#self doubts

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Protego Pt 2 - Introductions

Continuing the Protego Miniseries. 

Do let me know how you like the changes and if you’d want to be tagged. :)

Pt 1 - Origin of Magic

*.*.*

The Snapes.

Downwind from a foul smelling mill nearby to a polluted river little Snape again found himself crouched inside a rotating tunnel built into the jungle gym on the playground in the park by his home. Somehow thunder overhead, while terrifying in itself, paled in comparison to how his parents’ contemptuous behavior made his heart pound in fright. And just like the wind to vanish and suddenly appear, one of his two red headed anchors appeared at his side. Not the one his heart yearned to belong to, who he feared to ever show this side to, but to a confusing diamond in the rough he equally never wished to be parted from.

Identical to a T in appearance alone the fiery tempered young girl who seemed as troubled as him inside adamantly seemed at odds with her picture perfect life. Shivering to the next explosion of thunder and lightning Severus glanced at his trembling friend he scooted a bit closer to, making use of his poorly sized clothes to share his tent of an outer coat which always seemed to do the trick. “Did your parents bake you too many pies?” he asked sarcastically, his only way to vent his confusion and frustration at her for why she had been recently talking about not wanting to go back to her parents’ haven of an abode.

“I had the dream again,” she whispered frailly on the cusp of tears. Stopping as she regretted saying even that much.

Her tone alone had him shift a bit closer and turn his head to look at her as face on as possible to ask in seer concern, “What dream?” She simply shook her head, now with tears pooling into her pink eyes he’d neglected to notice having not looked her way until now. “Tell me. You and Lily never expand on dream when it comes up.”

The force in his gaze was unnecessary as she simply finally felt herself ready to share this truth with him in particular. “I keep seeing this woman, she’s trapped, and alone,” a tear broke loose and before she could help it she had leaned into the hand of his that rose to wipe it away. A move that had him halt in his tracks, uncertain if like him she had been neglected of family contact and sought this clear innocent trusting comfort from him, someone who would understand having parents who truly didn’t care if he lived or died. Yet she straightened up and sniffled hard to keep from the failing means to stop a second tear and third soon to follow while she squeaked out, “She looks-,” her voice cracked and down into her propped up knees and legs now folding up to press to her chest her head burrowed to hide her face urging him in to loop an arm around her back and a hand on her shins to coax her out again.

“Looks what? Like what? Is she hurt?”

“Like me,” she squawked out in a pop of her head up if only to clasp hands over her mouth she felt his fight to pull away in the emergence of a beak out of her teeth and lips and blood red shade to cover the whites of her eyes now with golden pupils. Again she burrowed her head into her knees, clearly frightened of scaring him away. Pain, so he’d read often mingled in sadness came with the occasional rage, something he could attest to and now guessed that was why she was trembling, in rage and not fear. Though surely now that had faded as he heard her squeak out frightfully soft, “What if my parents lock me away too?”

Right away he folded around her as if the action could be a shield against that possibility to last for years to come until she was able to choose herself in legal age on what to do. “I heard them, they found me on a walk.” His eyes he had been clenching so tightly to enforce the wishful intentions snapped open in shock to let a tear of his own fall. “Like magic, they said, to, someone on the phone. That’s why, they don’t know what to do or say, when it happens, when I get angry. They treat it like it’s some sort of trick.” Sharply she drew in a breath to assure him, “No matter what, I swear I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” he whispered back in reply and as she nodded he eased her back into his side uncertain of what else to say. She wasn’t his love’s twin, merely made to look like her, again most likely out of fear. She was one of his anchors and now he felt a stab deep in his chest she had never shown him her true self, shared her fears and nightmares when always when he had his own she would appear to console him. Now he knew, and now he would work hard to prove that she could trust him with anything, and he would never harm her in return for the oath she had given to him.

*.*.*

The Evans.

Petunia Evans, daughter of a well respected couple, skipping at the side of the pram they pushed. All four lost to the bliss of their vacation and tour of the countryside they chose to vacation in. Passed beyond a veil somehow the sight of an infant, the same age as their youngest, held in the arms of a rather cross Nun. Inclusion of this out of place orphanage dulled this quaint town. Right through the bars an ache stirred. Parents of two daughters just moments ago would within the chime of the next hour have three.

A child found as if by magic. One Petunia would take solace in also being the lesser favorite of their begrudging and obstinate Great Aunt Gertrude who would impose herself and her opinions upon the Evans household whenever possible. Petunia never seemed to find out what the woman wanted from her exactly. Not like Lily. But this new sister soon would draw a special strain of reluctance from their guest. When she would throw her first tantrum and sprout a beak in doing so.

A shape shifter. A mimic. A freak. That last word slipped out when she was alone, but how her sister acted after that she had heard it being muttered from her older sister who didn’t like being mimicked. “I’m sorry,” Petunia repeated until it just about made her throat bleed for weeks when she got the chance. She didn’t want to hurt Jewels’ feelings, but no one in the family knew just what to make of this and school would start soon. So the youngest girl would have to do something about her ever changing appearance.

.

She wasn’t a freak. Could she be? How would she know? Jewelia Rose Evans, commonly called Jewels. A rarity in their little garden patch surrounded cottage haven. A child with eyes that dead on were a deep purple that from the side like a mystical creature appeared neon green.

A child inexplicably able to morph her hair and face and body to whatever she desired. Or one uncontrollable appearance when in a quick fit of rage. And she desired to not have her older sister call her a freak. So, like the beloved Lily she molded herself. To don steady brilliant green eyes and crimson hair, and still the chanted word persisted. This time from others who could sense something was off about the youngest girl hiding behind another’s face while not solely in the company of family.

In every hiss she whispered to the garden snakes in their garden she got to agree to keep from harming Mrs Evans. In every blossom she and Lily helped to return to full bloom. Freak would echo and sting, and burn like an acid that no one could scrub off of their skin and hearts. All she could the eldest sister tried to step in where possible, especially now the nightmares were growing more frequent and her baby sister was never a day without pretending she hadn’t woken hours before she should and wasn’t able to go back to sleep. Something was wrong, even safe at home Petunia saw that Jewels was scared of what was happening to her, so she tried to help. She wouldn’t let her mimic her, but she could offer simple distractions and copies of magazines borrowed from her own friends in school to fawn over. Small things, distractions really, all the young teen was capable of scouring up off her own imagination.

.

Eleven years would fly by and those sisters, close as any, now faced division like no other. Coming in the form of two letters, just two, not three.

“How wonderful, isn’t it, to have two Witches in the family?!”

They loved their elder sister and cheered her on in every endeavor, as they would even from afar. Both found solace with the Half-Blood boy from down the lane. Who shared the moniker of Freak on top of a house of pain to hide from.

Together the trio shared all the magical things. A world their cherished Petunia would always, to them, wrongfully be forbidden.

*.*.*

Toujours Pur. The words etched beneath The Black Family crest.

The most distinguished and expansive line descended from Salazaar Slytherin, the grey bearded Wizard beyond compare. With eyes just as distinguishable, a deep violet dead on and emerald from the side that had darkened in beauty and knowledge as he had aged.

This line bore its own fabled other-worldliness in the deepest records of its elders. Major Ursa Black, fabled Warrior of old and Keeper of the Stars. Every generation must have one. One to always be looking up and in his esteemed legacy was noted to have become a star in his passing.

Thus beginning the tradition of naming his heirs after stars, with whom all could hear and converse with when focused. Night or day through their blood bond their ancestors could always conference with the youngest of their line for guidance, and through the stars pass on the path to their nearest of kin for aid.

Sirius and Regulus had those words drilled into their heads between lessons. Always pure. Always busy. Always in language lessons, instrument lessons, gymnastics, botany lessons, classical dance lessons. Always, something. Never enough and pushed to achieve more than their parents.

Parents, Walburga and Orion, in a strive to inherit more when their patriarch passed, first cousins raised similar to siblings wed and conceived twice to a far from loving home, that in early days of their union had moved to the dark Grimmauld Place. One of numerous properties within the Black Family line, each magically linked to the coveted unplottable Black Family Mansion. A home the cousins’ parents, and they themselves by the birth of their second son, desired more than anything. Tucked safe in the top of far distant mountains that none could climb or pass over without coming to a grizzly end to protect the hidden haven. Every angle gave clear view of those treasured stars. Up where their ancestors rested for all eternity.

Sirius came to Hogwarts first, and by internal grudge of his silver spoon placed in his hand at birth always felt some kind of failure coming on. Expectations that high only gave way to such feelings of falling short. Failure felt imminent, and for all he could shake free of hope had been scooted towards his younger brother’s plate that Regulus could remain the golden son. Is Sirius failed perhaps Regulus could make them proud and until he found his footing later on in life Sirius could bear the scorn and outrage as long as his baby brother was free of this crushing weight.

Out of all the heaviest expectations this teen didn’t want to be proper. Freedom was ached for. Freedom of those born without such a name to live up to. Even his name was one worn by an elder generations ago. School at least granted something close to space to find himself. Find himself and show who he could truly grow to be. Pranks here and there had begun to lure a few sideways glances from his elders at the moment, a trait they hoped to be grown out of. Wild hair snipped off at the root to hold the line and brunt of the male family line. Once his prankster exterior was shown to not be his only side. But beyond his name and assumed failure who he would grow to be would stun even himself.

No matter the tries to hide it from the world a war was coming. People would have to choose their sides. And against everything burning in him to stupidly run head first at the first chance for a fight, something more important would offer him an impossible choice. One impossible choice of many he would tackle.

Who he should be. Who he wanted to be. And who those he loves would need him to be. His world, this world was about to change into something none had seen before. One to break him and his family, both chosen and blood born, in ways beyond repair.

 *.*.*

The Potters.

One of the Sacred 28 families, equaled by few in wealth and stature amongst Wizarding Britain, now had one heir. Born late in life to his parents, James Potter stood a beacon of hope for their line to continue.

So proud, so vain, so entitled for all he had been given and was assumed destined to achieve. Given all he could ever desire and more. To bring the most relevant aspects of his personality would be scraped out of the four losing children in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Competitive to an unbearable degree, even when no rival had placed itself front and center. Ruthlessly he would strive after the self imposed goal and no bridge would be free of smoldering embers on the scorching path to victory. He saw who he wanted. The one goal of his lifetime was to snag a crimson haired Witch of his own, as only a fiery haired Witch could match his prowess of his insurmountable ego. Fiery red hair many a Wizard attributed to powerful Witches of the highest degree. Only a Witch like that would be one he would wed and bed to carry his expected heir. He would find his wife, make himself the best prize around, and get her to accept his offer of being the one he chose as a wife. Many would see the smug devastation dealt out in conquest of his prize, to the dismay of said prize herself and all around her.

Brashness to the level of rudeness to state his point of view, refusing any chance of accepting propriety and terms of politeness to keep at least publicly from ruffling more feathers than be required. This was where the heir of the family name let his elders down the most. Scoffing at tradition and embarrassing those of his assumed peers of class in their so diligent tries to uphold their own family names and public terms of conduct.

Gluttony and greed out of all soured the boy the deepest. Not of food but of frivolous non-lasting things. Son to an elderly Wizard who aimed so highly in pleasing and keeping this late born son to his favor was so ridiculously spoiled beyond acceptable grounds. Age had severed the need for tantrums, yet the teen was not above aiming for blackmail or the silent treatment and puppy dog tears to get what he wanted.

The father had in not so many words dropped the Quaffle time and time again, and in so doing might as well be tiptoeing in a minefield of balloons the boy ordered him not to pop for how infrequently a foot was put down to drive a lesson home. Change was possible, and if anyone could guide that ship home it was Mrs Potter. Rule maker and not afraid to even give a stern talking to aimed at her own husband to shake up his backbone into working order again. But with her came the mask the boy learned. One parent against the other. One to stiffen up in front of and pretend to do his part, while with the other he could be a little tyrant and drive the other Pure-Blooded Sacred 28 children to wishing there were some green haired little orange skinned Oompa Loompa’s to come round the corner and shove Potter down the garbage shoot to humble his ego.

Change could happen. More than possible. Any number of things could drive a wedge in any child’s fondest habits and sever ties to who they could have been at any given moment. And the best place for said change would come in the shaping of minds. Imposition of schedules to lessen free time. Rules and expectation of a higher degree.

Who did they want to be?

How hard were they willing to work to get there?

Questions aimed to push the laziest of dilly-dallying dimwits into gear to strive for who their future selves could be.

Any number of things could happen within the borders of Hogwarts. Not all of them pretty or fair. But in certainty, for their next seven years a great many things would most certainly happen to this fate entangled lot.

..

(Link to new chapters on ao3 ~here~) 

or

Pt 3 on Tumblr with no new chapters :(

[just-two-blokes]

This is a story about a young girl that used to wear the clothes of her cousins when they grew out of them because she preferred wearing these clothes.

This is a story about a young girl that hated the color pink and refused to wear anything in this color.

This is a story about a young girl who was often mistaken as a boy by strangers, was being stared at and being pointed at by kids her age.

This is a story about a teenage girl who was told to dress more 'girly' / 'feminine' and not in that style she had back then (which wasn't particularly masculine either)

This is a story about a teenage girl who didn't like taking selfies because she didn't think she would look good in it.

This is a story of a young adult who is slowly figuring out oneself.

A young adult who has stopped worrying about how other people might see them.

A young adult who has started to take selfies again.

Gender roles only create pressure from society.

Don't let anyone tell you how to dress, how to look and what you should do.

Because we are all amazing, loving and unique human beings that deserve to live how we want to.

Because life is too short to pretend to be someone you are not.

[nerdygaymormon]

[blackcoffeeandblood]

sometimes I hope something really bad happens to me again so everyone would understand why I am falling apart

[selfpivot]

[shadows-wolf]

You know, when you go to a club with friends but no one notices you, no one cares about you even though you're about to have a mental breakdown

Friends who have known you for years don't notice you're crying and about to end it all

I hate myself right now, I have self doubts and don't care if I live or die anymore

I don't feel loved anymore, just pain inside, cigarette after cigarette the pain numbs

There's a guy next to me who's girlfriend was about to cheat with me but instead of living my life I helped them figure it out, I should be an egoist and care about me but no, I can't

I can't take it anymore, am I ugly? Not lovable? Do I have nothing to give? What do I do wrong? Fuck it, who even cares what I write here? Nobody!

[mxanigel]

reblog to tell the person you reblogged this from that what they create is wonderful

[lysshome]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dr. Michaela | Clinical Psychologist | Author (@myeasytherapy)

[shelivesingalaxies]

It's like I don't know how to not be critical anymore.

[xexiar]

I might as well skip over the sports festival if it’s giving me this much trouble to come close to the master piece that Horikoshi drew.

Maybe it’s just the perfectionist in me that wants to do these moments justice. Wanting to express the pure excitement I got when both reading and watching these action packed moments.

Just the raw emotion alone gives me goosebumps. Sometimes my self confidence issues comes to bite me in the butt when I’m trying to match the same energy of someone I look up to.

All because I’m writing a piece of work dedicated to another piece of work doesn’t mean I have to copy everything down to the last details. It’s just how much I would like to express my thoughts and emotions that was inspired by such creations.

Or… I really suck at writing Todoroki’s POV. But I need a common POV that battles both Bakugo and Midoriya, if I want to explain (from my in take) how the whole Sports Festival went down.

Well it’s a good thing that Thursday and Friday’s chapters are done. Gonna try to take it easy writing chapter 34 and 35. The sports festival is such a major event that it deserves to be expressed as such!

[kawiiwababe]

I have to do better. I have to be better. Doesn’t really count if I’m not putting my best foot forward. Can I seriously be doubtful  of myself if I don’t actually apply myself. Can I say I actually tried if I really didn’t in the first place. This for the things that I do in order to not fail. But I’m already feeling from the beginning because I don’t give myself the chance to prove that I am worthy. I go into some thing already having the doubt that I’m going to fail, and if I fail purposely and I’ll never truly know what it really feels like if I fail, but I can no longer do this to myself anymore. If I want something, I’m going to have to prove to myself that I’m not worthy. I haven’t been giving myself that chance to fail and learn. I’ve just been cutting myself short this whole time. And I continue to keep doing that. I need to break the cycle. I need to fully put myself into something and do everything that I need to do correctly. I need to stop being this way.

[aaiaeao]

If you could see it from my point of view, maybe then you’ll understand why it hurts so much.

[so-many-ocs]

writing is cool because the whole time you do it, you're thinking "is this shit? is this a steaming pile of hot garbage? is this the worst thing ever written by anyone?" and then you literally never find out

[chibird]

Being scared is on the same path to being brave and doing the scary thing anyways! It’s okay if you’re scared- just don’t let it stop you from reaching for the things you truly want!

Chibird store | Positive pin club | Instagram

[squeezingmybrainfr]

drowned by more deadlines and things and all i wanna do is say no and scream and run away cause none of them belong in my dreams

[littlenimart]

early days in the Garden… i love thinking about Aziraphale at peak cute and naïve cherub :^]