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delusional-angel · 3 years

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a replaced!mc au pt. I 〚Libertas perfundet omnia luce.〛

"Freedom will flood all things with light."

This work was inspired by the writings of @pen-ink-therapy and @wafermelons who both opened my mind to angst and how cathartic writing and consuming it can be.

part duo

Imagine an alternate universe where the seven avatars who've come to love the MC with everything they have, reject them for another. They were demons all along, cursed to be ruled by their sins for eternity. Finding the strength long buried within themselves, MC will begin a new journey and the brothers will lose what can't be replaced.

Warnings: mental abuse, emotional abuse, acts of violence, body shaming, bullying, suicidal ideation, poor mental health, angst, mentions of familial death.

Note: There will be n/sfw and yandere content in future installments because I am a ✨ w h o r e ✨

You had never realized how long the trek from RAD to the House of Lamentation was until you had to walk it alone. You ambled along in no particular hurry, your steps deliberately slow to put more time between you and your destination. The atmosphere matched the isolation you felt with a slightly damp breeze chilling your bones through your thick uniform and the cold from the cobblestone streets penetrating your shoes. The silence was deafening without chatter filling the empty spaces, so much so that your ears were ringing.

Why were you walking alone? It was a death march where you were forced to go on or be left in the dirt because in your heart you knew that no one would turn back for you.

It was embarrassing, really. Something you would never dare admit to anyone you respected like Solomon, Simeon, and sure as fuck not Barbatos or Diavolo. You had politely declined Solomon’s invitation to walk home together because a part of you worried that it was out of pity. He had seen the strain between your and the brothers’ relationship and you didn’t want him to know to what extent the rift had grown. You didn’t want him to see you at your lowest. You couldn’t stand to see the disappointment you had grown accustomed to reflected in his eyes.

You declined his invitation, feeling ungrateful and even more ashamed, and stayed behind at RAD only leaving when enough students had cleared campus. Then, you would slowly walk home with a pathetic hope in your heart and burning shame on the back of your neck because you hoped with all of your being that someone would notice you weren’t there. Four months ago, someone or a whole group of the brothers would find you on your way back, flustered and worried when they didn’t find you at home yet.

“What took ya so long? I thought ya had already left without me, and then I get home and Beel’s sittin’ by the door like an overfed puppy waitin’ for ya to get back!” Mammon has his hands on his hips, but melts when you smile.

“What have we told you about staying behind? If there’s anything you need, be sure to tell me, sweetie, and I’ll rendezvous with you anywhere.” Asmo gives a conspiratorial wink as if Mammon and Levi weren’t there at all.

Levi huffs, trying to catch your attention, “We have to get snacks for movie night. If we miss the sale for the limited Ruri-pop snacks I’ll never forgive you.” He says this, but he’s already striding towards you and taking your hand with a spontaneous burst of confidence before he loses his nerve.

You once wanted them to stop worrying so much. Nothing bad could ever happen to you when you had them, and you did everything you could (when you weren’t being so reckless) to soothe their nerves.

But now? You missed those suffocating days.

They didn’t notice when you were gone, and if they did, they didn’t even bother to shoot a text. You promised yourself for the last time—really meaning it this time, you swear—that this would be the last time you made your slow walk home in the hopes that someone would come for you. This hope was going to kill you. You could feel it.

Oh no, you were almost there. Your chest was tight, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Your lungs were trying to expand, but something was constricting them. You broke out into a cold sweat and your fingertips became ice cold and numb. A weight pressed down onto your shoulders and your vision went spotty. Not now, not here, please don’t have a panic attack. Just get inside, get upstairs, and please breathe.

You stood on the porch, gathering any courage you could find and took the ornate knob in your hand. You couldn’t even feel the icy brass in your numb hand. Twisting softly, as slowly as possible to avoid the tell-tale click that would echo in the foyer and alert your presence, you held your breath. You had found in the four months of growing isolation that going unnoticed was far easier on your heart than being ignored, and you prayed that you could get to your room without being heard or seen, because if you weren’t being ignored you were being—

You opened the heavy door just a bit to slip inside and, in that gap, you saw Danielle perched at the bottom of the stairway like she was waiting for something.

You couldn’t hate her even if you wanted to. Your eyes involuntarily softened as you took her in. If you two had met on earth, you knew that you would’ve been drawn to her and her light. Some people gave off a glow and brightened every room they entered without needing to say a word and she was one of them. A gentle nature paired with a fun personality and a taste for adventure made her hard not to love. Despite everything, you still wanted to be her friend, but you had to stamp those feelings down because you weren’t allowed to be in the same room as her. It was almost like they didn’t deem you fit to breathe the same air as her.

When you had been allowed to speak to her, before they realized how lovely she was and monopolized all of her time—when she could come to your room and stay for a few minutes before she was whisked away with a sneer from a demon—you really got along. She laughed at your jokes with an open-mouthed authenticity you hadn’t seen her do with the brothers. You had liked the same things and had friendly debates on things you disagreed on like you had known each other for years. She told you of her time traveling with a military family. The sights she had seen and the people she met who shaped her into who she was today.

What happened to you wasn’t her fault. However, that made what they did to you hurt even more. They weren’t forced to treat you that way.

It was a choice.

Danielle jumped from her spot and gingerly dashed to you, trying to avoid making the floorboards creak beneath her. Her eyes were alert and anxious, hands held out to push you back out of the front door, her words as hushed as possible but conveying an urgency that made your muscles begin to seize, “You have to go—.”

“MC.” The voice that could silence a room full of buzzing demons and hellspawn spoke your name in a way reserved for inconveniences, “Come here. Now.”

It was Lucifer. You and Danielle stared into each other’s eyes. You felt like you were going to throw up and the sweats were back in full force now. Her hands were still gently pressed against your shoulders as she had frozen too. Her pupils trembled and her lips were drawn into a tight line, but she was the first to move. Exhaling and dropping her hands, she moved to your side and stood shoulder to shoulder with you. She steadied her back resolutely and clasped your hand in her own, locking your fingers together in solidarity.

“I’m not letting you go alone.” She said softly, but with an unshakeable resolve.

The panic came back, though. If she was with you, they would think you were using her as a shield. 'She was too nice, of course she would defend you,' they would say. 'You’re low using such a sweet girl like that, MC. Can’t you take responsibility for anything? What are you so scared for?'

Because you were killed at least once, and you could be killed again any day but you couldn’t say that out loud.

You couldn’t do this. You barely worked up the nerve to get to the front door and now you were—! Why couldn’t they just leave you alone? You completely regretted wanting to be noticed. You should’ve been careful what you wished for.

Danielle felt you standing still as a statue beside her and turned to look at you. You stared ahead into the distance and your breaths were shallow. To her you looked like you were going to battle and she couldn’t deny that feeling. “One step at a time, MC. I’m with you.” She whispered in your ear and took one furtive step while still clasping your hand.

It would be much worse if you kept the avatar waiting. Not even Danielle’s radiant presence could save you then.

You both entered the kitchen where Lucifer decided to lambaste you today. He sat at the dining table, one leg crossed over the other and a hand atop a pile of papers. Beel stood at a corner with his back facing the scene, adding toppings to a mountain of a sandwich. Somehow, he felt Danielle’s presence and tilted around a bit to greet her, “Welcome home, Danielle.” His eyes didn’t even glance in your direction though your eyes searched for his. You hadn’t expected for him to block you out. To his credit, he was the last one who turned against you, holding out for an entire week even.

You pulled yourself from the mournful thoughts because you had more pressing matters at hand. You could feel Lucifer’s glare on you but couldn’t meet his eyes. Maybe if you kept your head down you could fade away. He observed your and Danielle’s hands clasped together, well…her hand was holding yours, but you still couldn’t feel your fingertips to return the gesture. All you could feel was your palm sweating against hers. He glanced up into her eyes, a silent question in his own, but her brows furrowed as she frowned in response.

He turned his attention back towards you, a harder edge to his glare and words after seeing Danielle choose your side. He lifted a sheaf of papers from the pile and asked a simple question, his tongue working over the words as if it was so simple that even a toddler could answer.

“Do you know what these are?” You looked up with your head still bowed slightly, not having the courage to expose your entire face in the light. You squinted slightly at the white sheets and blank spaces. They looked like school assignments, but why were they…?

“Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Danielle’s hand gripped yours tighter and you could feel a slight tremor from her arm pressed against your own.

Your tongue felt numb, your syllables clumsy making you feel more incompetent by the second, “I-I…Those l-l-look like…” You took a shaky breath. Compose yourself. You just need to say one sentence. Just one simple answer and maybe you can just be silent and take the verbal lashing. “Those l-look like school—” your voice slurred, and you pronounced ‘school’ oddly, but you forced yourself to continue. “look like school papers…” your voice dropped into a hush around the end. You sounded like a vulnerable child about to receive punishment for acting naughty, but you were an adult god damn it! Why were you made to feel this way?

“Very good.” A cold smile that didn’t meet his eyes, tone dripping in sarcasm and venom ready to inject into your veins. “Now, would you enlighten me as to why they’re incomplete?”

Your eyes widened and you went rigid. If you made a move your muscles would scream bloody murder as now you were suffering a full body muscle spasm brought on by your anxiety. Fight, flight, freeze or faint.

“Some papers were half completed, but turned in. Then, they stopped being touched at all. So, tell me, MC: Why do you choose to shame me in front of Lord Diavolo by showing your complete disregard towards his program and goals?”

Your mind went blank, but fragmented thoughts were racing at the same time. You tried to keep up with work, but then you couldn’t finish. And then, the assignment deadlines would pass and it would be too late to turn them in. You quickly lost your resolve to even try, because even if you tried your best, it wasn’t good enough. You couldn’t do anything right.

Danielle interjected when she could tell that your mouth went dry. “They’re doing the best they can, Luci.”

“But their best isn’t good enough!” His roar ripped through the air and blasted against you both. Danielle’s knees almost buckled and now you were bracing yourself against her to keep her upright.

His exclamation brought an audience. Levi came to the door with a scowl on his face, “Can’t you yell at them somewhere else? A raid is about to start!”

Somehow, Satan had moved to the kitchen with his nose buried in a book. You had realized his pretentious ass feigned reading when he was really just eavesdropping. He had to maintain an image of sophistication masking his actual pettiness at all times.

Mammon sauntered in with the widest grin on his face. He looked to you and then Lucifer and then back to you again. He was practically glowing in satisfaction when he gave you a thumbs up, “It’s nice ta have Lucifer yellin’ at someone else for a change. Nice goin’, human!” It was always ‘human’ nowadays, just like when you first got here. You think he forgot your name.

“Enjoy it now, Mammon.” Said Asmo. “That one won’t be here to always take away Lucifer’s attention.” He smiled sweetly, but gasped when he saw Danielle beside you. That smile became a sneer when he saw your hands. He held out his own and hurriedly beckoned to her like you were contagious. “Come here, darling. You don’t want to waste your time here with the same old, same old.”

Danielle nearly balked, but she turned her attention back to Lucifer. “You’re being too harsh. MC has been—”

Lucifer raised his hand to silence her and massaged his temples like you were bringing on a migraine. “Apparently I haven’t been harsh enough. If this mere mortal feels that they can skate by without consequence and smear my reputation with their ignorance, I have not been harsh enough. That was my failing as their better.” He sighed but straightened himself up into the pinnacle of authority he had always been. His back straight and eyes now trained on you and you alone. “So, what do you think I should do with you, human?”

You unconsciously tucked your chin like a frightened child. You stared at the marble floor, but mentally you were miles away where no one could touch you. You had to remove yourself from the situation because if you took it all in, you would break into a million pieces and never be fixed. You managed to turn your ears off a bit to dull the banter from the sidelines into a soft buzz.

You shouldn’t have done that.

You were brought back to the present when a gloved hand clamped around your jaw and raised you head so high your neck ached and popped. His thumb and fingers pressed into you, putting pressure on your teeth, and bruising your skin and gums. Despite it all, your lips were the only things that could move as they trembled.

“Look at me when I am speaking to you.” Please don’t look into his eyes because if you do, you’ll truly break down, and it’ll be pathetic and it’ll be the last ounce of dignity you have being shattered against the floor. You’ll burst into tears and you’ll never stop, but if you don’t meet his eyes now, you feel that he’ll break your jaw in his grip.

Your eyes darted up, intending a quick glance but when you saw those red eyes directly for the first time in months it hit you at full force. Distaste and revulsion were the first emotions you could feel rolling off of him in waves. You had always been in tune with their feelings, but recently, you had prayed you could stop being so aware. Being blissfully ignorant could have saved you so much damage.

Brilliant hellfire eyes stared you down and took your breath away. He was trying to find something, but you could feel the realization hit him, and disappointment wash over his features.

He nearly whispered but his voice had a quality that carried so that everyone could hear him, “To this day, I do not understand what possessed me to choose you. All for some angelic blood so diluted over millennia that there’s nothing of value left.”

That’s what broke you.

He shoved your face away in disgust and you managed to straighten your neck before you got whiplash. A thick sob tore from your throat and hiccups became pained wails as you bowled over with your forehead pressed against the cool marble tiles. Now that it started, you couldn’t stop. Wails became choked sputters and then you began to hyperventilate. You needed to breathe! You were gasping with all you had, greedily gulping like a suckerfish, but nothing was going down. Lack of air caused lightheadedness and you swayed on your knees.

Your eyes were open, you knew they had to be, but salty tears and technicolor blurs obscured your vision, compounding the nausea building its way up inside of you. You couldn’t breathe and if you threw up you felt you’d suffocate and drown. Your throat tried to reject whatever the nausea was trying to expel from within you, but you hadn’t eaten anything of substance in so long that you merely dry heaved pathetically. You didn’t have to look up to see the complete revulsion from the demons standing above you.

“Gross~ I didn’t know normies could make those sounds.”

“It’s like they’re hacking up a hairball.”

“I hope Danielle can’t do anything like that.”

“Don’t be crazy! Of course not!”

The words make it even worse, but please block it out. You have to hold on. This panic attack was unlike any you had ever felt and not only were you physically bracing yourself, but you were also trying to hold on to your mind with trembling hands. You were going over the edge, and you were the only one who could grab your hand and save you from the fall.

You had seen mental breakdowns before. Even if the person survived there would be something off in their eyes. They could recover, but they would never be the same and you couldn’t risk losing yourself. You were the only you that you had.

Four months. Four months could undo a year of hard work. A year of baring your soul and trusting your heart to them. If they didn’t kill you, you just might.

“MC, please!” Danielle was kneeling beside you. How long had she been there? You hadn’t noticed. “Listen to my voice.” She placed her hands over your mouth, firm but gentle. “You have to breathe slowly. Breathe through the gaps in my fingers.” She had to sidle over to wrap an arm around you in your hunched over position.

“What are you doing, Danielle?” a bewildered exclamation came from someone, “What if they throw up on you?” That was their main concern.

“Breathe deeply into your diaphragm and hold it, okay? Ten seconds, that’s all you have to do.” She spoke softly over your shoulder, and you tried to follow her instructions. Shallow breaths wracked your frame, but you tried to stabilize for her. You didn’t want to waste her kindness.

Polished dress shoes stood in front of you, signaling who towered over you. You didn’t have to look up to see his face. You knew.

“You can only manipulate someone so much until you’ve exhausted your welcome, MC.” He dropped the papers over you, “Aren’t you tired of inconveniencing others? I believe we’ve all been very hospitable towards you. All things considered.”

You turned your head just slightly to look towards the counter nearest the refrigerator. Beelzebub still stood there with a slice of bologna hanging from his mouth. His eyes met yours and he held your gaze for a few seconds before turning away. In a matter of seconds he had deemed it all too much to deal with and you not worth the effort. Family came first and you weren't on the same level. Not anymore. Probably never.

You gave a final exhale as you pressed your forehead against the tile once more. You knelt in a humiliating prostration at the feet of one of the most powerful demons as a fellow human had her hand over your mouth, instructing you how to breathe.

It was almost funny.

“Go to your room and finish all of these assignments. Don’t even think of coming for dinner as I don’t want to see your miserable face.” He looked down his nose at Danielle but couldn’t muster any anger towards her. “It would be beneficial for everyone.”

‘Beneficial like when you lied to your brothers and kept one trapped in an attic because you didn’t want to admit how fucked your family was to your boss? Like how you claim to care about your family but you wag your tail like a bitch in heat whenever anyone even says Diavolo's fucking name? You hide behind your role as a 'dutiful aid' to 'his highness,' but you’re truly just a fucking coward.’ you thought, and it shocked you how it came so smoothly. You never allowed yourself to criticize them before so where was this coming from?

You whispered to Danielle, “You should go.” It could get worse if you took up anymore of her attention and you could feel the claws coming out.

“See!” Asmo exclaimed, “MC’s so ungrateful that they don’t even want your attention so just come with us, okay?” He extended his hand again and after giving one final glance towards you she reached out to him. If Asmo was rejected in favor of another, it would not bode well for all parties involved.

“To your room. Now.” Lucifer kicked up dust, maybe involuntarily, maybe intentionally as he left you where you were.

You could hear shuffling. Several pairs of feet moving away and circling the girl like a caged canary that brought them so much joy. You were left with the silence and once again your ears began to ring.

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

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┊ ┊ ☪⋆

┊ ⊹ ┊

✯ ⋆ ┊ . ˚

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Back in ‘your’ room tucked off of the kitchen, you sat at the desk with your eyes closed. This wasn’t your room. You had been made aware that you were merely inhabiting a space here in the brothers’ home on the Demon Lord’s orders. Nothing more. While you were merely a guest, they had refurbished and given Danielle a room upstairs so that she could be closer to them. She noticed the inequality, so you told her you liked having a quiet little spot. She pretended to believe you.

Your head still spun, but you were feeling better as you held on to the little peace you had. The small act of defiance. That comeback you had for Lucifer invigorated you although you kept it locked tight in your head. When had you ever truly rebelled? When you found the attic room and freed Belphegor so that he and his oldest brother could reconcile? When you risked your life—and died—for their sakes?

You always played nice, but at what cost?

Your identity.

Your self-worth.

When was the last time you put yourself first? Maybe a little before you first met the brothers, and then self-preservation came secondary to fixing their plethora of identity crises and daddy issues.

You were truly at your lowest point in life, you could feel it. The emotional turmoil transformed into physical pains that crushed your lungs and strained your heart. An incessant throb wracked your brain and shuffled already scattered thoughts. Freezing cold hands wouldn’t stop trembling and the lights in this room felt too bright. This was the worst you had ever felt down in the devildom, and none of the demons under your pact came to console you. You could feel traces of them in the pact marks that only glowed when you called for them, but you felt nothing coming back from their end. You knew for a fact that they could tell when you were sad and hurting—they had always broken down the door to get to you before you even realized you were sad—but not anymore. The throb in the back of your head dulled when you realized they were ignoring it all. Like muffling a ringing phone beneath a pillow, they would stifle your psychic calls until they stopped coming.

Your D.D.D vibrated in your pocket, catching you completely by surprise. You paused for a moment, not knowing what to do with it, but you gingerly plucked it from your pocket and slowly raised it to your face to look at the notification. From the Solomon, Luke and Simeon group chat.

Solomon: MC? Did you get home safely? I was waiting for your ‘I’m home’ text or call and it’s already been 15 min.

Simeon: Lokw os

Simeon: Luke os bry

Simeon: Luke is vry

Solomon: ‘Luke is very angry with me for not walking you home and he’s refused to speak to either of us until you call him and let him know that you’re safe.’ Did I get all of that, Simeon?

Simeon: （*’∀’人）♥

Solomon: Luke, I can tell you’re reading in the chat.

Solomon: Your leaving just proved it.

Solomon: sigh…MC…Please just let me know where you are. We’re worried about you. We always have been.

Simeon: MC, please remember what I told you. I’ve never forgotten.

Luke: （＊〇□〇）……！

Solomon: I agree, Luke. Maybe he’s using talk-to-text? But that’s beside the point. MC, we’re giving you 45 minutes to respond, and if you don’t, we’ll come get you ourselves. Luke is still pouting in the corner.

Luke has left the chat.

What the hell… When did the tears stop? You touched your cheek to find that the tear tracks had dried and a hesitant smile traced your lips. Even when you had been at your lowest… They had always been watching you. Remember what Simeon had said?

He had asked for you to meet him in the art classroom after school had ended. He leaned back against the drying rack and the flowing sheer curtains fluttering around him in the evening breeze was a sight to see. When he noticed you enter, a gentle smile tinged with regret graced his features. Everything he did took your breath away, even after knowing each other for over a year.

“I’m glad you could make it. I was willing to wait all night.” He smiled.

“Of course, I came! I didn’t want to keep you waiting.” You shuffled in and plopped down your bag, taking a seat so he had your full attention. He must’ve had something important to say and you were worried. This was only a month into the new exchange program so you had hoped no one would notice a change in you. Silly MC, how could you evade the watch of an angel?

“I just wanted to be alone with you,” He began, finding the words to not scare you away, “I wanted to make sure that you understand how much you mean to me.” Your eyes started to burn. You sniffled to avoid any dripping issues, but if he said anymore you wouldn’t be able to hold your emotions back.

“MC, please know that you’re never alone.” You shook your head and looked down. “I know, I know.” Agree with him now before he says anymore because if he does, you will break down and it won’t be pretty.

Dammit he wasn’t stopping.

He smoothly dropped on bended knee and carefully took your balled-fists into his hands. He looked up at you with aquamarine eyes like you were the finest jewel to him. “I cannot do anything until you ask me to. I cannot act until I am given permission. I watch and I’ve always been watching, and I’m worried for you, MC.”

You bowed your head, the tears falling into your lap. “Whenever you need or want me, even if it’s for nothing at all, please tell me. I will always be here.”

That was three months ago now, and you didn’t do it. The more time that passed, the worse things got and the more embarrassed you would be to admit all that you went through. It was also embarrassing how much it all hurt you. If only you knew that the people who cared wouldn’t pity you, but instead would be furious for your sake.

A warmth bloomed in your heart as you reread the group chat over and over. Months spanned over a year and there had always been warmth. Laughs, security, jokes and shared knowledge. Plans to meet up, discussing the fun had afterwards, learning more and more about each other when one of them couldn’t fall asleep and then a sleepy rambling Luke waking up too because he also wanted to talk to you at night. Then, him falling asleep with the D.D.D in his hand and accidentally typing more gibberish.

You were grinning now, gazing at the screen that comforted you. You needed to organize your priorities right now. Get it all out on the table, see what you needed and what you didn’t and move on from there. The love that you felt for the angels and Solomon, and even Diavolo and Barbatos couldn’t be crushed so easily, but you had also felt this way about the brothers until very recently.

You didn’t stop loving them, you were saving yourself.

One month, was simply being forgotten.

“I’m sorry, MC! I thought Levi would tell you.”

“Why did you think that? I was sure Mammon would tell!”

“I was so focused on the slots, of course I couldn’t think of anything’ else!”

With the second month, came the cold shoulder.

“You wanted to go, MC? I didn’t think that club was your scene, y’know? So many different people, I didn’t want you to get stressed out.”

“I saw the new café and Danielle was the first person I thought of. You can come next time if you want.”

“I have the worst luck when I’m with ya so I asked Danielle to come instead, and then I won like twenty racks! Ya can’t ruin this for me now!”

“It’s a more upscale restaurant and I knew that Danielle could hold her own with the affluent better than you could.”

The third month solidified your worst fears:

Mammon hit you the hardest. You noticed him beginning to pull away. You only got to hang out with Danielle a bit before the rest realized how wonderful she was. Soon, Mammon would come cozying up to her. Burying his head under her chin and wrapping his arms around her waist, begging for affection like he would do to you just a week prior. He didn’t have time for hanging out anymore, but always had plans to do something with Danielle as he nervously prepped to have some time with her.

He was always a bit money hungry, but you already knew that. However, you didn’t expect he would treat you like meat.

You found the pictures on social media. Candid photos of you whether in class or at home when you were minding your own business. None of them were risqué, but there was a voyeuristic perverted quality as a hidden camera spied on the seemingly most vulnerable human at RAD. The source led to him, and there was a fight to which he never apologized until the end. Mammon was selling photos of you to greedy buyers with unconventional interests and fantasies. The one brother who would protect you with his life was using your image to make chump change to fund his outings with Danielle.

Diavolo found out and reprimands were in order. When Lucifer scolded mammon at home, it was for being caught and he didn’t mention a single thing about your autonomy! You were scolded as well, because surely, Diavolo heard about it from the scene you made.

This was the first true betrayal.

It would get worse.

The last few times you joined Mammon and Danielle at the casino, he swore she was his lucky charm. He once kept you close, never out of arms-length because he was sure Lady Luck was guiding his hand when you were around. Now, he had Danielle blow on his dice and he won big every time. He treated you like a pestilent, sending you out of view. Danielle would try to find you in the crowd and he would lie and say you were at the slots or something. You watched from the corner as he told a bald-faced lie and notice that Danielle’s brows would knit in concern and her lips frown as she tried to search for lies. She didn’t feel right about this, but she didn’t know what she could do with his grip on her forearm rooting her in place.

The last time you went, you dressed to the nines. You were going to have fun with Danielle even if it killed you. Mammon didn’t glance or compliment you even once, but you caught her eye and she tried to keep close to you all night, keeping you near to talk even when Mammon fumed with you so close to the table as he kept her as close as possible.

He lost some and started taking shots. His temper was flaring, and you could feel static heat racing up your spine. “Would you like to dance?” Danielle stretched out her hand for yours and you took one step towards her and your shoe broke. “Told ya, they’re unlucky.” He snickered and grabbed for Danielle once more.

“I’ll help you—!” she started but you already raised a palm and told her you would be alright. You’d go ask for a spare or something. She frowned and didn’t turn away even when you disappeared in the crowd, Mammon forcing her to turn her back and pulling her into the mass of bodies on the dancefloor. You went home and crawled into bed.

Levi was always immature when it came to something he was passionate about. He didn’t like being beaten in games, but he hated when his partners weren’t up to standard.

“You’ve never even played before. Why did I let you on my team?” He whined as he saved you from an enemy. He had never been like this before. He had always been grateful when you showed interest in the things he liked and actually tried to get into them with him, but he found someone else he found more suitable.

You were having trouble aiming at a distant target and being watched so critically definitely wasn’t helping. “Come on, just shoot already!” You shot and missed at the enemy that pinned him down. His player character was shot in the head and the round ended with your team losing and the failed music track filling the room to rub it in.

He threw his arms out with a scream, just furious with the outcome and knowing it wasn’t his fault, when his knuckles clipped your front tooth. You reeled back, tears prickling your eyes and blood gushing from your mouth like a broken dam. It felt like every nerve ending in your head was exposed and screaming. Willing the tears away, you managed to force you eyes open to stare dumbly at the broken tooth in your hand.

“It wasn’t my fault! You were in the way! This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t lost us the match.” He sat back and crossed his arms indignantly. The Levi you knew would have tripped over himself rushing to your aid, trying to recall every medical scene from his anime that he could pull from to help you. This Levi huffed and didn’t even apologize. You had to collect your self and stumble to the bathroom to rinse off and staunch the constant flow of blood. Then, you would make your way to Purgatory Hall to ask Simeon to repair your tooth.

He looked like he had been burned.

His eyes had never widened so much, blue irises losing color and nearly becoming white as he staggered back against the wall behind him. He bit his bottom lip before gently asking questions.

“MC…”

“It was an accident.”

“I can only act if you tell me…”

“It was an accident.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He bonded your tooth for you in silence and you left feeling like you had betrayed him. When you returned home, no one mentioned the incident. No one had noticed and Levi hadn’t told. You stopped hanging out with him after that. If you made too much noise he would pound on your ceiling to shut up, but you could hear his enthusiastic wails all hours of the day. You began to really hate his voice.

You hated all of their voices.

Satan had always been a pretentious prick, but it couldn’t be helped because he was well read, right? Where you once had book exchanges and discussed your thoughts, he would rush through the books you lent him to return them before you could even finish one of the books he loaned you. Where he once listened thoughtfully to your opinions, his eyes glazed over waiting for you to finish. His body language and actions even started to rush you. Rolling his eyes, body facing somewhere away from you, making hand gestures to go on.

When he did respond, it was to tell you why your analysis was wrong and that you clearly missed the mark. 'You just couldn’t see the author’s true intentions and it's upsetting because it's hard to miss.' in his humble opinion. He claimed to be upset because there were so many books he wanted to share with you, but you foolishly couldn’t read the languages.

The next moment, you saw him patiently teaching Danielle the dead languages so that she could read with him.

“You just don’t get it do you?”

“I knew your limited brain capacity wouldn’t keep up, but I still hoped…”

“This isn’t worth it. Just return the book.”

You feared for your life again when you left a book you had borrowed in your desk at school. “I-I’m sorry, Satan, but I can run back to campus and get it back!” You were already putting your shoes back on at the front door, but that couldn’t save you.

“You idiot! That was one of only five copies in the three realms, and you ‘left it at school’?” He mocked your voice. “How could you handle other people’s property so lightly? How could you be so inconsiderate? Had you always been this way or was I just too blind to see it?”

He advanced towards you and you staggered back into the wall on instinct. You felt so small as your body trembled in the corner. It was an accident, but every word would only be an excuse and make things worse.

“I should’ve never let you borrow something so valuable; that was my fault, but I’ll be sure that you never make the same mistake again.” His sclera had shifted into blood red and his teeth were too big for his mouth, but you could hear every threat clear as day. You could still hear them clearly in your head whenever you were alone.

He couldn’t physically harm you due to the pacts, but he could have you hurt. An upwards palm from him had your body lifting into the air, your fingers on the wall not keeping you stationary. A sideward slash sent you spiraling into a distant wall outside of the kitchen. You crashed into it on your back. Having recently been reinforced, your body hadn’t crashed through it entirely, the wood, steel, and plaster crushing around you and cushioning your impact with jagged scraping edges. The back of your head took it hard, and your vision went white for a few painfully long seconds. Your shoulder blades caught jagged pieces. You could feel your shirt ripping and the sting of fresh cuts bleeding and mixing with the dust and insulation.

He huffed as if he had been overexerted, you could see beads of sweat on his temples. He was tense from rage he couldn’t act on and the restraint made him even angrier. “Never show yourself in front of me again!”

And you didn’t from that day forward. You were left to pry yourself from the wall, drop to the floor, and drag yourself back to your room where you lay exhausted. You never told anyone about this and certainly didn't ask Simeon to patch you up. You tried your best to disinfect to avoid infection and couldn't care about the possibility of scarring.

The wall had been repaired with no questions asked. The others joked about Satan’s anger issues being almost as expensive as “Beel’s” and that was that.

Asmodeus was the most venomous. You had always known it, but chose to focus on his inner beauty. Famous last words.

“I didn’t invite you because the clothes won’t fit you. They cater to more…” He looked thoughtfully, “A more elegant figure, you know?”

“You just don’t have the look, sweetie.”

He had once called you beautiful.

“Just look up some routines on Deviltube if you need help.” He would answer flippantly with a gesture to go away, not even looking in your direction.

Your self-care days were over.

“Oh, you’re still wearing that? I guess you could say it’s retro despite only being two season old…You do you, sweetie!”

You used the old clothes he once bought you because you didn't go shopping with anyone and didn’t know where to go. You could ask the Purgatory Hall boys but the risk of making them feel like your second choice would devastate you.

“Are you sure you want to eat that, MC?” you had grown used to his saccharine concerns as a sheer shroud over malicious intent. He gazed at you up and down before pouting in thought.

“I’m just worried about you,” he continued, “You’ve been getting a little…how do I say it?” He touched his temple in thought and as if a lightbulb lit over his head, he gleefully grabbed nonexistent fat around his mid-section and pretended to squeeze at it.

“You’re getting a little round around here. I’ve noticed your uniform is getting tighter, honey. You’ll have to get new measurements done at the school store.” He giggled coquettishly.

He found you alone in the kitchen rummaging the bare pantry where you found an open box half-filled with stale crackers. That would be your dinner and you were grateful for it.

Despite not having a meal in so long, you tended to bloat from water being your only food. You could get a pack of crackers from school sometimes if you could get to the vending machines and it was always a blessed day when Luke found you and forced you to share his lunchbox.

Not having eaten something with substance in so long, however, would make you sick in a few bites and have you holding back vomit until you could sneak to a bathroom. You hoped Luke didn’t think it was his cooking, so you started disappearing around lunch time. There was no food to pack a lunch at home and no food was ever saved for you. You couldn’t have breakfast or dinner because Satan would be there, Beelzebub would eat your plate no matter how early you arrived, and Asmodeus seemed to take a sick interest in watching you eat.

“I’m just trying to help you be a better you.” He said, “I know it’s hard work, and you may feel it’s hopeless, but even you could polish yourself, you know?”

You stared at him as pain built behind your eyes. There was so much you could say, but if you tried to open your mouth the dam would break. You kept the crackers and went to your room. “Good talk, by the way!” He called after you.

You hope he chokes.

Beelzebub considered himself a silent protector, but he was simply a bystander to it all. You once worked out together, attended all of his games, and he even dedicated his wins to you even when you told him it was all his hard work. Now, he changed his workout times like he was avoiding you and didn’t keep to the routines you two made. He never had time and didn’t invite places. You used to run errands together and now, he said you couldn’t come, or he just plainly didn’t want you there.

How did this happen?

He stopped inviting you to games, stopped reserving tickets so that you could see him as close as possible in his glory. Those seats were reserved for Danielle and you had to feign disinterest in sports so she wouldn’t feel bad. You fell out of the school spirit scene.

He passed you by in the hallways both at home and school, and he stopped trying to hold himself back from gobbling your food. It was now him glancing at your taken aback expression and giving a firm, “You snooze you lose.” Which everyone minus Danielle thought was so hilarious.

You realized you were food soon after.

You were awakened by a crunching. Snaps and crunches drew your attention to a large and dark figure huddled over the vanity. This mass was darker than black and you had no problem finding it in the gloom. “So hungry…” It groaned and you knew who it was. “Beel.”

His head whipped around, eyes flashing in the dark like a beast’s. Yellow and glowing in the dark room, this startled you and you immediately flicked on the bedside lamp. He held old jars of creams and unused makeup and other things you stopped giving a shit about. Lipstick tubes were hanging from his maw and his eyes were glazed over, as he was concerned with one thing and one thing only. “Beel, you’re sleepwalking.” “So hungry…”

You huffed, and moved to get up so you could gently steer him to the kitchen. You startled when you noticed he was so close and already looming over you. His expression hadn’t changed. “So hungry…” The groan was now a growl. “Beel, please wa—!” His hand, so large and hot, was gripping your forearm in a second. He squeezed and wrenched it upward and towards his gaping mouth. Had he always had rows of sharp teeth?

“Beel, stop!” And he froze. His eyes were still blank, but he followed your command. “Let me go and get out of here!” Your shrieks alerted the rest of the house as they all shambled in to see what was disturbing the rare night of them all being asleep at once. “What is the meaning of this, MC?”

“Beel, get out and don’t come back!” He released your hand and was already mindlessly shuffling from the room, the brothers sending him worried looks as he retreated.

“I will have an explanation, MC.” Lucifer was in your face and standing at full height like his presence was enough to earn some obedience from you. You had used your pact for once, and felt reassured for the first time in so long that you didn’t recognize what it felt like.

“He was trying to eat me.” You responded gruffly, glaring up at him and over the bullshit.

He looked taken aback at your direct stare, but quickly frowned harshly. “That’s what he does. He sleep eats.” He acts like he’s explaining something to a child, but you’re only getting angrier.

“That doesn’t give him the right—”

“You’re merely prey to him!” He booms before you can bring up a very valid point and the words die on your tongue. He must have authority at all times, and he will force it from your hands before he loses it to a mere human.

He turns to the remaining brothers sans Beelzebub and Belphegor who was still asleep. No one had come to your defense and Danielle tended to sleep in headphones so she hadn’t heard you.

“Everyone back to your rooms,” he called to them, signally that this little thing was over. He turned to you with a withering look before he left you in silence again, “I will not have another disturbance from you.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Could you ever have truly trusted Belphegor?

Once forgiven and you saving his relationship with his brothers for a second time, he clung to you like the most spoiled child with a sadistic streak. He delighted in monopolizing your time and keeping you close so he could nestle into you during his hour long “naps” no matter what you had to do. It was suffocating and he had never apologized for anything he had done—ever—but you lived with it. Even found comfort in the quiet that came lying near each other when you needed some time to think or not think at all.

But then, he found a new toy. One he didn’t break.

He didn’t have time for you, he didn’t make room for you. You were a pestilence that ruined everything you touched. Soft smiles and fingertips lightly brushing together beneath the dinner table vanished and now you were perfect for bouncing jokes off of. He figured himself a comedian with his dry humor.

Wanting your pillow back, you carefully ascended the attic, feeling like you were entering a lion’s den every step of the way. He was curled up with a sleeping Danielle, but his eyes opened on you as soon as you got close enough.

“Um, hi, Belphie.” You stopped where you stood and fiddled with your hands. You had to hurry before you lost his attention, but get your point out carefully so he wouldn’t feel attacked. “I just wanted to know if I could have my pillow back?”

He rolled his eyes and turned his back to you, getting more comfortable against Danielle before he would fall asleep. “I threw it away.” He said, “’Had a bad smell. Didn’t smell like Danielle.”

He curled against her neck. “Get out, I’m trying to sleep.”

You left.

Something that you never expected—who were you fucking kidding?—you didn’t expect any of this shit to happen. You just wished it hadn’t happened.

One morning, you were awakened out of a dead sleep you hadn’t known you took. You were wearing your clothes from the day before and your homework lay on the desk undone. The lights had been left on and you lay atop the covers instead of under them.

“Wha—?” You couldn’t even slur with your dry mouth. Lucifer had the task of shaking you awake. The disdainful curling of his lips not being lost to your bleary eyes.

“W-What happened?” You asked before he could turn away.

“Belphie put you to sleep before we went out last night.” He answered matter-o-factly.

Your mouth opened and you had to force sound to come out before he left, “Wh-Why? Did he use his power? Wh-Why did he put me to sleep?” Your voice sounded pathetic but you felt pathetic.

“Because we were all going out last night and we didn’t want you asking questions. Annoying questions like now. I was wise to think ahead.” A small self-satisfied grin lit his features before sharp eyes lowered to you again, looking down his nose at you.

“Now get ready for school. I will not allow you to miss a day of class no matter what. There is only so much shame you can bring me, and escape unscathed.”

You had really lost your autonomy here.

You shook your head. Lucifer wasn’t even worth remembering. It was almost as if his existence was the root of all suffering. You blew air through your teeth, feeling a calm wash over you. You pulled up the PH group chat and found your thumb moving on its own.

MC: Hi, guys. I’m sorry it took so long, but I’ll be coming to visit soon whether you like it or not! I haven’t felt this good in so long. I really miss you all.

You grinned and one single tear flowed down your cheek. They did make you so happy.

Luke: You didn’t call me, but I forgive you!

Simeon: (*≧∀≦*)

Solomon: ☜(˚▽˚)☞

Luke: MCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC!

Luke: I’ll be waiting, the cupcakes are cooling now! We can decorate together! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

MC: I can’t wait to see you guys. See ya in a few!

Locking the screen you stood up and stretched your aching body. Everything hurt, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It felt more like weakness was leaving the body. You grinned, 'Oh my gosh, am I becoming some kinda pervert?' You shook your head playfully. Your dry hair swished around you and you looked into the mirror for the first time and truly saw yourself. Tapping a brittle fingernail against glass, you gazed at the combination dry/oily skin and anxiety-induced acne on the person before you. They stared back as if they were waiting for you to say what they’ve been needing to hear from you.

“We’ve gotta get you some self-love, bitch.” You smiled at the person smiling back before grabbing some toiletries and heading to the bathroom. You deserved a hot shower and a deep condition.

You wore a facial cleanser as you styled your hair over the dusty vanity you hadn’t touched since that night. You were looking better already, as if you were reborn or something. Love was overflowing from your heart and you were practically glowing. ‘Could this be Simeon’s influence?’ You smiled as you thought back to him. There was so much you two had to discuss, but firstly, you would hold onto him and never let him go.

You wore the clothes you were wearing when you had arrived in the devildom for the first time. Not the things Asmodeus had bought you. They weren’t you and never had been. You didn’t need to conform to Devildom standards and sure as fuck not his. You hadn’t been friendly to yourself in a long time, and you needed to start now. The clothes fit like a glove and as you gazed at yourself in the full-length mirror you avoided from Asmodeus’s influence, you had no idea what he was talking about. ‘The twink’s got bad taste.’ You thought as you turned around to get a look at your ass. You hadn’t been working out since you lost a gym buddy, but you could still get it.

You were doing something that would mark the end of the dream turned nightmare with the demon brothers of House of Lamentation. You packed a school bag of only the most valuable things which weren't much. You weren’t bringing anything linked to this house, even a toothbrush. You were going to have to pick something up from a store and borrow the rest from your new roomies you were going to impose on. You didn’t need to think hard about what you would bring.

A teddy bear that came in a matching pair with Luke’s. A beautiful and delicate teacup with matching spoon and saucer gifted from Barbatos that was too precious you hadn’t removed it from its box since the day you received it. A matching friendship bracelet with Diavolo. He secretly wore his beneath his sleeves every day and would playfully flash it whenever he caught your eye. It looked pretty juvenile with its colorful woven strands and bronze charms but it was yours and had both your initials in it. Lastly, was a pashmina you swore was softer than any cloud in the sky. Simeon had wrapped it around you one chilly day, stating he had brought it from the Celestial realm just for you. He made you feel so special.

Just one more thing and you could leave. Walk straight out of the front door with dignity and never look back. You dug into the underwear drawer for something you had brought from home that made you feel grounded. No matter where you were, you were never truly alone because you had your grandmother’s ring. This ring was proof that she had lived and loved you. No matter where her soul was, she always loved you and you would never stop loving her. Holding this ring in your trembling palm got you through many panic attacks, and not being able to find it amidst the underwear and socks was quickly bring up another one.

“No, no, please be there…” you whimpered when you couldn’t find it no matter how frantically you searched. You froze. Traces of yellow aftereffects lead from the drawer, so feint you would’ve missed them. That greedy motherfucker. You leaned back on your heels and sucked in a breath through your gritted teeth. Your hands gripped the edge of the drawer so hard that the wood broke and splintered in your palms. The shock brought you back, but didn’t elicit a peep from you. You looked at your palms and ripped a few splinters out with your fingers until you decided it was sufficient.

They really couldn’t leave you alone until the end, huh?

You strode to the common room with purpose. Playful chatter flowed into the hallways as you got closer and closer to the source. You normally would’ve retreated. Held your breath and ran the other way like a field mouse. Satan was in there and he had his spells where he didn’t need to touch you and Beelzebub had his hunger, and Asmodeus had his weaponized words, but that only made you angrier. Fuck that and fuck them. You strode into the room and stood where you could observe the room, looking from face to face until your eyes locked on your target.

The banter died down at your shocking presence. Danielle was the only one who visibly perked up and was already shuffling off of the couch “MC!”, evading needy hands and clambering towards you. Lucifer awoke from the shock and was rising from his seat.

“MC! I thought I told you to—"

“Mammon, have you seen my ring?”

Recognition flashed in his eyes, but he pushed it down and met you with a bored indifference and a scoff. “What ring? There's tons of rings 'round ‘ere. Ya expect me to keep up with one?” He acted as if it was such an inconvenience, leaning back in his seat and putting his feet on the ottoman and hands behind his head in mock relaxation.

You sighed. He was going to force your hand, wasn’t he? “Where is my ring?”

He was pissed that you weren’t letting this go. “I already told ya I don’t have your damn ring! Why do ya think it was me, huh?”

“Because it's always you.” You said in a monotone, staring him down like he was the biggest dumbass in the three realms.

He was up on his feet now. “How fuckin’ dare you! What does a shitty little ring matter, anyway? The band wasn’t even real gold! I didn’t even make cab fair with the thing!” His hands were up in the air in exasperation. He was in your face whining like he was the victim because he didn’t make his asking price.

“That was my grandmother’s ring and you knew that.”

“Why should I care? Yer granny's dead and what’s the point of holding on to some shitty ring? I might as well get some use outta it if it’s just gonna sit around.”

Your head tilted only slightly as an incomprehensible smile stretched across your lips. Your grandmother’s passing was still fresh in your mind while these brothers had millennia to mourn their sister. They held altars in her glory, and even a creepy little bedroom replica and you never criticized a thing. You were always the enabler, never a bad word for anyone.

Did you try to be Mother Theresa or something? The dam would break again, but it would not be your tears shed tonight.

Your eyes looked like murder and your smile foretold destruction.

“You god damned hypocrite.”

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

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@romancedeldiablo @magneticwimp @yaboihack @jisoosupremacist @da-sinnamon-roll @idobvibing @kita-sds @neptune-cinths @anotakugardener @tinygremliin @bby-sparkler @crystal-freak24 @road-k1ll @nice-try-time-isn't-real @ghost1yd3mon @riordanversexreader @blacktailedfox @foxlikeeyes @prefesro @sadgirlstuffsstuff @ckapoteinterreson @flareon2005 @rose2889 @wawadraws12 @maessite @loev4eva @mythsofkairos @keshieowo @itsuki-yuuma @noodlesthesimp @galaxy-luvletters @here-queer-and-confused

#obey me replaced mc #obey me replaced mc au #obey me angst #obey me replaced #obey me imagines #tywrites

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ichigopanhpff · 3 years

Text

A Dragon's Grief

Warnings: Major manga spoilers from the current arc.

Genre: Angst, comfort, bit of comedy.

Banner art by me :)

Three weeks.

That was the last time (Y/N) and Mitsuya had spoken to each other after he shut himself in.

The funeral was arranged by his caretaker Masamichi from the massage parlor. The former and current workers showed to pay their respects alongside his friends. Ex-Toman members scattered in one by one, in disbelief the all powerful dragon of Toman was dead.

The moment Mitsuya came face to face with the altar with Draken's photo in the black frame, his will to live completely collapsed. The lilac haired young adult knelt at the front of the altar until the end of the ceremony, not moving an inch and crying his heart out. (Y/N) and her friends helped escort him out after, not wanting to leave his side.

His best friend's death took a toll on her boyfriend’s physical and mental health, sending him into a rapid decline. When she stopped by to help take care of him and his sisters one day, she peered into his makeshift atelier; all she saw was his hunched back facing her with a lone light shining down on the worn tatami floor as he drafted up various clothing patterns to lay on the fabric to cut. Darkness enveloped him.

He was surrounded by stacks of empty styrofoam bowls of instant udon and ramen, small garbage bags from convenience store runs, empty tea and water bottles, paper scraps and crumpled up paper alongside his scattered design tools and rolls of fabric. The place looked like a tornado whipped through his once organized space; it smelled like stale greasy food mixed with mild body odor.

After putting his sisters to bed in the living area one night, (Y/N) approached her boyfriend cautiously and heard him muttering to himself about keeping his promise to Draken. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, his emaciated body froze.

“I need to keep working…” he mumbled out. “Deadline’s comin’ up.”

“When was the last time you slept, Takashi?” she softly asked with worry, seeing the heavy bags and dark circles under his eyes from his side profile. The clean shaven face she was used to seeing now had stubble; his usual warm, lavender gaze was now hollow and despondent. His hands continued to move and clicked his tongue after messing up a line on his pattern.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted in a burst of anger and roughly pushed (Y/N) away. She fell with a thud, her right arm hitting something hard and metallic. When her voice let out a yelp of pain, he slowly glanced back and saw he accidentally shoved her into one of the bust’s stands.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

(Y-Y/N),” he stuttered with a tired, apologetic gaze and tried to reach out to her. “I-I--”

Why couldn’t those words come out of his mouth?

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped back with a low hiss and held her right shoulder, wincing from the throbbing ache. “There’s a lot I can take, but this…” Her hurt, teary gaze met his sunken ones. “Do you even realize how much those around you are hurting seeing you like this?!”

Standing back up on her own with a quiet grunt, her knees let out a pop, (Y/N) faced her boyfriend and huffed. She had enough.

“Draken was like a brother to you, I get it…” she stated with a shaky voice and sniffled, holding onto her arm still. “But he's my friend too. He wouldn’t wanna see you like this.”

She gave him one last look before closing the door with a muffled thud, leaving Mitsuya to his solitude: it was one reflecting her hurting heart, not being able to do anything for the one she loves.

The long haired man curled into himself and shook as hot tears spilled out of his bloodshot eyes. The pain of loss he’s tried so hard to numb through work came back, making him roughly grasp his shirt as he openly sobbed.

Why did Draken have to die? Why did he have to go back to Mikey?

If he hadn’t involved himself with Brahman, he’d be alive.

Another week passed and (Y/N) stopped coming; he didn’t even realize it until Luna brought Takemichi in a few days ago. After their brief chat of him starting his own gang to take down Kantou Manji, he found himself at a fork in the road.

His friends needed him, but he also had a promise to fulfill.

What should he do?

What would Draken do?

With a day left to spare, he finally finished the main parts to his submission; all that was left were the final detail pieces he could make on the day of the competition. Huffing a sigh of relief, the lanky designer dragged himself into the bathroom to wash up. The person he saw in the mirror was hardly recognizable; his lavender gaze was dead with massive eye bags dropping down his now sallow and sunken cheeks. The stubble on his upper lip and chin formed a patchy beard.

Only now did he realize how far he let himself go and let out a disappointed sigh at himself.

He turned the faucet on and got to cleaning up. Having looked like this must’ve scared his sisters a lot, he thought to himself while patting the shaving cream on. His half alive purple gaze wandered up to his right temple; his hand unconsciously moving up to smooth over the strands that's covered up his dragon tattoo. After freshening up, Mitsuya came out to see his sisters eating breakfast.

“Oh, You’re up, nii-chan,” Luna quietly greeted and finished her bite of food before standing to bring her bowl to the kitchen sink. He looked over to see Mana still eating her portion of breakfast; his baby sister glanced up with a tint of fear in her big eyes and immediately looked back down.

“Do you even realize how much those around you are hurting seeing you like this?!”

His girlfriend’s biting words echoed in his head, feeling the pang of guilt from his actions. He’d been grieving on his own, ignoring everything around him as he spiraled into depression. The tall lilac haired man immediately knelt down and hugged Luna.

“Luna…” his voice shook out. “I’m sorry… Nii-chan’s been treating you so poorly.”

Feeling the small arms of his little sister hug back, tears spilled from his eyes and cried onto her shoulder.

“Mana,” Luna called her baby sister gently. “Come here.”

Hesitantly making her way over, Takashi released his embrace from Luna and pulled the youngest in to apologize.

“Nii-chan was really scary before, huh?” he whispered into his baby sister’s ear and sniffled. “I’m really sorry. I’ll do my best to be better.”

The baby Mitsuya sibling sniffled into her brother’s chest and hugged him tightly.

“You should apologize to (Y/N)-neechan too,” Luna touted and placed her hands on her hips. “She’s been dropping off food for us before going to her part-time job every morning.”

“She came by?” he looked up and asked with a tone of surprise. He caught a glimpse of a lone cloth wrapped bento box on the low table.

Luna nodded to confirm. “She didn’t wanna come in for some reason…” his sister trailed off. “Did you two fight?”

“I… Yeah…” he quietly uttered. Even after what he did to her, she was still looking out for him and his family. “We did.”

With his sisters heading out for school, Takashi unwrapped the cloth to reveal a homemade bento with an assortment of vegetables and a portion of stewed pork; on top of the omurice sat a ketchup written message of an angry face with the words, “(╬ ᗒᗣᗕ) 食えよ!” (Eat, damn it!)

He let out a small snicker with an apologetic gaze.

---

“(Y/N)-chan!” Hakkai called out, making her turn to him. The look on her face could only be described as “what in God’s name are you wearing? Don’t talk to me” when she saw their matching t-shirts with a cat and snowflake logo design on it.

“Here to support Mitsuya-kun too, (Y/N)?” Chifuyu asked.

“Actually, I’m working today,” she corrected and hesitantly looked away. “Takashi and I… got into a fight, so we’re not talking right now.”

“Eh?! What do you mean?!” the lanky blue haired boy exclaimed.

“It’s as I said…” she sighed with a pained look. “Who knows if we’re still together at this point.”

“(Y/N)-san…” Takemichi began. “I’m sure you two’ll make up. Just give him some time,” he advised with a comforting smile. “Mitsuya-kun’s been through a lot, but he’ll bounce back if you’re with him.”

“I guess… But I have a question…” (Y/N) looked reluctant for a beat. Her eyes wandered down to the eyes of the black cat staring back at her. “… What’s with the shirts?”

“It’s our new gang, Thousand Winters!” Chifuyu pridefully boasted with his hands on his hips. “Ya like it? I designed it.”

She paused and reflected on the name.

"You really named it after yourself, dude?" she flat out blurted. "Talk about being conceited."

"You're just jealous you don't look as awesome as we do right now," the blond confidently quipped back with a matching grin.

“… You four look like you got lost on an elementary school field trip to the aquarium and you can't find your teacher,” she unapologetically called out. Takemichi and Hakkai facepalmed and blushed out of embarrassment. Inui let out a snicker and turned away to recompose himself from laughing, even though he was wearing the shirt too.

“Ehhh?! What do you mean! This is peak fashion right here!” the blond shot back.

Before she could argue back how inappropriate that statement is considering where they were, she looked at her watch. “Crap, I gotta get in to set up. See you all later!”

Once the audience and photographers settled into their respective areas, the PA system announced the names of the judges for the panel before loud, booming music played over the speakers. Even though (Y/N) was only an assistant photographer, the only reason she was able to be here was because her mentor didn’t want to come.

Not wanting to throw this opportunity away, she jumped to the occasion to shoot in his stead while building her book. Lucky enough, she managed to snag a good angle in the camera pit to get all the shots. This was the first time she’s done a fashion runway shoot and was taking mental notes to adjust the ISO aperture so she could shoot with a higher shutter speed; this was also the first time she was using a telephoto lens she borrowed from the studio with Sonny.

“Entry number 15, Mitsuya Takashi,” the voice over the PA announced. (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat and felt nervous for him. “And his theme, ‘Twin Dragons.’”

She was at a loss for words and air the moment the two models walked the runway. Tears welled up in her eyes, finding herself unable to tear away from it. The clothing looked like they were floating down the well lit aisle, like deities summoned by a wizard.

From the corner of her eye, she could’ve sworn she saw Draken’s proud, smiling face in the crowd with Emma beside him. When she blinked again, they were gone as stray tears fell down her cheeks.

During his time of grief and insomniac nights, this was the answer he found to heal himself from within. She wiped her eyes and focused on the shots where the two models crossed at the same time, their paths headed in opposite directions. (Y/N) had to make sure his work was properly captured for both their sakes.

Just as the last model walked, the PA announced Mitsuya as the winner of this year’s National Fashion Design Newcomer Award. The cheers and applause suddenly went quiet when he walked down the runway, wearing his Toman uniform with a sash tied to his back; the right side of his hair had been shaved to the skin, revealing his dragon tattoo. The stubble she last saw on him was shaved off and he looked much more well rested.

“First and foremost, thank you very much for the newcomer award,” he addressed. Whispers of his clothing made its rounds in the venue. (Y/N) looked around with a wary glare.

“A bosozoku fashion designer?” she heard one photographer remark with a snort. “No way they’re gonna let him keep it.”

As much as she wanted to slug the guy right in the face, he may have a point. Takashi… what are you getting at here? she thought to herself while listening intently to what he had to say. He then looked down and met Takemichi’s upward gaze, asking if he could tag along with him.

“I am… rejecting this award!” Mitsuya suddenly declared, sending the entire venue into a frenzy.

“HAH?!” she mindlessly blurted out with raised brows and blinked a few times.

He then bowed to apologize to those who helped him and to the judges who selected him. Members of the audience start booing and throwing plastic bottles and event pamphlets at the stage while the arrogant judges yelled at him for having the audacity of treating this award like a joke.

Knowing him, (Y/N) knew he had a logical reason behind doing this and was waiting for his answer.

“No matter how great the award is… If you abandon the friends who made you happiest for it, then it’s just downright shitty!” he stated with a tone of conceit before walking off, holding his head up high.

After the event wrapped up, (Y/N) was sitting outside the venue waiting for Mitsuya. She sent him a text not long after and was still trying to understand what he just did.

“(Y/N).” She heard his voice call, making her immediately stand to face him. He changed back into a black hoodie and sweats. Just as she was about to speak, he held his hand up to stop her.

“Please let me go first,” he requested. “I’m sorry… for hurting you and for putting you through this. I was so lost in my own feelings, I didn’t even notice all the things you did for me…”

She stood quietly, continuing to listen.

“Luna told me you’d been dropping meals off for us. You didn’t have to, but… thank you.” He took a short breath.

“Then why…” she finally spoke. “Why did you reject the award?” (Y/N) looked up at him with a hint of anger. “After all you went through to stand here, why?!”

“It would've made sense to accept it and make a name for myself as a fashion designer, yeah…” he admitted with a thin smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “But I already fulfilled my promise to Draken the moment they announced my name.”

Mitsuya took a few steps forward and held her hands for the first time in weeks. This was the warmth he yearned and missed during his self-imposed isolation. His right thumb rubbed the gunmetal band on her left ring finger, a reminder of the promise he made her two years ago.

“If hurting you and throwing away all the things you’d done for me and my sisters is the price of that award, then I don’t want or need it. You're more important,” he said with serious tone. “(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I was a dick. I--”

“Can I talk now?” she finally cut in impatiently. Taken back by her sudden response, he composed himself and let her speak.

“Don’t you ever do this again, Mitsuya Takashi,” she stated strongly and squeezed his hands. “I will break up with you.”

“That’s kinda harsh, no?” he meekly replied with nervousness; the look on her face said otherwise. She was serious.

“I don’t ever want you to grieve alone like this,” she continued with a hint of mistiness in her pained gaze. “Don’t shut me out like that again, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he conceded with a gentle smile and drew her into a hug, with her returning the gesture. How could his heart have forgotten (Y/N) was beside him this whole time? How could he forget she went through this too?

If there was one person he needed in his corner, it was her.

“And look how much weight you lost! You look like Slenderman!” she scolded and cupped his waist around her hands after pulling away from the hug. “Uwah! I could practically feel your pelvic bone!” she exclaimed with horror and looked up at her boyfriend. “When was the last time you ate a proper meal?!”

“A few days ago. I ate your angry omurice,” he answered with a light chuckle. “It was tasty.”

“Well, you’re eating a full meal again. Tonight. At my place,” she demanded. “Bring Luna and Mana over too.”

“Does this mean we’ve made up?”

(Y/N) got on her toes and pulled Mitsuya’s head down to kiss him on the lips; he almost forgot how her lips taste after not feeling her for weeks and snaked his arms around her frame to pull her in.

“Now we have,” she quietly answered with a pout and blush on her cheeks after releasing.

188 notes · View notes

yjwhatif · 3 years

Text

Can M’gann ‘fix’ Gar?

When the first half of s4 finished I came across a comment somewhere suggesting that M’gann was just going to ‘fix’ Gar once she returns to Earth — or something along those lines. It could have been a joke or a criticism - I don’t recall - but it got me thinking nonetheless. I didn’t really agree, my main reason at the time being I didn’t think they’d spend all the time they had portraying his depression the way they had for a full half a season to just ‘fix’ it immediately with M’gann‘s Martian mind powers… that’s not how you deal with depression or any kind of mental health condition. It’s a process that takes time and patience for all those involved - there is no quick fix for it - so I don’t expect the writers to rush the rehabilitation with all the time that’s been spent on the decline (at least I’d hope not).

This concept has been in my head since I saw that comment, but because I haven’t been able to pinpoint the narrative reasoning for why I don’t think M’gann can ‘fix’ Gar, it’s stayed unanswered in my head. The only thing that’s been playing on repeat in my mind is the scene from 403, where M’gann tells Gar she wasn’t the one who healed his mind and hadn’t actually realised he was hurting at all - I knew my answer was in this moment but I couldn’t work it out... Until now.

I’ve been doing a full rewatch of the show from s1 and the one major thing that’s stood out to me is Garfield and how we’ve actually seen him struggle with his unprocessed emotional trauma and grief since s2. (All of which will be explored in a different post… probably). Two moments in particular are, remembering his mothers death when seeing the waterfall on Rann (202), and his experience with the Goode Goggles in Nightmare Monkeys (312), during which we see how the losses of his past still have a major effect on him despite the smiley demeanour he’s made himself known for.

When on Rann, he loses all sense of reality and control as he physically regresses back to the human appearance he had at the time of that traumatic event, remembering it as if it had just happened again. Then, inside the goggles - which is really just inside his own head - he’s seen trapped, constantly replaying all the many deaths he’s experienced since meeting the Team back in s1, deaths he can’t escape and are flooding his subconscious. For both these moments M’gann is there to help Gar find his way back to the present by use of her psychic abilities. She sees what he sees, then provides the comfort and reassurance he needs to hear to pull him out of his own negative thoughts. Then something pops up which directs his focus onto the wider world - like his being hunted by Kroloteans or taking down his evil boss - all of which distracts him from acknowledging and actually dealing with the trauma that still exists in his head.

See, M’gann has never actually ‘fixed’ Garfield's mind, her power just kinda gives the illusion of it, while the events of the narrative distract us and Gar from realising the trauma’s still there with the potential to consume him again. This is why these negative memories keep resurfacing. No one is pointing Gar towards getting actual help from a professional who has the objectivity to actually notice and deal with the trauma at its core and not just what shows itself on the surface. Someone who doesn’t see a sibling who’s just stressed or in a mood. Someone who hasn’t gotten used to seeing distractions ‘fix’ the problem.

M’gann is not objective. When it comes to Garfield, she sees the kid she saved with her Martian blood. The kid she took in after the deaths of his mother and Rita. The kid who's experienced so much loss yet still has a smile on his face as he fights to protect those in need. M’gann is so used to being the one who fixes/saves Gar, she doesn’t realise her ‘fixing’ is actually neglecting his mental health. She doesn’t realise she lacks the objectivity to see the Gar that’s struggling with his mental health and not the Gar that’s always managed to get the job done.

In Nightmare Monkeys, she stops the paramedics taking him to the hospital, claiming he’s her brother and she knows what he needs. Yet in Phantoms, she fails to pick up on any of the signs that he's maybe not as okay as he’s letting on during their month-long journey to Mars. Gar is acting odd throughout the entire trip, his decline isn’t just because of Conner’s death, the signs were showing before they even left Earth and only escalated from there. However, because M’gann tends to get distracted by her own priorities, she overlooks what Gar’s behaviour might be telling them. And while that is understandably easy to do, I only mention it because M’gann brings up multiple times throughout the season that she’s a professional guidance counsellor who’s trained to read body language. By her own words she should notice, or at the very least have some sort of suspicion that he’s not okay, especially after the Martian mob brain blast him. She knows all too well the damage that can come from a psychic attack on a human mind, yet she doesn’t even check and misses all the moments he’s clearly in pain.

Which brings us back to the original scene that’s been playing in my mind on repeat. The moment from 403, where Gar is consumed for a third time by his unprocessed trauma and M’gann doesn’t save him. Two major things happen. One is the aforementioned line from M’gann revealing she hadn’t realised he was hurting - confirming she’s not as observant as she thinks when it comes to Gar. While the other comes from Saturn girl, as she steps in to heal the psychic damage caused to Gar’s mind, she does the thing M’gann never has - she tells him to seek out treatment to deal with the mental and emotional trauma she can’t fix. She acknowledges the bigger picture and communicates how it’s up to him to find the treatment he needs to help himself feel better in the long term - not just rely on psychic powers to ‘fix’ him in the now.

The truth is, M’gann isn’t the only one who’s gotten used to her powers ‘fixing’ Gar, he has too. He was eight when he was pulled into the world of superheroes and got to witness first hand the excitement that life brings. He was also eight when he witnessed his mothers brutal murder at the hands of Queen Bee because of their mere association with M’gann and said hero world. From a ridiculously young age he has been exposed to both the highs and lows of the hero-life. Both the miracles and the sacrifices. At such an age it’s not surprising for him to gain the perception that that is normality - saving lives and losing loved ones - the price one pays to be a hero. The problem is, that perception has warped his ability to process such traumatic events and acknowledge his feelings regarding them. It’s not normal to be so exposed to danger and loss. It’s not normal to be haunted by the ghosts of so many friends and loved ones. It’s not normal to have a Martian pull you out of an emotional tailspin when your trauma catches up with you. Yet for Garfield it is, because no one has reminded him differently. M’gann‘s always been there to save him - he expects it, he doesn’t question it… until she doesn't and then his whole life falls apart.

It’s certainly going to be interesting to see how their relationship develops with the next half of the season - M’gann is definitely gonna get the another shock of her life when she sees the state which has consumed Gar. I can see her retroactively realising the signs she missed and the severity of the situation she failed to get any read on. It’s time for M’gann to finally learn that her powers aren’t what Gar needs, her guidance and support are. She needs to help him realise that she is there for him 100%, and no matter what he throws at her, she isn’t going to let him push her away as he has with everyone else. M’gann is potentially the final tie Gar has left at this point and while he’s gonna want to cut it, like all the others, she has to realise the importance of not letting him succeed. He needs someone. He needs her.

Not the Martian who can ‘fix’ him with a thought, but the sister who’s there to help him heal no matter how long he needs, and guide him to the path of acceptance. No more distractions.

119 notes · View notes

ramzawrites · 4 years

Note

can i request an angsty sbi fic where sibling reader lost two lives saving others (maybe tubbo at the festival?) and they see everything falling apart (techno and phil destroying everything, wilbur dead and tommy focused on the disks) and they pretend to be ok while their mental health gets worse and worse until they decide to end it, and people only realise they weren't okay after the death message pops up and their reactions to seeing it? if not thats completely fine, ik its pretty heavy

Broken

Pairings: none

Characters included: Wilbur, Tommy, Philza, Tubbo, Technoblade

Warnings: depression, suicide (falling, non descriptive), angst

Series: a request!

Summary: Y/N just wanted their home back. They just wanted to live a peaceful life but instead all their hopes and dreams got ripped apart by the people they loved the most.

Words count: 3647

Authors Note: Honestly I could have shortened it quite a bit but here we are, it’s way longer than I wanted but I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m sorry if this went kind off of rails to what you might have envisioned. Also I hope that you guys know that you are loved and appreciated. I appreciate you for taking the time to read my stuff :] Here is m favorite video to cheer me up some times, hope it can cheer you up as well!

I’m also curious what your guys thoughts and opinion are on this or my writing in general! Can’t get better without feedback :]

Y/N loved their family.

They were all pretty chaotic but so was Y/N, following their siblings into trouble ignoring any possible consequences.

So when Wilbur proclaimed he would create an independent Nation inside the SMP that was owned by Dream himself, you bet that Y/N was standing right beside him.

When Wilbur would struggle with his tasks or was weighed down by doubts they would swoop right in and do their best to support him. Every time Wilbur would say “I don’t know what I would do without you sometimes.” While Y/N didn’t do it for praise but out of love for him it was still nice knowing that he appreciated them and that he took note of their work.

Tommy wasn’t really for heartfelt words but he too expressed in his own way how much he appreciated them being around. Most of his schemes wouldn’t have even happened without Y/N’s help after all. As a way to say thanks he would let them just take stuff fout his chets or when he heard they needed a specific resource he would wander out and get it for them. Of course saying something on the lines of “I was out there anyhow, so I brought some with me. It was on the way.” Y/N could read between the lines though. They grew up with him after all.

Y/N put so much energy into L’Manberg they couldn’t help but be in love with this little nation. They would do everything to protect their home.

When Y/N lost their first life it was together with their siblings protecting their nephew Fundy.

The Dream Team suddenly retreated after another battle against L’Manberg. While the group was celebrating what they thought was their first victory in ages, Eret appeared. She told the group of a small bunker with more resources.

Still celebrating Wilbur, Y/N, Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy made their way towards the bunker. The bunker that would later go down into history as “The Final Control Room.”

Inside they all looked at the labeled chests only to notice that they were empty. Eret then pressed a button which opened up secret walls with the Dream Team standing behind. She herself got into safety as Dream and his friends merciless attacked the L’Manberg faction.

As soon as Y/N understood what was happening they did their best to form a wall between the attackers and Fundy. Slowly pushing him out of the room while they made sure to block the exit, giving the Fox Hybrid enough time to run away.

When they woke up again it was inside their home. In L’Manberg. Sore from the respawning.

Once they did respawn though it didn’t take long for Fundy to barge into their room and throw himself against them, thanking them. Wilbur was close by, looking worse for wear as well but incredible thankful nonetheless.

After that and a few battles more Tommy challenged Dream to a duel in order to secure independence. He lost so instead he bartered his music discs for freedom.

After Tommy respawned a second time Y/N made sure to spent most of their time hovering around him. Making sure he was doing alright.

But with that L’Manberg was independent and it was Y/N’s time to shine. Sure, they worked hard on strengthening the infrastructure of the nation but now, maybe even because of that, they basically coordinated all the new builds.

Shops, homes and other things were being build with them overseeing it. Meanwhile Wilbur and Tommy took care of the political part only to come to the conclusion that they had to have a proper election.

At first it started innocently enough as well. New political parties were made that begun advertising themselves. Funny enough they would always come to Y/N asking them where they could hang up their posters. It was then that Y/N realized that the people saw them as some sort of authority, even asking them if they wanted to start their own campaign. They politely declined, saying they worked best as a support role.

Then Schlatt entered the stage and everything got thrown upside down.

In the end he managed to become the next president via a coalition and his first declaration as the president, or emperor as he called himself, was to exile Tommy and Wilbur.

As they ran for their life Y/N didn’t hesitate to follow. It hurt them so much to leave L’Manberg, their fruit and labor, behind. This only got worse once they realized that Tubbo was basically left alone back at the city under Schlatt’s rule.

Then Pogtopia got established.

Tommy, Wilbur and Y/N did their best to get a proper foothold again. Gathering resources and planning for ways to get their home back. And to accomplish this they soon called in the oldest sibling of the group, Technoblade.

Techno has been away for the longest time now. He moved out early to travel the world and apparently train himself. Somehow Tommy found a way to get a message to him, so he made his way towards Pogtopia.

He wasn’t big on words or emotions but as soon as he arrived he let Y/N hug him.

“This is a onetime deal, Y/N.”

With Techno they finally felt like they had a chance. Y/N could maybe return home someday. Back when they were children Techno always looked out for them so to have him back Y/N felt infinitely safer.

All the while Wilbur showed more and more signs that his mental health was rapidly declining. Y/N did their best trying to cheer him up but there was only so much they could do. Especially since they themself were struggling.

L’Manberg was their everything and now it was under the iron rule of Schlatt. They had to watch as Schlatt walked through the nation, ripping apart builds that they commissioned or even built themself. Every time he did something like that it felt like another stab wound directly into their heart.

Then the festival happened where Y/N lost their second life protecting Tubbo.

Schlatt wanted to apparently celebrate democracy and his amazing rule. Tommy and Wilbur weren’t allowed to join while Techno and Y/N received an invitation.

Y/N was very wary of that. They learned from Tubbo that Schlatt apparently was pretty interested in bringing them over to Manberg since a lot of the residents trusted them and saw them more as an authority than Schlatt himself, so bringing them over would probably also bring a lot of the residents around to his rule.

On the day of the festival Y/N made sure to stay close to Techno. Holding on to his arm and basically hiding behind him, not feeling up to talk with all the people in Manberg.

The people were happy to see them but Y/N was tired. They haven’t slept properly ever since the exile, too many thoughts that kept them awake.

Then the speeches started.

Honestly Y/N wasn’t really listening, their attention purely on a broken old building. It used to be the place where Y/N and the other residents would meet up and map out their plans for new builds. Discussing and even sometimes arguing on what materials should be used and where to get them. Now it was empty.

Their attention got pulled back towards what was actually happening once Tubbo begun speaking. It was a nice little speech Y/N had to admit.

Just as Tubbo was about to leave, Schlatt moved back in. Holding him in place and pushing him in something that Y/N had to describe as a cage with the help of Quackity.

“Techno, buddy. Come up here for a sec.”

Technoblade tensed up but still moved towards the stage. There Schlatt uttered the words that pulled the rug out from beneath Y/N once again.

“Kill him Techno. He is a traitor.”

“Don’t you dare!” Y/N yelled out, making their way towards the stage as well.

Y/N knew Techno couldn’t deal well with social pressure, especially when there were about ten people or more behind him that could attack him at any point.

Tubbo looked so scared as he pressed himself against the wall. There was no escape for him.

When Techno moved his crossbow up, aiming directly at Tubbo, Y/N let out another scream. Urging him to stop.

Explosions. Colorful explosions filled the place.

“Y/N!” it was Tubbo screaming their name out.

Just as Techno pressed the trigger Y/N managed to jump in front, the rockets hitting them instead of Tubbo.

Their older brother looked absolutely mortified “Y/N? Wha- What? Why? How?” staring at Y/N’s lifeless body that slowly dissolved. They were slowly respawning but seeing his siblings body was enough to send him in some sort of frenzy.

Filled with bloodlust he aimed his crossbow towards Schlatt and Quackity. Killing them with one press of the trigger only to turn around and aim his crossbow towards the people.

As this happened Tommy enderpearled over, screaming at Techno.

He helped Tubbo out of the cage who was still in a state of shock. He only saw Y/N for a second and the next they were laying on the ground in their own blood.

Y/N heard the details later after they respawned. Tommy had apparently been incredibly angry at Techno, even attacking him. Wilbur then offered that the two deal with their argument via a fistfight inside a pit.

Normally Y/N would have yelled at Wilbur for that. Would have told him that this was his dumbest idea yet but they were too shook from what had happened to them.

Technoblade always spelled safety to them but he killed them. Sure, he meant to kill Tubbo but that didn’t really make it any better. They gave him an out, they would have helped fighting off all these people so they could flee.

The next time they saw Techno they flinched every time he got too close to them and yet they still put on a smile “Never, do this again.”

Techno only nodded.

After this downward slope the momentum didn’t seem to stop for them. Wilbur dropped even more and more off. Falling victim to his paranoia. Y/N tried their best convincing him to not blow up Manberg, that they will fight to gain it back. At this point trying to gain back their L’Manberg was the only thing they could hold on to.

Though all that work was for nothing.

The war to take back L’Manberg went way differently than they all had imagined. Y/N fought with a viciousness most didn’t think they had it in them. This was the day for them to finally regain what they had wished for, for the longest time now.

Everything came to a halt once Dream surrendered. He showed them Schlatt who was sitting in the Carmavan. Drunk off his mind he yelled and screamed at people only to die of a heart attack which meant that the Pogtopia faction won.

The people begun cheering, they had their home back! They were free! Y/N was probably the loudest by far. It felt like a huge weight was lifted from their shoulders. All this hardship and they could finally return to working with the others and rebuild L’Manberg. Return it to its former glory.

Tubbo got appointed President and Y/N was happy with it. Tubbo had an eye for building and was a good person, with him they were sure they could do some amazing things.

Apparently Techno thought otherwise. Instead he pulled Soulsand out, holding onto the Wither skulls as a visible threat.

Y/N had somewhat forgiven Techno for what had happened. It was a stressful situation and they acknowledged it but seeing him there, threatening to kill all of them? That they knew they couldn’t forgive quite so easy. Especially since he made some sound points but it was their L’Manberg. The people didn’t like living under Schlatt’s rule, this wasn’t something that could be described simply as a coup. Technically he was right but only technically. There were so many things that came into play that could let you argue over that but Techno would have none of it. Yelling something about Tommy only wanting to be a hero.

When the first explosions rang Y/N thought it came from a Wither but Techno was still in the middle of putting the heads onto the structure.

When more explosions rang and the ground beneath their feet broke away, Y/N understood what had happened.

At some point Wilbur ran off and must have pressed the button. The button that set the TNT beneath the city ablaze, effectively destroying everything.

Y/N was too busy with finding hard ground again and then dealing with the Withers and Techno that they only noticed after the fighting ended, how broken the nation was now.

They had won. Why would Wilbur do this? He knew how much the nation meant to them and again, they had won, so there was no reason for blowing the place up!

And if that wasn’t enough to see how both their older brothers destroyed everything Y/N worked for, they also had to see how Philza, their father, stood next to the corpse of Wilbur. It felt like they lost everything.

They lost their trust in Technoblade.

They lost their hopes and dreams via Wilbur blowing up the freshly liberated L’Manberg.

They lost their trust in their own father who had slain his own son.

Y/N felt absolutely crushed. Family was so important to them and it was their own family that destroyed their hopes and dreams. They did everything for them and this is how they repaid them?

Once everything calmed down and Tubbo begun making plans on how to rebuild the nation, he immediately came to Y/N for help but they hesitated which worried him.

“Is everything okay? Usually you would have jumped on that offer, Y/N.”

Y/N put on a smile that didn’t seem to reach their eyes “Don’t worry Tubbo, of course I’ll help you. I’m just tired from what we have been through. I finally have time to take a breather and I think it all just crashed down on me.”

“Well if you ever need help you can talk to me.” It was an earnest offer that Y/N would never take advantage of.

Y/N mostly ignored Philza. He talked with them a few times and even explained what has happened but Y/N still made a wide berth around him. Seeing him just hammered back down the feeling of distrust and hurt. Their familial relationship took a hard hit from that point on.

With Ghostbur it was a weird situation as well. They enjoyed spending time with him but were also always incredibly sad around him. Ghostbur took notice of this and would always offer them to take some of his blue but Y/N declined every time.

“Don’t worry Ghostbur. Everything is still just fresh in my mind. I’ll be back to my old self in no time. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

“Of course Y/N! You have always looked out for me, thank you.”

L’Manberg slowly took on a proper form again but it wasn’t the L’Manberg Y/N knew. It felt to them like they were standing on top of a grave. A grave for their dreams and it was getting hard, real hard, to walk through it every day seeing places where they know specific buildings should be standing. Buildings they build on their own only to be destroyed by their brothers doing.

Then Tubbo exiled Tommy and Y/N felt conflicted. They felt obligated to stay in L’Manberg since they were the main person people came to for builds but that was their brother. Their only brother they still trusted and felt a need to protect.

Instead of following him into exile they stayed in the city. Visiting Tommy whenever they could, noticing pretty fast that he was struggling hard with his situation and for once they didn’t feel strong enough to properly support him. Y/N tried their best but once they noticed they couldn’t reach him completely they gave up a tiny bit.

It reminded them too much of Wilbur.

So while they visited him and helped them where they could, they spent more and more time alone in their home only coming out for work and other necessary things like food. Soon it was normal to see them with ever present dark circles beneath their eyes.

Before Philza disappeared to join Techno, he would stop by Y/N’s home all the time.

“Have you eaten, yet?”

“Yes, dad. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“I just haven’t seen you much lately and I got worried.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Hey, if you go out, please, can you tell Ghostbur to stop coming around to throw Blue inside my mailbox? He won’t listen to me but perhaps he will to you.” And they would always carry the same big smile on their face accompanied by empty eyes.

The only time their happiness reached their eyes again was when Tommy returned from his exile. They crashed into their younger sibling holding him close to them and muttering apologies. He pried them off, embarrassed by all of this.

This short bout of happiness was destroyed by Doomsday. Dream, Technoblade and Philza once again made sure to set L’Manberg ablaze.

The second time Y/N’s fruits and labor got completely annihilated by their family but still they had some hopes this time. They still had Tommy on their side they could just finally build a home somewhere else and live in peace but Tommy had other ideas. He had it in his mind to get his discs back and he would do anything for it.

So while Y/N tried to ground themself with new hopes and ideas, holding onto the only constant of what was important to them, that being Tommy, Tommy ignored them. He was too busy with his own things and the worst part was that Y/N couldn’t even fault him for it.

They understood how much these discs meant to him and that this was something that had to come to an end but with this they lost another, and possibly their last, anchor point.

Yet you could still see them running around with a smile, tending to every one and trying to help out the best they could.

Then suddenly they were gone. They just disappeared one day. The few people who took note of that took some time to look around but there was no sign as to where they left. Y/N didn’t take their armor with them nor any weapons or food.

< Y/N succumbed to despair and fell of a high place>

When every ones communicators rung out with this message the SMP fell quiet.

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was reading. This didn’t make any sense. Y/N was fine! They would talk with them and everything looked fine! This must have been a cruel joke from Dream somehow, right? This couldn’t be real. Why would Dream do this? This didn’t seem to make sense.

Exactly there was no sense in Dream doing this.

While Tommy was battling with his thoughts Tubbo came running over to him. Tears streamed down his face.

“What happened? Why did this happen? Where are they?”

Tommy was visibly shaking “I- I have no idea. I don’t know. They looked fine. I’m- I’m not sure. Tubbo-“

Tubbo just slammed into him, giving him a proper hug, trying his best to help Tommy through his rising panic. He lost another sibling and by Ender that hurt.

Meanwhile in the snowy Tundra both Philza and Techno were staring at their communicators as well.

Philza was pale. So pale it almost rivaled the snow around him.

Techno had his brows furrowed. For anyone who didn’t know him well enough he looked at best displeased with this situation but Philza could see the small details that told a different story. Him sucking his breath in as he read the message, hiding his quivering lip in his cloak. He was heartbroken.

Sure the two weren’t on good speaking terms but Y/N was still his younger sibling. He still loved them.

Philza felt similar. He acknowledged that he screwed up and honored their wish to be left alone by him but he never imagined this could lead to their death. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. Two of his children died, one directly by his hand and the other due to his inaction.

His eyes glossed over, the world became a blur and yet he continued rereading this message over and over. Y/N just lost their last life.

Philza could hear Techno walk closer to him and sat down on the ground as well.

“Y/N is-“ Philza begun but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. State the obvious to his eldest son?

“I have more fault in this than you, dad. Don’t feel guilty.” His voice was uncharacteristically weak. Wavering as he spoke. He wanted to cheer Philza up but it was a weak attempt.

“What have we done.”

Ghostbur was at first confused when he read the message. It was like he couldn’t connect the dots but it slowly dawned on him what this meant.

“Oh my.” His usual happy demeanor was suddenly gone.

He touched his face and as he put his hands back down he saw how they were smeared with blue.

“Y/N is dead?”

His usual ghost behavior seemed to break a bit. It was like through the warped version of Wilbur that was called Ghostbur for a moment the true version of him came through again. And he was hurt. Devastated.

“I think I need to find the others.” He mumbled to himself, making his way towards his family. All the while he held onto the blue wool of Friend like a lifeline. Combing through it nervously. Blue continuing to spill from his eyes.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x Y/N #dream smp reader insert #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp x reader #dream smp x Y/N #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp reader insert #dsmp x reader #sbi #sleepy bois inc #ramza writes #Anonymous #anon request

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inmyownwordz · 2 years

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Food4Thought

Entry01 :::

(08/30/2022)

ALL I GOT NOW ARE MEMORIES -

I miss the days when life was simple, when I used wish time would hurry up so I could be “Grown.” Now that I am, time seems to move way too fast. It made me realize how much I should have appreciated those moments. Why is it so common to not cherish what is before us, until it no longer is? These days I miss my nephews, it’s wild that we grew up together but now we don’t even speak. They’re in their 20′s now, that alone is crazy enough. The saddest part about us not speaking is that we don’t even have any issues, our family is just super divided. I really miss my parents too, my father passed in 2000 but I was too young to fully grasp death, and I still had my mother. Then when she passed in 2018 my life just wasn’t the same. It sunk in that both my parents were gone, and I began grieving both of them at that point. While I try to find comfort in knowing they are at peace and their spirits still live on... it’s hard not being able to call them, hear their voices, and feel their touch. I miss my mother’s smile, her kind blue eyes, her laugh, her sensitivity, her intellect and intelligence. My mother was the kind of lady that could finish crossword puzzles in 10 minutes. I would buy her crossword books (a couple at a time), she’d call me in a week and tell me she finished them. I’d laugh and say I would bring more for her on the next visit. I know so many random facts because of her always feeding me information. She was a teacher before her health declined, she mainly taught Pre-K. She loved working with kids, she had the aura for it for sure. I miss the days when she’d come home from work and always have something in her purse for me, it was usually a treat of some sort. I miss her calling my name to run to the corner store, or to grab her something from the kitchen. I miss watching her favorite shows with her in the living room, “Wheel of Fortune, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, Everybody Loves Raymond and Kings of Queens.” Every Friday we’d order pizza from our favorite spot, I miss those simple traditions we had. I miss our house decor changing for every holiday, she loved putting up holiday decorations. I miss my dad getting me from the bus stop in elementary school. I miss him bringing me a “Yahoo Chocolate Drink” whenever he’d go to the store for his beer. I miss his scent, the sound of his voice, his cooking even the stranger things he made lol. I miss sitting on the porch with him and feeding the squirrels and birds. These days, I think a lot about who I might be, if he had lived longer. I miss the days when I had to come inside when the street lights came on. I miss being carefree, climbing trees, going to the park, walking to dairy queen in the summer. I miss .25 cent chips, .50 pop and juice. I miss penny candies and when candy bars only costed .99. I miss playing in the neighborhood with my nephews or friends. I miss the low-rider bike I got one year with the banana seat and the U shaped handlebars. I still remember spending weekends with my siblings. Sometimes I was at my brothers apartment, other times I would be at one of my sisters places. I miss my siblings, we don’t even talk these days, too much pride, resentment and unresolved issues that date back years. It’s sad to think that back then, all I wanted to be was older. But looking back, I wish I would’ve focused more on the good and less on all that was wrong. Life is just too short, and that is something I didn’t understand as a young child. Forever isn’t real, so just live for today and cherish life no matter what. Remember, moments are worth so much, cause unless you capture it on film you can’t ever go back and live them again. - K.A.M

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stellocchia · 4 years

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So, since we got that revival stream there are A LOT of takes that I’ve been seeing popping up regarding c!Wilbur. From straight up wrong takes like “he was worse then Dream” and “he manipulated Dream and made him a villain” to some more understandable but still very much wrong takes like: “Willbur was never a villain” and “Wilbur’s mental health spiral means we cannot identify him as a villain”

Since I’ve already spoken on other posts of mine about the first kind of statement, I want to focus on the second today.

Let me preface this by saying that c!Wilbur is most definitely not an irredeemable character (a redemption arc for him is most definitely POSSIBLE, though we’ve gotten quite a lot of clues by now that that’s not the route cc!Wilbur seems to want to go down). I honestly think that the only TRULY irredeemable character in the smp ic c!Dream and that’s because of a mix between the level of harm he caused and his reaction and motivation for it.

BUT he was a villain. A sympathetic one for sure, but a villain nonetheless. Being redeemable doesn’t make him any less of one, just like having understandable motivations or his harmful actions being a response to trauma or mental health related problems doesn’t make his actions and their consequences any less severe.

I mean I don’t see anyone out here having a problem with calling c!Jack a villain even if the harmful actions he tried to do or did are responses to isolation and trauma, why is Wilbur different when he’s caused much more harm?

Same with Niki: we all recognized that her planning and trying to kill a child in cold blood was most definitely villanous even with her being extremely sympathetic. And, once again, she suffered from similar conditions to those Wilbur was in: a lack of a system of support, loosing her country, isolation in a base underground and we can add loosing a dear friend to that for her. So why don’t we give her a pass for everything? Why isn’t (well, wasn’t, she seems to be better off now that she is with the syndacate) she JUST a tragic charact but ALSO a villainous one?

Well it all comes down to the goal and the impact of someone’s actions. While the declining mental health of a character is important to keep in mind when deciding if they’re sympathetic and to understand what motivate their actions, it’s irrelevant to establish if they’re a villain.

Let’s take c!Jack again as an example: he griefed multiple buildings trying to pit Dream and Tommy against each other, pre Tommy’s exile, and cause an all out war between them because Tommy’s actions had caused (in Jack’s mind of course, as what Dream did is entirely Dream’s responsability and in no way the fault of Tommy) Dream to burn down part of Manifold Land. He was angry at both of them in an understandable way, but his goals and actions were both immoral. And his actions didn’t cause harm ONLY because Tommy had already been exiled, otherwise they could have been taken by Dream as a reason to exile him either way later on.

Now, for another example, c!Quackity: his announced goal with him torturing c!Dream is taking away the power that grants him the ability to harm others while still within Pandor’a Vault. But, truth be told, he IS mostly doing it for selfish reasons, either be it because he lost a bet to Schlatt or because this IS part of the bet it’s still a completely callous reason for torturing someone. The person he is harming is undeniably a villain who’s hurt a lot of people, but that’s irrelevant when judging the morality of Quackity’s action.

Now let’s talk about Wilbur’s actions:

- He abused and manipulated Tommy, there is no way around it. He was extremely verbally abusive towards him. He tried to isolate him from everyone else and he tried to control Tommy’s emotional responses. He’s still doing that as a matter of fact by straight up dismissing any emotional response Tommy has that doesn’t suit him (by, for example, ignoring his clear signs of dicomfort back during their conversation post season 2 finale and by ignoring and making fun of his panic attack in their discussion in the afterlife). We know this caused long term trauma for Tommy causing him to have night terrorse about him and being terrified of ever becoming anything like Wilbur. Trying to find a way to avoid Wilbur’s path was basically Tommy’s whole arc in season 2.

- He retained vital informations from Techno (retaining information from him about his allies, and from his allies about him). This one is a bit more up for discussion to be honest, but Ive seen quite a few people make the point that Wilbur made sure that the info he gave Techno was the only one he had about Pogtopia’s intetions. He also was the only one who knew about Techno’s withers and about his anarchists ideals and he never revealed them to ther allies, which definitely helped in causing the rift later on.

- He mistreated Tubbo quite a lot as well (the whole scene at the festival is just painful). But, basically, he had him spy for them and basically treated him as a pawn. He described him, to his face, as just a “yes man” with no free will of his own. Then he used his death just to bring forth discord and violence between his allies. He also pushed on him all the pressure to decide on wether to blow up the country or not.

- He kept keeping L’Manburg hostage to his allies, increasing the already incredible pressure on them immensely. When Schlatt said he moved the tnt to Pogtopia he started doing the same with that place by constantly clicking all the random buttons while they were all trying to plan. That is blackmail my dudes. Blackmail done to an extreme.

- There is the whole pit scene that deserves a point on it’s own where he literally kept spurring on both Techno and Tommy (all the while blatantly putting down Tommy in an extremely manipulative way) to beat each other to death (albeit non-canonically). Re-watch that one and pay close attention to him if you have any doubt about him being abusive towards Tommy.

- And, for last, he also did blow up L’Manburg and he had fully intended to do it also as a last slight towards Tommy, just to add on to how much of a d*ck he was to him.

It’s true that he needed help and that he had spirald. He had become self-destructive and paranoid, but that DOESN’T erase what he has done, nor what that paint him as. His actions were all done with the spcific goal of being harmful to others and have all had long lasting effects. He hurt A LOT of people. He is, by all intents and purposes, a villain.

Also I want to add that if they do give him a redemtion arc it will have to be done carefully to be done well. And also none of the people he hurt with his actions should be forced to forgive him. As a matter of fact I’ll go further and say that Tommy in particular shouldn’t even be forced to TALK to him as he has already expressed extreme concern about ending up being manipulated again. No matter what he went through and what his mental state was, none of his victims owe him any understanding either.

#c!wilbur critical #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #jack manifold #niachu #quackity #dream smp #/rp #tw manipulation #tw abuse #tw torture #character analysis #my post #I've been wanting to make a post about c!wilbur for quite a while now #because there seem to be recently way too many takes that are a bit too lenient towards him #so here it is!#long post

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beetlegoose01 · 4 years

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first hero (one shot)

AN: Snippets of Draco as a father, and one as a grandfather. :)

Before Scorpius was born, Draco had no experience with babies or small children. He was raised an only child, and had no knowledge of what to do. His own father was never one for comforting hugs or piggy back rides or teaching him how to properly play Quidditch without falling off his broom. He wasn't a terrible father, but he was definitely not a doting one.

He would do better. Draco vowed the second he discovered Astoria was expecting, that he would. He would do everything he could for this child. Resting his hand to her ever growing bump, whispering 'I love yous' and soft French lullabies.

"Is that-?" Draco uttered, eyes sparkling with wonder.

She laughed. "A little kick, yes."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, silly. Like a baby bird fluttering about."

Astoria's health was declining. Her body was already weakening from her curse and the pregnancy seemed to exhaust her further, day by day.

"If I don't see them grow," She whispered one night, caressing his cheek. "Please watch out for them, Draco. Promise me, you will."

His heart ached at her painfully true words. "I don't want to make that promise. Maybe there's some hope...some positivity?"

"It's the truth." She shrugged. "I can't change that, Draco. You know it, even if you won't say. Promise me?"

"...I promise."

Their son was born just a few days before Christmas. He had been intended to be born after the New Year, but his early arrival was welcomed nevertheless.

"He's...so tiny." Draco whispered, staring at the swaddled infant laying against his mother's chest. He didn't dare touch the blond fuzz, like dandelion fluff on their little one's head. He was so premature, so fragile.

"Hello Scorpius," Astoria murmured, exhausted and blotchy from childbirth, but still had a twinkle in her eyes. The tiny boy yawned, nestling closer to her. "Would you like to hold him?"

Draco nodded firmly, though he was positively terrified of dropping the boy. Astoria placed him gently in his arms, and he melted as the infant squirmed and squeaked.

"Hello, little fellow." He said, careful not to shift too much. "I'm your papa, Scorpius. Scorpius..." He thought for a moment. "Have we decided on a middle name?"

Astoria shook her head. "Are you sure you don't want to do Lucius?"

"Positive." He said, watching as their son's eyes fluttered open. They were bright and blue, like his mother's. Then, it dawned on him. "Hyperion."

"Like my father?"

Draco sat beside her, kissing Scorpius' head, then Astoria's rosy cheeks. "A man worthy of his name being carried on by our boy."

"Scorpius Hyperion," She repeated, smiling. "I like it."

~•~

Scorpius proved to be a shy, but precocious child, always fascinated in anything and everything. Though he had little contact with any other children his own age, he was best friends with his parents, and even occasionally visited his maternal cousins- though by visiting really he sat in the corner, staring at a picture book instead of interacting with them. He was quiet, remarkably quiet with his cousins.

Not that they didn't encourage him to talk to them.

"How about you join them, Scorpius?" Astoria asked, laying on the picnic blanket beside her husband and son. Her nieces, Constance and Cordelia were loudly playing gobstones while Daphne supervised them. "Gobstones is fun, I'm sure they'll teach you."

Scorpius simply shook his head, pointing at his book.

"Alright." She kissed his head fondly. "What would you like to do pumpkin?"

"Braid your hair, mummy." He whispered, giggling.

"My hair's already braided, silly. But...daddy's isn't." She smirked.

"Yeah!' Scorpius chirped, popping his thumb out of his mouth. "Flowers too?"

"Ooh that's a brilliant idea!"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?"

"Your hair is so long and pretty. Perfect for braiding." Astoria said, eyes crinkling as she laughed.

So Draco stood as still as he possibly could as his son and wife braided daisies and other flowers in his platinum hair, all while holding back chuckles as Scorpius stumbled around looking for various flowers to put in his hair.

"No, no Scorpius' that's a weed-" He started, but Scorpius didn't hear him, and continued braiding, singing a made up song to himself as he worked.

~•~

"Dad?" Scorpius asked one afternoon, while Draco was brooding by the fireplace. Astoria was resting upstairs after a particularly bad morning of sickness.

"Yes, son?"

"I um," He stared at his shoes, growing anxious. "I finished all the books in mum's library."

"Reading them?" Draco asked, puzzled, though not surprised. Though he was only nine, he devoured books like sweets. Instead of playing, he would read in a cushy armchair, reading books bigger than his head. Fantasy books, muggle literature, textbooks, non fiction, spell books- anything he could get his hands on. He especially loved ones with facts.

"Almost all of them." He corrected softly. "There's the ones you have locked up."

"Ah." Draco hummed. "You wouldn't be interested in that...it's all very grim. They're all about the War."

"Please, can I?" Scorpius begged. "I barely know anything about that and I'm so curious."

"How about we read it together? There are some things you need to know that ...you won't be happy to hear."

They read the old book together, and Scorpius was silent the entire time. When they finished a chapter about the list of Death Eaters, he looked distraught.

"I'm sorry, son." He murmured, but Scorpius didn't answer. Instead, he curled up beside his dad.

"Do you still have it?" He asked finally. "The mark?"

"...Yes."

"So we were evil?" The question was so innocent, but it still hurt.

"It's ...complicated. This mark serves as a constant reminder of my wrongdoings. With your mother's help, I became a better man. At least, I think so."

Scorpius dimpled. "You are." He yawned sleepily, resting his head on Draco. "I love you."

"I love you too, Scorpius."

~•~

"Ready?" Astoria asked, fixing Scorpius' black tie. "Oh, you look so grown up." She cooed.

"Mum!" Scorpius whined. "The train is going to leave soon!"

"I know, I know. One more hug and a kiss?" She asked, and he happily obliged. Thankfully at the age of eleven, he was still young enough to not be embarrassed by hugs. Especially Astoria hugs. She kissed the top of his hair.

"I'll miss you." He whimpered.

"Be good." Draco added, patting his shoulder. "Don't cause too much trouble."

"I won't, dad. I'll miss you too." He said glumly. "Suppose I don't make any friends?"

"You will."

"Don't forget your sweets." Astoria passed the bag to her son. "To help you make friends. Remember?" She winked. "Everyone will want to be your friend if you share."

"Friendly bribery." Draco joked. "But also because of your charming personality."

Scorpius laughed nervously as the train whistled. "I should go then."

"Write to us as soon as you can," Astoria said. "We love you, sweet boy."

"I love you too." He gave them a watery smile. "Bye then." He reluctantly walked towards the train, the trunk already put away so he only had his cat carrier to hold.

Watching him slip away made Astoria's lip quiver.

"He'll be alright, Toria." Draco assured her.

"I hope the other children will be nice." She said. "I don't want his light to dim."

Draco said nothing. It was true, Scorpius was the embodiment of sunshine and love, the idea of putting him with other children who most likely knew of the rumor was not comforting. He had wanted to homeschool Scorpius, but Astoria had insisted he needed to interact with others his age. Sending him to Hogwarts still felt like bringing a unicorn foal to a Chimera den.

"He will be alright." He repeated to himself.

School was harder than they had predicted. Scorpius had made one friend, Albus Potter of all people, who was sorted in Slytherin with him. Still, judging by his letters, he was happy. The other students teased them, but they had each other.

Which was enough.

~•~

It was a grey, cold summer's day. Scorpius curled up by the windowsill, silently watching the raindrops drip down the window. Everything felt bleak and dim. Not even the birds nearby chirped their beautiful songs.

"Be brave, Scorpius." His mum smiled, her strength weakening. "I love you."

"I love you too, mum."

He had held her hand as she passed away into the night.

"Scorpius..." Draco said, voice shaky. "Please let me in."

Scorpius hadn't heard him. He continued to watch the rain fall.

~•~

They were drifting apart. Draco could sense it. He had tried desperately to reach out to his son, but nothing worked.

Astoria would have known what to do. And now...well it was up to Draco to help his deeply distraught son.

After Scorpius' reappearance, he had hoped their relationship would rekindle somehow. It hadn't, despite his stress over losing him and the brief reunion that they shared was awkward. His son was back at school and that was that. Draco wished they could have spent a longer time together, especially after he had been missing for some time.

He stirred his tea thoughtfully. At least Scorpius was at Hogwarts with Albus and his professors. Still, the idea of /why/ he ran away was perplexing.

The manor chimney moved slightly. Placing his tea down, he watched as his lanky son tumbled out in a puff of soot and floo powder.

"Scorpius?" Draco asked, rushing to his side. "What are you doing here?"

Scorpius lifted his head, collapsing into his father's arms. "I came to see you."

It had been a while since they had hugged, but Draco didn't reject it. He held onto his son, his sweet son and let him weep into his chest like he was a little boy again.

"It's Albus." He gulped, voice cracking. "He won't speak to me. Dad, everything is wrong- he avoids me, all of our classes have been changed so we aren't in anything together." His eyes were glassy with tears. "I know for some reason he's in Gryffindor now, but he doesn't even ...acknowledge I exist. It's like he hates me."

"No...no...he doesn't hate you. We'll sort this all out." He paused. "And the other kids, have they been unkind?"

Scorpius stared at him in disbelief. "They've always been unkind, Dad! I'm the son of Voldemort, remember?" He snapped, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You don't know half of the things they do. Every day. Every day they hex me, belittle me, tease me. They make me feel...worthless."

Draco felt his heart break as Scorpius' face crumpled.

"School was fine with classes and such and when I had Al with me to make everything bearable. Now I don't even have him. I'm all alone. I don't want to be alone, Dad. I don't want to go back to school. I hate it there." He took a shaky breath. "I hate it so, so much."

"Scorpius I..."

"I miss mum."

"I know."

He had to make things right.

~•~

His son had come out as bisexual the following year after his little 'adventure' with Albus. Draco hadn't understood the term at first. He had to do extensive research to fully comprehend the meanings, alongside other sexualities that were included. Sexualities and gender were confusing, even Scorpius admitted it.

He didn't understand at first. But he listened to Scorpius explain tearfully, and hugged him as tight as possible when he mentioned he was dating Albus Potter.

"I love him." Scorpius said quietly. "That's what matters the most. Not my labels...nor his."

"I'm so proud of you."

~•~

His son was married.

His son was married, and he couldn't be happier.

Watching Scorpius embrace Albus at their wedding was everything Draco could have wanted. Seeing his son love someone, and look at him with such adoration made his heart soar.

He could see Astoria's bright smile in Scorpius' eyes as he laughed, leaning against his new husband. They were both glowing with genuine happiness.

‘All was well.’ He thought, wondering if Astoria was proud of him too.

~~~~~

Draco was much more confident holding his newborn granddaughter. At least, more confident than when he held Scorpius for the first time. She too, was early and had the same expression of curiosity in her eyes. He chuckled fondly as she reached her tiny hand to grab a hold of his pinky finger. She was precious as a doll, with fuzzy blonde hair and curious turquoise eyes. What a wonder, being that small and innocent.

“She’s beautiful.” He murmured. “What is her name?”

Albus grinned, pride evident in his voice. “Astoria Ginevra.”

#drastoria #draco malfoy #astoria greengrass #astoria malfoy #fanfics #scorbus #scorpius malfoy #baby scorpius

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saltymcsaltything · 3 years

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I can't believe it, but I actually feel like I've turned the page on a really rough period in my life

tl;dr warning: This is wayyyyyy too long; don't read it. Skip to the end where it says [ TL;DR ] for the mega happy ending, you'll skip all the background trauma, the drama, the highs and the lows, but also all the funny bits. Or at least all the bits that *I* think are funny. YMMV, buyer beware, don't take any wooden nickels, and don't wizz on the electric fence.

TW / CW: Mental Illness, Self harm, Medical Trauma, Death, Parental Death, Surgery, Hospitals, Doctors, Needles, Anesthesia, Panic Attacks, I apologize if I missed anything

Other Warnings (because that last list seemed grim) : Excessive length, sesquipdalean loquaciousness, spelling errors of very long words, egregious typos because of my motor disorder, poor attempts at humor, using humor at inappropriate times, laughing at my own jokes, explaining the jokes, *not* explaining the jokes, bad puns, snark, self deprecation, probably repeating myself, way too long, so many big words, flippancy in the face of serious situations, overreactions in the face of minor inconveniences or simple misunderstandings, too many warnings, attempted sarcasm, actual sarcasm, inappropriate use of bulleted lists, being overly dramatic, never knowing when to shut up, shit... I just typed shit instead of shut I better fix that...

So, yeah... I kind of snapped out of a (checks calendar) 3+ year extended burnout/depression/funk, and in a lot of ways, a much longer period of a slow but erratic decline in my overall mental health. Read on to discover my *shocking* secret to wellness and self-fulfillment! /s

Apparently, what I really needed to suddenly...

dramatically elevate my mood

dramatically reduce my anxiety

rekindle my emotional connection with my wife

rediscover what it is to feel gratitude

get a little boost to executive functioning

get a huge boost of natural dopamine (ahhh, that's the stuff!)

feel reinvigorated in my eternal quest to wrangle my various and sundry physical health issues

was...

[ DRAMATIC PAUSE ]

Surgery.

...wait, what?

Allow me to explain.

Of all of the things that have been weighing me down over the last several years, the one that first knocked me out of my groove was a sudden, sharp decline in my physical health. Around 12-13 years ago, at age 29, I was at the absolute peak of my health - stronger, better toned, and happier than I had ever been. I worked out 6-7 times per week and *loved* it because I was addicted to the endorphins and the dopamine, and, more importantly, it was something my wife and I were both into and enjoyed doing together.

TW / CW: Medical Trauma - so much ahead. /g

*For real* stop reading now if this is a trigger, it starts mild but just keeps escalating from here, and it keeps popping up over and over. Then again, Medical Trauma is one of my biggest triggers, so although I've processed what follows, I'm still maybe more sensitive to this than others. I dunno, it's so hard for me to gauge, it was so bad for me at the time, but my perspective is so shifted now.

TFW you feel like your TW / CW requires such a long explanation that it probably needs a tl;dr /hj

But at age 30 I just... crashed. HARD. I started getting horrible tension headaches that eventually turned into debilitating migraines after every workout, and I had to give it up. Unfortunately, it didn't stop there, and over the last ten years almost every aspect of my physical health has declined, except for the overall effectiveness of my immune system, which went way too far in the other direction and instead of getting sick a lot, I instead have horrible reactions to *gestures vaguely at the entire planet*. I had already had multiple episodes of anaphylaxis from my allergy shots, and dozens of severe reactions that felt almost (but not quite) as bad. I had an epipen for years and came close to using it a few times, but the less severe reactions never quite hit the same level of panic inducing tightness in the throat before they subsided. I really need to remember to get another one... That was all *before* I got even sicker and started to react to foods, flowers, the subtlest of fragrances and... nothing (or at least nothing I could identify.)

Over the course of about 3 years, I declined sharply. I developed joint pain with numbness and tingling, both of which spread throughout most of my body. These were joined by nerve and muscle pain that moved around and fluctuated in severity, from mildly annoying to spending 48 hours in bed on the verge of tears. I saw around a dozen different doctors and received increasingly frustrating non-diagnoses or misdiagnoses, and had a few nasty reactions to medications that "might help, let's try it and see" before I finally gave up and went solo with diet, exercise and supplements for the next 6 years, with some success but eventually a sharp decline in 2019 that has continued until now. The whole ordeal up to that point is an entire post of its own...

Along the way, *lots* of other things went wrong in my life, and I developed or finally acknowledged a grab-bag of mental health conditions - Anxiety (an old friend), Depression (previously only an occasional visitor, now a constant and far more intense interlocutor), and CPTSD (who the hell invited this guy?). My Autism, ADHD, Dyspraxia and Dyslexia (with some OCD traits thrown in for good measure) were diagnosed only recently, but that diagnostic process really only happened because the combined weight of everything else made every masking or coping technique evaporate in July 2020, and suddenly traits I had successfully used various cognitive measures to manage or outright suppress sprang out of their hiding places and landed directly on my face.

Literally. [ LENGTHY TANGENT INCOMING ]

TW / CW: Self harm

My absolute most aggravating trait/behavior as a kid was trichotillomania - hair pulling. I had long hair (a rat tail, cuz 80's) and in addition to twirling and chewing on it, when I was stressed I would pull strands of it out. It wasn't super noticeable - - my hair is pretty thick and it was only ever a few at a time, but I still hated it because I did it mostly unconsciously while twirling my hair and would only realize it after I noticed I had a few strands of hair in my hand. On rare occasions I would feel some itch or irritation on the back of my neck and pull some hairs consciously, somehow convinced it would help, but it was still more of an "oops, why did I do that" and I was able to stop after a few hairs. I hated it because it hurt, and eventually I stopped altogether.

Flash forward 30+ years, and my go to hair-based stim (my favorite kind) was now the almighty beard stroke. But under stress, this would lead to irritation, probably from increased sensory sensitivity (thanks, autism!) I would feel the irritation and compulsively yank out hairs where the irritation was, convinced there was an ingrown hair and fully conscious of what I was doing, but unable to stop because I could never seem to find the source of the irritation, if it even existed. Once I had pulled a small patch it became impossible to stop, because whenever I absent-mindedly reached up to stroke the beard, my fingers would find the patch, and start pulling. I was only dimly aware I was doing this, at least for the first few minutes. Once I did realize it became a battle with the compulsion, and I've been on the losing end more often than I care to admit. I have two patches that are just barely starting to regrow, and I still keep catching myself messing with them.

The worst part was when I pulled out a root that was really thick (extra keratin? oil buildup?) and it would actually make me bleed a little. Then I'd get scabs, then I'd pick at them, and pull more hair because of the added irritation. Lather, rinse, repeat. 🙄

I'm supposedly pretty smart, but struggling so hard to control behavior that I 100% knew was harmful made me feel... not smart. I've used harsher language than that to describe how my inability to use my "intellectual giftedness" to stop doing things like this makes me feel, but I recognize how ableist it is to insult someone's intelligence, even my own. But it does make me feel like a failure.

So, yeah, a whole mess of personal failure, right on my face... 😒 Nothing like a little self-harm/self-loathing combo move to signal the dawn of the "Obviously Autistic Salty" era. /s

[ END LENGTHY TANGENT ]

After all of this, even with a little forward progress in my mental and physical health (3 years of therapy and a new Doctor as of 2019, who has done 1000% more in 3 years than a whole platoon of Doctors did in the same span), I still felt like I was losing ground almost as quickly as I was gaining it, if not more so. My joints have been declining rapidly for the last 9 months, and my crazy bad allergies (actually allergies + MCAS) have reared up recently in new and entertaining ways (in other words, annoying and terrifying ways).

So, in the midst of all of this I found (mostly on my own) a problem with a clear, straightforward solution: I had a weird bulge in my lower abdomen. I had already figured out the right anatomical term for the area because of a major nerve that had been injured or severely inflamed by a previous procedure that went... poorly. Massive hematoma, much pain, attempted drainage with a huge needle, not nearly enough local anesthetic, almost passing out in a puddle of my own sweat and blood, nerve pain, months of pain when walking, and now here we are with a weird bulge in the same area. Fantastic. /s

But hey, I learned some anatomy so I could tell my Doctor which nerve was destroying my life (and thankfully she put me on a medication that actually worked for the nerve pain.) So when weird, squishy lump that sort of comes and goes and pops up suddenly or expands whenever I sneeze or cough shows up in that area, I simply searched for "anatomical-term + hernia" - I got a quick answer that matched what I was seeing, and the encouraging text in an actual medical source "can usually be self-diagnosed" - I find that text a little ironic given some of the fallacious arguments against self-diagnosis I have seen with respect to Autism in particular (that argument being self-diagnosis is never valid in *any* context and always requires a Doctor of some kind, whether PhD or MD).

Yay, I properly diagnosed something, all by myself! However, I did get my Doctor's assessment to *confirm* my diagnosis (she agreed, high five!) and then got an ultrasound to assess the extent.

It wasn't the worst hernia ever (ultrasound report said "small" even though I thought it looked pretty big, would hate to see a "large" hernia). My Doctor said I could wait and see how it progressed but that it wouldn't get better on its own without surgery and it might interfere with and get worse from certain activities (like lifting, exercising, etc). It was also intruding into an area where I had existing nerve pain - - although, again, thankfully well managed with medication.

I decided not to wait all that long, as I *really* need to exercise (correctly, this time) to rehab my flakey hip, which happens to be on the same side as all this other mess, because of course it is. My wife's theory - and she's probably right because she generally is - is that walking awkwardly (understatenent) for months due to the lingering complications from the previous procedure probably made my underlying joint problems much worse on that side. I *have* to correct my gait and strengthen the damaged muscles and whatnot - and no I can't be more specific than "whatnot" because hips are complicated and I'm no orthopedist, okay? Don't even get me started on shoulders... WTF is a rotator cuff?

I took my time finding a surgeon; I knew I really wanted one that was like "Hernias are my jam!" It's not a codified specialty of its own - it falls under general surgery - but it *is* a thing. There is a community of surgeons who dig hernias and after a great deal of research (after the fact), I can appreciate why, especially laparoscopic and robotic. There is a *lot* going on in that area (don't Google "triangle of doom" if you are the least bit squeamish, especially AMAB folks, YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!) It's honestly really fascinating if you have the stomach (or other relevant organs, heh) for it. I figured a self-professed hernia aficionado would be the best way to avoid complications as long as my obstinate and sometimes outright malicious body was willing to cooperate.

So I found me a good hernia doc with a solid rep for explaining things clearly (because autistic) and for *compassion* (because *autistic and mentally ill!*) The above, it turns out, was actually an understatement - compared to other Doctors (and I even include my primary care, who is pretty awesome), she is hands down the nicest, kindest and most patient Doctor I have ever seen, and the most willing to explain things in excrutiating (heh) detail, including answering all sorts of super specific questions that a lot of Doctors might find annoying.

I was up front about my diagnoses, particularly the Autism, ADHD and mental health conditions. I didn't want any of that to come as a surprise in case I got, oh, I dunno, totally panic stricken about something. And of course I got totally panic stricken a few times leading up to the surgery, because panicking is what I do best. /hj

The initial consult went totally fine (yay!). She was, as advertised, super nice, explained everything clearly, was really pleasant to talk to (I didn't even mind the smalltalk), was gentle and not abupt with contact during the exam, and didn't seem phased by my being autistic. Some doctors or nurses have gotten wide-eyed and kind of sputtered for a second before regaining their composure, but she was unphased. It was kind of refreshing and I mentally binned her as "good people."

Unfortunately, it was a bit of a... struggle, to put it mildly, in getting scheduled, and a lot of increasingly - you probably already guessed it - *panic stricken* voice mails on the scheduler's answering machine. That was, it turns out, just bad luck - as if I typically have any other kind. When I finally broke down and called the front desk and (in a panic, naturally) explained what was going on, and that I'm autistic and struggle with uncertainty and *really* needed to get scheduled so I could plan everything else around the surgery, I found out the scheduler had an emergency and was out for several weeks and I didn't wind up on the list for her backup to follow up with due to some kind of clerical error. If I had called them two weeks earlier after I didn't get a callback within a few days of my first voicemail, I probably wouldn't have panicked so badly, or wound up waiting 3 weeks before getting on the schedule, but what would be the fun in that? /s

TW / CW: Panic attacks

Note: I am not using panic lightly. I had at least two borderline anxiety/panic attacks - I still don't totally understand the difference - if someone has a good, concise explanation I'd love to hear it. I had to take Xanax to keep them at bay, and that is something I do very rarely. My anxiety can be pretty bad - I'm sure there are people with worse presentations but this isn't just "heh, I got a little nervous" - this was tachycardia, heart pounding in my chest, pulse in my ears, whole head feeling inflated, labored breathing and "I better do something now while I can still think or I'm going to pass out. " If I didn't already know I am prone to anxiety and panic attacks, I'd have thought they were heart attacks.

TW / CW: Hospitals

The day of the surgery, I knew I had been more anxious than usual for the previous week. My baseline anxiety is pretty high, I'm just used to being constantly on or at least very close to the edge, so this was bordering more on barely keeping it together but somehow not quite falling apart. But when the nurse put the wristband on me in the waiting room, officially admitting me to the hospital, I did essentially fall apart - although more gently than I might otherwise have because I had wised up and took the Xanax that morning. But I still absolutely fell apart in an extremely quiet way. I suddenly felt my senses get cranked up - the lights (which had been not bad as far as lights in a public building go) and the sound of other patients talking (with what had been a perfectly normal volume level) became overpowering and I felt the awful sensation of being simultaneously punched in the head and kicked in the stomach, and felt the dizziness and nausea take over my body. It became all I could feel.

I knew I needed to soothe myself and I had come prepared. I tried to tell my wife I was going to listen to music with the noise canceling headphones on so she would be able to listen for my name to be called, but I couldn't push the words out, my mouth wouldn't move, it felt glued shut and desert dry, and my breathing was becoming rapid and shallow. I put the headphones on, turned on the music, and texted her to ask her to listen for my name because I was scared and overwhelmed and needed to deal with it, and I tried to do that with distraction, music, a stim toy, and the reassurance of my wife holding my hand.

TW / CW: Death, Parental Death, Medical Trauma

I realized later that I should have reflected on what might happen in that environment more than I had instead of trying to distract myself from the heightened anxiety of the previous week. Hospitals hold bad memories for me, memories of my parents sick and dying, in pain, struggling to breathe, hooked up to machines, my Dad with his legs swollen with fluid until it was seeping out of his skin as his heart began to fail, my mom's wheezing, rattling breath from asthma, COPD and pneumonia, and the knowledge (but not the visual image, since neither she nor my Dad had ever let me witness this) of her on a ventilator, multiple times across three separate hospitalizations, until she finally refused a tracheostomy in her last lucid moments. But those images, memories and emotions weren't something I had consciously acknowledged or prepared myself to address, and I had never processed those fears as they related to my own fear for my life. I started having flashbacks to those moments and the emotions I felt surrounding all of that trauma. My parents deaths had hit me hard - the catalyst leading to my emotional collapse and forced unmasking in July 2020 was my mom's death, much as my Dad's death way back in 2003 has been the catalyst for a persistent recurring depression every year leading up to the anniversary of his death, something my wife noticed long before I did (thanks, poor interoception/alexathymia!)

So that was what I was faced with in my own mind as I tried to help the Xanax do its job. I couldn't fathom going back into pre-op unable to speak, I wasn't sure if I could keep my phone with me to help communicate and I was too shakey to write legibly - I was dreading the prospect of trying to make myself understood without words - I am hyperverbal in the sense that words are really my only real means of communication - my nonverbal communication is, essentially, something I had to practice for public speaking in high school (one of the ten events in Academic Decathlon) and I have to force it. The more stressed I get, the flatter my affect and the more my nonverbal communication deteriorates - my learned facial expressions, vocal tones and gestures are the first things to go and the last things to return, replaced by anxious body stims like fist and forearm shaking (like nervous hand flapping, but that requires wrists that actually consistently bend and don't crack and pop painfully, so the arms move but the hands are stiff) or rocking and pacing.

But after about 45 minutes (not bad!) I got my words back and turned down the senses a little. We'd gotten there early and there were some delays, which turned out to be a blessing because I needed that extra time. I was still really anxious on the way back, but it was back to on edge and looking over instead of clinging to the edge by my fingers over the chasm of utter despair and panic.

It... got better. The numerous nurses in pre-op - I lost count and once they took my glasses to store with my clothes, I could barely see their faces to tell them apart, and I am garbage at remembering names - were all super nice, and gently humorous and cheerful, which helped. There was this vibe of "we know how to handle absolutely anything" mixed with "we recognize that patients can be scared shitless, even middle-aged man-shaped creatures, and that's okay and we'll do our best to make it as easy as possible. "

I don't know how much of it was them just being super nice in general, and how much was my conditions being clearly disclosed. I'm going to assume an anxious but otherwise pleasant patient is a lot better than an angry one, so they probably aren't inclined to be anything other than nice, but I'd also like to give them credit for managing to not come across as infantilizing even if I was acting a little like a nervous kid -I don't feel like I vibe "42 year old dude", especially when I'm surrounded by unfamiliar faces. I'm a weird mix of meek and chatty/jokey. My constellation of diagnoses were on my chart and I was upfront about it verbally (yay, words!) When they asked how I was feeling I told them I was super nervous but otherwise okay, and that I am autistic/ADHD, and have audio processing and working memory issues. I'd like to believe it made a difference.

Whatever the reason, nobody seemed phased (yay for not feeling othered!) - they asked what they could do to make me comfortable, gave me a cool heated blanket that I will struggle to describe - it was like an air pillow attached by a hose to a machine blowing warm air - so it was ventilated but still warm - and they each explained what was going to happen next. If I asked them to repeat something, they did so without hesitation, and the same if I asked for clarification, like this fun exchange between a very patient nurse handing me a marker after giving me the relatively simple instructions already, and a still super anxious and confused me:

Befuddled Me: What was this marker for again? I missed some words there... well, a lot of words actually...

Calm nurse: It's to mark the side with the hernia.

Confused Me: Oh, wait, *I'm* supposed to mark which side the hernia is on?

Patient nurse: Yes, that's right, make an X and then initial next to it.

Perplexed me: Oh, shouldn't you do it? You're way more qualified with anatomy and would know where the cuts go.

Bemused nurse: No, it's just to mark which side the hernia is on. The surgeon will know where to cut but the side is critical. We have you do it because you should know better than anybody where it is.

Forgetful Me: Oh yeah, lol - what do I put again?

Incredibly patient nurse: Draw an X in the general area and then initial it.

Me: [successfully draws on myself after figuring out how to write my initials upside down]

Whenever they needed to check the marking (*everybody* checked it), they waited patiently (heh) for me to figure out how to get the stupid hospital gown up high enough while laying on it, and then verified the mark without touching me (the less unnecessary touch, the better). When they had to touch me - like to put in the IV, which is typically not a huge deal for me since needles don't usually bug me - they still asked me first or told me what they needed and why, so I always had a heads up. The anesthesiologist - cool as hell, same first name, joked about it - asked if I'd ever had any issues with anesthesia (oh yeah, horrible dizzyness, confusion and nausea on waking) and he said they could give me something that should help. I kept getting calmer and calmer. By the time the surgeon came by for one final review of everything (and to initial the marks as well) I was... actually pretty good, all things considered. She then asked if she should check the other side with the scope - if there wasn't anything there it wouldn't take much longer and if there was anything to fix it would save having to go back in again later. I agreed (I mean, yeah, scope all the things, just in case). She was super nice. I was pretty much as calm as I was gonna get at that point.

Right before they wheeled me into the OR, they asked if I was ready and if I was feeling any better. I got a little anxious when zero hour came and said I was getting a little wound up again and the Xanax was not really working, but they gave me a minute to soothe and squeeze my wife's hand one last time, and then I was mostly okay again. I nervous shook my fists on the way back and that seemed to help. The OR was too cool looking for me to notice my anxiety as they helped me up onto the table and got me positioned. I asked if the anesthesia would be all in the IV or if there would be gas - the gas during my tonsillectomy smelled gross to me - but they said the only thing in the mask would be oxygen while I went under and that they'd handle everything else after I was out and I probably wouldn't even remember being in the OR at all (I did, because I am always at least a little bit unusual). They put the mask on my face, it did not smell nasty and seemed to be just oxygen and then...

*BOOM* I'm awake, and not like just a little awake, but fully awake and only mildly inebriated. Like, two or three glasses of wine, max. I hear the nurse saying something like "How are you feeling" as my eyes pop open, and I am talking immediately. I don't remember a lot of what I said. I do remember saying my throat was sore and the nurse telling me that was normal because of the breathing tube. Brief moment of "...wut" as I process that - because of the association of intubation with my mom on a ventilator that hits me a little, but instead of a sucker punch to the gut it's more like me smacking myself on the forehead. It's pretty standard, I knew that but conveniently forgot, and I'm actually glad nobody mentioned it to me when I was all wound up. I think I even said that to the nurse.

Apart from that, I don't remember much else of my silly but largely lucid babbling - I was aware I was speaking clearly and only occasionally slurring (motor issues make slurring hit really early in the process of inebriation), and I know I had jokes of the self-deprecating variety. I remember because I remember myself relaying some silliness I had done (maybe doing yoga with hypermobile hips, or running with shin splints since my joints were feeling crunchy, and reminding me of my various self-owns when exercising, as I sat up) but I remember saying "cuz I'm a dumbassss" with a lot of enthusiasm a couple times at least, and a "0/10, do not recommend, hard pass" at least once. I think I even caught a chuckle or even a laugh in response (post-op nurses were also super nice).

I was pretty lucid, all things considered, and within 20 minutes I was basically sober, and asking to see my wife. But I felt gooood, and not doped up (that is never good to me, hate that nasty floaty feeling because it's bad not really movement and confuses my brain and makes me dizzy). I wasn't dizzy at all - the anesthesiologist knocked that shit out of the park (yay anti-nausea drugs!) A solid 11/10, would huff that cocktail in the breathing tube again. I really wanted to tell my wife how good I felt waking up. I was super pumped. There was dopamine. I was in a *really* good mood.

Then some weird but amusing stuff happened right after my wife came in that made me go "Wait, is that not normal?" One of the two nurses noticed my heart rate was really high (for normies, not for my weird-ass self) - like 130. I didn't even notice because lol, 130? That's hardly high for me, especially when I have been anxious for weeks. They rushed off to check with the surgeon and anesthesiologist and came back saying "they said you should be okay, but we'll keep an eye on it." I said something to the effect of "I've seen it as high as 165 while laying down before so I don't even notice 130." I got a shocked look from both nurses and hastily added "that was a drug reaction, the one in my chart. This is just anxiety." Remember that "let's try this and see if it works" comment from wayyyyyy up there? Like, 8, or 9 years ago right before I gave up on doctors? Yeah...

I was next told I needed to drink plenty of fluids (not a problem at all, I was thirsty as hell because I wasn't allowed any liquids after midnight the night before, which had made the mandatory emptying of my bladder a few minutes before going to the OR a bit of a struggle) and was told it was because I had to pee before they could let me go (I had no idea why at the time although my wife said they had told me why. .. audio processing issues strike again.) I did as told and downed a couple of drinks - water, watered down apple juice, watered down cranberry juice, guess they were trying to push more water and less other stuff, or trying to go easy on my sore throat with anything that could be tart or acidic. Can't fault either logic.

The nurse said I could walk to go to the bathroom but that someone had to be with me at all times and it could either be her or my wife - she was nice enough and all but I don't particularly like anybody watching me go, let alone basically a stranger, and I opted for my wife. When I took my first step, with the nurse gently assisting me upright and out of the bed (I felt fine but I had fresh incisions) my ankle snapped loudly - but that is once again totally normal for me. I'd been on my back for several hours and they get like that - my feet overpronate even more without any weight on them than they do when I am standing, and things get out of alignment. The nurse was obviously shocked at the noise and was like "OMG, are you okay?" and I nonchalantly replied, with a little chuckle, "yeah my ankles do that all the time whenever I get out of bed." I got a concerned look in reply that said "whoa, that is *not* normal" and a hesitantly spoken "oh, okay..."

lol, my body is weird

With respect to operation "pee while under strict supervision", my wife was amused by the whole process and just kept asking "are you done yet?", which I wasn't until I gave up after about 5 minutes of standing there with my, well, ya know, in my hand, to literalize that figure of speech. After I failed attempt #1 (my bladder holds a lot), the nurse met me with a wheelchair, not necessary but kind of fun to get wheeled around. The other nurse asked if there was anything else I could drink that might produce the desired results. I perked up (heh) and said "Coffee? Coffee works, do you have any?" She said "Decaf, right?" and I said "regular if you have it, please, please, please" explaining that caffeine calms me down, half-jokingly, and also that it helps me go, totally seriously - it's true about both but with respect to the calming aspect I didn't expect them to believe it. That's a trade secret of the stimulant attenuated sub-class of ADHDers. To my surprise, she said "Sure, how many cream and sugar?" and I just about lost. My Damn. MIND. I had gone without coffee for nearly 18 hours and my soul was withering from lack of caffeine. The Adderall keeps me from getting super bad caffeine headaches, but I needs my coffee, and decaf doesn't hit right. Plus, I really was hoping it would drop my heart rate to ease some of their anxiety. Sounds weird, but I felt bad making these nice folks nervous.

I got my coffee, hot, sweet and creamy to tame the bitterness (not knowing for sure what kind of strange diesel is in a hospital staff coffee maker. I assumed it would be like the sludge my dad and oldest brother made and consumed gallons of working 18 hour days in the military.) It wasn't bad though, although the heat did bug my throat a little, but once I got a good sear in the back of the old esophagus it was golden. And my heart rate eventually dropped back near 100. I knew this because the annoying beeping of my monitor that was so out of sync with my neighbor's in the next bay finally evened out and the dissonant beat became much less irritating. I happily pointed that out the next time the nurse came to check in, only to watch it creep back up after a few seconds. Oh right, nice folks, these nurses, but social anxiety is still a thing and a hospital is still a weird and unfamiliar setting.

Finished off my coffee, another cup of water, and after maybe 10 minutes, I think I'm ready for round two. I get to walk back, supervised again, and within about a minute we're back in business. Weirdest feeling though, because I'm still numbed up from the local anesthesia and I don't feel the muscles like I normally do. Whatever, mission accomplished. I come out with two thumbs up and l'm good to go. I get wheeled out to the Uber, and we have a long ride home in the middle of a heavy rain. But I feel good.

Things are great the first few days. My abs are sore and I'm icing frequently, taking lots of nsaids and Tylenol, but it's really not that bad. I'm used to pain and this isn't all that much worse. I'm able to drive without too much discomfort the next day as a test run, so I head back to work two days post surgery. I'm basically fine.

But my body has a little curveball. After about 5 days, the glue on one of my incisions starts to break apart because of hairs regrowing through it. Once the seal is broken, all hell breaks loose. There is an angry red hive under the glue and it itches horribly. There isn't enough benadryl or hydrocortisone in the world to soothe it and I'm forced to manage it mostly with ice packs and gritted teeth. I'm getting distressed.

It gets worse. The following night I get overheated while sleeping (yay, poor temperature regulation!) and I have a nice bout of the night sweats. This is a problem. The glue on the other two incisions was still intact, but the sweat softens it and it starts to slough off. Worse, the first incision is now bare, and the hive is now covered in water blisters. I'm worried now, because the blisters are going to pop, and that means exposed broken skin, and that means potential infection. Shit.

I call the surgeon's office. I leave a (panicky) message, but it takes a whole to get a call back. Which I miss. Eventually get another call in the late evening (surgeon's hours are no joke) and explain everything as well as I can despite being pretty freaked out. She isn't phased - the reaction is rare but it happens, and it shouldn't affect healing. Get some recommendations on how to manage it, have a little chuckle when I explain that I have an inverted reaction to benadryl (I get wired instead of sleepy) and she responds with mild surprise. I thank her *profusely* and she seems surprised by my reaction but in kind of a genuinely touched sort of way. I guess people calling about minor complications usually don't get all effusive normally.

It's another two weeks before the follow up. I'm managing the hives but it's non-trivial. The blisters burst but heal up okay, and the hives directly around the incisions fade, but others pop up nearby, and eventually wander to anyplace I've ever had an outbreak of hives before. I am now reacting to yet another hypoallergenic deoderant. Yay, armpit hives! But I can deal - this isn't fucking with my healing, it's just annoying. I am able to draw "help" on my belly with my nail and it stays for 45 minutes. Yay, dermatographia!

The day of the follow up I am absolutely on edge. There's nothing wrong per se, but I can't really tell if the incisions are as healed as they should be. I have no frame of reference - never had internal sutures, and never had incisions this deep before. I'm paranoid and looking for anything that looks off. I just can't tell. I get to the office early and park, but then somehow get lost inside the building because of confusing signage. I'm not late because I had plenty of cushion, but I've been wandering around the building stressing out for a while and walking quickly with bad legs and a cane is draining. I finally get checked in and then sit in the waiting room, headphones and fidget cube ready to go so I can calm down for a bit.

But they are ahead of schedule - I get a song and a half in, maybe 5 minutes tops, and I'm still wound up. I go back for my vitals and they are wild: BP 165/95 and He 145. Pretty bad considering they never got that bad hiking 4000 feet up a mountain when I had full mobility. But I know it's anxiety/anticipation. I want thus to go well but I'm terrified something will be wrong. Even worse, after how well I've been treated, I don't want to become a problem patient, having to be seen over and over again for some nagging complications. I've been there, and the doctor in that case quickly got irritated by my distress and my stubborn inability to recover according to his timetable. I couldn't stand for that to happen again, to feel like a failure and a burden.

Fuck, I know that is such an irrational thought process, but try telling that to my emotions. I clearly have some kind of complex but I don't even know what you'd call it. Medical RSD?

But...

[ TL;DR ]

The surgeon comes in, we talk a little, I ask a bunch of questions I've written down, and then she checks the incisions. And they're *fine*. I'm not healing slowly, nothing is going wrong.

I'm *okay*

This is the part where I pause to explain that I have been emotionally numb for years, in the sense that is very hard to express emotions in the moment, and they tend to get stuck until they manifest in distressing ways. I haven't even really been able to feel or express positive emotions even when I knew I was above baseline. I've struggled with an inability to cry in grief or scream in anger or laugh in joy for anything real for myself. Fiction or other's experiences allow me a taste of relief because somehow it's okay to feel for others. Just not myself

But I got swamped by a wave of relief and joy. I could feel it physically like a cool splash on a body that was sizzling with anxiety. I really felt that wash of coolness.

And then I burst into tears. In the surgeon's office. I'm bawling and stuttering out thank yous. The surgeon is taken aback but only briefly. I tell her how much her kindness has meant to me, and how much of a 180 it was from my previous experience. But I can only get so many words out before I can't talk and have to take a deep breath and try to reset to default - nervous but jokey. I'm too overwhelmed to try to articulate anything other than a quip about it being a shame she doesn't fix hips too.

I am fucking stunned. I get to the car and just sit there for minutes trying to process what happened. I head back to work because I finished earlier than I expected, and I sit at my desk, open my email and just... light up. My brain is screaming "LET'S GO!!!" and I feel the dopamine hit. HARD. Harder than my first dose of Adderall. It's almost too much. My vision sharpens and everything looks outlined. I'm reading text... and blazing through it while understanding it. My eyes are tracking, I'm not skipping words or slipping to the next line mid sentence. It's *flowing* like it hasn't in months.

I get shit done. I start tasks, finish tasks, switch tasks. Tasks are happening, and it's just making the dopamine hit harder. I'm buzzing. I get home, I tell my wife that I'm okay, and I'm bawling all over again. I'm a mess but I'm a happy mess. Everything feels different. Every task ahead of me seems doable instead of insurmountable. I feel good even with my wonky hip and my bad knees and my *gestures vaguely at everything except the hernias*. Oh, yeah, I said hernias plural, she found a second one that wasn't visible (an occult hernia - spooky!). That second hernia was pressing on another nerve damaged in that other procedure. Some very distressing chronic pain that I thought was permanent is fading - the worst of it is gone. *Pain is gone* is not something I often get to say. Holy fuck, this fixed things beyond what it was supposed to. How fucking awesome is that?

And my mood is *still* fantastic. It take just a little reflection to bring back the good vibes when something negative happens. It's like Kevlar for negative emotions - it still hits and it still hurts, but it doesn't tear a hole in me. The pain fades. I can feel angry and not spiral into rage. I can feel sad and spiral into despair. I can feel anxious and not spiral into panic. I'm... resilient. Not in the "you've survived something horrible and you're scarred by it, but you're still hanging on despite the trauma" but in the "you haven't sustained trauma from the horrible thing, you've walked through the fire and felt the heat, but not been burned"

So now what? I keep working on it health. I keep this win in my mind, in my box of #things to look at when I'm sad, and I remember what it felt like to turn a corner, and what it felt like to have so many people show me genuine care through a difficult experience that had me on the edge of panic.

I'm on mobile and can't put in a cut, but if anyone makes it through this whole-ass dissertation, I hope you enjoyed the ride, and I hope it gives you a little lift. If it didn't, I will offer to send you gushy messages of thanks for what a wonderfully caring and kind person you are to make up for it. I'm getting really good at that.

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