#and if i ever hear someone say it’s cruel it’s an immediate red flag because either they believe everything on the internet

[gingeraleluke]

hi mads, hope your doing ok :)

i just wanted to remind you that even though your going through a tough time right now that you are strong and worthy of being loved just as much anyone else. i found this quote the other day that made me realize how often girls compare themselves to other girls. it said “real girls are never perfect and perfect girls are never real.”

you have every right to feel the way your feeling. if you feel sad or angry or disappointed, please do not be afraid to talk about your emotions. it’s good to let them out. you are beautiful just the way you are and i promise you that you will find someone that is loyal and accepts you for you. things like this take time to get over so don’t feel pressured to try and get over it quickly. once you’ve fully healed you’ll come back stronger than ever.

please take care of yourself, maybe eat and drink water if you haven’t already. you can do this. i love you 🤍

words cannot express the feelings i felt while reading this. i genuinely was brought to tears.

i can honestly promise that i love you guys an infinite amount more than it may seem. i love you guys a way that i didn’t even know was frankly possible. if you think the same way i do, than words on a screen may seem so small and easy to manipulate, but if i could show you guys just how much you mean to me, i would. i would scream from those rooftops and buy you all bouquets of flowers and individually tell you all just how much i love you. please believe me when i say that.

it may seem somewhat cruel to say, but i never saw myself as the type to be cheated on. not that it only attracts a specific type of person, i know that it’s a tragedy that can happen to anyone, but i just never really believed that i would be a victim of it. sure, i may be somewhat gullible and easy to take advantage of, but i also read situations really really well. so when i would hear stories or see girls get cheated and used in the movies, i would always immediately see the red flags and internally wonder how a girl could ever end up in that situation. it was just bizarre to me.

but now i get it.

i did see the signs. not only did i see the signs, but they were so fucking bright red that i practically needed sunglasses to shield my eyes from it and i must have gotten distracted and forgotten to take them off. it made his bad parts seem dimmer and his virtues look bigger, and i was too into him to take a step back. i was too scared that it would all go away with one wrong step, and i’d be back at square one. the irony is, i was right. it did all go away in the blink of an eye— but it wasn’t me who made the wrong step— it was him.

i grew so used to feeling at fault, that him fucking up wasn’t even a possible outcome in my book. don’t get me wrong, it would still appear here and there in my mind as a little footnote that i would just gloss my eyes over and remind myself that he promised he wouldn’t. unfortunately, promises don’t come with proof of purchase so you have to just take their words as they are, or at least that’s how i always saw it. it was like people would set bear traps for me and when i’d get my foot caught in one, i’d take the blame. i’d think it’s my fault, even though i didn’t set it. blaming fireworks for going off when you were the one who lit them ablaze. none of it was my fault, i was just antagonizing myself to make it seem that way, because in my eye, he was the hero of my story and not me.

plot twist motherfucker.

not only was he the villain, but, promises aren’t free like i thought they were. even though you can’t prove that you bought it, you can’t diminish the price. you can’t just use the words ‘i promise’ as a magic word and follow it up with shitty actions and bullshit excuses and call it payment when it isn’t. you need to let people prove themselves before you throw all of your pennies into their fountain and expect something magic to happen when they haven’t shown you that they are even capable of doing it. you are worth diamonds and not everyone can afford that and it isn’t your fault.

it wasn’t my fault that he took me for granted. that he lost who i can promise was the greatest lover he could ever ask for to his own stupid actions, so i won’t hold myself accountable. people are fucking stupid and what goes around comes around. i told him he’d wake up one day and regret it. that he’d realize just how fucking awful of a person he was for using me and that he’d find himself up at night thinking about it. maybe not now, but it will come, and even if he doesn’t feel guilty, that isn’t on me anymore. i can’t script in a person who simply doesn’t fit the story that i desire to write and i’m sure as hell not gonna let him make me feel bad about it.

so yeah, it hurts. it sucks and still leaves an acidic taste in my mouth when i talk about it. it still makes my skin crawl when i think about them together and makes my stomach hurt when i hear her name. and you can say ‘oh, maddi, but she didn’t know!’ but no, she did. the two of them can go to hell for all i care but i have a feeling that whatever the universe has planned for them, is a lot more fitting than that.

so while i wish it didn’t hurt so much, i’m glad it happened. i’m glad i’m not a woman like her who thinks that men are prizes to be fought over and that relationships are easy to be thrown away—

but im even more glad that im not with a guy who lets his ego get to his head so much that he forgets that he needs to still pay diamonds and instead goes for something smaller that costs monopoly money because it’s less of a commitment.

anyways, i have the literal worst migraine in the entire fucking world so i apologize if some things i wrote don’t make sense. i again, wanna thank you. i’m grateful for you looking out for me and being so understanding. i’m forcing myself to drink water and eat just for you and everyone else who has sent me an ask reminding me. i know it may seem small and stupid, but when you go through a pain like this, it’s hard to remember the little things that keep you alive. i did in fact shower today and go outside to see the moon! stupid small things like that are what makes me proud of myself, whether people get it or don’t.

thank you for being here with me through this. i love you immensely and will continue loving you until this little app begs me to stop <3

#ilysm #break ups #tw//cheating #personal #vent

[byunbaekby]

title — bloom again (teaser #1) pairing — racer!jaemin x female reader genres — angst, fluff, racer au, slight college au, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, love triangle, hurt and comfort overall warnings  (to be updated) — language, cheating, mentions of abuse, depictions of a toxic/abusive relationship (not between jaemin and the reader), optional smut, illegal street racing, mentions of drugs teaser warnings — none teaser word count — 1.7k words summary — the world has never been kind to na jaemin. left alone with a deadbeat mother, he's learned how to survive on his own. now twenty and a college student whose life and vitality (not to mention his rent) relies solely on his success in his career as an illegal street racer, he runs alone. everything he has, he’s fought for with his own hands and grit. he’s never asked for anything, which is what makes the world so cruel: when he finally meets someone who he desires for more than a night, you already belong to someone else. additional — for the racer collab, created by the wonderful @ickjun and managed by the one and only @lucas-wongs​ !!

projected release — may/june 2021 projected word count — 20k

send an ask to be added to the tag list!

-

CASIA APARTMENTS [8:12AM] 

It’s an early Saturday morning. It’s laundry day, and due to Jaemin’s affinity for avoiding unnecessary social interaction as much as possible, he wanted to be first in the laundry room. 

As he pushes open the door to the laundry room, basket of clothes in hand, Jaemin catches sight of a lone figure, wrapped within the confines of a fluffy white blanket. His first thought is that this person, whoever they are, resembles a marshmallow. Choosing not to comment, he walks over to an available washer and begins piling his clothes inside. 

“Oh?” He hears, uttered in a muffled yelp. “Blue.”

Though he initially places his focus on his clothes, his attention is piqued by the sudden calling of a nickname. He finds himself face to face with you once again, your visage hidden between two fluffy white sheets. Your lips are lifted into an inevitable smile, stripping yourself of the blanket to stuff it in a washer. 

“I might have to think you’re following me around now,” you joke.

Seeing who you are now behind the blanket, a comfortable smile makes its way across his lips, smooth as butter as his gaze falls upon your familiar face. “It might seem that way.” It seems his usual antisocial disposition has faded away in the presence of this marshmallow-like girl. “I actually have reason to think it’s you following me.” 

“Is that it? Well, enlighten me, Blue, because I can assure you it’s the other way around,” you say dramatically, reverting back to your goofy demeanor. The two of you press the buttons upon the machines, beginning your washers at a similar start before you make your way to a vacant bench on the sidelines. 

“Hm.” A playful look of deliberation makes home across the male’s visage, and he tilts his head slightly for good measure, as though he were in thought. “Well for one, I didn’t trip on anything last time, but you happened to be there when I did. Maybe…” He trails. “You tripped me just so you could hang out with me.”

You gasp, shaking your head profusely before placing an entirely harmless smack on his shoulder. “I believe you’re framing me. For you tripping, I think you’re underestimating just how clumsy you are.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, marshmallow.” 

“Marshmallow? Is that your nickname for me now?”

It wasn’t that he had been trying to find a fitting nickname for you recently, but it had crossed his mind. “Yeah, you’re a marshmallow. It just came to me. Now we both have nicknames for each other.”

“That’s cute, I like it.” You nod. You could get used to him calling you that, much like he could with your choice of nickname. “Marshmallow and Blue, us against the world. Laundry buddies.”

“We sound like a lame superhero team,” he comments.

Your hands raise out of defense, teeth now sinking in the plushness of your lower lip in a feeble attempt to hide your ever-growing grin. “No one was supposed to see me in my marshmallow form. Superheroes gotta hide their identity, y’know? I’d like to say you aren’t very slick with yours,” you say, gesturing up to his full head of blue tresses. Your palms slightly rub at your face, and as a yawn slips through your tiers, you fail to confine it. 

“Tired?” asks Jaemin.

“Mm, a bit,” you tell him. “I was up late last night studying.” Suddenly he stands, and your gaze follows him. He makes his way over to his basket, and with curiosity brewing you ask, “Any plans for tonight?” 

“No, not beside studying and maybe Netflix,” he responds as he pulls out a blanket from the bottom of his basket (which he had planned to wash in a second load). He pulls to him one of the laundry carts and meticulously lays his blanket over it, creating a cushioned nest. 

You didn’t need to know that he had a race sometime tonight, and would likely nap in a couple hours after completing his laundry to prepare for the long night he had ahead of him. His typical Friday night race had been cancelled due to tip-offs from the police, but he had caught word of an unfamiliar race a little bit out of town. Instead, he gestures to the makeshift bed he’s made, a playful smile tugging at his lips. It’s an attempt to help the fatigue that drapes over your eyes.

“Get in.” 

First confusion adorns your features before realization sinks in, and you stand with an enthused smile. Climbing in with a laugh, you ease in, frame fitting inside. 

“Here, push me. Like a speed racer!” One step further, you place your hands onto each side of the laundry cart, exuding sheer eagerness and no longer that exhaustion that had shown moments before. 

“I thought you were tired and wanted to sleep,” he comments at your willingness to be pushed around, as though he were some kind of amusement park ride.

“I thought I was too, but this is better.”

“I’ll tire you out so you can sleep well later,” he says, preparing to push you around in circles through the laundry room. Nonetheless, he starts to move you, pushing you alone. First, he starts out slow, trying his best to maneuver your large conjoined figure about the small room.

Deliberate chuckles leave your lips, subconsciously leaning against his chest without meaning to. As he relishes in the sweet euphoria of your giggles, all he wants to do is keep hearing this sound.

So to pleasure his own desires, he runs a bit faster, picking up the speed whilst also trying to avoid crashing into the large machines. He was a racer, after all. Though this was surely a much smaller scale race than he was accustomed to. Smoothly, he drifts into a circle, spinning the two of you whilst an unfamiliar laugh pours from his lips. This earns him a mellifluous guffaw from you. It’s unlike him; you bring out a new side of him.  

You attempt to muffle your chortles into his chest. The blue-haired boy is caught off guard by the sudden action; this shock, instigated by the pressing of your flesh against his, causes him to nearly pummel into the machine before you. 

Luckily, Jaemin’s fast instincts from collective years of high speed racing causes him to turn before the collision, narrowly avoiding a disaster. He comes to a slow stop, breath accelerated.

“Sorry,” you laugh, pulling your face out to laugh once more. “I’m giving you a workout.” 

Your face is contorted into a bright expression, sparkles lighting up your eyes as you gaze up at him mid-laugh. Jaemin gulps.

Even if he’s never been subject to a committed relationship, Jaemin is no fool to attraction. And that is where he feels wrong: there is someone else in your life, someone who deserves you much more than he. 

This is wrong. Not because it feels wrong, but because Jaemin knows it is.

There’s a moment, a prolonged period where the two of you stare at each other. Having been caught in a joyous laugh, your eyes still sparkle as you gaze at him from where you sit in the laundry cart. You’re looking at him so fondly, and without thinking, Jaemin’s hand reaches up to guide a few stray strands of your hair behind the shell of your ear.

You’re blinking, seemingly dumbfounded at his gesture. Your head angles slightly, barely leaning into his touch.

For a moment, likely the shortest sliver of time to ever exist in the universe, time is stilled. All that lives in the moment is the two of you, alone in this laundry room. Fingers lingering so softly against the gentle fabric of your skin, Jaemin can do little but stare. It’s comfortable, fleeting. 

Until the two of you realize just what you’re doing. It hits the both of you at a hundred miles per hour. 

Red flag. 

You straighten suddenly, and Jaemin immediately retracts his hand. As if on cue, the noises from your washing machines come to a stop. For a moment, you don’t speak. “Come on, let’s… put our stuff in the dryer.”

A cough sounds from Jaemin’s throat. “Yeah… let’s.”

Without his help, you prop yourself out of the cushioned cart and flutter over to your machine, unloading your clothes with your back to him. It’s clear what is going on in both your minds: Replaying the scene. Reminiscing the other’s laughter.

No, this is wrong—on a multitude, absolutely endless stream of levels. You have a boyfriend, someone for you back home.

The best thing you both can do is… ignore it. Yeah, that’s the better option. 

Jaemin finishes stuffing his load into the dryer first, and because he cannot look at you, he turns away to place his focus upon the laundry cart which was once your object of amusement. Now, he grabs the blanket he had placed inside and folds it meticulously. He cannot suppress these feelings. 

But he has to, and the only way he knows how to is to eject himself.

“I’ve actually uh… got a lot of assignments to do.” Looking around the virtually empty laundry room, he looks to you, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ll probably leave this here and come back when the hour is done.” 

You don’t respond for a moment.

“Oh,” you say after a prolonged pause, and even Jaemin can hear just how evident the disappointment is in your tone. “Alright. Well… Have a good rest of your day, Blue. Thanks for spending some time with me.”

He resents that. That you’re still so kind to him, despite him running away. But he knows himself, and the only way to ignore whatever these… feelings are, he needs to avoid them. The feeling of guilt that rushes over him upon seeing the deflated change in your demeanor, like a bucket of ice cold water poured upon him, is almost enough to make him stay.

Almost. 

“You too, Marshmallow,” he responds before exiting the room with his folded blanket, leaving you with the sickening feeling that he no longer wanted to be in your presence.

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream fluff

[cherrywoes]

dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x f!reader x oc)

i. ikigai.

— the reason for being; the reason you wake up in the morning.

rating: mature for sexual content, violence, blood, gore, etcetera.

warnings: violence in this chapter, graphic descriptions of viscera and gore, murder.

a/n: i caved and finally wrote it. feedback is appreciated (adored *cough*). next on my list is a chapter for the girl in the foxes’ den. <3 

THE SMELL OF BLOOD would make some people gag. But you—sitting complacently in the small, cramped room offered to you by the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College’s higher ups, the only thing they would even deem appropriate to allow you to own—were used to the faint tang of iron, the putrid odor of someone’s bowels spilling out of their body through a horizontal gash between their hips.

It was a regular occurrence, or at least a daily chore, that you had to clean blood out of the tatami mats and replace the shoji doors entirely. Most of your tiny allowance, collected from the bodies of the assassins who had been paid to kill you, was enough to pay for it, but sometimes you had to wonder if it was just as much a chore for the janitors to make the bodies vanish as it was for you to try to get blood out of tatami mats—which was hilariously difficult.

Staring at the decapitated head lying at your knees, you dodged a spurt of arterial spray coming from the stump of the neck, following the trajectory with your eyes and internally withering away as it struck at yet another set of shoji doors, rendering you up to two sets you would be replacing in the next couple of days. Masamichi Yaga would be disappointed in you; at least, you figured he would be. It wasn’t as if he was paying you many visits lately, not with the way your Curse was acting up lately.

Ama-no-Kagaseo slumbered away peacefully in your arms. Held by a sash wrapped around your shoulders and back with Shinto charms woven into the very seams, he was virtually hidden from sight so only you could see the small, chubby face within, and the wisps of pale hair curling at his forehead. He looked almost innocent like this, if you could just ignore the body bleeding before your kneeling form and the way an invisible breeze brushed hair away from your ear to whisper an unintelligible term of affection, as if you were oblivious to his presence.

“Another body, [Name]-san?”

The gentle touch at the back of your neck vanished. You looked over to the now opened shoji door to see your teacher—over qualified executioner, you liked to call her—Fujiwara, Sayaka standing at the threshold. She wore the typical black uniform of the college, personalized into a sleek and form fitting pant suit embellished with charms and cleverly woven Jujutsu spells to shield her from Ama-no-Kagaseo’s temper. While you had never told her they wouldn’t do any good, as he had tore through higher grade spells like paper before, she seemed to be aware of the constant danger she was in by just being around you or in your personal space. Sayaka was sketchy and dodgy at best, but she could match Gojo, Satoru on a bad day, so you trusted in her power at least only marginally. Your fondness for the woman was probably the only thing keeping her alive.

“Yes.” The carefully crafted speech of the Shiraishi clan was something Sayaka hated and you used as a security blanket. The elders couldn’t say anything if you were polite, respectful, and kept Ama-no-Kagaseo on a leash; which was foolish, you’d wanted to tell them, because the malevolent god was not above overpowering you and waking from his sleep if he so wanted. “This would be the sixth one this month. Do they ever run out of bodies to slaughter?”

“I’m afraid not.” The woman’s pale pink hair shone in the sunlight peeking through the broken roof that the assassin had launched himself through. It had been a comical sight; you’d even dropped your green tea in shock, even though you shouldn’t have been surprised with how often it happened. “Well, you can’t stay here—not now, anyways. I’ve been given new orders to secure your lodging on the college campus, effective immediately.”

You raised an eyebrow. You had never been allowed to set foot on the campus ever since you’d taken your position as Ama-no-Kagaseo’s vessel. You vaguely remembered the people there—Fushiguro, Megumi and Panda to name two—and what it looked like, though it had been so long that you wondered what they looked like now. They had been young, like you, when you met them, Panda being an adorable presence that had raised your spirits if only for a little while. Ama-no-Kagaseo was considered a threat to all life and, as such, you had to keep away from the main populace of Jujutsu sorcerers for their safety… or the higher up’s whims. So to hear you were going there, immediately, without question, raised a few red flags for you.

“What’s going on?” You asked, though the demand in your voice was clear. It was something you had picked up from Ama-no-Kagaseo when he had first started speaking to you through your linked souls. Sayaka always seemed unnerved when you demanded something of her, as if seeing something you couldn’t, not that you would be surprised if she could. She’d seen a manifestation of Ama-no-Kagaseo’s essence around you more than once and nearly lost her eye for it; the scar running lengthwise down her face was proof of it. “You know as well as I do that they would never let me set foot on those grounds unless something more important than keeping Ama-no-Kagaseo sealed came up.”

Sayaka squinted at something over your shoulder right as you felt the jade pins in your hair tinkle like windchimes. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

You offered her a sheepish smile. Ama-no-Kagaseo was fond of getting on every single one of Sayaka’s nerves through you, since you wouldn’t let him kill her without shunning him entirely. It was an unusually innocent form of torture for him, one you never took for granted. That didn’t mean that she understood exactly how lucky she was that he didn’t resort to his more cruel methods of torture.

“He’s been calm today,” you said in lieu of reassuring her. You deliberately left out the fact that he was more occupied with playing with the anklet around your sock clad ankle, a Shiraishi family heirloom that hadn’t been worn since Ama-no-Kagaseo had been sealed. The malevolent energy it gave off was distinctly Ama-no-Kagaseo’s and you doubted any of the other women before you had been comfortable wearing it. “You’ll be okay for today.”

“Like that’s supposed to be reassuring,” she scoffed. You had to begrudgingly agree; he had been calm the day he’d given her that scar, although the incident leading up to it had been… extenuating, to say the least. She eyed the still form of his human body in your arms and then looked away. “How far does his domain extend now?”

You recognized the question for what it was: a distraction. Clearly whatever was going on was something you weren’t privy to, or were ever going to be privy to. You pressed your lips together and Ama-no-Kagaseo stopped playing with your anklet to swipe an invisible finger over your mouth, unpleased with your dour expression. You attempted to relax your facial muscles ever so slightly and that seemed to satiate him, because he went back to fiddling with the charms on your anklet. If Sayaka noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“It’s extended.” You adjusted the sash around your shoulders uncomfortably. Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain was not something you wanted to talk about; Sayaka reported everything to the higher ups, and as a consequence, what little freedom you had was suppressed with every little progression that Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain made towards more leeway. You had a feeling that he repressed his malicious urges for your sake, but you couldn’t be entirely sure—he never spoke in entire sentences, just fragments of words and quiet terms of endearment. “I think maybe a few feet. I’m not sure.”

It was more like another mile, rolling his total up to two miles, but you kept that part to yourself. Sayaka seemed to accept your answer, still eyeing the space that the Curse was occupying beside you, and then looked at your kimono like she always did. It wasn’t as if it was exactly normal.

When you had gained Ama-no-Kagaseo’s trust—or affection?—your wardrobe had been sliced to ribbons and replaced with shimmering kimonos of the highest quality silk, imbued with Ama-no-Kagaseo’s Curse energy and embroidered with his personal sigil. You had been distraught over your lost possessions, many of them belonging to your mother, the former vessel before you, but you had grown to appreciate the garments for their beauty and comfort. The silk seemed to have a permanent projection of the night sky upon it so that when you moved, the stars would shift as if in a time lapse recording. Ama-no-Kagaseo only let you remove it when you went to bathe or got ready for bed. By the time you were awake and moving out of bed, the kimono—sometimes a variant with thicker layers or thinner ones—was already wrapped around your body again as if it had never left in the first place.

“I’m guessing you won’t be allowed to wear the uniform,” she sighed, indicating that you’d need to blend in for whatever it was that was going on. “Damn. Okay, well, we can work on that later. Right now we need to get you packed and moving before—”

“Kelp.”

You hadn’t noticed the new presence at the door, or even within Ama-no-Kagaseo’s domain. Your eyes darted to the door, instinctively bristling as if an assassin was awaiting you, and all at once, you felt the temperature in the room—once a comfortable sixty-five degrees—drop significantly. Sayaka’s eyes widened and almost a second too late, she shoved the white haired male to the floor. A fraction of a second later a harsh gust of wind blew the wall behind his head out, the roof slumping down and crumbling into a pile of debris.

“Inumaki-san!” Sayaka growled, gritting her teeth in frustration. She got to her feet and when she was sure that Ama-no-Kagaseo’s curse energy wasn’t fluctuating for another hit, she pulled the male to his feet. He seemed a little shell shocked, or at the very least surprised, and his dark gaze drifted to you in minute curiosity. “Didn’t I tell you not to come in until I explained everything?”

“Salmon. Mustard Leaf.”

What? You fluttered your eyes open and shut in disbelief. Was he talking in… ingredients?

“Of course. I guess I should have expected that.” Sayaka rubbed her face and crossed her arms. Then she looked at you. “Shiraishi-san, this is Inumaki Toge, a second year student. Inumaki-san, this is Shiraishi [Name]. She’ll be on campus for the foreseeable future.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied, feeling Ama-no-Kagaseo’s hostility dwindle with your calming heart rate.

“Kelp.” He bowed his head slightly, but for the most part remained straight and standing. That allowed Ama-no-Kagaseo to calm down completely and you had to wonder why, but your attention was quickly ripped away when Sayaka spoke again.

“He’ll be standing in for me when I am unable to attend to you.”

This was news—frankly shocking news, if you were being honest—to you. Sayaka had not left your side since you were ten. She had to be in her early thirties, your latest estimate may be in her forties, not that she would tell you. She saw any personal information as a weapon to be used against her by Ama-no-Kagaseo. She was adamant that it had nothing to do with you, personally, but the Curse who you carried against your chest as if he were your own child. You admitted it was a smart thing to do, but you also knew deep within your heart that if Ama-no-Kagaseo wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t need her life history to do it.

“What do you mean?” You inquired, phrasing it as delicately as you could without appearing you were about to fly into a murderous rage. Sayaka was your only friend—not that she’d even let you call her that—in the entire world. You considered Ama-no-Kagaseo a protector, in a convoluted way, and a companion, since he would be with you until the day you died. You couldn’t call anyone else a friend in the way you could her.

Sayaka almost looked uncertain about telling you. She looked to Inumaki for confirmation and he shrugged, indicating the decision was up to her. You watched the interaction with keen eyes, noting the slight familiarity and the way Inumaki was deferring to her with his body language. Clearly he knew something you didn’t, something he shared with Sayaka. Before she opened her mouth, she waved for him to leave the room; obviously she was concerned whatever she was about to say would earn him another blow from Ama-no-Kagaseo.

“Long story short—Ryoumen Sukuna has been incarnated into this era.”

Bound to Ama-no-Kagaseo as you were, you were as in tune to his ‘emotions’ as he was yours. So when Sayaka let that little piece of information hang in the air like a guillotine ready to drop, you felt Ama-no-Kagaseo’s rage bubble up inside you like a potent poison. It was all consuming, hateful, and everything you dreaded when he got truly furious because once he was angry, and you panicked because he would—

And you were gone, taking a backseat in your own conscious. Ama-no-Kagaseo was too infuriated to apologize to you properly, barely managing to even sweep an illusory breeze across your cheek before taking control of your body. You knew he wasn’t angry with you, but this man Ryoumen Sukuna who he seemed to know well that he was beside himself.

Ama-no-Kagaseo had dressed up your shared consciousness to resemble something of a palace of stars and a night sky. The few times he did take control of your body (usually to stop you from tumbling over cliff edges, falling out of trees, or skinning your knees) you were granted access to this mysterious place, and yet it seemed you had a permanent residence despite only being present for a few times. You had a little mat seated beside his at a table; your favorite flowers were littered around the metaphorical palace in porcelain vases; you even had a closet full of star studded kimonos, which was where you assumed he got all of the kimonos he manifested upon your person now.

You appeared upon his throne, which was bizarre since you usually wound up somewhere near the entrance to wait for him to escort you back to your body, a pale metal contraption adorned with blue, green, and purple gems and silk that was smooth and silky to the touch. Since he stayed here often, he had made it comfortable; you had only seen his personal representation of his physical appearance once, and you had been so flustered that you immediately hid your face in your sleeves while he laughed in amusement. Besides that one time, you had only ever seen it in paintings, which were much different than the real—metaphysical?—thing. Ama-no-Kagaseo abhorred earth and for the limited time he was willingly present within it, he was usually only there for you.

A bright blue orb appeared in your lap, hovering just above your legs. You grasped it, worried it would fall and shatter, and found yourself staring through your own eyes at Sayaka.

Her face was contorted into panic and sheer terror. You knew that your appearance changed when he took control—your eyes completely blacked over from corner to corner and appeared as if they had stars in them, and two delicate dark blue dots appeared beneath your eyes to signify your soul and his—but you were curious what you actually looked like. You couldn’t be that terrifying, could you?

“Ama-no-Kagaseo.” Sayaka’s voice was strained. “Where is [Name]?”

That was the first time you’d ever heard her say your name without honorifics. Your surprise must have been evident, because Ama-no-Kagaseo allowed a brief flicker of wind to run down your neck. It was chilly, indicative of his anger, and you pulled your kimono closer around you as if it would help.

“She is present.” That was also the first time you’d ever heard him speak more than a single word. “I am allowing her to watch to reassure her I will not harm you in my anger.”

You would have been dying at his usage of full sentences if you weren’t so worried about Sayaka doing something foolish. You knew she would report this to the higher ups, but you had a feeling this intentional. Ama-no-Kagaseo picked up on your thoughts as well and agreed, gently tugging a jade pin out of your hair. The physical version of you was untouched, but you lost the pin in the metaphysical world.

“I see.” Sayaka carefully sat down, locking her knees and tucking her feet underneath herself. It was the complete opposite of the one she took when you were around. “I’m sure you heard, but—”

“Yes,” Ama-no-Kagaseo interrupted her, using your hand to pick up your discarded cup of green tea. “Ryoumen Sukuna. It has been over a thousand years since I’ve heard that name.”

Sayaka ignored the cup. “I am aware that he played a vital role in sealing you to this realm.”

That was news to you—you seemed to be discovering new things at every turn of the corner. You furrowed your eyebrows and brought your knees up to your chin, watching the globe more intently.

“Not Sukuna himself,” Ama-no-Kagaseo sneered. In your voice, it was a strange thing to hear. “His followers. But he was the indirect cause, so I am attributing the fault to him since I strung their corpses upon his precious temple.”

You could tell that Sayaka found his logic extremely concerning by the twitch in her cheek. A stream of sweat crept down her temple.

“You can’t kill him.”

“And why not?” Ama-no-Kagaseo’s tone went frosty. You watched a shudder roll over Sayaka’s shoulders. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, mortal.”

“He will keep coming back.” Sayaka backpedalled, clenching her fists. “We don’t have all twenty fingers. His host, Itadori Yuuji, is too good of a chance to pass up—if we can get him to intake all of them—”

“You can raze Sukuna from this earth and get rid of him for good.” Ama-no-Kagaseo inferred. “Except it will not be that easy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ama-no-Kagaseo didn’t answer her. You felt a telltale pull of your lips and were slowly pulled back into your own body.

“I bore of you,” he said, after a moment, and then allowed you control once more, the darkness bleeding away from your eyes.

You felt him settle into a doze within your consciousness and simultaneously found yourself staring at Sayaka. When you smiled at her in apology, she collapsed back and blew out a harsh breath.

“For a minute there I thought he was going to kill me,” she sighed, then sat up and fixed you with a glower. “You didn’t tell me you could see when he takes control.”

You shook your head and raised a hand, keeping the other firmly rooted against Ama-no-Kagaseo’s physical form’s back. “This is the first time I was able to. I didn’t even know I could.”

Sayaka narrowed her eyes and then looked away, seemingly in thought. “Well, I guess there’s no use in telling the higher ups right now. They have bigger fish to fry at the moment. And it’s not like we didn’t know all of that about Sukuna… Ugh. This is giving me a headache.”

“Me too,” you sighed, unnervingly aware of the way Ama-no-Kagaseo’s fingers were following the collar of your kimono, deceptively docile compared to moments before. He had decided to give up on his nap after all. “So, when do we go to the campus?”

“Right now. Pack up your stuff and meet Inumaki and I outside.”

When Sayaka left the room, you carefully began putting back your tea pot in its box and wandering to find something suitable to put your clothes in. You found a cloth bag, blank except for a few flowers embroidered on it by hand, and had just enough room to pile on your box of jewelry—all of it Cursed with Ama-no-Kagaseo’s energy—on the top. You didn’t have a lot of belongings because of the higher ups, but what you did have you treasured greatly; your favorite piece was an elaborate diadem of foreign make, decorated with diamonds and crystals that were made to turn into weapons if you willed it. You tucked it safely beneath two of your kimonos and found a ring lying on your nightstand where there hadn’t been one before.

You walked over to it, drawn by Ama-no-Kagaseo’s familiar energy. The jewel glimmered with power and visibly made the air around it ripple; you picked it up and found it warm to the touch.

“Protect. Sukuna.” He was back to one or two words again. You were almost disappointed but went back to examining the ring, wondering what finger to put it on. You eventually decided on your ring finger and it was a snug fit, as if it had been made with exactly that finger in mind.

“Thank you, Ama-no-Kagaseo.”

An affectionate ruffle of your hair was all you got in return.

                                      masterlist | next chapter. >

let me know if you want to be on the taglist until the masterlist is posted.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #oc x reader #fushiguro megumi #i swear to god i have a lot of smut planned for this involving both sukuna and this oc okay i promise it's gonna be wiiiiild #like imagine two godlike entities one of which is an actual god just pining over you #god sandwich yes #goujo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

⇺ ⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ ⇻

↣ Masterpost 

↣ inspired by @haik-choo​’s post 

↣ wc: 2.4k

↣ warnings: emotional pain, swearing, mentions of sex (not outright anything).

↣ format: mixed

↣  song recommendation:  5 Seconds of Summer - Lover Of Mine &  5 Seconds Of Summer - Ghost Of You

↣  preamble: atsumu miya never understands what he has until its too late. from a young age, he only focused on his own satisfaction and accordingly, his own pleasure. the only reason your relationship was able to stand the test of time was solely because of your accommodating nature. but sometimes, it still hurts… the lack of appreciation. would he truly care if you stopped leaving him little love notes in your shared apartment? would he notice if you stopped keeping pace with him during your morning walks? did he even care that you only woke up at the ungodly hour to spend more time with him? with those questions unanswered, some days you wonder if love should hurt this much.  

After winning five consecutive matches, a formal banquet was arranged to celebrate MSBY’s notable achievement. The guest-list was littered with numerous B list celebrities, with the occasional A lister promising to attend. What was originally planned to be a small gathering morphed into an evening gala that attracted media coverage, and a significant crowd. Some were desperate to secure an invite solely to catch a glimpse of one of the star players; while others were significantly more interested in the foreign chief that would be designing the menu for the function. Whatever the motivation, each attendee expelled an aura of excitement, one that was highly contagious. Accompanying the delectable atmosphere was a sugary scent wafting throughout the establishment. It was what Atsumu Miya deemed heaven on earth.

The blonde setter had the stem of a wineglass tucked between two fingers nonchalantly, occasionally swaying the maroon liquid as he surveyed those around him. He adored these gatherings for numerous reasons, one being the unnaturally attractive crowd it allured. Not that he planned on approaching any of them with nefarious intentions – he had a date after-all. The same one for the last four years. You. However, he refused to believe there was any harm in simply admiring from afar what he could have but chose not to. It provided him a rush of exhilaration, knowing that if he chose, he could secure the interest of any woman within the vicinity. Oh yes, if only they were so lucky. But alas, they were not. Simply having their attention and compliments was enough, he was disinterested in the satisfaction of sleeping with them. The truth was, while they were surely attractive, none of them would provide him the consistency that came neatly packaged with you. To be blunt, you were easy. Low maintenance, as he explained two nights ago to his brother. Even now, rather than remain glued to his side, you were somewhere in the crowd, mingling with someone unknown. He preferred it this way, and you knew it.

Half an hour before dinner was to be served, Atsumu was invited to take a shot with the MSBY Ace. Bokuto’s best friend refused to drink, vowing to return home early to complete a manuscript, and so he sought a new drinking buddy. But when he approached the setter, his thoughts of drinking were replaced with a newfound concern. Atsumu notified his team-mate that his hair required a quick touch up. His usual spikes were beginning to droop, resembling a withering flower.  

“Akaashi! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Tsum, do you have any gel?” A pout registered upon his lips as he attempted to sharpen the ends of his hair using his index finger and thumb. What if someone caught a photo of him appearing less than satisfactory? The Ace, ordinary or not, should appear extraordinary on a night dedicated to celebrating him (and his team-mates).

“I don’t think it looks that bad, Bokuto-san.” The black-haired writer shook his head, prior to bringing the rim of his coffee cup to his lips. Okay, maybe he could have something earlier. But to his defence, he had only noticed the imperfection now. With a wave of exhaustion weighing over his eyelids, he was less perceptive than usual.

“You know lying to him ain’t gonna fix the problem, right?” Atsumu shifted his narrowed gaze at Akaashi questioningly, something the other male did not appreciate. “And do you really have to ask? Of course, I do. Come on.” The blonde tapped against his lower jacket pocket, where a thin container of hair-serum was kept.

“I’m going to my seat. I’ll meet you there when you’re done.” The comment was directed solely at Bokuto, in a tone that indicated the writer would rather not spend any ‘quality’ time with the setter unless forced to. The brunette was not his biggest fan to say the least.

“I’ll be back soon.” He was well aware that his best friend and team-mate were not particularly fond of one another, placing distance was perhaps the best available option. Once the writer was no longer present, the pair began walking towards the bathroom. “Say… Tsum, where’s y/n?” Instinctively, the Ace’s golden irises searched the space around them for your familiar face.

“I dunno. Somewhere. I’m sure I’ll see her at the dinner table, since we’re sitting together.” The disinterest laced in his tone startled the other male, who failed to mask his bewilderment. Atsumu ignored the puzzlement that shined in his team-mate’s eyes, dismissing the action with a limp shrug before entering the bathroom first.

Bokuto trailed in a second later, pausing at the mirror with a hand extended forward. “You guys are really weird.”

Retrieving the container from his pouch, the blonde handed his team-mate the gel then began adjusting his own appearance, beginning by ushering aside some fallen strands. The observation that was offered only brought a little laugh to exit his mouth. “Yeah? Why do you say that?”

“You don’t act like a real couple.” Bokuto did not intend to respond immediately, particularly because he desired to avoid the stare he was now receiving through the mirror. The lack of hesitation was not well received by the MSBY setter.

“We don’t need to abide by norms to be a couple, Bokkun.” Despite the sour taste curling around his tongue, Atsumu managed to maintain a smile on his lips, finding humour in his own explanation.

“Alright, so is that why you haven’t proposed yet?” The white-haired Ace mentally scolded himself for his lack of restraint. He should have bit his tongue. Oh, if only he bit his tongue –

However, this was not the first time the question was posed to him. In fact, two days ago, it was exact topic that resulted in a very heated argument with his twin-brother. He truly did not understand why proposing was necessary. You both already lived together – was that not enough?

“It’s not that serious.” Tugging at his sleeves, the setter then adjusted his cufflinks. “I love her, but I’m not sure she’s the one. I don’t know if I can really give everything up forever, for her. For the time-being, I don’t mind. But I’m not giving everything up just yet.” The final sentence uttered by the blonde was more of an affirmation to himself, one that did not register well with his team-mate. It seemed that everyone but Atsumu could see how much you did for him. His unappreciated nature was rather toxic.

“That doesn’t sound like love, dude.”

No. It certainly did not.

They say that the truth will always be revealed sooner or later. Perhaps Atsumu Miya’s true feelings would have been revealed later, if he chose to lower his voice and restrict his sincerity. Had he known that you were outside, he certainly would have taken some precautions. But how could he have known that you were searching for him, when you ran into Akaashi? Who unfortunately knew exactly where he was?

How many warnings were issued by your friends over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? What would they say now? How many red flags did you ignore? 

How curious how easily you confused ache for butterflies.

The strain circling inside of your temples morphed into a throb as the liquid distorting your vision began spilling down your cheeks, dragging your mascara along with it. Behind you someone whispered your name, fear gripping their throat and muffling the sound. But you were unable to recognize who the voice belonged to, as you no longer held the luxury of having a stable state of mind.

Lifting your trembling fingers to the area below your eyelids, you stumbled attempting to discard the substance hanging on your lashes. “I need to go. I… Oh, I’m stupid. I just… I need to leave. Please.” Sluggishly, you shifted your body to face the person who addressed you earlier, seeking any aid that was offered. You couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“I know. Come on.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi accidentally stumbled onto the scene just as Atsumu began responding to the inquiry. He was not staggered to hear the cruel statements fall casually from his team-mate’s lips. Similar statements were uttered in the locker-room on numerous occasions. It was your reaction that tugged at his heart. No one deserved to hear the one they loved speak with such venom, and certainly not you. “Let’s go before they come out, shall we?”

The thrill of partying as a newly single bachelor provided Atsumu Miya temporary satisfaction. Each night a stranger’s mouth was attached to his, as he clung to them, desperate to combat the vanilla scent that circulated in the apartment, even weeks after your departure. How many girls had now laid in the exact spot you once occupied on the bed? Dozens? And yet, every morning when he awoke, he continuously thought it was you in his arms, and not someone whose name he did not bother remembering. His endeavours to erase you were fruitless. Not due to a lack of effort, but because the truth was… He didn’t want to forget you.

It took a month for the realization to settle in. No longer interested in the meaningless sex that was offered by mistresses of the night, he found himself unable to leave the apartment unless there was a match scheduled. It was the only location where he could feel some connection to you. Particularly when intoxicated, he swore he could hear you whisper soothing sentiments into his ears, dispelling his fears that you no longer loved him.

But each morning, reality would register once more, providing him a metaphorical jab to his chest.

Today was no different.

It had been forty days since the gala. Forty days to mull over how just how much you did for him, and just how little he did for you. It wasn’t always like this. Over the years, he became too accustomed to your giving nature. Soon, he developed a toxic mentality that he was entitled to everything you provided. But it wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t. At least that was what he repeated to himself, hoping it was the truth.

After downing a liter of water, the throbbing in his head had dimmed to a tolerable level. And once the lights no longer strained his eyes, he reached for his phone, determination igniting in his heart. 

“Hi.” The greeting was exhaled softly into the phone, as anxiety prompted your heart to beat irregularly. The uncertainty of what would be said by your former lover had your thoughts tangled into an incoherent mess.

“Hey. Thanks for talking with me.” Atsumu pressed a fist against his mouth, muffling the small whimper that threatened to sound. Oh fuck. You actually picked up. A single word overwhelmed him with the storm of emotions he usually suppressed with alcohol.

A little hum was given to acknowledge his gratitude, it was honestly the best you could offer. But it was unlike you to be so quiet. The thought that he impacted you this much only expanded the guilt he was suffocating in.

“Was I always this bad?” The setter’s eyes stung with fresh tears forming along his lids. Did he even deserve to speak with you now?

Inhaling a lengthy breath of air, silence greeted him for a minute as you mustered the courage to respond. You knew you should hate him. and yet, hearing the tremor in his voice broke your heart. Was it really your fault that you still loved him?

“You weren’t.” You prayed the words were audible, since you were unsure whether you would be able to repeat yourself.

The blonde found the slightest bit of relief in your response, although it only eased a tenth of the tension he was battling to contain. Swallowing once, he strived to stabilize his breathing.

“Will you give me another chance?”

You caught onto the small crack in his voice, symbolizing his distress and sincerity simultaneously. But you wished you hadn’t.

“Atsumu. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a future with me.” Even now, stating a reminder of what you heard activated the emotional wound you spent the last month attempting to heal. Could you truly ever get passed this?

“I can’t see a future without you in it.” He interjected, not missing a beat. He refused to deny it any longer. He was an idiot, but he loved you. It was more than the fact you were low maintenance. He knew that now.

“I feel like I wasted four years, do you understand that?” His confession promoted a swarm of butterflies to parade inside of your stomach, but the mental reminder of your friends scoldings kept you grounded. Pretty words would not heal the damage. Not this time. “I’m sorry. I can’t waste any more…”

“You won’t have to, y/n. I promise. Let me take care of you this time. It will be different.” At this point he was essentially begging you to place trust in his promises, even if he had no credibility.

Maybe it was unhealthy how much you wished his promise to be true. How desperate you were to lower your armor and envelope him into your embrace instead. You knew your friends would never approve of him, but his pleads were weaved together with a vulnerability you had never heard before. Before you could stop yourself, the one word the setter was waiting for left your mouth. 

“Okay.” Dropping your face into your palm, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. 

The second you agreed, the blonde was already on his feet, fetching his keys before rushing to the front door. It had been so long since the setter was flooded with joy, he could barely contain himself. “Where are you? I’m coming to you now.” Clicking the lock to a close, he nestled his phone against his shoulder.

Upon hearing the shuffling in his background followed by his question, you instantly shot up to your feet, feeling a surge of hope enter your system. “Don’t you have practice soon?” You certainly did not expect this. Not at all.

Pausing in the middle of the hallway, he blew out a scoff. “I don’t fucking care. I need you in my arms now. Text me the address and I’ll be there. I fucking love you, y/n I love you so much. I’ll never let you go again. I promise.”

It should be noted that he wholeheartedly intended to keep that promise, and thankfully… he did.

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast​ @shakiraisawesome​

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu miya #atsumu imagines #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu scenarios #atsumu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines

[awienersoldier]

Consequences Of a Macho Battle

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy; Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley

Warnings: infidelity, minor Ron bashing, mentions of sex

---

Hermione pushed the last bobby pin into her hair in yet another desperate attempt to keep her curls in place and somewhat put together looking. She narrowed her eyes at the reflection in the mirror in front of her, seriously doubting her success.

“Ready, Mione?” Ron leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, blindly trying to fix his tie. She sighed and nodded, turning to him. Hermione swatted his hands from the tie and proceeded to untie it and do it up again. No matter how many times she showed him, he would never get it right. It was a small thing, but it piled up with dozens of other small things and she felt more like his mother than a fiancée.

A fiancée.

“Thank you. I would be lost without you.”

She pressed him a smile, squeezing herself past him at the door. She swallowed everything she wanted to say when he squeezed her arse as she walked by.

Hermione had no idea when and how this happened. They just drifted apart, and it seemed like she was the only one to notice it. Ron continued living in his delusion and blissful ignorance. And she was enabling him. She was staying with him out of habit, it was comfortable, and it was safe. But there was no fire, passion… She would need to dig deep into her memory to pull out the last time she felt butterflies with Ron.

The relationship became a chore and not even an enjoyable chore such as gardening. It was slowly killing her.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, slipping off her dressing gown. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She treated herself to a new lingerie set, while out a few days ago. The color was maybe a bit too on the nose, but it looked great against her skin tone. She was not sure what will make him happier – the color or the fabric, well, lack thereof. She forced herself to put her dress on. The clock was ticking, and she could spend hours upon hours thinking about all the ways her undergarments can come off.

“Allow me.”

Ron’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She met his stare in the mirror as he approached her, reaching for the zipper on her back. He slowly pulled the zipper up, his knuckles grazing her bareback. Hermione kept looking at him in the mirror. She questioned how can she be so cruel to lie to him every day and not bat an eye. And lie so effortlessly too, it came as second nature to her. She hated that revelation about herself. She was the Golden Girl; this wasn’t supposed to be her.

The man… No. The boy in the mirror would do every last thing for her and yet it wasn’t enough in her eyes. She came to the realization that she needed a man. She wanted a partner, not an overgrown child to look after. Acts of service were the larger part of her love language as she came to realize, but at no point did she fantasized about becoming second Molly Weasley.

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist, connecting his lips to her neck. Hermione let her head fall to the side. She was supposed to feel something at this very moment, but all she felt was a bottomless pit in her stomach, knowing she wanted that to be someone else.

“We will be late, Ron,” she forced out. Ron murmured something against her, leaving a wet trail of kisses up her neck, his hands wandering up her front, pulling the skirt of her dress up her thighs. “Ronald, I am serious. We don’t have time for this,” she slipped out of his arms, straightening out her dress.

Ron frowned at her. “We can be a little late. No party really starts till the Golden Trio is complete. C’mon Mione, loosen up,” he murmured, reaching for her to pull her closer.

Mione, loosen up became the red flag for the bull inside of her. “You are an ass, Weasley,” she shook her head, pushing his hands off of her waist. And you are not him. “Can you for once take no for an answer? I will not loosen up if you are constantly pushing my boundaries! I am so unbelievably tired of it!” Hermione’s chest was heaving, she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “I’ll be downstairs by the Floo and will be leaving in 5 minutes if you want to come with me. Otherwise, see you at the Gala.”

“Hermione! You are here, thank god!” Harry rushed towards her as soon as she set foot inside. He was on the run from all the social vultures. Landing a kiss on her cheek, stopping in his tracks when he went to greet Ron and noticed the empty space. “Where’s Ron?”

“Home. Having another of his hissy fits when things don’t go his way,” she breathed out, frustrated. “I am sure he will show up later,” Hermione muttered while she scanned the room. Seeing everyone but not the one and the only person she wanted to find right now.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked furrowing his brows. “I am thick, Mione, but even I can see that something’s not right…”

She shook her head, stubbornly. “Everything is fine, of course.”

He raised a brow at her, Harry saw right through her. “You are my best friend along with Ron. I can see you are not… right. Both of you. Talk to me.”

“Harry, I am fine. If I ever need to talk, I know where to find you,” she conjured up the most relaxed smile she could.

“Cut the crap, please-”

“Champagne?”

Hermione eagerly grabbed two flutes. “For my fiancée,” she explained shortly to the waiter. “I don’t want to talk about it. Frankly, I don’t want to talk about Ron at all. Happy fifth anniversary of returning from the dead,” she offered and took a sip. Harry sighed, not letting her out of his sight.

“I don’t recognize you,” Harry shook his head.

Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, she would often wonder where she will be in a year, in three, in five or in ten years. Needless to say, that the reality and her imagination barely met. It was quite disappointing.

She was engaged to a guy she did not love. She said yes knowing she did not love him. She was sneaking behind everyone’s backs, rolling around in bed with another man. And despite their agreement that it will be just sex, no feelings involved, and no strings attached. She was finding herself falling head over heels for him. Hating herself in the process.

“That makes two of us… I am in a relationship with a boy instead of a man, I am engaged to someone whom I don’t love, and I don’t know how to get out without breaking more than one heart. Is this what you wanted to hear?” she chuckled darkly, throwing the rest of the champagne down her throat. The words came out easier than she anticipated. The anger from earlier still flowing through her veins.

Harry gaped at her, taken aback by how direct she was and partially how unaffected she sounded. He opened his mouth a couple of times to speak but closed it again. “Wow,” he finally said.

“Yeah, right… Wow,” she sighed.

“You have to tell him, Mione. It is unfair to both of you.” Harry seemed to take it better than she ever imagined.

“I know…”

Of course, she did know that. But she was Hermione Granger. She never failed at anything, and she still couldn’t admit even to herself that her relationship failed, let alone the rest of the world.

“Talk to him. I am sure he will understand… eventually,” Harry said. He was trying to convince himself of it too. He would be in the worst position. Best friend of both, caught in the crossfire of a relationship going extremely wrong.

Hermione shook her head. Ignorance was bliss, it really was. Maybe he would understand her falling out of love with him, perhaps not even really loving him. But he would not understand her cheating on him. And especially not with the dangerously dashing, tall, blond wizard who just met her eyes across the room.

A smug smirk immediately spreading across his face. He raised a glass in her direction and took a sip.

She, Hermione Granger; the Golden Girl, one-third of the Golden Trio, war heroine, fell in love with Draco Malfoy, rehabilitated Death Eater.

She was doomed.

---

“Potter! Enjoying yourself?” Draco suddenly appeared next to them. Briefly shaking Harry’s hand. “Granger,” he nodded in her direction. She felt like a stupid little schoolgirl, getting all giddy around a boy who didn’t love her back.

“Good to see you, D- Malfoy.”

Harry glanced at her, before looking at Draco. “Likewise. Do you have any news on the planned Ministry Quidditch tournament?” he asked, without skipping a beat or dwelling on her burning cheeks.

“I am afraid I don’t know much more than you do. Seems like the other departments are scared of our strong team or perhaps struggle to find their brooms,” he sneered. Harry chuckled contemplating the offered reasons.

It was odd seeing them talk casually. She knew from Ron that those two actually got along rather well and that annoyed him because Ron still couldn’t stand Draco. They never passed an opportunity to challenge each other to see who is the man. She often wondered why was Ron still allowing Draco to wind him up because the score was unquestionably to his detriment.

“I can see that,” Harry nodded. “Speaking of Quidditch, Ron mentioned you are quite the brutal beater…” Hermione snorted, she heard the story too and it went slightly differently. The two boys glanced at her.

Draco laughed shortly, still looking at her. “I have a hard time believing Weasley said just that. He would never admit I am better than him,” he mused, smirking at Hermione. She gulped. The cheeky bastard. In that department, he was so ahead of Ron, that Ron barely had a visual of him. That’s how ahead he was.

Just the thought made her restless, she stood with crossed legs, rubbing her thighs together. Him being this close and not being able to touch him or having his hands on her was borderline cruel.

“He more likely complained that I knocked his ass down of his pathetic dust sweeper, which he has the nerve to call a broom” he deduced, quirking a brow back at Harry, who chuckled in response, stopping himself as he probably shouldn’t be laughing at his own best friend.

“Oh perfect! Can I get a photo of you all together?” a photographer rushed up to them, on the verge of pissing his pants with excitement. “Where is Mr. Weasley? Oh, nevermind! Miss Granger, can I have you standing between the two gentlemen?”

Hermione could already hear Ron complain about this. She swallowed all her objections, making eye contact with Draco. Harry seemingly stopped existing to him the moment their eyes met. She stood between them, clutching her flute of champagne. Draco slipped his arm around her waist without hesitation, standing closer to her. His hand sprawled over the curve of her waist and a hip.

Future Ron’s complaints just got louder inside of her mind.

She tenses against his side. He leaned to her ear and whispered, “Relax.”

His hot breath on her skin made her shiver. She scolded herself for being so pathetic. But pretending that this man didn’t drive her absolutely crazy was a lost battle. The kick of him being this close in public, right in front of Harry brought another level of thrill, she probably never felt before and yet so desperately craved.

Harry awkwardly grabbed her around the shoulders, shortly side-eyeing her and Draco. As the cameraman went to take the photo, Draco’s hand moved towards the small of Hermione’s back, sliding over the roundness of her ass. That man was walking on thin ice, she forced herself to smile.

“Brilliant! Thank you!” he nodded briefly to them before he rushed off to hunt down someone else. Harry immediately took a step away from Hermione, reinstating some idea of personal space. Draco’s arm lingered for longer, running his fingers lightly up her spine before finally taking a step back too.

“Damn hyenas, am I right?” Harry laughed awkwardly. He looked at them suspiciously, especially narrowing his eyes on Hermione, who decided it was time to finish the second glass of champagne right now.

“Indeed… Actually, I came over to see if I could steal a dance from Miss Granger over here,” Draco asked nonchalantly, extending a hand towards her.

“Would be a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy,” she quipped back, keeping up the overly proper tone and gladly accepted his offered hand. Harry’s eyes were jumping between them as if he was following a Bludger. They left the bewildered Harry behind them, weaving through the crowd towards the dancefloor.

Finding their spot, he spun her before pulling her into his arms. “Are you okay?” Draco whispered as they effortlessly floated around the floor. “You look magnificent, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling the heat return to her cheeks. “I- I don’t know how much longer I will be able to keep up with the lies.”

Draco stiffened. “Well… we knew our run will be short-lived,” he said, dryly.

“That’s not what I meant, Draco. I don’t want to end our thing… I want us to continue. I want to break up with Ron,” she explained. This was the worst time and place to discuss any of this, but she wanted to do it till she had the courage.

Draco cleared his throat, searching for words. “You are engaged, Granger.”

“Thank you for reminding me. I would have forgotten without you…” she hissed. “I know I am. But I don’t want to live in a lie,” she said in a hushed voice, slightly irritated by how unbothered Draco sounded.

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to end us?” he asked.

Hermione leaned back to look at his face. Draco’s jaw was clenched, and he was looking off into the distance. “There’s nothing wrong with us…”

“Neither is with Ronald.”

“How would you know? Do you live with us?”

“I know you, Hermione. And there are several things wrong with us in case you didn’t notice. I am an ex-Death Eater; you are the Golden Girl. We shouldn’t be together in any capacity. I will just drag you down…”

She laughed shortly. “Then you don’t know me. My relationship with Ron is dead. I don’t love him. For quite some time. I just don’t know how to get out…”

“Hermione, you got engaged a month ago…” he said, deadpanned.

“Told you, I don’t know how to get out…”

---

“Come with me,” Draco said as soon as the song ended, grabbing her hand, and pulling her with him. She turned around, looking for Harry but he wasn’t in the room anymore. Which was good. She noticed his suspicious looks, he felt something was off.

Hermione tried to keep up with long strides and ended up essentially running after him. They were in some private bathroom. Fancy private bathroom. There was no key in the lock, but Draco was holding the door shut with one hand, and with the other on her shoulder, he was pinning her against a wall.

“Granger…” he sighed, looking at her.

Hermione glanced up at him. “Malfoy.”

“Pull your head out of your ass. You don’t leave a man you love.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You see, exactly- Wait, what?” he furrowed his brows as he realized she did not agree with his previous statement. “Hermione, for the love of god…” He sounded so disappointed with her.

“Please, don’t pretend you care that much about my relationship. If you did, you wouldn’t have been fucking me for the past 6 months. You don’t give a fuck and that’s perfectly fine,” Hermione tried her best to keep her voice down, stabbing his chest with her pointed finger.

Draco stared at her for a moment. “That’s a lie…” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “I do care. I do care about you. So I am asking you to really think about it.”

Hermione leaned into his hand. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She was still staying with Ron because of the fear that Draco is with her just to get back on Ron. She feared Draco would leave her if she wasn’t with Ron anymore.

“I am still with Ron because… Because I am terrified you will stop seeing me,” she exhaled.

Draco’s eyes widened at her confession. Leaning against the door with his shoulder, he spoke softly as if scared of the answer he might get. “You think I- Do you think this is some convoluted plan of showing Weasley up? Do you think that lowly of me?”

Hermione gulped. “No, of course not. It’s fear. Fears are irrational… I- I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I won’t leave you, Granger.”

---

“There you are…” Harry grabbed her hand when he found her about an hour later. He pulled her with him to the balcony. After checking it was empty, he turned to her. “Are you seriously sleeping with Malfoy?”

Hermione shushed him. “Keep your voice down, would you? I don’t need everyone to know.”

“You should have thought about that beforehand then!” Harry snapped at her with a low voice. They clearly were everything but lowkey if he figured it out from one interaction. Harry finding out was actually her biggest fear. She couldn’t predict his reaction. He could swing both ways. He was Ron’s best friend, and she would understand Harry siding with him, but he was also her best friend… “How long?”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t exactly plan this. It just happened and then it kept going. It just snowballed and… Around 6 months.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Ron does not deserve this…”

“And I do? Please, don’t pretend that you had no idea what he is doing. I am not stupid, Harry,” Hermione scoffed lightly. “I lost count of his affairs. I taped and glued my broken heart over and over, only for him to break it again. One day I had enough…”

Harry clenched his jaw but eventually nodded. Clearly, his loyalty towards Ron was stronger than to her, but she knew she could trust him not to say anything.

“Do you love him? Malfoy…” Harry asked. Hermione nodded, mouthing silent I do. “Does he love you?”

“I don’t know… I never told him either. But at this point I am willing to take the gamble,” Hermione admitted.

---

Hermione flooed back to their apartment shortly after midnight. She stood in the living room briefly, listening to the sounds of the apartment. It was quiet. Ron was either out somewhere or asleep.

She tossed her clutch on the kitchen table, taking a deep breath as she looked around. This was home for the past 4 years. They moved here after she threw a tantrum over staying in the Burrow and Molly constantly being on her ass. She gave him an ultimatum – her or his mother. For whatever reason he chose her. Molly had a hard time adjusting but eventually came around to the idea of them having their own space. Not that it put her off of Hermione’s scent, but at least it wasn’t 24 /7.

She did not doubt that Ron loved her, in his own twisted little way. But she wasn’t everything he needed nor wanted.

Ron needed to be admired, worshipped. Hermione couldn’t do that. Not only she wasn’t that type of a person, but she knew him for way too long and way too well for that.

Ron was looking for Molly to his Arthur – he wanted a warm, homely partner, who would patiently wait for him to get home with a warm dinner and a kind word. Hermione wanted a career and was more than happy with a half-assed lukewarm dinner if it meant her life was moving in the right direction.

Draco was more of a partner than Ron ever was.

He was observant and picked up on things Ron wouldn’t even register. For her birthday he took her to Australia to see her parents – her Obliviation spell before the war was too strong and couldn’t be lifted, but at least she was able to talk to her parents as friends. He took her several times since too. Ron probably did not even know what happened to them, he never cared to ask.

Hermione and Draco were very much alike in many aspects – driven, determined, stubborn. They cheered each other on. He never questioned why she wanted to achieve something, but rather tried to help her figure out how to do it.

They fit in together effortlessly as two puzzle pieces. It felt right. They were on the same wave and Hermione loved how easy it actually was to maintain a relationship. With Ron, it was a constant uphill battle. With Draco? They were cruising.

And then there was something else Hermione discovered with Draco. She loved sex.

And this was something Ron couldn’t give to her, being stuck in his little ideas of what relationship is inside or outside their bedroom. Their sex life was more boring than of most married couples with 30 years together behind their belts. She usually just waited for him to be done and roll off of her.

Ron was her first for almost everything so for a moment Hermione thought that it is just the way things are. But Draco made sex exciting and enjoyable; just thought of his hands or lips on her body made her weak at the knees. Contrary to any preconceived ideas – he wasn’t a selfish lover.

“Back already?” Ron’s voice sounded from behind just when she was in the middle of making herself a toast to take the edge off of all the champagne.

“Yes. Think I had enough of alcohol at the Ministry’s expense,” she shrugged, briefly looking over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing up? I assumed you were asleep.”

“Wanted to make sure my fiancée got home safe,” Ron muttered.

Hermione turned around as she took a bite of her toast with a generous spread of strawberry jam over it. “That comes in clutch as I really want to talk to you about something…”

It wasn’t the best time, but she had to pull off the bandage now as long as she had the courage to do so. And before she had the opportunity to overthink Ron’s reaction.

Ron nodded, taking a deep breath. “If it’s about earlier. I am sorry, I was really out of line…”

“It is not… At least not exclusively. I was thinking about it for the longest time,” she started, fiddling with a loose thread on her dress with her free hand. “I want-”

“A baby?”

“-to break up.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not.”

They looked at each in complete silence for what seemed the whole eternity. The latest exchange was just the purest demonstration of how disconnected their relationship was. They arrived at polar opposites of conclusions, working with nearly identical information.

“Why?” Ron finally spoke and to his credit, he looked quite taken aback.

Hermione sighed; it was time to come clean. “I can’t keep doing this. I am tired, Ron. I really am. I am tired of getting home wondering if I will find you our bed with someone else or not.”

“I can change. I will stop-”

She shook her head. “No, Ron, you won’t. I cannot give you what you want, and I realized that at some point. And that’s okay…”

“I love you, Mione. You are everything I ever wanted…”

“I am not. Ron, let’s face the truth. You are looking for a version of your mom. Someone to be home, take care of you, and a ludicrous amount of children. I am not it; I don’t want to be…”

“Tell me what you want,” Ron refused to give up, inching towards her. Hermione stepped out of the reach of his grasp.

“I want you to respect my boundaries for starters,” Hermione said. Ron took a stunned step back. “I cannot and do not want to stay with someone just because it’s convenient. I can’t stay with you because every time you touch me-” her voice trailed off; she couldn’t believe she was about to admit to everything. “Because every time you touch me, I feel physically sick. Knowing that I am laying where Lavender laid, where Pansy slept… I cannot stay with you because every time you touch me, I wish it was Draco. I don’t love you. I am sorry.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as the weight of all the months of secrecy fell off of her shoulders. Ron stared at her in stunned silence. It was deafening. She could hear her own heartbeat, her breathing suddenly seemed too loud.

“What?” Ron finally forced out; his stare still fixated on her. He seemed more shocked by hearing Draco’s name than by the fact she was also cheating on him. “Out of everyone it just had to be Malfoy, huh?”

“Ron, trust me, it is not something that either of us planned… It just happened.”

The ginger wizard scoffed as he paced around their kitchen table, running fingers through his hair. “Don’t expect me to believe that.”

Hermione sighed. “Not everyone is doing things just to spite you, Ron. I am sorry, I really am. But… maybe this is for the best.”

Ron stopped and turned to her, wide-eyed. “For the best?”

“Yes, clearly we don’t work as a couple. We barely talk, we look for sex elsewhere… We are not meant to be,” she breathed out. Hermione did not expect Ron to object so much to the idea of breaking up. He surely must have been frustrated as much as she was. He was supposed to welcome it.

Ron defeatedly sat in the dining chair, squeezing the bridge of his nose, before he found the strength to look at her again. “So Malfoy… Is it just about sex?”

“Ron…”

“I think the least I deserve is some answers.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “I think I’ve hurt you enough…”

“I want to know, Hermione,” he slammed a hand onto the table, startling her. The anger was slowly bubbling up towards the surface. “I really struggle to imagine that someone so frigid and uptight as you is leaving because of sex.”

Her chin dropped a little at his words, they were laced with venom. “Oh that’s rich coming from you,” she laughed as she snapped out of the shock. “But yes, it started off as purely about sex. Turns out I just need the right partner to enjoy sex. And the best thing? He lasts more than 5 minutes.”

“Get out,” he shot up from the chair, the color of his skin nearly matching his hair. “Get out now. You can come to collect your things when I am not here.”

---

Hermione apparated into Kensington, not far from Draco’s apartment with nothing but just her clutch from earlier that evening. She hoped that Draco would be home already. She shivered, it was May in London, and she was wearing nothing but a strappy silk dress and rather ridiculous heels. She walked up to the main door of his building and knocked on the receptionist’s window, pressing him a smile. The old man knew her. She was here quite often.

“Ah Miss Granger, bit late for a visit, isn’t it?” he asked as he buzzed her in. Yes, Draco Malfoy was living in a muggle building in a muggle neighborhood.

“Bit of an emergency. Is Draco- Mr. Malfoy back?” He nodded as he stepped out of her way, letting her further into the building. “Thank you! Have a lovely rest of the night!” Hermione smiled at him again, waiting for the elevator.

She had no idea what she was doing here, and but she did not know where else to go. It was quite presumptuous of her to show up at his place, and just expect he will let her stay. They never talked about any form of spending prolonged time periods together, let alone moving in together.

Hermione hovered by his door for a few minutes before she found the courage to knock, listening to the sounds coming from inside of the apartment.

“Hermione?” Draco questioned as if he couldn’t believe she was standing right in front of him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Can I stay?”

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #fanfiction #drabble

[thebluelemontree]

Is it wrong to say that Sansa uses an out of sight out of mind coping mechanism? I noticed it because it's what I do a lot. I know some ppl say she rewrites traumatic memories to make the memories bearable but it doesn't make sense. If that was how she coped, wouldn't she have been telling herself lies about Joffrey still in acok? Or found a way to erase/rewrite Marillion's attempt to rape her?

Yes and no. She does that except all the times she doesn’t. ;) I think that characterization is extremely reductionist (and ignores character complexity and  growth) when it’s applied that broadly to every situation Sansa has been in. You have to take these things instance by instance because they aren’t all the same. Sometimes that labeling doesn’t fit at all. In many cases, it feels more like the fandom pathologizing the act of romanticizing or trying to push aside or reframe something unpleasant or even traumatic when that’s just something most human beings do now and then. Some do it more than others, but its all within the realm of typical coping behavior and being older or more educated or more “logical” doesn’t make one immune to it. So I hope you don’t let those interpretations make you feel abnormal or more fallible for identifying with Sansa in that way. Romanticizing doesn’t even have to be about coping at all, but simply expressing desire through daydreams. People imagine being in idealized scenarios with crushes all the time.  

You also hit the nail on the head. Sansa just doesn’t go around making up false narratives about every objectively awful thing that happens to her. In fact, her actual responses to those moments can be a useful basis for comparison when we’re analyzing the unkiss, for example. Misunderstanding the unkiss is usually where a lot of these assumptions stem from. That’s a whole other can of worms in itself. The unkiss is just too long of a discussion to put here, so I just recommend this post as to the reasons why it isn’t about trauma and take a browse through my unkiss tag. It does bear repeating that Sansa factually remembers every scary thing that happened during the Blackwater and why it happened, indicating she has processed it honestly and critically, before any incarnation of the unkiss happens. The unkiss is a mismemory added on to the facts, which began as her being the actor that kissed him first. It’s not a lie to deny the facts or to excuse his behavior. It’s regrettable to her that Sandor was not able to be the person she could rely on to get her out of KL at that time. Nonetheless, this repressed desire is just so strong in her that it manifested in a kiss so real she could remember how it felt after the reality of his leaving KL for good sank in. 

Early AGOT Sansa tended to want to move past unpleasantness rather quickly. Just sweep those red flags under the rug so everything can go back to blissful harmony. Sansa is naturally averse to conflict and just wants her present with the royal family to be smooth sailing into a bright future. Ned had a very similar tendency when it came to concerns over Robert’s true character. He saw things that disturbed him, but he hoped and clung to his idea of Robert anyway. For Sansa, this resulted in some misplaced blame and rewriting events so she could deal with the aftermath. This is mostly seen in her processing the Mycah incident after Lady’s death and how her perception of all the characters involved shifted in varying ways. This is after she knew perfectly well what really happened, because Ned says Sansa had already told him the truth of what Joffrey did while Arya was still missing. However, it would also be unfair to completely chalk this up to Sansa’s idiosyncrasies. We have to put her flip-flopping in the context of the situation as well. She’s also experienced a gutting loss with Lady’s death and the fact that the first blow to her innocence was her father volunteering to put Lady down. She doesn’t have Catelyn to go to with her confusion and hurt, and Ned has largely been silent. She’s also still engaged to Joffrey through all this, this is still a patriarchy, there are political ramifications to speaking against a crown prince, and she doesn’t know how to deal with seeing such cruelty and vindictiveness in her future husband. Especially when he responded to her tender concern and wanting to help him with venom and hate. 

I mean, jeez, she’s 11. I don’t expect an 11 year old to understand how to identify the signs of emotional manipulation or see how this situation can escalate into domestic violence. Just because Sansa can’t articulate what is happening within her relationship with Joffrey, doesn’t mean she has blocked out any notion that Joffrey can turn his anger on her. Part of the reason she misplaces blame on Arya (and rewrites what happened) is because Joffrey turns scornful of Sansa for being a witness to his emasculating shame. He punishes her with the cold shoulder because she didn’t immediately take his side and pretended not to see instead. He regains power through making Sansa feel small and fearful of his moods. 

“He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him.” -- Sansa II, AGOT.

Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again and send her weeping from the table. -- Sansa II, AGOT.

This is coming from someone who is supposed to love her and someone she will spend the rest of her life with. To fix things, she must be unequivocally on Joffrey’s side going forward or suffer the consequences, which we can see happening as her story completely flips over breakfast sometime later. This is not saying Sansa is fully exonerated from not supporting her sister when she needed her, but that it’s understandable how she arrived at this point. Even when things start to get really bad after Ned’s arrest, Sansa still holds out some hope that she can appeal to Joffrey’s (and Cersei’s) love for her to get him to be merciful. Is it really her fault she believed a part of Joffrey really loved her (and thus was reachable by her pleas) if he also heavily love bombed her and treated her like she was the most special girl in the world? Love bombing is a classic feature of the seduction phase leading up to abuse.  

So we can see Sansa does ignore truths and rewrite events sometimes and her personality is a factor; however, the context surrounding it matters a lot. Post Ned’s execution, Sansa does a full 180 regarding Joffrey and Cersei.

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered. -- Sansa VI, AGOT.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again. -- Sansa I, ACOK. 

"A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." -- Sansa I, ASOS. 

There’s also her conscious efforts to push away thoughts of her dead family and Jeyne Poole, but she states why she does that. It’s traumatic, the tears start flowing uncontrollably, and she is desperately trying to avoid falling into another suicidal depression. Her survival in KL depends on her holding it together and appearing loyal and obedient to Joffrey. Mourning her loved ones would imply to Joffrey she is plotting treason. Besides, she knows that even if she did ask Cersei or LF about Jeyne, she has no reason to believe they’d do anything but lie to her face in a patronizing way. There’s no point being plagued with wondering what the truth might be when she can’t do anything about it. Still, she prayed for Jeyne wherever she might be. She genuinely thought Arya had made it to WF on the ship and was safe at least until she got word of her brothers’ deaths and her home being sacked by the Iron Born, though there was initially a touch of projection and fantasizing about Arya being free while she remains captured. As of Feast, she believes she is the last Stark left alive and she has no one but Littlefinger to help her. So while she is suppressing her grief, it’s done with good reason, and it’s not being replaced with any false narratives to cope. 

We also cannot ignore that her relationship to Sandor Clegane has instilled in her an appreciation for the un-sugarcoated truth now that she has experienced betrayal and injustice first hand. In his own way, he’s encouraged her to listen to her own inner bullshit detector. The rose-tinted glasses have become a lot more clear compared to where she started. This is a newly learned skill though, and her self-confidence has been wrecked by internalized verbal abuse. She’s also been left on her own to figure out people’s intentions by herself, which runs parallel to her mounting desperation to get out of KL as Joffrey’s violence escalates. Developing a touch more of a jaded, skeptical side does sometimes clash with her enduring idealism and faith in other people (like with the Tyrells). This struggle is not a bad thing. The goal isn’t to become as cynical as the Hound, but to arrive at an earned optimism that has been tempered by wisdom and practical experience.

Her situation with Littlefinger is much more challenging than anything she faced in KL. He moves her where he wants her to go with complex web of lies, manipulation, grooming, isolation, coercion, dependence, guilt and shame. Her safety and desire to go home are tightly bound to being complicit in his lies and criminal activities. She feels indebted to him for getting her out of KL, even though his methods push her past her boundaries and force her to compromise her moral integrity. The thing is, there are things Sansa does know about LF, but she doesn’t seem to be ready to try and put the puzzle pieces together. She’s not daring to ask probing questions about Lysa’s reference to the “tears” and Jon Arryn or about the possible dangers of Maester Colemon prescribing sweetsleep for Robert’s convulsions. While the subject of Jeyne’s fate is still one she doesn’t want to revisit, somewhere in her mind she does know LF took custody of her friend. If it feels like this is somewhat of a regression back to her early AGOT self, there’s probably some truth to that; however, it’s perfectly okay for positive character arcs to be an imperfect progress. There can be relapses, regressions, setbacks, missteps, and misguided actions. All that growth isn’t lost. Everything she knows is just stored in the back of her mind, not forgotten completely. The general trend line moves her toward successfully confronting Littlefinger with the truth when GRRM is ready to pull the trigger. She’s definitely aware of Littlefinger lying to her more than she lets on and she knows his help is not out of the kindness of his heart, but motivated by what he wants her to be to him. But it’s not like she has the option to go anywhere else, does she? She’s a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head and has no other friend or ally in the Vale she can trust with the truth of her identity. Confronting LF without any means of neutralizing his power over her isn’t the smartest thing to do when he’s shown her he can literally get away with multiple murders. Again, it’s not just her personality that makes her hesitant to pull back the veil and face the horrible truth head on. The outside forces pressuring her perceptions and behavior cannot be discounted either.    

#valyrianscrolls #sansa stark meta #sansa stark #joffrey baratheon #sandor clegane #littlefinger #cersei #asoiaf characterization #the unkiss #character arcs #my meta #anonymous

[latibulx]

Gaeul - anemone, angelica, begonia, chamomile, edelweiss, gladiolus, heliotrope, holly, hydrangea, lavender, lotus, pansy, peony, poppy, rhododendron, rose, salvia, sunflower, willow

❥     𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂    ] ㅡ closed ㅡ @jaebbongi

anemone :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ? where does that world view come from   (   what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc . �� ) ?  

In spite of what happened to her family and the people she has lost over the course of the years, Gaeul remains an unbelievable optimistic kind of girl and sees the world as something beautiful and filled with wonders and magic that goes beyond her understanding. There’s always so much more to experience and discover and learn and she thinks that it beats every bad happening in her life. Even though it wasn’t the case a couple of years ago after the loss of her parents, she’s definitely thankful that she is alive and that she is able to experience so much in her daily life. 

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?   what motivates them ?

The world inspires her, and not only the world around her but also the worlds from the books she reads. Imaginary worlds, real worlds, all of them inspire her - but also the persons she meets whether they’re alive or fictional. For Gaeul, they all are a source of inspiration. As for her motivation, it’s also the world, and the wish to share her views of the many worlds in her head with others. 

begonia :   how cautious is your muse ?   are they prone to noticing red flags ,   or paranoid to the point of untrusting most everyone ?   why or why not ?  

Gaeul isn’t one to be cautious at all. She’s far too curious and adventurous for her own good and that can obviously lead her to risky situations. I’d like to say that the older she gets, the less adventurous she is, but that’s not exactly true because she is thirsty for knowledge and for such experiences that take her breath away. 

( I believe she’ll have different kind of experiences once she becomes a mother, though! )

chamomile :   what is your muse likely to take away from a painful experience ?   are they one to be haunted by adversity ,   or to use what they’ve gone through to become stronger ?  

Painful experiences teach her as much as they haunt her.  She’ll reflect on what happened and use it for the future but she’s also likely to think about it more times than necessary, overthink and get doubts and insecurities and fears from it. That’s why she distracts herself by reading so many books, because at least it quiets her mind for a little while.

edelweiss :   what was the bravest moment in your muse’s life ?  are they known to be courageous from then on ?  

The bravest moment in Gaeul’s life was when she had to keep on living and being a bright young girl after her little brother passed away. Being by her parents’ side even though they were broken beyond repair, reminding them that she was still here, that they still had a daughter to care for, it was when she had to be the bravest. And her courage has definitely stemmed from that moment on, especially when she has then moved into her grandparents’ house for her parents weren’t able to take care of her anymore. Keeping this experience in the back of her mind at all times, but also the fact that there were hands to hold her when she needed it was kept her going during her difficult teenage years. 

gladiolus :   describe a moment from your muse’s life that they will never forget .

I’ll go with the first time she has stepped into the library that will then become her workplace. She was in her first year of middle school and for some reason she was unable to make friends easily. Perhaps it was because she looked closed off, or because she was always the nose in a big book, but she spent most of her time on her own whether it was at shcool or during her free time; she didn’t mind much because it felt comfortable like this. Gaeul didn’t want to be a burden for her grandparents, and living near Myungdeong she was often wandering around the market and the busy streets; until one day she just happened to see a couple of wooden doors, almost concealed in between two large buildings. Curious as ever, she clutched the book she had been reading against her chest and went to open the door: that’s when her life changed for the better, because it was an old, gorgeous library like the ones you can imagine in fantasy books/movies. Immediately, she marvelled at the wooden shelves, at the old scent that surrounded her and for the first time in a long, long time, a wide smile pulled at her mouth and lightened up her whole face. Almost as if she had finally found her real home.

heliotrope :   does your muse believe in soulmates ?

Absolutely! Whether it’s platonic or romantic soulmates, she absolutely loves the idea that some people are just meant to be in each other’s life. It’s a heartwarming thought and she also believes that someone can have several soulmates in their life. There’s no limitations when it comes to soulmates, at least in Gaeul’s mind. 

<holly :   how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition ?  are they aware of it ?   do they ever fear that it is only paranoia ?  

She’s pretty intuitive but isn’t completely aware of it. She does follow her guts a lot of times but sometimes will think that it’s simply her curiosity acting or just out of sheer luck. 

hydrangea :   how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ?  are they prone to being misunderstood ?

Gaeul talks a lot and thinks communication is important, especially because she always has a lot going on in her mind and she wants to make sure that she is on the same page as the person she’s talking with. She tries not to let misunderstandings happen but sometimes it’s just inevitable and all she can do is try to communicate better to ease both heart and mind. 

lavender :   how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ?  once their trust is broken ,   how might one go about mending it ?  

It’s very easy to gain Gaeul’s trust because she’s someone who likes people, who likes to hear and share stories. She can be incredibly friendly and always tries to remain optimistic and have a positive mindset no matter what happensㅡ and if that trust happens to be broken at some point, they honestly just have to talk it out to mend it. Gaeul will just accept it without a second thought because if the person made an effort then it means that they regret it and that they want to do better. There’s no reason to reject them in that case. 

lotus :   has your muse ever felt as though they’ve been reborn ?  have they ever desired the feeling of a fresh start ,   or a better understanding of themself and/or the world around them ?  

She hasn’t felt like she was reborn but she isn’t against the idea, it’s actually a thought that she finds to be lovely. And she’s had her fresh start, after the loss of her parents, Gaeul went to a trip around the world to find herself, to heal her broken heart, and to meet new people. Not only was it healing but it was also eye-opening about how many people were constantly struggling on a daily basis but also trying their best no matter what. It gave her the courage to come back to Seoul and to stop running away from the pain she had attempted to ignore all this time. 

pansy :   does your muse often reflect on their own actions ?   do they ever think a lot about the past ,   and what they could have done differently ?

It isn’t rare for Gaeul to be caught in the past. Her memories, her past actions and experiences are often what drives her to keep moving forward. She knows that it’s pointless to think of what ifs, but she simply can’t help herself. The past has built her into the woman that she is in the present and she cannot stop herself from looking back from often than necessary. And the past, for Gaeul, can be as far as when she was a little girl, but also just the past day. 

peony :   what would a   ‘  happy life  ’   look like in your muse’s eyes ?

A happy life for Gaeul would be a life where she has her own family (probably several kids coughs) and they’re living in a house close to the countryside but also close enough to the city so she can go to work. Ideally, she’d be a writer with some published books since it’s a longtime dream she has yet to make come true, but what truly matters to her is to have a loving family of her own. 

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

Books, her cats, writing, a rainy day, being at the library, Teddy.

rhododendron :   is your muse receptive to warnings   &   advice given by others ?

Yes, quite. She believes that if she is warned about something or if someone is given her some advice then it must be for a reason and it would be rude to ignore them and not take their words into account. It doesn’t mean that she’ll entirely follow them, but she’ll still keep them in mind. 

rose :   how much does your muse value other people ?   do they wish to have many friends ,   lovers ,   and/or associates ?   are they an easy person to love ?

Gaeul does value other people, especially if they become a part of her life. And she is also pretty aware that every life, whether she knows them or not, is important on this planet. However, she doesn’t seek to have many people in her life, she’s happy with just having a small group of friends, with having just one lover. The number of people she has in her life doesn’t define who she is as a person, after all. Regardless, she is easy to love, she is lovable and endearing, and she also loves easily despite the risks of getting hurt in the way. 

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ?  how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ?

I can’t say that she is very possessive. She knows that people come and go, and the same applies to things. However, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t care or that she doesn’t feel even a bit of possessiveness because she does. I’d say she’d express it in subtle ways, in ways she wouldn’t be even aware of: if it’s over someone, I can see it in questions she’d ask the other, in expressing some of her concerns and probably in being a bit more touchy than usual without overstepping her boundaries. 

sunflower :   what brings your muse the most joy in life ?  

Being alive. Feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. Reading a book on her couch or in her bed and having her cat curled up on her lap or close to her. Loving someone who returns her feelings. 

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

Not well, obviously as it led her to leave everything behind to go on a trip around the world by herself. She tends to close off and retreat into where she feels the safest, aka in the world of books. And it might take a while before she comes out of it feeling better. 

#( gaeul: answer. ) #( gaeul: about. ) #jaebbongi #( thank you for sending this! )

[the-quiet-winds]

Between Angels and Demons (part three)

[Continuing on with this AU by me and @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts. TW for mentions / discussions of abuse]

[part one] - [part two]

[Part 3: Far Away from the Wreck We’ve Made]

The next morning, Katherine is much later than usual. 

She stumbles into class, nearly in a daze, with only a few minutes before the bell to end the period. She slips her late pass on Jane’s desk and all but falls into her seat, exhausted. She had foregone her normal short sleeve shirt and jeans for a hoodie, even though it was still extremely hot out. She keeps her eyes down, not even taking her book out of her bag.

Jane doesn’t say anything about Katherine’s late arrival until the bell rings only a couple of minutes later. As everyone stands to leave, Jane calls to her.

“Miss Howard, could I speak to you for a moment?”

The other students file out, but Katherine doesn’t even move to stand from her desk. Jane approaches her, voice gentle.

“I read what you wrote, Katherine.”

Katherine braces herself, waiting for Jane to say that she was lying, or overreacting or something like that. but she doesn’t.

“I'm going to help you,” Jane says, and there’s a determination behind her words that rings out clearly.

Katherine can barely react. She’s so numb, mentally preparing for a berating that she barely hears what Jane actually says. 

She’s going to help. 

Katherine has a chance. 

But then her arm starts to hurt and she remembers exactly why nothing will ever change. 

“Please don’t try to help me anymore,” she whispers. 

Jane is shocked. “Why wouldn’t I, Katherine?” She asks gently. “You deserve to be safe.”

Katherine doesn’t speak as she rolls up the sleeve of her hoodie, revealing a masterpiece of dark bruises littering her forearm. “He found out I missed gym,” is all she can say as an explanation.

Jane stares, horrified at the bruises. “Katherine,” she says suddenly, urgently. “I have to report this.”

“No!” Katherine’s eyes are wide with alarm. “Please, no-”

“Katherine, I have to,” Jane says, tone halfway between firm and apologetic. It was true; as a teacher, Jane had a legal obligation to report any signs of abuse. Beyond that, though, Jane couldn’t allow Katherine to carry on like this, couldn’t allow her to go back home to her father when this is how he was treating her.

Katherine jumps to her feet. “Please,” she begs. She feels so hopelessly small and scared, even as she stands taller than her teacher. “It’ll just make it worse,” she says. It’s ironic in a way - she’d hoped for so long someone would save her, but now that she had the chance, she hoped she’d never opened her mouth. 

“Katherine, I'm required by law.” Jane then softens her voice. “Plus, I won’t let you go through this.”

“I-I deserve it,” Katherine mumbles. “My mum was coming to pick me up when she got in the accident.”She drops her voice until it’s barely audible. “It’s my fault she’s dead. I deserve it all.”

Jane’s heart breaks at Katherine’s words and she reaches out, placing a hand on Katherine’s desk between them.

“That doesn’t sound like it was your fault at all, Katherine. I'm so sorry that happened, but you couldn’t have done anything. it wasn’t your fault.”

“If it wasn’t my fault then why would this be happening to me?” Katherine asks, voice painfully quiet.

Jane wishes she had answers. She wishes could tell Katherine that fate was cruel and found vulnerable little girls, but she doesn’t find the words. 

Jane creeps her hand forward and lightly takes Katherine’s. She speaks out loud the promise she made yesterday, “I won’t let you be hurt again,” she whispers.

Katherine trembles and holds to Jane’s hand like a lifeline. She tries to speak but can’t, too many emotions clouding her eyes. 

“What if,” Jane suddenly says, hoping she’s not about to overstep all sorts of red flags she sees in front of her eyes, but she can’t help herself, “you came home with me tonight, Katherine? You’ll be safe, he won’t find you there.”

Jane knows she’s probably breaking all kinds of rules, but she knows she can’t let Katherine go home to her father. When Katherine doesn’t answer, Jane continues hesitantly.

“Then we can report everything tomorrow morning. I'm not going to let him hurt you any more, Katherine.”

Katherine still doesn’t speak, staring at one spot on her desk and sitting stock-still. Her face screws up in frustration, desperately trying not to cry. It’s all pity, it’s all a trick, she knows it. 

But there’s another part of her hoping, clinging to the believe that she might just be different, like the last tether before the ship sinks. 

Words ever-so-eloquently tumble out as she looks at Jane with tear-stricken eyes. “Why do you care?!”

“Because you don’t deserve any of this pain,” Jane answers, without even thinking about the words before they leave her mouth. “You deserve to be safe, and happy, and cared for.” She manages to stop herself before she mentions the maternal need to protect Katherine, a feeling she didn’t realise she even had. Katherine didn’t need to hear that, not when she’d just told Jane about her own mother’s passing. You’re her teacher, not her mum, she reminds herself with a twinge of guilt.

Before Jane can open her mouth to say more, or Katherine anything at all, the door opens and an elderly man ambles in, a school ID tag around his neck and a thick folder of papers in his hand. 

“Excuse me,” Jane says, subtly hiding Katherine from view as she tugs her sleeve down again. “Can I help you?”

The substitute teacher shrugs. “You have a visitor in the office, Miss Seymour,” he says. “They’re looking for you and a Katherine Howard.”

Katherine was immediately concerned. Why would they possibly be looking for both-

“There’s a Mister... oh what’s his name…,” the sub frantically searches for the name and bursts out with, “Edmund Howard! Edmund Howard here to see you.”

“Thank you,” Jane says shortly. She watches as the man places the papers on the desk, then ambles out again. The second the door closes behind him Jane turns to Katherine.

“Katherine, I'm going to take you to the nurse’s office,” she says seriously. “I want you to wait there until I've finished talking to your father.”

Katherine opens her mouth to speak, but all she can let out is a terrified whimper like a kicked puppy. The sight makes up Jane’s mind for her; not only was she not going to let Edmund Howard anywhere near Katherine, she was also intent on reporting him today.

Katherine can only feebly nod. Jane holds out an arm, and Katherine darts into the space, as if Jane’s arm over her shoulders could fight away all the evil.

She would, however, admit that it made her feel the tiniest bit safer as Jane led her through the now-empty halls and to the nurse’s office, then pulls to a stop. 

“it’s going to be okay, Katherine,” Jane says, pulling as much honey-sweetness into her voice as possible. “I won’t let him do anything.”

Katherine gives another shaky nod and it’s only then that Jane walks away. She forms a battle plan in her head as she makes her way to the main office, which is only solidified by Edmund Howard immediately beginning to rage at seeing Jane.

“You’re the teacher that let Katherine skip a class yesterday!” He says quickly and harshly. Then he looks around. “Where is that girl?! She should be here too! She needs to answer for this!”

The school secretary looks to one of the student assistants. “Miss Howard was just checked in by nurse hawthorne. Would you please go fetch her?” 

Before Jane can say anything, the well-meaning student walks away. 

It’s nearly ten minutes later, and after she and Edmund had been shuffled into a conference room, when Katherine appears in the doorway, red-faced and uncomfortably shifting.

The secretary goes to leave now Katherine has arrived, but Jane stops her.

“Please stay. I'd like a witness for this.”

“A witness?” Edmund Howard asks, an outraged frown on his face. “What is this, a courtroom? I just came to give you a piece of my mind.” He looks towards Katherine who shrinks back, and Jane steps between the two of them.

“Mister Howard,” she says firmly, “as a teacher, it is well within my duties to do what is best for my student, and what was best for her yesterday was not to attend her gym class.”

Edmund looks half amused and half murderous. “You can’t be serious. You know her for a week and suddenly you know what’s best for her?” He lets out a sharp bark of a laugh, and Jane feels a chill run down her spine. “I've taken care of her for sixteen years, Miss Seymour,” he says darkly, and Jane can’t help but notice how, in both instances of talking about Katherine, he pointedly avoided using the words ‘father’ and ‘daughter.’ “I think I know what’s best for my offspring, you nosy little worm.”

Jane opens her mouth to speak but Edmund doesn’t let her. “I'm putting in a request to change your teacher, Katherine,” he says, speaking as if Jane doesn’t even exist, “but now I'm taking you home,” he barks the order like a drill sergeant. “Let’s go.”

“She doesn’t have to leave if she doesn’t want to,” Jane interrupts, staring him down. “She’s your daughter, not your prisoner.”

“I don’t recall asking you for your opinion,” Edmund glares. He clicks his fingers imperiously. “Katherine. we’re leaving, now.”

Katherine doesn’t move, now having backed away so far she’s pressed herself against the wall. Edmund lets out an annoyed grunt.

“Katherine, I'm not going to ask again. I thought you knew better than to disobey me.”

God, does it break Jane’s heart - the sight of intelligent, sweet Katherine pressed against the wall like she might otherwise shatter to pieces, and that tiny scared noise she makes when Edmund continues to talk. 

In a brief moment of reflection, Jane ponders to herself... why does she care so much for Katherine compared to her other students.

The thought is cut short, however, as Edmund makes a death march towards Katherine and Jane jumps between them. 

“Mister Howard,” she says, trying to keep her voice even despite the fire in her stomach, “I'd recommend you leave before I call the police and have you arrested for child abuse.”

Edmund turns purple with rage.

“How dare you!” he shouts, and the secretary finally intervenes.

“Miss Seymour,” she stutters, “you can’t say something like that without evidence.”

“I do have evidence,” Jane says firmly. “And I will be filing an official report.”

“You don’t have a leg to stand on,” Edmund sneers. “I've never done anything to Katherine.”

He turns away from Jane to look at the girl, but he freezes as he lays eyes on her.

Katherine has the sleeve of her hoodie pulled up, revealing her arm covered in bruises. She isn’t looking at her father, instead staring down at the floor. the secretary gasps.

“Is that your evidence?” Edmund bluffs. “She’s a clumsy girl, always getting in into silly scrapes and falling over things.”

After patting both of the pockets on her slacks, Jane reaches into her cardigan pocket and pulls out those sheets of notebook paper, crumpled yet neatly folded. “I also have this,” she says, voice steely, “a full narrative Katherine wrote herself, outlining several horrid things you have done to her, Mister Howard.”

He laughs. Actually laughs. “You can’t believe a single word she says,” he says boldly. “She has a bit of a liar’s impulse. Really quite a shame.”

The secretary interjects again. “I'm sorry, Mister Howard, but we need to take all accusations of abuse very seriously. I'm going to have to contact social services about this issue.”

“What you should be taking seriously is these two telling lies about me!” Edmund shouts, slamming his fist against the wall. Katherine jumps, wide-eyed, and Jane places herself between Edmund and Katherine.

“Please control yourself, mister Howard.”

“You’re the one making baseless accusations against me!” He snarls.

“They are far from baseless-”

To the horror of the already terrified Katherine Howard, Jane, unfortunately, doesn’t get to finish that sentence.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @messanaa @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @ladiez-in-waiting @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #julie and jess write #between angels and demons #the world was on fire and no one could save me but you

[the-voltage-diaries]

I’m a bad liar - Taki Kozaki

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, insomnia.

“I’m not leaving until you start speaking, and you sure as hell know it,” (Y/N) challenged, looking Taki in the eyes as he stood in the middle of his wrecked room, his limbs shaking - so slightly that they could almost go unnoticed, his eyes a light shade of red.

“I am fine, I was just looking for a document,” Taki lied, one hand going to the back of his neck to scratch the area, his other hand moving forward to pick up the glass of vodka kept on the table. The glass was pulled away before his fingers could come in contact with it’s surface. Looking up in irritation, he spat, “What in the world is it? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Looking for a document? Oh come on, Taki. You’re better than that. At least make up a lie which sounds believable, would you?”

“I am not lying. Now for fuck’s sake, can you leave me alone?” Taki sighed, running his hands through his dark brown locks.

“I don’t have the energy to banter, Taki. It’s one at night. You have bags under your eyes and your room looks as if it has been hit by a storm. You really expect me to believe you were searching for a document when you are half drunk, and when I know you’re way more organized than making a mess out of your room?”

“Please. Leave me alone, (Y/N). I don’t want to talk right now,” Taki gritted his teeth, picking up his suit jacket and heading out of the door before (Y/N) could stop him. She could only look at the closed door with her brows furrowed, her mind quickly reaching various conclusions as to what was going on with this man she had known for the last decade.

(Y/N) had met Taki as Yosuke’s one-of-the-many potential brides, with her parents far away in another country and her aunt using the opportunity to sell their only daughter for some money. (Y/N) had been in a very bad phase then, with the whole family situation unfolding before her eyes. At that time, it was Taki who pulled her out of her dark times, making her believe that it wasn’t her fault for finding herself in the situation she was in. Taki had helped her come out of her ‘potential bride’ problem, and from then on, they had become closer with each passing day. As close as best friends, even. 

They shared their problems, issues, concerns and fears with each other openly, knowing that the other person wouldn’t judge. Right now, though, Taki was doing the complete opposite. He was hiding something, (Y/N)’s gut feeling told her. She knew it was futile to try and force Taki to speak, and so she took a deep breath, trying to control the urge to run after him.

“What to do with this man…” she muttered to herself as her eyes scanned the messed-up room around her. Deciding to wait for a while for Taki to come back, she started cleaning the room, in hopes of keeping her mind distracted from reaching the worst possible conclusions about her best friend.

Her body froze the moment her eyes read the first few lines of a letter she found while cleaning and her hands clasped the paper tighter, as if showing her increasing concern. Soon enough, she had found a number of letters like the first one, written in the handwriting of the man she knew so well. The words were spitting self-hate, and each letter looked as if it was meant to mock Taki.

Suddenly feeling the urge to go check the washroom, her feet carried her to the destination before she could even register what she was doing. Her hands were busy opening and closing the different cabinets, as if knowing what to look for. She stopped her searching for a moment as she felt her hands touch something which resembled a book. Taking the said book out, it didn’t take her long to realise what it was; a journal. She took a deep breath, trying to push down the strange feeling rising in her gut, before opening the journal.

“What the fuck have you been doing, my boy,” she whispered, the blood in her veins going cold as her eyes came in contact with a familiar metal, and her breath caught in her throat she felt her fingers outline the edges of its cold, sharp body; a blade. 

What made the red flags go up in her head wasn’t the fact that she just saw a blade in what was obviously Taki’s journal, but that the blade had blood on it. Fresh blood.

Her breathing quickened as her mind immediately understood what was going on. Taking a couple of moments to calm her anxious heart down, she sat on the toilet seat with the journal and the letters in her hands. She knew reading someone’s journal was an invasion of privacy, but if it meant Taki internally being ripped apart by the demons of his mind, then privacy could go fuck itself.

()

Taki came back to find an empty place, with (Y/N) nowhere in sight. 

“It’s pretty late,” he remarked, looking at his wristwatch. Of course it is. You really think she would wait for a good-for-nothing piece of shit like you?

Taki shook his head, wanting to get rid of the dark thoughts which already felt like they were consuming him whole. Walking up to pick up his phone, he switched it on, and the first thing that popped up was a message from (Y/N): I’ll be at my place.

Sleeping. She’ll be at her place sleeping. Who would want to waste their time on you? 

“I should probably sleep,” Taki mumbled to himself. Hopefully forever.

Taki had no intention of going to (Y/N)’s place, but what he saw in his washroom cabinet quickly made him reconsider. Instead of the blade he was looking for, he found a note: My place. Right now.

()

“Is he home yet?” (Y/N) asked aloud to no one in particular, looking at her phone. The time read 2:33 A.M.

She had been sitting there, right beside the main entrance to her home, ever since the time she came back from Taki’s place. She had been waiting, or rather, hoping, for Taki to come. Something in her told her that Taki would see her note, and he would come.

Just as she was about to get up to make herself a cup of coffee, she heard a faint knock on her door. It was barely audible, but she did hear it. Without wasting a second, she got up and and turned the doorknob, only to see Taki’s back as he turned around to leave.

What kind of a poor excuse of a friend are you, Taki? She must be sleeping. What made you think she’d open the door for you? Delusional much?

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Before Taki’s thoughts could get any darker, a hand pulled him back, and into a warm embrace.

“Where the fuck were you?” (Y/N)’s words were muffled by his shirt, her eyes tearing ever-so-lightly at the familiar touch of her best friend. Relieved was a small word for what she felt right now, but it would suffice. “Also,” she pulled away, “we need to talk.”

“No, I know I shouldn’t be here.” Taki said, trying to turn back once again. “You should go rest. You’ve got work tomorrow.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyways.”

Taki was led inside her home and into her living room, where she made him sit down on the couch. “You better be here when I come back,” she warned, and went into her room. 

“Why do you have that?” Taki asked, alarmed, when he saw (Y/N) keep his journal and letters on the table.

“Show me your hand, Taki.”

“Why?”

“Show me the damned hand,” she took Taki’s hand and pulled the sleeves up. Even though she had mentally prepared herself for it, it seemingly wasn’t enough to stop the involuntary sharp intake of breath.

There on his arm, as she had anticipated, were numerous cuts, horizontal to his hand. Some were still bleeding, some were like a dark, ugly, mark. Some were long, some were broader and deep. One part of it was just cuts, but the other - more cruel - part was where the words were engraved deep into his skin; embarrassment, loser, failure, disgrace, to name a few.

“Why?” she asked, her body rigid, her mind blank and her eyes now brimming with tears. “Why, Taki?”

See that? YOU did it to her. 

Taki’s eyes widened, and his breathing started getting ragged with each passing second.

You KNEW she had depression in the past, and yet you did it.

Light started fading out from the corners of his vision.

You KNEW it would affect her, and yet you did it. 

Sweat lined his forehead.

You KNEW it may trigger her, and yet you did it. You showed her your lowest, shittiest self, and yet you expect her to deal with you?

“Taki?” (Y/N) called, noticing the change in his behavior.

You think she cares? His head started to spin.

“Can you hear me, Taki?”

You think anybody cares?

“Taki?!”

‘Cause nobody does. She doesn’t care, just like she shouldn’t.

“Taki, please stay with me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong but please stay with me.”

Even your dad didn’t care, did he? He could hear (Y/N) calling out to him, but he was too tried to respond. He was too exhausted to listen to anything but his worsening thoughts.

You’re a fucking disgrace. Your mom hated you, you know that?

“Taki, fucking say something.”

So did your dad. He left that debt on you not because he couldn’t repay it, but because he wanted you to die. He couldn’t manage to bear with you, so he left. Just like everybody else. “I know…” Taki mumbled.

“What?”

You can’t do anything. You’re good for nothing. Everyone pities you. You’re a fucking disgrace. A freaking black spot. “I know, damnit…”

“Taki, what did you say?”

Even now, you only care about money. You incompetent rascal, you can’t take care of anything; not your father, not your friends, not anybody.

“Can you hear me?”

You used women to pay off your debt. What a bloody gold-digger. “I can’t breathe.”

“Taki, okay, breathe in. Listen to me, okay?”

Even now, you’re taking advantage of (Y/N). You’re taking her for granted, abusing her care and affection. “I’m scared, (Y/N)”

“There’s nothing to be scared of. I am here with you, right? Now, breathe out.”

You let everybody down. Do everyone a favor and just die. Nobody wants you. Nobody loves you. Nobody cares.

“Breathe, please.”

You know why?

“Taki, please respond to me. Say something, anything, please.”

Because you aren’t worth it. “I KNOW! I KNOW I AM NOT WORTHY! JUST FUCKING STOP!”

“TAKI!” (Y/N) yelled, pulling Taki to her by the shoulders. She patted his back repeatedly, chanting the word ‘breathe’ like a mantra.

Taki seemed to slowly return to his senses as he felt sweat drip down his brow. He touched his face, only to feel fresh tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice hoarse after a battle with himself. His legs gave out, and he would’ve fallen to the ground had (Y/N) not been there holding him, protecting him, shielding him and being the anchor he desperately needed.

“I’m here. It’s going to be okay. You’ll be fine.”

()

“I’m sorry,” Taki looked at (Y/N), a self-depreciating smile lining his face, “I should’ve shown more maturity instead of barging in at your place so late.”

“You really want me to slap some sense into you, or what?” (Y/N) spat, placing the warm brandy tea in front of him.

“I am an asshole, ain’t I?”

“You know what,” (Y/N) pulled his face up to make him look into her eyes, “you should not let your anxiety, overthinking and insecurity talk for you.”

Taki couldn’t help but nod, slightly embarrassed at how she had caught him in his dark web red-handed.

“So, what happened? Why do you think you’re an asshole?”

“Why do you think dad left? I couldn’t even be a good son,” he scoffed, “He clearly couldn’t wait to leave me alone. The debt was just the perfect excuse.”

“Nah, I think you should be proud. he left the debt on your shoulder because he knew you were capable enough to handle it better than him.”

“I used women to pay off the debt. I ruined everything,” Taki rolled his head back, breathing heavily, “I’m a monster.”

“No, you are not,” (Y/N) pulled him by the chin, looking into his eyes, “The women were willingly with you. You didn’t force them, did you?”

“Stop trying to give excuses, (Y/N). Look, even now, I am taking you for granted. I am taking advantage of our friendship to speak out my woes.”

“Listen here, you fucking idiot. I’m not your acquaintance. I am a friend. Helping you soothe your woes is a part of the deal, get it?”

After debating for about an hour on whether Taki was a monster or not, Taki finally chose to gave up, not having any more counter-arguments for (Y/N).

“Okay, fine. I concede, alright?” Taki stated, laughing at how utterly defeated he was.

“Yay! I win yet another argument. You really do need too sharpen your debating skills, man.” (Y/N) got up, picking up the empty cups which an hour ago contained warm brandy tea.

When she came back, she caught Taki near the window, staring into nothing. His eyes seemed tired, his body exhausted. “You look like you need a hug,” she said, catching his attention. “May I? I promise, it’s free of charge.”

“Yes, you may,” he laughed, letting him run towards him and jump into his already-open arms.

After a moment or so of laughing, when they both finally calmed down, (Y/N) said, her voice soft, “I think you’re just afraid to be happy.”

“I guess I am.” Taki shrugged. “Anyways, I should be leaving, and you should be sleeping. It’s way too late, now,” he added, looking at the wall clock which read 3:48 A.M.

(Y/N) grabbed his arm just as he was about to pull out of the embrace, “Actually, I think you should stay here for some time.” Her tone spoke more than her words did, and he didn’t fail to catch that.

()

They both lay on the bed, with Taki’s arms wrapped around (Y/N)’s waist and his head on her stomach, talking.

They talked about their work life, friends, meetings, projects, food, paintings, bucket lists along with a ton of other stuff.

“For how long are you planning to squeeze my guts out?” She asked, laughing, as her hands repeatedly went through his soft brown locks.

“A long time, for sure. You’re my new pillow.” he poked her tummy, making her shriek with laughter.

“That tickles, you idiot!”

“Does it, now?” he remarked innocently, poking her again, laughing along with her this time.

After they both calmed down and were about to doze off, (Y/N) called Taki’s name, catching his attention as he looked up at her.

“You know you’re not alone, right?”

“I know.” he smiled, thanking the heavens for giving him the rock he needed to have his back, the anchor he needed to keep him grounded, and the shadow which would walk with him when the world refused to.

#taki kozaki #kop #kings of paradise #depression #insomnia #angst-ey #anxiety #help #bad liar #self harm #incompetent #monster #pathetic #best friend #undestanding #not alone #my little crumbcake~

[seeksghosts-archive]

 lilly  likes  to  pretend  that  she’s  never  dealt  with  heartbreak .  if  anyone  asks ,  she’ll  laugh  off  the  idea  of  having  had  a  relationship  serious  enough  to  hurt  her .  ask  her  about  her  living  situation  through  college  and  she’ll  tell  you  she  had  a  roommate  and  that’s  everything  she’ll  have  to  say  on  the  subject .  but  if  you  knew  her  in  college ?  you  knew  everything  she  went  through .

 friends  noticed  something  was  wrong  not  long  after  she  and  austin  started  dating .  they  all  knew  lilly  fell  too  hard  and  too  quick  for  a  guy  with  a  reputation .  but  she  seemed  happy  and  he  seemed  to  be  good  to  her ,  so  they  brushed  the  red  flags  under  the  rug  and  assumed  that  everything  would  be  just  fine .  

 he  knew  what  he  was  getting  into .  it  wasn’t  as  if  lilly  hid  her  diagnosis  from  anyone .  she  had  been  upfront  with  him  the  moment  he’d  asked  her  for  their  first  date ,  had  let  him  know  that  he  had  to  be  willing  to  be  there  through  her  episodes ,  through  days  that  would  have  him  needing  to  drag  her  kicking  and  screaming  out  of  bed .  and  he’d  said  he  could  handle  it ,  had  said  he  would  be  ready  to  hold  her  hand  through  it .  and  she’d  believed  him .  had  no  reason  not  to . 

 the  first  six  months  seemed  to  be  perfect .  they  got  an  apartment  together  the  summer  after  their  freshman  year .  a  small  one  bedroom  place  that  she  fell  in  love  with  the  moment  they  walked  through  the  door  for  a  viewing .  summer  was  amazing ...  they  put  together  their  place ,  built  their  little  home .  and  lilly  was  so  sure  that  he  was  her  forever ,  that  he  was  the  ONE .  it  wasn’t  until  the  holiday  break  after  first  semester  of  sophomore  year  that  everything  started  to  fall  apart ,  that  she  started  to  see  the  cracks  in  their  foundation ,  and  she  began  to  wonder  if  there  had  ever  been  a  foundation  at  all .

 she  had  come  home  early  from  a  study  session .  she  could  feel  an  episode  coming  on ,  had  already  started  seeing  shadows  creeping  into  the  edges  of  her  vision .  and  she’d  just  wanted  austin ,  just  wanted  to  go  home  to  him .  and  she’d  known  the  moment  she  opened  the  door  it  was  a  mistake .  she  had  heard  the  woman  before  she  saw  her ,  had  heard  her  moans  from  the  living  room  before  she’d  rounded  the  corner  and  saw  austin  taking  her  from  behind  on  the  couch .  and  that  was  the  first  time  she’d  felt  her  heart  break .

 at  least  it  was  the  couch .  at  least  he  immediately  stopped  and  kicked  the  other  woman  out .  had  immediately  tugged  on  his  boxers  and  followed  lilly  into  the  bedroom  where  she  was  curled  on  their  bed  sobbing ,  voices  whispering  in  her  ear  that  she  would  never  be  good  enough ,  that  this  was  her  fault .  and  that  was  only  cemented  when  he  sat  behind  her  on  the  bed .  years  later  she  could  still  hear  his  voice  clear  as  anything  else .  (  you  have  intimacy  with  people  who  i  can’t  see ,  lil .  you  always  talk  to  them .  it’s  like  they  know  you  better  than  i  ever  could .  i’m  jealous .  and  seeing  you  like  that  is  hard ,  lil .  i  want  to  make  it  stop  and  i  can’t .  and  it  was  one  time  because  i  was  caught  off  guard  and  she  was  there .  )  god ...  she  should  have  known  it  was  bullshit  but  she  wanted  to  believe  him .  she  wanted  to  believe  that  he  just  slipped .  and  maybe  that’s  why  she  stayed .

 years  of  finding  the  cheapest  hotel  possible  when  she  needed  somewhere  safe  to  break ,  years  of  knowing  what  was  going  on  behind  her  back .  but  he  said  he  loved  her ,  said  he  was  going  to  be  with  her .  he  was  supposed  to  be  her  forever .  and  then  she  walked  in  on  him  with  someone  she  thought  was  her  friend ...  in  their  bed .  he  didn’t  even  stop .  she  sat  on  the  couch  while  he  finished ,  while  the  girl  dressed  and  left ,  while  he  told  her  that  he  needed  an  outlet  for  the  stress  of  her  disorder .  and  she  believed  him .  stayed  with  him .

 until  graduation  day .  she  walked  the  stage  and  walked  out  of  his  life .

 he’d  damaged  her  in  ways  she  wouldn’t  understand  until  she  met  @drstmbrg .  lilly  had  spent  the  years  after  austin  building  walls  up ,  separating  herself  from  any  attachment  she  could  have  to  someone .  she’d  seen  what  her  diagnosis  did  to  relationships ...  her  heart  couldn’t  handle  that  again .  but  meeting  arnold  changed  everything .

 with  him ,  she  was  able  to  see  just  how  cruel  austin  had  been .  she  had  her  eyes  opened  to  the  fact  that  it  wasn’t  her  fault ,  that  people  who  loved  her  weren’t  putting  up  with  her ,  they  were  helping  her  and  were  there  because  they  wanted  to  be .  with  arnold ,  she  began  to  believe  in  herself  again ,  found  the  confidence  she’d  lost  when  she’d  been  hurt  so  horribly .  she  was  able  to  accept  everything  about  herself  and  she  was  able  to  finally  believe  in  the  idea  of  forever  again .

#❀ﾟ*・ﾟand ι've grown ғaмιlιar wιтн тнe vιllaιnѕ тнaт lιve ιn мy нead ↳ META #long post // #cheating //

[wxldchxld]

@irnveined in which there’s a long, boring dabble about witches bickering in an unnecessary set up that does nothing but shine a tiny glimmer of light on what it’ll be like to deal with these assholes the rest of Asha’s life. Except Harper. Harper’s goin tf home.

Asha knew fuck all about witches. She’d spent all of a week in their lands, and half of the time she’d spent there was spent half-drunk, stuffing her face, and doing the finger dance while the witches and Ironborn alike drank themselves blind at the preceding rite to the wedding. The rest of the time was spent in a handful of negotiations, the actual marriage ceremony, and one pleasant but all-too-short night with her new wife. It’d been a small wonder that she’d even been able to keep track of all her own men as she brokered an alliance between herself and a people she didn’t know the first thing about.

Still, nothing could have prepared her for Ragna the Bloodied Badger.

In truth, each of the commanding witches sent to sail east with her were odd in their own way. Harper Stolt looked as soft and lovely as the girls in a pillow house, but the witches all bowed beneath the weight of her boiling stares and assured any Ironborn with lingering gazes that there was nothing beneath her delicate features but a mind like a sword’s edge and a spirit like jagged rocks. The Seal King, who was no general at all but the leader of his clan, was quite easily the largest man she’d ever seen in her life. At his brow he was a good two feet above the top of her head, broad in the chest as her Black Wind was long, and thick in the stomach just like the sigil on his flag suggested. He wore the most offensive yellow coat with a blue hat and sash, and boots that went up to his knees. Cuyler the Seven-Toed Eagle was nearly as large in his breast as the Seal, but of an average height, only his skin was an unnatural grey, and the dark green tattoos that covered him were sunken into his flesh---even the silhouette of an eagle on his face. The witches had sent two scholars too, one a woman with hair the color of a pale ale and eyes red as the deck of Euron’s Silence, and the other an intelligent, fair looking man who looked wise granted his trembling body was kept under control by chewing on a wad of herbs like a goat out at pasture.

Still none of them she found as outlandish, nor as charming, as Ragna: a woman whose head came just to the bottom of Asha’s own chin and the champion of the Badger Clan. Asha was still trying to grasp the ease with which witches pronounced women soldiers and captains and generals at all, better yet small ones. And Ragna wasn’t particularly fit either. She was not as fat as the King of Seals, but they shared a similar quality in that under their---more rounded features their muscles were as hard as iron, and it was easy to see if one spared her more than a cursory glance. Which everyone did, as the woman’s voice boomed like thunder wherever she went to the effect that even when she was on her own ship, sailing beside the Black Wind, Asha could hear her shouting at her men on deck.

She was called the Bloodied Badger because she adorned herself in dozens of little sealed vials filled with her enemies’ blood that attached to her belt and her leather harness that bound her thick chest and the delicate chains woven through her hair. Hair that was shaved off on the sides and as long as her feet, and she scrubbed it so often with lye it was white as a ghost and braided so tightly that it looked like a noose, as she kept it coiled around her neck.

Asha didn’t cower in the face of any enemy, but she thought she’d rather take her axe and cleave off her own hand before willfully getting into a brawl with such a woman. She was, however, pleasant company: never without a sly remark to add to the conversation and rarely without a drink either. Once a week she’d called “war councils” to be held on the Black Wind, of which they’d had more than half a dozen where they were the only two participants involved, but she always brought fine dark ale and didn’t linger too long.

Currently, they were having the first (mostly) sober meeting of their journey, and not one of the witch leaders were absent.

“Three days isn’t time. Three days is hardly a heartbeat.” Ranga growled. “We’ve no time to plan.”

Asha snorted into her cup and brought her heels up to rest on the table. At her left, Qarl sent her a scowl as if he were offended by her boots resting in front of him, and whether or not he meant it, it made her laugh. But her confidence was skin deep. Even with the witches at her back they were outnumbered.

She thought briefly of her wife and resisted the urge to cringe. The witch king had sent her three hundred war ships with men to sail them, but he’d sent twenty treasure ships: the largest things she’d ever seen as sea, each with two dozen sails and a deck that could have hosted a village. Asha had sent her wife on one of those ships, and she had them sail a day behind the war party, but if they were defeated, her uncle’s fleet would descend upon those ships like a cruel wave, and she did not want to linger on thoughts of what might happen to her lady wife. Even in the best of circumstances, where none of her uncle’s men knew that they were wed, she was a young, beautiful woman; they’d drag her off for a salt wife.

“We’re on the open sea with a fleet not half the size of Euron’s own.” Qarl was stating the obvious, but the reminder seemed to have no effect on the witches, so he pressed on. “There’s little hope of surrounding them.”

Asha handed the flagon in her hand to the Seal King across the table, who was so large he had but to lean back and stretch out his enormous arm to put the brim under the spicket. The fox general, beautiful and perpetually exasperated, set her jaw and rolled her eyes, but she twisted the handle anyway. It wasn’t until she’d taken another drink that Asha found anything to say.

She didn’t get to say it because no sooner had she sat down her cup than Harper lost what little patience she’d been clinging to and snarled. “What the hell are they doing so far west?”

“We’ll take them from behind.” Asha said, ignoring a question that she didn’t have any good answer to. “With any luck we can surprise them under the cover of night.”

Ragna wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “Not if they’re sailing toward us. The trailing ships won’t have the speed to slip around them. They don’t turn well.”

The Seal King muttered his agreement. They were his ships, after all, and he was the only witch among them who knew a damn thing about the sea.

“It’s the best plan we’ve got.” Qarl said after a moment of long, drawn out silence. It immediately went quiet again, and Asha consoled herself with a long drink.

“The best plan you’ve got, maybe, but I don’t intend to see my command ended in a watery grave.” Harper’s words dripped with such venom they might have bore a hole in the wood below.

They would not drown her. She thought. Not a woman that lovely. A proud man would see a challenge in her and take her for his salt wife, but Asha didn’t say anything. The woman’s hand was resting on a long, slim pouch of leather where she held her wand, and presently it felt like a bad idea to provoke her.

The Kraken’s daughter regarded the angry witch. “What would you have me do then?”

“The Allvaldr gave you nearly three thousand witches. What I wouldn’t do is squander them in a fucking sword fight.”

Ranga chuffed in disapproval. “She’s right. Prefer an axe in a fight myself.”

Asha shouldn’t have laughed at that, the tension in the room was almost at a boil, and Harper had, for reasons no one had ever told her, despised her from the second she’d laid eyes on her. But she did laugh. The Badger was a woman after her own heart.

“Let’ss ju-u-ust---take a mo-mo-mommment to breathe, eh?” The raven hair scholar was shaking in earnest now.

“By the blood of my ancestors will someone shove a branch down his throat?” Harper’s face was coiled in disgust. “Makes me dizzy just to look at you.”

“He ought to stop those transport spells.” The Seal King grumbled through a mouthful of fish. “One day you’ll pop off to somewhere and every inch of that skin of yours will fly off in a thousand directions. Mark my words.”

“Shut up!” The Fox commanded, “I am not done.”

The Seal King turned in his chair so that only Asha and Qarl could see his face, and just below the creaking of the ship she heard him mumble something about how no one wanted her to.

“Good queen,” It sounded as if it physically pained Harper to call her such. All of the witches addressed her as a queen, at least by title. Something about how will shapes the world and speaking things that would be as if they were true.

“We are not outnumbered.” She said strongly. “Not when we can call to the hearts of every creature writhing below the deck of this ship. We need not hurl arrows where we can send dreams to plague men with nightmares that deprive them of sleep. A sword cannot compare to a sickness we could spread through the whole fleet. What good is an axe against waves as tall as castles that we call to drown their ships? See if your enemies will rise from that.”

“Do that and not a soul is spared.” Ragna said quietly. Not even she would meet the eyes of the Fox.

“No.” Asha cut in before another breath could be taken. “I’ll not sink the whole of the Iron Fleet. Those that would see reason-”

“Would have seen it at your queensmoot.”

“I have given you my answer.” Asha said. There was no good nature left in her voice. That was twice now she’d been interrupted by this woman in the halls of her own ship. She sat her cup on the table pointedly and locked her eyes onto the witch. “I will not sink the whole of the Iron Fleet.”

Surely some men would see this for the madness it was. Her uncle Victarion was slow and proud, he believed her place was in a man’s bed fat with his child, but surely even he couldn’t deny her now. She’d sailed to the end of the world and not just survived, but returned with triple the force she’d had when she reached the shore. And she hadn’t lost a single man in the process. Diplomacy was not favored among her people, but it worked; surely they would have to see that. Some at least. Even a hundred. Even ten. She would not so carelessly discard the lives of her people. Troubled as they were, they were hers, and none of them would call her a queen if she let these foreigners kill scores of them.

“Then have my answer, good queen, and it’s this: I won’t send my own in to die for a lost cause. We fight as witches or we do not fight.” Harper replied in a cold, steely tone. The woman rolled her shoulders and turned on her heel to leave. “If you should find your wits, call on me.”

If she’d have been born anywhere else in Westeros, such blatant disrespect might have sent her into a rage. But she was Ironborn, and a woman nonetheless---a woman standing in a man’s shoes. Even if the Ironborn had have been the type to scrape and grovel at the feet of their lords, they wouldn’t have respected her. So she made no argument, and she didn’t let the bitter pang of annoyance show on her face.

With a sigh, Asha reached for her cup and focused back on Ragna. “How much will we suffer without her leg of the army?”

“Leg? Whole damn army’s hers.” Ranga said, already filling her cup again. The two scholars exchanged looks, one of them mouthing to the other ‘one of those nights’ and making a crude drinking motion with her hand that made the other laugh, but they didn’t speak.

“I thought you lead your own people into battle?”

The Badger nodded. “Aye, I’m the general of the Badger Clan’s army, but she’s the general of the United Army. All of us. Only person here to out pull her is Fritjof.”

“And I won’t.” said the King of Seals as he dumped something from a vial into his flagon. It was the first time she’d ever heard his name. He shifted in his seat and wiped his mouth with his hand, “I can’t afford to fight the foxes. I can scarcely afford the war I’m in now. It’ll be a wonder if the Bears north of Mun-Strǫnd don’t take half my land before I return home, I can’t have the south moving up against us too.”

Ranga cleared her throat and shook her head. “Before we decide whether or we can go against her, we should think about if we ought to.”

“Could you do it to your own men? Whether they’d turned against you or not?” It was Cuyler the Seven-Toed that spoke. His low, gravely tone came as a complete surprise; the man had ridden on the Black Wind since they’d set sail, and he’d never made a sound. Asha had taken him for a mute, and more than once she’d wondered how he held any kind of command without the ability to speak.

Ragna grunted and put her lips to her cup again, growling directly into the flagon. “No. No I couldn’t… but what if we didn’t have to? Harper had one good point at least.”

The raven-haired scholar managed to stop chewing his cud long enough to ask. “Dream walkers?”

“They won’t be any use to me if they can’t sail.” Asha said dismissively. In truth she didn’t like the principle of the matter. It felt---cowardly: weakening her people and driving them half mad. People ought to have the opportunity to choose--to fight for themselves.

“We’ve only got the one dream walker anyway. She won’t do it.”

“Does she too have some unfounded grudge against me?” Asha asked, only half serious.

“Your young bride?” Cuyler laughed at that. “I should hope not. But she’s too gentle-hearted to drive men mad. Even if she could channel enough of us to amplify a dream across a hundred thousand men, she wouldn’t have the stomach to unleash it on them.”

“A nightmare, no, but a dream…” Ragna let her words dangle in the silence that followed, then she pointed a finger to the sigil of the kraken on the wall. “An ill omen. It’s all we need send. Have the scouts find the direction which they sail, and let us keep away from them. Send them dreams of warring krakens and the sigils of their supporting clans where your enemies fall. Send them for days. Then call up those same creatures from the deep, let them sink a few ships. After we can send a second dream that warns them to turn home and lay down their weapons---to swear their allegiance to you. If they stay after that then they mean to fight you, and if we call up a wave to drown half the fleet afterwards, they’ll see it not as cruelty but a sign.”

“You mean to manipulate their faith?” The red eyed woman asked with clear disgust in her tone.

“It’s not doing any harm.” Ragna replied hotly. “She is the kraken, and we do mean to kill those who would keep from from her throne.”

“Would we see battle at all?” Asha asked. There was something about the prospect of seeing her axe sticking between Euron’s eyes that she just didn’t want to miss.

Ranga’s grin consumed the whole of her face. “Only if you want it.”

Asha finished the rest of her cup and slumped against the wall behind her. So that was that. She would twist what the Ironborn held most sacred and wage a war Euron’s men had no chance in fighting. There would have to be some sort of bloodshed though or her men would think her cowardly.

“Would she do this?” Asha pressed.

Cuyler offered an answer. “The Lady Greyjoy? She’d be saving life, not ending it.”

His tone was almost mocking when he spoke the words “Lady Greyjoy” but it didn’t seem to be aimed at the Iron Queen in particular.

“Will it bring her close to the battle?” Beck didn’t seem like the type for fighting, and as happy as the thought of seeing her wife again made her, Asha wasn’t sure how she felt about dragging her into the throes of war.

“Dream walkers can go far.” The Seal King slurred, half drunk and slumped over her table. He raised his cup into the air and sighed like a wistful maid, “Walk me to the depths of the sea!”

Perhaps---more than half drunk then. The Seven-Toed Eagle took the man’s coat in his grasp and hoisted enough. “We can do no more until the scouts return. I’ll see his kingship back to his own vessel.”

The two men stumbled up the stairs comically, as the Seal couldn’t manage them on his own and they were too large to stand side by side. Near the top she heard them fall with a groan from Cuyler and a bellowing laugh from his drunk friend.

“We’ll take our leave as well, good queen.” said the woman scholar, bowing her head respectfully and walking off with her colleague's hand clasped in her own before he could attempt to speak through his full mouth. Asha waved them away dismissively and let her eyes fall closed. She wouldn’t sleep tonight; she knew that much. The battle was too close, and she could practically feel the weight of the Driftwood crown on her head.

There was a scrape of wood against wood as Ragna stood to her feet.

“Will the Fox general fight now?” Asha asked in a voice she hoped didn’t sound anxious.

“Harper? Aye. Especially now that Beck’s involved.”

Her brow raised curiously. “Do they know one another well?”

“Is that an answer you truly want?”

Well now she sure as hell did. Asha opened her eyes to assess the Badger, who looked hesitant to continue.

“As well as two people can; four years ago they were meant to marry.”

Asha had a good, hard laugh at that. Not because it was particularly funny, but because she couldn’t think of anything better to do in light of this utterly ridiculous information. Had all of that posturing been over something as petty as jealousy?

She nearly asked more of the witch but saw Ragna wince and thought better of it. Perhaps the ale was starting to get to her as well. That was Beck’s business.

“Shall I return when the scouts arrive?” It wasn’t a question. The Badger ascended the stairs two at a time, and she didn’t look back.

#i should edit this #i'm not gonna rn #i've been typing away like a storm all day #also i'm sorry about asha's portrayal/dialog #i did my best #irnveined

[strngher-archived]

LILLY  SULLIVAN - STOMBERG

she would never understand why her mother named her after a demon. something about trying to take back the name, turn it into one for a strong woman, but lilly always felt like it was a curse. growing up with a name like that, there was no way she could ever be a normal girl, it couldn't be possible. but it never stopped amazing her how hard her mother fought to keep her from changing it. they had decided on lilly as a name for the teachers and her friends when she was nine. anyone who dared to call her lillith outside of her mom and dad? a mental note was immediately made that they couldn't be trusted.

her childhood had been normal for the most part. as normal as it could be with that kind of name. there was no abuse, no abandoned child, no neglect. she had a family that loved her, parents that nurtured her and encouraged her. everything was perfect, what any little girl would hope for in a family. but as she got older, it became obvious that there wasn’t something quite right with lilly. she was prone to outbursts, excitement quickly turning to anger that faded away just as quickly as it had come. memories of things her parents knew had never happened were discussed over dinner as casually as you’d discuss a homework assignment. and then she started hearing the ghosts.

the first time she told her mom about ghosts, they’d been sitting in a restaurant and lilly pointed to an empty table and talked about the man in blue smiling at her, how he was a nice man. she was thirteen. there was no convincing her otherwise … there were ghosts. there were beings outside of life and death that existed and if you dared to suggest something else it would send her into a spiral.

when she was fifteen, she was dragged kicking and screaming to a psychiatrist. it took session after session of being told she was one thing and then another but the second she opened her mouth about the old lady on the other end of the couch, the psychiatrist had a definite diagnosis. schizoaffective disorder. her entire life was turned upside down and her family fought to make sure she had the support she needed.

determined to not become a statistic, lilly dove into her studies, graduating with a 4.0 gpa from highschool. college was a breeze that opened her up to others with her beliefs. her first experience with those who didn’t whisper the word crazy was with the paranormal club on campus. thanks to them, she buried herself in research. it would be the start of the rest of her life.

it started as a youtube channel with poorly lit videos, horrible audio, but passion and determination were abundant. it took a decade, but lilly was able to turn her passion and her ghosts into a television show, a successful youtube channel, and even a merchandise line. she’s dedicated her life to proving that the paranormal exists and that sometimes having a label doesn’t mean the voices around you aren’t real.

LIVING  WITH  SCHIZOAFFECTIVE  DISORDER

lilly was originally diagnosed with bipolar disorder. her mood swings were difficult to handle and she often put herself in inadvertent danger during manic episodes. the doctors assured her parents that the hallucinations she was having during her manic and depressive episodes would subside with medication.

it wasn’t until those hallucinations continued happening outside of her episodes that the doctor realized that this was more than bipolar disorder. she was eventually diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder bipolar type ( due to the presence of both manic and depressive episodes ). the disorder is characterized by hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thinking, odd behavior, impaired communication, and awkwardness in social situations.

one of the most difficult things for lilly to deal with is disorganized thinking. for her this translates until communication issues as well as a near dissociation from her body’s needs. her body does not allow her to recognize the sensations of hunger, thirst, a full bladder, pain, etc at times until the need is unbearable. this can cause issues especially with the sensation of pain as she may not notice a wound until she sees the blood. once something is pointed out to her and her focus is on that sensation, she is typically able to recognize it. sometimes a simple “ are you hungry ? ” is enough to help her focus on her body enough to keep her in check.

part of how lilly deals with her disorder is making jokes about herself. she will frequently refer to herself as crazy or talk about having schizo brain. it is her way of normalizing schizoaffective disorder and trying to make it less stigmatized. while this isn’t something that every person with the disorder does, it is her way and it does make her feel better. this is valid for her and she has spoken to her doctor at length about it. these jokes are only made off camera. she will never make them while recording because she does not want comments to be taken out of context and she does not want people using her jokes against others like her.

on that same note, her close friends are allowed to joke with her about it. they are not allowed to make those jokes on camera. if she considers you an acquaintance, you will be lectured if you try to make these jokes. if she makes them around you, you are allowed to laugh and comment on them. you are not allowed to try to correct her. lilly fully recognizes that she is not neurotypical and that were she born in another time period, she would probably have spent most of her life in the asylums that she now investigates. she is not ashamed of her diagnosis or disorder and correcting her makes her feel as though you are saying she should be ashamed of having a mental disorder.

REGARDING  AUSTIN  AND  ARNOLD

lilly likes to pretend that she’s never dealt with heartbreak. if anyone asks, she’ll laugh off the idea of having had a relationship serious enough to hurt her. ask her about her living situation through college and she’ll tell you she had a roommate and that’s everything she’ll have to say on the subject. but if you knew her in college? you knew everything she went through.

friends noticed something was wrong not long after she and austin started dating. they all knew lilly fell too hard and too quick for a guy with a reputation. but she seemed happy and he seemed to be good to her, so they brushed the red flags under the rug and assumed that everything would be just fine.

he knew what he was getting into. it wasn’t as if lilly hid her diagnosis from anyone. she had been upfront with him the moment he’d asked her for their first date, had let him know that he had to be willing to be there through her episodes, through days that would have him needing to drag her kicking and screaming out of bed. and he’d said he could handle it, had said he would be ready to hold her hand through it. and she’d believed him. had no reason not to.

the first six months seemed to be perfect. they got an apartment together the summer after their freshman year. a small one bedroom place that she fell in love with the moment they walked through the door for a viewing. summer was amazing... they put together their place, built their little home. and lilly was so sure that he was her forever, that he was the one. it wasn’t until the holiday break after first semester of sophomore year that everything started to fall apart, that she started to see the cracks in their foundation, and she began to wonder if there had ever been a foundation at all.

she had come home early from a study session. she could feel an episode coming on, had already started seeing shadows creeping into the edges of her vision. and she’d just wanted austin, just wanted to go home to him. and she’d known the moment she opened the door it was a mistake. she had heard the woman before she saw her, had heard her moans from the living room before she’d rounded the corner and saw austin taking her from behind on the couch. and that was the first time she’d felt her heart break.

at least it was the couch. at least he immediately stopped and kicked the other woman out. had immediately tugged on his boxers and followed lilly into the bedroom where she was curled on their bed sobbing, voices whispering in her ear that she would never be good enough, that this was her fault. and that was only cemented when he sat behind her on the bed. years later she could still hear his voice clear as anything else. ( you have intimacy with people who i can’t see, lil. you always talk to them. it’s like they know you better than i ever could. i’m jealous. and seeing you like that is hard, lil. i want to make it stop and i can’t. and it was one time because i was caught off guard and she was there. )  god... she should have known it was bullshit but she wanted to believe him. she wanted to believe that he just slipped. and maybe that’s why she stayed.

years of finding the cheapest hotel possible when she needed somewhere safe to break, years of knowing what was going on behind her back. but he said he loved her, said he was going to be with her. he was supposed to be her forever. and then she walked in on him with someone she thought was her friend... in their bed. he didn’t even stop. she sat on the couch while he finished, while the girl dressed and left, while he told her that he needed an outlet for the stress of her disorder. and she believed him. stayed with him.

until graduation day. she walked the stage and walked out of his life.

he’d damaged her in ways she wouldn’t understand until she met arnold. lilly had spent the years after austin building walls up, separating herself from any attachment she could have to someone. she’d seen what her diagnosis did to relationships... her heart couldn’t handle that again. but meeting arnold changed everything.

with him, she was able to see just how cruel austin had been. she had her eyes opened to the fact that it wasn’t her fault, that people who loved her weren’t putting up with her, they were helping her and were there because they wanted to be. with arnold, she began to believe in herself again, found the confidence she’d lost when she’d been hurt so horribly. she was able to accept everything about herself and she was able to finally believe in the idea of forever again.

#♛ ･ﾟ: * LILLY | META ↳ ѕoмeone lιĸe мe can вe a real nιgнтмare

[lietbel]

just a lil bkdk drabble about trading cards and sentimental people.

Bakugou Katsuki was not a sentimental person - or at least he tried not to be. Objects were just that, objects and to tie emotions to something that could easily break was an idiotic thing to do. Hell, even his own gauntlets could be replaced in a blink of an eye ( though the support department would beg to differ and issue a two to three days ).

But one thing.

One thing in particular was the exception.

He’d been seven when his mother had let him travel down to the convenience store with his usual ragtag group, tiny voices all excited about the new trading cards that had been released this morning, and more specifically, just what they had the chance of containing. It was no secret that all of the children idolized All Might in some way. He was brave, kind and powerful - everything a kid could ever aspire to be at the age of seven, and Katsuki had been no exception. When his tiny hands, burned at the top of his palms ( for his own good, his mother had said, but when you get a quirk that literally causes explosions in the palm of your hand, it wore on you ), had ripped open the package to see that brilliant, foiled card, he nearly leaped for joy. The ooohs and ahhhs from his companions soon fill his ears as they realize just how lucky he’d gotten until it’d all been ripped by the happiest of shrieks he’s ever heard.

Deku.

That useless boy…he hadn’t even been invited and yet the moment he’d seen him leave the house, he’d dashed out and fell into place behind him with a warm smile. It’s infuriating that no matter what he does to push the fool away, he always comes back for more.

One glance is all it takes to realize just what’s happened, and for a moment, Katsuki forgot how to breathe. It’s a sickening, nauseating feeling when your stomach tumbles around like it’s on a washer’s spin cycle, but the very second he sees that blossoming grin and felt the literal warmth radiating because of Izuku’s happiness, he thought he was going to hurl.

Staring back at him, in between that neon bandaid and dirty fingernails, stood the same damn card he’d gotten and within seconds he could feel the rage already starting to boil. Stupid…useless…Deku…how the hell did he get so lucky?! Katsuki feels the heat in his hands, knows that all it’d take was just a simple spark to push him to the ground, but it isn’t him that strikes. Another kid, one that lives just a few houses down from his own and two from Izuku swipes the card and in his shock and happiness, it goes flying out of his hand. A chant of ‘give it back’ begins to spew as it’s held high above the shorter kids head until finally, it’s landing into Katsuki’s hands. The look of desperation and fear haunts him until this day as the damning smell of burning cardboard and plastic fill the air with a few pops in between his closed hand. He half expected the other to cry, but when no waterworks come and all he’s greeted with is a blank and dead expression, Katsuki feels terrible.

Whatever…that nerd deserved it…

It’d been nearly twelve years since then, and yet he’d still hung onto that stupid card. Although his fanboying days had come to a quick halt, it still held much more meaning than anything else he owned but something kept picking away at the back of his brain. He’d replay that day over and over, wonder just why the hell he’d decided to be so terrible. Izuku was just a kid - hell, they were all just kids - but no matter how annoying he’d been, he hadn’t deserved something that cruel. Their friendship had been on the mend for years now, and although it’d never be as grand as it had been in their youth, Katsuki liked to think it was better this way. They both kept in touch, even after they’d graduated and slowly but surely, the inevitable happened. It hit him like a truck honestly, when he finally figured it all out. Those sly touches, the way he seemed to warm up inside every time he’d see him…fucking emotions. They could all go to hell. No…no, he doesn’t mean that…at least when it comes to the ones involving Izuku, but he’d be damned if they didn’t make everything all the more complicated.

When he can finally flag down the damn idiot it’s on his own damn birthday. How fucked up is that? Giving someone else a gift when you’re supposed to be the one receiving…especially something that meant so much to the both of them. He has no doubt the other will come up with something to give him but damn, if it wasn’t going to get outshined.

Yeah...just like it should.

A soft hmph comes from him at the thought, and the man of the hour finally makes it to the dimly lit park bench. This is some place safe, some place familiar and although they hadn’t been kids for a long time, they both knew of all the drama that’d been tied with it. A quick greeting and a gut flipping smile later and he’s clasping a hand into his pocket, but he doesn’t pull it out just yet. After all, this wasn’t just something out of the ordinary and although it was just plastic and paper, he knew Izuku would know just what this meant.

“I brought you a present, Kacc-”

“Shut up and sit the fuck down already.”

“O-Okay…” The timidness in his voice burns his skin, but it’s soon replaced by the warm feeling of his cheeks flushing a scarlet red as he pulls out the card and basically shoves it against the other’s chest without looking.

“Here.”

It takes him a second to realize just what’s happening, obviously, but the moment cold fingertips brush against his and grab the card, he can literally feel the air being sucked out of his lungs. He doesn’t want to turn, doesn’t even want to begin to imagine the look on that nerd’s face right now. He’s probably crying…like the big damn baby he is -

No…oh god no. Every bit of his body comes to a halt the very second he looks him in the face, that smile so reminiscent, so warm and full of life and happiness that it could make even the most cold hearted of people weak in the knees. It damn sure made him, but luckily enough it’s easily avoid detection with a swat of his hand against his knee.

“T-This is…Kacchan this is…this is supposed to be your birthday,”

Stop. Stop. Stop talking.

“A-And to give me something like this…” A heavenly chuckle rings through his ears and makes Katsuki lose his hearing annoyingly. Everything else that Izuku says is nothing but a blur until finally he’s feeling the warmth of lips connecting against his cheek in the most impossible way and waking him from his trance. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to react before he sees that body flee, eyes glued to the card instead of that stupid blush that made its home on Katsuki’s cheeks. His skin burned hotter than anything imaginable and if he wasn’t so sure it sounded idiotic, he’d say Izuku’s lips had been imprinted onto his cheek like a damn burn scar. A hand comes up to his lips subconsciously, tips almost touching where he could feel the disgusting nerd’s kiss drying way too quickly.

“Thank you, Kacchan…this means th–”

“I said stop talking. Stop fucking talking, Deku.” Before he really thinks about it, it’s lunging on top of him, foreheads butting, noses knocking until finally with a pissed off hiss, Katsuki finds that perfect spot with lips pressed against lips. He can feel that urge rising higher and higher, his stomach tossing and turning until finally it can’t take it anymore and he wraps an arm around the bastard to press into it. He feels him struggle at first, but damn isn’t this what he wanted?? Just what the hell did he expect doing something like giving a cheek kiss, no retaliation?? Ha. Midoriya Izuku would never beat him out, he’d make sure of that.

He’d heard about how first kisses were supposed to be special, how they were supposed to hold the happiest of memories, but Katsuki had thought it impossible for himself. He was too brash, too high strung to even imagine something as soft as romance and yet, the very second his lips connect with Izuku’s, it’s like the whole world had disappeared. There was no looming clouds, no angry thoughts or constant feelings of being stuck running behind him. In this moment, they were equals. They were partners. They were so much more than what he’d even imagined and it takes his breath away.

–Literally.

He struggles to breathe, immediately tearing his lips away in order to gasp but they don’t go far as hands find their way onto either side of his burning cheeks and pull him in to smack forehead to forehead like they were in some shitty rom-com film his mom would make him watch. Izuku laughs, mostly at the scowl that makes its way onto Katsuki’s face, and it softens to the point that all he can do is shut his eyes and wish this moment would never end. He doesn’t know what this means, doesn’t even pretend to - hell, he doesn’t even know what to say, but that doesn’t make this any less perfect.

That smile is closer than it’s ever been, just inches from his own mouth and he can feel it radiating over him like the damn sun. God, was he in love and was he hopeless. It’s such a stupid feeling but for once, Katsuki wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

He huffs like a damn dog, blowing his breath between them before their lips connect one more time, much softer, much more experienced than the last but still as breathtaking. It doesn’t last long as Izuku is pulling a bulky package between them without so much as pulling away an inch.

“–Y-Your present.”

“Fuck that, I just want you to be my present.”

“K-Kacchan!” He can feel the laughter vibrate in his chest, a husky tone so soft that it takes him away and into happier childhood times when Izuku swats at his shoulder playfully and demands he opens it. The blush that scurries onto the other’s face is nothing short of becoming, making his freckles jump out and all the cuter - fuck, Katsuki, that’s gay.

With a short groan, he’s finally pulling away and his face draws back into that normal scowl ( resting bitch face, is what Todoroki had once called it, like that asshole could even talk ). “Fine, fine, I’ll open the damn thing. It better not be anything sappy.”

“You just kissed me and you want to critique about being sappy?…”

“Shut the fuck up, nerd. I’m opening it now.”

He hears him go silent at that, except for the nervous slide closer until Katsuki can feel the heat from Izuku’s head resting against his shoulder perfectly. The gift itself isn’t all that spectacular, about what he’d expected from Izuku and his pro-hero salary. Hell, it isn’t even mature enough for a grown up, but something about the way it’d been wrapped with such determination and with such care speaks to Katsuki in ways that something materialistic couldn’t.

Bakugou Katsuki was not a sentimental person, but maybe, just maybe, he’d cherish this stupid watch with his stupid mask decorating the stupid outlines and the stupid way it has grenades all over it. He knows it, he was there for it’s design, but shit if it didn’t mean everything to him coming from Izuku.

“Kacchan?…You look like you’re going to cr–”

Shut up, asshole!! I’m not!” He snaps, furiously swiping a arm at his eyes to clear up anything of the sorts before stuffing the damn thing in his pocket and standing, leaving Izuku confused. “I’m going home.”

“O-Oh, okay?…I’ll see you later then?..”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Get your ass over here.”

He hears a soft agreement before feeling an arm brush against his and the whiff of cologne burst through the air between them. God, he could get used to smelling that…

The feeling of something warm wrapping around his callous hands draws him out of his thoughts, and Katsuki nearly flinches until he realizes just what’s happening. Izuku is holding his hand. Goddamn it, when did this nerd get so confident in touching him?? Oh…wait, he’d been the one to open this door hadn’t he? Shit. With an unhappy grumble he intertwines their fingers, paying too much mind to the way they seem to slot together so perfectly and looks away.

“Happy Birthday, Kacchan,” Another grumble as a tug on his hand signals him to lean down close enough that Izuku can plant one last kiss onto his cheek before finally surrendering to the walk back to his apartment.

Bakugou Katsuki might not be a sentimental person when it came to objects but people…people he would cherish until the end of time.

#bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #i wrote this like.....on sunday for the babe and figured u all would like it too

[my-dear-hammy]

The Ship Wars: Pirate Au

MasterPost

Chapter Index

Chapter Twenty-Five

Reeemergence

----

Warnings: Nothing

----

Maybe, in John's language, evidently meant not that interested. It only made Hamilton more frustrated. Some would say sexually frustrated since he'd probably broken a personal record for longest amount of time without a fuck. He'd probably relieve himself later that night when he was alone and left to his work. All John ever did now was stare out at sea, looking for something. Whenever he wasn't working that is.

They'd been spending their days training the new crew. But Hamilton was waiting for the day Jefferson tracked him down again. His name hadn't been on the casualty report John had managed to get his hands on all that time ago. It was only a matter of time before he showed up on the horizon. The thought filled Hamilton's body with hot anticipation. The thrill of the chase thrumming through his veins, an opponent actually worth Hamilton's time.

No one else seemed that thrilled by the idea.

Hamilton leaned against the helm, watching with interest as wood got scrubbed an polished. Ropes and knots and bindings checked and rechecked. Water and food storage accounted for. Daily grind of life between battles. It's been far too long. A heavy sigh and his arms slipped from the helm and his feet swiftly descended the stairs, thudding across the deck all the way to the bow. A spyglass was whipped out from his coat and scanned the horizon. For anything. The crew was getting impatient. Hamilton even more so.

His eye finally caught on the hazy, distant blur of a ship on the horizon. Orders were immediately being shouted to readjust their direction and pick up speed. Slowly, the distant ship cleared. "Run up the flag boys."

Tall red sails drew nearer. Shit. Pirate Hunter. Alright then.

Pirate hunters were tricky. Specifically trained to hunt down pirates and end them. Of course, they'd never been a problem for Hamilton before. But his confidence had recently taken a major blow. He grit his teeth and spun on his heel, a brisk pace back to the helm. Orders were being shouted and the ship was suddenly a flurry of activity.

Distance was closing and it wouldn't be long before they were in range. Hamilton presented their broadside, ready to fire, waiting. Almost there. He lifted his spyglass again. The other ship was flying up signals.

"A request to board?" Hamilton questioned out loud. "They must think I'm insane to allow them to board my ship."

"Alex," Laurens rolled his eyes. "You are insane."

"Good point."

"It's under a flag of truce. Evidently, they want to talk," Laurens said. "Just sink them and be done with it."

Hamilton watched considering. "No. I think I'll see what they want."

"It's going to be the usual, surrender in the name of the king bullshit. Just skip the middle step and fire. They're within range now."

Hamilton watched the ship approach for a moment longer before turning to the crew. "Prepare to be boarded!"

Laurens scowled. "You never listen to me."

"I do, my dear Laurens, but this is one of those moments when I am right and you are wrong. There is a reason I am captain and not you."

"Yeah. Because I didn't bother trying for captain. And just when I thought your ego wasn't over inflated."

The conversation cut off as the other ship pulled right alongside of theirs. "Well I'll be damned," Hamilton grinned, descending stairs and approaching the boarding planks. "Maria! What are you doing out of the water and on a ship?" he called.

"Saving your worthless ass again," she said.

"Oh? From what, pray tell?"

"A slow and fiery death," she answered. "I've been teaching someone how to sail," she hummed, picking her nails."

"Yes, and I see they've been teaching you how to dress, now that you're out of the water." The white silken dress was now the trademark, white billowy shirt and gray breeches disappearing into the knee-high supple, leather boots. She wore a black tailcoat that fit her frame beautifully. The red coral that used to rest upon her head and mark his clearly as a nereid was now a deep red feathered hat, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun. Hamilton decided women dressed as men was a huge turn on. "Who're you training?"

"Me," said a soft voice. That voice would always be soft, but now it was laced with something. Burning passion. A bit of hardness from seeing the cruelness of the world.

Hamilton straightened automatically, his eyes landing on the woman who had stepped up next to Maria. She was dressed in a very similar fashion. Only, white breeches, a soft blue coat, and nothing atop her head except the soft hair that was currently tied back. "Elizabeth," Hamilton said. "What is a nice girl like you doing on such rough seas?"

"Sinking horrible men like you," she answered.

"And doing a wonderful job of it," Maria hummed with pride, pleased with how well her teachings were going.

Hamilton smiled sheepishly. "What started you on this path? Last I met you, the most you wanted was a domestic family life." Which Hamilton had been unable, or unwilling, to provide.

"Some asshole sunk my ship on my way to England. There was almost no reason for it and lots of innocent people died."

"That's horrible," Hamilton said with false sincerity.

"You know who it was?" Eliza asked.

"No, who?"

"You."

Oh. Oh. Hamilton blinked in response and was fairly certain he could faintly hear chortling and muttering something about karma from Laurens.

"I should sink your ass to the bottom of the sea," she went one, picking her nails.

"Ah, you would not be the first to do that," Hamilton replied with a small grin.

"No, but I'd be the last," she said, meeting his gaze. "I vowed to sink your worthless ass and it's been my mission all these long and brutal months. A woman captain is frowned upon."

"I'm aware. What makes you think you could kill me, Eliza? You're a gentle soul. You don't belong on these seas."

"No, I'm just going to throw you in the brig and deliver you home to hang. For a fair trial as well. See, Maria here had been coming to your defense. She does represent everything good about the sea after all, but even she agrees you're not one of them."

Hamilton had no response. Scorned women were not his strong suit. Especially the ones that wanted to kill him. He knew that he had no chance against Eliza. Even though he couldn't provide the life she wanted, a part of him still cared for her and he certainly didn't want to see her harmed. Eliza slowly drew her sword and rested the tip at Hamilton's throat. "You're coming with me. If you do so willingly, I'll spare the rest of your crew and perhaps provide you with better quarters on the trip back."

A grin split Hamilton's face. "I didn't mention something and I feel it's very important." His gaze fully took in Eliza. "You look delectable dressed as a man. It's...arousing."

"You're disgusting," she scoffed. Hamilton shrugged and did something he'd never seen himself doing. Surrendered his sword and with a backward salute to John, who's been standing, sword drawn, ready to leap to his defense, and went with Eliza to return home and hang.

Surely his skill would get him out of this situation like it did all the others.

----

[carlie-grace-brown-blog]

understanding the mind of a murderer (not really).

If we could see inside someones brain for answers, would we understand what we saw? Could we see the truth? Would we understand why they decided to take a life, or multiple, or even hundreds? Could we see the last facial expression from the innocent life that was taken? Would we know what they were feeling? 

When we try to understand the minds of people like Dahmer, Bundy, or Ramirez, we simply turn away because it seems so cruel to hold on to something so wrong. The next question i ask would shock most but i feel it should be answered. Could killing another human be just as bad as any other sin? We hear so often from a stereotypical Republican that being gay could quite possibly be the worst sin in the universe. They make suggestions like conversion camps, reading the bible, or they shove “you were not born that way” down your throat. Could it be as bad as Cheating? Lying? Cursing? What about having an abortion?

Now we all know that one isn’t born gay, but we also know that one doesn’t choose to be either (or at least some of us do). If we switch it around and ask questions like “could someone be born a murderer?” or “does one choose to be a murderer?” we immediately have answers. “They have to be guilty, you don’t just go out and kill people for the fun of it”, but that does not answer either question at all. No one could answer these questions unless they truly understood the mind of a killer. 

Could they have done it because they suffered from a mental illness? We all try to know and understand how it must be to suffer from one, but do we understand it enough to know it could drive someone to commit a crime? or at least help feed the intentions of committing a crime?

BPD (BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER): This disease is characterized by impulsive behaviors, intense mood swings, feelings of low self worth, and problems in interpersonal relationships. It has also been diagnosed among some of the U.S.’s most notorious serial killers. What is intresting is, this seems more common among female criminals. The following names belong to a few who suffered from this:

Aileen Wuornos, the woman who inspired the 2003 film “Monster” starring Charlize Theron, confessed to seven murders in Florida. She was also diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder.

Jeffrey Dahmer, also known as the “Milwaukee Cannibal,” killed seventeen boys and men between 1978 and 1991. He also struggled with heavy alcohol abuse.

Kristen H. Gilbert killed four patients at a Northampton, Virginia hospital where she worked as a nurse by administering fatal doses of epinephrine to induce cardiac arrest.

ANTISOCIAL PERSONALITY DISORDER: Known in the past as “psychopathy,” this mental disorder is characterized by a total disregard of the feelings of others. People with APD may lie, act out violently, or break the law and show no remorse. WebMD reports that while APD only affects 0.6% of the population, it may affect up to 47% of male inmates and 21% of female inmates. It’s also been diagnosed among three of the most terrible American serial killers:

Ted Bundy, an infamous killer and necrophile, confessed to 30 murders in the 1970s.

John Wayne Gacy, known as the “Killer Clown,” raped and killed 33 boys and young men in the 1970s.

Charles Manson, leader of the “Manson Family” cult and mastermind behind the 1969 murders at the home of Sharon Tate, was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder.

SCHIZOPHRENIA: According to WebMD, schizophrenia—a wide-ranging (and often misdiagnosed) mental illness—lists symptoms ranging from hallucination and delusions to emotional flatness and catatonia. It is also known as one of the most common mental disorders diagnosed among criminals, especially serial killers:

David Berkowitz, better known as the “Son of Sam” killed six people in the 1970s claiming that his neighbor’s dog had told him to do it. He was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

Ed Gein, gruesome inspiration for fiction’s Norman Bates, Buffalo Bill, and Leatherface, murdered and mutilated his victims often keeping grisly “trophies.”

Richard Chase—”the vampire of Sacramento”—killed six people in California and drank their blood.

David Gonzalez killed four people in 2004 and claimed he’d been inspired by “Nightmare on Elm Street.”

Jared Lee Loughner, convicted of killing six people and wounding 13 including U.S. Representative Gabrielle Giffords in 2011, was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

James Eagan Holmes, currently on trial for the 2012 “Batman murders” in Aurora, has been diagnosed with schizophrenia by 20 doctors.

Now my next question is for you. If these people are such scary or terrible people, why are we not trying to better understand what could have driven them to commit such a crime? No, this not me trying to excuse anything they have done. I am also not saying that any of it was okay in any way, shape, or form. The things they have done are one of the hardest, most heartbreaking news in any state of our country. 

Could they have committed such a crime out of spite or cheating? In some cases, yes. The most recent just so happened to be in Fredrick, Colorado. The Watts family homicides occurred on August 13th, 2018, when Christopher Watts murdered his pregnant wife Shannan Watts and their daughters Bella, 4, and Celeste, 3 in their home. He then disposed the bodies of his daughters in two oil tanks at his workplace, while burying a shallow grave for his wife Shannan close to the girls.

Chris Watts had been having an affair with a woman named Nichol Kessinger since the beginning of July 2018. Apparently he thought that arguments between him and Shannan were heated enough to turn him into a cold blooded killer. He then made an explanation on who murdered his two innocent daughters, by saying it was Shannan who smothered them in their sleep because she was upset from an argument they were having. Watts pleaded guilty to nine charges, according to prosecutors: five counts of first-degree murder, one count of unlawful termination of pregnancy and three counts of tampering with a dead body. In pleading guilty, Watts essentially admitted his earlier explanation was a lie.

That case is something we can all understand right? A unhappy married couple, a cheating husband wanting to start a new life, spiteful and heated in every argument that had occurred. Those are some pretty large red flags if you ask me. SO, in some cases we understand why. We can see what led someone to kill another. But, what about the few we can not understand? 

We choose to do research till the end of time on the human brain, how to better understand it. We could ask ourselves thousands of questions about this topic and we would still never fully understand why these things happen. We may not ever fully understand every murderer and why they have committed a crime, but at least they get to say they are a little bit more interesting than Chris Watts (who lets just say is a little to easy to figure out).