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bellatrixobsessed1 · 1 year

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Vicarious (Part 16)

It isn’t perfect by any stretch but it is something. He can join them for meals comfortably now, even if he keeps quiet for most of it aside from a brief greeting. Now that it is out in the open, Azula speaks openly with him and he supposes that, that does help his case–rather her case.

He had always imagined that it would be easy to talk to the rest of the group since he doesn’t carry the resentments that Azula does for them. But he can’t stop himself from dwelling upon how he has been treated until now.

He feels like he has to ease back into liking his own friends but at least he doesn’t find himself flushing with anger upon seeing Azula interact with them. She is usually the first to invite him over. She or Aang.

They ask him how he is doing now, if he is taking care of his injuries, and if they are healing well. They ask him if he is eating and sleeping well. They don’t question him when he says yes even if they probably should. Granted he has been sleeping a little easier these days now that the loneliness isn’t driving him half mad. Now that he has memorized Azula’s optimal pillow arrangement.

They don’t speak about much of anything at breakfast. It is simply one of those mornings where no one seems to have slept well so everyone stays out of each other’s ways. He knows why he hasn’t slept and he has a guess or two about what is leaving Azula sleepy. He is pretty certain that he heard Mai and Zuko arguing last night–something about “you ate the last fireflakes!” That petty argument had descended into a much larger one about carelessness and a lack of respect.

At least he isn’t the only one constantly getting shit from his lover. He wonders if anyone is truly happy with their partners. He wonders what demons Aang and Katara have.

He turns his thoughts to the toast and eggs in front of him and tries to keep them there. Food is a safe thing to think about.

“I have good news for you.” Azula catches him after breakfast.

He could certainly use more of that on this drab morning. “What’s that?”

“I am taking Jin to a spa and resort.” She replies.

His brows scrunch. “For what?”

Azula rolls her eyes. “A date, Sokka. After witnessing that whole fiasco and seeing you…help me out, she decided that, perhaps, you could be sensitive and caring after all.”

“A-a date!? We’re back together?”

Azula nods. “She said that she wanted to give you another chance so I offered to take her to the spa and let her pick out the type of massage and the scents for the aroma therapy. She was torn between the hot stone massage and this water based massage so I decided to book a second appointment at the end of the month. You will be going with her as me. It will include a manicure and…”

He tries to listen to her lengthy description of both of the outing that she has planned but his head is once again caught in a whirlwind–a chaotic storm of conflict and confusion. He should be absolutely elated that Azula has managed to salvage his relationship. Instead he finds his tummy tickling unpleasantly. He is more thrilled to hear that she has managed to get herself a girl’s day with Jin–if they are lucky they’ll be back to themselves by then and she can have that hot stone massage firsthand. When it comes to her other supposedly good news…he forces a smile onto his face. It is the best he can muster.

And he can’t, for the life of him, place where this unease is coming from.

“Thank you, Azula, I appreciate it.”

Azula nods. “Sure, Sokka. You’ve helped me out, so…” she shrugs. “I’ll try to fix things with Jin for you.”

He would wager that she did quite a bit of work helping herself from the outside but he isn’t certain that she’d like him pointing that out. Instead he asks, “when is the date?”

“I’m going to start getting ready for it once we are through with the discussion.” She replies. “I just hope that it goes better than that last one.”

“Well this time you aren’t set up for failure.”

“Yes. Thank you for that one.” She grumbles. Her expression forms into something of a half pout. “I should start getting ready. Your hair is a nightmare to style.”

“You have much more hair.” He combs his fingers through the locks that fall over his shoulders.

The look she fixes him with can only be described as one of pure dread before her expression flickers back to something more deadpan. “Which is what the servants are for. You should let them know that they have permission to do your hair too.”

“Will this arrangement continue after we switch back.”

“Not a chance! My servants are my servants.” Sometimes it is hard to tell when she is being serious and when she is just messing with him. Either which way, her tone is much more vibrant now. She seems happier, and it fits his body much more.

“I’ll let you know how it went when I get back.” She places her hand on his shoulder as she passes him by. “Oh, and if you take the Avatar up on his offer to have tea, try a black tea, peppermint bled. I find that those make me feel refreshed. Enjoy your afternoon.” He can so easily imagine how those would sound coming from her lips. He repeats them to himself after she leaves, just to know for sure. Just to hear it for himself.

He very nearly understands where his conflict about Jin comes from. Perhaps if he dwelled upon it just a little more he would know for certain. He almost does–he almost recites her words using her lips.

Aang pokes his head around the corner and asks if he is ready for tea.

He hadn’t realized that Katara would be there too. Or that they would be having it in a rock garden. He doesn’t mind the change of scenery at all.

He hopes that Azula won’t be upset with him for taking Aang up on his offer for meditation and yoga. He can’t imagine that she will be when he tells her how much tension relief it offers her body.

.oOo.

All in all, Azula is in a good mood. She realizes that she has been lately. Coming off of years of complete and all encompassing hopelessness, this splotch of a chance has given her a weightlessness, a little lotus of light that unfolds in her mind in the spaces that were so heavily infested with dark thoughts. It makes even the slightest joys feel somewhat monumental.

It doesn’t take all that much to snuff that light right out.

She just thought that she would have it for a bit longer.

The date had been going so, so well. She had come out of that water massage feeling absolutely amazing. An entire month’s worth of tension and stress had been washed away. Eucalyptus still lingers in her nostrils even hours later as she lays on the bed next to Jin.

Jin who puts her scrolls aside and traces her pointer over Azula’s bare chest in lazy spirals. Jin who slides her hand up the side of her neck and strokes Sokka’s beard. Azula’s heart pounds in Sokka’s chest. Her breathing quickens. Jin’s touch is so pleasant, it is damn near everything that Azula has been deprived of, everything that she has been craving.

But she is scared. Scared beyond what she had ever imagined that she would be. No one has ever touched her like this. Not when real emotions were involved. Jin’s hand lowers from her cheek to chest. Her fingers trace over the lines of Sokka’s pectoral muscles and then over his abs.

She swallows hard, Sokka’s adams apple bobs.

“W-wait.” She says as Jin lowers her head, probably to place a kiss on her chest or naval.

“Wait?” Jin furrows her brows. “I thought that–”

She had made a mistake. She had let things get a little too romantic, let things go a little too far. She isn’t sure if Sokka wants this.Agni, she isn’t even sure if he wanted her to kiss Jin for him.

She knows for certain that it isn’t fair to Jin. Jin who has no idea who her hands are actually caressing. Who she has actually been kissing. “We can’t. Not now.”

“I don’t understand you, Sokka! One minute you’re so romantica and affectionate and the next you’re distant and detached.”

“Can’t a man have second thoughts?”

“Of course!”Jin exclaims. “I just wish that you’d voice them earlier. That’s the problem Sokka, you never tell me how you feel until after I did something to upset you. You bottle it up until things get weird and I get blindsided.”

Azula swallows. “I told you beforehand this time.” She tries.

Jin rubs her hands over her face. “Yes, and you’ve also told me before that part of the problem in our relationship is that we didn’t have more intimacy in our relationship. You were the one who has been asking for this. And now that I’m ready you’re suddenly not into it.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…this isn’t a good time.”

“Well let me know when it is, Sokka.” Jin frowns. “Look, I’m not mad about this, if you’re not in the mood then you’re not in the mood. But I want you to figure things out before we do anything else. I’m tired of trying to navigate mixed signals and awkward situations.”

Azula nods.

She had been so busy trying to mend things for Sokka the way he has for her that she had forgotten to take her own comfort and Jin’s into account. She has wasted both of their time and gotten Sokka’s hopes up.

Jin sighs. “I had a nice day, Sokka.” She squeezes Azula’s hand. “Thank you.”

Azula nods but she knows when there is a ‘but’ coming.

“But I think that you’re right, this just isn’t the right time for us. Why don’t we enjoy the rest of this spa trip as friends. You can invite Azula along.”

Inviting Azula along is precisely the problem. She is already here and she shouldn’t be. She just hopes that Sokka won’t be too disappointed when she extends the spa day invitation to him.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #sokka #sokkla #fanfiction

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suicide-and-other-comforts · 2 years

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I have a weird relationship with my mom. I used to think she was the most beautiful person in the world and wanted to be just like her, but I don’t wanna be anything close to that anymore. She was a good mom until my dad started doing his fuck shit. I cry when people yell now because of both of them, but mainly her. I felt so unloved and unwanted as a child. I remember when she was in the hospital for months and I was living with my grandma and my aunt back and forth. I felt like I didn’t have parents anymore, I barely saw either of them. I went weeks without seeing either of them. I remember seeing my mom so frail and sickly, it was one of the scariest times of my life. I remember when my dad died like the back of my hand, any sense of innocence I had left was gone after that. You don’t ever recover from watching someone die in front of you, especially a parent. I was so young, no 11 year old should have to see that. I remember the weeks and months after that. No food in the house, no heat, no electricity, no hot water, no love, no support. I remember her yelling at the top of her lungs every day over things that didn’t matter in the long run. I lost my father, my only father, does a dirty dish really matter in the grand scheme of things? I remember being beat every day and her turning a blind eye to it. I remember skipping meals and sleeping when I was hungry instead. I remember being constantly sick from being in the cold too much. I remember not having enough money for pads or socks. I remember eating toast and ramen every day. I remember her telling me that I was turning into a person she didn’t like, at 10 years old. Being around her didn’t feel like walking on eggshells, it felt like walking on thumbtacks. I remember locking myself in my room and pushing all my furniture in front of my door to escape the abuse. I remember her telling me to deal with my problems myself. I remember getting my hair pulled, being choked, being punched and having things thrown at me for just defending myself. I remember being so lonely. Lonely to the point where I ended up in multiple abusive relationships just to feel something and to escape her. She put all her attention into the men she was seeing, but would never admit it. I was being raped and abused every night while she was blissfully asleep in the next room. I went to her room late at night one time when I was having a panic attack, and she told me to go to sleep and leave her alone. She told me no man would want to see my body after what I done to it and that I was useless. She told me she doesn’t like me as a person. Whenever I begged her for help, I just got punished instead. Then, got more punishment for the ways I figured out how to survive. I was only trying to get through the day, i swear. She was never there for me, but will take it to the grave that she did everything for me. I was an unwanted child, I was excess. I was always overlooked and undervalued. Nothing I did was good enough and I’m a failure for not doing more. The doctors recommended that she get an abortion when she was pregnant with me because I wasn’t supposed to be carried nearly as far as she carried me for, and I wish she just did it. She gave birth to a child she didn’t want and she never let me forget it. She never outwardly told me that, but the way I was constantly ignored said enough. The only time I got attention was from the multiple times she caught me cutting myself and the times I tried killing myself. Instead of comforting me and talking to me, she told me I was stupid and selfish and threw me into therapy. I skipped a lot of school, I did a lot of drugs, and I destroyed my body multiple times and she still couldn’t see that all I needed was my mother. She just cared about the next paycheck and her at the time boyfriend. I knew she didn’t really care about my well being when she pressured me to drop out of college to work more to pay the bills. I never had a chance. I’m tired of constantly trying to scratch my way to the surface with no help. I lost both parents the day my father died.

#March 7th 2023 #11:27pm

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schmope-is-dead · 2 years

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I officially turn 15 in like. 5 hours 🧍‍♂️

anyway

I’m off my meds but I think at this point I just. prefer it yk

like. I’d rather be angry and lash out at people rather than just be pacified. I want to yell at someone and I want to scream. I want to drink until my head feels like I’m drowning

and most of all I think that I just really hate therapists. like, my current therapist isn’t as bad as my previous ones, right? but god she’s just so stupid

in our first session, I found out that she doesn’t actually know which disorders are in the dsm5. which yeah, I guess that could be me having the whole psychology spin, but I don’t think it’s that fucking hard!! it’s not even the diagnostic criteria, it’s just the bullet points of the book. I’m a teen who hasn’t even finished high school yet, and she’s a licensed therapist!! what the fuck lmao!!

and I guess that could be excused if she actually tried. yk. she’s always going “oh surely you have x y and z”, and when I try to correct her and tell her that I fit the symptoms and general diagnostic criteria of a different disorder, she’ll go on a whole thing about statistics, even when she’s wrong about the fucking statistics. like what the hell?? I thought this was therapy, not a goddamn math class

or how she always interrupts me and goes on about how her wife is doing, or how her son is doing, or how she just haaas to text her sister during our session. I mean, maybe if you actually talked to me, you would see what I’m trying to tell you!! you would see that deep down I am not a fucking empathetic person. I hate everyone and deep down I hold the belief that I’m better than everyone around me. and maybe you’d actually benefit from, I don’t know, hearing me out about how I’m not some perfect kid, I’m a deeply flawed man who simply hides behind my natural child-like mannerisms to make people like me.

I’m mature. I’m more mature than a lot of adults I know. I’ve prevented three people from committing suicide in the past two years. I even loathed one of them at the time, I only did it because I knew it was “right”. I’ve manipulated my way to get out of an inpatient, after realizing that they had no intent to help me. I’ve had to keep my little sibling out of trouble because our failures of parents couldn’t care to. I’ve cleaned up after my parents when they’ve invited their friends over to drink and just couldn’t be bothered to clean up after themselves. I’ve made dinner for them and my sibling when they’re simply too tired to. I’ve put aside my own mental issues for years simply because it wouldn’t fit with what my mom believes we need for our family image. I don’t require people’s pity or help, and I only take their pity or help because I can. I realize that this is exactly what a stereotypical teenager would say, but I don’t know how else to say it. the only reason some people view me as more of a kid is because I let them. I’m very aware of every little action I do, and I rarely miss.

do I feel terrible about the child I let other people see me as? sometimes. I know that I was supposed to be that child, that I was supposed to just continue with a regular development until I became a mechanical or software engineer. I know that I should’ve grown up to sure, still have some trauma, but I feel like I’ve been 20 for the past three years. other times, I feel like I’m sick. any time that I drop the façade of some immature child, my friends call me insane. my friend andy, they always try to talk softly to me, like we’ve gone down from high school to pre school. my friend cooper, he just tells me to “start acting like his friend”. my friend dyllyn, he acts like I’m having a heart attack. my friend joey, she just starts laughing and telling me no, like I’m a toddler who didn’t know what I was saying.

some days I just wish that I could soft restart. that they would all just accept that I’m still their friend, the one who literally carried their grades and babied them for years, but that I’ve been lying about my real personality. it’s fucking tiring. the boy they see me as, the popular, funny, helpful, and smart Charlie, never existed. he’s just a persona that I wear when I’m at school. but I know that they’d never accept charlie, the teenager who thinks of them all as friends, sure, but friends who are generally oblivious in life. the teenager who wishes that he was taken more seriously, seeing as he’s had to just pull himself through situations that have made all children’s therapists in the area give up on him.

sometimes my life just feels like some cruel joke. like there’s some kind of sadistic god up there who thinks it’s fun to force me to put on the act of a child in the mindless drivel of situations that would befall some oc named clarence made by a 12 year old girl learning what angst is for the first time

#charlie.txt #vent

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baukitten · 2 years

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parallels no one asked for : season one vs season eight !

#* 𝑖 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒. ›› character study.#* 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦. ›› headcanon.#the way penny did everything right after the fisher king got in & it still wasn't enough #bc mark hamill literally broke into her apartment her safe space to get into her system #how she still to this day blames herself for elle getting shot and strauss getting poisoned #how she carries her failure with her until she starts therapy

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Day four of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! Today’s prompt was Sunglasses!

Steve has a lot of secrets. Too many probably.

Most teenagers’ secrets are things like sleeping with the wrong people, smoking the cheap shit the jocks pass out, broken curfews and failing grades. He’s got all of those too, but Steve's secret runs much deeper than that.

His is the kind of secret that’d have men in black suits coming to take him away, or at this point, more than a decade after letting him go in the first place, putting a bullet in the back of his skull and calling it a day before any trouble comes up.

He’s been stuck in Hawkins all his life. Been fed the knowledge about the world off a silver spoon he didn’t ask for. His first five years of life are well forgotten to shock therapy and to the lab, where they intended to use him and the rest of the kids like him as weapons. Pawns in their big game of life.

But Steve was different. He could turn his powers off, make them undetectable by the machines they hooked him up to. They thought he was just a failure, so after so long, they wiped his brain with their very own cocktail of drugs and just let him go. Adopted him out to a middle aged dink couple who wouldn’t run their mouths about where their little bundle of joy came from as long as their pockets were lined with enough hush money, and that was that.

It didn’t take long for them to realize though, that he wasn’t as normal as they had been convinced he was. Not even knowing he was doing anything wrong, little Stevie would have outbursts, or small tantrums as momma always tried to convince everyone who told her Steve was too much for her to handle.

These weren’t just normal crying fits though. Anyone who got near him would be just as sad or scared or frustrated as he was. A single sob from that boy had enough power to crack the foundations of the family home.

Most kids when they have a cranky morning will get on the nerves of their parents, but Steve could disrupt the whole neighborhood without even realizing it. And that was his power.

They didn’t have a name for it, really. The range of what he can do is too broad, too undefined by anything else. There was a telekinetic girl, a pyrokinetic he’s pretty sure is dead now. But Steve was just special. Part of what made it so easy to go under their radar was this, but it also made him a risk.

The only reason he wasn’t immediately reported and given back to the bad men was the power this frail boy carried. It scared Ruthie and John, and they decided that they’d rather face the men at that lab again than a seven year old who could accidentally destroy them with his emotions.

So they kept him, and certainly kept their distance. They forced him into a little mold of how to behave properly and made him take pills to weaken his powers. They send him to behavioral therapy and make him act like he’s not a failed government experiment. A fact which he only learned a couple of years ago after his pills worked a little too well at messing with his memory that he forgot to take them, and memories came flooding back.

For the same reasons, Steve’s bored of being careful. Bored of following all the rules and being passive, just pretending he’s like everyone else so mommy and daddy dearest are safe. He starts getting a little riskier, testing what he can do, since this is the first time he’s ever really had control over his ability. He finds a link with other people and their emotions, something of an empathy power, but he doesn’t get far in his research, because his plan very quickly goes to shit when Billy Hargrove rolls into town.

Where to begin with Billy. That boy makes him feel all sorts of things he never even considered. The very first day he showed his unimpressed (but very impressive) face at Hawkins high, Steve cracks his windshield. Oops.

He was able to tap into that control and tone it down, but that reserve dwindled the more he’s around Billy, and from there it just spirals. Bending the basketball hoop on accident, exploding light fixtures, giving everyone in the school headaches. It gets to the point where Steve has to come to terms with the fact that he had a crush on Billy, and that he has to do something to get it back under his control before somebody gets hurt.

That and he doesn’t want to get caught now. He just got back into the swing of using his powers before Billy interrupted his calm. Going back there, or whatever else might happen, is the last thing he wants for himself.

He settles for a pair of ray bans.

It’s stupid, but when Steve was still young and all but popping his mommas brains every single time he cried, she was desperate to find a way to get him to stop. She started to notice he’d concentrate hard on one thing and another would happen, staring at a lamp until it shattered, looking into her face until her ears started to ring and pop. So she does what she can to break that subconscious focus. Puts a barrier between him and all that he’s hurting. A plastic, race car themed barrier, but it does its job, and it worked every time until they got him on meds. So now that he’s old enough not to just tear the damn things right off his face, he figures it’s worth a shot.

Because nothing had made him this emotional, this out of control since the day he found out the truth about his past. Billy is special, and the very last thing he wants is to lose control and hurt him.

He still feels like a dope walking into the school with a pair of shades on. Everyone starts to stare in that way he tries not to let remind him of the lab and the doctors standing in circles around him, prodding and waiting for a reaction. Steve thinks wearing sunglass inside is the least weird thing to happen in the halls of a highschool if Tina can come in with a perm high enough to touch the ceiling, but whatever. He’ll get over it.

The fact that nothing’s exploded from how on edge he is, mostly from wondering if his momma’s trick will work and not because of their judgement, is a very good sign.

Boldly, he decides to put it to the ultimate test, and approaches Billy.

In his head, he’s so focused on just going to talk to Billy, he has nothing planned to say to him, but he thinks he would’ve forgotten anyways, what with the lazy smile Billy flashes him when he notices him approaching.

Steve’s gaze quickly darts past Billy to check for damage to anything, the racing in his chest from just a look like that typically enough to at least crack a window. Maybe he’s not as confident about this as he thought, or maybe Billy’s just really good at making him flustered.

Doesn’t matter, because he’s at the other boys locker before he has time to process what he’s doing, “Lookin’ for somethin’ Harrington?”

“Oh, yeah, I was just checking for uh, my fans. Yeah, they follow me around everywhere, you know?” It’s bullshit, and it sounds more than dumb coming out of Steve’s mouth, but it makes Billy laugh, real low and raspy and that’s a win in his book.

“That what the little disguise is for?” Billy hums and taps his temple, clearly referring to the sun glasses perched on Steve’s nose.

“Oh these? No, I uh, wear these ‘cause of the uh.. because I wanna sleep in class and down want the teachers to know?” His answer comes as more of a question than anything, so he’s grateful when Billy seems to be more interested in his excuse than the subject at hand.

“Pfft, yeah right. I’ve heard you sleepin’ on the basketball bus. Ain’t no way your snoring doesn’t get you caught before your eyes do.”

Steve just waves him off, laughs with Billy even if his heart isn’t in it.

Billy closes his locker door, switching the subject as the scenery switches. It’s all a distraction to Steve, but he forces himself to look Billy in the face as the other boy asks him, “Seriously though dude, you okay? It ain’t like you to switch up your look. You’re not hiding anythin’ under the shades are you?”

“Nah. Just been thinking, I’m not the King because I’m not cool anymore, right? So I’m tryin’ to look a little more.. interesting.” Steve’s not a very quick or good liar, despite the military guarded secret that is himself and the little black number seven carved into his arm, and he can tell Billy doesn’t buy it.

He’s a good sport though, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and assuring him with a little jostle, “Aw, Stevie, you're cool in my book. At least as long as you quit comin’ up with reasons not to hang with me, yeah?”

“Yeah, I- alright. I can do that. Sorry for flaking so much though. Didn’t realize until you said something.”

“S’Cool. Just meet me at the quarry after dark and it’ll make up for it.” Billy offers, obviously trying to play up the coolness neither of them apparently actually have, and Steve can’t help but call him on it. “It gets dark at like, four-thirty, five o’clock anymore?”

“Fine. Meet me at nine, pretty boy.” Billy smirks, dropping his voice to add knowingly, “And lose the shades. I think you’re much more interesting without ‘em.”

#CherryLangeChallenge #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #experiment! steve #ej writer #story by ej!#this is a mess but that’s okay #I have two midterms tomorrow and can’t be bothered with cleaning this up again

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a-froger-epic · 3 years

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You said Freddie "was in love with an idea of Mary". I don't understand this and some other people's opinion on this. They were in a relationship. They broke up, because Freddie was gay and couldn't have romantic relationship with her. They stayed friends, which isn't unsual (see Joe). He couldn't love her as a friend? Only "the idea of her"? She didn't deserve to be loved? Why is it wrong to ask Phoebe about her? Why the fandom tries to forget she ever existed? She's known Freddie for 22 years.

Alright, I will elaborate then since I think you've misunderstood what I said there, and that is fair enough because I didn't explain.

I'm really not keen on getting into any discussions about Mary, to be honest, which is why I said none of this is a hill I'd like to die on. I'm not interested in defending how Mary acted after his death, there's a lot of valid criticism and it's true that their relationship is and was often misrepresented in a way that is disrespectful to Jim and the very fact that Freddie was a self-identified gay man. So I understand the frustration with that. But anyway, here are my thoughts on Mary and Freddie and their actual relationship with each other.

Let's start at the beginning. Although none of us can really know what their relationship was like, I personally think it's clear that they clicked very well in the beginning, on some level.

Let me just pre-empt this again by saying that pretty much all of this is speculation and my personal opinion, I'm not trying to tell anyone they're wrong. This is just my take. Don't come for me. Let me have my opinion, please and thank you.

I think they fit well in the way that, knowing Mary's background (deaf parents, started working full-time at 15), she was very used to being in a caretaker role and Freddie liked, in many ways, to be taken care of. I think she was also somebody who was not very outspoken with her emotions, not very emotional overall, and I think that actually perhaps suited Freddie quite well. Because I think that her keeping her feelings close to her chest gave him the excuse to do the exact same. Why do I think so?

Having read Rosemary's book, it's apparent that she is a very emotional person and what ended up happening, is that Freddie opened up to her in ways he never did with Mary. He never, until their break up, let on to Mary that he wanted to be with men. Freddie and Rosemary, by contrast, were only together for a year or so and he could not stop talking about it. Rosemary was open, so Freddie was open. I think Freddie was a bit of a chameleon when it came to relationships, which stemmed from his deep desire to be loved and accepted. He wanted to please, he wanted to be a good fit for his partners. I think that was sometimes detrimental for him because he would push himself to be somebody he wasn't. I think incidentally with Mary it sort of worked out quite well for quite a long time. I think that while they did have feelings for each other, there was also a lot of unspoken things, an emotional distance, and I think that made it easier for Freddie to be in the closet as long as he was. Again, having to grow up so fast, I think Mary was someone who learned to swallow things down and not address them and just function. In a way, Freddie had a very similar approach.

Now, let's talk about love and what I meant by him being in love with the idea of her. I believe that Freddie definitely believed and felt that he was in love with her for much of the time they were together, in part because I think he really, really wanted to be. Here was this girl who was in many ways perfect for him, the kind of girl his parents were thrilled about. Also, quite importantly, somebody who believed in him and did support him. I remember seeing one interview with her where she says her first impression was that he was this charismatic, long-haired musician and seemed so confident. Not at all like the person underneath, I think she goes on to say. But it did give me the impression that being as young as she was at the time, there was definitely a sort of wide-eyed admiration of his huge personality there from her side. And I think that stroked his ego a lot. I'm sure that later on in their relationship, she did become somewhat disenchanted with him and most likely even frustrated with him much of the time, but again, being someone who keeps themselves to themselves, I think she put on a brave face and funnily enough he did the exact same thing.

It think that towards the end of their relationship, they functioned as partners, rather than a romantic couple. I think Freddie clung on for a very long time - if not forever - to some ideal of what his life should/could/might have been if only he hadn't been gay (internalised homophobia galore), and that is also what I mean by being in love with the idea of Mary. The idea of the beautiful fantasy relationship with a woman he was never able to live up to, and I think a lot of guilt stemmed from that, for him. That he should have been able to give her that, but he couldn't. That he had failed her. That, therefore, he had to provide for her as long as he lived. Because if he hadn't been gay, he could have married her and everything would have been brilliant - which, you can't tell me, that his parents did not likely think exactly that. I will eat a hat if his mother did not once bemoan that he hadn't or wouldn't marry her. Again, I repeat, this is some deeply ingrained internalised homophobia I'm talking about, I'd be hesitant to say that Freddie was even aware of it.

Now, here's the thing. Freddie was someone who could not be alone, we know this, and he was someone who could not let go of people easily. He stayed friends, if he could, with many of his exes. And I think he was terrified of the thought of losing Mary - who he was used to, who he relied on, who he felt deeply guilty towards because he wasn't the man she deserved - when their relationship ended. Basically, he wanted the to have the cake and eat it, too. And he got that, in a way. He did get to keep her in his life, she agreed to that, and I don't think that was at all times particularly healthy for either of them.

I think Mary resented that Freddie was gay. Again, I don't even think it was a very conscious thing, but I think she absolutely believed that if only he hadn't been gay, they would have been perfect for each other. I don't think she ever stopped feeling like he was the one that got away. I think this led to her deeply resenting a lot of his circle and his lifestyle, resenting having to be involved in it, which I think is a large part of why she burned all bridges when he died. I think she felt free from an obligation that she herself had put on herself. I think the woman could have done with some therapy, tbh, I think they all could have. Anyway.

When I read what Phoebe said in that interview, what jumped out at me was that this was an important dinner with Freddie's parents. I think Freddie took solace in the idea that he could bring Mary out to dinner with them and it was almost as if it was real. That they had the son they wanted, in the way that he knew they didn't. I'm tearing up writing this right now because it's really heartbreaking to me.

But that is what I meant by the idea of her. I think, also, Freddie was generally very romantic. I think he was a bit in love with love, overall. And I think he held that fantasy somewhere in his mind forever, of what could have been, if only. And I think Mary did the same.

Of course it isn't romantic. It's terrible, it's sad, there's so many things wrong with it. But that's what I think their relationship with each other was. I think it always carried an echo of his perceived failure to have been the man she thought he could have been, he thought he could have been, if only he hadn't been gay.

Tl; dr - I'm not interested in erasing Mary from Freddie's life, any more than I'm interested in erasing anyone else who was important to him from his life. I do think he had a lot of love for her, and she for him. I don't think acknowledging that takes away from his love for his husband or makes him any less gay.

#Freddie Mercury #Mary Austin #ask response

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solarwonux · 3 years

Text

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan, IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you.

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot.

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.”

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter.

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time.

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what.

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house.

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family.

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation.

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew.

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time.

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes.

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him.

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress.

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.”

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands.

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home.

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper.

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?” His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close.

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away.

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.”

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him.

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips.

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close.

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face.

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck, live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?”

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband.

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was.

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!”

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin.

“We’ll see. Now behave.”

“As you wish my lovely wife.”

#kdiarynet #kpopscape #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen joshua #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #joshua fanfic #joshua angst #joshua x reader #joshua imagines #joshua fanfiction #joshua scenarios

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softykooky · 4 years

Text

sanctuary: six

summary: leaving your father was easy. leaving them? well...that’s a different kind of strength. 7.9k words.

genre: mafia au, fluff, major angst

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings: toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, reader goes to therapy, hurt, argument/yelling, the boys are mean...

author’s note: i made you guys wait long enough hehe :) hope you like it, please let me know what you think! and please take notice of the warnings!! they are there for a reason <3

♡ series masterpost ♡

Your nightmares have gotten better...somewhat. Better in the sense that you don’t let them carry over as much to the next day. Better in the sense that now, there are seven smiling faces that greet you every morning to help the fear dissolve. But they still relent as strong as ever, and make you toss and turn every single night with no pity.

They’ve gotten more frequent since that meeting with your father. More vivid. Some nights, your nightmares are so bad that you just end up migrating over to Taehyung’s room right next to you and sleeping on the edge of the bed (though you just end up wrapped around each other in the morning). Taehyung never bats an eye. Only opens the side of his thick duvet for you to crawl into and flicks on a lamp because he knows you don’t like the dark after a nightmare.

Tonight is no different. From the other side of the wall, Taehyung can hear your pained whimpers and mumbles that he can barely make out. Your sheets rustle as your body protests the vivid dream, and he can’t help but to bolt out of his comfortable position to check up on you. You’re still deep in restless sleep when he opens the door and approaches your bed.

“Y/N, sweetheart, please wake up”, he soothes, caressing the side of your face with one hand. “It’s just a dream.”

The yellowing bruise on your cheek has begun to fade, but it still makes their blood boil every time they catch sight of it. Seeing it right now makes Taehyung want to burn the entire city down and your father along with it. But he is here for you. And Taehyung (and the other six) cannot be anything but soft towards you.

“Baby, wake up”, he says again, louder this time and it makes you begin to stir out of sleep. You quiet at the contact of his skin but your eyes remain closed and that fitful frown is still on your face. Taehyung doesn’t know that his mere presence brings you comfort. Even when you’re not conscious.

He takes the authority to nestle under the covers next to you and it’s as if your body just naturally gravitates to his, tucking yourself into his arms like a linking puzzle piece. It’s a selfish reason, and Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone, though he has a feeling the guys already know and also share his belief. But he secretly treasures the moments that he gets with you, even if it is for a heartbreaking reason such as nightmares.

He loves the feeling of your body next to his, and the blankets that get just a little too overheated because the both of you are human furnaces. He loves the gentle thud of your heartbeat on those nights that he holds you closer than normal, when you shake like a leaf through your dreams and he is your tether to the ground.

And to think, just a while ago he was yelling at you from the other side of the wall, complaining about your loud crying. He wants to go back in time and kick himself. Taehyung’s scared. He’s never really cared for someone like this before.

You are already safely stowed away in his wide chest when a shadow walks by the room. Taehyung is not surprised when Yoongi creaks the bedroom door open, and not surprised when he sees Jimin in tow.

“We heard her all the way from upstairs.” Yoongi mutters through a yawn. Jimin just sighs and looks at your sleeping figure with concern and longing. The two men shuffle into the room and as Jimin lifts up the blanket to flank your other side, Yoongi sets himself at the foot of the bed. Not that any of them lacked space, of course. The boys made sure your room was properly equipped with a large California king.

“It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I want to help her, but I-”

Taehyung finds himself getting choked up through his words. They all feel the same way. It’s just that there’s been too many nights where he’s had to hold your broken pieces together while you scream out the ghosts of what has happened to you. If it’s too much to bear for the seven of them, looking from the outside, they can’t imagine how it must feel for you.

Jimin reaches over, your body nestled between the two of them, and inserts his hand inside Taehyung’s, caressing the thumb back and forth of his skin.

“I guess all we can do is be here on the nights that are difficult.” Yoongi tilts his head so that he’s looking at you, still drifting off in your dream with a pained expression on your face.

“She’ll get through this. She’s strong.”

The words that Yoongi whispers into the night air of your bedroom are hopeful. Uncharacteristic for a man like him, but when it comes to you, optimism is the only choice. He’ll allow himself to have hope if it’s for you.

The four of you fall back into shallow sleep, and time passes by differently when it’s night time and your bones cry for rest. They fall in and out of consciousness for a minute or a couple hours, none of them are sure. All they can focus on is their worry, and you continue to battle through your war of bad dreams. Jimin and Taehyung awaken again when you begin to stir.

You quiver like you’re cold, even when you’re sandwiched in between two warm bodies and they both snuggle in to hold you even closer. But you remain lost to your nightmare and begin to cry tears that drip down and dampen the fabric of Taehyung’s pajama shirt. He knows you’ll apologize profusely for that in the morning, but he couldn’t give less of a damn about his shirt. The feeling of you crying in his arms makes him feel like an utter failure.

Jimin wipes away the wet trail that the tear left behind on your skin, and wants to cry himself. He doesn’t know how to take your pain away, and wants to scream because sleep is the only time where you can truly rest and the universe deprives you of even that.

“I’m so sorry, princess. We’re here.” He whispers to your unhearing ears. “We’ll be here.”

When your cries begin to get loud and your muttering becomes pained, the door is softly opened again. This time, it reveals a wide-awake Jungkook and a not so awake Hoseok. Yoongi rolls his eyes but can’t help the fond smile that paints his lips.

“Jungkook, I told you to stop staying up so late playing video games.” he whisper-scolds, and Jungkook looks sheepish in the lowlight of your bedroom. They’re not surprised by his late night antics by any means, and they’re also not surprised that he abandoned them to check up on you. They all know Jungkook has an unreasonably tender spot for you.

“Is it her dreams again?”, Hoseok says, pure worry leaking out of every word and staring at your impossibly small self in Taehyung’s hold. There’s no annoyedness in his tone. They’re all just deathly concerned about you.

Pushing Hoseok inside the room and quietly closing the door behind him, Jungkook situates himself on the loveseat next to the bed, while Hoseok just plops on the plush rug, snatching a throw pillow and tucking it under his head. Jimin sweeps a stray hair away that had fallen into your face.

Though they’re all trying to close their eyes and sleep, they all know that tonight will be a restless one. If you are not peacefully sleeping, they won’t be able to either. And it seems that that statement applies to all of them, when not even 10 minutes pass until Namjoon and Seokjin make their way to your bedroom, for the same reason as the other five. They wordlessly set out pillows and blankets on the floor beside your bed, nestling into each other for warmth and hoping that you can feel their sincerity even in sleep. And if anyone could see them now: big, bad mafia bosses cuddling together to help you through a night of bad dreams, Bangtan would force them to sign non-disclosure agreements. For you though, they could do this for hundreds of nights.

When all seven are there, you miraculously slumber peacefully through the night. For the first time since Taehyung crept into your room, you are resting comfortably, quiet and undisturbed. And when you start snoring, Taehyung wants to cry with sheer relief. It was as if your subconscious vied for the presence of all the boys, and now that you have it, they finally allow themselves to drift off as well.

The last thing you expected when you woke up this morning was to be dripping in sweat and much too aware of the extra three bodies on the bed with you. Ones you don’t remember going to sleep with last night. You have no recollection, just remembered that you went to sleep alone and now the seven men you’ve grown far too fond of were in the room with you, still snoozing the day away.

At the foot of your bed, Yoongi stretches his limbs and groans when the sunlight peaks through the curtains into his eyes. He squints away the sleep and smiles dopily at you from under a blanket. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way you practically melt at just his gaze.

“Morning, sweetheart.” His throaty morning voice makes you blush two shades of red.

“Good morning”, you whisper back, not wanting to wake any of them up. They just look so adorable and so completely exhausted. Yoongi bets that all of them would rather forfeit their positions as mafia bosses before telling you it’s because they stayed up all night worrying about you. “Um…”, you murmur, eyes darting around the room, “why are you all in here?”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit how whipped they actually are for you.

“You were...having bad nightmares. So we wanted to come make sure you were okay.”

Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s confession, and it reminds you of when Namjoon had done the same for you all those nights ago. It makes your heart ache and bloom at the same time because well..no one’s really cared enough to do something like this for you. Something so simple yet significant. You blink away the mistiness in your eyes, looking around the room once again.

Three of them are on your bed. The rest are distributed across the floor and Jungkook’s slung uncomfortably on a chair. When you look back at Yoongi, it seems like he already knows all the thoughts running through your head. He already knows the words you want to say, but don’t know how to articulate.

“We’ll do this every night if we have to, Y/N. For as long as it takes.”

You leap from your spot under the blankets to wrap Yoongi in a bear hug, burying your face in his shoulder as he buries his in your hair. Though you are overheated from the cuddling and still dazed from sleep, you hold him with as much sincerity as you can muster. You have a feeling he can tell when he holds you back just as warmly.

The movement makes Jimin and Taehyung wake in unison and as they rub the fatigue from their eyes and land on the sight of you perfectly swathed in Yoongi’s arms, the two of them think it’s a sight they could get used to waking up to. They wonder if you feel the same way.

“Thank you.” Your words are airy and light in his ear, but Yoongi knows their true weight. He doesn’t say anything. Just plants a soft kiss on the side of your temple and relishes in the scent of your shampoo.

When he stares past your shoulders, he meets the gaze of Jimin and Taehyung, who are fondly peering at the two of you. Years of being with each other, they’ve learned to communicate certain things without having to say anything. And right now, in the gentle morning light, the realization is beginning to seep in.

Perhaps the way they care about you is more what they had expected.

Living with the seven of them is an adjustment. Getting accustomed to a rhythm and routine in a house that’s the headquarters of an underground powerhouse is easier said than done. You were constantly surrounded with uncertainty and tiptoeing danger but you had never felt unsafe. They were there. And as long as you had them, this house was sanctuary.

You’re not in any immediate danger. Your father had basically agreed to leave you alone for the foreseeable future and the media had begun to calm down. However, when the tides have settled, the boys are able to see you up close and personal and at all the ugly scares you’ve tried to hide from everyone. They’re able to see what those years of trauma has done to you.

Whenever someone’s voice booms too loudly across the mansion, yelling orders at subordinates or for any other reason, you start to quiver like a leaf in the wind. When one of them reaches towards you too quickly, for simple things like a wave or to hold your hand, you can’t help but to flinch in anticipation. And you try to hide it, but it’s impossible not to notice.

They notice everything.

They always do, when it comes to you.

With every mannerism and survival instinct that has been involuntarily drilled into your subconscious, they all grow angrier that you’ve been subjected to this pain. Hoseok has had to talk Namjoon down from sending their entire fleet to dismantle the ambassador a couple too many times as they continue to learn how deep the trauma with your father truly runs.

“Y/N…”, Jin hesitantly mutters, fiddling with the food on his plate nervously, “have you ever thought about...going to therapy?”

You freeze in between a chew and swallow, eyes staring into his with an innocent deer-in-the-headlights expression. You look like you might have a panic attack, and Jin is quick to cut the tension.

“N-not that we’re forcing you to do it, my love. It’s only a suggestion. It’s just that..maybe it would be good for you. To talk about things and get professional help.” By the way he says it, and the way the other boys are staring at you expectantly, you realize this is something they’ve probably been discussing for a while now. And though it’s heartwarming to know that they care about your health, the idea of going to therapy is deathly daunting.

“I don’t know, guys…” You twist your hands in your lap, a nervous habit to show your discomfort and they all instantly regret bringing this up at all. You keep your gaze glued downwards. You’re afraid that if you look up, you’ll just see disappointment from the ones that you’ve grown to care about so much. You don’t think you could handle it.

“Could you look at us, Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice is soothing and there is no single trace of anger or frustration. You slowly tilt your head upwards and meet his eyes.

“At the end of the day, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want therapy, then fuck therapy, princess.”

Namjoon feels gratification when his statement makes you smile, and his heart suspiciously flutters in his chest.

“But we just want the best for you. We all want you to heal because…”, Namjoon looks around and makes eye contact with the rest of the boys, whom he knows share his same feelings.

“You’re so important to us.”

You’ve known this. You know that they care about you even when your mind forces you to doubt that anyone does. But when you hear it like this, so raw and unfiltered with sincerity leaking in every letter, it ignites something that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

You take a glance next to you at Jungkook, whose warm smile makes your lungs feel like molten honey. At Yoongi, who looks back at you with gentle eyes. At Hoseok, who is impossibly soft with you. At them all. It makes you realize something:

You don’t want to go to therapy. It’s scary and you’re not really sure if you want to talk about your father or your family or anything that happened before you met Bangtan. But you have people who care about you now. And if you didn’t want to do this for yourself, then, well... you would do it for them.

“You don’t have to decide now, but-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice slices through Taehyung’s words. “I’ll go to therapy.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?”, Hoseok questions. Though he wants you to very badly, he wants you to do it on your own terms. And though your statement is strong, he can see the doubt and uncertainty swimming in your irises.

“No, not really.” you whisper, and they practically deflate so you are quick to remedy their dejection.

“But...I know that I want to get better. I know it’s going to be hard, but I want to get better.” You take a deep breath.

“For you. All of you.”

The room falls silent, and the noise of clinking cutlery against porcelain plates stills. They could only look at you and wonder what country they have saved in their past lifetime to deserve to stumble upon someone like you. Someone so wonderful, and so damaged but so determined to heal. For them. For all of them.

Jungkook scoops your hand in his, and when you look in his eyes, you are stunned to see that there are unshed tears pooling at his waterline. He looks at you and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t place. Something lovely that makes you feel like all this hurt has been worth it. Jungkook looks at you like there is something worth looking at.

“We love…” From your other side, Jimin starts speaking, but cuts himself off halfway through and suspiciously glances around the table, meeting the gaze of the six other boys who already know how he wants to finish that sentence. But he doesn’t.

“W-We love that you want to do that for us”, he coughs, and you return it with a smile.

Did a part of you want him to say something different? Something deeper? You’re not sure, but the tinge of disappointment in your stomach that follows his words is a sign.

Could you allow yourself to think that someone could actually genuinely like you past platonicity? Much less seven powerful men? After years of your father telling you the complete opposite, accompanying each scathing word with a bruise, it’s difficult to believe anything different.

Therapy was, in a word, completely exhausting. It was tiring dancing around the subject of your father’s abuse, your mother’s neglect, Soyeon’s blatant denial and just the complete package of being the eldest daughter to Ambassador Yoo. When they all had scheduled you for 4 sessions a week, you immediately wanted to decline and opt for one. But their eyes had all looked so hopeful. So excited for you to get professional help, and there was no possible way you could have turned them down.

Progress is frustratingly slow, though. Some days you just want to quit.

You plop unceremoniously on the large plush sofa, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and cradling it to your chest. The boys are all in the other room, but are now fully aware of your presence after you slammed the front door and huffed your way to the comforting couch. They can practically feel the rays of stress emanating from you.

“Y/N? Baby? What’s wrong?” Jimin is the one that first approaches, and the rest stare on with concern leaking out of every pore. And when you reply with a sniffle and hiccup, their hearts all collectively break.

You feel a dip in the couch and crane your neck to lock your teary eyes with Jimin’s, whose brows are deeply furrowed. You involuntarily launch into his arms, tucking your face into his neck, and inhaling his cologne that always manages to calm you down. You hear them all shuffle around you.

“It’s just..”, your voice pitifully cracks, “hard.” From your position, they are thankful you cannot see the heartbreak in their expression. It’s so hard for them to see you as anything but happy.

“I don’t know if I can do it”, you breathe out, feeling a new wave of tears begin to rise. You want to cry even more at the thought that they would be more disappointed in you. .

But there is a warmth from your other side, and you don’t know who it belongs to as it sits next to you.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N”, Namjoon whispers oh-so-softly. They are such simple words. Arguably mundane and ordinary. Then why does it knock the wind right out of your chest? Why does it light up your dark tunnel? He’s proud of you. They all are. Even when you are an emotional mess with low mental energy, Namjoon is sitting next to you and telling you that he’s proud.

You erupt into heart wrenching sobs that won’t seem to stop no matter what you do. It’s the kind of cry that feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. A cry that comes straight from your core and it sounds painful but truthfully, it’s just relieving. You know that all of them are worried out of their minds. You can feel it in the way Jimin shakily holds you as tight as he can, as if you are delicate chipped porcelain in his arms.

But this is how you rebuild. With the seven of them by your side. You tell Namjoon to cancel your future therapy sessions the next day. Your psychologist was far short of revolutionary, and when they all asked you why, you admit that it’s not the therapy that’s helping you get better.

It was just them. Being around them. Talking to them.

It was Seokjin carding his hands through your hair and rubbing out the tension that always inevitably develops in your temples. It was Namjoon letting you lounge quietly in his office as he goes through paperwork, enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his. It was Yoongi and Hoseok rambling to you about their adventures on the field (leaving out the gory details, of course. They wanted to keep you innocent and soft). It was Taehyung sneakily replacing your pink peonies as soon as the first petal began to wilt, even after the infinite amount of times you told him it was unnecessary. It was Jungkook and Jimin making excuses to spend the afternoon snuggled up on your bed when you all knew it was simply because they wanted to hold you.

It was all of them tiptoeing around affection, craftily sneaking in spare kisses and touches on the skin. Holding you a little longer than necessary, a little more tenderly. Intertwining your hands under the dinner table, or when their subordinates weren’t looking.

You notice the way they blush more often, if you let your touch linger for too long, or if you brush past them and make skin contact. You notice how pet names are easier to spill from their lips; ones like: my love, honey, sweetheart, baby...and you can’t help but to completely indulge in the way it is addressed only for you. Little ways to subliminally tell you that perhaps you meant more to them than they were ready to admit. And you would be lying if you said your feelings for the seven of them were completely platonic. You would be lying if you said love wasn’t on the brain.

Perhaps you are the missing piece to a puzzle they hadn’t realized was unfinished.

“Hyung...I think I love her.” Jungkook is unsurprisingly the first one to voice it. The six others don’t even bat an eye.

“No, Jungkook. I know you love her”, Hoseok whispers back in the tense silence of their meeting room. You are fast asleep on the floor above, but their hearts call out to you through the short distance.

“I am too. We all are.” It is a truth they’ve known for a while. Sooner than they’re proud to admit.

“I guess now all we have to do is figure out how to tell her.”

They did want to. Tell you, that is. They wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make it known to the world that you are the angel that has snatched their hearts without even realizing it herself. If it hadn’t been for the disaster that suddenly struck their mafia, the boys would have already bared their souls to you. But timing was never kind.

Bangtan were not known to be gullible. Not known to be easily fooled. So when Taehyung ran into their meeting room, red-faced and clenching his fists so hard they turned white, the Judas in their gang had come as a scathing surprise.

One of their inner circle. Someone they had poured their trust and faith into, who had learned the system of their syndicate, had been a mole the entire time. Of course, they had disposed of him quickly, but the damage had already been done to their business. Allies and affiliates were backing away from collaboration in fear that Bangtan had been breached by law enforcement. Shipments were going missing more frequently, and even the lower hierarchies of their gang were beginning to become doubtful. To say the least, the seven of them were under debilitating stress and frustration.

Nowadays, things were different than before. You were mostly kept in the dark about their business but you knew that something had happened. Something to make them so wound up, and it worried you to no end. It’s impossible not to notice how tense the house had become.

Taehyung no longer stops by your room late at night, and in the early hours of the morning, you can still hear the frustrated clacking of his keyboard from next door. Not that you needed him to help you through your nightmares, but...you’ve gotten used to his comforting presence next to you.

Jungkook doesn’t seek you out for random conversations, and Namjoon just completely disappears in his office most days, not sparing you a single glance when he does manage to show his face outside. He locks the door now. You take it as a strong message that you are no longer welcome, and it upsets you, but you understand they are going through a rough patch. Your job is to be the least bothersome person you could possibly be.

But Yoongi just flat out ignores you now, and you know Hoseok pretends to care about whatever topic of conversation you bring up. You can see right through his empty affirmations and nods. The kitchen is completely void of Jin, and there are no more clanging pots and pans when you try to cook for yourself. And Jimin is just like the rest of them: absent and indifferent to your presence.

You know that it’s not you. The problem on their plate is bigger than you, but it still feels like you are a walking, breathing burden. You know that it’s not you, but your mind tells you they don’t want you here anymore. They’re sick of you.

Two weeks pass by, and they’re still so cold even after all your attempts at trying to be calming comfort in their chaotic lives. They still talk to you, but it’s strictly refrained to small talk that feels obligatory and like they have better things to do than spend time with you. They’re so busy that you often find yourself hanging out alone in the garden or making light conversation with the maids, or gang rookies that hang around the mansion.

And it hurts to admit, but they don’t notice when you begin to regress to your old behavior. They don’t notice when you begin to flinch at anything that moves too quickly again, or the way you begin spacing out more than usual when you delve too far into your thoughts. They don’t notice when your nightmares start worsening again, too busy in their pooling stress to hear you toss and turn late at night and emerge from your bedroom with red, sunken eyes in the morning. You are relapsing into the learned behavior from your father, and you are terrified to admit it to yourself. But after a particularly bad day of anxiety and panic attacks, you put your fear aside to talk to the boys again about going back to therapy. It was virtually pointless, but you won’t let the seven of them take the brunt of your mental health when they had so much going on already.

You timidly make your way down to the lower level of the mansion, slow footsteps leading you to their meeting room, where they’re all engrossed in their work and you can feel the tension choking the air. None of them notice your presence at first, until you cough to get their attention. They all snap their heads up and stare.

“Hey, could I um..talk to you guys for a couple minutes?”

You feel like a specimen under a microscope. You used to be so comfortable talking to them. Now it just feels unnatural.

“Can it wait, Y/N? We’ve just lost another shipment, and it’s a big one”, Yoongi grumbles from his seat, rifling through a tall stack of papers with a permanent crease in his brows.

“Okay, then when can we-”

“We’re just really busy right now.”

Jungkook doesn’t mean for his voice to be so loud. He probably didn’t even pay attention to it, but it makes you flinch and stumble backwards. Makes you melt more into the girl you used to be. The one who stayed quiet out of survival, diminishing under the authority of a loud voice with cruel intentions. You know he doesn’t mean to do it. But you can’t help but see the face of your father again, and those long-healed scars seem to re-flicker with pain.

Still, these were your boys. So you push on.

A deep breath. “I was just thinking that maybe I could go back to-”

“Y/N, please. We don’t even have enough time to breathe. I’m sure whatever you need can be addressed later.”

The room falls into silence. Their message is loud and clear. And though it's painful to hear, it’s your own fault for exaggerating your place in their lives. He was right, it could be addressed later...you were just being a bother.

“Right. Sorry.” Your halfhearted mutter falls deaf on their ears. They haven’t spared you a single ounce of attention, eyes still glued onto their work. You swallow down the heavy feeling in your throat and force the tears away. Why does your chest feel like someone’s twisted up your heart?

You’re always so sensitive, Y/N. Such a crybaby. You can’t even take care of yourself.

The tread upstairs back to your bedroom feels like an arduous journey as you try to hold yourself together and pretend like their actions hadn’t hurt you. But they weren’t responsible for your trauma. Your problems. You couldn’t blame them for not making it a priority, when their empire was threatened.

They don’t hear you that night when you hold a goose-feather pillow to your chest and sob out the fear of being unwanted again. They don’t show up at your bedroom door when you wake yourself up from crying through a nightmare.

You’ll figure it out yourself, with or without a therapist and with or without depending on them. From now on, you decide to make yourself invisible, focusing all your energy on dragging yourself out of the dark place you’re stuck in once again. So if you have to suffer in silence for their sake, so that they don’t have another insignificant loose end to worry about, you’ll do it. It’s the least you can do.

But you’d come to learn that those words are easier said than done.

“Miss Y/N?” There is a light knock at your door, and the soft voice of the maid barely penetrates through the thick wood. You remember her name was Jun. The noise goes through in one ear and out of the other, and you can’t even find it in yourself to reply.

“You haven’t left your room in two days. I was just...making sure you’re okay.”

Her statement shocks you out of your dazed stupor, and you hadn’t even realized the amount of time you spent staring into space, limp on your mattress.

It was getting harder. To just function and drag yourself out of your bedroom so you didn’t, and two days unknowingly passed. But to you, they only felt like hours. Time passes by differently when you’re blindly navigating through trauma.

It’s hard to sit up and slowly tread to the door, and your bones ache after not moving for so long. When you open it, guilt pools in your stomach to see her worried expression. Though you can guess why she looks so concerned. You’re a complete disaster.

“Oh, honey…”, she sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “here. Let’s get you into some fresh clothes.”

You mindlessly let her help you out of your days old T-shirt and sweats, mindlessly let her guide you into the shower and turn on the water, mindlessly let her rub shampoo into your scalp. You don’t even have the energy to open your mouth and tell her the water’s too cold. You’re still stuck inside your own thoughts, and you can only hear your father’s voice in your ear as he repeatedly affirms how worthless you are. Useless Y/N, that’s what he would say. Good-for-nothing Y/N.

You’ve somehow gotten it into your head that the reason why they’ve been so absent with you is because they don’t know to tell you they want you to leave. After all, staying in the Bangtan mansion was only supposed to be a temporary solution. Maybe this is how they kick you out.

When Jun wraps you in a fluffy towel and drags you out from underneath the showerhead, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are sunken, and the dark circles under your eyes look almost painful. And somewhere along with that reflection is the image of your father. His angry face, glaring at you and screaming why you let yourself get like this.

“Jun, have they…are they still busy?” Her eyes widen at the first words she’s heard from you, but there is sad sympathy on her face in a split second and you’ve already gotten your answer before she can say anything.

“Yes, dear. The bosses are very occupied. But they can always make time for you, hm? They care about you a lot, you know.” Jun’s statement makes you frown, but you don’t retort. Maybe you used to think that they cared, but now it just felt like their kindness was out of obligation. They felt guilty for sending you back to your father. Or perhaps they used to care for you. But now...you weren’t so sure.

When she manages to get you downstairs, in the kitchen, and set you in front of a bowl of soup, the boys are nowhere to be found. Jun tells you they’re out doing business and you tell yourself you’re not hurt that they hadn’t even noticed your absence for the past two days.

They’re just roped up in other things, that’s all.

After your shower and meal, Jun insisted that you take a stroll around the garden, and specifically instructed you to check out the new peony bush she had just planted. She mentioned it was per request of the seven bosses, but you had a hard time believing any of them would be concerned with something like that during this time. They hadn’t even made the time to talk to you.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to be outside and breathe in fresh air until you stepped out into the grassy space. Even though the solitude was getting to be too much, you were experiencing a newfound peace that you wanted to keep for as long as possible. Jun was right, and the peony bush was absolutely gorgeous. You actually feel like an alive and functioning human being. It was surprising that you were so dependent on the boys that without them, falling apart was inevitable. But now you were coherent and not so drowned in your toxic mentality (you’ll have to thank Jun profusely later), and you feel determined to talk to them again. About going back to therapy, no matter how useless it felt back then, and try to get on your own two feet. Now that you had seen and felt how serious it was, you wouldn’t be so complicit if they tried to silence you.

From over the tall hedges, the sounds of wheels rolling on gravel could be heard before the tense slams of car doors. The sound of Jungkook and Namjoon’s low muttering falls on your ears and though it sparks excitement inside you, you’re also fearful of what they might say. You don’t think you can handle another swift rejection like last time. Their indecipherable conversation ceases when you hear the entrance doors close, and seal them inside while you are still out here in your own world.

The white peony that’s cupped in your hand feels so fragile and soft that you don’t want to touch it anymore. It makes you think of them. Of how delicate it feels recently and how you’re so deathly afraid of them changing their minds one day and kicking you out with nowhere to go. Maybe you’ll just wander around again. There’s a distant cousin in the states also, but you’d have to figure out how to get out of the country without alerting your father. You shake yourself out of your intrusive thoughts.

No way your boys would do that to you.

Right?

The way back from the garden to the house is brief, but your anxiety about talking to them lengthens the trips and the feet feel like miles. You are wrapped up in your thoughts the entire way, and when you make your way into the house, you almost don’t notice the angry voices that are bouncing off the walls. It sounds like Taehyung is yelling, and the sound curdles your stomach. You hate it when people yell. It just reminds you of your father.

You follow the commotion to the kitchen, extra cautious and apprehensive. The sheer volume of their reprimanding seems to shake the house and your hands begin to quiver as you get closer. Peeking out from behind a wall, their backs are to you but you can see the face of a sheepish boy who hangs his head, gaze glued to the floor as the seven men continue to berate him. You recognize him as one of the newer members that was initiated a couple weeks ago; you’ve talked to him a couple times and he was never anything but courteous. He looks like he’s about to cry and it makes your heart ache.

Your attention pans back to the seven out of shock. The only time you’ve seen them this angry was at the meeting with your father, so you can only imagine what that young boy has done to land himself in this position.

“I told you a fucking million times too many, Lee. I told you to check in with the shipments as soon as they arrived in Myeongdong. So imagine my fucking surprise when I get a call notifying me that they’re all missing. Stolen.” Namjoon’s voice cuts straight through the room. His fists are clenched and even from the back, you can tell the expression on his face is one of scalding fury.

A shipment? They’re this infuriated over a shipment?

“I-I’m sorry, Boss. Please, I...please forgive me. I know it’s no excuse but I’m new here, a-and I swear this will not happen again.” He shrinks into himself and you quietly whimper in sympathy.

Yoongi humorlessly chuckles. “You swear? The only valuable thing you have to swear on is your life. And even that’s not worth much.”

It’s moments like these that you forget how cruel and ruthless they can be. They’ve always been so soft and gentle with you before, you forget they are mafia bosses overseeing an entire empire. That they’ve gotten here for a reason. You forget that people fear them. But you remember now.

Lee stays silent and still refuses to look up, but you can see the way his knees shake uncontrollably. He is one person standing up against 7 huffing bulls, so angry they can’t see straight so if you - tiny and meek you - has to be the one to come to his defense, so be it.

Because you’ve been that person going head to head with a bull. You see yourself, terrified and regretful, in Lee. And you’ll be damned if you have to watch and not do anything about it. Your heart beats thunderously in your chest but you push past the fear.

Their heads all snap up in surprise when you march into the kitchen and stand in between them and the boy, who looks even more painfully young up close and sporting that deer-in-the-headlights expression. You lock gazes with each of them, swallowing your nerves before speaking.

“Is it really that big of a deal to yell at him like this? Look at him”, you gesture to the cowering person behind you, “don’t you think he’s had enough?” Your voice is still soft, and such a contrast to their angry ones. But it seems like your gentle tone just makes them even angrier, and snaps them out of their initial shock.

“A big deal? He cost us thousands in shipments! I’d say that’s a pretty big fucking deal to me, Y/N.” Jungkook bursts out, exasperatedly running his hands through his hair and looking at you with an angry frown. You flinch at his volume. The stress on their shoulders is more apparent than ever.

“Why are you defending him, Y/N? You don’t even know who he is”, Jimin spits, growing even more irritated. There’s a hint of jealousy in his words and it’s so subtle that you don’t even notice it.

“I know that he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like this for a little mistake. One that I’m sure he is regretful of making.” It suddenly feels daunting when you realize that you’re going up against all of them, and now, they’re all staring at you with the same anger that was meant for the one that messed up their shipments.

“And what if that mistake is a sign that he’s traitorous? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised. Seems like that’s a trend going around here.” From behind you, Lee is quick to open his mouth and begin to protest, but you interrupt and speak strongly. It seems this disciplining session has morphed into a full blown argument between you and them.

“It was one person. I get that it’s shitty, and I’m sorry it happened. I understand that you have to be on watch now and extra cautious. I do.” You sigh, a pleading look in your eyes but they remain stone cold.

“But one person did that. Are you going to treat everyone like they betrayed you? Are you going to treat me like I betrayed you?”

“I don’t know Y/N, you were so quick to defend him. Maybe you did. I wouldn't put it past you.”

Taehyung’s words run through you like a hot knife to butter. You almost stagger back at the shock. You’re no stranger to hurtful words but when they are coming out of his mouth, it hurts tenfold. How could they think you would betray them?

They promised to trust you, didn’t they? They promise they’d believe you after they failed to the first time. Now it just feels like you’re that spoiled little rich girl again in their eyes, standing in front of them and pleading your innocence.

“W-what? No, I-”

“You know nothing about our world, Y/N. You can’t possibly understand.” Jin’s silver voice is colder than you’re ever heard it.

“I know that, but could you just please-”

“As a matter of fact, this is a mafia business matter”, Yoongi shoots, poisoned words designed to hurt.

“I’m not sure why you’re here at all, Y/N. Just leave.”

Gone is the strong persona that you had put up to protect this young boy. Gone is the confident woman who thought she had the will to stand up for herself, much less someone else. You can only keep your eyes glued to Yoongi, and hope that he doesn’t see your heart crumbling right in front of him. How had he aimed mindlessly at your insecurities, and shot a bullseye into the biggest one?

Maybe you did, Y/N. I wouldn’t put it past you.

Blame it on the blurriness through your tears or the sheer shock running through your veins, but you can’t find one smidgen of regret or guilt in his expression. On any of their faces. Just anger and annoyance, aimed directly at you. And suddenly the spacious mansion feels all too suffocating.

You know nothing about our world Y/N.

The words you plan to say die on the tip of your tongue, as quickly as they came. There is nothing that comes out and in the aching silence of it all, the way you maintain eye contact with each of them speaks volumes. Yet they are blind to the way you are ripping at the seams, and oblivious to the turmoil they are putting you through. The coldness of their gaze and words shoot through your core, like a blade of ice piercing through your heart.

I’m not sure why you’re here at all.

Just leave.

In short, right at this moment, they look like strangers. Strangers who know what scares you, what foods you don’t like, your favorite flowers, your favorite color. Strangers who have seen your heart, welcomed it, and who were now crushing it in front of you.

What a fool you were to think that they could reciprocate your feelings.

What a fool you were to think that they wanted you as much as you wanted them.

Your pained chuckle is a discordant sound in the tense quiet. Their stares burn on your skin and though you are trying so hard to now show how utterly broken you feel, you wonder if they even notice. when you look back into the eyes of the boy directly in front of you, he is still so angry and red you find it hard to believe anything but your alleged cold, hard truth:

The seven boys you have fallen in love with utterly despise you. Perhaps they always have.

“Yeah”, you whisper brokenly. “Maybe I will.”

taglist: @pinkyhim, @deolly, @loveyoongles, @drunkzseok, @hope122598, @uwunamjoon, @nomimits7, @bubblebunnylia, @aquaalanah, @juliie-ocha, @daydreambrliever, @btsbabby, @blank-et-noir, @myheartstaysinkorea, @rosiethefairy, @tiredjedi, @lovemyself-persona, @jeoncookie-bts, @annoyingpessimist, @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh, @btstxtgenre, @taesugaar, @hxsxxk-180294, @bubbletae7, @uglyratlmao, @hopetookmysoul, @supertweetycherry, @missseoulite, @barbikatherine, @jamesfrickingbuchananbarnes, @sunsetsnsirens-blog, @vanilla-smash, @lmaosani, @onionhaseyeo, @i-dumb-bitch, @euphxriajoon, @justpeachyjoon, @dabbingangels, @h5naaa, @parkmaeri, @softescapism, @bena-baby, @myjiminmychimchim , @moments-of-melancholy, @krystle1990, @chatsgotmytongue, @vi-hoshi, @unlikelylittlemiss, @rosey-roseau, @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag, @kookiebbyxx,

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eternally-writing · 4 years

Text

better days | jjk

genre: angst and fluff

rating: PG-13

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: idol!au, boyfriend!au, one-shot

word count: 881

warnings: themes of depression, mental health issues, ANGST

Synopsis: Jeon Jungkook doesn’t know how to carry on, and you would do anything to try and help him.

banner by me!

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Jeon Jungkook wasn't just tired, he was exhausted.

His smiles never quite reached his eyes, the bags under his eyes were getting too prominent to be corrected with concealer, and he felt his muscles ache every time he tried to take a step.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this feeling, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last (which definitely made it worse).

After yet another performance that would be labelled as a “shining success” by the media, Bang PD, and the other BTS members, Jungkook still felt like a failure. He could still put on a shiny smile for the crowd, but for every second that his alluring charm was painted on he could feel his energy draining.

Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely laughed, or felt joy when eating his favorite meal, or went to bed without crying, or got out of bed without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he went on a happy date with you.

He knows he loves you. Somewhere, deep down under whatever was going on, he knew he appreciated everything you did for him, even if he couldn’t quite show it . He worries that you’ll get fed up at some point, that you’ll leave him for someone that could actually brush their teeth twice a day and brush their hair in the morning.

But no matter what, you’re always here. Even today, after working a 10 hour shift and staying up until 1am the night before to help him fall asleep. You always show up for him.

Curled up against Jungkook in the backstage area of Seoul Olympic Stadium, you watched your numb boyfriend stare into oblivion. The silence between you two was somehow both comforting and tension-ridden at the same time, and you kept rubbing circles into the palm of his hand to remind him of your presence.

Slowly, Jungkook began to speak.

"I love it so much, and I love ARMY but I can't get through doing these shows every day without feeling myself wearing down. Can I love and hate what I do at the same time?"

The tears that Jungkook had welling in his eyes for hours now were then freely flowing down his cheeks.

You pulled him into a tight embrace, letting his tears soak through your shirt. You could hear Jungkook mumbling words through his sobs, but they were muffled by the fabric in his way.

"i'm so tired. i'm so so tired. i can't do it. i can't do it without you.”

Hearing Jungkook's words made the tears start falling down your cheeks instantly, despite your attempts to stay strong for him. You wanted to be strong for him, but he looked so fragile, and more than anything you were mad at yourself for not being there for him as much as you wished you could.

Soon, both of your sobs started to fade, and instead Jungkook's soft snores echoed throughout the room. You couldn't fall asleep though; you kept running her fingers through Jungkook's hair, keeping him safe in your arms and watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful in that moment, which was a stark comparison to how he was mere hours earlier, and you wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m always gonna show up for you Koo, no matter what. We’re gonna get through this together.”

As Jungkook kept sleeping, you heard the hustle and bustle of workers cleaning up post-concert starting to die down and you knew Jungkook would have to head back with the boys soon.

A knock was heard on the door, and Hoseok's face peered into the room.

"Is he okay?" Hobi asked, startled by the maknae's sleeping figure curled up against your body.

Boy, was that a loaded question. You had so many thoughts swirling in her head based on tonight's events, and in you wavering voice, barely holding back tears, you said:

"he's just really tired right now".

Not noticing the weight behind your words, Hoseok asked you if she could wake Jungkook up so they could all travel back to the hotel.

At that moment, you were so worried - you didn’t know how Jungkook was going to get through this, or if your relationship was going to survive it . You wished you could’ve pressed fast forward on your life to see what would happen next.

If you could’ve seen the future, you would see how 15 years later, after a social media break, a short hiatus from BTS promotions, and a LOT of therapy, you and Jungkook would be at your daughter Jangmi’s fifth birthday party, smiling and laughing surrounded by your closest family and friends. You never regretted a single moment of being with Jungkook - you had both been through a lot of highs and lows together, and it had only made you stronger. You and Jungkook had gotten married, travelled on that amazing Europe vacation you had always dreamed of, and settled down in a quaint house in Seoul which was only a short walk away from the rest of the Bangtan members’ families.

I guess the moral of the story is, things do get better.

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Remember to reach out to a professional if you ever need help. You are worthy♡

https://checkpointorg.com/global/ : this website has links to mental health supports around the world.

If you enjoyed what you read, please interact/follow! Thank you for reading♡

- Emily

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wyn-n-tonic · 3 years

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The more I learn about Elizabeth Miller, the more I fall in love with her!!!! Please tell us more about her and her life? ❤️

Elizabeth Adele Miller was born four years after Will. Her parents were done. D O N E . They had their boy, a decent age gap to where he could somewhat take care of himself and then they had their girl. And then SURPRISE, Benjamin Miller comes into the picture eleven months later.

She has a typical brother-sister relationship with Will where he just wants to protect her. But Benny? That's her best friend. Her commandant. Her partner in crime. Ben's parents skipped him from kindergarten and they started first grade together. Nobody really understood how they were siblings but not twins because, ya know, math is hard for five and six year olds.

They originally put Benny and Lizzy in different classes but they raised so much hell, they had to be put into the same one.

She played soccer and was gangly as hell until she hit puberty and suddenly people were paying attention to her. She went from being somebody boys didn't pay any attention to at all to being somebody people were only interested in sexually. Benny became very protective, as did Will. Will taught her how to throw a decent punch because, "I won't be around forever."

She cried at his graduation because that meant he was going off to basic and she hated that but at least she still had Benny.

People thought her closeness to her family was weird, Benny was like her built in best friend and any friends she did have she eventually dropped because they only wanted to hang out with her to get close to Ben. She spent a lot of time with her books and got a part time job to go halfsies on a car with Benny.

They got into a car accident together and nobody could reach Will and all she kept crying for despite her broken ribs was her big brother who carried her home from the creek when she broke her ankle. All she wanted was a kiss on the forehead and to be told everything was going to be okay.

She and Ben both graduated with impeccable grades near the top of their class. He went to basic and she spent her first summer truly alone her whole life before she went off to college.

She majored in history to begin with but nothing ever really sparked her passion. She took a couple of developmental psych classes though and thought that was really interesting but never thought her brain could handle knowing all about the brain like that.

She started falling into a bad way having not really ever made friends before given that she just..... had Benny and that was who she hung out with all the time. Again, the only interest really shown in her from the opposite sex was sexual interest. She had always struggled with anxiety and depression but like... her brothers were around and they kept her grounded and never let her be alone with her thoughts. She couldn't open up to just anybody and she started falling into a bad way. Just letting herself and her body be used. She had a car, she had a job, she had the money to buy the alcohol and the weed and the molly and go to the parties.

Her studies slipped and she got put on academic probation and her parents said, 'no, you're coming home.' So she did. She transferred after that semester and would start the next school year at the university in her hometown and live at home with her parents. That was when Will got leave to come home (but not Benny, just Will).

He looked so fucking sad. More than sad, he looked haunted. He looked tired. He did not look like her big brother. He did not look like he would kiss her on the forehead and tell her everything would be okay because he didn't look like he believed there was an okay to be.

She switched her major to psychology at orientation. That was the year that Will and Benny brought Frankie home for Christmas. She recognized the same look in their eyes that she had seen in Will's.

She graduated with good grades and went on to get her master's degree and become a licensed therapist. She specializes in DBT (dialectical behavior therapy) (is my fucking nERD COMING OUT RIGHT NOW?).

She moved in with Will because paying half of her big brother's veteran loan mortgage was cheaper than paying rent on her one bedroom apartment. Made cheaper when Frankie moved in and they split it three ways. That way she could save up. She didn't really know what she was saving for -- a house, an amazing vacation, a new car -- but it helped her build a good habit.

Benny will always be her built in best friend, Will too, but they brought her her true best friend. Her and Frankie became so close and she felt like a fucking failure to him when he went to rehab because she couldn't believe she didn't notice. Like with how bad Will's PTSD was. Or Benny's. Because when you're with these people every day and you're emotionally invested in it, you cannot look at it objectively often times until it's too late. That aided in her pulling away from all of them but especially Frankie. She was very depressed and disappointed with herself and dating a fucking ASSHOLE who didn't want her around them anyway and he very easily manipulated her to do just that.

When she moved back in with Will and Benny, Frankie came over a lot. A lot more than he had been when Lizzy wasn't there. He just wanted to make sure she was alright. They turned their little routine back into late night talks long after the movies had gone off and the boys had gone to bed. Often times Will would wake up in the morning and find Fish sprawled across the couch because Lizzy didn't want him driving so late and who is Francisco Morales to argue with Elizabeth Miller?

She married Francisco Morales a few weeks after they became engaged and found out they were pregnant. He told her they could wait, he knew that the 'shot gun wedding' comment Ben made had rubbed her the wrong way but she didn't want to wait any longer to be his wife. They went from taking it very slow to moving very fast. Moved in, engaged, pregnant and married within a month.

#holy fucking shit this is long #ask o #frizzy verse

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laurenwritesfics · 3 years

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Here it is folks, chapter 5! Again, sorry for the wait but I hope it will have been worth it!

Read the previous chapter HERE / read the full series on AO3

Warning(s): Angst (sorry...again)

CHAPTER FIVE: ADJUSTMENTS

Things had started to feel calmer now. Time had begun to slow down, and Frank was grateful for the chance to breathe again. One Saturday, he returned from the boat yard to change his oil-stained shirt and caught sight of Mary’s journal on the kitchen table – Evelyn had forced her into therapy back in Boston, and though she had hated it, journaling was the one thing she kept on doing – it had been left open on a page filled with tally marks. At the top of the page, she had written ‘number of days without Fred’. Frank pressed his palms against the table and dipped his head. Perhaps Mary would always struggle emotionally in one way or another. He was beginning to feel like a failure. Was his best really good enough? It was impossible to tell.

Sunday was just as quiet. They ate together in silence. Roberta didn’t visit. Their new normal was frustratingly abnormal.

“School tomorrow.” Frank cast a glance at Mary. “Homework done? Books ready?” He knew he didn’t need to ask, but he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Mary’s fork danced around her plate. “Obviously.” She huffed.

“Sorry, I was just asking.”

No reply.

Mary scrunched her nose and continued to pick at her plate, retreating back into her bubble.

“Listen,” Frank reached over and put a hand on her cold arm “I know things are hard right now. But if you talk about it, sometimes it makes things easier.”

“You sound like Evelyn.”

Frank’s shoulders dropped. “You don’t have to finish dinner, okay? You’re cold. I’m gonna go get you a sweater or something.”

“I’m fine.”

He ignored her and left the table. Mary pushed him away every time he tried to slip her arms into one of her hoodies. He fought back, not realizing how roughly he was holding her until she winced and slipped off the chair. He immediately swept her into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” He rocked her slightly. “You need to stop being so fucking stubborn, Mary.” His voice cracked a little. Her tiny hands squeezed him as hard as they could and she rested her head on his shoulder. When Mary started to cry, so did Frank. He pulled back, brushed a strand of hair from her face and laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’m trying my best here. You’ve gotta give me something, kiddo.”

Mary nodded, paused and then ruffled Frank’s hair. He returned the gesture and tucked her under his arm, carrying her across the kitchen and into the living room. She was laughing now. They both were. Mary dangled in his grip, arms limp, then tumbled down, grabbing his hands and stepping on his feet.

“Can we watch TV?” She looked up at him, the dewy sheen of tears beginning to fade from her eyes.

“Sure. But only for a little while. You’ve gotta get up early for school.”

Mary threw her head back and groaned. “Why can’t I just skip class tomorrow? Everybody hates me anyway.”

Frank tugged on her wrists. “Hey, nobody hates you, okay? They’re just jealous of how smart and awesome you are.”

“You have to say that, you’re my Uncle.”

“I’m also an adult, which believe it or not, means I actually know more than you do. About people, at least.”

“Yeah, you are kinda dumb…” She nodded.

“That’s it,” Frank picked her up “you just lost your extra hour of TV.”

In spite of his attempt at sternness, he let her fall asleep on the couch.

Monday came, and Frank finally finished his work on the Celestia. One brief phone call later, he had been invited to join the owner for a trip out on the lake. Frank would usually have been cautious about this – especially with wealthy customers - but he accepted the offer simply because it would give him a chance to clear his head. It was better than sneaking onto someone else’s boat with a six-pack of Heineken at two in the morning, at least. As he wiped his hands on a worn rag, he reclined against the workbench in the corner of the garage. A soft ache spread through his chest. Deep into his biceps. Exhaustion snuck up on him without warning. The chaos of the past few months was finally catching up with him.

He waited so long for Mary to come home from school that he started to think maybe she’d gone on another adventure. His worries subsided when she arrived, shoulders pushed forward under the weight of her satchel. As she threw it down and began to unpack a stack of books, Frank realized exactly what had happened.

“Did you walk all the way from Jackson?”

“Yeah.” Mary squinted as she fumbled around for another book. “Lucy’s really nice. She let me take out a bunch of stuff.”

“She did, huh? Am I gonna be serving you dinner in your room tonight?” He half-joked.

Mary had already stopped listening. Frank shook his head and turned back to the stove to finish cooking. This time, eating in silence didn’t feel awkward – Mary brought a book to the table, fork occasionally missing her mouth as she sat absorbed in whatever it was she was reading. Frank pictured her walking down Jackson with her nose in another book and couldn’t help letting out a soft huff of amusement. She was almost happy. And at least for now, almost was enough.

When he checked on Mary, he peered into a room lit only by a small torch light. She was back in her reading tent. Even though the door squeaked slightly, she didn’t stir. Back in his own bedroom, Frank reached into his nightstand for his phone. Lucy would wake the next morning to a short, thankful text message.

Frank and Mary, however, woke to a prolonged, impatient buzzing. The doorbell.

He was tempted to rub his eyes again when he saw the woman standing on the porch.

Evelyn.

Frank was immediately skeptical, but he opened the door to her anyway.

“Well,” she popped a hip and adjusted her sunglasses “are you going to ask me to come in or shall I just stand here on the porch?”

“Mary’s heading to school in a couple minutes.” His jaw tightened a little as he watched her fingers flex against the handle of her travel case. This wasn’t an impromptu visit.

“I’ll say hello quickly, then.” She barged past him, the wheels of her case narrowly missing his toes.

Mary had a piece of toast hanging out of her mouth and a book clutched to her chest. She covered her mouth as she hurriedly chewed and then walked around the kitchen island to meet Evelyn.

“Hello, darling.” Evelyn planted a kiss on the crown of Mary’s head, leaving a glossy pink mark in her hair. “Off to school?”

“Yep.” Mary replied, popping the ‘p’ curtly. “Are you staying with us?”

“Maybe. That depends on your uncle.” She inclined her head towards Frank in a way that she thought was comical, but it just made Mary cringe.

“Why?” She knelt down to shove the book she was holding into her satchel.

“That’s enough, short-stuff.” Frank intervened, steering her away from Evelyn. “Let’s go.”

“Have a good day, darling!” Evelyn called out, pivoting her suitcase so that it would fit flush against the wall.

When Frank returned, he slammed the front door and crossed his arms as he glared down at Evelyn.

“Alright, what’s this about? What little scheme have you come up with now?”

Evelyn smoothed her sundress and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “You’re so hostile.” She tutted.

“Can you blame me?” He strode over to her and perched on the arm of the couch.

“Not at all.” She clasped her hands in her lap and twisted herself to face him. “I wanted –“she stuttered, blinking “-needed to see my son and granddaughter.”

In that moment, Frank saw himself. The same sunken hopelessness. He noticed raw pink lines beneath her eyes. For the first time in a long time, Evelyn seemed human.

“This is about Diane isn’t it.”

“Yes. I couldn’t face another anniversary alone, Frank.”

“You called me Frank.” He mused. “Where’s the real Evelyn?”

She managed the smallest of smiles and reached out rub his arm. “I lost her a long time ago.” She was holding his hand now, squeezing lightly. “I won’t stay too long. I’m sure you must be busy.”

Frank placed his other hand over hers. “Stay as long as you want.”

“You don’t really mean that.” Her icy tone returned.

“I mean it.” He insisted. “It’ll be good for Mary.”

“How is she?”

“Honestly? She’s struggling. She’s stubborn about it, though.”

“I wonder where she gets that from…” Evelyn chuckled.

“She’s dealing with more than a kid should have to deal with right now. Losing Fred, the car accident…”

Evelyn’s head jerked to the side. “Car accident?”

“Don’t worry, Mary wasn’t in the car. It was just me. I was a little drunk, it was stupid.”

“For God’s sake, Francis!” Evelyn yelled. “You stupid boy!”

Francis. Boy. She was his mother again. Instead of fighting back, the ache he had felt earlier returned and he slumped against the cushions.

“After it happened,” his breaths were shallow, a lump forming in his throat “I just sat there thinking about what would’ve happened if...” both his hands and his voice had begun to shake “I can’t take care of her. Not in the way she needs to be. Diane would be so fucking disappointed.”

Evelyn took Frank’s face in her hands and kissed his forehead. He buried his face in her shoulder and allowed her to be the mother she suddenly wanted to be.

“Diane would be very proud of you.” She glanced up at the ceiling, fighting back tears. “I’m proud of you, darling.” She whispered, brushing her fingers through his hair. “So proud of you.”

“I just want her to be okay.” He sniffled.

“She will be.” Evelyn turned to kiss Frank’s hair and then stood up, brushing a crease from the skirt of her dress. “Why don’t I cook dinner for us tonight? It’ll give you a chance to rest.”

Frank’s defenses were down, so he agreed.

That night, Evelyn made a shepherd’s pie and sat with Mary as she completed her homework. She piled chocolate ice cream into a bowl and made herself a martini. His mother was back, but she was still putting on the airs and graces of the woman she once was. He knew that if she didn’t, she would be more broken than she had been when she arrived. So he played pretend too.

Almost happy. Almost a family. And that would be just fine for now.

Permanent taglist: @hiddelstannerbarnes @redlipstickandblacktea @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @djeniiscorner @its-tortle @k347 @ixalit @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cevansfics @capchrisevaans @thedamageofherdays @musette22 @mcubabydotcom @worksby-d @chuckbass-love @bluemusickid @fallinforevans @hellobeautworld @katiew1973 @just-dreaming-marvel @disaster-dean @rebthom89 @navybrat817 @just-dreaming-marvel-2 @sirisshamelesshoelibrary @denisemarieangelina @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @deanscherry @celestialbarnes @the-iceni-bitch @caplanbuckybarnes @caplanreads @autumnrose40 @patzammit @mxsamwilson @hevans-angel @elvenfforestydd @harrysthiccthighss @cherry-gemz @brattycherub @brattycherubwrites @angrybirdcr @blossomslibrary @uncensored-steve-the-platypus @honeyloverogers @cloudystevie @steebsbabygirl

#laurenwritesfics #chris evans fanfiction #The Pieces We Leave Behind #Gifted #Frank Adler #Mary Adler #Frank Adler fanfiction #Chris Evans fluff #Chris Evans x reader #angst #Chris Evans x female reader #Frank Adler x Lucy Montgomery

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belit0 · 4 years

Text

1000k Commission [Uchiha Obito x Fem Coffy Reader] @obitobrigade

Obito x reader(coffy) pregnant, him giving belly kisses while setting up the nursery. It can be nsfw,fluffy or however your imagination goes with it😊

[Writer: Honey, I'm so sorry for the delay. I wanted to challenge myself and write more than just sexy content and ended up falling into writer's block :(. Hope you like this, it's nothing I would typically write! I don't consider myself good with fluff, but I wanted to do it for you because I know you like it :/ ]

Commissions are open! [Sasuke / Itachi / Shisui / Obito / Izuna / Madara / Indra]

On a beautiful autumn afternoon, the Uchiha is carrying a giant television on the stairs, trying to reach the first floor without the device falling in the process.

At the end of these, she waits for him, holding her huge belly with both hands while caressing it, and questions with her eyes the stupidity her man is trying to do.

"Tobito..."

"What, Coffy. What?"

"We talked about this, didn't we?"

"We talked about this, yes, and you heard my completely valid points about why we needed a TV in the nursery!"

"So, you suppose it's relevant when you have to squeeze in two cots as well? Think about it, love..."

"Perfectly relevant. They're twins. Twins. And we have no idea how to look after them! I have no idea how to look after them! I need therapy while I take on that responsibility."

"And your therapy is a TV..."

"Leave me alone."

With no choice before the stubborn Uchiha blood in that man's veins, the only thing left to do was to allow him trouble with the device on the stairs, while Coffy rescued herself in bed, necessary with such an advanced pregnancy.

Eventually, the gigantic TV came to the baby's room, where the basic decorations were already in place. The painting was a simple matter, Obito insisted that he wanted a neutral tone even though both newborns were boys, and some furniture was already in place.

The man's next challenge, however, brought an unexpected mental complication.

Nails in the walls.

The Uchiha had never been involved in such tasks before, they were not really his thing. In his childhood, he preferred to be the one holding the lantern while Madara fixed everything. But now, on the verge of becoming a father, it was time to face the unknown, put on his trousers, and leave everything finished for the end of the day.

Taking one of the small metal objects and the hammer, he positioned himself against the wall, calculating firmly the trajectory of the blow.

"Now... just... FUCK"

The nail bent after the weight hit it, leaving it as a hook and becoming useless to Obito's goal.

How hard would it be to hang up some damn childish pictures?

Taking another nail, he tried again, only to bang his fingers in the process and end up knocking the hammer to the ground.

Okay, plan two. If that method didn't work, he had another way.

Double-sided tape.

Why didn't I think of it before... thought Uchiha as he cut piece by piece and removed the safety label, revealing the glue and placing it behind the paintings that were to adorn the walls.

Everything was wonderful and impeccable, the enormous television occupying half of the room, the two cradles tightened in a corner, two holes in the wall from the failed nails, and a hand with ice from the blow of the hammer.

But all wonderful and impeccable!

And so, Obito was ready to close the door and finish the task. Until the hanging pictures suddenly gave way, falling abruptly and crashing to the ground, making crystals fly in all directions. Of course, the tape did not hold, and the lazy solution was not successful.

Completely exhausted by his failure, he went to where Coffy was resting and dropped heavily next to her on the bed.

"I'm so done with this parenting thing.”

"Love, we haven't even started...”

She laughed, stroking his hair, and appreciating the man's real frustration.

"Let me remind you why all this is worthwhile. Go on, put your hands, feel them, listen..."

With delicacy, as if something that would break at the slightest touch, he placed his ear against her belly, hoping to feel his unborn children.

A kick caught him off guard, making the skin on her belly stretch and come down quickly, as if something was trying to reach him from the other side, to greet him, to touch him.

"Did you see that?! Baby it looks like your skin is going to break! Are you okay?!"

"It's normal, honey, they're trying to greet Daddy!"

"You have too much energy kids, stop moving like that, you're making mommy crazy!"

The Uchiha spoke to the belly as if he could really see his children as if he had them in front of him and was dealing with them. A touch of concern for his wife's comfort shone through his pupils, as well as pure love and care for the little humans he was somehow holding in his hands at that moment.

"They are not, love, in fact, it is one of the best sensations in the world. I have a feeling that they will be as intense as you..."

"Hey, watch your mouth woman, just because you have this giant yoga ball attached to your body doesn't mean I can't put you in your place."

With a seductive smile, Obito joined his lips with Coffy's, consummating that beautiful bond with his children in the middle.

If he didn't believe that having sex during pregnancy is something strange, he would have destroyed his girl there and now.

Separating from his kiss, curiosity overcame Coffy as she collected all the strange noises and dirty words she heard from the bed while he was working.

"Obito..."

"Hm?"

"How bad is the mess you left in the baby's room?"

"Do you want me to be honest or do you want this moment to continue?"

Not daring to listen to her answer, he held her tightly and directed her head to his neck, while the two of them curled up in the only position she could tolerate at this point.

"Anyway, I will trick Shisui into coming to clean up by promising him a beer or something... You don't have to worry."

"Was it the TV exploding the noise of broken glass I heard earlier?"

"What?! Are you crazy, honey?! Do you think I'm that stupid?! Geez."

#obito uchiha x reader #uchiha obito x reader #obito uchiha #uchiha obito #ko fi commissions #obito x reader #obito scenario #obito imagine #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #obito

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a-room-of-my-own · 4 years

Note

A bit of reading : orwomen.()scot/did-you-know/?fbclid=IwAR0H7TqxQNqemZcAGFtvR_HLkbkxmZ4FY6srcgrULWxGPyWuc6QPTmDQfVI

Did you know…

…that 80-95% of people who say they are trans choose to have no medical treatment at all – no surgery, no drugs, not even therapy? Transwomen are just male people who subjectively believe that they are female. That’s it. That is all that’s required.

Despite some commentators describing an “epidemic of violence against trans people“, transwomen are no more likely to be murdered than anyone else, and the best data available shows it’s half as likely. In Scotland, zero have been killed. In fact, transwomen are almost twice as likely to be the perpetrator of a murder than to be murdered in the UK, which is not surprising since a male pattern of violence is retained regardless of any transition or cross-dressing.

The 48% of trans youth have attempted suicide statistic is nonsense too. It was based on just 27 trans people (aged 26 and under), from a self-selecting online survey – which made the data worthless. Yet that hasn’t stopped the TIE Campaign peddling similar in Scottish schools (or is it 27%, they seem confused?), contrary to Samaritans advice on avoiding attributing the cause to any one incident. The NHS Gender Identity Development Service actually says “suicide is extremely rare” and rates of self-harm, distress and suicide ideation are similar to other children seen by CAMHS.

Did you know that 1 in 50 males in prison now self-id as trans according to Ministry of Justice figures? If it is so dangerous to be trans why do so many choose to come out when in jail?

Were you aware that 95% of prisoners are men, and 5% women? That most women in prison are there for financial crime, and most men are in for violent offending. Did you know that men commit 98% of sex offences? That 48% of transwomen prisoners are sex offenders (compared to less than 20% in the general male estate) and would swamp the female estate if they all transferred.

What makes these convicted sex offenders, who were born male, women? Why should female prisoners be locked up with rapists if they say “I am a woman”? Are you willing to be in a prison cell with a male rapist on that basis? And if not, do you think other women should be? Are you aware that women have already been sexually assaulted and raped, in several countries, because of this policy?

Did you know that Scotland already has a policy significantly more liberal than England’s, stating that transgender prisoners must normally be housed according to the “social gender” with which they self-identify? And that this policy was brought in by a senior prison officer, himself now a convicted sex offender? A policy put in place without even talking to women’s groups or considering that there would be any impact on female prisoners at all. Despite warnings of abuse, including from former women’s prison governor Rhona Hotchkiss, the promised policy review has not been forthcoming.

What about women’s refuges, have you considered what it could do to a woman fleeing male violence to encounter a male in that refuge? Read why the CEO of a domestic violence charity, Karen Ingala Smith, considers it imperative that refuges remain women-only, and her speech at the Scottish Parliament.

Did you know that a woman was asked to leave a shelter because, as a rape survivor, she couldn’t sleep in the same room as a strange male, regardless of how he identified? Are you aware that a man used self-id to access a women’s shelter where he sexually assaulted vulnerable women? Are you aware that a rape relief shelter in Canada lost all public funding for insisting they remain women-only, and had a dead rat nailed to their door?

Are you aware that the Scottish Government imposes a transwomen inclusive policy on Scottish Women’s Aid as a condition of funding and that Rape Crisis Scotland refused to guarantee a female counsellor for a traumatised teenager? We know from private meetings that they erroneously believe they cannot provide a single-sex service due to a lack of ‘case law’, despite having previously done so for many years. Did you know there is a male manager of a rape crisis centre, who failed to disclose his sex at interview, and which still claims to be women-led?

Are you aware that despite less than half of changing rooms in swimming pools and sports centres being mixed sex, 90% of sexual assaults have happened in them? Yet mixed-sex, ‘gender-neutral’ facilities are constantly pushed, including in schools – contrary to law and building regulations requiring separate sex provision – when it would be more responsible to increase third space unisex provision for the comfort of those who need it.

That’s before you even get into the issue of how to keep out predatory men who aren’t trans, if you say that any man who ‘identifies as a woman’ can use communal changing/showering areas at will. A man exposing himself in a park commits a crime. A man doing so in a women’s changing room, where you’re also naked, who need not have even told staff he identifies as a woman, may no longer be committing an offence.

Did you know that the Scottish Government funded LGBT Youth Scotland, a spin-off group from Stonewall, to write guidance for schools that breaches children’s rights in at least eleven ways? This includes the unscientific belief in gender identity, which even the Justice Minister is at a loss to define, the promotion of harmful breast binding and the removal of all single-sex spaces and sports. No-one should be surprised at this as Stonewall have long campaigned for the removal of women’s rights, although single issue political pressure groups should have been no-where near schoolchildren.

It took the Government until June 2019 to commit to replacing this guidance, having privately received advice that it was “not legal“. Yet, this new legally compliant guidance is seven months overdue and the Education Minister is refusing to withdraw LGBTYS’s guidance in the interim.

Why should we accept smear tests from any male who feels they have a womanly gender identity – what does that even mean (let’s ask the Justice Minister again)? And yes, it is happening. A rape survivor who wanted a woman to carry out her breast screening found her letter used as an example in hospital trans guidance as ‘unacceptable’ and ‘highly discriminatory’. And a woman in a psychiatric ward who was terrified at being locked in a ward with an “extremely male-bodied” fellow patient was regarded as a transphobic bigot. The truth is that women in mixed-sex hospital wards, particularly psych, have very real reasons to fear men.

Did you know that 35 clinicians have resigned from the Tavistock (children’s gender clinic in London) over their failings, including the Governor? Who later wrote a damning account of the abject failure to heed evidence that their affirmation-only policy is harmful to children, especially to the huge influx in girls who may suffer other complex problems, such as trauma, autism, a history of sexual abuse or discomfort with their developing sexuality. A staggering 48% of children referred to Tavistock have ASD traits, and a BBC Newsnight investigation revealed significant numbers of children seeking transition treatment based on their family’s homophobia.

Are you aware that studies show that puberty blockers result in 100% of children progressing to cross-sex hormones – whereas, if left unmedicated, the Tavistocks’s own research shows over 90%, if supported by counselling, are happy with their sex once they emerge from puberty. Did you know hormone blockers may cause sterility, a large decrease in IQ, bone density loss, and more? An investigation by the Health Review Authority concluded that blockers are really the start of irreversible physical transition and recommended that “Researchers and clinical staff should…avoid referring to puberty suppression as providing a ‘breathing space’, to avoid risk of misunderstanding.” This led to a major overhaul of the NHS UK website which no longer considers blockers to be fully reversible and confirms long-term effects are unknown.

The young person’s gender clinic at Sandyford, Glasgow has recently withdrawn their information booklet and we trust it will be similarly updated. Do you think all the government funded trans organisations will be scrupulous in updating their information too – including LGBT Youth guidance in Dumfries and Galloway, Scottish Trans/NHS guidance, and Stonewall advice, among many more, including of course the already deemed “not legal” school guidance by LGBT Youth?

Are you aware that the number of children referred to Sandyford is rising at a faster rate than the rest of the UK? Yet they don’t actually know how many girls have been referred as children can select what sex they want recorded on medical records – although unofficially, clinicians report similar concerns as elsewhere about the huge proportional rise in young girls seeking to transition. Did you know that bias, and not evidence, dominates the WPATH transgender standard of care followed in Scotland? And it is woefully out-of-date considering the fundamental change in patient make up since it was written in 2011.

Read the speech given by Dr David Bell at the Scottish Parliament and consider why, if his report about issues at the Tavistock prompted the Director to resign, was it not enough for the Health Minister, Jeane Freeman, to instigate an enquiry into identical practices at Sandyford? Perhaps the Government will listen to the outcome of a Judicial Review that is being sought by Keira Bell, a detransitioning woman, who wants to protect other troubled young girls from similar treatment.

Are you aware that women with our views are threatened with violence, rape and death, almost as an everyday occurrence? We are told TERF is not a slur, but I challenge you to find any instances of it being used without abuse or threats attached to it. Do you think it’s in any way acceptable for lesbians to be on the receiving end of these menaces for asserting, or even just trying to be proud of, their right to be same-sex attracted? Do you really think there’s such a thing as a lesbian with a penis?

All that hate is from transactivists, and is aimed at women with our views. I challenge you to find anything remotely equivalent from here, from our recorded talks, or indeed anywhere else. This is NOT a case of two sides as bad as each other. And it’s notable that the hate is not aimed at genuinely transphobic, aggressive men. It’s aimed at women. It’s aimed at us.

And JK Rowling. Read the tweets she posted and look at the replies. Read the essay further explaining her thoughts and ask how anyone could possibly think she deserved such atrocious abuse, or how transactivists thought it in any way acceptable to post penis images in retaliation (don’t worry, it’s been edited!) on a child’s thread about Ickabog art.

Did you know women can be, and often are, fired for believing sex is real, that humans cannot change sex, and women and girls are entitled to privacy when undressing or otherwise vulnerable? And yet poll, after poll, after poll, after poll show that this is the majority view, by at least 80%. You may well wonder why then, is the Scottish Government proposing to bring in Hate Crime legislation that would see even JK Rowling imprisoned for up to seven years for expressing views deemed abusive by transactivists, yet affords women no such protection in law, based on their sex.

Innate gender identity is a belief system. There’s no evidence one exists. If our Government cannot even define it, then it should not be presented as fact to our children. It should not over-ride women’s hard fought for rights.

Do you know that the very word ‘woman’ will change definition, if the trans lobby succeed? If we can’t define what a woman is, how can we accurately capture data? How can we record male violence, the pay gap, our representation in government, business, finance, law, media…anywhere? Police Scotland already record incidences on the basis of gender identity, but can’t seem to recall when, or why that happened, and the census looks to be going the same way, despite the importance of recognising sex being shown quite dramatically by COVID-19.

An influential lobby loudly insisting that they won’t be erased (when trans organisations are heavily state funded and train all major businesses, branches of government, school teachers, universities and NHS boards) are actively campaigning to erase the very definition of what a woman is – best archive it, just in case! Have you noticed how easy it is to define a woman when we’re being aborted, subjected to FGM, married off, denied the vote, raped, murdered, paid less, represented less in every single sector of government and industry, expected to perform most of the world’s unpaid labour, and constituting 71% of the world’s modern slaves? The only places that seem unsure on what a woman is are the places feminism was starting to make inroads. It’s almost like there must be some sort of a connection, isn’t it?

We don’t have any fear, resentment or hatred for trans people. We agree there should be protection in law against discrimination and violence. We just don’t agree that our rights need to be railroaded over in the process. We don’t agree that male people should access women’s spaces, or benefit from women’s provision, at will, without our consent. Our name is WOMEN and our rights matter.

Don’t you agree…?

#gender critical #For women Scotland #Transgender

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hailing-stars · 4 years

Text

@febuwhump day 9: buried alive

BURIED ALIVE

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

Peter's guilt over a recent run in with Mysterio literally makes him sick.

BURIED ALIVE flashes in neon letters across the screen, the techno theme music plays, and Peter’s eyes glaze over. He’s officially entered The Zone, and there’s no pulling him out of it until his character dies or he achieves the highest honor, a score enormous enough to knock MQB off the hall of fame.

His hand clutches the joystick, and his fingers glide across the buttons, and he can feel Ned staring at him, but it doesn’t distract him from the current mission.

It doesn’t help him, either.

This game ends exactly the same way every game before it had, on level five, when he’s only points away from taking first place away from MQB.

He sighs, and reaches a hand in his pocket, searching for more tokens but finding it empty.

“Shit,” says Peter. “I’m out of tokens.”

“Again?” asks Ned. “How many times have you played this? Exactly?”

“I dunno, not that much.”

Ned doesn’t look like he believes him. He looks worried, and Peter tries to shove the annoyance he feels deep, deep down.

He wishes people would stop looking at him that way. Like he’s just one fall away from breaking and shattering in a way that’d leave his pieces uneven and unfit to be put back together the correct way, the uniquely Peter-way.

“Maybe we should do something else,” says Ned. “Go to a movie, or pick up that limited edition Star Wars set?”

It’s tempting, and Peter wants to go, wants to be anyplace but this arcade, going to war with himself over a some stupid high score on some arcade machine. An environment without all the flashing lights, screaming children, and annoying game music would be a nice change in pace, but he can’t.

He has to stay. Until he’s won. Until he wipes that name off the charts and replaces it with his own.

“I need more tokens,” says Peter, as a way of answer. He hopes the way his voice sounds like a zombie will go ignored.

He walks past Ned, and heads towards the token machine, dodging running, shouting kids on his way. He fumbles around with his wallet, until he finds the credit card Tony had given him for emergencies. Not for the first time, he swipes it at the token machine and receives a hundred new chances to defeat his enemy.

If that isn’t an emergency, Peter doesn’t know what’s supposed to make that list.

When he turns, he comes face to face with Ned.

“Dude,” he says. “Maybe you should take a break. Have you even eaten dinner yet?”

His stomach growls at the mention of food, and his eyes automatically drift towards the restaurant installed into the arcade. He supposes Ned has a point. He can afford to stop his gaming long enough to scarf down some pizza.

“Yeah, okay, good idea.”

Relief washes through Ned’s features, and Peter’s stabbed with guilt. It attacks him from all angles.

He’s guilty for worrying his friends, and his family, and guilty because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s guilty of the wave of crime overtaking Queens now that Spider-Man has abandoned it, in favor of standing still at an arcade game.

Guilty for that thing he doesn’t allow himself to think about.

Most of all, he’s guilty, because instead of working towards wiping away the current charts on BURIED ALIVE, he’s sitting at a table eating pizza, wasting time.

Drops of sweat trickle down his forehead, and a shiver runs through his body.

And he tries ignoring it, the way his stomach is heavy, and cramping, and the way his body is just begging him to take a seat, close his eyes, or more pressing, run to the bathroom and shove his head in a toilet.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. Because he’s just so damn close.

When game over flashes across the screen, he slams his fist down. He considers what might happen if he didn’t hold back his strength, if he just destroyed the machine right then and there.

“Peter?”

He stared at the screen., refusing to look away.

“You’re not looking so great, kid.” Tony’s hand comes up from behind him, and presses down on his sweaty forehead. “Yep, that’s a fever.”

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “What are you doing here?”

“Ned called me,” he tells him. “He was really worried, and so am I.”

Tony wipes the sweat off his hand and into the insides of his suit jacket.

It’s the first time in awhile Peter takes his eyes away from the screen, and the room blurs. All the flashing, neon lights merge together. All the kids, teens, parents combine into one collective shout that threatens to make his ears bleed. The arcade tilts, and the knot in his stomach is pulled tighter.

“I need to get outta here,” says Peter, a shake in his voice.

“Then come on,” says Tony.

He grabs him by the arm, and leads him through the jungle of prize hungry children, beeping game machines, and parents trying to ignore it all.

Fresh, cold air hits Peter’s face when they step outside the door, and he breaths it in, then he bends over and pukes in the on the sidewalk while strangers watch in disgust, while Tony rubs his back, and while the paparazzi snaps photos of Iron Man comforting some poor, sick kid.

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

It just figures. That there’s so avoiding it now. That there’s not even a proper distraction to keep him from the things he’s not trying to think about.

That day comes back to him and hits him with full force, as if were angry Peter had been suppressing it.

His memories are pulled backwards to Mysterio’s twisted game. That dull, grey day the fishbowl guy taunted him with a devastating choice, save May fall from a skyscraper, or save a stranger from suffocating six feet under the earth.

His failure flashes across his mind.

He’d thought he could save both, but he’d still made the decision to go after May first. Once she was safe on the ground, he had bolted to the burial site, only to dig up a man who was already dead.

He’s selfish, and he’s sad. All this bad will stirs his stomach enough to force his head back in the toilet to throw up some more.

Tony rubs his back until he’s finished with his gagging. He puts the toilet lid down, and flushes, and he leans against the toilet, weak and wanting the pain in his stomach to ease so he can sleep and not exist for awhile.

So he can continue avoiding the conversation Tony keeps trying to force him to have.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” says Tony. “That fucking psychopath created that situation to fuck with your head.”

“But I’m Spider-Man,” says Peter. “I should’ve been able to deal with it, without - someone dying.”

“Can’t save them all, kid. No matter how hard you try.”

It’s as if Tony’s words bounce off him. He hears them, but he doesn’t. They don’t sink in. He won’t allow them to, and it’s as if Tony hadn’t spoken at all.

“Suppose I deserve this,” says Peter. “Feeling this way.”

He isn’t sure if he means the stomach cramps, or the guilt, or both, but the alarm that flashes across Tony’s face only makes the stabbing pains worse.

“You only deserve good things, Pete,” he says. “I don’t know how to convince you to believe it.”

When he opens his eyes the next morning, his stomach is peaceful, but his memories are hazy. They exist, just vaguely.

And it’s better that way, really. Puking and crying on the bathroom floor while Tony held him and told him it would be okay weren’t exactly his finest hours. Peak teenage embarrassment that he hopes will go forgotten, or at least unmentioned, in future conversation.

He’s ready to crawl and hide under the covers when the guest room door creaks open, but he stays visible when he sees it’s just his Aunt May walking through the doorway, carrying crackers and a mini bottle of Sprite.

“I hear you had a rough night,” she tells him. She puts the sick people snacks on the nightstand. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.”

May’s face folds into disbelief, and Peter releases a breath, realizing there’s no avoiding it anymore. Not after last night.

“I’m sorry, May.”

“About what?”

“About Mysterio.”

She sits on his bed, and takes his hand. “From what Tony’s told me, you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m going to stress again that that wasn’t your fault and you will not accept responsibility for what some demented man cooked up in his free time, okay?”

“But May -”

“If someone asked me to choose between my own life and somebody else’s,” she starts. “You know I would choose theirs. We’re Parkers, and that’s what we do, for better or for worse, but if someone forced me to choose between a stranger’s life and yours? Peter, that’s not even a choice, it’s an instinct.”

“But May I should’ve -”

She squeezes his hand, and cuts him off, a second time. “You have to let this go. You weren’t being selfish, and you did everything you could’ve done. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill anybody.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so he doesn’t try. He lets her hug him, and even hugs her back. He even feels a little lighter now that he’s been ordered to move on.

Tony’s idea of helping is to throw money at it. He goes to the arcade and pays them a ridiculously large sum of money for the BURIED ALIVE game machine.

It’s sitting in the workshop when Peter arrives for their lab hours, along with giant hammers and other tools of destruction.

“I think they do this in therapy,” says Tony. “Something about getting it all out. Healthy destruction. All that.”

“They let you break things in therapy?” asks Peter, apprehensively taking the hammer from Tony.

He’s gotta admit, he’s warming up to the idea of letting Tony pay for a therapist, even if he knows he only said it for that very reason.

“Sure,” says Tony. “Why not?”

Peter stares at the game. The thing he’d been using to distract himself from his misery. The thing he’d become obsessed with as a way to relive the past, take some control. Of course, getting the highest score would’ve never brought back the man Mysterio killed, but obsessions weren’t exactly rational.

“I have a better idea,” says Peter.

They spent the next few hours taking the game apart, piece by piece, and then, and until late in the night, they use the parts to build a new, better game. Something that Ned has to come over and help them program. Something with a less morbid topic.

And Peter starts to think better, feel better.

There’s something cathartic about taking apart the horrible things and turning them into something new. It’s a breath of fresh air. It’s a sense of hope, for himself, that eventually he’ll be able to take May and Tony’s reassuring words and believe them.

#febuwhumpday9 #irondad #irondad fic #Tony and peter #sick Peter parker #vomiting

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