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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

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Riptide

A love story told from two perspectives. One after it is has ended, and the other just as it begins.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Words: 3.8k

Rating: Mature. Major Character Death.

You can either read over on a03, or below the cut.

I would love to know what you think.

“I have loved with the breadth of the ocean, and lost with the grief of rainfall.” - Angie Weiland-Crosby ___________________

October 2025

His wake is in the house they shared together. People she both recognised and didn’t mill through their home, giving her and Jack their condolences as they passed by.

Emily’s grief felt oppressive, like she was drowning in it. Every breath she heaved in through her lungs burned in her chest. Hollowing out the place where his love used to live.

She had been through a lot in her life. Her childhood was snatched away from her at 15 in a small clinic in Rome. Ian Doyle had torn through her life twice, leaving disaster behind him both times. The ruins of her life his personal victory, even in his death.

But this, losing Aaron, was by far the worst thing she had experienced. Since the moment she was told he was dead she had struggled to comprehend it, only really believing it when she was taken to see his body. Emily felt numb. She knew she was pushing everyone away but she couldn’t help it. The solitude of her grief helped her just about cope enough to get up in the morning.

“Emily?”

She turns to see JJ standing at the door of Aaron’s home office, having clearly sought her out. Emily would place money on the fact the team was taking it in turns to check on her. Their own grief for Aaron outweighed by concern for her.

“I’m hiding from my mother.” Emily explains from where she is sitting on the couch. “She has no tact and I can’t cope with her today of all days.”

JJ sits next to her and places her hand on Emily’s. She runs a thumb over her knuckles. A gesture Emily thinks is supposed to be comforting, but she can barely feel it. The numbness she has felt the last couple of weeks ever present. Like she was watching life from behind glass, all of her senses muted and warped by grief.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I’m ok. Or say anything kind.” She pulls her hand from under JJ’s and stands, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Trying desperately to hold herself together, but feeling like she could fall apart any minute. “I don’t think I can take it.”

JJ stands too but keeps a good distance from her friend, respecting the boundaries Emily had put firmly in place the morning after everything changed. “He wouldn’t want this for you, he’d be worried.”

Emily scoffs, but tears fall onto her cheeks anyway. She furiously wipes them away with the heel of her hand. “I wish people would stop saying that.”

JJ’s face crumbles, barely restrained emotion on her own face. “He loved you Emily. You were going to-”

“JJ. I really don’t need you to explain my relationship to me.” Emily says harshly, bitter words falling past her lips to stop her from breaking down. She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying in days. “I have to go check on Jack.”

“Em-”

“He lost his father. The only parent he had left. He’s what’s important right now, everything else can wait.” She turns to leave, hand hovering over the door handle to lead her out of his office and she hesitates to turn back around to look at her friend. “I love Aaron, JJ.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on either of them. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And he’s gone. I’m never going to get him back and you need to let me deal with that in my way. Okay?”

She leaves the office before JJ can respond. She walks through the hallway of the house she and Aaron had bought together, a photo on the wall making her stop in her tracks. Penelope had taken it on a night out with the team not long after Emily and Aaron first got together. She had just been injured on a case, her shoulder still sore from where she’d been stabbed. Aaron was still fussing, not drinking so he could take her home whenever she was done. He had pulled her onto his lap, his broad chest protecting her shoulder from being jostled by anyone. Occasional whispers in her ear asking how she was slowly driving her crazy. Penelope snapped the photo as she turned her head to admonish him, a loving look on her face.

The squeal that came out of her friend after she took it still echoed around Emily’s head 4 years later. Penelope had passed her phone over, showing them the photo of them looking at each other like no one else existed.

She’s always loved that photo. She had sent it to her own phone immediately and had it printed. Now it made her heart clench in her chest, wishing she could see him again. Their home now felt like a museum of memories, their life together a snapshot in time that would never have been enough, even if they had grown old together. In the two weeks since he had died every part of her wanted to run, to get out and leave this all behind.

She stays despite everything in her screaming to leave. To get out of the house they shared, the city that reminded her of him at every turn. She wants to be somewhere he never had been, in the futile hope that she would one day be able to breathe without it being painful, without her lungs constricting like she was underwater.

She stays. She knows from experience that running away won’t fix anything, that she would just take memories of him anywhere she went. Carried on her skin like tattoos of his affection, etched permanently onto her. And in her worst moments, when having been loved by him felt more like a curse than the blessing it was when he was alive, she wishes she could hate him for it.

Jack is standing with Jessica in the living room. Emily is reminded of watching Aaron and Jack together at Haley’s funeral so many years ago. It was hard to believe that the little boy was now the young man in front of her, back in town from college and clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

He looks so much like Aaron that it steals her breath away.

“Jack.” She says gently as she approaches, a tight smile on her face. Both Jack and Jessica turn to look at her. “I’d ask how you are doing but that’s a stupid question.”

The 20 year old nods at her. “It’s weird. Knowing he’s gone forever.” Jack replies, clearing his throat. “It feels final now.”

Emily agrees, her fingers digging into the skin around her thumbnails. “Where are you staying tonight? You can stay here if you want. Your room is still set up.”

“I’m going to stay with Aunt Jessie.” He says tilting his head towards his aunt. “Thanks, though.” He adds as an afterthought. “Excuse me.” He walks off, having spotted Henry in the corner, and Emily sighs as he goes.

Her relationship with Jack had always been good, but since Aaron’s death it had been difficult. Tense in a way that tore through her. Their mutual love for Aaron was no longer the thing that was the foundation for Emily and Jack’s relationship.

It was that they both believed his death was her fault.

“Emily.” Jessica puts her hand on her arm and squeezes it. “He’ll come around. You know he doesn’t actually think-”

“Thanks, Jess.” She cuts the other woman off, not wanting to hear anything else. She walks off again, desperate for a moment alone.

JJ seeks her out again once most people have left. The team helps tidy up, removing all traces of the wake from her house before they leave. JJ has a plate of food in her hands that was clearly intended for Emily. She places it in front of her on the coffee table and sits next to her.

“I’m not hungry, JJ.”

“Em, please.” She says, worry laced through her voice. “You have to eat something. He wouldn’t-”

“JJ stop.” Emily shouts, finally at her wits end. “Aaron is dead. He’s dead. So it doesn’t really matter what he would want, does it?” She curses under her breath as tears spring to her eyes, and she wipes them furiously away from her cheeks as they fall. She’s aware of the rest of the team around them, stopping their individual tasks and desperately pretending they weren’t listening in.

“Emily-”

“Do you know what I keep thinking about?” She asks, interrupting any more platitudes JJ may have that she simply cannot bear to listen to, she watches as her friend shakes her head. “I keep thinking about when I died. There was nothing. It was dark, and empty. Just nothing.” Emily’s chin wobbles as she tries to keep the emotion in, failing as her next words choke out around a sob. “And I lay there at night, on his side of the bed, and hope it’s different for him.”

This time she doesn’t shy away from JJ’s touch, and allows herself to be pulled into a hug she cannot bring herself to return. ___________________________

Once everyone has gone she lays in bed, on his side, and stares at the ceiling. She is wearing one of his shirts and wonders when all of his clothes will stop smelling like him, when she will lose the last trace she has of him.

Emily closes her eyes, both wanting sleep to come and for it to evade her. Aaron was always in her dreams, mostly good ones. Memories of their lazy mornings in bed together played out during the night in her head. The sound of his laugh as he trailed his fingers down her spine to wake her slowly, his enjoyment at her inability to function first thing in the morning never ending.

The dreams were a blessing. A reminder that it had been real, that she’d had him. They were also a curse. She’d wake with the ghost of his touch on her skin, and for a blissful moment she’d forget he was dead. She’d half expect to see him standing at their bedroom door, coffee in hand with a smile on his face.

Then she would remember, and it was always too much to bear. ___________________________

It’s Dave that comes over. Letting himself into the house with the spare key Aaron had given him, claiming that he felt better knowing other people that they trusted had access to their home in case of an emergency. Emily knew it was a lingering fear he had from when Foyet had broken into his apartment, those memories still sharp in his mind until the day he had died.

A small knock on the bedroom door announces Dave’s arrival a mere second before he opens it. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t tear her gaze from the dress hanging on the door of the closet. She's sitting on the floor, back pressed up against the side of the bed. Her knees are against her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she was physically holding herself together.

“Did you draw the short straw today, Dave?” She sniffs, wipes her hand across her face to wipe off what felt like ever present tears. “You guys don’t need to check up on me. I’m fine.”

Dave sighs and sits next to her, groaning as he joins her on the floor, his body protesting the movement. “You’re not fine, bella.” He says simply. “And the others don’t know I’m here.”

She can sense his want to help her, sees his fingers twitch out of the corner of her eye as he seemingly tries to figure out if she wants to be touched or not. In the end he settles for leaning against the bed with her, a distance between them just small enough that she can feel his presence. Emily leans her chin on her knees, eyes still fixed on the white dress infront of her.

The dress that, if things had been different, if she hadn’t lost him, she should have worn today. She remembers teasing Aaron about it, telling him just enough about how it fastened up her back, how careful he’d have to be when he took it off to not break any of the delicate buttons.

She fiddles with her engagement ring before she opens her clenched fist to reveal two matching wedding bands in the palm of her hand. The rings they would never get to wear.

“It’s meant to be my wedding day, Dave.” She says, voice breaking around the words that didn’t need to be said. “And he’s not here, he never will be.” ___________________________

June 2021

When Aaron first moves back to Virginia it feels strange, like he was stepping back in time. The first thing he thought of was the team, of her. Once he no longer had to hide his identity he could have reached out. He almost had more than once, this thumb hovering over Emily’s name in his contacts, but he always stopped himself. Unsure what to say, thinking whatever they could have been had passed them by in a flurry of tragic circumstance and bad timing.

He’s back for two weeks when he sees her, and she’s somehow more beautiful than ever. He calls her the next day. ___________________________

Emily shouts at him. A lot. Years of pent up anger and worry spilling out over the phone when she answers, mixed with curse words and sighs in a way that was just so *her* it makes him laugh.

“And what is so fucking funny, Aaron?”

He clears his throat, tries to smother another laugh but doesn’t quite manage it. “Nothing, Emily. I just...I missed you.”

“Well.” She replies. “Whose fault is that.” There’s a pause, and it is just long enough that he thinks she’s going to hang up, leaving their interaction there. Aaron is about to speak and give her an excuse when he hears her sigh. “I missed you too.”

A spark of hope flares in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. “How about I take you to dinner? My treat. You can yell at me in person.”

Emily laughs at that, and he can picture how her eyes would crinkle with it. She was always so damn beautiful when she smiled. “That does sound appealing.”

“Tomorrow? If you don’t get caught with a case?”

She pauses, and he would bet his life savings if he could see her that she was biting her lip. “Tomorrow.” ___________________________

When she doesn’t get a case, and confirms that she will meet him at the restaurant he suggested, Aaron tries not to overthink it. He tries not to get carried away and think that this could be their chance, that the universe was finally aligning for them.

Emily tells him about her relationship with Andrew, how it had come to an end. Both of them were too set in their ways to truly make room for each other in their lives. He tells her about Jack, how he cannot believe his son is a teenager. The years had slipped by in a way that made him reflective, and she teases him out of his melancholy by telling him stories about the team. Aaron didn’t realise how much time had passed until the waitress came over and gently told them they needed to close the restaurant. Emily exchanges a sheepish look with him when they realise they are the last ones there.

She refuses his offer of walking her home, claiming it was pointless since she lived so far away and that she’d be fine in a cab. He gets a text from her when he gets home himself, an offer of another meal soon, insisting that she pays next time.

For their third date, because that was how he now exclusively thought of their dinners, if only in his head, he purposely choses somewhere near hers so he can walk her home. She narrows her eyes at him as he suggests it, having figured out his game but she allows him to play it anyway.

During the three block walk to her place she slips her hand into his. He turned to look at her but she was pointedly looking ahead, avoiding his gaze. That’s when Aaron realises she wants this as much as he does, and is just as worried about it as he is, what it could do to both of them. Neither of them would ever admit it, but they were both fragile when it came to love. Damage as clear as the scars they both bore on their bodies.

He stops them in the street, now half a block from her building, and stands in front of her, still holding onto her hand. He uses his spare hand to cup her cheek, to make her look at him. She licks her lips, her eyes now staring right into his.

He’d always thought her eyes were beautiful.

Aaron closes the gap between them and presses his lips to hers. She responds almost immediately, tearing her hand out of his so she can cup the back of his head and pull him closer.

It’s years of waiting, of hoping, coming together in a perfect moment. Her hands are in his hair, and his are on her back, pulling her closer as he tastes the dessert they shared on her tongue.

She pulls back, and rests her forehead against his, a laugh escaping her lips before she presses them against his again.

“We should have been doing this for years.” She murmurs against his lips, her hand stroking the back of his head . He mumbles his agreement before kissing her again, unable to help himself now the dam was broken. She suddenly pulls away, lips swollen as she looks at him, seemingly remembering that they were standing in the street still. “Come on, let's go.”

Aaron smiles at her as she tugs his hand, determined to lead him down the street. “Where are we going?”

“To mine.” She says simply, groaning when he comes to a stop, easily stopping her from walking any further. He places a hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him again.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I'm sure.” She says, bringing a hand to his cheek and smiling at him, “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

That night they lay in her bed, in tangled sheets, fingers trailing over scars they’d both imagined for years. They are reverent with each other, acting as if they are both made of something precious. He laces his fingers through hers as he enters her for the first time, her broken gasp in his ear almost too much for him. When she breaks around him and he follows her over the edge he whispers words of praise into her skin, tells her how perfect she is to him, and he hears her repeating it back to him as her lips press to the scar closest to the top of his chest.

Aaron thinks she has never looked so beautiful as she did when she was curled up against him in her bed, hair in disarray and a sleepy smile on her face. When he tells her as much she scrunches her nose at him and tells him he’s ridiculous, a hand sliding up his chest as he pulls her in and kisses her again.

He stops himself from telling her he loves her that night as she falls asleep in his arms. The promise of their next date being breakfast the following morning dying on her lips as she is lulled into sleep. ___________________________

Emily gets hurt on a case a month later, and it’s bad enough that she ends up in hospital. Dave calls him, and Aaron isn’t even sure how he knew to do so until he says Emily asked for him.

The case was mercifully close by, Aaron jumping in his car to do the two hour drive as soon as he’s off the phone with Dave. A note left for Jack saying what had happened, and a call to Jessica to ask her to look after the teenager that night.

He makes it to the hospital in 80 minutes. A vaguely amused looking Dave meets him at the front desk and tells him that she is fine, that she lost a fair amount of blood to the unsub’s knife and that they were keeping her in for observation overnight.

Aaron doesn’t believe him until he sets eyes on her himself, the door to her room clicking closed behind him. He briefly thinks about the team standing outside her room, the confusion on their faces at him being there, at what he was sure was fear on his face.

“Em, sweetheart.” The nickname slips out before he realises what he is saying, the first time he’s said it, and it makes her eyes brighten at him.

“Hi Aaron.” She tries to smile at him, but the pain lacing through her arm and shoulder means it doesn’t go far. She swallows against her dry throat and she holds out her good hand to him which he eagerly takes, any concerns about the team disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. “It looks worse than it is.”

He raises an eyebrow at her before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.” She smiles up at him. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Em.” Aaron smiles when she fails to suppress a yawn. “You should get some sleep.”

Emily frowns at him. “You only just got here.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He runs his hand over her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way. He can’t help but smile when her eyes flutter shut at the first touch of his skin to hers. He keeps the movement across her skin going, watching as her breathing evens out.

“I think I love you.” He whispers, sure she was fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by his thumb stroking over her forehead.

She laughs weakly and opens her eyes. “Oh, well I know I love you.”

Aaron leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you.” Another kiss. “Now get some sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She closes her eyes, the painkillers in her system making her tired. “I hope you’ll always be there.”

Aaron smiles at the admission, something she would never have said out loud in normal circumstances. He runs his thumb over her forehead again.

“I’ll always be here, I promise.”

(It’s the only promise he ever breaks.)

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #angst #major character death #fanfic #fanfiction #i am oddly proud of this #I made myself sad

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aylinaliens · 3 years

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The Not So Scary Haunting of Sarawat Guntithanon— Chapter 1

Fandom: 2Gether

Pairings: Sarawat/Tine

Summary: Sarawat Gay Panics 24/7 over his new roommate (who, by the way, might be a ghost, which is weird on so many levels but whatever, if a man wants to thirst over the supernatural being haunting his apartment so be it!)

Word Count: 1621

Notes: i'm not even excited for 2gether the movie yet here i am, posting another sarawatine fic. basically our boy Sarawat gay panics every single minute of every single day because the ghost who is haunting his apartment is pretty. that's it. that's the plot. just sarawatine being dumb, mutually pining idiots.

Read the first chapter on Ao3 or down below!

How was it possible that a disembodied voice could sound so... god damn enticing and lovely? At first, Sarawat found himself pressing his body deeper into his bed but after getting over to his initial shock and fear he allowed himself sometime to appreciate the sound of it. Although his heart was in his throat, Sarawat could not deny the wave of comfort that filled his veins, from his finger to his toes warm spread through his body.

Which was weird—and frankly crazy. Ghosts can possess people, right? Or kill them? Sarawat wished he paid more attention to all the horror movies Man and Boss dragged him to because maybe then he wouldn’t be laying in bed, already whipped, ready to drop down on knee. Hand in marriage sir, please give me your hand in marriage.

He should be terrified of this figure, not lowkey turned on.

Curse Sarawat and his inability to function around attractive boys. Curse this motherfucking hot as heck ghost and his stupid dimples.

Sarawat awakes to a blurry and translucent figure hovering mere inches from his face.

The next day he swears to Man and Boss that the reason he remains frozen was because of fear and not because he was having a full on gay panic attack... over a ghost. That’s what this person was, right? A ghost? He was a rationale adult but he had enough brain cells to connect all the dots.

Sarawat sucks in a deep inhale of breath, allowing his eyes to burn every line, curve, and dip of this mysterious figure's face.

The dim light of his bedroom combined with the near translucent nature of the figure meant that Sarawat never was able to get a clear idea of what this ghost looked like. Just the glimpses he did get left his throat dry and heart pounding rapidly.

The figure had a closed mouth smile etched across his features, all soft pink lips and crinkly eyes and dimples. Sarawat briefly thought of leaning forward to press his fingertips against those pink lips just to see if they were as soft as they looked. But then he realized that was insane and weird so instead he just beat that thought away with a stick. Gay thoughts: be gone! Don’t you dare become a simp over a motherfucking ghost.

The bottom half of his face was crystal clear which was both a blessing and curse while his top half looked as if it was about to flicker away at any moment. Sarawat was positive that this was abnormal, but then again this was his first encounter with a ghost so maybe it was, in fact, normal? It’s not as if he was given a manual or anything.

He couldn’t quite tell what shade of brown this mysterious figures eyes but he allowed his brain to imagine that it was probably vivid, just like the rest of his face. He was debating on the actual shade when he a disembodied voice spoke.

“Hello.”

He should be terrified of this figure, not lowkey turned on.

Curse Sarawat and his inability to function around attractive boys. Curse this motherfucking hot as heck ghost and his stupid dimples.

Sarawat was like ninety percent sure of his sexual identity but now he was having a crisis about the fact he was possibly crushing on a whole new species. Needless to say he was losing his mind!

He could just imagine the headline of the video Man would inevitably make him sit down to film and post on their jointed YouTube channel.

STORYTIME: I ALMOST MADE OUT WITH THE GHOST THAT'S HAUNTING MY APARTMENT!

Sarawat was positive that his best friend would insert various memes and jokes throughout his very honest and real existential-slash-moral-slash- philosophical crisis Sarawat was having.

It would probably rake in a lot of views but Sarawat did not want to be known as That One Guy Who Simped Over A Ghost for the rest of his life.

He was almost positive that if he told his friends the trust extent of how he felt, they would want to change their channel from music and vlogs to something more akin to Buzzfeed Unsolved.

They would buy a spirit box and Ouija board online and force Sarawat to try to communicate because of course they fucking would, those absolute menaces.

He could already see Boss glancing around like a conspiracy theorist, seriously asking the ghost are you DTF (that means down to fornicate in case you need clarification), Mr. Ghost? Just give us a sign, any sign. Man would most definitely feed into this or make the situation even worse.

Which is why he was not going to reveal what happened tonight. He would just play off as sleep paralysis. Yeah. That is the best way to prevent his best friends from blowing this situation out of proportion.

Sarawat wanted to say something but the words died in his throat. What would he even say? Hello. Please smash your face against mine! Uh, no way in hell. Maybe it was a good thing that he had trouble forming words right now. It would save him a lot of embarrassment.

The figure leaned down closer and— fuck fuck fuck gay thoughts go away— peering curiously down at Sarawat. “He definitely can see me so why isn’t he saying anything?”

Because you can’t verbally keysmash in real life you beautiful and vaguely threatening supernatural being.

The figure hummed, deep in thought, before leaning back (thank goodness) only to do something that made Sarawat let out a very unflattering shriek in surprise. Well there goes his reputation. He didn’t have one in the first place to begin with, especially not with this ghost, but still. There it goes.

Ghosts were unable to touch people right? Right? So why did a ghost...just touch him?

Sarawat raked his brain trying to remember the drama he watched a few months back with his brother (it was Phukong unsubtle way of being like, hey, bro, I like boys but I’m still scared of coming out so let’s just both pretend like I didn’t just cry at the scene where Ohm Pawat’s character comes out to his mother, I swear I’m emotional because of the acting not because I can relate to it).

Sarawat was positive that the ghost in that drama couldn’t actually touch anyone. He was like ninety-six percent sure that every time he tried his body would just go straight through the other characters.

He forgot how it was possible that the ghost could touch, and kiss, the human, though. He should have paid more attention but hey, he was also trying to think of an inconspicuous way to let it slip that he was also gay. Great (disaster gays) apparently think a lot alike.

Anyways, the figure poked his chest and Sarawat almost pissed his pants in shock. Clearly the ghost was just as surprised that he could actually touch Sarawat because he froze, making Sarawat happy that he decided to wear a shirt to bed tonight.

He assumed that the ghost must have thought he was dreaming to (wait can ghost dream?) so just to make sure he poked Sarawat three more times in the same spot and yup—Sarawat felt it. He felt it clear as day.

“Oh.” The figure tilted his head to the side. “This is weird. I shouldn’t be able to do that.”

Yeah, obviously.

Sarawat opened his mouth to finally speak (he swore he was going to play it cool and be all like: hi! i promise i’m not having gay thoughts right now!) but before he could a loud crash in the next room made him jolt in surprise.

After being rendered motionless for a few minutes, Sarawat finally gained control of his own body. He threw himself upright into a sitting position but in the process of doing so he accidentally slammed his forehead against the figure whose face was technically still in close proximity.

Cursing, Sarawat clutched his head as pain made white spots cloud his vision. “ Fuck .”

From next to him the figure cursed too. “ Shit.”

Eventually the pain subsided into a dull ache, allowing Sarawat to glance over at the boy—ghost, supernatural being, angel, whatever—next to him.

The top half of his face was no longer translucent anymore.

In fact, he wasn’t translucent at all.

Crimson blood began to trickle out from his nose, causing Sarawat to gape in horror.

Not because the image was a terrifying one. I mean, yeah, it was a bit weird but it has been established that Sarawat, that certifiable himbo, was in a constant state of ‘mark me down as scared and horny’ tonight, but because a ghost...was bleeding. From a wound that Sarawat gave him. Was that like, scientifically possible? Note to self: send a text to Earn so that she can ask her girlfriend about it.

Also? Sarawat was finally able to label the ghost's eyes as being a cross between honey and caramel. Obviously, his poor gay started chanting oh oh oh oh oh because yeah, read above, Sarawat Guntithanon? Himbo, Simp, Dumbass Extraordinaire. Either way he was a mess.

The possible brain injury and the shock of the entire night finally caught up to Sarawat, making his stomach churn with nausea and vision become blurry.

Without meaning to, Sarawat fainted—not even elegantly like one of those heroines in a romance novel but like a dead, fucking fish, limbs flopping every which way—right into the arms of the mysterious figure he was still dying ( yikes bad choice of words) to know the name of.

The last thing he registered before completely blacking out was that someone was cradling him to their chest, rambling away.

“Oh my god. Did I just kill him? No. No way. He’s still breathing. Shit. Sarawat! Hey, you saraleo, wake up!”

#2gether #2gether the series #still2gether #sarawatine #sarawatine fic #sarawat guntithanon #tine teepakorn #sarawat x tine #thai bl #bl fic #jdsdlkf whipped!wat and equally whipped!tine is my favorite so i had to write this #also this is inspired by he's coming to me but very vaguely

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Note

bless us with your thoughts on Helena and "I thought you didn't want me" from the Super Sappy Lines prompt?

Written by @evoedbd

Her lips trembled as they framed the scar, tip of her tongue tracing the line of a shooting star across infinity. Smooth. Warm. Alive beneath her touch. Tamed only by the desire to be seen, for a goddess to gift herself to her directionless devotee. Kya’s lips lifted, leaving the damp imprint of her kiss to echo across Helena’s senses. Gods, it hurt. To part even that little bit pierced Kya’s heart so suddenly she whimpered. Only Helena’s calm breath guided her pace, allowing Kya to remain gentle as she dipped down to the Mage’s shoulder blade. A slice, the line stars had travelled, a new mark across the constellation, one which birthed a love story to echo for the ages. A story that bypassed the borders of reality, which overcame the challenges of the Universe and defied the very concepts of reality. Their story.

Kya’s lips lingered, drawn by Helena’s very soul to pay homage. The concept of a kiss or the flick of a tongue faded. Kya’s lips framed the old wound, caressing it between focused pecks. She knew there were so many scars to tend to, old wounds to soothe, yet that required her to break contact. The thought had her fists clenching, gathering the white sheets between snowy knuckles. Never had she felt so torn, even during the war. She craved the feeling of Helena’s muscles twitching beneath her touch, the sounds of contentment she could draw from her Mage… yet to do so meant she had to stop touching momentarily.

Her lip curled upwards, leaving her teeth grazing across Helena’s flesh. Her lip left a trail of delightful warmth, dragging down to the next scar before Kya’s bottom lip joined to deliver the next kiss. No longer could she let her mouth break away, not even to move to the next scar. With her eyes peacefully closed, she drifted on the tides of her memory, dragging her lips and tongue across the space between until she was positive Helena’s back would have been turned into a pool of residual saliva, if not for how swiftly each kiss dried.

“Mhhhmm…” Helena practically purred, the sound of her contented moan rumbling in her chest. A shiver worked its way down her limber body like wave, causing her to arch up into Kya’s loving attentions. The Sorceress felt her lover’s smile against the small of her back, just as she felt the heat of Kya’s breath turn her last kiss chilly for just a moment. Temperature. It was so… Helena was quite aware of it, even when she had no need to be. For so long, the feeling of a subtle chill on the air was enough to warn her to silence herself. To shrink from the Queen’s abuse, or beg for her attentions to avoid something less predictable. Now, Kya used that knowledge in such small ways. Ways most wouldn’t think about. Like how a kiss could become cold, then warm, then cold again within a single tick of the clock. How Helena could feel the patterns of scattered kisses or licks to paint a tapestry. Sometimes, it was the beauty of the scars across her back, the unique constellation Kya had begged to lay claim to like a deity of legend. Other nights it was messages, words of encouragement driven into her flesh in ways that would never mark. Never hurt. A quick peck could dot an i, whilst a slow, sensual curl of the tongue might carve hearts over the wounds of old.

“Enjoying yourself?” Kya questioned; tone laced with a smugness that Helena couldn’t help smile at. It was THEIR smugness. Kya’s inability to hide her own pride in what she could do to the tortured soul beneath her. And why should it be hidden? None had ever given Helena a reason to feel valued as even a human being, yet Kya made her feel all powerful. Helena knew her magic could destroy worlds, yet that was so insufficient when held to Kya’s love. Kya’s giving was more power than Helena knew how to handle. It burned and consumed her, until she had to touch lest the fire destroy her mind.

“As always, my Gentle Heart, you touch my soul.” Helena’s gentle, earnest praise drew heat to the tips of Kya’s ears, flooding from the deepest regions of her racing heart. Lord, Helena wasn’t even trying, and she took the wind from Kya’s sails. She locked the poor American in a place between fantasy and reality, where a blink could be a thousand years of the most romantic of memories, or the most heated of encounters. Where possibilities and everything Kya wanted to do were laid out, paved roads for her to speed down if only she dared pick her route. Instead, she froze, gaping, jaw flapping like a fish at the view before her.

Helena’s bare back almost glowed in the moonlight filtering through the window. Pale skin, scarred beyond reason, held such unspeakable vulnerability. Her body swelled with each deep breath she claimed, each a defiance against a lifetime of abuse. Her muscles shivered and twitched, reminding Kya of the waves of the ocean at night, crested by the gleam of lingering kisses and smoothed scars. Hair of winter gold was gathered to the side, spilling across the pillow in a glimmering pearlescent stream. The darkness of shadows embraced every curve of Helena’s body, delicately shading the swell of her partially obscured breast, the dips of definition in impossibly powerful arms, the exposed line of a once ravaged throat.

Kya felt hers constrict.

Trust. This is what trust truly was. A back exposed freely, a sleepy body offered, laid prone, without any trace of tension despite a tapestry of reasons to be fearful. Here, with a Siren lounging so comfortably in her bed, a vision of realistic perfection and dreamlike seduction, Kya was elevated to the clouds by the simplest of truths. Helena trusted her completely. Every image of lust Kya could summon to her mind felt pale in comparison, like the ghosts of true and lingering emotions. Here, she had every chance to take, to sate whatever desire could come to mind. Helena’s silent offering was not merely a chance to indulge, it was an offering of her entire self. She did not shy from Kya’s gaze, did not conceal a single weakness. To hide had been beaten into Helena, yet she so boldly defied every harsh lesson when it came to Kya. The realisation made Kya cling even tighter to the sheets bunched around Helena’s plentiful hips. Her fingers itched to reach out, to trace the lines she had just soothed and once more learn the constellations of her galaxy. From the dotting stabs and grazes, down to the savagely delivered whip lashes, and lower. The wounds she knew existed only because Helena had given her those stories, had let Kya see beyond the walls of General Klein. A gash down the inside of her thigh, delivered twice. Once with a knife, once with a curse. The thousands upon thousands of burns down Helena’s ankles from where she had fought, or where the Queen had bound her too harshly. Alchemy and magic had preserved the image of flawless skin, yet Kya could not help but question the purity of such things. The scars no longer existed, yet all that did was erase the crime from the world. The deed only existed in murky depths. Tangles of traumatic flashes across Helena’s memory. Had they ever happened at all? Were they just a night terror? Their only acknowledgement was the words Helena gave when her shoulders caved beneath the pressure of horrific memory. Worlds might forget, yet for Helena the deed still stood so stark, still drove her mind to the depths of conceivable hell. To places where communication was screams and pleading for mercy, and mercy was merely a more violating touch.

Never. Again. Kya’s body thrummed with the silent declaration, as it did a hundred times a day. Never again would Helena’s trust, body and soul be violated. God, she had somehow earned this beautiful woman’s trust, and she vowed to protect it until her dying breath. Never would she stop striving to earn the blessings Helena gave, or stop appreciating everything that Helena was. How two worlds could miss it, she had no clue. Helena was a goddess, and Kya was all too happy to offer her soul in devotion.

“You’re… I don’t have the words, Helena.”

That was true. What words could ever sum up everything Kya could see painted across a single body? Ten thousand words may compose the weight of Helena’s crimes, yet a million could not begin to grace the essence of her. What words could explain a young girl growing from an abused daughter to an abused possession? What words could bare the weight of how Helena had been tortured, twisted into an image so terrifying that nations whispered in fear? Could anything explain the gravity of Helena’s fight? Of every defiance torn from her humanity? Of how she had continued, spent over thirty years fighting just to be seen as a human? What words could sum up her gentleness? How tenderly she touched despite the power of pure destruction running through her veins? Kya knew no way to express the simplest of things any more than a traumatic story. The mischief twinkling in sapphire blue eyes. How she possessed both the grace of a dancer and the power of a stallion whilst also withholding the gentleness of flower petals. How, even holding Kya’s hands down, Helena’s grip never became too tight. How her thumb would always seek out Kya’s pulse, as if reminding herself that the war was over. That Kya was alive in her grasp. The relief Kya often saw flood Helena’s eyes when their gazes met. Admiration for Helena’s struggles continued to claim Kya’s breath, even as she watched the Sorceress lift her head.

“You’re crying. Hav-“

“No!” Kya interfered, refusing to let the words of self-blame escape Helena’s lips.

“Helena, Christ, no. It’s just, sometimes everything you’ve been through just hits me. Its… I am so fucking furious for you, like I could go and bomb the Queen’s castle. But I’m also so insanely proud of you! How you fought, how you managed to face everything you’d endured.” Kya confessed, letting her forehead fall back to the small of Helena’s back for a moment. She couldn’t resist leaving another loving kiss to the bump of Helena’s spine, followed by another, and another, all as her tears fell.

“You are so beautiful, Helena. I love you so much my body can’t always contain it.”

“To think,” Helena began, pushing up onto one of her hands so she could turn enough to gaze down at Kya. All at once, the Sorceress’ breath caught in her throat, stolen by the sincerity in Kya’s otherworldly eyes. Grey, but not the type of grey that mimicked storm tainted clouds, nor the type of greys reminiscent of steel. No, Kya’s eyes were the grey of of stone, flecked with little slithers of blue which reminded Helena of diamonds before they were cleaned. Always, the images were of Earth. Grounding. Afterall, Kya was the grounding force in her life, the bedrock she had rebuilt herself upon. Kya had moved her to defy the Witch Queen, to embrace her own fears and rediscover who she was as an individual. Kya had moved an entire world, shown them one of the most horrific figures in their history, the fearsome General Klein, then made them see a hero. The Curse breaker. The slayer of the Witch Queen. Made them see Helena Klein in lights none dared dream.

“there was a time I had been convinced you could never truly want me. That it was my obedience you truly craved.” Helena’s confession earned a quiet yet sharp hiss from Kya, along with a literal flinch. Kya understood, boy did she ever, yet her body rebelled against the notion. She attempted to press closer, scattering more patient kisses up Helena’s back. How? How could any power that be, any god which may exist allow such a beautiful soul to be tormented to the point of worthlessness? The injustice of it all was a fire in her heart, causing her to tremble with the effort of keeping those flames contained.

“I hate that you ever felt I did not want you. I never wanted to force my wants onto you, but, Helena… have you seen yourself? Before I even knew your name, I was imagining things.”

“Things?” Helena enquired; brow arched playfully.

“You. Me. A bed. Alone and safe. How your arms around me would feel on cold nights, holding me close. How comfortable your chest was to lay my head on when you first hugged me. How that would feel to sleep on every night.” Kya’s response drew a rare flush to Helena’s cheeks.

“Then, I got to know you. The more I got to see, the more I wanted. I got to see a woman who is the best artist I have ever met. A woman built for peace, not war. A woman who has the element of destruction in her veins, but the power of endless growth and love in her heart. Not to mention the things just looking at you does to me. I could watch you draw for decades and never get tired of it. You make me appreciate the little things in life, even when I miss them because I am too busy watching you enjoy them. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you, I doubt I even could.” Kya spoke clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. God, she already knew she would never stop wanting Helena. It was carved into her soul by carpenters of universal renown. Yet, it was only a shallow mind who would associate Kya’s desires to something carinal. Lust was simple, easy. What Kya wanted was so much more; a mountain compared to a pebble made from the droppings of a rabbit. After all, lust could be so fleeting, an experience of touch and taste to drive someone to the brink, then watch them drown and plummet beneath waves of momentary bliss. Sensations which would fade before a turn of the sun. Kya’s desires were so much more than that. Already, she welcomed the pain of overworked hands, even as she moulded each brick from the clay of understanding and sincerity. Her own blood played the mortar she offered as she tried to help Helena piece herself back together. The tower of Babylon, possibly, yet Kya was committed to continuing to build. To rebuild and repair, each time sturdier and aiming higher. Did Helena even have limits? If so, Kya wanted to help her find them, to reach the stars she’d always looked towards. Then, to shatter the ceilings of what ancient civilisations considered Heaven. The moon. The sun. Blackholes galaxies away. All challenges Kya believed Helena could conquer.

“Kya…” Helena couldn’t force more than the most reverent whisper past the lump in her throat. She felt the truth of Kya’s words, just as she felt everything Kya never voiced. Sheets tickled the swell of her hip, prickling along erased wounds and violations. Helena couldn’t help but feel how Kya trembled, only allowing her dark hair to brush Helena’s skin. A dry brush whispering across a plain canvas, held by an artist who was pleading to birth delights for the world. Even driven by such powerful emotions, Kya held herself back, silently waiting for invitation. Such power brought a smile to Helena’s lips. If she were water, she knew Kya would die of thirst before claiming a single droplet… And oh, she felt Kya’s thirst. It shouldn’t amuse her as it did, to feel how desperate Kya was to touch. To love. Even now, it was mystifying how Kya could love her. She was a murderer, a general of a genocide, something more dangerous than any creature within any world of fantasy or reality. No dragon could destroy the world on a whim, not as Helena could, yet Kya approached her as if she were a lost kitten. Where the Queen’s hands had tortured Helena into a weapon, had tried to erase her imperfections, Kya longed only to feel them. To understand.

“I would not mind… more…” The Sorceress finally admitted, her mind clawing for the words she so desperately wished to say. A small smile dawned at the small whimper which escaped Kya. It was a sound Helena now understood meant Kya was holding back her tears, drowning in emotions too pure for Helena to touch. Yet, touch she would. Again, and again, until the concept of individuals faded. If magic could not combine them, then Helena was greedy enough to claim every other closeness… and Kya was too.

“Helena… please. Can I touch your back?” The level of desire in such an innocent request punched the breath from Helena’s lungs, tore the concept from her body, just as it would tear her heart to refuse.

“Touch as you desire, Gentle Heart. I surrender myself to you, for tonight.” She granted her permission with a soft sigh. Her head sunk to the pillow once more, eyes closed. She waited, searching for the feeling of dread that often swelled beneath her breast when she invited such things, gave such power to another, yet it did not come. Worlds did not collide within her head, nor did her heartbeat begin to wage war against her veins. Instead, there was unity. The way her breath picked up fell in gentle pace with her heart, with Kya’s heart. She felt Kya’s body trembling above hers, skin whispering across her own as Kya audibly swallowed. Then, fingers, the lightest touch against her shoulders. A soft sigh of wind over fields of peaceful wheat. Loving rains over meadows green. Kya’s fingers were so careful, so gentle, so… reverent.

“I’m just going to touch your shoulders, maybe lay over you, ok? You have complete control, even with my weight on you, I promise, if you don’t like this, I’ll stop.” Kya whispered; voice thicker than molasses. Helena only hummed in response. Kya’s promises were branded into her soul, then upon the world as Kya birthed them to reality. The Sorceress trembled, allowing herself to feel every touch. Lips had branded every scar, time and time again. Every disgusting moment she could recall, and many she could not, had thrown themselves against Kya’s reassurances; foot soldiers laying siege to a temple. If pain acted the aggressors, then Kya’s words played the role of Goddess.

“I want you to enjoy how I love you.” Kya’s words were the fires she cast upon shame. Helena sighed softly, feeling that unique, unspeakable fire beginning at her core. It was an ember, a brief spark, nothing as shocking or frightening as the Queen made it. This was so very different. Kya was different. With the Queen, if Helena did not offer flame, she was punished. She was trapped, burning too brightly, too painfully for her soul to endure unscathed. She was made to destroy in order to survive. The Queen had tried to take that ember and destroy the world with unholy fire. Kya held that ember within her cupped hands. She spoke gently, sacrificing her body to shield that little ember from a world of storms and rain. Kya fed that flame with gentle words, coaxing and praising with nothing but the purest of intentions and utter patience. The Queen had set that flame across the world, only to punish it for burning. Kya sought only to see that flame grow as it would, to revel in it’s beauty without turning it to her own whims.

Above the Sorceress, Kya flushed brilliantly, the goofiest of grins forming across her lips as she slowly moved to lay herself across Helena. The way her hand touched Helena was nothing short of worship, tracing the lines of her muscles with delicate fingertips and gentle palms. The weight of Kya’s body over hers did not intimidate, even when Helena felt Kya’s hand push that little bit harder. Instead of fear, she was flooded with a sense of contentment. This was warm. Safe even, despite being so unknown. Her brows furrowed in curiosity for what Kya had planned. She had been taken like this before, punished by strap and spell, or a third party to entertain. She had accepted this position in exchange for food when she had been weak and starving. But this wasn’t them, this wasn’t a violation from her hideous past nor torture for her crimes. This was Kya. Gentle, caring Kya who had nothing but smooth skin pressed to Helena; hips rocking slightly against Helena’s rump. No, not rocking. Fidgeting. Wiggling. Trembling.

Kya was trying not to apply pressure, even at the sacrifice of her own comfort. That made the warmth in Helena’s heart intensify. It radiated through her muscles, soothing her until she allowed herself to give in. On a soft breath, the Sorceress released the tension in her body and finally allowed herself to melt into the mattress.

Kya waited, watching the pinch in Helena’s brows, searching for anything beyond curiosity. Helena remained calm, her cheek pressed into the pillow, lips parted to take small gulps of air. Beautiful blue eyes were closed, relaxed, save the occasional flutter of eyelids. Unable to resist, Kya allowed herself to fall forwards, only to catch herself on an outstretched hand lingering beside Helena’s. Kya’s free hand came to Helena’s brow, light fingers tracing each delicate line of Helena’s expression. Her curiosity. Her contentment. Her smile. Oh, how that gentle curve of lips could undo Kya a thousand times over. It was strange, feeling such pillowy softness beneath her thumb when she knew lips had a thousand grooves, each leaving a unique print behind to mark a kiss. It was a gentle kiss to the pad of her thumb which drew a soft gasp from Kya, even as the Sorceress beneath her let out a soft yet playful hum.

“You seem relaxed. Is this ok?” Kya questioned; her tone filled with tender concern as she let a little more of her weight rest across Helena’s scarred back. She watched, trying to decipher the slow blinks and twitch of Helena’s brow.

“I am completely at ease, Kya.” The realisation that her words were entirely true was enough to make Helena’s heart swell. She reached into herself, scouring the further most regions of her conscious in search of her fear, only to find nothing save contentment and passive curiosity. Not only did she not fear Kya’s touch, she welcomed it. Helena longed for such gentle contact across her wounded body, across every foul memory. Kya could wash away the shame Helena had carried for her entire life. Kya could wash away the ugliness of abuse. Kya. Kya was everything Helena wanted, every salacious desire and tender comfort she could comprehend. Acts which she knew brought her shame and agony suddenly intrigued her when paired with Kya. Situations that had left her scarred were now potentially enjoyable and safe, if Kya was there. If Kya was the one leading. Surely, if it was Kya behind her, she was safe.

“I can feel that.” Kya breathed; voice strained. Thick, like molasses and honey dripping through a sieve.

“I can… gods, Helena.” Kya’s voice broke, hitching on an all-encompassing sob that rocked her entire being. It was true, she could feel the honesty in Helena’s words. Helena was just so soft. So warm, so close and so relaxed. The Sorceress was liquid muscle beneath her, as if lacking a skeletal structure. It was enough to have Kya’s eyes stinging, for tears of pride and joy to flow down her cheeks and onto Helena’s skin. The raven-haired woman rested her forehead between Helena’s shoulder blades, sobbing softly as she wrapped an arm underneath Helena’s torso. Kya squeezed gently, cuddling Helena as close as she could. She lost herself in Helena’s scent, earthy and magical. Parchment, herbs and a unique smell no human could categorise. Nobody was ever allowed close enough to Helena to notice that little underlying note.

“I’m so proud of you. I love you so, so much. I wish you could feel how full my heart is.”

“Show me.” Helena found herself whispering. Pleading, even. It shocked her. How her body reacted to Kya’s mere presence, the weight and warmth plastered across her back. Lust had always been stoked, something brewed with intention. It was Kya who’d shown her spontaneous, yet even those situations had a logical formula Helena could follow. This… this was something entirely different. It was not the roaring inferno, or even the trickle she was used to. It was a sudden yet gentle warmth. Something spilling from her overflowing heart that slowly warmed her veins. A radiant glow peaceful bliss.

“I surrender myself to your guidance, my love.”

“In that case…” Kya began, voice wavering beneath the weight of Helena’s words. Thunder echoed in her chest, rocking her overflowing heart to the very last molecule. Suddenly, there were immense possibilities, many of them mistakes. What if her touch inspired fear? What if she scared the Sorceress with her eagerness to please? Or worse, if she tempered her desire, would it seem as if she did not appreciate the gift so lovingly offered? A gentle kiss placed to the curve of Helena’s shoulder bought Kya a few moments to collect herself, to remind herself that this was her Helena. Helena was not her destination, not a goal to reach or an objective to meet. Helena was not a journey to take, nor was she an adventure to best. Helena was the path. Even when there was no clear trial to follow, Helena was the direction Kya took. She was the golden pavement and gravel both. She was oceans and forests, storms and sunshine. Helena was everything. The fact Helena trusted Kya with her physical self was just a sweetener to the fact Helena existed at all. Kya could do no wrong, not if she followed as she always had. If she was honest, if she loved as she wished to be loved in return. Whether the night unfolded into seduction or laughter, it was with Helena. That was all that truly mattered.

Reassured by her realisation, Kya leaned closer, allowing her lips to skim the shell of her Sorceress’ ear as she whispered the first of many less wholesome requests for the night.

#Anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #helena klein #helena x mc #lovestruck helena #love and legends helena #love and legends #fluff #scatterday

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dailydianakko · 4 years

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Diana vs. The Webcam

I’m back, and with another one-shot! This is kinda a gift for Mod Nightly! Also I do recall getting an ask about Diana struggling with technology, so I guess this fits? Kinda? Anyway, this is my longest fic yet, clocking in at around 2,600 words. A big thank you to R5H for helping me edit!

Diana booted up the old computer in her study. While she waited for the old thing to finish starting up, she let her eyes roam over the old room. Had it not been for the perfectionist tendencies of Anna, Diana figured the whole study would’ve been covered in dust. Much of it was as she had left it. This room had been her hideaway last school break. Anna may have cleaned it, but the books had been meticulously put back in the same skewed positions as Diana had left them. The obvious overflow of the literature made Diana make a mental note to either find better space, or perhaps put the lesser used books back into the family library. Tapping the mouse in a staccato beat, her eyes ran from the bookshelves to the paintings on the wall. Diana wasn’t attached to the multiple portraits of fruits; perhaps she would replace them with more personal pictures soon. She doubted it though, this room stayed the same. She may claim it would be renovated, but in the end she found that she rather liked the room and its timeless charm. It would always look the way she expected it to be. Like grandmother’s study.

A chime interrupted her thoughts and her attention turned back to the screen. The blue glow caused her to squint and quickly turn on the desk lamp. It eased the strain on her eyes and allowed her to log into the old contraption. The keyboard was bulky and grey, making loud clacks as the password was hastily typed in. Now to hook up a “webcam” as Akko had called it. The stubborn brunette had refused to allow Diana to purchase her a crystal ball and instead had presented Diana with a box. Inside had been the “webcam”. Akko had demanded that Diana “Get her head out of the 1800s and learn how to be a modern witch”. Diana let out a huff as she recalled that particular spat. Although, she was planning on looking into modern technologies anyway. Just in case Croix tried something again that would put Akko at risk.

Diana cracked open the webcam box, and flipped foremost to the instruction manual. As she quickly skimmed through the pamphlet, small disgruntled noises fell from her lips. “What in Beatrice’s name is a MicroSD, and how does one insert it into a computer?” This may take longer than she originally thought. Diana snapped the hairtie she was wearing over her wrist and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. After rolling up her sleeves, she removed her wand from the holster she kept on her hip. Muttering a quick chant and performing the proper wand movements, she summoned a wispy green spirit. “Please tell Anna that I request some tea and refreshment to the southern study.” The tiny spirit saluted and Diana covered her mouth, lest she let out a giggle and draw the ire of the small fae. With a nod, Diana dismissed the spirit and watched it zip through the door.

Once the spirit had left, she turned back to the task at hand. She wanted to at least have some sort of an idea before Anna saw her in this miserable state of confusion. This was why crystal balls were superior to mundane tech; you didn’t have to add anything. All it required was the right sort of spell. Although, now that Diana had a proper moment to reflect, Akko would most definitely have a harder time conjuring the required spells. While the excitable witch had made progress in leaps and bounds, the magic that required more finesse still left the brunette floundering. If Akko was trying hard in the more magical aspect for Diana, Diana could try hard in the more mundane aspect for Akko. Diana figured she had at least forty minutes for proper snacks to be made and for the tea to boil. She wouldn’t confirm nor deny knowing that the snacks meant for this evening had disappeared rather early today after she had passed by the kitchens.

Thirty minutes later Diana was feeling rather frazzled. Small curses she would never be caught dead uttering were flying from her mouth at an astounding rate. Her hair was messy, her back ached from frustration, and nothing was going right. Anna was due in the room at any minute, and Diana would rather she uphold her current reputation as a level headed and intelligent witch. She counted her blessings that O’Neill wasn’t here, lest the obnoxious redhead never let Diana live down her inability to hook up a webcam, and saying ‘fuck’. It had been uttered at least twelve times now.

“Fucking hell”

Thirteen.

Sitting up and taking a breath, Diana tugged on one of her loose bangs. She was an intelligent witch. She could do this. She twirled the desk chair once and got comfortable. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the accursed instructions and gave them another look. As she was absorbed in sifting through the obscure text, a knock softly rang through the room in a pattern. One, two-two, one- one, one, two. “Come in, Anna,” Diana said as her eyes continued to scan the page. She absentmindedly waved her hand .

Her nursemaid glided into the room, tea tray in hand. It was piled with cucumber sandwiches, scones, and assorted tea cookies. An elegant teapot with a gilt rose design and matching teacup sat elegantly in the middle of the tray. Anna stood next to Diana and gave her a look of rebuke. The young heir was sprawled in the chair, one leg draped over the armrest, the other on the ground. Diana was using that leg to make tiny half revolutions as she slouched in the chair, one hand holding the instruction book, the other tugging her bangs. Anna cleared her throat, and Diana didn’t even flinch. Her hand flailed around, grabbed a sandwich. She began gnawing at it irately as she focused harder on the task at hand.

“Lady Cavendish.” Anna’s eyebrow raised and the frown lines on her face deepened. “Please refrain from such behavior.” Diana froze mid bite into her sandwich. With a scramble of one moving for their life, she quickly straightened her posture. Smoothing her hair and practically tossing the sandwich back onto the tray, she faced Anna. The instruction manual fell abandoned at her feet. Diana would rather she not make a fool of herself trying to grab for it. Nine knows she had made a fool of herself already.

“Anna. Thank you for the refreshments. I ask that you forgive my behavior, I have been,” Diana glanced at the computer screen. It had gone back into sleep mode some time ago. “Rather occupied.”

“Of course, Diana. I only ask that you emulate the behavior of a lady when necessary. It would not do for you to show a sloppy side in front of those of a lower station.” Anna rested the tray on the desk and gently straightened Diana’s messy hair with a gentle hand. “Now, may I inquire what has you so distressed?”

Diana’s faced flushed as she glanced at the fallen manual. She cleared her throat in an attempt to buy some time to formulate an answer. “I wish to add a webcam to my computer, but much of this does not make as much sense as I wish it would.” Diana kicked the evil pamphlet gently. Her arms wound themselves around her torso and she pouted slightly. “I just want to video call my dearest friend, Akko”

Anna did a quick sign of the cross and muttered a Hail Mary at the mention of Akko’s name. She straightened up and gave Diana a faint smile. “Together we can puzzle through this, Diana. May I offer my assistance?”

Diana gave a tiny nod and quickly moved out of her seat. She wrapped Anna in a quick blink-and-you-miss-it sort of hug, and then flashed back into her seat. Anna let out a nearly inaudible chuckle at her young charge’s affection. Diana didn’t often like to be vulnerable. Weakness was easily taken advantage of in high society. Diana had caught on that regrettably quickly after the passing of her mother, Bernadette. Anna had done her best for her young mistress in a house absent of love. Seeing Diana smile more and act like a child was refreshing, even if it was improper. Anna crouched down and picked up the manual. “Now let’s take a crack at this together. Please eat while I go over and see what you could’ve missed.”

It took a full two hours, one and a half pots of tea, and at least ten cookies before the two had finally figured out the problem. As soon as the proper window had finally popped up, Diana let out a joyful cry and latched onto Anna, giggling. Anna couldn’t help but smile, and she indulged a minute or two in her almost adoptive daughter’s embrace. All too soon she extricated herself from Diana’s grip. “I’ll bring a fresh plate of cookies, Diana. Why don’t you call your friend?” Diana’s eyes lit up even further.

“That would be acceptable. I shall call Akko right now.” Diana practically wiggled in her seat. She then froze as if coming to a realization. Frantically she tidied her desk area and clothes. She took out her ponytail and grabbed her wand once more to cast a spell to neaten her hair. She had to look her best for Akko. A quick look to the wall clock told Diana it was about 9:25PM in Japan. Surely Akko would still be up. Anna hid a smile and quickly exited the room. Diana still had some cookies on her plate, and Anna wanted to leave the two girls alone for a bit.

Diana hastily booted up the program and went through the steps to call Akko. She waited with bated breath as the dots loaded across the screen. She looked as if she was in a silent prayer, hands clasped as she chewed on her lip.

“Konbanwa….” A messy haired Akko filled Diana’s screen. The hair that usually was stowed away in her little pigtail was practically sitting straight up. “Oh! Diana!” Akko’s accent had gotten even thicker during the few days she had been at home. The brunette rambled a few more words in her native tongue until she caught herself. “So!” Akko ran a hair through her adorably spiked hair. “Finally got the webcam up, huh, Diana?”

Diana blinked. She had been caught up in memorizing Akko’s cute bedhead. “Yes, it was quite a simple matter once I figured the instructions out. Took merely minutes to install.” Diana flicked her hair away from her face and stared Akko right in the eyes.

“Diana~ Your teeth are gonna rot from telling lies! You only ever do that hair thingie when you’re not being honest! I bet it took you hours. Did someone help you?” Akko flicked her screen and her picture flipped. “Oops.” The brunette deftly righted the mistake and began teasing Diana with that little smirk of hers.

“I’ll have you know-” Akko spun around in her chair, stopping mid spin to pull a face at Diana. “Confound it, Akko!” Diana dissolved into giggles. Akko looked on utterly smitten as Diana laughed. She missed this. Akko was so carefree, truly a breath of fresh air in Diana’s stagnant life. The rapid shutdown of the school due to the virus had sent Akko on a one way plane back home. Away from Diana.

After Diana managed to compose herself, she noticed Akko had switched positions. Her hand rested her cheek, supporting her head as she looked at Diana in a dreamy manner. The slight knocking noise in the background clued Diana into the fact that Akko was swinging her legs under her desk. It was just like Akko during classes at Luna Nova. She could never truly sit still. Quarantine had made them both a little stir crazy. Seeing each other like this made things seem okay again.

“Atsuko, I truly missed you.” Diana’s eyes had a melty quality to them as she said this. Akko thought they kinda looked like the water in the Fountain of Polaris. Except while the waters in the fountain were cold, Diana’s were warm. Akko wanted nothing more than to give Diana a hug.

“I missed you too ,Diana. But! Guess what, you can finally see my room!” Akko slid her rolling chair away from the computer with a flourish, she gestured to her room. It was smaller than Diana imagined, and quite messy. The bed hadn’t been made and clothes were strewn about. The empty chip bag poking out from under Akko’s bed was especially incriminating. Of course, Diana also saw Shiny Chariot posters and collectibles littering the walls and bookshelves of the room. She noticed some other unknown cartoon characters, and made a mental note to look them up later. Akko’s birthday was coming in three months, and Diana wanted to send a care package to her. The room was overall warm and lived in, just like Akko herself.

“It’s just as messy as I figured, Akko.” Akko let out a squawk and jerked her head to actually give her room a good look. Scrambling up from her chair, she jerked her sheets over the messiest bits of her bed and kicked her clothes out of view.

“Look, it doesn’t normally look like this,” Akko began to make a gaggle of excuses, each word coming out faster than the last one. She had turned back towards Diana, and was standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh? Now who is the one lying, Atsuko?” Diana teased gently, a small giggle bubbling forth from her lips. Akko paused in the middle of her wild gestures.

“I like it when you say my name, Diana.” Akko’s eyes gave a quick blink as her brain caught up with her mouth. Diana began to slowly turn red as she too processed what Akko had said. “I mean-what I want to say is-uh, etto, I really like the sound of your voice.” Akko covered her face and curled in on herself, wiggling from side to side.

“Akko,” Diana said softly, “I like it when you call my name too. I love your voice as well.”

Akko let out a muffled scream and wiggled harder. Her feet stomped lightly on the floor, tiny thuds accompanying her shriek. Diana felt her hands cover her face as well. She wasn’t usually as honest with her feelings as she was now. Akko tended to make Diana do crazy things, like venturing to the top of the stratosphere to stop a giant missile. Or like telling her things she swore never to say. Or actually giving people physical affection.

Akko peeked out from her hands, only to see Diana practically mirroring her embarrassment. “You’re cute, you know?” she blurted out. If Akko was going to die tonight, she might as well make sure she’d be six feet all the way under. It was Diana’s turn to let out a little squeak, so adorably uncharacteristic. “When this is all over, can I take you out to Blytonbury sometime?” Akko crossed her fingers, practically praying whoever was up there to let this work.

Diana peeled her hands from her face and took a deep breath. Looking a nervous Akko in the eyes, she gave her answer. “I suppose I would not be remiss in indulging on an outing with you at a later date. However, perhaps we can do something sooner? I’ve heard marvelous things about the internet.”

Akko let out a cheer and jumped into the air, only to scream as her foot slipped on some discarded shorts she had missed in her mad dash to ‘tidy’ her room. “Daijobu” a weak groan came from the floor as Diana let out a guffaw that evolved into full blown laughter. Akko watched happily from the floor. She would make Diana laugh more in the coming video calls, she hoped.

“So, how about a movie?”

#lwa #little witch academia #akko kagari #diana cavendish #dianakko #diakko #my writing #daily speaks #i know some parts have a weird POV switch #im just strange like that #edit bc anne is actually ANNA #motherfuck

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space-------kid · 4 years

Note

Hello! Congrats on reaching 100+ followers—you definitely deserve it and more! If slots are still avail, can I request Genya x Reader where he actually lives and five years after Muzan’s defeat, Genya realizes that all of his friends are married (Kanao and Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Nezuko, Aoi and Inosuke) and he’s like “maybe I should propose...?) but he has no idea how so he asks for help from Ino, Tan and Zen, who offer to go look for rings with him while the girls hang out. Thank you so much!

Thank you so much, anon - you’re too kind and sweet! 😄💕💕💕

This request is so cute, please have all my uwu 💕💕💕 Also, I’m sorry for taking quite a while with this one (and to @beanrolls, too, who requested for Kimetsu Academy Genya [have all my uwu, too!]), there have been matters that needed my urgent attention that left me unable to write for days! 😭 But I’m back now, and sure that I’ll be able to post beanrolls’ request tomorrow😄

This one is set mostly in Genya’s point of view. [I’m listening to Train’s “Marry Me” right now... Now I’m wondering how modern AU Genya might propose to his s/o 😭💕💕💕)

*Hanami is “flower viewing”. The comparison between pearls and a woman’s tears of sadness is a thing where I’m from, and old people advise the younger ones not to wear any pearls during their wedding nor for men to give women engagement rings with pearls. They believe that the pearls would signify a married life full of sadness for the woman who’s about to be wed.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 (𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷𝔂) 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓏𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓌𝒶 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The world is now without evil demons.

Exactly five years have now passed after Kibutsuji Muzan’s downfall. Five years of absolute peace, now being experienced by the children Ubiyashiki Kagaya has left behind, those who have been blessed by the gods to spend the rest of their lives earning the fruits of the sacrifice of the entirety of the Demon Slayer Corps.

There are times that he still thinks that someone else deserves to be in his position. To be able to live, laugh, love, and be loved by the people he holds dear in his heart. But the thought now comes very few and far in between as the peaceful days roll by, the further encouragement of his older brother and friends giving Genya the strength to take another step into living the life they convince him he deserves.

And maybe… maybe he does deserve to experience all the good things life hands to him now. Like the rest of his fellow Demon Slayers, he’s willingly sacrificed his own safety to ensure another’s, offering blood, sweat, and tears to rid the world as much demons as he can while striving hard to stand side by side with his once-unreachable brother. And while Sanemi has been blessed with the Mark of the Demon Slayers, the gods must have smiled at the Shinazugawa brothers for the curse of death does not claim the older between the two.

Genya is sure that Tanjiro will be blessedly spared as well from the Mark’s curse, now living a happy life in Mount Kumotori – his home – with Kanao and their son.

The Breath of the Sun user has been the first to marry in their group of friends two years ago. The proposal itself is simple yet sincere, so very Tanjiro that Kanao has been quick to blurt out a very happy “yes!” The wedding has been grand and lively, and Zenitsu – in all seriousness and golden eyes shining with worried tears – all but gets down on one knee during the celebration and proposes to a surprised and blushing Nezuko.

Not one to be left behind by his friends, Inosuke has demanded for Aoi’s hand in marriage after witnessing Tanjiro’s joyful wedding and Zenitsu’s bold proposal.

Now, his friends are all happily married with the love of their lives. And Genya would be a fool if he doesn’t admit that he’s a little – alright, maybe not so little – jealous that he’s the only one who hasn’t tied the knot yet.

And so he sits in the middle of Sanemi’s training dojo, Himejima-san’s juzu beads clutched in one hand as he contemplates on the relationship he has with [Name]. He remembers, clear as day, how they met on one of his missions and how they saved each other’s lives back then. How she has befriended him despite his intimidating appearance, his inability to use Breaths, and how he achieves demonic transformation by eating demons. Not once has [Name] looked down on him, and Genya knows then and there – in their first meeting – that she is the one for him.

Koi no yokan. The premonition of love; the feeling upon first meeting someone that you will inevitably fall in love with them.

He remembers how [Name] admitted her growing feelings for him months after, when she came to visit him at the Butterfly Estate after facing off with Upper Moon Four in the Swordsmith’s Village. How she ran to him, crying, and embraced him as if it’s the last thing she’ll ever do. He remembers how happy and relieved she looked while cupping his cheeks in her small hands and – seemingly forgetting herself and the company they have – placed a tender kiss on his forehead before confessing her feelings for him. Genya is still sure that he has glimpsed Heaven that day, especially when [Name]’s face flushed red from embarrassment at her behaviour. And despite Tanjiro and the three girls of the Butterfly Estate’s presence in the infirmary, the demon-devouring Slayer is quick to tell her that he’s always loved, her, too.

His worst nightmare came into focus during the final battle in the Dimensional Infinity Fortress. Upper Moon One was unbelievably strong, even using a Breath Style with more than fifteen forms during the fight. The Mist Pillar Tokito Muichiro fell during the fight, valiantly sacrificing himself to ensure their victory. And Genya was more than willing to go down fighting, too, if it meant taking down the second strongest demon in existence to his grave. Just as when Upper Moon One’s desperate, dying attack reaches Genya, he was knocked to the side while the splatter of crimson blood entered his field of vision.

[Name] has told him firmly that she’s willing to sacrifice more than her left leg just so Genya can see the light of day again with his older brother.

If it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be basking freely under the sun with the people he loves.

Uneven footsteps soon pull Genya out of his musings. The dojo’s double doors open to reveal [Name], clad in a purple kimono and leaning on her walking stick. Her [colour] eyes brighten upon seeing Genya, and he gets up to meet her halfway, wrapping her in a fierce, loving hug.

“I love you, [Name],” he tells her softly, pressing his lips to her hair. Genya relishes the sound of her laughter and the way she looks up at him, the loving expression on her face mirroring his.

“And I love you more than you can ever dream of, Genya,” [Name] replies sincerely, leaning on him as he leads her out of the dojo. “What’s gotten into you, though? I hope it’s nothing I should be worried about.”

His heart leaps with joy for her concern, although there is nothing to actually worry about. They sit side by side on the engawa, overlooking the garden Sanemi has gifted Genya with. The younger Shinazugawa brother still cannot help his face from turning red when [Name] presses herself against him and weaves her fingers with his.

“N-Nothing to worry about. I just want to tell you…”

[Name] rewards him with a kiss on his fingers and a content sigh.

“And now we have the rest of our lives to tell each other,” she chirps happily at him, a bright smile on her face. “Now, don’t get tired of hearing it from me every day, alright?”

Maybe he should…?

Genya returns her smile with a shy grin of his own, unashamed of how red his face must have been. The question dances on the tip of his tongue, the needful urge to ask for her hand in marriage growing stronger and fiercer with each passing day he spends with her.

He’s the only one unmarried yet in his circle of friends. And Genya knows that he can change it by asking [Name] right now, but he refrains himself from doing so. He wants the proposal to be memorable, to be worthy of the woman who has countlessly and selflessly saved his life over and over. He doesn’t want to ruin her experience of being proposed to by just blurting the question out like a mindless, insensitive fool, without even a care for how much memorable it would be for her.

Genya is not one for extravagance, but at least he wants [Name] to remember his wedding proposal for the rest of their lives, something she can tell their future kids with a lovesick blush on her face. But if he’s being honest with himself, he actually has no idea how to properly propose!

The flapping of a Kasugaigarasu’s wings reach the couple’s ears and, soon enough, a familiar crow perches itself on Genya’s outstretched arm.

“Message! Message from Kamado Tanjiro! Message from Kamado Tanjiro!!!”

A surge of inspiration strikes Genya. It won’t hurt asking his friends for help now, would it?

“Ah, so you’re planning to propose to [Name]!” Tanjiro exclaims, expression that of pure delight at the information. “I’m very happy for you, Genya!”

Sitting beside Genya, Zenitsu claps the former on the back with a congratulatory grin. “Good for you, Genya. You’ll have zero regrets once you’re married – spending forever with the woman you love the most is pure heaven, I’m telling you!”

Inosuke, on the other hand, shoots Genya an unimpressed look. The years may have tamed the Breath of the Beast user’s boorishness, but his competitiveness is another story.

“Kentaro, Monitsu, and I have been married to our wives for three years already,” the boar head-toting male comments, taunting grin appearing on his face as he rudely points a finger at the unmarried man among the group, “and you haven’t even proposed yet? Hah! You really are a shrimp!”

Tossing maturity aside, Genya and Inosuke begin attempting to throttle each other and throw childish insults at one another. It brings back memories during the Pillar Training from five years ago, and the ‘fight’ immediately ends with Tanjiro restraining an indignant Inosuke by sitting in seiza on the latter’s back.

“I haven’t proposed yet because I don’t know how, you stupid boar!” Genya gripes, plopping gracelessly beside a surprised Zenitsu.

“Just demand for her hand in marriage like I did with my Aoi, dumbass Ginto!” Inosuke yells, struggling under Tanjiro’s restraint.

Genya rushes forward and slaps a large hand on Inosuke’s mouth, looking frantically between the shoji door and the porch. “Keep it down, Inosuke! What if [Name] hears you? Don’t blow things up!”

Tanjiro, still restraining their friend, tilts his head to the side in contemplation. “Yes, please keep it down, Inosuke. And I understand why Genya hasn’t proposed yet.” The Breath of the Sun user then shoots Genya a sympathetic smile. “You want it to be memorable, right, Genya? In that case, let us help you!”

Inosuke stops squirming and, after sharing a knowing grin with Zenitsu, nods at Genya as a show of support.

Feeling extremely grateful for his friends’ considerateness and willing aid, Genya gets down in dogeza. “T-Thank you, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke! You have no idea how much this means to me!”

Everything goes smoothly as planned.

During his friends’ next visit in the Wind Pillar’s estate, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke – who have been forthcoming with Genya’s desire to ask for [Name]’s hand in marriage with their other halves – bring their wives with them as planned. While the four males go out in search for the perfect engagement ring (Zenitsu suggested a Western proposal like he did with Nezuko, to which Genya agreed eagerly), Kanao, Nezuko, and Aoi will provide a distraction for [Name]. Even Sanemi pitches in with his offer of help, volunteering as the last resort of a distraction should [Name] begin showing any amount of suspicion about their friends’ unannounced visit.

The three women are quick to whisk [Name] away from Genya’s arms, chattering brightly about things only they can understand, and Sanemi immediately shoos the four men away once the girls are out of sight.

“[Name] will be quick to suspect that something might be amiss,” the former Wind Pillar warns the younger men before they leave, eyes shining with pride for his former tsuguko’s perceptiveness. “You better hurry up, you hear me?”

“We will, Sanemi-san, don’t worry!” Tanjiro replies, bowing and taking their leave.

Things, however, quickly turn south once they reach the town.

While merchants from far and wide have been plentiful, the four friends find it difficult to spot even a single jeweller in town. Panic and doubt fills Genya almost immediately, but Tanjiro’s optimism helps drive the negativity away. Zenitsu suggest looking at the next, nearest town, and the four march on with renewed purpose and hope.

The next town seems to be promising, and Genya’s spirits lift at the sight of a jeweller’s store. He is quick to drag his friends in the shop, but his excited smile quickly vanishes from his face at the sheer amount of rings – in all sizes and variations – behind the glass displays before him.

“H-How am I supposed to pick one…?” he mutters, face pale at the prospect of choosing a ring that might not even fit [Name] – let alone one that she would love.

The shop keeper – a foreigner – looks appraisingly at Genya from head to toe before nodding to himself.

“For proposal?” asks the old man in broken Japanese, briefly glancing over at Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke. “Them, too? Propose to girl?”

Quickly catching on the foreigner’s inquiry, Genya shakes his head and tries to use words that the former will understand. “Only me, sir,” he says nervously, wringing his hands when his lavender eyes sweep back to the assortment of rings in display. “How much for a ring?”

The old man tuts at him, grey eyes narrowing as he gestures at the rings. “Price depends on ring. These, not for marriage.” He directs Genya to another display, where silver and gold bands set with precious stones are being held. “Propose with these. Pick one.”

Genya suddenly feels numb at the prospect of choosing among the rings. Each of them is beautiful in their own right – some displaying exquisitely cut diamonds, vivid sapphires, crimson rubies, and viridian emeralds. When he hesitantly points at the one with a single pearl, the old man appraises him once more and shakes his head vehemently.

“What’s wrong with the pearl, though, old man?” Inosuke pipes from behind Genya. “It’s pretty enough!”

“Pretty, yes!” The old man agrees then points at Genya. “No fit him, however!”

Zenitsu frowns at the old shop keeper. “He’s not the one being proposed to, you know!”

Ever the pacifist, Tanjiro sniffs the air a little then beams at the old man. “I think he doesn’t mean Genya. Let’s hear what grandpa has to say first, shall we?”

The old man, chuffed with Tanjiro’s reasoning (and being called grandpa, it seems), elaborates while gesturing for Genya to show his hands. Genya complies, confused.

“This lad, tall and big,” the old foreigner explains while studying the calloused palms under his gaze. “He looks… hmm… what word… ah! Protector! Protective of his woman, yes. Does not make her cry, I think. He does not want to, he looks like. Big hands, huh? Protecting hands, I see. Pearl,” he then points at the ring, “symbol of tears in my country. Tears of sad woman. You make her cry sad tears?”

“No!” Genya replies loudly, indignantly. Then, in a more reserved tone, “Never. I don’t want to make [Name] cry sad tears.”

The old man nods in satisfaction then veers the mohawked male’s focus away from the pearl. “I remove that today. Now pick another.”

Amazed at the explanation and the new bit of information they learned, the four former Demon Slayers shift their focus to the other rings and begin discussing amongst themselves.

“I still don’t know what to pick,” Genya laments, his gaze bouncing between his friends and the old man. This is much harder than picking the ore for his very first nichirin blade!

“Genya, I know it’s a hard decision to make,” Tanjiro tells him kindly, “but think of [Name] while looking at the rings. I’m sure your love for her will guide you to the right ring!”

“Red hair, right,” the old man chimes in, nodding at a beaming Tanjiro. “Don’t worry, erase worry. Let love guide you, then choose.”

“I dunno about these rings,” Inosuke claims and gives Genya’s shoulder a supportive pat. “But Jangoro and old man are right! I pick Aoi because I love her. I’m sure you’ll pick the right ring!”

“Aoi is not a ring, though,” Zenitsu mumbles under his breath. “But you can do it, Genya! Take your time!”

Overwhelmed by the support of his friends and a stranger’s kind and patient guidance, Genya’s determined gaze sweeps over the rings, lavender eyes widening at the sight of one that particularly stands out amongst the rest.

With the chosen ring now within the safety of a small velvet box and tucked in his hakama’s pocket, Genya and the gang moves forward to the second and most important part of the plan: the proposal itself.

While Zenitsu suggests a grand declaration of love and marriage as supported by a pumped up Inosuke, Tanjiro agrees with Genya’s plan of making the proposal simple yet utterly heartfelt. With the Hanami coming ever closer, the younger Shinazugawa brother plans to ask for [Name]’s hand in marriage under the blooming sakura trees and the bright rays of spring sunlight.

“How did it go?” Kanao asks quietly about their search for the previously elusive engagement ring. Aoi and Nezuko are helping [Name] gather some flowers from the garden under Sanemi’s guidance, distracting her enough for Kanao to slip past and welcome the four men when they arrive.

Tanjiro hugs his wife and receives the kiss she gives him with a blush on his face, then displays a smile of success for Kanao to see.

“We had to move to the nearest town to search for a ring, but Genya did it!” Tanjiro whispers excitedly. “The ring perfectly fits [Name]… I’m sure you’ll agree when you see it, Kanao!”

The adopted sister of the Kocho siblings smiles proudly at her husband. “I can’t wait for the day Genya proposes. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy spending the rest of his life married to [Name], like I am with you.”

Needless to say, Tanjiro is reduced to a blushing mess at his wife’s sincere remark. And like Kanao, he cannot wait for the day [Name] says yes to Genya.

The first day of the Hanami finally comes, bringing with it the first of spring’s sudden torrential rains.

Genya’s plan comes crashing to the ground as he watches the pouring rain despondently. He grips the velvet box containing the ring in one hand, wondering if he’s not meant for giving [Name] the wedding proposal she so deserves.

He feels Sanemi’s hand on his shoulder, ducking his head forlornly when the older between the two huffs at the rain.

“Is this it for you, then?” Sanemi asks him, an uncharacteristic look of disbelief on his scarred face. “You’re letting this rain derail you on your journey to happiness?”

“[Name] loves hanami, though, nii-chan,” Genya laments, shoulders slumping as he pockets the box.

The former Wind Pillar grins and ruffles his younger brother’s hair. “You really are one hopeless little brother,” he says in jest, grin turning into a soft smile when Genya looks at him in mock hurt. “[Name] loves you, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind how you propose to her.”

“Really?”

“Tch. I know so, idiot. Now scram and give me a sister-in-law already.”

Genya is already barrelling out of the room, shouting “yes!” at the top of his lungs before Sanemi can react. The younger Shinazugawa storms down the hallways, doing a double take when he spots [Name] sitting on the engawa by the garden and watching the rain.

For someone who is about to ask for his beloved’s hand in marriage, Genya feels oddly calm as he shortens the distance between the two of them. He sits beside [Name] and stares at her, quietly taking in the softness of her features when she tilts her head up to smile at him.

Oh, gods. He really is utterly, unabashedly, deeply, and head over heels in love with her. And the tender look in her eyes when looks at him assures him that she absolutely feels the same.

He retrieves the box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a slender silver band topped with [favourite gemstone] cut like dainty petals. Genya gently wipes the tears of joyful understanding and profound love on her face with his free hand. The question in his mouth becomes a promise of forever when he speaks.

“I hope you’ll let me make you the happiest woman alive, [Name]. Please take me as your husband.”

Genya gratefully and lovingly receives her kiss when she replies, “I’ll have no one else, Genya. Only you.”

(Much to Genya’s delight, [Name] indeed tells their twin sons – with a furious blush on her face – how his wedding proposal to her went three years later. And, fairly enough for his flustered wife, he sports the same shade of red on his face when their boys begin to tease him about it.)

#shinazugawa genya #shinazugawa genya x reader #genya x reader #kny genya #kny genya x reader #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny

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marvelmando · 5 years

Text

the first breath [p.parker x reader]

notes: hi! i... actually love this. i’m a sucker for soulmate! au’s, so naturally this was somewhat easy to write. this is just a small break from my tempest series, ill continue posting tomorrow (bc it’s my birthday!). tomorrow as in the eleventh, just in case it’s already daytime wherever you’re reading this!

contains: soulmate! au, some swearing

pairing: peter parker + reader

word count: 3.6k

“Hey!”

Peter’s heart thumped hard in his chest. Looking around for the person, he saw a girl greeting a friend, and Peter sighed, unconsciously massaging the band covering his left wrist.

No matter how many times Peter had heard the word, it never failed to send a spike of panic in him. It was just a word, an unfairly common greeting phrase in America, but to Peter, it meant infinitely more.

“Stupid Soulmark,” Peter grumbled to himself as he walked the halls of Midtown High.

For as long as humans could tell, each individual was born with a word or phrase inked into the skin of their nondominant forearm. The Marks could say anything, but they belonged to the first words spoken to you by your soulmate.

Soulmarks were considered sacred by most of the world, and like most sacred things, they were hidden from public view. Soulbands were a staple in almost every culture, meant to only be taken off in front of your soulmate. Although modern times saw the general acceptance of most controversial topics that were shunned in the past, Soulbands seemed to never grow out of popularity. It was also a sense of security, to make sure that they couldn’t be said by the wrong person.

Some had easily-identifiable Marks. Where there was little room for doubt that the words spoken belonged to your soulmate. Others, like Peter, had simple, one-word Marks.

For as long as he could remember, Peter lived in a near-constant state of anxiety over the word. What would normally be an off-hand remark or a polite greeting made Peter’s heart skip and his knees grow weak.

Whenever greeted with the word, Peter would tense, and respond with a stiff, “Um, hi?” and watch as the person gave him a weird or blank look in return. There had been several instances - none of which he was particularly proud of - where Peter ran away rather than face the sting of false hope.

Most religions viewed Soulmarks as divine intervention, a sign that humans were blessed by the gods. A lot of the time, Peter wanted to curse whatever gods forced them into the arranged couplings.

Failing at keeping the scowl at bay, Peter stopped at his locker, twisting the lock and opening it to return his books.

“Hey, Peter,” a voice said from behind, and he instantly recognized it as Ned Leeds, his best (and only, really) friend. Peter turned only his head, unsurprised to find Betty Brant, Ned’s soulmate, at his side.

Like most matched individuals, Ned seemed to glow with happiness in the presence of their soulmate. Sometimes the dopey smile on Ned’s face was too much for Peter. Whether it was from envy or discomfort, feeling the never-ending, unadulterated joy exuding from him made Peter’s stomach turn and twist uncomfortably.

“Hey, Ned. Betty,” Peter nodded as a greeting, stacking his textbooks in his locker.

“Are you planning on going to the... internship, today?” Ned whispered, his inability for subtly flaring to life. Though Betty had been Ned’s match long enough to know Peter’s secret, it was a good thing the halls had pretty much been deserted at that point, as the school day had been over for more than ten minutes.

“Yeah,” Peter shut his locker, heaving his significantly lighter backpack over his shoulder. “Just neighborhood stuff, though.”

Ned nodded enthusiastically. Despite how preoccupied he was with Betty, Ned had always been Peter’s go-to Spider-Man guy. Ned called himself “The Guy in The Chair”, but Peter refused to say it out loud unless absolutely necessary.

They parted ways at the train station, where Peter went to find a secluded alley to change into his suit.

You had no idea what possessed your parents to up and move the family to New York.

You’d lived your entire life in a small, cozy town in the middle of nowhere. You’d enjoyed that life. Then suddenly, your father called you down one day earlier that summer to announce that in a few months, you’d be packing and moving to the heart of Queens.

Despite having been in the bustling city for weeks now, you still hadn’t gotten used to walking through the crowded streets. People were rude here; though, with the craziness of the city, you weren’t really sure you could blame them. Still, it filled you with frustration when you tried to weave through the streets, only to be knocked roughly in the shoulder and subsequently cursed out for no damn reason.

On the bright side - the only bright side, if you were being honest - was the exponential increase in the possibility that you would finally meet your soulmate.

Your hometown was lovely and quaint, but the general teenage population left a lot to be desired. It didn’t help that there were only fifty other people in your graduating class, or that you’d met and exchanged first words with every single of them already.

That being said, of all the people you’d met at Midtown so far, none of them had said the words branded on your right wrist. But to be fair, there weren’t many opportunities where someone had to yell, “I swear I wasn’t aiming at you!”

You didn’t have to worry about the possibility of danger in your old town, but in New York, you were vaguely concerned that the words would be uttered during a mugging.

Unfortunately, you were quite right to be concerned.

“All right, Karen, what do we got?”

Peter watched as the screen flashed, images of satellite footage and recordings of police radio calls popping up and disappearing again as Karen flipped through potential threats.

“The city is quiet today,” Karen’s robotic voice remarked. Distantly, Peter wondered how the voice was created, and if it was recorded, who the person was behind the voice. It was distinctly human, after all, without the awkward pauses and emphases that Siri usually had. “There have been no reports of any robberies or shootings.”

Peter sighed, bored and disappointed. He’d long gotten over the guilt of wanting some danger in the city.

Suddenly, before Karen could notify him, he heard a voice cry, “Stop that guy!”

Immediately swinging into action, Peter noticed a man in his mid-twenties sprinting down the sidewalk, shoving himself through the crowd. The woman who’d yelled for help was young, in her thirties, but still wasn’t fast enough to keep up.

Peter swung overhead, gaining distance and landing directly in the guy’s path. The thief skidded to a halt, his eyes widening in obvious fear at the sight of Spider-Man. He clutched a purse to his chest.

“It’s not nice to steal!” Peter yelled, moving to shoot a web at the purse. But the thief was quick, and he ducked under his web, making a run for it.

Peter was faster though and lunged to bodyslam him, sending him into the wall of a nearby building. The impact knocked the purse from his grasp, and it spilled to the ground as the man struggled to get back up. Peter webbed him to the wall and notified Karen to call the police.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Peter was about to leap onto the roof when an aggravated noise caught his attention instead.

He turned to see you growling, your splayed hand webbed to a streetlamp. The web the thief dodged must’ve hit you instead. Catching sight of him noticing you, you yelled out, “Hey!”

For once in his life, the word didn’t seem to register. He was, for lack of a better word, enchanted by you. Even with furious indignation twisting your face, he couldn’t stop staring at the depth of your eyes and the slope of your nose. Blinking, he said without thinking, “I swear I wasn’t aiming for you!”

It was a stupid response, admittedly. Of course, he wasn’t aiming for you. You’d probably noticed the thief and could probably make the connection.

However, Peter didn’t have time to think about the pointlessness of the protest, because he was too busy registering what you’d said. The word. His word.

Cheeks flaming under his mask, Peter braced himself for the rejection. But it never came.

Your eyes went impossibly wide, and you immediately stopped yanking against the web. Peter watched as you gaped at him, and thanks to the mechanics of the suit, he noticed that your heart rate increased significantly.

Almost in a trance, Peter stepped toward you. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Your mouth closed, and you visibly swallowed. “Depends,” your voice was tight, anxious. “How often do you accidentally shoot your webs at innocent bystanders?”

You flushed as you registered the double meaning behind the words. Peter watched in amusement as your cheeks flushed and you stammered to correct yourself.

“I-I just mean that -”

“It’s okay, I -”

Peter started to placate you, feeling the blood rushing through his veins like soda, popping and fizzing under his skin. But he was cut off by the sound of Karen’s voice, though distant, but urgent enough to draw his attention away from you.

“Peter, there’s a hostage situation that was just called in happening thirteen blocks away,” the AI announced, causing Peter to falter in his steps.

“I-I gotta go,” he told you, hurrying to free your trapped hand from the lamppost, and backing away reluctantly. “I’ll find you, I promise!”

He could see the disappointment on your face as you watched him scuttle off, and every cell in his body protested the distance he forced between him and his soulmate, but he knew he had to go.

“If you were anyone else, that’d be super creepy!” You yelled as Peter swung away. He smiled widely under his mask.

Your skin was still tingling and your cheeks were sore from smiling so much when you finally reached your apartment.

All you had to do was look at your mother for her to tell that you had met your soulmate. After spending an hour at the kitchen table being interrogated by your parents, you were finally released to your room to process.

You closed the door gently behind you and slid your back against the wood until your bottom rested on the ground. You tilted your head back, barely feeling the thunk as it collided with the door. Every time you tried to relax your face into a neutral expression, you remembered the way Spider-Man’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, and how your heart skipped several beats as he said the words you knew so well, and your lips crawled back into a giddy smile once more.

Even in your hometown in the middle of nowhere, you had known about Spider-Man. The superhero wasn’t nearly as popular as he seemed to be in the city he protected, but you still remembered the passing of phones and newspapers whenever Spider-Man saved another day or stopped another robbery. Even your high school had a day dedicated to him after a particularly miraculous defeat of the notorious Green Goblin, who’d terrorized the borough for weeks before he was stopped.

Spider-Man was a national - if not global - phenomenon. And he just so happened to be your soulmate.

You’d just reached for your phone to call your best friend from home when a knock on your window startled you.

You jumped, scrambling to your feet. Your apartment was on the eighth story, there was no way a burglar would have climbed all this way to rob you. A burglar wouldn’t knock either, you scoffed internally.

Tiptoeing to the window, you peered through the glass. Even under the dark cover of the late hour, you could distinctly make out the identity of the figure. You hurried to unlatch and open the pane, stepping back nervously when the figure climbed through, rather clumsily for how graceful he normally was.

Spider-Man was polite enough to close the window behind him, cutting off the brisk gust of wind that caused goosebumps to appear on your arms. You crossed them, rubbing them to warm yourself up.

When he straightened and faced you once more, you couldn’t help but stare back. You bit your lip anxiously, suddenly very aware of how messy your room was. You had, after all, just moved in, and most of your stuff was either still in boxes or strewn haphazardly about the room.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” you blurted, unable to help yourself. “We just moved here a couple weeks ago, and... well, y’know.” You gestured unhelpfully around the room.

Every cell in your body seemed as though they were vibrating. The muscles in your chest twitched and your bones ached to close the distance between the two of you. It was as though you and your soulmate were opposite ends of a magnet, and the field around you was pulling your bodies together.

“It-It’s okay,” Spider-Man stuttered, and you realized that he’d turned off his voice modulator. You hadn’t even realized earlier that he was using one, but you now recognized the difference. His voice was higher than before, not as robotic and crackly. “I don’t mind.”

You nodded awkwardly. Spider-Man shifted his balance between his feet, as if he too was fighting the urge to get closer.

“Uh, how did you find me, anyway?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Well, there’s this intelligence system installed in my suit, and I had her look up your address,” the eyes of his suit narrowed sharply as if he was wincing, probably at how creepy it sounded. “I hope that’s not too creepy, because it sounds pretty creepy. I didn’t - I mean, I wasn’t stalking you or anything.”

You smiled. Spider-Man rambled adorably, and though the thought of him looking up your address should have been terrifying, you found that you didn’t mind at all. You weren’t sure if it was because he was your soulmate, or if it was because he was a superhero. Either way, you placated him. “It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

Despite your insistence that it was fine, Spider-Man still held himself back, hesitant to move forward with the conversation. To cut through the awkward tension, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“I like your suit,” you said, cringing immediately after. While true, that wasn’t exactly what you meant to say.

With the mask, you couldn’t decipher Spider-Man’s reaction. Though, after a brief moment, he chuckled.

“Thanks,” he giggled. You felt yourself relax. “I like your shirt.”

You looked down. It was an old band shirt that you bought at a thrift store a few years ago and was well-worn, the ink faded and several holes stretching the neck out. “Uh, thanks.” You smiled nonetheless because it seemed that Spider-Man was just as nervous as you were, which inexplicably made you feel much better.

“My name’s Y/N, by the way,” you smiled, holding out your hand. “But if you know my address, you probably know my name, too.”

You thought you could see Spider-Man smiling under the mask. It shifted over his face as he accepted the handshake, wrapping his hand around yours. Even through the fabric of his suit, his skin burned like a furnace. From anyone else, it may have been stifling. But from him, the warmth was cozy, a calming heat rushing through your hand and up your arm, wrapping around your heart like a security blanket.

“I do,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. It took you a second to connect what he meant.

The seconds passed and your hands were no longer shaking, but neither of you dropped the hold. You found yourself drifting closer toward Spider-Man, and it took all of your energy not to fall into his chest and wrap your arms around his waist.

“I’m guessing that your real name’s not Spider-Man,” you cocked your head. “And I feel like it’s only fair that I know my soulmate’s name, too.”

Your breath hitched. You heard him inhale sharply, too. It was the first time you’d directly acknowledged to each other what you were, and it suddenly was too real for you.

You jerked your hand back, embarrassed. Your hand was startlingly cold now, suddenly bereft of Spider-Man’s touch. You flexed it subconsciously, yearning to reach out and grab his hand again.

“I - I...” you tried to explain yourself, but the wide, questioning eyes of his suit made you falter. You averted your eyes as you took an anxious step back, fighting against an overwhelming urge to flee.

“No, wait -” Spider-Man said, and reached up and yanked his mask off in one swift motion.

Your eyes immediately found his, as if they were pulled instinctively to each other. His soft almond-shaped eyes were filled with worry and caution, the warm brown irises gleaming in the darkness of your room. The lights of the ever-glowing city were the only light filtering in your room, and the shadows cut angles against Spider-Man’s cheekbones, carving his jowls and accentuating his slim mouth. Even in the darkness, you could make out the light smattering of freckles across the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, and the endearing flick of his left eyebrow, emphasized by their worried arch.

The chestnut curls piled on top of his head were tousled from the mask and flipped haphazardly over his forehead. His ears stuck out from his head, but instead of looking awkward, they fit his face nicely, softening the sharp edges of his high cheekbones. They were what made his already stunning face heartbreakingly adorable, and you fought the need to run your fingers over the shell of them.

Though the shadowy bags under his eyes conveyed a sense of exhaustion too severe for his apparent age, Spider-Man was younger than you thought. If you were to hazard a guess, Spider-Man was about your age, give or take a couple years.

“My name’s Peter,” he breathed, looking slightly panicked as you studied him. “Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker,” you whispered, testing out the name on your tongue. The words were gentle but the pounding in your chest was overwhelming. The tension that grew since being in his presence while pulling yourself away made you feel as if you were drowning, gasping for breath. There was a bursting sensation in your stomach, then a warm, satisfying weight that spoke of absolute certainty that Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, was your soulmate.

You felt your body inch toward his, and the relief flooding his face was palpable. You stepped closer to him, relishing in the way your body hummed in delight at the closeness.

Peter looked down at you, his gaze sweet and caring as he searched your face. There was a moment of content examination spent in comfortable silence as you both memorized every little detail of each other’s faces.

It should have been awkward, looking and saying nothing, but the longer you spent staring into each other’s eyes, the farther you seemed to fall. It was completely ridiculous and entirely premature, but you were certain that Peter was someone you could fall madly in love with.

“Hi,” you whispered, grinning shyly.

“Hi,” Peter responded just as softly, a mirroring smile stretching his lips.

Suddenly realizing something, you moved back just enough to bring your hand up. Peter backed away slightly, though it seemed to pain him.

You grabbed at the band covering your forearm, watching Peter’s expression as you unwound it. His eyes went wide, shifting from your arm to your eyes, then back to your arm as the band fell away and exposed your Mark.

Eyes meeting yours for permission, he tenderly took your proffered arm. His eyes roved over the Mark, before he brought his own hand to his mouth, grabbing the middle finger of his glove and yanking it off.

With his bared hand, he reverently ghosted his fingers over the inked letters. The look on his face was pure awe. “I really wasn’t aiming for you.”

He winced as though the words weren’t meant to escape. You chuckled. “I know.”

The light caressing of his fingertips against the sacred Mark shot spikes of pleasure through your body. It was a heady feeling, seeing your life partner touching the place meant for only the two of you.

When he looked back up at you, his face was split in an achingly loving smile. He pulled away, and yanked on the sleeve, revealing his own band.

It was simpler than yours, designed to fit slimly to the skin under his suit. It only took a simple click of his finger for it to release. On the dip of the inside of his wrist was the word, “hey!” written in your handwriting. With gentle movements, you traced the lines with your fingers. Peter visibly shuddered, watching you soak in the Mark.

Though you could’ve stared at it forever, you finally tore your eyes away. You met Peter’s gaze, finding the weight of it easier to handle than you thought.

With your thumb pressed to the Mark, and his hand wrapped around yours, the universe nudged you together. You and Peter fell into each other, lips meeting and melding as your bodies and souls collided like two exploding stars; fate and gravity and destiny crashing into each other and settling happily between you and your soulmate.

Your Mark burned and your lips ached with the pressure of your shared kisses. Reality forced your bodies apart, foreheads resting against one another as you caught your breath, but all at once, your soul felt grounded - you hadn’t even realized how empty it was until it found Peter’s.

In the safety of his arms, you breached the surface and took your first full breath.

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merakimousumi · 3 years

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Inspiration Around you

We read books , listen to talks and observe , sometime something leaves an imprint within us , your perspective changes and you transform. This is a continuous process and since childhood we have our own role model and we keep building our core principles.

A few years back, I had taken up emotional healing sessions as a participant. This time it was a group. We were asked to share our briefs. After few personal sessions, I was asked to take up group therapy. Personal sessions was monologue by the therapist as I was blank, just did not know what to say when asked “ How do you feel “ , the numbness was too deep and the words were not enough. Those were my very first and I just petrified by the thought that I have to share. The fear of being judged or laughed was so overpowering that there were moments when I thought I will excuse myself and leave. Yet I showed up and same story of my Silence continued. I even questioned my decision to even join such group. In my mind was cursing the doctor cum friend for recommending the same. Though I was informed in the beginning that this is an extremely closed group and people here are non judgmental and it is safe to share. When we express , something within feels light and the process of healing starts. Theory-wise it sounded extremely cool, within me in the session its so very uncomfortable.

This is from the very first day of the group session. We were sitting in a circle and the therapist picked a person to begin ( thankfully it was not me) . My sharing in the chronology of introduction was far off, so technically I had time to gather myself and build my filtered story !!

The girl who kicked off the conversation was very good looking and was well dressed too, in her late twenties, it was my guesstimate . She started very feebly by giving her humble brief background. Mother of two beautiful young kids and a wife of a drug addict. Her life was not as easy as it appeared from her look. She was struggling to help and support her spouse from de-addiction and has been unsuccessful, years of trial has taken a toll on her. Suddenly I could see the age, her struggle, pain and trials. She explained why she is still in that relationship, even though she is emotionally and physically abused , she believed in Karma and does not want to leave the person with whom she has sworn to live till death ( Seriously !! , I said loud in my mind). I realized that people in the group were absolutely calm and full of compassion as they listen to her. Later, she also mentioned that financial freedom she got from the marriage as the family was financially sound was another factor that stopped her to go back to her earlier life. She came here to explore how she can cope with this situation and live her life in spite of everything. She shared her passion for Cars and how she loves her hobbies and cope herself. As she spoke of her passion, her eyes sparkled , I noticed. In my heart, I realized the brevity within her and it was overpowering her fear and pain.

The next was a man in his fifties , introduced himself as a widower and have no children. He worked in a corporate position ( senior too) and found the stress at work and the loneliness in personal life driving him into depression and he took up drinking. Over the years , from no respite from depression his drinking is now an addiction. He has been to multiple rehabilitation center and would be fine for months , only to have something stupid at work taking him drive back to that same lane of drinks. Currently this has impacted his future career in the workplace and he really wanted to try something else. He mentioned that he travelled and trekked with his wife and after her death , he does not feel like to go anywhere. As a man I could sense he filtered well his emotions and did not express his feelings in details. This was a great clue in my mind for my turn.

There were 2 more who shared and I was unable to concentrate, my turn was upcoming and it was overpowering.

I was sitting next to a lady who was in her late sixties . There was absolutely no sophistication about her. Wore a cotton saree not even well pressed, wrinkled skin , thick frame on her eyes , no sign of any make-up whatsoever. Have non android phone with her Jhola ( Indian Jute or Cotton Bag ) hanging on her chair. It was her turn now and next was mine. She started introducing herself and informed that she may say speak in Hindi and Marathi occasionally to express herself . She is attempting to speak in English which she has learnt from her daughter years back. I was from the word go, impressed with this attempt. She had just lost her husband few months back and just prior to this incident, she lost her 30 year old daughter who was a specially abled child. She spoke with a softness and went on to explain how she dedicated her life to taking care of her daughter that she never knew how her Son who now stays in USA has grown up so well. With the death of her husband within a few months of the daughter she felt that she is extremely lonely and does not know how she needs to lead life. There were a void and helplessness, she felt purposeless. Often would not even cook or clean herself sometimes as she felt everything was useless. However , she knew till she is breathing, she is living. Years of her living she had distanced herself from the immediate relatives, friends and avoided any social gathering as she had to take care of her daughter. Now that no-one is there , she just does not know whom to look up. It is her Son in the USA who asked her to join a group therapy and hence she was here. She mentioned that she learnt usage of internet after her son went to the USA so that she could read , write emails and then she started learning English. I found her story, her zeal extraordinary. This is a woman I looked and ignored , undermined her potential and capability. I recognized in me the limited knowledge and understanding I hold and my inability to see the deep value of human existence and it’s inherent nature to thrive. While she had every reason to cry in the room , she was an example of great courage and resilience.

Oh yes, my turn came . I spoke only 1 line “ I am blessed in this life and life has so much more to offer when we know little more of people around”.

These were not the pre prepared lines. All my stories felt meaningless and I recognized the blessing that I have which I was not in acknowledgement off.

There are inspiration around us , in our home, in my friends , in my neighborhoods. All I have to do is to be open to connect and leave my own story aside.

#stories #lifeisbeautiful #richness #inspiration #gratitide #dailymotivation

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otterenergy1962 · 4 years

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Letting go of old beliefs - Part 1.

Part of my growth has involved letting go of old beliefs that have held me back for most of my life. They have even caused me to head in the wrong direction because I made choices that I thought were true to who I was. Despite it being the wrong direction, those choices allowed me to reach where I am today. What makes it all that much clearer is that if I hadn’t gone through some of the toughest times in my life, I wouldn’t be on the path to letting go. I needed to go the wrong direction and learn through the hardship and pain. I learned to let it go.

I am broken, dysfunctional and incapable of forming lasting relationships

I held a long belief that I was broken. When things went wrong in a relationship, I would be told that it was my fault. I believed it. I was broken. I had so many failed relationships (and friendships) that I couldn’t help but believe that it was my fault. This caused me to believe that I was dysfunctional because I invested so much time in broken relationships. I also believed that I wasn’t capable of forming lasting relationships.

How did I come to let go of these beliefs? I realized that there was a pattern in the type of person I was attracting. This was the key to my understanding. My basic beliefs of being broken, dysfunctional and incapable were the reasons for attracting those kind of relationships in the first place! I’ve written about having a narcissistic husband and then a second relationship with someone who was equally narcissistic. One would think that I had learned my lesson the first time around!

What really hit it home was that when I reviewed many of the relationships before my ex husband and Mr. Las Vegas, I saw examples of dysfunction time and time again. I always blamed myself for all of those failures. What I’ve come to learn and understand is that I am a caregiver by nature and that need to be one has been both a blessing and a curse. Many people have remarked on my caregiving. They see me as one who gives to others, but they don’t know that I don’t always give to myself. This is where the narcissists and the addictive personalities come into the picture. They are attracted to a caregiver because they instinctively know that this is a perfect environment in which to set up shop.

Let’s take a step back and look at what a narcissist is. I have read books such as Stop Walking on Eggshells and researched on the Internet and can safely say that I can and have identified potential relationships since my break ups.

A narcissist has a overinflated sense of self importance.

They also lack empathy to a varying degree. They don’t know how to walk in someone else’s shoes.

They dominate conversations and one certainly should not correct them because they are always right! If you disagree, you’d better duck!

They believe that they are the most important person in the room/relationship/world, etc. This gives them a sense of entitlement that they should be treated like royalty but would not consider returning the favour. (I once had a relationship with someone who always said, jokingly, “It’s all about me!”) Having the idea of grandiosity is very common and they feel the need to hear praise from others.

Narcissists will project a high sense of success to the world. They are successful in everything and anyone not fitting their bill will be looked down upon. As a result, they have an over-inflated sense of achievement and talents

They love to break rules. They are above others, so they believe they are above “petty inconveniences” as they call them.

They demand perfection of themselves and others. If you slip up, again you’d better duck!

Narcissist can be charming. I found this one out early in my relationship with my ex husband. He read me Dorothy Parker poetry because he knew I was a literary kind of person. He knew how to lure me in. Once the person has what he or she wants, they become bored.

They love to manipulate people to suit their needs, even though they have problem keeping friends (they dump people at will).

They desire control in just about every decision, plan, or choice.

They love to trumpet their own success, but when there is a failure, they blame others, usually loved ones or deny it. The same applies to shame. They have none for themselves but heap it on others.

They have a warped sense of reality which may be caused by their inability to handle a true situation. “Resistance is futile” might be conspired as their battle cry because they expect special treatment. It is their way or the highway to bye-bye.

They can be mean and threatening of others, especially someone who is confident. This can’t be as THEY are the special someone that is on a pedestal.

My last two relationships exhibited virtually all of the list above, yet I was to blame for the demise of the relationships. I had other relationships that ended due to addiction and also more narcissistic tendencies.

A psychologist friend kindly helped me understand the basis of narcissism. He told me that that they may have arrested development. This means that they may be “stuck” in an emotional level from a past trauma, disturbance or parental neglect in childhood, adolescent or teenage periods. When the trauma occurs determines how many layers of trauma are experienced as the person goes through life into adulthood. So, a narcissist has to make up a fake world due to a low sense of self. They feel so diminished that they need to create a fake persona that hides the truth.

Here’s the tie into my issue: codependence. As a caregiver, I would bend over backwards to make a relationship work, even if it was detrimental to myself. I have to admit that I enabled addictive behaviour in one relationship and several with a mental health disorder such as narcissism. What I was actually doing was looking for approval and needed to hear praise from others due to low self esteem. I have been known to seek out opportunities to be praised for what I have done. How did I let it go?

I took responsibility for my part in it. I learned that I have to take care of myself first in order to better take care of others. I can no longer allow others to decide how my life should be lived. If they want to be with me, then they have to accept me for me and not what they think I should be. I respect myself and deserve to be treated as such.

Since the demise of the Mr. Las Vegas relationship, I’ve had to terminate several potential relationships due to seeing the signs pointing to narcissism in their reactions.

Letting go of old beliefs for me is saying that I am not broken, dysfunctional or incapable of having a good relationship! I can because I now can see the sign posts that were until recently, invisible to me. I’ve been listening to Fearless Soul and there is a motivational speech written by Nicholas Macri called, “Let it go”. It is also combined into a song by the same title. The words describe it all to me.

Let it go

The things that have happened in the past

The things that aren't happening right now

Let it go

If you want to be free,

Stop locking yourself into the prison of your past

If you want to see the light

Stop holding yourself in the darkness of your past

If you really want to move on

Release that heavy weight from your back

If you don't want them to win

Let it go….

Carpe diem!

#let it go!

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misstinfoilhat · 5 years

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The Boy in the Belfry, part 14. A Bungou Stray Dogs fic

It was another week before Dazai was lucid and able to stay awake long enough to actually answer a couple of the many questions that Kunikida had written down in his book of Ideals (without scowling at the chair at his bedside and accusing it of judging him- Dazai really didn't react well to being medicated), while Fukuzawa lingered in the back. Ranpo was there too, as an observer and had gotten the task of calling out Dazai if he tried to bluff. Atsushi was there mostly as moral support.

Dazai sat propped up by pillows, wearing a metal back-brace, and his leg had finally been properly dressed in a hard cast. His head was bandaged after a couple of stitches to the back of the head, and Yosano had tried her best to replicate how he wore his other, usual, bandages.

Old wounds, new wrappings.

Dazai sported his trademark crooked smile as Kunikida stared him down, waiting for the answer to his first question; what the fuck?

Dazai scoffed. "Yeah, I know, right?"

He rolled his eyes wryly and shrugged his shoulders as mundane as could be.

"Leave it to Dazai to be kidnapped by an old demented paranoid schizophrenic preacher," Dasai tsk'ed and shook his head in such disappointment of himself.

Dazai's inability to take anything seriously enraged Kunikida more than he could put his words to, but he had to keep his temper under control if he wanted to avoid being kicked out of the room by Dazai's doctors, and keeping his ass from being kicked by Chuuya (or Atsushi for that matter, who was staring at him warningly).

Kunikida's dissatisfaction with him was clear as day, which Dazai obviously had expected.

"Stupid questions get stupid answers," he concluded, reaching his tongue out.

"To be fair, it was a pretty... vague question," Ranpo added carefully.

"Don't you have some glasses to polish?" Kunikida snapped back, receiving a mournful look from Ranpo, being reminded of the grave loss he had experienced when he couldn't figure out what was going on with Dazai.

"Kunikida..." Fukuzawa warned.

"I'm calm!"

…

"Okay, I'm not calm."

He took a deep breath and held it for ten seconds as he walked a couple of laps around the room.

"Dazai-kun, there's really no need to withhold any information anymore. We already know more than I know you would like us to... The only thing we really need to know is why," Fukuzawa said calmly.

Dazai's smile didn't stir, but there was something sad that shadowed over the usual twinkle in his eyes and dulled them considerably. He chuckled, but there was nothing humorous in it.

"Yeah, I-" he tried.

Something in him wanted to tell them everything. At least everything he knew or could remember. He really wanted to... be understood. He wanted them to know why he was the way he was. Why he couldn't express his feelings, because, it wasn't that he didn't want to express himself, he just didn't know how to.

Every emotion that once possibly had come naturally to him, he had been stripped off before he could even remember.

No crying, no laughing, no smiling, no anger, no sadness, no happiness, no weakness, no fear, no love, no hope.

His stomach started to feel queasy and he realized that he had been glaring at his feet for way too long. They were all looking at him, With the expressions, he knew was 'worried', which, they probably could feel for real.

All the while, he was still smiling, which was the wrong expression,

He mentally swift through his "emotional library" and tried to fit the situation to his facial expression, but it was all too much and his stomach was feeling bilious and the feelings that he did have, that he had no control over, completely overturned him as his heart started to race and the bile was halfway up his throat. Panic. A feeling that turned physical, that he couldn't wean, only hide.

What happened next, he didn't know if was a blessing or a curse.

But vomiting, he didn't need to fake. That came naturally.

He threw up all over the bed, panting with raspy breaths in a mix of discomfort and pain between the dry-heaves, as Atsushi tried to keep a straight face while stroking his back and Fukuzawa ordered Kunikida to do- something- Dazai didn't hear, didn't care, as Kunikida ran out of the room.

...

The following hour went by with a bath and a change of rooms. Dazai was reminded of how much of a pain in the ass it was to get clean with a cast on, and he tried his hardest not to react to the way the male nurse who was helping him watched his bare skin as he undressed the bile-covered bandages with that compassionate and surprised look they always got.

He was so, so sick of it. Wished he could crawl out of his skin, shed it like a snake, and rid himself of it once and for all.

All the fuzz had made him tired, as well as the strong pain medication he had gotten when they had to move him around as much as they had to. His co-workers had left, but he knew they'd be back tomorrow to try again to get the answers they wanted, probably armed with barf bags.

Dazai didn't know how he was going to be able to tell them, rubbing his face with frustration, as he heard a strange knock on the window.

It could only be one person, as his new room was on the fifth floor.

Dazai's bed was placed next to the window by his own request, and he pulled the curtain away and cracked the window open, letting Chuuya manipulate the gravity to pull the security lock open himself and climbing in.

"There's a perfectly fine door over there, you know," Dazai said tiredly.

"The receptionist told me visiting hours were over," Chuuya answered nonchalantly and very carefully crawled over the bed- to not repeat the disastrous 'butt-to-fracture action’ he had caused a couple of weeks ago.

"Also, you know I have a love for the dramatics."

Dazai smiled, for real. Chuuya could sometimes bring that out of him, which he appreciated.

It made him think...

"Chuuya, I need to ask you something."

"No Dazai, the hospital gown doesn't make your ass look fat," he sighed jokingly, looking in the mirror that was placed over a sink on the other side of the room, fixing a couple of stray hairs that had gotten loose from his pony-tail on his way up the side of the hospital.

"I know. I have a bony ass. You've told me," Dazai said exasperated. Maybe Chuuya wasn't the right person to talk about this with after all.

Chuuya seemed to sense Dazai's tension and regretted his ill-timed joke.

"I'm sorry," he said and turned back to Dazai. "Are you okay? Kunikida-san messaged me about the incident with your... stomach contents."

Dazai's lips twisted into a slightly curved smile. "You and Kunikida-san seem to message each other a lot recently," he commented, acting hurt.

"Yeah, well, it's hard to have joint custody of a twenty-two-year-old."

Chuuya placed a chair next to Dazai's bed and sat down.

"So, Dazai-chan," he said softly in a slightly higher pitch, as if he was talking to a child, receiving a tired smile from Dazai, and returning the smile calmly.

"What's going on?" he said, changed back to normal. Or, maybe a bit nicer than his normal, normal.

Dazai seemed to search for his words.

"I think- I think you are my oldest friend," he started. Chuuya's arched an eyebrow.

"I also think that, except for Mori, you're the person who knows the most about me, and... the stuff that has happened, you know, before..."

Chuuya nodded, unable to look Dazai in the eyes, knowing that Dazai probably looked the other way too. When Dazai didn't continue, Chuuya assumed he was stuck.

"Kunikida also told me that you blanked out..." he told him, realizing without much effort that there had to be a connection between Dazai's sudden sentimental statements and the events that had unfolded earlier that day.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Chu... I-I don't know why it happened. I actually wanted to tell them everything. Is that weird?" He looked on the other with genuinely questioning eyes.

"If you're referring to blanking out to the point that you puke- yeah, a bit. But, about letting your friends know what's been going on with you? No. Not at all. I think it'd be good for you to tell them."

"I couldn't. It felt like it got caught in my throat and when I finally got it unstuck- it came out as bile."

Chuuya sneered. "Well, I guess the imagery is pretty accurate."

Dazai only hummed in response, and leaned back in the bed, watching the city outside of his room.

They sat like that in silence for a little while, both reflecting on the years that had led up to this moment, where they were finally able to sit by each other's side as friends again, somewhat fucked up and complicated friends, but, there was nothing that wasn't fucked up and complicated with anything in their lives.

"Maybe you could write it down," Chuuya suddenly suggested.

"Huh?" Dazai turned to face him again, confused and weary.

"Write it down, what you want to tell them. If you're not comfortable with saying it... without spraying it," Chuuya looked way too smug about his own joke, "then maybe you'll be able to write it down."

Dazai grimaced. "I'm on a sick-leave for another 6 to 8 weeks. I don't want to write a report. Also, you know my handwriting looks like chicken-scratches."

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me. I'm sure you remember who wrote all of our hand-written reports for three years. But, it's not going to be like a report. It might actually put some weight off your back, and you only have to write what you want to write. I can bring you your laptop tomorrow."

Dazai thought about it for a second. Then, he looked back up at Chuuya with an undecipherable smile and gave a faint nod.

"Yeah, that's- that's actually a good idea." ...

The next day, before lunch, Fukuzawa was a little surprised to find an email from Dazai in his inbox. Even though the title said "DO YOU WANT TO INCREASE YOUR PENIS SIZE BY 51%?! WE HAVE AN INSANE OFFER FOR YOU!!!" he decided to open it. His anti-virus program was pretty air-tight, after all.

Also, he knew Dazai.

I am sorry about yesterday. I can't seem to actually talk about this whole mess, even if I kinda want to. So, I'm going to try to write it all down instead. Please tell Atsushi that I truly am sorry for puking on his shirt, and to Kyouka, who probably had to clean it. And to you, Fukuzawa-senpai, if you're insecure about the size of your penis.

(Fukuzawa edited this part out of the email before printing it out).

I don't know my father's real name. I've only ever called him Father. Neither do I know my mother's real name, but my father told me to call her Yariman -Slut.

She died when I was eight. I also had two older sisters, which both died before I was born. Father only wanted a son. They are buried with my mother under unmarked graves in the Shinja graveyard, I've never known where.

Much of the events of my early life are not relevant to the case. I might be ready to share some of it with you someday, but not today. What is relevant, is that Father's ability is called A Sinners Chagrin. As you might have guessed, it's the ability to make anyone's greatest fear appear before them. He spent most of my childhood making sure that my greatest fear was of God. Which it was, for a long time. A child's mind is easy to corrupt, and his ability started in the form of a generic boogyman and slowly turned in to my own depiction of God. After that, he was able to prove all his horrifying tales of what God would do to me, as he manipulated his ability to do just that.

(Fukuzawa: I ask that you are the only one who reads this next paragraph and that you remove it before anyone else can read it).

I'm sure the question all of you are dying to know the answer to, is how he was able to use his ability on me, and I'm afraid that the answer isn't as exciting or spectacular as you might think. It's simply because I'm afraid. And when I'm afraid, my body shuts down and disassociates, which apparently leaves me open for attack. I have never experienced it with anyone else but Father, but then again, he is the only one that has ever made me truly scared. Except for myself, apparently- considering the latest form of Father's ability. No idea how that happened... Nope. Guess that one will remain a mystery.

As you probably understand, this is information that leaves me in a pretty vulnerable position if fallen into the wrong hands, which is why I ask that no one else reads it.

(…)

(Baha! I just explained to Fukuzawa why Father's ability works on me and asked him to delete it before any of you scavengers can read it, suckaaaas)!

I guess where to go next is how I came about to join the Port Mafia. I have my suspicions that there is a little more to the story than I know for sure, but anything other then what I can actually recall will be speculations.

As Father was able to make 'God' appear by using me, he started to do exclusive performances to the elite of the extremist Christian societies around Japan. You all saw what the man had become- a deranged and utterly useless preacher that actually believed his ability to be a miracle, but he didn't start that way. He was a con-man. He knew what he was doing from the day he started doing it.

Sure, some of the pure insanity was there from the start (runs in the family I guess- so don't come for me), he did kill his wife and two daughters after all. I'm not an expert on family dynamics or anything, but I'm pretty sure that that is a kind of thing that isn't supposed to happen in the stereotypical nuclear family.

Anyway, the former main physician- turned boss of the Port Mafia, Ougai Mori, somehow got a whiff of Father, and decided to arrange a showcase of his "ability to make God appear" in front of the former boss, with the pretense of recruiting him. I was ten at the time and had recently started to develop some issues with Father's ramblings of how there was nothing worse than the wrath of God, which I guess somehow had been a pretty big part of my entire life at the time.

We did our usual shtick, and, I screwed up. I had no fear of his 'God' anymore, but I did have a great fear of him. Father.

The pain he had caused me was very real and very much caused by him and him alone. So, that was who showed himself that day, and ruined everything for him.

I don't know what happened the next hours. I have no recollection of it what so ever until I awoke in the belfry the next day and let myself drop to the ground.

I have never tried to hide my wish of dying. This was the day I first tried actively to make that happen. The day I decided that I wanted it to happen by my own hands.

As I am writing this, it won't come as a surprise to any of you that I failed. Whatever happened the next couple of days are as defuse to me as what happened the hours before. I woke up in Mori's care and stayed there for a very long time. He told me during that time, that I did not need to worry about Father anymore, and later told me that he was dead. Clearly, he was wrong.

One thing that both Father and Mori both had in common, was the fact that their goal was to make me unable to feel anything. Not physically (far from it), but emotionally. This is the reason I am writing this. Because as much as (this is hard for me to even write) I know I have overcome, the part of real emotion is one thing that I can not...

I'm sorry. I just don't know. I can't.

(Chuuya is threatening me with releasing a video of me while I was going through puberty online if I don't leave that last part, and I just realized that severe self-consciousness is a feeling I have gotten back).

The Port Mafia trained me to be a numb pawn purely made for withstanding torture without giving in, and killing. That is my design. What I am. Or was. I don't know.

That leaves me to address what happened the night I was injured, when this whole mess started.

During the night (I actually do sleep sometimes), a letter was slid through the crack under the door of my room at the dorms. If you want to see it, you can, but in short terms, it said that he was back, and wanted me to come back to him. I don't know what made me go- the feeling of terror I guess (another feeling I guess still lingers). So I did. I was instructed to go to the belfry, so I also did. I blacked out, and I didn't understand what had actually happened until that day we were all in Shinja. He had used his power, and as it took the form of myself at ten years old- I did get scared. I didn't think it was real, which was my mistake.

I told everyone that I was pushed off the tower, which I was, technically. I pushed myself off. I don't know if that counts as another suicide attempt, but that is what happened.

…leave it to Dazai to be a suicidal maniac while trying to survive an attempted murder on himself, committed by himself.

And I think you all kinda know what's been going on after that. Except that- yeah, I did know what Mori was planning. I also knew that Chuuya was in on it. But don't tell Chuuya.

(Chuuya just hit me).

(and he told me not to write that, so I did). Fuck you, Chuuya.

I'm going to finish this off with a request that the contents of this letter are never to be read out loud.

Whoever within the Agency that wants to read it can read it, but after that, it is to be burned and never spoken of again. I don't want to know who reads it, and I don't want to see traces of its content in any of your eyes. I'm still shitty-Dazai, bandage-waisting-device, the office slacker and an annoying piece of shit.

I hope this answers all of your questions, Kunikida. This is the best answer I could make of 'what the fuck?'

Within the next hour that Kunikida read Dazai's letter, he stood by his bedside. Dazai was apprehensive, as the stern man walked steadily to his side.

The first time Kunikida actually believed that Dazai relaxed, was the first time he ever hugged him. "Dazai, you are so, so, so wrong. You feel plenty. I know you don't understand it, but you do. You are a good human being."

Somehow, Dazai did believe it. Even if it wasn't true, really. But, if Kunikida believed it- he wouldn't prove him otherwise.

#bungou stray dogs #boy in the belfry #part 14 #fanfic #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #kunikida doppo

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streetquotes · 2 years

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“I don’t care what you say, that was real pizza”

I live in constant fear. Sometimes my paranoia takes over and I’m left in mentally broken pieces, but I can’t be the only one right? There’s no way I can be the only one on the planet this weak. I do my best with the knowledge and resources I have and it’s exhausting. I gave birth to my beautiful blessing and curse 9 years ago. It feels like forever but also as if it was yesterday. I was a sweaty mess, trying so desperately to get this miracle of life out of my body. Did I feel it tear through me? I think I did and yet I also think I didn’t. Motherhood is difficult to explain, especially birth. I mean, yeah it sucked but it was also such a relief. It was over. My body was finally mine again! I can sleep how I want, I can wear heels, I can stop peeing every freaking second, I can go back to my nice clothes cause after a while you just stop caring. I don’t care what anyone says! At the end of the pregnancy, you’re lucky I even got dressed!

But I was such a fool. The crying was so constant, did I sleep better when I was pregnant? Yeah finding the right position was time consuming and the aches on my body were constant but at least people were nice. They would let me skip lines, held doors open for me, got excited when they saw my stomach. Now? I get annoyed glances when my son throws a tantrum, and you know what? I don’t blame them. I, too, wish I could just shut him up, please for the love of all that is mighty why can’t you just stay happy? So I try! I give him that lollipop, that bar of chocolate, let him run around. I convince myself it’s for the best, I don’t have to hear him scream and he can enjoy his childhood. I know what people say, giving into his whims will make it worse, I know. I know because it has.

I can’t do anything that he doesn’t like, he’ll scream and cry. He’ll throw things. He knows how embarrassing it is to me so I constantly walk on eggshells, never knowing when he’ll snap. I want this to end. I love my son but I need to also value my mental health. I drove all the way to New York City because he wanted the pizza. Do not get me wrong: New York plus food? Automatic “of course I’ll go to New York for the food!” But now we’re leaving and all I said was “that was some good pizza” and my son is ranting about my inability to distinguish between good and bad food. How did it get this far?

“I can’t believe you actually said that. The slice was only $8 mom, come on.” I saw him roll his eyes, like I was the embarrassment. I tried so hard to please him due to my embarrassment and now? Somehow, my opinion is the problem? What was the solution I should have taken back then? If I had stood my ground and let him cry, get angry looks and grunts from people, would I have avoided this? But what if I did and I got angry looks and grunts because I, the cold hearted mother, watched, unmoved as her baby cried. I don’t know. Motherhood is exhausting but I am doing what I can with the resources and knowledge I have and right now, I think that was some damn good pizza. As I take a breath in, I look at my son, utilizing a confidence I almost forgot I have, I finally managed to raise my voice.

“I don’t care what you say, that was real pizza!”

#citylife #conversations #writing #life quotes #literature #writerscommunity #writters on tumblr #mother #motherhood

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imnotasuperhero · 6 years

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DAY 3 OF RARE PAIR WEEK IS HERE!!

BIG WARNING!! Beware of mention of PPD. I apologize deeply if this hurts you somehow. It’s not my intention at all. I just wanted to try a different path and I reaaaaally hope that the experiences and the knowledge I’ve got (I’m an outsider) fulfilled the goal. Please, let me know what you think. I had so many emotions (I just got emotional because I’ve got the okay) so I hope you all like it.

Also, big shout out to @mitchsentrash for the support and the encouragement. I owe you, dude.

Pairing: Chacie

Theme: Single parent

Type: Angst? Fluff

Summary: Chloe finds out she's pregnant. Stacie offers her help. Could they win the battle?

Wordcount: 3292

What the fuck would she do now? Scratch that. How the fuck would she do it?

Chloe felt how her world started to become harder every second that passed. She wasn't ready for this. Most importantly, she didn't ask for this. This was a whole other level that she wasn't ready for and she could fuck it up enormously.

For the last half an hour, she's been walking without destination opting for sitting at the nearby park. Mistake Nº2, she realized. She discovered right there that the world doesn't stop. Time never stops. If that was the case, she'd give anything to make it happen and have a few extra minutes - God knows the idea of years was tempting enough, but no. She should figure how to continue from now on and how she'd manage to take care of a child. Her child.

"Are you okay? Why are you crying?" a sweet little voice spoke in front of her. Reacting to the sound, her hands moved unconsciously to brush the few tears away.

"I'm okay, thank you," she couldn't surprise the smile that formed on her lips. Before she could continue, what she supposed was the little girl's mom, called her. She watched with tenderness at the little person waving her hand while making her way to her family.

And that's when she decided it. She'll give her baby the best life she could. Happy accident or not, her baby would be so happy that sadness will never reach them. Even if their family were just two, love will always be there. She promised to themselves.

Bringing her hand to her flat stomach, she let herself start to wonder what the future had for her. Would it be a girl? Or perhaps a boy? Oh god, a little Taz running through the house with their happy spark enlighting her life.

"Since when do you stick with water, Ginger?" Amy asked with a curious expression. Oh, shit. Of course, someone would bring it up. That was the reason she almost turned them down for their monthly Bellas' reunion.

"I just had a rough day and I'm not feeling the alcohol," she shrugged the topic off. Her hand going unconsciously to her belly - as it seemed to be a habit now. But the action wasn't missed for everybody. Not for certain leggy brunette, who just started to analyze every movement she did.

"Another stubborn dog?" Emily asked with the giggle of a little kid. "Ohhh, was it a bunny this time?"

"None, Em. Just a bunch of owners that decided to organize and come together to the revision," she smiled at the younger woman.

The night seemed to go great despite a few compromising questions. How she loved these women that she got to call her sisters. She almost blurts out the words during the evening but decided against it at the last minute. It wasn't the right time, not yet.

"You're pregnant," Stacie spoke after some minutes of silence during the car ride. Chloe's head whiplashing in a way that she could have broken her neck. "I've been there, Chlo," she clarified for the redhead.

"I'm scared and excited at the same time," she confessed. Her hands starting to sweat at the inspection of the brunette. "I found out a week ago," she whispered.

"Why didn't you tell me? Or at least Aubrey," the inquisitive look in the younger woman sending shivers through her spine.

"And tell what? 'Oh, you know? I'm pregnant and Chicago doesn't want to know about it'. It isn't easy," she snapped. Regretting it instantly. "I'm sorry."

"No, no. I get it," Stacie looked at her briefly before centering her vision on the road. "You shouldn't go through this alone. You're allowed to ask for help," Chloe tried to find disappointment in them but failed miserably.

"Who? My parents would kill me if they find out. And the girls have their own lives," she opted to lose herself in the window. The street lights casting an orange shadow on her face, making Stacie's faint at the sight.

"Me," the brunette couldn't help it. "I would gladly help you." And Chloe felt her heart jump at the proposal. Her eyes starting to glaze at the menacing tears.

"Would you really help me? But you already have Bella and-"

"Bella is 5 now and she has a father. I can totally mold my schedule to yours. I'll be there for you, Chlo." the smile on her friend's lips melting her instantly. How could she score such a good friend?

And that's how both women embarked on the exciting journey of motherhood. Stacie was always by her side. She even protested -in vain, when Stacie made herself home for the night when Chloe's body was giving her a hard time. God bless the brunette's heart and patience.

At the 5th month, they finally got to see the gender. Both women crying when they found out it was a girl. She was a sparky bundle for sure, making Chloe laugh whenever Stacie decided to talk to the bump. Hell, even Bella wanted to talk to the baby, which she did.

Days passed and with them passed the months. By now, except her inability to walk straight, some back pain and fluid retention, Chloe had it relatively easy. Stacie -firm at her promise, got to go with her to the Lamaze coaching and helped her to master the tips as the pro she was by herself. It literally amazed Chloe how involved Stacie had become in her life; something she treasured deeply.

As the moment of giving birth came closer, even the other Bellas were now buying different items for the baby to come. Beca just wanted Ellie (yes, the music producer had already named her baby) to be as cool as herself so she always would come up with little tiny rock star's outfits. Claiming that she'll be the greatest godmother ever. Something that led them to arguments about who would be the baby's guarantor.

Cloe's heart melted at all the love she was getting from her sisters. Tears were a common thing by now as she observed them take over her place and stopping her from moving unless it was strictly necessary.

"I promise I'm alright, guys. I just want to help with the room," she tried to fight back. "I'm pregnant, not disabled." Aubrey just rolled her eyes.

"You want to help? Keep doing what you do and sit there," the blonde then grabbed one of the decorations an put it on the shelve above the crib.

She loved visits. She really did. But sometimes they were just so much to handle and she just wanted to be useful. A hand placed on her shoulder, making her jump in place only to find it was Stacie.

"Don't worry. I've hidden some so you can place them wherever you want once we're alone" the warm breath on her ear made things to Chloe.

They both had agreed that since the baby was almost here and everything would become pretty hectic, Stacie would move with her as long as she was required. Something that both women learned to live with. Even Bella had her own place to crash the days she was assigned to Stacie.

"STACIE!" a sudden scream woke her from her happy earth. Running to Chloe's room, she found the redhead with blank face and panic evident in it. "The baby is coming," she said as she stared at her wet sheets.

"OH SHIT!" is all the brunette could mutter as she tried to think properly what to do next. Yes, she's been there and it should be a piece of cake for her... but her whole body started to tremble at the knowledge that she'll get to finally meet Chloe's baby. That baby that made her discover another kind of love. "Okay... with calm steps we'll go to the car, yeah?" she made a mental note to grab the baby's bag. "Come up, everything will be alright" she kissed the redhead's temple in an attempt to calm her.

"OH, MY GOD! She's eager to come to the world," Chloe spoke as they made their way to the hospital. Pain starting to show on her face.

"Listen here, little gremlin. You better wait till mommy is with the doctors or I will never ever give you sweets," she spoke firmly as if the baby could understand her. An action that made Chloe laugh bittersweetly. She could imagine the contractions were something very real now. "Remember babe. Deep breaths. In through-"

"I know how to breathe, Stace! Just hurry up, please." she just decided to bite her tongue and tried to drive as fast as she could without putting them in danger.

It wasn't until several hours later that Chloe got to finally start to push. Hell, her hand would definitely need a checkup after this. She could feel something was about to break. And she probably should throw sacred water at Chloe. The redhead didn't stop cursing since the contractions reached the top level; something so-not-Chloe. Where was her sweet kind friend?

"Oh shit! Please take her out already," Chloe had started to cry some minutes ago. Her whole body shaking in pain.

"Breathe, Chloe. You have to help her, okay?" Stacie kissed the top of her head lovingly at the doctor's words. She herself remembering Bella's birth.

"Come on Red. We almost have her with us. You can do it," she started to whisper encouraging words in her ear. Squeezing her hand every now and then. Something that seemed to help the soon-to-be mom.

"I can't, Stace. I won't make it." Chloe cried the words. Her whole body in a fight between rest and deliver her baby.

"Yes, you can! You're so much stronger than this, sweetie," she brushed some wet red locks off her forehead. "Come on, just focus and push matching her timing, yeah? You can definitely make it."

And after what seemed like hours -but was just some more minutes of screams, tears, and words mixed with love and encouragement, a loud new crying sounded in the room. Chloe just gave birth a healthy baby, if her lungs were proof enough about it. Her heart started to beat frantically as she reached forward to see the baby but the squeeze on her hand made her turn her attention to Chloe. "She's alright. You did it perfectly- CHLOE?!" her heart stopped at the sight in front of her. Chloe had just passed out. The monitors around her starting to beep at a different rhythm than before.

As the doctors and nurses started to work on Chloe, she made her walk to the baby. And she was sure she'd need one of those oximeters because her heart's rate was jumping at the mixed emotions. She was trapped between a healthy beautiful baby and a not-so-healthy Chloe. Her Chloe. She asked for all the gods out there and the universe to help Chloe and so the three of them could go home.

"Would you like to take her?" the pediatrician asked Stacie after she'd finished checking up on the baby. "She's a perfect baby," she spoke as Stacie placed the little body on her arms. Tears starting to fall, again.

"Hell, she is," she couldn't help it but to kiss the newborn head. Her heart grew 100 times bigger at that moment. She dreamed about this moment a lot of times, but none of them were like this. She just decided to lost herself in taking care of the baby in order to stop worrying about Chloe. For what the doctors were saying, it was just a minor complication. God, she was aware that not all the births were the same; but did she wish for Chloe's to be like hers. Just vomit and dizziness.

"The mom will be okay," One of the nurses spoke softly. "She just needs to rest and regain strength," and with a soft squeeze on her arm, she made her way out the room.

Just then she felt the happiness take over her. A soft teary laugh escaping her lips. Both of her girls were safe and sound. All she could ask was for Bella to be here with them. Her family of four -as she pictured quietly in her mind, was a reality. If only Chloe could love her back.

"Welcome, my little sunshine," she whispered to the tiny human in her arms. "I promise you that you'll never be alone," her index finger caressing the softness of Elli's face. She opted she'd call her that till Chloe comes up with her name.

"Stace?" a hushed voice called her. Looking at the bed, Chloe was staring at them with tears in her eyes.

"You did it," she placed the baby in her mother's arms. Her heart jumping at the moment. "You did this beautiful being." she couldn't help but bring their forehead together. Something that she got used to doing time ago.

"She's beautiful," were Chloe's words before a comfortable silence settled between them as Chloe started to breastfeed her daughter. Stacie melting at such an intimate moment between mother-child.

"I want to name her Hope," the redhead looked at her. A shy smile on her lips.

"Hope Beale. It really suits, Chlo" she kissed her forehead before returning her attention to her Hope.

She didn't know exactly when things at home became a mess. Hope wouldn't stop crying and Chloe wouldn't stop feeling sad whenever she had to take care of her child. Her energy started to drown off her body as she tried to calm both parties -literally- all the time. She started to worry that it could be PPD. She knew it was -somehow common after the childbirth itself and, even if she knew little about it, some of the symptoms matched.

"Shhh, it's okay little one," she tried to calm a crying Hope who seemed to decide to test her limits. "Please, don't cry baby girl," she couldn't hold back the tears anymore. "Your mommy loves you to pieces. She's just going through a hard moment," she kissed the baby's nose. "I promise you that."

"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep" Stacie sang the words fighting the lump on her throat. "In dreams, you lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep…" she continued rocking her softly. Her sweet voice and the movements finally working. Hope started to calm gradually as she continued. "Have faith in your dreams and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through" her left hand starting to brush a thin line in between the baby's eyebrows. "No matter how your heart is grieving. If you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true"

And as if magic was something real, by the end of the lullaby Hope fell in a pleasant dream. Something Stacie was really thankful about. One last look at the crib, she made her way to Chloe. The redhead was in the living room staring at her with tears. Her beautiful smile absent for days, now; making her heartache.

"Come here," She opened her arms as she sat beside her friend.

"You're a literal angel, Stace," Chloe curled up in her arms. Another action that became common among them. When Hope wasn't asking for attention, she'd would happily cuddle Chloe up. Sometimes -always- in bed.

"Can I say something without you snapping?" she asked after some minutes in silence. Her voice trembling with anticipation.

"You know it's not my-"

"I know, baby. I'm aware of that," she started to play with red locks. "That's why I think you may have postpartum depression." the words came as whispers. Chloe pushing herself apart as if she'd been burned.

"Wha-... Do you think so?" and she was surprised that Chloe took her words into consideration. Even if she knew the redhead was very uncomfortable.

"I'm not a psychologist. But the sadness, the anxiety and you not sleeping at all considering I'm looking after Hope... yeah. All those symptoms match," she felt her chest close at the way Chloe could react to this information.

"I... I don't want medication," she almost pleaded. Her voice breaking at the end.

"Maybe you don't need them," Stacie took her trembling hands between her own. "Maybe all you need is going to see someone and working on your bonding with Hope. She needs you, sweetie," her voice came softly. Something that surprised her, but thanked nonetheless.

"I will," Chloe finally let herself cry as the realization stroke her. "I love her, I swear I do!" the sobs making her body shake. "I just want to be a good mom."

"And you will be," Stacie wrapped her arms around her, bringing her closer. "I'm not going anywhere and I promise you that everything will be okay."

Stacie released her own tears right then. She cried all the feeling she had bottled up in order to protect her girls. She needed to gain strength for the recovering. Hopefully, it'll be easier than the last weeks.

Just as she promised them. Chloe and Hope were finally bonding. Chloe had started to enjoy her daughter's spark. Now that the crying decreased noticeably, they got to let her sleep between them when she had colics.

"Look Stace! she has a mole on her neck just like you!" Chloe cried as she got to change her.

"No, she doesn't" the brunette started to look for the mark on the baby's body. And just there, right above her collarbone, a pale brown spot contrasted lightly against the pink skin.

"See?" Chloe caressed the spot making Hope's giggles to sound in the room. Both their hearts expanding every time they got to hear her laugh. "You're like her moma"

Stacie's heart stopped at the words. Her body freezing in time. Sweet lord, would she make a pact with the devil to make it happen.

"Stace?" Chloe called. "You know you are like her mom, right?" and the confusion she felt should be reflected on her face because Chloe just kept explaining. "You took care of her when I couldn't and you love her like your own. You even asked for weeks off after she had born," she felt Chloe's hand squeeze her arm.

"Perks of being a great scientist who is in charge," she joked as if trying to hide the lovey-dovey words menacing to scape her mouth.

She grabbed Hope and started to walk to the living room but a hand grabbed her own, stopping her in tracks and making her face Chloe. Before she could protest, soft lips captured hers. A timid movement that started to became eager. Chloe smiled into the kiss, making her laugh.

"Did you really-"

"I did," Chloe affirmed with her head. "I figured you'd never tell me so I couldn't hold back anymore." she shrugged, taking Hope in her arms.

Her mouth started to open and close at the lack of words. Her brain had probably melted. All she wanted was to properly try those lips. And so she did. Closing the distance -trying to remember that an infant was between them, both women melted in a kiss full of feelings and promises of being there for each other. Forever. After all the stress they went through, she was optimist enough to give herself to the redhead.

"Seems like Bella's wish had become a reality," Chloe laughed softly, kissing her daughter's cheek.

"Seem like we are a family of four," she hugged both her girls, already imagining her daughter's happiness when they get to break the news to the kid the next day. And honestly, she couldn't ask for more.

#rare pair week 2018 #day 3 #Chacie #single parent

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restorerjourney · 3 years

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Week 7: FREEDOM WEEK

May 25, 2021

This past week was probably one of my most favorite week other than the first week which was hearing the voice of God.

Sam Chang was our speaker this week who is one of the leaders here overseeing the discipleship training schools here in YWAM Kona. He was gifted in wisdom, hilarious, and a great story-teller. His style of leading lecture was a bit unusual at first because it would predominantly be him opening up the floor to anyone who had any question about anything. I see it now as an opportunity that God used through Sam to allow us to ask questions because we weren’t given that opportunity as much from any of the other lecturers. It also was a great opportunity for our team to gauge how we all were doing spiritually. For example one of our team members during our lecture break shared that she felt like she couldn’t breathe and asked what could be done. Sam asked if anyone else was feeling this way and many of our team members surprisingly were feeling depressed and spiritual down in the morning. He then lead us on a time of spiritual warfare by having us all stand up and repeat after him in declarative prayer. We did multiple sessions of declarative spiritual warfare prayer and as elementary it sounds, it was LIBERATING. There is power when you we declare it out in faith and hearing our own voice casting out lies and reinstating God’s truth of who we are in Him.

For example “Heavenly Father! I repent of believing any lies of the enemies! He is a liar and a destroyer and I no longer will believe his lies! Enemy! Get out! You have no place here! I repent of believing that the shame that has had a grip over me! I repent believing that I am no worthy to be loved and I have to fight for your affection! I am a beloved daughter of God whom you have loved and died for! I am worthy of love! You love me the same and you will never let me go! God I cast out those enemies in Jesus name and I ask that you cover me in the blood of Christ! In Jesus name! Amen!”

It reminds me when we are standing and shouting this war cry, how desperate and alert we need to be to fight the enemy and his tactics! This is something that I am thankful to be able to take home with me and share with anyone else who struggles with freedom. Also I tried my best to record the lectures (except the first week) so if anyone is interested please let me know!

Here are some key points from this past week’s lecture:

-God’s love doesn’t change. The perfect love of God is always showering over us. There are filters in our lives that actually prevents from receiving the love of God. These strongholds are patterns of thinking, the agreements we made, that determine our reality. Some calls them “word curses”, “inner vowels” “accusations”, ultimately it’s when we make agreement with anything that is not true.What you think of yourself and the lies are powerful strongholds. When we get hurt, we build a wall. The inner vows..i will never to vulnerable again. I’m never going to get hurt. The funny thing about walls is you can’t decide who goes in and out. The places you put walls in your heart keeps everyone out including God. You are vulnerable to all or to no one. You face depression, anxiety, and suicide..you are developing a suicidal wall where you are dying on the inside. The importance of us in breaking strongholds, is that not only our relationship with God will be restored but all around us. We as Christians need to process our pain and yet choose to forgive.

- Roots of rejections: Absence father and mother, Lack of bonding with our parents, Divorce, Not being wanted as a child, Being blamed for our parents ,Abuse, Parent’s addiction,Shame of a family member, Constant fighting or strife, Unjust discipline, Mistreating, Addiction,Not happy with your own experience, infidelity of a spouse, loss of value or employment, Betrayal by close friend, Unexpected death of loved one, spiritual hurt or betrayal in the church

- Fruits of rejection ( emotional response)Nervous, Talking over people, fear of being not heard, Inability to rest without activity,I am inpatient of my personal growth and the growth of others, Pursuing comfort, Lust ,Procrastination, I delay taking responsibility and discipline,I live for weekend or for sport, Social awkwardness, I gravitate towards those who are shy, I communicate with others in guarded terms,I replay what I could have said, Inability to accept self, I am hard on myself and my looks, I am discouraged by my personal failures, I am not able to receive God’s love, I downplay or boast my ability, I am unable to truly experience other’s victory, I am jealous and envy desirable qualities of others, I am extremely hard on myself, I become angry of past rejections and blame myself, Critical attitude towards others, I don’t fully trust others, I immediately skeptical of new people, they have to prove myself, Isolation, I’m not a people person, I feel better off alone, I often say “ if only I had __” I would be “___”, I think if I try harder, people will approve me, Self pity, I feel I am not loved by anyone, not God, Everyone is disappointed, even God, I feel I can’t get it together, Defensiveness, I see correction as an attack, I react harshly with correction, Numbness, I’m unable to have emotion, I give up on area of personal holiness, Drugs, drinking, sexual relations

-Areas we can recognize rejection in our life: I receive what others say to me with a lens of rejection, I find it difficult to really use my spiritual gifts, I find it difficult to accept praise and encouragement freely from others, I tend to be skeptical and unbelieving, I tend to doubt, mistrust, and question authority,I am possessive in relationships, I am afraid that I or my loved ones are not chosen by God for salvation, I am both critical and envious at the same time towards others that are confident, I need to control my family in order to keep them safe to succeed so that they will love and appreciate me, When we are face with rejection we go to our coping mechanism

-Rejection...is a CHOICE YOU BELIEVE. YOU HAVE A CHOICE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE LOVED BY GOD

-Anger is NOT the primary. Anger is not the root but the FRUIT. Anger surfaces from something deeper like shame, insecurity, inadequacy, not having it my way.

-How do I know if I am walking in conviction vs shame? Conviction leads you to Jesus. Shame keeps you away from Jesus.

--When we are overcoming shame, it’s hard because there is this familiar feeling and when Jesus corrects us it may feel off ( like changing your tennis swing), but as you keep doing it knowing that it will produce the right outcome, despite the feeling of it being off, you get better and you swing better. Sometimes as christians we are so afraid to try because we are not doing it perfectly. But just as a toddler is walking and stumbling, the father is not saying you are not walking perfectly, he is rejoicing taking videos and so proud of his child walking!

-When you have a heart, and there is shame, rejection, hurt, there is a lie attached to it. When we experience something not good, shame says “ I am not good”, and when we make agreement to that shame, we are saying to the enemy, “I give you freedom and authority” Then there it becomes a stronghold where the enemy has a foothold in your life. When revelation from Christ comes in, and helps you to recognize shame and lie, then that breaks the foothold and you are healed. However there is temptation, that reminds you “ hey you are not good enough”, he wants access to your heart. When you stand against and say “ I am worthy and close to the heart of Jesus”, then that solidifies the freedom in your life. Christianity is not about being free from sin and perfection, it’s about filling your life in Christ so that there is no more room for anything else. When you repent, you are doing authority exchange. The devil is no longer your leader, Christ is, and when you walk in freedom you proclaim that proclaim. Repentance is your break up with the enemy.

-Forgiveness is the foundation of God’s kingdom and God’s character

-Unforgiveness is putting yourself as the judge to provide justice for yourself

-Forgiveness is necessary when we have been violated one way or another. Regardless of the situation there is a debt. In order to forgive you must take that debt and release the offender. Forgiveness is a choice not a feeling.

-”Open doors” are where we open our spirits to entertain different things in our lives. Sin is the biggest open door where we allow the enemy do whatever he wants with us. There are also open doors of compromise in our life that does the same. Examples of Open doors: soul ties (physical, spiritual, and emotional), drugs, explicit violent movies, music, witchcraft, any other areas where you put others before Jesus.

-Fear is a result due to lack of faith

-Examples of living in fear: my prayer times and bible times are motivated in fear, my relationship with Jesus is performance based, I fear failing God, I fear punishment from God, Forms of punishment I fear: withholding of financial blessing, true love and forgiveness, God is going to make me suffer unnaturally, God is withholding himself ignoring me not listening, fear of man, fear of becoming a self-fulfilled prophecy, I fear falling back into sin, I fear I will not free from habitual sin and addiction, I fear I will never get married, I fear failing in marriage, I fear I will get divorced, I fear intimacy and being seen for who I really am. I fear my children will not turn out well. I fear not succeeding in a good career, I fear disappointing my parents and those I respect, I fear my past and suffering shame form my past, I fear my past will disgrace me, I fear God’s punishment for my past, I fear confessing a sexual struggle sin, I fear God would not heal me from my scars, I fear I will be found out for who I am.

Because freedom week was so liberating, it was also emotionally draining since it required a lot of heart work and self-reflection. I would often go to the beach or try to squeeze in some alone time with God and feel restored. This past weekend we went to Mauna Kea which is a well known dormant volcano here in the Big Island. We went around 3pm and the drive to the volcano was BEAUTIFUL. We felt just overwhelmed with the rolling hills and how we eventually were driving above the clouds. Unfortunately when we got the visitor center we were told we couldn’t go to the very top since it was icy! Yes, I had to wear 4 layers of clothes because there was snow up in this volcano! We instead just chilled in the visitor center which was still beautiful. Also it was our team member’s birthday on Sunday so we celebrated with ramen, costco’s hot dogs, and mango cheesecake.

On our way back I had a good conversation with one of my team member who has autism. A lot of the team members are worried about him going with us on outreach since he has the tendency to underestimate his strength, especially when playing around with kids, and would wander off without telling us where he is. I was worried he might just fall asleep on my drive back when I asked him to keep me company and he did actually really well. I can tell he is often misunderstood and he does have a kind heart who desires to love and be loved.

On Sunday, my roomies and I went to Livingstone church together and went to Two Step to snorkel after. It was tough encouraging them to overcome the fear of the ocean but it was worth seeing them over come their fear. My roomie Naeun who is a great chef made us kimchi fried rice and Juhye who is also a great chef made us rrabboki. While eating dinner we shared how we are doing and what we were most thankful for. It was a beautiful time for us as roomies to see how far we’ve come in our walk with the Lord, how God has restored us so much, and how thankful we were that God has put us in the same room together.

Prayer request:

1)Perseverance and God’s grace: June 9 is technically when I am supposed to have my period and I am reminded everyday of the possibilities that I would not be healed. Perhaps I was wrong when people prayed for me and I felt confirmation. My neck and shoulders are still pretty stiff and painful in the morning and sometimes I get tingling of my hands. This morning I felt particularly defeated and frustrated but God reassured me to trust in His timing.

2) Continual renewing of my mind. I have had complete closure of all the bondages that I’ve faced and thought of but the enemy is fighting hard to remind or tempt me to return to the bondage of fear, rejection, and shame. I recently felt rejected by someone and I caught myself replaying our conversation and the scenario over and over again and beating myself up for it. This person keeps coming up in my head and I’m trying hard to fight this distraction but in the end I pray for more of Christ in me so that there would be nothing else.

3) Financial provision. I have raise $130 out of $800 that I need raise by June 28, 2021. Please pray that God would release his financial provision and stir the hearts of those he called to serve the people of Mazatlan.

Mahalo for taking the time to read this!

Alicia

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xflower-childx · 4 years

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A New Book

I see myself only really having two books of life, Ohio and Florida. Both having an excessive amount of chapters, A LOT of character development, and a revolving door of supporting roles. Florida's book is slowly coming to an end and it's been rather eventful. While the whole book has been a trip the past year or so I've noticed have been such intense growth and preperation for the next book. I've discovered inner peace and loving myself, speaking up when I deserve better or want something. I've discovered my worth.

I met a lovely lady (D will be her name here) who honestly stirred the start of the new book. After group meditation at the wellness center she owns while we were all just openly sharing about life she spoke of just up and moving out of her small hometown from her ex husband and adult son (Who she asked me to show around when he moves here before I leave 😏🙃). When I spoke up on how I always wanted to move and I've been working on conquering fears and not allowing high anxiety run me she brought up control and how it seemed like I struggled with needing to have it to feel safe. Yeah. That's true. That sat with me HARD. The next day was the work meeting that would change my life. K and A said that BB will be closing in a month. I knew we were struggling but I didn't realize how bad. I also knew all the shit with the partnership. A had looked at me curiously during the meeting and said "You promised me and yourself that this was your last job in Florida. What are you going to do?" I laughed and jokingly said "Looks like I'm moving to North Carolina." But as everyone else started to speak on what's next it settled in my head. Why not? Why not just move? Why not let go of control and start new? All I have is my little Alien and myself so what's stopping me? D did it, why can't I?

On my drive home it weighed in my head so heavily. I didn't feel as much sadness for BB closing as I felt excitement over the thought of moving. I had so many thoughts running through my head in that drive. I had to get them out, I needed to hear that I wasn't crazy for thinking this was possible, that I could do it, that this push off the cliff was to see if everything I've learned was to teach me how to fly and I needed to hear from someone else that I would soar and see all new heights. I knew I wasn't going to hear it from my mom though because she would only put fear and anxiety into me (I swear she is who I've developed a lot of my anxiety from). I knew my sister would encourage it but also add anxiety, and talk about how I would be leaving her and apparently 'Living her dream'. I knew who would give me what I wanted though. He was default for a while and I knew he would say what I wanted to hear because I knew he had faith I could do it. He always did. He always pushed me to. I selfishly messaged him, going against the other part of my brain saying not to open that damn door.

Of course I was right. He said what I needed to hear. He has been one of the only people to see me function outside of family and a family run environment. He knows a side of me that they don't know. The side that I wanted to grow and develop, one that started from him being in my life... And ohhh boy it grew from him leaving.. and I fucking love this side. She's still got some growing of course but I'm proud of her. She's stronger than I ever saw possible and she's beautiful and happy and she's not letting anyone stop her from going for what she wants... In a non-controlling way though. 😂

I look at this new book coming up though and I know it's a fresh start and I don't want anything bad holding me back from living it. I want to shed the old snake skin and start new. I've been shedding some old already, but there is a piece that is still part of this skin that is fraying. I want to take him with me because ultimately he's someone I hold close but he hurts. He hurts a lot. Ever since the start I had always felt like second best even though I played a number one role in his life. Even when he had his other girl a few hours away I was second although I felt like I was going to third. I was able to almost mute that feeling when we were in each other's lives though because we were always around each other and I continued to play the role of number one. I was always a place filler though and I knew that deep down. He was never able to really let go of his ex and I don't know if he ever will. I always tried to become better to get his attention but he would just look through me and remind me that he never had any passion for me and everything between us was in my head. I would just defend him in some way though and continue to try and be there.

I was always there. Even when I'm not. Even now when I push him out because no matter what I will always feel like I'm not enough for him. Not as a partner because I already know that but even as a friend. He's never really spoken otherwise. Anyone can say 'Thanks for being there' but those that really appreciate it will put into words their gratitude. Especially when the other has spoken of needing it because they don't feel love and appreciation.

I understand now why I had such high anxiety in CO. Foreign place plus feeling like R2 showing off being favorite person. God she knew it and rubbed it in. I actually wonder if they realize she has feelings for him? I mean honestly the jealousy and just all around energy of the whole trip was HEAVY and some of the stuff she said... I could be wrong but I've learned to trust my instincts by now 😂. For a minute it crossed my mind if they'd slept together but I know R and his type and I observed their interactions and feel as no they didn't. My ability to read people and having amazing observation skills is such a blessing and a curse 🤦. Also being an empath doesn't help. I felt everyone's mood and energy and it just weighed on me and made me feel like I'm drowning. I lost myself entirely that trip and I felt so scared and raw. I had nothing and no one to hang onto and the pain that I felt by R not giving a fuck hurt even more. He spoke words that made me want to pack up and get on a plane in that moment because I felt so unwanted and broken there. The ability to take love from someone when its needed during life changing experiences but say 'Fuck you grow up and deal with it' when that person is crying asking for love and comfort is beyond me. Especially to allow them to walk away to an Uber by themselves when again you know how much they hurt and how high their anxiety already is. I really don't think he knows how much I've looked back on that exact moment and felt pain in my chest. How it hurts to even write still. How selfish I see him from that and little I feel like I matter to him. Ever mattered to him. I even remember asking him with so much fear to ride with me to the airport because I had hopes we could try and mend something on the way but the fear came into knowing he would say no. I wonder if he thinks he was trying to help teach me to take care of myself and not rely on someone else- which mission accomplished I've learned- but in probably one of the most cruel and unloving ways possible. The wise words of NF 'If you want love you gone have to give some away'. (Funny how that song came on writing that part.)

I wouldn't be me if I didn't say this though as I look at every angle of everything and everyone. I know I relyed on him too much. I know I put to much trust and love into him (Which whooo more trust issues) and I know he was crushing under the weight of it. I know he is a human and I respect that, and I take the blame for relying on him. I take the blame for not being able to pick myself up under the weight of everyone's judgement and energy (Ohhh man the energy after he talked to his friends about me 🤦 90% I was just running on fumes and fake positivity at that point to try and get by) instead of reaching out for a hand to help me. I couldn't find the peace and comfort in myself there and wish I could have. I wish the circumstances were different and I didn't always feel so... Useless next to him. I don't think that's the word I'm really looking for but it will do.

I wish we could have actually talked though after. I wish I heard him apologize at least once sincerely. I wish I HEARD him care. I wish he wanted to care. I wish I mattered more to him than a hand to hold and guide him out of the dark of his unforgotten ex. I guess that's what I get for falling for a man not even months out of a relationship. I wish our friendship wasn't so tainted by the inability to let go of the past on both sides.

If he and I had actually talked though and we both owned up to our faults and reminded each other that we're important to the other and just genuinely thank the other for the love and care we put into our relationship than I think I would be able to take him with me. I could see our friendship mending and growing with sending silly pictures of new adventures we go on and my alien seeing the world and maybe him coming to visit me there even and I him wherever life takes him next. I could see myself starting to trust him again and being able to ask for adivce again. I could see him being able to come to me again and myself giving him pages of messages as I talk my way through the advice to get to a point 😅☹️ But he's too damn stubborn to talk and I don't even know if he sees fault in his actions and words. I love him and if I could openly say anything to him it's that I hope he's happy. I hope he can finally let her go and allow himself to love again because he will always find faults and pain in potential love if he keeps holding onto her and he will only put pain on future love interests. I know he NEVER meant any harm on me and I know he warned me and I know he tried and was doing the best he could with what he had and understood at the time when he lived here. When it comes to after... I have nothing left to say but pain.

I love him but I love myself more. I love myself enough to know that I don't deserve to feel pain from someone I gave nothing but love, care, patience and understanding to. Someone that any moment they needed it I was ready to encourage them and push them forward. Someone I had nothing but faith and belief in. Someone I genuinely cared about. Someone who was ready to drop me when my demons appeared and I was at my worst. I know that it doesn't matter how much I care about him though, I care about myself more. I wish him well, and the best and love but not from me. Not anymore. I can't ask him to give me words when he doesn't want to give them because that's not only unfair to him, its unfair to me because it hurts me. I wish I could share my next journey with him, I wish I could share all my excitement with him and all the crazy things that have happened so far and the things that could possibly happen next. I wish he asked and I believed he really wanted to know... Also I got bit by a dog and I wanted to tell him and show the pictures cause wtf the bruising and bite marks man 🤦 He was my best friend. One of my favorite best friends. One my favorite people and I wish I didn't have to let him go over fucking stubbornness and screwed up pasts.

I have a new book ahead of me and I'm ready for some blank pages. I'm ready for a fresh start, new friends, new adventures, and a new world. I'm ready to continue to grow and expand my knowledge on life, the world around me and myself. I'm really happy right now though. I feel a little lonely while being my own best friend because I don't really have anyone to talk to about my next story or share my ideas with but it's alright I guess. I trust that things will fall into place amongst the confusion in my head.

I haven't shared how scared I am with anyone either. Reality smacked me in the face on my last day last week and I realized how much is about to change and I'm stepping out of my comfort zone. I'm so proud but so so scared. I know I can do it and I know that this is such a great, exciting change but man I'm going completely solo and alone on this besides my alien 🤦

We tough though. We got this. 😊💪

#my writing #Found deep in my drafts #May 2019 #Florida

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yuurisolympicgold · 7 years

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Yuuri Week 2017, Day 1: Terra Incognita Title: 91 Days of Winter Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Vicchan, Victor Nikiforov. Pairing: Yuuri/Victor. Genres/Tags: Romance, Fluff, Anxiety, Depression, Seasonal Depression, AU. Rating/Warnings: T/None. Summary: What if Vicchan had lived? Or, Yuuri and his “Two Victors.”

Winter used to be Yuuri’s least favorite season. He supposed it was ironic, considering he spent most of his life on ice; a place he also felt at home, competing in a winter sport.

Perhaps it was because of where he’d grown up. Winters could be harsh, but they didn’t usually last long. Then the cherry blossoms would bloom in spring, the onsen would once again be busy, the town would be bustling with activity and festivals. To Yuuri--when spring came and washed the bleakness and murk of winter away--it was like coming home.

Winter was none of those things. The shorter days made him feel tired constantly, competition season was a source of stress; he spent so many of those days in an anxious fog. Too much snow prevented travel and he felt even more isolated than he had those first few months after his move to Detroit. Something bad always seemed to happen during winter. Now he was going to lose his beloved dog who he hadn’t even seen in five years.

Vicchan was yet another someone Yuuri had let down.

Yuuri wasn’t there for him... he never even got a chance to say goodbye, to tell him how much he loved and missed him. He wondered if Vicchan really remembered him sometimes. He’d seen him plenty of times while video chatting with Mari, but Vicchan probably just wondered why he wasn’t there.

Today was the free skate for the Sochi Grand Prix Final. It was surreal to think that after his short program he was sitting in possible medal contention. He was currently fourth, below Cao Bin and Christophe Giacometti. Victor of course led the field by a large margin.

Days leading up to any competition he typically spent in a haze. To alleviate the feeling he tried to focus on a singular purpose, but it worsened when news of Vicchan’s accident reached him. It wasn’t until his coach nudged him that he remembered where he was--what he was supposed to be doing.

“Yuuri,” Celestino called out to him. “It’s your sister.”

Yuuri suddenly felt like he didn’t know how to get up. He felt his weight sink further into the bench he found in an isolated corridor of the arena. For a moment he simply stared at the item his coach held out to him--my own phone, his brain dimly reminded.

Hesitantly he pushed off the bench and forced his body into motion, accepting the device. He was vaguely aware of his coach watching over him as he held it up to his ear. He opened his mouth to speak--to greet her, to say something, but no words would come.

“Yuuri?” Mari must have heard his breathing. She called his name one more time and sighed. His heart sank and his throat closed up further.

“Listen to me, Yuuri,” Her voice held a firmness but recent stress and emotion gave it a shake. “He’s going to be okay, do you hear me? Vicchan... he’s fine.”

Yuuri choked, palm slapping over his mouth and muting his gasp. He was now aware of Celestino’s hand on his shoulder, firm and bracing.

Mari only paused a beat before continuing.

“He is roughed up, but he’s okay. He has to wear a cast for awhile. The vet also has him wearing a cone so he doesn’t muck with the stitches... he’s a little trooper,” She said with a fond chuckle if a bit watery.

Yuuri still couldn’t say anything. His grasp around the phone tightened. Once again he wished he was there.

“I can’t believe...” Mari sniffed and cleared her throat before continuing, “I mean, he nearly gets himself mauled by a car and basically gets back up like it was nothing. He probably considers it a good day too; sort of like a certain stubborn little brother of mine... he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet.”

“I--” Yuuri finally managed to get his brain to work and form words. Actual words. He felt like the fog pressing against his thoughts wasn’t so heavy. “He--He’s really okay?”

Mari hummed across the line.

“He’s comfortable at home now, if still sleepy from the anesthesia, but he’ll be watching you perform too,” She confirmed. She paused before adding one more thing.

“Good luck, Yuuri. He really is a lot like you, you know.”

After the call ended he quietly excused himself. Celestino always understood his need for solitude. He promised he would be back in time for the warm-up skate. Then he did the same thing he’d done in a random bathroom stall, after he’d sat listening to his mom’s voice.

He broke down and cried. To no one, with naught but his thoughts for company.

Except it was different this time. Now the tears weren’t to a feeling of hopelessness and regret. Instead he cried his blessings and his thanks for this second chance. For Vicchan’s unwillingness to give up.

For Yuuri, crying wasn’t always cathartic. Many times it only worsened the pounding in his head, but this time it felt cleansing. A much needed release following the guilt and turmoil he felt over his decision to leave home in the first place with his pet’s possible death looming over him. A rain that begun the re-cultivating process after a drought.

After awhile he straightened and fixed his appearance as much as possible.

He had to skate soon after all.

“Well, Yuuri,” Celestino said, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder at the barrier. “Are you ready to once again skate your heart out for the whole of Russia?”

Yuuri nodded but didn’t really have an answer for him. He handed over his hard guards and stepped onto the ice to do his laps. On a conscious level he felt like this was something he should be panicking over. Yet instead he was in an odd state of calm and lucidity. The world looked a lot different to him now than it had a few hours ago.

Yuuri was once again about to skate on the same ice as his idol in his home country, this time with a medal on the line. He knew it wasn’t likely that he would land a spot on the podium; there were many strong skaters in the competition, aside from Victor. Skaters who had been to a Grand Prix Final before.

But this was his chance to prove that he was supposed to be here. That he hadn’t qualified in the final six by fluke or chance. It didn’t feel conceptual anymore, this was real.

If nothing else, he would do it for Vicchan. For the miracle that was his dog’s life; his perseverance and resilience--against so much adversity wrapped around such a tiny body--Yuuri would do the same. With those thoughts in mind, he glided into position at the center of the rink.

When the results rolled in he couldn’t believe it.

At his first Grand Prix Final--when he thought he was going to lose his dog, his chance to show everyone what he was truly capable of--Yuuri had won a silver medal.

After Yuuri received his medal he was immediately gathered by his coach to accept a video chat and was met with boisterous congratulations from his rinkmates at the Detroit Skating Club. Phichit was front and center, promising that next Grand Prix he would be on the podium with Yuuri. Chris, who he only edged out by less than a point, had congratulated him next--talking him into--or rather lightly coercing him into taking a selfie with their medals.

Victor, he noticed, was different after they’d left the ice, the din of the crowd far behind. He was... quiet. Yuuri had spent a lot of time fantasizing what it would be like to share a podium with him over the years. Yet it still felt like it wasn’t quite what he was expecting. When Victor noticed Yuuri staring, he flashed him a grin and wink while offering his own congratulations, like he’d seen during so many of Victor’s public appearances. Yuuri blushed and froze in place, but at the same time had a conflicting thought that the look didn’t really suit him.

These were the thoughts that occupied him at the banquet as he stood in front of a table filled with flutes of sparkling champagne. He warmed the cold glass between his fingertips, mindlessly watching the amber liquid swirl through hazy eyes. Letting out a heavy sigh he brought it to his lips and took a large gulp.

He really needed to get back. Celestino wouldn’t be happy that he’d been away from the group for so long. He'd just needed a few minutes to himself. It was overwhelming talking to so many important people, to so many people in general, but he’d been away long enough. As surreal as it was, he was a silver medalist at a Grand Prix Final. His resume was looking so much more promising.

I even have official duties now, he thought with a smile and cautious optimism.

Yuuri blinked as the blurry shape of a pale hand entered his field of vision. Deft fingers wrapped around one of the flutes in front of him before darting out of sight. He exhaled and removed his blue framed glasses, rubbing his tired eyes.

“...Yuuri Katsuki?”

His eyes shot open. Oh god...

That voice--ever loose and suggestive, standing as both a memory from childhood and an ideal he believed in--made every thought come to a screeching halt.

Yuuri made a strangled sound and nearly dropped his glass, inwardly cursing his lack of composure and inability to actually not embarrass himself. Why did he still have to act this way around him? He just shared a podium with him!

Hesitantly, he replaced his glasses and turned to face the man behind him, hoping he was at least wearing a collected expression. He doubted it.

Victor was of course as gorgeous as every physical or mental picture Yuuri had of him. Yet he looked different. Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting. They were all exhausted after the competition and gala, but it felt like something else. It was there; thick and heavy in his expression, something familiar now that Yuuri could see up close. He was used to seeing that look. It peered back at him through a mirror often on days when he couldn’t find the energy to pull himself out of bed.

Yuuri felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat. “Um. Yes?”

Victor looked bewildered and--was his face a bit flushed?

“You, you just look very different with your glasses in person--I didn’t recognize you when you walked in,” He observed, looking contemplative.

Yuuri had the random thought that if multiverse theory was right, he hoped his parallel self was having a better time than him.

The first time he actually had a conversation with his lifelong idol and he ends up more fixated on how Yuuri looks with or without his glasses. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh in dismay or slink away upstairs and hide in his hotel room. He knew he couldn’t do that though. Celestino would drag him back bodily if needed. He was a silver medalist and ISU representatives and sponsors wanted to talk to him.

...How did this even become his life? This was officially the weirdest day.

Victor was looking at him strangely and Yuuri realized with mortification that he’d zoned out while staring for almost five minutes. The fact that Victor hadn’t walked away yet was a miracle.

“That look in your eyes just now...” Victor said, tilting his head. “It was similar to how you looked during your free skate. You look like you have a lot on your mind while you perform. Like you’re in another world.”

Yuuri thought of a lot of things while he skated. He didn’t think it would go over well if he mentioned that Victor was a frequent subject.

“Oh, umm. That’s nice,” Yuuri mumbled.

Immediately after speaking he felt like an idiot. ‘Nice?’ Really? Perhaps he could be eloquent for once in his life when the person who was both his idol and longtime crush decided to talk to him?

Victor didn’t seem to notice his internal meltdown. He looks... tired, Yuuri thought to himself again.

“You look like you’d rather be somewhere else.” Yuuri said without thinking.

“Do I?” Victor asked without inflection. “Do you want me somewhere else?” He then asked with a smirk.

“N-No, I just--”

Yuuri bit his lip. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? There was actually some part of him that thought this was a good idea.

“Um. Victor?” He ventured, effort to speak in a firm manner in mind.

Victor raised an inquisitive brow and gestured for him to continue.

“My family runs an onsen in Hasetsu, a small harbor town. It’s a popular hotspot among tourists. You should--” Yuuri cleared his throat. “You could come? After skating season I mean. You’d be in my family’s care.”

Victor regarded him, mild incredulity creasing his brow.

“That’s a little forward between competitors, don’t you think?” He replied, expression still unhelpfully blank.

Yuuri immediately wished he could take it back.

“Or,” Victor added before he could say anything. “If you’re looking for a good word I’d be happy to tweet about it? Word of mouth is the best advertisement.”

He then smiled brightly. It was that smile combined with his wording that made Yuuri feel disturbed. There was a resigned look to his eye.

Yuuri felt his stomach plummet. His resolve was crumbling; slipping through his fingers, but he still wanted another attempt. Victor seemed so different right now. He wanted to know more about him, not what he read about. He needed to do it now, before the confidence gained from a successful competition left him.

He swallowed and tried again.

“You just--looked like you needed a break is all.”

Victor’s eyes widened.

“Anyway,” Yuuri demurred and backed away, ready to retreat. “The offer still stands... so please think about it.”

Yuuri bowed out of habit before turning and walking away. He tried, that was enough. He still had to prep for finals and finish off his last semester in Detroit next March. He still had the remaining competitions. After that... well, he hadn’t made any further decisions yet. He already skated on the same ice as Victor, what else could he do?

At least he wouldn't leave regretting that he never asked.

He didn’t notice Victor’s eyes following him until he was out of sight.

It seemed like Yuuri was in a state of constant disbelief these days. He won both Japan’s nationals and Four Continents, the latter which he’d never come in first. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d won back to back competitions. Not since his last year as a junior, before having to make the transition to seniors.

At Worlds he came in second--Victor won gold, his fifth consecutive world title-- but that wasn’t the only thing the skating world was talking about. In just a few short months, Yuuri had closed the gap between their scores since the Grand Prix Final, by a few points just under half.

Victor may have been the gold medalist--but you’d think it was Yuuri--considering how loud the crowd was when the official placed the medal around his neck. He felt humbled, light and euphoric as he waved to the crowd in his home country. He finally brought them home two medals from two of the biggest skating competitions.

At one moment he noticed Victor had stopped interacting with the fans like normal. Instead he was looking at Yuuri with an inscrutable expression, leaving Yuuri to only guess what he was thinking. He wondered briefly if he was angry.

He decided to give Victor space.

Even though he knew Vicchan would eventually make a full recovery, it wasn’t enough to put Yuuri at ease. He needed to be there, he wanted to see his family and friends. Now with his final year of college concluded and a degree to show for it, he was going home.

When Yuuri returned he was relieved to see in person that Vicchan's recovery was going well. He couldn’t embrace him fully yet, being mindful of the splint. But seeing him and touching him again after so long was enough. His little body was so warm, his personality still so lively and full to the brim with effervescence.

Mari told him that it could’ve been worse, a lot worse if the driver hadn’t seen Vicchan dart across the road when he did. The damage had been minimal.

Yuuri could tell she blamed herself. They were never touchy but he knew she cared. She had been the one to take care of Vicchan during his absence.

“It’s okay, Mari,” He said to her. “He’s going to be okay... Vicchan’s fine,” He repeated what she’d said to him and hoped he conveyed that he didn’t hold her responsible at all. It was an accident.

Mari exhaled and smiled back at him.

That summer had to be known as the ‘season of surprises,’ Yuuri decided.

Yet surprise didn’t begin to encompass the feeling a month later when Victor did show up for had been a planned week of vacation with his own poodle Makkachin. Vicchan had gained a fast friend in the full sized poodle while Victor was immediately entranced by their size difference.

Victor was different since their talk in Sochi, even more so since he’d seen him at Worlds. He was energetic, taking in the sights with childlike wonder as they walked their dogs together. It had baffled Yuuri at first, but his energy became endearing. He was so nice like this.

Victor could barely contain his excitement when he found out he shared Vicchan’s given name. He cooed to the “world’s second cutest poodle after Makkachin of course” about how they were twins. Yuuri wasn’t ready to reveal why that was just yet.

He could tell his poodle was taken with Victor too. Vicchan had always been a dog with energy to spare and it went well with Victor’s personality. Yuuri had a passing thought and wondered if excitement was a trait shared among Victors, human or dog.

Victor had apologized for his initial reaction to the invite. He’d assumed Yuuri had only wanted a plug for the onsen. He also told Yuuri it had been a long time since anyone had invited him to do something that had nothing to do with skating.

Yuuri had no idea, but he felt warmth spread through him at Victor’s happy expression.

To Yuuri’s incredulity and embarrassment, Victor also revealed that the GPF wasn’t the first time he’d him skate. Yuuri also had a reputation among the other competitors for being elusive to the point of mysterious during competitions, only showing his face when the time came for him to actually skate.

“You’re very intriguing, you know,” Victor added with a wink.

Yuuri was floored. He had no idea he even had a reputation. Let alone could think other competitors found him ‘mysterious.’

To add to the ongoing list of ‘How to Fluster and Embarrass Yuuri this Summer’ there was the manner in which his mother started referring to them.

“Your two Vicchans are in the other room!” Hiroko called out to him cheerfully one morning. Mari burst out laughing from where she was eating breakfast.

“My--my... what?” Yuuri shook his head and called a bit louder. "Victor?!”

“Yes?” Victor answered and Vicchan followed with an answering bark from his perch on Victor’s lap as they both gazed up at Yuuri earnestly. Makkachin was next to them and boofed happily.

Yuuri felt the urge to clutch his chest. His “Two Victors”... he couldn’t believe it.

Before they knew it, a one week vacation would eventually turn into two and so on.

Next skating season would go down in history as the “Katsuki/Nikiforov rivalry.” For Yuuri and Victor, at most it was a friendly competitiveness, but they also made it no secret they were dating, as much as their busy schedules permitted. Predictably the tabloids exploded and the news was met with some pushback. Most notably columnists pointing out the conflict of interest, especially when rumors of Victor giving him advice that stepped on Celestino’s toes surfaced. This would be the first of many seasons they would end up being a source of ire and dismay to both the JSF and FFKKR.

Yuuri didn’t think it was a big deal. Victor was known to give skaters advice. He knew Victor held too much love and respect for the sport to ever throw a competition, so he felt complaints of nepotism were unfounded.

“I didn’t have to do much anyway,” Victor said truthfully after Yuuri mentioned the article. “You aren’t technically unsound. Any jumps you’re missing I can help you with. I can also help with your confidence too. I’ve seen you win, Yuuri. I know you can aim higher.”

Skating on the same level as Victor had been his goal for years; now he had a new one. He would be going up against Victor again at the Grand Prix Final and Worlds. It was then he knew he wanted nothing else than to beat Victor.

It felt like that season went by in a blur. In Barcelona, on what ended up being the night before the competition, Yuuri proposed under fairy lights next to a choir in a local cathedral.

There was a change forthcoming in the skating world--and Yuuri was the one leading it. Victor said he’d never been more happy to receive a silver medal, two in fact. Phichit also made good on his promise of a podium finish and won bronze at the Grand Prix while a younger skater named Otabek Altin took bronze during Worlds.

Yuuri knew that Victor was being honest, but he still wondered if he was upset with the way his competitive career ended. He would always be the Living Legend, but he wasn’t undefeated. Nor was he considered unbeatable, his reputation was compromised--

“You say I was compromised,” Victor said as he hung Yuuri’s medals next to his own, observing that he’d need more space for Yuuri’s future medals. “I’d call it closure.”

“Closure?” Yuuri questioned.

Victor was completely moved into Yuuri’s home in Hasetsu now. He’d even let his lease on his apartment in St. Petersburg run out. This was real--Yuuri thought with more optimism than he remembered having felt before--he was really here. Permanently. He was staying.

“This past year I spent with you, then competing against you... I now recognize where I was, Yuuri.” Victor continued. “I’d accomplished everything there was to accomplish. Yet every year I felt like I had to do it all again, but better. Before last summer I was planning to take a break. What I didn’t know is that I had other options... until I met you.”

Victor closed the case with a metallic click, the sound echoing in the room where they were sitting together on the floor in Victor’s room. It was their room technically, as Yuuri now spent every night there.

“Losing to you was the closure I didn’t know I was looking for,” He said softly, expression so fond Yuuri was sure his heart would combust.

Victor had a pensive look on his face and Yuuri reached over, lacing their fingers together. Victor immediately squeezed back.

“I think,” He continued. “There would’ve come a time, even a few years from now, when I’d look back on my career and feel unsatisfied and bitter. I was tired, Yuuri. I can’t remember the last time I’d felt inspired. I’d forgotten what it felt like to love the ice, but...”

Yuuri felt solemn as he listened to Victor’s confession. He’d been right, he realized. That look in Victor’s eyes when he got to see him up close and not through photos and a camera lens. Victor had been depressed and didn’t even know it. No one could tell either. As someone who’d lived through depressive spells for years it only made Yuuri’s heart ache. He couldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone someone he loved.

Victor pivoted to face him fully and lifted Yuuri’s other hand. He held both their hands up between them.

“Now I think when I look back on my career, I’ll see a story that came to its natural conclusion. When I was defeated in competition, it felt like I was free. You did that.” Throughout his confession he’d begun gingerly kissing the tips of Yuuri’s fingers, almost worshipful.

He paused his ministrations. “And I can’t think of anyone better to pass that torch to...” He concluded. “Now it’s time I move on. I want to see someone else reach that pinnacle.”

He took Yuuri's hand and gently kissed his palm. “But unlike me, you won’t be alone when you do it,” He promised.

“Victor...”

Yuuri sniffed and removed his glasses to wipe at his eyes. He didn’t even know when he started crying but it didn’t matter. After he placed them on the floor next to them he launched himself into Victor’s arms. There wasn’t anything he could do to take away Victor’s past hurt, but he could be there for him now. He would be there for him. He had a matching gold ring as proof of that commitment.

There were times when he felt like he could drown in his love for Victor, it helped knowing the feeling was mutual.

Yuuri didn’t know what to say to Victor’s desire to see him succeed. He hadn’t mentioned it yet, but he’d amicably parted ways with Celestino after the season concluded. Winning a gold medal through beating Victor had been his goal; something he realized he’d wanted to do in Sochi too. As overwhelming as it was, he’d accomplished that. Twice. Yuuri didn’t know what was left for him if he continued.

Shortly after Victor talked about wanting to retire. The reality of a skating world without Victor made Yuuri mournful, but after hearing about how much skating ended up taking out of him, he understood. Then an idea struck him. Victor had a way of giving good advice, maybe he could apply that? Offhandedly Yuuri suggested he could coach.

Victor looked surprised but said nothing. He liked to retreat to his thoughts quite a bit, Yuuri had noticed.

Yuuri wished he could take it back. His own thoughts always sounded better in his head. Out loud they usually sounded ridiculous.

It wasn’t so ridiculous however when a week passed, just before winter gave way to spring, that Victor announced that was exactly what he wanted to do. Not only that, but he wanted to coach him. He also believed Yuuri could score even higher.

“In fact,” Victor said and fixed him with a studious look. “I think you could even beat my combined total. What do you say, Yuuri? I won’t be easy on you. Only because I want to see you reach further than your wildest imagination. That’s how I’ll show my love.”

Yuuri--after sputtering for a good five minutes--finally agreed. If because he wanted nothing more than to stay with Victor long after he retired--now his fiancé and coach. Thanks to Victor, he also had a new goal to strive towards.

Winter had quickly become Yuuri’s favorite season.

#yuuriweek #day: 1 #theme: terra incognita #theme: seasons #katsuki yuuri #yuuri katsuki #queue #fic

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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Is the Stanley Cup worthless?

Let’s start out with some disclaimers. For one, the Stanley Cup certainly isn’t worthless to the hundreds of players who fight through two months of grueling hockey for it. Those guys often play through injury and sacrifice their long-term health just for the chance to lift the Stanley Cup. Their meaning vested in the Stanley Cup is thoroughly established and that is almost an entirely different topic. Another disclaimer: this is not about my team’s inability to accomplish the feat of winning a Stanley Cup. I am not here to complain about the Playoff format, the seeding or even the Sabres inability to make the playoffs the last eight years. This question has nothing to do with any of those problems. No, this question is actually remarkably difficult to answer because it’s a question about the fundamental makeup of the highest-skill hockey league in the world.

I openly asked this question on twitter as the first round of the 2019 edition of the Stanley Cup Playoffs drew to a close. I got the answers you’d expect. You’re a cry baby, it’s about grit, its tradition, and my personal favorite: It’s the randomness that makes it worthwhile! There were actually some decent answers toward the end, but I’ll admit there was some venting going on about my bracket getting absolutely demolished by the postseason of upsets in the first round. The root of this is simple: We all venerate and remember who wins the Stanley Cup. That’s where the lore and honor of the NHL game comes from: but why? If it is a tournament of randomness and chance then the team that survives is just the luckiest survivor, no? Twitter was tough on me, but I guess one expects that from social media. Lucky for us, real experts have addressed the question and tried to come up with answers of their own.

Sean McIndoe (Down Goes Brown) at The Athletic wrote a smart piece on it. It’s called “The 2019 playoffs are total chaos. Is that good? It depends on your door.” You should absolutely go read this article. The paywall for The Athletic is a pretty short wall if you have any kind of income and I’m not going to spoil their paid content in my free content. The basic idea however is that we generally look at the Stanley Cup Playoffs two ways: Door One and Door Two. Door One is the best team always wins the Stanley Cup no matter what. Door Two is the best team may not win the Stanley Cup but its fun and that’s all that really matters. Read the article for the full breath of McIndoe’s analysis. It’s very good. These two doors are the convenient and most common ways we look at the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Before we go on here we have to note that many NHL professional writers, those who make a living off of analyzing this league, don’t even want to bother with the middle question here: Is the playoff chaos, particularly in this 2019 go-around, good for hockey? The why there I think is pretty straight forward: its nonsense. Individual things are good or bad for hockey. Whether this incredible Tampa team wins a Cup before it is blown up is ultimately secondary to real stuff like… I don’t know… is the league going to get real about long term head trauma and damage to its players or any number of actually meaningful problems that will be touched on in the next collective bargaining agreement? Those are the real problems and phrasing what we’re talking about today as a big issue is ultimately unhelpful for those dealing with the real problems with this league. There are many. Knowing NHL writers don’t care for the middle question answers part of my question: the way we judge the worthwhileness of the Stanley Cup for fans and Front Offices is more a theoretical question about what we want out of our sport than what actually matters in the politics of the league. Until we have that conversation the folks selling us the NHL product will continue to tell us the same thing about the playoffs.

The NHL says the Stanley Cup is the hardest trophy to win in sports for a few reasons: for one, its great marketing. Two, a cursory look over the playoff format compared to the other major North American Sports will seem to reveal with some degree of objectivity that it is in fact very hard to win. Once again, I’m not diminishing the players or coaches’ sacrifices; that stuff is very real indeed. But even if the Stanley Cup is the hardest trophy to win by the playoff structure, does that mean it goes to the best team when it is finally hoisted in the air? In the McIndoe visual of two doors I took Door Two. In my opinion the Stanley Cup simply does not go to the most skilled, complete NHL team at the end of the postseason. If it doesn’t go to the best team than is it actually worth anything to us Cup-hungry fans? If its not worth anything, why are fans and front offices judging teams, historically and present, based on winning it?

The answer to the first question is that it’s worth approximately 20K purely by its silver content if the market is booming. That was a joke, don’t @ me. Let it be clear that I love the Stanley Cup. I have some of my fondest memories with my father watching the Stanley Cup playoffs back in High School. I was not born and bred into hockey, I’m not a good olde Canadian boy, I’m not even Canadian; but the last decade of my life has been very enriched for having had it in my life. I care about NHL Hockey and the survival and growth of the sport if for no other reason than entertainment and sentiment. The reality is the affection is deep. I write fan fiction about that hunk of metal. I’m not kidding. I would love for there to be some secret history of the Stanley Cup connecting it to the Last Supper so I could venerate it like a religious relic and call it the Holy Grail with a seriously face. That trophy is my jam.

Then again, what about the Vancouver Canucks? I’m not a Canucks fan but that 2011 Stanley Cup Final is seared into my memory. The Canucks of that season and the one after were the best team in the league and yet that organization and all those fans will remain relegated to the ranks of teams without Stanley Cups just because the Final didn’t bounce their way. The unfairness there is palpable. They did get their trophy, the President’s Trophy for the best regular season team. The Lightning got it this year before getting swept in round one by a wild card team. However, the point remains those guys don’t deserve to be thought of as less than just because they weren’t lucky enough between April and June. How many other clubs are similarly cheated out of the status in the hockey history books they deserve? There is a whole rabbit hole I can go into about deserving. The good-old-boy culture of hockey will always respond to this “deserving” argument with the old adage: “The Stanley Cup is earned, not deserved.” God bless you, but the deeper question remains: why are fans judging teams, historically and present, being on winning it?

“Well, what do you prefer instead, Mr. Hockey-Philosopher who never even played the game?” I hear you. I don’t want the NBA postseason. I cannot imagine cheering on a basketball team in a league that has so little variance in who takes home titles. The higher seeded teams in that league are far more likely to win it all and upsets are far rarer. Let me be clear: I don’t want the Stanley Cup title to be a forgone conclusion in April. I am also not advocating for the Soccer world’s solution of not having playoffs at all. The answer to the problem I’m posing is not one we’ll find anywhere else in sports right now. The answer, again, is more about what we want as hockey fans.

The President’s Trophy is essentially the soccer solution. You get that trophy for being the best team of the regular season. Nowadays we talk about the trophy being a curse. In recent years the winner of that trophy fails to obtain the Stanley Cup far more often than not. It was however, instituted in the mid-1980s. If you know anything about hockey in the 1980s you know it was time dominated by high-scoring dynasties. Two teams won 70% of the Stanley Cup titles that decade. The league had to reward all the folks who weren’t the Edmonton Oilers or the New York Islanders who were relative Nuclear Superpowers compared to the rest of the league. Hockey of the NHL variety is not like it was in the 1980s in many ways; most notably there is enough parity in this league that, while there are still dynasties (probably), the variation of teams winning the Stanley Cup or getting close is a lot wider. So, what’s your problem then, you ask? If Stanley Cup titles are more equally distributed than ever and you even have a President’s Trophy to reward regular season greats, what’s the problem? Well outside of the President’s Trophy being viewed as a cursed object you don’t want to win, my problem is really with how we judge the clubs and players in our sport based on luck between April and June.

Before Alexander Ovechkin won the Stanley Cup in 2018 he was on track to be viewed as the greatest player ever to not win the Cup. He was getting gray in the beard and the media was beginning to roast him for it like the memes had been doing for over a decade. The articles written on him read like think pieces on what a trade would look like. Winning trophies is the prime focus of any real sports franchise. If you don’t do that, well maybe we should trade you! You can’t trade fans and the endless merry-go-round of front office ineptitude in Edmonton these days leads one to believe its fairly hard to successfully organize a winning Front Office as well. If you look at teams with the highest salary cap commitments it was all the lower ranked teams winning playoff series this year. The rich aren’t getting richer, it’s more like everyone is poor. And yet, we as fans demand our clubs bring us pride in the form of Stanley Cup banners! We value the Stanley Cup so much in an environment where no matter how much money our team’s decision makers throw at the roster problems we’re no more likely to get one of those oh so valuable Stanley Cup titles than had we done nothing and lucked into a few wins and fortuitous bounces in the Spring.

Clearly the Stanley Cup isn’t worthless. I’ll admit click-bait when I do it. But the reality is us NHL fans need to chill the F out about the Stanley Cup if we want to have any semblance of peace-of-mind. It’s not easy to win and its not supposed to be but its also not a measure of the overall quality of your franchise in the big picture. It isn’t the end-all-be-all of franchise success, it’s a measure of playoff success and that’s really it. Winning is what matters in this league and it should stay that way; but us fans need to reset the way we look at the Stanley Cup if this postseason chaos is going to become the new norm. We’re not prepared for this chaos now but we can be if we start thinking reasonably about what the Stanley Cup is worth.

#stanley cup playoffs #stanley cup #nhl #blog

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