#they always bring out the worst in me and invalidate my feelings

[graveyarrdshift]

every day I wake up and realize I hate my family more than I thought I did the previous day

[scribomaniac]

forward, always: chapter 2

Sakura’s prediction was right; Izuna made for a terrible patient. 

He wasn’t the worst, thankfully. That honor went to the one and only Hatake Kakashi. The number of times she’d had to track that man down after he’d absconded from the hospital just to make sure he hadn’t undone all her hard work had been countless. 

At least Izuna stayed in one place.

Izuna had been on bed rest for a full month now, and awake for three of them. While his injuries still caused him to rest for several hours throughout the day, when he was awake he made sure that everyone knew it.

“I’m sorry Izuna,” Sakura told him for the twentieth time that morning as she spoon fed him the blandest of broths. “But your body isn’t ready for anything more than this.” 

And it wouldn’t be for some time, but she didn’t want to tell him that just yet. 

“I don’t think you’re very sorry at all,” Izuna sniffed. As soon as he was able to keep conscious for more than an hour at a time, Madara had ordered servants to bring an abundance of pillows to use to prop Izuna up into a sitting position. Madara had argued that it’d help with Izuna’s pride, allowing for him to feel less like an invalid, and Sakura had agreed because the position didn’t pull at his healing wound and would make feeding and bathing him easier. 

“Regardless,” Sakura said as she held a spoon full of soup near his mouth. 

With a petulant sneer on his face, Izuna opened his mouth and accepted his fate. 

“Are you sure she’s not Senju, sent here to poison me with disgusting broth?” Izuna threw an arm over his eyes and slumped back further into his cushions. 

Madara laughed. It was deep and soft and made Sakura’s stomach turn warm. As elusive as it was, Sakura found herself loving Madara’s laugh. It seemed to come out the most when in the presence of his little brother. 

“I’m sure,” he assured Izuna with a small smile on his face.

“Well” Izuna sighed, letting his arm drop and coming out of hiding. “You’ll be an Uchiha soon enough.” He looked between his brother and Sakura. “How was the announcement received, anyway?” 

“It was accepted by the elders,” Madara told him. “Our first meeting with the chief priest will be in a fortnight.”

Izuna hummed. “A clan head wedding and an alliance with the Senju. You sure have thrown a lot at them recently.” His dark eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. “Are you sure that this venture, or whatever you’re calling it, with Hashirama is a good idea?”

The day after Hashirama’s visit, Madara had summoned his council of elders to inform them of their plans for a truce and joint creation of a village. Sakura had expected more push back from the war torn elders, from the men who’d fought against the Senju for the entirety of their lives, but a surprising majority of them supported the idea. Hashirama’s prowess cast a long shadow, and it seemed that even now, before he creates and takes on the title of Hokage, the man was revered as the God of Shinobi. Many within the clan preferred to be on Hashirama’s side, rather than against it, even if that meant swallowing generations worth of strife and pride. 

Of course, there were still a good number of Uchiha who didn’t believe that the Senju would keep their word, none louder than Izuna, but with the popular opinion working against them, and no one daring to outright challenge Madara’s leadership, they could do little more than grumble their grievances.

Madara looked at Sakura first before responding, “I think it is worth a try.”

Izuna sighed. “If you say so.” His eyes drooped to a close and his breathing evened out, and soon he was asleep. 

Fussing with his blanket and making sure to cover Izuna’s shoulders to ward off any chill, Sakura then gathered up the half empty bowl of broth and nodded for Madara to follow her out of the room. 

Once they were a safe enough distance to speak freely and at a normal volume, Madara took the dishes from Sakura’s hands and set them off to the side. “It makes my heart sore to see Izuna in such good spirits.”

Sakura hummed, “He’s always a bit more energetic when you visit. He’s recovering faster than I had anticipated, too. We should be able to start his physical therapy in less than a month.” There was bound to be a set back or two, but Izuna was well out of the woods at this point and they could cross that bridge when they came to it.  

“There’s more to it, too,” Madara said before placing a brief kiss on her forehead. The action was becoming one of his favorites. “I think he’s excited for the future, just as I am.”

Wrapping her arms around Madara’s waist to keep him close, she smiled widely up at him. “The truce with the Senjus is truly remarkable, Madara. Everyone should be excited for it.”

Madara chuckled and shook his head. He brought his own arms around her shoulders a bit hesitantly, still unused to Sakura’s easy affections. “That’s part of it, I’m sure, but I think what he’s most excited for is our wedding. He’s always wanted a sister, you know.”

That drew a loud laugh from Sakura’s lips. “No way,” she shook her head. “He’s been ready to be rid of me ever since waking up.” Before that, even, considering their very first interaction included Izuna trying to strangle her. “He just tolerates me because of his love for you.”

“Trust me, Sakura,” Madara said with a smirk, “Izuna likes you. You’ll understand when you see him with the elders. He tolerates no one for my sake.”

Giving his waist a squeeze, Sakura relented, “If you say so.” Pulling back slightly, she asked, “Are you still meeting with Hashirama later today?”

Madara nodded. “We’re still mapping out the boundaries for the village. There’s a clan with a massive forest that we’d like to invite to join us. We plan to go out and start negotiations with them today.”

That must be the Nara clan, Sakura figured. The Nara forest with its sacred deer were an important addition for the future of Konoha. Not only would that clan bring their intelligence and specialized jutsus, but the forest would serve as a nearly impregnable defense along the eastern boundary of the village. 

Madara and Hashirama would be successful in their negotiations, Sakura knew, but she was nervous all the same. The textbooks never went into detail about how long it took for the village’s two founders to convince other clans to believe in their dream, or what arrangements were made to ensure cohesion. The textbooks merely said it happened, leaving Sakura feeling like a half baked prophet. 

Instead of focusing on things outside of her control, Sakura asked,“Will you be home for dinner?” 

Wincing, Madara gave her an apologetic look. “I’m not expecting to be, no. Hashirama is readying overnight provisions for us.”

So she really should have been asking if he’d be home for breakfast. Sakura shrugged, knowing it couldn’t be helped. At least she had her own itinerary planned for once, which would help keep her busy. 

“Alright, I’ll see you in the morning then.” Something resembling relief passed across his face at her words. “I’ve got a busy day planned for myself, actually. I was planning on going to the market and then perhaps to the Apothecary. It’s time I start learning the lay of the place.”

Since coming to Madara’s aid, Sakura had mostly been sequestered away in the main house. Now though, with Izuna in a more stable position and the news of their engagement spread, Sakura felt the need to make her presence known and get to know the people she was marrying into. If she was to become their matriarch—and wasn’t that just a shock and a half for a civilian born girl—she needed to know them and be known by them.

“I understand,” Madara nodded slowly. Whatever relief Sakura had found in his facial expression had been replaced with apprehension. “I’ll have Saburo escort you.” Madara stepped out of Sakura’s hold to walk out onto the engawa. Raising his arm, he waited for only the briefest of moments before one of his hawks landed on his extended arm, ready to receive a new message from its master. 

“Thank you,” Sakura said before Madara could get a message out, “but that's unnecessary, I won’t need an escort.”

A deep frown of displeasure cut its way across Madara’s mouth. “I think it’s best if you do. I insist.” He reached out with his free hand and grabbed her forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. His tone was firm though, it was the voice he used when he commanded attendants and spoke with his elders. It left no room for argument. 

Sakura hadn’t heard that tone directed at her since those first early weeks attending the lord’s wife. 

Stepping closer to him, Sakura felt her own frown marring her face. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. Speaking quietly, she continued, “Surely there’s no danger within your clan’s territory, and I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. You know this.” 

Madara might not yet know the extent of her fighting prowess, but he had seen the distance she’d thrown that assassin. That had to count for something, surely. 

A pit of dread formed at the bottom of Sakura’s stomach. Did Madara think her weak? Would he, like all of Team Seven before him, only see the petite medic that needed to be coddled and protected at all costs? Sakura had trained for so long, fought so hard, for so many years, only to be forever cast aside as useless by those she wanted to protect. Always the one left behind. 

Madara let loose a long sigh before leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes he told her, just as quietly, “Even within these walls I cannot guarantee your safety, and as my betrothed you now have a target on your back.” Pulling back enough to look her in the eyes, Madara squeezed her arm again as he said, “I would feel more at ease if I knew someone was with you, watching your back.”

The pit unfurled, releasing Sakura’s from its claws of insecurity and doubt. Madara wasn’t trying to push her off to the side, he just wanted to give her support. Understanding now Madara’s motivations, Sakura felt a soft smile curl across her lips. Placing a hand on his cheek, she reached up and gently pressed her lips to his. A warmth spread throughout her chest as she felt him kiss her back. They hadn’t shared many kisses since Sakura’s accidental proposal to Madara a month ago, but when they did it never failed to make Sakura’s heart flutter wildly. Pulling back, she nodded once, “Okay.” 

Not long after the messenger hawk left did Madara follow. Sakura wished him luck and told him to be safe and then she was alone. Knowing this Saburo man was on his way, Sakura did a final check on Izuna–still sleeping–informed the staff that she’d be stepping out for a while, and changed into a new yukata; one that didn’t have dribbles of broth staining it. 

An attendant informed Sakura of Saburo’s arrival, and she went to meet him in the genkan. “Oh,” Sakura stopped, surprised by the familiar face. “It’s you.”

Before her stood the ninja Madara sent to find her when Izuna was first injured, the one who had pushed himself far beyond his limits to get her to Izuna before he died. His loyalty and determination had impressed Sakura back then, even if she was more focused on other things at the time. No wonder he was the one Madara chose to be her escort. 

“Hello again, Sakura-sama,” he greeted with a small smile. “I apologize for not properly introducing myself to you during our last meeting.” He gave her a much smaller bow than during their first interaction as he said, “I am Uchiha Saburo and I am at your service.”

Sakura waved off his formalities with an awkward smile. “Thank you, Saburo-san, but please, call me Sakura.”

Small smile still in place, Saburo kindly told her, “You’re to marry the clan head, Sakura-sama. Calling you by anything else would be impertinent.”

She shouldn’t have expected anything less, given the time they were living in, but Sakura still found herself disappointed by his response, though she didn’t know exactly why.

They made their way to the market first, where Sakura was able to look through carts filled with pottery, books, plants, and foods. The Uchiha market was nowhere near as large as the one she’d grown up with in Konoha, and wasn’t even the size of some markets she’d passed on her travels, but it did the job well enough. The carts were mostly run by women who happily chatted and called out to their clansmen, enticing them to buy this or that. 

Saburo soon turned into quite the tour guide, informing Sakura on who to buy the freshest fish from, who was willing to bargain and who wasn’t, and who had a knack for being able to sell you just the thing you weren’t looking for. 

There was a chill in the marketplace though, and no matter how hard she tried, Sakura just couldn’t shake the feeling of frost spreading up along her spine. It grew with every narrowed gaze she met. And every conversation that halted as soon as she walked up made the chill bite a bit harder into her back. 

After making a few small purchases, Sakura and Saburo made their way to their next destination. 

The Uchiha Apothecary was nothing to write home about. Hashirama hadn’t been kidding when he said the Uchiha were not healers. The Apothecary was a small structure, barely larger than the apartment Naruto had grown up in. Honestly, calling it a shack would be more apt. Most of the space was taken up by jugs filled with liquids of many colors, overgrown plants, crates filled with dried roots or finely crushed powders, and jars filled with herbs and spices. Behind the large counter was a doorway that must’ve led into another room. Sakura could only assume it was where medicines were made and the occasional surgery took place. 

Since no one had yet come to greet her, Sakura took her time inspecting the many wares littered about. It seemed that most of the medicines available were anti-inflammatory in nature, and she wondered if that was due to the strain the Sharingan placed on the optic nerves. Perhaps Madara would one day allow her to look at his eyes. She’d only ever examined Kakashi’s eye, and that had been an implant. A pure version of the Sharingan might prove to be a little more difficult, but Sakura was sure that she’d be able to do a better job helping any irritation or degradation than turmeric or hangekobokuto. 

She wondered if Madara trusted her enough yet to help him with something so intimate and integral to himself. If he didn’t, Sakura knew in her gut, he would come to do so soon. It was only a matter of time.

A man appeared from the back room. His eyes narrowed as he fully took Sakura in, his mouth convulsing strangely. “Ah, you must be Haruno-sama. Welcome.”

Saburo took a step closer to Sakura, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“How may I help you?” The clerk asked, his mouth settling into a thin, frail looking smile. 

“Actually, I was hoping it could be the other way around,” Sakura began to explain as she stepped closer to the clerk and the counter he was standing behind. “Before coming to the Uchiha clan, I traveled as a healer. It’s my profession, you see. I was hoping I could be of some use to you here.” Again, the man’s mouth began to twitch in a very peculiar fashion. Sakura dismissed it for now. “Perhaps I could help with the creation of teas and tonics? Or perhaps some salves? I was also thinking–”

“That is very kind of you, Haruno-sama,” the clerk finally interrupted, ”But I do not believe your services would be of much use here.”

Sakura didn’t miss the emphasis on her surname. She had figured that some clan members would have certain feelings about an all but nameless outsider marrying into the clan. It was almost unheard of in this time period. But she had thought, perhaps naively, that some clan members would have appreciated the skills she was bringing to the table, not to mention the fact that she had saved the life of their current heir. 

Wanting to give the clerk the benefit of the doubt, Sakura tried a more direct line of questioning. “Not of use or not wanted?”

“What does it matter? When the end result is the same. Now, unless you’d like to purchase anything, I should be getting back to work.”

It was more shocking than Sakura cared to admit, having a fellow healer deny her services based on nothing but petty spite. She really had been spoiled by a post-Tsunade Konoha, where people had been taught to recognize help as help, regardless of how it was presented. 

“Sakura-sama’s healing prowess is the reason Izuna-sama is still alive. ” Saburo cut in, his voice hard as steel as he tried to defend Sakura. “She is betrothed to our clan head and will soon become the Uchiha matriarch. You will do well to remember that.”

The clerk narrowed his eyes, but he simply replied, “As you say.”

“Let me see your surgery room,” Sakura said. “If you will not allow me to work directly, then at least let me do this.” It wouldn’t be much, but if Sakura could survey their supplies and levels of sanitation, she could give her input and help make small but necessary changes that would then help future injured clansmen. 

“That really is unnecessary, Haruno-sama.” The clerk shook his head, as one did with an unruly child. “We Uchiha are strong. We rarely ever have need for such procedures.”

The door behind them opened with a bang, and a young boy no older than ten was dragged in by two other boys. “Help!” 

Blood gushed down the smallest boy's leg. 

Not waiting for permission–or even thinking to ask for it–Sakura sprung into action. “Bring him back here,” she ordered.

The two boys, to their credit, didn’t hesitate and did as they were told. Sakura led them into the back room and was horrified to find the state of the surgery room. The floor was covered with soil from plants they were repotting. There was no surgical table in sight nor any instruments that Sakura could easily see. A couple of men were eating their lunch in the corner of the room, eyes wide with fear at the bloody mess that was brought in. 

“Saburo, find some fabric and start tearing it into rags for me. Place him here,” she pointed to the space on the floor that she had covered with a thread-bare sheet. It wasn’t anywhere near Sakura’s standards, but it would have to do. “Sir,” she addressed the clerk, “I’ll need you to boil some water and bring it here. Hurry now.” She turned her attention to the boy before her, noticing how pale his face was. Using a chakra scalpel to cut away his pant leg, she asked, “What happened?”

“Training accident,” one of the boys told her. 

“I’m sorry Izanagi,” the other boy said, his voice thick with grief and guilt. His eyes were glossy and now that his friend–Izanagi–was in the hands of healers, his mouth pulled back into a terrible grimace. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“With kunai or chakra?” Sakura asked the one boy who wasn’t turning into a watery mess. She cut through his pant leg and surveyed the damage. There was a lot of blood covering Izanagi’s pale skin, making it hard for Sakura to see the wound clearly. 

Bringing her the boiled water, the clerk saw the wound and hissed. “I’m afraid the leg will have to be amputated.” He turned to one of his fellow apothecaries and said, “Bring me the opium and a bit.” He looked back down at the leg and sighed, “This won’t be pretty.”

Sakura ignored the men behind her, instead keeping her gaze on Izanagi’s friend as she waited for his response to her question. 

“Kunai,” he told her. “Will he really lose his leg?”

“He will be fine.” Saburo brought her the torn fabric, which she immediately dipped into the boiling water. “Saburo, make sure those men stay out of my way.” 

“Yes, Sakura-sama.”

The apothecaries argued and moaned their displeasure, but Sakura blocked them and their nonsense out of her head. She used the now sterile rags to wash away most of the blood and saw that the kunai had nicked Izanagi’s femoral artery. He was lucky the cut was so small, any deeper and he would’ve already bled out. As it was, Sakura had to work fast. 

Pushing her chakra into his veins, Sakura encouraged the cells of the artery to sew itself back together. Once that was done, she split her focus on replicating his red blood cells to replace what he’d lost, and checking for any signs of blood poisoning or tetanus. There was a small build up of bacteria around the wound that took time to burn away, but once she felt certain the blood and veins were clear, she sealed up the skin and pulled her hands away. 

Looking at the boy who hadn’t stopped apologizing since bringing Izanagi into the Apothecary, Sakura asked him, “What’s your name?”

Tracks of tears tore their way through the dirt on his face. Snot leaked from his nose and hiccups escaped from his throat. Unable to take his eyes off of his friend, he told her, “Uchiha Taro.”

“Well Taro, I’m very happy to tell you that Izanagi is going to make a full recovery.”

That finally got the young boy to tear his eyes away and focus on Sakura. “Really?” He sniffed. “He’s not going to die–or–or lose his leg?”

“No,” Sakura gave him a soft smile and reached out to wipe the tears from his face with her sleeve. “He’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

After writing out a list of post-care instructions for Taro to take home with Izanagi, Sakura told them not to hesitate to come fetch her from the main house if his condition worsened or if anything else were to happen. Saburo helped place the now sleeping Izanagi on the tallest boy’s back and then he and Sakura took their leave. 

“That was very kind of you,” Saburo said when they were halfway home. “To save that boy even after how the clerk treated you.”

Sakura shrugged. “I meant what I said back there. I want to be of use to the clan. One rude person isn’t going to deter me from achieving that goal.”

Saburo’s answering hum sounded almost like a chuckle. “What a wonder you are, Sakura-sama.” 

Brows furrowing, Sakura asked, “What do you mean?”

Smiling wider than she had seen him do before, Saburo shook his head. “It’s nothing. We’re just lucky to have you, is all.”

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Sakura sighed as she pushed aside the medical scroll she was currently reading. Madara had gifted it to her earlier that day. He said he’d found it while out on his latest mission with Hashirama to what would eventually become Kusa. It had been the first of Madara’s gifts that Sakura had received in person, and she hadn’t been able to control the lovesick grin that had taken control of her lips. 

The scroll was small and didn’t contain information that Sakura didn’t already know, but that wasn’t the point. Madara and Hashirama had been out on a mission, busy with their goal of creating peace treaties and alliances and convincing established clans to join the village, but even with all that on his plate, he still found time to think of her. It had made Sakura deliriously happy. 

It was a novel sensation, being a priority. With Naruto, that had always been Sasuke. With Kakashi, his ghosts. Sasuke, his vengeance. Even her beloved teacher, Tsunade, prioritized the village and hospital over her. It was all understandable, of course. She didn’t begrudge any of them for it or think herself deserving of being placed first in their minds or hearts, but it was a very nice thing to experience all the same. 

Sometimes Sakura found herself wondering if she should be concerned about how easy it was to be with Madara. First by becoming his friend while working together, then becoming something more as betrotheds, and bit by bit, undeniable and as gentle as a river’s current, an unrivaled fondness was growing in her chest for the man that she had no doubt would one day soon bloom into love. Occasionally she would still have a nightmare or two of the war, of the Madara from her time with the resurrection cracks on his face and the darkness in his eyes. But even when she awoke covered in sweat and a scream caught in her throat, she could separate that Madara from her Madara. Perhaps Sakura should be more concerned with how her brain was compartmentalizing everything she had lived through, but instead she chose not to look too closely at it. 

Looking around her room, she sighed again and focused her mind on what was truly bothering her; the Uchiha clan. It had been almost a week since she had healed Izanagi’s leg and still the majority of clansmen were as standoffish and frosty to her as ever. There were exceptions, of course, the attendants in the house were as friendly as they could be, and Saburo had become quite relaxed around her–and Izanagi and his friends had come to give her proper thanks just yesterday, but overall the clan was still very much anti-Sakura. 

They were all, of course, polite when she bought things from the market or when she accompanied Madara and the use of small talk was required, but almost everyone treated her with a level of detachment that made Sakura wonder if they’d ever properly accept her. The idea of acceptance irked something deep within her. Not since she was twelve years old and chasing after Sasuke did she care about things like acceptance and fitting in. Or, well, she did a little, but not to that extent. She was an exemplary medic and an amazing kunoichi, dammit! She wasn’t about to let some snobby clan make her feel inferior just because she didn’t share some of their DNA. 

Giving herself a firm nod, Sakura decided it was time to fall back on her old strategy. She had been too excited, too naive, and too optimistic after agreeing to marry Madara. Based on his warm welcome into his life, she had made the incorrect assumption that the rest of the clan would follow suit. She needed a new approach to win over the Uchiha, and why fix something that wasn’t broken. Instead of returning to the Apothecary, or trying to engage anyone from the market in conversation, Sakura would let them come to her. 

As a traveling medic, she had needed to look like someone not trying to look for work, and with the clan now, she needed to look like someone not trying to gain their approval. 

There was a knock at the door, followed by someone calling, “Sakura-sama.” The door opened a moment later, revealing Uchiha Miyoko, Sakura’s new handmaid. Madara had insisted upon hiring her, stating that it was expected for a person of her position. It felt silly, but the girl was only a few years younger than Sakura herself and was kind enough, if a bit shy. Miyoko actually reminded her of Hinata a bit back when they were younger.

“Sakura-sama,” Miyoko bowed in greeting. Just like with Saburo, Miyoko refused to drop the title. “Izuna-sama is awake and asking for you. I’ve told the cook to begin warming up his dinner. Should I have him start on yours as well?”

“Thank you, Miyoko. I’ll join Izuna in a moment. As for dinner,” Sakura trailed off, wondering. Madara hadn’t been sure when he’d return this evening as he and Madara had business that would take up the majority of the day. She’d prefer to wait and eat with him, but there was a chance that he would eat with Hashirama if they worked late enough. “If it’s not too much trouble, have the cook wait an hour before starting my dinner.”

Miyoko nodded, “Of course, miss. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No, Miyoko, thank you. I should be able to fend for myself the rest of the night.”

Sakura grabbed a handful of new books she’d picked up the other day in the market and headed towards Izuna’s room. She found him propped up against his pillows, a scowl on his face as he glared up at the ceiling, his hands folded over his belly. 

“Should we continue with The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter ? Or would you prefer we try something else? Miyoko told me good things about The Woman of the Snow when she saw it.”

Izuna’s scowl deepened, “Who’s Miyoko?”

Sakura placed the books beside Izuna for him to browse while she gathered the necessary medical supplies. “My handmaid, you’ve seen her. She’s been here for nearly two weeks now.” 

Izuna merely grunted.

Turning back towards her patient, Sakura waved her hand towards him, silently telling Izuna to disrobe. “How’s the pain today? Same as this morning?”

As Sakura inspected his wound, she asked several more questions. Izuna answered them easily enough, even if boredom leached into his tone. Eventually someone brought Izuna’s broth, which he glared at as if it had insulted his ancestors. They started reading The Woman in the Snow , which, based on the relaxed state of his mouth, Izuna was enjoying much more than the story of Kaguya-hime.

Sakura’s dinner came, causing Izuna to beg her for a bite. He reached out with hands like a toddler and laughed good naturedly when Sakura slapped them away. 

“So cruel to your brother,” he teased, grabbing the fabric over his heart as if he’d been pierced there. “I’ll die of a broken heart.”

Rolling her eyes, Sakura tried–and failed–not to smile at his antics. “Well we can’t have that now can we? How about this–you tell me your favorite meal, and I’ll make sure it’s the first thing you eat when you’re able.”

Appeased, Izuna agreed and they chose another story for Sakura to read aloud. They were halfway through the book, both their dishes having long been cleared away, when Madara returned. 

“Brother!” Izuna smiled, brighter than anything Sakura had seen before. His eyes were half-lidded and his words slurred a bit with the early signs of exhaustion. Still, he gained a second wind with the presence of his favorite person. “You’ve returned from the viper’s nest.”

Madara chuckled and came to sit on Izuna’s other side. Brushing back his brother’s bangs, Madara said, “I hope you weren’t too much trouble for Sakura today.”

“I was a delight, thank you very much. Isn’t that right?” He turned his dark eyes to Sakura.

“He was,” Sakura agreed. Then, because she couldn’t see a reason not to, she teased, “It was a lovely change of pace.”

Izuna scoffed but didn’t argue. 

“Did you eat dinner yet?” Sakura asked Madara, her eyes quickly evaluating him for any noticeable scratches or scrapes. Besides looking a little sweaty and dirty, he looked perfectly fine. “I can make something for you.” The cook had left for the evening, but Sakura knew there’d be enough ingredients in the kitchen leftover for a simple soup.

Madara shook his head. “I already ate, but thank you.”

“What all was decided on today, then?” Izuna asked as he struggled to keep his eyes open. “Go on and tell us.”

Sitting up straighter, almost preening with excitement, Madara told them, “I do have some exciting news, actually. We finally decided on a name.” A small, almost shy smile snuck onto his lips. “Konohagakure.”

“Village Hidden in the Leaves,” Izuna hummed as he tested the name on his lips. “I like it.”

Madara continued on with his tales of the day, expressing his relief over the fact that the Nara clan had officially accepted their offer to join the village, and that several other clans planned to join as well, some moving from as far as the islands of modern day Mist. They were mostly busy building the village’s infrastructure. With Hashirama’s Wood Release, it sped the process up tremendously, but he was only one man and they needed to house many people. Tobirama had been a pebble in his shoe all day, arguing about this and that, such as where to place each clan or how many houses would be needed for the civilians that were bound to seek refuge. Almost nothing could be agreed upon between the two men. 

Izuna’s eyes fluttered closed at some point during Madara’s story, his grunts of acknowledgement and snide remarks about the Senju trailing off into soft snores. Watching the steady rise and fall of Izuna’s chest, Sakura decided to call it a night for the younger Uchiha and began to remove some of his pillow so he’d lay flat on his futon. Madara followed her out on silent feet.

“Would you join me for a walk?” Madara asked, his eyes warm and wholly focused on her. He held out a hand to her in offering. 

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Sakura easily accepted his hand. “I’d love to.”

---------

It was a few days later when Miyoko found Sakura alone in the kitchen as she crushed roots and herbs down to almost nothing. Izuna was resting in his room and Madara was off with Hashirama once again, leaving Sakura with an abundance of time on her hands. With that time, she had created a little Apothecary of her own. So far she had filled nearly fifty jars with different types of medicinal powders, made several blends of healing teas, and started converting an empty storehouse into a greenhouse so she could grow her own plants. 

Madara had gifted her with a new set of knives, each one sharper than the other, after his last overnight adventure. Sakura wasn’t sure if he was doing this out of a sense of guilt for having to leave her so often, or if he just took pleasure in seeing the goofy grin that never failed to appear on her face whenever he surprised her. Regardless, Sakura had been sure to show him her appreciation with an assault of kisses. 

The knives laid off to the side, stored in a leather knife roll, just next to an opened journal. Another project idea Sakura had the other night was to record as much of her medical knowledge as she could. While she couldn’t document all of her knowledge–not yet, anyway–she figured it could one day be of help to someone, somewhere. If not, then at least it gave her something to do. 

Miyoko cleared her throat gently to catch Sakura’s attention. Looking up at her handmaid, she asked, “Yes, Miyoko? What is it?” 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Sakura-sama. It’s only–I was hoping you could look at my uncle’s back, if it isn’t too much trouble,” the young girl said, her cheeks pink as she avoided Sakura’s gaze. “He’s a farmer, you see, and his livelihood depends on his ability to work. Only recently,” she trailed off, “recently he’s been struggling.”

“Of course,” Sakura replied easily. “Would he be alright with me examining him? I wouldn’t want to create more strain on his body with my presence.” She thought of how stiff the apothecary always became, whenever he saw her in the market. If Miyoko’s uncle had a similar response to her, then she’d be doing more harm than good. 

Looking more than a little confused, the girl shook her head. “Oh no, miss! I’m sure he’d be grateful for someone of your caliber looking after him. Only,” she bit her lip, “I don’t have much to pay you with. I’ve got a few coins put away, and I’m sure that over time I could–”

“The price is negotiable.” Sakura replied automatically. Shaking her head, she amended, “Besides, there’s no need, Miyoko.” She bit her lip, wanting to say that by marrying Madara, her healing gifts were at the disposal of the clan, but she wasn’t sure if a statement like that would be well received. Instead, she went with, “Consider it repayment for helping me all these past few weeks while I’ve stayed here.”

“Oh no, Sakura-sama, I insist.” Miyoko shook her head quite aggressively. “Taking care of you is my job and Madara-sama pays me well to do so. It wouldn’t be right to treat that as a tradable favor.”

Sakura sighed softly. Uchiha’s and their pride. “Perhaps an invitation to dinner, then? Along with your uncle if he’s feeling up to it.”

“Dinner, Sakura-san?” 

“Dinner,” Sakura nodded. “Most nights I eat with Madara or Izuna, or both. Or neither.” She shrugged, trying not to think about the seeds of loneliness that had buried themselves deep within her bones and that ached more now when she had people to laugh and enjoy time with than when she had no one at her side. The sensation had left Sakura more confused than anything else, and she did her best to push those feelings away.

Trying to appeal to Miyoko’s humor, she added, “It’d be a nice change of pace to eat with someone who didn’t scowl the entire meal.”

Miyoko let out a laugh, though it was a quiet thing that didn’t last long. “Well I’m not sure my uncle will make for better company, but we’d be happy to host you. Would tonight work?”

Sakura nodded, “Tonight’s just fine. We can leave after I’ve helped Izuna and changed his bandages.” 

Izuna had been drowsier than usual today. There was no sign of infection or other maladies, making Sakura suspect he’d been over exerting himself when she wasn’t looking and causing his body to require more rest to make up for it. She’d talk to him about it tomorrow when he was hopefully more coherent. 

After a few more hours of work, and calling on Saburo to meet her for a quick escort through the market and to Miyoko’s home, the two women made it safely to their destination well before sunset with their arms full of groceries. 

“Uncle!” Miyoko called out. After shuffling off her shoes, she made her way to the kitchen with her groceries. “I’ve brought someone to look at your back!”

Sakura followed along quietly, observing the household discreetly. It was the first time she’d been allowed into another Uchiha’s house. It was much different than Madara’s mansion, though that was to be expected when comparing the dwellings of the clan head versus a common farmer. The layout wasn’t very much different than other homes she’d been invited to while traveling, though this one was decorated with copious amounts of Uchiha fans and looked worn and tried in a way that implied many generations of Miyoko’s family had lived here before her uncle. 

The small kitchen was attached to the dining room, and Miyoko puttered around, pulling up pots and pans to start on their dinner. She took a teapot down from where it was hanging on a hook and filled it with water for their tea. 

“Uncle?” Miyoko called again once the water was over the fire. She walked further into the back of the home, past the small bathing room and into the bedroom where her uncle laid on his futon with a frown on his face.

“Mah, Miyoko,” the older man grumbled, “I told you not to bother. My back will be as good as new with a few more days of rest.” He eyed Sakura as she walked in behind his niece. “What’s this? A witch?”

“Uncle!” Miyoko chastised as she began to close his windows for privacy. “Show some respect. This is Sakura-sama, renowned medic and Madara-sama’s betrothed.”

“ You’re the one that surly cousin of ours has decided to spend his life with?” He snorted. “What did you do in your past life to deserve that?” Then, he eyed her from head to toe and said, “It’ll sure be interesting to see how dominant the Uchiha genes are against yours. Can you imagine, Miyoko? An Uchiha with pink hair? Hah!”

Miyoko winced and threw Sakura an apologetic grimace. “Uncle, Sakura-sama has been kind enough to examine you. The least you could do is hold your tongue.”

Miyoko’s uncle waved a hand at her lazily. “Oh, Miyoko, I only tease. You know that. Besides, if Sakura-sama here is serious about marrying into our family, she should know what she’s getting into.”

Doing her best to keep her hands from balling into fists and giving the old man a good whack on the head, Sakura plastered a professional smile onto her face. “Why don’t you tell me what’s been bothering you.”

Miyoko excused herself to start making dinner as Sakura listened to her patient tell her of occasional back pain that could vary between a mild irritant and debilitating pain that sometimes caused one of his legs to stop working. After a quick push of chakra into his body, Sakura determined his problem to be a herniated disk. 

Helping him pull down his yukata to his waist and roll over onto his stomach, Sakura placed her hand on the base of his spine and began the process of pushing the affected disk back into place and healing the exterior casing that had cracked. 

“So, Sakura-sama,” he began as silence had settled in the room, “is that hair color of yours hereditary, or a mutation?”

Tutting, Sakura asked, “Worried I might pollute your clan’s genes?”

“Mah,” he shrugged, “we need new genes every now and then to survive. We know that. Consider me curious.” He paused, but Sakura waited, something telling her he had more to say. “Your coloring is very beautiful, Sakura-sama. Pink isn’t a color I’m used to seeing. Now red, that’s a color I see all the time, almost as much as black.” 

He chuckled a humorless laugh, and Sakura felt it rattle through her head. He was being much nicer to her now. She wondered if it was because he was on his stomach, not looking at her, or because of her chakra stealing his pain away. Maybe it was a secret third thing. 

Feeling a little less antagonized, Sakura felt some tension leave her shoulders as she told him, “It’s genetic, from my father’s side, though his was paler than mine.” She was about to tell him she was finished with his back, but then paused. “I’m sorry, I never caught your name. Miyoko only referred to you as uncle.”

“I’ll be your uncle soon enough, I don’t mind if you start calling me that now. If you really need to know, though, it’s Masaru.”

Sakura smiled. He was showing her kindness, in his own way, and she’d accept what she could get. Pulling her hands back, she nodded and said, “Well, you’re as good as new Masaru-ojisan.”

Pushing himself to lean up on one arm, Masaru stuck out his tongue as he moved this way and that, testing Sakura’s words. Nodding his approval, he sat up properly and readjusted his yukata. “So,” he clapped his hands together, “what’s for dinner?”

---------

“Where to today, Sakura-sama?” Saburo asked. In his hands was a small bag filled with sunflower seeds that he was practically inhaling. “Back to the market?”

Sakura shook her head. “No, today we’re heading out towards the fields to forage for some plants that I’ll need to make antidotes.” 

Saburo stopped in his tracks, his hand paused on his journey towards his mouth with the seeds still pinched between his fingers. “The fields?” He asked, a line forming between his brows. “Outside of the compound, you mean?” 

“Yes,” Sakura answered with a raised brow. 

“Have you asked Madara-sama for his permission?”

A vein in Saura’s forehead twitched with irritation and she had to take a deep breath before responding. “Madara is my betrothed, not my master. I don’t need his permission.”

“That’s not what I meant, Sakura-sama,” Saburo shook his head vigorously, his eyes growing wide. “I just meant that it might not be safe and Madara-sama might not like you going outside the walls alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have you.”

“Yes,” Saburo said slowly, “and that’s fine for when we’re in the village, but–”

“I’m going with or without you,” Sakura cut him off, already continuing on her path. “You can either come with me and keep me company or run back to Madara to get his permission.” Sakura knew her capabilities and wasn’t in the mood to try and prove herself to Saburo. It was one thing for Madara to request she have him around to watch her back, it was something else entirely to have a baby sitter. She wasn’t some delicate flower that needed to be sheltered and hidden away. She’d lived alone for almost two years before coming to live with the Uchiha and she’d survived just fine, thank you very much. 

The sound of Saburo’s footsteps hurrying behind her reached her ears and soon enough he was walking astride her once again. His bag of seeds had been hidden away, his posture and gaze had turned sharper. Sakura almost wanted to tell him to relax, that he’d be safe with her, but she doubted he’d appreciate it at the moment. 

“We need to be quick,” he told her, the furrow of his brows deepening. “Even with the truce between Senju and Uchiha, there’s no telling who we may run into. Anyone with a grudge against the Uchiha may decide to take their revenge out on us.”

Barely suppressing a sigh, Sakura agreed. “It shouldn’t take me more than an hour to find what I need.”

“And you’re sure the market won’t have these plants? Or the Apothecary?”

“I’m sure.” She’d already checked. 

Saburo groaned, but seemed to accept his fate and continued on at Sakura’s side in silence. 

Miyoko had been the one to tell her about this field when she’d caught Sakura grumbling under her breath about the lack of supplies against poisons. The best item she could find within the whole compound was charcoal, and that could only do so much. If they found themselves up against a poison expert like Sasori, they’d be devastated. Miyoko had suggested Sakura take a look at the plants in this field to see if it had what she needed. If it didn’t, then she’d have to wait months for the finalizations of Konoha to try and buy ingredients from other clans–if they were even willing to sell them–and patience was never one of Sakura’s strengths. 

Once they arrived, Sakura slid the bamboo basket off her back and waded through the tall grasses in search of her treasures. Saburo stalked off, telling her he’d monitor the perimeter, and Sakura had hummed in acknowledgment. This field would be a modest start when it came to antidotes. There was plenty of jewel weed and dock plant littered about which were always helpful with rashes, and she could cut some bark off of some trees to make tea with, but soon she’d need to do more. 

Fire Country was home to a great many dangerous creatures, all that could be used to create terrible weapons. She’d need to milk certain snakes and spiders and collect slime from several frogs and toads to feel properly prepared. In a pinch, Sakura could always extract the poison from a victim’s bloodstream and use a sample to reverse engineer an antidote, but that process was timely and chakra draining. Having pre-made antidotes was a much more sustainable method. 

She’d filled her basket halfway when she felt it; eyes on the back of her head. Spinning around with her hands already raised and curled into fists, Sakura found herself staring across the field at Senju Tobirama. 

Swearing up a storm in her head, Sakura tried to keep her voice level as she asked, “Where’s Saburo?”

Tilting his head to the side, Tobirama’s red eyes narrowed. “If you mean your guard, he’s fine. I’ve stuck him in a genjutsu and will release him when I’m finished here.”

Knowing she’d already be dead if that was what he wanted–she was good, but she wasn’t Nidaime good–she asked, “What do you want?”

“I wanted to meet you, to see if you were all they said you were.” He took a step closer, his eyes pinning her in place. “My brother speaks very highly of you, you know. The miracle worker who saved Uchiha Izuna from death’s door and the woman who thawed Uchiha Madara’s frozen heart. You seem too good to be true.”

It took every ounce of Sakura’s control not to take a step back for every step forward Tobirama took towards her. She knew that if she fled he’d only catch her, and she wasn’t sure what would happen then. Still, she wouldn’t stand there helpless either. Shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet, Sakura readied herself to dodge. Drawing chakra into her hands, she also prepared to reap devastation across this bit of land in an attempt to survive. 

“I’ve heard many interesting things about you, Haruno Sakura. It would appear you’re second to none in your field and yet you come from no known clan.” He stopped only a few feet away from her. “You’re a good person, you help whoever you can, whenever you can for little or no money. So I find myself asking, why is this bright and wonderful woman, with no political affiliations, marrying into such a horrible clan?”

“Excuse me?” Trepidation gave way to anger at his question, leading Sakura to speak without thinking. “What business is it of yours?”

Senju Tobirama was a man Sakura had grown up admiring. Second Hokage of Konoha, he was credited with the creation of hundreds of jutsus, Konoha’s ANBU, the ninja academy, and even the chuunin exams. He set the example that other hidden villages followed when it came to running themselves. He was a giant among shinobi, and yet here he was, asking Sakura why she was marrying Madara. It didn’t make any sense. 

His eyes flashed–with what, Sakura didn’t know–and he looked her over from top to bottom. “Has Madara told you yet, about the Curse of Hatred that plagues the Uchiha clan?”

A shiver ran straight down Sakura’s spine. She’d heard that phrase only once before, during the war against the Madara in the future. She hadn’t fully understood it at the time, and now she was ready to dismiss it immediately. Curses didn’t exist. 

“To activate their kekkei genkai they must experience extremely painful traumas,” Tobirama explained, taking her silence as a no. “The power of the Sharingan eventually consumes them, leading them to do anything within their power to show off their superiority. If you marry into this clan, it will surely claim you as a victim as well. You should save yourself while you still can.”

Sakura scoffed, causing Tobirama to blink in surprise. “Save myself from what? Superstitions?” Feeling emboldened by her anger and more confident that Tobirama wouldn’t kill her, Sakura placed her hands on her hips and raised a single brow. “All that just sounds like the most anti-Uchiha propaganda I’ve ever heard. Don’t you think this is just a symptom of your own prejudice?”

“It’s true,” Tobirama persisted, his jaw tightening. “All Uchiha are bound by the same fate. I’ve never met a single clansman who could prove otherwise.”

Sakura thought about all the Uchihas she’d met in her lifetime. All Sharingan users she knew had activated it through trauma, yes, and Sasuke and Itachi both fell victim to paths of vengeance, but if Sakura had to guess, that had more to do with the actual trauma they’d lived through than any supposed curse. Madara and Izuna were just as sane as anyone else she’d ever met. Masaru was cranky with age, but sweet in his own way, and Miyoko could barely raise her voice at her uncle, much less assert her superiority over another person. 

“Well,” Sakura said dryly, “I imagine it’s hard to get to know a person when you’re only ever meeting them on the battlefield.” Pausing to wet her lips, Sakura considered her words for only a moment before adding, “I’ve heard of you too, Senju Tobirama. You’re a genius, there’s no denying that. In fact, I doubt there’s a mind alive in the world right now that could compare to yours.”

Tobirama’s jaw slackened just enough to lose the tight tendon of tension that was pulsating against the skin. His brows furrowed with what Sakura could only imagine was confusion. 

“But you have a lot to learn when it comes to human nature and empathy.” Sakura continued, unable to stop the sharing of her thoughts. “I think that if you were to try and put yourself in Madara’s shoes, to think as he does for just a short amount of time, you’d realize that the two of you have much more in common than you’d ever thought possible.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Tobirama said immediately and without any hesitation. “I know all I need to know about Uchiha Madara and his clan. There is nothing more for me to learn.”

It was no wonder that the Uchiha felt ostracized by Konoha, if this was how their leadership spoke about them. 

Sakura could see that there was no arguing with him. He was too stubborn and set in his ways to think any differently. For now, at least. Perhaps as the two men continued working together towards the common goal of Konoha, and with the addition of Izuna this time around, opinions could be changed. 

Tobirama left not long after that, and Saburo arrived almost right after with wide, panicked eyes and a heaving chest. He’d demanded that they return to the Uchiha compound, and Sakura agreed, not wanting to press her luck. Saburo stayed by her side until Madara returned home, at which time he fell into a deep bow to his patriarch and begged forgiveness. 

Madara’s eyes bled red as Saburo told him how he was trapped in a genjutsu and didn’t realize anything was amiss until Tobirama had already left. Madara dismissed him with a wave of his hand and Saburo didn’t waste any time fleeing the house.

“I’ll kill him” Madara hissed, the tomoes in his eyes spinning rapidly. “He’s tested my patience one too many times.” Swiftly, he prowled the halls, grabbing weapons and armor as he went. 

Sakura trailed behind, grabbing at his sleeve in an attempt to slow him down. “Madara, please, just wait. It’s okay–”

“Nothing about this is ok!” He growled, turning to bare his teeth at her. “And what were you thinking? Leaving the compound like that without my permission?”

“ Permission? ” Sakura squawked. He was treating her like some prisoner! And over what? A conversation? “Madara, you need to calm down. I’m fine–”

“ You could have died! ” He roared. Then, quick as lightning, she was pulled against Madara’s chest. His arms held her as close as possible without crushing her. Tremors rippled through his body, bleeding into her own, as his body tried to wrestle with his blinding rage and unadulterated fear.

Hiding his face into the crook of her neck, his voice was barely more than a broken whisper as he said again, “You could have died . And there was nothing I could have done to stop it. I’ve lost so many loved ones already, Sakura,” he admitted with a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can stand to lose another one.”

Raising her hands to embrace him back, Sakura hugged him tight. Tears pooled behind her eyes at his confession. She hadn’t meant to scare him. She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. And what made it worse was that she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to comfort him now that they were here. She couldn’t promise him nothing would ever happen to her. That would ring empty and false. What could she apologize for? Not for leaving, her pride wouldn’t allow for that. 

All she could do was hold onto him as tightly as he was holding onto her and whisper, “I’m here. I’m still here,” into his ear. 

He nodded against her neck. They were pressed so close she could hear the thickness of his swallow. Sakura rubbed a hand up and down his back, her fingers following along the ridges of his spine, hoping Madara found the motion soothing. They stayed like that until his shaking subsided, and then stayed like that for a while longer. 

If there was a curse on the Uchiha clan, it wasn’t one of hate, but of love. Life in the warring states period wasn’t easy for anyone. Madara’s fear of losing his loved ones was one founded in reality. Sakura would have to be more mindful of that in the future. She wouldn’t budge on her autonomy or independence, but she could do a better job keeping Madara apprised of her movements, especially now that she knew she’d caught the attention of Senju Tobirama. 

“Come,” Sakura eventually said, pulling away so she could clasp his hand in hers. She pulled him towards Izuna’s room, hoping that having two of his precious people within arms reach of each other might help calm his nerves. “Let me see to Izuna, and then we can spend the remainder of the day with each other.”

She intertwined their fingers for extra measure and was glad to see a small smile appear on his face as his eyes returned to black. 

Giving her hand a squeeze, Madara leaned in to kiss Sakura’s forehead. “I would like that very much.”

[dukeofankh]

Does anyone else identify as he/him primarily out of spite?

Like, if I was being exhaustively accurate I would probably call myself genderfluid. I've got seasons where I'm much more feminine, I do feel dysphoric at times, and even when I am in a masculine zone, a lot of the time it can veer more towards what would probably be a femboy vibe if I wasn't built like a bear and fully in my thirties.

But I do have large swaths of my life where I lean into full blown mascy masculine male man vibes, and that does bring me gender euphoria. When I want to be in that zone and I am struggling to pull it off, I feel dysphoria about that.

So yeah, if the purpose of pronouns was to give every person you meet an exhaustively accurate description of your gender identity, then I'd probably go with something like he/she or a more homogeneous "they", but like...

I am six feet tall, I'm almost 250 pounds, I'm covered with hair. I've worked almost nothing but blue collar jobs. Regardless of what I say my pronouns are, people see me and have a pretty straightforward and durable idea of who I am. And it's one thing to say that about the conservative people in my life but it's not like it's any less true about the queer community. Non-binary folks get invalidated to shit all over, but the "woman-lite" shit is a different flavour from what folks who look like me get. So why fucking bother? Pronouns are an act of communication. Why would I try to tell people who I am if nobody is listening or cares? They think I'm a dude. They're not even wrong a fair bit of the time.

Like...I have been hanging around tumblr queer feminist circles for about a decade at this point, and at some point it just becomes pretty obvious that the highest I could aspire to for most people in "my" community is to be "one of the good ones." And it's because they do and always will see me as a dude, and the default for dudes is to be irredeemably evil. Okay, fine. I'm a dude. I'm not going to try and convince you that there's more than that, because that masculinity is absolutely still there, and I'm not going to pretend that it isn't to be accepted into a community that doesn't want me there. If you can't handle me at what you consider my worst, you don't deserve what you consider my best.

[fuck-customers]

I don’t think of myself as a great person, if anything I feel like there’s many things I can work on, however I truly do feel like working in customer service has brought out the worst in me. This version of me that I never thought I’d be. I hate how angry and bitter I’ve become over the years. I’ve been trying my best to work on it, but my damn job always brings me back to square one. I find it so hard to detach myself from my job because I feel so invalid and useless at work and I spend so much time at work unfortunately.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[fairycosmos]

i feel like ur almost the only person who i can talk to about this. i lost my brother similar to you also almost three years ago. how do you feel about the angus cloud situation? i couldn’t even read the full article bc i related to his situation so well and it hit me to my core. my mom and i almost both took our lives together days after his passing and sometimes i feel guilty for still being here when i wanted to just end it all and still do bc life’s not worth it without him. i also judge myself bc i feel like bc i didn’t leave i’m not showing how horrible i truly feel (to both him, myself, and others) idk. i just wanted ur thoughts on feeling guilty and also feeling invalidated in how we handle our grief

yeah honestly i've been avoiding articles on it like ever since i heard the news ive just been kind of blocking it out, did the same w demi lovato's drug overdose in (i think) 2021 i just can't even begin to approach news like that. it fucks me up for weeks/months at a time and i cant afford to feel like that honestly. i'm so so sorry youre going through it too and i'm sorry youre in such a dark place, i know me and my mam often are too. it's the kind of feeling words cant really touch and i wont try but i absolutely do understand and i think everything youre going through makes a very painful sort of sense - the guilt, the absolute despair, having to go along with the way life just moves forward and then feeling bad because youre not displaying how awful you truly feel. i feel like i'm feeling my sister in so many ways every day honestly, i feel like i failed her the day she died and every day since. guilt is such a big part of my grief, and i think it's one of the most unavoidable and natural parts of it too unfortunately. we'll always feel a heavy responsibility towards them because we love them so so much and the worst thing that couldve happened to them happened. i think there's not many ways for the brain to make sense of that without going a bit mad. there are so many moments that ive wished i could swap places with her, so many moments i just want to die, and still i'm here and i still i have to deal with being here. those are very difficult, conflicting emotions - im so so sorry. i hope you have the support you deserve in your life and i hope youre able to find a way to mourn your brother that feels a bit more cathartic (if there even is such a version of mourning.) i hope you're able to talk about this with a grief counsellor or someone who can help you make sense of what youre thinking and feeling in a way that doesn't hurt so much - not because i think it'll solve anything or bring your brother back, because you deserve to be listened to and validated throughout the grieving process. for your own good, whether you feel you deserve it or not - you do. if you ever want to talk about him, tell stories about him and what he was like, or talk about what ur going please know im always here. i'd like to talk about becca (my sister) more too and share her memory in a way that makes her feel real again. sending a massive hug. x

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

oh 4 from the angry prompts for literally whoever you want that one hurts so good - katie

4. “You think I wanted this to happen? You think I, of all people, wanted to fall in love with you?” 

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 3.3k, rated gen

It's not a good day. Both of his dads are on one about something or another, at each other's throats and at Augustus's, though to his knowledge Augustus hasn't done anything particularly wrong. It's just a mood thing. Changing of the seasons, maybe. He doesn't have work today, so he heads over to the Agnew household to get away from the yelling, the angry and snapping retorts, the rare breaking of glass. Swear, his dads were better, more even keeled, when he was a kid. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He doesn't know what he did to them, growing up weird in their presence. Because he knows he's weird. He just wishes his dads didn't think so too. They love him. He just doesn't know if they have any idea how to love him in a way he understands.

He knocks on the door of the Chosen's house, pasting on a smile. He likes Mrs. Agnew. She's told him a million times to call her Laura, smiles at him indulgently when he goes on one of his freak tangents, never makes him feel like an intrusion in her house. The same cannot be said of her son, but Augustus knows Chosen likes him. At least, that's what he tells himself.

"Auggie!" Mrs. Agnew says as she throws open the door, fully outfitted in her scrubs. She's either gotta be just home from the hospital or just leaving- she hates staying in her scrubs for even a minute after getting home. He knows Mrs. Agnew. She knows him as well, unfortunately, because he can see when she clocks the falseness of his smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Agnew. I have come to give your son my esteemed company. Is he in?" he asks, knowing that Spencer is. He wasn't on the schedule at the store today, and the boy has some of the worst agoraphobia Augustus has ever seen, and he's him. He knows freak behavior when he sees it. Laura gives him a slow look, still kind but questioning, and opens the door wider for Augustus to step inside.

"He's right in his room, Auggie, I just told him bye. It's swing shift tonight, so I'll be home around 3am if you're still here, kiddo. You two play nice," she says, grinning at him before leaning up to kiss Augustus on the forehead. The affection of the action nearly brings tears to Augustus's eyes, but that would be terribly embarrassing, and so Augustus does not allow that to come to pass.

"Have a good shift, Mrs. Agnew," he says, unsure of what else to say. Mrs. Agnew leans back in the door to say one last thing before she closes it behind her.

"For God's sake, Augustus, just call me Laura!"

Instead of thinking about that, Augustus makes his way down the hallway toward her son's room. Chosen likes to pretend that he does all of his living out of their garage, but most of his belongings and markedly his bed are located in a bedroom right next to his mom's. The Agnew house feels so much more like a home than his own. He's always heard about how sad it was to have only one parent, about how people with both of their parents still should be grateful, and he is, but. There's a but. Laura loves Spencer like she never even tried to learn how to do anything else, indulges him in his oddness, makes sure he has a therapist that doesn't invalidate his delusions. They all know Spencer knows the difference between what's in his head and what's real; it's that talking about himself in the way that he does makes the Chosen feel more in control of the situation. And there's nothing wrong with that.

He knocks again, this time on Spencer's bedroom door. It drifts open slightly as it hadn't been properly closed. That's pretty typical of Laura being the one to close Spencer's door. Moms are like that, he thinks. He wouldn't really know, though, would he? When he pushes the door open, Chosen is sitting on his bed with a book in his lap, sunglasses sitting on his bedside table. His hair is falling in his face and he's utterly focused on the material in his lap. He looks pretty. Augustus taps his knuckles against the door a second time.

"Mother, I thought you had- you are significantly not my mother. What are you doing here, you sloppy idiot?" the Chosen asks, his tone vitriolic and dismissive like Augustus isn't here at least three times a week. Today, Augustus folds under the pressure. Everything is too fucking much. He can't deal with this, with his own best friend hating having him around, when he's already this close to a break. He closes his eyes for a quick second, swallowing as he tries to keep himself from crying in front of the Chosen. He doesn't know if he would survive the Chosen making fun of him for being emotional right now.

"Never mind," he says at a volume barely higher than a whisper, turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway. He doesn't expect Chosen to protest at all, let alone get up, let alone come after him, so imagine his surprise at feeling the other boy collide with his back, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. It stops Augustus in his tracks.

"I'm sorry," Chosen mutters into the back of his shoulder, "I know I'm a dick, but please don't go." If he's ever heard Spencer sound so unsure of himself, he doesn't know when it was. He puts his hands over Spencer's and leans back against his friend, the Chosen immediately resettling his weight to accommodate Augustus better. They've never been the hugging kind of friends, let alone the kind that hold one another like this. It's nice. It doesn't remove the empty sadness in Augustus's chest, hot like mourning, but it helps. Only a little, but it helps. Augustus closes his eyes again. It makes the world quieter.

"It's not you, Chosen. Just a bad week," he says, his voice still that empty whisper. Spencer squeezes him a little before turning Augustus around, pulling the other boy's head to rest solidly against his neck. Augustus relaxes into his hold.

"I'm sorry to have contributed to the substandard condition of your week. If there is some way I can assist you, vanquishing your foes for example, you must know that I would complete whatever task you asked of me," the Chosen says, and it's really nice to have a best friend that is also autistic. The complexity of his linguistic patterns is fascinating. As much as Augustus tries to distract himself with that line of thinking, tears are still welling up at the corners of his eyes. He presses closer to the Chosen, hoping that the other boy won't be able to feel the moisture of his tears through his shirt. It's a pretty thick shirt. He doesn't know how Chosen deals with that texture. Different autism, he guesses. Back on track.

"Fighting with my dads again. It's no big deal, dude," he assures, his voice muffled because he doesn't lift his head. He really doesn't want to show Spencer his face. He knows he's red, and splotchy, and that his glasses have been pressing into his face for the last few minutes, and he doesn't want to give him any more ammunition for calling Augustus names. The Chosen makes a little confused noise. The fact that it's adorable doesn't even occur to Augustus. (This is a lie.)

"Again? You have not told me about this previously," Spencer says, his tone lingering somewhere between confused and something that might be hurt. Augustus doesn't know. No matter how much he studies people, he still gets it wrong sometimes. It makes a customer service job incredibly difficult. Stay on task, Augustus.

"Why would I? It's not like you care," he says, injecting some humor into his voice given the obvious nature of the statement. Chosen squeezes him a little, not hard but like a reflex, like he didn't mean to do it at all. He loosens up nearly immediately, starting to shift back, but Augustus isn't ready yet. He wants to pretend that Spencer actually likes him, is that so wrong? He knows that Spencer doesn't actually care. He knows that this probably has more to do with whatever happened to Spencer since he last saw him than it does to do with him actually giving a shit. Augustus isn't an easy person to give a shit about. He knows that.

"The magnitude to which I do care has been alarmingly cumbersome in recent months," The Chosen says stiffly, even the vibration of his voice somewhat sharp in nature. Forgetful of his own reasons for not putting space between them, Augustus ducks back to look Chosen in the face.

"What do you mean?" he asks, squinting.

"It seems I have developed... feelings. For you. Against my better judgement," Chosen says, still still, but almost embarrassed now too.

"You're joking," Augustus says flatly, voice empty of all inflection. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“You think I wanted this to happen? You think I, of all people, wanted to fall in love with you?” he asks, and Augustus can't fucking do this. He can't stand in Spencer's hallway with Spencer's hands on him, listening to Spencer lie to him.

"I'm already upset, and you're joking me about the fact that I have a crush on you. This is a new low, Spencer," Augustus says, and the Chosen's heart drops to his stomach. This idiot cannot like him back. With how Spencer treats him? Being attracted to, let alone genuinely liking Spencer seems indicative of some extraordinarily low self-esteem, but it's not like... well, it's not like Chosen doesn't want it to be true. Would it be better for Augustus, probably, but who else is going to keep him safe? With Augustus aware of his feelings, he can be more overt in how he cares for the other boy, and defend him from others without the worry of Augustus reading more from it than he's willing to share. He can do something to balance their scale, which so often goes unfairly in the Chosen's favor; he knows that Augustus lets him get away with fricking murder. And all of this only matters if Augustus accepts his feelings. Accepts him.

"Augustus, I am not joking. I assure you, I would never joke with you about something of this nature. It should also be noted that... I did not know that you have feelings for me. I am not sure how to proceed under these conditions," the Chosen says, his expression quickly betraying how awkward and uncomfortable he feels. Augustus looks at him, head tilted, for several solid seconds.

"Wait, are you serious?" he asks, incredulity palpable as it drips from his tongue. Spencer blinks.

"Do you know me to lie?" he asks, tilting his head in an unconscious mirror of his friend. Augustus sighs.

"Well, like, no, but. I can't... I can't be disappointed again. Can't be disappointed if you never expect much." Augustus says the last part like a mantra, worn from it's repetition. His eyebrows raised but he's not looking at the Chosen's face, so he doesn't see the way Spencer looks like someone slapped him across the face. "You can't stand me. You've told me several times. To my face." This drops out of his mouth with the clunky weight only resignation can tender, as if Augustus had repeated those to himself as well, like if he broke his own heart first, Spencer wouldn't be able to hurt him. Chosen's chest hurts. He wishes the weight of the safety of the world on his shoulders had not hardened him to showing his feelings for Augustus, that he could have told Augustus how much he cares for him without wanting to crawl out of his own skin. Augustus needs this, and so the Chosen will have to be brave. He can do that. He's good at brave. He reaches down and takes Augustus's hand off of his hip (as much as the very sight of it nearly overwhelms him), tangling their fingers together. He lifts their hands to his mouth, looking directly at Augustus as he presses a kiss to the back of the other boy's hand.

"I have been unkind to you, and for that I apologize. If you would allow me the opportunity to make it up to you, I would not disappoint you. No matter your expectations. Expect as much of me as you'd like," he promises, forcing the words out past the hot feeling in his chest, the thing that had always caused him to lash out at Augustus to keep the other boy at a distance. Chosen has no idea what to do with the way Augustus makes him feel. It felt like the world ending when Augustus had turned to leave him. He knows he makes it hard to stay. He just hoped Augustus would anyway. Suspicious still, Augustus has his eyes narrowed once again. At least he's looking at him.

"If there was a new restaurant that I wanted to go to, would you let me be annoying about my review for the entire hour or so we're there?" he asks, looking like he genuinely wants to understand. Chosen drops his shoulders, relaxing more than he typically allows with any other soul in the room.

"I like listening to you talk," he says honestly, dark blush crawling up his face as soon as the words are out. Telling Augustus the truth of his feelings may be even more difficult that originally estimated. He is the strongest warrior in the multiverse. He's good at brave. Augustus is blinking rapidly, his disbelief still plain.

"What if I wanted to kiss you in public?" Augustus asks next, and Chosen knows immediately that his flush has gotten even darker. His face is hot. He brings their hands up to his mouth, leaving Augustus's hand to his lips for longer than a second this time. He clears his throat, moving their hands back down to rest Augustus's knuckles against his chest.

"The idea that you would like to kiss me at all is one I am still growing accustomed to. The idea that you would want to do so in front of others is... I would not object to it, to say the least," he says, stumbling over his words a bit at the end there. The awe on Augustus's face is finally surpassing the suspicion, like what Chosen is saying is finally beginning to sink in. Augustus pulls him a bit closer and Chosen would do anything he asked, he thinks. The unbridled devotion that he had been holding back with the idea that Augustus did not want him like this has truly escaped its enclosure. As long as Augustus would have him, he would be the loyal champion of this boy. Augustus releases a squeaky giggle. He's so fricking cute. This is not becoming of a warrior.

"And if I... if I wanted to kiss you now?" Augustus asks, his eyes large and round behind his glasses, and Chosen loses most of his stoicism, let alone his sense of decorum. Leaving one of his hands laced with Augustus's, Chosen moves the other to cup the other boy's face, pulling him down and into a kiss. It's Chosen's very first. He never thought he would like it, always thought it would be too wet, too intimate, too close to someone else for comfort. Immediately, he thinks he could kiss Augustus for hours and never grow bored. Augustus makes a soft noise as soon as their lips connect, moves his mouth against Spencer's in a manner that is far too close to overwhelming. Augustus has either done this before or he is very naturally skilled in the area. Truthfully, Chosen would not be surprised by either. Augustus, while admittedly annoying, is quite pretty, and he excels at learning skills with expediency. This is not to say that he will be telling Augustus any of this. Even if he's telling Augustus how he feels now, he does not need to have knowledge of his inner monologue. That's none of his business.

"You can kiss me whenever you'd like," Chosen says pointlessly when he pulls away, as if he had not perfectly demonstrated the point not moments ago. Augustus giggles, pressing his face into Chosen's neck again. It's nice to feel his smile rather than his tears. Chosen puts his arms back around Augustus belatedly.

"You really like me?" Augustus says; it takes Chosen a moment to realize that it's a question. He tightens his grip on Augustus and deeply contemplates finding whatever unfortunate souls had caused Augustus to feel such insecurity and introducing them to his blade. Augustus needs him at the moment, so revenge will have to wait.

"I care about you. I would like to be with you. I have never felt for someone else what I feel for you," Chosen says, the last bit more of an admission than he was certain he meant to give. Augustus pulls back to look at him again, the pink glow of his happiness making Spencer feel weak in the knees. He straightens himself to his full height. He cannot be this effected by how Augustus looks at him. It would be particularly distracting should they be in an unsafe situation. This does not stop Chosen from looking up at the other boy like he hung the goddamn moon.

"What if I- what if I wanted to call you my boyfriend?" Augustus asks. Pleasure is a hummingbird behind the Chosen's sternum, winds spread in his chest, fluttering about. Hummingbirds can flap their wings up to eighty times a second. It feels much faster.

"It would be an honor," he says a beat late, bringing a look of amused affection to Augustus's face.

"Oh my god, you like me," he says, grin goofy and wide, and Chosen feels equal parts fond and exasperated. He rolls his eyes.

"You like me too, idiot," Spencer says, and he immediately winces. "Sorry." His voice is quiet, his gaze somewhere over Augustus's left shoulder. Augustus cups his chin and tilts his head up, making Chosen look up at him again. He's pretty. Spencer isn't good at being nice, even worse at being sweet. His mother says that being sweet was something he excelled at as a child; Chosen does not know when he lost that particular skill. Augustus leans forward and kisses his cheek, kissing the other as well. It sends Chosen blinking, unsure what is coming to pass. He was rude. Why is Augustus showing him affection when he's been rude?

"Spence, I figured out a long time ago that you don't always mean what you say. It's often very confusing for me, really, but I know you. You're an ass, but you're not a dick. If that makes any sense at all," Augustus says; Chosen can't help himself. He bursts into laughter, pressing his face against Augustus's shoulder. With his face hidden, he doesn't see the way Augustus blinks in surprised delight at hearing the Chosen's free, honest laugh for perhaps the first time. Something shakes loose in Augustus's chest at the sound, like he had been waiting in want of that laugh even when he didn't know to miss it. Impulsive, he presses a kiss to the side of Spencer's face.

"You are so dumb," Spencer says, but his voice is so saturated with fondness it's dripping with it. It's sounds more like a pleased observation than anything else, like dumb might be one of Augustus's best qualities. Augustus kisses the side of his head again.

"How about we play a game? You might be my boyfriend now, but I'm still gonna kick your ass at Smash," he says, attempting to bridge this new development with the way they've always been. Chosen pulls back to look at him, eyebrow raised.

"Not on your life, my love," he says, taking Augustus's hand and pulling him back toward Spencer's bedroom with him. My love, Augustus thinks to himself. That sounds pretty nice.

[catboy-dummy]

Intro Post: ✨

Hello! I wish to not use a name on here. But some things i like to be called are good boy, puppy, dummy, and prince (will update if I find a liking to other ones too!). I also use it/its when im getting dumb (NOT in a misgendering way, don’t touch me with that)

Im 21 and my pronouns are he/him, I’m a bisexual trans man, lovingly taken <3.

A lot of what I post and rb is fantasy

Backup is @dummy-catboy-moved

DNI:

Minors, this blog is 18+

No age in bio

Detrans and misgendering, don’t want to shame it’s really just not my thing

Ageplay, sissification, r4pe kink (this one is a weird field because cnc tags keep overlapping with it so idk, I have mixed feelings), feeder, incest, and trauma blogs

Usual DNI stuff

I will update this if/as I need to. Please also note I will also just block whenever I feel like my boundaries are invalidated or I just feel uncomfortable

My Kinks:

Hypno

Brainwashing

Resistance play

Dumbification

Corruption

Edging

Denial

Breeding (not the birth part)

Hucow (maybe just a little bit)

Milking

Cnc (huge emphasis on consensual)

Drugging/Aphrodisiacs (also consensually)

Intox (fills in with drugging but adding anyway)

Free use

Teasing

Overstimulation

Objectification

Degradation

Praise

Royalty (as a treat)

Limits:

-please don’t talk about me interacting with your genitals unless we’ve had a prior conversation/consent about it. It’s a huge overstep

-this also goes for involving other ppl that I interact with in ur ask without any real prior conversation or consent on it. Again it kinda puts me in a weird uncomfortable position with the other person that I’m interacting with :(

-unless initiated, please don’t tell me what you would do to me either. Unless it’s initiated it brings me out of the mood immediately

-don’t ask for pics/ audio anything of the sort. Also don’t ask invasive questions or ones that are too personal

-if you send me any pics I’m blowing you up

-if you ever try to overstep my relationship I’m also blowing you up

- if an ask or a dm makes me uncomfortable I will not answer/ reply to it (or I might but it won’t be in a positive way). I might also block out of sheer initial discomfort. (I do understand miscommunications can happen, but unless communicated I will probably just assume the worst out of safety/personal reasons)

-just because I post or reblog something it doesn’t make in an invitation to be creepy. Don’t do that. (Unless specifically mentioning it, but even then don’t be creepy)

Asks / Dms:

Asks are open! Just please don’t be an asshole. Maybe even encourage me to rub and cum my brains out (or make me edge my mind away) so I can become a good, empty, cockdumb boy. I always love pretty spirals or words filling up my inbox

Spiral maker if y’all wanna make a spiral for me to stare at

Go ahead and also just ramble and talk in there, as horny as I am I love normal interaction too :3

If you anon a lot feel free to claim an emoji or name so I can tag u and recognize you more :3

Dms are open to mutuals! Feel free to message and just talk about anything or do hypno related things. Might open them up to everyone someday if I feel comfy doing so. :3

Additional: I’m pretty sure I’m on the spectrum (I’ve been looking into it for years now. So if I’m a little ehhh sometimes I’m probably overwhelmed or overthinking stuff or just unsure of something and I’m getting uncomfortable. Tone indicators really help sometimes because I’m awful at reading tones of stuff.

Anon tag claims: 💜, 📀, 🕸, 🐾, 🐐,🎩,💙,💛

Extras:

I’m new to all of this so I’m sorry if I sound nervous or awkward at times.

Whenever I write “sweet boy” or I’m thinking about my bf, but I also write these in a way so anyone can interpret the scenario as they wish! But I also just wanted to clarify :3

[exeggcute]

your blog is cool and youre the only person on tumblr i really follow on tech stuff. is the transition to manifest v3 really worth all the hubbub?

first of all thank you! and second of all, lol. to be honest I haven't had a major eye on the v2 > v3 transition but you may be unsurprised to learn that I'm not taking hard sides here and am both slightly suspicious of the changeover and also less than convinced by some of the "this is the worst shit ever" blowback. not to suck google's dick either (unless any recruiters are reading this...?) (jk my least favorite person on r/technicalwriting works at google so unless you can guarantee that I will not come into contact with that man, it's gonna be a hard no) but to some extent I think this is one of those things where google, as the de facto governing entity for how internet browsers are designed[1] is, for better or worse, in the seat to steer the ship right now and inevitably has to make design choices that will shape the future of (how people will access) the web.[2]

[1] insert comment about firefox here but considering firefox is almost singlehandedly bankrolled by google it works out the same in the end. hence my perpetual dislike of the way-oversimplified "maverick underdog mozilla singlehandedly holding the line again google" narrative... go tell me where the money is coming from!!!

[2] also I know the W3C is the actual governing entity for internet protocol design and has influenced browser design on a more abstract level but that's still a degree of separation away and tbh I'm not super familiar with W3C drama. although I can only assume there's drama lol.

and google being google has both real and imagined interests in shaping the web by virtue of their other business ventures (e.g. but not exclusively e.g., advertising) and so I think some amount of blowback is gonna be inevitable when they propose Big Fundamental Changes. which, like, I'm the last person who's gonna say "no we should definitely drop our defenses and approach this without an ounce of skepticism" lol so I think the knee-jerk Uh Oh impulse is totally fair and maybe even warranted. but after the initial jerk I also think it's worth hearing shit out and, you know, on the face of it I can see why the changes outlined in the v3 manifest bring positive changes to the table. security and performance and shit. but security and performance are relatively boring selling points, and when google has earned a poor public reputation thanks to the other shit they've pulled I think it's understandable that even well-meaning changes will be met with general suspicion.

buuuut I still get irritated by the verging-on-clickbait headlines where literally every change about v3 is framed as "google is finally killing ad blockers" and then you read the article and ad blockers aren't mentioned directly a single time. like it'll literally just be about v3 lol. arguably I'm just being naive/willfully ignorant because of course it's all really about ad blockers since google is an advertising business and the other benefits are a smokescreen and blah blah blah but I do kinda feel like that borders on conspiratorial thinking, especially since ad blockers will work in v3, albeit differently, and google is actively working with/taking feedback from extension developers (including ad block extension developers). a lot of it genuinely just seems like "major version change will require significant technical work to implement, more at 11".

who knows though, I could eat my words :shrug:

kind of related but I was always kind of surprised by the amount of pushback against the web integrity API thing because I read the proposal behind it and it seemed pretty well-intentioned to me. granted there were some fair/serious concerns that even the proposal pointed out and a lot unanswered implementation details (and tbf it was a proposal/WIP) but I got Why they were proposing it, invalid traffic being the bogeyman it is. and like I am not a cryptography guy in the slightest but as I understand it the WEI was basically just an SSL certificate in reverse?

a lot of it makes me think about the web3 article from a few years back where a guy talked about designing an NFT that looked cool on various storefronts but looked like a poop emoji in your actual wallet after you bought it, which, in the process of trying to google it to link here, led me to this substack post where someone summarized it as "NFTs are centralized and no one cares." which is pretty much exactly what I was getting at (and why I thought about it in this context) with how even ostensibly open protocols can devolve into walled gardens built around those protocols with bonus features tacked on, if the protocols themselves don't offer those features out the gates (and enough people want them). idk. food for thought I guess. I really am just rambling here though so let me humble myself by reminding us all that I have a B.A. in english and love to speculate lolol. not an expert!

[saint-ambrosef]

I normally would just mind my business and not butt my nose in, but i feel like maybe you would be open to hearing this so im giving it a shot. As someone who really appreciated and respected you, the way you just kind of threw out "evangelicals are wild" and encouraged blaming a Christian denomination on a post that didn't even identify the person being weird as that denomination was kind of a shock to see from you.

I've really enjoyed your content (thats saying something, im actually an athiest, lol) and found you really reasonable and wise in a lot of ways. I liked learning about catholicism from someone who genuinely cares about and defends their faith. I've always grown up seeing catholics as the epitome of traditionalist hypocrites who pick on everyone else, but you and a few others really began changing that for me. Because of that, I'm a litle taken aback how easily you and a few other catholic blogs I've followed just slap the evangelical label on any sort of Christian thing you find cringe. It comes off mean spirited and disingenuous as an outsider with just enough understanding to know what you're doing isn't all that fair. Evangelicalism is pretty broad movement that contains an extremely broad spectrum of people and "personal" ideaologies. Given the breadth of actors in catholicism as well, it seems like if anyone would understand why branding people by their worst actors is unfair, it would be you guys. It's probably distressing to see people so quickly bandwagon on and identify catholicism as the pedophile priest people or what I said about my original thoughts about catholicism earlier. I know I hate it enough with cringe reddit atheist edgelords being the first thing anyone thinks about when they hear athiest. So, I find it a little disappointing to see so many of you guys do to others what I'm sure you hate having done to your own worldview because who doesn't hate being misrepresented?

It's one thing to have some friendly jabs back and forth and to be open and honest about agreeing on worldviews, but purposefully reducing the opposing argument seems so underhanded. And to be clear, I think that woman is a nutjob and I laughed at how ridiculous what she said was, I'm not saying you can't agree she's crazy or laugh at someone for being insane or just plane wrong. It's using the extreme to identify thr whole that's where I'm finding myself disappointed.

It's not your responsibility to cater to your audience, I'm well aware. And I'm trying not to come off as someone nitpicking you for blowing off steam or having a laugh. I just felt like maybe I could bring up to you what it looks like as someone outside of faith and how it really jars the opinion I was forming on catholicism to see that. I'm not scandalized or unfollowing or anything, I just figure maybe it's worth saying that this wasn't a moment where I felt like catholicism was more then it's stereotype, and I'd rather you be aware and maybe give you a chance to respond before I let it become foundational.

Thank you for your time, and sorry for your long post.

I understand what you're saying and appreciate the respectful rebuke, but I can't say I agree with your conclusion.

When someone calls out a specific bad actor as an example of Catholicism, the vast majority of the time they are not actually modeling Catholic beliefs. They're straight up expressing heresy that is objectively contrary to an approved theological belief of a formally organized religion. So propping it up as an example of legitimate Catholic belief is factually incorrect and invalid.

As you say with Evangelicalism, it's a "pretty broad movement that contains an extremely broad spectrum of people and 'personal' ideologies". There isn't a set of definable beliefs. That's the exact problem - and the criticism implied in my original comment. Because of Evangelicalism's belief in personal interpretation without a central organized authority, any and all personal ideology is theoretically acceptable. Wack opinions like that lady are a direct result of mainstream Evangelicalism. Her beliefs are technically as valid as anyone else's under Evangelical understanding, even if 90% of other Evangelicals think her incorrect. She does validly represent Evangelical beliefs whether they like it or not.

Again, I appreciate the respectful rebuke, but I honestly think you are over-analyzing a tongue-in-cheek tag comment. There is no "reducing the opposing argument" (?what argument?). I certainly don't think she represents all or most Evangelical Christians. I think she's the unfortunate but inevitable result of the shaky theological reasoning that undercuts the Evangelical movement. This is not me "slapping the Evangelical label on any sort of Christian thing [I] find cringe", it's a legitimate criticism.

I guess I could have initially explained all that more carefully, but I confess I did not expect someone would draw so many conclusions regarding my intentions and meaning from such a simple three word comment.

[angria]

During session, I asked to change topics to T’s vacation since that is coming up in little over a week.   Even though I know it is coming, I still always feel unprepared.  Especially this year since Dr W is away at the same time and I have no one as back-up.  I’m going to my home-state for most of that time, so I won’t be alone.  But, that has its own problems.  Triggers, nightmares, hellhole, family.  Overall hypervigilance at all times.

T said I will make it through okay.  Not to mean it will be easy or I will like it.  But, I still make it through each year.  Which I know is true, yet at the same time, it feels invalidating.  Not sure if T could sense that because he asked what would happen if I ran into someone from hellhole, which is a big fear of mine anytime I go to my home-state.  And I don’t find it irrational because when I have run into someone, they do approach me and are antagonizing.  One time, T asked what is the worst that could happen…they glare, say something mean.  No.  I legitimately fear for my life.  Which may be extreme, but they still go after me.  Decades later.

So when T asked a similar question this time, I still said I would run away, leave whatever place it is.  Which he challenged because why should I, as an adult, feel forced to run away.  He jokingly said I could glare right back or even flip them off.  I just stared at him.  Like I would actually do that versus run away.  It’s a split impulse.  Or have a panic attack, which has happened before when I thought I saw someone.  That’s when he grew serious and started his validations and that just flipped the fuzzy dissociation switch.

T has always wanted to do exposure work around hellhole because I refuse to go to the town, let alone drive by the building.  And that is impossible given the 7 hour distance and me refusing to do anything without him there.  But, he said, “Hellhole cannot reach out and physically hurt you, it cannot tell you that you are worthless.  You are no longer sitting on that rock, trying to be invisible.  You have a voice now and fear cannot control your life anymore.”  My head grew fuzzy as I tried not to cry.  I was surprised he remembered the rock since we haven’t discussed it nor have I dissociated to there in a long time.  There was a rock in hellhole’s parking lot, around the corner of an old garage.  I would hide there during recess and essentially dissociate the whole time, trying to be invisible, nonexistent.  Maybe then people would stop.  Continuing, he told me I did nothing wrong and it was not my fault, which always gets to me.  

Still afraid for my home-state.  Still afraid to not see T or have any support.  I can’t even meet with E since I’ll be away.  Even if the hellhole triggers are not terrible, I still have nightmares every night, no matter what I do to prevent them.  Bringing my usual coping kit with my partial folder and transitional objects from T.  I never know how to make these trips manageable.  My hypervigilance has improved since living in the city for over 10 years now.  So I’m no longer as used to it and feel less prepared for it when it spikes while in my home-state.

Fun times with trauma….

[thegodthief]

"You had every right to not [do the thing]. Who would fault you? How many times have you been sold a promise that the seller had the missing link you needed to feel complete, only to be invalidated at the time of fulfillment because you don't fit their ideal and refuse to be taken advantage of?"

"To be honest, I'm surprised you continued after what happened with Birto. You knew, even then, that something was off about the methods you were being sold."

I leaned against the cave wall. The contrast between the cool stone behind me and the warm bowl in my hands helped keep my emotions in balance. "I knew. But I didn't know what. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what right was supposed to look like. And, yea, I didn't get the expected results, but I got results, and at the time, that was more than I had achieved with anything else I had tried."

"Besides," I continued while staring at the bowl of warm and thick liquid, "it was by following that path that I came across you [and others]. That's always something that fucks with me, ya know. How the right thing can come about via the wrong methods. How you can do everything perfectly right and still receive the worst possible outcome. Magic is fucking messy."

They laughed and agreed. They asked me how long did I have certain items. It's been years, decades even. "If you don't have ears to hear, how would you have known to listen. Yes, you followed someone else's paths to places that were not kind to you, and paid a toll to that path's master as you went, but you learned how to protect yourself along the way and how to listen for that which is yours so that you did hear [us]."

"You have been stealing yourself back from those who think they own you. You owe no reparations to those who are put out by your freedom."

I drank from the bowl. The gentle spices comforted my throat while the warmth filled me from deep within. It was raining outside the cave. The sound of water playing on the foliage made for a pleasant background.

When I lowered the bowl, I saw that [a book] was on the dry ground in front of me. It made me sad and comforted. "I was afraid to read this, you know. I thought for sure that it would be one more rejection and after... some stuff with family... I was afraid to go through that again. But when I got to [a certain chapter], I heard you laughing."

They squatted against the cave wall opposite of me. "Is that why you're here now? To ask me why I was laughing?"

"Isn't it? I didn't ask to come here. I went to bed and woke up here." I realized that for all I had drank from the bowl, it was still nearly full to the brim.

They sighed, patient and sorrowful. "Nieta. You're here, because this is your home. I know you have several, and I know what is to come in that book you're reading, but I also know what you are, what you always have been, and what you are discovering you can be."

"No, you cannot be [that kind of person] described in that book. And if you have been paying attention, no one can. The cultures have changed too much. You were thrown away because they are afraid of losing what they think they have. But they don't realize that what they think they have is already worthless because they refuse to use it. A rolling stone only travels so far. If no one is willing to carry it, it will become sand when it stops."

They stood and stretched their legs. I looked at their garments. I could see the idea of them, but I could not see them exactly. I knew it was because I had never seen examples of them in any museum. That part of their history, my history, was lost to me no matter how much they were in front of me now. I wanted to reach out, to reach across the cave and touch the fabric, to feel the weft and warp of it, to feel something that I could take the memory of with me.

They watched me studying them in silence. "Do you want to bring that back?"

"Bring what?"

"Are you not called Tejedora? Oh, of course, not in Spanish, but in English. Are you still Weaver, or have you given up on that as well?"

I froze. In a flash every stalled project, fibrous and wordy, filled my head. I started to silently cry in sudden and furious shame.

"You cannot walk los caminos viejos. You can walk your own. It will not be found in any book, but the sparks of light that you can steal back to illuminate your path are all around you if only you stretch out your hand and take them. It is good to look to the past and learn from it. It is not good to be trapped in someone else's idealization of that past."

"The book you are reading will be painful to finish, but you should read it to the end. Slowly. As you are doing now. You will never become [that type of person] that your families wished you were. They will never accept what you are, what you are becoming, and what you always have been. Their opinion is not important, Nieta."

They reached across a campfire that I was not aware was present until now. They reached across the fire between us without burning themselves and took the suddenly empty bowl from my hands. "Sometimes, the medicine is to do nothing. Sometimes, the medicine is to do something. Something specific."

They pointed to the ground beside me. A particular set of tools were there, but for how long, I do not know.

"[Your ancestors] have been speaking to you, but you have been afraid to hear them because you have been afraid of yourself. So, they spoke to me, and that is why you are here tonight, so that I can speak their words to you."

"Pick it up, Tejedora. It is what you are, be it with words or be it with thread, and in this place, those are interchangeable. And in your place, one will feed the other. You feel your mind is knotted up, yes? Spin them out. Let one feed the other."

I looked at the small spindles with wool wrapped around one and cotton wrapped around another and the piles of loaded distaffs underneath them both.

"I do not need another hobby." I looked away. "I do not have the space. I can barely care for what I already have and..."

Across the campfire, they squatted again so that we faced each other. "There is a time for those other things. That time will come back again. You do not have to be all things at all times. You just have to be... you. And right now, Nieta, you are La Tejedora. As you always have been."

The rain slowly eased until the only water striking the ground outside the cave was dripping from already wet canopies overhead. They looked to the thinning clouds. "Ah. Time for you to go. Think on what I have said, Nieta. Write it in a place that you cannot hide from. If you need a goal, some reason to face this fear that is hurting you, look at my feet. I need something to stand on. Make it for me, Nieta, give this old man something comfortable to rest his feet on. It can be as ugly as me, but if it is by your hand, it will be as soft as hugs."

I stood up. I looked at the spindles again and thought about the cost of kits and how long delivery times are. Not to mention, it is one thing to make thread, to make a mat will require a loom, which will require more space and more preparations. "I'll think about it."

He laughed. "You do that."

He took the bowl, now suddenly overflowing with plain water, and threw it onto the fire. It extinguished immediately and filled the cave with overwhelming billows of white smoke that pushed me from the cave and the dream entirely.

I'm gonna need more coffee.

[mooncrvmbs]

here's one thing i have wanted to put out since the beginning of the colleen hoover fever on bookstagram and booktok. i hate colleen hoover. and i have legitimate reasons to do so. and now that we can all agree that her and her fans are the absolute worst, here, let me list them down for you:

the very first thing that throws me off about her is the fact that she's against putting trigger warnings in her books because "they give away the story". as an author who writes about such triggering topics like assault and abuse, putting a trigger warning is possibly the bare minimum you can do for your readers who may find such topics triggering. not putting them doesn't make your story any better, it just makes you an asshole.

her books are targeted towards young adults. let me explain. i am all for dark romances with morally grey protagonists. but only when they're targeted towards an adult audience, who know how to differentiate their fantasies from real life and not let a mere book sway their morals or beliefs. but her audience is a mostly a group of teenagers who have no idea about the real world. making them read about such blatant romanticization of abuse is so fucked up. which brings me to the next point.

she glorifies abuse. and before you tell me that i have not understood her point, try to look at it this way. her male protagonists are immensely toxic. which is fine. for most part. i have read and enjoyed dark romances with pretty fucked up protagonists. i am not against it, if it's done well and done so for an adult audience. not 13 year old girls. let me elaborate, yeah?

it ends with us, her most popular novel, ends with the female protagonist lily forgiving her abusive husband ryle and divorcing him, all the while pressing no charges against him. he literally tried to kill her, in case you're wondering.

in november 9, her female protagonist ends up with the male protagonist who has been stalking her for years. there's also a scene in the book where he literally thinks about physically tackling her to the ground because she was leaving him. sorry? what?

and then there's ugly love. if i could put my hatred for this book in words, i would. trust me. the male protagonist literally is hung up over his ex for like 85% of the book. he says his ex's name in bed, while having sex with the female protagonist. and she continues to pine for him and expect him to reciprocate her feelings after all he's done to hurt her.

would i hate these as much if they were targeted towards adults? maybe not. they know better than to let these influence their lives. kids don't. and her target audience is kids. literally. somewhere, some kid rn is reading her books and thinking that this is what love is like. that love is supposed to be abusive and pining after the person who hurt you. as an author, one should know about their impact and influence. they should know how much media affects kids. but clearly, hoover doesn't. and i am not surprised.

when you write these, you're telling an entire generation of kids that it's okay to accept abuse as a form of love and forgive their culprits and that's not okay. you're not only fucking up an entire generation of kids, you're invalidating the trauma and sufferings of victims who actually took actions against their abusers.

you're teaching kids to not report their abusers and instead fall for them? sorry? this is what we've come to?

there's this particular line in her newest novel 'it starts with us', the sequel to her novel 'it ends with us' that shook me to the core:

when ryle hurts lily again and lily runs to the love interest atlas, he tells her to report her ex husband. and this is the conversation

you let your abuser go without any reports against him and now that he's back to doing what he always does, you're surprised? honey?

this man could go and repeat the same shit with some other woman after you. how would you deal with that? and you know whose fault it will be? yours. cause you never took any actions against him.

and that's not even the worst of it. this story is inspired by hoover's own mother. there's so much more hoover could've done with this trope. been a voice for domestic abuse survivors. but instead, she chose to do this.

if you are a victim who's in a toxic relationship, please seek help. you do not need to romanticize the worst parts of someone. it's okay to accept that some people will never change and it is not your duty to change them. if they wanted to, they would. you're not a rehabilitation centre.

and i am not even gonna point out the fact that she writes like a 15 year old on wattpad or that she's under fire for silencing the person whom her son assaulted.

i was here to point out her wrong beliefs and morals that she's propagating only cause she has been given a platform by kids and now i am done. so i will leave lol.

and before you come at me for writing this, i hope you never have to go through the horrors of abuse.

here's a video that i found on youtube that gave me the urge to finally write this:

thank you for reading!

[nyctx]

#19

I think I'm just miserable at this point. Today sucked and all I want to do is change myself again or roll into the fucking grave. Wait, that's pathetic, very pathetic.

This a diary basically, I could give a fuck if it is pathetic, not like I plan on sharing this shit with anyone anyways. And besides, who wants to hear someone ramble about their woes all fucking day? Exactly.

I went to see Ghostbusters with my family today and all it was today was jokes and jokes galore on how I resemble and look like Pheobe so much. Comments, jokes, remarks, all of it was fucking irritating. I haven't looked like her in over a YEAR and have stopped trying to act like the nerdy curly haired girl that always has something to say. Because god forbid I get sick and tired of hearing the same things OVER and OVER again. All for what? Because it's a compliment? Because I should be grateful I get compared to a fucking Mary Sue? Is that how people see me? That part of me died, a long time ago. I changed for a reason, a purpose. Because that side of me got me ridiculed and ostracized by my peers for YEARS. All because I acted different, because I lacked social cues no one guided me or helped me to learn. Because I was non conforming at the bright age of fucking FIVE. You think I WANT to be compared to something that just gives me a slap to my fucking face and reminds me I can't change? That I'll forever be the little kid that WANTED friends because no one else batted an eye after a while? That the only friends I had pitied me and made me feel unimportant?

That part of me wanted to kill themselves, wanted nothing but the absolute worst to happen to themselves because they felt so shitty that the only thing they thought they deserved was death. That part of me lived thinking no one cared about them because their mom was always busy working and their dad could give less of a shit because he was working and absent. They lived thinking everyone would eventually hate them for the smallest thing, they let those eggshells sink deeper and deeper into their fucking feet until it replaced the flesh and embedded into their agonized body. Until they sat years later trying to pluck out each shard and letting their feet heal.

So God forbid. God fucking forbid I hate being compared to something that brings me back to feeling like a pathetic piece of shit. God forbid I start hiding my tears because I haven't healed and can't cope with those memories. God forbid I hate compliments because they remind me of the lies kids told me when I was younger to get a rise out of me and crush me. God forbid I hate feeling vulnerable because of how much it feels like a leech.

All for me to feel bad? Feel bad because I'm afraid of making my mom so upset that she tries to end her life again. One wrong move, one wrong thing said on a bad day, it could all go to shit and then who would be to blame? Me, because I don't know when to keep my fucking mouth shut, but then regret it because it makes my mom feel shitty. But why would I feel bad? Why would I ever open up to her knowing that all that will be thrown at me is a half assed dismissal to invalidate how I feel. I dont know, I just distract myself until it hits me. I'll be having the time of life before my brain goes "your mom tried killing herself on her birthday, keep your tongue bitten and make sure you do what is said or she might try again because you didnt listen." Because at the end of the day, her and my step dads feelings matter more, not us. At the end of the day, what I say doesn't matter. At the end of the day, I'm just a puppet on a string the second I get home. I'm just a pawn, a doll, a goddamn blinded dog being led to my death. That's all I'll be, a slave and a floor mat. IT affects just me feeling in control of myself. It feels like a temporary mutism. I'm so afraid of the thought of getting that call saying that shes gone, that she didn't keep their promise. Death is unexpected, and depression is a damn monster.

I should've been ran over by both of those cars, I should've successfully hung myself in that garage, I should've been able to swallow down those pills, I should've been aborted like the unwanted child my biological dad saw in the first place. I. Shouldn't. Be. Here.

Before I laid down, my mom tried getting me to talk to her about how I felt. Wow, after every time I've heard her and my step dad say their feelings are to be prioritized more, I should open up? I couldn't even get through that minute without tearing up and turning my body to the side so that my mom couldn't see the pathetic child she raised.

"No.." I walked back to my room and then stopped "..er, no ma'am." And then went back to my room because all my mom wants to hear is that she implemented manners and raised "Good kids". Now I sit here wanting to sob my eyes out.

Because I feel guilty for not feeling guilty for shutting my mom out after years of being invalidated and talked down because I'm "just a kid." Because at the end of the day, that's all I'll ever be to her. But she's had it worse. Do you really think she needs her kid telling her that they're stressed because of something that seems so miniscule compared to her ever growing problems? She needs something else to worry about as if she doesn't have enough to worry about enough? I can't do that to her.

I feel....like a monster. My mom and her boyfriend had just given me this lecture, and I just feel horrible about the whole thing. Lets start off with the fact this all originated from my birthday dinner, my sister told me that her mom and her siblings were leaving my father figure at the end of the month and that it would the last times we'd see each other and she said I cant tell anyone. I feel like the biggest hypocrite as to why i was so upset about this. I told my mom at least two days or so after, which led her to tell my father figure even though i feared what would happen if i told someone else. She said it was inappropriate for her to tell me on that day even though i saw no problem with it. After that, my sister stopped reaching out, and I felt like I had lost the ability to trust my mom. Things were just quiet and i blamed myself for the entire thing because I felt like it was my fault, even though everyone says it wasnt, but i still blame myself because if i didnt tell my mom, it wouldnt have happened. Then my sister reached out to me and i told my mom and she tried asking for screenshots of the conversation, but I feel so so so uncomfortable with the thought of it, so i told her no. She asked again and I said "didn't you say that the last time?" and she got upset and called me selfish. How I can trust my sister after she hurt me on multiple accounts but not her. She thinks she right and I honestly think im the wrong one in this situation, that its my fault because i cant keep my damn mouth shut. But fails to realize that it's easier to trust her because I don't see her everyday, she can forget it. I live with my mom everyday and live with each mistake and each time my step dad tells me the things I do or lack make her feel shitty about herself. She said shes not going to apologize for it, she thinks shes right. Im just a kid, and she's the parent. She wants control - no, needs it over the situation, or else she starts self-deprecating, and god knows what happens if it gets bad. Im afraid of what would happen if it did get bad.

-Dxllface

[lavalamplana]

It's always something.

I don't know what to do with myself. I met this amazing guy and our relationship seemed to be progressing wonderfully. It's like we've hit a wall.

The sex issues aside, I'm mainly concerned that I feel like my emotions are increasingly being invalidated. I feel like he projects his uncomfortable feelings onto me and I'm not sure how to hold them. I don't want to hold his feelings. I have my own to deal with.

I feel extremely disconnected from him and I don't really feel like he's very interested in me much anymore. It's very depressing. I can feel myself detaching from him and the situation, trying to mentally prepare for the loneliness and isolation. I'm not sure how this is going to work.

The whole thing makes me want to cry. I feel so undesirable but I know it's not really my fault. I feel boxed in and cornered yet like I still have great expectations to do specific things which I cannot figure out. I feel frozen and confused. I'm not sure where to move next. I just feel like with each step I take, no matter the direction, ultimately I make it worse. It's not my intent but it's continuing to seem to be my result.

I just feel numb. The more this progresses the less it feels right. It's very disappointing. I don't like that he's beginning to keep score either. I just feel trapped under the threat of it all. I don't necessarily want to abandon ship, but this isn't feeling fun anymore. It should feel fun. It's only been three months! It's so ridiculous. I don't feel happy or excited anymore. I feel a dull sensation of an impending doom which I don't want to acknowledge right now. I'd prefer to avoid it, but I know that's gotten me into trouble in the past as well.

I'm trying to address these things head on, but I don't seem to be getting to the right place. It just feels worse. Last night was not an enjoyable conversation and I wanted reassurance from that conversation and I did not get it.

I'm trying not to overthink things but I'm feeling a recurring feeling of my feelings and emotions being dismissed. And I feel like when I mention that or bring it up, he does gaslight me into "oh well that's not what I meant," like okay, sure, but regardless of his intention, it is how I feel. My feelings are valid. It's kind of miserable actually right now.

The worst part is I can't even find it in me to cry tears. I feel emotionally shut off. I hate that even more. I can't emotionally connect to him at all. What is wrong with me? I feel like something within me is turned on like it's supposed to be.

I think what's worse is sex is a form on intimacy and because I'm unable to connect with him in that way, I'm very much struggling.

[thoughtsofchamomile]

Understanding Love

First of all, this is not about KathNiel’s breakup, although I am really affected by it too.

Even when I was younger, I often hear the statement, “love is not enough”. I believed it too, but I didn’t understand it back then.

I always believed how strong and powerful love is. Because it pushes you to do things you never imagined yourself doing. Love is a noun and a verb. It is also an adjective because God is love. Love is a glue that binds everyone together, and at the same time a fire that destroys everything in a small amount of time.

Love is so powerful that it could even kill you.

But love could change you. It could bring either the best or the worst out of you.

They say love is blind. Because when you are in love all you see is the good things in the person, in or out. We tend to disregard the toxic behaviors of the person we love. Sometimes, their physical appearance as well.

I craved for a love that is a complete opposite of what I see in my parents.

I used to think that the most visible expression of love is the act of kindness and goodness. I also believe, until now, that the most important thing in a person is the heart. It’s being good (well, next to love because I do not believe there is goodness in the absence of love. When we love, everything follows).

Nothing is better than being good to people.

So I always taught myself that in looking for a partner, I should never look for wealth, but for heart alone. Because money can be earned anytime. I was not sent to a good school to be a housewife one day. I am proud I am not a gold digger, and was sure that I can earn my own money.

So it happened.

Reuben and I were together for more than four years. We were together in my entire college years.He is a good man, and I’m proud he is. He loves me very much. He is faithful. Most importantly, he is a Christian… But only in religion. He is jobless, and he just got back to school last three years. He is not rich.

At first, I thought it’s fine.

I understand he has no money and I appreciate his small gifts every occasion, although not consistently, but I appreciate. If he can make an effort to give me gifts even he has nothing, what more could he give when he has something? Ever since when we go out, I spent all the time, and it’s fine. During the pandemic, I didn’t really need the money, though I have a little. And I did appreciate how he stayed by my side even at the lowest point of my life when I struggled with depression and anxiety, and always wanted to die.

He was with me. When I thought nobody was, he is. Even we don’t see each other all the time, he is there. And I appreciated.

But then eventually, a lot of things happened, a lot had changed. My needs have changed. I need his presence more than everything else. I even offered to spend for everything, just so he can suffice my needs. It worked, but not very well. He started to treat me differently. He started making excuses all the time. He could not prioritize me anymore. He always got reasons. He is often irritated, then be sorry later on. At some point, he is not him anymore, he is not the person I used to love before. He’ll be sorry but manipulate things, gives lame reasons and often reprimands me. He started invalidating my feelings.

We broke up and get back again all the time. Because he could not keep his promises. He is not a man of his word. Nor a provider or a leader or a man I used to know.

I was not blinded by his red flags, I know I didn’t deserve it. And in return, even I remained as sweet as candy, my heart turned cold. I always find fault in him. I count his wrongs, unintentionally, because I tried not to make a big deal about it, but a small move creates a huge impact when piled up.

This is how I understand why love is not enough.

A relationship built with love is a good seed, but with not enough water and sunlight, it could not grow.

A relationship is like a plant, it has its own needs (good soil, water, and sunlight) to be sustained constantly. A relationship does not circle in love alone. It should always have trust, respect, and everything each person needs. People have desires other than love. The persons who belong to a relationship should acknowledge and honor these needs. And most importantly, a relationship needs God to fix each other’s fault. He will cut your withered leaves and watch over you. A God-centered relationship is something I used to dream. And I thought having a born again boyfriend is the answer, but no. A religion of person does not define true Christianity.

So I realize now, with all that been said, that love can really be enough to sustain a relationship because God is love. And we should surrender it all to Him. On the other hand, his graciousness and perfect will was enough indeed for this world, but the world did not accept Him. He is enough, but people chose something else.

In other words, I could say that love is enough. But it should be accompanied by actions.

Being good is also enough. But we can argue that people don’t stop being good while giving into temptations at the same time, because you are not defined but your mistakes. It is true. But this world is completely different from the ways of God. You see, being a good Christian means to be firm to not fall for sin. But all Christians sin every single day. It’s not fine, but God understands that humans are weak, that’s why His grace is sufficient for us, because His power is made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12).

It is impossible to live a life without God. Because God created life. He is life.

Therefore, when we feel that love is not enough, we should start assessing ourselves: “did I ever seek God’s will over mine?” If not, then we should pray harder! Repent and seek His will. Just think about every single move you make. It might go against the will of God without you realizing it.

We also have to understand that no relationship is perfect for us humans, we always have to seek God.

No person could ever comprehend the goodness of God, and His peace despite of imperfections.

Well, not all relationships are for a lifetime. Sometimes, it is also God’s will for us to love somebody but don’t end up with them. It is part of God’s plan for our progress and growth. And it is not a waste of time. And it definitely does not mean that love is not enough.

Be dependent on God.

[shi-kiori]

Note 11: Outbursts

Today, i've realized that neglect is a powerful friend yet enemy.

I feel like growing up, i had to get used to the fact that a lot of people surrounding me were emotionally unavailable or constipated in sharing affection and in expressing feelings. someone always had to do a grand outburst and suddenly it would be like that never happened. now that im older, im realizing that its those things that chain u in the neck as u mature.

my brother broke down today because of a break up in a serious relationship. it kind of rattled everyone at home. i couldnt even process what just happened only that i felt like i had to be there for him. but its the aftermath that i couldnt comprehend beyond me. i called my parents shortly after that to share and it didnt even feel like anything new at the fact that they were so quick to dismiss it and move on; that we couldn't do anything about it. and while it does hold truth to it, its that sweet, deceiving taste of neglect that lingers in my mouth as im typing this. im at a loss, i dont know how to make of what im feeling inside.

im angry, but i understand. im disappointed yet i understand. i feel like i want to help though i understand why i shouldnt.

i wanted to get so angry at my mom then and there because this is the exact reason why people like my brother break down so grandly. people at home dont know how to express feelings that are too intense, too sad, too angry. everyones so quick to dismiss and say its not a big deal. and this is the type of home ive grown up to. we can lie to each other and say that we are emotionally in-tune with each other but the simple truth is that we arent.

im....i want to say im frustrated but i cant even bring myself to be because its just happened so many times that it feels better to emotionally numb myself to people like my parents. theyre never gonna change the way they are and im not asking them to anyways. its just a weird pill to swallow when it happens to people like my brother who cries the way like the day he was born. it feels like all the air is punched out of ur lungs and u feel like ur on fire but the slow burning kind. i can vouch that its not any better.

all this childhood trauma just makes u laugh because of how cliche it is. emotionally distant parents, all the siblings struggling to empathize with one another and lastly, there being no space to talk about things, to unpack.

its probably the worst feeling in the world to lose control of the situation and thats how i felt earlier today. you almost want to just pinch a part of ur skin if its that whats gonna make u feel like ur holding on to something.

anyways, point in blank is that id have to admit that i was afraid for the first time, ever. i realized that he only felt that way and reacted that way was because nobody at home made him feel like it was ever okay to let it out in front of others. my parents say they do but from what ive seen all theyve ever done for my brother in times like that was make him feel like his relationship problems are nothing major. and while there is truth to that, ive learned that it does sound invalidating. and nobody ever wants to feel that way.

the eldest daughter saga continues for me, once again im forced to numb myself in the ice that is my family's emotions.

--end--