#i have So many wips right now i need to get rolling on a lot of them h a

[humming-fly]

I've been vicariously reveling in @post-it-notes7's recent foray into their version of dark meta knight's No Good Very Bad Day, and naturally have had a shitpost bouncing around in my head the Entire time

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 3

Hello! If you haven't seen it yet, I've got a set schedule for what story posts on what days now (as seen here) and this one as well as Well Met By Moonlight, Batshit Soulmates, and Never Hold Back Your Step... will still be posting just on rotation until I can finish some of my WIPs. (I may be stretching myself a bit thin having six going at the same time.)

In this one we have the concert. Eddie stumbles on something big and doesn't know how to deal with it all. And Uncle Wayne is bestest as always.

@emly03 @redfreckledwolf @itsall-taken @rozzieroos @mira-jadeamethyst

Part 1 Part 2

****

The day of the concert dawned abhorrently cheerful and bright. Not a cloud in the sky or any accidents that would prevent Eddie from having to take Dustin to this event. He wouldn’t deign to call it a concert. He had heard the album and seen their posters, but he refused to wander over to YouTube and watch videos of their concerts, interviews, their music videos.

He didn’t want to be even more disappointed that they were all flash and no substance then he was sure he was going to be for the next two hours.

Dustin rolled his eyes when Eddie parked in the huge concert parking lot.

“You’re just salty because I like them as much as I like Corroded Coffin,” he huffed getting out the car. “You have to concede that Abaddon’s vocals are killer.”

Eddie scoffed. “Do not. I haven’t heard them live. Way too many artists use autotune too much these days.”

“You sound like that meme,” he sneered, “‘Old Man Yells at Cloud’.”

Eddie swatted at him playfully. “Am not.” Dustin raised his eyebrow skeptically and he threw his arms in the air. “I’m not. I am a very serious musician, Dusty. The last thing metal needs is some band that can’t write or even play their own instruments. This isn’t pop.”

“You are such an asshole,” he said and turned toward the entrance, leaving Eddie to jog to catch up with him.

Eddie sighed and put his arm around Dustin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am being an asshole. I turned into the person I swore I would never be. Those shit for brains critics that hated Corroded Coffin when we first got on the scene. And that was wrong of me.”

Dustin sighed, too. “I just want you to like them too. They are so good if you’d just give them a chance.”

Eddie breathed out through his nose. “Yeah. I can at least give them that.”

They got to their seats and Eddie was a little impressed at Claudia Henderson’s Ticket Master foo. They weren’t front row, but they were only a couple of rows back so you could actually see the stage without having to strain their necks and smack dab in the center of the row.

Dustin would have the best time. And now it was up to Eddie not ruin it for the kid. Because yes, he was still a kid as far as Eddie was concerned. Twenty-one was so fucking young. That was how old most of the band was when they got their record deal, after all. They weren’t prepared for what came next, that’s for sure.

They got settled into their seats and Eddie watched as the rest of the crowd shuffled in. They were all about Dustin’s age with very few exceptions in either direction.

There seemed to be a color theme going on with the girls in the audience though. They were grouped in clumps of red, black, blue, or white. Which made sense if each band member stuck to a certain color palette.

Well he was about to find out, he supposed.

The lights dimmed. The crowd quieted down. The spotlight lit up the drumkit first. And Eddie knew that Gareth would be drooling over it. It was all black with black metal fittings. The kit seemed to collect light almost like a blackhole.

Then from the ceiling, a man dressed all in black being lowered onto the stage with large black raven wings on his back. He wore a black hooded coat over what, Eddie couldn’t tell. It was all black. The shirt, the pants, the boots. Even his mask was all black with even the eyes appearing closed. His feet touched the ground and the crowd went wild.

“Azrael!” the announcer called out.

Azrael settled on the throne and picked up black drum sticks.He counted time above his head and played a wicked solo to the adoring crowd’s absolute delight.

Dustin jumped up and down, screaming.

The spotlight moved to the right side of stage and the next band member descended from the ceiling. Large bat wings adorned his back and he was dressed in red leather fetish gear. Complete with tight leather pants that looked painted on and a matching harness highlighting his bare chest, peeking out from the red leather hooded coat.

His guitar was fucking gorgeous, though. A Warlock, much like Eddie’s own. It was custom painted red with black flames licking up the neck.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but it seemed he was the only one who thought the whole thing was over the top judging from the screams from the girls in the audience.

He didn’t just land gently on the stage like the drummer did, oh no. He fucking stomped onto the stage with a howl.

His wings, like the drummer’s ascended back into the rafters as the announcer shouted, “Asmodeus!”

And then Eddie really did roll his eyes. The demon of lust. Of course he was.

But seconds later Eddie’s jaw dropped to the floor as the man wailed on his guitar driving the crowd further into the frenzy.

Once he finished his solo the crowd quieted again and he could see why. Because just then, descending on gossamer wings that shimmered like starlight, was their bassist.

Everything about him was midnight blue and shimmering like the night. His mask was the face of the moon. He had his own hooded coat, but it was like the night sky, with some kind of crystal or gem sewn in to make the coat glimmer like stars.

His bass was something that Brian would have sold his own mother for and they were as thick as thieves. Eddie didn’t know much about basses considering his sweetheart was an electric guitar, but he could tell it wasn’t expensive but was perfect for his style. A style he showed off with gusto to the audience’s obvious delight.

“Astraeus!” the announcer cried.

Eddie decided that this one was his favorite. It played up the whole mysterious thing without the over the top flash of the guitarist or the sheer void of the drummer.

The audience hushed as the three members of the band began to play what was clearly the lead singer’s entrance music.

And holy fuck was Eddie screwed. This man was descending like a fucking angel sent from God, Jesus pose and all.

He was all in white with an opaque lace mask that had his mouth and chin cut out for him to sing. That surprised Eddie somewhat. He figured that the guy would have his whole face covered like everyone else in the band and that he could lip sync.

But nope. Apparently no one in this band did anything by halves.

The lead singer was wearing a sheer mesh crop top under the hooded floor length coats the whole band was wearing. Only his was white with a silk powder blue lining.

Eddie winced in sympathy. They must get boiling under the lights with those things on.

A few feet from the stage floor there was an explosive pop! And the feathers from his wings flew out into the crowd who was now screaming as if their life depended on the sheer volume coming out them. He looked over at Dustin who was no different.

When Eddie could see the stage again, this angel’s wings were now skeletal and gothic.

He landed in front of microphone whose stand had been decorated with a scarf in each of of the band members’ signature colors.

“Abbadon!” the announcer yelled for the final time.

And Eddie was in love. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Dustin must have seen his expression because he was suddenly tugging on Eddie’s arm and screaming, “I told you!!”

“Indy!” Abbadon growled, grabbing the mic. “Thank you so much for having us! Let’s get this started.”

Then he began to sing and yeah, Eddie knew that the guy had charm, but this was a whole new level of epic. He was enthralled.

He didn’t utter a fucking word for several songs. But then it happened. Eddie couldn’t believe it. He hurried to snap a picture to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

But there it was it in living color. He turned to Dustin to see if he saw it too, but the kid was too busy screaming and jumping up and down.

Eddie’s jaw fell.

That couldn’t be right, couldn’t it? That Dustin didn’t know? Eddie looked back up on stage and a lot of the puzzle pieces started slotting in place. His heart sank a little.

He shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts. He didn’t know the reason for any of this and leaping to conclusions would only get a shit ton of people hurt. Especially the boy next to him.

Eddie let the music wash over him. Let the magic of metal soothe his soul. Soon he was jumping up and down and headbanging with the rest of the crowd. Right hand flashing the devil’s horns, left hand out to steady himself he let himself enjoy the band’s stage presence.

****

To say that Eddie’s mind was fucking blown would be an understatement. He pestered Dustin all the way home with rapid fire questions. Where did the band tour last time? What was their schedule this time? Was it a six month tour or an eighteen month tour last time?

Dustin answered each question with growing excitement, thinking that Eddie had finally grown to love this band as much as he had.

Eddie on the other hand felt a growing sense of dread. Well... maybe dread was the wrong word. It was certainly a sinking feeling. One he really had to exam closely.

At least he could honestly say that he fell in love with the music before he found out his little secret.

And fuck what a secret it was.

He dropped Dustin off at home and drove out to the ranch that he had gifted to Wayne when Corroded Coffin first made it big. It was a beautiful, sprawled out home surrounded by acres of land and Eddie loved it even more than Wayne did.

Eddie stumbled through the door and was surprised to see Wayne drinking hot chocolate and reading a sports magazine in his expensive recliner. And yet, at the same time, not really that surprised.

“You do realize I’m no longer that fucked up kid with anger issues,” Eddie huffed on his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, “that were almost as bad as the troubles with the law, right?”

Wayne chuckled. “Maybe so. But you’re still my boy and I’ll keep worrying about you until the day I die.”

Eddie popped open the can of beer and sat down on the sofa. He leaned his head back on the back cushion with a heavy sigh.

Wayne raised an eyebrow. “What’s stewing around in that head of yours?”

Eddie slowly raised his head. “What would you do if you accidentally found out something about a friend that they were keeping from everyone they knew?”

Wayne set down his magazine. “That would depend on the secret. Is it hurting anyone?”

“Is what hurting anyone?” Eddie asked. “The secret?” Wayne nodded and Eddie frowned, really thinking about it.

“Maybe some feelings,” he said after a moment. “But it’s not dangerous like they committed a crime or anything. It’s not even about their sexuality.”

Wayne hummed thoughtfully. “And is it a big secret or a little one?”

Again Eddie was forced to think hard about what that meant. “I guess it depends on the person, but in my eyes it’s pretty big.”

The elder Munson nodded. “Do you feel hurt by this secret?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.” He bowed his head and let out a shuddering breath.

“Is there a reason you think he wouldn’t have told you?” Wayne pressed.

“Of course no–” Eddie stopped as his brain caught up to his mouth. “Shit.”

Wayne raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted shyly. “There’s a pretty good reason why he wouldn’t have told me. And now I feel like the shit friend.”

Wayne stood up and pulled Eddie into a big hug. “Maybe so, but you have the time to course correct and show this friend that you are worthy of his secret.”

Eddie nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne,” he mumbled into Wayne’s neck.

“I’m just glad I could help.”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @y4r3luv @cryptid-system @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

[bookworm551]

A Few More Minutes | Neteyam x gn!reader oneshot

A/N: I took a month off and cut you bitches some slack. Tell a friend to tell a friend…I’m baaaack (but seriously, sorry I haven’t been posting like at all.) I’ve been working on a lot of stuff, but I’ve just been hitting wall after wall with each of my WIPs, but I read a poem on TikTok the other day called “Would I?” By Orion Carloto in her collection “Film For Her” and this little story popped right out of my head fully formed like Athena, so I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: mentions of death and grief, mostly just fluff tho

Words: 2.3k

There was a comforting sense of consistency to your mornings. Every day, as Eclipse would end, the clan would collectively begin to stir, shaking off the remnants of sleep to start the day anew. Everyone was ready to manage the work that helped maintain the balance and livelihood of the clan.

It used to be that you were ready and willing to rise at the first sign of light to get things done. Now, you felt as though the end of Eclipse was a cruelty meant to pull you away from the warmth and comfort pressed against you.

Neteyam always woke up before you. You were never sure how long he would lie awake next to you, but every morning without fail, when you began to stir, he was already waiting for you to open your eyes. Many times, you were roused by his subtle movements—his fingers brushing against your cheek, kisses against your forehead, his body turning to press against yours.

That morning, it had been his arm around your waist pulling you closer. You were dimly aware of the small space between you and blindly followed his gentle prompting to curl up at his side. With your eyes still closed, you rolled over and reached your arm across his torso and pulled yourself closer to him.

Your head rested on his chest as his arm wrapped around you. His slow, steady heartbeat was lulling you back to sleep as his fingers gently stroked your back. You were at the cusp of unconsciousness when his deep voice broke the silence, "You need to wake up."

You groaned softly as you pulled yourself as close to his body as possible, one of your legs moving to rest on his. He was so warm, and you were so comfortable that you once again felt spiteful towards the sun for emerging yet again. "I am awake," you murmured, your voice raspy with sleep.

Neteyam gave a little huff of amusement and hummed. "I will know when I see your eyes," he countered. You gave another soft groan. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy. You tried opening your eyes, but Neteyam's gentle touch and steady heartbeat made it even more difficult for you to shake yourself from your sleepiness.

"I am awake," you repeated, though you knew he wasn't going to let you get away with it. He didn't respond for a moment, and to your disappointment, his hand stopped caressing your back. His lips pressed against your forehead before he muttered, "You have to prove it."

You buried your face into his neck in protest. He chuckled softly, and you felt him press another kiss to your temple. "Come on now," he whispered, his lips right next to your ear. "You need to wake up." You heaved a large sigh and grunted in defiance.

In response, Neteyam brushed his fingers over your cheek. You could feel a subtle smile form on your lips as he traced the edge of your face and down your jaw. His fingers curled under your chin, gently tilting your head up to face him, and he pressed his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, a lazy one, but you loved it. The hand on your back gripped you a little tighter, and your own hand that was draped over his torso slowly slid up his chest to cradle his face.

This was the surest way to wake you up. It didn't matter how long you had been together or how many kisses you had shared, his lips against yours always made your heart beat a little faster and your breathing quicken a little bit. And if his hands would begin to roam across your body, well, you weren't falling back to sleep.

You pulled apart gently, and you managed to slowly open your eyes to look at him. You had to blink a few times for your vision to clear, and when it did, you could see Neteyam's handsome face gazing down at you with a soft smile.

"There you are," he murmured as his fingers began brushing up and down your back again. You returned his smile and traced your thumb over his cheek. "I told you I’m awake," you replied, sleep still evident in your voice. He hummed in amusement as he look down at you in adoration. "So you did."

You took a minute to admire his face and to appreciate this moment between you. Waking up like this made you dread actually getting up every morning. If you could lay like this for the rest of your life, you would. You cursed the sun for forcing you to leave Neteyam's side every day.

With that thought, you closed your eyes again and rested your head back down on his chest. "Let's stay like this forever," you pleaded quietly. He chuckled at you and pressed his lips to your forehead again. "If only we could," he mused. "But we can stay like this for a few more minutes."

You smiled at your small sense of victory. Under your ear, you could hear his heartbeat again, and your head moved gently with the rise and fall of his chest. His fingers still moved gently over the skin of your back as your breathing eventually began to match his own.

***

In the afternoon, when the day was at its hottest, the clan collectively took time to rest for a small period of time. Some slept, some socialized, and some attended to some easy chores. For you, it didn't matter so long as you were able to spend that time with Neteyam.

You were sitting on the floor as you braided vines into rope when Neteyam finally walked in. You greeted him with a smile and said, "There you are. I haven't seen you all day." He poured himself some water from a basin you kept and replied, "I have been out with my father all morning."

“Doing what?” You asked curiously. He shrugged. “Some scouting,” he replied. “We spotted some smoke in the distance and went to see what it was. There are more Sky People setting up near the southern end of the forest past the river.”

He took a drink and sighed before coming over to sit behind you. Wrapping his arms around your body and pressing a kiss to your neck, he asked, "And how have you been today, my love?" You smiled and let go of the half-finished rope to rest your arms over his. "Horribly lonely without you," you responded dramatically.

Neteyam chuckled in amusement at your theatrics and placed another kiss on your neck. He had been out in the sun all day, and you leaned back against him to enjoy his warmth. "I went hunting with your brother and a few others," you added. He hummed in interest and asked quietly, "Who brought back the most?" "I did," you stated smugly. He hummed again softly and mumbled, "Of course you did."

You turned your head to get a better look at his face. His eyes were closed, and he had a gentle smile on his lips. "Are you tired?" You asked, noting his sleepy expression. His little smile grew just a bit wider as he opened his eyes to look at you again. "A little," he admitted, "but I don't want to sleep. I just want to spend time with you."

You smiled as he kissed your neck again. Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and moved to sit on his lap. His hands rested on your thighs as he gazed up at you lovingly. “You are so clingy,” you told him as you rested your forehead against his.

He chuckled and replied, “Yes, I am.” You rolled your eyes at him, but he tilted his head up to meet your lips, and you couldn’t help but melt into him. There was no urgency to your movements. His hands lazily moved up from your thighs to wrap around your torso while you exchanged slow, drawn-out kisses.

You cherished these moments, the few minutes you had to be alone together with no expectations or obligations. Some days, you would both spend time with his family or your family, sometimes with friends, but you both preferred the privacy of your own space to relax for a while before attending to any more work that needed to be done.

Outside, you heard the sounds of others slowly grow louder and busier, indicating that the collective resting time was nearing its end. You felt a jab of disappointment having only spent a few minutes with Neteyam, and soon, you would be expected to go out and continue your day until Eclipse.

Neteyam could sense what you were thinking, and he broke apart from your mouth for a moment. “We don’t have to go out yet,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against yours. “I know,” you whispered, “but we can’t stay in here forever.” He huffed a small sigh and pressed another gentle kiss to your lips. “Just a few more minutes,” he told you.

You hummed thoughtfully for a second as he proceeded to kiss you again. “Okay,” you conceded with a smile. “Just a few more minutes.”

***

The day Mo'at died, the whole clan grieved. Being tsahik meant that she had been the mother of the clan, the bridge between Eywa and the people. She had passed in the early morning, which allowed time for the Sullys to mourn together and prepare her body for the burial.

In the late evening light, the clan was gathered around the hollowed out roots of the tree where Mo'at's body now rested. Leaves and pedals were scattered over her as you all stood with a single woodsprite in hand. It was tradition that the closest relatives of the deceased lower their sprite first.

First, Neytiri stepped forward, her face contorted in grief as she fought back her tears and placed her woodsprite on her mother. After her, Jake placed his own sprite down into the grave, and when he stepped back, Neteyam let go of your hand to release his sprite as well. His face was poised and composed as he stepped back to take your hand again.

When the rest of his siblings had lowered their woodsprites, you were next. You gave Neteyam's hand a quick squeeze before stepping forward to lower the spirit in your hand to rest onto Mo'at's body. As you moved back to stand next to him, the rest of the clan came forward to follow suit.

The funeral rites moved quickly, and after the sun had receded behind the planet in the sky, you found yourself back in your private tent alone with Neteyam. There was a heavy silence that had settled over the two of you. Neteyam was sitting cross legged on the floor staring absently at nothing in particular. You had brought a small platter of food back to share in private rather than with the rest of the clan as you usually did.

"You should eat," you told him gently, placing the platter down in front of him. Neteyam didn't even look down at the food, he just shook his head and replied quietly, "I am not hungry." You watched him carefully for a moment, felling conflicted on whether or not you should push for him to eat.

You raised a hand to hold his cheek and carefully turned his face to look at you. His eyes met yours, and you could see the exhaustion that weighed on him. All day, he had been perfectly composed in front of the whole clan, but now, he had dropped the act and was finally displaying the grief he was feeling. It broke your heart.

"I know this is hard, Neteyam," you said softly, "but you need to eat, just a little bit." He seemed to study your face for a moment, and a tiny, sad smile pulled at his lips for just a second before he squeezed his eyes shut and took an unsteady breath. When he opened them again, his eyes were shining with tears, and he brought a hand up to wrap around your wrist. "I don't know what I would do without you," he whispered finally.

His words made your chest ache, and your eyes were immediately filled with tears. "Don't think about that," you told him as you pulled him into a hug. "I am here now." He buried his head in your neck as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. It wasn't long before his breathing became unsteady and his shoulders began to shake.

You wished with your whole heart that you could save him from this pain. You felt completely powerless to help him. Mo'at had been old, yes, and it came as no surprise to anyone that she had passed, but no amount of time or preparation could save one from the suffocating effects of grief. Of course, you also mourned for Mo'at as well, but for you, she was the tsahik, a leader. For Neteyam, she was a grandmother, his family. Your own grief was nothing compared to his.

You continued holding Neteyam as he wept quietly into your collarbone, and you cried with him. Neteyam so rarely displayed this level of vulnerability with anyone, but you were his safe space, the one who knew everything about him. There was no one in the world he trusted more, and he loved you with his entire being.

You weren't sure of how long you stayed there like that before your tears ran dry and Neteyam's breathing steadied. Your hand rubbed up and down his back slowly in an effort to soothe him. There was a delicate silence that had settled over you both, and neither one of you wanted to break it.

After a time, you asked softly, "Do you want to go to sleep?" Neteyam didn't respond for a moment, but then, he whispered, "Can we just stay like this for a few more minutes?" You nodded and placed a light kiss on his shoulder.

"We can stay like this forever."

[umbrify]

Wip Wednesday! Today, I’ve got a snippet of one of @made-nondescript and I’s longest standing AU’s, the fWhimmy Mer AU

There’s someone else at the docks.

He hadn’t noticed until he made it most of the way down the narrow path, the hardy desert shrubbery obscuring his view. But, there’s definitely someone else here— looks like they’ve gone for a swim? They’re right near the end of the twin set of docks— if he could even call them that, at this point— and he can just barely catch the flashes of movement through the gentle waves.

And, Jimmy supposes, it can’t possibly be that unusual, though he’s never seen someone else here before. But, well, that’s not about to stop him, really. He trudges down the rocky beach regardless, the full moon overhead lighting his path.

—

fWhip spends a lot of time here, at night. The quiet waves lapping at the shore, and the sky’s reflection in the water… it’s peaceful. Relaxing. He enjoys it. Good for a late night swim by the coast. Might even find something good here to take home, if he’s lucky.

What’s not so relaxing, is that someone else has just thrown themself down on the docks, huffing loudly.

Not exactly what fWhip had in mind, for tonight. Well, too late to leave now, he’s already been seen.

“Uh— hey man…?” fWhip says cautiously.

The man heaves a sigh, blond hair falling into his eyes as he rests his tanned arms on his knees, white sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Hey,” the man says, “long night for you as well, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” fWhip pulls himself partly out of the water, using his arms to prop himself up on the docks. “What’s, uh— you wanna talk about it?”

The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just— it’s a lot of work, you know! So many things came up today, and—“ he throws his arms in the air, “I can’t be everywhere at once!”

fWhip’s brow furrows slightly, confused. What exactly this guy is talking about, he can’t say for sure. But… asking him to clarify doesn’t really seem like the correct move here, fWhip thinks.

“Yeah, I get you,” he offers slowly instead.

He can’t say he finds himself in a situation like this often— or ever, really.

Gem’s not gonna be happy.

He shakes his head lightly— problems for future fWhip, he figures. Luckily, it seems like this stranger isn’t paying him much mind.

“And it’s just—“ the man leans back, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I know Joel was busy too, I get that. But I wish he could’ve— I dunno! Helped a bit more?”

fWhip tilts his head to one side, letting out a questioning hum.

Joel?

“It’s not his fault, really. I’m not mad. He was busy,” the man waves a hand in the air idly, “now that we’re in the dry season, he’s got a lot of planning to do, improvements and whatnot— I get it. I really do. It’s just—“ he cuts himself off with a groan.

fWhip can’t help but feel just a little bit… baffled, by this whole thing. New day, new experience, he supposes. He figures it’s best to play along, just in case.

He does sink a little bit lower into the water, though. Just in case.

“And, you know,” the man continues, “I was in the office all afternoon, doing— might I say, a ridiculous amount of paperwork, how could there possibly be so much—“ he exhales sharply. “I had other things I wanted to do. The horses needed to be brushed today. He didn’t even brush the horses.”

“He didn’t even brush the horses,” fWhip echos. “That sucks, man.”

Horses…? Like… seahorses? And he brushes them?

“But,” the man speaks quickly, “Pix needed my help, and it’s not like I’m gonna say no— it needed to be done anyway— it wasn’t gonna get done on its own!”

A strong gust of wind blows over from the ocean. The man shivers slightly, tugging his sleeves down. fWhip draws his arms closer to his chest, one hand reaching up to fiddle absentmindedly with the gold chain around his neck.

“It’s not like I had anything better to do, but I had things I’d rather have been doing, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah no, I feel you,” fWhip says.

What in the world is this guy on about?

“It feels like this day’s been a week long, at least,” the man grumbles, pulling a hand across his face, “and I can’t sleep, but I feel dead tired anyway.” He laughs, dryly. “What a scam, right?”

Now, that, fWhip understands. “I’ve had days like that before, for sure,” he agrees, “it’s… rough.”

That day may as well have been a century long, for all the difference it would’ve made. Oli’s shouts for help, and Joey— gods, Joey… splinters of some sort of wood embedded into his skin, blood trickling from each wound, staining the water around them a sickening peachy red. He'd never seen anything quite like it before. He never wants to again. fWhip blinks quickly, exhaling a sharp breath.

And after all that, to be told they had to leave…? Could barely even wait for Joey to recover before they had to go— and it’s not like they’d ever leave him behind, no. They had to go with him.

Maybe if he’d been there, or if they’d been quicker, maybe… maybe Joey wouldn’t have been hurt. He doesn’t know. fWhip shakes his head. Not the time.

“I’ll get over it,” the man mutters, seemingly oblivious to fWhip’s blank, faraway look. The man rests his chin on his hands as he pulls himself into a sitting position, sighing softly.

An uneasy quiet rests over them as the man stares blankly out over the ocean, stars shimmering in the water’s reflection. fWhip’s eyes briefly dart away, out towards the sea.

Maybe… would he notice if I—

“Oh, I’m Jimmy, by the way,” the man— Jimmy, says suddenly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?”

—

“Uh—“ the man in the water stutters, “I don’t uh— don’t get out much, you could say?”

“Don’t get out much, huh?” Jimmy muses, casting a brief glance at the man, who’s sopping ginger hair obscures most of his features. He’s able to catch sight of a single golden chain around the man’s neck, glinting softly in the moonlight as he twists it between his fingers. “Did I ever catch your name?”

“It’s— uh—“ the man’s eyes dart out towards the ocean before snapping back to Jimmy’s face. “It’s fWhip.”

Jimmy hums a noncommittal note, looking back over the ocean, waves lapping gently against the docks. He rests his head fully onto his arms, eyes drooping slightly.

Jimmy takes a sort of comfort, in the quiet. Wind rustles softly through the trees, casting ripples across the water. He takes a slow, deep breath, letting his shoulders relax. It’s awful nice down here, what with how the dense shrubbery dampens any ambient sounds from the town nearby. It’s peaceful, even with the company.

Of all nights he’d find someone else here, he reckons tonight would make the most sense. Can’t blame anyone for wanting to take some time away from it all— he knows he sure needed it— and these docks, despite their age, have always been nice this time of the year. He runs a hand across the old planks, picking idly at a small patch of moss growing into the wood.

Honestly, Jimmy finds he rather doesn’t mind the company at all. Makes it a bit less spooky here, at night, and the guy seems nice enough.

He is dreadfully tired, though. Perhaps he ought to head back soon. Still plenty to do tomorrow, after all. Really, his time spent here could’ve been much better spent elsewhere— either sleeping at home, or even just getting a bit more done.

Always more, isn’t there?

fWhip clears his throat.

“I think I’m gonna head out now,” he says.

“Yeah, alright, see you later man,” Jimmy mumbles, not looking up.

A soft splash, and then, silence, once more. Jimmy blinks slowly. He really better make his way home, too, before he’s too tired to get back up that trail without tripping over his own feet.

Or, maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt. The sound of the waves lapping against the shore is almost a bit hypnotic, and Jimmy finds himself spacing out for a moment longer, staring blankly out towards the sea.

Wait.

Jimmy sits up suddenly, whipping his head around behind him, before sharply turning back to the water. The dock next to him is dry, save for the faint wet imprint of fWhip’s arms on the far side. He stands.

Where did that guy just go?

He can’t see any sort of water tracks across the docks— and there would’ve been, right? That guy was in the water the whole time, surely there would’ve been.

And why was he in the water anyway, this late at night?

And who was he?

Jimmy rubs his eyes blearily. Perhaps he’s more tired than he realized. Surely he’s just— he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to think. He shakes his head, making his way back up the path into town.

He’ll think about it again in the morning.

[gimmemore14]

You have more wip's ? I like your work a lot ! ❤️

Thank you 💜💜💜 Right now I barely have time to write for BitW, so there’s not too many I’m currently working on! But it’s been so long since an update I’m using your ask to post a lil sneak peak for the readers that follow me:

~~~~

“Hmm, mind? No, I don’t usually concern myself with the opinions of a pup, even a foul-mouthed disrespectful one. Did your daddy teach you those words?” He drawls as his eye catalogs Dick’s appearance as if the omega has changed in the ten minutes they’ve been apart.

The sick feeling that Slade knows crawls over Dick suddenly.

He couldn’t have seen, Dick assures himself. They had been careful, but doubt forms a pit in his stomach that he can’t hide quickly enough.

Dick is not listening as Damian begins to defend himself and Bruce’s honor. He’s unable to look away as Slade’s searching gaze rolls over him. The alpha raises an eyebrow at whatever he finds.

Dick opens his mouth to distract, to apologize, to placate, but the slide of the backdoor distracts them all.

Slade’s mouth presses into a suspicious, flat line as Joey walks back inside with the untouched plate of food and bowl of fruit.

“You didn’t eat.” Slade accuses, his eyes narrowing on the omega.

It takes all of Dick’s willpower to stay tense and not allow a wave of relief to wash over him. He doesn’t know. How could he know?

“I wasn’t hungry.” He shrugs flippantly even as Slade’s brows lower.

“You’ll make it up at dinner or I’ll go back to hand feeding you.” Slade orders, just barely keeping the alpha command out of his tone.

Mortification flares through him and heats up his cheeks. Dick wants to be angry and self-righteous in front of Damian and Joey, but he knows it would only make things worse.

“Fine.” He mutters, picking a spot on the wall to look at instead of meeting anyone’s eye. Getting Tim out is far more important than pride, he reminds himself.

The omega misses whatever Joey signs but Slade’s reply lets him fill in the blanks easily. “Can? Sure, but will he? It’s my job now to make sure he’s taken care of, he hasn’t been up to the task lately… or in the past.”

Dick looks over in time to catch Joey furiously signing at his dad, the anger in the beta’s scent palpable and clearly grating on Slade. “Joey, leave it.” He asks- not demands- quietly. It makes Joey hesitate. The beta looks to the omega for guidance and Dick grants it. “Why don’t you show Damian your art? He’s quite the artist as well.”

The young alpha’s ears turn bright red, belaying his embarrassment at the compliment. Dick’s smile finally turns into something more genuine.

Slade’s fingers flex on his newest pressure point and it brings the reality of his situation stomach-churningly closer to the surface. Before the alpha speaks, Dick already knows he’s going to contradict him.

“Not now, later.” Slade commands casually, his fingers stroking his bite on Dick’s neck idly. Before anyone can protest, he continues on, “It seems like everyone needs to blow off a little steam first, meet me outside.” Slade says, looking at Dick with an unreadable expression.

The omega knows it can’t be good as Slade asks Joey to grab Rose too. His eyes beg Slade the questions he’s too afraid to ask out loud, but the alpha doesn’t respond to any of them. Slade curls Dick towards him and kisses his forehead reverently before releasing him.

The alpha heads towards their bedroom and as the distance increases, so does Dick’s anxiety. He’s tempted to follow him- to finally get some clarity in private- but he stuffs it down and attempts to coax Damian outside.

[aimfor-theheart]

hi cielo !! hope you're enjoying your night !! here me out: apocalypse au megumi for your writing game👀🤲

in my minds eye (and ignoring current canon lol) he is sooo final girl coded 💗

curious what you think !!

ELLA!!!! omg i actually really do love an apocalypse au......i have one with maki actually! a wip i pick at every once and awhile but you're v right it can fit megumi well too!!! thank you for submitting!! <333

apocalypse au

megumi x reader

cw: none? sharing a sleeping bag for warmth hehe

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

the sky is a smoky, slate grey. it carries on forever—forever of nothingness. an empty sky. you feel as if the sun has been stolen from it.

you shiver hard, rubbing your hands together. winter is setting on faster than you'd thought it would. you're not as prepared as you'd hoped you'd be. but the weather doesn't care, the cold wind hat cuts across your face doesn't care.

your traveling companion eyes you a moment.

then megumi walks over, a blot of darkness against all this grey, and drops his coat over your shoulders.

your traveling companion is a strange man—strange and kind and standoffish and harsh and protective and gentle.

you shake your head to deny him, but he fastens it tighter around you.

"no—what about you? you'll freeze without it."

"so will you." he grunts and doesn't say another word, moving on. "we need to make it another few miles before we can set up camp tonight and i need you to keep moving."

"we'll trade off." you try to argue with him. "i can't let you go without it the rest of the day."

"i need to find you a better coat before the weather turns worse." he says.

it's always i need to do this, i should do this, i have to do this. he takes everything onto his shoulders, makes it his responsibility to see it all through. to keep you and he living and moving.

"we'll hit a town in the next few days, wont' we?" you ask. "i'm sure we can find one there."

he doesn't say another word. he presses on and you follow. he is wary of strangers on these travels and when one too many cross your paths, he pushes you behind him, glaring at anyone who looks for too long.

you cling to the back of his shirt like a child and stumble along.

when night falls, you can only keep the fire going for a small amount of time, both so you don't attract attention and because your supplies are cold and damp.

your sleeping bags are too thin for how cold the temperature begins to drop.

the forest is so silent. and so dark. and you're shivering so hard.

you roll over to see megumi's figure in the dark. his own tense shivering that he's trying to hide. you're wearing his coat to bed upon his instance.

you swallow hard.

"megumi," you say into the dark.

"hm?"

"i'm freezing," you whimper through the shivers. "i can't sleep."

he sighs, but instantly turns over in his sleeping bag, facing you, his face just a shadow. one that you know well.

"i know." he agrees softly, "we need to find more blankets, too—"

"can i come into your sleeping bag?" you ask and after everything, you don't have enough energy to be embarrassed. after the end of the world, you figure there isn't much else to lose now, anyways. you wish you felt embarrassed enough to blush, you wish you'd feel that prickling heat anywhere.

there isn't much to lose—maybe except him.

"i don't have to," you say quickly into his silence.

"no—we'll have to—" he swallows, "we'll probably have to get used to it over the winter."

"okay." you respond and begin to slip out of your own sleeping bag, the wind a brutal and cutting as it slips into the little warmth you'd gathered. you move to him in the dark, you bring your own sleeping bag to use as a second blanket over the two of you.

megumi shifts, sitting up a little on his elbow and trying to give you space to get in.

it isn't much.

with a lot of struggling and wriggling and little apologies and squirming, you manage to get in beside him.

flushed to him.

you're facing him which maybe you should—

"should i—" your hands are braced on his chest and you can hear his poor heart. hammering so hard, so nervous. it's almost funny—it almost makes you laugh—megumi, so stoic and resourceful and strong, suddenly nervous. "um." you say to cover it up, "is this comfortable for you?"

he nods quickly. "is it comfortable for you?" he asks.

you shift a little, twining your legs and getting more comfortable. tentatively, he lets his arms wrap around you. hands on as neutral places as they can be; your back, high on your waist.

"this okay?" you ask quietly.

again, he nods sharply.

"then i'm comfortable."

"okay. good."

you duck your head, hiding your smile against his chest. before you know it, a laugh escapes you.

"what?" he grinds out.

"i've never seen you falter in the most dangerous situations and this is what makes you nervous?"

"i'm not nerv—"

"i can feel your poor heart, megumi."

he snaps his mouth shut. he's silent for a moment and his heart, as if to prove a point, thuds and thuds and thuds.

"it's okay," you whisper, cuddling closer, "take a deep breath—i don't bite. it's just for warmth. like you said—we'll probably have to do this all winter."

he listens to you and tries to take a deep breath, which you find endlessly endearing, too.

you hide your smile again.

"right." he says tightly, his big hand shifting just barely over your hip, "just for warmth." he agrees stiffly.

you wrap your arms around him, too, tucking yourself in deep to the corners of his body. stealing his warmth and giving yours freely. the sky, once so full of nothing, opens wide with stark, twinkling stars.

"i feel warmer already."

[monsterfloofs]

For the ask thing, anything you are excited for lately? Can be anything at all!

(Recently I got excited for the new Zelda game and wondered if anything has got your brain buzzing with excitement as well.)

Thank you for reading and I hope you have the loveliest of lovely days! 💕🌷✨

Oh hi! That is so lovely to hear that you got a new game, I hope you enjoy playing it! ( ◜▿◝ ) That sounds like a fun time I wonder what the new mechanism is for this game! = O I know there is one game where people were building some insane looking stuff! XDDD

Oh gosh, for me aaaah hm! I can't really think of anything right now that I am excited for! o.o ) I do have a... number projects cooking on the mental griddle at the moment! (So many pancakes...) I have a secret project I have been apart of >:3c as well as, working on too many half baked story wips x-x ;; ) I start them and then I ramble off elsewhere aaaaaaa sjdjdjdsj there is one I want to finish because it was from my design a monster / story with emoji and I am really liking how it's turning out. I am trying to experiment and put more creativity into the prose itself, I also have a friend acting as a beta reader. (Which I have NEVER had before, but has been a fun experience!)

Putting a read more because I ramble!

Let's see... is there anything else I can think of...

I have books out from the library, but I have been reading other books instead. orz I relistened to an audio book that makes me laugh because of the how silly the characters are. I been laughing... AGAIN about this particular look in gothic fashion that I have deemed "Just rolled out of the coffin," where it's, as the name says, looks like a very groggy looking vampire who just woke up. So I am wrestling with myself to not throw more on my plate because gosh I really want to draw Lawrence in that. XD (I also wanna draw Lawrence in a t-shirt with the picture of Noseferatu flicking the lights from that one time in Spongebob but PPPPPFFF)

The same beta reader friend is trying to convince me to work on that story again and AAAAAA that story is... such a... double edged sword to me, personally. On one hand at the time of finishing it, it felt like it was the best story that I have ever written. On the other, HOW DO I CONTINUE THAT?!?! D: How do I keep making it that way? And then anxiety hit and I froze over and couldn't bring myself to continue it because the fear of... messing up. And not sure where to go forward and being afraid I would spoil the story if I did skdjdkdkekd

There's a lot of things I would like to work on. o-o ;; ) I really gotta find a way to organize myself better between art and writing and just, creating in general. That and trying to restablish my art on different art websites has been stressing me out lately. ;-; ) I deleted almost all of my art off of instagram... which was almost 550 pieces of art, drawings and doodles.And realizing that place held 5+ years of my art journey and I had just deleted it was... hard to take. Still kinda mourning that and trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces.

Ahah! Sorry! People chat to me and I chatter back... A lot =u= ;; ) Sorry for the paragraphs! I don't usually go on and on like this, I mean I do on tumbly, I don't really feel like I pop off like this much in person. It's kind of funny and amusing to me that once I am here I become such a chatterbox!

I guess all my buzzing thoughts need to go somewhere sjskdjdjs

Ah yes, exciting things, I have things that I could be excited for once they get a better level of polish... I told you about the life things. Uhh, wracking my brain, the last thing I was kinda excited for was that I splurged and bought a pajama set from a small creator that I really love. They have a lot of cute spooky patterns and things. And this piece was from their Valloween collection which had ghosts, hearts and bats on it. 👉👈 (I also bought the cardigan with the same pattern when it first came out because it was love at first bite-- I mean sight! x//D This is the place I splurge on when I want to treat myself to cute spooky clothes. Gosh I wish the plague doctor button up came back in bigger sizes again. ;3; )

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

Been a while since i've had the spoons but @throughtrialbyfire tagged me this week so why not. We have some lineart, some wips and a bit of a fic i'm writing.

Art first.

And now from a yet unnamed fic that's just because I have Erra and Teldryn feels.

Erra's pov.

Erra nodded, stepping back through the door, and entering the warm yurt once again. He held his hand out, gesturing towards the centre of the yurt and the sitting circle he had hastily set up in the short time he was given to prepare. He knew it was not enough, he had substituted a lot of the more traditional items needed for such gatherings. He had not even managed to make that traditional tea from trama root to offer their guests and had only just managed to scrounge together a pipe to share. Honestly, he had focused so much on making Teldryn look the part of Khan that he’d neglected the rest of the ceremony.

Though when his eyes met with his, Erra felt his anxieties melt away. There he was, a vision in red shrouded by the trappings that had once belonged to Erra. Teldryn wore his robes well, even if they were a little ill-fitting in places, he was taller and thinner than him and the gold-lined sleeves that should have covered his hands barely hit his wrists but he wore it elegantly. Erra felt his heart flutter as he watched Teldryn exhale a cloud of blue-tinged smoke into the air. The robe was open along his chest, usually, a chitin or bonemold cuirass was worn underneath but Teldryn had complained earlier that day about his corprus scars giving him trouble and had opted to wear the loosest clothing he owned. He did not want him in pain whilst he was trying to learn how to be the leader that his aunt foresaw him to be.

He could see Teldryn was nervous, his foot tapping on the floor as he sat exactly where Erra had instructed at the head of the circle. He held his eye, bright crimson framed by dark lashes and even darker kohl. Teldryn furrowed his brow, his dark hair falling over his eyes once again. He could see him chewing at the inside of his cheek.

Teldryn looked the part but Erra knew he didn’t feel that way. It would be on him to guide him through this and any other duties that would be expected of him once the elders officially named him Nerevarine. Teldryn had already made up his mind and Erra noticed that the mer often got what he wanted. Maybe he would succeed in this too and have an exile as his right-hand— he knew he would never be able to go through the ceremony let alone the tests required just to regain his original position within their clan. It would all hinge on Teldryn's word, if he was to be named Nerevarine then his word would be law. It was just a matter of getting him through the Trial of Wisdom, but Erra thought, if anyone could succeed at this, it would be Teldryn.

He had known the mer was the real thing when he’d told him he’d survived the unsurvivable. Ancestors! He had done it twice now. Teldryn fit the regalia because it had always been destined for him. Erra knew Teldryn could do this, he just needed to be taught how.

Erra took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He spoke in Ashland, “You are now in the presence of Indoril Nerevar’s chosen Incarnate, Ensirhaddon-Sero Teldryn am'Urshilaku. State your business.”

Etana rolled his eye at him but straightened his posture as best as he could, “Kurapli has been wronged by a guest to our tribe. She wishes to seek council with the Incarnate and consult his wisdom as granted by Azura. She is accompanied by her sister, Zanummu who has witnessed the events.”

Teldryn stared at Erra, his eyes wide as he tried to make sense of what was being said. He tended to forget that Teldryn did not speak Ashland, and many of the Urshilaku did not speak Dunmeris. In this case, they were lucky, both women knew Dunmeris well enough for Teldryn to be able to communicate with them. He spoke Ashland out of habit when at home and this ritual was no exception. He would switch for Teldryn’s benefit.

“You may seek the counsel of the Incarnate,” Erra stated, gesturing to the collection of cushions opposite Teldryn, “Please be seated.”

Etana sighed and nodded for both women behind him to take their places before he took his place by the door, seating himself on one of the many chests that lined the yurt’s perimeter. Erra took his place to Teldryn’s immediate right, he could hear him quietly exhale in relief as their knees briefly touched. Teldryn leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“What do I do now?” He asked, his voice shaking a little as he spoke.

Erra leaned in, making sure he spoke just loud enough for Teldryn to hear, “Introduce yourself formerly as the Incarnate and take a puff from the pipe. Then immediately offer it to Kurapli who is sitting on the left. She will pass it to her right once she has finished speaking.”

Teldryn nodded, straightening himself and clearing his throat, “Um… You sit in the presence of the Incarnate, what do you ask of me?”

Teldryn spoke a little quickly, as if he was running a script through his head. Erra watched him take a long drag of his pipe, exhaling another cloud of smoke as he handed the pipe to Kurapli, his hand shaking a little. Erra thought he was doing well…he needed to tell him he was doing well. He leaned in, whispering in his ear.

“You are doing fine,” he whispered reassuringly, he wanted to reach for his arm, take his hand in his so that he could soothe Teldryn’s nerves. He knew he couldn’t, it would not end well for either of them if he did, especially when he was sitting opposite the woman he was once meant to marry.

[a-had-matter]

INTRODUCING.... THE INTRO II

If you haven't noticed, I am a-had-matter, and though you probably haven't noticed, I am a writeblr. Below is my incredibly shitty intro, and even further, my shitty blog. My hopefully less shitty side-blog is this-butch-cannot-write

DNI if you're homophobic, transphobic, racist, sexist, and or anything of the sort.

If you haven't noticed already, I very much support lgbtqia+ I go by Kat and am on the aroace spec. Pronouns are she/her/them (them is not plural). I am butch, aegorose, pansexual and I may be non-binary. If I know you, you know my age, and if I don't, you won't. I likely have an eating disorder, and on here I'll probably joke about it since it is pretty funny. I'm also probably autistic/neurodivergent Before anything else, know that I am pretty stupid I write sometimes If I seem depressed or like I am mentally deranged, don't worry. It's just a thing I do

Like most writers, I have a lot of thrown away projects, and just as many wips that will likely never be finished.

Here are WIPS I'm working on:

VILLAINOUS- a mix of Dark Smiles and Lovely Girls, Fangs, The Wolf and the Sheep, and then Villainous Thing by Shayfer James. (links will be added later)

Yellow- About gods and their reincarnates. Starring Avery Gryffon (the angry bird), Chione (the one with a tragic backstory), Rhodes Green (the cinnamon roll), and Lucius Scarlett (the delusional one who's positive it's everyone's fault but their own.)

Miraculous Adventure AU fanfic of which I have adopted. (thank you yolowritter)

I also happen to be a poet. More like I try to write poetry. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's decent, but I'll share my favorites.

Dead Magical Charge

The color of your voice

Crying

Nothing & Unstable

I probably need to write more.

I'm expanding in my music taste, but I kind of have a fixed playlist. But that's cause I'll find a new artist, and then go through their entire discography, so that's what's on my playlist. Right now I'm going through Cavetown.

This is as good as it'll get. lgbtq heart dividers

[alrightbuckaroo]

Thanks to @jesuisici33, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @orchidscript for the tags and double thanks to @welcometololaland for the tag and thinking up this lovely little game <3

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more)

1. WIP List:

Alright, so to save you from endless scrolling, I'm just going to list those that have a semblance of a plot and some words written (because surprisingly, yes there are more):

you can't catch a sinner with a saint (old west au)

yesterday's love was a warm summer breeze (sequel to the parisian summer romance au)

lone star lately (workplace mid 2000s rom-com au)

beauty lingers out of reach (artist!carlos nude model!tk au)

everybody is somebody's fool (1940s au)

the rolling thunder of your finger tips (reporter!tk weatherman!carlos dom/sub au)

the sunshine is in your smile (alternate first meeting)

these eyes don't cry (5 + 1)

love in a hurricane (bodyguard au)

love by any other name (witness protection au [but make it funny] )

shoot a man and watch him die (on the lam au)

29 going on 30 (tk turns thirty event fic)

come and take a walk on the wild side (partly published, partly driving me bonkers)

We'll be here forever if I tell you the summary of each one, but if you want to know more, don't be afraid to ask!

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?:

come and take a walk on the wild side is currently 60k and does not show ANY sign of stopping right now.

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

I'm thinking either the Old West AU or the 1940s AU simply because I plan to do such vast world building.

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

Old West AU for sure, but that's also where most of my mind has been on my upcoming WIPs. I'm going to love revisiting the "We'll Always Have Paris" verse though.

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

Either the 1940s AU because it's a case fic and I'll have to put a lot of thought into that b-plot or the On the Lam AU because it's not going to be the most sanitized storytelling.

Neither Carlos nor Tk is the villain, but the world won't see it that way.

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

I think it's yesterday's love was a warm summer breeze, the sequel to summer slipped us underneath her tongue.

I didn't expect so many people to be excited for the sequel, let alone love the story so much, so I'm just hoping I continue doing justice to that little world.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

I'm not sure, I think I might need a sensitivity reader for these eyes don't cry simply because I've never written a therapist before.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

come and take a walk on the wild side was on the mend for a second there, but right now the inspiration is back. TK's interlude is being written, ya'll!

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them?

If you've read any of my AUs you know I LOVE a good OC so this is like asking me to pick a favorite child.

Ruth Baker is an office clerk in the Old West AU who I simply just adore. I get to write things like this:

Roy chuckles and it’s both sinister and mocking. “Oh Reyes, what I actually want to say wouldn’t be polite to do so in such,” Roy’s eyes glance over at Ruth, they land on her chest for a little too long. “Feminine company.” “Eat shit, Roy.” Ruth’s cigarette doesn’t move as she says it, not once looking up from her typewriter. 

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

come and take a walk is sexy but it's not the couple you necessarily want to root for so that might be subjective. Though, I do get write fun moments like this:

“God,” Hartlock emphasizes the word, putting a mix of exasperation and desperate, wanton longing. TK’s aware of where this is going and decides to lean into it. He lowers himself on his lap, straddling him. Hartlock welcomes him, as if his lap is a spot made for TK. “You are such a handful.” He places his hands on TK’s hips, reaches under his shirt and touches his bare skin. his fingertips feeling like a sunburn. TK leans in and whispers, “I know, but that’s what you’ve got two hands for.” He presses his lips against Sam’s neck, kissing it with intent. Hartlock gives in to the moment, his hands looking to grab purchase on TK’s skin.

If we're talking strictly Tarlos sexy; toss up between the Old West AU and the Bodyguard AU (for now 🤭)

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

Definitely these eyes don't cry. That said, it's almost been one of the most fun to write; so what does that really say about me 🥴

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)?

I write so many AUs so it's hard to say who's extremely true to the show, but maybe these eyes don't cry since it's exploring what the show has given us as Carlos?

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

Old West AU most likely. That's one I'm really take my time with the world building on. By the end of you're going to be so sick of hearing about dim bar lightning, crooked streams and blood crusted eyebrows.

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

Right now, it's probably yesterday's summer love was a warm summer breeze since I made both TK and Carlos' journey in the Parisian Summer AU so detailed. Now I have to keep it going LMAO

Here's what the research folder looks like right now (and I haven't even fully started writing it yet):

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

Old West AU because I'm finally writing things I've always wanted to give myself the chance to write. Cowboys, religious imagery, a fully fleshed arc and hey, the smut is kind of just icing on the cake at this point.

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

I actually just had one (as in TODAY) and I dreamed I wrote half a chapter of two of them and just POSTED THEM??

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't?

I'm hesitant to say other stories won't have these things going forward, come and take a walk on the wild side really does utilize the non-linear storytelling tag and the unreliable narrator tag.

You're not supposed to agree with TK often, but that's the point.

That said, I love an unreliable narrator so I can't say it won't show up again. It just doesn't show up in the other works I'm working on, right now.

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour?

Either Lone Star Lately or Beauty Lingers Out of Reach. Lone Star Lately is literally a workplace rom-com au that teeters the line of enemies to lovers it's gotta be FILLED with humor.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

Owen's arc is actually the B Plot of the Witness Protection AU! I love a good b-plot (and sometimes even a c-plot) and this one is no different.

Due to being in the Witness Protection program and not being able to be out in the public eye as often as he used to, he can't be a firefighter for the time being. So, now he has to figure out who he is when he's not his job.

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs.

Four of these AUs already have sequels outlined - some are multi-chapter, some are just really long one-shots

I'm actually working on one that's a giant secret and I can't wait to share it with all of you (it's been a blast to write so far)

no pressure tagging: @heartstringsduet, @carlos-in-glasses, @strandnreyes, @reyesstrand, @bonheur-cafe, @freneticfloetry, @rosedavid, @ambiguouspenny, @wandering-night19, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @lightningboltreader, @paperstorm, @three-drink-amy, @chaotictarlos, @carlos-tk, @sanjuwrites, @birdclowns, @basilsunrise, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @catanisspicy, @rmd-writes, @kiloskywalker, @whatsintheboxmh, @guardian-angle22 and of course anyone who wants to join in :)

if you're an artist, gifmaker or cross-stitcher, these questions might be better suited for you :)

[readingbythestreetlights]

posting a short snippet of the princess cake wip as a gift for @thechocolatecoffeecollection @crimsonicarus !! thank you guys for all the support!! 💞💞

this is still an early, early draft, so excuse any mistakes/inconsistencies!!

To the credit of his agent, the shoot does actually fly by quickly. Filming wraps up what feels like half an hour sooner than what’s usual for this type of thing. Both Jenson and Nico are now left to twiddle their figurative thumbs while they wait for the media team to clean up. At least, Nico is twiddling his thumbs—Jenson somehow seems immune to the awkwardness that tends to linger in the brief interim period after the cameras are shut off. Nico would like to catch him in a situation where he isn’t one hundred percent comfortable in his body. Something in him tells him such a moment will be hard to come by. It’s not exactly envy that comes over Nico, but it is a what-if sort of feeling. What must it feel like to exist with that much ease? It’s sort of unfair.

“Enjoying the view?” Jenson breaks the silence.

Nico realizes he’s been staring, studying Jenson’s (admittedly well-structured) features as his mind has been mulling over the character of the brunet. His cheeks flush slightly, but he remains composed. His gaze meets Jenson’s, where the older man’s eyebrows are raised in self-righteous smugness.

“I could ask the same of you.” Nico is aware of how he looks. Many a so-called straight man has been quick to switch teams upon laying eyes on him. Causing sexuality crises has gotten boring at this point.

“Yes, then. I very much am.” Jenson smiles, lets any of the embarrassment Nico had perhaps tried to lay on him slide right off. Unfair.

Nico just rolls his eyes. He can’t even tell if Jenson’s joking, is the problem. He’s not in the mood for another man to fall in love with him simply because they think he’s basically a girl, right? He’s also not in the mood for Jenson to be saying it as some sick joke, as if it’s all one big gag and of course it is to Jenson because he lives in America, and southern America at that, and—

God, Nico needs to stop being so quick to judge. Take a compliment when he gets it.

“So, how are you liking New York?” Jenson continues kindly, apparently oblivious to Nico’s internal dilemma—or perhaps he can see it all play out on the blond’s face and finds it entertaining. “It’s not your first time here, is it?”

Nico shakes his head in answer. (If it shakes away some of the negative thoughts residing in his mind, that’s a pleasant byproduct.) “No, no. I was here for a gala a few years back. And yes, I enjoy New York, it has a very distinct identity.”

“A gala, wow, Formula 1 is exactly what everyone thinks it is, huh? Surprised you’re alright hanging out with someone who drives on dirty tracks.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an avid rallycross fan.” And to think, Jenson was doing so well only half an hour before. Now he’s throwing it all away to what? Rub the pretentiousness of F1 in Nico’s face? It’s hard to live the job without being aware of it.

“A man of culture.” Jenson nods in approval.

Okay, that’s one point toward his redemption in Nico’s book. Still a lot of work to do, though.

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @inkweedandlizards @lightningboltreader @lemonlyman-dotcom and @carlos-in-glasses for the tag! 🥰🫶

This is for my prequel, TK's growing up years fic -

Dad: Hey, kiddo! We have finally set a date. Your old man is getting hitched on July 23rd, 2013. Be there or be square!

TK had received this text message from his dad a week ago. At the time, he’d replied, “Sounds great!”

And he’d seen his dad several times at work since then. But TK couldn’t get this text out of his head.

First, the word “finally” really did not need to be used. There was no room for “finally” for two people who were engaged after they had been dating for seven months.

The wedding date his dad had sent him, that was six weeks from now. And on that day, it still wouldn’t have been a year since his dad started dating Lorraine. It would be a year in October that he started dating her.

The following January, it would be a year since she moved in with him. TK felt like he was still trying to understand that when his dad told him that they were engaged. There was a part of TK that wondered if Lorraine really had a roommate that she had problems with, or if that was made up.

Every single one of the twenty days between when his dad told him he was engaged and the text with the date, TK had been hoping for the call saying that it was called off. But no; Lorraine and her knives of décor were here to stay (but seriously, who has a hobby of making wind chimes made of KNIVES?! His soon-to-be stepmother, that’s who).

TK was pretty deep into his thoughts that he didn’t pay much attention to the feeling of fingers flicking the tip of his ear. But the back of the same meaty hand colliding with the side of his face — now that he felt.

“Fuck!” TK exclaimed. “Malcolm, what the hell?”

“What?” snapped the 26-year-old firefighter who was straddling TK. “You were like a million miles away. Sue me for trying to get your attention”.

“Try?” TK repeated. “Dude, my ears are ringing”.

“God, you’re dramatic, Probie”. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

“I’m not your probie,” TK snapped. “And you know I’ve had concussions. I have a shift in four hours; I’m not trying to get a migraine”.

“You’re not trying to get off either, man,” Malcolm retorted. TK couldn’t argue with that.

“Yeah, well, I think I’m good”. TK moved to sit up, but Malcolm pushed him back into the mattress.

“I didn’t say we were done”.

TK glared up at him. “Well, I did. Lobster roll. Enough”. Malcolm muttered something under his breath that TK didn’t catch, but he acknowledged that TK had used his safe word. He moved enough for TK to sit up. “I’m sorry”. TK sighed. “You’re right. My head’s not there. Could we talk, actually?” Malcolm looked at him quizzically. “Talk?” he repeated, like it was a new concept.

“Yes. Talk”. TK sighed. “I’ve got a lot on my mind”.

“Well, I know a surefire way to get your pretty little head clear,” Malcolm purred, rubbing his hands up and down TK’s arms. “And besides TK, I can think of six better uses for your mouth… than to talk”. TK hated himself a little bit that it made him blush when Malcolm said shit like that.

“I’m serious,” TK said, grabbing Malcolm’s hands in his. “I’m really worried about my dad”. Malcolm sighed.

“You know, you’ve said that way too many times for someone who is legally an adult?” Malcolm told him. “TK. You don’t come here to talk. Your dad is a big boy. And Topher is going to be back in twenty minutes, and he can’t know you’re here, so…”

“Yeah, got it”. TK rolled off the bed and reached for his jeans. He knew that Malcolm was implying that they could still do something in that time, but TK really wasn’t in the mood for something. At least, not with Malcolm. There were times where he wished that he and Malcolm were in the same firehouse, but times like this made him glad that they weren’t.

As TK went back out into the humid New York summer air, he scolded himself for trying to open up to Malcolm in the first place.

Malcolm had been very clear on that several times over, that there was only one thing he wanted TK for.

And, TK thought bitterly, he couldn’t even really complain; at least this time he didn’t have to sit in Malcolm’s closet buck naked because Malcolm’s parents had stopped by their son’s (who they thought was straight) apartment unexpectedly.

But not talking with Malcolm hadn’t allayed TK’s need to talk to someone about this, he realized as he tried not to be jostled around too much by the subway train. After all, he was supposed to be the best man at this wedding; a wedding which he thought had no business taking place. A wedding that had severely dwindled down the list of people he could talk to. He did think of one person, though.

TK was fighting against the current of college students exiting their federal income taxation class at Columbia university. TK was trying to get into the lecture hall, because he needed to speak with the professor who was teaching it.

“TK?” Enzo said when TK had finally reached the front of the hall. “This is certainly a surprise,” he said, greeting him with a hug. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine”. TK nodded. That wasn’t a huge lie. “But Enzo, could we talk for a minute?”

“Of course, acorn,” Enzo smiled. “Do you want to sit, or…”

“I’ll sit”. TK nodded and sat in the swivel chair behind the desk at the front of the hall. “It spins,” TK said as he used his foot to turn the chair around a few times. “Cool”.

“I don’t know why they have that in here, to be honest,” Enzo chuckled. “If I were to sit there while teaching, I wouldn’t be able to actually see any of the students I’m addressing”.

“Huh”. TK said as he moved side to side in the chair.

“TK,” Enzo cleared his throat. “I know you didn’t come down here to play with the chair. What’s going on, acorn?”

TK brought the chair to a stop. “My dad set his wedding date. It’s in July”.

“Ah”. Enzo nodded as he leaned on the desk. “That’s soon”.

“Right!” TK exclaimed. “Why is it so soon?” He was struck by an unsettling thought. “Oh God, what if it’s that’s soon because they’re having a baby together? She doesn’t look pregnant, though. Would he tell me if that were the reason?”

“TK”. Enzo said gently. “I’m going to take a guess that you’re here in the event that isn’t the reason?” TK nodded. Enzo was otherworldly smart, the same way his mom was. If those two ever had a kid, that kid would find the cure for cancer before they started kindergarten.

“It’s just…” TK sighed. “I’ve never felt like I couldn’t talk to him about something. But I can’t talk to him about himself. I can’t talk to Mom about this. And Sophie’s thrilled, she loves Lorraine”. He started to nibble on his thumbnail. “Soph has spent a lot more time with her than I have, though”.

“But you don’t love Lorraine”. Enzo guessed.

“I don’t know her well enough”. TK shrugged. “But neither does he. They were barely together six months before getting engaged. This is the man who wants to plan everything in his life to death; what part of the plan is this?”

No pressure tagging - @dreamingofmickeywaffles @rachelsversion1 @firstprince-history-huh @tailoredshirt @herefortarlos @paperstorm @reyestrandd @kiloskywalker @eclectic-sassycoweyes @omnivorousdilettante @sugdenlovesdingle

[iridescentpull]

I finally got enough time to start writing the 7th chapter of GeR \o/ should be out this week, but no promises

For now, have a wip <3

Katos mewls for the fifth time in the past minute, rubbing its small, fragile body on Pac’s leg and demanding to be picked up.

Pac runs a hand through his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows Katos is only being playful but the noise he makes is grating on his ears and it has been at it for the past half an hour. He feels guilty for being frustrated by the small kitten who's recovering from the infection, but the lack of sleep from the past few days is really getting to him.

He sighs, leaning down and picking up the black kitten. He mewls are muffled by his shirt, as Katos tries to burrow itself into the soft cloth. It settles into his chest, purring loudly, and Pac pats its head with one hand.

He glances at the clock on the wall. 1:36am.

The cafe is dimly lit by the soft blue glow of the lamp he keeps at the counter. His back hurts and he just wants to go home. But he knows the moment he goes to his apartment, the crushing emptiness and loneliness will hit him again.

It's better to stay here. At least in the cafe, he can be accompanied by the sleeping cats. And hey, at least he can work on building the new bookshelf for the cafe.

He's been doing a lot of work for the cat cafe lately. He had spent the first three months after Madagio left working on getting enough money to fix the small kitchen that had been neglected. And then the rest of the money was used to buy the new appliances, as well as renovate the back area so it was bigger.

Pac had spent the past two months setting up the cat cafe. It took a lot of research and hard work, and sometimes the cats weren't the most cooperative. He had a few customers come in the past week, but not many. He just had to remain positive until he could finish the rebrand of the cafe.

His thoughts drifted to Mike. He wondered if he and his spouse settled alright on the new city, if his university was good, if the people there were kind. Pac was so proud of Mike for getting that scholarship and accepting to move to the other side of the country, don't get him wrong, but that didn't mean it wasn't hard to see him leave.

Pac shakes his head, as if he could get rid of the thoughts. There's no use thinking about it. Mike made the right choice and it wasn't like Pac didn't have other friends.

He puts Katos back on the ground, and it lets out a pitiful meow, looking up at him with a betrayed look. He rolls his eyes.

"I need to lift the bookshelf and I can't do that if I carry you." He said, huffing and rolling his eyes.

Katos meows again and sits on the floor, its eyes wide and unblinking. Pac sighs, defeated, and leans down, picking it up once more. Katos lets out a satisfied purr, rubbing its face on his chin.

Pac smiles, shaking his head. "You're lucky you're so cute." He says, placing the kitten on his shoulder, starting to drag the newly built, white bookshelf towards its spot. He's going to set up the bookshelf and display all the cat-themed items and knickknacks Richas had made for him.

He stops dragging the bookshelf when his back aches, and he places a hand on his hip, stretching. Turns out that sleeping on the couch of his apartment and doing hard labor without proper rest isn't the best for his body. He could've asked for any of his friends for help, he knew that, but he felt like he would be burdening them.

It feels like they're all in more advanced places in their life than he is. His best friend got a scholarship to the program he'd always dreamed of, moving to the other side of the country. Cellbit just got promoted to senior editor in his publishing house, and is getting married to the love of his life in three months. Bagi is planning on getting her master’s in psychology, and she is getting promoted to manager at Fit’s gym. Felps' bakery is flourishing, and soon he'll be opening a new location on Capybara Square.

What does he have? A small cat café that may not even succeed?

He sighs, petting Katos, who's still resting on his shoulder. It mewls softly, rubbing its small body on his fingers. He can't help the smile that forms on his lips, and he scratches the underside of its chin.

It feels nice, though, to have someone there for him. Even if it's a cat.

[metfell]

Do you have any advice for drawing with markers? I'm trying to improve and wondering how you do it so well

alright yes i do. okay so markers are all about LAYERS of color. so here's some WIP's of a work i did recently we'll walk through some tips.

so step one here is the sketch. you'll want to get either a kneaded eraser or just be careful, and lightly erase over the entire image. this picks up loose graphite, and keeps your markers from smearing gray across the entire thing.

so i lay down a base layer. this isnt actually one marker though, its three. using the lightest marker, block out everywhere youre going to color. use circular motions or a brushtip if you can to avoid streaking like what's in this shot. then, if you have markers of very similar hues, begin darkening the picture where you need to. in this case, it was the ears and side of the nose.

remember: YOU CAN ALWAYS GO DARKER, YOU CANNOT GO LIGHTER.

i then went in to block in her makeup, the tulip, and darken some of the shadows. you can see specifically in the ears and neck that ive used the smaller tip of my chisel markers to slowly transition it from one marker to another. blending doesnt exist in markers. you just need to IMPLY a gradient. the flower is a good example as well. use multiple markers, and slowly make your way from one half of the gradient to the other.

a lot of what i can do is due to the fact i have so many markers. if you need large marker packs and cannot afford copics, try arrtx. that's what i used for the flower in this.

when i draw hair- something i know people want to know about a lot- i start with my lightest color, and sketch in the directions the hair is flowing. for stelle here, her bangs swoop down and to the right, so thats the direction i will lay down those colors. its like painting.

also in this, you can see how deep ive made the insides of her ears, and how ive used a dark gray to line her face and give it shape.

this shot is also a good example to show how i fucked up on her earrings, and since i cannot go lighter, theyre going to be tinted gray now. just something i forgot to keep in mind.

alright theres a lot to talk about in this one. firstly, let's talk about UNDERTONES. to give your piece more depth and life, you can go in with other colors besides your main shading color- in my case, gray- to make the piece pop. ive switched to a light purple, and have added it as a highlight to her cheeks, tips of her ears, and hair. it brings out her hair, and makes it seem fuller. less flat.

a lot of how i use markers is with curved strokes and many colors to sculpt out an image, rather than just filling in the lines. this is why i add line art last.

okay one step at a time with the finished picture.

first step here is line art. youll notice how i dont harshly outline every single part of the piece. instead, i lightly go around areas i think need defining. i outline her horn cuff, i outline her ears, her eyes, and then i loosely go around her hair with similar strokes to when i sketched it in the first place.

second step is a white gel pen. it can be a simple jelly roller theyre really cheap. just make sure it works. if your pen isnt rolling smoothly, try warming it up in your hands by rubbing it quickly between them. if not, try multiple pens before buying them. bring a piece of paper to your local michaels or hobby lobby or other craft store, and see if it rolls smoothly on YOUR paper. then, go around anywhere that needs a highlight. i did this over her eye markings, her makeup, tiny dots over her earrings, and over her hair to once again round it out.

my final tip is to adjust your pictures in some kind of editor once you are finished. i went in just using the basic iphone settings, and messed around with it until it matched what i wanted the pic to look like. in this case, i turn the highlights to the left, and played around with the temperature and tint settings, and messed around with their basic filters. honestly, just play with it until you think it looks good.

those are my tips for coloring! i hope this is comprehensible!!

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

wip: bad choices

CW: Use of time-period ableist language.

(so originally this was a response to the Cameo I got from Robert Vernon, I was inspired to write a dust-up between Estinien and Mathye in HW. And then while I was writing, the thought occurred to me that probably up until the beginning of the Field Trip or when Heustinne vanished, Estinien was still fucking right off to try and bait Nidhogg again. And probably was not paying attention to the actions of his 2IC--with it being possible to play the game that Heustinne goes missing right around the time of the Field Trip.)

------

Mathye's reaction was swift and brutal. Estinien's legs were immediately cut out from beneath him, and he slammed back-first onto the floor. As his bruised muscles howled in pain, Mathye loomed over him, staff still in hand.

"You now have two choices, my lord." He said, violet eyes now gleaming dragonfire. "You can be a good little patient and let yourself heal, which then allows you to go back on your line Dark-Knight-esqe suicidal vengence quest, or you can be a stubborn ass and bleed to death on the floor, giving our so-called 'betters' the opportunity to perform one of their favorite spectacles, a funeral for a fallen soldier! Which robs you of your chance to be the big damn sacrificial hero, and makes the Eye pick another victim to drain dry."

"How do you know of the Eye?" Estinen challenged. stopping to catch his breath. "Let me guess, you had fantasies of being Azure when you were still wet behind the ears! During that disaster that was your first and only year as a dragoon!" Mathye snorted in derision, rolling his eyes.

"I might have had aspirations, but fortunately, I was given an opportunity to do something more meaningful." He countered. "And do you know, you learn a lot when you become a cripple! Even more when you become a healer!" Estinien's eyes narrowed.

"You? With that void between your ears?" He said nastily. "Learn something?" Mathye smiled, a flash of white fang showing. Reaching for a chair, he pulled it alongside the prone elezen. Uncaring of his skirts spilling about, the white mage straddled the seat.

"Let's have a discussion about the facts of life." His leg was screaming, but Mathye steadfastly ignored it. Pain was a small price to pay for clearing the air between him and Estinien.

"Your suicidal determination aside, you're actually not a shitty commander! You're actually careful with your-" Mathye air-quoted with his fingers- "commodities. But unfortunately, you are beginning to develop a case of your head up your own ass. As evidenced by us having to send a hatchling to track you." Mathye's eyes narrowed. "And while it's tempting to let you carry on and ultimately explode in your desperately sought-after little death with Nidhogg, the reality is that unlike yourself, many of us can't just pick up and waltz out of the city whenever the whimsy strikes. Nor can we shirk and tell our 'betters' to fuck off, and not deal with whatever hare-brained scheme they have for playing solider. And leaving us in the hands of a second-in-command who effectively sodded right off with a full squad of badly needed troops on her own revenge fantasy, getting damn near all of them killed, is not the mark of a good fucking commander."