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memxntomxri · 3 years

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𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚎

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮 | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 - bisexual!hinata shouyou x gn!reader, hinata shouyou x miya atsumu

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 - angst, break up

𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 - hinata shouyou is trustworthy - with everything except for your heart

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 - 2.4k words

𝘵𝘸 - slightly descriptive nsfw?, cheating (i'm sorry to be doing my children hinata and atsumu dirty this way but this got stuck in my head 😭), major angst, break-up, no happy ending, lots and lots of crying, lots and lots of reader's internal thoughts, atsumu is an asshole

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 - this is the result of brainrot i had stuck in my head after reading chapter 18 of SabbyWrites' A Study in Depravity. HAIKYUU BOYS ARE NOT CHEATERS - I REPEAT, HAIKYUU BOYS ARE NOT CHEATERS. BISEXUAL PEOPLE ARE ALSO NOT CHEATERS. i just couldn't resist writing this lmao

also, i'm doing my best to make this a gender-neutral reader, but it might lean more towards AFAB/non-binary readers since i'm both ashelkgjkdlkjf male-identifying readers i'm sorry

thanks @meiansmistress, lou (LouEve_094 on ao3), lena, and emmy (Noisy_Emmy on ao3) for betaing! your feedback helped me a lot

𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙣𝙞 - there are some descriptive scenes of smut in here 👀 shoo, shoo

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Hinata Shouyou is trustworthy.

You know this.

It's the reason you met, after all.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The summer you moved to Miyagi, following your father's dream of teaching in a little town similar to the one he lived in as a child, you were unhappy. Who could blame you, after all? You had a comfortable life back in Osaka, and unlike your father, you were a city dweller at heart. It was also the middle of your first year of high school—who wanted to transfer schools, let alone across prefectures, in the middle of a school year?

It was hot in Miyagi, and when the moving truck broke down on the side of the road, the entire family piled out and sat on the curb. Just your father (who you were still mad at), your mother, and you. That was what it had always been. Sure, you had friends, but somehow the friendships never got too deep. You were willing to bet that within a month, there would be no texts other than the occasional New Year's greeting or "happy birthday" from your so-called friends back in Osaka.

And don't even get you started on romantic relationships. It wasn't that you weren't attractive, or that you weren't easy to get along with—it was just that there was never anybody. Yes, you had liked people before, but nothing had ever come of it.

Your mother piped up, saving you from your dark thoughts about the state of your relationships with other people. "Y/n, love, can you go back down the hill again? I think we saw a konbini a bit that way, please buy some cool drinks." she says, depositing coins in your outstretched hand. Oh well, something to do, you supposed.

You strolled casually down the road, sweating buckets. When you pushed open the doors of the konbini—Sakanoshita Store, you noted, it definitely didn’t look like a konbini—opened, you basked in the cold air of the air conditioner for a bit. As you stood there, looking a bit dumb with your arms outstretched, you felt a weight barrel into you from behind.

With a bang, you fell forward, the weight landing on your back. "Ow!" you cried, rubbing your right wrist, which had unceremoniously made contact with the ground, pain shooting up the limb. You twisted around to glare at whatever had so unceremoniously bowled you over. You were met with the sight of wide, brown eyes and flushed cheeks. "Sorry!" the boy squeaked, getting off of you quickly. "So sorry!" You frowned and got up.

"Watch where you’re going, okay?" You were a few centimeters taller than him, you noted.

He started blabbering, talking about how he needed to get the first-aid kit because a "Stingyshima" had "accidentally" ran into "Bakageyama" and this "Bakageyama" now had a bleeding knee and that he was the fastest runner in their volleyball club (he was strangely emphatic about this point). By the time he was finished rambling, you were chuckling slightly. It was obvious that he hadn't meant anything by running into you, and it was actually kind of endearing how earnestly he was trying to explain himself.

You held up a hand, stopping him from continuing to ramble. "Y-you aren't mad, right?" he asked anxiously. You smiled and shook your head slightly. "It seems your team trusts you to help take care of your friend, so why don't you grab the first-aid kit and go help him?" You suggested gently.

He nodded quickly and darted behind the counter, grabbing a white box. As he jogged away, he seemed to remember something and turned around to holler at you. "My name's Hinata Shouyou! I'm a first year!" he introduced himself in a bright voice.

Just inside the konbini, a small smile slipped across your face.

Hinata Shouyou, huh. He seemed nice.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hinata Shouyou is trustworthy.

It's the reason you fell in love with him.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The first day of school, you meet Hinata Shouyou again. And again. And again. He somehow seems to pop up everywhere you go—not that you're complaining, he's entertaining and nice—and soon, you think you can count yourself as his friend.

You go to his game against Aoba Johsai, then Shiratorizawa, then you're hugging him as he jumps up and down, celebrating their win. That’s the first time your heart jumps when you look at him, haloed by the lights of the gym.

Slowly, you feel yourself falling in love with him. Not just falling for him, no, because Hinata Shouyou will not let anyone do anything in halves, especially not falling in love. Shouyou, to you, (because by then you were on first-name basis) is someone you can rely on, someone that is always there, like the sun, trustworthy.

And because he is always there, it's also easy to confess to him in your second year. You know him well enough by now to know that even if he doesn't feel the same, nothing would change about your friendship except for the addition of unspoken words. And you think that he might love you back, if the lingering glances and brighter smiles are any indication.

Your guess is right, and by New Year's break, the two of you are a happy couple.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hinata Shouyou is trustworthy.

It's why you let him go, if only for a little bit.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

When Shouyou left for Brazil, you took a break from each other. To be honest, it was your idea.

It wasn't that you didn't think that you couldn't trust him ten thousand kilometers away—it was that you knew you would hold him back. He was going to Brazil to chase his dream, and having a tether to his hometown would only slow him down. It hurt, having to say goodbye at the airport, but somehow the two of you got through it.

You still talked—a little more than "just friends" should—but you were careful not to let him think that you were together.

Shouyou was meant for greater things, and back then, as an insecure, just-barely-adult going into medical school, you weren't sure if you fit into the picture.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hinata Shouyou is trustworthy.

It's the reason why you let him back in.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

When Shouyou returns from Brazil, the first person he visits is you. You, all the way out in Osaka, pushing yourself to your limits as you study for med school. When you open your door and see him standing there, smiling as bright as ever, you fall into his arms—both literally and metaphorically. It turns out, even two years later, you trust him to catch you.

It was all too natural for you and Shouyou to get back together, and by a stroke of luck, he joins the MSBY Black Jackals, right there in Osaka. You move in together, his slightly larger salary allowing the two of you to rent a bigger apartment.

Yes, it's hard work being in a relationship again, but you like having Shouyou to return to every night after your shift is over. You wake up early every morning to make the two of you breakfast and lunch, and Shouyou always has dinner waiting for you when you step back in the door, often also staying up so that you can talk.

You're content.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hinata Shouyou is trustworthy.

It's the reason why you think nothing of his closeness with his teammates.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Shouyou has always been a people-magnet. Even back in high school, everyone loved him. Shouyou is bisexual. You know this. He’s always had more than enough love to give back, too, and his bisexuality had never impacted your relationship. Why should it, when you’re every bit as queer as him? Your relationship was strong, and you believed in it. That's why, at every team dinner that he takes you to, when someone else inevitably takes the seats next to him instead of you and you're relegated to a corner, you don't worry about it. Shouyou loves you, and it doesn't matter where you sit for a couple of hours.

Yes, Miya Atsumu is a bit aggressive whenever Shouyou compliments him, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at you triumphantly, but you chalk it to them being good friends and Miya-san wanting to get to know you better by having a little friendly competition, and that's okay.

Yes, Shouyou starts going out with his team more and more, but they're his team. He's supposed to be close with them.

Yes, you start to feel a little neglected, but it wasn't as if you were the most attentive back when you were still struggling through med school.

And anyways, Shouyou always makes time for the two of you on Saturdays, your designated date nights. You have trust in your relationship, in its rock-tight foundation built upon years of knowing each other.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hinata Shouyou is trustworthy.

It's why you believe his words.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

One Friday, after an especially busy shift at the hospital that got cut short for you when a coworker unexpectedly came in to fill in for you, you decide to head home early and get some rest, maybe cuddle with Shouyou while watching those romcoms you both enjoy.

You had told him that you'd be home late that night, and you hoped that you could surprise him with some dinner. So, you swung by his favorite yakitori place and ordered dinner, driving home as fast as you safely could.

As you open the door to your apartment, you hear the distinctive sounds of sex, skin slapping on skin, grunts and moans, high keens. You frown. Maybe Shouyou was watching porn? He sometimes liked to get himself ready (the two of you enjoyed the occasional pegging) before you got home. You drop the food on the kitchen table and put your jacket on the hook.

"Love, I'm home!" you call out softly. No response.

Frowning deeper now, you move towards the bedroom door. Just as you're about to open it, you hear something that stops you cold.

"A-ah, Atsumu!" It's distinctively Shouyou's voice, and suddenly, you can't move anymore.

Shouyou, who told you you could make it through med school.

Shouyou, who made you yakisoba and miso soup whenever you were stuck studying.

Shouyou, who whispered sweet nothings in your ear every morning as the two of you made breakfast.

Shouyou, who is currently in bed with Miya fucking Atsumu.

You want to get up, you want to slam open the door, you want to demand answers, but somehow, you can't get your legs to budge from the spot in the ground they've rooted themselves to.

Then,

"Who do you love, Sho?" Atsumu growls.

Your heart skips a beat.

No.

You pray to all the gods you know that what's about to pass Shouyou's lips will miraculously stay trapped in his throat, but it seems like the gods don't feel kind today.

"Y-you, Atsumu, you!" you hear Shouyou cry.

Your heart shatters into a million little kaleidoscopic pieces. Tears start running down your face, hot, involuntary, painful, because they represent the six years of a beautiful relationship down the drain, because nothing will ever be the same, because Shouyou is cheating on you.

Finally, your legs decide to move again. It seems like someone else is controlling your body as you walk towards the door, opening it with a shaking hand.

Shouyou is pinned down by Miya-san on the bed, legs thrown over his shoulder, as he slams into him.

The door bangs against the wall.

Shouyou looks up, and when he sees you, his face floods with guilt.

You don't say anything. You just stand there, tears flooding down your face, betrayal evident in your expression.

"Y-y/n!" he says. "I-I- I swear, this isn't-" he begins.

You cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, Shouyou." you spit.

Miya-san chuckles. "Who are we kidding, this is exactly what they think it is. What, did you think that you would be enough to satisfy Sho? You, with your infinitely busy schedule? You, who has no clue about volleyball?" he says, cutting into you.

"Atsumu, stop!" Shouyou says, frantic. He can tell that he's going to lose you, but he's not going to go down without a fight. "Babe, I love you, please-" he says, getting out of Miya-san's embrace and moving towards you. You sidestep him, holding a duffel bag with a change of clothes.

You stand there, looking at the scene, chuckling darkly inside your head. Just a scorned lover, a man, and his side-piece. You take a deep breath.

"You know, Shouyou, if you fell in love with someone else, you should've just told me. I trust you to be honest. I'm leaving—because even though you might love me, you're in love with Miya-san." you said.

Shouyou looks stricken with guilt, but you know it's from lying, not because he loves you anymore. Your laugh is broken and rough on the ears. "You think I didn't hear you? Oh, Shouyou, I heard more than enough. Have a nice life, and I hope that you remember how you broke me. I hope it fucking haunts you to the day of your death," you hurl at him.

Because even though at that moment you're screaming at him, you know that you still love him, that you’ll always will love him, and that you will carry this scar for the rest of your life. And even though you love him enough to leave now, to let him be with the person he loves—you still have enough love for yourself to hope that he bears some of the weight of this horrible, messy end too.

And with that, you walk out the door.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

But you're wrong.

Hinata Shouyou might love Miya Atsumu, but he still loves you more.

Years later, looking back, he comprehends that he didn't just break you. As he stares at his empty apartment, devoid of a lover—because what you said was true, he still carries the guilt, the memory of your tear-stained face, the recollections of your golden time together that ruined any relationship he might have had before it started, the echo of your absolute trust in him,

—Hinata Shouyou realizes he ruined himself too.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

#haikyuu fandom #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #hinata x reader #hinata shouyou x reader #atsuhina #canon universe #angst #haikyu angst #cheating #no happy ending

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spitpr1ncess · 3 years

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BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

(not my image)

“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?

You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.

You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.

You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.

Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.

Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.

As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.

Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation

The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.

You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.

You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.

He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.

You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.

You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.

A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.

Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.

“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.

“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.

His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.

Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.

Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.

You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.

“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.

Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.

“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.

“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.

“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.

“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.

“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.

“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.

“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.

You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.

“Sure thing.”, You reply.

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violet-knox · 4 years

Note

Hi! Could you write about Adult!Snape being jealous about Adult!Reader? Maybe it could include Lupin as well ?💓

Rags To Riches

Pairing: Snape x Potioneer!Reader

Summary: Severus makes his way to the annual award ceremony held by the Society of Portioneers and is once again disappointed with the speeches. Storming out of the venue, he makes his way to the bar where he’s approached by a familiar face.

Warnings: A bit of hate towards werewolves (from Severus)

Word Count: 9708

A/N: To be honest anon, I wasn’t entirely sure what you meant by “being jealous about”. I took it as Severus being jealous of reader, I hope that’s alright. If that wasn’t what you were asking for, I’m sorry, I hope you can enjoy it either way. This story started off with one idea which morphed into something completely different. I truly meant to include Lupin but instead of a feature, he gets more of a mention in this piece. I hope the general theme of the ask still stuck though. It was a lot of fun to write, I really enjoyed coming up with a different scenery outside Hogwarts. I actually enjoyed it so much that I may in the future do a part 2 but who knows. I have so much on my plate, if I do write a part 2, it probably won’t be anytime soon 😅

Clutching the invitation in his hand, he looked down at the address written in bright cursive gold then back up at the building before him. The outside of the building was built with pristine white bricks, the windows lined in the same shade of gold that lay on the invitation. He no doubt expected the inside to be just as pretentious, well suited for the event he was to attend tonight which was one of the many reasons why he never went. Taking a step closer, he slowly inched his way to the door where a doorman awaited, checking the invitations of every guest with a wave of his wand. He wasn’t as nearly accomplished as those who’d come to the Society of Potioneers’ Annual Award Ceremony, and even now, dressed in his best attire, he felt like a fraud, like the ugly duckling walking into the pond with his painted feathers looking to join his family.

Handing the man his invitation, he watched as he wove his wand over it, a puff of silver smoke steaming off the parchment, spelling out his name right before his eyes. It was always about the looks, the way the society was perceived to others that mattered. Even after all his hard work, everything he’d done to join and be accepted into the community, he kept hoping something good would come of it, that he’d one day be appreciated for all his potion alteration, perhaps even be granted the privilege of establishing a communal wide potion’s standards for all Wizarding schools. But those dreams of a hopeful boy had died long ago, and he’d naturally distanced himself from the society, watching from afar as those he’d established friendships with climbed above him with no interest in helping him push his career forward.

“Down the hall to your left, you’ll find the venue, to your right will be the bar and at the end there is the registry office if you shall need anything this evening. Enjoy the ceremony sir,” said the man as he handed Severus back his invitation, now turned into a ceremony program. Opening it, he saw the first few words bolding, almost screaming at him to make his way to the venue to find a seat and await the opening remarks. Fifteen minutes of opening remarks, then an hour and a half of speaking of the organization's foundation followed by forty-five minutes of introductions and then another three hours of torment and agony until the part of the event he’d shown up for.

There it was, the name of the potioneer he’d admired for a few years now: (Y/N) (Y/L/N). He’d read all your books, owned several copies, even taught from them and assigned them as extra reading material for those in his classes who had a knack for the art of potion making. Your ideology was quite phenomenal, your process much more advanced than those of the peers you sat alongside now. Of course, it wasn’t without its faults, after all, no one was perfect and if he’d ever gotten the chance, he would simply adore sitting with you to discuss improvements on some of the more extravagant potions you’d written about. But who was he to have such a privilege; a nobody Potion’s Master, forever doomed to teach the pinheads of Hogwarts.

Looking down at the pamphlet in his hand, he watched the timer in the corner slowly decrease, nine miserable minutes until the socializing was over, and until then, he’d do his best to avoid the few familiar faces he knew wouldn’t care to speak with him. He made his way to the end of the last row and took a seat, placing the program on his lap with his eyes on the timer, wondering if it was only counting down as slowly as it was because it could sense his pain and anticipation. It was this moment, the loneliness he felt as his eyes scanned the room that he began to regret showing up at all, knowing he wasn’t exactly a connection many wanted to make especially considering his status as an ex-Death Eater with rumours of the Dark Lord’s return swarming through the Wizarding World.

Five minutes remaining. He sighed the nail of his thumb scratched at the fabric of his cuff. Never did he ever imagine himself wearing this suit when Lucius had gifted it to him as a way to celebrate his position at Dumbledore’s side all those years ago. It was tighter than he’d remembered, thicker and heavier, but just as uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right the first time he’d put it on, and it didn’t feel any better now, even after the alterations he’d made to lessen the glamour smudged all over it. It was Lucius’ style, very much his style with bright lining along the robes, a silver touch on the suit itself, the ascot it came with just as dashing, but it wasn’t something Severus could ever wear. He’d spent so much of his life wearing nothing but second-hand clothing, worn out shirts, trousers he’d grown out of years ago, he wasn’t worthy to wear items so luxurious, even if the event called for it.

“Attention everyone, if you would all find your seats.” Severus straightened his back as he looked up to the stage to find his old Potion’s Professor addressing the room with that same cunning smile he’d always worn when he was a student. Others around him all shuffled around, Slughorn happily standing there waiting for the commotion to settle. The man had looked better, Severus never imagining him letting himself go as much as he did with how important appealing to others had been for him. He, of course, wasn’t surprised to find him hosting an event such as this, someone who’d made nothing of his own potion’s career, still striving to be recognized in the world would end up as the host of a prestigious event. He could only hope that wasn’t his future standing on stage as the man’s successor as Hogwarts Potions Master.

Slughorn began the event with his head held high, Severus pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes glued shut as the headache that always came with Slughorn’s lectures settled in. He wondered if half these people were past students of Slughorn’s as he was, if they’d even allow this man to talk as much as he was now. He’d never met a single person who’d enjoyed one of his classes, not even those who were a part of his idiotic club.

Time could not have passed any slower as one by one people he’d never met or heard of spoke on stage, clapping and laughter occasionally filling the room as he simply sat there with his thumb under his chin and two fingers pressed against his temple, looking like he had a wand to his head. His eyes focussed more on the program before him, waiting one by one as items disappeared until finally the time came for your presentation and award acceptance.

“Now, for the moment many of you have surely been waiting for; awarding Potioneer of the Year. Wizards and Witches, the publisher of the improved Wolfsbane’s potion, Professor (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The room roared with applause, Severus clapping alongside them for the first time tonight as his eyes searched for you. Severus pushed himself forward, straightened as much as he could as he watched you walk on stage. You looked so strong, your attire casual yet stunning. He felt his heartbeat rage against his chest as his eyes widened. You were much more attractive in person, much more enticing than he’d ever imagined you’d be. He felt like an insect standing before a God, sitting so close to you he could read the expression on your face, yet he felt like you were from completely different worlds.

“Thank you, it’s an honour and a privilege to accept this award on behalf of those with whom I worked alongside these past few years.” You went on to thank your entire staff list one by one, many around him displaying their distaste for the long list, but he admired you for it all the more. “It’s troubling times like these that we must remember to make alliances of those around us, to help those who suffer from lycanthropy and do what we can to help them during the full moon. It is a great pleasure to see you all come here today to take part in the next steps of a brighter future. I hope with all the brilliant minds in this room that one day we may cure those who are being stripped of their rights as Wizards and Witches.”

Severus had to admit that he was never one to care for such topics, his own experience with werewolves rather scaring his ability to sympathize. Lupin was such a careless beast, putting his need of acceptance above the safety of those around him. He’d tried so hard to put the past behind him, to give Lupin the benefit of the doubt when he took the position Severus was rightfully owed. But once again, he’d proven himself unable to put others before himself even with his help. All those countless hours brewing that horrendous potion wasted only for him to end up exactly where he’d found himself all those years ago: at the mercy of the beast.

Your presentation however was rather enticing, the delicacy of detail you’d put in your research of some of the rarest ingredients he’d ever heard, the intricate way you’d calculated your measurements. But most of all, he was absolutely in love with your experimentation process and only wished he had the privilege to merely exist in the same space to watch you perform each trial, to hear you speak of your observations and conclusions, the way each failure helped you learn for the next until you finally found the correct footing. He was absolutely astounded by your work, unable to help himself from scribbling down as many notes as he could on the notebook he’d brought, completely ignoring the underappreciation in the room as the others simply waited for your presentation to end. Fools, all of them. They were absolute fools to take your genius mind for granted.

“That concludes my findings. Now, no doubt many of you have questions, but before we move onto the brief Q&A portion, I’d like to take this moment to thank someone very special, someone who’s own experiences inspired me to pursue the remaking of the wolfsbane potion: Remus Lupin.” Severus’ eyes shot up from his notebook, his quill leaving a rather visible line through his notes as his hand slipped from the name he heard spoken out of your mouth. He watched as you smiled and gestured to a man sitting in the front row beside the empty seat you’d risen from to give the presentation he’d just spent an hour hanging on every word for. Applause slowly turned to ringing as he was deafened by the thought of you working with Lupin.

He looked down at his notebook, his endless sea of questions as rage and hatred filled his mind. This weekend was supposed to be about him, about his interests, his hopes to rejoin civilization through the Society of Potioneers, to possibly, very possibly exchange two words with you and that mut had spent years speaking with you? Working alongside you? It was bad enough Dumbledore had hired the man after everything that had happened, after knowing the trauma he’d been through as a child, but this was an entirely different type of mockery. Merlin was testing him, pushing him to insanity, punishing him for his past choices, it was the only explanation.

Closing his notebook rather harshly, he swiftly jumped to his feet and made his way out of the room, suddenly aware of the lack of oxygen a packed room like this offered. He let the doors close silently behind him as he stopped to lean back on the wall, trying to take in a deep breath. He closed his eyes and let his hair fall over his face, the memories of the Whomping Willow flooding back to him all at once. He could feel his muscles tensing as he froze in a state of shock and panic, both times he’d felt helpless and both times he’d failed to defend against the beast.

“Sir, are you alright?” Slowly, he opened his eyes to see one of the staff members of the hotel staring at him with concern.

“I’m fine,” Severus said coldly as he pushed himself passed the man and walked straight to the other side where he’d been told the bar was located. Bursting through the doors, he stopped to find himself in the most luxurious bar he’d ever seen. The space was quite generous, twice as large as the venue hosting the Award Ceremony. Bottles upon bottles lay displayed behind the bar that seemed to stretch out forever, glasses all hanging above as crystal clear as the air itself. Walking up to the bar, he hesitated to take a seat, the chairs alone likely worth more than his annual salary. Placing his book on the counter, he sat on the edge of his chair and ordered a firewhiskey. Double.

“Two Galleons,” said the bartender as he slid the drink over to Severus with a coaster beneath it. Severus stared at the bartender like he’d just spoken a language he was unfamiliar with. It was no wonder Dumbledore said he’d only pay for his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, but at least the Headmaster had given him some spending money so it was his Sickle he was wasting and not his own. Handing over his coins, he picked up the drink and slowly began to swirl its contents around the thick glass. He took a small sip and winced at the strength of the liquid, the burning sensation it left in his mouth as it trailed down his throat and into his stomach. The aftertaste was quite strong, rather pleasant and he could see why it cost as much as it did.

Placing the glass back on the coaster, he stared at the menacing notebook before him. He’d nearly filled up half of it with notes on your books, each word written with the hopes that you’d one day read them, each sentence written with the image of you in his mind. His fingertips grazed the cover of the notebook, almost afraid to touch it after the discovery he’d made this evening. But slowly, ever so slowly, the notebook was brought closer and closer to him, dragged along the marble countertop until it stood there before him, taunting him with thoughts of potential and revelation. He dreadfully opened up the notebook and slowly began to flip through its pages, finding it rather comforting to read through the notes he made when reading your books, until he finally found himself turning to the fresh notes he’d taken not moments ago.

His admiration slowly turned toxic as a familiar emotion took root in his core. He hated that you were better than him, more successful than him. He absolutely resented the fact you’d lifted up someone who didn’t deserve it. He would have made a much better coworker, he would have offered insight Lupin could never dream of having, the beast who’d taken so much from him already had to come after the one thing Severus had always excelled at, just like those who’d used him during his days as a student.

“My my, and here I was worried you’d left because you found my presentation boring.” Severus’ head spun around to the side to find you standing before him, smiling down at his notebook. With a hasty hand, he slammed the book shut for the second time that day, staring back at you with wide eyes.

“May I?” You’d gestured at the seat next to him, but he couldn’t find his voice to speak or even nod his head. He was utterly stunned, much like during his interaction with the beast, your friend, your coworker, the parasite in your life. He was angry at you, a complete stranger, his rage misguided, yet he couldn’t help but feel some sort of animosity towards you. He deserved better than the life he’d gotten, better than the forgotten Potion’s Master who was of no use to anyone but the school’s matron and the few students who possessed enough talent to pursue the career he should have had, the career you now possessed. His malice towards you grew as he thought of the respect you had, the respect he’d chased for so long, exchanged his soul for and all you’d done to earn it was write a few books and work with a monster.

“Dragon Barrel Brandy please. And a refill for this gentleman,” you said to the bartender, gesturing to the nearly empty glass sitting beside the notebook you’d give anything to take another peek inside.

You’d never felt so stunned before, so taken back by the sudden exit of one of your audience members during your Q&A. The man had walked so graciously out those doors, like he was part of the shadows that engulfed him as his hair swished behind him, his robes flowing, extenuating his slim yet luscious figure. You’d been so distracted, you had to ask the woman to repeat her question, you yourself barely able to give a feasible answer as your mind swarmed with questions about the man who’d just walked out of those doors. Had you done something wrong? Said something to offend him? Was he called away or did he simply find your presentation uninspired? Whatever the reason, you found yourself unable to sit in that room any longer, needing to excuse yourself and hope the man was still around and willing to chat. Well, at least he was indeed still around, and you were sure with a bit of light conversation and a few more drinks, he’d be willing to chat considering the extensive and thought out notes he’d taken.

“May I ask your name?” you inquired as you sat back in your chair, head tilted as you examined his posture. He wasn’t anything like the people you’d met at these sorts of events, in fact, you were sure you’d never seen him before. You would have easily remembered such a mysterious man, dressed in a rather interesting attire. The robes he wore looked vintage, something one of those snobby rich young graduates looking for easy connections to make would wear, but he looked nothing of the sort. He sat here alone, he sat in the venue in the back corner alone. He had yet to speak to you, his eyes focussed on the notebook in front of him, dismissing the rest of the world. He was a complete mystery, one you very much wanted to solve.

Severus could feel your eyes on him, your eyes, staring at him, waiting for him to introduce himself. His mind had gone completely blank, overwhelmed with annoyance and admiration, jealousy and wonder. Clearing his throat, he mumbled his name through gritted teeth, his voice a tone deeper than usual. “Severus Snape.”

“Really?” Your shock escaped you before you could formulate a single thought. It was rather odd you’d found the Severus Snape at an event like this, let alone taking notes on your presentation, talking to you now.

“You’ve heard of me?” he asked, rather taken back himself, his head spinning to look at you, his eyes wide with amazement. No one had ever recognized his name outside the walls of the school, not even the Dark Lord’s followers who heard whispers of the Death Eater who’d come to their master with the forsaken prophecy. He wasn’t sure how to react to your recognition of him beyond pure curiosity and could only imagine what dark rumours had passed within the pretentious group of potioneers.

“Hogwarts youngest Potion’s Master, how could I have not. In fact, I’ve even worked with some of your past students. You must be remarkably talented to be hired so young, to have left such an impressive mark on your students,” you said with what he assumed was excitement in your voice. Or perhaps he’d mistaken it for sarcasm, something he found rather common amongst those you hung around with. But your emotions were true, your eyes filled with the same wonder he’d held for you all those years. “Remus tells me he worked at Hogwarts for a short while before someone let slip his condition.”

And back you went to mentioning the name of the beast, the very thing that had driven him away from you. He whipped his gaze back to the bar, to the book in front of him as he reached to take a sip of his drink, cringing at your words. He could hardly believe his luck, his foolishness for believing there was a chance he’d have a peaceful, well deserved weekend off, away from his past, his future, the dreadful truth of his present.

“He let it slip himself when he neglected to fulfill the simple task of drinking the potion I spent hours brewing,” he mumbled under his breath, the little respect he still had for you keeping him from losing it completely.

“And that warrants him to lose his job?” You tried to hold yourself back as his insinuations boiled your blood. It was assumption like that, negative attitudes like his that you’d dedicated your career to fighting against. You were saddened to hear the resentful tone he took when speaking of Remus, rather hoping this conversation could turn into an opportunity to work with him.

“If it endangers the students, yes,” he said bluntly, looking back at you with cold eyes before he took another sip of his drink. Your expression hardened, a frown appearing on your lips as you thought of all the hardships Remus had gone through, how he spoke so highly of Hogwarts Headmaster, someone you thought picked his staff well, though clearly his judgment fell short on some people.

“We’ve all made mistakes. One incident shouldn’t define a person like that,” you tried to argue, doing your best to make your opinion clear in the hopes he’d indulge you in a civil discussion on the topic. Many thought potions was your weapon of choice when it came to the rights of those cursed with lycanthropy, but you found words were much more effective. Words and discussion had created enough allies for you to come as far as you did in just a few short years and you hoped they wouldn’t fail you now, craving to work with Severus.

“It wasn’t just one incident. Remus has a rather nasty habit of turning the other way on his responsibilities. He never should have been hired in the first place.” Severus mumbled the last sentence, looking away as he took another sip of his drink, finding comfort in the harsh taste that trickled down his throat against the bitter words he spoke to the one person these past few years he’d looked up to, found comfort in. Never meet your heroes; a saying he’d never known to be more true than this moment.

“That’s a rather harsh judgment to make for the short period of time you worked with him.” You did your best to keep your tone neutral, to encourage him to speak his mind and converse with you. The worst type of people you’d ever spoke to were those whose heads were so thick, your words bounced right off of them. It seemed, however, that despite your attempt to keep things civil, you’d struck a nerve with the comment you made, the nasty look he gave you now indicating perhaps you were wrong to make the assumption he’d met Remus during his time as a professor. You watched him chug the remainder of his drink and worried that he’d do something regretful tonight realizing you had no idea how much he’d had to drink before you showed up.

“You wouldn’t understand. No one ever does,” he mumbled, setting down his glass on the coaster and pushing it away slowly. Two drinks was quite enough, especially if he wanted to remain sober enough to apparate back to the Leaky Cauldron tonight.

“Try me,” you said softly, catching his eye once more as you saw his harsh exterior begin to melt away. Severus looked at you in shock, rather surprised you hadn’t already thrown your barely touched drink in his face and stormed off from what he’d already said, let alone encouraging him to keep going. He squinted as he looked into your eyes, trying to figure you out, find any sense of logic in the sea of mixed emotions he felt towards you. You seemed rather genuine, and that was a trait he’d admired in your writing, but oh how blind you were, how you seemed to negate any possibility that he was right.

“Remus and I went to school together as students,” Severus began, deciding to take a leap of faith, indulging you in your interest to converse with him. “He was a prefect who neglected his duties at the amusement of his friends. Friends who thought luring a student to meet his... other half was worth a laugh.”

Severus had never spoken about the day he found out about Lupin’s secret before, Dumbledore’s word always haunting him, telling him to keep it to himself. But he had to admit, it felt good to let out his vexation, even if he wasn’t being completely honest. He wondered however, what you would think of Lupin had you been enrolled in Hogwarts with him, had you been in his place that night, near the brink of death, all for a joke. Would you despise Lupin as he did? Or would you continue to defend him?

In truth, he didn’t blame Lupin for that night. No, the blame fell upon those he called ‘friends’, those he’d trusted with his secret only to turn around and use his affliction to their advantage. Lupin’s fault was his own unwillingness to punish them for their actions, to let them parlance around the school like they owned it. It was his fault it had gone as far as it did, his fault for continuing to defend them afterwards without consideration for what may have happened that night.

Looking at you now, the blank expression you wore, he wasn’t sure how you’d react. It wasn’t often people could elude their emotions from him, but you were different, he could tell you were conflicted in thought. You’d fallen completely silent, something that had never happened before as you got the hint he was that student in his story, which would have meant Severus likely almost lost his life at Remus’ hand twice in his life. It was hard for you not to be biased. You’d known Lupin for years now and could hardly imagine him turning a blind eye to something like that, but you also had to admit, it wasn’t fair to Severus to be put in such a situation either.

“Listen, Severus, I understand how traumatizing an experience like that could be, but that’s all the more reason we must find a way to help the Wizards and Witches who’ve been cursed with such a horrible infliction,” you said sympathetically, your defensiveness melted away, replaced with a soft understanding tone. You respected his experience, his trauma, even if no one else understood, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recover from that time, that Remus had to remain the villain in his eyes.

“Come with me, and perhaps we can clear this up with Remus,” you said, gesturing back to the venue, offering to moderate their reunion and help him confront his past. You wanted to help him heal, to help him see the other side of Remus, but it was clear he wasn’t ready to take such a step, rejecting your offer almost as quickly as you’d given it.

“No!” His words nearly jumping down your throat as he spoke, his eyes widened with a sudden burst of fear. He looked at you in a panic and saw the surprise you wore on your face, feeling guilty for rejecting so hastily. “I do not wish to speak with him.”

Your mouth gaped open, words lost on you as you saw the sadness in his eyes, the resentment and hatred he held. He’d been holding back all this time, trying to hide his pain, something you could tell he was rather used to. Your eyes scanned him as he hung his head low, analysing him, the sadness he carried over his shoulders. The evening hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, he was disappointed in the Award Ceremony and you’d misjudged the reason for his previous display of rebellion. “Is he the reason why you ran out on my presentation?”

Severus said nothing, staring at his empty glass as he brought his notebook closer to the edge of the counter, shielded by his arms placed on either side. He wanted so badly to go back to that moment where he was unaware of Lupin’s presence, his tainted hand in your research and simply enjoy your presentation. He hadn’t felt that sense of peace listening to you speak in such a long while, every horrendous thing in his life forgotten. He was a fourteen-year-old boy again, avidly taking notes in class on a subject he loved, a subject he excelled at. It was a feeling he missed, a feeling he was sure he’d never get the privilege of experiencing again.

“Your presentation was not what I walked away from,” he stated plainly, ending the conversation with his stiff, conclusive tone. You looked away out of respect for his choice. You hadn’t come here to defend the actions of a teenager, you’d accepted that award tonight in exchange for the opportunity to present your ideas and findings to a group of experts in your field in the hopes you’d inspire at least one of them to join your mission and you weren’t about to give up on that. Severus was a rather enticing person, carrying a fresh perspective that you could use. It also helped that you felt quite intrigued by him, wanting to know him better.

“I see. Well, perhaps we could discuss your thoughts on my presentation instead then,” you said, a smile pulling on your lips as you gestured towards the notebook he so carefully protected. You’d give anything to read it, get inside the mind of Severus Snape. “Over dinner? If you’d like.”

Severus froze, wondering if he’d heard you right. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look back at you, tilting his head in wonder of the inviting look you gave him, the soft smile that hoped for a ‘yes’, the eyes that wanted to continue your conversation. He’d never seen anyone look at him with such interest before, let alone someone he himself admired. “You’d like to have dinner? With me?”

“If you’ll allow it,” you mused, your thoughts lost in your inability to accept anything but a yes to your invitation.

“What about them,” Severus gestured to the venue, rather confused as to your intentions. He wasn’t as well connected as everyone else in that room, he didn’t have the resources or money to offer you aid in your research. You had nothing to gain from dinner with him, an evening with him alone certainly not worth his scribbles. “What about Lupin?”

“I think you and I could have much more interesting conversations.” You could almost laugh at the insinuating that you were attached to the hip with Remus. He was your friend, a coworker and nothing more, surely Severus could see that. No, with him, it was much more than about making a friend or conversing about progressing your research. You felt drawn to Severus, your own presence clearly affecting him just the same, else he likely would have shunned you as he did the rest of Lupin’s friends, as he intended to do when he walked out on your presentation.

Severus narrowed his eyes at you, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Was he meant to enjoy the privilege of your company after all? Had there been a reason for him feeling drawn to you, to your books all those years ago beyond curiosity? He couldn’t tell whether your invitation was strictly professional or if you’d hoped to gain a personal favour as well. But he had to admit, he was rather intrigued. No longer did he feel irritated with your social connections, nor did he praise you for your accomplishment. He saw something else, something new behind those eyes of yours; a spark of lust, a flame of passion, an interest he’d never seen anyone take with him before.

“What do you say?” you asked softly as you stood from your seat and took a step towards him. You smiled and offered him your hand, feeling rather confident he’d take it. You barely knew the man, but from what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard about him, he wasn’t one to hesitate, especially with those he loathed. In fact, you could tell from the moment you sat next to him he was just as intrigued as you were, that he held something more than admiration for you otherwise he would have made a scene and left when you brought up Remus.

He looked down at your hand and straightened his back, his grip on his notebook tightening as he hesitantly stood from his own seat and reached out to meet his coarse palm with yours. Your smile grew as you clasped your hand shut, leading him out the door without a moment to waste. You sped up your pace as you passed the venue, chatter to be heard on the other side of the door and took a sharp turn down the corridor towards the registry office of the building. The last thing you needed was for one of those vultures to find you and snatch you away from a peaceful dinner.

“Where are we going?” Severus’ commanded your attention as you continued walking down the hall, holding him tightly as he walked beside you, feeling rather awkward at the situation he’d found himself agreeing to. He could feel his heart beating faster, his hand ever so slightly trying to release itself from your grip, yet a small part of him hoped Lupin would walk out those doors behind him and see you with him.

“My room,” you said casually. Severus’ eyes widened, his confusion amplified as you stopped and took out your wand, waving it before a blank wall. An elevator appeared before you, its doors opening before you dragged him inside.

“What? But I thought-”

“Relax,” you cut him off, rather amused at how suggestive your comment had come out, how he shivered at the thought this was more than a dinner between two strangers, though you hoped after tonight, that title would be swapped out for something much warmer. “It’s not like that. You’ll see when we get there.”

Severus stayed quite as you let go of his hand, your warmth already seeping away as the cold returned to his palm. He looked down at his hand, pressing his thumb to his palm as he held it like he’d just been released of the most agonising shackles. It felt oddly empty, like they were forever meant to stay locked with yours, only to wither in pain when they weren’t. Looking down at your hand, he saw you ever so slightly rubbing your own fingers against your palm as you held a loose fist, your eyes fixed on the passing increasing number above the elevator until finally movement ceased and the doors swung open.

You nearly leapt out of the elevator, leaving Severus behind as excitement took you over. You couldn’t remember the last time you sat down with someone to have a simple chat, to socialise and enjoy life. These past few months had especially been quite the burden as the Society’s pressure in your presentation and award acceptance weighed you down. You had to submit in the end of course, only agreeing to attend their pompous event for the opportunity to pick the brains of those who would attend, but when you were up there, you could tell none of them truly cared for your research. None of them had any interest in the progression of Potions, the amount of potential it carried. They were simply there as investors, which of course came in handy, especially when you wished to hire as much talent as you could, but that wasn’t what you needed now, not after all those long hours working day after day, month after month. You needed a breath of fresh air, and for you, that was Severus.

Finally, you reached your destination, and with a wave of your wand, the door clicked open, Severus watching you step inside before following. He was astounded by what he saw as you closed the door behind him, like a two-story suite had been crammed into your hotel room. The windows stood tall, like the ones at Hogwarts, sunshine flooding in to illuminate everything in sight. A reasonably sized round glass table stood on the other side of the room beside the staircase, two doors standing behind it. Before him sat a large sectional couch, facing the fireplace and a rectangular shaped coffee table.

You walked around Severus as he admired the luxury you were lucky enough to bargain for when agreeing to attend the event tonight. You had no issue taking advantage of the privileges you’d been granted, knowing how much your attendance meant to them and their social standing to the rest of the Wizarding Community. You sighed in glee as you finally felt like you could relax, removing your outer robes and any unnecessary trinkets you’d put on for the sake of appearance.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you said as you removed your watch, placing it on the coffee table and grabbing the menu. Severus watched you as you walked over to the dining table, looking back to see him slowly removing his own outer robes, revealing the black vest and white button up he wore beneath it. “I’m more of a casual wearer myself.”

Severus nodded at your remark, feeling rather relieved he could finally let go of the pompous attire he wore, removing the cufflinks that had been bothering him all day. He rolled up his sleeves as he took a seat across from you, placing the cufflinks on the glass table.

“Order anything you like and make it for two,” you told him as you handed him the menu, eyeing the cufflinks he’d placed in front of him. He arched a brow at you as he stared at the prices on the menu, wondering if you were insinuating you’d pay for him as if he couldn’t afford it himself.

“The Society is paying for it,” you explained, leaning forward. Severus nodded in understanding, unsure of what to say. He could hardly believe he was sitting here in front of you, about to have dinner in the complete privacy of such a luxurious suite. He felt butterflies in his stomach as your words of being a casual wearer rung in his ears. Was this meant to be taken as a casual dinner then?

“How do I order?” he asked, never having the opportunity to stay at a hotel like this.

“Ah, just tap the tip of your wand over the name of the dish you’d like,” you explained, pressing your lips together in wonder. As he ordered, you picked up one of the cufflinks before him, the metal scratching against the glass of the tabletop. You were itching to figure out why a man who so obviously did not live in a life of luxury wore such glamorous clothing, attended an event where he didn’t fit in.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’d wear bold emerald cufflinks,” you said as you examined the cufflink, Severus placing the menu down as he watched you. Your eyes met and you immediately paused, his threatening glare rather terrifying. Placing the cufflink back, you retreated your hands to your side of the table and sat back in your chair. “Sorry. I was just wondering why you’ve come to an event you’re not comfortable with.”

“I didn’t know Lupin would be here,” he said as if it wasn’t obvious enough already.

“That’s not what I meant.” You shifted in your seat, not wanting to ruin the evening with a topic you knew he likely wouldn’t want to discuss. Your curiosity however overtook your better judgment, treading carefully in search of an opportunity to get to know him. “It’s just- you and I, we’re not like them, and you, your scene clearly doesn’t include high class hotels and 500 Galleon suits.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at you, placing his elbows on the armrest of the chair as he folded his hands in front of his lips. He leaned back in his chair, studying you like he did back at the bar, wondering what you were thinking. There was no denying the fact he wanted to make a good impression on you. For so long he’d yearned to be where you were, to be recognized as you had been and gaining your respect would mean everything to him.

“And why not?” he asked plainly, looking to find even a sliver of your perspective of him, to know what it was you were seeking from him and what you considered acceptable.

“You paid attention during my presentation, you weren’t just there to see me accept an award. More than that, you took notes, you have a clear interest in the subject of Potions rather than the status a Potioneer might have. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” you said with absolute sincerity, smiling softly as you encouraged him to open up if only enough to show you who he truly was. You were so tired of the fakery, the networking efforts made by those who showed up today, so imagine your surprise to find someone as pure as him, someone you could have a real conversation with.

“I simply appreciate true talent and the pristine amount of detail put into researching the progression of Potions,” he stated without so much as wavering in his tone. You were inclined to believe him of course, but you still couldn’t help but ponder over the possibility there was more to him than admiration for your work. At least you’d managed to get some form of truth out of him as he seemed to relax a bit.

“You flatter me.” Your smile grew mischievously, like you’d just captured a secret message hidden beneath his words only meant for you to keep as your own. “Can I assume you attended tonight for my lecture?”

Severus’ eyes widened the slightest bit before he looked away, adjusting his position in his chair as he cleared his throat. A giggle slipped from your throat as you watched him sit in the awkwardness of your question when your food suddenly appeared before you. Severus sighed in relief as he reached for the napkin, placing it over his lap before picking up his cutlery to dive right in. He could still feel the heat in his face from your insinuation and though your assumption had been correct, he would lay before the Bellatrix’s blade before admitting it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you said as you motioned to begin your meal as well. You kept your eyes on him as you placed your napkin over your lap, watching his lips twitch into a subtle smile for the first time that evening. You felt butterflies flourish in your stomach as you gazed on his expression, emotions you were sure he’d been used to suppressing emerging for your eyes and your eyes alone. He looked rather handsome when he smiled, his lips softening up the sharpness of his features.

Looking down at the dish waiting to be consumed, you couldn’t help but notice his choice was rather reserved, tasteful as all things on the menu were, but casual like he was playing it safe, needing to feel connected to what he knew rather than risk ordering something he’d never heard of before. But lucky for him, you weren’t too picky in your food choices, enjoying your meal as you continued to make small talk with Severus, the atmosphere lightening as the sun slowly set on your evening together. Time passed around you as you both captured this moment for yourselves, stopping the clocks in the bubble of your hotel room and lengthening your dinner as much as possible. But slowly your dishes were cleared and as you set down your cutlery after taking your last bite, you watched your dishes vanish. Time was up, yet you didn’t want to let go.

“Thank you for this,” Severus said as he wiped his mouth clean, vanishing his napkin when he was done with it. “I have to admit, this was not how I imagined the evening.”

His eyes were soft, his expression much happier than the one he wore when you first approached him. You gawked at him, unaware of the dreamy look you were giving him now. You had no idea why he’d come tonight, though you had your suspicions, but you were glad he did. He was a delight to talk to once he’d gotten comfortable around you, his lightened attitude amplifying the subtle beauty he held.

“And what were you expecting?” you asked curiously, hoping to get the confession you wanted out of him, to confirm your suspicions and perhaps open a door to a potential future with him.

“I suppose I’d only hoped to enjoy your presentation.” He spoke slowly, like he’d carefully picked out every word before speaking them. He felt his heart raging in discomfort, concerned for the thin ice he was walking across, trying to reach the happiness he saw on the other side.

“Nothing more?” You encouraged him, your voice echoing from beyond the ice, your smile inviting like you knew exactly what he had to say to safely cross over to you. He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment as he felt the heat rise to his face, his cheeks blushing a light shade of pink as he licked his lips, swallowing hard at the thought lingering in the forefront of his mind.

“I-I suppose I never thought myself lucky enough to engage in a conversation with you,” he pushed himself to say. His eyes slowly looked up from the table, meeting your gaze in an endlessly nervous state of desire. He carefully watched you, your smile growing as your eyes sparkled, clearly not appalled by his insinuation. He thought back to the speeches, conversations he’d play out in his mind whenever he read one of your books, always one sided, always filled with a need they’d one day come to life and it never seemed more possible that he’d get his wish than now.

“Then would you perhaps indulge me in your thoughts on my presentation?” you inquired, hoping this time, he’d show you what was in his notebook rather than shield them from you. Severus stared at you a moment, like he was very intently considering your request and whether or not he could trust you before nodding. He pushed back his chair and you jumped out of yours in excitement, already making your way over to the couch before he even got a chance to stand. You took a seat and waited for him to retrieve his notebook, feeling like you were about to take a peek into pandora’s box after the way he’d protected it earlier.

Severus cautiously took a seat beside you, notebook in hand. You were far enough away from him that you couldn’t read the writing on the pages as he flipped through it, but close enough that you could smell the lavender in his hair, the smell of fresh ink and parchment on his clothing and a faint smell of varying potion ingredients only a practicing potioneer could have. After carefully flattening the notebook, he handed it to you as if giving you the most delicate of flowers to hold.

Your eyes were wide as you placed it on your lap, your heart thumping in excitement as you scanned over the page filled with cramped notes so neatly written, filling up both pages laid before you. Your eyes travelled to the top of the first page, smiling as you saw today’s date written in the corner with the words ‘Society of Potioneers Award Ceremony. Presentation on Wolfsbane potion by (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’ written beneath. Your fingers hovered over the miniscule writing as you read along the page, flipping to the next, each word enticing you more and more. You had so much to say, so many ideas blooming as you continued through, remembering your own presentation and the correlation between his notes and your words.

“Severus, this is-” you whispered in such a stale tone. He’d been looking at you so intently, watching the expression on your face, checking you’d only flip forward in the notebook and not backwards, he’d completely been taken back by your sudden words. The silence had settled, thickened with such anticipation that even your small whisper had his heart skipping a beat. “You’re brilliant.”

Your words hung in the air, pinned in his mind as he pondered over their meaning, over how genuine they were. He wanted so badly to take your compliment and cherish it forever, but that wall he’d kept up since his teen years rejected it, pushed it away in fear of it causing harm in the future. He’d longed to discuss your research with you and now that he was being given that chance, he felt like he was spoiling it by remaining so silent.

“They’re just thoughts,” he mumbled as he looked down at his notebook.

“But they could be just what we need to propel our research forward,” you told him with excitement, continuing to read until you reached the final page, your fingers trailing along the sudden tough mark trailing to the end of the page, remembering the image of him walking out of the venue. You handed him back his notebook, respecting his privacy and the anxiety you could feel seeping off of him while you were reading his notes, you inched closer to him and faced him. “What would you say to a job opportunity with my research team?”

“I already have a job,” Severus said, almost regretting his own words. He couldn’t believe you’d just offered him a job opportunity, that you wanted to work with him after seeing the chicken scratch he’d scribbled during your presentation.

“Whatever your salary is, I’ll double it,” you insisted firmly. You straightened your back and held yourself up in determination. You’d decided. You had to work with him no matter the cost, he was more than just a talented potioneer as you’d first assumed, his talents wasting away at that school. If he’d only joined the research field years prior, perhaps you would have met sooner, perhaps you would have found a cure to lycanthrope rather than simply search for a temporary treatment.

“That’s generous but I have a commitment to Hogwarts, to the Headmaster.” Severus wanted so badly to say yes, to stay here with you and send Dumbledore his resignation letter without even heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow. He wanted more time with you, to know you more, to talk about your books, to work with you. But alas, the deal he made all those years ago wasn’t one he could afford to break, even if the old Wizard hadn’t kept his end of the bargain.

“Alright, what about the summer. You won’t be working once the school term has ended correct? Consider joining me this summer and if you enjoy it, perhaps I can discuss an arrangement with the Headmaster,” you tried to negotiate with him, making him an offer you were sure he couldn’t make an excuse for. You stared at him, waiting for an answer, but all you saw was an expression full of doubt, need and regret. You were sure he would want to jump at the opportunity as much as you, that he’d enjoyed your dinner enough to want to see more of each other, to work together after you saw the passion in his notes. But still he hesitated. Still he held back.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he said softly, like he was worried if he spoke any louder, he’d be torn away from this moment. Never had he seen anyone fight for him as much as you did now. Never had he felt his presence actually wanted even when you knew he didn’t have the best history with Lupin, you still pushed to have him work with you. He was so incredibly flustered by the thought, thrown back and as much as he wanted to accept, to throw away his life and start a new one with you, he couldn’t abandon the Potter boy, especially after he’d proven himself in need of a silent shadow guarding these past few years. If he left, he was sure the boy would die within a year, the school falling apart, the war breaking out sooner than expected. His place was at Hogwarts, beside Dumbledore, fate had declared it so.

“Say you’ll at the very least consider it,” you pleaded with him, instinctively taking his hand in yours as you moved closer to him. “And perhaps we can discuss it further next time we have dinner together.”

You offered up your second plan, needing very much to see him again, even if it was for a few casual hours over a meal again. A date perhaps, a proper one where you didn’t have to sneak away from people like children. And as Severus squeezed your hand in return, you thought perhaps there was hope for you after all, that you hadn’t imagined the sudden spark that had ignited over dinner. Looking up, your eyes met his and you saw the softest smile, a twinkle of desire hidden deep within those dark orbs that carried the weight of the world.

“You’re welcome at Hogwarts at any time,” he offered in a whisper. He couldn’t find it in him to reject you completely, how could he after the rejection he’d known all his life. He wanted to keep the door open for you, to possibly pursue something with you if not a romantic or work relationship, then a friendship instead. You’d turned out to be such a breath of fresh air, something he hadn’t realized he needed, but he didn’t want to give it up all for the chance at redemption for his past mistakes. “If you’d just send me an owl in advance, I can make arrangement for you,”

“I’d like that,” you eagerly accepted his promise, making note to begin writing to him the moment you got back home.

“It’s getting rather late. I should make my way before it gets too dark.” Severus broke the moment with such reluctance, he almost wanted to take it back the second the words slipped his tongue. But he didn’t want to be rude and stay longer than he was welcomed, nor could he afford to stay a night in a place like this. He knew it was best to leave now before he got too attached to you that he’d find himself happily running away to the edge of the world if you’d ask it of him.

Your smile faded, your gaze dropping in disappointment and it almost broke his heart. You understood of course, but you didn’t want him to go. You would have gladly let him stay all night long if he wished it, but you knew how odd of an offer that would be, especially after his reluctance to accept your first two. Your hand slipped from his as you both stood, Severus gathering his belongings before making his way to the door. He opened it and took a step outside, turning around to face you.

“Until next time Severus Snape,” you said with one last smile, happy to receive one back. You closed the door before you did something you’d regret and drag him back inside, kidnapping the man for your own benefit and leaned on the door, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes and replayed the night in your mind.

Severus found himself unable to move the second the door closed and it wasn’t until he heard footsteps coming his way that his thoughts finally returned to him. He looked over to the side and saw a very stuned Remus Lupin frozen in his place as he stared at Severus. A smirk made its way to his lips as he finally found the strength to begin making his way out. Passing by Lupin, he held himself up high, sure to keep eye contact as his cloak left a billowing trail behind him. Tonight had truly gone much better than he’d expected, his own jealousy of you and Lupin conquered, a potential relationship brewing and he’d gotten the privilege all those pompous fouls downstairs would give an arm and leg for.

He’d left an impression on you, one he was sure you would not forget and with the cufflinks he’d left waiting for you to find in the middle of the glass table, he was positive he’d hear from you again. Nothing could ruin his current mood, not even the thought of returning to a school with a walking, living curse destined to bring about the end of him because he’d found the one thing he’d spent all these years searching for; a reason to keep going, a purpose beyond redemption, a chance at a normal life.

A/N: Ok I have no idea how this story ended up so long ,but then things happened and stuff... and here we are. I didn’t know how it would end, but I also didn’t want to rush the ending and just force them to end up together so hopefully I did it justice. This probably needs a part two lets be honest 😅

#Severus Snape #Severus x reader #Severus Snape x reader #one shot #Snape x reader #my fanfic #my writing #pro snape #snapedom

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farfarawaygirl · 3 years

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Am I the only that thinks that even if Gabby had stayed on the show, her and Matt would’ve broken up anyway. They just weren’t sustainable

By the time we got to season 6 Gabby had really managed to push Matt away, make such big decisions for him and basically dictate their relationship and it started even before the Louie situation where she decided to foster him without any regard for Matt or his feelings and he wasn’t even telling her not to foster, just telling her to be cautious and take it slow. In season 3 Gabby broke off the engagement, already had her bags packed and didn’t even give Matt the chance to talk or anything. Then she got mad when he tried to move on. Then after this it was it was the Louie, Bria and Cordova situations. Finally she decided she wanted to have a baby naturally even though there was a high chance it could kill her and Matt would be left alone with a broken heart and a baby to look after if anything went wrong. I just thought it was insane that she couldn’t or wouldn’t see his side of things. And I think Matt just went along with things or forgave her not just because he loved her but because he’s always wanted a stable family of his own which is something he obviously didn’t have growing up and the one time he really tried to make himself heard, Gabby ran off.

Don’t get me wrong during season 2 and right at the beginning of season 3 I absolutely adored Dawsey but it just got way too hurtful and one-sided for me by the time we got to the second half of season 3. I also liked Gabby as an individual - she was strong, stubborn, intelligent and caring. But what made her such a strong individual, I think stopped her from fully being in the relationship or thinking about the other person in the relationship

If Gabby had stayed in the show I really don’t see how they could have sustained a relationship.

I think it was a blessing in disguise that Monica wanted to leave, because by the time season 6 ended there was so much messiness happening in the show...

It’s weird because Derek Haas totally views Gabby as his ideal woman; she infallible, perfect without trying, she can do no wrong. But, that translates poorly on screen. It’s like she was his manic pixie dream girl, in EMT trousers.

The interesting thing about a show that has been on the air for 9 season is that in that time, social events, world politics etc. change is as viewers, so that when we go back and watch earlier season things that didn’t bother us before really do now.

How gabby treated/viewed Matt’s relationship with Hallie is one of those things. Dawsey was built on a toxic foundation. Sylvie gave more reverence to a divorce than Gabby ever did to Hallie.

I like the show a lot more season 7 onwards. Sylvie is undoubtedly one of the best characters on the show, and they shortchanged her for years in the service of Gabby.

#ask emma #emma.rants #sylvie brett #chicago fire #brettsey #Matt Casey

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rosezure · 4 years

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Todoroki Family - My Opinion

MANGA SPOILERS FOR BNHA/MHA ahead!

CW: parental neglect and abuse, anxiety, therapy, Touya Todoroki/Dabi, Enji Todoroki/Endeavor, spoilers, swearing (please remind me if I forgot anything).

Disclaimer: All of the information on the Todoroki family dynamics is based on my interpretation of what’s been (so far) revealed through the anime and manga. These are all just opinions, you are free to agree or disagree respectfully. I do not wish to invalidate anyone’s opinion. Family dynamics have always been a very sensitive and triggering subject to me, so I hope that you respect that if you wish to discuss this with me.I would like to give my own two cents on the Todoroki family situation. As someone that has dealt with abuse and neglect in a (slightly) similar way my whole life, this story hits very close to home. I will try to be as thorough and objective as possible. But, feel free to call me out (respectfully) if there is anything ambiguous or if problematic. Thank you.

I am going to focus on Touya/Dabi and Enji’s story. I do not know enough to talk about Rei’s role in all of this, so I will not mention her. But, I might update this as new chapters come out.

I will talk about Dabi’s early years by referring to him as Touya since that was his identity at the time. Any comments about him as an adult will be referring to him as Dabi.

I was a psychology student for about two years, and when we learned about child development, here is what I gathered:

When you are a child, all you want is to be loved, to be safe. This is essential to a child, as it is what develops them into a healthy and independent adult. And, this is especially important concerning parents or guardians. Effective parenting practices ensure that the child will have a better chance at developing according to their age and needs. This will grant the kids skills that they will use and perfect as they grow up. In other words, children that are well-taken care of have a higher chance of being strong, healthy, and emotionally developed adults.

When a parent or guardian is ignorant of how they can impact their child’s growth, it has many negative effects. In Touya’s case, Enji Todoroki was clueless. This does not mean Enji should not be held responsible just because he was ignorant. Enji knew he was not being the best parent, but he did not know how exactly. And, at the time he was blinded by his greed and ambition, so he would not have been paying attention to that. Even so, (personally) I do not think parents are afforded the luxury of ignoring their bad parenting if they are made aware of it. They are responsible for another human’s life and growth. They should be held accountable if the child develops issues and hurts themselves or even others.

With that being said, Enji Todoroki was a horrible but clueless parent. From what I have understood from the manga and the anime, at first, he had no idea why Shoto was so "rebellious" (in his opinion). He also seemed to not understand Natsuo and Fuyumi. So I am led to believe that he was, at the time, oblivious to how much he negatively impacted Touya.

Touya just wanted his father’s affection. If that meant grueling training and preparing to become a hero to defeat All Might, then so be it. It was the attention and affection he knew. He was not led to believe otherwise. Touya's sole positive interactions came from him showing he could fulfill his father’s sick dream. In a child’s mind, that was the only way to secure parental love and approval: To train as hard as possible and become what his father so desperately wished for.

Then his hair started turning white. He started getting injured because of his quirk. His only source of positive attention, his only hope for affection, was killing him. And it had to be stopped. I am sure in Touya’s mind, this meant he would not be loved anymore.

And then Enji stopped training him. Natsuo was born. Shoto was born. And Touya felt that his source of love was directed to that baby. The baby that Enji saw as a success. Enji made Touya feel like a failure, a broken toy. And he was being replaced by a newer, shinier one: His brother.

When he tries to attack Shoto, he is trying to take back his place. Touya was trying to gain back his father’s love and attention.

Enji wanted to prevent Touya from hurting himself more. But he failed to communicate that. Instead, his words made it seem like his plan was foiled. Touya wasn’t enough, so Enji’s chance of using him to end All Might vanished. Touya wasn’t what Enji needed anymore.

Touya’s world didn’t collapse all at once. It didn’t even crack all at once. From what I understood, it was a collection of hairline fractures that never healed. It was a dislocated shoulder that was never put back in its place and was left to hang. It was a pounding headache that only grew more and more painful over time.

When Dabi was born, Touya had been buried in bruises, paper cuts, minor broken bones, chronic illnesses. Touya was killed by exhaustion and pain. He didn’t die at one point, he was dying all along.

As someone who suffers from chronic issues, I know that the somatization of symptoms and other sources of pain can turn a simple illness into something much more serious. Think of it as a butterfly effect, but all inside one person: Every single negative experience, from both outer and inner sources, all summed and turned into one massive festering wound.

Touya’s mind was a living open wound, it seems.

So Dabi was born. To seal the wound shut. Clean it? No. Protect it? Maybe.

But this particular type of wound (the psychological, emotional one) if left untreated can become infected. And infected wounds are harder and more painful to clean and treat.

Dabi’s mind is a bandaid over an infected wound. It seems objectively okay, maybe even sane. But he’s clearly in pain. He’s not in his right mind. His decisions all stem from the pure rage and anger of a child that was abandoned.

What chapter 300 brought was the perspective of a child that just wanted to be loved. That's all he wanted. And the only love he knew was when Enji Todoroki trained with him, no matter how gruesome and painful it must've been.

I'm gonna briefly and superficially compare his situation to mine. Of course, I didn’t suffer half of the pain he did, and I won't go into any detail as to not trigger myself. But, I only got attention when I was either extremely sick or I was needed as a trophy child of some sort. Even then, if I was ill, the attention I got was so I could get well soon and go back to being "useful". I was an extension of them, at best. But I still craved their attention. I still do in a way to this very day. It's not something that just goes away once you realize how toxic and abusive it is.

No matter how much pain I’m in, no matter how love-starved I am, I still want their approval. Inside me, there’s still a scared child, crying out for her parents to love her. That child is now my responsibility. I have to give her love, nurture her so she can grow with me.

Does that make sense?

I have no idea how Dabi is feeling. And I don’t think we’ll ever truly know. He is fictional, after all, and there’s no telling if Horikoshi will be delving into that.

But maybe Touya is still inside Dabi, crying, screaming to be loved. And Dabi is trying his best to tend to that child, but he never truly grew up to know how to take care of another being. Dabi doesn’t know how to take care of himself emotionally.

I’m learning because I, thankfully, have access to therapy. But it hurts. It hurts to realize the ones that were meant to take care of you, didn’t. It hurts to look into yourself and see a shaking, teary-eyed child begging for crumbs of love.

Now, with the whole "redemption" thing being debated, here's my own personal opinion. You don't have to agree, and I'm not asking you to. Again, this is just how I view it. As a survivor, I'd be relieved to see my parents try. The damage is done, true. I'll never regain my childhood. I'll never have what people with different, better, parents have. The past can't be reversed. And I'm seeing it repeat itself with my little brother. But, if there's a minimal chance that my parents can own up to what they did, that they open themselves up to changing their behavior and learning, then maybe we can build something new.

Build. Not rebuild. The foundation of our past relationship was rotten from the beginning. A new one must be built. A new foundation must be developed if we ever hope to make something of our relationship.

If the Todorokis, really want to reconcile, reconnect, rebuild, then they must start from scratch. If Enji Todoroki wants that, he’s gonna have to start from zero, from nothing. And I'm not entirely sure if Endeavor is doing that, but he is trying, somehow. We don't know for sure if he even has the emotional skills to do so. We can't say for sure that he's got what it takes to man up, own up and learn. But, he seems to be trying.

And that's something I've accepted I'll never have.

So if there's at least a 1% chance that he is truly trying, that Enji wants to redeem himself, then let him. Let their family try and heal together if that's what they want.

I'm not sure about the Japanese culture when it comes to family. But where I come from, a family is an important base of our personal and social development, to the point that reconciliation more often than not is the best route.

Still, I know it's not for everyone. So I respect you if you believe he doesn't deserve a chance. I understand if you say Enji Todoroki should be kept far away from his family. You're right, and you're valid.

But, please, please, if the author decides that he redeems himself and does try his best to start a new relationship with his family, let him. Let them heal. Together. Let them try and make up for the lost time in the best way in the present. Let them rebuild.

I know I'd give anything to rebuild my family.

Let Touya be healed and put Dabi to rest. Touya needs to be loved, he needs to be taken care of like he never was as a child. Dabi needs to be told he tried. He needs to be told he did what he could.

But Dabi is also an adult now. He’s got legal responsibilities. The pain and devastation he’s caused and helped cause can’t be overlooked. He needs help, but he also had to be held accountable.

Touya/Dabi needs to face himself and start over. He needs to face the man he’s become and at the same time take care of the child he wasn’t able to be.

If the Todoroki family is reconciled, I dearly hope he gets to be a part of this new book. Not a new chapter, they need to throw that whole book away and start a new one. And, if possible, I’d love to see someone like me get the ending I won’t be getting.

I hope this made some sense at least. Again, if anything is unclear, ambiguous, or problematic, let me know and I’ll do my best to correct or remove the bad parts. If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you share a similar experience, I’m sorry, and I’m here for you.

#bnha #mha #bnha 300 #bnha 301 #bnha spoilers #bnha discussion #touya todoroki #dabi #enji todoroki #shoto todoroki #todoroki family #fuyumi todoroki #natsuo todoroki #rei todoroki #touya #shoto #endeavor #endeavour

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kl4us4 · 4 years

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NIGHTMARES (Spencer Reid x Profiler!Reader)

Based on S4 E6. When investigating the case of a missing boy in Las Vegas, Spencer is unable to stop having night terrors.

masterlist

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of violence against children but nothing descriptive or taking place.

It had started not long after JJ had announced her pregnancy. Reid seemed... distant - more distant than usual. From outside your friendship, the two of you were close to one another. But on the inside, it was much more than that. You had officially been secretly seeing one another for close to two years now, and despite rising suspicions from the BAU team, no one really brought it up.

Most days, you were thankful for this. But not today. You have to stop yourself from placing a hand on Reid’s thigh when he begins to grunt and whimper in his sleep, opting instead to rest your hand on his shoulder.

“Spencer?” You mumble to him, judging him gently but he stays in his dream state. You can see his eyes moving rapidly from behind his eyelids and his jaw is clenched with fear.

“Yo, Spence?” Morgan scoffs, giving the young boy an amused gaze before looking at you, “What, late night last night?”

You roll your eyes at Morgan, about to shoot back a snarky comment but Spencer begins to mumble, “Can’t have - a... baby at a crime scene.” When you look down at your boyfriend, you see him frown, his face contorting in pain.

“Spencer, wake up,” you state more forcefully now, squeezing his shoulder. He sucks in a breath, catching you off guard a little before he begins to rise awake.

“Rise and shine,” Emily smiles, also amused at the boy. It seemed like you were the only one who was worried.

“Uh - yeah,” Spencer grunts back, his brown eyes flickering to JJ who watches him with raised eyebrows, “We were looking for a 6-year-old boy and - and JJ’s baby was there?” He explains, remembering the dream as he recounts it to the group. “Sorry?” He tells JJ, who just kind of shrugs.

“It’s okay.” She responds, not thinking twice about it before she opens the file case and beginning to brief the squad. Spencer can feel the tension between the two of you right now - surely - but he says nothing, doesn’t even turn to you. The dream really caught him off guard and he doesn’t know what the hell it means.

Checking that the groups distracted passing around crime scene photos, you place a gentle and subtle hand on his knee, causing him to look down at it. “Are you okay?” You whisper to him, staring at his reaction for any sort of emotional response.

“Yeah,” he simply says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you could always tell when he was lying.

The second time this happens, you’re spending the night at the missing boys house in order to protect the married couple. Spencer is situated on the couch in the downstairs living room, and you’re beside the fireplace, awake and keeping watch. The house is quiet. The weather is calm, no wind or rain. The only sound comes from Spencer’s light breath and occasional toss and turn.

Until he begins mumbling quietly. At first, you really think nothing of it - writing it off as him being overtired and having more dreams as of late. That is, until his screams have you rushing to your feet to kneel beside him.

“Get them off me!” Spencer shouts, his body tense and rigid and his eyes are closed, “Get them off me! Y/N, get them off!” He screams loudly.

“Spencer! Wake up!” You urge him, placing both hands on his face, “Spence, you’re dreaming. It’s me, wake up.”

He opens his eyes, cowering away from you slightly and you move away from him as you hear footsteps coming downstairs. “What the hell’s going on?”

Spencer runs his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut at the memory and anxiety that lingers from the nightmare. He can still feel the leeches on him, sucking at his skin, and the hopelessness he felt at the lack of help.

“Sir, Ma’am,” Morgan calms the family down, standing at the door of the stairs. He had woken up from his spot in the kitchen, rushing to the room when he heard the commotion. You also stand, pained at leaving Spencer’s side but knowing that the job comes first right now.

“You wake us up screaming and you think everything’s okay?!”

“Look, I understand we startled you and I apologise for that.” Morgan nods, keeping his expression and tone calm as he attempts to de-escalate the situation. The last thing you need is to be thrown out of the house unable to protect the family from the unsub.

“You’re the FBI!”

“You’re right,” Spencer speaks up, his voice breathy and his hair falling in his face, “You’re right, I’m really sorry.”

You tear your gaze away from your boyfriend, who stands from the couch with a bewildered expression, “It was a misunderstanding. Everything’s okay, you’re more safe here. I apologise, it won’t happen again.” You tell the couple, giving them a kind smile.

“Everything’s fine,” Morgan reassures, “I promise.”

The husband is convinced, though he spares a worried and judgemental glance at Spencer before they retiring to his bedroom once more. “Are you okay?” The question comes from the wife of the missing boy.

“It was a dream,” Spencer responds, not looking up, “I’m really sorry.”

“Was it about Michael?”

He shakes his head, breathing out a quiet, “No.”

“Ma’am,” Morgan begins, “You need to try to get some sleep. I’m sorry for the disturbance.” Michaels mother turns to walk up the stairs, letting out a sigh before she disappears. When Morgan turns back to look at you, you gesture for him to head back to his makeshift bed in the kitchen.

When you turn back to Spence, he’s seated again, staring blankly at the floor in front of him. Walking to sit beside him, you’re about to say something comforting but he beats you to it. “I’m making everything worse,” he admits, sitting on the couch, hunched over, elbows on his knees.

“Don’t say that,” you mutter to him, shaking your head as you watch him, “Spence, we don’t have normal jobs. We see horrible things for a living - it’s impossible to be unaffected.”

Spencer sits up a little straighter, turning his body to face you, “I’ve never been like this,” he admits, “I mean I’m - I’m losing it in their living room and I’m dreaming about dead kids and... being covered in leeches.” Spencer’s eyes are still filled with a sense of terror, drifting from his dream state and slipping into real life.

“What’s scaring you so much about this case?”

Spencer doesn’t look down, “This boy is going to die and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“You can’t work a case with that mentality,” you scold him, “you know that.”

“I know, I know,” he moves away from you, pacing the room quietly, “I just can’t close my eyes without being in that basement and finding that boy. It all happens too late, we never get there in time to save him.” He pauses, thinking, before he lets out a scoff, “Recurring nightmares about basements, that speaks to who you are as a foundation, right? What’s that say about me? It speaks to the core fundamentals of who you are as a person, basements are the first part of a house to be built.”

“All of a sudden you believe in dream analysis,” you tilt your head up at him, rising to meet his worried pace around the room for fear that the noise will wake the family, “You need to take a breath.”

“No, I-“

“Spencer,” you raise your voice a little, staring into his eyes when he stops his pacing and watches you, “Take a breath, please.”

He nods slowly, closing his eyes to inhale a deep breath before it escapes past his pink lips. “This dream. The dead boy.” He begins, calmer and slower now, “I’ve been having different versions of it since I was a little kid.”

There’s a silence that hangs in the air after his confession. You use it to walk up to your boyfriend and place both hands on his cheeks once more. Spencer’s eyes close for a moment and his shoulders relax at your touch. His hands rise to cup your wrists before opening his eyes to gaze at you.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to find this boy,” you reassure him, your gaze confident and unwavering, “Even if that means not sleeping for the next few days.” A small smile crosses Spencer’s face at your joke. “I’m here, okay? I’m by your side. We’re going to find this boy.”

It only felt wrong to make such a strong promise like this after the fact. But at the time, you didn’t care. Spencer was reassured. He forces a smile, leaning forward, and pressing his lips against your forehead. The next day, at the funeral, Spencer gripped your hand the entire time.

Later that same day, behind the glass of the interrogation room, when Morgan brought a file on Riley Jenkins, Spencer didn’t reach for your hand.

“Does the name Riley Jenkins mean anything to you?” Morgan had asked, his voice low - almost like he was trying to profile Reid for a reaction.

Spencer’s eyes flickered around slightly, thinking over anything he had read recently, “No.”

“Think.” Morgan responded, heavier now, “Back to when you were a little boy.”

“I had an imaginary friend named Riley when I was little.” Spencer tried, not seeing the connection just yet. You heard many stories about his imaginary friend but it doesn’t bring a smile to your face this time.

That was when Morgan handed the folder over to Spencer. He looked over it, seeing the name and description of a little boy. “Riley Jenkins,” Morgan began briefing the two of you, “He was murdered right here in Las Vegas when he was six years old.” Morgan took a small pause, his eyes on Spencer who looked up incredulously, “My math says you would’ve been around four at the time. He was found in the basement of his own house behind the dryer.”

And suddenly, Spencer feels like he’s in that basement, staring down at the shoes of a small boy. A boy he was too late to save. Your eyes flicker between Morgan’s and back to Spencer’s, swallowing the lump in your throat as you watch your boyfriend stare back down at the case file, eyebrows furrowed and hands slightly shaking. But the interrogation makes a leeway, and just like that Spencer puts the casefile away as Morgan calls Hotch immediately. Morgan leaves the room. It’s silent now.

It’s almost as though Spence pretends the conversation never happened like he hadn’t just been told that the recurring dream he had been having was a repressed memory - something he’s surely unfamiliar with. Your boyfriend prides himself with his incredible memory, reciting things you’ve said to him, moments the two of you have shared, letters you’ve written to him, every second before you and with you. For him to not remember this... it’s jarring for him.

“Hey,”

“Not now.”

“Spencer-”

“I, uh, I don’t want to get into this now.” Spencer responds, furrowing his eyebrows as he stares at the floor, “I can’t.”

“I know,” you reach for his hand, gently rubbing circles along it, “I just wanted to tell you that I love you. Always. And I’m here for you every step of the way. Whenever you’re ready.”

Spence says nothing. He takes a step forward to press a hand on your cheek. Slightly aiming your face towards him, he gives you a genuine smile. When he takes a step forward, you look up at him and watch as he slowly presses his lips to yours. You share a kiss in the dim light of the room, close but still so far from one another - but the kiss distracts you from the feeling that this forgotten memory is bigger than the two of you.

#spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader imagine #spencer reid x reader oneshot #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x profiler!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x agent!reader #criminal minds fic

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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years

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Hello! If requests are open, can I please request a scenario where Mori and Akutagawa's s/o (separate) is in labor but problems arise with the birth. The baby comes out safely, but s/o loses too much blood and is in danger of dying. How would the two react to a very real chance of losing the love of their life? Ending is up to you. Angst is just my main request. Thank you!! 😊

A/N : OOOOH I LOVE ANGST! What a great request! I Love this!!! Thank you love~~ I got slightly carried away with Akutagawas... oops! I hope you enjoy though!

T/W : Birth Scenario; Blood; Near Death Experience; Reader! Death; Angst; All Around Sadness;

Mori

You looked so beautiful, the lighting in the room illuminated your sweat covered features, but you continued to smile up at him, squeezing his hand tighter with every contraction. He never thought that he would be lucky enough to meet someone like you, someone who loved him even when everyone else thought he was evil, sadistic, manipulative, he could go on forever, but you saw the good in him. You brought out the best part of him, all the love that he had, the love that he believed he would never be able to give anyone, he was able to give it to you, and he didn't want to give it to anyone else... that is, until you told him you were pregnant.

Finding out that you were expecting his child seemed like a miracle to him. Having a child of his own, a child that would be part him and part you, it was a dream come true. Whenever he thought about his child he would get this silly grin on his face, gazing off into space as he imagined what they would look like, what they would be like, he already had his child's future planned out. This was the most exciting, and the most important time in his life.

"We're going to make a beautiful family, aren't we dearest?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. The doctors were in the room, checking to see how dilated you were, checking the babies heart rate, everything was going great.

"Alright Mrs. Ougai. Looks like the little one is ready to come out. Let's get you ready." The doctors had your legs lifted in the stirrups, a light shone down between yours legs. Two other doctors helped keep your legs back at the end of the bed, while Mori and the midwife stayed up near your head, holding your hands as you began pushing. "You're doing great! Let's get a deep breath, and then I want you to push as hard as you can. Let's get that head out!"

Being in the Port Mafia had brought you your fair share of pain, you had been shot, you had been stabbed, at least before you had begun your relationship with Mori. Those things, that pain, that was nothing compared to this. It felt like fire, you understood now why many people called it the burning ring, it was terrible. Not only that, it felt like your bones were being broken over and over, crushed, snapped, ran over by a tractor trailer, it was awful. "I see the head, dear. You're so amazing." Mori whispered in between kisses that he pressed to your forehead.

One more push and he was out. Your beautiful son, his head was covered in raven black hair just like his fathers. "Our wonderful Hideo is here. You did fantastic, my dear." You heard his voice, but it felt like you were drifting, but it wasn't from the exhaustion of the labor process... it's like... you couldn't keep your eyes open no matter how hard you tried.

"Doc! Doctor! She won't stop bleeding!" One of the nurses yelled, but for some reason you didn't seem to mind it. You weren't worried much about yourself now, you heard your son crying in the distance... he sounded so far away... you had done your job though. You had brought your son into this world, he was healthy, he was strong... that's what you were supposed to do. Your vision became hazy around the edges, it was tiring trying to keep your eyes opened, so you finally closed them. The last sound you heard was the distorted mixture of voices, doctors yelling, Mori panicking, your son crying, and the slow beeping of the heart monitor.

"Get the bleeding to stop!" He shouted to the doctors, still gripping onto your hand. His eyes were wide as he stared down at the doctors who were working vigorously to try to stop the hemorrhaging. Was he just imagining that your hand was becoming colder with each passing second? Were his eyes playing tricks on him or was he watching the color in your face slowly fade?

"Get the baby out of here!" The doctor yelled back to the nurses who were working on Hideo. This isn't how he pictured it would happen. This wasn't the perfect delivery he had pictured, that he had imagined and day dreamed about while laying in bed next to you. What had gone wrong? "The uterus isn't contracting! It won't stop bleeding!"

"She's losing too much blood! Dammit!" Mori wasn't squeamish, he had seen a lot of stuff during his time in the Port, but this was even too much for him. He had to look away as the doctors hand and half his arm seemed to disappear between your legs. He hadn't read about any of this, he didn't think there would be any complications, he hadn't imagined that anything like this could happen to you.

Doctors rushed in with multiple needles, he couldn't focus on what they were saying though. He was staring at your face, how is it that you still looked so beautiful while on the brink of death. Your heart rate was dangerously low, he didn't have to look at the numbers on the screen to hear how distanced the beeping was. He refused to lose you like this though. You were his, a part of him, you had a son together, life wouldn't be this cruel to him.

The doctors jabbed the needles into your arms, he understood now why they brought in so many though. "Dammit! Blew the vein! I need another one!" You had so many blown veins, Mori knew your arms would be a black and blue bruised mess when you woke up. He was sure that you would wake up, you had to.

While one doctor was elbow deep massaging your uterus, the other doctor worked to find a vein that wouldn't collapse when the needle went in. "Too many veins are being blown! We have to try something else!" He shouted. Mori watched as both the doctors nodded to each other before carefully injecting the needle into your abdomen, right into your uterus.

He tapped his foot to keep time, how long would it take for this medicine to kick in? The doctors had all stopped their practical assault on your feeble, seemingly lifeless body, now it was a waiting game. This was one game he never wanted to play again, waiting for you to come to again, waiting for the color to return to your body, for the warmth to come back. He was panicking, and although he would never outright admit it to you or anyone else, he was absolutely terrified. He couldn't do this without you, he wouldn't be able to go through life without you now. He wouldn't be able to look at his son without seeing pieces of you, parts of you that could possibly be gone forever. It would kill him. He always thought that power and money were the greatest things in the world, but now that he met you, those things were useless, pointless. All the money, all the power in the world were nothing if you weren't there to share in the glory with him.

"The bleeding is slowing! Pack it in! Come on!" The doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to get the bleeding to stop completely, and they finally got it done. You would be okay. It would take a little while for you to be completely okay again, you had lost a lot of blood, but you would be okay in the end. Everything would be okay. That's all that mattered to him.

Akutagawa

Pregnancy, becoming a father, it all terrified him, it was a foreign concept. He loved you though, his love for you was immeasurable. He would do his best for you, for this child... his child. How unfortunate for the little one, to have him as a father. That's what he always thought, but you were always there to comfort him, to tell him that there was no one else you'd want to be the father of your child. He didn't know much, well, honestly, he didn't know anything about caring for someone, especially a child. He could barely care for himself without your help, but you had promised to be there to help him, to guide him through it all. It's not that he was scared of hurting his child, he knew that he would never be capable of doing such a thing, not when he knew that the child was part of you as well. He was more worried about his child being afraid of him, that his child would somehow end up like him. "That wouldn't be a bad thing, Ryu. You're an amazing man. That's why I love you so much." You'd reassure him constantly, and over time, he started to believe it.

He would do anything for you, and the same goes for his child. He wanted to be the best man he could be for you, he wanted to be the best father for his child. Someone who his child could be proud of. As months passed he started to get... anxious? Excited? A mixture of both. Watching your abdomen swell with his growing child, it gave him a sense of pride. He had helped create that child. Maybe he wasn't as useless as people thought. He had gotten you, and he had been given the chance to build a family with you. He had stability, his walls were being broken down bit by bit, but in their place there was a strong foundation being built instead. He didn't need to wall himself in, instead he would build up his foundations around you and his child, his family. He wasn't worried about what others thought of him anymore, that was unimportant to him, he had you, and he had his child. Life was finally working in his favor. He found himself smiling even, thoughts of you holding his newborn child in the hospital bed as he watched over the two of you, it made his heart swell.

He sat in the armchair next to the hospital bed, his hand in yours as he brushed your knuckles with his thumb. Your eyes were so bright under the fluorescent lights in the room, you looked like an angel, the complete opposite of him. "Are you in pain, love?" He whispered, noticing the way your face scrunched up whenever you contracted. He felt stupid for asking, of course you were in pain, you were having a child. You still shook your head no in response, of course you would lie, knowing that it would make him feel bad, knowing that he was the reason for your pain.

"Ice please?" You asked between clenched teeth. He grabbed the cup, feeding you the small ice chips, adoring the way your lips pulled up at the corners as you chewed. "She's moving a lot, she's ready to come out and meet you, Ryu." You murmured, his eyes moved to your stomach watching the way your gown shifted as his daughter stirred around. He reached out to rub your stomach, feeling her kick again where his hand was placed.

"She'll be out soon. I can't wait to meet you either, Rei, my darling." He looked longingly up to you, his lips twitching up slightly as she continued to kick against his hand. How could he have brought about such a little wonder, a daughter, something so precious, so innocent, so pure. He was the opposite of all those things, yet he would become a father to a child that would be all those things and more. He would do his best to protect her innocence, to make sure that her mind stayed pure for as long as he could.

The doctors came in, prepared to begin the delivery. You were ready to go, and he was ready to have his daughter out, to hold her in his arms, for her to finally be there with the two of you. Your water hadn't broken by itself, so the doctors had to break your water themselves. "Wow, that's a lot of fluid... Alright, keep an eye on her. Let's go!" Akutagawa didn't understand what the doctor meant by that. Why would they have to keep an eye on you because of more fluid? He didn't get it. You seemed fine, you were breathing alright, just the way you had practiced with him while watching those lamaze videos at home.

The delivery was a success, your daughter had come out healthy, strong lungs, she screamed loudly when he had cut the cord, and she was still wailing as the nurses carried her away to be cleaned up. You smiled up at him, still holding his hand that had long since lost its circulation from how tight you were holding it, but he didn't mind. He mirrored your smile, staring back down at you, your eyes brimmed with tears, your hair matted and stuck to the sweat on your forehead. He loved you, he had known it before, but looking at you now, it felt like he had come to terms with the feeling once more, he was in love with you. He wanted you forever and always, for all of eternity, he needed you.

It had been twenty-four hours since your delivery. You were in the clear, you should have been, right? He had taken pictures of you holding little Rei in your arms, her head nestled in the crook of your neck. The smile on your face showed just how much joy Rei had brought you, and he felt the same way. Seeing you holding his child, his daughter, it ignited a flame inside of him, seeing the way you looked at her, it fueled this urge inside of him to always keep her safe for you, and to always protect you for her. His two perfect girls, his life wouldn't be complete, his heart wouldn't be whole without you and Rei. He couldn't imagine losing either of you, he would lose himself if it ever happened.

He was laying across the small couch underneath the window, his daughter in the bassinet against the far wall sleeping peacefully, you were sleeping just as soundly as she was. He cherished the way you and his daughter looked, he was in a state of bliss as he imagined bringing you and his daughter home, finally being able to relax and enjoy his family in the comfort of your own home.

Everything was silent, he was just beginning to doze off when the heart monitor started beeping rapidly. He shot up straight and looked over to you, you were gasping for air, clutching your chest, your eyes wide as you stared at the ceiling. Your mouth was hanging open, your breaths were short, raspy, he heard the rattling in your chest. He ran over to your bedside, grabbing the little remote the was hanging off the side pressing the call button repeatedly. "It's okay. It's okay, love." He pulled your hands away from your chest, holding them tightly in his own as he stared at the door.

Multiple doctors ran in pushing him out of the way, nurses were next to rush in, grabbing Rei and bringing her out of the room. Why were they taking her out? What was going on? He tried to watch through the wall of doctors that had surrounded you. He saw your body thrashing around on the bed, like a fish out of water. "She's seizing! Blood pressure is dropping! Come on!" You had stopped flailing, but your heart rate was also dropping. "We're losing her! Call code blue! Get the room ready! Go!" The doctor was shouting out orders to the other doctors and they dispersed. Most of them ran out of the room, others stayed around your bed, one was on the phone calling the code and shouting the room number over the rapid beeping of the heart monitor.

He felt... numb. Was he not allowed to be happy? Was there no silver lining? Would his happiness always be taken away from him? The monitor flatlined, he heard the doctors shouting, then the sound of the defibrillator being powered up. Your body rose and fell against the bed. The monitor beeped once, then flatlined again. "Another one! Lets go!" Why? Was he too happy? Was two too much? Was he not allowed to have you and his daughter? Life would never work in his favor.

Your body fell against the bed once more, they started doing compressions, anything to try to bring you back. He knew better though. You were gone. The life, the light had left your eyes. The sun couldn't compare to the light in your eyes, he loved waking up to see it every morning, and he wouldn't anymore. There would be no more lazy morning conversations in bed as he held you close, his fingers tracing the goosebumps that littered your skin. No more kisses against soft pink lips that were now a mixture of blue and purple from lack of oxygen. Your side of the bed would become cold, your shoes in the doorway would collect dust, your clothes hanging in the closet would slowly lose their color, but he would refuse to remove any piece of you from the house.

"Call it." The doctor rolled up his sleeve to check his watch. "Time of death, 10:47PM." He said, his voice was exhausted. They had worn out any attempt to try to bring you back, there was no time to get you to the operating room. They all turned to look at him, he didn't remember when, but he had at some point fallen to his knees on the floor. His eyes were distant, he wasn't looking at you, he wasn't looking at the doctors. He was imagining his perfect life, a life that had so quickly been stolen away from him.

One Week Later

He stood in front of the headstone, your name printed across the stone. His daughter was wrapped in a thick black blanket, held close against his chest. Gin stood next to him, her hand resting on his back. Rei reached out her tiny hand and he quickly placed his finger in her palm, letting her wrap her fingers around his own. He had brought his daughter home alone, he had laid her in her crib, watching over her without you there next to him. He had woken up every night in an empty bed to attend to her when she cried. He had changed every diaper, he had fed every bottle, he had done it all by himself. He had done his best to fill your shoes because you weren't there to do it with him, but he would make you proud. He would be the father you believed he could be, and more.

Gin grabbed Rei out of his arms before he got down on his knees in front of your headstone, his fingers tracing the etching of your name in the stone. "I love you so much. I told you I'd love you forever, and that will never change. Please, wait for me, my love."

A/N AT THE END : I am so sorry Akutagawa’s is so sad! He really does deserve to be happy. I love him. Reader passed from a Postpartum Amniotic Fluid Embolism btw. I’m SO SORRY READER! And to my lovely requester, I hope I fulfilled your need for Angst.

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hanadolphieron · 4 years

Text

twice and the ceres asteriod~

ceres is all about food, nurturing, family relationships, animals, time-sharing, grief, and transitions/growth experiences in a woman’s life.

taurus-

dahyun;

growth for dahyun appears when she has built a steady foundation. comfort and security are essential for her, but because of the synastry between her aries sun and taurus ceres, it can be hard for her to feel comfortable achieving it. she may unconsciously sabotage herself because she feels like she has to be strong and impulsive. her personality is fast-paced and energetic, but it tends to wear her out. reassurance is needed to be feel safe letting others take care of her.

physical affection is an important way of relaxation for dahyun. hugs are much appreciated. comfort food is a great way to calm her down. sustenance in general is needed, dahyun can not function if she doesn’t have a high enough blood sugar level. nerves begin to take over if she feels hungry. needs to feel completely secure to fully relax. can’t have anything hanging over her or she won’t be able to slow down. might keep working and working until she drops if she feels she doesn’t have financial stability.

nurturing others comes naturally however. dahyun is a solid presence and can calm people down with just a small touch. her hugs are the softest. seems reliable no matter what she’s going through. because of taurus’s ruling planet, venus, dahyun seems extra loving when she comforts others. people might take her physical touch in a romantic way sometimes.

gemini-

chaeyoung;

calming down for chaeyoung means having fun. letting go of all her nerves and fears is like a spa treatment for her. friends are important. she somehow feels extremely relaxed while taking in masses of information. is constantly on the move. her preferred aesthetic is tied to her comfort. she likes the idea of being free to do whatever she wants and have whatever moods she wants.

however, like dahyun, her taurus sun can restrict this vibe. she feels as if the free-spirited persona that she feels most relaxed in clashes with her true self. it can seem time-consuming and exhausting to let go of nerves and fears, yet that’s what her taurus self is constantly trying to do. can sometimes let her fears control her because that seems like the easier option, the one with less drama.

please hug her! chaeyoung loves people that come barreling towards her and absolutely attack her with love. nurtures others by hanging out with them and creating a fun, healthy atmosphere. can seem boundary-less at times, but she’s probably panicking inwardly i don’t make the rules. might randomly talk about trauma/issues that she has and then either forget about it or pretend it never happened. speaking up is a good way for her to release negative/draining emotions and it helps her become more confident.

cancer-

tzuyu;

mom material at its finest. tzuyu is a natural at making people feel safe and happy. is always there as a shoulder to cry on and people feel safe relying on her. she does protect herself from relying on others however, and prefers to be the nurturer rather than the on being nurtured. loves the idea of taking care of others and being of service comes naturally. loves kids and wants to help them grow and become the best versions of themselves.

growth happens when tzuyu utilizes her divine feminine energy. being aggressive and impulsive does not help her. growth comes from learning from quick decisions that didn’t end well and learning to slow down and think before acting. however, she doesn’t seem to struggle much with this; she seems to be pretty evolved.

in tzuyu’s opinion, being nurtured by someone means letting out her emotions to the person and them validating her feelings and empathizing with her. she wants to be around people that understand her without her having to explicitly tell them her feelings. observing tzuyu and learning her coping mechanisms is the best way to make her feel loved. prefers to deal with issues on her own or talk to very close loved ones.

libra-

nayeon;

nayeon feels comforted by connecting with others and creating partnerships. having people by her side makes her feel safe. ice cream and other confections are therapy for nayeon. friends are important for her mental and emotional health. having a significant other is beneficial as well. not becoming lost in her inner self and staying on the surface is one of her coping mechanisms. doesn’t like to take deep, messy dives into her emotions.

she is incredibly nurturing (such a great unnie) by nature and her way of comforting others is lovely; lots of people are attracted by her motherly qualities. uses her words as a way to help others. possible issues could be that her help and nurturing is romanticized and can be made shallow. people could take advantage of her caring nature easily, as she finds it hard to say no to people in need.

nayeon improves the most when she is “aesthetic.” anything that is pleasing to feel/do is the right path for nayeon. helping out others and being of service in a strong way is going to keep her on the right track. righting injustices is part of her destiny. perfection is always an ideal that’s in mind for nayeon.

sagittarius-

jeongyeon and momo;

these two release stress by sweating it out. activity clears their mind and stops negative thoughts. they tend to run from their problems at times or procrastinate doing hard work because it can seem overwhelming. not having an escape is what bothers them. however, since they’re both scorpios, this aspect of a sagittarius ceres is restricted and not as apparent.

having ceres in the same sign as pluto can cause some karma. momo and jeongyeon might have serious issues slowing down and growing boundlessly at the same time. can keep pushing to achieve something they don’t truly find appealing, especially with the aspect between scorpio sun and sagittarius ceres.

jeongyeon tends to protect her healing from the world, but a lot of it seeps to the surface and is noticeable to others. her cancer moon makes her want to feel protected and have a safe space to conceal herself, but her sagittarrius ceres is like run! now! get away from boundaries of all kinds! this can create a deep-running sense of confusion surrounding her knowledge of herself. shadow work could help her a lot.

momo’s growth is centered around broad dreams and aspirations. she is a neptune decan scorpio, which can help the tension between her ceres sign and sun sign. it’s easier for her to look at growing and improving herself from a detached but extremely emotional level. listening to music is huge for her, and can help her figure herself out. also freestyle dancing! is very natural for her and she feels powerful and very “momo” when she does it.

capricorn-

sana;

good for sana, her ceres sign conjuncts her sun sign, a favorable combination due to the similarities and connection between herself and her relationship with the material world and emotional growth. she needs relaxation and comfort for her well-being and for her personality to shine through accurately. however, this isn’t too hard for her, as the life that she wants to lead is in line with the life that energizes her the most.

sana feels comforted by constructive criticism or a healthy pushing and motivation that keeps her on track but is also sensitive to her moods. her leo moon and virgo mars can make her irritated by others being overly critical or disinterested in her struggles, but loved ones that know her well and can give her support is appreciated. it’s hard to explain, but sana just wants someone who will leave her alone to fix problems herself, but who can give her advice (only if she wants it!) and can empathize without pitying her.

sana comforts others the same way. she may have a tendency to end up being more self-focused when sympathizing with others and likes to share her experiences. might be aware of it, might not, it depends. she doesn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just natural for her to include herself in these sorts of conversations and give advice. capricorn in ceres individuals might seem almost aloof at first, if you don’t know them, but once you’ve become close to them you can see through them and their motives easily. i find capricorns tend to be misunderstood a lot, as they have a lot going on, but you just have to guess? i don’t know. they’re hard to explain but you just know.

aquarius-

jihyo and mina;

jihyo and mina are destined to experience epiphanies related to self-discovery and individuality consistently throughout their life. they’re perpetually living in a state of learning. working in groups is the best way for them to improve upon themselves. helping others and being of service to the community inspires them. looking into topics that aren’t mainstream are a good way to attract growth too. they might mature backwards or have an up-and-down process of experiencing emotions.

jihyo may feel misunderstood at times. her way of relaxing is different than others and she may feel as if her moods vary too much from the moods of others. as i said in the first paragraph for this section, jihyo matures at a weird consistency. comfort comes from feeling like she belongs, but is still her own person. needs to be “noticed” but still feel like the underdog? confusing i know. wants to feel needed. being the leader of twice is incredibly beneficial to her health:)

mina can feel lost in terms of comfort. she may not need as much alone time as others, and feels more energized around groups of people, but finds it also wears her out because of the way her energy levels and moods fluctuate. so i take back what i said, she does need alone time. like a balance. but she struggles to maintain that balance. like jihyo, mina needs to feel needed. humanitarian activities and helping the community is good for her emotional stability.

both comfort others by making them feel important. tends to do well in teaching positions and as a mentor. extremely good leaders! they are comforting and know the people around them incredibly well without even realizing it. sympathizing is not exactly their strong point most of the time, they might seem too cold because they don’t want to pity the person, but they do know how to collectively energize a bunch of people and make them feel safe and relaxed.

#twice #im nayeon #yoo jeongyeon #hirai momo #minatozaki sana #park jihyo #myoui mina #kim dahyun #son chaeyoung #chou tzuyu #twice astrology #twice reactions #twice imagines #twice fluff #posts #alcyone

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ruizheling · 4 years

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What Chenqing means as a name

For my first meta post (on this tumblr), I thought I'd write a piece about the meaning of the name Chenqing, since it ties in so well to Wei Wuxian's narrative and his emotional arc. It's also part of the Chinese show title 陈情令 chenqingling, so I found it particularly fitting here.

bygone relationships

Firstly, as separate characters, 陈情 Chenqing has a possible meaning as past/old/bygone relationships/feelings, which can be either romantic or platonic. Just think about that in the context of his fracturing relationships, particularly those with Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian, having given Jiang Cheng his core, knows intimately that he has now broken his promise to be the Twin Prides in favour of giving his brother what he thinks he wants—the golden core—and he knows exactly how betrayed Jiang Cheng is going to feel, especially since Wei Wuxian would never willingly give him the full explanation.

But Wei Wuxian also thinks he’s disposable! That he’s expendable! So he writes his relationship with Jiang Cheng and hence those with Jiang Yanli and Yunmeng off as a bygone relationship. He thinks that he’s given that all up by giving up his ability to cultivate and hence contribute to Yunmeng Jiang, and that he has nothing else to offer them beyond that.

This child has grown up in a sect where his master constantly berates him and puts him down and reminds him of exactly how quickly he'd be cast out if he ever stopped being in Jiang Fengmian’s favour. Yu Ziyuan would have made her opinion very clear, and young Wei Wuxian, desperate not to go back onto the streets, would've found himself walking a delicate balance between not overshadowing Jiang Cheng too much and being great enough to continue being favoured by Jiang Fengmian.

He knows exactly how much being overshadowed hurts Jiang Cheng. But does he really have a choice when the alternative seems to be him going back to the streets? Wei Wuxian grows up knowing that the most important choice he has to make will hurt his brother either way: either he overshadows Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng has to live with the inferiority, or he goes back onto the streets and Jiang Cheng is alone once more except for Jiang Yanli.

So maybe that's why he chooses to make the choice he did. Maybe that's why he was so willing to sacrifice his golden core. I’ve hurt my brother so much anyway, Wei Wuxian all but says, what's one more time when he will get the chance to carry out one of his deepest desires? What does the hurt of losing me compare to the triumph of defeating his family's executioners?

Most importantly: What does the pain and loss I have to endure here and now compare to the pain and loss I've put my brother through?

Wei Wuxian has known too much guilt and shame to ever think that the pain the Jiang siblings went through was anything but his fault. He has been blamed, derided, censured, rebuked too much for him not to take on the weight of the world's sins and believe wholeheartedly that it is his own, so it's really no wonder that he chooses to pull away from them after the war.

As for Lan Wangji, the bygone relationship here refers to how Wei Wuxian has taken on demonic cultivation. Again, the key thing here is that Wei Wuxian has no choice but to hurt the people he cares for, again and again and again. The key thing here is that he believes that Lan Wangji, paragon of Lan virtue, would never willingly associate with him once he realises that Wei Wuxian has begun cultivating the heretical path.

And he’s not wrong in thinking so: any other person would be rightfully horrified by Wei Wuxian’s cultivation. It violates so many taboos in Chinese culture that it’s frankly astounding. We’re not meant to read his cultivation as anything short of condemnable and abhorrent. Clearly, Lan Wangji’s love for Wei Wuxian ultimately outweighs his horror at his cultivation, but that’s a mark of his love, not an example of how the average person should behave.

So Wei Wuxian walks out of the Burial Mounds rightfully assuming that Lan Wangji will castigate him for choosing the only path left to him to avenge his family. He also believes that their previous relationship is lost to him now, because they built that relationship on the foundation of being equals, which Wei Wuxian cannot uphold now. He’s sacrificed that friendship in order to save his brother.

to give a full account

陈情 also has a literary meaning [to give a full account], which is derived from the《楚辞》Chuci / Songs of the South, an anthology of poetry traditionally attributed mainly to Qu Yuan and Song Yu from the Warring States period, through which (along with the《诗经》Shijing / Classic of Odes) pre-Qin Dynasty poetry is mainly known.

Specifically, it stems from this line in the poem《楚辞·九章·惜往日》/ Songs of the South · Nine Sections · Alas of Days Past: 愿陈情以白行兮，得罪过之不意。/ I wished to set forth my thoughts and explain my actions: I little dreamed this would be held a crime. (translation by David Hawkes.)

In this context, Wei Wuxian naming his dizi Chenqing alludes to the fact that his deepest wish is to explain his actions to his loved ones! He wants to make his actions known, but it would be a crime because then Jiang Cheng would be hurt and more. He can't tell them because he needs them to believe he is still strong and capable and not traumatised and exhausted, because he needs to fight and win this war, not just for the living, but for the dead—for his fellow Jiang disciples who died in the razing of Lotus Pier, for Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, to whom he still feels some loyalty towards because of the opportunities and relative safety they offered him, regardless of their treatment of him.

#rui says #mdzs meta #wei wuxian #mdzs #cql #i sound so calm here but i promise you guys that when i yelled about this on discord i was Absolutely Not Calm

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destielshippingnews · 3 years

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Edvard's Supernatural Rewatch & Review: 1x05 Bloody Mary

In this review, I’ll be discussing suicide, survivor’s guilt, and bad dialogue.

1x05 Bloody Mary enjoys a rating of 8.4 on IMDB. It’s a strong, atmospheric episode embodying the horror-show vibe the show was intended to evoke. It was originally conceived as being episode two or three of the show, and would have made a better episode two than 1x02 Wendigo due to its themes of guilt and bereavement linking into Jess’s death and Sam’s role in it.

Mirrors are one of the defining symbols of this episode, something made painfully obvious by the incredible number of mirrors the family owns. They are both the means whereby Mary kills her victims and the means whereby characters reflect on themselves. Sam’s info-dumpage that ‛mirrors reflect our soul’ should make it explicit to viewers paying attention that Mary is a metaphor for guilt. This guilt, however, is not necessarily the guilt that comes of commission of a crime or a moral evil, but the feeling of guilt borne of not being able to save somebody, or survivor’s guilt. A person burdened by such guilt looking in the metaphorical mirror must face a metaphorical Bloody Mary waiting to pass judgement.

Quite rightly, this judgement is not just, as indeed feelings of guilt, self-blame and survivor’s guilt are unjust. A discussion of the subject on Supernatural Therapy podcast raised the topic of self-blame when in fact one is not to blame: blaming ourselves is an attempt to feel in control of something and to understand it a little better. The deaths which the ill-fated father and Charlie blame themselves for are incomprehensible.

I can say from my own experience that losing a friend or loved one to suicide is impossible to understand. Grandparents dying of age is natural, and older relatives dying of long-term illness is understandable, though unjust. But when our driving instinct is supposed to be to stay alive, a friend’s or family member’s commission of self-murder undermines completely our comprehension of the world and our reality. It’s traumatic, and the mind seeks to understand and cope with something it simply can’t handle.

Returning to Supernatural Therapy, our feelings of guilt are misplaced attempts to control and understand, but they are more negative than positive. Thus Bloody Mary is an apt villain to don the role of avenging spirit in this episode, as she attacks people who feel guilty, regardless of whether or not they truly are responsible for a death.

This episode ties itself into the Sam’s character particularly closely, as Sam feels himself to blame for Jessica’s death. At first, his guilt is depicted as completely natural: he watched his possibly-pregnant girlfriend burn to death on his ceiling and was utterly unable to help her. Anybody in that situation would be dealing with guilt on top of bereavement and trauma, so he is naturally somebody Bloody Mary would go after. However, the revelation that he had ‛dreams’ (read: premonitions) about Jess’s death for days before it happened add another layer to his guilt.

That layer, of course, being his actual guilt in taking no measures whatsoever to ensure Jess’s safety. Sam is not a blue-eyed baby in 1x01: he is a man with deep knowledge of the supernatural world and was reckless to ignore them. It is never made explicit – unless something has slipped my mind – whether Sam had any experience or knowledge of humans with psychic powers, but it is clear that he knows about the paranormal. Any Muggle would be disturbed by having exactly the same dream of a loved one dying night after night, but would likely pass it off as stress, anxiety or some such. Sam’s no Muggle, and knows better. Was having a ‛normal’ life so important to him that he dismissed and ignored warning signs that the abnormal was coming for his lady? Is Sam partially responsible for Jess’s death here?

Knowing what I know of the circumstances surrounding Jess’s death, he likely couldn’t have stopped it, even had he called Dean and John for help. But he should have called them, and chose not to. If he had done so, she might have been saved. This is death by negligence.

What makes it worse is that he is aware that keeping his visions a secret got Jess killed, but at the end of the episode acts as though he is perfectly justified in retaining his secrets from Dean. Dangerous secrets overtly related to their mother’s death and the demon responsible for killing her, information which would be very useful to Dean and John if shared, but a danger if kept quiet. He learnt that not divulging his secret is dangerous for people around him, and elected to continue not divulging said secret to Dean. Please, dear viewer, bear this in mind in series 7, 8, 9, 15 and every other time Sam gets pissy at Dean for keeping things secret from him.

He even knows in this episode that keeping his secrets almost got Dean killed by Bloody Mary, but ‛just because we’re brothers, doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything’. Sam is supposed to be the hero of this piece...

Yes, some people are genuinely like that, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them, and I sure as Hell don’t like Sam. In the first five episodes, Dean is established as a flawed, contradictory hero who actually brings something to the table. Sam’s an entitled, spoilt prick who treats his brother like a joke and an embarrassment.

Returning to the theme of suicide and guilt, one thing that is not addressed in the episode is the dad’s own relationship to the mother’s death. That she overdosed on sleeping tablets heavily implies suicide, but for about half of the run time the viewer is expected to believe the father was somehow involved in her death, i.e. that he killed her, especially as the second victim was guilty of a hit and run where a boy died. What is never addressed, however, is that his guilt and the reason Bloody Mary targeted him is that he blamed himself for not being able to prevent his wife’s suicide. Charlie is allowed the catharsis of expressing her grief to Dean and Sam, but the father is not afforded the same opportunity.

Apropos Charlie, her precise meaning when she said her ex-boyfriend got ‛scary’ is left occult. He clearly suffered serious mental health problems, something which a lot of people simply aren’t equipped to handle, especially when the one suffering is a close friend or partner. Young male victims of suicide also tend to have been very good at wearing a mask to hide: did he try taking the mask off for her, and she didn’t like what she saw? From what little information she gives us, the implication is that he threatened her with violence or that he used hard drugs or something, but the viewer is at no point privy to what she means by ‛scary’ or to the man’s side of things.

Whether or not the young man intended to frighten and manipulate Charlie by threatening her with his suicide is also unclear. ‛If you walk out that door, I’ll kill myself’ can mean different things depending on tone and context, ranging from a desperate plea for help against an overwhelming mental illness to abusive, sadistic mind games. Having lost more than one man to suicide, the idea that someone would use it as a weapon is inconceivable, but without further information I simply can’t say.

From what little information we have, the man’s suicide was not Charlie’s fault. If we assume he was threatening her to keep her with him, she was right to run. Nobody should be mistreated or burdened like that, and no relationship should be built on a foundation of such abuse. She is important, too. Even if it weren’t a threat, the situation was intensely unhealthy for everybody involved and she was very justified in distancing herself. It wasn’t her fault, and I just wish Dean had told her that in the motel room, rather than simply talking about it to Sam in the car afterwards.

Speaking of said conversation in the car, Dean’s heart was in the right place as he tried to get Sam to stop blaming himself, but he perhaps revealed his own lack of coping tools whilst doing so. Dean is intelligent and empathetic, and far more caring than people give him credit for, but he was raised in an environment where he was not allowed to talk about his fears and anxieties. Nor was he provided any tools whatsoever to facilitate understanding and processing his traumas and illnesses; John wanted him as an emotionally-dead weapon to use in his war against Mary’s killer.

Dean feels, but with no healthy tools nor anybody to acknowledge and help in processing his issues, he bottles things up and pushes them aside as best he can. Of course, the best he can is not all that best, wherefore the drinks and the sex and the gallows humour. This is John’s echo in Dean: John silenced him, and Dean therefore is not best equipped to process his own trauma at the beginning of series 1, much less counsel somebody else (though this changes as the years go by and he learns how to act without John stymieing him).

He meant well in telling Sam he can’t carry on blaming himself for Jess’s death, but the problem is Sam can’t stop blaming himself. Nobody in Sam’s situation can stop themselves feeling what s/he’s feeling, and has to simply feel it. I knew my friend’s suicide wasn’t my fault, but grief, bereavement, and survivor’s guilt are not rational and can’t be controlled by the cognitive mind. The feeling mind is the one in control, all the cognitive mind can do is make suggestions and hope for the best.

Regarding grief and Sam’s situation, Sam’s nightmare and his conversation with Dean at the beginning of the episode are about as explicit as Sam’s grief for Jess gets int eh show, and it’s not much at all. They were together for maybe two years, she was possibly pregnant with his child and died on the ceiling above him, but he doesn’t do any actual mourning or grieving most of the time. That itself is okay as some peolel take years before they’re ready to process grief and bereavement, but Sam behaves like a slightly disgruntled, moody teenager which we’re supposed to interpret as him grieving Jess’s death, but we see next to no actual grief, trauma or expression of loss.

His discussion with Dean is supposed to give us the idea that this is a recurrent event, but it is very, very far from sufficient to genuinely make us believe that Sam is anything other than a little bit sad for Jess.

We have, however, already established that Sam is partially responsible for Jess’s death, but Dean doesn’t know that. In spite of it not being the most productive thing Dean could have said, it was valid. Grieving is natural and uncontrollable, but how we react to it is at least partially within the jurisdiction of the cognitive mind. We can’t resist grief, as even denying it acknowledges its presence, but rather we have to accept it as a natural part of life to be endured and felt, but not be controlled by it.

Similarly, Mary is herself a victim of trauma, having been murdered by her lover. Understandably, her mentis is significantly non compos after the experience, and killing people she deems to be guilty is perhaps her way of trying to process what happened to her. Referring once again to Supernatural Therapy podcast, Jovanna Burke (who played Mary in this episode) states she believed Mary saw herself as a vigilante trying to get restitution for people wronged by killing their murderers, but her world-view became so skewed and she lost all concept of a grey area. For her, things were black or white: guilty or not guilty. Dean as good as says that there is only guilty or not guilty for Mary: if somebody thinks their actions or lack thereof got somebody killed, that person’s guilty. Sam, after all, didn’t kill Jess, Charlie didn’t kill her ex-boyfriend and I don’t believe the father had a part in the mother’s death.

I would add to this that such thinking sounds like a trauma victim’s survival mechanism. If things are easily understood as either / or, good / bad, safe / dangerous, the risk of danger is theoretically reduced. Think wild animals assuming humans are going to kill them: it’s safest to assume and run away.

This has been quite the lengthy discourse on mirrors, but it’s time to switch from the metaphorical and symbolical to the more practical, that being the exact nature of how the magic works. Mary was bound to the mirror she died in front of, but as long as that mirror remained intact, she was free to wonder the mirror world when summoned. In the climax of the episode, Dean and Sam summon her to her mirror in the antique shop, smash it, then face her manifest form in the real world. Dean defeats her by showing her her own reflection in another mirror, whereupon her own reflection deems her guilty of multiple homicides and kills her.

Hawk-eyed readers will have noticed already, but if Mary’s power was bound to her mirror, how then could her own reflection have killed her when the mirror binding her was smashed? Was the source of her power in her, then, rather than the mirror? If so, then how would her seeing her own reflection killed her? A ghost in Supernatural doesn’t have the power to destroy itself like that: it simply can’t. A ghost has refused the Reaper’s invitation to pass on, and can’t therefore pass on, yet Mary does. I can’t make this make sense.

One more thing about that scene is that Dean’s eyes began bleeding, implying he is also hiding a secret where somebody died. Fans made a big number out of this at the time, and Kripke promised us we would find out in due course… but we never did. This is the first instance of one of Dean’s storylines getting dropped by the show, and it’s far from being the last one.

Kripke didn't like Dean. Dean was supposed to be the dumb, womanising popular guy who always gets the women but 'treats them badly' in comparison to Sam's sensitive nice guy act. Sam was Kripke's insert, and Dean was just a character the audience wasn't supposed to like either, so he didn't bother giving Dean his own storylines. Even series 3 is more about Sam's anger and 'grief' than it is Dean's.

Now that the main points are out of the way, there are more minor points in the episode to comment on. One is the lovely cinematography, especially during the cold open / prologue. I began this review by stating that mirrors are important in this episode, and the camerawork in the beginning really drive that home. Moreover, seeing Mary reflected in so many mirrors – and indeed seeing so many reflections – blurs the line between the real world and the mirror world.

The children’s sleepover is also pleasantly lit, with very dark shadows and lots of candlelight evoking the feel of a ghost story. The shot in the library with the rays of light shining on the boys also looked wonderful, and the visual storytelling in the antique shop at the end was impressive. Said visual storytelling refers to the close up shot of a blinking red light, followed shortly after by the headlights of the police cars drifting across the wall. This is intelligent storytelling that expects the viewer to be paying attention, and it’s definitely appreciated.

In spite of my apathy for Jess as a character, the final shot of Sam seeing her on the pavement was fantastic cinematography: as with the flashing lights, it told us a story without needing to tell us anything. Sam saw her, and then she disappeared. Coming at the end of an episode about Sam’s guilt, and roughly a minute after his advice to Charlie about not blaming herself, this strongly suggests something has changed in Sam: the guilt that he was holding on to has begun to ease, or even vanish. It is, however, just a suggestion, and Sam giving Charlie a therapy session he sorely needs doesn’t mean he’s going to follow his own advice.

I wish, however, that more had been revealed about the kind of pills the father was taking in the cold open.

Speaking of the library – which we weren’t –do you remember when Wi-Fi didn’t exist? I remember. Currently I’m sitting about two metres away from my computer which is tethered to my mobile phone, typing on a wireless keyboard, using a wireless mouse in a room with no working ethernet cable or modem, listening to sounds of an oil rig on Bluetooth headphones, but in 2005 none of that was possible. There’s almost as much time between now and then as there was between my birth and ABBA winning Eurovision in Brighton in 1974.

Which is a nice segue into the soundtrack of the episode. The music in the opening is effective, being both reminiscent of the prologue of 1x01 with its minimalistic, slow piano track building tension and unease, but with an underlying hollow, howling wind sound that I can only liken to the dementors in Harry Potter.

Less impressive, however, was Mary’s dialogue, showing a complete lack of effort put into it. ‛You killed them, you’re guilty’, ‛you did it, you killed that boy’.

I rewatched this episode for the first time in 12 years in December 2020, by myself in a silent flat very late at night. I was 29, and this episode still creeped me out, making me hesitant to look at the window in case my reflection moved. Whilst it’s not my favourite episode, it’s certainly a solid effort with a memorable – if dated – antagonist in a self-contained MOTW story. Like the pilot, it showcased Kripke’s initial conception of the show as being about American folklore (although Bloody Mary is very much a British thing, too), and boasts a very atmospheric miniature horror show. It also offers character development and growth, even thought Sam’s claim that he would die for Dean is laughable in retrospect.

After once more exploring folk tales in 1x05, in next week's analysis of episode 1x06 Skin I'll be looking at how the show expands its daemonology by introducing a series staple.

#Michael's Supernatural Rewatch #spn rewatch #spn 1x05 #1x05 bloody mary #classic supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #survivor's guilt #suicide #dean's abandoned storylines

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novantinuum · 5 years

Text

Shattering Atlas (a corrupted!Steven one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (TW: depression and body horror)

Words: 4.2K~

Summary: A boy can only carry an entire galaxy upon his back for so long before the weight of it all finally becomes too much.

Folks, here it is! I’m finally finished. AO3 link to be posted in the reblogs.

Disclaimer: This is absolutely far darker and more drastic than I believe canon would EVER tread if this theory had the faintest chance of being anywhere close to the truth, but sometimes you just feel like being super angsty for angst's sake, y'feel? It was an interesting writing experiment nonetheless. Not gonna lie, this is kinda a vent piece. Please do heed those tags. This delves into some difficult territory both mentally and otherwise, as it's written entirely from Steven's POV.

_____

Steven knows he’s messed-up.

It’s not something he tries to advertise to all the sweet, innocent people who somehow after all this time still choose to stand by his side, but he can’t lie to himself. Spending a significant chunk of your childhood actively doubting your own personhood shatters you in ways no amount of unconditional love can ever hope to mend. And sure, he’s not his mom. He knows that. Been there, had the mental breakdown, seen it, done it. The proof’s in his gem half. He knows. But as much as everyone in his life coddles him, gently tries to reassure him while he tirelessly works day and night to realign the foundation of an entire ancient civilization...

“You’re almost an adult now, isn’t that exciting?”

“Don’t worry about the future, the futures I see for you are as limitless as they are bright.”

“Take a break if you need to, ‘kay? You totally deserve one, little man.”

“Y’know, Schtu-ball, the wonderful thing about adulthood is that you can choose to fly wherever the wind takes you!”

...it’s clear none of that matters anyways. Because it’s not true, not for him. Because beyond his identity as a Crystal Gem, beyond that bottomless desire for belonging he’s been chasing all his life, ever since the fateful moment early in his childhood in which he finally realized— small, pudgy hands clutching at the oversized hand-me-down shirt right over the pink hand-me-down gem in his belly— that he isn’t like anyone else and never will be, the truth is that he genuinely doesn’t know what he wants. Who he is.

Everyone else does.

Connie has plans. Hopes, dreams. A future. She’s already thinking about college, and aims on double majoring in political science and environmental science. (A combination only she’s daring enough to pursue, but if anyone’s got the drive to succeed in that it’s her.) Dad’s still manager for Sadie Killer and the Suspects, and they’re going strong. Amethyst has been playing tour guide to all her fellow Prime sisters lately, galavanting with them all around planet Earth. Garnet is currently on the search for terrified cross-fusion Gems still in hiding across the galaxy. Pearl, Bismuth, and a number of the boardies have spearheaded a campaign to help slowly teach and integrate the humans of the Zoo into modern day society. Lapis and Peridot recently built another barn in the outskirts of Little Homeworld, and are enjoying each other’s company.

But him? When all is said and done, as the restructured Gem society stabilizes and soon no one will need him for anything anymore, when Gems and humans alike stop knocking on his metaphoric door with handfuls of their problems for him to drop everything and solve, he has nothing left. He’s no one. No future, no clue. He’s been drained empty.

He’s just drifting through life with the parking break on, continuously waiting— his nerves jittering at every quiet moment— for the next big crisis to crash into his universe and drop feed him even the tinniest shard of purpose.

After all, what is one to do when they’ve spent their entire life training to save the world, but the world has already been saved?

_____

He can’t recall exactly when his current predicament began anymore.

Time’s been hard to keep track of as of late— the days and weeks blending together in an incomprehensible fashion— and yet simultaneously, he might as well have lived a lifetime in the span of the blink of an eye. That being said, he’s pretty sure his most recent gem troubles didn’t truly kick into gear until after the incident with the, erm... cactus monstrosities.

He genuinely didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he didn’t. He only wanted to help... to heal. To try and repair but a shred of the damage Homeworld wrought on this innocent world. It worked when Earth was poisoned, so it should work in the Kindergartens too, right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

His stomach churns as he catches a glimpse of a silly photo of Peridot and himself hanging on the wall by the stairs. A static monument to his shame. Lapis is (still, days later— or is it weeks?) taking care of her gemstone at this very moment, sure, but remembering what happened before that... holding Peridot’s cracked gem in his quivering hands, biting back cries of hopelessness as he ran to the nearest warp pad, escaping from the malformed, hurting creatures born of his own magic... it‘s the kind of horror that he’s sure will linger in his dreams for a long time yet.

It’s like he’s broken. Like his powers just aren’t coming as naturally to him anymore. It’s not quite like that time with the rejuvenator. There’s no sickly glow flickering in and out of existence. No external force acting upon it. No, it’s deeper than that. It’s not a gem sourced problem, it’s him. He’s just... wrong. He’ll try to use his healing ability and it’ll backfire, he’ll summon his bubbles and shields but they’re noticeably less durable, he’ll birth life from his very soul and it’ll grow bitter and corrupt, every bit a mirror of his present mental state. He’ll jump up high in the sky to burn out years of repressed stress in semi-peace and before he can actually do so gravity will grab ahold of him like he’s a petulant, disobedient child and drag him back to the shore. It makes him want to scream, to grind his fingers into the sand so hard his knuckles go white as he sobs out every last one of his stupid, meaningless frustrations, but instead his house is always swarming with people, and his bedroom has no real door, (and he’s too embarrassed to ask for one), and in sum he can never find enough time alone to freely be his genuine messed-up self. It’s fine, though. He doubts he’s capable of crying at this point anyways.

“Dude, you okay?” Amethyst asks with brows furrowed in concern, snapping him back to reality.

His GameStation controller rests precariously in his loose grasp, entirely forgotten in the previous moment. The game they’re playing is paused. He must have blanked out again, and completely ruined their co-op fight. He lets out a shaky breath as he tightens his fingers around the plastic grips, digging into them as if they’re his sole handle on reality.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says swiftly, plastering a smile on his face with the ease of someone who’s been growing adept at this endless charade for months and months. “Didn’t sleep too well last night. Muscle cramps from training, y’know?”

He watches her closely, catalogues every minute shift in her features. Her eyes narrow so slightly that anyone else might’ve missed it. But he doesn’t. He’s observant. He’s gotta be. It’s the only way he’s kept going for this long, the only way he can ensure no one else knows. They don’t need any more worry. Regardless, Amethyst’s lack of subtlety betrays her, because it’s clear she’s searching his expression and body language right back. His chest pounds. Hastily, he holds up the controller, feeling his face go pale under her scrutiny.

Geeze, how pathetic.

No matter how hard he tries to mask it, he‘s already falling apart.

“So... we gonna play another round, or?” Right as he says this, his stomach chooses to let out an inopportune gurgle. He bites at the insides of his cheeks, inwardly cursing at the bad timing.

It’s thankfully enough to divert Amethyst’s attention from... other matters, though.

“Yo. Ste-man. Your stomach’s straight up monologuing. Have you even eaten today?”

He dimly considers this as he tries not to focus on how empty and faint his body currently feels, mind turning to fuzz. “Uhh...”

She frowns, and promptly pulls herself to her feet. “Yeah, so I’m gonna take that as a no. I’ll be right back, ‘kay? Gonna get us some cheese!” she declares bombastically, putting on a mock announcer voice.

He watches her leave his room, prancing downstairs like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A faint huff of sheer relief passes through his nostrils. Absentmindedly, his thumbs jiggle the controller’s joystick, unable to strike the earlier image of Amethyst— concern engulfing her usually carefree self— from his mind. He really should be more careful about what he says. How he acts.

He honestly couldn’t live with himself if he slipped up and became yet another emotionally taxing problem for them to deal with. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl... all his family, his friends. They deserve peace. They deserve to be satisfied, they deserve their happily ever after. They certainly don’t deserve him, self-destructing all over the bright and shining future they’d won.

Or nearly shattering them.

Putting them in needless danger, danger that’s all his fault, because he’s broken.

His throat grows tight, airway constricted, images of black beady eyes, razor sharp fangs, and malformed limbs invading his thoughts, clawing away at insecurities long scabbed over until they ooze a bitter red. Peridot’s shrill yelp as she’s overtaken in an instant. That dreadful, immediately recognizable sound, a cracking Gem, seared onto his heart for the rest of time.

He... he can’t deny it anymore. His magic’s gone toxic. He’s toxic, bringing suffering and decay where once he brought healing. All his Gem powers are fading, maybe forever. And with them fading, he’ll soon be of no use to anyone, and when they realize why they faded they won’t want him around anyways, and y’know, it’s probably for the better they’ll have a concrete reason to finally push him away. He’s not stupid. He’s always known what an emotionally taxing strain he’s been on everyone, ever since the day Mom died for him to be born.

Steven grips the controller so hard that his fingers grow numb, mind stewing in the dark fantasies of what he’d like to do with himself when he’s left behind for good.

And then... his heart leaps in his throat as he dimly hears Amethyst begin to whisper to the others (they’re back? They’re back?? When did they return, why didn’t you notice them, how could you just miss—) downstairs.

“Y’guys,” he hears her say frantically, under her breath, “I think we really gotta talk with Steven. Something’s seriously wrong, and he won’t tell me what.”

“What, you mean to say he’s in danger? Garnet, do you see anything?”

“Hmm. I don’t foresee any external threats to Steven’s safety in the near future, but...”

“Amethyst, he’s clearly still upset about Peridot. And once she reforms in a few days, when she’s ready, he’ll be fine! Trust me.“

“No, trust me, I genuinely think this is more than just Peridot! It’s getting me super worried. He hasn’t been eating like he should, y’guys. I don’t think he’s showered in days. Sometimes it’s like he’s... I dunno, like, he isn’t even fully present. And y’know, thinking about it now? It’s been like this for a while. Since before all the cactus stuff.”

“Well, if he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not sure how we could—“

“We need to call Greg over,” Garnet interrupts Pearl, a new, thinly veiled panic rising in her voice. “Right now.”

His eyes stretch open wide.

Oh.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no... Not here, not now, not— please, not now!

His breath hastens, his body outright shaking now. He curls tight into himself, the game controller dropping from his slackened fingers onto the floor as he clutches his knees to his chest. Sweat beads in droplets on his forehead. He outright yanks at his hair.

Amethyst, she can’t just waltz downstairs and!—

I don’t want to—

Peridot, getting cracked, I- it’s all my fault and she didn’t—

I- all of this- I’m so useless, careless, l- I’m losing my mind, what’s even wrong- why are you panicking!- I don’t—

T-they can’t know, they can’t know, they CAN’T—

He can’t fully bite back his cries as his gem flares burning hot, a rush of pure, unadulterated agony spiking through his hard light veins in an indescribably eternal split-second, the very experience of hypocrisy. Every single muscle in his body seizes. His ears ring, filled with a cacophonous clamor of sound that slashes through his mind with the deadly force of a long blade. Crippling. Debilitating. All-consuming. Hell. This is hell. Because then his head is pounding, and his limbs are all weak and shaky, and for a moment he’s bathed in a faint wash of pink, the glow enveloping him like his own corona of sickness as he succumbs to the pain he’s sequestered inside, bitterly festering for all these years.

Hell eventually recedes, both its note and its physical touch, but the dark clouds looming over his mind do not. Slowly, he loosens his grip on his curls, trying desperately to bring balance to his breathing. His ears are still ringing. His head is still cotton. Questions abound. For instance: what on Earth was that?? Stars, is something else wrong with his gem now, too? Thoroughly disorientated, he yanks up the hem of his shirt.

“Steven?!” Pearl calls frantically from downstairs, right as his trembling fingers gently trace the exposed facets of his gem. “Are you okay up there?”

He squints, features compressing in his sheer confusion. Visually, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. No imperfections, no flickering light, nothing. So then what’s—

“Hey, Steven? Yo?? You, uh- maybe wanna come eat downstairs, or?”

A shudder runs clear through his form, starting from his gem and coursing outwards to the furthest extremities. He grits his teeth as he rides through the stabbing discomfort, clutching at his stomach. It’s like he’s about to vomit. Sure, so maybe he was really hungry before, and maybe that has a little to do with what he’s experiencing now, but... this... still doesn’t feel right. Spots swim in his vision as he glances down again.

And that’s when he sees it, slowly creeping across the skin of his bare forearm as clear as day.

It’s a patch of dull, pinkish hide. Not human skin, hide. He runs his index finger along its perimeter, all of reality screeching to a halt as his brain performs somersaults in a desperate last-ditch attempt to contextualize the information his eyes are sending him right now.

“What?” he whispers in disbelief, (even though he has a few terrifying theories), frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.

“I’m checking on him,” Garnet says, just loud enough that he knows for certain she intends him to hear. Solid footsteps creep across the floorboards, advancing towards the foot of the stairs.

It’s frankly impressive how fast a single stimulus can turn panic to outright paranoia.

He almost trips over himself diving to retrieve his jacket off the floor, forcing his arms through the sleeves faster than any of the Gems could ever summon their weapons. Hide it. Hide it away. They can’t see you, they can’t know you’re corru- NO! Stop.

Bathroom. He needs to get to the bathroom.

His bare feet solidly connect with the floor, toes curling inwards as he shudders again. A pulsing ache settles into the bones of his skull. Then a prickle at his neck. Reflexively, he slaps his hand against the affected locale. There’s another spot steadily growing there.

Alone, NOW.

The whole world’s spinning as he turns on his heels and flies across the length of his bedroom— sprinting past the TV, shoving past Garnet, who’s already halfway up the open stairwell, and leaping clear over the couch from midway down the last set of steps. (Everyone’s shouting in blind panic as he enters their sight. Fear. Needless, unwanted worry. Calling his name, calling for peace, but his ears are still ringing and their voices are overlapping and he can’t distinguish any of it.) When he reaches the bathroom his hand grips the knob so hard that the metal almost crumples under his force, and he swings himself through the doorway, slams it shut, and turns the lock with pink-splotched fingers faster than any one of the Gems can move to stop him.

For a split moment, things are okay. He’s alone. Moreover, he’s safe.

(But are you really?)

His head is pounding again, the pulsing at his temples soon coalescing into a constant inescapable misery. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he lets his forehead lull against the door. Flexes his knuckles, imagines the splotches disappearing from sight as easily as eye bags under makeup. He tries to calm his breathing in the meditative way Garnet once showed him. In for four counts... and out. In... and out. Come on, just ride it out, Universe. You’re a Gem- a diamond, for cripe’s sake! Control it. Conceal. Move on.

“Steven?!” Amethyst calls from outside. “Please talk to us, what’s goin’ on?”

"Whatever it is, you don't have to be alone!" Pearl adds. He doesn't even have to see her face to know that she's crying.

A renewed burst of panic spikes through his veins at this realization.

“Stop worrying about me, I’m fine!” he bites back on impulse.

“No, you’re NOT!” Amethyst hollers, and then... after a thoughtful pause, her tone softening: “I- I know you’re not.”

He stares down at his hands, brows threading together, watching as the patch of hide continues to inch across his skin. The genuine concern interlaced in every syllable of her speech is enough to make his gut churn with guilt.

“Steven, I... stars, I know you probably overheard me talking to everyone jus’ a second ago, and I know I probably betrayed every scrap of trust we ever had ‘coz of that, and I wanna say I’m sorry, but I can’t just stand aside and watch you treat yourself like garbage. Please, the door’s jammed. Let us in. We just wanna help!”

His lip quivers, despite himself. “I don’t need any help!” he insists, stubbornly pushing past the crack in his voice. “I’m just—“

He’s interrupted by a rush of crippling agony radiating upwards from his gem once more, the ache at either side of his head intensifying into three points. Hands rush to the site on automatic. Fingers grasping, searching. Discovering.

There’s something growing at his temples, he realizes with a rush of horror. Something hard, faceted. Disturbingly cold to the touch.

There’s no way to bite back his screams as the growths fully protrude, none at all, even with his mouth clamped shut, and even though he can’t see them he can sense their weight as they wind upwards and back, up and out of his curls, and he’s shaking, oh stars is he shaking, chest heaving up and down so hard he’s not sure he’ll ever be free of these awful tremors ever again, and— A hoarse sob forces its way to the surface as a third growth crowns his forehead. Trembling fingers scrape down the length of the door as he collapses to his knees, nails sharpening into gnarled talons as they sink further and further into the wood, carving through it like butter. He clenches his jaw back together so hard that with any greater pressure he might shatter his own teeth.

Still quite woozy under the threat of hyperventilation, he slowly turns his head. Extricates those dreadful claws from the door. Dares himself to look. Forcing himself back up to his feet, he gazes deep into the depths of the mirror. And as the creature trapped on the other side stares back through sickeningly pink irises— blotches of color steadily creeping up their jawline and across their cheek, inching to meet the base of those glistening crystalline horns— all known reality shatters into smithereens.

Not me, not me, not me, is the mantra he chants to himself like a prayer, stubbornly clinging to any vestige of normalcy as if this is all but a vivid nightmare he can stir awake from.

(As if deep down, a tiny, beaten-down part of himself still wants to believe he deserves a future too.)

But the darkness reflected in that mirror is following his every jerky, erratic movement as all the despair and guilt and self-hatred festering within continues to consume him like a matchstick to fire.

Not real. It’s not real! I don’t need help. I don’t need the Gems, they don’t need to know, I’m fine, I’m FINE, this isn’t corru - NO, DON’T THINK ABOUT IT! YOU CAN’T—

They’re yelling outside. Arguing, probably. (And true to form, Pearl‘s cries are the shrillest.) But he can’t be certain of anything anymore while smothered under the fog’s thickening surface, with the rest of the world relegated to mere static and stimuli. Not a word, not a clue. No way to know if it’s an argument about him or with him.

And in his mind their distress stands as yet another sign. Just another slice of proof that they truly are at their happiest without him, that his continued existence only serves as a complication. He can’t deny it anymore. He can’t lie, can’t tiptoe around the inevitable truth; like this, he’s nothing but a liability. A ticking time bomb, set to shatter everything and everyone in his path. Shaking like a leaf, he unfurls his fists, watching as the dull pink hide overtakes the last clear patches of flesh upon his misshapen, monstrous fingers.

They’re better off without you.

The passing seconds cease to exist as he convulses again, this time centralized at the base of the spinal column. He doubles over, leans into the pain. Rides it through vertebrae by vertebrae, raking his claws deep into the wood floor as a fifth limb emerges from where the spine left off, steadily lengthening— fortifying itself with jagged crystalline spikes as it grows ever longer. Its weight is entirely foreign, yet it shifts upon his slightest command. Panic overruling all logic once more, he thrashes about, the tail swinging across the bathroom counter like a whip. His toothbrush, comb, and other various toiletries he hasn't made use of in days clatter to the floor, abandoned.

R u n.

The thought rampages through his shattered soul like an avalanche. Yanks him by the horns. Consumes his mind and body like a trance. He has to escape from here, from the house, the Gems, has to run quick, before it’s too late and you can’t do anything more but wordlessly scream.

He doesn’t stop to question this impulse. Doesn’t stop to peer at that poor tortured creature in the mirror again. For a moment his claws struggle to grasp the crumpled door knob, fumbling in failure’s wake.

When he finally forces the door open, the whole world holds its breath.

Pearl’s eyes blow wide upon the no-doubt horrifying sight. Her hands fly to her mouth. “Steven?!”

Even Amethyst reacts in an adverse manner, stepping back towards the support of the wall. “Holy...” she breathes, face paling.

And just knowing he’s out here now, every gnarled, nightmarish feature exposed in front of his family like a raw nerve, makes his blotchy, spot-covered skin crawl.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME, I’m FINE!” he hollers as he sprints to the warp pad, barbed tail whipping wildly behind him. Pearl yelps in alarm as she only barely dodges its mace-like swing. Unable to hold back his sobs anymore, he collapses to his knees on the hard crystal. Coils his tail around himself by sheer instinct. Hides his face away behind arms. Hot tears spill from his eyes, vision blurring and sharpening in rhythm to the unbearable ache pounding in his head. “I’m fine,” he whispers pathetically, voice catching.

He can practically feel the vibrations through the floor as someone approaches. It’s Garnet. He doesn’t know how he knows, but it can only be her. His breath hastens against his better wishes. Can’t stop, won’t stop, can’t stop... The vision of the temple door begins to pirouette in dizzy circles around him as he arches his back, and with a sharp gasp feels something tear its way through his shirt and jacket right above his spine, all jagged and spiked and— NO! He grinds his jaw together, shrinking further into himself. Not real. It’s not real, not real, not—

“Steven,” she says in a measured tone as he heaves for air. (No, with hesitation. Fear. She’s hesitating because she’s afraid of you, she’s afraid because you’re a monster NO.) “I know you’re hurting, but I need you to take a deep breath with me, and try to calm down. Please, let us help you...”

A heart wrenchingly familiar hand reaches out to him, adorned by a ruby gem and a golden wedding band. His fingers clamp around thick, greasy curls, brushing against the horns protruding from his temples. A keening cry slips out from his mouth against his better wishes. They want to help. They only want to help...

He peeks at her through the crook of his arm, his most likely reddened, blotchy eyes meeting hers. She’s taken off her visor. She’s crying too.

For a glimmer of a second, he considers reaching out. Taking her offered hand with his own clawed one. But then...

Haven’t you been a burden enough already?

His face screws up, and his hands clench into fists.

“NO,” he shouts, slamming them down upon the warp pad. It activates, (blessedly still accessible at this early stage of corruption NO don’t think about it!!), glowing a bright cyan as he envisions where he wants to go: no particular destination in his mind but away, away, away.

After all, he already knows he’s a monster.

So... he might as well become one too.

_____

Notes:

Some days you just gotta have an entire mental breakdown and go full wyrm, y'hear?

HCs I tapped into for this fic:

After being healed, formerly cracked Gems take longer to reform than Gems who were only poofed. Peridot will be okay eventually, she just hasn’t reformed quite yet.

Steven is still able to warp because he hasn’t quite passed the threshold of corruption that prevents a Gem from accessing the warp stream. I imagine it's very much a matter of mental connection, and having the right presence of mind to tap into it. Probably a few minutes after this, if Steven were to continue going downhill and his mind fully fell into the fog of corruption, he’d no longer be able to warp. He got super lucky here.

This potential future blindsided Garnet because previously- like how Steven’s newfound maturity threw her off as discussed in Pool Hopping- she hadn’t factored in the idea of Steven being in such a low mental state. Amethyst was the first to really see past his attempts to mask it because she personally had dealt with depression like this before and knew what it looked like.

Maybe one day after SUF airs I'll write more on this topic, but as for now this will remain a one-shot. I 100% imagine Steven would ultimately be okay in this timeline, though. They'd be able to help him, stop the corruption. Steven goes to heckin' therapy. He'll live on, he'll begin to recover and cope. But that's a whole 'nother story.

Thank you for reading!

#su #su future #steven universe #corrupted steven theory #su fanfic #garnet #amethyst #pearl #su fanfiction #corrupted steven #corrupt!steven #body horror #my writing stuff #the mighty 500

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Mortal Sanity

SSA Request ✧ Joker ✧ Mortality Link @lady-of-fandoms: Aging indicator with the Joker? He found out who his soulmate was, and to gain immortality, had her captured and locked away. Batman and co. find out, and go to save her, but theres a complication, and the Joker sees the reader and starts aging. You can take it from there! Notes: Some graphic gore. I’m so sorry, lady! I changed your request quite a bit. I tried using this request to write a different kind of Y/N. Words: 2,514

When you live in a world full of superheroes, there are worst things than meta human villains, invading aliens, and psychotic clowns. One of them is having a soulmate.

Some say it’s better because your other half is easier to find, but they’re not the one who has a hero or a villain for a soulmate. You do.

You’re old. You’ve been alive since before Gotham. Your family was one of its first British settlers in the late 1600s. You are one of its original founders. You built this city and continue to care for it better than your own family.

Because they kept dying. One by one mortality catches up with them and each funeral strips away part of you, the side of you that grieves and fears death.

Whenever your spouses lay on their deathbed, you only feel disappointed that they weren’t the one. There was no way of knowing until you’ve spent time with them and seen the wrinkles on their skin next to your suppleness.

No one knew much about soulmates at all. Not until one of the three Fate Sisters visited Gotham in the late 19th century. You came across her by chance but to her, it was no accident.

“Your soulmate has not been born yet, child.”

You asked how much longer you had to wait but the Fates only give so little of their time. She didn’t answer and other people had crowded her. It took two world wars before another Fate passed through the city.

“Why are you so eager to meet them? There is still so much to do before your soulmate will be born.”

She was gesturing to the streets of Gotham, littered with people slumped over the gutters, children crying and holding their bellies, and mothers with babes sucking on their tits while they begged for money.

The war never passed through Gotham but its devastation has clawed deep into its foundations and stripped the people of their livelihood. Your eyes and your heart couldn’t take it.

You were the one who held the first meeting of the Court of Owls. You gathered every wealthy Gothamite, from old money to new business owners. The politicians were only later invited as a courtesy.

With the Court at your disposal, you built Gotham from the ground up, quickly turning it into the business capital of the country for anyone hoping to live the American dream.

But as the city’s population grew beyond your control, you had to cut your losses, divide the city into districts, and protect the wealthy. But unbeknownst to you, this was what set off Gotham’s descent into madness and the very creation of your soulmate.

The first sign of everything going wrong was the man dressed as a Bat. But his actions were in alignment with the Court’s will over Gotham and so you let him be. When villains in similar attire started to sprout all over the city, the Bat kept them in check. And so the Court did nothing.

And then the Clown entered the picture, causing devastations all over the city like you’ve never seen before. You watched buildings burn with children still screaming inside them, towers fell on people running amok in the streets, and the horrendous gas that left its stench at every street corner in Gotham.

The Clown is a plague and the Court has decided that he has to go.

After a meeting, you’re met with the final Fate sister. She has been waiting for you.

“Child, you’ve done well. You’ve loved and fostered this city like no other and I am truly misfortuned to be the one to tell you of your soulmate. Fate has been unkind to you.”

Your soulmate is the Joker.

Your knees suddenly go weak and your chest feels tight. Phantom claws are constricting around your heart. What you’ve waited for centuries is finally here and you don’t want it. Take it back.

The Fate sister holds your shoulders, “Stay strong, child. The worst is yet to come. I must tell you about your link.

“For years, you have not only eluded aging but also death. So long as you’re not in your soulmate’s arms, you will never die.”

Immortality is no stranger to you. Mortality even less. But the sudden prospect of knowing that the Clown himself is as immortal as you-- the image that Gotham would be plagued by his madness for eternity-- it terrifies you.

“I need your help.”

You’re standing in one of the meeting rooms of Wayne tower, interrupting a conference between Bruce Wayne and his major shareholders.

“Miss L/N,” Bruce treats you with respect despite your actions. He knows who you are. Knows what you are. “It’s lovely to see you but we are in the middle of something important here. You can make an appointment--”

“I need to talk to your friend,” you stare at Bruce and watch the subtle recognition dawn on his face. “It’s urgent, Bruce.”

You’ve always called him by his last name like you did his Thomas Wayne. It’s how you show your respect for his work and successfully making his father’s company his own. You only ever call him Bruce when you want to remind him that you’re older, much wiser, and more powerful.

Bruce clenches his teeth and shuffles the papers in his hand. He turns to his shareholders and gives them his signature playboy smile. “I apologize. We’re going to have to reschedule. It seems the Queen of Gotham needs me.”

Bruce loosens his tie as he walks around the table of perplexed and annoyed millionaires. He places his hand on your lower back, standing shoulder to shoulder, as he escorts you out of the room and into his office.

With the doors closed and his blazer off, Bruce’s demeanor changes. His eyebrows are no longer arched upwards but slanting down and his smile has been replaced by a deep scowl. His eyes pierce into yours when he turns to you.

“Start talking.”

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at Bruce but quickly unfold them and relax. You didn’t come to fight. “I’m not here on behalf of the Court, Bruce. I’m here as myself.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t exactly know who you are. He only knows exactly what you want him to know, and what little you allow is only necessary for him to realize that you have Gotham eating from the palm of your hands.

But you’re extending your palm now as you finally reveal to him everything that you are, who you have been, and what you’ve been waiting for. Even Bruce Wayne couldn’t hide the reaction on his face. He’s visibly horrified.

“You’re not immortal, Bruce. But if the Clown kills me, he will be.”

“What’s your plan?”

You grimace at the man behind the Bat. “Why do you think I need your help?”

Being the Queen of Gotham and the leader of the Court of Owls has distanced you from the city. You’ve been watching it from your highrise and no longer know where the streets bend and what the people look like.

You’re ashamed to be asking for help from someone so inferior. But Batman is the best weapon you’ve got against the Clown. He and his little band of eager boys.

“Does the Joker know about your link?”

You turn to Richard Grayson, a child always on the outskirts of the city with no Gotham blood flowing through his veins. “Yes. The Fates has an obligation to humor everyone with links.”

“I’m surprised the Joker didn’t kill her,” Jason Todd snorts. A real child bred and raised by Gotham herself. Through the good and the ugly.

“He tried. But the Fates aren’t human.”

“Really? What are they?” Timothy Drake. Another Gotham child. Middle class with the potential to join the Court. Potential lost to the Bat.

You raise an eyebrow. “None of you have links?”

“Only mindless individuals would believe in such nonsense.”

Damian Wayne.

You can feel each of your muscles tense as you turn to him. Definitely not a Gothamite. “Sounds like something an ignorant person would say.”

“This is enough,” Bruce interrupts.

You brought them to one of the secret bunkers of the Court. Years ago, you had constructed a facility for the truly dire patients of Arkham. Under Bruce’s instructions, you had reinforcements built into it to hold the Joker for eternity.

The boys purse their lips at Bruce’s word and follow him out of the cell. But you’re not one of his wards.

You touch Tim’s shoulder on the way out, “The Fates are ancient beings, as old as the soulmate links. They’re immortal but they’re not gods.”

Tim is still processing the information when Bruce interjects.

“Do you remember the plan?”

You roll your eyes, “Stay in my penthouse with the mini Bat watching over me until you find the Clown. It’s not exactly a science.”

Bruce holds out his hand to help you climb up the ladder out of the bunker but you reject him and climb on your own. When you arrive at your penthouse you won’t have to deal with him any longer. His son, on the other hand, is a different story.

“How does it feel to be told your soulmate is a psychotic maniac?” he asks as he looks down at Gotham through your large windows.

You suddenly feel the urge to hurl his tiny body down the side of the building. You probably don’t have the strength to do it but you won’t die trying.

“I thought only mindless individuals believed in soulmates.”

“I don’t believe in it. But I want to know the kind of mental state of someone who believes they're destined to live the rest of their life with the Joker.”

You roll your eyes at his arrogant smirk reflecting off of the window. You’re holding a glass of wine in your hand and you lift it up to cover Damian’s silhouette with the red liquid, wondering if the rest of Gotham’s children are as bratty. Absolutely no appreciation for things that are ancient and sacred.

It took another week before they caught the Joker. He proved to be a hard man to find when he’s not ready for showtime. The Bat had found him while setting up his next attack on the city. Bruce himself dragged him to the cell and made sure the reinforcements were still in place.

You’re surprised Bruce even trusted you at all. You think that maybe he knew exactly what you were planning in the first place. That he felt he had no choice and it was better to play the ignorant fool and let you and the Court do the dirty work.

The Clown is awake when you enter the cell with a gun in your hand. The moment his eyes land on you, you pull the trigger and shoot him in the head.

His body slams against the side of the table and his head tips back but slowly he reels it back up again. His eyes go twice as wide as the bullet hole on his forehead. His pale bony fingers tap on his head and one makes its way into the hole. The Clown laughs hysterically as he flicks the bullet out.

“The Fate sister was being literal,” you grumble, “We have to be in each other’s arms to age and die.”

The Clown suddenly stops laughing and stares at you curiously. You watch his eyebrows move up and down. “You mean that oooold hag was telling the truth?” He takes a step closer to you with excitement pouring out of every muscle in his body. “If I kill you, I’ll live forever?”

You glare straight into the madman’s eyes and he looks back. His pupils are dilated and roaming every muscle on your face. Looking for the lies. You’re ready to touch him, hold him and then pull the trigger again, when suddenly, he lowers his face and looks at you with bored eyes.

“No, thanks, lady.”

Your grip on the gun loosens but you quickly hold it still. The Clown turns around with his hands behind his back and starts looking at the interior of the cell like an invited guest.

“Now, why would I want something as booooring as immortality?” He looks back at you with an angry expression. His lips upturned in distaste. “Where’s the punchline? Nobody likes a joke that takes too long.”

“You… you want to die?”

The Clown turns his whole body back to you with his arms spread out wide. The hole in his head is completely gone. “Of course! My greatest gig depends on it!” He starts hunching over the table and his hands act like they’re directing miniature pieces on a stage. “Me and the Bat under the moonlight, all of his so called ‘partners’ dead around him. And then finally he’ll kill me--” he turns to you, glaring, suddenly realizing that your link is an inconvenience. Then he rolls his eyes. “I suppose a third wheel could add some impact to the scene.”

You stare at him dumbly. Unsure of what to think. You’ve lived all these years building up a city but to what end? To meet this psycho lunatic in front of you who is more infatuated with the Bat than anything else? This is your soulmate?

No one knows anything about the Clown. Except you know he’s 18. He has been for years and has probably gone crazy because of it. He doesn’t know about the links, never knew that he should’ve been waiting for you. That there’s a future already planned for him.

The Clown has taken steps toward you, eyeing the way you’ve held down your gun and are now staring mindlessly into his face.

“So. Soulmate.” He peers down at you, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. “How about a teeny tiny winsy favor? You know, for love’s sake.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“You let him go.”

Bruce, dressed as the Bat blocks your path back to your town car after a meeting. You cross your arms over your chest. “The Court doesn’t want him prisoner.”

“The Court? Or you?”

You narrow your eyes at Bruce. You think he bugged the cell and heard every bit of your conversation with the Clown. You should have expected him to do so. But it’s not like it matters now. You turn away from him and check your cuticles.

“It’s your game, Bruce. Yours and the Clown’s. I’m merely a spectator.”

“I thought you cared about Gotham.”

A vein along your neck twitches as you clench your teeth. After everything you’ve done for the city. After all the hours you’ve dedicated to its development, and all the hope you’ve handed out freely to its people, what has it given you? Madmen.

“Gotham is my child,” you say sternly. “And just like any parent I need to let it learn to fend for itself.”

Bruce gives you a long look and narrows his eyes. “You’re sick. You deserve each other,” he says before walking back into the shadows.

No, Bruce, you’re the one who’s sick. Sick and dying every day. Always striving to make every minute count, when they’re all just meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Meaningless because everything is already written.

Unlike the Clown who’s writing his own destiny.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

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