#but something about the new year i started journaling but in my own way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thatdeadaquarius · 11 months

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Have some more language brainrot for your brainrot

Writer reader getting kind of insecure that even if they write something nobody will understand it, so when Al haithem askes you if he can keep a draft or two just for analyzing, there's hesitant agreement but ultimately you tell him to please burn the documents once he's done. They're too awkward to look at now...

Only he doesn't burn them, in fact he ends up recruiting several people close to the creator with knowledge of olden speak to analyze them. A funeral parlor consultant well known for his historical knowledge, a 500 year old shrine maiden who owns and runs her own publishing house, and a bard who somehow butted his way in on the project. None of them could resist the opportunity to witness the creator's sacred scriptures with their own eyes.

Needless to say, the papers ended up being fought over and have been making their rounds around your acolytes. It started with Ei, who insisted that as an archon she also should see the creator's work with her own eyes. Then once Ningguang found out, she ordered they be handed over to a team of literary analysts in order to be properly handled and deciphered. Things got really messy quick, but have luckily come to a halt as none of the acolytes want the creator to know their random writings are being fought over.

Especially when it comes to the creator's sullen additute. Their acolytes first have to convince their holiness that their inability to read and understand the creator's writing shouldn't prevent you from doing what you love. In fact... could they convince you to write some more?

WRITER OR READER WITH TALENTS HAS MY WHOLE HEART LIKE-

On one hand, same 💀 id be terrified for my all time fav skrunklies to see my bs

But at the same time i rlly wanna show them goddamit- THANK U FOR THE BRAIN FOOD IM RUNNING LAPS AROUND MY HOUSE THINKING ABT THIS-

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them), Writer!Reader

Planet: Language Shenanigans

Orbit: Scenario

Stars: Alhaitham mostly, some of Kaveh, mentions of other Sumeru characters

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Insecure about craft/writing, anxious first pov (not serious),

& Trigger Warnings: Mild Negative self-talk, insecure perspective/reader “you”, possible anxiety depiction.

You were not a very confident writer.

This had been an avoidable feeling ever since you picked up a pen for the first time and were asked to write a story for school.

You were always anxious turning in essays, letting friends proofread them, anything that would expose your writing to more eyes, because you’d learned the hard way early on that as you get older and better at something, the stuff from the beginning… starts to look a lot different than you remember.

things you used to be proud of after having completed them in the moment, were something you struggled not to rip to shreds a year or two after you re-found it.

If it weren’t for other writers advising holding onto old work so you can see your progress over time, you’d have probably literally nothing older than one year on your ao3, wattpad, etc…

So when you had the fortunate luck (no it is not unfortunately, you are very happy to be here tbh) to fall headfirst into your video game you’ve been obsessed with lately,

You were not planning on showing them any of your writing.

Why would you, after all? You’ve got the weapons, the artifacts, everything they need to be more powerful. Why would you show them a silly little story you wrote? Fanfic or otherwise, not that theyll recognize any characters besides themselves, but still.

Alhaitham, bc ofc it was alhaitham, cocky, deviously aware bastard he is, caught you writing in your spare time first.

You’d gotten your hands on an old journal (if made you feel better than something completely new, a nice worn leather journal, sold at a secondhand shop from an old adventurer) and had started to write what you could remember about some of your ideas you’d had drafts for in your old world

After initially walking in on you writing in the House of Daena (it was the closest you could get to lofi girl, god u missed her lmao), you nearly jumped a foot in the air bc Haitham’s a nosy bitch and leaned over your shoulder and scared the absolute shit out of you, mans goes from asking politely, to begging you to let him read some of your writing over the course of 3 weeks (a month really)

Finally, after this 6 ft (about 180cm) man leans down one day (you’re sitting writing again), and gives you the most insanely good?? puppy dog eyes??? you’ve ever seen on a man???

you give in, revise a draft about 5 times in a row, lose sleep bc ur having a breakdown about alhaitham judging ur writing the night before you give him his copy-

and hand over a small short story for him to read. you specifically leave a little note not to judge you so hard for Haitham bc u werent used to people reading ur work/let alone someone as highly academic as him, ESPECIALLY since your speech is already so much more archaic than his/all of Teyvats-

His stupid green eyes with diamonds look into your soul (are they sparkling??) and he braces your shoulders after you give him his copy,

“Mine Greatest Guide, you hath deemed this one worthy of thy trust of your creations personally, I would be a fool to gaze upon it in jest. To take this work as anything less than a masterpiece in its infant stages.”

…you just leave him to it, and are nearly running out of there (u managed to be calm enough to just speedwalk),

and you make a point to not ask what he thought about it, or even bring it up at all

you’re kind of hoping he forgot tbh… and so nothing happens!

◇

Nothing happens… for 2 weeks after you gave Haitham a copy of your short story.

You still don’t know Alhaitham’s opinion when you see the advertisement, a sign saying something about, a new book? By YOU???

You nearly start a mob because the shopkeeper insisted you sign some copies, but you only signed a few before too many people overwhelmed you, and seeing it was that same draft- !! Oh god, you’d been agonizing over the spelling errors you’d missed when you gave it to Alhaitham, and now it’s just out there???

(luckily it seems the reviews are positive, but dammit you’ve been rereading ur story u gave him for days, and now ur positive it’s shit-)

You make a break for it, and are literally running (more like speed-walking after a while, since u got further away) thru Sumeru City:

you pass by the open patio of a restaurant, the scholars are heatedly discussing ur characterization-

you pass by Dehya, Candace, and Dunyazard, the merc is waving around a copy of ur book, the other two women look excited abt the conversation-

oh my god-

Nahida is relaxing in one of the many little gazebos thruout Sumeru, while Wanderer seems to be reading your story to her-

You fucking track down Alhaitham’s house like a bloodhound.

You are banging the infamous gay roommates’ front door, panting til ur throat burns raw.

“Yes, yes, alright, greetings to you too! I was simply visiting the Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham, tis why I’m here- Greatest Lord?!”

Kaveh is nearly jumps a foot in the air at the sight of you, but recovers, (you’re still not tho lmao)

and invites you in bc apparently, Alhaitham’s been meaning to talk to you about your draft you gave him!

Oh yeah, you’ve got some words to give Haitham after giving him that damn draft privately-

But when he sees you, the fucker just- smiles??

Like he’s done nothing wrong???

You’re about to tear into him when he speaks first to tell you the good news!

He grabs your hands at the table and gets down on one knee, ohhhh no.

Alhaitham is giving you those damn begging puppy dog eyes again.

“My Greatest Lord, Giver of Power, and Guide to All, your exquisite story has entranced all of Teyvat, might I please insist you write a sequel? It is an excellent literary piece to analyze… or perhaps, even better, share other stories you’ve written??”

…

….Motherfucker.

☆

Hello I’m alive! I just took a longer-than-usual break between posts from those last 2 mammoth pieces about gifts,

1: bc they were a lot to write in between writing other stuff like fanfics im already working on lol 2: I got busy with holidays and trying to apply to jobs!

Not that I’m still not doing that.. but you get what I mean!

Safe Travels Anon,

That being said, as you’ve probably noticed, I’ve made a kofi! so if you ever liked my writing (hot mess it is) and want to show me some love, feel free to leave a tip! :]

Iced coffee?? :0

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

#hello i live #i just took a longer than normal break between posting bc the gifts were vv big and i had holidays/job searching to do #which i am still looking #but its better now #also gonna start linking my kofi if anybody is feeling generous! :]#sagau #genshin sagau #genshin isekai #my asks #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact isekai #genshin x reader

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beegalactica · 5 months

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How I journaled every day in 2023, and you can too in 2024

I heard someone wants to become "that girl" in 2024...

Well, let me tell you, "that girl" is the type of babe who embodies consistency; consistency in her thoughts, feelings, words and actions. Now one of the ways I have personified this aura of consistency is through frequent inward reflection through journaling.

I know, we've heard it a million times now. And with the new year approaching, it's so easy to set the intention to journal every day and do it well. News flash, my love, you must do much more than just set the intention. Let me tell you how I did it so you can do the same ~

Equipment

Believe me, I've tried it all: countless notebooks, diaries, bullet journals, apps, all of it, but this past year, only one app *stuck* for me, and that is Notion. Whether you prefer to journal with a good old pen and paper, or even if you prefer to make a big Google document, go for it!

The reason I settled on Notion was its table view/ calendar view database features. I liked being able to add properties like what rating out of 5 I would give my day or being able to label whether I was on my period, or any major milestones. I found that these labels made it really fun to look back and laugh at all the crazy things that I came up with, and reminisce over those 5/5 star days when I really felt like that girl. (see example below)

What the hell do you write about?

"You can write about whatever you feel like!" is the usual response, and while that's great if you're anything like me, you'll need more detail than that. I opted for some classic prompts that I would simply respond to at the end of every day, but if you want to freestyle it, try some shadow work prompts, or even just sum up your day in one sentence, you are more than welcome to.

My prompts were:

1. Three wins of the day: 2. One thing I learned today: 3. One thing I will do tomorrow: 4. Am I worried about anything? 5. Favourite thing of my day: 6. Song of the day: 7. A story from today: 8. An affirmation for my mind to sleep on:

You don't have to write paragraphs upon paragraphs if you don't want to, and some days, it might be hard to even think of three wins, but an it girl can be present and celebrate the endless blessings in life, even when it seems like there are none.

How to be consistent?

Going back to the central theme of this post, consistency, it is important to acknowledge that no matter how pretty you make your journal, or how thought-provoking your prompts are, the most important thing is to actually do it.

Life is fluid, it's never going to be linear. Some days you'll feel amazing, gorgeous and ready to take on anything, but other days you'll just wish you were a flower instead that doesn't have to deal with anything. That's just life. Some days, the last thing on my mind was my silly little journal, but I knew it was something I needed to do for myself, so I took 2 minutes to write a few sentences down, even when I'd rather be doing other things.

How to maintain your consistency:

Set reminders - at the start of the year, I had 2 reminders every day to journal; after the first few months, I cut it down to just one at 9pm, and by the end of the year, I was just doing it because it had become a routine for me.

Reward yourself - at first, you'll just be able to say you journaled for 1 day, then it will be 2 days, then slowly up to 1 week, 1 month, and soon you'll be like me, bragging about how you did it for a whole year! It's an accomplishment! Never lose sight of that.

Be kind to yourself - ultimately, this should be something you do for you and you only, so if you miss a day, it's not the end of the world. Every now and then, I didn't journal for a day - maybe I was too busy, or just exhausted by the time my day was over - so I accepted it and caught up first thing the next day. You make your own rules.

JUST START!!!!!!! - do it! Even if you mess up, start again and again and again! Nothing changes if nothing changes.

What's the point?

You've read this far, and you may be wondering, what's the point of journaling?

Well, I can confidently say that journaling changed my outlook on life immensely. 2023 was the best year I've had so far. Yes, there were setbacks: I lost friends that I thought would have forever, I struggled with my mental and physical health, and I reached points where I thought I was too low to get back up. But recording little bits about my day every day showed me, with actual tangible proof, that I will always get back up. I also had some amazing moments this year: I started a whole new school and era of my life, I made amazing friends, I fell in love with myself again and I found my voice.

Journaling has helped me to see the little positives in everyday life. Even when a situation seemed absolutely awful and I thought that I could never recover from it, I developed the mindset that not only could I recover, but I would absolutely recover. This new mindset helped me to laugh at myself in moments when a previous version of me would've shrivelled up into a ball and disappeared from the outside world.

Looking back over my life these past 365 days has helped me cultivate a new outlook on life, where I don't see setbacks as obstacles or barriers to my success, but as little stories to journal and laugh about when I inevitably overcome them. If that isn't the most it girl attitude to have, then I don't know what else is!

Journaling changed my life, and I hope that it can change yours too! Happy 2024! 🎀

#lifeblr #girlblogging #journal #journalling #girlblogger #becoming that girl #that girl #it girl #self improvement #new year new me #new year new you #goal setting

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writingpastmybedtime · 4 months

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Cinderella AU

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x f!Reader

Summary: The classic Cinderella AU. It's heavily inspired by the Disney live-action remake, but with a few tweaks here and there.

Word Count: 8k, oops..?

Warnings: None, except for extra cute Prince Sebastian.

A/N: It’s my first time writing for Seb at this length & I'm kind of proud of how it turned out. Oh, and I gave Sebastian the nickname 'Bash'. Hope you love it as much as I do!<3

Once upon a time, or however the story begins, there lived a girl named Y/N. She was the most beautiful thing in her parents’ eyes and held the kindest heart. They lived happily in a secluded small mansion. They weren’t the richest per se, but they could keep up with the house and even had a few workers in the kitchen and garden.

As time went by, the girl discovered a passion for music and playing the piano. Her sweet melodies often graced the halls of the house, and whenever she wasn’t behind the piano, she had her face buried deep in a journal, writing down every last thought that had occurred to her that day.

Alas, the time that had passed had also come bearing sombre news. The little girl’s mother had fallen ill with a disease so rare, there was nothing left to do but wait. Those three months spent waiting were the hardest for the girl, as she was always staying beside her mother’s bed, reading to her, brushing her hair, and playing lovely tunes on the piano to soothe her mother’s mind.

It wasn’t until one night, that the clock in the writing room, which her mother so deeply loved, stopped working and the house suddenly grew more quiet.

Years passed, and Y/N grew even more beautiful. She was always happy and kind, helping out everyone around the house and being there for her father. Y/N’s father was a merchant, so it was not uncommon that he had many trips abroad and many foreign friends. He had a certain way with him, his friends even called him a man of many words. He always found a way to insert an inspirational quote into whatever conversation was going on. His personal favourite, however, was a quote about courage.

Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.

“Darling, would you accompany me to the garden?” Her father asked her. Of course, she followed him with a smile on her face. He began to tell her of a widowed woman, with two daughters just a few years older than Y/N. He explained that he’d known the woman's late husband, having met him many times on his travels.

“They need a place to stay and they need a sense of security,” he began shyly, before continuing. “I think I can offer them that, I think we can offer them that.”

Y/N smiled as she took her father's hands in hers. “Father, if it’s something that would make you happy, it would make me even happier.” He smiled at her and pulled her into a hug.

Madam Deveraux was a widowed noblewoman with two daughters, Arabella and Isadora. The Madam herself was mostly reserved and you could never tell what she was thinking just by looking at her. Her gaze always remained strong, even when the death of her dear husband crushed her spirit. As months passed after the tragic death, the demeanour of Madam Deveraux changed. Once just a composed and modest lady, was now hardened at heart, with only one true goal. To see her two daughters succeed and be wed off to rich husbands, no matter the cost.

Arabella, the eldest daughter was certainly pretty on the eyes, however, she had a mouth to her that diminished her beauty to a certain degree. Never afraid to speak her mind and even once in a while throw in a more vulgar term here or there. She was fascinated with all kinds of different adult romance books - that’s where she probably learned those indecent phrases. She also loved to draw, but truth be told, she wasn’t really any good at it.

Isadora, like her sister, was also beautiful in her own way. She certainly wasn’t as crude as her sister, but still had a peculiar sense of self. Her ego was probably the biggest between the three of them. Every reflective surface she saw made her gaze at herself longingly, always fixing her hair or makeup. Always whispering sweet affirmations to herself. She knew she was the prettiest person, whenever she walked into a crowded room. Even if the snobby personality sometimes made her mother’s eyes roll.

After a few weeks, it was time again for Y/N’s father to take his leave. Y/N felt crushed, and a sense of dread filled her heart, making her father promise that he’d return.

Unfortunately, on his travels back from overseas, Y/N’s father fell ill and was never able to return to her. It saddened her deeply, but due to her chores, given to her by her step-mother, she didn’t have time to dwell on her grief.

Months passed, with her chores growing bigger and bigger. She had given up her bedroom because Arabella and Isadora were too cramped up in their own smaller one. Unfortunately for Y/N, instead of getting the smaller room for herself, she had to stay in a storage room right next to the kitchen. It wasn’t the most tedious place to be, for someone somewhere must’ve had to have even worse living conditions. That thought kept her appreciating her commodities and trying to tidy up the tiny storage room as best as she could.

“Y/N, could you be a dear and help your sisters with their dresses?” Madam Deveraux’s cold voice could be heard from upstairs, as Y/N was just finishing up setting the table in the kitchen. Sighing, but still with a smile on her face, the girl walked upstairs to assist her step-sisters. Arabella was tugging Isadora’s corset, to make it more tight, as Isadora was standing near the mirror letting out gasps of air.

“A little bit of help, please?” Isadora asked in her saccharine voice, looking at Y/N through her mirror. Y/N nodded and took over from Arabella, pulling and pulling until the corset was perfectly on Isadora’s body.

“Hmm, I look good, don’t you think so?” Isadora spun around, now in her huge pink sparkling dress, which did not do her beauty any justice. Y/N, however, was not one to judge. She just smiled lightly and nodded.

“Pfft, as if you had any sense of style,” Isadora went to grab her rings, before putting them on her dainty fingers. Her brown hair was curled in an updo and she had put on a plethora of perfume, that was way too sweet, but ironically, fit her perfectly.

“Hah, you’re right sissy, this wench does not know anything about fashion. I mean look at how she’s dressed right now.” Arabella looked at Y/N from head to toe, her face grimacing. Y/N lowered her head to look at her grey dress. Yes, it wasn’t as fancy as the gowns on her step-sisters, but it had belonged to her mother. The grey dress made her feel some kind of sanity, running around doing chores for the Deverauxs’. Picking invisible lint from the pocket of her skirt, the step-sisters just laughed at how humiliated Y/N looked.

“Yes, you do look absolutely atrocious as of late,” Isadora smirked as Arabella grinned, taking joy in embarrassing Y/N. “You’re just plain ugly,” the eldest sister managed to get out before laughing.

“Here, take this, go buy yourself something prettier,” Isadora scoffed as she handed Y/N three silver pieces. You could not get anything fairly pretty with that kind of sum. Y/N had given up on pretty dresses a while ago, being content with the ones her mother had left her. She shook her head at the silver coins, not accepting the pity donation.

“Fine have it your way, I was just trying to be nice,” Isadora threw the silver pieces on the floor as Arabella snorted in an unladylike manner. “Now leave, as I remember correctly Mama wanted you to go down to the forest to pick up some flowers for the gathering tonight.”

Y/N nodded to the girls, before hastily leaving the room, blinking back tears. She had grown accustomed to their derogatory comments, but that didn’t mean a part of her always ached at their remarks. Never had she been anything, but good and friendly towards the girls and their mother. She shook her head, as if to shake it clear from the depressing thoughts and picked up a dark-brown wooden basket from the kitchen table.

The walk from the house to the forest was always Y/N’s favourite. As soon as the house with the hectic people inside of it disappeared from her field of view, a certain kind of calmness filled Y/N. It was as if she could finally breathe without restrictions. Even the world around her seemed a little bit more saturated. Birds were flying around, singing their beautiful songs; it was spring after all. Y/N started to hum a melody she used to love to play the most on her piano.

Y/N twirled around and smiled, suddenly feeling joyous and elated. She closed her eyes, still twirling, liking the feel of the afternoon sun on her face. A total bliss. Suddenly, when taking her last twirl, she felt her foot get stuck on a tree root and braced herself for a fall.

However, the fall did not come.

Instead, strong hands had grasped her waist, holding her a few centimetres off the ground. Y/N finally opened her eyes, the sun making her squint a little before finally her vision was back in focus. She was looking into blue eyes. Into the most gorgeous blue eyes she’d ever seen. Serene, deep blue eyes, that she could get lost in. That she did get lost in.

“Miss, are you alright?” Y/N blinked, before realising the man was still holding her. She stumbled to get out of his grasp, before wiping her dress from invisible dirt. Her cheeks flushed pink, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you..?” Y/N said, waiting for the person’s name to finish her sentence. To thank him personally. She now had time to look at the man that had so gracefully caught her. He had brown medium-length hair, which seemed abnormally soft and Y/N wished she could tread her fingers through it. The man smiled, no grinned rather, and Y/N was taken aback by how handsome this stranger looked.

“You really don’t know who I am?” The man chuckled and Y/N shook her head quizzically. Was she supposed to know him? She browsed through her brain, wondering who this man could be; maybe she’d met him before. But no, she’d remember him. She could never forget those eyes.

Y/N saw a peculiar look in his gaze before his grin grew even bigger and he introduced himself. “My name’s Bash,” he said, and Y/N furrowed her brows, but smiling nonetheless.

“That’s a peculiar name,” she spoke, before realising her comment was nowhere near acceptable nor did it come off as friendly. The man, Bash, as she’d learned, let out a genuine laugh at the comment. Y/N felt embarrassed and was about to apologise before he stopped her.

“I like your candour,” he smirked. “It’s actually a nickname. A name that my father calls me whenever I haven’t done anything to upset him.” Y/N smiled, no longer feeling embarrassed, but just a little bit of something else. A strange warm feeling was creeping up in her chest.

“Well, thank you, Bash, for catching me. And I’m sorry you even had to, I’m not normally so clumsy.”

“It’s no problem, besides, what even is a beautiful girl like you doing out in these woods anyway?” Bash asked, not being able to take his eyes off Y/N. He’d never seen a girl so beautiful before. And ‘beautiful’ was not even enough to describe her.

“Oh, I’m just on my way to get flowers for a party later on. Which does remind me, that I should be on my way,” Y/N looked down at her basket, which she hadn’t fortunately dropped, when she had stumbled. Realisation hit her then, that he’d called her beautiful, but she couldn’t believe it. Perhaps she’d heard wrong?

“Do you work nearby?” Bash asked, his eyes still admiring her own. He did not want to leave her this soon after just meeting. But her duty called and truth be told, so did his. He wasn’t even supposed to be out here. He was out riding with his horse when suddenly he heard the most beautiful voice humming somewhere nearby. Having left his horse a few metres behind, was when he finally saw her. She was twirling and twirling and completely not noticing the tree root that was about to make her fall on the next twirl. Thankfully, he was fast and had caught her on time.

“Yes, I do. Are you from around here as well?” Y/N asked politely. Knowing that she should be going now, but his eyes were just too mesmerising, to not look away from, that she stayed grounded.

“I actually work at the castle,” he said, his eyes turning pink as if he was embarrassed about the notion. Y/N smiled at that. “Must be nice,” she thought out loud, as Bash just shook his head at her comment.

“Depending on the day, it can be a little bit too much sometimes.” Y/N nodded at that, trying to understand what it must be like working amidst hundreds of people. Working for royalty.

“Well, it’s like my father always taught me,” she began as she gave him the sweetest smile. “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.” Bash raised his eyebrow at that. “And do you feel like that?”

“Huh?”

“Do you feel seen?” He inquired, and Y/N shrugged. The question was raw - she hadn’t expected that. Did she feel seen? No, not as of late. But she couldn’t tell him that, now could she? She noticed the sun had turned just a tiny bit more golden and felt fear rush through her. She was supposed to be making supper for the Deverauxs and their guests.

“Look, it’s been wonderful having this chat with you, but I really must take my leave,” she nodded to him, taking her basket and turning around, completely forgetting about the flowers.

Bash felt a tinge of sadness in him, before nodding and giving her a final smile. “Well, it was wonderful making your acquaintance. I hope to see you again someday.” Y/N turned around at his voice. She nodded, grinning at him.

“So do I.”

“Soon,” Bash said and saw Y/N blush, before finally taking her leave.

She found some wild poppies just behind the house and hoped they’d do. Fortunately, Madam Deveraux only gave her a quizzical look, before dismissing her. She took a breath, thanking the gods that her step-mother did not freak out over the flower arrangement. All evening as she was making supper for everyone, her thoughts went back to the kind stranger she’d met.

Bash.

Y/N was browsing through the city fair, currently looking at new books she wished she could buy when suddenly a horn was heard above in the upper city. She glanced up from the booth towards the sound, seeing everyone gathering around.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” a man in a formal outfit began. Behind him stood many other men, dressed the same.

These were men from the castle, she concluded. Her thoughts went to Bash for a second, before focusing back on the man giving out the information.

“As requested by His Royal Highness, Prince Sebastian, there is to be a ball, for two weeks hence, in honour of him choosing a bride. As per his wishes, the ball is open to everyone in the country.”

Squeals and cheers were coming from every corner of the city at the news. Y/N suddenly felt very happy. Maybe this was her chance to see Bash again in the castle, after all, he did say he worked there.

Having made her way back home, she rushed to Madam Deveraux, who was sitting in the living room with Arabella and Isadora. The latter was playing the piano. Correction, trying to play, for Y/N, did not know it was possible to make that kind of noise on the delicate instrument.

“What has gotten you in a rush? Your dress is all dirty again,” Arabella scrunched her face, clearly disgusted by Y/N’s clothing once again.

“I was just in the city when they announced there is to be a ball in two weeks as the Prince is to finally choose a bride. It’s open to everyone.” She smiled as she saw Madam Deveraux jump up from the couch, her daughters following her. Suddenly they screamed and the two girls jumped around.

“I’m going to be the new princess,” Isadora squealed before Arabella nudged her on the shoulder.

“No, I am!” Arabella insisted before Madam Deveraux made them quiet down.

“Y/N, you have to go into town and get three beautiful dresses,” Madam Deveraux smiled at her, a new prosperous future in mind for her daughters. She knew they had to look their best to catch the eye of the Prince.

“Yes, yes I will. Thank you for letting me come with you.” Y/N said as she was about to leave back to the city, her mind joyous and excited. Madam Deveraux had finally accepted her as part of the family and she got to go to the ball as well.

“Come with us?” Madam Deveraux scoffed and raised her eyebrow. “Why in the seven hells do you think you’re coming with us?”

Y/N started to say something before she was rudely cut off.

“Nuh, uh-uh.” Madam Deveraux pointed her finger at Y/N. “You do not belong at events like these. You will not go, I forbid you.”

Y/N felt tears in her eyes, not understanding why she was being so mean to her.

“Oh, Mama, look. You’ve made the duckling cry.” Arabella snickered and Isadora laughed.

“But why? All I’ve ever done is be nice to you. I do all these chores, you ask of me, and more.” Y/N started shaking but was reluctant to let out real tears. They cannot see me cry, she thought to herself.

“Have you ever considered that you’re maybe just not enough? Not enough pretty, not enough smart,” Madam Deveraux took steps toward Y/N, placing a finger under her jaw, pulling Y/N to look at her. “You’re no one.” Madam Deveraux turned away, before muttering instructions that Y/N was to buy dresses for the three of them the following day.

TWO WEEKS LATER

After helping the Deveraux sisters into their beautiful ball gowns and doing their hair, Y/N watched them leave in a big beige carriage. Letting her shoulders shrug, she finally let out the tears she’d been holding in. Y/N had hoped to visit the ball as well, hoping to see the blue-eyed man who had taken over her thoughts.

Y/N heard footsteps behind her and her name being called, before turning around and seeing Anastasia, an older lady that she’d known all of her life. Anastasia was a neighbour, a lovely woman, who always took care of Y/N whenever it was needed. Anastasia did not like the way Madam Deveraux had started treating Y/N after her father died and even offered to let Y/N move in with her. However, Y/N always passed the opportunity down, saying that she made a promise to her mother and father to look after the house.

“My dear,” Anastasia came closer, taking Y/N’s hand and seeing the tear trails on her face. “Why are you not at the ball? Everyone’s invited.”

Y/N shook her head, before explaining that Madam Deveraux had forbidden her to attend the event. Anastasia pursed her lips, before muttering, more to herself than to Y/N.

“This will not do,” then louder, “this will not do at all.” She grabbed Y/N’s arm and started pulling her towards her house which was just a few minutes further away. “You will go to the ball, end of story.”

“But how? I have no horse to take me, let alone a carriage. Nor do I have a dress that is suitable for this kind of event.” Y/N saw Anastasia grin, before ushering her faster towards her house.

“Have courage, dear one. I will make sure you get everything.”

And just as Anastasia said, Y/N had it all. Anastasia was a well-endowed lady, who did not have the joy of getting to raise a daughter of her own. No, she was instead blessed with three sons. So it was mere luck, and perhaps a little bit of something else, that Anastasia had a beautiful periwinkle blue dress in her closet waiting to be worn. It fit Y/N perfectly as if it was made only for her to wear.

Anastasia did Y/N’s hair next, whilst explaining that she’d already talked with her personal chauffeur, who was to take Y/N to the ball.

“I cannot begin to thank you enough, Lady Anastasia,” Y/N had tears in her eyes, although this time they were there for another reason. Gratitude.

“Oh, stop it, dear. I’ve told you a thousand times to not call me that, it makes me feel old,” she grimaced, before helping Y/N into the carriage. As Y/N took a step, Anastasia saw her shoes, which looked worn out and definitely didn't go along with the dress. She muttered something under her breath, before looking at Y/N again.

“There’s something in a box inside the carriage. Make use of them. And make sure to dance.” Y/N furrowed her brows, trying to understand, before she took her seat and felt the carriage take off slowly. “But wait, what about Madam Deveraux and the step-sisters? Won’t they recognize me?” Y/N asked worriedly, looking back at the kind woman.

“Oh, don’t worry about something so trivial, my dear, it’s already been taken care of,” Anastasia winked, before remembering, “and before I forget, try to return at midnight. I cannot explain why, but it’s imperative that you do so. You have to be back when the clock strikes twelve.” With a smile, Anastasia stayed behind, waving at Y/N.

Y/N was a bit confused, even more so when she opened the box that was on the seat in front of her. Beautiful shoes, made out of iridescent glass, were inside the box. She gasped when she took one in her hand, not even feeling the weight of it, expecting it to be heavier. She slipped off her slippers, before trying on the glass shoes.

They fit perfectly. As if these shoes, just like the dress, were made just for her. Maybe Anastasia was a witch? No, that sounds too evil. Maybe she was her Fairy Godmother. Y/N chuckled at the silly idea of magic but still felt curious about the predicament she was in.

Y/N didn’t have enough time to dwell on the whereabouts of her dress and shoes before she saw the castle in front of her. Only a few minutes separated her from the majestic building.

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen,” she whispered to herself, looking longingly at the castle ahead.

The castle itself was beautiful. Y/N had never seen a building so marvellous in her life. Taking slow steps through the garden in front of the castle, she was in awe. Twirling around and trying to take it all in. The castle inside was just about the same. Mesmerising to the point of Y/N being left speechless. She imagined what it’d be like to live here. So in contrast to her current living conditions.

Before she knew it, she was standing behind a huge door, with two guards standing on each side of it. This must be the ballroom, she figured. She gave a nod and a curtsy to the guards before they nodded in return and opened the doors.

She heard the buzz of the voices first, before walking towards the balcony that was connected to the ground floor of the ballroom. About a hundred and fifty other people were mingling downstairs, not counting the guards and other workers.

She began to make her descent down the marvellous staircase, walking slowly, as if not to ruin the dress and not to stumble on her feet. She felt anxious, before reminding herself of her father's wise words again.

It was then that Bash saw her, from across the room. He’d been waiting for her for hours now. Hoping that she’d grace the castle with her beauty. And what a beauty she was, indeed. He was left bewildered when he saw her. She looked otherworldly.

She looked ethereal.

As if they were magnets, he felt an invisible string pull him towards her. He apologised to the princess currently in front of him and nodded to his father, before taking his leave and stepping onto the dance floor.

Y/N had just reached the last step when she noticed the crowd parting and giving her way. At the end of the tunnel of people, she saw him.

It was him, it was truly him.

Bash.

And oh, the way he looked at Y/N. As if she’d hung the stars in the sky.

He grinned when he was finally near enough to notice the sparkling eyeshadow on her eyelids and the pink tone of her lips.

“Wow, just wow,” Bash let out, scratching the back of his head. A habit of his, whenever he was nervous. “I’m speechless, really.” Bash said, before taking Y/N’s hand and placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, looking up. Y/N blushed heavily, still not having noticed the ballroom growing quiet. All she saw was him. He was wearing a dark blue suit, with small gold intricate details, that made him look regal. It was then, Y/N realised, he was probably not just a mere worker in a castle.

“Would you allow me this dance?” He said as he stood up straight again. Y/N nodded, not trusting her words at the moment. He took her hand gently on his, placing his other on her waist. The pull between them only grew, the magnetic feel forcing them to be as close as possible.

And then they danced. He was a wonderful leader, and fortunately for Y/N, she was not so bad herself on a dancefloor, having taken dance lessons in her youth. The pair only had eyes for each other, completely ignoring the looks they were getting all over the ballroom. Some were jealous, some were elated, and some were more than angry with the outcome happening right now.

Y/N grinned as Bash twirled her not once, but twice, and then made her fall into his arms. The song ended and they were both out of breath. Y/N felt Bash put a strand of hair behind her ear, looking longingly into her eyes. He leaned in, before closing his eyes and stopping himself.

“Come with me, I want to show you something,” Y/N nodded as he led her away from the dancefloor to the confines of a secluded room filled with high bookshelves. There were rows and rows of books. Y/N twirled around, taking it all in. She’d never seen bookshelves this high before.

They were in a library.

Sebastian noticed how Y/N smiled in awe as she took it all in. He just had a feeling she would like it.

“You didn’t tell me you were a prince, Prince Sebastian,” Y/N said when she turned around from admiring the thousands of books gracing the shelves. Bash chuckled.

“I told you I worked at the castle. Which is true,” Y/N narrowed her eyes before smiling.

“I just didn’t specify,” Bash said, a finality in his tone. Y/N then saw him truly as he was, as a future king.

A kind future king, she acknowledged.

“True,” she took another longing look at the bookshelves before something else caught her eye on the other side of the room.

There was a black grand piano, waiting to be played. Almost calling her name as she took steps towards it. Bash saw what her eyes had fixed on, a grin growing on his face.

“Do you play?” He asked as Y/N let her fingers slide tenderly across the black-and-white keys.

“I used to,” Y/N said honestly, still gazing longingly at the beautiful instrument in front of her. “I haven’t in a while, not since my father passed.” Bash looked at her sorrowfully, before whispering his condolences.

Sebastian took a seat in front of the piano, patting the place next to him. Y/N blushed before she obliged.

She watched Sebastian place his hands on the piano, pressing a few keys, which made the sweetest tune. She closed her eyes and hummed to herself when she heard him continue. Suddenly the sound stopped and she opened her eyes to come face to face with Bash.

“Your turn,” he whispered, his face was so close to hers, that she could feel his breath on her face. She blushed but shook her head.

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should.”

“I shouldn’t, really.”

“You should, really.”

“I will.” She said finally, seeing Sebastian grin before she placed her trembling hands on the keys.

She took a breath before letting her hands take over, the notes she played were familiar to her, never forgotten. Even if she hadn’t played them in so long. She let herself be carried by the tune, until at some point, there was a dialogue.

Sebastian had accompanied her on the piano, he was playing on his side, giving supporting yet beautiful notes to the ones she played. Y/N was enthralled and totally mesmerised by the music.

So was he. Before today, Sebastian was sure Y/N could not surprise him anymore. She was already perfect enough. But here she was, letting out a precious and delicate part of herself that not many could see. She trusted him. And he appreciated it more than Y/N could ever imagine.

Later on in their life, Bash would tell Y/N that this was the moment he fell in love with her.

As with all good things in life, the song came to an end, and Y/N removed her hands from the keyboard to her lap. Fidgeting with her fingers, as if suddenly ashamed of letting someone see her so bare.

Sebastian placed two fingers underneath her jaw, making Y/N look at him. Her eyes were so vulnerable, that he wanted to fix everything in her life. Not knowing anything about her, but vowing to himself that he’d do anything and everything in his power to make sure she was happy at all times.

Their faces were close again, just one small nudge, and he could feel her lips on his. Y/N saw as Bash’s gaze moved from her eyes to her lips, hers following the action. They were so–so close. Sebastian nudged Y/N’s nose with his own as if asking for permission. Y/N closed her eyes and grinned, him doing the same, and just as their lips were about to meet, Y/N heard the clock strike.

Her eyes flew wide open and she pulled away. Looking at the clock behind them, she realised she was running out of time.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” Y/N said apologetically, coming to stand. Bash followed immediately, wanting to grasp her arm, but not wanting to overstep.

“You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I’ve had the time of my life, truly.” She started walking away, fast. Sebastian was bewildered, not understanding what went wrong.

“Why are you in a hurry?” He asked, giving her a smile to try to ease the sudden tension in the room.

“It’s hard to explain, I don’t even understand it myself. But I made a promise,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. Bash was trailing behind her; they still weren’t out of the confines of the library. “I don’t break my promises.”

“Then promise me, we will meet again,” Sebastian told her, as he saw her quicken the pace. She was at the door now. The door that connected to the ballroom. The door that would bring them back to reality. She gave him one last look over her shoulder, grinning at him the way she’d never before when she finally whispered so only he could hear.

“Goodbye, Prince Sebastian.”

She took off and Sebastian followed. He felt his pulse quicken in his chest, for he had been so close to telling her that he’d chosen her as his bride.

And she’d used his full name. Not the nickname he’d given her.

Bash felt dread creep up on him. This wasn’t supposed to end like this.

And that’s when he realised he didn’t know her name. All this time together, and he had forgotten to ask the simplest of questions.

She had passed the ballroom now and Sebastian tried his hardest to catch up. With his luck, though, what with being the prince and all, he wasn’t so quick. Girls touched him and pulled him into them, everyone trying to score a chance at a dance with the Prince Sebastian.

Sebastian muttered countless apologies, before finally getting free of the wandering hands and quickening his pace towards her.

Y/N tried to run as fast as she could. Suddenly she stumbled and one of her glass shoes had fallen off. She looked behind herself and saw Bash following her, even if he was a bit farther behind. She did not have time to go back for the shoe, trying to get the other one off her foot, while still running.

She finally made her way to her carriage, letting it drive away. In her last glance towards the castle, she saw Bash picking up her glass shoe, holding it to his chest, and looking longingly towards the carriage. She blinked and felt moisture on her cheeks. She was devastated by leaving him, but he was a prince. He was the Prince Sebastian and she was just a commoner. A maid, if she could be called even that as of late. However, the feeling was bittersweet, as she’d have memories of this night to remind herself for the years to come.

The way his hands had felt, the way he had looked at her, the way his breath had made goosebumps on her skin when his nose brushed against hers.

The carriage dropped her off at her house, and she hastily made her way into her small room. As she changed into her other dress, the grey one that was her mother's, she noticed that her periwinkle dress was gone. She had just hung it up in her closet, but it was nowhere. She looked again and again, pulling out every other dress in her closet, but nothing.

It was as if it was never even there.

All that remained, which reminded her of the evening spent with the Prince, were her memories and the small glass shoe on the ground in her closet. Reminders, that she hadn’t imagined her time in the castle and that it had been real.

It was quiet until she heard voices coming from the hallway. Annoyed voices.

“I cannot believe, we didn’t get to dance with the Prince,” Isadora said grumpily, sitting down at the dining room table with a disappointed look. “All because of that stupid girl in that pretty dress.”

“At least I touched him,” Arabella closed her eyes, trying to remember the feel of his shoulder beneath her fingers. “He was so firm,” Arabella continued to daydream and took a seat next to her sister. Madam Deveraux was the last to arrive in the room, taking note of Y/N and how bubbly she suddenly looked.

She had a certain spring in her step, when she finally brought the food on the table, for them to eat. Madam Deveraux raised her eyebrow, eyeing Y/N thoroughly, but not saying a word. She thought Y/N would be more devastated at not having had the opportunity to attend the ball.

Something was going on. And she did not like it one bit.

Y/N spent the rest of her evening writing everything down in her diary. She wrote of every minute spent in the castle and her time with the Prince. Mostly, she wrote of the Prince.

It was a month after the ball when Y/N went to her room to check her closet. She had a peculiar feeling in her chest as if something were amiss. Her diary had been exactly where she’d left it, but to her surprise the glass shoe was missing. Y/N looked around her closet, but it was nowhere in sight.

“Are you looking for this?” She heard the cold voice of Madam Deveraux from the doorstep, before looking at her quizzically. “It’s a wonderful little thing, isn’t it.” Madam Deveraux said, looking at the shoe in her hand and then at Y/N. “Do you even know that there’s a countrywide search for whoever wore these shoes to the ball?”

Y/N was surprised, for she did not know the Prince was looking for her. Mostly because she hadn’t even been out of the house these previous weeks. Madam Deveraux had been giving her more chores than she could manage and now she figured out why.

“I won’t even begin to ask where you acquired such a thing, for I simply do not care.” Madam Deveraux hit the glass shoe on the wall next to her, making Y/N gasp and let out a weak ‘no’.

Madam Deveraux smirked, taking pleasure in Y/N’s sorrowful state. “It’s only a matter of time before they knock on our door. And you will not be a part of this household when they ask. It’s only me, Arabella and Isadora.” She grinned darkly, looking at Y/N sitting on the floor, tears in her eyes.

“Do you understand? Do you now, finally, understand that sometimes a person of your stature is just not enough?” Y/N whimpered as Madam Deveraux closed the door of her room, locking it behind her.

Y/N looked around herself, she had approximately enough food in her room to last her a few days, but she had finally accepted her fate. She would never see Bash again.

It was the afternoon of the next day when Madam Deveraux heard knocking on her door. She placed on her most pleasant smile and opened the door wide, to be met with the new King’s chancellor.

“Hello, we are here on behalf of His Majesty the King, to try to find his beloved. Are there any ladies in your household, to whom this shoe might belong?” The man in a dark blue suit asked, showing Madam Deveraux the glass shoe she was all familiar with.

Madam Deveraux was thrilled. She had ordered her daughters to lotion their feet daily and to try to squish them into smaller shoes, for she had to be sure that one of them would find their place near the King.

Arabella was first, as was expected of the eldest daughter. She let out a bunch of profanities while trying on the shoe, pushing and pulling the glass to try to fit into it. “One more time,” she said, her face completely red from the puffing and huffing.

“Oh, give up already,” Isaroda said, whilst nudging her sister, making her fall and catching the shoe in her hand.

As expected, it didn’t fit her either.

Madam Deveraux was absolutely annoyed with her daughters, completely disappointed in their incompetence.

“I am sorry for wasting your time, Madam Deveraux,” the chancellor said, as he was stepping out of the house. Just as he was about to get back on his horse, there was humming to be heard.

The loveliest voice was humming a tune somewhere in the house. Madam Deveraux’s eyes shot up, trying to close the door behind her.

The chancellor raised an eyebrow. “Is there someone else in the house with you?”

Madam Deveraux smiled smugly, however slightly shaken with the idea of the kingsmen hearing Y/N’s humming. She shook her head.

“No, there is no one, but me and my two daughters.”

“You’re lying,” said a strong voice, as a man jumped off his horse. He removed his hood, and everyone gasped.

It was Prince Sebastian. No, he was King Sebastian now. His father had fallen ill and given Sebastian the throne early.

Madam Deveraux was flabbergasted and immediately curtsied. “M-my prin-King, My King, I had no idea, you’d be here.”

Sebastian took a few steps forward, still hearing the tune of Y/N’s humming. He knew it was her. It was the same song they’d played on the piano together.

Sebastian looked at his chancellor, nodding towards the house. “Want to check it out, or should I?”

His chancellor, his best friend, smirked when he saw the glint in Sebastian’s eye. “Go ahead, Your Majesty.” Sebastian grinned before fastening his pace and entering the house. He followed the humming to the small door near the kitchen.

Sebastian saw that the door was locked, so with one, really-really strong pull he tore the lock off the door and exhaled before opening the door.

Y/N had no idea what was going on. She had been trying to calm herself ever since Madam Deveraux had locked her in this room. So when she heard noises coming behind the door, she had expected the worst.

What she didn’t expect, however, were the kind eyes of Bash.

Sebastian faltered, his steps coming to a stop. There she stood. His beloved. His Queen. He furrowed his brows as he took in her commodities. The way she was dressed. The way her eyes were red-rimmed - an indication that she had been crying.

She had been locked up.

Everything suddenly made sense to him and he wasted no time in hurrying towards Y/N and pulling her to him. Hugging her so close to him, finally, finally, feeling her in his arms.

“Bash,” She let out weakly and Sebastian just shushed her, placing his head on hers. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Y/N tried to push herself away from him, afraid to get even more hurt. She had felt enough disappointment and grief in her life to experience it again. And grief she would feel if she lost Bash too. So it was easier to push him away before her feelings got too strong. Although, deep down, she knew there was already no turning back. She had fallen for him. Deeply.

But Sebastian wouldn’t budge, he was only grinning more widely when he realised that Y/N, the one he was looking for, was safely in his arms.

“Do you know that I have a countrywide search put out for you?” He asked casually, not even minding that she was trying to break free of his hold. Letting his fingers run through her hair, silently comforting her.

“Bash, have you even realised who I am?” Y/N looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “I'm a nobody. A maid at best. I have no prospects, no dowry. I am not someone you want next to you to rule a kingdom.”

Sebastian laughed at that, pulling the smaller one closer to his chest, letting his head fall on her own again. “That’s where you’re wrong, darling,” He inhaled her scent before placing a kiss on her head.

“You’re strong, you’re honest. Your heart is made of gold. You’re the only person I want to share the throne with.”

She finally looked up into his eyes, to see the most sincere gaze ever directed towards her.

“Well, aren’t you supposed to give me a shoe to try on then? Or have I heard wrong?” She finally retaliated and he chuckled at that.

“Fair enough,” he said before slowly kneeling in front of Y/N.

She looked at him, Prince Sebastian, no, King Sebastian now, on one knee, holding up a glass shoe.

Her glass shoe.

“May I?” Bash cheekily said, before Y/N blushed, and pulled up her skirt just a bit to give Sebastian her leg.

Bash placed her foot in the shoe, and as a surprise to neither of them, it fit her perfectly. His eyes found hers instantly, a strong, confident look in his gaze.

“Can I now, finally, know your name?”

She laughed at that, a tear escaping her eye as she finally began to realise that her old life was coming to an end.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” she said as Sebastian’s eyes glossed over as well.

“Y/N,” Bash tried the name out on his tongue, and he liked how it sounded. He closed his eyes and shook his head, before looking at Y/N again with a new determination in his face.

“Y/N, would you please do me the honour of marrying me and making me the happiest man to ever walk this Earth? I promise to give everything in me to make you happy. To keep you safe. Please, just please, end my misery and come back to the castle with me. As my equal. As my Queen.”

Y/N fell on her knees in front of Bash, her tears falling on her cheeks, although she did not care for them at that moment. All she saw was Sebastian’s face near her as she started to nod and laugh.

“Yes?” Bash looked at Y/N with a hopeful gaze, placing his hands on either side of her face, and pulling her towards him.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling Bash’s forehead on her own.

“Yes.”

Time stopped then.

Sebastian pulled Y/N closer to himself and finally connected their lips. Magical was not even the word to begin to describe how it felt like. They were made for each other, of that, were they both certain. Y/N had never experienced anything like this before. His lips were so smooth and soft on her own that she let out a whimper. Bash smiled at that and Y/N followed.

They both pulled away, grinning at each other.

“I love you,” Bash said, caressing Y/N’s face with his right hand.

“I love you,” Y/N said before Bash connected their lips again.

It was no surprise that the wedding of Y/N and Sebastian happened only a week after their first kiss. Y/N had moved into the castle immediately after Sebastian had caught her locked up in the storage room. Madam Deveraux was put to trial, for treating Y/N the way she had. Arabella and Isadora, although crude in their temper, were pardoned, but made to leave the country, effective immediately.

As for Y/N and Sebastian?

Well, their story is just at the beginning, filled with sweet kisses and even sweeter memories.

“Do you have any idea how happy you’ve made me?” Bash asked as he held Y/N, his wife now, close to himself.

“Hmm, I can begin to imagine it’s something close to the way I feel,” Y/N chuckled and Sebastian laughed, finally taking a look at her.

Ethereal, he thought. She stood in front of him in their shared bedroom, still in her white gorgeous wedding gown.

Sebastian just shook his head, still in disbelief that his happily ever after was in his arms at last. He pulled Y/N closer and placed his lips on hers. The one of many kisses shared that night.

#sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan cinderella au #sebastian stan fairytale au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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breelandwalker · 5 months

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Witchcraft Exercise - Annual Review

The end of the old calendar year and the beginning of a new one are excellent times for reflection and recalibration. We do this in our mundane lives by making resolutions, setting new goals, starting new projects, and sketching out our schedule for the coming year. So why not do the same with your witchcraft!

As a journaling exercise, sit down and record how your journey has progressed over the past year. You can include things like spells you’ve cast, rituals you’ve performed, holidays you’ve celebrated, gatherings you attended, new ideas you’ve encountered or incorporated, important lessons learned, and any significant milestones you’ve achieved. It doesn’t have to be fully comprehensive or bite-by-bite - the level of detail is entirely up to you.

(If you’ve already performed the exercise Quantifying Your Craft, then you already have a place to start. If you haven’t, I do suggest doing that first to give yourself a clear set of data and pre-determined information to reference.)

Once you’ve recorded your progress, decide where you want to go next. What new goals will you set? What new subjects do you want to explore? What habits do you want to alter or adopt? Are there any new books you want to read? Places you want to visit? New methods or techniques you want to try? Dream big and then sketch out a path to get you there, or just decide where you want to go next. And don’t worry about accomplishing everything on the list in the span of a year. Whatever doesn’t get done in the short term can always become the seed of something you grow into over time.

Of course, this doesn’t necessarily have to be an exercise that happens exclusively at the beginning or end of a calendar year. You can (and should) review and recalibrate periodically throughout the year whenever you incorporate new information or new ideas or new processes into your practice. This can be done as frequently or infrequently as you feel the need, whether that be monthly or quarterly or annually or just once every few years. Pausing for reflection is a necessary part of any long-term path or project, and it is a good way to both measure your progress so far and decide how best to move forward.

One more thing - Don’t be too hard on yourself or feel like you haven’t accomplished enough or learned enough or progressed enough to be a “proper” witch. Don’t compare your craft to anyone else’s or measure your viability by another's rod. Your journey is your own and will proceed at its’ own pace. Periods of rest or recovery or low motivation or preoccupation with other concerns are going to be part of that. As long as you’re making an effort, you’re doing just fine.

Happy Witching!

Image Credit - Witch Workspace, by Mylène Richard

Want more witchcraft exercises? Check out the masterpost here.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my monthly show Hex Positive on your favorite podcast app, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

#witchcraft #witchblr #witchcraft exercises #witch tips #baby witch #pagan #advice for beginner witches #for all witches really

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jesncin · 5 months

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The Potential of Asian Lois Lane. Pt 1: Girl Taking Over and American Alien, a comparative analysis

Lois Lane has had many iterations over the years. But specifically in the last decade, Lois has been reimagined as an Asian American woman in both the comics and recently in the animated show My Adventures with Superman.

I believe making Lois Asian is a very inspired choice for the Superman mythos! I would like to take a moment to analyze these versions of Lois from an Asian perspective, seeing what works, what doesn't, and what I'd like to see more of. We'll start with the comics first, as MAWS is going to need its own post.

Usual disclaimers: I'm just one Asian perspective, I do not and never will claim to cover every Asian person's opinion on a thing ever. We're not a monolith, we come from a variety of backgrounds and experiences. I'm simply a fan who enjoys media analysis and believes it's valuable to have my perspective in this topic. Secondly, this discussion covers the comic run American Alien, which is written by Max Landis. He's an ultra creep and while I think the comic is worth a read for what it is, I leave it up to you whether you'd like to buy the comic. You can always arg-arg-ahoy otherwise.

I'd like to start with Girl Taking Over: A Lois Lane Story written by Sarah Kuhn with art by Arielle Jovellanos. This is a self contained YA graphic novel about a young Japanese American Lois dealing with the ups and downs of breaking into journalism as a career in National City. When her dream internship at Catco gets a corporate take over, Lois seizes an opportunity to write an exposé on a shady art director. But when her story is turned down, Lois does some out of the box things to get the story of marginalized performers shared with the world.

Girl Taking Over is a fantastic story and I happily recommend it to anyone looking for how an Asian American Lois could be reimagined (with fabulous art by Arielle! The fashion especially is on-point). This story isn't just a diverse coat of paint on a Lois Lane story, being Asian informs Lois' experiences and choices. Both she and her frenemy roommate Miki, are ambitious Asian women yet have hidden insecurities where they still made themselves small to their respective white male bosses. They played into model minority in different ways, and it's only by working together that they're able to foster a community for their stories to be told.

Lois and Miki don't just "have a diverse friend group", that friend group is actively being taken advantage of and suppressed by white gatekeepers. By extension, Lois' friends from work find solidarity in each other. Lois looks up to Cat Grant, a Filipina-American journalist, because seeing Cat succeed made Lois feel like her dream as a journalist is possible. I love how Lois' mom (a character so rarely expanded on in DC canon) acts as a voice of comfort for Lois in the story. All these characters feel holistic and whole, going through their own unique struggles.

It's clear from interviews with both the writer and artist that they care for the history of Lois, and saw an opportunity to reimagine her in a way that aligns with her character but also revitalizes her for new readers of color who aren't used to seeing themselves reflected in media. It's taking Lois' ambition and fearlessness and channeling them into the need to be a model minority, and the insecurities that can come from the desire to succeed constantly. It's taking a character historically frustrated by sexism and disrespected by her male peers- including Clark Kent (who got better treatment than her as a man), and expanding her to be a Lois that has to deal with both sexism and racism in the workplace. It's humanizing Lois' excellence into something painfully specific and relatable for many Asian women.

The only thing I feel I want from this version of Lois is... honestly more of her! I want to see what Japanese Lois does when she moves to Metropolis and works at the Daily Planet. I want to see how her experiences in National City informs her adulthood. Girl Taking Over sets up an incredible groundwork for stories to be told in the Superman mythos. How would Lois react to Superman, a fellow immigrant? Would Superman see himself in Lois? Since she's someone who, in the American context, is perceived as the perpetual foreigner? What would their relationship be like? Out of all the Asian Lois' in media we have so far, this Asian Lois' story has the most rich potential in my opinion.

Up next, we have American Alien written by Max Landis. This 7 issue series swaps artists for each issue, as a means of reflecting different milestones in Clark's life. I will be focusing on issues #4, 5, and 7 since those have the most prominent Lois appearances. With that, I'd like to celebrate the artists for those issues: Jae Lee (issue 4), Francis Manapul (issue 5), and Jock (issue 7). All these artists did a fantastic job, their art styles are energetic and fun to look at. Lee and Manapul are both Asian artists (Korean and Filipino respectively) and I love how they draw Lois- who looks undeniably Asian in their art styles.

American Alien is a modern take on the Superman tale. It expands Clark's story to be connected to Batman, Green Lanterns, Green Arrow, and more. We see Clark grow from his days in Smallville to a city boy in Metropolis, coming into his own as Superman. It's a bold and pretty divisive take with some standout story moments. From what I know, this is likely the first time Lois has been reimagined as Asian- and continues to influence Superman media like MAWS (the producer specifically calls out this comic as inspiration).

In issue #4, Clark moves in to his Metropolis apartment and talks on the phone to his mom about "some bigshot guy named Louis Lane". The reader, likely familiar with the Superman mythos, knows Clark is coming in with biases and a preconceived notion of who he considers a promising student reporter. Once we meet Lois Lane however, the comic turns the reader's expectations on their head:

Lois Lane is an Asian American woman (it's not specified what her exact ethnicity is)! This is a fun moment where the comic metatextually challenged the reader's own biases, showing it's not just Clark who had a different idea of who Lois Lane could be.

Lois' introductory panel is my personal favorite part of her characterization in American Alien. Lois proudly stands as a wall of text behind her recounts how she was considered as a winner for the Daily Planet's Charlton Memorial Laureate Program. When asked why she deserves a place on the program, Lois snaps back that the very question itself is loaded. She's listed her credentials and looks professional- so she's either already been rejected and is just being made to "at least had my say" or she's been accepted and is "meant to garnish my success with eloquent affirmation" to which Lois refuses to do either.

This is a great defiant introduction to Lois, showcasing how jaded she is with the way the world perceives her- but is very confident in her self worth as a journalist. By the end of the issue she reaches out to Clark to combine their exclusive interviews into one story to make a big impression on the news. Her words inspire Clark to seize an opportunity to make a big change in the world as Superman.

Afterwards, the comic plays the classic Superman and Lois dynamic straight. Lois is initially suspicious of Superman, but eventually comes around and is inspired to hope through him. There's a great back and forth between the two where Lois' words initially inspire Clark to be Superman, then Clark assures Lois that Superman is probably just a good guy, and when Clark loses hope from a bad day of heroism, Lois gives him hope again. In the end, Lois realizes her love for Clark Kent over Superman and they share a passionate ending kiss.

Overall American Alien nails the Clark and Lois dynamic and understands their relationship. I consider this Asian Lois "just okay". I like that we get to see an adult jaded Asian Lois meet Clark Kent and Superman, and see them get together. Similarly to Girl Taking Over, I'd like to see how this Lois and Clark would play out. My only issue with American Alien's Lois is a sense of missed opportunities.

The writing overall leaves room for plausible deniability over Lois' Asian identity. The artists (particularly Lee and Manapul) are doing the heavy lifting delivering Asian Lois. If she was drawn as a white woman, none of the writing would need adjustment. Sure her introductory panel implies that people judge her based on her appearance- but that could be just sexism instead of the intersectional experience of Asian Lois going through racism and sexism. Clark did assume she was a man after all- it's never specified if he assumed she was a white man. The only thing you'd lose is the metatextual shock value of Lois Being Asian This Time. That's really what this Lois boils down to, initial shock value with no specific writing to follow through. Her marginalization and identity is written broadly enough that it could be attributed to general sexism and womanhood. It's not specific to being an Asian American woman.

However, because of its broadness, there's room for Lois' Asian identity to be built on in the world of American Alien. The story centers Clark's experiences, but I can easily imagine a continuation of the story expanding on Lois'. The basic groundwork is there. I think it's telling that in a comic called American Alien, we get a more diverse Superman cast system. Jimmy Olsen is Black, Lois Lane is Asian- when Clark moves to the city it feels expansive compared to Smallville. It's a world that feels ready to tackle themes of racism if it was ever to continue (and probably in the hands of a writer with that kind of life experience!). In the end, there's room for this Asian Lois to be something special. Clark isn't the only American Alien in American Alien, if you catch my drift.

You can see how Girl Taking Over has a huge piece of what American Alien is missing. The characters aren't just diverse for shock value, they're not an aesthetic change over historically white characters. They have a story to tell that is inseparable from their identities. Whereas in American Alien, the art is doing the heavy lifting with the reimagined diverse characters- Girl Taking Over has both the writing and art carry the representation. Lois can't be changed into being white in Girl Taking Over.

Both of these stories have potential- but if I had the choice to pick which story should continue, it would easily be Girl Taking Over. This graphic novel works for what it is: it makes sense that this is a younger and idealistic Lois that hasn't met Clark or Superman yet. It's a YA book and Lois can absolutely carry a story on her own. What I want as an Asian fan, is for the potential of Asian Lois Lane to be seen through to the point it's considered the definitive version. As of right now, Girl Taking Over is a fun twist on the Lois Lane story. Not something that is seen as inseparable from the Superman mythos. However! If those themes of marginalization and immigrant identity are tapped into for both Superman and Lois Lane? I feel that has the potential to radically strengthen the overall themes of Superman. It's certainly been touched on before.

(TW/CW: racial slur mention in below image)

Superman Smashes the Klan by Gene Yang with art by Gurihiru is a retelling of the Clan of the Fiery Cross arc in the classic radio show The Adventures of Superman where Superman faces off with the Klan who had been terrorizing a Chinese American family. The graphic novel adapts the story to center the Chinese American characters, and makes it a point to show that Superman relates to them. If that dynamic was applied to Asian Lois, that feels like a definitive love story waiting to happen.

The classic two person love triangle with Clark and Lois is that Lois loves Superman and is indifferent to Clark Kent. She thinks Superman is this ideal macho man and Clark is a cowardly fumbling guy at work who rivals her. What happens when you take that dynamic and made it so Lois identified with Superman- the more othering identity? How complicated would that make Clark Kent feel? How would he navigate that when his marginalization isn't always visible? That's a whole new depth to the love triangle we're not used to seeing. I feel so far, none of these versions of Lois have touched upon this potential dynamic. The perpetual foreigner, Lois Lane and the ultimate alien foreigner that is Superman. The jaded city girl meets the alien farm boy who gives her hope. They inspire each other to be more of themselves in a world not ready to accept either of them.

Up next, we'll be discussing My Adventures with Superman's Korean Lois Lane in pt 2. It's well. You can probably guess how I feel about it from what I wrote here but welp. We'll talk about it.

#ramblings #media criticism #lois lane #once again please be nice!!#i have many many feelings about asian lois lane so i may as well write it down and share it with you #jesncin talks maws #(a little bit anyway! like a precursor)#jesncin dc meta

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petriwriting · 6 months

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Memories - Sirius Black X Reader

Summary: Harry finds an old notebook that belonged to Sirius during his Hogwarts days. In his scruffy handwriting, in an old dusty journal found in Sirius's bedroom is the story of Sirius' first real love.

A/N: Fluff, nostalgia, a little bit of angst if you look too hard. The reader is feminine, using she/her pronouns. Oneshot - blurb is very short but very sweet.

I made a friend today on the train to Hogwarts. She is very sweet and seems very nice. She had a ribbon in her hair, I thought that she looked nice. we talked and she said that she liked my hair too. I also made some new friends. I got sorted into Gryffindor house, it's crazy since my family is all from Slytherin house. I'm sure Mother will be so upset. She is always upset about something.

Harry read aloud to his curious friends, Hermione leaned over his shoulder curiously to look at the small dark grey journal, it was tatted beaten-down bound with leather, covered in dust, but well used.

"Keep reading, Harry," Hermione said gently, knowing that he wasn't reading it with malicious intent, but instead in an attempt to feel closer to his godfather. he turned a few pages until a page caught his eye, and began reading once more.

Reg and I got into a quarrel over some things that didn't really matter. he says I should be more concerned with our family. Reg and I used to be close, but after my third year, he became cold. I love my brother, but I hate to see him hanging around those gits. Malfoy in particular, but I know he is happy now as he has joined the Slytherin team. he's their seeker, but he's no match for Gryffindor this year.

This entry made Harry smile slightly, and chuckle. he continued to flip pages, it was heartwarming. He turned the pages, looking through some messy potions class notes and annotations, and an entry about the marauders map, and how he saw Peter Pettigrew (Wormtail.) sneaking out every night to sneak food from the kitchens. One page, in particular, caught his eye.

I Love Her.

I have loved her every day I've known her. She is brilliant, her eyes sparkle when she speaks, her smile is so bright it lights up the room as if you'd cast Lumos. She's incredibly intelligent, but kind. She's always been gentle with me. I've never met another like her.

I wish that I could make this all go away. All the secrets, the war, the hatred. I wish we could start a family one day, live in a little cottage, and raise children far away from here. We'd visit James and Lily every Christmas, and Remus on halloween. I could give her my mother's ring. I doubt Regulus would mind. We could be so happy. I remember the first day we met. I think i knew then that she was special. She has been unconditionally devoted to me. The night my mother burned my name off our family tree she held me in her arms as i cried and i finally felt what home is supposed to feel like. I wrote her a letter, expressing my yearning for her. I plan to give it to her very soon, along with a locket I picked out. Lily insisted on the dainty silver chain with a locket of our picture from our first year together, she even helped me enchant to image to capture y/n's smile as she sat next to me. she say's it's sentimental, and that girls like this sort of thing.

I never had a home, truly. just four walls surrounding me. My own mother disgraced my name, Regulus has been absent in my life. I'm thankful for my friends but my love for y/n is like no other. i just wish want her to feel the way i do, i hope she does. With everything, she can not get involved it's too dangerous. But I will love her anyway. The kind of love that could break the most heinous curse.

Harry stood for a moment, looking over his godfather's handwriting. it was sentimental. "I wonder if we could find her," Harry offered hopefully. "There's no mention of a last name." Ron pointed out. "I'm sure we could ask someone, if she knew the black family she can't be too terribly hard to find," Hermione said, offering a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think Sirius would love that."

#my writing #reader insert #hp x reader #x reader #slytherin x reader #hp #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius and regulus #sirius orion black #sirius being sirius #padfoot #james potter #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus

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writingonleaves · 26 days

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were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior.

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise.

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it.

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly?

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us.

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right?

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days, I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when.

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag.

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck)

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other.

Yet we still hurt each other.

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did.

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional.

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down.

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better.

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured.

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for?

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always.

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to.

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you.

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you.

I do.

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too.

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend.

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen.

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now.

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too.

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday.

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago.

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered.

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this.

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed.

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore.

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween.

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there.

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me.

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond.

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known.

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd.

I looked for you in every crowd for years.

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me?

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months.

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then.

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that.

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me.

Or maybe not.

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized.

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best.

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important.

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome.

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on.

I hope you're moving on.

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight.

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met.

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up.

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day.

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door.

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that.

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles.

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t.

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city.

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster.

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city.

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too.

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee.

Jeremy walks into the book store.

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red.

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her.

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything.

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways.

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with.

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same.

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out.

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all.

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence.

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does.

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..”

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?”

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan,

i still love you too.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours,

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused.

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl writing #hockey blurb #hockey writing #boston bruins #jeremy swayman #jeremy swayman blurb #jeremy swayman writing #jeremy swayman fic #jeremy swayman fanfiction #jeremy swayman x ofc #jeremy swayman x oc #jeremy swayman x reader

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haet-sal · 1 year

Text

Avenging Angel Dystopia // monster!seonghwa x reader x yunho (you cheat on yunho with non-human seonghwa)

In a barren, dictatorship-controlled nation, you lead a simple life with your boyfriend Yunho, a pianist, too oppressed to rebel. As stories of the people in high society being murdered run through the news, you come to find out who—or what—is behind these killings.

Tags: JUST SKIP TO THE SMUT IF YOU WANT you monsterfucker, yunho x reader (established, no smut), seonghwa x reader smut, cunnilingus + P in v, unprotected but hes not human

Warnings: politics tw, murder tw, seonghwa is literal man-eating monster tw, religion tw (but no prophets and jesus/god are mentioned, just seonghwa is an angel. There are scenes of praying)

w.c.: 7k

Excerpt: He knew every single thing you were feeling, and if it were something that could be shrouded, you’d cover yourself… you feel your mind was naked in front of him, every dirty thought.

Seonghwa grew agitated by your own thoughts of nakedness, dirtiness, your corrupted mind—to distract the both of your from all those thoughts, he rushes to you, catching you in a devouring kiss, so red and hot that it could light up and heat up the dark, gelid apartment.

You taste iron on his tongue, like bars in jail cells, like rusted knives, like blood. As soon as you remember the taste of blood, you pull away. Remembering he isn’t human. Remembering what he does, what he has done. His nature.

“I understand if it’s too much for you,” he says. “I understand if you find it hard to be with me this way.”

“You read my mind, you know that’s not true, you know I want you.”

A smile ghosted his lips. “Good thing I live in the in-between. Not quite angel, not quite demon, not quite human.”

You’re making sandwiches for Yunho so he can take them to his tutoring job, when your boyfriend bursts through the room, hurriedly, clutching journal paper in his hands. “Yunho,” you sighed, more afraid than anything, “those are contraband.”

“I just had to buy this month’s issue,” Yunho says as he paged through the detached pages, made with no sense of expertise. “There’s good news in them, I just had to read about it.”

“Yunho…” you sighed. “If they catch us with contraband newspapers, they’ll take everything from us. They’ll take you from me—”

“It’s alright!” He laughs. “They’re not about to storm our apartment out of the blue, don’t be silly.”

Yunho isn't you, he doesn’t know how to be afraid.

Or rather, you weren't Yunho, weren't as tall or as strong, and you had many things to be afraid of. Yunho doesn’t know what happened to you three years ago, as soldiers stormed your home, arrested your entire family, accused of being rebels—they seized every piece of property you had, every asset, froze every bank account. Yunho wasn’t there, except for your barefoot walk to his apartment, where you collapsed in tears, and he promised you that the worst was over now.

You decided to relent; he’s right, soldiers weren’t about to storm your apartment any time soon. Plus, things have… gotten better, ever since they got more control over the rebels in the city. War is freedom.

You sighed. “So… what’s the good news?”

“There’s been reports.” Yunho paged through the contraband pages hurriedly, looking for the one page that started on the whole exposè. “A couple of the general’s friends, and some family members—brutally murdered. In their own homes. They say their organs were missing. I thought the newspaper might tell us more.”

You frowned. “That’s a horrible thing to be so happy about…”

“They deserve it, though.”

It’s soon sunset, and the powerful stomps of soldiers marching filled the streets, as people rushed to close their windows, shrouding themselves from the patrol. You and Yunho included, draw the blinds in your flat and decided to have dinner.

You made the dinner, although Yunho can cook better than you—you guessed that you had to do something, just to feel like there’s still life left for you.

“I actually might play at a—” Yunho stopped midway through the conversation at the table.

You raised an eyebrow. “Play where?”

“Somewhere… grand.”

“Like a hotel ball? Wedding? Big wedding? Am I close?”

Your naive little guesses almost lightened the big man up, only the light in his eyes turned red and anxious the minute his work phone started to ring, very urgently so, almost vibrating itself off the table.

Yunho paled, as he grabbed the phone off the dinner table. “What—” you start, but he runs out of the apartment to take it, a pair of long legs taking him outside faster than you could finish the sentence.

He doesn’t talk about it for a while. You know he’s trying to gain more exposure as a pianist, he’s amazing at playing—and he even composes. The way his fingers work across the ivory keys and the black-pebble flats and sharps—you swear you’ve never met a more proficient player, never mind that he never finished music college—you didn’t either. Yunho’s income came mostly out of teaching kids how to play and getting random gigs sporadically, at acoustic nights at restaurants and whatnot.

“I’m booked for something next Saturday,” he told you in bed a week after that day. He was spooning you, head nuzzled inside the crook of your neck. The baby hairs on your nape wavering under his words.

“That’s great…”

“It’s… a strange job. I’m going to be playing at a party… you know who Seo-chee is, right?”

“The dictator’s daughter?”

“She’s throwing a ball.”

“A ball.” Yunho started to explain the concept of balls to you, as if you hadn’t watched Cinderella in your lifetime. The audacity that high-society was having a ball—when half the nation’s population was starving to death—was just pompous, if anyone heard it they’d be livid with curses. As if the dictatorship wasn’t cursed enough already—and your boyfriend was going to aid them at the party, with his music. You can’t even imagine it happening.

“You actually took the job?” you prodded.

“I… yeah. As soon as they called—they’re paying thousands. For four hours.” You went quiet. “Baby… you know we need the money.”

You turn yourself around on the bed to look at Yunho, who is just trying to appease you. He knows he shouldn’t have, what repercussions it had—he was just trying to feed the both of you.

So you guessed you couldn’t stay mad. But for a long time, you did.

“Yunho, I can’t go in there, they’ll arrest me.”

“Calm down, you’re not a rebel, and we’re pretending we’re military supporters today.” His tone was quiet, calming, which he always used whenever you started having these panics. “You look beautiful.” You were wearing some ancient ball-attendee dress you’d fished out of the depths of your closet.

The mansion wasn’t just a mansion, it was a palace. There was a long walk towards the steps into the main mansion, the pathway surrounded by a forest of trees. A soldier took you on a cart, sparing you the long walk, once Yunho mentioned he was the entertainment.

The high society was ignorant to the citizens starving in the streets, the appetizers of lobster tails and caviar served on plates as they dug in, every little debutante and their dates in their tailored suits. You didn’t take any—it didn’t seen fair to eat when your own neighbors were starving.

To you, the ball was a bore, and Yunho only played classics, and he’s always amazing but there’s just… something that wouldn’t let you enjoy it, an uncomfortableness. You wandered out into the lobby, where glass separated the columns outside from the inside, through which you could view the garden perfectly.

You notice something outside of the glass, walking, as if wandering the terrain, like a hunter stalking its prey. You don’t even understand what someone would be doing outside, not enjoying the music or appetizers, but the thing… fades further into view.

It’s a man. He had platinum white hair that waved in the wind, although not lightly, as if each strand of hair had resistance to it, and he was wearing these strange… robes, that not only seemed inappropriate for the ball, seemed out of date. Like way out of date. Like two millennia out of date.

Once he notices that you had seen him, he erects his head slowly, watching you—a lop-sided stare. Eyes seeming to move every time you did.

And then, he grins. His teeth are inhuman. Sharp, dangerous, a thousand teeth like a leviathan. You scream, but to not make a scene, you cover your mouth with your own hands.

And then the man seemed to fade away from view as quickly as he had appeared.

You rationalize what you had seen, it must have been just a man. To not seem all that crazy, you wander the mansion trying to ask someone if they saw him too. You decided to ask the men eating at a table outside the ballroom.

“Um…” you tap someone on the back, the train of your dress dragging behind you. Unfortunately once the man turns around, so does the rest of the circle at the table, and you realize this is a soldiers’ circle—they were all armed, perhaps in a way that you could say lightly, with handguns strapped to their belts.

It makes you lose your courage, the fact that they could simply… shoot you right then and there.

“What is it?” the soldier whose shoulder you tapped asks.

“Um… I just… I wanted to ask, does anyone know that man, outside?” They all looked confused. “The man,” you clarify, “with the white hair, and he’s got this… cloak on, and he’s wearing robes under it.”

The soldiers look among themselves. “I’ll check it out,” the roughest-looking one of them says. “If someone’s breached the grounds it could be dangerous—you better not be lying about this, though, kid.” He glares at you, but you’re more distracted by how he so readily unholstered his gun, as he steps outside the giant glass gates.

You’re now left in the midst of the other soldiers, who are unrestful, but they didn’t seem to be taking your claims very seriously. They started to talk among them, until other partygoers approached, wanting to know what was going on.

“This lady,” says a younger soldier, “says she saw a man outside—white hair, and a cloak. Has anyone seen…?”

The people who approached—mostly young debutante-aged maidens—shake their heads. “A man?!”

“He didn’t…” you begin, and regretted having formed that sentence, or that thought, entirely. “He didn’t look human. I mean, he had human features, but something… it felt like he had some kind of power, that wasn’t human.”

The entire congregation gathered in front of you bursts out laughing. “Miss Y/N… you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Why did the pianist’s lover get invited… ugh. Commoners are weird.”

“Probably crawled out of her rebel hideout to come here…”

Sensing you weren��t welcome, you step back–you look over your shoulder, and the soldier had returned, gun finally reholstered. “There’s nothing,” he says. “No one.”

“What’s wrong?”

You gasp. That’s the dictator’s daughter. You’ve seen her in pictures in stories covering their family, right now you were just surprised she was actually talking to you—and in front of her, she had wheeled her grandmother—the dictator’s mother—a frail old lady, past 90, ancient and barely conscious but still dressed up for the party, heavy scarlet stones weighing heavily from her neck.

“This… lady, says that she saw a man outside,” answered the young soldier. “There’s nothing there, though, so—”

Everyone turns in alarm as the old grandmother’s head tilts. Her gaze lands straight at you, and it’s not indifferent like seconds before, there was fear— “You see him too,” she speaks, although her voice was weak; it just adds to all the terror of it. “The demon. He stalks us… The harbinger.”

You step backwards as the old woman starts to shake, opening your mouth to say no, I was seeing things—but she continues: “I see him too. A head of white hair… His eyes—his eyes—!”

The people around you started to murmur, while the daughter attempted to calm her down. “No one said anything about white hair.”

You turn on your heels before anyone could say anything else, basically sprinting to the ballroom. As soon as you near the gold-encrusted gates, the sounds of Yunho’s piano calms you down, and your heart starts beating normally again.

You don’t approach him, simply watching from the door. His broad shoulders erected firm in posture, the one thing he teaches foremost to his students—a small smile started forming on your lips.

It’ll be okay. You can put this night and the ugliness and the soldiers and the guns behind you once you go to bed tonight. You hate this mansion, as grand as it is. The entire place reeked of evil, of bloodshed. So many murderers under one roof.

Yunho raises his eyes to look at the crowd, and his eyes land on you, immediately lighting up. His face was mostly covered by the lid of the grand piano, but you see the crinkle in his eyes. You waved at him, but immediately walk backwards out of the ballroom, not wanting to distract him.

The party would go on for a few more hours, and although you’re afraid of the man—the thing—you saw, you’re more afraid of the soldiers and military supporters in the building, so you decided to wander the acres of garden area that the mansion has.

There’s swarms of mosquitos, gnats, fireflies, all over the garden. You keep walking to keep them from landing on you, but those bugs were persistent… suddenly, you see something in the garden. Something glowing.

In folklore, there was a story about a princess, so beautiful with such fair complexion that she could light up an entire palace without candles. You didn’t understand what you were seeing until then—it was just skin. Skin that reflected so much moonlight.

Although you guessed it wasn’t skin, it was a guise of skin. A higher being donning makeshift-humanity.

The monster turned around, and it was only a man, although that’s just what he wanted you to think.

You couldn’t speak, so he started.

“It makes you feel bad for your prayers, doesn’t it? Actually being close to a soldier? They murder children in cold blood, but here at the party they’re offering to top up your champagne glass. It confuses you.”

He’s… human. You push aside your initial foreboding to interact with him well, maybe he’s just an addition to the guest list people forgot. And yet… something in you wasn’t settled. You knew he couldn't be normal.

“It doesn’t make me feel bad,” he continued. “I like it when you pray, Y/N. ‘Dear God, please destroy their armies’... Not an ethical wish, but something I’m used to, back when tyrants ruled the land.”

You gasp. Was he some sort of… religious fanatic? Was he— “My name…” In realization that you never once told him anything about you, you recoil, thinking of the best way to escape him. You couldn’t go around the fountain, because he’d catch you immediately. And you didn’t have the courage to run deeper into the trees.

“It shouldn’t shock you that I know you,” the man says. “I hear every single one of your prayers. Every night. And your prayers are your deepest desires, are they not? You wish for their deaths, every single day…”

There’s just something so deeply unsettling about his eyes, and the more you look at him you get this uncanny feeling. Like he’s something playing at being human.

“You’re upset I know your name,” he says. “I’ll tell you mine so you can call me by it, then—I’m Seonghwa.”

You try to calm yourself. See, Y/N? He’s just human. He has a name. A human name. There are no such things as demons—

“You think I’m a demon?”

You frown. Did you say that out loud? How did he—

“I’m far from it,” Seonghwa promises you, with a smile that’s slowly spreading across his face. Literally.

He grins.

His teeth…

You could scream. Those are not human teeth. They’re so perfectly hidden behind his perfect lips, but he’s got fangs. And not even just fanged canines, it’s… every single tooth. White, ivory fangs.

“Be not afraid.”

You could scream.

His voice at times seemed to come from inside you, as if he were a ventriloquist and he had his voice inside of your head. He didn’t even seem to be moving his mouth as he spoke, which proved that he was a trick of the light, a being more complex than you could understand.

Okay, maybe he does know your prayers. He does know what the military had done, everything he say is right. And those fangs… maybe that was the one lie, a trick of your own madness.

“You want to know who I am, what my business here is.” You nodded, you did want to know. “You must have heard about it. The… executions?”

You remembered. The things Yunho was so over the moon about. The high society people that seemed to keep dying. “You’re responsible?”

When he nods, you look away just so the fangs don’t nerve you any longer.

“I was…” he hums, looking up at the darkened sky. Now the entire conversation was merely moon-lit. “I was… scoping out my next victim. You’ve compromised me though—I don’t want you or your boyfriend caught in a crossfire, if I did something and they started suspecting you two—I guess I’ll just have to wait. I can be patient.”

You believed him. In his eyes, there was nothing but a calm patience, as if he could wait eternity to deal with his victims, almost like a sniper soldier.

“Miss Y/N!” It’s that young soldier from before, you’re glad it’s him, because between him and this demon and the other soldier, he’s the least intimidating. “What are you doing here alone?”

You gawked. Did he just… did he see through Seonghwa? Could he not see him, at all?

You stare at Seonghwa, silently begging him for an explanation, but he’s closed his lips entirely, hiding those monstrous fangs.

The soldier walks through Seonghwa, grabbing you harshly by the arm. “You shouldn’t be out here. I know it’s tempting at a boring party, but we have security to worry about.”

You looked over your shoulder as the soldier dragged you away, and Seonghwa’s still standing at the fountain, still smiling, eyes still bright and unhuman. “I’m sorry,” you apologize to the soldier, “I thought a quick walk was okay—umm, hey, young man…” You stop in your tracks, as does the soldier. You turn him towards the fountain, where Seonghwa’s still standing. “Do you… see that?”

He frowns. “Excuse me?”

“The man,” you clarify, “right there. Standing by the fountain. Do you see him?”

“Miss… please don’t scare me. You know military folk are superstitious.”

“You really don’t see—”

“Please! Don’t! You’re freaking me out.” The soldier turns to youth speech from his informal politeness. “Please, come back to the party—before your boyfriend gets snatched.”

“She’s been talking to him since before I came to get you,” says the young soldier, as he walked you back into the ballroom. “He had to put a rest to playing Clair de Lune to converse with her… oh, well, I suppose she is the most powerful woman in the nation…”

The dictator’s daughter is bent over the grand piano talking to Yunho. She’s giving him awe-inspiring heart-eyed stares, and you’re not even jealous, you’re afraid.

What if she sees you as an enemy, and somehow gets rid of you? The way her father gets rid of rebels—

But Yunho sees you from across the room, and smiles. That smile was going to get you killed.

The dictator’s daughter looks at his smile, almost mesmerized in it, believing it was for her. And then she looks behind her, to see you–the real receiver of that smile. And her gaze burned.

The nation rejoices as more of the dictator’s friends’ deaths hit the news, one by one falling like dominos. The details are always the same: attacked, ambushed, in their own homes, sometimes even in their own bedrooms. Brutally torn through with organs missing, not one trace of the attacker left behind. Maybe because he had no DNA to leave behind. You knew even the dictator, in his bomb shelter locked away from any danger, had to be afraid.

They were afraid of Seonghwa.

You don’t know if he’s real—correction, you can’t be sure if he’s real. But some part of you knew it was, that you didn’t make up this beautiful, pale angelic face—it’s beyond imagination, he has to be real.

But you just grow more afraid, knowing what you know. Knowing what was responsible. You’d discussed it with a religious older neighbor, and she’d just said—”it’s an angel. An angel is delivering comeuppance.” But you’d think Seonghwa was purely… a demon.

One night, you’re coming back from the corner store, where you’d rushed to do last-minute grocery shopping after having forgotten through your preoccupation, you dragged a heavy plastic bag of groceries back home.

Suddenly, in the alleyway right next to your flat, someone pushes you, from the dark, shoving you into the alley between two flats. You gasp, but couldn’t scream—perhaps for your own good.

“Look, we don’t—we don’t want to do this.” The masked attackers let their leader speak. “Just give us the groceries, and your money—please, some of our kids at home are starving—”

You’re shocked and didn’t know what to do, so you gape up at them until they take the bag into their own hands, only to stop in their tracks when a shadow approaches.

You don’t know what kind of thing scared them, but they dispersed quickly, screaming.

It’s a luna eclipse night. His skin still glowed, but not with the moonlight anymore.

“It’s not very nice to steal, although they were pushed to this situation—still, I’d rather you keep what you paid for.” Seonghwa’s voice rang through your senses like a breeze. So soft, so grand.

You’re more scared of what he was than you’d ever be afraid of those bandits. You scrunched your eyes shut and started to pray: “Lord have mercy. Deliver us from evil, deliverusfromevildeliverusfrom—”

“I’m not evil. If anything, those prayers would call me closer—an angel.”

Your eyes shoot open. “You’re not…”

“I am.”

You look at him, and you could believe it. He’s that handsome, almost to the point where the only reason was that he was so wonderfully made. You step further back into the alley until your back hits the wall.

“Why are you here?”

“I see most things that are happening in this country—it is my duty, after all.” Seonghwa hesitated if he should add his next words. “But I look after you especially. I am familiar with your life, your suffering.”

“That doesn’t make me feel good,” you protest. “You’ve been watching me?!”

“Everyone is watched—from birth. Let me assure you you are far from a sinner—you’re the kind of innocent soul I’d whisk away from this hell if I could.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m a harbinger, not a savior, or even a protector.”

Meaning all he does is kill. You shudder.

“You’re still shaking, and I can feel the rapidity of your heart from here.” He steps closer towards you, and you almost wish he’d step even closer, just because you feel safer under his light than in the dark.

“Let me calm you down,” Seonghwa says softly. Then, his hand wraps around the back of your head, and he presses a kiss to your warm lips, his smelling and tasting like fresh fruit, refreshing, like he’d come from somewhere green and pleasant, away from this barren landscape.

When you open your eyes, he’s gone, and your heart rate has never been calmer. And the air smelled sweet.

“You’ve been… distant,” Yunho starts with a sigh, like he didn’t want to be talking about this… “ever since I played at that military party—are you mad at me that I took the job?”

You didn’t reply, not because he was right, but because you didn’t know how to start explaining. If you told him about Seonghwa—he’d call you crazy. He’d think the loneliness and the fear had finally maddened you. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Yunho scoffed. “I know I shouldn’t be some bootlicker artist, but we needed the money, and—you know what happens to people that turn them down.”

“I’m glad you took it,” you say, insincerity apparent in how monotone you sounded. “Who knows what they could have done to us if you hadn’t?”

He sighed. “But you’re mad.”

“You’re mere entertainment to the people who took my family from me—excuse me if I’m disappointed.”

“You said it yourself—who knows what they would have done to us?!”

“Yunho,” you sighed. “I love you, and I’m disappointed. At the same time. And you know, you have a new admirer.”

“The daughter?” Yunho was aghast. “It’s… it’s not…” He couldn’t come up with a lie nor a reassurance. Everything you’d said was true.

You find out later that she had been calling his work phone, over and over again. And he always took it—who knows what she’d do?

Seonghwa visits the apartment, on his own will—he wasn’t some unholy beast that had to be invited in. Every border allowed him inside.

He watched you, poised from the window as you washed dishes—it didn’t matter if he fell, so you don’t utter any complaints.

“Why are you dressed like that?” you ask. “It’s like… haven’t you had a wardrobe change since 800BC?”

“No one can see me,” Seonghwa says, more of an excuse than anything. “It’s comfortable,” he finally answers.

“Stuck in your old ways from millenia… hmm, not a good look, demon.”

“Angel,” he insisted. “You know, if you keep calling me demon, I’m going to think you don’t think I'm too pretty.”

But he knew he was.

Sometimes you’d begin to think that maybe you were losing your mind, cooped up in a barren flat in a barren city with your anxious thoughts to accompany you, and Seonghwa was a manifestation of this madness. But the constant news of murder after murder confirmed that Seonghwa was indeed real, and indeed everything he said he was.

He didn’t call what he did ‘murders’. Murders took human, stealing life from another human. He wasn’t one. What he did was comeuppance, divine instruction, divine punishment. Heaven’s work was what he was doing.

Yunho isn’t tutoring anymore, but he has more money than ever. You know what it is, but didn’t have the heart to point it out—you didn’t want to lose him, and you knew the minute you shed light on it, the entire lie would blow up. You had no one to discuss this dishonesty to, because once they find out who he’s been cheating with on you, you both would be nothing but traitors.

Storm season is around, as the city had been built around rivers. Rising tides and cyclones kill, but the only deliverance the high society faced is Seonghwa’s doing. Military families die, and new soldiers take their positions, although they were all well-aware—they were being haunted. Still they insist it was a serial killer, nothing supernatural—you guessed they had to think that way, to believe heaven was still on their side.

Tonight, the storm hits your part of the city, and the thunder doesn’t stop. As the rainclouds block the sun totally throughout the day, there’s no solace, no light—the electricity cuts off, and Yunho hasn’t come home since the previous night.

You can pretend the blackout is just a precaution for the storm, but you know the houses on the hills—aka the high-society neighborhood—stay lit with the brightest lights. While you hunted in the dark for flashlights and candles.

“Yunho…” you cursed your boyfriend’s name, you had asked him to buy some candles for the apartment, but he never got around to it—although you guess you shouldn’t be so mad, he was always preoccupied, trying to earn money, trying to stay alive for you—

The storm wasn’t going to be that bad. You hoped. A cyclone was happening two shores over, and it carried the winds on to your city. You wished that everything was well at the shore settlements, as you went on looking for candles, and flashlights.

“Sweetheart,” comes the neighboring lady’s frail little voice, “I don’t mean to be a bother—could I have a candle, please? I know these things cost an arm and a leg these days, I just—”

“No, it’s no big deal!” you bellow so she hears you over the thunder. You bring out the little cup with its candle to her, promptly presenting it. “Here—don’t worry about it.”

When she murmurs her thanks and is gone, your sole light source was the flashlight in your hands.

The storm was starting, so you go to close the windows, not wanting dust and rain to get blown through the crevices, and you block the entire outside out, although the lightning flashes shined through the gaps every time they struck.

“My Y/n.”

You scream, a sound so shrill it cuts through, and you drop the flashlight, which shatters, bulb and the glass protection in the front. You’re still screaming, grabbing at nothing now that the flashlight had slipped away from you.

You recognize him by his clothes. Robes in the fashion of millennia ago. You finally calm down, remembering that Seonghwa couldn’t hurt you.

“Shush,” he says with celerity, approaching you and the flashlight on the floor, which still shined a dim, dying light.

You gasp. “Oh no, I broke it!”

Seonghwa wordlessly touched it, glass shards and all, and presents it back to your hands.

And it’s fixed. The broken bulb, the glass, everything.

You stare in curiosity, but he’s been so honest with you the whole time. It’s hard to believe a real living angel is in front of you, but when he shows his powers this way…

It’s still pretty damn hard to believe.

You just stare back at him, with wide eyes. Pointing the fixed light at his chest. Is that… a fleck of blood… on his skin?

“Turn it off, please?” Seonghwa requested. “I don’t like it to be so brightly lit.”

“O–of course.” Your hands stutter as you blindly reach for the switch on the flashlight, to turn it off. As soon as it’s off, you take a good look at Seonghwa, who you’ve only seen in moonlight, in dim alleys, always hidden in the shadows. Now you’re close enough to him that you can see every little thing you’d missed all the other times—how neat his clothes were, not torn at all; his features, too beautiful to be human; his perfect hair, which you still didn’t know why it chose to be platinum.

“I need a text from Yunho first,” you tell Seonghwa. “Before I can rest easy, like you told me to do.”

“He’s going to sit the storm out at her house. He’s completely roofed, and safe. You can embrace each other in the morning.”

You frown.

“Don’t be ashamed that I know he’s unfaithful—I couldn’t help but know.”

He knew every single thing you were feeling, and if it were something that could be shrouded, you’d cover yourself… you feel your mind was naked in front of him, every dirty thought.

You taste iron on his tongue, like bars in jail cells, like rusted knives, like blood. As soon as you remember the taste of blood, you pull away. Remembering he isn’t human.

Remembering what he does, what he has done. His nature.

“I understand if it’s too much for you,” he says. “I understand if you find it hard to be with me this way.”

“You read my mind, you know that’s not true, you know I want you.”

His mouth, fangs and all, sinks into the skin of your neck, although he doesn’t so cruelly bite down, so delicately feeling you with his lips, every inch of vulnerability awakening something in him. “You want me,” he concluded. “You want me, in that way.”

You nod slowly, you knew it was true. “Can you…?”

“I work very closely to human sin, remember?” the angel speaks. His voice is everywhere around you, it’s like it’s coming from your own head. “I may not… know what it’s supposed to feel like, really, but I know how enjoyable it can be, for you.” He reached out, tracing your face, when you frown, concentrating on looking at him, he tenderly caresses the creases between your eyebrows and the pout of your lips, thumb ghosting over every feature. “Every little nerve working in your body… every open mouthed moan… every pain in your core—I know you humans love it.”

And he’s so real. Like a real, warm human body. You almost forget what he really is…

“But will you feel it?” you ask. “It… it won’t be right if you don’t feel the pleasure.”

A smile ghosted his lips. “Good thing I live in the in-between. Not quite angel, not quite demon, not quite human.” He leans in close to you, it’s the closest you’ve ever had him to you, you think— “But I have a cock I can indeed derive pleasure from…”

You just stared up at him, not even remembering to swallow the saliva in your throat.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Don’t read my thoughts,” you beg.

His laugh is musical, and rings in your ears. “Aww, I was just—you’re right, that’s not fair of me. It’s just a habit, I’ll…” he puts his hands to his ears. “I’ll play deaf to all your thoughts, I promise.”

“Whatever I think, you hear it?” There’s such a sad helplessness in your words.

“Not from now on—I am at your command.” He kissed your eyes. “Every command.”

“If I do this, will you fall?” You step closer to him and kiss him, the way you kiss Yunho on fervent, feverish nights, soft lips battling with the power of corruption, although you didn’t know how much you could corrupt…

Seonghwa smiles into the kiss, and smiles even bigger when you pull away. “Fall, like from heaven?” He tuts at you with a tilted chin. “You need to try harder than that—although… it does make me farther than ever from my goal of getting wings, it’s something I can work for again.”

(The day he revealed himself to you again, and proclaimed he was an angel, you’d asked: “if you’re an angel, where are your wings?” and he answered he was working for them, just didn’t have them yet.) You knew he wanted those wings, so why would he step so many steps backwards, just for you…?

“Because you’re worth it,” he answered. Then he holds his tongue. “Oops. I’m meant to not listen in, aren’t I?”

He’s close to you again, didn’t even walk towards you—just phase-shifted to you—”I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his voice echoes in the depths of your mind again, “your thoughts are just so loud. You’re so… apparent—needy, aroused, curious... it’s almost innocent, how plain your desires are.”

You swallow air just to not breathe it out.

Seonghwa kisses you again, this time with an unyielding force, his hands go to the straps of your top and just pull them down, revealing your chest, pure skin so soft and yielding to his touch, but he doesn’t touch, only stares.

“If I coveted what was your boyfriend’s, that would make me a hypocrite, huh?” You don’t know how he’s done it, but he cuts your pants off you with a swipe of his hands, and you’re naked… for him. You reached for his robes, which came off easily with a pull of a string.

His skin is also pale, unbroken, bright, reflecting. It’s so beautiful you can’t help but be aroused, and as the slick gathers around your lips, Seonghwa carries you, only to the couch in your vicinity, big enough to lay down fully.

The fact that you’re letting a monster fuck you on the couch your boyfriend bought wasn’t lost to you. But when Seonghwa touches you again, stone-cold skin that burned you, you realize there was so much passion, that you wanted it over your own current life. Seonghwa could fix you.

You feel his tongue against your clit, so easily submitting to you, giving you pleasure, as if he weren’t a creature more than anything you ever were.

Seonghwa was aggressive, as if starved—he'd never wanted to taste anything human before, and this gave him a new kind of hunger, impossible to comprehend even in his higher brain.

His hands come up to your torso as he buries his face in your needy cunt, and you grab the hands, intertwining it in yours. He seemed to appreciate the closeness, clasping it tighter.

“Seong—Hwa—so—good!” You hadn't been brought so high, for your moans to be so pornographic, in a long time. Your toes curl up, you throw your head back.

To admit it, you and Yunho had the kind of sex where it couldn’t help either of you relax, bodies growing tenser and tenser as you considered your place in the dictator regime, your futures, how far you’d go to protect each other, when the last time you could be together was. Too many worries, too vulnerable like prey animals in the open field, to ever enjoy the sex.

With Seonghwa it was different. He opened you up. His kiss relaxes every nerve in you, lets you think clearly, lets you focus on the pleasure. You loved Yunho, but he was just a man.

Seonghwa’s long fingers roam your body, every part of it, while yours stay embedded in the skin of his shoulders and chest, just holding onto him, until he’s realer and realer with every passing second.

“Your—” you start, gesturing at his cock—so pretty, a pale, brownish beige color, pretty in every aspect. He nods. “You can feel me with it?”

You don’t see his expression anymore, as he buries his head between your head and shoulder, into the couch, as he enters you—all you hear from him is a guttural groan.

The couch drags against the flooring as he thrusts into you, standing up on the side of the couch. You praise him, telling him how good he's doing for his first time since merely watching, and his thrusts turn harder.

“you—every part of you—is amazing,” he says, maybe it was his turn to praise you.

He then wordlessly admires how you cum to your high, eyes too hazed over to even recognize him, or Yunho if he had returned.

Seonghwa’s porcelain grin flashes, lit up by the lightning around the flat, he’s looking mischievous—you reach out for him, and he’s real with his body, so close to you. “Poor baby,” he says. “You’ve never felt pleasure like this before.”

His thumb started to circle around your clit, almost too tender as if you were so precious to him, and then faster, to the point where you move away from him, just because you didn’t know how to handle that level of arousal.

Laughing, Seonghwa keeps rubbing your clit, but holds you down by the hips with his other hand. Your only option now is to moan, so loudly, you think you could start screaming. You realize you’d go unheard, through the storm, anyway, but didn’t want to risk it.

You look up at him with fluttering eyelashes, almost pleadingly. You��re exhausted already, just from everything you’ve done—Yunho, even in all his stature, had never tired you out this way before.

When you’re tightening around nothing—he wasn’t even generous enough to put his finger in so you could feel something—and spasming around his palm, Seonghwa smiles, head disappearing between your legs to lick the rest of the slick off, although he wiped his dirty hands on your bare stomach. Then he faces you again.

“I think—” Seonghwa breathed out a laugh, “I think this is depravity, you feel it too, don’t you? My corruption—”

He’s not even half exhausted, when you’re so fucked out you don’t think you can take anything anymore.

“You—bring—” You gasped, as he, with gritted teeth and tense nerves, enters you again, determined to get you both onto the same kind of high. “—me—so far… from heaven.”

You’re losing all senses, and when you arch your back, Seonghwa’s hands are there to support you, eyes rolled back and not making sense of the world anymore. Through the window, lightning flashes every two seconds, the outside world too stormy even for the soldiers to patrol.

Seonghwa disappears after he’d tended to your sore body, wiping the sweat of your brow and then kissing the very same place. And then he swore that he would come back. And then, he looks back at you—

“Yunho,” he says, “I’m glad he can protect you, but he can’t go that far. Right now, he’s not being honest—and you know it, too.”

Yunho doesn’t come back in the morning, and you wish on Seonghwa again. Even when he didn’t appear, you knew he was looking out for you—no matter how much he swore he wasn’t a protector, for you he was.

~~~~~~~~

THE END IDK IF I CAN WRITE A PART TWO

THE RAW IDEA IS THAT, THE DICTATOR’S DAUGHTER GETS JEALOUS AND ARRESTS YOU FOR NO REASON. SEONGHWA RESCUES YOU FROM THERE, FINALLY GETTING HIS WINGS, AND HE WHISKS YOU AWAY! Unfortunately that is too much action and yours truly

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader smut #ateez fanfic #seonghwa fic #seonghwa fanfic #ateez

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butch-reidentified · 5 months

Text

1. What is a woman?

Argument for Using "Cis-Identifying"

And related: A conversation with a "NERF" about radical feminism, gender identity ideology, and what we/I actually believe.

2. Inform yourself on some of the work I've done for trans people before you continue the trend of cowardly hypocrisy.

3. My thread responding to the way much of the tumblr trans community handled my sharing my story of surviving the 2016 Pulse Nightclub shooting (often by stealing my lived trauma and removing my url) is easily one of the most - if not the most - important posts pertaining to trans discourse I've made to date, and Tumblr won't let me pin it. Of course. So here it is. And a bonus: This lovely ask.

4. Hope for Women (this is a very new project, WIP)

About Me:

I am a butch lesbian, married to a badass gnc (but not butch) radfem lesbian goddess whose misandry surpasses even my own; she does have tumblr but rarely uses it - @psychichologramnightmare is hers. I'm 27/Taurus/May baby, though I'll be real, I've never liked astrology and found my birth chart n whatnot always laughably wildly inaccurate to me (sorry astrology girlies). Former competitive rock climber, still in love with hiking and climbing. Wilderness survivalist. Trained & armed woman, advocate for female-only firearm ownership.

My wife and I run our own business, and bought our first home together at 24 & 25 respectively - it's a lovely 4/3 on a quarter acre where we have 5 mango trees and more, plan to start growing our own food and herbs, foster kittens, and provide free housing (and more) regularly for those in need. We do a LOT of IRL feminist action/work/organizing. I post about some of that work pretty often, but I couldn't possibly post about all of it (even if it were safe to do so). I am basically organizing (mostly offline, but some online as well) full-time now.

Survivor of abuse, CSA + captivity, trafficking in my teens where I was forced into porn as a minor, the Pulse Nightclub shooting in Orlando 2016, and more. I am no longer affected by any of these in any negative psychological manner. I own my past, every moment of it, and wouldn't change a thing I've experienced. What I often tell people is, "I'm not glad it happened; I'm glad I was there."

I got my Bachelor's in Neuroscience/Neuropsych, used to work in a top neuro research lab, and have been a coauthor on a peer-reviewed scientific journal publication. I wrote my undergraduate thesis on POTS, ADHD, some of the relevant epigenetics, and norepinephrine dysregulation. I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos & POTS in 2015, before pretty much anyone had heard of them (including most doctors). My POTS is very well-managed now, but chronic pain from EDS is more of a struggle.

I practice witchcraft as a form of artistic expression. I don't consider myself spiritual as I've had a lifelong inability to "believe," but I am particularly passionate about lesbian-centered/lesbian-exclusive (esp butch & gnc lesbian) witchcraft. I am open to commissions for spell jars/sachets on a purely donation basis (we recently were victims of identity theft and are still struggling to recover, but I'll do them for free happily). This is essentially artistic expression to me, something to express love and sisterhood - why I'm not actually charging or anything and will even pay shipping and materials myself if you'd like one but don't want to/can't donate. To me, it's very similar to commissioning a painting or something of the sort, and I deeply enjoy the process of making them, esp for other women, the love that goes into doing so. See tags: #witchcraft, #brujeria.

Adoptee with complex history. Adoption-critical but not abolitionist - I plan to adopt with my wife in a couple years. I've talked a fair bit about my experiences, adoption trauma, ethical adoption, and more. Check out my tags such as #ethical adoption, #adopted, #adoptee, and so forth (tagged on this post for easy accessibility).

I spent many years surrounded by majority-trans-identifying friends/acquaintances both irl and online, deeply involved in trans spaces & activism, and even identified for a bit & was on T for a while. I am not "uneducated" or unfamiliar with trans-identifying people, their experiences, or gender identity ideology in general. You, like me back then, very probably have been lied to about radfems ("terfs") and what we believe and fight for. I am happy to talk in good faith (provided you do the same) 1 on 1 with anyone who is curious about what we actually believe and what we stand for, what common radfem takes on gender identity ideology & trans identity actually are and why.

I have a history of purely physical sex dysphoria (physical sensation like pain or itching). I got "top surgery" (elective mastectomy) due to this and other reasons: constant painful breast cysts & very large breasts (DDD even when I weighed under 100 lbs). I was not trans-identifying by the time I got this surgery (though I tried to briefly identify as nb/transmasc just bc I felt obligated, but hated it). I have never wanted to be a man socially and genuinely hated the very thought. I came out the womb feminist, got in trouble throughout primary school for fighting boys who tried to pull sexist bullshit, always lowkey believed in female superiority (I mean just look at our biology, lifespans, pain tolerance, the things we've done throughout history despite violent patriarchal oppression...). I spent years preparing myself. I read from & spoke to women who regretted this surgery, challenged myself at every turn, dove deep into my mind and thought processes, tried alternative treatment attempts, worked with a non-affirming therapist, made sure my past traumas were fully healed, and waited until I was in my mid-twenties so my brain was more or less fully matured. I have no regrets about it. I still have some (still purely physical sensation) dysphoria ("phantom male genitals" type of thing) at times, but have come to manage this very well. More on this here.

Formally assessed psychopath & participant in research by leading psychopathy experts (read on before jumping to conclusions). Check out this post and my #psychopathy tag (tagged on this post for easy accessibility) for info, particularly about high-EQ female psychopathy, & to find out everything you think you know about us is wrong 💕 (what you know about male psychopaths is usually right tho 💀)

Note: When it comes to politics, I strive to discuss exclusively that about which I am *uniquely knowledgeable* - by which I mean, essentially, that I (believe I) have something to contribute that is unlikely to be found on every other blog. I do not and will not make posts or reblog posts about topics I do not feel this way about. You are not entitled to know my views on every hot-button issue, and I have no intention of speaking on that which I know little about, or that I don't know enough about (through study or personal experiences) to contribute something you can't get a thousand other places.

Tag Guide (WIP):

#mine -> original posts, including ask responses

#ask -> ask responses only

#anon hate, #anon love -> should be self-explanatory. anon love does include some non-anon love for simplicity.

#catposting, #dogposting, #petposting -> images of cats, dogs, and both, respectively (not always my own)

#Wilder wives -> posts pertaining to me & my wife (last name Wilder)

#mvawg, #mvaw, #male violence -> male violence against women/girls

#ethical adoption -> my takes as an adoptee on the issues within the adoption industry & how adoption can be done ethically

#what we believe -> fairly new tag for posts trying to educate on what radfeminism is actually about/damage control for disinformation & misinformation about it

#trans violence -> violence committed by trans-identifying people, including threats of and graphic violent fantasies (primarily misogynistic ones)

#trans misogyny, #trans lesbophobia, #woke misogyny, #woke homophobia, #woke lesbophobia, etc. -> what it says on the tin

#mine #pinned #hope for Women #ethical adoption #adoptee #adopted #ntsd #neurological type sex dysphoria #sex dysphoria #witchcraft #brujeria #tra receipts #trans violence #male violence #mvawg #trans misogyny #pinned post #about me #what we believe

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the---hermit · 5 months

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Studying in the kitchen and the tiny bat my brother got me, aka my new emotional support lil guy

27|12|2023

I took a couple of days break for family celebration purposes but now I am back to my studying and I very resentful about it. I wanted to take the full week off, but since I was sick last week and couldn't study for some days I now have so much to do before my exams in January and February. I will try to squeeze in a few more rest days, but before that I am trying to power through the book I am studying right now. The other goal is to try to see my bestie as much as I can since she won't be here for long. I have already spent time with her family on christmas day, as it is a tradition of ours for me to spend the late afternoon and evening at her place every year. And tomorrow, tho I plan to have a full day of studying, we should be able to spend time together in the late afternoon and evening. I am feeling quite energized even though I am annoyed I am stuck studying instead of minding my own business for a whole week. Today I read and highlighted almost two chapters and wrote down notes for almost everything I read today. I decided that this week in the mornings I will try to get as much reading done as I can and in the afternoon I will focus on writing notes down. This is the best way for me to follow my natural energy levels during the day and make the best of my time. I cannot wait to be done with this thing. I should also start setting up my journals for next year, but I have not been able to do that yet.

calm hobbit winter activities and productivity:

read first thing in the morning (I am still reading Bookshops and Bonedust and you know what? I am not enjoying it as much as I expected. I am really struggling to get to the end, the cozy element feels a bit forced in this one compared to Legends and Lattes and the books should have definitely been shorter. I never thought I'd say it but I cannot wait for this book to be over and to move on to something else)

daily Irish practice on duolingo (and today I did a lot and felt very productive in this sense, working on duolingo in the early morning is definitely the best option for me, I need to keep it in mind)

read and highlighted two chapters of my book and annotated (almost) everything

updated my reading journal

started to outline my 2024 goals

wrote a couple of book reviews

mindless drawing while drinking herbal tea to calm my brain

📖: Bookshops and Bonedust by Travis Baldree, Nature Human Nature And Human Diversity by Justin Smith

#studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #university #calm hobbit winter #journal #journaling #studying #productivity #notebook #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

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thejournallo · 28 days

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Hey I'm the one who asked about the lucid dreaming methods. And no , you didn't ask a dumb question. Actually, I am trying to enter the void state through a lucid dream , and I would like to know the various methods or techniques that help to induce a lucid dream soo I can enter the void state 😅.

Hi! Thank you for clearing that up!

Some years ago, I started searching a lot about lucid dreaming, and some techniques were really interesting. I'll put my head up. I don't remember the names of those technicians, so I'll try to identify them by summarizing.

Here are some basic and common tips: Lucid dreaming is when you realize you are dreaming and have some control over what happens in your dream. To enter the state of lucid dreaming, you have to be aware that you are sleeping and that you are actually living in a dream, and that is the most difficult part of lucid dreaming. When exploring methods, I saw that most require you to meditate or keep your mind engaged while your body sleeps. (The main idea behind a lucid dream is that you can change it and even create a new approach.)

-wake up and fall asleep. (5/10; too complicated)

This method is one of the first that I tried, and in the long run, it is just tiring, at least for me. Basically, you fall asleep and have to wake up at least 3 hours later. Once you wake up, you go back to falling asleep, but this time you will slightly move one finger up and down. It does not have to be a full motion; it must be the softest touch possible because your brain must be alert but not totally awake in order to return to sleep.

-using your imagination. (7/10; good to keep your mind active)

This is how I fall asleep on a daily basis, and I only discovered a few years ago that it was a legitimate way. Simply sit in your most comfortable position and begin to envision whatever. It does not have to be about manifesting or entering the void, although if that is your objective, I recommend you do so.

-Write down your dreams once you are awake. (8/10; it is a slow method).

Something that I actually started doing is writing my dreams in a journal or in my note app, giving them titles, and writing down any details that I can remember. This not only helps us grasp the significance of our dreams, but it also teaches our brain that our dreams are significant, and you will begin to remember more, eventually leading to vivid and lucid dreams. I also suggest that you keep track of the time you sleep (I use my smart watch that tells me all the data when I sleep, but you can simply track the time).

-guided meditation (6/10; I have ADHD; I simply can't focus enough.)

This is a great way to also relax your body and become aware of your surroundings when you are falling asleep. They are easy, and I actually suggest you try them. It is not an effective strategy for me because I tend to divert myself, but you are your own person!

-Some shifting methods (8/10; believe me, they're worth it)

Several shifting methods, such as the Raven and Julia methods, are unintentionally good for beginning with lucid dreams. They help you because they keep your mind active and your body tired.

and i think that's all! @ddaycoming (i tagged you because you asked for some methods about lucid dreaming, forgive me if i disturbed you.)

If you are interested in other methods, I have a masterlist of things I have already talked about, and if you have more questions, don't be afraid to ask!

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adviceformefromme · 2 years

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10 ways I became anxiety free.

To overcome anxiety you need to put in the work, this is not some click-your-fingers-and-its-gone shit. You need to return home to yourself and learn to live in alignment with your truth and not what society expects from you. I went from years on years of crippling anxiety and panic attacks to living completely anxiety-free for many years now, here’s what I did....

1 ) I fucking paused. I created a space for myself daily to meditate / journal. I stopped listening to the outside world and started tuning into me. I noticed the voice in my head and all the ways it was kicking me down at every given opportunity. I noticed how I worked a job that was so far from everything I loved and valued in life, I started noticing the men I was choosing and how they would fuel my anxiety by giving me scraps of love which I accepted and tolerated for years. I noticed the ‘friends’ who’s energy I felt off around, I noticed my vices, drinking alcohol even dabbling in drugs and smoking for release. In pausing I really got to see how my life was so far from love, and this distance manifested as anxiety as a signal for me to come back home to myself.

2) I stopped talking / obsessing over my anxiety. The more I read about it, spoke about it, the more it could live within me. I was feeding it each day the more I focused on it. I stopped giving anxiety my energy. I accepted it was there, and focused on feeling better.

3) I got help. I found a therapist I trusted and could understand me (it can take some time) and this was a game changer. I did a course of cognitive behavioural therapy for 3 months (which I privately extended to 9 months) and learnt all the ways my childhood wounds had been playing out in my adult life. I would choose men that would validate my belief that I was not worthy, something I believed as a child from my dad. There was a long list of old beliefs that I was playing out in my everyday life triggering my anxiety at every opportunity.

4) I moved my body, I did regular exercise, dancing, yoga, running, pilates, walking. In order to get that uncomfortable feeling out my stomach, it was crucial the energy in my body was being moved otherwise I was energetically stuck.

5) I learnt how to connect with my inner child, I found out what I needed, where I was neglecting myself, and this was huge for my anxiety relief. I read Susan Anderson for steps on how to do this.

6) I got new friends. I changed my circle, and with this my energy changed. I spent time with women who inspired me, educated me, lifted me up, and this took time. There were periods I had no friends but I knew it was more important to be alone than be around people who were not aligned with me, and my values.

7) I stopped dating unavailable men, as my self love and worth grew I was no longer interested in men that rejected or treated me like an option. I choose men who treated me as I desired, with respect, care, interest, love and affection. Hot and cold men held no place in my life and this helped shift ALOT of my anxiety as my father wound was a huge part of the anxiety I was feeling on a daily basis. A man ignoring me for 3 days would trigger severe anxiety until I heard back.

9) I choose a career and jobs in alignment with my truth. I said no to jobs not paying me enough, jobs with toxic teams. At interviews I learnt about the culture and asked questions to see if I was a good fit for me.

10) I poured into my passions and built my confidence, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and proved my limiting beliefs wrong. I travelled alone, I learnt to enjoy my own company, I read books, attended retreats, listened to music that made me feel good, I helped other people, I switched off my phone.

All of the above was a huge process spanning over 10 years, it required time, energy, determination, heaps of self love and commitment, financial investment (self-funded), and an overwhelming desire to heal the parts of me that my anxiety was attached to.

#anxietyrelief #healinganxiety #anxi4ty #self healing #levelup overcomedepression depression #manifestyourreality #selflove #self development #self love

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joelswritingmistress · 7 months

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Last Halloween: Chapter 7

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

You scanned the room, taking in the cozy living room with a pair of couches and a television that sat above an old fireplace made of stone. It made way to a quaint, rustic kitchen where the aroma of Joel's cooking washed over you.

"Smells good in here." You eyed the table for two he had set up, complete with glasses of red wine. "This looks amazing."

"Well, why don't we stop the tour here for now." Joel said, "Are you hungry?"

"Very." You admitted.

He continued to tow you by the hand toward the table and the two of you sat down across from one another.

Joel lifted his glass and you smiled, doing the same. "To new beginnings?"

"I like that." You nodded. "To new beginnings." When your glasses tapped together you each took a sip. You watched him intently as he took his and smiled to yourself. "Thank you for this."

"You're welcome." Joel reached for his fork. "Thank you for.. bringing me back to life." He began to twirl a bite of spaghetti and you dug in to your plate.

After your first bite you looked to him. "Did you make the sauce?"

He nodded. "My grandmother's recipe. I was spoiled growing up." Joel gave a grin, "Ragu just didn't cut it."

"It's really good." You nodded in approval with half a bite still in your mouth. "Like, really good."

He chuckled and continued to eat. "I'm glad you like it."

"So, how long have you worked at the garage?" You asked him.

"This is year thirteen for me," Joel explained. "Ronnie hired me in my late 20s. I kind of bounced around from job to job before then."

"Did you always like working on cars?"

He nodded. "I started off doing oil changes and a little bit of the easier stuff on my parents cars and my own. And then I really got into it in high school and learned the trade a bit better."

"That's awesome."

"And you said you're almost done with nursing school?"

You nodded. "Almost. Then I can finally start making some real money. I should've just done nursing for my undergrad. It would've been a lot cheaper."

"What'd you get your bachelor's in?"

"Journalism." You gave a laugh. "I couldn't find a job and I always thought about nursing, so I went back." You shrugged.

"Good for you." Joel nodded. "Where ever you end up they'll be lucky to have you. You really care about people. I think that's rare."

You shrugged. "I just have to pass all my tests and practicals."

"You will." Joel sipped his wine again. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you were upset about me while you were at work."

"No, I just.. I just had too much time to think about what you've gone through and.." you shrugged to end the thought.

"I don't like seeing you so upset.. especially over me."

"Well, I'm not upset now." You smiled at him across the table.

"Me either."

You both sipped on your wine again and finished up your plates of spaghetti, talking about family and friends and life in general. It was light and easy.

"I'll get that," Joel offered when you were finished.

"Oh, thank you." You rose to your feet to help him clean up a bit and then topped off your wine glasses.

"Movie?" He asked when you handed him back the wine glass. "Or will you turn into a pumpkin if you're not home by a certain time?"

You smiled at the Cinderella reference. "No curfew for me."

"Good."

You headed into the living room and kicked off your shoes to get comfortable on the couch beside him. When his arm draped behind you, you took it as an invitation to snuggle against him.

Joel immediately pulled you in closer as he began to scan Netflix for something to watch. "You want something scary?" He asked, clicking on the horror section.

"Anything is fine." You smiled as he moved through some of the titles. "Ohh I heard that one is supposed to be good."

"Which one?"

"Sick it's called. Winnie watched it with her boyfriend. I think it's like a Covid slasher."

Joel turned to you and after a brief pause you both started to laugh.

"Okay, I made that sound really ridiculous," you admitted, though he pressed play to get it started.

"I'll take your word for it." Joel chuckled and set the remote down, took one sip of wine and then took a deep breath as the movie started.

You rested your head on the highest part of his chest and draped an arm across his midsection. Your hand found a gap in his clothes, between his pants and shirt, and you let your fingers dance across the warmth of his skin while the brutal opening scene of the movie almost made you close your eyes.

Joel chuckled at your reaction and tightened his arm around you.

"We don't have to watch it," he said.

"No, I like these," you informed him, "I'm just jumpy." Your hand snaked up the bottom of his shirt a little more and you sensed his body tense up a little.

Joel turned to you when you did that and you slowly tilted your eyes up to look back at him. He focused on your mouth, then back to your eyes again and then back to you mouth.

You swallowed hard when he said your name so softly that you weren't even sure if his mouth moved as he said it. You didn't have time to respond as your hand left where it rested on his abdomen and glided through his hair. At the same moment his lips connected fiercely with yours.

The kiss instantly became intense. Deep and dominating and full of something that had never been there before. It was full of feeling; full of hope and lust all in one neat package.

You laid back onto the length of the couch as he slid his body on top of yours. Making out with him like this was even better than it had been out by his motorcycle.

You drew your hands up the back of his shirt, forcing him to duck out of it and let it fall to the floor. The push of his clothed erection between your legs made you moan and gasp and sink your fingers into his bare shoulders.

"Mmm," you whined. "Joel, I want you." You knew you sounded desperate but you didn't care. You had never been this needy for a man in your life.

He pushed back onto his knees, reaching for the band of your pants. You gave him permission with your eyes while pushing down at his hands, encouraging him to do exactly what he had started.

Joel's chest heaved with a deep breath and he swallowed hard when his eyes landed on the black panties Jessie had suggested you wear when packing. You mentally thanked her for that and then all thoughts of Jessie or anyone else left your mind when Joel's fingers eagerly dragged those panties off, tossing them to the side.

And then his mouth collided fiercely with yours again as he set about doing things with fingers that had you grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"Joel," you whispered his name amidst a chorus of whimpers and he devoured your mouth again, leaving you breathless. You almost couldn't take the pleasure.

The smacking of your lips against his was the only sound aside from his heavy breathing.

"I want you," he choked out, echoing your words as he kissed the tops of your breasts.

Your eyes were practically rolling in the back of your head and your thighs were trembling. It was bittersweet relief when he removed his fingers from between your legs.

You pushed a hand down on his lower back and then attempted to shove his pants down off his hips. Living out this moment was all you could think about all day.

Joel pushed back to a seated position, arching his hips so he could free himself from his pants. You drank him in sitting there, half undone already as your body lingered in heat from the absence of him. You sat up and reached for him as he tossed his jeans away.

Joel intercepted your pursuit of him and pulled you onto his lap. He moaned into your mouth again when you picked up where you left off. Your bare lower half grinded against his tented boxerbriefs as you made out with him.

A second later he fulfilled your daydreams when he freed his erection and guided your hips to align with him. You couldn't even wait a second. You lowered yourself down onto him as he wrapped his arms around your bare back and pulled you back in for a passionate kiss.

You moaned, feeling him fill you completely. Joel whispered your name again and his panting breaths landed against your open mouth as you moved on top of him.

The strength of what was building was staggering; mind-blowing. Your body was going to be blown away to dust, to thousand little shards of pleasure when this hit. If he stopped, you'd cry. Cry and beg..

Never. Never in your life had sex felt so intense that your body and mind lost all self-control. You knew you wouldn't be able to hold anything back.

With every muscle drawn taut, you came. It was almost too much. Almost. You held Joel harder than ever, stiffening your body and nearly convulsing from the pleasure. You weren't sure how many times his name left your mouth.

In that same moment, as you continued to ride out your orgasm, you caressed him and absorbed him until he finished inside of you. Joel was a raw, sweaty, panting mess with his hair pulled in all directions from your relentless pursuit of him. His palms pressed against your sweaty back and he hugged your body against his as he basked in the afterglow of your love-making.

He pulled back with tenderness and gratitude, toying with your own wild hair and rested a hand on your cheek. Joel kissed you firmly again with his eyes shut and exhaled out loud.

"You are amazing," he murmured.

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 8

*I added a few people to the tag list. If you would rather not be tagged just let me know!

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute

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azure-cherie · 1 year

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PAC : Messages from ancestors ✨

Meditate and choose a pile with your intuition take what resonates and leave the rest since this is a general reading, none of the pictures belong to me , creadits to the original makers ✨ , please don't plagiarize my content, i hope this helps you ✨

Pile 1:

Hello my dear pile 1 💛, your ancestors are urging you to look within yourself for guidance, you are confused about something probably some goals and stuff you should do next year they advise you to sit down in silence and write what you feel , or in a way they could also ask you to channel their advice as you ask for guidence on what is bothering you , they see that you have been taking the lead and trying so hard to keep everything together and everyone together , yes you are chosen to break generational curses but that starts with you, you have done enough for your elders it's their duty to deal with their own shit, you should now move on your path , choose what are your new disciplines what you want to focus on , someone here could get married soon they are sending their love and best wishes and they are very happy about this romantic connection 🥺 , you should also look through the old stuff of your grandmother or some lady who has passed away , you are likely to find a journal or a book either of cooking recipes or spells maybe , they will help you in the continuation of protection and prosperity of your lineage, give gifts to your younger ones . Wear orange and pinks more often and take care and hydrate well . They love you see you and guide you .

Pile 2 :

Hello my dear pile 2 💛, your ancestors want to let you know that you're not alone first of all , they will always be at hand whenever you need something, eat well sweetheart, you don't have to compromise so much, things have been rough, but it was all to teach you , look at you now wiser smarter , but beware who you feed what you have learned, knowledge is a weapon make sure that they don't use it against you , take your pet to walks and spend time with your pet , take care of your mom , plant some plants in your garden , probably petunias or chrysanthemum, if you're worried about the magic you lost it's all yet to be rediscovered, get in touch with your old hobbies , what you liked to do as a child do you still love doing it , then do it , don't let things that you love go . You should start studying little by little , they know you have been facing problems but as you bring more focus and discipline in your life this problem will be solved . And definitely definitely speak up for your needs don't be guilty to take what you deserve, you are here for a beautiful reason , embrace normality and embrace greatness whatever makes you happy.

Pile 3 :

Hello my dear pile 3 💛, your ancestors adore you so much 😭 you're being addressed as a sugar plum babe 😭💛 you guys are definitely so adorable, the life the light everyone finds inspiration from ,you're a muse , you're an artist , they appreciate your creativity and want to see more of it , especially they love it when you do your traditional dance , you look so beautiful, they say you were brought into the family as a blessing a boon and you've been the reason to so much prosperity, you will be blessed with something soon , at times you may feel lost because you have been there for everyone but who has been there for you , you have learnt to stay alone but you can open up to the right people , go out roam around maybe you will find someone or something worth your love , do you guys cook or something do it more you're great at it and even if you're a beginner you will be give it more practice, you could also go watch sunsets near beaches , you feel a deep sense of familiarity with water, someone in your ancestry could know how to work with elemental water to gain knowledge and memory, i get a visual of a women in blue dress very tall , one second she reminds me of African orisha Yemaya and Oya as well maybe someone down your line used to work with them, they will always look after you , 😭💛they wanna say go little rockstar it's so cute ah 🥺💛.

Thank you so much for reading, kindly leave a feedback if you resonate, have a great day / night 🧡🧡

#pacreading #pac readings #pac tarot #pac reading #pac #tarot card reading #pick a card tarot #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #intuitive tarot reading

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thecrystalquill · 10 months

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A/N: Here ya go, Chapter Eight!!!! As always please remember to read the intros etc. I don’t give permission to republish, copy, or use my work elsewhere.

And please like/reblog! I always appreciate it :)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series Intro Your First Year Hogwarts Letter

Chapter Eight ~ Academic Chess

The first class of the day, according to her schedule, was Transfiguration; taught by the same professor who first greeted them the night before.

The morning had been a bit strange; where she was used to waking to the sound of seagulls and screaming, she was now awakened by the other girls in her dorm rummaging about to get ready. She’d never had to share a room before, and certainly not with so many people. Her roommates seemed nice… a little strange but who was she to judge? As she’d unpacked her bone collection and trinkets to place on her shelf, they’d unpacked magazines and scented candles, and given her funny looks as she placed her giant new journal on her desk. But so far they had yet to curse her name or scurry away in fear – in fact, they even introduced themselves. Saoirse Speck was the first to greet her, an Irish girl from Cork; she was a little odd herself, with absolutely no filter before she spoke and always seemed to have her head in the clouds. Another was Millicent Bullstrode, she had a round face and always seemed to be frowning just a little. Millicent looked the most nervous out of them to meet her, but shook her hand anyway. The third girl was Bridget Byrne, a pureblood from Windermere, a little rude but still more tolerable than some. They invited her to sit with them for breakfast, (Y/N) could see the reluctance but agreed nonetheless.

Finding their way to Transfiguration could have been easier – there was no map provided for students and there weren’t any signs about the castle – but eventually, after many stops to ask for directions, they made it in time.

The classroom was located on the east lower floor of the castle, just up a flight of stone stairs. It was a magnificent room, (Y/N) thought, every part of the great castle was. Stone arches decorated the walls, great windows curving up to the ceiling let in so much light that no candles even had to be lit, and the rows of wooden desks were all set for them to start. She was terribly excited – not that anyone could tell.

“Good morning, class.” Greeted the professor when everyone was seated. (Y/N) could have sworn she wasn’t there a moment ago. “Welcome to your first lesson of the year. For anyone who may not remember, I am Deputy Headmistress McGonnagal – head of Gryffindor house and your professor. I am glad to see you all on time.” She paused and looked at each face in the room. “Well, most of you. It seems we have a few missing students. But never mind for now.”

The professor moved to stand by her desk, gesturing to the chalkboard she had prepared in advance. “I trust by now that you’ve all had plenty enough time to revise your copies of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration and are already informed of the contents of its first chapter, if you’ll all please open them up.”

Everyone did as she asked, and Saoirse sucked in a breath. (Y/N) looked to her side to see that her roommate had forgotten her textbook, and on the first day too. She rolled her eyes before placing her own copy between them in a silent signal to share, ignoring the grateful look the girl sent.

“Today we will be learning about the Transfiguration Alphabet, something I expect you all to be fluent in before the end of term...” The professor began her lecture as everyone started to take notes on the scrolls provided. As the chalk began to write on the board various symbols and their meanings, which they had to copy, the room soon fell into concentrated silence, and the next time (Y/N) looked up, there was no sign of the professor but a cat on her desk. But still, she busied herself with her notes:

Monday 2nd September, 1991

Class Rules:

No food or beverages in class

No silly behaviour

Be professional

Pay attention and ask questions

Note: there will be a 10 question quiz after each week.

Introduction to Transfiguration

Transfiguration is the most sciantific scientific branch of magic. It is the defined art of changing the form of an object or being into a different form. Forms: Transformation, Conjuration, Vanishing, and Untransformation. It is a very dangerous form of magic and easy to mess up. When you are working with the molecules of an object you are changing its basic princaple principles.

There is a strict and systematic approach to incantations and wand movements. Take care to be precise.

Transfiguration Alphabet:

A – O

B – θ

C –

(Y/N)’s notes were cut short as the great wooden door to the classroom burst open. The class turned as two boys in Gryffindor robes scurried in, panting. Ron whispered something to Harry that she couldn’t quite make out, then the cat jumped off the desk and suddenly revealed itself to be their professor. Oh that explains it, thought (Y/N), as if her teacher being a cat explained anything really.

When the boys finally found a desk to share, just behind (Y/N) and Saoirse, they let out a breath and hurried to take notes. (Y/N) turned, despite knowing she shouldn’t, to face them. “Don’t worry too much,” she said, though her face was unreadable her words were clearly meant for comfort, “you’re not that late. I can lend you my notes later if you like.”

The boys shared a glance. “No thanks,” said Ron, his eyes lingering on the Slytherin emblem on her robe, “we’re fine.”

(Y/N) frowned a little, studying their faces for a second, both looked a little unsure, but she turned back to the front of the room and brushed it off.

When everyone arrived and settled into Potions, (Y/N) was surprised to find that their professor was not present. Wasn’t he supposed to greet them on entrance?

Whispers and gossiping travelled about the room; some were about her, most were about Harry. (Y/N) was never truly one for gossip – if someone had something to say they could say it to her face, ask her directly; and she felt the same as they took glances at Harry and he kept his head down, hair covering his scar. Supposedly no one had yet learned their manners.

Suddenly, the doors slammed open and the noise bounced off the stone walls, rattling the glass jars on the shelves, and in came a tall, dark-haired man dressed all in black. Briskly walking between the tables and to his desk at the forefront of the dark room. Anyone would think the classroom floor was his stage. “There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class.” He announced in a drab voice.

Ah, thought (Y/N), he just wanted to make a dramatic entrance.

“As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few…” the professor glanced at the rude Malfoy boy from the previous day, “who possess the predisposition-” hang on, does he know that boy? Is he implying he’s already had lessons over the summer? That’s cheating. “-I can teach you to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper... in death.” Very dramatic, should she be taking notes on dramatic flare?

Before she could think about picking up her goose-feather quill, she heard the scratching of someone else’s to her right. Near the edge of the row beside her, Harry sat writing on his parchment, gaining Snape’s attention. “Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not… pay attention.” The girl beside Harry gave him a quick nudge, making him look up in time to see the stoic professor make his way to him. “Mr. Potter. Our new… celebrity.” He mocked, which was really not very professional behaviour from a teacher. “Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

The girl beside him eagerly raised her hand, but Harry only shrugged and shrunk back in embarrassment.

The potions master took no notice, only taking the opportunity to humiliate the boy further. “You don’t know? Well, let’s try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

Harry gulped and shifted his eyes to the girl beside him. “I don’t know, sir.” He replied. Of course he didn’t, it was only their first day, after all.

“And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” (Y/N) knew the answer to that one, it was easy, and so did the bushy-haired girl raising her hand, it seemed.

But poor Harry was struggling for an answer. “I don’t know, sir.”

Snape pursed his lips, a couple of students snickered at the humiliation; most just seemed uncomfortable or afraid. “Pity. Clearly fame isn’t everything… is it, Mr. Potter?”

What was his motive in all this silly bullying? (Y/N) couldn’t help but wonder. But the sight of Harry – the first person to chat with her on that train as if they were already friends, as if she were more than just a dark, mysterious rumour – sat there flushed and feeling small and… stupid even, she just couldn’t stand the injustice. Before she could even think twice about her actions, her mouth moved of its own accord. “To be fair to him, professor,” she interjected, drawing all eyes her way, “it is only our first day. We can’t all be expected to know our textbooks by heart.”

The man turned to her, standing tall and menacing with a glare that surely would have made any other student quiver in their seats – but (Y/N) Addams had seen far scarier sights than a greasy, middle-aged man who bullied children, and she was far braver than she looked. A family proverb echoed in her mind, one that had been drummed into her and her siblings for years: A sharp mind makes you the most dangerous in the room, a sharp knife makes you the most deadly.

An Addams speaks their mind. Always. And right now, her mind was saying that Professor Snape would be a worthy enemy if he wished it. She also had the potential to be one of his best students, if he allowed it. If Snape had a problem with that… well, hence the second part of the proverb.

“Miss Addams…” Snape drawled, taking slow steps towards her, as if he fancied himself a predator stalking prey. But an Addams was never prey. “I should have known you’d be trouble. If you’re so keen to interrupt Mr. Potter’s questioning, you’ll be more than capable of answering for him.”

He was challenging her, obviously, but even if she got some answers wrong, it wouldn’t stop her from accepting. She held her head high and met his stare with a seemingly innocent one of her own. “I might.”

Snape seemed all the more irritated. “Monkshood and wolfsbane--”

“Are the same plant, also known as aconite.” (Y/N) answered immediately, it was easy – she grew it herself in the family’s poison garden. “Named because it used to be made into a paste and dipped on arrowheads for wolf hunting, since its highly poisonous. Would you like me to tell you about some murder cases involving it?” Some of her favourite murders involved poisons, it would take her all day to recite them all.

Academic battles were much like chess, and (Y/N) just made her first move.

The professor gritted his teeth. “A bezoar can be found where?”

(Y/N) thought for a moment, knowing for sure it was in her copy of Magical Drafts and Potions. “I believe it can be found in the stomach of a goat, sir.”

The flash of both anger and impression on the professor’s face made this all the more fun. “And what, Miss Addams, would you get by combining powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood?”

(Y/N) didn’t know the exact answer, but she knew enough to show him up a little. “I don’t know, sir.” She said, waiting for the look of self-satisfaction to cross his face, and when it did, she interrupted any jab he wanted to throw. “But given that asphodel is part of the lily family and therefore poisonous, I’m going to assume it makes some sort of poison – which I wouldn’t know the name of because we aren’t meant to study those until later in our curriculum.”

She was correct, of course, which irritated him all the more. And lucky for her, Snape was head of Slytherin House; he wouldn’t take points away from her for being correct in his class, would he? “You are lucky, Miss Addams, that I am willing to overlook your cheek. The next time you have something to say... you will raise your hand.” He sneered, turning with a swish of his robes and returning to his desk, eyeing the class. “Well? Why aren’t you copying this down?”

Check-mate.

Lunch wasn’t much unlike dinner the night before; just as excitable, just as loud. The only difference being that (Y/N) was no longer sat alone. Though she now had company, she still felt a separation from the students around her. As Rumi once said: “even surrounded by people, like water and oil, he remains apart”. That was how she felt at Hogwarts; not quite fitting in, away from home and her norms. She couldn’t wait for the end of term and it was only her first day.

Moments later, a commotion began within the Great Hall. “The mail’s here!” She heard from across the room, seeing a few students stand as a great swarm of owls flew into the room… or in all technicality, a parliament of them.

Various parcels, letters, and papers were being dropped all around onto the tables, owls landing near their owners to accept treats or steal pieces of their dinners. “Are you expecting anything, (Y/N)?” Saoirse asked from beside her, opening up a letter and feeding her barn owl a piece of chicken. Was that cannibalism? Maybe…

“Well I’m sure my family have sent something--” She was interrupted by startled shrieks around her, all looking up to see another bird enter the Hall. It was easily twice the size of many of the owls swooping out of its way, a wingspan that sent a woosh of air as it passed, and in its long talons was a parcel with a letter attached. It dropped it in her lap before landing on the table with a graceful flap of its brown wings, head hung low to greet her. “Mortis.” She greeted, tearing up a piece of pork in exchange for its delivery.

“I-is that a vulture?” Bridget cried, eyes wide with fear as the bird in question began to tear apart a full roast chicken.

“Yes.” (Y/N) simply answered, ignoring the stares and chattering as she opened up her parcel. A small box wrapped in brown paper and black string, sealed on the top with the black wax of the family crest; inside was a black quill, a pot of red ink, some more parchment paper, a silver letter-opener sharp enough to perform an autopsy, and a box of matches. She just couldn’t wait to light something with them. The letter was in a charcoal grey envelope, the seal was a rich black, and the crest had been coloured in white – doubtlessly Wednesday’s touch, almost perfect. Taking out the new letter-opener, handle shaped like a dragon’s neck, its fierce head roaring at the end, she swiftly cut open the envelope and took out its contents. She knew from the second she opened the letter that Wednesday had written it; her father would have been writing every word that came into his unorganised mind, and her mother’s nails were far too pristine to stain.

Dear (Y/N),

We hope that your first days at Hogwarts have been interesting thus far. Father wishes to know which house you have been sorted into, obviously (you should know that there is a bet in place, and I sincerely hope you haven’t lost me my pocket money). Mother asks if you have made any friends or enemies yet. I, personally, should hope that you prioritise the latter.

You did pack a camera, didn’t you? We want to see what everything looks like. If not, please inform us in your reply and we will send one over. Mother and Father also want to know if you would like Thing to accompany you while you settle in.

We are very interested to know about your classes and professors, will you be learning how to turn anyone into toads soon? Pugsley has already broken our new guillotine and I think spending a few days as an amphibian would be a worthy punishment. But for now I have tied him up and put him in his closet with his mouth taped shut.

Pugsley and Father are going fishing tomorrow – they feel that they are in need of a distraction while they get used to your absence. I, however, hope you stay there as long as possible. In fact, next time you should take Pugsley with you and it might finally be quieter around here.

Grandmama wants to remind you to practice your knife throwing, as it would be “unbecoming” of you to be a sloppy thrower by the time you return.

We expect your reply to arrive soon. Make sure Mortis is well-fed before you send him back, or he might eat one of the carrier owls he is let loose near. Wouldn’t that be funny?

Awaiting your reply,

Your family.

She couldn’t wait to write back.

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