#no one believes they're worthy of the others love and it all hurts!

[glambots]

please talk about your fae AU /gen

All I can say is that if I ever get off my Burnout Butt and actually start writing the damn fic, it's a Very Slowburn, Very Angst-Filled "Marriage-of-Convenience-Slowly-Becoming-a-Real-Marriage" between an incredibly depressed, self-conscious human and an emotionally constipated Fae (who is also very depressed and burnt-out).

[felibrary]

wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.” 

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa. 

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts. 

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.) 

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin. 

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases. 

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it. 

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is. 

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be. 

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is. 

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself. 

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose. 

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. 

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again. 

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.  

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you. 

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.73)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You are everything to Yoongi, the yoke in his egg, the daffodils on the sidewalk, the sunshine in the morning. Everything. He just had to remember it. 

Tags: Nightmares, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of food issues but they're only talked about in terms of the m/c getting better.

W/c: 10.0k

A/n: the irony of this chapter is that it's going to come out during the wedding of the two people who live in the house that inspired bily, the last time i was there there where sprouts growing in every windowsill and a fluffy throw on every couch so <3 everything will be alright wont it? the house is filled with love in this universe as well as the bily one <3

Previous part- Masterlist - First part

Downstairs, you and Hobi are shrouded in a particular kind of fuzzy warmth. The kind that only comes from knowing you do not have to be in control anymore. That there is no hidden consequence waiting for you. no shoe to drop. no monster under your bed.

The downstairs is shrouded in that kind of quiet and comfort that comes with warm evenings and supple hands that have nothing to do but loving and set about diligently at that task. Like cold breezes in summer, icing and chocolate, and sunshine on raspberries warming their sugar.

But the upstairs nest room is not so peaceful.

Tae’s post-coitus talks are legendary at this point, as Yoongi sits on the edge of the nest, not looking at her because to look at Tae is to encourage more truth to fall from her lips. He busies himself with tucking jungkook in. Sprawled asleep. And tries not to listen to the truth that Yoongi neither wants nor believes he needs.

Right now his brain is fuzzy and prone to believing her.

There are small things all around the nest, pieces of the pack and remnants and evidence of the time the three of them spent here hours ago taking Jungkook apart and putting him back together again. Fucking then sleeping then waking up to fuck again. The arousal burns low at present, sated for now.

A discarded shirt of Jungkook’s sits tangled in a pair of handcuffs because he’d gotten too squirmy for Tae's liking, a silk scarf of Tae’s because he’d gotten mouthy too. A notepad and a bit of paper. Lines scrawled out because Tae’s post-knot clarity always gives her a few good poems, a few good lines.

Yoongi doesn't have to read them to know they're about you. Almost everything Tae writes has You and Jimin in it. The others are there too every now and then- but if Tae had to say it Yoongi knows you and Jimin are her muses.

It takes Tae a few months to digest her feelings into something palatable. Yoongi didn’t need to ask what time period it was written about as he read over her shoulder, pressing kisses to her lips between the lines. Trying not to be a distraction but wanting to be a distraction worthy of Tae’s attention.

This poem that he'd watched her scrawl out, pen to her lips between stanzas. It has the first few months of your relationship all over it.

I know I over-feed the cat, but I can’t help it. If you could eat the love I have for you what would it taste like? Would it be mangoes- Sticky, yellow, sweet. Eat Till the threads of it get stuck Between your teeth. Would it leave you full and sleepy- like bread and pasta? Rigatoni, Penne, pastina stars The candy toothache of my heart Swells thick and gummy. Eat up. I must admit I grow addicted to the brown sugar of your being. Would my love stain the edge of your smile? Like strawberries? Blueberries? Black? I must admit I am afraid of food metaphors When it comes to you. Because just like with food, I fear if I don’t give you enough You’ll go starving, Out of some sense Of beauty and responsibility. Could you love me enough, Would you love me enough if I’m good? Salt, fat, acid, heat. What is owed at our table- A full meal or half? Desert or just a snack? Just tea please, I’m not hungry. I already ate. I know I overfeed the cat, but I can’t help it- I can’t help it at all. If you would eat the love I have for you, Would you still want to be so skinny? Love is warm bellies and not hollow throats. Love cares not for second portions, Only 8 courses Love is a bowl of soup It warms from the inside out. I know I overfeed the cat.

Noodle purrs nearby, the subject of the conversation earlier today that no doubt inspired Tae. Heaped between a pillow and a rolled-up blanket looking overstuffed- like one of your stuffed animals that litter the nest up here and the one downstairs. Jin had gotten a little overzealous on the jellycat website during christmas time.

He's gotten rather chubby, his middle more round than just fluffy. His pudgy tomcat face is charming, eyes blinking slowly as he watches Yoongi toil with his emotions.

"We should put him on a diet" You'd lamented, still feeding him treats, in the kitchen this afternoon. Yellow light slipped through the windows and lunch plates piled high in the sink. A carton of coffee-caramel ice cream and mango sorbet gathering condensation nearby. On your knees before his bowl. Because if you all got after-lunch ice cream treats then he should get some too.

"Don't you dare, he's perfect this way." Tae had replied, scandalized, and made the point of giving Noodle an extra scoop of food and you an extra spoonful of sweet frozen milk.

Yoongi knows that your comment had stayed on Tae's mind just like he knows that it's not just Noodle you were talking about. How many times has he seen you pull down the edge of your shirt over the past few weeks? Or reach for Hobi's baggier sweatshirts? Or sho them all out the door when you shower intent on doing it alone.

The pack loves group showers, there will probably be one on the way tonight from the sound of it. Yoongi doesn't doubt that the pack will leave you messy and sated. A little too sleepy too. Someone will have to help.

His fingers drum quietly on the bed. Nervous. Waiting. A little annoyed- but Yoongi's not sure where it comes from.

A loud slap from downstairs punctuates the quiet. Yoongi just barely flinches. And Yoongi wonders if you'd let them see you naked tonight or if you'd been too nervous for it. Or if Seokjin and Namjoon will make everything, your anxieties and your fears and your feelings of inadequacy, feel small.

They'll make you feel small too. Omegaspace is all but a guarantee tonight.

But he's not allowed downstairs to double-check that you're alright. (He is, he's just not sure you even want him downstairs- which is another thing entirely. Would his presence make you more nervous? More likely to go into appeasement mode because you think that's what he wants?)

Tae has a habit of reminding him when he's being a shithead.

Now Yoongi wishes for Tae’s attention to be elsewhere. On a poem. On Jungkook. On anything. Yoongi has gotten very good at lying to himself over the past few weeks. But somewhere across the lines I’m still angry at her, turned into I should still be angry. He’s not quite sure when that changed. But he knows he's holding onto his anger, that it's growing slippery, but that he's not ready for it to go away.

Yoongi will do anything to keep you, to make you stay. And that’s part of the problem. He's scared of his own capacity for forgiveness. What you might take if he gives you another chance. He's scared that you'll go and take all of him with you.

He's scared- sure, but he's not really angry anymore.

He's just tired- tired of feeling so much, tired of feeling things so intensely. Tired of worrying, of keeping you at arm’s length and wondering if I let you back in now have you learned not to do this again? Or will you just say you’ll change?

Yoongi will always love you- will always be your mate. But he doesn’t want to be sitting and waiting all the time wondering if you’re thinking about leaving again.

You’ve already tried to do that twice; the third time would be the charm.

Jungkook slumbers belly down in the nest, his soft huffs of breath coming frequently and at a steady pace. He’s quite a vision with his rippling back muscles and splayed thighs. With Hickeys on his skin from Yoongi's own mouth where the skin goes soft and dark. Knees apart to limit the soreness he must be feeling from the knot. Covered at the waist but only just so with a thin sheet. The tops of his thighs shiny with cooling slick. Yoongi’s eyes hover on Jungkook as he looks back.

Tae's voice keeps it hush, mindful of Jungkook's sleep schedule but not of the fragileness of Yoongi's heart.

"If you worry you suffer twice. Her leaving and you not forgiving her- isn't the result the same?"

Jungkook's sleeping form will offer him no savior from Tae’s words, he’d say the same thing- they all would. "Do you really want the distance she's been trying to give you Yoongi? Because I really don't think you do"

You've been fucking miserable these last few weeks. Is what she doesn't say but wants too. Yoongi knows it. Can taste the unfinished business on the air in the form of Tae's wilting rose and cinnamon scent. The heady horny edge to it wareing away.

It’s quiet downstairs but it hadn’t always been; between your pleas and Hobi’s growls and then your cries that had made Yoongi gnash his teeth. Sobbing echos that made Yoongi flinch. Distant cries of “m’ sorry m-" and Jin’s joining croon of “good pup, come to daddy, I’ve got you my sweet little thing, I’ve got you.”

But it’s quieting down now. Yoongi can only just hear a little bit of the hushed voices when he strains his ears. He can’t hear you at all when Tae’s talking.

Jungkook stays asleep, completely lost to the world, He needed two cocks to settle, Jungkook always sleeps for a long time after scenes, even simple cute ones like this. You’re the same. Yoongi knows you’re the same. That you usually doze after cumming, so sleepy- like your body gives up under the force of too much pleasure. And that even awake you’re pliant and drowsy. (He loves it when you get that way).

You’ll never have to worry about insomnia the way that Tae and Yoongi do. If it ever gets too bad, the pack will only ever fuck you to bed.

Which is why Yoongi’s restless, why he can’t sleep. Because you’re downstairs and not upstairs with him. He can pretend that's not why he's awake, but the truth remains. Eviscerated by Tae's pouting lips.

He heard you crying earlier. Coupled with Hobi’s yelps and Namjoon’s low croon. It was hard- harder than Yoongi expected, to resist the urge to go down to you. Grating, the mental equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to tune out the sounds of his mate in distress.

It's not distress, he knows that- logically Yoongi knows that the pack would never do anything you didn't consent to.

And still…

"That's not it Tae, that's not it at all." Yoongi denies, but the lie is blatant even to his own lips.

Yoongi is harder to settle than Jungkook. Tae knows this. Folded against the nest, her silky lavender dress pulled back on after fucking Jungkook, small breasts pillowing, hickeys dotting the top of them both faded and not. Some of them are from Jungkook- fresh and pink- but a few might be from you a few days prior.

She snorts, "isn't it? You're both just doing what you think will give you the least amount of pain- instead of actually confronting each other about this. Do you know what I think hyung?”

Just about every packmate has a newfound obsession with Tae’s chest. The tender swelling sensitivity just there. Tae hasn’t gone up a cup size in a few months, she’s a B at best- but the pack still praises her for it. Still takes every opportunity to make her blush and show her their appreciation.

But still- sometimes Yoongi catches her in the mornings, putting on her lingerie that she wears under her clothes almost every days-tugging at the gaping in the front. She bought stuff a cup size up at the beginning- so did Namjoon and Jin and Jimin, endless pretty sets from for love and lemons and Victoria’s Secret that sit unworn.

Because they don’t fit- might not ever fit. Unless Tae does something drastic like surgery. Yoongi's surprised she hasn't asked for it yet.

Yoongi sighs, frustrated, “What Tae, what do you want to say?”

Tae flips over on her tummy, hair a little messy, grinning looking a bit like Noodle as she strokes gently down Yoongi’s jaw. He’s not wearing a shirt he just tugged on pajama pants so the scratch of her long nails down his skin makes goosebumps erupt all over his bare arms.

“I think punishing yourself isn’t a way to rewrite history. Punishing yourself isn’t going to make what happened go away. At this point- I think you’re keeping yourself away from her to prove a point- but the points already been proven.”

“That’s not it,” Yoongi says again. Like repeating it will make it true. Tae raises an eyebrow at him, swishing her legs, her white painted toenails flashing in the half-darkness.

“Don’t you want to make her see that it was a bad decision, isn’t that what you’re doing? Punishing her for going and punishing yourself for not being there when she made the choice to go?”

As if on cue Yoongi can hear it from the ground floor, the sound of your babbling giggles- you in omegaspace surely, a softly crooned “Good puppy, give him another treat, he’s earned it.” From Jin. Yoongi knows you’re cute and sweet and sensitive in your headspace downstairs, the idea of seeing you- touching you- without the burden of all this- is so tempting Yoongi’s hands hurt.

Yoongi’s hands tighten around Jungkook's elbow, his anchor, preventing him from going downstairs. When Yoongi turns back to look at Tae, her eyebrows are pulled together and she’s looking down at Jungkookie. He has a single hand tangled in the hem of her nightdress, fist closed, chubby and cute.

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi is always in the habit of asking that. It’s worth asking- so that you don’t have to wonder.

“You remind me of myself before I came out. Denying yourself love just because you want to be right- doesn’t make you right, it just makes you less loved.” Her eyes flick from Jungkook up to Yoongi.

Yoongi's hands are cold, the goosebumps on his arms are still there.

Yoongi is not human without your love. How many afternoons has Tae seen him staring off into space? How many more meals will Yoongi push around the food on his plate? How many mornings will his hair go unbrushed because Yoongi simply doesn't have the energy to brush it? Tae and the others make up for it a good deal, but at the end of the day, none of them are the person who Yoongi bonded his soul too.

Tae knows what sadness looks like, what depression looks like and she's learned a lot from you. She won't let this be more than a little blip in Yoongi's year.

Your love is one of the things that makes Yoongi feel human. Without you to love, and feeling like he shouldn't, Yoongi's a little unmoored, a little without purpose.

Tae detangles Jungkook’s fist from her dress gently, replacing his grip with a nearby item- another one of her dresses that the omega had so diligently woven into the outer rim of the nest. He curls around it protectively, purring gently. She covers him with a different thicker blanket to simulate her warmth. Then she sits up on her knees and starts to shuffle to the edge of the nest.

“Come on,”

“But Jungkook-”

“He’ll be fine for a second hyung.”

Tae hasn’t yet conditioned herself out of using that phrase, hyung. And Yoongi might remind her if it didn’t sound so sweet coming from her mouth. More of a pet name than anything else. Yoongi doesn’t mind. She can still call him hyung if she wants. They’ve had conversations about it before.

Tae stops, and turns back. The language thing- is one of her current fixations at the moment. “It’s not- just because that slips out doesn’t mean I’m not still a girl."

“I know baby. I’d never think that unless you told me- not that you’ve got to- not that-“

“No, I know. Thank you hyung.” Tae's teeth worry away at her lower lip.

“You can use Oppa too you know. If that feels nicer, or you can go back and forth and use both.”

“I know, I don’t know why I don’t like it as much, hyung makes me feel like you’ll always look after me.” Yoongi grabs Tae’s hands, tangled in the sheets, silken, pink.

“You know I always will.”

Tae uses that hand to her advantage. Pulling him up and out of the nest. Tae leads him down the dark stairs, her quiet giggles softening Yoongi’s anxiety, but when he gets down there, you're there.

You're small in Namjoon's lap, resting your cheek against the hollow of his throat. The pack alpha's shirt is completely unbuttoned now and you’ve hidden your face in his honey skin, rubbing your face all in it, cheeks pink and slowly purring. Guarding your eyes from the big light in the kitchen- where Jimin is getting Hobi a glass of water. Pants pulled on just barely, still hanging low. The scar on his shoulder pink and catching the light- just barely healing. Big on the back side and small on the front.

Yoongi just barely hears namjoons low and sweet growls, his sweet nothings. The way he cradles you gently but so fiercely to his chest Yoongi knows it's all instinct.

"I'm never gonna let anything happen to you- never again- I've got you pup, I've got you. "

The shirt you wear is big and dark, he knows already that it's his- probably pilfered from downstairs to comfort you. Yoongi's not really sure why that makes his throat close up. Even around all of them, even after all of that. It's still his scent you ask for. The one that cloaks you and covers you in the wake of this.

It hurts a little bit more than it should that Namjoon freezes when he sees Yoongi standing on the steps. Freezes, arms tightening just a little around you as you continue to nuzzle into the pack alpha's throat, Dozing and lost in the haze of aftercare.

His arms relax when Namjoon sees it's just the two of them, and tae floats over, dress swishing. "Oh alpha- did you make her all small and soft for me?"

Namjoons teeth look extra sharp as he beholds tae, as she strokes down his throat. To have another alpha touch him there should feel threatening, but Namjoon just feels satisfied. "Of course I did babygirl."

Hobi is more awake than you but so much further down in puppy space than Yoongi expected. The collar jingles faintly against his throat where he rolls his tongue lolling out. Belly up on the carpet and clearly enjoying Jin’s nails scrapping and petting and scratching over his tummy. Never too tired for more belly rubs, especially with a full stomach full of good pup treats (they're just dog bone-shaped chocolate chip cookies, a special all-organic kind that Jin buys from Etsy explicitly for this).

He’s shy- Hobi hasn’t had the time to indulge in puppy space in months, but now he tucks his face under Jin’s shirt and squirms. Happy to be on the receiving end of the pack Omega’s undivided attention. “Good puppy- what a good boy-“ Jin croons, eyes glassy and dark, biting his lip as he watches Hobi squirm and his tongue lol. Panting animatedly.

He’s needed this too- the sound of his praises fall so easy and natural from his pouted lips. And Hobi stills, ears pink when he looks to Yoongi and Tae in the doorway. Lucid for a breath. Tae’s arms are looped around Yoongi’s hips. Keeping him from slinking off, keeping him from feeling like he’s not wanted.

The pack alpha pears at them over the back of the couch. His arms slowly relax around you, nostrils flaring at the scents coming from both of them but mostly Yoongi. Namjoon looks, and glares, but he can smell it. How upset he really is, the undercurrent to his scent. Yoongi smells like chocolate and worry.

He tips his chin down, a clear command to come here.

“Yoongi wanted to make sure she was alright.” Tae supplies, Yoongi tries to deny it but Namjoon already knows. Namjoon’s grumble growl is warm and inviting as Tae guides Yoongi to sit. Your arms are loose around Namjoon’s neck. He’s quiet, but his eyes are shiny with alpha space, measuring every one of their movements like the pack alpha might measure threats. Guarding the pup in his arms very diligently.

“She’s tired, fell right off.” jimin says, coming over to stand above the four of you and watch as tae guides yoongi's hand out, to touch your back, to pet up and down gently. Jimin runs his hand over your wet cheek, picking a hair out from between your lips.

“Poor little pup” and Yoongi feels breathless but Namjoon and Tae make room for him to sit close. yoongi doesn't need to be guided to sit close to you, almost sideways in something like a hug. You sag just a little more into him, like you’re relaxed by Yoongi’s presence alone. Letting out soft huffs of breath against Namjoon's chest, tiny purrs start up anew, louder, deeper. Your spine curls at an uncomfortable angle like you can decide between Namjoon's chest and Yoongi's hands.

And then Tae takes both of your wrists, detangling them from Namjoon’s neck, the same moment that Namjoon starts to lift your hips.

Yoongi can’t even say anything, can’t even protest as they put you in his lap. You suction to his front like a starfish sinking deeper into dreamland and going more boneless by the breath. Yoongi starts to say something- nothing more than hollow protests.

But it feels so good to have you hear, settled over his lap. So good his breath hitches.

Your hands tangle in the front of his shirt, holding on tight- like you think he might go even in your sleep. Yoongi knows you feel that he’s here- although you might not remember it tomorrow. Maybe that's for the better.

he hesitates for a second, and then pulls you flush against him, hard.

Tae settles behind him and namjoon behind you. His big hands forcing the collar of his shirt to the side so the pack alpha can lean around you and nuzzle into the hollow of his throat. He barely has enough energy in him to open his mouth.

How lucky you and him are to have 6 people to watch over you like this. To make sure that you wake up safe, that you get everything you need before you drift off. Yoongi doesn’t have to do it on his own anymore. He hasn’t had to in months but that still doesn’t lose its novelty. Yoongi wonders if he’ll ever take it for granted.

Yoongi breathes deep and even.

“Thanks, Tae.”

“Of course, honey. Remember for next time- alpha knows best.” Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of your head, and your breath tickles his neck.

“I know we’ve got to go upstairs, but can we stay like this for a second?”   “Of course, honey.” Her fingers stroke through his hair, and Yoongi closes his eyes and tucks his face into the top of your head. One cuddle can't hurt. He can go back to being angry with you in the morning.

“You’ll stay like that until Alpha says you can get up.”

Tae’s giggle is sweet, Yoongi’s eyes are already closed, “Joonie-“

He can hear Namjoon's bashfulness in his voice, the kind of shyness that warms yoongi up from the inside out and reminds him that they're all still learning. “Sorry, I’m still- it’s still-”

“I know alpha.”

I know I know I know.

~-~

(Yoongi, a few days later)

(In the end, forgiveness is not something that is inevitable)

Yoongi doesn’t know that it’s a dream while it’s happening.

One moment he is entirely unaware, resting, asleep, at peace. And the next the nightmare climbs up the edge of his vision. Clinging to the darkness- dissolving like mist only in reverse. Like smoke sucked through a straw. Like burning- carving from the outside in, hungry and without purpose. Burning burning burning.

One moment nothing and the next there is so much red.

The first thing Yoongi knows is that he can smell something burning, he looks up and he’s in the living room of your house, no furniture yet. The inside is so white but not perfect- he can vaguely place the memory.

This is the way the house looked just after they finished re-plastering; Yoongi files the memory and finds its from months and months ago- during another spring. The floors are all fucked from the mess that the plasterers had left. White splotches here and there. Everything covered in ghostly white sheets, a drop cloth under Yoongi's knees that slowly bleeds red.

It's about a month before the pack came home maybe. The last month it was ever you and Yoongi and not You and Yoongi and everyone else.

Yoongi watches as the Flames lick at the white walls. There is something in his hands but he can't look down yet. Something- his brain doesn't want to look at it- it's easier to look at the flames. The fire is yellow and slow to hunger. Creeping almost lazily, like it has nothing but time to burn. He can do little more than watch, not too scared, just confused, as all of the hours and minutes of his hard work are eaten up by heat.

The fire comes from everywhere and nowhere- leaking silently up the walls, turning the plaster slowly from gold to brown, then black before it crumbles away into ashes. Slowly chewing away at the walls, and the windows. The doorknob rattles and somewhere close by Noodle yowls and scratches at something.

The next thing Yoongi knows is that you’re very very still. You’re not moving at all. Not even a little bit- those pupish twitches of your fingers or the wiggle of your nose when you scent his displeasure. Nothing. None of it.

Yoongi is holding you, you are so small, so fragile in his arms. Lighter than you are in reality as he shakes you and tries to get you to wake up. You smile in your sleep a lot, but you aren’t smiling now. The mating mark is blackened against your throat, a thin trail of black and red that rims your lips, bleeding down the corner of your mouth. Inky dark one second, bright crimson the next as a bit of blood drips down the side of your face. 

There is so much blood. It's wet and it's cold despite the fire.

He calls your name, and you don't answer. Yoongi's own voice sounds muffled, Warbled. He keeps talking. Unsure what he's saying. He shouts and screams. But his voice never gets louder, you never wake up. He yells as loud as he can and you still don’t wake up.

It comes all at once, just like the fire.

There is blood on your throat too, so much it can't just be from your mouth. Bright and ruby, slipping down your collar bones and the hallow of your chest. Welling out from somewhere- somewhere that Yoongi can't see. Where are you hurt? Where is it coming from? Yoongi can't find the cause of the bleeding.

There is blood on your arms- trailing to the hallow of your elbow, between your legs, soaking through the white of his shirt, heavy and sticky and warm. Yoongi feels like he's suffocating. Yoongi searches for the source of the bleeding, fingers ruddy, soaking into his palms and his knuckles. Frantic as he tugs the hem of your shirt soaked through. The shorts at your hips- all red.

There is so much of it, so much of it that it pools around the two of you on the floor, slow and lazily, almost taunting Yoongi- just like the flames. Yoongi can do little more but watch you bleed out and hold you through it. Hold you as you die. Watch the red swallow you until there's nothing left of you. Just blood-soaked clothing. His breath hitches, suddenly painful in his lungs and his voice comes all at once. So loud it hurts him.  

“Namjoon- please- someone help me- someone-”

Yoongi wakes in the nest completely alone. Jerking up so fast that it makes him dizzy. He's too warm. Hot and balmy. Sweat soaks the front of his shirt.

He pushes himself up in the empty nest on shaking hands. Blinking, looking around at the folded blankets, the pillows at the rim of the nook, the absence of any other living soul here.

(that's not entirely true, Noodle is perched on a nearby pillow purring loudly. That's as much comfort as he can possibly offer as he's sworn to hate his arch-nemesis for eternity. Even though Yoongi sort of gives the best chin rubs- although Noodle would never confess it and will take the secret to his grave).

The high ceilings are dark and hollow, the whole room drenched in that half twilight of closed drapes. Empty even though Yoongi looks- searching for his packmates, searching for anything to make his chest feel not so tight.

Noodle purrs loudly and blinks slow.

The Christmas lights have been turned off- probably to help him sleep. The light streaming through the cracks in the curtains is dissonant. But the room is quiet and cluttered- Hobi’s monstera looks freshly misted in the corner, and humidity clings to the windows and skylight up high.

Yoongi pulls himself up and heaves out a shaky breath. Chest tight. You- he needs to find you. Find you and make sure- make sure you're not- Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. A dream, that's all it was. Just a dream. But part of him can't believe it. What if it wasn't?

It’s still hard to tell. The panic won’t leave his lungs. At the front of his nose is the scent of burning things- and that is very very real.

It looks like the omega’s piled the blankets around him, a smaller ring of fluffy blankets to keep the last slumbering packmate safe from outside eyes. But with so many blankets- Yoongi has overheated. He's sweaty and sticky and gross feeling. He should probably shower before he goes downstairs, probably, but-

He needs to make sure you're alright, right now- before he falls apart. Noodle mewls lightly and pulls himself over to Yoongi, pushing up against his trembling fingers, licking at them until Yoongi scratches his chin.

It takes him a second, staring down at his sweat-soaked shirt- to distinguish that it is not blood, blinking and mistaking the light behind his eyes for red.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything and doesn’t call out for anyone. Can’t do anything but detangle himself from the mess of blankets and Noodle and follow the smell of burning things down down down the stairs. Feeling like a ghost with a bad taste in his mouth. A vague pressure behind his eyes and a numbness in his arms and hands from lying on them for so long. His blood circulates slowly and sluggishly.

You are standing on a kitchen stool when he skitters to a stop on bare feet at the bottom of the stairs.

Yoongi has to blink a few times to make sure he's not dreaming, that the walls are the same light pink color they always were. Not brick red but not creamy plaster white- off color like the flush at your cheeks.

The sweater you wear is Hobi's- extra big especially at the wrists, pulling down all the way to your elbow as you reach up to stop the beeping from the smoke alarm with a wave of a newspaper. Nose wrinkled at the smell of smoke. You don't have the crusties at your eyes and your skin is glossy. Seokjin probably did your skincare routine for you as the pack omega is prone to do with so much extra time for fussing these days.

There is no one else in the house but you. The top layer of the air in the kitchen is cloudy with smoke. Yoongi watches you and scrubs a hand over his face. You do not turn and look at Yoongi in the doorway, although you know it’s him just because you can sense when your mate comes close, either scenting him on the air or through the dull pulse of the mating park.

Your sense of smell has been getting a little bit better recently. Yoongi knows better than to chalk it up to your weight gain but your health checkup earlier this week had been a lot more promising than the one before. Yoongi had gone to the appointment with you, and you’d perked up almost immediately when you realized he wasn’t going to give you the distant silent treatment again, all but skipping into the exam room.

He’d even let you hold his hand while they took your blood. He’s never had the heart to leave you scared. Never. Not even when he's angry at you.

Your hormones are leveling out, although there are no signs of you going into heat yet. Another 3 months of no change and you've promised Namjoon to at least talk about hormone therapies.

Tae had reassured you that it wasn't so bad with a kiss on your forehead and a hand at your hip. Covering the place where you, like Tae, might one day receive the weekly injections by Namjoon's hands.

It’s daunting. The idea of sitting through the same kind of treatment that Tae gets; the clink of the glass bottles on the counter, the pearly sound of glass hitting tile. The cold swipe of a swab and the press of a needle.

Namjoon’s always gentle.

You'd be inclined to just leave it alone- but your doctor had been very insistent, something about possible fertility issues if you want to have pups one day.  It’s hard to get pregnant outside of a heat, nearly impossible. This isn't an issue that can be just pushed under the rug if pups are something you want to have with the pack someday.

Namjoon and Tae had perked up a little when the idea of pups had been broached. But Yoongi had remained at the fringes of the room- silent. Yoongi thinks about your scent changing the same way Tae's did- how it went from cinnamon and pepper to cinnamon and roses.

He'd never tell her because Yoongi would never want to make Tae feel self-conscious about her own much-needed changes, but he doesn't like the idea of your scent changing the same way.

Deep down Yoongi wonders if you’d want to have pups if it wasn’t what the pack wanted. He’s not sure he’d be able to handle it, a little bundle of you and him and the whole big fucking world with all its wicked people. Yoongi knows peace now but still doesn't trust it. Wouldn't trust it especially if it was just him and you and a little life- so unprotected and vulnerable.

Yoongi doesn’t like feeling this way; vulnerable.

He breathes in a deep breath of your scent, warm and sweet and slightly smooth, not frazzled or scared sour (the way he first knew your scent to be, back before he even knew that you smelled like cake and not rain). You smell completely unaffected, unworried, and unharmed. You don't smell at all like you would have in Yoongi's dream. You don't smell like you're dying.

So why is his heart still beating out of his chest?

He crosses the kitchen in a few shakey strides, just as you start to speak. “Hobi made pancakes but Jin and him started making out and they like totally forgot about them! So they’re out getting breakfast sandwiches, I didn’t wanna wake you so I just got you-”

Your voice cuts off abruptly as Yoongi lines his face up with your spine and plants his nose there, breathing in your scent once, then again shaky. Nuzzling into your lower back. Arms around your waist, gripping your hips.

You make a little noise, questioning, looking down at him with a mixture of shock and concern. and you should be shocked and concerned- it's been nearly a month since your mate hugged you- let alone clutched you to his chest like this. It’s roughly the same sound that Noodle makes when you wake him up with pets.

He holds around your waist as you stand on the ladder, three feet up. His hands tangle with the fabric at your hips. he blinks looking down and away, at the floor.

“Yoongi!? What’s wrong?”

Dimly, he's aware that he’s supposed to be angry at you. He flushes, the blood hot and pink at his cheeks. You’re not supposed to be speaking really- at least not about things that matter and to be fair- Yoongi cannot speak right now. Burying his face in your back until the feeling of your blood on his hands is a distant memory. Feeling the warmth of your skin until the idea of you cold and still no longer bothers him.

Not a memory- a dream. Not a memory. He has to remind himself a second time. Remind himself enough that by the time he doesn't belive it the space to answer your question comes and goes.

Your eyebrows lower and you set a hand on his head, threading routinely into his hair- long, shaggy and dark. And he pushes further into your skin and into your touch the same way plants press into sunlight.

Yoongi is so tired of being angry, he's so tired of being scared. Your hand touches his cheek and his eyes flutter. Lips parting. Namjoon cuddled him just last night- but Yoongi will always be touch starved just for you.

Your breath hitches, "Oh Yoongi."

his arms tighten around you, like he's worried you're going to slip through his arms like smoke. "Bad dream?" You ask, it's a state that you are only too familiar with as he hums non-committal. you turn around halfway so that you can put your hands on his shoulders and touch him. Yoongi almost wants to keen at the contact, almost wants to tell you he likes it too much- which would be embarrassing. He nods against your back.

He missed this, missed this A lot. He missed you. Yoongi's eyes are itchy.

This is the first time he’s held you since you almost left, besides that moment in the car when you were both so angry and so broken it hardly mattered. Yoongi swallows, and he still can’t speak when he tries. Hiding his face in your spine, your hip when you turn, back hugging you because even on a ladder he is still mostly taller than you. Shaking faintly, still shaking off the fucking dream.

His voice is croaky, not all there when his voice box finally cooperates. “Can you get off?"

You get down from the stepstool instantly. His hands tangle in the side of your shirt to steady you. Unwilling to go more than a few inches from you. You're always so wobbly in the mornings before you've eaten and Yoongi is ever mindful.

The sweater you wear has a small doodled bunch of flowers on the front, a botanical print. Yoongi thinks he remembers if vaguely- from a trip Hobi and Namjoon took to the botanical garden a few years ago. It's got holes in the arms like Hobi has snagged it one too many times on rose bushes. Yoongi threads his fingers through them and holds on.

You stare up at him from the floor like you’re waiting for his instruction. Eyes wide and glassy and pretty and alive.

Yoongi stills, breath hitching- at the sight of a bit of red on your lips.

It's off to the side, on your bottom lip almost hidden by where your smile sits. Yoongi's face crumples a little at the sight of it.

Yoongi reaches up with shaking hands to touch it, wiping it away. You follow his hand. He looks down at the smudge on his finger. The little bit of red.

“Oh! That was from Tae she-" You break off when he pulls you back to him, crushing you to his chest. And you surely can’t know what’s going wrong or what Yoongi’s just dreamed but you let him man handle you regardless.

He's sort of glad that no one else is home, that it's just you and him here for a few moments. The quiet of the house is all encompassing- beyond the sound of wind sneaking under the windowsills and the pitter-patter of the drizzle outside. Noodle meows dolefully from the stairs, coming to see why Yoongi had abandoned him so abruptly (the nerve of him.)

Yoongi rests his full weight on you, crushing you to his chest. You push his hair back away from his face, and Yoongi keeps his eyes closed like that will keep the feeling here for longer. Like he's worried if he opens his eyes the nightmare will be here again.

Your hands, his face, small fingers that push at the wetness that he doesn’t name dripping under his eyes. His breath comes out in short little gasps.

There is rain outside, pattering against the window. It’s been raining a lot over the last few days. Soaking the soil in the pre-spring cold. It won't be long now and everything will be green again. Hobi will plant the window boxes, and you'll be able to put the ferns out. You and Tae will start wearing your matching dresses all the time and it will become Yoongi's job to cut the watermelon because he's the only one in the house trusted besides Jin with the big knives. He'll cut up orange slices and peaches and strawberries too. Everything for his loves and their hungry mouths and hungry hearts.

Soon but not yet. Spring and summer are just around the corner but they're not here yet and yoongi is painfully aware of that.

You don’t ask him why he’s crying; you don’t look him in the eyes when he opens them, just continue your careful petting through his hair, eyes flickering up, then down and away. The twist of your lips is guilty.

You are not bleeding; you are alive and Yoongi cannot stand it. The weight of memories he didn’t live weighs on him, still memories. He breathes out a shaky breath. And double-checks his fingers are absent of blood after he rubs over your throat. Checking.

You pull at him, hands on his shoulders. “Come on-“

You pull him through the quiet halls, and into the room at the very back of the house. Noodle follows too with a jingle of his purple bell collar.

The windows here are cracked to let in the chilly spring air- pushing out the last mustyness of winder and bringing with it the smell of rain. The nesting nook is dark and cozy-tempting; but full of stuffed animals and extra nesting pillows that you scoop out of the interior and put on the floor with such care. Lining them up against the outside of the nook. All to make room for him.

Yoongi holds onto the hem of your sweater, rubbing a fist against his eye. Like a clingy child. But he has to let you go when you turn. he can feel the pout on his face and you reach up to smooth it out. You only pause for a second, briefly, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Yoongi shakes his head, still wordless, unable to make his mouth cooperate. You don’t say anything, you don’t do anything but pull him into the warm dark quiet of the nesting nook.

Yoongi hasn’t spent so much time with you in here, but it’s surprisingly well-ventilated, the woven fabric sides of it dark but breathable. There’s not a lot of room but you make it work. Scooting back and pulling him down and down and down.

You pull him to rest against your chest, between your legs. Your hips splayed to let him curl up and nuzzle into you- in something like a full-body hug. Yoongi is too tired and too shaky to protest. He can’t even say he doesn’t want to but you check anyway- your movements slow as you get him situated.

Your heartbeat thuds quick against his fingertips. Yoongi wants to tell you that you don’t need to be scared, you don’t need to be afraid of overstepping. But can’t make his mouth cooperate.

His arms loosely circle around your waist, and then harder to crush you against him. At this position, you have full reign to run your fingers through his hair, over his shoulders, and down and up again. He knows he smells sweaty and probably rancid. But he nuzzles into your skin at the low neckline of the sweater. He puts his ear against your heart. Thud thud thud. Slowing down and evening out. You're right here and just under him, safe, and his eyelids are so heavy.

“Is this better? Do you need to go back to sleep?” Yoongi nods and doesn’t need to say another word.

Sleep rises up frightfully quick to meet him. He's not at all convinced that he hasn't dreamed it all. Finding you, coming here, and curling up. A dream within a dream. A good one in exchange for the nightmare earlier.

But this time he doesn’t dream at all, and even if he does, it’s only the sound of your heartbeat- thud thud thud. His own heartbeat thins out, and the tenseness in his shoulders relaxes.

Yoongi wakes up because a tomato has just fallen on his face.

You’re trying to be quiet, but Hoseok understandably laughs from where he’s holding out a half-unwrapped breakfast sandwich into the nesting nook for you to take a bite. Yoongi can vaguely place the words just whispered over his head. 'You guys eat without us, I don't want to wake him' 'Okay, but have a bite first- you know they're better when they're warm' 

Your laughter shakes against his cheek, your jaw clicks as you chew, and when he picks himself up, the tomato slides down his face, syrup slow. Until it flops against your throat. You and Hobi devolve into louder giggles and Yoongi can't stop the laugh that comes from his chest too.

The ruse is up, and you're all laughing. “Oh my god Hobi you promised to be quiet,”

Hoseok's one knee depresses the side of the nesting nook as he leans. Grinning down at Yoongi. Long fingers splayed around his ribs, making Yoongi shiver. The alpha pulls at his hips, and Yoongi feels a bit like a chew toy but in the best way, to be between the two of you laughing. “Come on Yoon- we’ve got you one too-“

Yoongi lets you both puppet him into the other room. Stumbling between the two of you. Until Hobi ducks low and nuzzles, and Yoongi just resorts to watching the two of you.

The way your hand goes from holding Yoongi's to touching Hobi's palm, then back to his like a bumblebee darting between flowers. A small smile works its way onto Yoongi's face. Even more when you pinch Hobi's ass and Hobi acts appropriately scandalized. Only you could get in on his and Jungkook's near-perpetual ass-touching competition.

(Yoongi's smile grows wider without him even realizing it).

There is a spread on the dining room, three heavy brown paper bags not just of breakfast sandwiches wrapped in checkered paper but biscuits in syrupy gravy, french toast sticks with honey yellow syrup, and a whole tray of tater tots that Jin pops into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. Half of the pack is still in their pajamas; it can't be later than 11.

Namjoon and Jimin are noticeably absent from the table- at work. But Hobi, Jin, and Tae are setting up the plates. Jungkook's already showered from his morning run- his hair all locky and tangled.

Tae looks a vision in a pair of flared yoga pants and Yoongi just blinks at her thighs, not realizing he’s staring until Hobi pinches his thigh for it. You laugh too and pull out the chair next to him with a squeak while Hobi hands out sandwiches and Jungkook cuts them into perfect triangles.

Yoongi blinks down at his plate, and he’s got a quarter of everyone’s sandwich on his, easily more than he can eat but still- You trade, cutting thirds and halves to try them all. Yoongi stares at them and feels fresh wetness on his lash line. Tae notices him staring, and she’s got sesame seeds stuck in what's left of her lipstick when she smiles.

“We didn’t know what you liked- so we got you two.”

And oh, Yoongi can’t breathe. The love in his chest bullies away the oxygen. How lucky he is to have people that get him two sandwiches instead of one, how lucky he is to have a house full of laughter and warm bellies and-

Hobi gets him a cup of coffee, Jin nurses his, thick-rimmed glasses and warm cheeks chubby as he looks across the table at Yoongi like he knows. He leans across the table to tangle their hands while he flips through his phone. Leaving the beta to his overfull heart.

“Tae- your nail appointment isn’t until 1- would you like Jinnie to curl your hair for you?”

“Can we try a new style this time? Space buns?” Tae asks so so sweetly- already wearing lipgloss even though she must have barely left the house. The smile never falters, just spreads wider when he stares at the glossy pink.

Jin hums, happy, "Of course."

"I love you guys" Yoongi whines. looking at Jin because he can't look at you. Telling everyone- because he can't tell just you. And really it's the truth. Jin blinks and looks up at him. A smile spreading on his chubby cheeks.

"Aw- someone's sappy." Hobi teases. "For the record, love you too"

"for the record; He just woke up" You peck the back of Yoongi's neck and shivers erupt all over his body. you lean behind him to swat at Hobi's shoulder. "Give him a break." The sound of chairs scraping hides Yoongi's whine and his blush.

"For the record, Love you too bun,"

Tae snorts, eyebrows knitting together as Jungkook sits on her lap instead of the chair right next to him. "Weird, but I like it" she pauses, "for the record."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, "oh my god stop-"

"For the record; Hobi started it."

"You guys call me bunny and bun all the time- I should be able to use it too!" Jungkook smirks, pausing for dramatic effect. "for the record."

Yoongi groans and you giggle. "Okay I'm done," Yoongi's smiling anyway

You sit, a little clumsy, and your coffee spills a little onto the dark wood table. Jin wipes it up with a tut, eyes still on the schedule. “There’s nothing else much for today just Tae’s appointment. Anyone else want to do anything?”

“Wanna cook together tonight?” You ask, Yoongi pulls your chair over to rest against his properly, he can still pull you over with little effort but it’s getting harder each day.

It’s a good sort of hard. You have half of a sandwich on your plate a quarter of Tae’s and another small corner in your hand half gone already. Yoongi should start working out with Jungkook- so that he’s as strong as you need him to be.

You look at him, and then down at your nearly pressing thighs, “wanted you to be closer to me.” He says, and then cringes, Hobi laughs at him and hits his plate with a metal clink. You just hum and turn back to your breakfast. Yoongi can see the smile in the curve of your cheek, can see it in full when he turns your face to wipe away the sesame seeds stuck to your mouth too.

"Yeah, what do you want to make Jin?"

You talk it through. You and Yoongi and Jin- easily launching into what you'll make, what you'll bake and barter for another night of full bellies and a full house of love. and although it involves a trip to a grocery store, it's easily set into motion.

Hobi asks you if you’ll walk with him to work today, he has to go in a few minutes and it’s not that far of a walk. 10 minutes. Half a mile.

But you say you’ll go only if Yoongi does too and he’s agreeing before he even realizes it. But as far as mornings go, walking Hobi to work and getting to walk home with you isn’t the worst way things could go. Not by far. Neither is the way that you tug his jacked tighter against his throat in the doorway of the flower shop. The roses in the windowsill all yellow.

“I’m really not all that cold.”

“Still, I always want you to be warm”

"I like taking walks after breakfast," you say after another few minutes of walking. Light. Calm. The cold air encourages more pink from your cheeks. The sun streaming through the leafless branches now that the storm has pulled off.

"We can do it tomorrow if you want." Whatever you want.

Maybe you’ll even hold hands (you will, Yoongi will reach for your hand first, and you’ll walk in quiet that isn’t so quiet all turn to you pointing to someone’s porch and the flowers they’ve already put out in their pots. Bright pansies, splotches of color among the springtime drudgery, and the million shades of grey and taupe.

“Do you think we can plant flowers soon?” Yoongi will say maybe, but Hobi will bring a flat of pansies home before either of you can text and ask.

But that will be later. For now, Yoongi just looks at you next to him on the dining room table, thumb rubbing up and down your thigh, forgetting to chew as he looks at you. Forgetting to take a bite of the sandwich slowly falling apart in his hands. The cheese and the egg sliding out. Both yellow, both yummy, both needed. 

Yoongi looks at you until Tae reaches over to pinch his thigh and he jumps. The egg in his sandwich slips out, hitting his plate with a slap.

Yoongi smiles, (really, the love is spreading like wildfire, slipping in through the windows like beams of sunlight, moving easily and unabated, like light through air).

“Eat your breakfast hyung- it’s getting cold.” She chirps.

Yoongi gladly complies, hungrier than he's been in years.

(In the end, forgiveness is not something that is inevitable. Forgiveness is something that you want to give, you have to want it with that person and they have to want it too. You have to give.

Yoongi will give and give and give.)

~-~

It happens on one of those evenings:

The nesting room is silent with the sound of sleeping packmates. The long curtains piled on the floor and two sets of bunny slippers sit unattended by the nest entrance because Jungkookie’s toes get cold sometimes and you like to match. His blue and yours pink. The Christmas lights up above are dimmed to a soft moonlit glow, lighting the bodies of your sleeping pack; gentle and heaped like sweet pavlova.

The door at the top of the stairs is open. There’s nothing to keep out tonight; no darkness or bad dreams. Nothing to fight off besides the vague feeling of childlike adventure that you gladly welcome inside. Not the sound of Noodle zooming around downstairs or the creeks of the house that’s almost finished.

Almost, it’s getting there. Yoongi has been working hard.

You and Hobi turn restless tonight. The only ones truly awake. Not with unease or with nightmares- too real and long gone. It’s not the memories of people with silver hair and dishonest smiles that keep you awake. Those villains are for dragons vanquished or papers in ashes that will never rise again to taunt you with their secrets.

There is no tower that you’re trapped in, at least not physically. Even mentally too. Any mental foes or sickness left in the confines of your head can wait until a later date.

Maybe it’s because of the full moon, the pearl bubble of your soul that matches and turns and keeps you awake, restless beneath the pink light. Maybe it’s because you both napped earlier with Yoongi in the nesting pod.

You’ve been doing that a lot more frequently over the last few days, taking little moments with Yoongi; spending breakfast in bed, cooking together most nights, sitting next to him always. Even small dates. Not even fancy ones but silly little outings that make you feel younger than you are.

Trips to his old coffee shop where he met Jin. His and Hobi's old record store, and Hobi's flower shop. Sometimes you leave separately and meet there to make it feel more like a date date. And Yoongi pretends he's surprised by the color of lipstick that Tae chose and you admire the ruffle of his tousled hair (he fussed with it for a few minutes in his car).

You'd never had a chance to date properly the first time.

It makes your relationship feel newer than it is. It makes you feel like you're making an effort instead of just having fun with your mate. It makes you feel like the drips of yellow paint on your sleeve- that had gotten there during the little sip and paint that you did last Thursday.

You'd gotten so giggly on cheap wine that you had to call Namjoon to pick you both up. You’d gotten handsy in the backseat and filled the car with the scent of arousal strong enough that Namjoon’s knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel. Barely a brain cell to scrape together to concentrate on driving.

Or the next day when you’d gotten dolled up just to go to different bakeries and sample cakes, eating them in the car with the windows rolled all the way down and the heat blasting. “This ones so good, have a bite.”

The two of you might be foodies actually, you might have found a shared hobby with it- testing pastries and food. You like the little things like fancy chocolates and fancy teas. It’s going to be your thing- the sweets. You can tell.

But for now, Yoongi sleeps peacefully not far from you as you look over at Hobi, eyes open in the darkness, face upturned, chest rising and falling just a bit too quick for him to be totally asleep. The windows are open and the night air is cool. You can press as close to the others as you want and you won't get too hot. You'd taken full advantage of this hours ago, snug tight under Namjoon's arm. His soft snore a special sort of lullaby.

You haven’t felt this calm in years. It doesn't make you choke up because you've felt this way before and you're getting used to it. The springtime air smells like rain, like the ocean already although you know it sits miles and miles away.

It might be another false spring- but the pack takes what it can get.

The nest is still quiet when you turn to Hobi and find his eyes open and bright in the darkness. Namjoon’s phone on the shelf reads 5:04 am. It's early enough to go back to bed but instead, you scoot over to Hobi when you see he’s awake, gently setting yourself first over Namjoon’s chest and then sliding down his other side to get to him.

Quieting Hobi’s sleepy giggles with an equally sleepy kiss pressed unhurried to his lips. His hands come up loosely to circle your waist, tired, sleepy. Your lips stay pressed for a breath too long. And Hobi shivers at the feeling of your warm skin pressed to his cold cheek.  

It’s still dark outside, not even the faintest breath of the sunrise cresting the trees. You lie there on your stomach, looking at him and stroking a hand down his cheek in the darkness. You just watch him until he turns at you. A bright mischievousness in his eyes. A bad idea or a very good one depending on how you look at it- cresting his mind.

“You know if we leave right now, we can probably get to the beach before sunrise.”

Bad ideas are made better when chased with dreams, it’s only been a month since everything went down, and maybe two since this got normal between the two of you. The kissing, the looks, the touching. That’s different, but it's still just you and Hobi.

He's still your best friend.

The softness runs a little deeper now. He'll always understand you a little better, a little more than the others. Although you'll give them a few years to try and catch up. Hoseok's love is a little softer, like a sunrise instead of a sunset. With no bursts of color just dark blue one minute and light blue the next, baby blue to blush tones to that weird yellow green of the sunlight.

You smile into the next kiss, eyes opening wider now, and you know you won't easily go back to sleep. “Yeah? Want to go?”

His kiss already tastes like saltwater. “Yeah, come on.”

Getting out of the nest without rousing your packmates proves to be too much of a challenge. (And really you think Yoongi would have a heart attack if you tried to leave without at least telling him where you've gone. He might have forgiven you, but you know better than to poke at his wounds.)

Namjoon groans while Yoongi blinks away the darkness behind his eyes, a big hand closing around your wrists, stopping you when Hobi’s already off the bed. “Pups? Where are you-”

“Just to the beach Joonie,” Hobi ducks to press a kiss to Namjoon’s forehead the same moment you kiss Yoongi’s lips, puckering in sleep and making a soft sweet noise. Your mate smells so good- rolling waves of sweet chocolate- so good that it has you not wanting to leave at all. You linger, kissing Yoongi again when the temptation becomes too much.

He opens his eyes and grins at you. "Want company?"

“You don't have to, we’ll be careful! Promise.”

"Where you going?"

He blinks back his sleepiness but no sooner have you explained what you're doing than are Yoongi's arms going around your waist to pull you in. Sitting up too at the same time. Careful to keep his voice low to not wake the others.

“Let me come with,” Hobi is already grinning, hair sticking up in the back after he pulls a sweatshirt over his head. Namjoon shimmies to the end of the nest apparently coming too- only to knock into Seokjin because Namjoon is always sort of clumsy in the mornings and he always gets a bit tangled in the blankets you roll up to construct the edge of the nest.

Jin’s plush lips pout, eyes squinting in the darkness, “Guys? What’s-”

Then Jin trips over Jimin's legs and the alpha shoots up straight, jostling both Tae and Jungkook (folded under either arm) and everyone is awake and sharing plans.

You tug on warmer clothes because Jin fusses; fuzzy socks, and thick cable knit sweaters. Jin doesn’t bother to put his contacts in, black-rimmed glasses balancing on his nose. A thick scarf that he won’t really need teasing at his rosy cheeks.

together you guide a soft and sleepy Jk down the stairs. Scrubbing at his eyes all puppy cute while you’re morning zoomy. Barely pausing to kick off your bunny slippers. Jimin gets down to tie Tae’s laces so she doesn’t have to bend over so early in the morning.

By the time you get down to the ground floor of the house, the light is already turning the sky a lighter shade of blue. And Hoseok is pushing everyone out the door, sometimes physically, with cries of “Quick! Before we miss it!”

For once, you don’t take two cars. This time you pile all in Hobi’s red car (thankfully gotten back from the police with all but minimal scratches and a hefty fine that Namjoon had reluctantly paid). You sit on each other's laps, ducking your head whenever you see oncoming cars in case they might be cops. (You haven't learned your lesson quite yet, but there is time- you don't have to grow up quite yet).

Tae sits on Jimin’s lap. Hands wrapped around her middle, talking softly over the color of her nails (yellow with chrome, making them look almost buttery). Jungkook sits on Namjoon's lap (the alpha tucks his face into Jungkook’s hair, a little long, a little shaggy, intent on going back to sleep.) And you sit in the middle seat on Yoongi's (playing with your mate's hands, turning them over and over again in yours, until he squeezes them lacing them through.)

The pack omega gets princess treatment on account of having the longest legs. Feet Crossed daintily on the dashboard where it not for his thick slides. Hobi drives and fucks with the playlist. But he doesn't need one. Leaves it alone for once in favor of listening.

Yoongi laughs and you ask him why he is. "Don't take this the wrong way but your ass is so boney, my leg is going numb."

"See! I told you you should come with me to pilates!"

"I'm no princess-"

"No- that's me." Jin snorts from the front seat.

"Joonie that tickles."

It’s only a 15-minute drive on the windy backroads, not so unsafe. Not so necessary that you’ll think about taking two cars and separating your little bundle of love into two places. Headlights crest the hills of shrub roses and shrub oak trees, leggy and just beginning to leaf out.

How is it nearly spring already? When did winter pass? Yoongi’s arms never release your waist, he keeps you like that, close and safe until you skitter into the parking lot.

Jin leaves his red scarf in the car. It sits there in the backseat, a heap of red thread whining over and over again, giving warmth that’s no longer needed. A string of fate organized and neat.

The parking lot at the beach is empty at this time of year and at this time of day. There is no snow piled up in heaps, only remnants in the forms of shallow silver pools and puddles that you traipse through with little regard to the state of your socks. The ocean air is warm, unseasonably so. You’re a mess of tangled limbs and pajamas. Laughs and- “oh my god I have to pee-”

Yoongi loses one of his slides on the way out and Jungkook steals it from the pavement. Running off with it and leaving him to hobble on one foot, only to bring it back after a second. And you let Yoongi place his hand on your shoulder for balance while he slides his sock back into it. Worried about getting his socks wet. His hair ruffled and eyes crusty but the sun-

The sun is bright and hot against your cheeks, wind whipping picking up your hair as it crests the horizon. You run out to the edge of the ocean, your legs fighting to keep up with Jungkook who's faster than you now that he's fully awake.

Water soaks pajama hems and you tread a little too close to the shore. It's low tide and the sea is far out. Sea spoils dot the wet sand, joining the reflection of the sky up above and the stars winking out one by one as the sky lightens slow.

You’re the first one to lift your hands, to shout and run as fast as you can (which isn’t very fast at all, so it’s a good thing they give you a head start) but the others follow without much preamble. Giggling and rushing to get to the sea in time.

It’s warm- the wind coming off the sea is warm and damp and lovely. Spring is here, happiness is here- and it might never be going away again. Not if you can help it and not if you hold onto it. You have seven other people to help you hold on tight and never let go.

No matter how hard it gets- you’ll hold onto it. You promise. (Promise me okay?)

Jungkook catches up to you first in the warm sunny sand. He picks you up and twirls you round and round. Shaking you a little, the same way that Noodle might shake a toy. You giggle, high and melodic.

You only see it for a second, spinning round and round- but the rest of them Seokjin, Namjoon, Hoseok, Tae, Jimin, Yoongi- they all stop where they’re running and watch. You’re dizzy when Jungkook stops, his grin pressed to your shoulder, arms hard under your shoulders. Clinging to him still- not putting you down because you’re dizzy and he’s still lifting you up.

“Jungkook- oh my god put me down- I’m heavy Koo- ” You’re a little panicked, a little startled, but laughing all the while.

“Not really. I can still carry you.” He tosses you up and catches you- shrieking even though you don’t really leave his hands. Clinging to him, scared of the weightlessness before he sets you down where you teeter, unsteady, dizzy but still laughing.

Your hands stay around his shoulders, on your tippy toes, and he raises his eyebrow at you.

The others catch up and Jimin leans down to squeeze around your middle. Salt air tickles your forehead.“You’re like hardly a work out-“

Yoongi’s teeth worry away at his lower lip, “guys-“

Jimin shows you it’s not a big deal by heaving you up and over his shoulder. leaving you shrieking again.

“Minnie no!”

"Minnie yes"

Jungkook and Jimin take off and Hobi and Yoongi chase them down, you feel a bit like a chew toy but in the best way, in the way that makes your stomach light and crinkly from the giggles and laughter. You end up with your knees in the sand and Jungkook against your stomach. Hobi behind you, hands fighting Jungkook's. wrestling over you until none of you have anymore energy for it. All of you are covered in sand but you're laughing so hard you taste salt.

You end up sitting there, at the edge of the storm line, where the sand goes hard and crusty at your feet but light and fluffy by your hands. You watch the rest of the sunrise like that. The good part. The best part when the colors bleed across the blue horizon line all yellow and gold.

Namjoon holds out a hand for Jin to get down, a bit more dignified than your sprawling mess of pups. And the pack omega leans sideways against Yoongi’s shoulder. Complaining squeakily about the state of his knees.

You settle against the sand. The eight of you curled close to keep out the last bit of cold. Eyes burning as you watch the sunrise and can't tear your eyes away. Until the sky turns that unmatched shade of blue, the kind that is never quite replicated by nature. Not in roses or daisies or in the color of people’s eyes. Everything blue blue blue.

Your sweatshirt is one of Yoongi's, the same color. Tae’s nails are that purple-blue too as she holds Jimin’s hand in the sand. The same color as the tiny piece of sea glass that Hobi pulls from between his legs because he somehow always finds sea glass. The best at finding lost things.

His hand slides around your middle, pulling you to rest firmly against the hollow of his chest. And his other raises to show you the little fleck of sea glass. Balanced on his index finger.

"It's a lucky find," you say. Hoseok hums behind you. Agreeing. Warm.

Later, you look over at him in the bagel shop (because if you’re going to have an early morning outing then it might as well come with breakfast and coffee.) You sit together with Hobi, Waiting for your sandwiches and your lattes.

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jin sit at one table and bicker over the merits of avocado toast. While Tae, Jimin, and Jungkook take over the other playing some game that involves flicking a quarter over each of their sides and playing footsie under the table too.

Although Namjoon and Jimin will get frustrated and tug all of the red and white metal tables together before long- No one has the mind for it yet. All of you are still sleepy and pupish and young in a way that you haven't been, haven't felt in such a long time.

Growing up can wait for a day more, growing up can always always wait.

(You haven't thought about it at all today- what Geumjae did to you. You haven’t thought about the hurts in your past at all today and you won’t, the day will pass and it won’t weigh on you, you won’t even notice. That’s the way healing goes- you hardly notice)

(Later there will be food and you won’t think about eating it at all. Hoseok will make your sandwich up just the way you like it and you won't even have to ask for it. You'll eat the same way you love, messy like children but with so much hope in it.)

At the bagel shop, You’ll reach over and wipe your thumb across his lips to get some cream cheese off and it will be the first breakfast of many you’ll spend with him. How lovely is it- to get to spend mornings with the people you love? How lovely it is to lose track of the days and hours and kisses. To not count first kisses anymore and only count more.

You and Hobi are quiet where you sit at the metal tables, it’s not an uncomfortable silence, unbroken by ego or arrogance or anything of the sort. He looks over and smiles at you.

And because he asks, “What are you thinking about?” You give him an honest answer.

“Being at the beach like that,” Your hands play with the piece of blue sea glass he got you, your pockets are full of them because you spent a few minutes once the sun was up walking until the others called you back. Hand in hand, stopping only to pick up more.

“With the sunrise and the sunlight all around us, It kinda felt like the world was giving me a really big hug, do you think that’s stupid?”

(Neither you nor Hobi is thinking about what was done to you. Not even a little bit, not even at all. I hope you never think about it either. I hope you get to have days where you don't remember. Where you forget what it was like to need to be strong. May the prey animal part of you that lingers in your body and remembers be turned soft and docile with age. May you forget what it's like to be hunted and afraid. I hope you forget him. The man who hurt you. I hope you forget what he looks like and the sound of his voice. I hope you forget it all.)

“I don’t think that’s stupid at all.”

He pulls his chair over to your side of the table and puts his chair right next to yours so that your thighs can touch. Even though it’s a public place and even though it’s probably not appropriate. He pecks your shoulder and squeezes around your waist extra tight, grinning. It’s an awkward sideways hug but he pulls you as close as he can until it forces a giggle from your stomach. His palms press flat against your stomach and his thumb rubs up and down. Slowly.  

“In case you want one more, what’s another hug after all?”

~-~

Notes:

It's a sweet sort of irony, that this chapter is going to be posted when the people who live in the bily house are getting married <3 like what are the odds of that.

i think that this chapter is the real like- spot between the chapter chapters of bily and the epilogue! i think you can kind of feel it in the way that the chapter ends.

it's so like me to accidentally talk about tae's boobs for a few paragraphs i can't help it her tiddies are just so special to me. like 10/10, i saw a picture of dita von tess and just so you know...in my mind after tae gets a boob job- which she will- this is just me forshadowing it- thats the kinda tiddies she gets <3 cute lemon shaped ones!

the line about tae liking hyung more than oppa to use for the other members of the pack- is just kinda edgeing on an idea i've had for a while about my own gender thoughts- and thats that you can take what you like and what you don't like from each gender and make it what you want regardless of how you identify.

it's easy to forget that yoongi is also traumatized too you know? he needs so much hugs in this,

it always hits me how stylistically different i write the characters in bily- like this chapter i feel like i really got to develop yoongi's internal voice like- he's a very even cut of internal monologue, action, and sensation. different than the m/c who tends to be sensation first and then action, and jimin who is all bland sensation, and tae who has a very very strong internal monologue.

In many ways this chapter feels so like- stylistically light- like i think this entire series i've been trying to capture the feelings of found family- and you know-= this one gets alot of it right.

[miskamix]

Soukoku with a very reluctant reader despite being with them throughout practically everything (15 arc to present) and being in a relationship (dating/married whatever) with them they still aren’t comfortable and exclude themselves on purpose, dodging their kisses, slipping out their arms in hugs, and avoiding them in general because they feel as if the two are quite literally meant for each other and they’re just a nuisance (it’s soukoku they are literally made for each other) so they don’t think much of it until the two of them confront them, y’know?

𝓢𝓸𝓾𝓴𝓸𝓴𝓾 𝔁 𝓖𝓷! 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been really wanting to write this for a while now but i haven't had the motivation to do so 😓

I decided to make it so that like chuuya and dazai had started to talk about wanting kids with the reader and then reader also wanting them but becoming much more distant since they think they dont deserve to start a family if that makes sense??

I'm sorry if this wasn't like what you wanted this is just what i came up with :(

TW: Idk really know, Talk about pregnancy? Please do tell me if there is something that could need a TW

Also reader is AFAB but uses GN pronouns.

English isn't my first language!!!

Words: 1,6k

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You love both your hubands, Chuuya and Dazai, very much, but you always felt like you were in the way of their love, like you were a bother to them or that you didn't deserve them. In your mind they were meant for each other, which they are, but you felt like you were just there, like you aren't meant to be with them.

For as long as you can remember, you've been the most distant one in the relationship, the one that gives the least kisses, hugs ect ect. Both Chuuya and Dazai just thought you weren't into physical touch so they didn't ask much about it, but they still gave, or at least tried to give you lots of kisses and love.

Most of the time when one of them tried to kiss you, you slip away to avoid the kiss. Only sometimes did you actually let them kiss you, and they cherish those moments with you since they're so rare.

You always try to convince them that you dont need to join them on dates and that they arent your thing, even when all you wanna do is go on cute dates with them. Even with your excuses, they still get you on dates most of the time, but even then you're still very distant.

You even sleep in a different room, and saying "I'm more used to sleeping alone" or "i sleep better when i'm alone" as an excuse when they ask. Still, your heart hurt when you thought about how they cuddled in bed in the room right next to you, you knew you could just walk in and join them, but you felt like you weren't worthy of that.

Over all, you felt really insecure in the marrige, you really had made yourself believe that they didn't love you at all.

.....

You've been very insecure about the relationship for years, even when you guys were just teens, it all started when they asked you to be they're partner when they were both 17, since then you've been like this. But now, for some reason, you've been worse then ever.

Ever since you overheard them talking about wanting children you've been trying to keep away from them compleatlly, for what reason? You honestly dont know. you don't know why you are like this, you want children with them, so why are you becoming more distant then ever?

You've spent nights crying because of this, one of the most reacent ones were, chuuya hugging you from behind and caressing your belly while you made some food for yourself. You don't even know what made you want to cry, the gesture just made you feel something inside. After that you had excused yourself and rushed into to the bathroom, turned on the shower and cried.

Because of your change in behaviour, and becoming more and more cold to the both of them, they fianlly started to think that maybe, just maybe there was something wrong with they're precious sweetheart.

One night when you had gone into your room they both could hear faint sobbing, and they had gotten worried. That night they stayed up until late talking about times where they had both been oblivious to your actions and how they should bring it up to you. They were both very guilty, even if they didn't know what was bothering you.

...

...

You were sitting on your bed looking at the snow falling outside through your window while drawing something, everything felt so peacefull at that moment, like nothing else but you and your little space existed.

Everything felt fine until the thought of a child came back itn your mind. what would it be like to have a child with them? would that make you feel loved? would it make you feel like a part of they're relationship?

You thought about the time you overheard them talk about having a child through surrogacy. "Maybe we could try surrogacy? It didn't look like [Name] enjoyed it when we had sex, and i'm not sure they would wanna carry a baby" you had heard Dazai say to Chuuya.

Surrogacy wasn't a bad thing to you, but you were scared that they would ask you, since you knew you couldn't bring yourself to say no. It made you scared that another person was gonna carry your child. You were scared they would find them prettier, more beautiful then you and leave to be with them.

You felt tears form in your eyes at just the thought of something like that happening. Your tears fall onto the half done drawing thats in your lap, making small damp spots on it. You try to hold back your tears as best as you can but they just keep coming, its like all the emotions you've been bottoling up for the past few years are fianlly beinfg released.

As you sit on your bed sobbing, you fail to notice both Chuuya and Dazai standing outside your room listening, both of them looking worried. They both give each other a look and decide to walk in and see if you are alright and if they can figure out why you've been acting so distant.

A sudden small knock on the door of your room snaps you out of it and you quickly start to wipe your tears in a hurry, "W-what..?" You say, trying to not making it sound like you've been crying, since you dont want them to wotty about you. "Darling, we heard you crying.." Chuuya opens the door and gets closer to you. "Please tell us whats wrong.. we care about you.." He takes your hand and strokes it gently with his thumb.

This small act of love makes you burst back into tears as Dazai and Chuuya take you into they're arms and start to rub your back as your sobs become louder. At this moment you feel trully loved by them, you feel safe and protected in they're arms, as if there is nothing that can hurt you at this moment.

"[Name], darling whats wrong? did we do something to upset you? ..why have you been so distant?" Dazai ask you while moving some of your hair out of your face. You can see the worry in both they're faces, and you start to feel guilty for maiking them worried. "..its nothing.. i swear.." You try ti make up excuses and you try to slightly push them of you, but you feel so weak at the moment.

"we can obviously see that you aren't doing alright.. please.. we care about you and your health.. we dont want you yo suffer alone.." Chuuya wipes your tears and kisses your forehead gently.

After a while of just being in they're arms you fianlly feel brave enought to try and tell them, you tell them how you've felt like you are just a burden in the relationship, like you're in the way of they're love. "..I just feel like i dont deserve to be with you both.. its.. just that you two are double black.. you both are amazing and strong.. and i'm just nothing... i haven't done anything.. You both would be betrter of dating someone else" You say while sniffling and wiping more tears of your face.

They both look quite sad as they listen to you explain how you feel, they both feel really guilty for not noticing earlier. "Darling.. we both love you more then anything in the world, just because 'haven't done anything' doesn't mean we dont love you.." Dazai takes your hand and kisses it, "We married you because you're beautiful, smart, funny and much more.. we really do love you.." Chuuya cups your cheeks making you look at him.

You can feel yourself starting to slightly feel better, knowing that they both love you, but stil, the topic of surrogacy was stil heavy on your mind. "..but.. what about the surrogacy thing..? do you guys still wanna do it..?" You ask them quietly and they both look at each other.

"Well, we do want to have a child, and surrogacy is a good option.." Dazai answers and he can see your face immediately drop making them slightly worried. "is there a problem dear..?" He asks you, "..i know it sounds dumb, but i'm just scared you both will leave me for the surrogate mother if we do a surrogacy.. i'm scared you two will think shes better then me.." Your voice shakes a bit as you talk, and you can see them both kinda realize why you're so sad.

"Oh, so this is what you've been sad about? You've been thinking about us leaveing you for someone else..?" Chuuya says before he continues, "Dear, we would never make you agree to have a surrogacy if it makes you uncomofrtable.. the surrogacy idea was just a back up plan.. for you know.. if you could for some reason carry the baby or you didn't want to carry it.." He chuckles a bit, trying to make you a bit happier. "Did you ovear hear us talking about it? Because if thats the only thing you heard, i'll have you know that that wasn't our first idea" Dazai adds and you feel a bit dumb for feeling so upset over something so small.

"But really [Name], we want to start a familly with you, but we both think its best you get some therapy first. And i'm not saying this as an insult but, we both think you aren't in the right state of mind to make such a big decision, we want you to have healed and to be fully sure if you want to have a child.." Dazai tells you, and now that you think about it, maybe therapy is a good option for you. "..I will.." you whisper.

You hear a satisfied hum come from them both, "We will both be by your side the entire time.."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OML i'm finally done with this, i hope you like it. Again the ending might be a bit ass since i didnt really know what to write 😢

Also, please tell me the gender of the reader, cuz if you dont i'm just gonna make them AFAB and GN Like i really dont want to acidentally write like AFAB reader when you actually wanted AMAB, so please tell me it in the request 💀

Also, if you wanna be tagged in my post just tell me, idk if anyone wants to 😢

[mydearneteyam]

WORTHY OF YOU ;; SO'LEK

summary ;; after a long time, it seems that eywa has allowed the same children who chased away your suitors to give the warrior you once knew a chance.

pairing ;; so'lek x healer!gn!na'vi!reader

warnings ;; mentions of war (briefly)

word count ;; 2.3k (with bonus)

word of the day ;; txasunu [t’a.ˈs·u.n·u] vin. love greatly, enjoy tremendously

You had never been easy to court. That was a fact. Perhaps many believed that simply because you cared for orphaned children after the war, you were easy prey for being kind and sweet, but it was far from a reality.

You had constantly heard sugar-coated words or modern compliments just by being a healer. You would even sometimes come across some who would get hurt to be treated by you, but your authoritative voice and piercing gaze were enough to make them give up easily. Although that was only part of it.

Yes, it was true that after the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains you had adopted a few children. Each one had a different personality, a different view, none was the same as the other, except for one thing: the affection and concern they had for you.

"Sa'sem, I made you a necklace!"

"I brought a pair of feathers, Sa'sem. For your hair."

"I made you a basket, Sa'sem!"

You were their parent. And of course to you, these child hunters, artisans and future healers were like your children. Therefore, every na'vi from your clan knew that to win you over, they had to first earn each child's respect. But even you knew that was impossible.

The little hunters ruined hunting parties, causing prey to flee and your admirers to apologize for returning empty-handed, those craftsmen offered easily torn garments or clumsily knotted blades, and healers always ruined their presentations after perfuming them with stink bombs.

At this point, you had an army of young kids who loved you, cared, and hid you from others to death.

"They're not good choices! They give up right away!" they would plead from time to time. And while, you were grateful to be taken care of, sometimes you also wanted to meet someone, although for your age, the opportunity was becoming more and more distant every day.

At least that was until you met the Resistance.

"The Sarentu clan has returned" the Olo'eykte of your clan, a friend you had since you were young, came with that information to your home. That news surprised you, almost as if your own fellow banshee had taken a bite out of you.

"Are you sure?" and she smiled.

"I'd like to know firsthand. I want you to come with me."

You were not very familiar with the idea of humans, but you trusted blindly in the one who led your people, besides, it was an extinct clan! As a healer, you had a thousand doubts, especially because of the, according to you, reason for their death.

Arriving at the place, you were surprised by four Sarentu, whom you greeted with cordiality and an enthusiasm uncommon in you, in turn, you spoke as best you could with one of them in particular.

"Dr. Alma left us resting in capsules, for sixteen years now, at least" they said. You had to pull out a couple of numbers, for their story- the story itself of all of them told you, didn't match what you had been told as a young na'vi, but you didn't want to say anything yet. "...and then So'lek along with others from the Resistance led us out of that place to here."

Hearing that name, your ears flared a little and you were a little startled.

"So'lek?" you questioned. Behind you, a throat clearing made you turn around. With one of his arms dangling and a scowling face of pain, you were greeted by that boy, whom, with a smile, you recognized from both of your youth.

"I see you, Healer."

...

As a younger, you always had a strong temperament, taking the opposite to many authority figures that nowadays and with time, you had learned to respect. But in particular, as a young na'vi you were part of the warriors of your clan where you met So'lek a hunter, or well, a warrior at that time who was injured.

You would never admit out loud that during the weeks you were taking care of his wounds, you developed romantic feelings for him. But for you, it was just an awkward teenage romance. He was from another clan -literally massacred-, he had sworn to learn a little bit of everything in order to get revenge on the humans. For you, it was impossible. So you moved on.

Though now that you were giving his wounds a quick checkup, you wondered if the reason for allowing your children's shenanigans was because you wished - or rather prayed - to meet that warrior again.

"Brings back memories" you sighed as you put an ointment on his left shoulder. He made a grimace that you could almost consider a smile and nodded. "...from when you were impulsive" And of course, your words could never end without a certain comment.

"How could I forget? You knocked me out for a day to get my wounds to close" he released the air from his lungs, looking at you. "I'm glad to hear you've been good".

"I can say the same, have you find someone?" by the silence that came, you could assume it didn't go well.

"I thought I did, but instead I was reckless."

"Why am I not surprised?" you questioned quietly. Perhaps he didn't hear you or preferred to avoid answering, but he asked you the same question.

"How about you, has anyone managed to tame Pandora's beast?" his attempt at a joke only made you snort, rolling your eyes.

"Not yet."

As you continued conversing with him, you couldn't help but notice that from a safe distance, the Sarentu were watching you attentively.

"Have you been taking care of them?" you questioned, bandaging his shoulder after checking that the pomade you had put on had adhered to his skin. He denied, letting out a low laugh.

"I thought my appearance was the opposite of what a babysitter would look like."

"Well, I babysit several and look at me, I look the same or worse than you" you pointed to yourself. He looked at you with surprise and you noticed his tail wagging under the bed.

"Have you had children?"

"Not of my own" you clarified. "After the war, many of their parents… passed away, so I took care of some of them. They've grown up under my wing, so I try to give the best I can." you spoke, smiling as you described them.

You didn't notice So'lek looking at you intently.

"Though sometimes they are too unruly" you gave a chuckle. "Okay, stand up, let's see if you have anything else" you changed the subject.

When he stood up, the two of you stood with a closeness that you didn't feel forced, as with the suitors you had, but you ignored that thought quickly, examining him completely. Stepping around him, you nodded.

"I don't see anything else and I don't sniff for open wounds. If you have any problems, let me know, okay? I'll be staying for a while here" you reported. You looked up only to notice that he was already watching you and although you thought he would avert his gaze out of nervousness, he didn't.

"I understand, thank you. I... I must go" but his body ignored the words and you both remained just a few centimeters away. Maybe something would have happened or maybe not, but a voice interrupted both of you.

"Sa'sem?" it was At'ari, one of the older boys you had taken care of. Beside him stood Rina and Äska, the huntress and the craftsman, watching you intently. You turned away from So'lek as if you might have gotten the flu next to him and approached them.

"What are you doing here?" you questioned, somewhere between concern and annoyance. There was no way anything could have happened in the clan, you just arrive yesterday.

"You forgot some baskets" indicated the boy who had white dyed hair, but he wasn't looking at you, he was looking at the man behind you. "Who is he?"

"At'ari. Show respect" you commanded, to which he reluctantly waved. So'lek reciprocated the gesture with respect, saluting all three.

"I must get going." he placed a hand on your shoulder to which you gave a smile and nodded.

"Be careful."

As the male walked away, the trio looked at each other. You'd never be so nice to someone…. you didn't want to know better.

"Don't even think about it!" you threatened.

...

They did, in fact, think about it.

They had decided not to leave until they had completed what was their goal. But this time, not everything went the way they expected.

"So'lek, can you teach me how to use a human weapon?" smiled Rina, remembering how the few warriors in the clan would get paranoid at the mere thought of her touching one, imagining your furious face.

"As long as you don't use them as a toy" he indicated, allowing her to sit closer. "You see, this is a fusil, it's the most common thing humans use…" he began to explain and the girl's eyes lit up, listening intently.

From afar, At'ari had a frown on his face and Äska looked at him.

"He's a warrior, 'Ari, far better than anyone we know" he admitted, but the elder only gave a grunt.

In the second week, Äska was the one who had run into So'lek, albeit accidentally. While the younger had started making a feather necklace, something didn't seem to be right. Something was still missing.

"I see you, Äska" the boy was a bit surprised, but waved back. "Something wrong?"

"I can't see what's wrong with this. Can you take a look at it?" he muttered, a little embarrassed. Noticing the attitude, the man looked it over quickly.

"I won't lie to you. I'm not an expert in the crafts and I'm not looking to spoil your progress. Wouldn't you prefer that I accompany you with someone who does know about it?" unwittingly, So'lek had already climbed from a mere stranger to an acquaintance and from acquaintance to someone respected, but there was still a young na'vi who disliked his person.

"Give it up At'ari, So'lek is a great guy. Besides, Sa'sem is not here to hear you complaining" and it was true, you had been tasked with a job with a clan a little further away for a few days, so you could only communicate with them by radio - which, ironically, So'lek had taught them to use.

"I don't trust him yet. You guys are such an easy sell, what's this about him taking you to meet the Aranahe Clan?" he frowned at Äska. Rina laughed as she cleaned an empty gun.

"That's jealousy, if you want to go, you can just ask him" but the teasing stopped immediately as to the spot the same na'vi they were talking about fell to his knees, wounded in the side.

"Oh, just in time" cursed At'ari, rushing to pick him up and lay him on a stretcher in the company of his two brothers. Only Eywa could think of a time like this for him as a healer to go help him.

"I just need to clean the wound-" So'lek commented trying to get up, but with a familiar attitude, At'ari laid him down again, a bit aggressively.

"Hush." was all he said, starting to clean the wound, then reaching for one of your bowls to start spreading one of the creams he had, positioning a leaf from one of the healing plants and applying pressure. A few minutes passed where everyone in HQ was attentive to what would happen next.

"Don't sit or move. You'll open up the wound" he reported, grimacing. "Everything is fine, so stop looking at us like So'lek has given birth" he spoke for everyone.

As he went back to tidying things up, So'lek spoke to him.

"You're just like them."

"Of course, I am a healer after all" he said as he rolled his eyes.

"That's not what I'm talking about, At'ari" the named turned towards him and after a few seconds, he turned again, hoping So'lek hadn't seen the small smile that peeked across his face.

"That… means a lot to me. Thank you."

...

When you came back, of course you congratulated At'ari for doing a great job.

"There will be no mark left. Well done" you nodded inspecting So'lek's wound, showing pride and At'ari puffed out his chest, happy to know he had done just as your words had said.

Before leaving the scene, the boy turned.

"Perhaps he is worthy of you, Sa'sem. We approve of him courting you" and with that said, he took off.

A silence flooded the place and both you and So'lek tried to brush the comment aside. You gave an embarrassed cough.

"I'm s-" but the opposite denied.

"Don't be sorry. I hope…" you could tell by his look that he wanted to say something and was about to regret it, but you took his hand gently. "… I hope that when the time is right, you will allow me to court you."

"Eywa will give us a third chance?"

A minuscule smile appeared on the opponent's face accompanied by a sigh.

"Then I would like to court Pandora's beast, if you allow me."

"I've wanted to hear that for a while now. You can."

BONUS ;;

"They smiles too much with him. The others were so nasty that Sa'sem ask me to shoo them away" Priya gasped at the words of the trio, putting a hand to her chest.

"Really? I've seen So'lek try to nurse his wounds outside before going in…" she moved a little closer to the three siblings and whispered to them. "Ri'nela said it was so as not to worry the healer too much."

"I saw both of them laughing the other day!" exclaimed Teylan, joining the conversation.

"That's impossible, So'lek never laughs" argued Nor.

"With the healer he does" Teylan stuck his tongue out at him.

a/n ;; my tummy hurts 😔😔anYWAYS its been a long time since i kinda write this much?? (like 2k words....) so if you like it, please tell me !! i kinda didn't proofread this so if there's a mistake correct me, xoxo <3

[snootlestheangel]

Royal Ghoap AU idea

Soap grows up as Prince, his family is royalty blah blah blah

Simon Riley is in the poor part of the city, which under Soap's father's rule, becomes the recruitment for Knights. It's a program designed to take the youth and prevent them from falling into criminal traps and becoming responsible people. It helps the families. Simon is recruited at a much younger age than most with the intention that he grows up alongside the only son of the King (ie Soap)

He and Soap grow up together, slowly falling in love by the time Simon is a full fledged Knight and they're adults.

Roba is the leader of a gang of criminals that burn the part of the city where Simon is from. The Riley family dies in the fire, and it is presumed that so does Simon, because he had fled the safety of the castle to save his family.

While in the castle before all of this, he had been courting Soap, only for Soap to express concerns that if they let their relationship develop into something more, that the people would say things. Basically Soap rejects Simon's physical advances (cock blocked)

Soap: I'm afraid of what they'll say of you, mo chridhe

Simon: let them talk, so long as I have you, nothing can harm me.

Soap lives for several years thinking that he could have had Simon and yet threw it all away.

Eventually his parents are mysteriously assassinated, and he, along with the King's Guards Price and Gaz, travel far as they follow a series of clues that will lead them to the assassin.

Along the way, they encounter The Ghost, a famed assassin with over a hundred assassinations credited to his name. Ghost is believed to have served under Roba.

There are two major ways I want to approach this.

The first way:

He reveals Roba is behind Soap's parents' assassinations, and tells them his plans to murder Roba himself. Price warns Soap not to trust him, but Soap can't help but feel the phantom is familiar.

One night, slipping away from the watchful eyes of Price and Gaz, Ghost enters Soap's private tent

They have a conversation where Ghost basically begs for forgiveness and Soap is confused and then he drops it, only for Soap to ask him if they know each other. Ghost doesn't directly respond, but Soap thinks it means he's uncomfortable because they don't. However, Simon quickly says "you look good as King, Johnny" not long after Soap falls quiet

Soap turns and then whispers his name. Begs him to take the mask off, asking how Roba has hurt him, etc. Simon eventually takes it off to reveal a very scarred face. Soap touches his face and the scars with tears in his eyes. Simon thinks it's because he's now ugly or not worthy of Soap's love anymore. But Soap finds him still as loveable as ever.

"I see scars. Which means you survived, and you healed, and you live to fight another day. Which means you're here, you're alive, and I finally have another chance to keep you."

"Will you let me have you? Even if just for tonight?"

"Of course. Only if you'll let me have you."

"I trust no other soul."

They get together (obviously) and then Idk where to go from here

The second way:

Soap catches word that Roba has been finally captured in a neighboring kingdom, so he brings Price and Gaz with him. The king of this place is Alejandro, with his partner Rudy, and they are joined by Shadow Company who captured Roba.

They are in the royal hall when Ghost manages to kill his way inside, where he uses his weapons to hold Rudy hostage.

His weapons in question are bladed: two large scythes that can cut from both sides (within the curve and outside), making them versatile and intimidating. Truly a character of Death

Alejandro makes a trade: Roba for Rudy. Everyone expects Ghost to leave with Roba, but instead he attacks him and kills him, kneeling back once the deed is done.

Alejandro asks "if you were not loyal to Roba, then who do you pledge to?" Because it's commonly accepted that assassins aren't solo: they have someone that pays them and provides what they need. Ghost stands, slowly makes his way towards Soap, and raises his weapons.

He proceeds to immediately drop them and uses the Royal Guard salute to show his loyalty to Soap. The salute is used in private by Knights/Guards to the crown/royal family. Only Soap, Gaz, and Price would know this, everyone else would be confused as to what that means.

Graves and a couple Shadows quickly attack Ghost and take him into custody. He keeps eye contact with Soap the entire time, Soap is shitting his pants cause how the fuck does THE GHOST know the private salute????? And why would he say he's loyal to me??? What the fuck???????

While Soap is freaking out, the others are trying to figure out Ghost's plans and blah blah blah. He's not giving anything away.

But Soap suddenly appears, saying that he should ask the questions privately because Ghost pledged his loyalty to him. They're upset Soap is in the room, to which Price, out of breath just goes "he's slippery"

They agree and let Soap "interrogate" Ghost.

Soap asks how he knew the salute. Ghost doesn't answer.

Soap asks why he suddenly pledged loyalty to him.

"To save yourself?"

"No."

"No?"

"Cannot suddenly pledge to something you are already pledged to."

Soap is now confused and he's starting to get a weird feeling. He can't think of something to say, he's so confused. Ghost begins to look at him with the saddest, most emotional look he can despite the mask.

"You look good as King, Johnny."

Don't know where to go with this one as well but I'm definitely partial to the second way.

Anyways what y'all think?

[commsroom]

cutter was born in the 20s, and he'd become "arthur keller" by the early 70s, so obviously pryce's story at the beginning of brave new world can't be taken literally - that's not even an old man, much less "older than anyone she had ever met." it's also inarguable she was an adult already working on her... ideas for the human body when cutter sought her out; "i want you to make a doll for me" and "i found people who had some very bold ideas about how to... tune up the human body [...] i funded their work, and provided them with a willing test subject" are pretty definitely referring to the same events. so, it's fairy tale language, but the question is: why? why frame it this way?

one part of it is the "fountain of youth" in connection to immortality, strength, and health. the implication isn't literally that cutter is very old and pryce is very young; it's that she represents this power, and that he wants her to bestow it upon him: "then you and i will fix the world. i will be young and you will be whole." cutter and pryce choose to look eternally 28, while referring to and conducting themselves as if they're very old: it's not just vanity, it's part of their self-mythology. simultaneously young and old, having overcome the natural order.

that mythology of "overcoming" natural limitations is especially significant for pryce: characterizing herself as a "little girl" within her own story is both self-victimizing and self-aggrandizing. pryce does not see herself as disabled so much as temporarily inconvenienced; even the usual limitations of the human body are something she hopes to transcend. "instead of being wretched or afraid, the little girl decided to be clever." she was put at a disadvantage, but overcame it all by herself because she was smarter and better than other people. by extension, anyone who can't do what she did just isn't good enough, even as she's closing doors behind her and making it harder for others like her. and at the same time: it's an underdog story that requires her to have been an underdog. she hasn't been in a very, very long time, but the power she holds over others remains justified in her self-perception by this image of a sick little girl who was hurt by the world. there's an implication of inherent worthiness, and even a sort of expected assumed innocence in characterizing it that way. the first thing people notice about pryce is her eyes, and... sure, maybe it's the technology, but if cutter can catch bullets without any visible signs, it seems likely to me that, like her age, this is at least in part an aesthetic choice. it intimidates people. she's turned this point of hurt and vulnerability into a power play, and remains attached to it.

and that's the other part of the mythologizing that's going on: presumably, pryce was not the only person who worked on all of this. cutter funded others. but the story retroactively simplifies it, in a childish fairy tale way, and paints an image of them as exceptional, uniquely capable and so uniquely deserving, people.

i think there's something interesting to consider here about pryce in contrast to hera: that pryce is a woman who self-justifies her cruelty via a mythologized girlhood, while hera is a woman who was never a girl, who was never considered innocent or even allowed the same recognition of the ways she's been a victim. pryce resents humanity and all it represents, resents her body and its limitations, feels that being human has only caused her suffering, but still clearly believes that she has more of a claim to humanity than hera does by nature of her biology and upbringing. pryce's "bootstraps" attitude re: disability and her own self-victimization are the crucial things here, but i think that is also particularly interesting if you read hera as a trans woman.

(incidentally, this is part of why i have a particular love for hera designs where she's just a regular woman, more angular, and maybe even older looking - a natural 30-something in contrast to an unnaturally maintained 28 - than pryce. they're both women who have chosen how they want to look, and it highlights something.)

[weemsfreak]

Nobody Like You

Happy Valentines! Whether you enjoy this commercial holiday or not, do/buy something nice for yourself! Larissa would want you to ;)

I suppose this is a more joyful part/addition to my story All The Time

Platonic Larissa Weems x StudentReader ~3.1k words

You knew of nobody who felt the same.

Nobody who recognized, no-

revelled in the beauty of women as they aged, as the depths of their emotion became more evident in their skin, as they formed crows feet, as they became wiser;

as they lived.

Nobody like you.

You always felt that it was rather odd, to bask in their light, their entire being, and let it absorb you completely, to the point where you cared about nothing and nobody else.

It hurt, knowing that they didn't feel the same about you.

It led you to believe that you were ugly, unwanted, a sliver of a soul compared to them, insignificant.

Recently, however, you've grown just a bit.

You’ve began to tell yourself that you are rather lucky.

You have the privilege to see what others don't and feel what they never could.

You have been graced with the ability to learn and admire.

Women have taught you many things over the years, although, you didn't realize until now.

You have been blessed with the ability to adore and cherish them, perhaps when nobody else cared to do so.

As odd as you may feel, pressured by societal norms, women make you feel alive.

You allow your dark thoughts to get the best of you, until you remember that there is good in everything.

Something has to make you feel, you have to live for something.

And so, despite the hurt, and the confusion, and the guilt, you let it make you feel.

You let yourself feel and you tell yourself that maybe women deserve you, in a way that you're willing to give and a way they're willing to accept.

Maybe they deserve to be admired, maybe they deserve to be cared for.

Maybe they deserve to be looked at like they hung the stars and crafted the moon, maybe they deserve to feel beautiful.

Of course, you didn't think 'maybe'; you had no doubt they did.

But they have been beaten and bruised and used, and therefore they didn't see it in themselves.

You knew they didn't.

So you thought and thought and finally accepted the fact that maybe this was your purpose in life, no matter how insignificant you felt.

Maybe your purpose was to make women feel worthy, by a gesture, a compliment, or a glance, even if you didn't feel worthy yourself.

For perhaps maybe one day a woman would come along and do the same for you.

And until then, you'll long for them, admire them, and soak in their beauty in the way that you're willing to, and in the way that they're willing to accept.

And until then, that will be enough.

༺♥༻

You were observant, very detail oriented. People always told you that.

It gave others the illusion that you cared.

That was a good thing, and you took it as such.

That was, until those times where being observant hurt, where the fact that you actually did care so much hurt.

It hurt when you noticed her become increasingly tired, more irritated, and less enthusiastic throughout the year.

It hurt when you saw less of her, when the events became more bland, and when that usual sparkle in her eyes as she spoke dulled.

Usually it was with utmost passion, but lately, you could see that she was forcing it.

Faking it like her life depended on it.

You could chalk up your recognition of these changes in her to your observant nature, you could.

But, you knew it was way more than that.

She was your inspiration, your motivation, and your love.

She was the beauty, madness, and order of the entire universe.

And, she was sad, lonely, and tired.

So no, you didn't just notice her or recognize these changes; they were thrown at you with force and left bruises on your chest. They bled internally and seeped through your tissue to your heart until it hurt.

༺♥༻

You winced as she stepped up to the podium, stumbling as she failed to pick her heeled foot up high enough.

No, she didn’t fall, for if she had have, you would've ran up to her, despite being more than ten feet away, and caught her as she did.

Instead, she recovered and gave a sheepish smile to the crowd. You smiled back to make her feel better, knowing she wasn't looking your way.

You watched with bated breath as she walked through the corridor, face void of emotion.

Nothing wrong with that, really, people would tell you that you had resting bitch face.

But, as it was characteristic of you, it wasn't characteristic of her.

Usually she greeted students with a smile that gave you the strength to get through the rest of your day.

Sometimes she even gave you a nod or a wink, or if it were a blessed day, a gentle hand on your shoulder as she asked how you were.

But now, as she strutted through the crowd of teachers and students, you knew that she was tired.

One night, you found her at the weathervane, ordering a hot chocolate and a croissant.

It was a Friday night as she sat at a booth across from you, your heartbeat picking up rapidly as you watched light hair and long legs stride past.

You didn't know much of her personal life, she was your principal, after all.

But, despite your inability to understand why, you knew deep down to your soul that she was lonely.

Lonely like you.

And as you watched her sip her hot chocolate alone, her eyes wandering around the café and painfully landing on you, you thought that you were rather lucky, and you made her a promise.

You would never stop trying to make her feel beautiful.

You would never stop trying to bring her some joy.

Maybe you were young and naive, and maybe you were nothing to her, but some kind words and a kind gesture, someone who really cared, could mean the world.

You really had nothing to lose, (besides your dignity) and so, you put your pride aside, and made it your purpose to help her feel worthy; even if you didn't feel worthy yourself.

You smiled, she smiled back with a nod. Standing, you grabbed your drink and made your way to her booth. As you stood across from her, reluctantly gazing down into her blue eyes, you found that they held galaxies, the secrets of the universe, the weight of the outcast world, and perhaps the normal as well.

"May I?"

She nodded, gesturing with a gloved hand to the empty seat across from her.

You had no clue what to say. Well, without sounding totally creepy.

'How are you? Sad, lonely, bored, scared, confused? Because I am.

But I'm just clueless and young, and I'm just obsessive and dumb, and you are…intelligent and worthy and beautiful.

There is nobody like you.'

No, you couldn't say any of that, because she didn't know you like you knew her, and she didn't love you like you loved her, and she didn't think you were worthy like you thought of her.

"How have you been Principal Weems? I haven't seen you much lately, busy?"

She nodded and let her gaze fall to her hot chocolate, "Yes, it's quite busy this time of year. Very tiring."

'Of course it is, it must be busy running a whole school, let alone a school full of outcasts.

It must be busy planning events in hopes of keeping our heads out of the gutter and opening our eyes to the world.

It must be tiring caring for us when nobody else does, being the only one who gives a shit and being the only one to try.

It must be tiring fighting to live with yourself, it must be tiring praying and hoping to finally feel happy, to finally feel loved.'

Because it was, you knew, it was every second of everyday.

It was busy. It was tiring.

But you didn't say any of that.

You looked down at your hands as you twisted them in your lap.

"If it's any reconciliation, I think Nevermore is running really smooth lately. I feel safe here, and I really enjoyed the last event that you planned."

Suck up? No. You probably sounded like it, hell you were expecting her to say it.

People have in the past when you were just trying to be…kind.

But Principal Weems wasn't judgemental or rude, she wasn't a prude, and she wasn't suspicious of you.

A crooked smile pulled at her lips as her eyelashes fluttered, "Thank you, darling."

She placed an open hand on the table, your eyes flit between it and her gaze, then you placed your hand in hers.

"I appreciate your acknowledgement, I'm glad you feel safe here."

Of course you would acknowledge her, yearn for her, bathe in her entire being, feel safe under her authority, feel safe in her care.

Of course you would admire her from afar and wish that she would at least notice you back.

Of course you were trembling, attempting to steady your hand in her soft and gentle touch.

"Of course. We see how hard you work for us, how much you care."

'We' really meant 'me', but she didn’t need to know that.

For maybe the teachers and your peers and the people of Jericho noticed, maybe they noticed her input and effort, maybe they saw her anger and fear, maybe they knew of her loneliness and betrayal, but you were the only one to say anything, you were the only one to give a shit.

You were the only one to do something about it.

༺♥༻

And do something you did.

February came around rather quickly, your peers making Valentines and 'Galenites' plans in front of your very eyes.

You didn't think much of this commercial holiday, but you knew that some dreaded the day, being surrounded by people who had someone who loved them. Or at least liked them.

And since you had no partner, no love, no like, and no real friends; you had no plans.

No plans until you willed yourself to make some.

You planned with more effort and care than you ever had in your life, pushed away your immense fear of rejection, and made a promise to her.

For when the day came, you would make sure she knew she was admired, and you would make sure she knew she was cared for, as she had done for Nevermore.

As she had done for you.

༺♥༻

That morning, you printed a photo from a recent outing, one in which you were standing next to her, your smile stretched from ear to ear, unlike any other photo you had ever taken.

You made your classmates sign the back as a kind gesture for the principal, hoping to make it look as though you were not the only one in on it.

During your lunch you basically ran into Jericho, to the flower shop and the Weathervane.

When school ended, you made your way to your dorm and grabbed her things.

Walking to her office with pride in your chest and butterflies in your stomach, you prayed that she would be there. Yet at the same time, you knew that she would be.

With bated breath you stared at the large wooden doors, closing your eyes and reaching out a hand.

Show her she's beautiful, show her that you care, show her that she's not alone, show her that you love her.

You knocked, and backed away.

The door opened with a creak as the principal gazed down at you.

She trailed her eyes over the items in your hands, a red gift bag and light pink roses, and a question rang in her head.

"Hello darling" she smiled, scrunching up her nose as she looked down at you with interest.

"Hi Principal Weems" you nervously stuttered.

She tilted her head in confusion, and then she understood.

"Those are beautiful roses you have there. I assume you want my help in their delivery, perhaps?"

Your heart fell as she peered down at you, eyes weary, lips pulled up at the corners with a soft grin that would let one believe she was alright, that she was fulfilled, that she was happy.

But, you knew better, it was her fake smile, her professional façade, her signature expression that screamed 'I am the headmistress and nobody can get to me'.

Show her that she's worthy.

You shook your head. "Um, no actually. They're for you."

You held the flowers out, watching as blue eyes landed on the roses being presented to her, mouth opening slowly in disbelief.

A hand reached out carefully, "For me?"

You nodded with a smile.

She took them and opened the door, moving a hand to your back to invite you in.

Placing the roses on her desk, she admired them as her head swam.

Was this a joke? Would she have to explain to you why she couldn't fancy you back? What was going on? Why? Could you really just be…innocent and sincere?

You could tell that her thoughts were going a mile per minute, so you stepped closer.

"I just wanted you to know how inspiring and cared for you are."

Her gaze quickly turned to you, eyebrows furrowing in attempt to understand, to believe.

Noticing her skepticism, you placed the gift bag onto her desk.

"We wanted to get you something to say thank you, that's all."

She reached for the bag and pulled out the framed photo, her eyebrows softening as she found students signatures and comments on the back, a special note from you.

She chewed at her bottom lip, and your heart swelled with joy at how beautiful she was.

Running a slender hand over the glass frame, she set it on her desk along with the roses.

Her eyes, filled with mirth, met yours as she reached into the bag and found a package of croissants from the Weathervane.

A grateful chuckle escaped her, and she placed a hand on her chest as she pouted.

You ran a hand through your hair nervously.

"I uh- I figured you had plans tonight, so I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from them. I just wanted to give these to you now, otherwise I probably wouldn't have at all."

The principal looked to the ceiling as a toothy smile puffed out her cheeks.

The lines in her skin became more defined when she smiled like that, and you longed to reach out and trail your fingers along her skin.

She was truly gorgeous, her smile was your lifeline.

You couldn't help but press your lips together into a small grin, desperately fighting the urge to burst at the seems.

She dropped the croissants onto her desk and opened her arms to you; you hesitated, looking up at her with what you hoped she would know was sincerity.

Her eyes watered and her lower lip trembled, and you let go, throwing yourself gently into the woman as you felt her long arms pull you against her warmth.

"Thank you, love, thank you" she whispered, sniffling into your hair.

You closed your eyes as you felt yourself tear up, and focused on the softness of her dress against you, her skin against yours, sighing as you finally felt comfort, finally felt care.

You were honestly proud of yourself. To see her happy, even if for a moment, to see her smile again, it was worth it, embracing your purpose.

She pulled away and wiped her eyes, looking down at the pink roses once more.

"I really appreciate you thinking of me darling, but I'm sure you want to get to your people."

You embarrassingly followed her gaze to the pink roses, rubbing your sweaty hands on your pants.

"I um, don't have any plans, or people. But I'll go, I'm sure you have somewhere to be."

Her gaze met yours in surprise, she tilted her head to the side in question.

"You don't have plans tonight?"

It was adorable when she did that, like a curious little puppy.

You shrugged, "No."

She pursed her lips into a lopsided smile, "Me neither."

Principal Weems wouldn't tell you how she really felt, for you knew her professionalism was of utmost importance. Her job, her image, her look, built up from the ground, her character exuded confidence and sophistication.

But occasionally, you had the ability, the privilege, to see through Principal Weems.

Sometimes when you looked deep enough into her eyes, into her soul, you found Larissa.

And Larissa, well she was someone you yearned to know.

She was someone you longed to touch.

She was someone you knew that you'd love.

And, you felt as if, right now, you could see a little bit of her, unwillingly yet necessarily crawling her way out after years of hiding, as she stared back at you with appreciation and tears.

Larissa had wished deeply that she would find someone with whom to make Valentine's plans, or maybe even just normal everyday plans.

But as the years went by, she lost hope.

And so, she stopped trying, she stopped caring, she stopped feeling worthy.

But, you came along, to her total surprise, with a kind and thoughtful gesture.

She scoffed on the inside, who would think of their principal on Valentines day?

Who would buy gifts for a lonely old woman?

Who would notice, who would care about her?

As she asked herself these questions, her brain ceased its fire, for she found the answers in your lingering gaze.

Her heart paused, or so it felt like it, when she realized that for the first time in a long time, someone could see right through her.

Someone could see her façade wear off, her failure to pick her heeled foot up, her rapidly dulling eyes and her loneliness.

Someone could see it, and that someone cared enough to do something about it.

And, as if you knew her brain suddenly filled with self doubt and panic, you summoned the courage to tell her exactly how you felt.

"I admire you very much, Principal Weems" you hesitated, "and Larissa. I hope I'm lucky enough to be as beautiful as you are one day, inside and out."

Someone thought she was beautiful, someone admired her.

Someone looked up to her.

Someone thought that she was worthy.

Someone had no plans for Valentine's, and she shivered at the thought of someone following in her footsteps, her unlucky streak of lonely and sorrow filled years.

Her heart ached as she thought about how someone felt just as she did.

For nobody had gotten to her before, nobody had attempted to get past the force that was Principal Weems; nobody had cared enough to find and to know Larissa.

Nobody like you.

"You know, I have Valentine's cookies that I was going to bake by myself."

Larissa chuckled at her embarrassing admittance.

"Would you like to bake them together?"

༺♥༻

[bobosbillionsknives]

(not shipping content)

It's one of my biggest headcanons ever that Vash does NOOOT like his birthday dude I just can't believe it...Knives however. Biggest birthday enjoyer ever. He is the special birthday boy. 🤗🤗🤗

Knives usually leaves Vash alone but Vash KNOWS Knives is going to make an effort to show up on their birthday and it stresses him out so bad. Especially if the July incident was on their birthday...that would leave horrible memories for him. 😭 Not to mention how painful remembering his first birthday with Rem would be. Plus Knives would act so bitchy about it like wooow dont even want to see your own brother on your birthday wow. I get it I'm just the worst ever ..🥀 Vash would be so over it.

I feel so strongly that Vash is the introvert while Knives is the extrovert. Knives self isolates out of fear and disgust of humans but he secretly thrives while talking to others. Especially if they have strong opinions he can argue against (definitely a debate bro). If Knives had a normal childhood he would've loved big crowds, he has absolutely no social awareness or shame . Or filter. He'd talk to anyone who'd listen. Knives drives himself absolutely insane with his own isolation. All he really wants is social connection, something he's convinced himself is impossible with humans. That's why he's so fixated on getting Vash to stay, he feels Vash is the only person he can actually talk to. Vash on the other hand, would do anything for 5 minutes alone. He is constantly pushing away Milly, Meryl, and even Wolfwood. He cannot let anyone know him beyond his silly guy persona. He especially doesn't like being celebrated (doesn't think he deserves it. 😂😂😂) He is constantly trying to skip out on the parties towns people throw for him, leaving without saying goodbye. (He does like getting drunk tho...makes talking easier) He'd never EVER share his birthday with anyone. Especially not Wolfwood or the girls. Knives however, would tell EVERYONE !!! (like how the entire Gung Ho Gun knew Knives had a brother, but Meryl had no idea Vash did. I think Knives loves talking about himself and his tragic past, painting himself as the forever victim to absolutely anyone who'd listen. To Vashes absolute horror 😭.) Vash is constantly drained from forcing himself to perform socially. He loves people and talking to them but he just needs like. 8 hours of alone time to properly function. That's why he gets so bitchy with everyone sometimes lol. She just needs a naaaaap omg 🤦‍♂️. But he feels guilty for being snippy and tired so he'll force himself to be social anyway. Which makes it worse. Love hiiim !!!! 😍 Either way they're both hurting themselves when they behave like this.

Knives is definitely the yapper while Vash just listens. I feel like Vash would appreciate not having that pressure to constantly respond. Even if Knives can be overbearing, I do think they enjoy each other's company. When they aren't... trying to murder each other. Nobody knows him like Knives does, it would almost be relieving not having to pretend to be happy all the time. He can perfectly morally justify being as mean to Knives as he wants to be !! And he wouldn't admit it, but he does enjoy listening to Knives complain about nothing. He thinks it's funny. Knives is just happy to be with someone he's deemed worthy of his time. He views Vash as his equal, someone he actually trusts to confide in. They are the opposite and also the same in every way life is so beautiful I love these guys.

It would also just be such a cute subversion of audience expectation if Knives, the self proclaimed people hater, was a people person. I think that's sooo interesting and makes so much sense with the context of his desperation for the approval of humans when he was a child. I think kid Knives would've tried to argue that celebrating something everyone goes through is pointless, but would love all the attention anyway. Even be a bit resentful that it was Vashes birthday too if he didn't seem to appreciate the attention as much. As he got older hed mellow out and warm up to the idea of having a birthday and sharing it. Mostly as an excuse to talk to Vash and make everything about himself again. Lol. Plus I think he likes organizing parties. His dream is to have that sweet 16 fantasy the humans in the old world used to have. He actually wants to be normal is the thing. They both do.

[hwnglx]

what is an idol?

= a (famous) person who one considers worthy of particular admiration, devotion, or imitation; a person one looks up to.

as a kpop idol in the public eye, there's a guaranteed audience of people, who look up to you. who look at you, and wanna imitate you, want to be just like you, take you as a rolemodel. the responsibility that comes with this audience, is oftentimes underrestimated. especially young and influencable people, are prone to seeing these idols as what they'd like to be like when they grow up, or the type of person they would like to be with when they grow up. a kpop idol displays a fantasy of the perfect person. however, as they themselves prove time and time again, that fantasy is nothing but an illusion. most of these men are just like any other korean man walking on the street, if not worse.

knowing that being an idol comes with these undeniable responsibilities, training for years on end in order to get to that place, just to fuck up in the worst way possible, literally turn out to be the most disgusting scum of the earth is dispicable. i saw all these fansites closing down, and it hurt my heart to know that there probably was a naive and passionate person sitting behind the screen, who put so much of their time, effort and love into this person who quite literally manipulated them. my heart hurt for the victims, and for his fans, who have absolutely no fault in believing he was who he pretended to be. do not blame them for it.

most of my requests consist of readings on boy groups. very often, i get requests that want me to read on these male idols in romantic scenarios. every time, it opens my eyes to how so many people want these men to be their prince charming on a white horse, how so many of them project their beautiful fantasies onto these.. simple men. these guys are not any better or any worse than the korean man you saw walking on the street a while ago. they aren't worthy of this amount of idolisation, yet they receive it, because they're basically in a continuous theatre, playing a role that isn't entirely representative of their true nature. it's a sad reality that has probably shattered many fans' hearts, and that's what truly makes me sad.

please, try not to get too attached to these men. it is not worth it. you guys' hearts are too precious, and it shouldn't be broken by some random ass dude who happened to have a nice voice and be decent looking, but is a piece of shit inside. you all are too valuable for that.

tumblr has one of the sweetest communities, and i'm serious when saying i genuinely love you all. please, stay safe and take of yourselves 🤍

i promise my inbox is always open and i will listen to everything, if you feel the need to let something out.

[raccoon-coded]

This is most likely the first time Rocket has ever experienced true happiness.

It's the first time he isn't shadowed by the torments of his past. 

He's no longer being hurt or belittled and no one's coming after him.

He faced his past head on and for the first time he has nothing to run from.

He's truly free.

For the first time he feels a genuine sense of self worth.

He doesn't have to prove himself to anyone; he's already done that and he's been accepted.

All he had to do to be valued was be himself.

He finally knows who he is and he's embracing it.

He has found true purpose in life as the leader of a group of former outcasts just like him fighting for the greater good of the galaxy.

He's not just fighting for himself anymore. 

He's not just fighting for those he cares about. 

He's now fighting for a universe he believes is worth protecting.

He's no longer angry at the world.

He's finally letting go of fear and hate and is allowing love into his life.

He's dancing. He's hollering. He's happy.

It's bittersweet yes, because the family he has made for himself, the ones he loves, are going their separate ways, but that's okay because he knows they're not abandoning him, just going in different directions.

He'll be in contact with most of them, and there's hope that the others will find their way back some day, some how, even if they are living different lives now.

They still love him. 

For the first time in a long time he knows he is truly loved.

For the first time he feels worthy of that love.

And he isn't pushing it away anymore.

He isn't alone.

He has made peace with his past, he's embracing the moment, and he's looking forward to his future.

To me, that's the most beautiful thing imaginable. 

[bluemoonscape]

Ivan & Till: When One Character's Inferiority Complex Meets Another's Superiority Complex

Heavily based on this post by @pwippy

To outline what's already been said in this post about Till's apparent tendency to view himself as "superior" to his peers: There's often a mindset that those who lack companionship will adopt to protect themselves from the idea that can come with loneliness that there's something wrong with them. This idea is best summed up as "I'm alone because I'm different. I'm better than them."

Till seems to have adopted this mindset. We know based on the ALNST comics with the Ivan and Till "Cheer up!" scene that Till is lonely. He has no friends. And when Ivan bluntly points this out to Till, Till lashes out hard, hitting Ivan and knocking him to the ground before storming away. Ivan's observation got to him. It did what Ivan is always trying to do; it got a rise out of him.

To protect himself from fear (the fear that he only made it through Urak's experiments by chance, by sheer luck and not because he's better) and rejection (rejection from his peers, from Mizi, even an entire audience) Till has to convince himself in his head that there's a reason for all this. He's better off alone. He doesn't need anyone. Even Mizi, who he adores and admires, is kept at a distance. Till is never once upfront about his feelings. He can't take that sort of rejection, ESPECIALLY not from Mizi. He eliminates the chance of rejection altogether by simply watching her from afar rather than approaching her and really trying to be her friend.

(Look at his cute little face I'm going to cry)

Even a crowd Till acts like he doesn't care about? Like he doesn't care what they think, like he's beyond caring? In Round 2, he didn't even give them a chance to reject him. He made sure they couldn't. He didn't even let his opponent sing.

Ivan, on the other hand, doesn't seem all that concerned about rejection. Unlike Till's fear with Mizi, Ivan is all over Till and isn't deterred when Till reacts to his teasing with irritation. This doesn't mean Ivan isn't hurt by Till's rejections, specifically Till's last-minute decision not to run away with him, but this does mean Ivan is okay with being hurt again, and again, and again as long as he gets to be around Till.

Ivan's complete lack of care about his own mental state is the result of an inferiority complex. Ivan has absolutely no regard for his own wellbeing. He only cares about Till yet doesn't truly believe he's worthy of Till. I always find it interesting (and refreshing) that Ivan isn't jealous of Till's crush for capturing his attention. In fact, Ivan doesn't ever show signs of resenting Mizi at all. He treats her kindly and doesn't fixate on her in an unhealthy, envious way. They're friends despite the object of Ivan's affection being captivated by Mizi. While I love their dynamic and find it nice that Ivan isn't jealous of Mizi, jealousy is a natural human emotion, and Ivan's lack of it really tells me how little he thinks of himself. Why would he be jealous if he doesn't have a chance with Till in the first place? He'll content himself with existing in his orbit, thinking even this little piece of his attention is more than he deserves.

Like Till, Ivan doesn't open himself up to the chance of connection with other children at Anakt Garden, although their reasons seem inherently different. While Till fears rejection, Ivan doesn't seem to even see a point. Till asks himself "What's the point?" in an attempt to convince himself he doesn't need friends, though he doesn't believe it. Ivan asks himself the same question and genuinely doesn't know the answer. No, Ivan is not invincible to being hurt or rejected. Maybe he's past fearing any such thing at a certain point because nobody knows who he really is anyway, not even Ivan himself. How can he be afraid of someone hurting him if they can't touch him? The one time he expresses himself genuinely with Till, he knows that he won't have to deal with the consequences. He won't have to deal with the hurt that comes with being open again.

Having such radically different views of themselves, their relationships with others, and the world around them, it's no wonder Till and Ivan lack communication and understanding. As individuals, they have deeply complex psyches; Till keeps pushing people away, and Ivan keeps letting himself be pushed and then coming back around even though he already knows the result. He just doesn't see worth in anything in his life that isn't Till and this cycle. They both long for connection but don't know how to reach it. For them to come to an understanding, Ivan has to recognize his own worth (something Till uses as a defense mechanism) and Till has to open himself up to hurt (something Ivan does to an unhealthy degree).

They're identically opposite.

[badchoicesworld]

Heyyyy I really love ur writing! And also kind of ur vibe as a person 😳 but anyway!

Since you said we can be specific, I wanted to ask about Hobie getting a just a little bit flustered when receiving genuine heartfelt compliments and affection through words bc it catches him off guard. He'd also find the reader a bit naive at first only to find out that they're actually incredibly cunning and calculated. They just come across as naive bc they're so ridiculously sweet once they trust someone :3 (and it always looks like they trust quickly bc they have insane psychoanalytic abilities but now I'm rambling;;; (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)! )

Hope this isn't too much ^^"

hobie realises you’re not as naive as he thought

hobie brown x gn!reader

omggg 😳 tyy anonnnn you got me blushing n shit 🤭 but no fr, ty that’s so sweet lmao <33 and no, this was perfect, ily

warnings: none

pairing: hobie brown x gn!reader

requests: masterlist plz

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

on first inspection, to hobie, you appear to be this person that trusts way too easily and immediately treats people way too kind for a person you just met- you seem clueless and completely naive when it comes to putting your trust in others since you’re so quick to do it

hobie doesn’t think it’s a bad trait at all to be inherently kind, but when you’re kind to literally everyone you immediately deem trustworthy, it’s like you’re looking to get hurt

he might occasionally have one of his rants to you about the ins and outs of the “real world”, propaganda that surrounds you, distracting you from the truth, the sharks at the top of it all, the people that would take advantage of you

there’s no ill intent, he just really thinks you’re gonna get hurt like that

and who wants that ?

so yeah, anyway, when he first meets you, he can basically see the switch once you’ve realised he’s trust worthy

you’re the sweetest person ever without prompt, and it admittedly looks like nativity to him at first

but because you now trust him, it means you’ll be a sweetheart to him

at first, it’s small compliments that he can appreciate- maybe something about his style or rebellious attitude that he’s heard all before

but you suddenly amp it up for no reason one day and it just completely turns the tides

if you’re aware of his secret identity, you change his perception of you completely when you basically soul read him

you manage to craft the most heartfelt, genuine, sincere acknowledgement of the sacrifices he’s made, along with genuine thanks and somehow stating the closest interpretation of his emotions that he’s ever heard before. from someone that isn’t him, anyway

hell, you’ve maybe even just helped him realise a few things about himself

he’s fucking gobsmacked

he stares at you as if you’ve just said the most outrageous but enlightening thing ever to be uttered

slack jawed, eyes wide, completely silenced for a solid while

he’s eventually able to process wtf you just said to him, and now he’s just trying to play it off with a really goofy grin that doesn’t hide he’s flustered

hobie’s doing all sorts with his hands to try distract the both of you- gestures while he tried to defend the little of his pride he has left, holding the back of his neck, maybe nudging you or shaking your whole frame

he gets the faintest idea that you might be just a little less naive than he though, but not entirely

that might have just been a lucky guess, after all

you’re definitely smarter in his eyes, though

depending on your status, if you’re a spider-person, from a different dimension, from his dimension- it doesn’t matter, he’s intrigued by you now

might brag a bit or be like “can you believe this?” when he sees you soul reading someone else

now there’s been multiple times throughout your guys’ friendship where you manage to slap him with some ungodly wisdom relating to him out of absolutely nowhere, and it never fails to catch him off guard

of course, hobie’s effortlessly cool, so being caught off guard is gonna keep making him feel a little vulnerable and flustered

especially when you just casually do one of the most in depth psychoanalysis of him ever for like the third time this week

he’s starting to think that you know something the rest of the multiverse doesn’t, how do you do that ?

“alright, alright! allow it, man, allow it.”

he’s laughing, but he’s also questioning where you stand in the world, are you secret intelligence ? tf is goin on

if you weaponise this ability to read people like an open book, then he can have fun with it

now it’s funny

especially if you guys are spider-people together and he just casually points out a villain you’ve been assigned to, with a look that says “ruin them”

this can also happen to random people on the street

it’s like how he can completely destroy peoples perception and faith in the establishment n all that, if you so choose, you can really make people feel seen or completely vulnerable or called out

after these encounters with bad people, he realises something about you

you’re somehow able to just know who to trust, and your guts never wrong

he wonders if it’s your spider-sense at first, if you have that

now he’s starting to piece everything together

you can easily distinguish between the good and bad people- the good you immediately trust and treat like an old friend

the bad, you never give the time of day

you’re always so quick to trust, and naive

but it’s starting to become clear to hobie that this isn’t nativity, you just have an uncanny ability to know people before they even introduce themselves

it’s kind of reassuring in a way, if he’s ever doubtful about someone, he’ll go to you and be like “thoughts?” then you can relay this insanely detailed psychoanalysis of this person you’ve just met

now he sees you as this incredibly insightful person, a lovely individual who has the potential to ruin lives with your insane ability to call people out

bonus:

if you guys are spider-people together, you’re both pretty well known for running your mouths

you instil fear

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

as always, lemme know if this ate or not and i’ll try my best to fix it !

[sssarrrra]

Dostoevsky's origin story: the first time he didn't die, and the Demon was born

Imagine Fyodor Dostoevsky, young and alone. He is religious. He's faith is his light, he uses it as a compass to navigate through the everyday uncertainty. There are no adults to tell him what's right or wrong. Even if they do, their judgment is tampered with selfish cruelty.

Every so often, Fyodor wonders what makes him so different from other kids. Why is everything that he does is met with cold disdain? Even if he mimics other kids' behavior, adults still see him as a threat. Dostoevsky can't remember doing anything so irreparable that could upset them. But no matter how he tries, the only response to his efforts is disgust.

Maybe, he isn't meant to be loved. At least, right now.

If the family isn't ready to accept him, Fyodor starts looking for the meaning elsewhere. The bible clearly says to honor your parents. But how can he do that if they're so uncaring? Unless this is how it should be, and it's all God's plan.

The older Fyodor grows, the more he forces himself to look past his limited sensations, experiences, feelings. There must be more to the bruises, scars, aches in the stomach, cold sleepless nights. They're all a part of something he has to discover with his mind.

A meaning. He'll grasp it with his bloody fingertips and hold it until they finally feel warm. Until pain in his body will bother him no more.

Eventually, Dostoevsky realizes: it's all part of a trial.

The holy book was right about his parents. He has to respect them for all the efforts they've put in to teach him about pain. They relentlessly test Fyodor's resolve, strengthening his belief in God. They prepare him to become one of his most righteous servants.

This realization helps Dostoevsky cope with everyday struggles. Abuse paired with neglect becomes less painful, when he sees them as a part of a training. They're just shaping him to become better: less attached to his body, no more worried about his earthly life.

When Fyodor finally departs from home, he believes that he knows what God has for him in store. A painful life on earth as a path to Heaven. But still, he sometimes catches himself praying for better days, even knowing, he shouldn't selfishly desire them.

But that's alright. Because Heaven exists. One day, Dostoevsky will be there. He should be grateful for his place in Paradise, the one that's been promised to Fyodor through the suffering God has bestowed.

The only thing is left is to wait for a signal of departure. A moment, when God will call for him, and he'll gladly place his life on the altar.

And then this time comes.

Dostoevsky never forced himself to be careful about who or how he confronted. He was almost curious about which sinner would be the one to lead him to the martyrdom.

Fyodor lived from one plan to another, taking a corrupt society apart, making sure no sin would ever be overlooked or forgotten. He even forced himself not to fear skill users. They were demons all the same, albeit their abilities were quite flashy.

Dostoevsky occasionally wondered what would it feel like to have one of their powers? Maybe, he could enact a bigger change. But he tried to erase thoughts like that. His body, even at its weakest, was still made in God's image. He shouldn't wish any changes or distortions upon this form. Unless, he wanted to be cursed and abandoned by God.

Eventually, Dostoevsky picks an opponent who he can't defeat. He knows it, but the fight is still worthy of risk. He tries his hardest, but that's still not enough.

When a dagger is plunged into his heart, Dostoevsky locks eyes with the enemy and realizes: they're terrified. He almost smiles. His body will die, but the words he has said will hunt them forever, until the end of their days.

Fyodor's chest hurts unbearably, but that's a satisfying finale. His body is screaming its goodbye, but his soul feels lighter. Soon, pain won't be able to claw itself into his flesh. He's waited for it for many years. He's prepared. Is it happiness?

Despite that, part of Fyodor wishes he could stay alive longer, so he could continue his servitude to God. It's a sinful thought. If this moment is meant to be his last, he should comply.

There is so much more to a soul than a life on Earth. The endless beauty of light, the vast landscapes of paradise. Fyodor is ready to see them with his own eyes.

There is so much he'll never miss about his existence. All of his emotions: fear, desperation, grief. They're all soon be gone, caged in his dying body, away from his mind. God will take Fyodor's soul back. It will finally experience the touch of its creator. He will never be alone again. Soon Dostoevsky will be engulfed by a warm wave, leading him away from this reality. Fyodor welcomes a warm embrace of God, a being whose love is bigger than the Universe. He is ready to meet him.

But then He doesn't die. He opens his eyes in another person's body. He survived.

Fyodor almost feels relief, and is disgusted with himself for it. Does he really treasure his life more than heaven? Pathetic.

Dostoevsky lives on. He's forced to stay alive. He doesn't know what to think. Everything seems unreal.

A prolonged life. A second chance. For anyone else, this would be wonderful. A blessing. For him, it turns out to be a tragedy. An ultimate rejection.

Throughout his life, Fyodor was told so many times that he was “strange”, “not human”, “not like others”. But God wouldn't abandon him, right? That's what he believed in.

Now, looking at his new, freshly restored body, Fyodor started to wonder: what if he was the one who was wrong all this time? What if God didn't see him as a human at all? Even Judas died. But he could not.

Why couldn't he see heaven after working so hard to get there? Did he do something so terrible, even death couldn't accept him after that?

Dostoevsky spiraled deep into his mind, obsessively dissecting every bit of his identity. Which part of Fyodor was the one that doomed him to hell, to this earthly suffering forever?

There was only one answer. His special ability.

When Fyodor used to envision his path to Heaven, he calculated everything, except for that. He was simply unaware of being a skill user himself.

It was the most distinguishing element of his existence. The one that couldn't be overlooked easily. It was probably what others thought too, even without realizing it consciously.

“Crime and punishment”, this is how Fyodor decided to call that. It was so inherently inhuman it made others fear him, hate him, hurt him. They sensed that something was deeply wrong with him since he was a kid, even without knowing about his special ability.

This is why they pushed Fyodor away, even when he tried to help. This is why no matter how hard he studied the Bible, he was only a mere “Demon” in their eyes.

And they were right.

Dostoevsky's ability was a truly heretical curse. It dared to define God's plan and distort the time of death that was given to Fyodor by his Creator.

"Crime and punishment ". Like a ticking bomb with a set timer, like a festering wound ready to overflow with rot, it was always inside him, all along. It slept inside the body like a parasite. It curled around his heart like a snake, waiting for it's chance to poison his soul and cast him away from heaven.

Maybe, Dostoevsky always knew it too. That nothing he ever did was good. That's why he's so desperately sought God everywhere. As if trying to ask for forgiveness beforehand.

But could God ever give him that?

Fyodor's “gift” was with him since the moment he was born.

Did it mean that Fyodor had been the “worst sinner who ever lived”? Was he marked as such during the very first second of his life?

Yes, it was probably that.

Everything about Fyodor, even his thinking and breathing, was repulsive. It was a crime. A sin. A disgrace, truly. And staying alive was the punishment he didn't dare to define.

And there was the only way out.

If he's already the greatest sinner, he has to become the greatest martyr, the one who'll make a sacrifice like no others.

Maybe, Fyodor will finally earn the God's forgiveness. God will gift him death, the one that'll reunite him with humanity.

But purifying his own soul won't be enough. God won't forgive him for such a small miracle. His life is barely worth anything. It won't change reality, if he just throws it away and allows his body to perish. He needs more than this to make a change.

What if he purifies all sins? If his ability is the one that's made him evil, made him unworthy of forgiveness, he needs to clear world of all special skills.

It's his responsibility.

It's the only way Fyodor can be forgiven for existing.

If he tries hard enough, God will let him go to heaven.

Dostoevsky will die, and then he'll be finally good enough to stay dead. Forever.

[offtorivendell]

On Elain, Gwyn and their apparent romantic worthiness.

TW: mentions of death, violent or sexual assault, infertility and pregnancy/childbirth related trauma. Please do not proceed if these topics bother you.

Disclaimer: please, please engage with this post with kindness. I promise I am not writing it to stir the pot, but because I - and many others - are fed up with seeing hurtful and harmful rhetoric spewed by the fandom, yet having no back up when dealing with it. Word vomit incoming, I'm sorry. This has been bothering me for a while.

My love to everyone who has been hurt by things they've read in this fandom. 💜

It's 2024 and I cannot believe we are still seeing posts, almost daily, about both of these women; all giving reasons why they cannot possibly be with Azriel. And I don't mean the debatable but utterly harmless discussions about Elain not looking good in black or Gwyn blabbing to Merrill when asked not to. Whatever, go nuts. I mean the truly horrific takes based around things these two women have had no control.

Now, my post history makes it very obvious where I stand in terms of ships, and yes, I'm well aware I've spoken before about the inherent power imbalance - that I perceive - which would exist if Azriel ever became involved with any of the priestesses in the women's shelter he is charged with protecting (to be clear, that's not me suggesting that Gwyn and her story isn't powerful, or powerful representation to those who see themselves in her, nor is it personal to Gwyn, or indicative of any of the sheltered priestesses and their ability to heal; it's purely a function of Azriel's position of authority over their sanctuary). I want to reiterate that my stating my feelings about this was never done with the intent to shame people who do ship them; we all ship who we like, and real world ethics should rarely come into it.

That being said, the following, in my opinion, is one of those times.

Firstly, I just want to say that lived experience informs how we interpret fiction, so please let me clarify something: the people who have said that they don't think Gwyn is ready for a relationship yet, and that NSFW fan art of her with anyone makes them uncomfortable, are not in any way in the wrong. They're simply the other side of the coin to those who find it empowering, and both are valid responses, often related to personal trauma. The problem lies with those very few who say that Gwyn could never have a romantic relationship, and call those who talk and/or post about it "gross." Some have called her "damaged goods." This is absolutely wrong and whoever is doing it needs to stop.

The entire fandom, even those who find romantic or NSFW content involving Gwyn uncomfortable to consume, frequently acknowledges that her trauma doesn't define her, and of course she should be able to enjoy love whenever she feels ready for it. Those who say otherwise are readily condemned from all corners. I've seen it happen and called the people out myself, as have many other Elriel shippers when necessary. However, Elriels are still very regularly and very publicly blamed for the actions of a few (some of whom I truly believe are burner accounts wanting to cause chaos, with their Elriel themed usernames and no post history), despite our largely collective action to call them out when we see it.

Could we do better? Absolutely, but so can you!

Because, on the other hand, I've noticed that, whenever I or others have tried to explain why the pliable bones "theory" - which attempts to reason that Elain could never be endgame with Azriel, as she and any baby would die during the course of pregnancy or childbirth - is equally as harmful, we are met with people publicly and wholeheartedly refusing to understand why (especially recently). Some horrific comments have been made to my friends, not to mention all of those I see well after the fact, which are never widely condemned by any but us. People will argue back that we're wrong, and have even suggested we're weaponising infertility! On Mothers' Day, of all the fucking painful days to say that.

Some of the push back I've seen recently includes:

"Nobody has said Elain is infertile."

No, nobody has, and that's not what we're saying or have ever said. We know you don't think this, as the Elucien fandom loves to write and draw Elain and Lucien's hypothetical future children (which is super understandable, as this is a romantasy fandom after all - no shame, enjoy your warm fuzzies).

What we are saying is that, if it's true that Elain's anatomy wasn't changed as Feyre and Nesta's was - and to be clear I cannot stand that entire plot, I wish SJM had chosen literally any other reason why Feyre's pregnancy was dangerous, as it is simultaneously degrading and doesn't fit with her previously established lore - then Elain and Azriel, together^, would be functionally infertile. Yet it's only ever framed as Elain's body not being able to work with Azriel's, never the other way around.*

^Why didn't the bat boys have to sacrifice their wings to keep their wives/mates safe? Why did the women have to change their anatomy? Because it would make it harder for them to be all powerful? Well Nesta sacrificed her powers! Why not just have Feyre be cursed by an enemy or something, and Nesta found a way to use the Dread Trove to save them all. Ugh. I love SJM's books, but this was such a miss.

*HOSAB/HOFAS SPOILER: funnily enough, this was never said about Ruhn and his eventual mate, even though he actually did think he may be unable to father children, thanks to the Oracle's prophecy. People shipped the hell out of him and a couple of different women throughout the CC series, despite the chance he could never get them pregnant.

"People haven't called Elain damaged goods, so it's not the same. We're allowed to not like her."

My faerie porn* lover in christ, what the fuck do you think the pliable bones "theory" is actually doing? It is suggesting that Elain's hypothetical inability to survive having children with Azriel, and for those children to also survive childbirth, is impaired. Ergo, she's damaged.

We don't care if you don't like Elain, we're allowed to have different preferences in characters and ships. That has never been the problem.

*I use this term with affection as a great lover of the genre.

But "damaged" vs a functionally "impaired" uterus? It's the same damn thing, and sorry, it's misogynistic af, not to mention ableist and homophobic at a minimum. In the same breath you are also reducing your favourite to her apparently functional uterus (even though the pliable bones argument is medically inaccurate, by the way - this is really damning of the state of health education across so many countries).

"Hahaha/lol."

Yes, I have seen people laugh and treat this as a joke. As recently as tonight, in fact. It's disgusting.

Regardless of your lived experiences and shipping preferences, both of these takes about Elain and Gwyn are equally degrading and horrific and need to stop, but if you're only calling out the comments that hurt you/your friends/your ship and not the others, then you should maybe attempt some basic self reflection and analyse those double standards you're carrying.

This entire fandom needs to do better. I'll say again, for the umpteenth time, to any of my fellow Elriels that if you think mocking Gwyn's past is funny, then you're not mature enough to read an adult series. But this works both ways, and if you think mocking infertility is funny/use it as a win, then you're just as immature. I would really and truly appreciate it if we were not left alone to argue over and over again why discriminating against someone who couldn't "have a man's children" is wrong, and why many, many people in this adult fandom - that is largely comprised of women! - might find such a theory, and the resulting discourse, incredibly upsetting.

Infertility hurts; not having a kid when you want one can be viscerally painful. Besides that, I know very few people who have given birth who don't carry around some sort of emotional or physical trauma from doing so. Treating a character's hypothetical infertility with one man as a joke is gross.

Please don't call Gwyn "damaged goods" or suggest that Azriel would choose somebody else over Elain because she couldn't have his kids.

They are the same thing.

It's not hard to be kind. Pain is not a competition.

We should all do better, and take care of each other.

[my-mt-heart]

Why Explicit Caryl Canon Matters

Daryl and Carol (Caryl) fans make up a large portion of the spinoff's audience, and this audience wholeheartedly believes that Daryl and Carol are each other's only choice. It's in the writing. It's also reinforced by cast, crew, and EPs. For example, Norman has repeatedly said “If Daryl falls in love, it's forever."

There's a misconception that Carylers are a bunch of hysterical saps – fans who only want their ship "fucking under the stars" and only care about Daryl because of Carol, but that’s not true. In reality, Caryl fans are the deepest, most intuitive thinkers in the TWD community. To them, story matters. While they recognize and adore all of the subtext, they understand that it's supposed to lead to something worth the 13-year wait. They're expecting that major sense of relief and joy from watching explicit, undeniable, canon.

Explicit canon respects Carol's and Daryl's character development – individually and together. They started out way behind everybody else in life, convinced they weren't worthy of love. Daryl thought he was better off alone and Carol thought she was just a burden, but then they showed each other their true potential. Carol told Daryl he was a "man of honor" and Daryl taught Carol to have hope for a better future. They've struggled and suffered and strived to be good enough for each other. So, where's the payoff?

I understand not all fans want the same things, and maybe there's pressure to “keep everyone happy." Maybe it feels like a lose-lose situation. But from a marketing perspective, Caryl fans are a very reliable source of revenue for the show, so keeping them happy secures a reliable audience for future seasons of the show. They'll show up with their wallets out and their enthusiasm turned all the way up for Norman's and Melissa's nuanced performances. They'll create more fanart and other content. They'll make the show trend on Twitter constantly. Fans already adore Norman and Melissa, but explicit canon will amplify it further whereas keeping things ambiguous will cause a significant decline in viewership.

Ambiguity is the reason that the "I love you" scene in the flagship's finale got mixed reactions. For the fans who also struggle with their self-image, it was important to see Daryl and Carol overcome their own insecurities and finally "take whatever happiness they could get." But instead, many saw Carol's lighthearted "I love you too" and Daryl's departure as if they were both forfeiting what they always wanted. Daryl was submitting to his solitary nature again while Carol assumed she still owed a debt to her community and Daryl would be happier without her anyway. Both of them deserved a happy ending, or at least a piece of happiness to launch them into the next part of their journey. As far as many fans were concerned, neither of them got that.

That's why a lot of fans had a hard time watching S1 of the spinoff or opted out of watching all together. There were so many moments that teased the "possibility" of Daryl getting together with a younger, blonder woman nun while hints of Caryl's relationship were buried under more subtext. Keeping Daryl's feelings ambiguous just for the "fun" of shipbaiting cheapens Caryl's one-of-a-kind relationship, falsely indicating that their iconic beats can be recycled with someone else and still evoke the same passionate response from fans.

Ambiguity also perpetuates ageism and gives non-Caryl fans the excuse to say hurtful things to or about Melissa. Whether or not she's online to see it makes no difference because it still degrades her and it damages other women's perceptions of beauty and worth. Explicit canon on the other hand raises both Melissa and Norman up as two powerhouse actors utilizing their unparalleled chemistry to celebrate mature romances. It brings Daryl’s defining character traits to the forefront – the nurturing traits and the epic ones. It positions Daryl and Carol as equals, and it helps drown out the harmful comments against Melissa. 

Hopes for season 2 of the spinoff are high. Confirmation of Carol's and Daryl's romantic relationship in a way that needs no interpretation and no explanation from anyone offscreen is a dealbreaker. I know in terms of explicit canon, post-production can make all the difference, so it's crucial someone in a position of power pushes for canon that fully and unapologetically lives up to the fans' expectations, does right by the characters, and respects what Melissa wants.