her right now if she tried to run.

Run away from all of this. All these emotions, clawing at her chest and anxiety buzzing in her brain and tingling on her skin and she can't breathe, she can’t-

Breathe.

One fist gripping Clint’s shirt, the soft fabric grounding, while simultaneously keeping herself as far away from him as possible, curled on the opposite side of the couch.

Through the icy panic, she tries to focus on his chest. Watching it rise and fall. She manages to take gulps of air to match, feeling the fog slowly evaporating around her.

“Idiot dog,” she mutters, pushing Lucky away from her.

The buzzing panic leaves her as quickly as it arrives, leaving her drained. The world is far too bright, too sharp, now.

Clint is watching as she tries to collect herself. Natasha feels her mask slamming into place, protecting her from the world and hiding her humiliation. She’s not sure how she got to the couch, but she can feel the concern and smothering pity rolling off of Clint in waves and she hates it.

She just wants to be alone, until she can forget again.

“Nat-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Clint presses his lips together. This repression shit can’t be healthy, but he knows better than anyone that there’s no point trying to make Natasha talk when she doesn't want to.

“Fine. We don’t have to talk. Can I at least look at your feet?”

Natasha glances down. Her feet are waxy, apart from the red marks made by the ribbons chafing. Blood has congealed around the box of the shoe, spattering its way up the shank.

“I can do it myself, Clint,”

“Natasha, I swear to God.” Clint pushes her back down as she tries to stand, going into the kitchen to grab the first aid box.

Carefully, he unties the ribbons, prying the shoes off her feet. The blood is sticky, and it takes a while for him to get them off without ripping the skin further.

Eventually, both shoes are discarded and he gets a proper look at her.

“Nat, what happened?”

Clint had hoped it would be an easy fix, just a couple of blisters, but apparently it wasn’t one of those days, and nothing was easy. Hundreds of shards of glass are embedded in the soles of Natasha’s feet, and when he looks back to her shoes, he can see more littering the soles.

He gets to work, painstakingly removing each shard and cleaning the cuts, before covering them in adhesive bandage. Questions can come later, when Nat is not still partially dissociated on the couch with a vase’s worth of glass in her feet. Lucky watches, resting his head on Natasha’s lap. This time, she doesn’t push him away, running her fingers through his fur.

“I needed to know that I hadn’t got soft.”

The words echo in the silence, although they were barely audible. Clint carefully schools his expression, keeping his posture open and relaxed.

“And dancing with glass in your shoes proves that how?”

“We used to do it,” Natasha pauses, staring intently at a spot on Lucky’s back, “before.”

Clint nods in understanding. It doesn’t surprise him, seems very on-brand given the sparse details she had shared over the years.

“You haven’t gotten soft, Tash. Why would you think that?”

“But I have,” she presses, leaning forward, “I see it all the time. They told me I could never form attachments, that it would make me weak. And I can’t do the missions I did before,”

“Can’t or won’t? You didn’t have any choice over taking missions, Tash. Just because SHIELD does things differently doesn’t mean you’re any less of an agent.”

“They’re in my head all the time,” Natasha admits. “I can hear them. Telling me I’m sloppy. Weak. They would be so angry if they could see me now. I just. I just needed to feel like I was,”

She breaks off, staring at her hands.

“Like what?” Clint prompts gently.

“Made of marble. That’s what they used to say to me.”

“They’re not here now, Nat. We are. Your family. You don’t need to be all perfect and tough around us.”

Nat shakes her head in exasperation, eyes roaming around the room as she searches for an explanation.

“But I still want them to be proud of me. It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. They took everything from me and I still want to make them proud.”

“They tortured you, Natasha. They raised you, that’s not just going to go away. You’re not under their control anymore. I just want you, whatever that is.”

Suddenly, she can’t stand this conversation anymore, ignoring her protesting feet as she stalks into the kitchen. Clint follows, Lucky not far behind.

“Love is for children.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh, turning away to reach a mug. “You’d have to be stupid to want me.”

“I guess I really am an idiot then.” Clint reaches out, tugging on her arm until she is facing him.

“Lucky too,” he adds as the dog jumps up, pawing Natasha’s legs.

“Idiot dog.” A tiny smile graces the corner of her mouth.

“You’re more than just an incredible agent, Tash. You’re my best friend, my family. I love you.”

She ducks her head, staring at their intertwined fingers.

“I love you too, idiot.”

Clint grins. It was one of those days.

#natasha and clint #clintasha #natasha romonova #clint barton #lucky the pizza dog #angst #hurt/comfort #fanwork #fanfic #marvel #mcu women #mcu #black widow #hawkeye #red room #natashas fucked up #but arent they all

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #26

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Opera-phile

I had a hobby that I couldn’t tell anyone about. People like me were no rare breed.

Amongst the hobbies I had heard about from my friends until now, the one that made me think “this might be a bit hard to tell someone” the most was that keeping ice cream lids when they finished eating it. They said they would write down the date on each lid and store them in one of those clear files sold at 100-yen shops. They could only eat ice cream on special days when they were little, and they still couldn’t get over the habit of that time. The face of the person who had told me about this seemed simply satisfied in some way. Regardless, this may not have been something so difficult to say because it was revealed at a drinking party.

Now. Bringing the topic back to me.

If you were living alone in a foreign land called Sri Lanka, you could do whatever you wanted. I could get up at any time, eat whatever I felt like, study the things I enjoyed and go wherever I wanted with my Three-Wheeler. I didn’t have much, but the prices were cheap. My culinary repertoire was also noticeably increasing. Even if I danced alone in my room, no one would be watching. No, my dear dog ​​Jirou would stare at me with a bit of a strange look, but there were times when he’d eventually jump up and down and start dancing with me. Even if I listened to music at a loud volume, the same went for my neighbors.

Therefore, I was now thinking that maybe my stopper had come off a little.

I had bought the CD in Colombo, the real capital of Sri Lanka. As one would expect of the biggest shop in the country, they sold a lot of things that were unlikely to be available in Kandy.

The jacket featured a black-haired woman with a spellbound face, both of her arms outstretched. It was an opera CD with twelve songs.

I went back and forth in my room, shouting, “ah~, ah~”. What an opera was? No, I did know. It was traditional singing style – something like a musical, in which singers such as tenor, paritone, soprano and alto would perform along with a play. But something about them that diverged a bit from musicals was that the words used were old, the melodies weren’t excitable, and they were mainly either Italian or French, I believed.

I had no choice but admit it at this point. I liked opera.

Nakata Seigi had the words “I’m in love with opera” floating about in his head. I was driven by an urge to scream “gyaaah” and make said words disappear, but on the CD jacket, Maria Callas was making a spellbound face as usual, and that made me happy. I had purchased this CD after much hesitation over buying this or buying that. There was no way I wouldn’t be happy about it. Still...

Somewhere in my head, I recognized this as something embarrassing.

My dear boss was always telling me to think rationally at such times. He told me that whenever I thought my mind was moving in absurd ways, it always happened that there was some sort of timid development in me, which I either hadn’t noticed or, even if I did notice it, I’d ignore it – but once I understood it, it would stop being absurd.

Why would opera be embarrassing in the first place?

How I had come to like opera? The trigger was the radio. When I was staying at a hotel for a while back in Tokyo, I tended to feel down because I had nothing to do other than study, so I’d sometimes listen to the radio broadcast at the hotel while devoting myself to physics and English.

The singing voice I heard at that time was – how should I put it? – tremendously wonderful.

I couldn’t think that it was the voice of someone from the same world as myself. Someone was singing in a place just a few ways away, and as I listened to it, my body felt like my body was airily floating up – it was that kind of voice. I didn’t have any preferences for either male or female, and if anything, I liked both. The title of the song being streamed was written in the hotel’s guidebook, so I went to a video streaming site and searched for the same song by other singers and the songs that came before and after said piece. Faust. Madama Butterfly. Otello. Rigoletto. The Magic Flute. Don Giovanni. Whenever an opera song was used on a TV show, i became able to at least tell which prelude it was from.

And this passion hadn’t cooled down even now that some time had passed since then.

I walked around the room again, shouting, “Uuuh, uuuh”. Jirou energetically followed me from behind. It was almost as if he meant to say, “It’s fun to go a stroll even inside a room, huh, owner?”. Sorry but it’s not like I’m taking you on a walk, I thought, yet Jirou couldn’t care less, letting out a sweet voice as I held him up and rocked him, and then running off to the yard as if he had gotten excited. Just as I felt relieved, thinking about what a cute fella he was, I found myself imagining something. I could see myself at the drinking party, talking about how I liked opera. The reaction I pictured was an explosion of laughter.

“‘Opera’, you say. What’s up with that? It’s that thing where fat people raise their voices like crazy, right? You like that? Why? No way, Nakata, didn’t you just want to have a rich people hobby just ‘cause you’ve well-off these days? Like, those that feel like you’re superior. That’s exactly what opera is. Okay, I get it, but that ain’t very interesting, so how about we change the topic?”

It gave me chills.

I wasn’t creeped out by how people might talk about my hobbies. However, it was painful to have the whole genre of opera, which had saved me back when I was put in a spot like a light reaching out from the sky, be judged by people who didn’t even know the difference between Callas and Pavarotti and not be able to defend them. I had to protect what was important to me. Or else, it would get damaged. I wasn’t referring to the long-standing form of art that had been cultivated for hundreds of years. I meant my own heart. That was painful to me.

Yeah, I was somewhat aware that this wasn’t an “embarrassment”. But I was scared.

I was low-key terrified of having people pointing their fingers at me from behind with words such as “eccentric”, “weirdo” or “pretentious” for having a preference that was different from other people’s – and something that I seriously liked, no less.

With a deep breath, I took the CD’s vinyl cover. Unlike Japanese CDs, there was none of those convenient little ears that made the cover come off when you pulled it. I slowly cut it with a pair of scissors, set it on a nostalgic stereo radio and played it while referring to the table of track numbers on the backside.

Just from the intro, I already knew who was singing and what song it was.

Maria Callas’s “Casta Diva”. It was a song from an opera called “Norma”, and the meaning of it was “chaste goddess”.

What it made me reminisce to was a seriously horrible time, when I had to prepare for my death to a certain extent. Whenever this song played in the hotel’s radio program, which repeated itself over and over, this song would connect me with paradise, telling me that I didn’t need to worry about trivial matters, so I was able to leave it all aside and relax. It was that kind of song. Without a doubt, my biggest and best saver was that beautiful jeweler, but from the sidelines, opera had definitely helped me keep my sanity.

That was amazing.

I was grateful from the bottom of my heart that this form of art, which couldn’t be classified as mainstream at all in Japan and probably overseas as well, had maintained its thread of life across the centuries. It had saved me. Would the CD sales be of any help to it? Thankfully, I had some money to spend and was probably able to buy a set of all-track CDs per month. Would that be a form of repayment of any kind? It would be great if so, I thought wholeheartedly.

“Casta Diva” wasn’t too long a piece. With a voice that sounded like it was vanishing, the song ended. For whatever reason, it made me feel like crying, no matter how many times I had listened to it. It was too beautiful. It was an impossible speculation, but if Richard turned into a song, I felt that his form would change into something very close to this one.

Once I finished listening to the track, the “aaah”s and “uuuh”s had disappeared from my head. I liked opera. Opera turned into my strength. So I wanted to cherish it.

Even if someone ridiculed me for it, the problem was with the person, not with me or with opera. And my precious, beautiful shopkeeper had stated that “no discriminating other people based on their preferences” was one of the main principles of Etranger. What was I going to do by discriminating myself?

I was going to keep buying opera CDs from now on too, I swore proudly to my heart, yet secretly decided not to write about it in my blog or talk to Richard about it. Not because it was embarrassing. But rather because I had the gut feeling that I couldn’t predict what would happen in the end if I told him.

On that day, I was busy with preparations for cooking. First Saul-san, and then Richard would come to Kandy to hear the reports about the progress of my studies. It was also like a test. But I hadn’t studied half-assedly enough to chicken out at that. Above all, thanks to the negotiations in Ratnapura, I was conscious that my eyes were well-trained, if I could say so myself.

If it didn’t go well even with this, that was fine. I was happy to find new challenges. Lots of things became easier once I started feeling that studying was fun.

And since they were coming over, they wouldn’t get angry if I prepared a bit of a feast. More than anything, being able to cook a few people’s share in this house had me overjoyed. After all, I was basically living alone, so just how many times had I found delicious-looking and cheap food but had to tearfully give up because I wasn’t sure if I could eat it all by myself?

Being surrounded by things that made you happy was extremely good for the heart.

Deciding to go for an additional blow, I set the CD in the radio. A long aria began at the end of the first opus of all songs. It was a French opera called “La Fille du Régiment”, and being fond of this one had greatly helped me when I was studying French.

The man who started to sing that he was going to marry the army was a world-renowned tenor.

In the beginning, the man sang that he was going to do meritorious deeds in the army, cheered on by his companions. Since I had been listening to the words ever since back when I could only hear them as katakana spelling, my mouth moved without any reference. Of course, my voice didn’t sound like that of a tenor, but it had the same gist as somehow trying to sing in the range of a singer from some music show. Just that was fun enough.

A fish pie was baking in the oven. There were three types of curry in the smaller pots. My Nakata-style sliced veggies pickled in soy sauce, which were a mixture of chopped coconut sambal and dried fruits, were lined up on a cutting board, and the fresh fruits that I planned to make into mixed juice were all completely ready. The only thing I had left to do was preparing watalappan for dessert. It had to chill in the fridge for a while, so it was necessary to make it in advance. However, since it was my third time making it, I had the procedure memorized. No worries.

The tenor raised his voice amidst joy. The man who sang, “Ah, I’m going, I’m going to marry the army” didn’t like the army in particular, he was just in love with the abandoned girl that all the men from the regiment he was enlisted in were raising together.

The key switched to waltz. The true value of the tenor would ensue from that point onward.

The oven beeped, indicating that the pie had finished baking. With light steps, put on my gloves, took out the whole iron plate with the pie on it and gently slid it into a white porcelain plate.

A series of splendid high Cs. This referred to when the tenor raised their voice a great deal. If the composer was wonderful in reproducing the feelings of happiness into the music so keenly, then so was the singer who sang them so faithfully, I believed. The feeling of excitement turned into the melody just the way it was.

I arranged the dishes on the table and peeled the fruits. The high Cs continued one after another. I opened a can of coconut milk and mixed the contents with nut paste. The song was approaching the end. “What a fate, what a fate,” he sang, sounding merry. The highest note was near.

The song was coming to a close while celebrating happiness with the highest note. The feelings of the singer weren’t recorded in the CD, but I could hear them as comfortably as could be.

It wasn’t nearly high enough, but I sang along at a fairly loud volume.

At the same time as the song finished with a flashy grace note, I lightly kicked the open lid of the oven. It closed up neatly. With this, everything was all set. I was going to put away the CD set before the guests arrived.

Or so I had planned.

After the peak of my excitement, I noticed that someone was standing outside the window. He hadn’t come in from the front door. Hence the chime didn’t ring.

“Bravo, bravissimo.” A beautiful man wearing a white shirt and sunglasses, said glasses charmingly pushed up above his forehead, was smiling while applauding at my stiffened self.

The test was terrible that day. I didn’t think there was any issue with the contents of my answers. However, since I was stuttering so much, Saul, my mentor who was so picky about manner of speech as well as the contents of it, pointed out that I should “act more dignified”. I knew that better than anyone. There was too much noise interference in my head with things such as, “Why did I put opera on in such high spirits? What did he think of me now? As I thought, does he think that this hobby doesn’t suit me? No, that’s definitely impossible when it comes to my teacher, so I have to take control of my self-consciousness”.

And so, this is a story that happened more than half a year after that. Something that took place in Sri Lanka in May.

“Eh?”

“Happy birthday, Seigi. Here is a little present.”

“A bank deposit transfer certificate?”

“Good job reading it. That is from the USA.”

“USA...”

“There was a seat that you would probably like, so I purchased a year’s worth of it.”

“A year”? This wasn’t potato chips or cup noodles. What kind of seat was that? Was there a truck coming to deliver it? While thinking about such things, I continued reading the A4 paper, and when I got to half of it, I roared loudly. I let out a voice that sounded like a crushed frog, I believed.

The seat that Richard had given me was indeed a seat. But at a music theatre in America, which was likely the world’s most famous. It was a one-year membership card.

This was proof that “a seat will be reserved for you”. A seat just for me, for any performance, that I could use whenever I went there.

I felt lightheaded. Just how much had this “seat” cost him? What was he trying to do by giving something like this to someone who sat in swivel chairs sold at mass retailers? I did have such rational retorts in my head, but above that, I was so, so happy that I started jumping up and down. I could go to a theatre that I only knew about from CDs. Anytime, as long as I had the plane tickets. No matter who was singing.

“Can I really have this?!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of boorish lad who’d take back the treasure after making the other person happy?”

“No way! Uoooh, I’m too excited; that’s bad!”

“You are reacting like a dog again...”

“I’m gonna run in the yard for a bit!”

As I, with a messy katakana pronunciation, sang to myself the chorus part of the aria that had just finished while rolling around in the yard, Jirou ran over and mounted on me without restraint. “Owner, we’re going to play here, right? We’re going to play here, right? Come, let’s play,” he seemed to say, energetically wagging his tail. I was so happy that I hugged him and rolled about, but then I could see Richard laughing. The yard was on a slightly lower level than the house, so the house was wholly visible, so I didn’t think I was mistaken. He really was making a happy-looking face. This might have been my first time seeing that man laugh with such a child-like expression.

At that moment, something suddenly came to mind.

When Richard told me for the first time that he “likes pudding”, did he also think for a bit that it was embarrassing or wonder about what I was going to say? This man had thorough knowledge about the so-called “society”. There was no way that he hadn’t considered the possibility.

But he had told me about it.

Did I not say anything weird to him back then? “A man, liking pudding?” or “Why would a foreigner like a Japanese dessert?” It gave me the creeps. Back then, I didn’t have as much care as now regarding how to handle such circumstances. I just had words jumping out of my mouth like knives. This still applies even now, but I wanted to think it had gotten better, even if just a little.

Had I not said anything to him? Had I not hurt him? I didn’t have any way to confirm that now. If I apologized without knowing what I had said, it wouldn’t be a sincere apology.

But right now, Richard was looking at my happy self and smiling.

So I decided to stop thinking about these things. And from now on too, I would keep making heaps upon heaps of the things he liked.

I had to protect what was important to me by myself. But if I happened to notice something that mattered to someone who was dear to me, I wanted to cherish it too. I had no other choice.

After stroking Jirou, I went back to where Richard was and bowed to him again. He reciprocated the bow with a “you are welcome” and seemed about to start laughing again.

“That’s right, I was gonna make pudding. Wait just a bit more.”

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“You already got me a seat at the MET; I can’t go along with that flattery even as a joke. I’d be happy if you played with Jirou, though.”

“Then, I will take you up on those words.”

Rubbing my chest in relief, I went back to my room, patting my whole body to remove the dirt and dog hairs, and after washing my hands with soap, I returned to the kitchen.

By the looks of it, I was going to be able to listen to an opera in person one of these days – at least within a year’s time. Once I watched it live, all the curtains would close, right? For real? Was such a thing possible? Apparently yes. Hard to believe but it was true.

That man who was like an incarnation of the worldwide definition of “beauty”, and above that, who was a genius at pleasing me, was fooling around with my hybrid brown dog in the yard, illuminated by tropical sunshine. It seemed that the preparations for our feast would still take a while.

“What a wonderful day,” I hummed tentatively in French. A gorgeous tenor voice wouldn’t come out of my throat, but the things I liked would firmly support my heart nevertheless. Almost like a backbone for it. And there was someone supporting this backbone. Honestly, what a wonderful day. For now, I’d be making pudding. And share at least a little bit of this feeling.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation #richard

[hotchley]

pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things 

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case. 

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #sad aaron hotchner #hotch whump #hotch angst #tw grief #tw funerals #tw death references #sumayyah writes cm