It ain't the being alone.
She'd been alone all her life. Had grown comfortable with it. Had known loneliness like an old friend. Had known. For never had loneliness wounded her the way it did now. She now knows that loneliness had left her long ago and had not been her companion since he walked into her life.
It ain't the empty home, baby.
She looks around at the house they'd called home. She is haunted by a memory. A memory of the rafters being filled with laughter and joy as he waltzed her around their dining room. A memory of the smell of spiced meats and mouth-watering dishes. Memories of endless hours of talking, of enjoying each others' companies as the fire crackled and the rain poured down outside.
These memories fade, leaving her in the cold, desolate house she had built for them. Portraits smile at her from the walls, cruel remembrances of a time no longer present. The fire no longer crackles. The stove no longer houses their cooking. And the floors remain un-danced.
You know I'm good on my own.
As she stares at a dent in the wall, she also remembers the endless fights. Him complaining that she was always gone. Shouting that she was never around. Her yelling back that she was around. All the time. That she should be allowed her own time and space. That she shouldn't need to be so firmly attached to him at all times that they fuse into one person. They had been born separate for a reason.
She remembers the silence after that. Should've predicted what came next.
You know it's more the being unknown.
He did not speak to her again, except for short words, curt answers. He was never in the house unless it was to sleep, and somedays, he did not even return for that. He no longer remembered the secrets they had shared with smiles. He no longer cared to remember her favorites, her laugh, her song. It was as if he was methodically un-remembering her.
And oh, how her heart broke at that.
And there are some people, love, who are better unknown.
She presses a hand to her chest, surprised to see it come away clean. The pain of her heart is so acute she believes she should be bleeding.
For it was not just the un-remembering. She had found out later, after he had left for the last time, that he had found someone new. Had wooed and courted this other with as much fervor as he had her. Had made them laugh, had danced with them, had enjoyed their company as ardently as he had with her.
It was then her heart cleaved. Was rent in two. Never to be mended. To be removed completely from his memory... to be treated as if she had never existed... No, there was no coming back from that.
It would've been better if she had never met him, she thinks to herself. For the good did not outweigh the bad.
She thinks back to how often he would dismiss her. Would not share in her excitement the closer they got to the end. Was it her fault? Should she have tried harder?
No. Her resolve hardens. The blame is not hers to carry. Not when he left the way he did. Not when he abandoned her before she even knew it was over.
She stands and looks at the match burning in her hand. She lets it fall to the ground and walks out of the burning house, burning the memories of him with it.
Nothing would grow on that patch of land again. She had ensured it. Had coaxed her magic back to her after years of suppressing it to make him happy. Never again would she debase herself the way she had allowed him to debase her.
She is the most powerful witch of her age. And the world would remember her power once more.
Starting with him and his pretty new bride.
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scrap; misc drabbles #2
desc: during a game against the Alekov Valiant, young hotheaded Neon Knights defenseman Antonio Agnello decides he has to stand up for his goalie. despite swearing that he saw the Valiant’s player run their goalie over, Antonio’s defense partner, Bjarki, separates him from the opposing player in an attempt to calm him down from what seems to be one of his common overreactions.
cw: very mild violence mention, lots of swearing
wc: 1,266
tags: @thetruearchmagos , @hottubraccoon , @elijahrichardwrites , @jezifster , @isherwoodj (dm me if you want to be added/removed)
---
“Hey, hey, hey, hey-!”
Antonio ignored the sound of Bjarki’s calls for him or didn’t hear them at all as he took off full speed towards one of the opposing Valiant skaters. He was honed in on the much larger forward, dead set on persecuting him for the crime of taking a run at their goalie after the whistle. His strides were short but powerful nonetheless, ice easily spraying up behind him with every crank he made into it.
He didn’t take much longer to finally catch up with him, and wasted no time throwing a crosscheck into the number eight plastered on the back of his jersey. The much taller blond stumbled from the shock, not expecting the attack even a little bit- he regained his footing and turned around, his green eyes expressing confusion more than anger.
“Hey man, what the fuck? What’s your fuckin’ problem-?”
“You know what you did!” Antonio snapped at him, his voice cracking towards the end. He looked up at the other, who was easily a foot taller than him, though that wasn’t a situation Antonio could say he’d never been in before. “You don’t run our fucking goalie like that! Got it?”
Antonio’s blood boiled when he laughed in his face instead of being angry back at him.
“Yeah, okay,” the other said, dismissing him altogether. “Whatever you say, kid.”
“Hey! Ant, get over here-”
Antonio ignored Bjarki’s calls for him once more, two handing his opponent once more before throwing his stick aside entirely. He threw it and his gloves off in one fluid motion that could only signify this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He snagged the blond’s jersey in one fist as the taller of the two faltered again, and he pulled down on it with a certain ferocity the other couldn’t say he’d ever seen before. He stumbled over himself once more, and Antonio finally took the opportunity to pounce on him like a cat to a mouse.
The two slammed down to the ice moments later, and Antonio started slamming a flurry of punches into the other’s face. He kept going, even as the other squirmed and tried to fight back without much luck. He managed to crack Antonio in the jaw once in what seemed like pure luck, though it didn’t seem to phase the smaller of the two for too long as he continued wailing on him immediately after he’d popped it back into place enough to relieve the pain for now. He kept going even as bruises began to set in on the other’s face, and the bones in his nose started to crack and shift by themselves.
Whistles from the referees were starting to blare throughout the rink, the sound of them skating over becoming more obvious. Bjarki soon caught up to the fight, as well, and Antonio felt him tugging on the back of his jersey. The first and more gentle of the attempts didn’t get the message to stop through to him, and as such Bjarki was forced to use all of the strength that came with standing at a massive six foot eight to forcefully pull him off of the Valiant skater by his jersey’s collar. He effectively scruffed Antonio off of the other, skating away from the scene with him while the much smaller of the pair furiously squirmed and tried to kick himself away from him.
“What the fuck? I was teaching that guy a fucking lesson-” Antonio said, his tone almost an exasperated shriek as he did. “I was kicking his ass-”
The officials helped the Valiant skater up and away from where he’d been attacked, escorting him to his team’s bench while Bjarki tried to reign his defense partner in a bit more. Antonio soon kicked himself free, though Bjarki would never tell him that he’d partly let him go anyway. He put himself between Antonio and any open ice that could’ve led to the Valiant bench, who were all certainly looking on to the scene that Antonio was making right about now.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” Antonio shouted up at him, even giving Bjarki as hard of a shove as he could manage in hopes of riling him up, as well.
Bjarki, eternally unfazeable, sighed softly and looked down at him with what could only be explained as half disappointment and half pity.
“He didn’t even do that on purpose.”
“You don’t fucking know that-” Antonio continued his tirade, shoving him again and even teetering on the edge of angry tears. “Didn’t you see what he did? Do you even fucking pay attention?”
“Ant.” Bjarki’s tone was stern, but quiet, and he let himself skate back a couple more inches to give himself more of a buffer. “Calm down. Now. He didn’t run him on purpose.”
“I- You’re so fucking stupid! You don’t ever pay attention-” Antonio stumbled over his words, shaking his head frantically to get the tears to stay in his eyes. His thoughts ran at a thousand miles an hour now, and getting anything out coherently seemed impossible. “You don’t ever want to fucking stand up for anyone! You never want to be there for us!”
Bjarki couldn’t help but flinch at the accusation, but tightened his jaw and took a deep breath before he responded.
“Ant. Listen to me.” he kept the stern tone, and Antonio could feel how hard he was being stared down right now. “You need to learn to control yourself. You’re a solid defenseman, but you get so riled up and so in your head, and-”
“Don’t talk down to me like that!” Antonio’s anger started to falter a bit now, and his hands shook under his gloves. His breaths grew uneven, and he could only hope that Bjarki couldn’t tell. “At least I give a shit about this team! At least one of us is going to stand up for our guys! What are you going to do?”
Antonio’s rage had completely fallen off by his last question, and soon the tears started to pour out of him. He instantly turned his gaze down to his skates, and his shaky breathing was more obvious than he’d ever wanted it to be. Bjarki soon skated closer to him, hesitating before going to wrap an arm around him in an attempt to comfort him now.
“Hey, Ant- let’s go sit, okay? It’s alright, you’re al-”
“Don’t- don’t fucking touch me.”
Antonio pushed him away, and soon skated away from him entirely, only to skate towards the Neon Knights’ bench instead of towards the other bench to restart the fight. He didn’t go to restart the fight, like Bjarki had seen him do easily a thousand times before tonight and had expected him to do once more. Antonio hated how quiet he’d sounded, though the lump in his throat from how hard he was trying to hold back crying wouldn’t let him be any louder.
He reached over the bench’s door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment before it finally popped open to let him in. Antonio slammed it behind him and made his way down the tunnel and towards their locker room. Though, if Bjarki were honest, the lack of his usual effort in slamming the door concerned him and made his chest tighten up with worry more than the act of slamming the door itself.
He looked up, and saw the thousands of eyes staring directly at him, and he could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop in the arena in that moment.
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(rant)
someone explain to me why job hunting is so goddamn hard
honestly just *getting* a job that'll respect me, that's suitable to my financial needs, and doesn't pay a shit wage
in VA $15/hour is not a livable wage. on average, to be able to afford a standard 2 bedroom apartment you'd have to get $26/hour. which isn't fucking possible. i fucking wish it was but it isn't
i've been out of a job for over a month now, because my interviews go so amazingly well just for them to deny me and tell me they gave the position to someone else. like damn if you're gonna fake that shit with me at least say it to my fucking face
i've applied to about 100 total jobs in the past month. about 1/8 of that i get interviewed, and then denied. or i never hear back from them again. all the other jobs either flat out tell me no or they don't say jack shit at all
i have over Six(6) full years of customer service experience, primarily in various retail and hospitality industries. i've worked a receptionist job that i really loved but couldn't stick with because the workplace was unsafe and i was severely underpaid (was only getting $12/hour).
asking for a reasonable starting pay of a MINIMUM of $18/hour for receptionist/front desk/admin assistant jobs makes the most sense. it's what those positions are worth, in my opinion, and what *i'm* worth.
but apparently that's too outlandish for places around here. i cant find any fucking remote jobs that don't require lots of experience or a fucking degree.
i've been doing DoorDash but it only limits me anywhere between 30mins to 1 1/2 hours per Dash. and bc theres so many fast foods around here it's not like that really pays much. just enough for gas, i guess, now that i'm not worrying about groceries since my parents returned from NY last week.
i was doing housekeeping the past year, bc the yr prior it was the only job next to 9 different receptionist jobs that got back to me instantly, since i had quit zero-notice from the underpaid-and-unsafe receptionist job prior. was only getting $15/hour, ended with $15.71. because that industry is severely underpaid too. the stress housekeepers have to deal with, whether in the AM shift or PM shit, is not worth that fucking pay. fuckit, if they offered to pay me more i would've stayed. but no. apparently HR was unable to comply with that option solely bc all the other hotels in the area, including the ones outside the chain i was working for, pay about the same too. which is fucking bullshit
just...
someone explain to me why getting a job is so goddamn difficult. i just need a good, healthy job that fits my needs (i'd love to do receptionist/front desk full time and long term, just not in retail and hospitality bc fuck that stress) and pays AT LEAST $18/hour in northern VA. make it fucking make sense. please. bc christ this is just getting ridiculous
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Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.
I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.
Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.
Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.
The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.
Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.
I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.
So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.
If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.
Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.
Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.
And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.
And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.
I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.
Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.
Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.
I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.
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