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luckyqueenreign · 2 years

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I’ve never written a fic before, but I find myself having to justify why I’m still a Suresh clown. What do you think?

Bellamy, originally from London, was a grad student pursuing her psychology degree at the University of Edinburgh. She figured she needed the change of scenery and would come back to London to use what she learned to serve her community. The break from friends and family would be tough but she was ready to try something new, at least for a little while.

After being accepted for an internship as a requirement for grad school, she attended orientation where she laid eyes on Suresh for the first time. Suresh is a new corporate lawyer on the hospital staff. He had missed orientation the previous month but was fairly familiar with how things worked at the hospital. Bellamy barely notices Suresh when he walks in and decides to sit next to the pretty, yet professional looking girl in the front row. He thinks to himself, “That’s the kind of woman I want to marry, but for now, I’m in these streets!” He decides not to pursue her as he normally would because she seems like the kind of woman you need to be committed to. He was almost intimidated, but still a little curious. Some might consider Suresh a player, but he doesn’t think so. He’s never actually been in a relationship, there’s too many fish in the sea. He worked really hard in grad school and played harder. Besides he’s always been completely open and honest with women about not wanting to commit. He doesn’t have to lie to get a woman into bed, he can charm the pants off of just about anyone. Orientation starts and Suresh asks a question garnering the attention from everyone in the room. As Bellamy turns to listen and Suresh awaits the response, his green eyes glance momentarily at Bellamy. As soon as their eyes met her heart began to pound in her chest. This may be the most beautiful man she’s ever seen in real life. His voice was deep, soothing and confident. The BDE he was giving off was ever apparent. There was an instant attraction that she was almost fearful of. She normally likes to be in control of herself but she instinctually knew she couldn’t trust herself around him. Male attention has never been her struggle but in her previous relationships she’s always had the upper hand. It’s safer that way. She thought “I need to stay as far away from this man as possible because I would allow him to ruin my life”. She quickly broke eye contact and avoided interaction with Suresh for the rest of orientation. In the next month or so she became well aquatinted with her team and their projects. It was recommended that she participate in a couple working groups within the hospital. Apparently this is what they recommend to all the newbies because it wasn’t long before she was attending a weekly meeting with Suresh. After a while a few of the new members started going to lunch together a couple times a week. Strengthened by the company of her peers, Bellamy was able to confidently show off her intelligence, wit, charisma and sense of humor among the group. On one fateful day no one was available for lunch except Suresh. He was developing feelings for Bellamy but he wasn’t quite sure what they were. These feelings were unlike how he’d felt about women in the past. Bellamy was attractive but conservative, which isn’t usually his type. She made him feel a little insecure, like the ways he normally tried to impress women wouldn’t work. He found himself less occupied with trying to impress her and more focused on enjoying her conversation. She was smart and inspired him to think about things in a way he previously hadn’t. She could also make him laugh to tears. He was intrigued, but she hadn’t let on that she was romantically interested or that she would get involved with someone at the hospital. Still, on dates with other women he couldn’t help but to think about Bellamy and figured maybe he should do something about it.

Meanwhile, Bellamy couldn’t think of an excuse quick enough to avoid a one on one lunch with Suresh. Lately she found herself thinking about him ALL THE TIME. The way he walked, the way he smiled, the way he smelled and how he made her feel. Bellamy was fiercely independent but somehow Suresh made her feel like maybe she didn’t have to be. He may come off a little cocky at times, but is it cocky if you can back it up? Turns out he wasn’t just some frat boy hot shot lawyer he was actually pretty cool. However, she was concerned she wouldn’t be able to keep her cool at lunch and either she’d embarrass herself, or worse, reveal her secret crush somehow. It turns out lunch went fine. In fact it was better than fine. In the hospital parking lot out of the blue Suresh asked “So what does a guy have to do to take you on a date?” Bellamy couldn’t hold back her smile. “In general, just ask I guess” she responded, trying to come off casual. “What about me specifically?” Suresh asked looking into her eyes intently. Trying to calm her nerves with humor she announced “Oh, well in that case, hop on one foot and bark like a dog, then ask.” Suresh proceeded to hop on one foot before Bellamy stopped him for fear of public embarrassment at work. “Please stop. Seriously, how about I give you my number and we can discuss this further, away from the hospital.”, she suggested.

Over the next several weeks they talk on the phone for hours most nights before Bellamy finally agreed to a group date. Bellamy, taking every precaution worried if she was left alone with Suresh outside of the hospital she wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to pounce. Suresh was able to meet her friends and experience her silly, outgoing, and even competitive side that he liked even more. Her friends approved and basically wanted her to let loose for once and give into her urges because he was gorgeous - and a lawyer. With that in mind their next date was planned for the weekend and was one on one.

Suresh planned for an evening of live music followed by dinner at one of the most popular restaurants in the city. Bellamy explained that she doesn’t let her dates know where she lives until the third date just in case they are weirdos so she would meet him at the venue (this would also prevent her from inviting him inside her flat). As Suresh eagerly waited in his car because he didn’t want to seem too thirsty (which he was), he notices what may be the sexiest woman he’s ever seen (and he’s come across quite a few). Her thigh high red patent leather stiletto boots seemed to go on for miles. Her matching patent leather mini skirt fully accentuated every curve and barely left anything to the imagination. She paired it with a vintage band t shirt that appeared to be for the band they were about to see. Her waist length curly hair flowed in the wind and her makeup was flawless as if she was a walking billboard for what she did for a living. She looked like a total rock star. She made eye contact with Suresh and a smile appeared on her face as if she caught Suresh checking her out. He quickly stopped staring and realized he was there to meet Bellamy. The temptation to pursue Miss Red-patent-leather-stiletto-thigh-high-boots was fierce, but he wanted to get off on the right foot for this date. As Suresh exited the car he notices this mystery woman walking towards him. He looks around frantically worried that Bellamy may get the wrong idea if she sees him talking to someone like her. As she moves closer he realizes this mystery woman is indeed Bellamy. Suresh is in shock. He realizes he’s never seen her with her hair down, or with more than minimal make up. She’s typically all buttoned up in a suit at the hospital. Even on the group date she was dressed a bit like a tomboy (which he thought was surprisingly kind of adorable) because it was a sporting event. Suresh was grinning from ear to ear feeling like he just won the lottery. “Wow, Bellamy. I almost didn’t recognize you.” “Um, thanks I think. I figured I’d switch things up. You don’t think this is too much?” “Absolutely not, you look perfect!” “Good, perfect is exactly the look I was going for.”

They had the best time singing along, dancing, and having a couple drinks at the show. Suresh loved all the looks Bellamy was getting from men and women alike impressed by her beauty. She could put supermodels to shame. They rode together to the restaurant laughing and recapping their favorite moments from the evening. They walk into the restaurant with reservations avoiding the long line and hours long wait. A colleague from his legal team was able to hook him up. They sit at the table across from each other staring into each other’s eyes. Something has shifted and the sexual tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. Suresh is rather enjoying it but Bellamy is still trying to stay in control. “So tell me about your worst first date.” Bellamy asks trying to break up the tension. “Hmm…oh yeah, I went on a first date with this one girl and it turned out she had a boyfriend. Somehow he finds out where we are and decides to come pick a fight with me. He’s considerably smaller than me so I’m just trying to keep him off me, then out of no where the girl starts swinging her purse at me because she sees her boyfriend embarrassing himself. I grabbed her purse and tossed it away and just walked off. She later left a voicemail message and said she was sorry, she was just trying to make him jealous and thank you, because it worked. It was the most bizarre experience ever.” “I don’t think I’ll be able to top that one!” Bellamy exclaimed with her eyes practically popping out of her head. “Try me.” Suresh responded flirtatiously. ”OK well, there was this one time while I was in undergrad that I went on a date with a boy from one of my classes. It was right before a long weekend and he offered to drop me off at my parents house. Of course my parents always want to be introduced to who I’m dating just in case they need to pick him out in a lineup. Anyway the date went really well and we went back to introduce him to my parents and that’s when I found out that he was my cousin. I was so embarrassed.” “It’s not your fault. Did you kiss him?” “Actually no, luckily I don’t kiss on the first date…” Suresh seems visibly disappointed. “You seem a little dejected, Suresh.” “Can you tell?” “Well technically I would consider this our second date.” She couldn’t hold back any longer. Bellamy stood up, placed her knee on the table, grabbed Suresh’s shirt and proceeded to tongue him down in front of the entire restaurant. The kiss is filled with so much passion that even though her skirt is hiked up revealing more about herself than she’d like and one of the champagne flutes crashed to the floor, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She had been waiting entirely too long for this moment and nothing was going to ruin it. Finally after being interrupted by the waiter, they both stop to catch their breath. It was at that exact moment that Suresh realized for the first time he was falling in love and Bellamy wasn’t far behind.

Loved it 🥰❤️💕 so cute! Loved your take on how they met.

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 11 months

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HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 50

*Warning: Adult Content*

"Prince Scyllian, It has been far too long."

A man with a black braid coiled about his head like a snake bows with a flourish and tries to kiss Skylar West’s hand.

He barely deflect the attempt without causing a diplomatic incident before turning aside and greeting someone else, a woman this time, wearing a dress that makes her resemble an aged seahorse.

Skylar murmurs something that he hopes sounds like a convincing combination of a greeting and her name, mixed with a suitable dash of royal ennui.

It was all coming back to him now... the tedium, the absurdity, the mounting desire to slip away and find some corner in which to hide.

He had forgotten how liberating the surface world had seemed when first he found himself laid flat upon the sand, cast into a boundless realm in which not a single soul knew him from a lowly crab.

The first person who came across him had mistaken him for a drunken sot, passed out upon the beach at dawn and ever since, it had delighted Skylar to be taken for a vagabond.

Now, with the weight of a kingdom threatening his shoulders, he was already itching to be away again.

Perhaps once his mother was free and the whole misunderstanding with his father cleared away, things might change.

Skylar’s father's idea of joining the Supreme Council resonated with him.

If they were less focused on isolating and protecting ourselves and more free to explore and mingle with the wider world, their culture and way of life would be enriched, not diluted.

Perhaps they might even move away from this ancient and outdated model of monarchy and spread the burden of leadership more equally among many.

The thought was as inviting as the promise of a soothing bath and a soft bed and as the meet-and-greet continues with no end in sight, Skylar indulged in a daydream of taking his sisters on a tour of the globe... from San Francisco to Tokyo, Paris to New York and everywhere in between.

His bond-mate Martin West and his children would come along as well, of course... perhaps they'd home-school them for a year.

He is halfway through constructing a mental lesson plan on history and art when Martin himself reappears at his side, wearing a surprisingly contented smile.

Skylar expected his mate to be miserable and ill-at-ease among so many strangers but he looks entirely at home.

Anemone trails after him, a decidedly less happy expression on her face and slips away without meeting her brother’s eyes.

"Where have you been?" Skylar asks, as Martin takes his place at his side.

Martin smiles.

"The library. It's magnificent. I don't suppose the books are written in English, though, are they?"

"No, most are in Mer. Our language uses an alphabet that predates early Greek and Phoenician."

"I wish I had Noah's acuity for language," Martin says. "I wonder if he could ever visit us here. The children, too."

Skylar casts him a glance.

"I'm sure they can. When we've settled things and you are free of Elena, we can arrange it. I'm sure there will be innumerable royal balls and other uncomfortable affairs to attend once mother is free. My presence will undoubtedly be required and having you and the children along will make my duties far more pleasant."

"I shall be at your side, of course," he says and then smiles.

Skylar gives Martin’s hand a squeeze and sighs as the endless pleasantries continue.

With every passing minute, the truth becomes more clear... this isn't where Skylar belongs.

He’s glad Martin is enjoying himself but he’s already counting the minutes until they can go home.

********

"That was exhausting," Skylar says, crawling across the enormous bed and collapsing face first into a pillow. "I'd forgotten how much I hated those things."

It's nearly dawn, the celebration of Skylar’s return having lasted the entire night.

Unfortunately, there really is no polite way to leave a party thrown in one's own honor but Martin had been true to his word and stayed at his mate’s side for the duration, unshakable as a shadow.

In fact, he'd seemed content to do nothing else and his docility troubled Skylar, who worried it masked some state of inner shock.

Skylar rolls onto my back as Martin joins him, lying at his side and shutting his eyes with a gentle smile on his lips.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Skylar asks. "You've been... quiet."

"I'm perfectly happy," he says easily. "Thassos is wonderful."

Skylar frowns.

"It's alright if you enjoy stuffy traditions and pompous displays for the sake of vanity. Oh, and blood-bound curses that all but imprison you. Honestly, I miss my classroom. I'd take a parent-teacher conference over another royal ball any day."

"But it's so peaceful here," Martin murmurs. "I never want to leave."

Skylar frowns and sits up.

Martin's eyes remain closed and his face is the image of peace as he slips towards sleep.

Usually, Skylar would love to see him so relaxed but Martin’s words trouble him.

"What about the children?" Skylar asks.

Since the day he met Martin, he's seldom thought of anything without thinking of them first.

Now, though, he seems to have momentarily forgotten they exist.

"Children? Oh, yes. Well, they'll be alright. They have their aunts and uncles to look after them."

"And their mother, I suppose," Skylar adds, watching for Martin’s reaction.

"And their mother, too. Yes."

A strange shock goes through Skylar... a wash of hot anger mixed with a tingling chill... as the truth hits him like a sleeper wave.

Martin has been influenced by a Voice and the only person he was alone with for any amount of time is the person Skylar would least suspect.

To use her Voice in such a way is not only a breach of etiquette but a serious crime and Skylar can't imagine why Anemone would risk it simply to change Martin's mind.

Skylar shakes him gently.

"Marrtin, wake up and focus. What did Anemone say?"

Martin sighs sleepily.

"Hmm? About what?"

"Did she use her Voice on you? Tell me."

Skylar put the barest hint of power in his own words.

"She helped me see the truth, is all," Martin whispers. "Our place is here. Thassos is... wonderful."

"No, it isn't," Skylar snaps, grasping Martin’s shoulders and shaking him again, a little less gently this time. "If coming home has convinced me of anything, it's that my place is not here. I don't want to be king,and you don't want to be my 'consort.' You want to go home to Flora and Nico and Rio and Miguel... to your family. Think of them and remember, Martin."

Martin blinks at Skylar, his expression shifting from contentment to confusion and then he sits up and looks around.

"What happened? How did we get here?"

"Anemone took you to see the library. What did she say to you?"

Martin winced and rubbed the side of his head.

"We were talking about your father and Natalis and... holidays."

"Holidays..."

Suddenly it hits Skylar and he swears.

"Fuck me with a whale cock."

“What?”

"My father," Skylar snaps, rolling off the bed and snatching up his clothes from where he'd dropped them on the floor. "He's land-born. He doesn't have a siren's Voice like the rest of us. Most Mer-folk don't. It runs in the royal line."

“So?”

"So, if he'd revealed himself... showed up one day and revealed the fact he was alive... what do you think would be the very first thing any of us would do?"

"Er..." Martin squints at him.

"We'd use our Voice, of course and demand he tell the truth. He'd have no choice but to tell it. And if that truth happened to be that he really did intend to kill mother, put me on the throne and use me as a puppet for his own political machinations, well..." Skylar pulls up his trousers and buckles his belt rather violently. "You can imagine how quickly he'd have found himself on his way back to the depths."

"What about Natalis?" Martin asks, rising as well and dressing himself hastily. "Anemone said she's as powerful as your mom. Wouldn't she have asked your dad the same thing?"

"She's on his side, obviously."

“Oh.”

"And Anemone..." Skylar shake his head. "I don't know. She's young and impressionable. Maybe Natalis convinced her to help. At any rate, she was obviously supposed to convince you to convince me to stay and take the throne. Fat chance of that."

Skylar stalks to the doors and throws them open, ready to confront whatever might await on the other side but the corridor is empty.

Martin scrambles to keep up with him as he strides off down the hall.

"Where are we going?"

"To the throne room," Skylar says, taking a sharp turn at a side passage meant for the serving class, another thing that could do with a modern overhaul. "I don't know what my father has planned but I'll break this curse on my own terms."

Martin jogs to keep up as Skylar trots through narrow and notably abandoned, hallways towards his destination, the map of the palace as clear in his head as it was in his childhood, when eluding angry tutors was the primary inspiration for such forays.

After a labyrinthine journey, they emerge, breathless, from behind a tapestry hanging from a wall of the grand hall.

The doors of the throne room are within spitting distance to their left, flanked by two guards.

With a deep breath, Skylar steps into the passageway, straighten his posture and lifting his chin.

The guards raise their weapons but upon recognizing Prince Scyllian, lower them halfway, as if uncertain.

"Apologies, my Prince," one guard says, holding her spear in a neutral position, "But no one is to enter. Orders of Lady Natalis."

Skylar adopts his snootiest tone and looks down his nose at her.

"The last time I checked, I was next in line for the throne. I would like to pay my respects to my mother, if you please."

The guard purses her lips and shoots a sideways glance at her partner, who raises his brows in an 'I don't fucking know what to do' sort of way.

Taking the initiative, she stands aside and bows.

"As you please, my Prince."

Casting her a nod of royal acknowledgement, Skylar links his arm through Martin's arm and marches through the doors.

Sweat trickles down his back as they traverse the length of the room, mounting the three steps of the raised dais at the end and approach his mother's cloth-covered, stone-bound form.

Skylar pulls the dust cloth aside and barely restrain a gasp.

She's as beautiful as he remembers her, every detail preserved in perfection.

He recalls coming across a man in a park, once, who had covered himself in gray paint and taken to posing as a statue in the name of art.

He seemed to delight in scaring the shit out of people who failed to discern his disguise.

His mother looked just like that, like at any moment she might move,and prove herself a living being and not a figure cast in stone.

"Give me your amulet," Skylar says, pulling his own over his head.

Martin complies and Skylar holds the two halves of the gem in front of him, back to back.

As it had when his father gave him the half he lacked, the gem fuses into a single whole, a three-dimensional heart lit from within.

Skylar places it around his mother's neck.

The blood red gem glows, pulsing with a heartbeat rhythm that matched it’s shape and a corresponding excitement swells within his chest.

In a moment, he will have his mother, his freedom and all the answers he desires.

The statue begins to glow as if heated from within and then, with a suddenness that makes Skylar gasp, the stone figure shatters and crumbles into dust.

The truth explodes like a bomb in his mind but before he can give Martin so much as a warning, a troop of guards bursts through the door amid a chorus of horrified shouts.

Above all, Natalis's Voice rings out loud and clear.

"Seize these assassins," she commands. "They have killed the Queen."

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madewithspice · 2 years

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hii can I have a haikyuu matchup please 🖤

She/her, bi.

Personality: I tend to keep to myself unless someone comes up to me and starts a conversation (a lot of people say I'm very intimidating when they first meet me for some reason 😂). I tend to be slightly reserved with someone until I'm comfortable with them, then I'm a massive dork (I love to joke around and make people laugh). I am very empathetic, always trying to keep the people around me happy (even if I'm not in the end) I hate disappointing people so I can over work myself sometimes. If someone is rude or annoying me I tend to get very sassy and sarcastic. I am very protective of my friends and love ones and get very angry if someone hurts them. I'm also a very calm person and it takes a lot for me to get angry/snap. I also sleep a lot....like a lot, unless it's during the school year then I tend to get like three hours lol (it's a running joke in my friend group that I never sleep). sometimes I stop in the middle of talking because I think I talk to much (I've been told many times that I do so I just try not to really talk in a way)i play with my hands a lot, I have a really high pitched (idk sorta cute?) sneeze, I can be very clumsy (I literally tripped on air once😂) when I do something scary my hands shaky after I've done the scary thing (if that makes any sense).

I like reading books, writing, listening to music (mostly kpop). I love love to dance (again mostly kpop). And even though I hate being in front of crowds I do like doing shows where I dance (I've done it multiple times with my friends at school events😊). I love doing my makeup especially crazy colored eye shadow. I love to be outside also. I also like to go on car rides in the middle of the night (I love going to get food then sit in a random parking lot).

I dislike rude people, heights (I have a fear of falling from them) and peaches (I hate peaches).

My favorite movie is spirited away.

My favorite song is run away (txt)

Hi hope you’re well. Thank you for requesting.

For Haikyuu I match you with Tsukishima Kei

At first, you and Tsukki absolutely detest each other. You came along to a match practice with your friend Yachi and the moment the two of you locked eyes it was mutual dislike. It doesn’t help that you snort when the giant nearly trips over so he “accidentally” throws his nasty, sweaty towel at you. In return you “misplace” his water bottle and thus it begins. The war. You both don’t even realise that at some point you ended up bonding over these petty acts and now you both sit together and throw sassy comments back and forth and instead of glares you both laugh your arses off. Seeing Tsukki smile like that was new for everyone including him and that’s how he discovered his feelings for you.

Tsukki likes low key dates that don’t require too much effort because he rather spend time with you than be distracted by whatever else is going on. So most of your dates consist of the two of you sharing earphones and reading and occasionally carrying a quick conversation. It’s what Tsukki adores about you the most. That you make him happy with the bare minimum. He doesn’t need fancy dinners and huge displays of affection. Though he does like a tiny bit of skinship.

A relationship with Tsukki is definitely filled with teasing. He likes to complain when you have your clumsy moments or when he walks in on your dancing but secretly he loves this dorky side of you. Not that he’d ever admit it, but subtle things would tell you. Like him gifting you the newest album of your favourite kpop group but he wouldn’t straight up give it to you, he’d just leave it lying around for you to find because he’s a shy boi :(

- Kiki.

#haikyuu #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu tsukki #tsukishima kei #tsukishima hcs #tsukki headcanons #tsukki x you #tsukishima x you #anime matchups #haikyuu matchups #matchups #sfw blog

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sumbreon · 3 months

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Here's A Little Get-To-Know-You Tag Game! Tagged by: @mjcace Name(s): Eden / Sumbreon / Sumb i do feel very settled on the name eden now but i have been going by sumbreon/sumb for... over a decade at this point fuck! Pronouns: she/he/they [yeah i know the bio says he/they but i am not out and get she'd all day, if we lived in a world where it wasn't a big deal it'd be she/he/they mixed up all the time] Star sign: Sagittarius # of Siblings & Fun Facts About Them (if you have any): 1 older brother, i'm baby! our faces are pretty much the exact same, there's a picture of me and him ages 11 and 13 respectively and its the same damn face # of Pets: 0 :[ no animals allowed just me and my many plants... if/when i move out i would like to get at least 1 pet Fandoms: i don't think i have ever actively been involved in a fandom, i feel like i'm sat by a river with a net cast and just letting whatever people i follow post about catch my interest. the way i use this site fandom is very much secondary i'm here to look at cool art and yeah i mostly find those people to follow through fandom but i follow them cause i like their art not cause they post about whatever i'm currently interested in. it's also fun to watch someone descend into the madness of a new fandom and decide yeah sure i'll give that a look you've convinced me with your art Favorite Color: YELLOW!!!! Favorite Song: listen... i am a guy who will listen to the same song over 1000 times in a single year i do this every year with a different song you can't expect me to choose... but also it's toothpick by small leaks sink ships i think i must be at least 10% of that play count at this point also i still don't fully know what the fuck the lyrics are cause i'm partially deaf but i know the sites are all fucking wrong and it bothers me

Favorite Author: Robin Hobb but she is also my enemy! let that man fucking rest! stop putting him in situations! in seriousness i don't think i've read enough in recent years to have a favourite author i need to make more time for it Hobbies: gaming, drawing, reading, embroidery, baking, photography and going to forests and just immediately leaving the path Favorite Holiday: easter purely because i can buy mini eggs and i love mini eggs Do You Have Any Partner(s): nope! that would require i go out and meet people and i don't do that Fun facts about you/anything extra you wanna share?: i think this is the most i've ever said about myself on this site and it's still nothing i like barely existing here Tagging: i have no one to tag if you see this and wanna do this go ahead

#sumb talks #thanks ri this was fun to do!

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amtopmthoughts · 1 year

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They say you should write about what you know and so I did. I wrote about myself. About me and my life, my fears, my heartbreaks and all the steps I’ve taken to being my truest, most honest self thus far. I’m the subject I know best, I’m the subject I love most.

This book was born out of all the necessities I needed to suppress. My excruciating need to find who I am and what I’m doing here. The haunting need to understand, myself, those around me and the world. The waking need to love myself authentically, fiercely, unapologetically and whole heartedly. The need to feel less alone, to relate, to resonate.

I know I’ll keeping learning who I am. I know that even when I think I know who I am, I’ll keep finding out new things. We’re ever evolving creatures, constantly changing, always shedding old skin.

I always knew I wanted to write but for some reason I always leaned towards telling stories about fictional characters. Mostly because I often found myself living in fantasy worlds where everything was exactly as I imagined. It has been a journey trying to find the balance between what is and what I wanted it to be, accepting that almost anything happens the way we planned but that we should never give up on trying to shape our life into what we envision for ourselves. I try to create the reality I want to live in. I curate my life meticulously. This required me to let go of some of the visions I had to make way for new, better ones, to let go of some fantasies to embrace other realities. I had to let go of what it was supposed to be to be able to embrace what the truth actually was. Something I struggled with for a long, long time. I kept fighting change, non-happy endings, the break-ups, the friendships that didn’t last, anything that wasn’t ideal, perfect or that didn’t fit into the plan that I had. Without ever realizing that there is no fighting any of it, it will happen, and trying to avoid it, trying to resist it, will only bring us more hurt. But it also required me to fight really hard for what I believed in and for what I wanted for myself, even when everyone kept trying to tell me that didn’t happen, that that was a fantasy. I heard countless times things like You’ll never find someone like that. You watch too many movies. The wedding of your dreams will never happen. You live in a world of fantasy. You must think everything is that easy. You can’t have it all, it’s not possible.

I’m twenty-three years old. I haven’t got married yet, I haven’t met that person yet, either. Maybe I won’t get married, and if I do, maybe it won’t be at all like I’ve always imagined. Maybe I’ll never meet that person. Maybe I won’t get to live the life I envision for myself. I don’t know. I don’t know what the future holds for me. But I do know one thing: this fantasy, this imagination, it’s what has kept me alive until now. It’s the hope that everything will fall into place, that everything will work out, that everything will be okay. The hope that things will happen is what makes me want to be alive, to be here to live them when they happen.

So, in this book, I tell stories, but not stories about people who only exist in my head. I tell stories about me and the most real people and things I know. This book is me, whole-heartedly me. I laid myself bare naked on these pages. I confessed to things I had never even said out loud before and it freed me, it made me more human. Being so vulnerable never made me feel so strong. Hope you can relate in some way, maybe resonate with some of the things you’ll read. If you do, know that you’re not alone. Ever.

I hope you love it.

Afraid of the Dark and Closed Doors

I was an only child – up until I was 9 years old. Another story for another time. – so I spent a lot of time by myself. I wasn’t the most adventurous kid so I didn’t spend much time outside and I didn’t really have any friends outside of school that I could play with. I spent my days either playing house or with Barbies or watching Disney or Barbie movies alone in my room. I never closed the door. My house wasn’t that big but we had a big hallway and my bedroom was on one end of the house and the kitchen and living room was on the other end, which is where my mom always was. So we were always a bit far away from each other. Even though I wasn’t alone at home, most times it felt like it, most times I couldn’t even hear her unless she was on the phone. I was never big on silence. Every time there was silence and I felt alone in that silence, I felt vulnerable and subjected to anything that could come and hurt me.

Now, I realize most people, when they feel threatened by something, they feel the need to isolate, to keep the danger away, to keep the danger on the other side of the door. So the danger can’t get to them and hurt them. So they be protected. But I felt the exact opposite. If I was isolated, behind a close door, I didn’t feel that would keep the danger away from me, I felt like I would just be alone with the danger. Like the danger could walk right through my bedroom door, like the door wasn’t going to stop the danger from getting to me. If anything, it would only make me a better target because I was there alone in my bedroom and since the door was closed that made it all the more difficult for anyone standing on the other side of the door to come and save me.

I don’t know where this stems from. I don’t know why I’ve always had this fear. Now that I’m bigger, I’m not that afraid of it. I can be in a room with the door closed, I can even sleep with the door closed. If that makes me uncomfortable me or not, it all depends if I’m feeling more or less vulnerable. If I’m doing alright, I won’t give it much thought, but if I’m going through a hard time, I’ll just won’t be able to.

I’m a twenty-three-year-old girl (woman?) and I’m afraid of the dark. The only time I can be in the dark is when I wake up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom and make my way to it when no lights are on, and my house is never too dark because the blinds are always open. When the power goes out I kind of freak out a little. Up until a year ago, maybe, I slept with my bedroom blinds completely open. I don’t know if I feel better now since I’m able to sleep with the blinds closed but, again, it all depends, on how I’m feeling. Some days I’ll sleep safe and soundly and on some days I’ll either open the blinds a little or I’ll get up and turn the light on the living room on so it illuminates my bedroom a little.

A boyfriend I had once hid from me while the house was completely silent and dark so he could scare me. It was a harmless prank that made me very anxious. Being in the dark, no noise to be heard of, knowing someone was out there somewhere, but that I didn’t know where, ready to come out of the dark and just scream at me, I can’t even begin to describe how unsettled I felt. And it happens every time someone does that to me. Again, I don’t know where this stems from or if it can be resolved but maybe some day I’ll get there.

Boxes

My parents separated when I was about six years old. Since then, I’ve spent the weekends with my grandma – with whom my dad had come to live with when my mom packed his things and dropped them at my grandma’s house where he lived before moving in with her and where he still lives at to this day. My dad wasn’t nor isn’t the most warming person and so I guess he didn’t really know what to do with a kid my age, especially a girl. So, at home, I only spent time with my grandma while he was in his room watching tv.

My grandma’s house only had two room’s, hers and my dad’s and because I was only there on weekends and only slept there two to three nights a week, they never got me a bed. I slept on a small, slim mattress on my dad’s bedroom floor. I woke up early, as I believe all kids do on weekends, to watch cartoons. I never quite understood that phenomenon: how all kids have such a hard time waking up for school but wake up so willingly and gladly early on weekends to watch cartoons. I guess it’s because they’re doing something for fun, something just for them, because isn’t always fun, right?

I would have breakfast at the dining room table. My grandma was poor. She didn’t live with any luxuries so she didn’t have a couch. So we never called it living room even though we used the space as it were and always call it dining room, because it didn’t have a couch, only a table and chairs and we always watched TV sitting on those chairs, with our arms on the table. Maybe the back pain I have today is because of all the countless hours I spent watching TV on those not so comfortable dining chairs.

I would come to the kitchen every now and then to check on my grandma while she made lunch. She more often than not made three different lunches. One for me, one for my dad, one for her. My grandma is from Alentejo so she would always make something typical from there for her, something very specific for my dad – because he is very demanding, and something specific for me too because she always cooked my favorite meals – and because I guess I’m demanding, too.

Right before lunch my dad would emerge from his bedroom and join us. He would take a seat at the table and nag me about my table manners and repeatedly threaten to turn off the TV because I would often interrupt my eating to pay attention to the TV. I never really liked eating. When I was younger, my mom had to leave the kitchen and go into another room to leave me alone because I wouldn’t shut up and so I would take hours to finish my dinner.

After lunch he’d get ready for us to go to the cinema. This was our thing, or one of the two things we did together – that and going to the park on Sunday. Movies on Saturday and going to the park on Sunday.

I loved going to the movies. It was where I mostly learned how to speak and write in English. Because I learned to speak, read and write so fast in my own language, I could go see plus twelve years old movies and read and keep up with the subtitles from a very young age.

In these movies there were these characters who lived inside these worlds who inspired me. Every time I came out of the theatre room, I’d come out a different person. I’d absorb the character I’d like most and make all efforts to turn into them. I’d try and talk like the character, speak and behave like the character, I would try to be the character. The thing would me is, ever since I was a little girl, I’ve tried to be everything and anything, anyone, any character, but myself. I lived desperately to define me, to define who I was. The thing about the characters was that they were wholesome. They had this “style” and everything about them revolved around that same style: the way they dressed, the music they listened to, the people they surrounded themselves with, they were all in consonance. So I wanted to be one of those characters, I wanted to be wholesome, I wanted to be “a thing”. I wanted to have a personal, specific style, I wanted to listen to a specific type of music, and read certain genres of books and watch certain genres of movies. I wanted to fit inside of a box. I wanted to figure myself out completely. I wanted to understand me. I wanted to understand who I was. It was easier to know who I was if I was just one thing, if all that I was, all that I did and said was related, all part of the same scheme.

But somehow, I could never do it. I fought it for years. I have been fighting it for years. For example, I listen to a lot of types of music. My playlist has everything from the Hannah Montana soundtrack to classics of the eighties to some of the latest Top 40 hits. But this was against the whole “fitting into a box” thing. So, one day, I deleted basically all of my playlist. I thought “The type of person I want to be doesn’t listen to this. The type of person I want to be listens to this specifically.”. But this strategy didn’t work, because it didn’t make me happy. Because I couldn’t listen to the music I wanted.

I understood over time I couldn’t actually fit me inside a box, because there’s more than four sides to me. I can be anything and everything. I’m a walking paradox. I like to listen to AC/DC and 2000s R&B and I realize this is so cool. I love being this way, but I also hate being this way. I love that I can’t fit myself into a box, but I also hate that I can’t fit myself into a box. It’s very hard for me to accept it. Maybe because I’m still struggling with finding who I am and it’s hard for me to not know who I am even if I know that there is normal. Maybe I’ll never know exactly who I am. Maybe I’ll be constantly learning who I am, maybe I’ll live my life learning things about myself. And even though I know it’s okay and I can’t really be okay with it and I don’t know really know why, but I hope I’ll at least figure that one out, if anything less.

Dead Weight

I’ve had problems with my weight all my life. And even though I it didn’t become a serious issue up until a few years ago, I distinctively remember being ten and noticing the stomach rolls I already had at that age. I was never thin but I don’t think I was ever fat, either. I hate these adjectives and I hate that being considered “fat” has such a negative connotation. I hate that being called “fat” is an offense whilst being called “thin” is a compliment. You usually tell someone they’re thin as something good like “good on you that you’re so thin, that must mean you feel so good about yourself, that you’re working on yourself”. Being fat must mean you hate yourself. How could you let yourself go like this? How could you not eat and exercise properly? Do you hate your body so much that you don’t even take care of it? Eating all that garbage food that’s bad for you and ruins and your insides – and outside – and then sitting in your couch all day watching Netflix. You must hate yourself or else you wouldn’t do all those things, you wouldn’t self-destruct like that.

It isn’t exactly like that. Yes, maybe you haven’t been liking yourself very much. Maybe you haven’t been liking what you see when you see yourself reflected in the mirror. The thing is: loving yourself is not self-destructing but is not exhausting yourself to look thin, either. The most important thing is that you feel comfortable with yourself, is that you feel good inside your body, inside your skin. You have to love yourself. Every minute of every day. You have to love yourself even when you don’t like yourself very much. You have to love yourself through the whole process, at your worst, while you’re trying to be better, to get better, and after you’ve achieved the goals you set for yourself.

But we, as humans, go through things. Life happens and sometimes we get sad. So sad that we can’t leave the couch and that our mind – our own self – is so far away from our body that all we can handle is a show on Netflix or a movie we’ve watched a thousand times that we don’t have to be present for, that we don’t have to pay attention to. We stay absent-minded.

Sometimes, we are so deep in our hurting that we can’t manage to get out of it. We just can’t help but self-sabotage and become even worse. If you’re anything like me, the worse you feel, the worst decisions you’ll make and you can’t really bring yourself to do what’s best for you, which only makes you feel even worse than you already felt. But, as I’ve learned recently, you can never abandon yourself. You have to keep going, you have to keep moving. You can’t give up. If you’re struggling with your weight – or anything really – it’s okay if one day you’re sipping down pineapple and spinach juice and eating healthy and going out for walks or even exercising and the next day you’re feeling like shit, like you can’t even lift a finger, let alone get yourself to clean up your house, or study, or go to work – or anything at all. Healing is not linear. It’s not a straight, continuous line. You can be good one day and bad another day. What matters is you don’t give up on yourself. What matters is you try.

The problem is not your weight – the weight gain is a consequence. The problem is our insecurities, the things that struck us and takes by storm. The things that leave us vulnerable and exposed, feeling the worst version of ourselves. Sometimes, if they hit just the right spot, especially if the insecurity is already there, they can make you rethink everything and make you doubt yourself and ultimately feel like shit. Because it’s not the weight that sucks all the life out of your body. It’s not the weight that makes you feel powerless, hopeless and out of control of your own body – and your own mind. The problem is your mind playing tricks on you. The problem is you’re sick. When you heal your mind, everything else heals, everything else falls into place.

When I say I’ve always had problems with my weight but not until recently it has become a problem, I mean that even though I noticed my weight and my body form and those of other girls, it didn’t pose a problem or a threat. The thing is, it wasn’t until I was about ten years old that I started to feel that social pressure to look a certain way. Which is crazy to think: a ten-year-old girl comparing herself to other ten-year-old girls. Before ten we don’t care about those things, about impressing. But suddenly we’re ten and we start wanting to impress boys in recess.

As I grew up and my body grew with me, my body kept in the same registry – not thin but not fat either. As a teenager I was considered hot by some people’s standards and caught the attention of some guys. I wouldn’t be honest if I said that that didn’t make me feel good about myself – the compliments, being wanted… desired.

Recently I heard about something called “Brain Reward System” and even though I don’t know how to explain it very well, basically it means that by rewarding yourself with something, even if you don’t have any particular reason to, we’re activating hormones (I think) that makes us feel good and happy.

On what it started to be my lowest point until now, I felt miserable and eating whatever I wanted and comforted me, somehow, was like a reward to me, even though it only made feel worse. The worse I felt, the more it happened, I fell into this cycle. The sadder I felt the more I permitted myself to eat pizza or hot dogs or hamburgers and then the more I felt bad about myself for eating all that and for worsening my state of being. It was like eating what I wanted was a relief from everything else. I felt sad so I let myself eat what I wanted so I could feel better. I felt accommodated but I didn’t feel better. I felt worse. Every. Damn. Time. Physically and emotionally.

This, along with my chronic laziness, was the recipe for (my) disaster. I’ve never liked exercising. As a kid, my parents tried to get me into sports and I did try some – ballet, swimming, gymnastics, acrobatic gymnastics, some dance class thing. I wasn’t keen on any of them and eventually gave up on every one of them, one by one. I even did a yoga class once. I think I have attention deficit so you can imagine how hard it was for me to sit in silence – as I’ve mentioned before, I’m not very fond of silence – not being able to talk nor make any sound or move... I could only move into a position the instructor… instructed when the instructor instructed. I just had to breathe. Be still, be quiet, and breathe. It was hell. Actually, I think I would really like it now, but back then, it was simply hell, all sixty minutes (or however much time it was) of it.

I even joined a gym when I was sixteen or seventeen, encouraged by a then friend who wanted me to join with her but it didn’t last long. A few months after I joined another gym with another friend who was even lazier than I was. But that time didn’t last either. I didn’t – and I don’t – have something that is essential to be able to take on that kind of commitment – discipline. Something I desperately need to work on… a lot. Isn’t that the whole exercise thing? Consistency? Well, the only thing that has been consistent in my life has been, well, inconsistency… and instability. Go figure.

The years that followed were filled with (empty) promises of one day returning. Meanwhile, life happened, as life does. My sedentary lifestyle and other things didn’t help my case. Fast forward to the year of 2020 and we’re living a global pandemic. Covid-19. Most of us were sent home and the only job they gave us was: stay home. (even though I went out a few times). I didn’t become desperate as I saw most of the people I know become, forced to stay home. It didn’t bother me to have to stay home. To say the truth, I didn’t like my job, I wasn’t studying at the time and had very few things to look forward to. To put it simply, I didn’t like my life very much and didn’t have much to miss from my “normal”, “covid-less” life, so I was looking forward to staying at home and doing all the things I already did, like watching movies and bingeing TV shows.

Of course, being aware of the weight I had gained in the last couple of years, one of the first thoughts I had about being forced to stay home was, “now you’ll have plenty of time to exercise”. Some influencer from my country started doing Instagram lives doing sixteen-minute exercises with her Personal Trainor boyfriend. It felt like someone was indirectly calling me out. So I headed the call. I got up and started moving. I quickly outgrew them, sixteen minutes felt like it wasn’t much and wouldn’t do much. I was excited, ready and hungry for more. I started doing Pamela Reif and Chloe Ting’s – two other names for Devil – training programs. Everything was going great until… something happened. I found that my boyfriend had cheated on me. At first, the anger I felt served as a boost of energy. I felt empowered, all that “revenge body” stuff and whatever. But when reality sunk in, things changed. The anger turned into sadness and that demotivated me. I went back to the couch quicker than you can say “Ahhh!”. I pretty much felt like shit. And when I feel like shit, when I feel sad, I sink into my sadness. I drown in my own tears, in my own thoughts, in my own feelings, in my own sadness.

Long story short, I stopped. And that was when all that “Brain Reward System” stuff came in to play. I had highs and lows. I’ve felt like shit most of the time. I can’t count all the times I heard a relative or a friend say something like “It wouldn’t hurt you to lose some weight, you know?” and I would put on a happy face and made a joke about it so it wouldn’t feel like it made me uncomfortable. Isn’t it amazing (or awful) how we do anything to try and accommodate those who make us uncomfortable or make us feel bad about ourselves? I knew I should have said something like “How about you mind your own damn business?” or something along the lines of “Do I happen to eat at your house?”. But I could never do that, I could never be rude to them like they were to me, even if that’s what they deserved, because if they don’t want rudeness as a response, they shouldn’t be rude in the first place.

If you ask me, I’m a firm believer in simply not commenting on people’s bodies. It’s not your place to. People have mirrors, people know what look like. People know their habits, people know how they feel.

I think I could never go through with anything because I always had the wrong reasons: I was doing it for the others. For the approval of others. So I could go to the beach with my friends and get “she’s really hot looks” instead of “wow, she got really fat” looks. I can’t count all the times I wondered if whether I should go and felt miserable the minute I got there. I can’t count how many times I sucked my stomach in for photos or tried to hide my fat arms or tried to find the perfect angle so my double chin wouldn’t make an unwanted appearance. All so I wouldn’t be judged by those who watched my Instagram stories. All the times I switched outfits countless times trying to find the perfect outfit – meaning, the outfit that didn’t make me look (so) fat – and stood in the mirror hating myself. All the times I cried because my size 34 jeans didn’t fit me anymore.

Recently, I went back to exercising. All of a sudden, I just got up, turned YouTube on my TV, searched for a HIIT exercise with a Broadway musical choreography – because if I have to exercise, at least let me have a little fun while doing it. When I was done, I put on a Claudia Sulewski’s video – one of my favorite Youtubers, one of the few I still look out for – where she’s stretching and kind of meditating and breathing at the same time.

So I’m there, sitting on my living room floor, in front of the TV, crossed legged with my hands sitting on each of my thighs. I closed my eyes and I start crying. Compulsively crying. I felt so full of emotions, so happy for having moved my body for twenty minutes. I really had done it. I had done it.

It’s been a while since I’ve written those words. I haven’t exercised since the day after the one I was writing about. I’ve fallen from that two-day wagon. But I’ll get back on it, eventually, I know it. I’ll gather the courage to do it. I’ll be better enough to make it. When I do, maybe I’ll fall off the wagon again, maybe after two days, maybe after two weeks. Maybe I’ll be back on it a few days later, perhaps it will be a few weeks later. I hope one day I’ll be able to do it consistently. Until then, I’ll keep trying.

Boys and Houses

Yesterday I went to my old house. I didn't come in, of course. We parked the car on the beginning of the street and got out of the car and started walking the street's houses pathway. We walked by my neighbors’ house but didn't see them. The blinds were drawn/closed.

The now owners of my old house were home. Their car was parked outside and there were flip flops outside at the door. Everything was exactly the same and very different at the same time. Now, there's a big dog on the patio instead of my small cat. The pool area is filled with some plants and flowers my mom had planted when we lived there that were now grown and some the new owners planted. The garage we turned into a guest room was turned into a garage again. The entrance doors were changed to newer, more modern ones. The house had been painted. It felt weird and peaceful to look at the same horizon view. I felt like in some weird way that was still my house, even though I didn't live there but instead strange people I've never seen. I think I would go back if I could, I think I would like to live there again. When I left, I was happy to, I enjoyed the house but I've never loved living there. We had moved against my will. I didn't want to leave my former home where I had lived for almost twenty years. My whole life. I didn't want to leave the house where I had birthday parties and dinners with friends and sleepovers and fights with my ex-boyfriend. Where I had shared so many kisses, even my first time. That bedroom heard me cry myself to sleep every night for weeks when my boyfriend broke with me. That house welcomed other boys I had brought there after that in an attempt to fill the void the house was left with after he left and welcomed friends who turned to not friends. That house watched me grow and was with me through all my changes and phases.

So I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be an hour away from my friends. I resented living in that house. I resented being so isolated and alone and living in an area I didn't know anyone let alone have any friends. I resented having to take a fifteen-minute car ride to take a forty-minute-long bus ride to then have to take the subway and other buses and or trains to take me where I wanted to go. I resented that whenever I had a party or birthday dinner I had to stay at other people's homes because I couldn't catch a bus at four or five am in the morning because there was none and because I wouldn’t be able to get from the terminal to my house either way. I resented that I had to bring everything everywhere with me because I needed my things with me if I was going to stay the night. I resented the whole thing, the whole time. Because of other reasons, in two thousand and nineteen, I moved to England. For a month (I intended to stay longer but more on that on some other time). And my mom told me she was going to sell the house while I was still there. She got divorced and was left alone there now that I was living in another country. She didn't want to live there alone, so far away from everything. Supermarkets, pharmacies, hospitals, you name it. So she wanted to leave even though she didn't really want to go. She loved it there. She had to leave. But I was happy. I was finally going to be in the city again, among people again and close to my friends again. That was one of the reasons I wanted to leave England even more.

I was excited. I started planning the decoration from afar. Being who I am, I elaborated a PowerPoint presentation with furniture options, from cheaper to more expensive to help my mother choose. I thought about how my room was going to be.

Fast forward a few months after and I'm closer to my friends. In fact, I had never lived closer to most of my friends, I've even become neighbors with one of my best friends. But it surprised me to realize that didn't change anything. I didn't see my friends more now that I was closer to them, in fact I was seeing them less because the truth is I had never felt more alone or isolated or alienated from people.

I began missing it. The house, the place. I began wondering if I was starting to regret the move. Or the fact that I let my mom move. I'm still wondering if I regret it to this day.

Today, I drove by my old, old house. The one I lived in before my last one. I don't really have any particular feelings towards it anymore. I feel okay, I feel normal. I've made my peace with the fact that I left a long time ago. I've had closure. I no longer miss it or feel sad thinking about all the memories I had from my years living in that house. Every time I drive by that building I smile and think "oh, that's my house" and that is it.

I've come to think that what I feel about those two houses is a lot similar to what I feel about my ex-boyfriends. My first boyfriend, my ex, ex-boyfriend, is my first house, my ex-ex house. I still acknowledge him every time he drives by because he's the one with a car and I'm the one who always walks. I still smile. I still remember all the moments which have turned into memories. I still even feel kind of giddy. But I feel okay, I feel normal. I don't feel sad or hurt. I've also made my peace with our relationship and how it ended. I no longer miss him. I just think "oh, that's him" and that is it. My second boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend, is my old house, my last house, the last one I abandoned. I still feel sad and hurt. I still feel regret. I haven't had any closure and I feel no peace regarding him or anything related to him.

I realize this is a good analogy. I'm not hurting because I liked my second house better, even though I think I did. It's because I still haven't processed it all. I loved my first house but in time, it took its place, just like I loved my first boyfriend but he also took his place in my life and my heart. A different, more settling place. And once I've processed my ex-boyfriend, I'll feel like that, too. At peace, settled. And with the house, too.

I Have a Sister

On a Sunday morning of November two thousand and nine I woke up in grandma’s house where she lived with my dad. I woke up in the middle of the night, took a look at my dad’s bed and saw that he wasn’t there. I wasn’t surprised, my dad always went out on weekend nights and he always came home late. I woke up later in the morning and then I was surprised to see he hadn’t come home. I went to say good morning to my grandma and ask for my dad and she told me he had stayed at my mom’s place. “Weird”, I thought. Could this mean they actually had spent the night together? Could this mean they were getting back together? I didn’t really suffer with my parent’s separation – from what I can remember, at least – but the thought of them getting back together made me sort of happy, hopeful. Who wouldn’t want their parents together? Who wouldn’t want their parents to date each other instead of other people? All the messiness would be over. We would finally be a family, a unity. We would all live in the same house. I liked the idea.

A few hours later they both came to pick me up. Together. At the time, my mom already had her own beauty salon but she still worked independently in various beauty salons, so she would travel to those places every now and then, especially on weekends. I remember my mom’s car being at the shop so my dad was taking her to these places on that weekend. We went together. As soon as I got to the car, they were silent. There was tension in the air. My fantasy was immediately destroyed. There was no way they were back together. Happy people who just got back together don’t look like that.

After my mom was done with her work my dad drove us home. I felt even more weird when he didn’t just drop us off, he came with us. The whole thing, the whole day was weird. Something didn’t add up. Something was happening.

From what I can recall, they closed the kitchen door and stood there, talking. I went to my room. I didn’t pay too much attention to it and I didn’t even try to hear their conversations. They’re the adults, whatever it’s going on, they’ll figure it out.

A few hours later, my dad emerged from the kitchen and called out to me from the foyer. I came to him and he said goodbye to me. He left. A few moments later, my mom went to take a shower. She always had the bathroom door open and I always had my bedroom door open and the bathroom was very close to my bedroom so when she started crying, I heard her immediately.

My mom never tried to shield me from her feelings. My mom never tried to shield me from anything. I always knew how she was feeling, good or bad, which made me feel like I always needed to accommodate her and her feelings, so she could feel. Actually, I had no other choice. This led me to keep most of my feelings to myself. I felt like there was no space for me or my feelings, only for her and hers. There was no space for the both of us to completely be ourselves, share our feelings and just completely get loose and freak out. I had to refrain myself from sharing what I felt because she took all the space and energy for herself, there was none left for me. I had to let her have her moment. Whenever we’re in the car driving somewhere and the GPS we’ll send us somewhere different than what is supposed to, she’ll freak out, she’ll completely lose it. She becomes desperate. She doesn’t like to drive to places she doesn’t know, she doesn’t like to get lost and she has very low tolerance for things that slip under her control. She can’t keep herself together. She can’t calm herself. She cries. She screams. She loses control. She’s desperate. That’s what she did that afternoon. She cried. She screamed. She lost control. She was desperate.

I stood at the bathroom door and looked at her standing, sobbing in the bathtub, holding the shower head. I asked her “What happened?”. She said “Your dad has another daughter. She’s two.” I was in shock. I didn’t know what to say. I was ten. I was flooded with questions: What? What do you mean? What do you mean my dad has another child? And she’s two? How am I only hearing about this know? Why didn’t he told us he was having a baby? He tells us now??? Two years later??? Nothing about this made any sense to me. It was all too messed up to understand, even for my little ten-year-old brain, because clearly even my thirty-two-year-old mother was having a hard time with all of this.

I can’t quite remember what she said to me next. I think she explained me what she knew, what my dad had told her the night before. That’s why my dad never came home, he was at my mom’s house for some reason and I guess he thought she was in a good mood so he felt like it was a good time to tell her and he slept there because I guess she was too upset to be alone. And that’s why they were silent and weird in the car and the whole afternoon. That made sense now. She told my aunt, her sister, and her husband and we all went to have dinner together. My mom was very shaken up. She was so sad, so upset. Seeing her react like that to such news highly influenced, it shaped and defined how I saw, perceived and treated the situation from the first moment I knew about it. My aunt and respective husband kept saying how good it was that I had a sister and that I had to meet her. It was my obligation. She was my sister.

It was weekend again and my dad came to pick me up like he did every Friday night. We almost didn’t talk the whole ride to my grandma’s house. When we arrived, he parked the car but it was clear to me that I wasn’t supposed to leave the car yet. He paused and we were in silence for a few seconds. I felt terribly nervous and anxious and I just wanted to ignore the obvious, I just wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that nothing was happening. I wanted to avoid the conversation that we were about to have. I wanted to avoid what I thought or felt about the situation. He said to me “I know you already know” and I said “Yes.”. I can’t remember the conversation in detail, but I remember him telling me it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He told me they had reached a conclusion together after my mom knew the truth: Let’s wait for the school to finish so this doesn’t affect Beatriz’s grades. Then, we’ll tell her together. And then, if she agrees to it and feels good about it, we’ll arrange a meeting and we’ll introduce he two of them in some neutral place to both of them so them can both feel safe. “But your mother ruined it.”, he said.

He was right. My mom did ruin it. My mom was utterly selfish. My mom was overcome with emotion, with frustration and anger and she didn’t shield me from any of it. She passed it on to me. I don’t have children, I am not a mother, so I don’t really know what I’m talking about, but I really do believe that being a parent means putting your children first. It doesn’t mean you stop caring for yourself completely, but it does mean that you have to set whatever feelings you’re having aside for their own good, for their safety, for their well-being. It means that if you have to swallow your feelings to protect, that’s what you do. I’m not trying by any means to say parents should be miserable so their kids can be happy, what I’m saying is the exact opposite. I was miserable because my mom was miserable. I was sad because I saw and felt her sadness. If she had been happy about the situation, I would have been radiant… knowing that I had a sister. But she took that away from me. She handled the situation poorly. She didn’t take a moment to collect herself, to check herself, to dive into her feelings. She didn’t take a moment to think “I can’t pass the feelings I’m having on to her. I can’t say anything while I still have so much anger towards the situation. We have a plan. I’ll stick to the plan. I’ll suffer in silence, for now, until it is the right time for her to know.” She did the exact opposite. She hijacked the plan. She got ahead of herself and the plan because what she was feeling was hurting her so much that she couldn’t keep it to herself, she had to share the load with me, her ten-year-old child, because it was too heavy for her to carry alone.

My dad asked me if I still wanted to meet his other daughter – my sister – and I said yes even though I wasn’t totally sure I did. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet her, of course, it was just that I didn’t all the hurt and messiness that came with that. I wanted to avoid it all costs.

All this happened somewhere between September and November of two thousand and nine. I was in fifth grade. A few weeks later, my dad asked me if I wanted to go to her birthday party. She was turning two. In November. November twentieth. My birthday is on January twentieth. I said yes, once again without knowing if I actually wanted to go. He said he would be so happy if I went. It would make him very happy if I did – My mom is not the only one who knows how to manipulate her child – so I did. I could never say no to him. I could never disappoint him. I could never break his heart. I could never say no, disappoint or break anyone’s heart, actually. Even if that meant saying no to or disappoint myself or break my own heart.

He also told me we weren’t going to tell my mom, not until after we went to the party. He said that if we told her before, she was going to be very upset and that she wouldn’t want us to go (or that she wouldn’t let us go, I’m not sure). We didn’t want to upset but we also wanted to go so we would her we had gone to the party after we had gone to the party. This, he told me, would avoid all problems and messiness. I knew she would in fact be upset and that she wouldn’t want me to go but my dad said we would go, so we went. Without my mother knowing.

It didn’t feel right. Any of it. I was so nervous, so anxious. I was just trying to get through it and survive. We were in the car on our way there and Eternal Flame by The Bangles was playing on the radio. It would never be the same listening to that song again. We arrived there and it’s all a big blur. I don’t remember much, but I do remember a lot of people. Strangers. I remember it being kind of dark because it was winter and it was evening so the sun was out since a couple hours ago. I don’t remember being there for too long before I got a call from my mom, I don’t even remember seeing her – my sister. When the phone rang and saw on the screen that I was my mom, I handed it over to my dad, but he rejected it. “You pick it up”, he said. I insisted. I wanted him to handle the situation, I wanted him to talk to my mom, I wanted him to take care of it, but he resisted it. I picked up. My mom asked me where I was. I lied and said we were at the park. She asked me again, she asked me if I was sure. I was so nervous I felt sick. I handed the phone over to my dad again, panicking, and he finally took it. I only remember my mom saying on the phone “I will run you over with a car.” May I remind you: I was ten.

We left and my dad took me to my other grandma’s – my mom’s mom – house. When we arrived, my dad asked me to come up and ask my grandma to come down. They talked. My mom went to come and pick me up there after. Everything that happened between is a blur to me, I only remember coming home and not understanding if my mom was upset with me or just upset, period. We barely spoke. She was mad. Noticeably mad. She was furious. She also took away my phone so I wouldn’t call or receive calls from my dad. I was forbidden to speak to him and stopped going over to my grandma’s house on the weekends. This went on for months.

The first time I talked to my dad about what had happened after all those times without speaking, I could see how bothered he was about the whole situation – obviously. I could see he was sad even. I think at the time he asked me if I wanted for us to try again but I don’t remember what I answered. Truth is I was scared. That hadn’t been where I didn’t think about the whole situation, about the fact that I had a sister who I didn’t know, whose house I’d been to, whose birthday party I’d attended but whose face I didn’t really remember. A sister who knew I existed and who knew I knew she existed, too, even though she was probably too little to understand anything.

Today, she is fourteen. And she gets to have a sibling, a person with her own blood coursing through her veins, walking the streets like nothing had happened, but she doesn’t get to have a sister. We never got to meet. After that, I never got up the courage to go through the whole thing again. Everything that happened just made me associate so much trauma to it, to meeting her, to her. Just thinking about it takes me back to such a hard place. Just thinking of going back there, of going through it again, makes me feel scared and anxious. And I know it’s not my fault. I know that I was a kid, too. I know that I didn’t know better. I know the adults failed us. Both of us. They did everything wrong, everything that could possibly go wrong, did. But it’s not her fault, either. I was ten but she was a baby and she’s probably living life thinking I don’t want to meet her. Thinking I don’t think about her. But I do. Every day. She doesn’t know I took a picture with my phone of a picture of her my dad has in his room and keep it in my phone’s camera roll. Maybe she doesn’t even care. I was never part of her life, she can’t miss what she never had. Maybe she even thinks she’s better off without me. Maybe she feels that she doesn’t want to meet someone who she thinks doesn’t want to meet her. But I can’t help but feel that my trauma isn’t a good enough excuse to keep me from meeting her. I feel like us meeting depends on me, the responsibility falls on my shoulders, like I have to fix what others broke. I keep thinking that if I really wanted to meet her, I already would have. But I’m not brave enough, I feel that I wouldn’t be able to deal with what would come with it.

My dad and I never talk about it. We pretend it’s not a thing. We pretend it never existed. He never talks to me about her. We mentioned it a couple of times over the years. He told me he wouldn’t try anymore, he told me he wouldn’t push me. He told me that if I wanted to meet her, then I would have to say something. But he said this with anger and disappointment in his voice. He also told me she knew I existed and she knew that I knew she existed as well and that she felt because “her sister doesn’t to meet her”. Of course he was trying to make me feel bad and guilty and it worked.

My mom was wrong in the way she handled the situation and in telling me the way that she did but my dad is as much to blame as my mom, if not more. He was the one one who had a kid and didn’t tell anybody, out of shame. He told my mom when the mother of his daughter got pregnant, he didn’t want her to keep it. He didn’t want any more children, but she had the baby anyway. My dad told my mom she did it to keep my dad close even though they were separated. I got to meet this woman. She was introduced to me one day me and my dad went to the movies and she was waiting for us at the mall after the movie ended. He introduced her as her name “Marta”, not as his girlfriend, even though I obviously knew that’s what she was.

My dad decided to tell he had a kid basically two years after she was born. What was he afraid of? My mom? Years ago, after I was born and after they were separated, my mom told my dad that she didn’t want any more kids and she didn’t want me to have any more siblings. She didn’t me to have siblings who weren’t from the same mother and father and my father agreed. I don’t if because he too didn’t want to have any more kids or because he too thought I should have a brother or a sister from a different mother or father. The whole thing is ridiculous. So it didn’t work out between me and my husband or life partner or whatever and in the eventuality that I meet somebody else who I love and want to start a family with, I can’t??? Because I don’t want my child or children to have “half-siblings”? How archaic is that? Of course, it’s not ideal, not according to the standards society holds us to, at least. When we get married or start a family with some body, we do so in hopes that that person will be our life partner… for life. We hope we’ll have all the babies with that person, we hope we’ll stay a family, together, a unity, in the same house. But things don’t always work out the way we think they will or the way we want them to. Sometimes we have to change and adapt and make a new reality for ourselves, a reality that better fits and serves us.

My dad tried to make me feel shame but he’s the one who should feel ashamed. A few months ago, my dad and I had grown a little closer. I was having some trouble at home with my mom and I knew he felt for me so I felt him giving me more attention, trying to somehow make me feel a little better. I felt growing more comfortable and open around him, so we revisited the subject. I told him what I thought and felt about it but his reaction was not what I had hoped. He told me he didn’t feel guilty, he told me he had a clear conscience about it. He told me he never forced me to do anything or go anywhere, he told me he always asked me and always gave me a choice. He told me I agreed to it because I wanted to, he never manipulated me into deciding anything. He told me I was old enough to know what I was doing and to decide for myself. Even though I was ten. Even though he was the adult. Even though he was the responsible one. Responsible to take care of me, to put me first, to think of me first, to do everything in his power to protect me and to keep me safe.

When he told me this, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom and cry. I couldn’t believe that he was taking no responsibility or accountability for what had happened. Who was to blame, then? Who was responsible for what happened? Me? The child? The ten-year-old? I felt so incredibly hurt. I was hoping for redemption. I was hoping for both of us to open our hurts and be sorry together. But I guess he didn’t learn anything and I feel sorry for him for it.

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marspace · 2 years

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Space

Why choosing the right space to work is important?

PART #1

If you were asked to choose a workplace to work in, would you choose a pleasant one or a space where you are forced to adjust to it?

Unless you are compelled to operate in a location where you have no other alternatives, every individual takes up a space that links to them in some manner. Even in a confined place, one wishes to make the required modifications to make it their own.

According to the Collins dictionary, proxemics is the study of human space utilization.

It happens so casually that most people do not even notice, yet the amount of space they keep between each other is not random. It largely depends on where you are from and whom you speak with. Furthermore, these distances differ from one culture to the next. If you happen to meet someone on the street and inquire about something, you will instinctively opt to maintain a culturally defined distance from her. It would be pretty unsettling for Americans to have this sidewalk talk with barely an inch or two between their bodies. Furthermore, if you try to go inside their ‘space’ you might be viewed as an intruder and lead the individual to feel defensive. However, standing many yards away and raising your voice so the other person can hear you would be weird.

There is no such thing in the Middle East, and for them, it is appropriate to invade people’s personal space. In fact, if you refuse to do it, you may look like a cold and unfriendly person. At the same time, Arabs want to stand near enough to the other person to touch and smell them.

This "how far apart do we stand" thing turns out to have a name — proxemics — and it can be described as how personal space is maintained as a feature of one's culture. Proxemics is more than simply the space we set between ourselves and others; it also refers to the space in which we choose to remain, work, or live.

Based on my personal point of view, I can say that the spaces in which I want to work closely connect with me. It could be the colour of the walls, which is related to my preferences, and it can be furniture that reminds me of a certain period of my life or just a peaceful environment. In my opinion, everything we choose is related to us and our lives; therefore, our benefits from these spaces are positive. Have you ever been in an environment where you do not like something, and you spoil all the humour of the day?

Moreover, have you ever been in an environment where you find things you like; therefore, your whole day is followed by good energies, and you feel ready to do anything?

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she-who-fights-and-writes · 3 years

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things that make a monarch powerful and successful besides war?

How to Write a Good Ruler

There’s more to leading than just winning wars.

Throughout history, many empires were forged with blood by powerful warriors, who pushed their countries’ borders by slaughtering everyone in their paths. However, many of them never lasted very long in the grand scheme of things, because there’s more to running a country than simply having good military power.

This post isn’t about how to write a good ruler character, this post is about the qualities of being a good ruler. Making someone a perfect, immaculate ruler doesn’t necessarily make them a well-written character (and just because a character is a good ruler doesn’t have to mean they’re a good person) so you have to take into consideration basic concepts of character building, which you can find on my FAQ.

Now, I can’t possibly outline every single aspect of a good ruler within a single Tumblr post, so take this list as a kind of bare-bones guideline meant to boost your inspiration and give you a bit of direction.

1. A Good Ruler is Honorable

If you want your character’s subjects to respect them, then they must be a respectable person.

If your character goes around spending thousands on lavish treasures and banquets while their country starves, then they're probably not gonna have the best Yelp rating from their subjects.

A good ruler is respectful, honest, and treats not only the nobles of under their rule with respect, but also the commoners. They spend tax money on infrastructure, food, and charity. They follow proper etiquette and set an example for those who look up to them. And they spend their time working--hearing petitioners, filing paperwork, holding diplomatic meetings, signing trade agreements, strategizing battles, etc.--rather than making merry.

Benevolent rulers in fiction are often the embodiment of honor and goodwill...which is why they die so frequently within the story--to serve as a symbol of the "death of good" that the villain has brought to the land.

2. A Good Ruler is Just

One of the main jobs of a ruler is to pass sentences (or in most cases, have their courts pass sentences on their behalf). If your character acts on a “guilty until proven innocent” basis and executes fifty people a week, they’re probably only a ruler because everyone is afraid of them...not because they’re actually a “good ruler.”

They should be open to acts of mercy without teetering into “pushover” territory, and never allow wrongdoing to go unpunished.

This way, with their strong moral compass established, their subjects can all concur that anyone who gets executed under your character’s rule must’ve deserved it due to your character’s just nature.

3. A Good Ruler is Always Looking to Improve

Despite boing born into a lifestyle where you’re practically revered as godlike, a good ruler doesn’t think they are the end-all-be-all of everything. They often seek counsel from both their advisors and their subjects, and take criticism in stride rather than executing anyone who may dare to defy them.

In fact, a good ruler always knows when to ask for help, especially when it involves something that they have no prior experience with. If you want your young character to be a good ruler, then they most definitely must have a strong group of advisors such as noblemen, spiritual guides, generals, bankers, and other such people at their back to help them manage their kingdom.

4. A Good Ruler Knows When to Be Fierce

Though this may sound a bit harsh, part of the reason why anyone is ever a ruler (or in a position of power) at all is because the subjects are a little bit afraid of them. If your character has all of these other attributes, people will serve them willingly and this fear shouldn't necessarily be required, but think about it; why do we follow the law? Why do we allow our country to be run by people, some of whom we may respect but most whom we find intolerable?

A good ruler knows when to make an example out of people. No matter how amazing this ruler is, there will be people discontent under their power. There will be assassination attempts, coups, and rebellions. Allowing these things to slide without punishment will open up the doors for the ruler to be deemed “weak” and lose respect, so in these situations you should allow your ruler character to bring down the gavel…and some public executions may be in order.

Examples of Good Rulers in Fiction

Ned Stark, Game of Thrones

Ned Stark is the paragon of an even-tempered, moral leader within the Game of Thrones series and novels, and is revered by many characters within the story due to his stoic, honorable nature. One of the primary examples of his righteousness is his motto: “Whoever passes the sentence must swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.”

Aslan, The Chronicles of Narnia

Although you may poke fun at the fact that Aslan is a lion, there is no doubt that he is one of the wisest and bravest rulers in literature. He is fierce and dangerous, but unquestionably good, and all of his subjects have steady faith in his abilities. He is willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of his people, even if it is just for a single one.

Aragorn, Lord of the Rings

Despite being reluctant to take up the throne, Aragorn overcomes his hesitancy and assumes his role as rightful king so he can lead an army of the undead into battle against Sauron. Aragon is a man of the people, and possesses unwavering bravery and nobility, which is no doubt why he is so respected by the fellowship and by his people.

T’Challa, Black Panther

T’Challa often questioned himself and his decisions as ruler of Wakanda, but there is no doubt that he is a level-headed and well-spoken ruler who tries to do the best for his people. He was able to overcome the vengeful nature that consumed him after the death of his father, and went on to help not only his country, but others around the world.

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writeblr #booklr #creative writing #books #novels #writers #writer #writing a book #writing a novel

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breelandwalker · 2 years

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Hi, I've been into witchcraft since I can remember and a few years ago I started practicing but stopped soon after, thinking I might not have "the gift". I struggle with depression, anxiety, most probably adhd and intrusive thoughts. Whenever I tried to make even the simplest and positive spells, I ended up with the opposite result, thus my belief of not having powers etc. Have you ever encountered a similar situation? Could my issues influence the craft? Thank you!

Oh. Oh sweetheart. Honey, you come and sit by me, you need to hear a few things.

I don't know who's been feeding you this idea that you need grandiose powers or some innate "gift" in order to be a proper witch and do magic, but it's simply not true. You're a witch from the moment you pick up the craft until the day you decide to leave it, and no one can make that decision for you.

And trust me when I say that no one's spells go right a hundred percent of the time. Every witch has had spells that go wonky or backfire or just plain fizzle out and don't work. Any witch who says their spells always work exactly the way they want and expect is a liar, plain and simple. We all fail and that's okay, because we learn from our failures and become stronger for it.

Witchcraft is a craft and a practice, and it does take time to gain skill and find ways to make spells work the way you want. At the same time, it's important to remember that magical solutions require mundane legwork, are never guaranteed, and rarely manifest in ways that are boldly obvious.

As for your mental health issues....

My darling poppet, I have those same problems myself. I struggle with some hellish permutation of depression, anxiety, ADHD, executive dysfunction, intrusive thoughts, forgetfulness, imposter syndrome, migraines, neuropathy, and insomnia every single day. I know how painful and frustrating it is, how much it feels like I should be able to do more, like other witches must be doing better than me because they don't have these problems.

But I also know that I am more than my mental and physical health issues. I know that when my spells don't work, it's because of probability or circumstance, not because I wasn't feeling my best when I cast it. I am every bit as much of a witch on the days when I perform fullscale warding rituals as I am when I can barely get out of bed, let alone find the energy to study technique or cast a spell. And believe me - so are you.

MANY witches struggle with issues of mental health, chronic illness, limited mobility, and more. It doesn't make any of us any less valid as magical practitioners. We do not have to be perfect to practice. The craft meets us where we are.

Having these issues just means that we might have to be a little more creative in how we approach our studies. It may means finding different ways to meditate or trying different ways of casting the same kind of spell. It may mean finding creative ways to eliminate distractions or work spells into our everyday routine rather than waiting for a special occasion. It may mean having a "close enough" mentality for celebrating holidays or thinking outside the box when it comes to magical timing. But it's still very, VERY possible.

The most important thing is to be patient with yourself and to not judge your progress by comparing it to someone else's. There are as many ways to do witchcraft as there are witches in the world. Your journey will not look like anyone else's, because there is only one you. Don't feel like you need to tie yourself down to one idea or one methodology because that's what you see around you. If the path you're on isn't working, look for another one.

It may take time, but with patience and practice, it does get easier. An acorn on the ground seems small, but given time, there stands an oak. Believe in yourself and in your ability to change and grow, and don't give up!

I hope this helps a little. My inbox is always open for questions.

#rossoporpora #witchcraft #witchblr #baby witch #beginner witch #spoonie witch #Advice for Beginner Witches #Bree answers your inquiries #I know I've talked about my mental and physical health issues before and I believe it's important to have these conversations #Representation matters on so many levels and you never know who needs to see it #Everyone needs to know that they're not alone #Mom Friend Mode: Activate

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lady-literature · 3 years

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Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form.

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet…

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion.

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time). She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day.

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #mlb x dc #jasonette #my typewriter #platonic dickinette #platonic timari

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