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obeymeoasis · 3 years

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Demon Bros React: MC Defends Them From Nasty Remarks

Warnings: Explicit language, MC being mildly violent (throwing/kicking things).

Lucifer

Lucifer had just finished some paperwork for Diavolo and was on his way to R.A.D to deliver it.

In the hallway he could hear two demons talking and laughing. As he got closer he heard them say "Lucifer" and instinctively ducked into a nearby alcove.

"Lucifer's such an asshole." "I know, right? He acts like he's so much better than the rest of us when really, he just has a huge stick up his ass. It's no wonder he doesn't have any friends. Even his own brothers don't like him!" "He'll probably spend the rest of his life being Diavolo’s little bitch."

He would be lying if the comments didn't make him angry. But it was far from the worst thing he had heard about himself and would definitely not be the last time someone spoke ill of him.

With a weary sigh, Lucifer turned toward the south entrance where he could walk in order to avoid the demons. He could have strode past and glared at them menacingly. He could have made them grovel on their knees. But he was honestly exhausted and looked forward to this day being over as soon as possible. Plus, it would reflect poorly on Lord Diavolo if he started a fight with some lesser demons over this.

Suddenly, the chatter of the demons was interrupted by a loud thumping sound followed by the sound of one of the demons screeching in pain.

Lucifer quickly turned around to see- Oh no. You were standing in front of the demons, rage clear on your face. The demon who had yelled in pain was crouched on the ground holding his bruised shoulder. A History of the Devildom textbook was open on the ground, pages crumpled.

Did you... did you just throw a textbook at a demon?

Before he could even move, he heard your angry voice. "Listen here you fuckers. How dare you talk about Lucifer like that. He's one of the kindest, most intelligent, most thoughtful beings I've ever met. And you have no right to speak of him like that! I love him!"

Lucifer's heart burst at your declaration, his cheeks warming in pleasure. The two demons however, who had been gaping at you in shock, were now beginning to look murderous. The injured one stood up and slowly inched toward you, a vicious grin on his face. "Oh, is that so? And what the hell is a weak human like you going to do about it?"

You opened your mouth to speak but before you could say anything, Lucifer picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. "Love, I appreciate how you stood up for me. There's not many people who have done so for me before. But any more would cause trouble. And also, please don't throw textbooks at others, no matter how much you think they deserve it."

With a smug smile on his face, Lucifer began to walk toward the dorms. You, however, were struggling to turn your head around, still yelling and pointing angrily at the demons. "This isn't over! Sleep with your eyes wide open! You'll be hearing from my lawyer!"

He really did love you.

Mammon

Mammon was at the casino on a Monday night. It was lively as always, crowds of people playing group games and others drinking and mingling.

But for some reason, Mammon felt like being alone. He was in one of the more quiet corners, playing the slot machines.

He honestly should have been back at the dorms doing his homework. He was here because he felt like he had to, but his heart wasn't really in it. Mammon thought about packing it up early and texting you to see if you wanted to hang out.

The sudden sound of glass shattering broke through his thoughts. There was some sort of commotion going on and Mammon could hear angry yelling and cursing, some kind of argument.

Like many of the other customers, Mammon drifted toward the noise wanting to see what had happened. His heart sank when he saw you in the middle of the crowd, still in your R.A.D uniform, arguing with an older demon who Mammon recognized as a regular. They had played some games together before that always ended in angry accusations. The remains of a drinking glass lay shattered on the floor.

Mammon quickly rushed to your side. "MC, what the hell are you doing here?! What happened?" Up close he could see how livid you looked, you were trembling with fury.

The older demon opened his mouth while gesturing at his ruined clothes. "This bitch threw a drink at me! I should have them arrested! Do you know how much this tuxedo costs?" Ignoring him, you turned to face Mammon.

"Mams, Lucifer told me to check up on you and you weren't answering my calls. So I decided to come in person to make sure you were okay. But then I heard this asshole saying terrible things about you to his friends, calling you a liar and a cheater and all kinds of horrible names that you're not!"

Mammon was shocked to see you were struggling to fight off your tears, your lower lip quivering. "I know how caring and genuine and loving you are and I couldn't stand by while he said those things about you! None of it’s true!"

Overcome with emotion Mammon embraced you fiercely, shielding you from the other demon. "Oh, babe. Ya really are a special one.” Mammon gently stroked your hair and whispered in your ear. “I don't care about what he said, but thanks for sticking up for me. I love ya so much."

"Now let's make a run for it so that demon doesn't kill us."

Leviathan

Levi was slowly getting used to being in a relationship with you in public. At first, interactions were limited to the privacy of his room: cuddling and watching movies, gaming together, reading manga together. But now he looked forward to waiting for you after classes and walking home with you while holding hands.

His face got really red and he had a hard time making eye contact with you but still, he thought it was an improvement.

Right now he was waiting for you outside your classroom, scrolling through his D.D.D to kill time. Suddenly, he heard someone call your name.

“MC, you’re dating Levi right?” At the sound of his name he peeked in the window to see you cornered by three demons. He saw you nod.

The demons began to barrage you with questions. “Why are you with a loser like that? Doesn’t he like never leave his room?” “He’s honestly the ugliest out of his family. I don’t believe that Levi and Asmo are related.” “You don’t actually find him attractive, do you?” “Are you with him ‘cause he’s like the easiest to control?”

Each word felt like someone was piercing his heart. These were all things that he had thought or wondered himself, days when the darkness seemed to win over his mind. But to have them spoken out loud, especially in front of you, it was unbearable. It was as if his lowest and most shameful thoughts were being justified.

He was afraid to hear what your answers would be. Biting his lower lip, Levi turned to head home by himself but flinched at the loud sound of something slamming into the wall. He peeked inside the window again and saw you standing there, furious, your hands clenched into fists. You had apparently kicked one of the desks into the wall, black scuff marks clearly visible against the white paint.

“Alright, listen here you despicable fucks because I’m only going to say this once. My relationship with Levi is private, meaning all of your questions can be answered with ‘none of your damn business’. But since you’ve gone out of your way to waste my time, I’ll let you know this: Leviathan is more beautiful, inside and out, than any of you will ever be in your entire miserable lives. I honestly don’t think you deserve to breathe the same air as him and I hope Levi summons Lotan to devour the three of you."

Levi’s jaw was on the floor. He had never heard you speak that way. He had never had someone defend him so fiercely. His thoughts were interrupted by the classroom door suddenly slamming open as you walked out."

“Oh Levi, tell me you didn’t hear anything just now.” Your eyes were wide and you looked at him nervously.

Levi grabbed your hand and held it tight between two of his own. “I did, but it’s alright. Thanks for what you said.”

“Anything for my Lord of Shadows.”

Satan

Satan was heading to the library, your usual after-school spot. Some days you two spent hours there doing homework, reading, or just chatting quietly about your day before heading to dinner.

As he approached the table he saw you sitting down with a stranger seated opposite you. Leaning closer he was relieved to see it was a classmate you were friendly with, someone he knew you hung out with occasionally.

Satan was about to say hello when he stopped at the mention of his name. "MC, are you sure it's wise to be this involved with Satan?"

He quickly ducked behind a nearby bookshelf. Satan usually wasn't one to eavesdrop like this but the question concerned him.

"MC, I'm asking you for your sake. Satan is dangerous. He's violent and cruel. There are rumors about him beating up other demons and doing horrible things to them. What if he tries to hurt you too?"

Satan flinched. Sure his wrath had led him to do some destructive things before, but it was never without reason. Is this how you saw him as well? His thoughts began to spiral. What if you grew scared of him? Of his wrath? What if you flinched at his touch? That would hurt more than any of the rumors that swirled about him.

Satan saw you take a deep breath before speaking. "Well, I appreciate you talking to me about this. I know you meant the best and were just thinking about me. But I promise you, you have nothing to be worried about. Satan would never hurt me."

He saw your friend shake their head, exasperated. "But you don't know that! What if one day he can't control himself and has an outburst or something?"

You replied carefully. "Satan is gentle. Incredibly so. He always treats me with nothing but respect and kindness. And Satan's not some kind of monster. He knows how to control himself and his powers. I love him. I really do. And until he decides to stop loving me, I want to be by his side."

He saw your friend huff irritably and get up to walk away. "Suit yourself, MC. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Satan took this as his cue to walk over. Your eyes brightened at the sight of him and you started to ask him about his day, acting as if nothing had happened. Satan played along for a bit, but then reached across the table for your hand and began playing with your fingers.

His hand was shaking. "I'll never stop loving you, you know. For as long as I live you're the only one for me. I love you, MC."

Asmodeus

Asmo was thrilled when you said you wanted to go dancing with him because he was usually the one pestering you to do things. He was having so much fun with you tonight, twirling you around on the dance floor and marveling how beautiful you looked under the shimmering lights of the club.

He was beginning to feel a bit hot, however, and excused himself to the bathroom, making sure you were safe on of the couches with a bottle of water in your hand.

Asmo had just finished touching up his makeup and adjusting his outfit when he heard two demons near the entrance of the bathroom gossiping loudly about him.

“Did you see what he was wearing tonight? He might as well have come naked instead of wearing those scraps of fabric he thinks counts as an outfit.” “My friend slept with Asmo once. She said he’s super easy, he’s willing to pretty much sleep with anyone.” “I bet him and that human won’t last another week. Once he’s done with them he’ll trash ‘em and move on to the next one, like he always does.”

Being the Avatar of Lust meant that Asmo had heard these kinds of comments before, whispered in the hallways at R.A.D or the dark hallways of nightclubs. It never really got easier listening to them though, and he realized he was biting down hard on his lower lip, his nails digging into his palm.

Asmo contemplated what to do. He didn’t want to keep you waiting by yourself outside but he also didn’t want to run into the demons talking about him. Their comments affected him more than he thought they would. Maybe it was because you were involved. He wouldn’t do that to you. You knew that right? He would never treat you like a plaything.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves Asmo schooled his face into an expression of careless indifference. He took a step outside, ready to greet his "fans", but was surprised to see that you had gotten there first.

And what a sight you were. Despite being much shorter than the two demons, it seemed you were the least bit intimidated. Your glare was ice cold as you gestured wildly at the two of them, and moving closer Asmo realized you were screaming.

"How fucking dare you say such vile things? You don't know the first thing about Asmo. You're really going to shame someone for what they wear?! For what they do in the privacy of their bedroom?!"

You pointed angrily at the demons, who seemed too stunned to move or say anything. "People like you make me fucking sick. You're despicable! Talking as if you're so high and mighty when all you do is judge others! How dare you? You cowards!"

Asmo could see you were getting more and more enraged and your hands were beginning to tremble. He leapt forward to stand between you and the demons and put his hands gently on your shoulders. Once he saw that you were okay, he gave you a passionate kiss, his mouth hot and needy against yours.

You kissed him back for a moment but moved away to hiss, "Karens, Asmo! Karens in the fucking Devildom, who would have thought?!"

"I know, darling. Let's head home. We can have a nice, relaxing bubble bath together."

Beelzebub

Beel was looking through the menu, deciding between a couple of his favorite dishes. It was your one year anniversary and despite his insistent protests, you had remained firm in your decision to pay for that night’s meal. Ever since you and Beel began dating, he pretty much always paid for your meals together because of how much he ate. But tonight, you wanted to be the one to treat him for once.

Beel knew you had secretly been saving up Grimm and he’d feel so guilty if you spent it all on him. Which was why he was trying to decide between a couple of different things, when normally he would have ordered everything on the page.

“Babe, please order whatever you want. I can practically see the thoughts turning in your head. I told you that I wanted to pay for tonight and I’m going to keep that promise. I want this to be a special night for us, so don’t worry about it.” Before he could protest, you called the waiter over.

Beel sighed and knew there was no changing your mind on this. You were incredibly stubborn when you wanted to be. He rattled off his usual order as the waiter frantically scribbled down notes, struggling to keep up. Once finished, Beel handed over the menus and smiled at how cute you looked, a mixture of pride and smugness on your face.

But your expression soon turned sour as you heard the conversation from a couple sitting a few tables over. Their voices were intentionally loud and they kept sneaking glances at your table as if to watch your reactions.

“Oh my lord, honey did you see how much food that guy just ordered? What an absolute pig!” “I saw, darling. I honestly pity his date right now, they must be soooo embarrassed.” “Is there anyone who wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen in public with such a selfish glutton?”

Beel’s heart felt like it had sunk. Embarrassed? Was MC embarrassed to be seen with him? Panicking, Beel thought back to all of the dates he’d had with MC so far. He realized that they ate out a good majority of the time they hung out, with Beel eating his normal enormous portions each time. Oh no, what had he done?

Head bowed, Beel slowly looked up at you, afraid to see what kind of expression you were making. But to his surprise, you didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed at all. You looked like you were going to murder someone.

He watched as you cleared your throat and then began speaking even more loudly than the couple had been. “OH BEEL, MY HANDSOME, KIND, LOVING, STRONG, SEXY, TALENTED BOYFRIEND. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! YOU’RE HONESTLY SO AMAZING AND ONE OF THE QUALITIES I LOVE ABOUT YOU MOST IS THAT YOU’RE NOT A JUDGMENTAL ASSHOLE WHO MAKES RUDE INAPPROPRIATE COMMENTS TO STRANGERS ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE NONE OF THEIR DAMN BUSINESS!”

Beel felt his lips inch into a smile and he flushed with amusement and happiness. But you weren’t finished just yet. “EXCUSE ME WAITER?”

Your waiter practically ran to the table and looked between you two nervously, then at the couple glaring daggers in your direction. “COULD YOU PLEASE BRING US ANOTHER MENU? MY BOYFRIEND WASN’T FINISHED WITH ORDERING WHAT HE WANTS. OH BEEL, I LOVE HOW MUCH YOU EAT. HOW COULD SOMEONE BE EMBARRASSED OF A WONDERFUL GUY LIKE YOU?”

Beel took the menu and began listing some more foods at random, not really paying attention. He was too busy thinking about how much he loved you, how nobody aside from Belphie had ever stood up for him like that, had protected him like that. His cheeks felt like they were about to split from how much he was smiling.

When the waiter finally left, looking frazzled, Beel made his way over to your side of the table. He knelt down and nuzzled into your neck before giving you a tender kiss on your forehead. “MC, you’re amazing.”

Belphegor

Belphie had to admit, the gardens were a pretty nice place for a nap. Earlier in the day you had practically dragged him outside claiming that you were bored of sleeping in his room. As if that was even possible.

At first he was pretty annoyed that you were making him get up and move around. But the newly washed picnic blanket, the cool breeze rustling through the trees, and the light smell of flowers in the air all contributed to a very nice environment for a nap.

Belphie rested his head on your lap, already feeling his eyelids growing heavier. Your fingers gently combed through his hair, lightly scratching against his scalp, and he practically purred.

He guessed he had been asleep for about ten minutes when he awoke to the sound of your voice and something prodding against his knee.

Irritated at the disturbance, Belphie looked up to see two R.A.D students he recognized for always causing trouble. He looked over to see you scowling and guessed you had been telling them to leave so they wouldn't wake him up.

One of the students leered down, blocking out the light, and used the tip of his foot to poke Belphie's knee again. "Well the two of you make an odd fucking pair, huh?” He sneered, “Personally, I don’t date people who have MURDERED me in the past but what do I know? Love works in all kinds of mysterious ways.” You flinched as if someone had slapped you and Belphie growled, his hands curling into fists.

The other student leaned down to clap Belphie on the shoulder. “I gotta admit I didn’t know you had it in you, chief! I always thought you were...” He gave Belphie a once-over before adding “Well, everyone thinks you’re a bit fucking useless, eh? But I’m glad to see you’re capable of something.”

Belphie opened his mouth to reply venomously but was interrupted by the most horrifying sound coming from your mouth. It sounded like a combination of wailing and screeching as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. It was difficult to hear what exactly you were saying because of how hard you were crying, but Belphie could make out “How could you say that?!” and “Leave him alone!” among the screams.

The two students had their hands over their ears, their faces twisted into grimaces of pain. One shouted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Worried, Belphie put a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down but you shrugged it off, continuing to cry and wail. Pretty soon other students began gathering around you, whispering amongst themselves and looking to see what all the noise and commotion was about. It was difficult to ignore you when you kept yelling things like “You’re horrible! Horrible! Leave us alone!”

The two instigators looked at each other for a brief moment before deciding to run off, not wanting to get involved any further. And as soon as they left, it was like a switch had been turned off. You stopped crying and screaming immediately. If he hadn’t been there from the beginning, Belphie never would have guessed that you had been crying. Your face was perfectly calm and you sat relaxed with your hands folded, the picture of innocence.

“Belphie, don’t worry about what those two idiots said. We’ve talked about it enough and we’ve both worked it out, haven’t we? And you’re not useless. You know how much I love you and care about you. You mean so much to me.”

Belphie leaned over to take your hand in his trembling one. He reached down to brush a stray leaf out of your hair before whispering, “MC, you’re fucking terrifying sometimes. I love you.”

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me beel #obey me belphie #om! headcanons #om! hcs #obey me! shall we date?#obey me!

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keyofjetwolf · 3 years

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Oh boo-hoo, darkness, get over yourself, or, Rei Hino: Comfort Lesbian

We’ve been building to this for the past several episodes now, this moment where we finally get confirmation of all the turmoil Ami is feeling, about Usagi and about Naru and, especially, about herself. All of which is delicious and complex and everything I wanted but could hardly believe they’d give us. It’s not a good look for Ami! It’s angry and lonely and uncertain!

Ami especially, I think moreso than any other character across Sailor Moon iterations (character who actually gets screen/page time, anyway) is boiled until she’s lost most of her flavour. I think the anime tries hardest, but often replaces “the smart one” stereotypes for “the nice one” and calls it a day. For whatever reason, it’s like Ami’s an action figure they’re afraid to take out of the box because they might get her dirty and diminish her value.

Not PGSM, though. PGSM is just “AW YEAH LET’S PLAY” and pitched everyone in a mud puddle.

I AM ALIVE

I’ve talked about this again and again, how much SENSE this makes for Ami. Completely ostracized for her entire life, she’s got her first taste of what it means to not be alone, and she’s hooked. Usagi is like a drug for Ami, she’s the entire focal point for everything positive Ami’s feeling, and she’s terrified that without Usagi, she’ll go back to the way things used to be, and she CAN’T, she just can’t.

And she needn’t be! PGSM has gone out of its way throughout the series so far in showing us how much Ami has already grown and changed for the better. Fuck, look at just this scene! There’s something wonderful and precious about the bond between Ami and Rei. They’re each other’s first friend that they made THEMSELVES, using the things that they learned through their friendship with Usagi. Ami has reached out to Rei more than once, able to see through her stoicism and bluster and navigate through it (versus, say, Usagi just flat out ignoring it). She allows Rei to keep those defenses while still reaching for her, making Rei that much more willing to reach back.

Rei also sees Ami. She’s never been smitten a day in her life, and Rei isn’t inclined to throw every little questionable thing into the spin cycle until it comes out gleaming and perfect. Ami’s weird and awkward, but so what? She’s a good person, and she tries. Every single time Rei would rather deal with someone who tries too hard rather than not enough.

They can do this. AMI can do this. She HAS. Even in this scene, where she’s confessing to Rei, it’s abundantly clear how much stock she puts in Rei’s opinion. Particularly BECAUSE it’s Rei (really, it had to be Rei), who wouldn’t even know where to start trying to give someone an insincere platitude, Ami trusts what she says, and at no point in any of this, even at her lowest and most intense self-hating, does Ami think Rei isn’t her friend. The problem is that Ami has pinned so much on Usagi, and so little on herself. Usagi is the keystone; pull her out, and it all collapses.

Again, all of my love to PGSM for going here. For looking at Ami, really thinking about how broken her life would have made her, and being willing to follow that thread. She confirmed -- directly, in the text, by her own words -- everything I hoped we were building to.

INCLUDING THIS SORRY BRB HAVE TO RUN AROUND THE OFFICE SCREAMING AGAIN

There’s so much going on, Ami is having a fuck of a day, but this is perhaps the thing she’s most upset about: the realization that she might just be kind of a shitty person. There’s been nothing in Ami’s life that would have even hinted she could be like this. Hell, there’s basically BEEN nothing in Ami’s life before now. But here it is, she finally gets something worthwhile, and this is how she acts? No wonder she went without friends this long, if this is who she is. Usagi was just wonderful enough to try and see past it, that’s all, which only makes Ami feel even worse for “deceiving her”. God, what a beautiful inescapable spiral Ami’s built for herself, I’m almost impressed.

REI HINO IS NOT IMPRESSED

HHHHRNRNNNRRNGGGHHHGNNNNGHHHRR

SHE’S SO NOT HERE FOR ANY OF AMI’S BULLSHIT. Not the deep dark confession, not Ami eating herself up over it all. Ami’s barely started, and Rei’s already had enough.

Sidebar to say how much I fucking LOVE how they shoot all this. Rei’s angry stomp slicing across the camera, interrupting Ami’s efforts to drown herself in all this. Her angry clenched fist (A REI HINO FAVOURITE), the way the camera rises as it follow’s Rei’s towering presence. She carries so much authority in this scene, you can FEEL her and how little she is going to put up with all this. The way Ami gazes up at her, too, once again giving Rei all the power between them. It remains to be seen how much of this will stick, but what’s clear is that Ami will listen to Rei, and believe her, even if just for this moment.

The way Rei completely brushes all of Ami’s angst away though, AAAAAHHHHH I DIDN’T KNOW I COULD LOVE HER MORE BUT SHE ALWAYS MANAGES TO FIND A WAY TO MAKE ME. Ami’s completely undone by this, and Rei’s just “Psshh, whatever, this is entry level ‘dark’, get over yourself.”

But she also makes it an invitation. “Congrats! You’re human.” Ami’s sin here, if she could be said to have one, is in not dealing with it all very well, and she’s basically an emotional newborn, so even there, it’s understandable.

One of the best things about this, though, is how Rei is meeting Ami on much the same level Ami connected with Rei. Not ignoring how they feel, nor dismissing it, just accepting it and moving forward. We STILL don’t know why Rei was so bothered about going to that guy’s house to protect his not-the-ginzuishou, but Ami didn’t chase down the why or convince Rei it wasn’t a problem, she simply offered to go in her stead. Here, Rei doesn’t insist Ami is the purest pure snowflake gumdrop who would never think a bad thought in her life, she just says “Bitch, you ain’t special.” Usagi’s all-inclusive love is wonderful, and I don’t doubt the power of its constant dopamine hit, but it’s also in so many ways unrealistic and impractical (much like Usagi herself), and once again, I tip my hat to PGSM for being the ONLY Sailor Moon incarnation willing to go there for its main character, too.

(I don’t know if PGSM had a mission statement, but you could tell me it was “Each and every one of these girls is fascinating and wonderful AND DEEPLY FLAWED” and I would just nod in emphatic agreement.)

What about Rei’s darkness? I don’t know! THANK YOU FOR ADDING IN A BARELY RELATED MYSTERY. The specifics aren’t important right now, and maybe never will be. It’s Rei, she’s a constant bubbling cauldron of stewing rage, even here in PGSM where she’s able to keep it to a low simmer. It could be about her mother’s death, all the gossipy assholes, her father’s everything. It could be Usagi bumping into her this morning, IT COULD BE ALL OF THESE.

The point is, Rei knows all about thinking and feeling some negative shit at someone, but she also knows there’s a difference between what you feel and what you DO. You can’t truly be part of life and never fuck up, it’s just not possible.

AND NOW HERE’S WHERE REI SHOWS HOW MUCH SHE’S CHANGING TOO. Her point made, her lecture done, Rei peers down at Ami and sees that it’s just not working the way she wants. Rather than lose her temper, or double down, or wash her hands and walk away, she instead CHANGES TACTICS.

She doesn’t demand Ami immediately bounce to her feet, instead she drops down to Ami. She stops lecturing and tries comforting. NONE of this is natural for Rei, all of it goes against the kind of person she is and always strives to be. Slowly but surely though, Rei’s learning that her way is not the only way, and to temper her impulses.

WHO KNEW WE WOULD GET SUCH JUICY DEVELOPMENT FOR REI IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL THIS AMI GOODNESS WHO AMONG US COULD HAVE PREPARED FOR THE BOUNTY

Still though, Rei is Rei is my beautiful ridiculous marmoset Rei.

Blessed, friends. I am blessed this day.

#JW watches PGSM #pgsm ep 16 #HI HELLO I HAD A LOT OF FEELINGS #a novel by jet wolf #jet wolf loves rei hino

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bagog · 3 years

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What On Earth Has Happened

Hey, no story here, no experiments. Just a play by play of an awful year in my life. Please don't reblog. Trying to just get it down in one place for people who care about me. Long, sob-story beneath the cut.

Air - 'Things are looking up!' I had started to drift a bit from tumblr. The porno purge came and a lot of my friends trickled off the platform after that. I went back to school, attempting to score myself a Masters degree in something that would pay enough to get me out of Student Debt. I was doing great, picking things up fast. I got a new job at a company doing pretty menial work, but the people I worked with were great conversationalists. The work didn't involve dealing with customers at all, paid well, and was small and accomplishable tasks. Essentially I was being prepped to take a better position at the place once I had my Masters. Covid happened, then. Earth - 'The Whole World Sucks Right Now' My company was "essential," so I continued going to work, now on weird schedules. The company I worked for was profiting off Covid, all the while making fun of it as an overblown conspiracy, even as their own epidemiologist urged them to take better precautions. Work became hard to swallow. Water - 'When your lowest place could be lower' The apartment I shared with my boyfriend flooded. The lowest place in any sewage system is typically the bathtub, such that if it backs up, it does so into that tub. Our lowest point is the toilet. So the apartment flooded. Three times. Roots growing through the sewage outflow meant that, often, you needed to wait a solid hour between toilet flushes, or else the toilet would back up with such gusto the sewage would slosh down the hallway and into the living room. We mopped many times. The problem was finally fixed 8 months later, necessitating our having to camp because our house had no water. Fire - 'To destroy all you've done' One afternoon, I smelled burning. Going to our bedroom, I found our shelf a column of flame. I could barely breathe for all the smoke, but I managed to grab a blanket and beat the fire out. On the other side of the room, the pages of the books upon another shelf had begun to crisp from the heat, the blinds on all the windows were warped. The whole apartment had been about to go up. I'm kinda scared of fire now. Heart - 'When moving is too much to ask' Personal health sorta hit a new low. Migraines kept me out of work for two full weeks. I have seasonal foot pain, I always assumed from hiking for a living in my 20s. Turns out it was gout, all the while. Gout is exceptionally painful: it's like a messy pile of razor blades in the ball of your foot every time you step down. At work, I could barely stand. Walking from my car to the door became something I needed to psyche myself up for. Not a lot can stop a gout flare-up once it's in full swing, so I just had to wait it out. For a month. Two. Some of the worst sustained pain I've been in. Little did I know that, in January, come the kidney stones. Kidney stones feel awful. Feel like total shit. Gout and kidney stones are comorbid--brought about as a result of the meds I take to help me focus. So any day I don't drink enough water is a day when my kidneys or my foot just starts aching. But going back to September of 2020... Homophobia - 'goddammit' Finally things are looking better. I'm limping quickly again. Then I am called into the HR office. I am told that two sexual harassment charges have been brought against me. I'm told that one individual has alleged that I, while in the restroom, used a reflective toilet brush to attempt to peep him under a stall wall. I did not do this. I do not understand--reflective toilet brush?? wtf. The second allegation: I just straight up looked over a stall at a guy. I didn't do this either. I'm asked to defend myself, I ask who or date or time of day. I am given nothing. I remark that I don't think I'm tall enough to see over the stall, and I do not understand about the toilet brush. Of the ten minutes of the meeting, I spend 8 of them trying to get my head around how a claim about a reflective toilet brush has me here. "Would you like us to go now to see if you're tall enough to see over the stall? If that would help your defense?" says the HR head. "Yes, I

would," says I. We did not go. I am told that the accusers have no reason to be collaborating, or to even know each other made a claim. This is bullshit, because it was a company of 80 people, and only a quarter of those employees used the restroom where my alleged harassment was to have taken place. Before I am dismissed from work for the day to go home and wait to find out if I'll be fired or not, I march into the HR office once more and say "I hope none of this is happening because I'm gay." The HR head looks positively offended. I got fired cuz I'm gay. Next day I got a call. They'd come to the "objective truth" (that phrase is burned in my mind), and were terminating me. Apparently they discounted the toilet brush rumor, after all. But they really honestly believed I looked over the stall at a dude. Nightmare - 'No Fear One Fear' Let me tell you something: this is a nightmare. This is my honest-to-god nightmare. I've been terrified of getting accused of something in a bathroom since I was 11 years old. I am incredibly self-conscious and careful in public restrooms. To be fired? From a place full of people I like? And all of them will think I'm a pervert. My boyfriend worked at the same place. He would now have to work there every day dealing with people looking at him and wondering what he must think of his boyfriend. That sent me on a spiral. I'm still out of work, almost a year later. It would have been the worst mental health crisis of my life if it wasn't for my boyfriend, my support network, and the meds I've finally been able to get ahold of. Oh, also. My two accusers? Were roommates. HR knew they were roommates. They basically collaborated on a story to get me fired. The story circulating around the place (I still have acquaintances I talk to working there) has dropped the reflective toilet brush entirely. I guess they thought it was too unbelievable. So anyway, the people who accused me are now telling a different set of events than what I was told. Absolute horse shit. Tried to go to my city's human right's council to see if my situation warranted further attention. I gave my side of the story--including tales of the straight manager who had had enough harassment charges brought against him that he was no longer allowed to meet female staff--which indicated I'd been treated differently and wrongly. My old job made an impassioned argument that the committee violated their First Amendment rights(?) ('Freedom of speech' is the biggie with the First Amendment, for people who cba re:USA). I won the vote!! But one member of the committee was missing. So there weren't enough people for the vote to pass. Dismissed. We took it to the EEOC to make an official federal complaint. Just a week ago, an agent of the US Government patiently explained to us that these laws are literally designed to fuck over the worker and protect the employer unless they are epically stupid, and unfortunately, mine had not been epically stupid. So there's nowhere to go, no recourse to be had. It's over, I guess. Family - 'How to sum it up quickly...' My family hit me with the old soft-disown. No more calls, no more communication. They think they are loving me by not having contact with me. By depriving me of my family, they hope it will make me realize that the path I'm on is destructive, and I'll return to them living an upright life. No. I'm living an upright life, now. And if my family can choose to throw me away, then they are not a family I choose. Then my dad hit me back two months later, absolutely gaslighting me and pretending we never had the disown conversation at all. Reality - 'I don't know who I am anymore' I have trouble knowing what's real, anymore. Every message my dad sends on the surface seems loving and supportive and plaintive. I feel I must be the one in the wrong. I got fired for bullshit reasons. It doesn't feel real. "My family can't possibly have ceased contact with me: that's one of those things I know can never happen!!" But that did happen. So what else that feels real, actually isn't? I do

mean to be so dramatic, and I won't apologize for it. But I truly do feel like my mind has been pretty thoroughly unseated by the last year. Whoever I am, I'm becoming someone different. More distilled, at very least. I've discovered a lot of things about myself: trauma that has likely led to a lot of my mental health problems. Discovered I actually have RAGING ADHD, and it has robber me of a lot of things I wanted to do, and now is sort of consuming me completely. I'm looking for help. Trying to get better. Here's hoping. Every bold point above could be its own book, for all my thoughts about them. But enough of that for now. Love you. Thanks for reading.

#personal #depressed writing #life update #2020 sucked

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basicbatboys · 3 years

Text

Drain-O pt.2

Part 1

WARNINGS: mentions of abuse, mentions of murder

1705 words

A super fluffy follow-up to Drain-O! The cheesiness is so so much in this one, please don’t come at me for it.

Music blared through the speakers I had recently set up in the small living room in my apartment. All of the windows had been thrown open the moment I woke up and the sun somehow streamed through the clouds that perpetually hung over Gotham. I smiled and danced around, occasionally adding splashes of color to the painting that hung on my freshly purchased easel.

I felt so alive.

About three months ago, I had witnessed the death of my abusive ex-boyfriend at the hands of Red Hood. In his defense, if he hadn’t killed my assailant then I would have been the dead one.

After the incident, Jason didn’t leave my side for weeks. He was constantly checking up on me, getting me to leave the house, and helping me plan time for therapy. I wouldn’t be as happy as I am now if Jason hadn’t been there for me to help me through my recovery. It's true that I wasn’t fully okay, but I was getting somewhere.

“What the fuck are you listening to?” Came a voice from my front door. I jumped as I was yanked from my thoughts, dropping my paintbrush with a clatter.

“Jason PETER Todd!” I screeched, my hand clutching my heart. “You are despicable.” I bent over to pick up my paintbrush as he shut the door behind him. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I couldn’t hide the smile that grew on my face. I loved having him around almost as much as I loved giving him a hard time.

He smirked and slid the knob on my stereo to turn down my wildly loud music. “Your neighbors must hate you right now.” He teased, sitting down on the coffee table I had haphazardly shoved to the side to make room for my work.

“Maybe.” I retorted, pointing my paintbrush at him. “But not nearly as much as I hate myself for giving you a key to my place.”

His smile grew and he lowered the tip of my brush. “Careful where you point that thing, ma’am. You’re gonna hurt someone.”

“Bold of you to assume that’s not exactly what I’m trying to do.” I said with a glint in my eyes. I flicked my paintbrush at him and a spray of blue paint followed, peppering his cheek and forehead.

“Now you asked for it.” He grinned, standing. In one quick movement, it seemed, he picked me up by my waist, got ahold of my paintbrush, and pinned me to the couch. He trapped my wrists above my head with one hand, and with the other, he held his new weapon. I couldn’t help but think about how a few months ago this sort of physicality would have sent me spiraling. This was great proof of my recovery, because I felt perfectly at ease under Jason.

“Hmm…” He thought aloud. “What is the proper punishment for your reckless behavior?”

“I think the best way for me to learn my lesson would be for you to just let me go, really.” I tried, smiling a little too sweetly.

“Yeah, no way.”

He slid the slimy brush across my face and I sputtered a meek, “Jason!” to no avail. I had been tainted by a streak of sky blue.

“You are a menace!” I gasped.

“Nah,” he laughed, clearly unable to contain his pure joy at causing me emotional pain. “I’ve been called worse by better, doll face.”

I started wiggling and wrestled one of my arms free, shoving at his chest until he sat up and off of me. “I hardly think Vicki Vale is better than me.”

He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “I can’t agree.”

My mouth dropped open. “Jason!” I yelled, “That is the lowest you have EVER gone. EVER. You can’t make up for that, even if you tried.”

Jason laughed, a deep chested laugh. I couldn’t help but smile yet again. He looked around the room, clearly trying to find something to compliment to make up for it. His eyes landed on my painting. He stood and walked toward it, a hand on his chin like an art critic.

“Well, I would say that I’m a fan of your painting, but Jesus, what the hell am I looking at.”

Now I stood up. “Clearly those are flowers.”

He tilted his head. Then more. Then more. He looked ridiculous. “Ah. I see it now. You’re a shit artist.”

I put my hands on my hips and stared him down. I didn’t say a word because I didn’t need to. Jason’s eyes glided from my painting to me and he dropped his attitude and walked toward me, wrapping me in a strangling bear-hug. “Oh you poor thing.” He said with mock sympathy. “Did the big bad man hurt your feelings?”

I tried to wiggle out of his grip to no avail. He clearly thought it was funny because I could feel his body shake as he laughed. ‘You won’t laugh for long.’ I thought.

I moved so that I was standing with one of my feet on either of his and he let go of me just enough to look down at me. “What are you do-?” I didn’t let him finish because I used this as my opportunity to shove at his chest. With his feet pinned by mine, he had no choice but to fall backwards. Of course, he couldn’t just let me win, and pulled me to the ground with him.

We fell with a loud thunk. I was sitting on his hips, my hands on either side of his head to brace my fall. I was laughing too hard to realize the position I was in, but when it dawned on me, my face turned a dark red.

Jason, damn him, was looking up at me with those cool green eyes. He threw me a goofy half smile and my own smile spread across my face. He slowly reached up and cupped my cheek. Suddenly, the contact was all too much. We were so close. I felt centimeters away. I could feel his heartbeat. I needed to move.

“God, that was funny!” I diverted, pulling back from his grasp and sliding off of his torso.

“Yeah, hilarious.” He teased. I noted the possible disappointment that threaded his words. Was he going to kiss me? No, he couldn’t have wanted to. We were just friends.

That damn When Harry Met Sally quote entered my head, “Men and women can never just be friends.” Sure, maybe for some people that was true, but Jason and I were the exception, right? I didn’t like him like that, right? Right? Oh god. I totally did.

“Hey?” Jason called.

My head snapped up and I looked at him, a ditzy smile on my lips. “Yes sir!” I responded, like I hadn’t just checked out for the better part of a minute.

“Where’d you go there?”

“I was thinking about- Well, I was just thinking that…” I trailed off. I could NOT tell him that I’d been thinking about my feelings for him. That would jeopardize everything we had worked so hard to build. Thankfully, I didn’t have to lie.

“I know what you were thinking about, bat.” He said softly.

My eyes narrowed. “You do?”

He nodded. “You were thinking about Dylan again.”

I looked down at my hands. Lying to him wasn’t right. Last time I lied to Jason, I literally almost died. But I felt like this was an okay exception.

��I really don’t think we should talk about it right now, Jay. I’m doing so much better and I talk about it like, every week with my therapist.” None of this was a lie, I was simply omitting the fact that I hadn’t been thinking about Dylan at all. Far from it. But this was a really good opportunity to tell him how grateful I was for everything that he’d done for me throughout all of this, so I took a deep breath and just let it all out.

“I want to thank you. And don’t cut me off either,” I said, when I noticed him shaking his head and opening his mouth to speak. “Just let me finish.” He obliged and I continued.

“You have been so attentive to every single one of my needs. That night, you told me that love is gentle and beautiful and I didn’t believe you. I couldn’t imagine how there could be love without pain. I didn’t see myself being loved unless I was giving and giving until I felt like a ghost. You found a way to prove to me, somehow, that I’m worth it. That that sort of fairytale fantastical love can be real.” I looked up at him. “Thank you for…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to assume that he loved me, but the things that I was feeling and the things he was doing sure felt like love.

“For loving you?” He said, as if reading my thoughts.

I nodded, then shook my head and laughed. “I… Yeah. But that’s sort of silly.” I pulled myself off the ground and looked down at him. “Just know that I will never be able to thank you enough for what you did for me.”

Jason stood too, inches away from me. “Listen to me.”

His voice was so soft and so near to me. Chills went down my spine and I dared myself to look up at him and meet his eyes.

“Seeing you smile again, seeing you dance around your living room to your shit music, all of that is so much more than enough thanks. I missed it.”

I didn’t say anything back. We stood like that, staring into each other’s eyes, for a while. The music drifted softly through my stereo and somewhere a car alarm went off.

“What?” I teased. “Is there something on my face?” I rubbed at the blue paint he’d left on my nose with a cheeky smile.

Jason closed the gap between us and the confidence I had melted away. He placed a hand on my waist and the other hand back on my cheek, but this time I wasn’t overwhelmed. My eyes fluttered shut as he kissed me.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #fanfic #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #detective comics #fluff #abuse #recovery

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never-not-ever · 2 years

Note

You probably should share less. Making public posts on the internet about anything that goes on in your place of work could absolutely be seen as inappropriate and you wouldn’t want to lose your job as soon as you’ve gotten it. And on a personal level, I wouldn’t appreciate a nurse at my inpatient facility unsympathetically waxing poetic about how at MY lowest point I’m instrumental to YOUR giant solipsistic pat on the back. Part of being a professional is realizing you’re not the main character anymore and these children aren’t just minor roles in your story. Congratulations for your successes, genuinely, but if you can’t help yourself a diary or private posts might be a better option.

You poor thing, nothing you said makes any sense. (I actually had some not so nice words instead of “poor thing” but after spending way too much time on this reply I decided to be a little nicer- you’re welcome 😘) And I also was going to say that this will be my last post and it’s not because any of what you said is true but because I’m not going to let anonymous cowards tear me down when I’m finally in a good place. But then I realized that you’re one out of thousands who took the time out of their day to continue to go on and on about how you’re misinterpreting my words. And I got a pretty nice message from a gem of human being and yea I’m going to stick around. But first…

Just to recap and put you in your place.

1) Talking about general things, most of which is stuff that I struggled with when I was inpatient is literally just that- GENERAL. I never mentioned specific details or names or anything else that would violate HIPAA.

2) How am I unsympathetic?! You have no fucking idea how badly I want to tell these kids that I understand on a similar level to how they’re feeling. How fucking badly I want to be able to help them see that it can get better, that it may be shitty right now and it may get better and then get shitty again but it can get better. But no fucking credit to you I know what is professional and how to not break boundaries and I would never think of sharing anything from my personal life to them at this level of care and in this job position. I’ve been a CPS before where I was able to do that and I know this isn’t the place. I’m unsympathetic? Are you fucking kidding me? You clearly don’t know me 🙃.

3) Lastly how is their lowest point a pat on the back for me? That doesn’t make any fucking sense. They had no help with me and my recovery and getting to a place where I feel I’m able to work in this setting and give it my all without getting triggered or spiraling. MY recovery and what kind of jobs I take has nothing to do with them being in their lowest points. I just really don’t understand your logic here.

Like at first when I read this you really got me questioning everything. So kudos to you, you achieved what you wanted-partially… But after rereading your message I can see that it really has nothing to do with me and really something you need to work on with yourself. I’m “genuinely” sorry that me talking about my new job and talking about my recovery sparked some kind of annoyance with you. I know 100% for a fact that my job is lucky to have me because there are people who take this entry level position and only do it because it’s a “job” and there’s no experience required. I care so much about my job and my patients recovery and you’re delusional if you think otherwise. I hope you find that peace you’re looking for and maybe stop attacking others and look inward.

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

Text

🍞 ℋunger (Asra x EDReader, ED.MC)

Memories of your disorder slowly return and take over once again. You fight it but one bad day reveals everything that you wanted to hide the most.

─── Asra x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── no smut

─── TW: Eating disorders and explicit ED behaviors, hurt/comfort, past abandonment, body dysmorphia, body image, confrontation, if you know you have triggers with ED, skip this one.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

Some days are harder than others. You try your best.

But often, the best just isn’t enough to keep the spiraling at bay.

Asra knows your fondness for baked goods and chocolate well. Since you raved about that pumpkin bread a few months ago, he’s insisted on bringing you loaves every few weeks.

But as more your memories return to you, not all of them are pleasant. You begin to recall everything, including the unhealthy habits you used to have, and how people reacted to them before.

You remember what it was like when you were younger and larger than you are right now, you remember how you were treated by others who had so much to say about your body and how it fit into their thoughts, into this life. You remember things said in passing by family, friends, people who were supposed to care about you and love you.

Now? No matter how much you’ve tried to throw away those instances, those memories, the reawakened disorder clutches to the trauma like a lifeline, desperate to live through you. Desperate to starve and purge, and lessen and lessen you until there’s no more fear of fat.

But that’s just the thing. The fear is endless.

And worse, it’s a lie.

You know you’re not fat...And you know being fat means nothing on your inherent worth, your value, your beauty, your being. But it feels too difficult to put this beast down on your own.

As strong as you are, as strong as you’ve become, you wonder if some demons are stronger.

So you hide it.

You don’t want Asra to know what you’re thinking when he unwraps another chocolate truffle for you, you don’t want him to hear you try and fail to eliminate what you’ve eaten late in the night, you don’t want him to understand the things you tell yourself in the dark of your mind on your lowest days. You don’t want him to know that it took wiping your memory entirely for you to rid yourself of a condition that’s plagued you since before you knew him, that you’ve hidden since before you knew him.

Some days, you can eat.

Some days, you can’t.

Asra finally realizes on one of the days you weren’t careful enough.

He had brought more of that damned pumpkin bread and you’d already been silently agonizing over your physique that entire morning. Dress after dress, outfit after outfit, none of them seem to fit quite right enough to quell your inner critic.

“I’ve brought you some more from the market.” Asra is happy, holding his prize out to you.

You plaster a strained smile onto your face, thanking him, but you realize too late that it doesn’t shine through your eyes.

He sees.

“Are you...feeling alright?” He asks. “Is it the bread...? Do you not like it anymore?”

You grit your teeth behind your lips in anxiety, shaking your head a little too quickly.

“No! No, I love it. I’m just feeling a little...ill, that’s all!”

Asra frowns and lays the back of his hand to your head, brushing it down your temple and trailing his fingers down your tumbles of hair.

“You don’t feel warm…maybe it’s a chest cold? I’ll make you some tea, alright?”

You nod, feeling awful for lying to him.

Ashamed and embarrassed of yourself, you try to save the mood by plucking up the bread from his hands.

“I’ll save and eat this for later, when I’m feeling better!”

The statement does little to quell Asra’s concern over your ‘chest cold’, but he spares you a brief, appreciative smile before rushing to make the tea.

You climb the steps of the shop and head to your room to hide the bread away.

It’s almost tucked into your drawer when you smell the scent of it.

‘Not now...’

Your stomach gurgles, sick of fasting and excited to consume more carbs, more sugar, some kind of quick energy supply. All those days you hid not eating while Asra was away are beginning to catch up with you.

You grit your teeth and begin to count backwards, planning on drinking plenty of water to help kill the craving. But before you know it, the bread’s out of the drawer, in your hands, and being stuffed fervently into your mouth.

Without even really being present for the act, you ravenously chew the bread down. For a moment, the endorphins of finally getting fed surge through you and lift your spirits.

Halfway through the loaf, you feel the crash.

Hands full of bread, face covered in crumbs, your eyes well up and you begin to wail silently. Your body bends over under the weight of the grief, unchewed pastry falling out of your mouth and hitting the floor. You clutch your hands into tight fists of aggravation at yourself, crushing the pumpkin bread and trembling under the intense amount of anguish you feel right this second.

‘How could I have eaten that? Why did I eat that? What have I done?’

‘Now I’ll gain. I’ll be big again. No one will want me because I can’t control myself. They’ll make sure to let me know it, too.’

‘He won’t want me. Just like the rest of them. He’ll see how I really am.’

You cry and cry, unaware of Faust sliding out from under your bed. She tilts her head at you, swaying closer.

‘…!’

She cries your name.

Your mind is filled with fast thoughts that you can’t stop, and you don’t catch how Faust tries to reach you.

‘Sad? Hurt?’

When you don’t answer, Faust quickly slithers out the room, unseen.

Before long, fast footsteps ring out from the hall and you hear your door open.

‘Oh no...’

Asra calls your name and you hide further into yourself, clutching the floor.

He hates you, there is no doubt now, he is seeing the ugliness of your secret, the self-loathing, the ridiculousness of falling apart over blasted pumpkin bread, the lack of self-control, the fear, the shame, the shame, the shame—

Asra calls your name again, pulling you by the shoulders into him.

You try to keep your sobs in, your body wracking with the intensity of them. Your trembling grows to the point where it frightens even you.

As soft as water, Asra soothes a hand down your face, your neck, and calls to you as one would to an injured, trapped fawn.

“It’s alright. Let it out. Don’t hold on to all of that, let it out. I’ve got you, I’m here now.”

The sobs come then, long and loud and persistent. Years and years of pent up secrecy, of pain, of long body checks in mirrors and pools, of hidden and regurgitated food, of meanly whispered words and condemnations….all of it spills out of you.

When the waves of grief finally cease, Asra just holds you.

‘He is still here?’ you think. ‘Why?’

You wait for abandonment. You know how that feels. That is familiar. Judgement is familiar. Pain is familiar. And you just know it is coming.

Yet, nothing happens. Asra continues to hold you. No one says a word.

Long heavy silence rings in the air before he finally speaks.

“Faust said…that you…after you ate the bread…”

You nod stiffly into his chest, sniffling.

“I don’t eat.” You say plainly. “I never eat. At least, I try. But then I do and I ruin myself.”

Asra cradles your face, peering at you.

“Ruin yourself? From one piece of pumpkin bread?”

You tear up again, certain that you look and sound a complete mess.

“You don’t understand,” you insist, “it’s because of me…! Anyone else could have it…but not me, because if I have it…I’ll g-g-g-g-” you can’t even get the words out. “I just can’t.”

“Is this just about the bread? Or other foods...?”

Your face wilts and you look down in shame.

He knows, then.

“How long have you felt like this...?”

You trace the floor, shaking your head.

“...Years. I’m so sorry.”

“What...? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped you. You know I would’ve—”

Your face twists and you close your eyes, tears spilling out.

“—It’s…it’s stupid…! It doesn’t even matter, I’ve been told so in the past…I’ve told others before, and nothing was done or I was criticized, or they left and I…I just was afraid that…you’d see how silly I was...how damaged I am….that you might leave…”

Asra pulls you so close to him that you can hear his heart thrum like a locomotive in his chest. He is worried sick over you, you suddenly realize.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice so serious that you can recall nothing like it from all the years of knowing him.

You obey, eyes wide and watery.

“I will never leave you,” Asra promises so solemnly, that he sounds as if he is swearing an oath on his very soul. “I love you, do you understand that? You could change in a thousand ways and I’d still love you. You could fall for another and I’d still love you, and watch over you until we were all dust in the wind. You are the most important thing in my life and it’s my job to protect you, to uplift you. I don’t ever want you to think I would leave you. Especially not over something like this.”

“I-I’m sorry!” You plead for forgiveness for doubting his love. You know that he is loyal to you, you do. It’s just...the disorder makes it so difficult to think sometimes, to remember the truth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you…I just…! I don’t know. I didn’t want to upset you...?”

“I am upset that I couldn’t have helped you with this sooner, that I didn’t realize. I should have realized...” Asra admits, frowning to himself. “But I can help you now. You’ve told me, and it’s alright now. We’ll face this together.”

You cling to Asra’s shirt like a lifeline, just breathing.

You know you have a long, difficult road to walk. You know it’s not as easy as finally getting the help and support you need, that there’s not a snap of fingers or a spell even that can speed this process for you. It can’t do the work for you.

You will have to learn how to eat without shame again. How to stop internalizing the pain and abandonment from the past. How to realize that pumpkin bread is just pumpkin bread, and that this was never about the food to begin with.

You will have to learn to look in a mirror and smile genuinely, even on the bad days. You will have to learn to eat food without calorie-counting, without crying.

You know there will be nights where you will fail, days where you stumble, and moments where you wish for nothing more but to be ill once again.

Asra can be there to hold your hand, to keep you steady, but he can’t do the work that you will have to do.

But you also know...

...you are worth it. A good life is worth it. A life with someone who cares for you, who loves you, is worth it. And deep down, you know that you care and love yourself, in a way, through all the pain.

You want to overcome. To heal.

Asra’s voice breaks you out of your trance.

“You’re not alone anymore. I’ll...I’ll write to Julian! And we’ll all come up with a plan, together. Okay? We can start today. Okay..?”

You keep your eyes locked on him, holding. Just holding.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work including this one. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

If any of you are interested in a short follow-up with Dr. Julian assisting you in overcoming ED, let me know.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

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ahkaahshi · 3 years

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1:32 AM [hirugami sachirou x reader]

pairing: hirugami sachirou x fem reader

genre: fluff with sprinkles of angst

warning(s): descriptions of catastrophic thinking/anxiety, brief mentions of death, swearing

word count: 2.5k

overview: when hirugami’s old habits of rumination come back to haunt him, there’s only one person who can bring him peace

By the time it’s 1:32 AM, Hirugami has spent no less than a half hour staring at the digitized numbers of the alarm clock cutting through the darkness, watching the precious seconds and minutes of sleep tick away before his eyes. A strange haze hangs over him, and it’s as if his ears have been stuffed with cotton, amplifying all the thoughts pounding against his skull. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence in his head, during which he can hear the leaves whispering in the breeze outside of his window, and he thinks he’s finally falling asleep, but the quietude is painfully temporary.

With a heavy sigh, he turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling, giving his thoughts a moment to surface individually, like bubbles rising to meet the daylight shining down on a body of water.

When will what I do ever be enough?

Did I really choose the right path in life?

Would I still feel this way if my life had played out differently?

When will these thoughts stop?

Rumination is nothing new to him. Despite being able to keep the habit tucked away for a majority of his high school years with both yours and Hoshiumi’s help, he finds that it often comes back to haunt him at the most unexpected times. His week at work had been as smooth as it could be given he was a busy veterinarian, yet he’d felt a knot of something—uncertainty?—forming within him over the course of the past few days. Where it had originated from he had no clue, but it was proving to be a formidable opponent now, in the late hours of the evening while the rest of the neighborhood slept.

The journal on his bedside table catches his attention, and as much as he knows he should take a moment to pen down his troubles in an attempt to put them to rest, his hands feel too heavy to move. Just making the simple trip from his chest to the table feels like the most effortful task in the universe. He does, however, find the strength and motivation to reach for his phone lying beside him where he’d tossed it in agony after realizing he was using it far too long after bedtime.

His eyelids instinctively narrow at the sudden influx of light that spills onto his face from the screen when he turns it on, even though the brightness is at its lowest setting. Lazy drags of his fingertips find him face to face with your smiling contact photo, and sluggish taps compose a more to-the-point text message than he usually sends asking if you’re still awake. Gray dots appearing, then promptly disappearing along the bottom of his screen proves that you are—and in an instant, he’s answering a call from you.

“What’s up, Sachi?” you ask, voice more chipper than he’d expect at this hour.

“Nothin’ much,” he lies with a yawn. Hearing his voice weighted so heavily with fatigue makes your heart sink in your chest. “What’re you up to?”

He can hear rustling through the phone as you readjust the blankets ensconcing you to pull them up to your shoulders again. Gazing at your glowing computer screen, you respond, “Just watching a movie,” before asking, “Everything okay?”

“Just having trouble getting to sleep, is all,” he explains, the words leaving his mouth in another exasperated groan, “So, I thought I’d talk to my favorite person if she was still awake.”

Jokingly, you comment, “I won’t tell Kourai you said that, yeah?”

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

A comfortable moment of silence passes, during which you shuffle your feet beneath the covers to warm them up and he allows his eyelids to flutter shut so he can focus his full attention on the sound of your voice when you speak again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Don’t you get tired of it, (f/n)?”

“Of what, baby?”

“Of listening to me talk myself in circles when I’m like this and hearing about the same issues over and over again?”

Though there’s a hint of irritation laced in his tone, you know it’s directed at himself rather than at you. “Sachi, you can talk about whatever you want as much as you want. I know how much you keep to yourself, so it’s okay. I just want to help, since I know how exhausting it must be for you to deal with.” There’s a short pause, and you know from experience that his mind is most likely distorting your words, forming them into daggers he sinks into his own heart. “I promise, it’s okay to talk to me about it. Trust me.”

He blinks slowly, takes a deep breath, and agrees, “Okay.”

Pursing your lips, you glance around the darkness of your room until your eyes settle on the bag you’d already packed, ready to take to his house for your scheduled weekend visits. “Would it help if you could see my face?” you wonder, your mouth curling up into a small grin regardless of the fact that he can’t see it.

“Well,” he hums, dragging his long fingers through his chestnut brown hair, “you know I’d never turn down the opportunity to see my gorgeous girlfriend, but you’ll have to give me a minute to touch up my makeup.”

With a snicker, you retort, “You’ll have plenty of time to pull yourself together if I just come over instead.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, sweetheart. Not at this ungodly hour.”

“And you didn’t,” you reaffirm, “but I want to, so, will you let me visit a whole—” you interrupt yourself to check the time before continuing—“eight and a half hours earlier than we’d originally planned?”

“I would love that,” is his answer given without hesitation despite his initial, intrusive thought of being burdensome to you by allowing you to drive over so early in the morning.

And even though he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the spiral of negative ideas swirling around him like the raging waters of a whirlpool, he doesn’t regret accepting your invitation when you arrive about twenty minutes later. Upon opening the door to your car for you, he’s greeted by your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him close for a tight hug that instantly engulfs him in a warm feeling of comfort that he can’t liken to anything else he’s ever felt before from anyone else. He holds your body flush against his—even after he’s felt your grip loosen in a signal to pull away that then tightens once more at realizing he’s not quite finished yet—and acknowledges the guilt that suddenly rises within him.

How could I ever want to know how things could’ve been different when I have her?

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers, craning his neck to press a kiss to yours before finally releasing you and slinging your bag over his shoulder. The wave of cold air that rushes between your bodies at their separation nearly makes you reach for him again, but you settle for latching onto his hand instead while the two of you make your way up to his apartment. “You made it here in record time, speed racer.”

Chuckling, you joke, “Drove like I was answering a booty call.”

“I’m truly flattered.”

The gentle smile across his lips has your heart skipping a beat in your chest but doesn’t hide the fatigue clearly present on his handsome features. His hand on your back gently ushers you inside the familiar warmth of his home when he unlocks the door, and you make a beeline to his bedroom once you’ve kicked off your shoes. A look of amusement glimmers in his eyes at how quickly you settle yourself down in his bed and bury yourself under his comforter and blankets.

As he climbs into bed beside you, your hands move to the sides of his face to pull him towards you for a gentle kiss. “What’s going on, Sachi?” you murmur after your lips part. He sits on the mattress beside you, and the sinking of the bed naturally draws you closer to one another until your arms are wrapped around his torso and his draped over your shoulders.

“Just the usual,” he sighs, fingers absentmindedly grazing the fabric of your sweater, “You know, the whole wondering if I’ve done everything right bit. My mind just loves reminding me of my mistakes and going through how I could’ve handled things differently, even if the thing in question happened, like, five years ago.”

You hum understandingly and nod, focusing on his words to keep yourself awake—which is a challenge when his body feels like a lullaby.

“I’m still hung up over that dog we couldn’t save last month. Every day, I find myself thinking of the moment when his heartbeat just… stopped. And the look in his owner’s eyes when I told her he hadn’t made it. And I just wonder, what could I have done differently to keep him alive?”

He swallows thickly and breathes out a somewhat frustrated sigh. “And I replay the arguments I’ve had with people—and with you—in my head, wondering what I could’ve done to prevent them. But I know that hindsight’s twenty-twenty and that if I’d have known the answer or what was to come beforehand then it never would’ve happened to begin with. It’s so frustrating because I know this, I’ve been able to accept mistakes and let them go, yet I still beat myself up really badly over things every now and then.”

Moving away from him slightly so you can look up at him, into his weary but kind and welcoming gaze, you place your hands on his shoulders and give him a small smile. “Baby,” you say with an affectionate squeeze to his muscles, “these shoulders of yours are so strong, but they’re meant for carrying backpacks, me when I want a piggyback ride, or any kids we may or may not have in the future; not the weight of the world.”

He tilts his head to the side so he can lower his cheek onto one of your hands, spreading heat across your skin. With the way he’s watching you so intently, you can tell how much he values your words as well as the fact that you’re here, sitting in front of him instead of gazing at him through a screen.

Slowly, speaking as the thoughts enter your mind, you assure him, “It’s okay to fuck up. How would we learn if we didn’t?” You stroke his cheek with your thumb before your fingers move to his head of waves tousled haphazardly from whatever restless sleep he’d been able to get.

“Just remind yourself of the way you usually deal with mistakes. Acknowledge them, say yeah, that happened, and it sucked ass, but I’ll do better next time, and let go of them. I mean, I know it’s way, way easier said than done, but you’re really good at it. Remember all those times in high school I came to you, freaking out over the smallest things that I’d done? Who am I kidding? I still do that; but, anyway, it’s always been you who’s helped me. Give yourself the same permission to mess up.”

Your boyfriend of many years heaves a deep sigh as he lets the truth of your statements pass through his internal filter that does a fine job, unfortunately, in this case, of sifting through only the ideas he wants to believe. Though they’re met with initial resistance that only manifests as a defense mechanism, all your words manage to remain after the process like the smallest pieces of gold hidden amongst layers and layers of sediment.

Taking your hand in his, you tell him, “There aren’t really any right or wrong decisions, and I know you know that. They’re just choices you make. Mistakes are gonna happen no matter what, but you’re gonna be okay. I know you, Hirugami Sachirou, and I know how strong and determined you are. You can do what you set your mind to and with that smile on your face some people find annoying—” the grin in question appears on his lips, making you laugh—“Yeah, that one. So, get it into that big brain of yours that you’re doing your best or I’ll have to rough you up a bit.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“As you should be.”

In an instant, the heavy layers of worry that had restricted him before unravel at your definitive statement, and he’s laughing while he pulls you into his arms once more. As always, his laughter is contagious, and it’s not long before you’re doing the same, body shaking against his. “Don’t unleash your wrath on me, baby; I’ll listen, I promise. And I’ll make your favorite for breakfast tomorrow,” he concedes with a teasing tone, a yawn whisking some of his words away.

“We have a deal,” you chirp, “Now, let’s go to sleep. It’s way past your bedtime, gramps.”

He complains, “You callin’ me old?” as your bodies sink down onto the soft mattress, his head pausing in its natural course towards your chest so it can hover above yours. “’Cause I found more gray hairs than I’d like to admit when I was doing my hair yesterday, so I’m actually really self-conscious about it.”

Sticking out your lower lip in a sympathetic pout, you comment, “I said you were old, but I didn’t say that you weren’t hot.”

“So, I’ve still got it, huh?”

“You’re basically a silver fox.”

A soft hum of contentment rumbles against your lips when he presses his to them to shower you with a few, affectionate kisses. Eventually, he pulls away and pecks your chin on his way to your neck, where he nestles his head as your arms readjust to accommodate his body coming to rest against yours. “Thanks, (f/n),” he mumbles, voice suddenly heavy and lethargic compared to how it had been moments earlier, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Your fingers card through his hair softly as he takes a deep breath and slides his palm along the back of your thigh to coax it around his waist so he can move his body even closer to yours. While the two of you lie together, surrounded in warmth, feeling the gentle beating of each other’s hearts against your bodies, Hirugami finds he has nothing left to worry about—no thoughts left to disturb him. And, because his mind is finally quiet and still, the ruminating beast within him quelled by your honest words and gentle touch, sleep finally comes just as easily to him as loving you does.

when night falls masterlist

when night falls taglist (send an ask to be added!)

@why-aminot-dead, @yamagucji, @toutorii, @shibayamasbae, @tsukkisbean, @devlovesiwa-channn, @captain-shittykawa, @ghblh, @postsfromthe6, @omibaby, @deerixiie, @oikawoahh, @stormlights

#haikyuu x reader #hirugami x reader #x reader #reader insert #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hirugami sachirou x reader #fran writes hq!!#ahkaahshi//wnf

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haleigh-sloth · 3 years

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What role do you think Hawks is going to play in the todofam going after Touya? Do you think he's going to try to hurt/kill him or do you think hawks won't really won't play a big role in it? Once Touya is saved by Shoto what do you think Hawks is going to think? I'm pretty sure once the todoroki family does reunite I think E will be returning to them. Do you think Hawks is going to continue to cling to E? Will the dynamic between Hawks and Touya be explored towards the end?

Well firstly let me say that I have not put that much time into analyzing Hawks’s character so please understand I won’t be looking much deeper into it than just the foreshadowing we’ve been given.

Now, if Hori follows through on the foreshadowing he’s been doing for Hawks—Hawks won’t make it to the end of the manga.

Hawks is set up to be a tragic hero. He’s very much set up to be an antagonist to the Todoplot. To Touya’s salvation. This specifically implies that

He views Touya as something that’s getting in the way of Endeavor’s wellbeing. Which is not good seeing as how Endeavor abused Touya and sent him spiraling to the point that he DIED as a kid and now that consequence is back.

IF Horikoshi follows through on this ^^^ then Hawks will continue to falsely believe that Endeavor is his pinnacle of support (he’s not) and he’ll continue to follow him and believe that Touya is Endeavor’s enemy. The thing is, Touya and Endeavor are not destined to be each other’s final boss. Nope. But I expect some sort of conflict, a fight maybe, to occur and Hawks—under the belief that he’s protecting Endeavor—will ALMOST stoop to his lowest point again.

I do NOT expect Hawks to kill again in the manga. I don’t. He’s still a hero and still has a good heart—he’s just deluded right now. From the trauma of his childhood and the shock of finding out his idealized Endeavor is not the true Endeavor, and upon finding that out refusing to believe it and change his view. He’s remaining stagnant which is bad for character development and a sign that he may not make it to the end.

That doesn’t mean his death will be horrible though. Myself and many other meta bloggers think he will die in the process of helping “save someone he shouldn’t”. Right now that’s looking like Touya.

Shouto is gonna reach and save Touya, he is the hero of the Todoroki plot line, but at some point Touya’s life may be in danger and I expect Hawks to save him in that moment and die heroically. Or maybe not even saving Touya but just dying a hero. A redemptive death kind of.

I don’t think there’s any need for Hawks to remain a part of the Todoroki plot line after the final battle. I too expect the family to all be together (E included ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) and I think that’s what they need. Time to themselves. I would like to see everybody friends at the end though 🥺 I just don’t see Hawks being around for that.

I’m really sorry if that’s not what you want to hear 😞

That is if Hori sticks to what he had in mind originally. Right now he seems to be backing away from that but I’ve said it before I think it’s a temporary issue where the story just doesn’t want to call out the characters that are insanely popular on their shit. I think it’ll happen eventually though.

Also disclaimer: This is just my guess. I’m not gonna argue about it because there’s no point, none of us actually know what will happen until it does. So don’t get shitty in my inbox or the comments or you’ll get blocked.

#bnha #bnha asks #boku no hero academia #anonymous #todoroki touya #bnha todoroki #todofam

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heathsbitch · 3 years

Text

Treat You Better ➳ PEAKY BLINDERS

xxix. NEW BEGINNINGS

Grey surrounded the girl. Everything was the same, every colour was the same, every day was the same. Ivy had lost count of the days she'd been stuck in that cell. How many days had it been since she was arrested? Since she'd seen her family? Since she'd seen Finn, or Michael? A couple, a few, weeks, months, years? No, it couldn't be that long even though it felt that way. She could feel her mind slowly spiraling out of control. Her thoughts were no longer straight, she didn't eat much of the food that was rarely provided for her. There was only three things keeping her sane in that tiny cell of hers. The thought of seeing Finn again, explaining everything to him, finally being with him properly. The thought of seeing Michael again, safe and unscathed. But she was unsure of whether her relationship would continue down the same path if she did get with Finn. It was a situation she had ample time to think about, yet she just couldn't come to a conclusion. The final thought that kept spurring Ivy on...

Killing Tommy Shelby. Getting revenge for what he'd done to the girl, to Polly, to Arthur, John, and Michael. She would get payback, one way or another.

But for now, she was stuck in that prison cell. Lying on her back, her crystal eyes staring at the ceiling, a song upon her lips.

"Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found That makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee,"

Once again, Finn and Michael played in her mind as she sung to herself. Tears forming in her eyes.

"Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new..."

But her singing was cut short when a Warden burst into her cell. Ivy immediately shot up, she wasn't expecting anyone. This shouldn't be happening. The man grabbed the girl and dragged her out of her cell. "This shouldn't be happening. What's going on?" She shouted at the man, but there was no reply. She was heaved through plain corridor after plain corridor, kicking and screaming at the Warden, trying to break free. But it was of no use. She was too weak. Ivy was led into a final corridor, another woman being led by Wardens was there. "Polly? Polly!" The girl screamed at the woman but she barely acknowledged her, she was too busy muttering words to herself.

Ivy turned her eyes from the woman to the end of the corridor. Nooses, one for Polly, one for Ivy. "No, no, please." The girl pleaded, but she was still dragged to the noose. Her whole body was shaking, her eyes were wide, her heart beat so hard it felt like it was coming out of her chest. As the rope was tightened around her neck, the girl accepted her fate. No one was coming to save her, no one was going to come swooping in with a last minute pardon. Ivy turned to Polly one last time and she saw that the woman had accepted her fate too, a prayer now upon her lips. The girl thought of all the good things in her life, reuniting with her family, forgiving them and them forgiving her, finding love with them again, finding another family in the Shelbys, finding love with Finn, finding Michael and all those times they had spent wrapped up in each other. Despite the bad times, the lowest of lows, there were high points to the girl's life. She just didn't want it to end so soon.

The priest that stood next to the women finished his prayer and the Warden tightened his hand around the lever that would kill Polly Gray and Ivy Solomons. The girl took in a final deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable drop.

But the drop never came. Ivy snapped open her eyes. A saviour at the end of the corridor, a piece of paper in hand. A pardon.

Buzzing filled the girl's eyes, her knees almost buckled underneath her. She had been saved, someone, something had saved her. Hot tears poured from her eyes as the Wardens removed the noose from around her and Polly's neck. Almost as soon as the rope was taken off of her, Polly fell into the girl, sobs racking her body. Slowly, the pair crumpled to the floor together, tears staining each others prison clothes.

Polly and Ivy were free. Surely Arthur, John, and Michael had got the pardon too?

Everyone returned back to their homes as if nothing happened. They had scars on their hearts, yet they didn't bare them for all the world to see. There were noticeable differences in each of them, but none of them were affected as much as Polly. She sat alone in a quiet room all day, only muttering a few words to herself and never eating.

"Do you think she'll be alright without you here?" Ada asked Ivy as the girl packed her suitcase. It had been a few days since they were released and Ada thought it would be best for the girl to get away for a while instead of festering in the house or doing anything rash straight away. She reluctantly agreed to the trip to America. "Hopefully. Besides, she has Michael so she won't be alone." Ivy pulled various garments out of her wardrobe to throw into her case. "Because we all know how reliable Michael is." Ada sarcastically quipped from the girl's bed. "Hey," The girl lightly scolded her by throwing a shirt in her direction. "She is his mother at the end of the day. He won't let her suffer." A couple of moments of silence passed over the pair before a knock sounded at the door.

"Are you decent?" Michael questioned from the other side of the door. "No, I'm completely naked." Ivy said, not meaning it. Mickey entered the room nonetheless, devious thoughts in his head. His eyes widened at the sight of Ada sat on her bed. "Relax, Mickey. She knows." The man cleared his throat before speaking, "I wanted to say goodbye. If we could have the room..." He gestured to Ada. The woman winked at the girl as she left. "I'll be in the car." She said before leaving Ivy's bedroom and closing the door behind her. As soon as he heard the latch on the door, Michael engulfed Ivy in a hug, his lips pressing against hers. They'd felt closer after their ordeal in prison. But they hadn't slept with each other since their escapade in the kitchen before Charles was taken. "Should've spent last night in my room, could've said goodbye properly." He muttered as he peppered kisses along the girl's neck. "I was planning things with Ada. Don't leave any marks." She warned him and he pulled away, following her request. "I'll miss you." Ivy wrapped her arms around his neck as his slid around her waist, "I'll miss you too. But we can still call as much as possible. We both know we don't sleep much anymore so the time difference shouldn't be a problem."

"But I can't fuck you through the phone, can I, princess?" His eyebrow raised as the words left his thick lips. "No, but we have our own hands and imaginations, we'll still be able to hear each other," She whispered in his ear before trailing her own line of kisses down his neck, sucking a mark onto it. A moan left his lips as he closed his eyes. "I should get going, we don't have a lot of time." Michael nodded and they pulled away. "I'll help." He picked up the girl's bags and she followed him down the stairs and to the car. "Goodbye, Pol," No answer. A quick look was passed between Michael and Ivy, he knew what he had to do. A final kiss was planted onto the girl's lips before she got into the car, a few quiet words passed between the two.

"Can we stop at Finn's house, please. I won't be long, I have something to give him." The girl asked Ada, she smiled and nodded. "Be quick." They pulled up to his house and Ivy climbed out of the car. She pulled a letter out of her pocket and posted it through the door. Ivy and Finn hadn't seen each other since before she was arrested. The girl had stalled it. She knew she'd have to explain things with Mickey to the teen and after everything she'd just been through, she wasn't as ready to talk as she was before. So she decided to write the teen a letter instead. It read...

My dearest Finn,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. The decision to write to you rather than call you or visit you was not one I made lightly. I settled on a letter as it would be most beneficial for you and our relationship. It's also good practice for your reading skills!

I am aware that we are not in an ideal situation and things are still raw for us both. I hope in future we will be able to communicate with one another better and our relationship will not suffer because of the influence of certain individuals. I promise I will explain my relations with Michael in due course . That conversation is one to be had in person, not over paper or the phone. Please lend me your patience in this matter.

My reason for writing this is simple, I am going away for a while and I wanted to let you know. I'm going to America with Ada. I will return, that I can assure you. However, I am unsure of when that will happen. Yet again, I beg of your patience. I swear on my love for you that I shall make the wait worth your while.

By the time you receive this letter, I will be gone. But hold fast for me, please. I will continue to write to you regularly. I would really appreciate it and love if you would take the time to write back. But, by no means, should you feel obliged to do so. If you do, don't worry about spelling or anything of that sort. It's the intention that matters.

I miss you dearly. Don't do anything silly while I'm gone, keep practicing, stay strong!

My love always, your doll,

Ivy Solomons x

xxx. EXPLORATION*

MASTERLIST

TAG LIST:

@lemur46

#finn shelby #harry kirton #michael gray #finn cole #smut #fluff #angst #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #treat you better

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djemsostylist · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Episode 26 of SCK

In short--I loved it.

There is a lot I could say about it, and I’m sure most of it has already been said by people far more eloquent than I. But I haven’t written down my thoughts about an episode in while and if ever there was an episode to talk about, well, this one was certainly it.

There was a post I saw going around a few weeks ago about how sometimes enjoying a piece of media means viewing it with a measure of grace. As a critical person by nature, I thought a lot about what that means, and I’ve decided that it means that sometimes, a piece of media may not be perfect, but if the soul is there, that is the only thing that matters.

So, I think one of the major issues I’ve seen talked about with 26 is that it felt too good. And to some degree, that makes sense. Let’s be honest, 22-25 were not very good. They had great singular moments, but taken as a whole, they were a bit of a mess. 20-21 gave us beautiful set up and direction and forward movement with not only Serkan and Eda as a couple, but as individuals, and that’s even with the contract mess. But then 22 and 23 came along and we have Eda acting like a brat, intimate scenes that were cute and hot but ultimately a let down since the end result was always an “I love you” from Serkan followed by an -_- face from Eda, and basically no real forward movement with their relationship or character at all. Add the introduction of one of the worst characters in television, and you kind of had a mess. And while 24 was better, it still felt weird. Serkan is acting distant, Eda is acting married, and again, no going anywhere until the last 5 minutes of the episode. Plus the long awaited BA shows up and it turns out she’s a Disney villain with even thinner motives. Then there was 25, which I think left most of the fandom feeling empty. Serkan and Eda are at their very lowest possible point, and all their friends and family don’t seem to care and the amount of Edser scenes was too low to give us enough to not want to rage at the final scene. Plus, dubbed Prince showed up attempting to recreate a plot from Vampire Diaries and welp.

So in 26, we start with what should be a devastated Eda and Serkan who have no path back to each other. We were fully expecting another few weeks of breakup and Eda having to chase Serkan and more moping and more sadness and we didn’t get that. Instead, we start with an Eda who is ready to do whatever it takes to spend as little time away from Serkan as possible and a Serkan who isn’t going to let go. His plan is brilliant, and it works. He knows something fishy is going on--despite her words the night before, which certainly hurt, she was also literally in tears and had been for the whole day. And he knows she loves him. In a way, his actions at the start of 26 are another brilliant parallel to the beginning of 19--Serkan breaks and decides to tell Eda everything the moment it becomes clear that she might actually move on with her life and he will lose her forever. Eda breaks at the beginning of 26 when it’s clear Serkan is going to be a cool cucumber about everything and stop chasing her. (I’m saying they could have probably solved all their issues in 15 if Eda had asked Efe on a date-Serkan would have been on his knees confessing and proposing in 10 min. flat, but I digress.)

No, they don’t have a ton of conversation in this. There aren’t heartfelt, long dialogs about the wrongs they’ve done and the things they feel. Frankly, they aren’t necessary. Serkan has, at this point, said all he needs to say and he couldn’t be clearer. And while we still haven’t heard Eda say “I love you”, her actions this episode show it, and he knows it, and well, if that end scene isn’t the biggest “I love you” idk what is.

I was talking with @lolo-deli about the episode and she made an excellent point. I’ll quote here “Their conversation in hall was short in dialogue but heavy in meaning and implication. In very few words they established: last night was real (and implied to be meaningful), she needs time to work out some complications (he understands what this means, she loves him and the break up was what was not real) and he will both trust her and wait for her without pressuring her AND he's still worried about her (in this case over Seyman which turns out to be a non-factor ama neyse!). That's a lot of important conversation wrapped up in a a 90 sec convo but it fits them because they understand one another very well.”

This is true of their conversation in the conference room after. They almost go back down the jealousy fight spiral we’ve seen 100 times, but instead, Eda stops herself, Serkan stops himself, and instead of fighting, they talk and both agree they were wrong and acting silly and reaffirm their love and trust for each other. In fact, both of them verbalize to their friends that they are 100% sure of the other and their feelings--they aren’t threatened by the Prince and B because of their fear of losing the other, but because both of those characters are creepy and dangerous and unhinged.

I was okay with this episode because we spent 21 episodes watching them grow apart and together--sure the previous episodes were rough, but it was a transitional period. I’m giving grace--and to quote lolo-deli again “They trust each other, it's really that simple. We didn't need to have a half hour of conversation to establish that. Just like we don't need to see Eda chasing Serkan for two more episodes to prove she loves him because she does. Also simple. We know and he knows it. He deserved affirmation and he got it, she bloody well proposed marriage.”

And this is how I feel. 26 wasn’t perfect--I still didn’t care for the AAA plot, Thor and Barf need to be gone fast, and BA is kind of a one dimensional villain I want to like more than I do. Engin and the rest of the friends were better this episode--Serkan and Engin talked for the first time in what feels like forever, Melo and Ceren were excellent support for Eda, and Serkan and Ferit are still on track to becoming the besties I want them to be. I’m not 100% sure what Eda’s plan is to get around BA, although maybe she decided to take Serkan’s advice from 13 and just let it all burn down around them and they will be stronger together for it. Honestly, Serkan was back and on fire this episode (and hotter than ever as a result) so maybe she knows that together, it doesn’t matter what BA is gonna do.

We don’t know what is coming in the next few weeks, or what is left in front of us. We’ve had a string of disappointing episodes. But Serkan and Eda have been apart for 11 episodes and they are finally back together and on the same page at the same time for the first time ever in their relationship.

In closing, I’ll leave you with this. Regardless of how you feel about 26, Eda Yılız, chronic “leaper before looker” took the time to steal back Serkan’s ring, get together that look, find the world’s most extra ring box, sneak onto Serkan’s private plane, and then recreate their first real moment together (which we were oh so recently reminded of) in order to ask the love of her life to marry her. And that is beautiful, no matter how many subplots get lost or editing goes bad. Eda Yıldız asked Serkan Bolat to marry her with a ring with her name inside it on a plane where they first went from “nothing to something”. Poetry and parallels and I loved it.

#sen çal kapımı #sen cal kapimi #my thoughts on episode 26 #i'm terrible at being succinct so I put most of it under a cut #but basically yeah #it wasn't perfect but also it was and i loved it

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