#references too and I makes me want to read them

[hopegrasping]

Hii a lot of you seem to not get what I mean by this. I'm not saying shitty looking diy are bad. And the ppl making your clothes in the first place that I'm referring to is. Sweat Shop Labor. And while I wasn't As Specific As I Could Possibly Be, I'm kind of shocked none of y'all got this. Harsh reality is, a lot of us Are buying fast fashion pieces at least a few times a year,, ESPECIALLY those of us who are beginners bc !!! Most beginners Don't have the community and resources needed to diy or ask a neighbor. Most of my time avoiding fast fashion has been me spending HOURS of my time thrifting for Years. Bc I was Scared to Look Even More Raggedy than I Already Was. This wasn't caring about fitting in or even about what other people thought. Where I grew up it was either Look Alright (which ie. for me meant Don't Be Symptomatic Of Your Circumstances. It's a pretty backwards bullshit rule ik, too bad we share a world with all the stereotypical assholes you see in the movies. hardly any exaggeration to their cruelty if you haven't already experienced it first hand, like those examples are Barely fictional most times if at all) or... Get Fucked. And that's the case for A Lot of people. Part of being alternative requires the critical thinking to at least be aware of that.

A lot of you have really gotta take a step back when interacting with posts that are in ur community tags. We are neighbors. You are preaching to a choir and accusing your missionaries of blasphemy. Some posts are for beginners who are still scared to "look bad" bc Outside Of Very Specific Online Spaces, regardless of how nice the people YOU know, a lot of us are actually still being ridiculed and shat on for posting our diys. Have you ever been on tt? It's NOT pretty. Ppl eat beginners Alive if they post outside of designated community tags.

So no, it's not bad for diys to look like shit. We as a community literally like that here. But *DIY* will not *INHERENTLY* look *SHIT*. With the exception of people with disabilities that literally prevent them from doing so (and that's Not *All* disabled people btw, you know your limitations better than anyone else fr), most people WILL get better over time. This post is for the people who needed a reason to keep going, not for u to tell me things looking like shit is fine actually SOME PEOPLE DISAGREE! And it's important that we acknowledge that we live in a world of shitheads AND that some people just. Have Preferences.

The idea that diy looks like shit 100% of the time isn't what we need. Diy is For Everyone and that means we need to include ppl who aren't even in our circles. And in order to do that we do need to be encouraging towards people who Actively Want To Learn This Skill.

Everybody likes talking community and how we can all play our part but sometimes I feel like we really hold each other back when it comes to really learning skills beyond the bare bones basics. You want a community sewist? They need to know from the start that they can do a good job even if it'll take some time. Because if they feel like, and read this literally, every last one of their diy projects is going to turn out Shit.. they're Not going to feel comfortable offering their services to anyone. I Know it took a lot for most of us to get comfortable with looking grungy, or maybe it didn't and you've always liked the messy imperfect look. Some people are literally different than you and need a little friendly support pleaseeee stop assuming the worst from people it's Really annoying.

Let go of the idea that diy will inherently look shit. All your clothes are handmade you just don't see the people doing it.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Beautiful Stranger

(7) I Think it's Finally Safe for Me to Fall

Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentine's Day needs to be special, but what could be more special than your baby girl being born?

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: Pregnancy-related body image insecurity, crying/emotional vulnerability, mention of past relationship neglect, mild romantic/affectionate intimacy, mentions of postpartum exhaustion, light reference to past emotional stress, implied estranged parental relationship, general parenting and newborn care struggles

A/N: These two hold such a special place in my heart and this is where I knew the end of this story would be since I thought of the idea. I'm glad it's finally completed and thank you all for being patient with this series.

February 14th, 2024

Your alarm went off before the sun even thought about rising, but you were already awake, too excited to sleep. This wasn’t just any day—it was your first real Valentine’s Day with Wanda. Not just your first with her, but your first ever with someone who loved you back. Someone who made you feel safe, adored, and wanted. You were determined to make it perfect.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda’s forehead before tiptoeing out of the room.

The boys were still groggy when you woke them up, but when you whispered, “It’s Valentine’s Day, and we’re surprising Mommy,” they both lit up instantly.

Bundled in jackets and fuzzy slippers, the three of you made a chilly early-morning run to the local florist. Billy picked a bouquet of red and pink tulips. Tommy, predictably chaotic, grabbed a bunch of mixed wildflowers and then added a single sunflower "because Mommy’s smile is sunny." You added a dozen classic red roses to the mix and snagged some baby’s breath to tie everything together.

Once home, you ushered the boys into the kitchen and set to work on breakfast. Billy was your fruit expert, carefully slicing strawberries and bananas (with close supervision), while Tommy took charge of arranging toast into the shape of hearts—he insisted. You whipped up heart-shaped pancakes, eggs, and bacon, sneaking chocolate chips into some of the pancakes just because you knew Wanda had a sweet tooth.

“Okay, final touch,” you said, wiping your hands and glancing at the clock. “Cards.”

You’d been working on yours for days—handwritten and heartfelt, folded neatly with a pressed flower tucked inside. Billy and Tommy had each made one too. Billy’s was covered in glitter and stickers, with “I love you Mommy” written in marker across the front. Tommy’s was... abstract, but full of love, with a popsicle stick flower taped inside and a big crayon heart.

With breakfast arranged perfectly on a tray, the three of you tiptoed down the hallway.

“Okay, ready?” you whispered, balancing the tray while the boys clutched their cards and flowers. They nodded eagerly.

You nudged the door open gently. Wanda stirred under the covers, eyes fluttering open as sunlight peeked through the curtains.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy!” the boys yelled in unison, bounding onto the bed.

Wanda blinked in surprise, a sleepy but radiant smile blooming on her face as she sat up. “Oh my goodness... what’s all this?”

You stepped forward, offering the tray with a grin. “Your very cheesy, very in-love girlfriend and her two partners in crime made you breakfast in bed.”

Billy thrust his card into her hands. “I made you this! Look! That’s me, and you, and Daddy, and Tommy. And those are hearts, not potatoes.”

Tommy handed over his popsicle-stick masterpiece proudly. “Mine’s got glue still drying, but I made you a flower that won’t die.”

Wanda chuckled, eyes misty as she looked from the boys to you. You handed her your card last, feeling oddly shy despite everything. She opened it slowly, her smile softening as she read your words.

“I love it,” she whispered, pulling you in for a kiss over the tray. “I love all of this. I love you.”

The boys cheered dramatically and rolled around on the bed, already eyeing the leftover strawberries on the breakfast tray. After a few bites and lots of syrup-covered fingers, they scrambled off the bed with their cards in hand, off to build something with Legos or stage a stuffed animal battle—who knew with them.

That left you and Wanda alone in the soft morning quiet. You took the tray from her lap and set it aside on the nightstand before crawling back into bed, pulling the blankets over both of you.

You were just about to make a teasing comment about her bedhead when you noticed the way she was looking down at the cards again, her fingers brushing gently over the glitter, the popsicle stick flower, your folded note.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting up a bit. “Are you okay?”

Wanda nodded, but her lip trembled, and then a tear rolled down her cheek.

Your stomach dropped. “Did I—did I do something wrong?” you asked, voice low, worried you’d overstepped somehow. “Wanda, if this was too much—”

“No,” she whispered quickly, shaking her head. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t mess up at all.”

You waited, watching as she blinked more tears away and gave you a watery smile.

“It’s just...” She looked down at the cards again, clutching them to her chest for a moment. “Vision never did anything like this. Not once. He was kind, and he cared, but he didn’t... he didn’t think about things like this. About making me feel seen. Or cherished. He didn’t wake up early to buy flowers with the boys. He didn’t teach them how to crack eggs for pancakes or make space for messy glue hearts.”

She looked up at you again, eyes glassy and so full of something vulnerable it made your own heart ache.

“You did all of that. Without me having to ask. Just because you love me.”

You swallowed hard, your own eyes starting to sting.

“Of course I love you,” you whispered, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek with your thumb. “You deserve to be celebrated, Wanda. Every day. Not just on Valentine’s.”

She leaned into your hand, then pulled you in for a long, quiet hug, burying her face in your neck. You held her tightly, running your hand slowly up and down her back.

“Thank you for loving me like this,” she murmured into your skin.

You kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for letting me.”

Outside the bedroom, the boys were already arguing over whose Switch controller was whose. But in here, wrapped up in the warmth of Wanda’s arms and soft morning light, everything felt still. Sacred. Safe.

And more than anything else—real.

Valentine’s Evening, February 14th, 2024

The rest of the day passed in a cozy blur—sticky chocolate fingers, the rustle of tissue paper, and quiet laughter from every corner of your little home. But as the sun dipped low, casting amber across the floors, you leaned in close to Wanda where she was curled up on the couch, kissed her temple, and whispered, “Go get ready, sweet girl. Your dinner reservation is at seven.”

She blinked up at you, startled. “You made a reservation?”

You nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Of course I did. It’s our first Valentine’s Day, beautiful. You didn’t think I’d let the night pass without spoiling my best girl, did you?”

A shy smile pulled at her lips, but her hand instinctively went to her belly—round and heavy now. “I don’t even know if I can get ready,” she murmured. “Everything’s tight or itchy or makes me feel like a walking balloon.”

You dropped to one knee beside her, your palms resting gently on her stomach. “Darling,” you whispered, kissing the curve where your daughter had just kicked. “You’ve never looked more radiant. You’ve made a whole human in there. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath hitched. “You always know just what to say.”

“I just tell the truth,” you said, standing to press your forehead to hers. “Let me help. We’ll find something that makes you feel like you. And if you cry, I’ve got tissues, chocolate, and backup snuggles.”

She gave you a teary little laugh. “Hormones. I’m blaming everything on hormones tonight.”

“You can blame me too,” you grinned. “But only if I get to hold your hand the whole time.”

You walked her to the bedroom and carefully went through her dresses together. She hesitated when she touched a crimson wrap dress, but you helped her into it anyway, tying the sash beneath her belly. When she looked at herself in the mirror, you saw her lips part, her eyes flicking over her reflection with something close to awe.

“Look at you,” you whispered, standing behind her. “My gorgeous, strong, glowing girl.”

“You’re biased,” she said weakly.

“I’m also right,” you murmured, kissing the back of her neck.

The boys ran out in their pajamas just as Pietro arrived to babysit, both of them tackling Wanda in careful hugs and throwing their arms around your waist.

“Have fun, Mommy! Have fun, Daddy!”

You helped Wanda out the door, arm wrapped securely around her waist, hand protective and loving on the small of her back as you got her into the car.

Dinner was soft jazz and warm candlelight. A booth tucked in the corner, dim and cozy, like the world was built just for the two of you. The server brought her a cushion before you even asked. Your hands stayed tangled across the table, her thumb tracing over your knuckles as she smiled at you like you’d hung the stars.

You toasted with sparkling cider, laughing quietly when your glasses clinked awkwardly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mama,” you said, brushing your fingers along her hand. “You’ve made this the best day of my life.”

Her eyes went glassy again. “You say that like it’s easy. Like I’m easy to love.”

“You are,” you said simply. “You’re the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Loving you, loving our daughter… it’s like breathing, darling.”

Tears slipped free before she could stop them, and she laughed through them. “You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

“I told you I’d ruin it more later.”

“You’re lucky I’m too pregnant to tackle you.”

You winked. “I live dangerously.”

And later, when you came home and the house was quiet—boys asleep, the fireplace low—you tugged Wanda into your arms in the living room. Your phone played soft music in the background as you swayed slowly, her belly between you and your palms cradling her like she was the whole world.

“You feel okay?” you whispered.

She nodded, resting her head on your chest. “More than okay. This has been the best day. And... Vision never did things like this. Not even close.”

Your arms tightened instinctively, protectively. “Sweet girl…”

“No,” she said gently, looking up at you. “I’m not sad. I’m just realizing how much more I feel with you. How much better it is, being seen. Being loved like this.”

You cupped her face, your thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You deserve all of this. Every card, every flower, every silly little heart-shaped thing.”

She smiled, and you kissed her softly—slow, steady, full of promise.

“I love you, Mama,” you breathed. “Forever.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered. “And she will too. The moment she meets you.”

And under the twinkle lights, with your heart against hers and your daughter just days from entering the world, it felt like the universe had finally gotten it right.

Late Night, February 14th, 2024

The bedroom was dim, painted in the amber glow of the nightstand lamp. Wanda had changed into one of your oversized shirts, the hem barely stretching over her belly, and you were already in bed, propped against the pillows with a hand outstretched to welcome her in.

She climbed in carefully, letting out a soft breath as she settled beside you, her head resting on your chest. Her hand found yours over the swell of her stomach, fingers lacing together naturally.

“Mm,” she hummed as you brushed your lips against her hairline, “this is the best part of the day.”

You smiled, your voice quiet and full of warmth. “You always say that.”

“Because it always is.” Her fingers rubbed lazy circles against your palm. “Dinner was amazing. The boys were so cute. But this? Just us? I need this the most.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin atop hers. “Me too, sweet girl.”

There was a long, comfortable silence. Just her breathing. Just the weight of her body melting into yours. Then, a little kick beneath your joined hands.

“She’s active tonight,” you murmured, pressing your palm flat against her belly. “Are you keeping Mama awake in there, huh?”

Wanda smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “She always does this. Every time I try to relax.”

“She’s just excited. Probably wants to come out and see how pretty you are.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of her. “Stop,” she murmured.

“I’m serious. You should see yourself right now. Hair all messy, my shirt barely holding on, that sleepy smile on your face. You’re a dream, beautiful.”

She let out a breath that sounded like she was trying not to cry again. “You’re gonna make me emotional again.”

“That’s okay,” you said gently, tightening your arm around her shoulders. “You’re allowed to feel everything. I’ve got you.”

Another pause. Another flutter of movement beneath your hands. Wanda shifted just slightly, burying her nose into your neck.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mom?” she whispered.

You blinked, surprised by the question. “What?”

“I mean it,” she said. “I know I already have the boys, but… this time it’s different. It’s you and me and her. And I want to do it right. I want her to grow up knowing how loved she is, every single second.”

You turned and kissed the top of her head, letting the moment settle into the silence. “Darling,” you whispered, “she’s going to know. From the moment she sees your face, from the way you hold her. From every lullaby and cuddle and boo-boo you kiss. You’re already doing it right.”

Wanda’s eyes finally met yours. Glossy, soft, open.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For today. For everything.”

You cupped her cheek and smiled. “Always.”

She melted into you again, her breathing evening out slowly, sleep finally starting to take her. But before she drifted off completely, her voice reached you one last time, barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.”

You leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight, sweet girl. I love you more.”

And as the snow fell softly outside and your daughter kicked gently between you, the world felt impossibly quiet. Like it was holding its breath. Like everything sacred was wrapped up in this moment—warm skin, soft sighs, and the calm before your whole world changed again.

February 17th, 2024

The house was quiet, save for the hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of old wood settling. Outside, the snow had mostly melted, turning into slushy puddles on the sidewalks. Inside, though, it was soft and warm and filled with a kind of tension—like the air was holding still, waiting.

You came down the hallway to find Wanda in the nursery again.

She was standing by the crib, folding and refolding a tiny onesie that had already been placed in the drawer hours ago. Her brows were knit in quiet concentration, her belly resting against the edge of the changing table as she stared down at the little lavender sleeper.

“Sweet girl,” you murmured from the doorway, “that’s the fourth time you’ve folded that today.”

She looked up, sheepish. “I know. I just… I don’t know. Nesting, maybe? I keep thinking there’s something I forgot.”

You walked over and slipped your arms around her from behind, resting your hands low on her belly and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “We’ve got the bag packed. Car seat’s in the car. Clothes are washed. Bottles are sterilized. Hospital paperwork’s filled out. Everything’s ready, beautiful.”

She leaned into you with a sigh, finally letting the little outfit drop back into the drawer.

“I feel like I should be doing something.”

“You are doing something,” you said, your voice soft against her ear. “You’re growing a whole person. Our girl. That’s more than enough.”

She turned in your arms, letting her forehead fall against your chest. “I think I’m nervous.”

You kissed her crown. “Me too.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if something goes wrong?”

You held her tighter. “Then we’ll handle it. Together. You are not alone in this, Wanda. Not for one second. I’ve got you. And I’ve got her.”

She exhaled slowly, wrapping her arms around you. “Okay.”

A beat.

“Also,” she added, “I swear if you cry before I do when she’s born, I’m going to hold it over your head forever.”

You chuckled, rubbing her back. “No promises, darling. You’ve already got me crying over sonograms and baby socks. I’m a lost cause.”

Later that Night

Wanda couldn’t sleep.

She kept shifting in bed, trying to get comfortable. At first, you thought it was the usual late-pregnancy discomfort—restless legs, pressure, too many bathroom trips—but around 3:00 a.m., she sat up with a sharp inhale and grabbed your arm.

“Hey—hey. Something’s… something’s happening.”

You sat up instantly, all grogginess gone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think it’s starting.”

She winced as her hand moved to her lower belly.

“Contractions?”

“Maybe. It’s different from Braxton Hicks. This one really hurts.”

You were already out of bed, grabbing your phone, checking the time. “Okay. We’ll start timing them. Want to sit on the ball?”

She nodded, letting you help her up and shuffle slowly to the living room. You guided her down onto the exercise ball, rubbing her lower back gently while she leaned forward over the couch cushions.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered, breathy.

“You’re more ready than you think, beautiful.”

“But I’m scared.”

You crouched in front of her, took her hands, and kissed her knuckles. “I know. Me too. But we’re in this together. Every single moment.”

Wanda looked at you, eyes wide and wet, then down at the bump between you.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You reached for your phone again, stopwatch open.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s meet our daughter.”

February 18th, 2024 Labor and Delivery

The drive to the hospital was quiet—tense, but not chaotic. Wanda gripped your hand the entire way, breathing through each contraction like you’d practiced. The windows were fogged from your shallow breaths and the heater, and the GPS voice felt absurdly calm for the way your heart was thundering.

The boys had already been picked up—you ran next-door, banging on your parents door, your dad had come to answer and immediately got dressed, all warm chuckles and gentle assurance. Your mother hadn’t said much—just a clipped “Good luck” before she walked out, but you hadn’t expected more. The important thing was that the boys were excited. Your dad had promised them donuts in the morning and Nerf battles in the afternoon, already calling them “his little squad.”

Wanda had told Vision what was happening. You didn’t ask how that conversation went. She didn’t offer.

Now, you were wheeling her down the sterile hallway of the maternity ward, her hand in yours, her jaw tight as another contraction rolled through her.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” you murmured, brushing her damp hair away from her forehead. “Almost there.”

She just nodded, squeezing your hand so tight it made your knuckles pop.

Room 308 – 7:42 AM

Wanda was 6 centimeters when they checked. You were at her side through every breath, every position change, every low groan of discomfort. She didn’t yell or scream, but the pain showed in the way she held herself—in her trembling fingers, in the way she rested her head against your shoulder and whispered “I can’t” more than once.

Each time, you held her tighter. “You can. You are. I’ve got you.”

She opted for the epidural, her voice shaking as she told the nurse she couldn’t do it anymore. You helped her stay still while they inserted it, kissed her temple as tears slipped quietly down her cheeks.

“You’re not weak,” you whispered. “You’re brave. The bravest person I know.”

When it kicked in, she slumped back, letting out a trembling breath. You brushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her softly.

“I love you,” you told her, hand resting on the swell of her belly. “You’re almost there, sweet girl. Almost.”

11:36 AM

“She’s fully dilated,” the nurse said. “It’s time to start pushing.”

Everything blurred after that—flashes of movement, the beeping of monitors, the sound of Wanda’s breath catching as the pressure built. Her grip on your hand was brutal.

“You’re doing so good, beautiful,” you kept telling her, over and over, even when your own eyes were glassy and your heart felt like it was going to burst. “I’m right here. Just a little more.”

She was exhausted—sweaty, pale, shaking—but her determination never wavered. She pushed with everything she had, roaring out her effort when her daughter crowned, tears streaming freely now as the nurse counted down each push.

And then—

A wet cry.

A sharp, tiny scream that shattered the whole room open like sunlight.

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth as the doctor lifted your daughter up.

“She’s here,” someone said. Maybe you. Maybe Wanda. Maybe the nurse. It didn’t matter.

She was placed on Wanda’s chest, pink and squirming and perfect. Wanda sobbed openly now, her arms trembling as they curled protectively around the tiny body.

You kissed her hair, your own tears falling freely now. “She’s beautiful,” you choked out. “God, Wanda. You did it. She’s here.”

Wanda looked up at you, mascara smudged, eyes shining, and whispered, “She’s perfect.”

You couldn’t stop touching her—Wanda’s face, her hair, your daughter’s tiny hands. You swore your heart had grown three sizes in a single second. You weren’t sure how to breathe around the feeling of it all.

“Hi, baby girl,” you whispered to the newborn, brushing your finger across her cheek. “Welcome to the world.”

February 18th, 2024 2:14 PM — Recovery Room

The world had quieted.

Wanda had finally drifted off, exhausted but glowing, her fingers curled protectively around the soft pink edge of the baby blanket. You were sitting beside her in a low rocking chair, cradling the little bundle of warmth that had changed your entire life in the span of a single cry.

Liliana was wrapped snug, her cheeks rosy and her tiny mouth moving softly in her sleep. You couldn’t stop staring—at her little nose, at the smudge of dark hair on her head, at the way her fingers curled so tightly around yours when she stirred.

You had never known love like this.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your reverie. Wanda blinked awake just as the nurse opened it and peeked in. “The family’s here, if you’re ready for visitors.”

Wanda nodded sleepily. “Send them in.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the door opened wider and your dad came in first, the boys at his side—Tommy practically vibrating with excitement and Billy holding a handmade card in both hands.

They rushed in, their eyes going wide when they spotted the little bundle in your arms.

“She’s so tiny,” Billy whispered.

“Can we see her?” Tommy asked, bouncing on his toes.

You smiled and knelt a little so they could peek at her.

“Boys, this is your baby sister,” you murmured, watching their faces light up in pure awe.

“She looks like Mommy,” Billy said.

“She’s wrinkly,” Tommy added, grinning.

“She’s perfect,” you replied simply.

Your father hovered behind them, misty-eyed as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “You did good, kiddo,” he said, voice thick.

Then Wanda’s mother stepped forward. Iryna’s hands were clasped over her chest, her eyes shining as she approached the bed where Wanda now sat up a little, reaching to touch her daughter’s hand.

“She’s beautiful,” Iryna breathed. “Have you… have you chosen a name?”

You looked at Wanda and she looked at you, that tired, radiant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

You nodded and stood, adjusting your hold on the tiny baby in your arms.

“We did,” you said softly. Then you looked right at Wanda and smiled, full of all the love you carried for the woman who’d just made you a mother.

“We decided on the name Liliana. Liliana Iryna Maximoff-Y/L/N.”

For a second, the room was silent.

Then Iryna gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as tears immediately welled in her eyes.

“You named her after me?” she asked, voice cracking.

Wanda nodded, emotion rising in her own eyes. “Of course we did. You’ve always been there for me, for us. You love our boys, and I wanted her to know she comes from women who are strong.”

You took a slow step forward, offering Iryna the baby.

“Would you like to hold your granddaughter?” you asked gently.

Iryna nodded quickly, her hands trembling as you carefully passed Liliana into her arms.

“Oh…” she whispered, tears falling freely now. “Hello, krasivaya malen'kaya devochka…”

The boys crowded around her legs, peeking up at their new sister. Your dad handed over his phone to start taking pictures, wiping his own eyes behind it. And for a long, perfect moment, the room was filled with nothing but soft voices, laughter, and the overwhelming warmth of a family that had just grown by one tiny heartbeat.

February 19th, 2024 3:17 AM — Maternity Ward, Room 308

The lights were dim, the hospital room quiet but not still. Machines beeped rhythmically in the background, and Wanda lay half-asleep in the bed, her eyes fluttering open every few minutes to check on you both.

You stood barefoot in the middle of the room, Liliana cradled in your arms, swaying gently side to side. She’d woken up with a fussy little cry, her face red and scrunched in the telltale way that let you know something was definitely happening in her diaper.

The problem?

You hadn’t done this before.

Wanda had tried to get up, but you’d shushed her quickly and kissed her forehead. “No, no, sweet girl. You just made a whole human being yesterday. Let me try first.”

Now, with Liliana squirming and grunting softly against your chest, you glanced toward the hallway, debating whether to risk waking the nurse or fumbling through it on your own.

Just then, as if summoned by your panic, a soft knock came at the door and one of the night shift nurses peeked in.

“Everything okay?” she asked in a hushed voice, glancing between you and the baby.

You gave her a sheepish look. “I think she needs a diaper change, and… I don’t want to mess it up.”

The nurse smiled kindly and stepped in. “New parent?”

You nodded.

“Would you like me to walk you through it?”

“Yes. God, yes,” you said, exhaling in relief.

She helped you get everything set up—laid a fresh diaper on the little rolling bassinet, opened the wipes, and showed you how to gently undo the onesie without waking her too much. Liliana made a tiny squawk of protest, her limbs flailing in slow motion.

“Okay,” the nurse said softly. “Wipe front to back, be gentle but quick. Fold the front of the new diaper over and make sure the tabs are snug but not too tight. Watch out for—”

Just then, a tiny stream of pee arced up toward the ceiling, and you yelped and jumped back like you’d been hit with a hose. The nurse caught the edge of the diaper just in time, laughing under her breath.

You stared, wide-eyed. “She’s so small—how did she do that?”

“She’s efficient,” the nurse chuckled. “Welcome to parenthood.”

Wanda was giggling quietly from the bed, barely able to keep her eyes open but clearly entertained by the whole thing. “You okay over there, darling?”

You glanced over your shoulder at her with a grin. “I think I just earned a badge or something.”

Once Liliana was clean, dry, and dressed again, the nurse patted your shoulder. “You’re a natural. You’ll both be pros in no time.”

She left you alone again in the quiet, and you gently lifted Liliana back into your arms, cradling her close to your chest. She settled quickly, cheek against your collarbone, her tiny body warm and perfect.

You walked her slowly to Wanda’s bedside and leaned in to let her see.

“Look who’s back in fresh pajamas,” you whispered. “No casualties.”

Wanda smiled sleepily, her hand reaching out to stroke your daughter’s head. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For all of this.”

You kissed her forehead gently. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Then, as Liliana let out a soft sigh and nestled deeper into your arms, you settled into the chair beside Wanda’s bed—your daughter safe against your chest, your wife drifting peacefully to sleep beside you—and you let your eyes close, heart full to bursting.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t quiet. But it was perfect.

February 22nd, 2024 Home – Day 5

You were tired. No—beyond tired. This wasn’t just lack of sleep. It was full-body, soul-deep fatigue that had started the moment you brought Liliana home and hadn’t let up since.

She was perfect. Absolutely, heartbreakingly perfect. But also very loud. And very hungry. Constantly hungry.

You were back in school now—online classes mostly, but they didn’t care if you were running on ninety minutes of sleep and coffee that had long since gone cold. Wanda had tried to insist you take time off, but you’d wanted to keep at it. You didn’t want to fall behind. You wanted to prove you could do this—be a parent and still keep your promises to yourself.

So you studied with a baby asleep on your chest. Wrote essays one-handed while bottle-feeding. Attended Zoom lectures with your camera off and Liliana’s soft snuffles just barely out of mic range.

And Wanda? She was somehow holding the whole house together.

She worked from the couch or the dining room table, muted on calls while rocking Liliana in her lap. She took breaks between emails to prep dinner, or pack lunches, or fold laundry that somehow never ended. Her hair was always up, her bathrobe perpetually stained with something—spit-up, milk, the remnants of someone’s breakfast.

You kept trying to take things off her plate. But she always met you with that tired, knowing smile.

“We’re both in it,” she’d murmur. “We’ll get through it.”

The boys had adjusted better than you expected. Tommy was always eager to help—bringing diapers, holding bottles, announcing when Liliana needed a “code red” diaper change. Billy was quieter, softer, always the first one to offer to sit beside her when she cried.

And practice helped. It gave them a break, gave them space to be kids still. Your dad had been helping with pick-up and drop-offs, and you were grateful—because you didn’t think you could handle one more drive on two hours of sleep.

That Friday night, the house was finally still. The boys were asleep after practice and pizza. Liliana had been fed and changed, and you had managed to get her to drift off in her bassinet beside the bed.

Wanda was already half-asleep, curled on her side in bed in an oversized T-shirt that had once been yours. You dragged yourself from the bathroom, face washed, finally in pajamas, and slid under the covers beside her.

She blinked slowly at you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion but warm.

“You made it,” she whispered.

“Barely,” you murmured, brushing your knuckles along her cheek. “You should’ve seen the math quiz I turned in today. I may have answered in lullaby lyrics.”

She snorted softly, snuggling into your chest.

“I miss you,” she admitted.

You frowned, pulling her tighter. “I’m right here, beautiful.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But… everything’s moving so fast. I feel like we’re barely catching up.”

You kissed the top of her head, your voice quiet. “We’ll slow it down. Find little moments.”

“I just want to hold you for longer than ten minutes before someone starts crying.”

You smiled tiredly. “That someone better not be me this time.”

She chuckled against your collarbone, and for a long moment, neither of you moved.

Liliana stirred in the bassinet with a soft whimper. You both froze.

Then… nothing.

Wanda sighed in relief. “Okay. Maybe we’ll get an hour tonight.”

“An hour sounds like heaven.”

You looked down at her, studying the curve of her cheek, the way her lips parted as she drifted closer to sleep.

Even in the chaos—especially in it—you’d never loved her more.

March 1st, 2024 Home – Late Evening

The house was finally quiet.

Tommy and Billy had gone over to Visions for the weekend. Wanda had just slipped out of the shower, hair damp, cheeks flushed, wearing one of your hoodies as she curled into the corner of the couch beside you.

Liliana was asleep in your arms, her tiny fingers curled around your thumb, her soft breaths the only sound between you for a moment.

You looked down at her—your daughter. The little girl who had turned your world inside out in the best possible way. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her warm weight nestled against your chest like she belonged there.

Because she did.

Wanda reached over to tuck a loose blanket corner around the baby, her fingers brushing yours. She leaned her head against your shoulder, and you turned just enough to press a kiss to her hairline.

“I don’t know how we’re doing this,” you murmured.

Wanda gave a soft, sleepy smile. “Me neither.”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You sat there for a long while in the quiet, letting the moment soak into your bones. Letting the joy and the exhaustion settle together, hand in hand.

Nine months ago, you never would’ve imagined this—here, with Wanda, with Liliana, with two incredible boys who called you Daddy and a woman who had become the heart of your entire world.

And yet… you remembered it all so clearly.

The day she told you she was pregnant.

Her eyes had been filled with uncertainty, lips trembling as she held the test in her hand. You hadn’t hesitated—not for a second.

“We'll figure something out. Whatever it is, I'll be here for you, Wanda.”

You weren’t even together then. Not really. Not in the way you were now.

But looking back, maybe you’d already known.

That moment felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago, all at once. A beginning wrapped inside of fear and hope. And now, you were here—still figuring it out, still learning—but surrounded by love.

You looked at Liliana again, her tiny chest rising and falling against yours. Your daughter.

The past nine months had been the most beautiful, terrifying, exhausting, incredible months of your life.

And somehow, you knew…

The best was still to come.

[4ttack-ur-heart]

The Boss’s Heart

Chapter II: Murphy’s Law

Summary: You’ve found your rhythm working for Apollo. Now, the challenge is meeting the boss of Onychinus… and running into some unexpected trouble.

This chapter does contain sensitive content so please read with caution!

Warnings: Violence, cursing, blood, reader gets mugged.

Series masterlist Ch. I

Second chapter out :) as always feedback is appreciated and I'd love to hear any ideas you guys have.

“Hey Y/n, I need those two fully automatics we just got in.”

“Very back of the second aisle, bottom shelf, silver cases.”

“What about the ammunition with the armor-piercing rounds?”

“Those are locked in the storage room. I’ll grab them for you in a few minutes.”

“One of the clients asked if we could erase the serial numbers from his firearms.”

“Tell him to find a Dremel and get to work, if they wanted us to do it- that should’ve been discussed during negotiations.”

After about 3 months of working in the warehouse, you were able to figure your way around. Apollo had taken you under his wing in showing you the way he does things. Thanks to his training, you were able to familiarize yourself with the various tasks around the warehouse. It was a lot to learn- and you still are learning, but at least now you’re able to get by.

One of your biggest concerns was working in a male-dominated environment. However, the guys didn’t pay too much attention to you in the beginning. You thought they’d resort to teasing or sexist comments- but instead, they just gave you the cold shoulder at times. Now, you’re happy to say they have started to warm up to you. Since Apollo ran the place and trusted you, it made the others understand no real malice or harm was coming from you. You were just a girl who needed a steady paycheck.

The main people you see and talk to during your shift are Tony, Freddy, Carl, Will, and of course, Apollo. There are others, but these are the guys you’ve managed to create a nice work relationship with.

Will, the first gentleman you’ve had the pleasure of encountering when you first arrived, was a very nice man. Sure, he held you at gunpoint, but that’s just because he’s had to keep his guard up his entire life. This is his first steady job since being released from prison. Like Apollo, he’s got a beautiful wife and they’re expecting their first child soon. A baby boy.

Tony was an older man with slicked-back grey hair. He didn’t have a family of his own, instead, he had various women keeping him company throughout the weeks. Tony was a bit of a player and very old-school. Sure, he’d flirt every now and then and even throw you a shitty pickup line, but he’s a sweetheart. He even claims if he was fifteen years younger, he’d be able to sweep you off your feet.

Freddy and Carl were both around your age, somewhere in their twenties. While goofballs at times, they’re very hard workers. Freddy was more the shy type; a quiet kid with a pair of glasses that he breaks at least once a week. Carl was the complete opposite, he was an active guy who loved making inappropriate jokes at the wrong times that Freddy even joined in on. Together, they add the humor and lightheartedness of the job.

It’s just past midnight when Apollo receives a call that interrupts your conversation. He doesn’t say anything, but the ominous vibrations of his phone leave him flustered. He quickly leaves without a word, scrambling into his office and shutting the door behind him. You turn to Carl, who simply shrugs his shoulders in response.

“Sylus must’ve called him.” A large thunk makes you jump. You turn around to see Will setting down a case of ammunition on the work table.

“Sylus?”

“The boss… ya know, leader of Onychinus?” Freddy butts in. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him.”

Umm, you haven’t actually. At least not his first name. Everyone here always refers to him as ‘boss’.

“Nobody makes Apollo nervous like the boss. You know how mellow he normally is, but once he gets a call from the boss, he’s a nervous wreck.” Will adds.

“Is he that scary?” You ask. The only things you’ve heard about the leader of Onychinus was that he was some mean old guy with a talking crow apparently- but those rumors were all from the streets anyways so you never gave them much thought.

“I heard he took out a group of four assassins after him with just a snap of his fingers.”

“Woah, really?” Carl takes out a cigarette and places it between his lips. “Did you know those two guys that are always with him tried killing him too?”

Will and Freddy both turn to him in shock.

“Those two guys with the crow masks? Don’t they like to worship him?” Freddy asks.

Carl shrugs his shoulders. “They do now. I heard he only hired them so he can see if they’ll succeed one day.”

You start to fade out of the ongoing conversation, your attention drifting as your gaze fixates on the heavy, closed door of Apollo’s office. Its surface, marked by time, seems to hold secrets of its own. Just then, as if he were drawn to your curious stare, the creaky metal door suddenly swings open, revealing a wide-eyed Apollo who steps out with an unmistakable urgency. Instantly, the animated chatter around you comes to a standstill, and every pair of eyes shifts toward him, the atmosphere thickening with anticipation.

“Well?” Freddy asks.

Apollo swallows hard and repeatedly clicks the ballpoint pen locked in his grip. “I guess the boss wants to pay a visit.”

All of your eyes widen at his words and there’s a pregnant pause of silence and a nervous exchange of looks.

Will clears his throat, “Did we fuck up?”

“The opposite,” Apollo lets out a shaky chuckle. “I guess the boss likes the numbers recently, and says we’ve been meeting our quotas faster than his other locations.“

Silence follows.

“He asked what we were doing differently, and I told him we hired Y/n.”

God, you can sense the weight of every gaze in the room turning towards you, and a rush of warmth floods your cheeks. You haven’t even had a chance to meet the boss yet, yet the anxiety churning inside you matches the tension in the air.

“I guess he wants to drop by tonight and check things out.”

You were pretty sure if someone dropped a pin, you’d hear it. The silence is honestly terrifying how a random trip from the big boss can result in these big brawny men becoming nervous wrecks.

“He wants to come here?” Carl asks and blows out the last bit of smoke from his cigarette before crushing the butt into an ashtray on the table.

“Uh-huh.”

“Tonight?”

“Yep.”

“Well, shit…”

———

The energy in the room has completely shifted in the last hour. Not even Carl hasn’t said a word in a while. He’s been assembling different rifles for the past twenty minutes in complete silence.

Was the boss that intimidating? It’s not like you guys didn’t do your jobs, in fact, Apollo even said the boss was impressed with the work being done.

“Y/n.” Apollo says and gently grabs your shoulder, leading you away from the others.

“Hm?”

“I need you to be sharp tonight, okay?” He tells you, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m not trying to lecture you at all cause you’re a grown-ass woman, but you haven’t met Sylus yet. He can be…”

“…scary?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’ve heard.” You answer with a tight-lipped smile.

“Now he’s interested in meeting you.”

“Wait, you’re saying he wants to talk to me?” You start to chew on your lip.

Apollo is silent for a moment. “Just be confident and respectful with your responses, okay? No sassiness either. This isn’t break time with the boys, understand?”

You nod. “I understand.”

“Good.” He pats your shoulder and walks up the metal stairs to the second level. “Boys, the boss doesn’t need to see your fucking candy wrappers on the floor! Pick it up, now!”

You’ve never seen Apollo this worked up in the three months of working with him.

———

About an hour passed after the candy wrapper fiasco. Everyone has calmed down a little bit since then. Freddy wondered if the boss had gotten caught up in another assassination attempt and wouldn’t be stopping by tonight.

That hypothesis went straight into the trash when the headlights on a fancy car pulled up to the warehouse. Will, the acting doorman, was the one who alerted everyone and now the tension has slowly increased once again.

Carl was still assembling the rifles stiffly. Freddy busied himself by tweaking the silencer on a pistol, while Tony was unloading the newest shipment onto the shelves.

Grabbing your clipboard and pen, you walked over to Tony to count the inventory. He nods at you and gives you a small smile.

“Don’t worry, kid. If you can win Will over, the boss is nothing.”

You only give him a nervous chuckle.

“Okay, we got six cases of ammo. Four scopes for the rifles...”

——

Apollo exits from his office and up the metal stairs to the mezzanine platform of the warehouse.

Will opens the door for the boss, the heavy door creaking in response. The boss’s large frame is revealed and he stands eye to eye with Will.

“Sir.” Will lowers his head as he passes, beginning to close the door.

“Don’t shut the door on Mephisto.”

Will pauses and the crow caws as a warning before flying in and landing on his owner's shoulder.

“Mr. Sylus.” Apollo nods his head, hoping his boss didn’t just see the bead of sweat drip from his forehead and fall to the floor.

“Apollo,” Sylus’s voice drawls out calmly, yet his tone leaves no room for anything other than business. “I’ve been hearing good things recently.”

Apollo clears his throat as if to shove away the last of his nerves. “Yes, sir. Our numbers have been exceptionally well and so far- the best we’ve seen.”

Sylus hums in contentment.

“Shall we discuss the numbers in my office?”

——

“Was that a bird?” You ask, looking away from the clipboard as Tony unloads the last of the shipment.

Tony wipes the back of his neck with a rag. “Yeah, the boss has this robot raven thing he built. It’s pretty cool.”

You hum, “So it’s like a pet..?”

“Pet, secret murder weapon, an annoying little thing he is.” Tony counts out on his fingers.

“Wait, it’s a murder weapon?” You lower your voice and step in closer, curious.

Tony nods. “I think so, I heard he shoots laser beams out of his eyes and he has a razor-sharp beak.”

Your mind fills with all the stories you’ve heard on the streets again. “Woah, that’s crazy.”

“Living here… it’s necessary. You should know, sweetheart. That can of pepper spray will only take you so far.”

“Lucky to say I haven’t even needed to use it.” You respond.

“Not yet.”

“Tony,” you warn and raise an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying, you’re a pretty young thing and humans are sick creatures. It wouldn’t kill you to let us teach you how to at least shoot a gun. Hell, I’ll even get you a pink one if you’d like.”

You give him a small laugh and start scrawling notes on your clipboard. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll let you guys know when I’m ready.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay.”

“But you were saying I could get it in pink, right?”

——

“How are Laura and the kids?” Sylus asks, picking up the small photo frame.

Apollo looks at Sylus, confused for a moment but slowly relaxes. “Uhh, Laura’s good. She just got a promotion at her firm. Nora just got into that preschool we were looking at and David won his soccer tournament.”

“Good, good.” Sylus walks around and picks up a rubber band ball on his desk. He tosses it in the air a few times. “You guys were able to pay off your debt, correct?”

“Yes, sir. As of last month. Now we’re just saving for college.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When Sylus met Apollo, he was nothing more than a drug addict in severe debt. He was hired by the previous manager on the spot when Onychinus bought out the warehouse. Laura was only his girlfriend at the time and their relationship was hanging by a thread. Apollo had a rather nasty attitude at the time, as one would when their life was falling into pieces. He said the wrong thing at the wrong time when Sylus came to visit and Apollo earned himself the beating of his life.

Though it sounds cruel, Apollo says it's the wake-up call he needed. He moved Laura out of the N109 Zone when he had saved up enough money and worked on staying clean. Throughout the next few months, they worked on their relationship, family, and stability.

Sylus paces Apollo’s office. His eyes drift to the computer sitting on his desk, the security feed open.

“That’s her?” Sylus asks as his sharp crimson eyes lock onto the young woman holding a clipboard.

“Yep, she’s picked up things relatively quickly and it leaves me more time to handle our clients. An extra pair of hands is always nice, didn’t know it would help so much.”

“So she’s reliable?”

“Oh, a hundred percent. She gets along with the guys pretty well, too. Luckily, a lot of the stuff we do here is routine so it was easy for her to learn.”

“Even with Will?”

“Even with Will.”

Sylus hums, a bit surprised.

“And her background?”

“Well, she worked at a bar before,” Apollo says and shifts from one foot to the other.

“A bar?”

“Mhm, her boss was just a piece of shit. I thought it would be better to get her out of there.”

“I’m surprised in you, Apollo.” A smirk hangs lazily on Sylus’s face. “I wasn’t aware you picked up strays.”

“I wouldn’t call her a stray,” he chuckles nervously. “Just lost in a way. It sucks seeing someone so young stuck down here.”

“Does she at least shoot well?”

“Well, she’s never actually held a gun before.”

Sylus raises a brow. “She does know she works in weaponry, correct?”

“Yes, sir. She’s aware.” Apollo gives a nervous chuckle. “I just have her handle the inventory and idle paperwork.”

“Just be careful, Apollo,” Sylus warns and stands up straight and heads for the door. “You know this business is risky and dangerous. She’s a sitting duck out there. I know you want to play the savior to help her, but if anything happens, her blood is all over your hands.”

Apollo’s eyes shift down, staring at his scuffed work boots. There have been some minor incidents over the years, but luckily nothing too fatal.

“I understand, sir.”

Sylus nods and reaches for the door handle. “I’ll be in touch. Teach her how to defend herself.”

It’s an order.

“Yes sir.”

——

Your brain wracks through the listed supplies of inventory. It’s not adding up.

“Dammit.” You shuffle through the papers one last time and mentally count the boxes you’ve received.

“What are we missing?” Tony asks and peeks over your shoulder.

You huff in frustration. “A case of bullets, the ones laced with the neurotoxins.”

Tony quickly scans the inventory and your paperwork as well, and he visibly stiffens. “That’s not a mistake. We’ve had our stuff tampered with before.”

“You think it’s shady?” You ask and start to chew your lip.

“Look where ya workin’, sweetheart.” Tony sighs heavily and hands you back the clipboard. “Best go tell Apollo.”

“Umm, isn’t he with the boss right now?”

“Best he hears it, too.”

Your eyes lock onto Tony’s deep brown ones, a pleading look on your face as he laughs, the creases in his eyes scrunching up.

“Go on up, kid. It’s about time you know who you're working for.”

You force your feet to move and follow Tony’s command. The palms of your hands are starting to sweat at this point and your mind runs over the conversation from earlier with the boys.

I heard he took out a group of assassins with just the snap of his fingers.

“Maybe I should wait to tell him,” you wonder aloud quietly as you approach the opening door.

You didn’t react quickly enough, your instincts catching you off guard. As you turned the corner, you collided with another person, a startled gasp escaping your lips. The unexpected force knocked you back, and you felt your waist connect sharply with the cold metal railing behind you. The sturdy barrier wobbled but held firm. For a moment, you were caught off balance, heart racing as you took in the stranger before you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” By the time your eyes focus on the person, you know you’ve messed up.

The man raises a pointed eyebrow at you, a visible frown on his face. Cold eyes bore into your skull, and you feel a burning heat rush to your face as your wide eyes lock onto his.

The man towered over six feet tall, exuding a commanding presence. He wore a luxurious silk shirt that shimmered faintly in the light, and you vividly recalled the sensation of it brushing against your cheek when you accidentally bumped into him. Draped casually over his shoulders was a tailored blazer, the fabric hugging his muscular frame perfectly. His hair was meticulously styled, a striking blend of pale milk and ashen hues, with a few rebellious strands falling just above his intense crimson eyes, which seemed to glow with an intriguing mixture of fire and intensity.

In every way, he defied the rumors that swirled around him. Far from the decrepit figure one might expect, he looked only a handful of years older than you. Moreover, he carried an allure that was impossible to ignore; he wasn’t just handsome—his features were striking, with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline that added to his undeniable charm.

“You must be the new girl.” The man’s husky voice is calculated as he scans over you.

You swallow hard, trying to find some moisture in your mouth to properly form words. “Uhm, yes, sir.”

Your hand stretches out to create more distance between you two and you tell him your name.

“Sylus.” He shakes your hand.

“Y/n.” Apollo’s voice calls out from behind Sylus. “Everything okay?”

Blood flows through your cheeks again as both men now lock onto you.

“Tony and I were going through the shipment and we noticed something missing. I wouldn’t normally bug you about this especially while Mr. Sylus is here, but it’s the case of bullets with neurotoxins.”

Apollo cursed and ran his hand through his hair. Sylus’s eyes shift away from you, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hm.” Sylus strokes his chin. “There was another location report missing items, too, but this might be more of an issue than I realized.”

“I’ll be in touch, Apollo.” His eyes meet yours again and you feel a swirl in your tummy. “Keep an eye out for me, Y/n. I hope to see more of you in the future.”

You nod and smile politely.

He turns around and calls something out behind him. A black blur zips out of Apollo’s office and lands on his shoulder.

So that’s the bird.

You can hear the mechanical gears whirl and shift as the bird's head turns to stare at you; its bright scarlet eyes matching its owners. The bird's head cocks to the side before cawing as Sylus walks out of the building.

——

The walk home was the same as any other night. You kick dirt up as you walk the old and empty road.

Apollo said the meeting went well with Sylus after he left. He likes the numbers, the work ethic, and the team. Aside from you bumping into him, which the guys teased you to hell and back over, Apollo told you that you did just fine.

However, you can see where the guys are coming from when they say Sylus is scary. Just one look had your palms sweaty and mouth dry.

Apollo had also informed you it was time they start training you, which you politely declined. You appreciate the guys looking after you, but you just didn’t feel comfortable.

Then your mind wanders to the missing case of ammo. Those are deadly bullets. While any bullet can be deadly, the neurotoxin-laced bullets are essentially coated in a substance that will either paralyze you or slowly poison you no matter the point of entry. Sylus said something about it possibly being something more than just a coincidence, especially with the other location missing their cases too.

The large buildings and towers now surround you as your feet step off the dirt path and onto the chipped sidewalk.

A sudden caw catches your attention. Curiously, you look up and see a bird perched on the head of a street lamp. The familiar scarlet eyes glimmer under the moon's light. What is Sylus’s bird doing out here?

Just a few more blocks.

Pieces of crumbled paper drift through the street from the chilling breeze. Cars were honking at each other a few streets over, which made you start to pick up your pace.

Continuing with your trek home, you feel something off in the energy surrounding you. With a glance over your shoulder, you miss the hand coming out of the alley and grabbing you by the back of your jacket.

On instinct, you release a scream, but the person is quick to cover your mouth. Your back is shoved against the jagged brick of the building and the person draws out a small revolver.

“Empty your pockets.” The gruff voice orders and clicks the safety off of the gun.

With shaking hands, you struggle to pull out your things.

“Faster!” He orders. “Or I’ll pull the fucking trigger.”

Your throat tightens up and tears blur your vision, making it even harder to see in the dark alley. Once your phone and wallet are visible, he snatches them quickly and opens your wallet. Cards, your ID, and even coins litter the ground as he rifles through.

“That’s it, no cash?” He shakes the gun, the metal rattling slightly. “You have to have something else.”

“I-I don’t, I swear. That’s all I have.” You choke out, forcing yourself to heave in a big breath as the tears mercilessly fall.

The man curses again and shoves you against the wall, the force knocking the wind out of you. "I can always get another form of compensation, sweetheart."

The back of his hand traces down your cheek and you whimper.

You grimace and choke out another sob as you grab the can of pepper spray hidden in the other pocket of your pants. Without another moment, you press down on the red trigger.

"Fuck!" The man hisses, his voice laced with anger and disbelief as he instinctively recoils, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the stinging spray of liquid that drips down his face like hot wax. The acrid smell fills the air, mixing with the adrenaline surging through your veins. Seizing the moment, you thrust him off you with all your strength and dart past him, heart pounding in your chest. But before you can escape, he recovers quickly, grasping your wrist with a vice-like grip that sends shockwaves of fear coursing through you.

"Little bitch!"

He raises his hand and strikes your face, your head snapping to the side as ringing echoes in your ears.

Through red tears, he reaches for the gun again, struggling to get a hold of the piece.

Before he can properly pull on the trigger, a caw rings out.

A black blur of mechanical feathers swoops down and swipes at the man.

"Ah-!" He cries out as a deep gash runs across the side of his neck, the blood leaking from the wound like a waterfall.

The bird lets out another caw before attacking the man again. Its beak continues to peck and pierce at his face, eventually bringing him down to the ground. During the scuffle, the bird briefly pauses to stare at you and caws again, as if urging you to run.

You understand the message and use the rest of your adrenaline to run the rest of the way home.

----

The next day before work, you used the best of your makeup abilities to cover the bruises on your face. Luckily, the guy didn't give you a black eye, just bruising and minor swelling on your cheek.

Your phone and wallet were still gone, too. You'd have to dip into your slowly rising savings account to afford a new one. Even after you've been so careful not to touch it.

You keep your head down as you clock in and don't greet any of the guys as you walk in. The second they see you, it's going to be countless 'I told you so's,' and you just weren't in the mood to deal with it. You couldn't even get any sleep last night, too scared to keep your eyes closed for long which only added to the fatigue on your body.

"Y/n?" A hand is placed on your shoulder, making you jump.

"Woah, sorry, kid," Apollo says. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah I'm fine, sorry." You respond, keeping your head down as you turn slightly.

"Then look me in the eye."

Shit.

"No, the floor looks pretty good right now."

"Y/n." Not the dad voice. "I already know."

Hesitantly, you turn around and meet Apollo's eyes. His expression is stoic as his eyes quickly scan over the poorly covered bruise on your cheek.

"C'mon, kid." He throws an arm around your shoulder and leads you to his office. You notice the others quickly glancing in your direction, but quickly looking away when your eyes meet theirs.

Tony was muttering some choice words, while Freddy and Carlos hushed their words as you walked by. Will remained silent, bowing his head as you passed him.

How the hell do they already all know?

Apollo shuts the door of his office behind him and gestures for you to sit.

You take a seat on the chair across from his desk while he reaches into the mini-fridge underneath the cabinets. He pulls out an ice pack and hands it to you.

You swallow hard and take the frozen block from him, carefully pressing it against your cheek.

Apollo sits across from you. "You want to tell me what happened?"

You bite your lip and beg for the tears not to come again. You've already spent so much time crying last night. Slowly, you shake your head.

"Okay." He nods. "Can you just tell me one thing?"

Your eyes meet his concerned ones.

"Did he..." Apollo trails off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

"No." You quickly tell him, already knowing the question. He lets out a sigh of relief.

There's a pregnant silence in the office, safe for your sniffling.

"H-how did you find out?"

"Mephisto."

"Who?"

"The boss's bird."

"Oh."

Why was Mephisto there last night? Was it simply the right place at the right time?

"Listen, you're more than welcome to take some time off if you need to. I'm really surprised you still came in, I tried to call you earlier-"

"My phone was stolen." You cut him off. "My wallet, too."

"Go home," Apollo tells you. "Get some rest, get yourself situated."

"But-"

"No."

"I'm not one of your kids, Apollo."

"The hell you're not." He challenges.

You stay quiet.

“Look, we just want you to take care of yourself mentally,” Apollo says before his phone rings. He looks at the caller ID and frowns. “Hang tight, kiddo. Keep the icepack on your face.”

“Mr. Sylus?” He answers, placing the phone to his ear and pointing to the runny ice pack that you had placed in your lap. You grumble and place the icepack back onto the tender skin and turn slightly in the chair as a way to give him some privacy, only picking up bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Yes, sir, she’s with me.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Got it, okay, I’ll let her know.”

Apollo places the phone back on his desk, the sound knocking you out of your thoughts. “Sylus has your phone and wallet. Mephisto picked them up after the guy bled out.”

Your eyes widen.

“He’s dead?”

“Would you rather him not be?”

"Well, I just thought..." Your words trail off. Did you want him to be dead?

Yes, no, maybe so?

The man was seconds away from taking your life, why would you feel bad someone else took his?

"I think you're forgetting who you work for, Y/n," Apollo tells you. "Sylus doesn't tolerate an attack on anyone who works for him. When I said we look out for each other, I meant it."

Slowly, you nod your head.

"How can I get my stuff back?" You ask and pull the icepack away from your bruised face, the cooling sensation beginning to irritate your skin.

"Sylus asked that you meet him at Onychinus's base. He wants to begin your training as soon as possible."

——

Taglist: if you’d like to be added, leave a comment <3

@notastupidurl @stxrrielle @jadeloverxd @rorel1a @randomness39 @sadunicorns11 @atroublesomerose @seberuss @noi3883 @godoffuckedupcats @booklover99988755421 @peachystea @supershygirl @ixloom819 @69-gojos-wife-69 @lalaluch @sleepykittyenergy @lazypostfandomer @sillyfreakfanparty @mansonofmadness @tinyweebsstuff @yiddyyadda @duffyinwonderland

[revelboo]

Hey! I hope you’re having a good day! I love your work and not sure if you do much for the less talked about guys. Specifically Geomotus?

If I can find enough references to get an idea of the character, I’ll give it a try. I’m not that familiar with him, but an attempt was made. He’s adorable by the way from what I can find of him.

I hadn’t really thought about doing commissions, I’m just writing TF stuff for fun. I guess I could, but I’d have to figure out rules/prices. Plus, because I write 🔞 stuff, anyone commissioning me would have to be at least 18 and I’d need a way to reasonably vet that even if the commission was just fluff, so I’d rather not

Calm

Geomotus x Reader

• Stretching lazily tangled in sheets, you’re immediately aware that your big space heater is missing. Sitting up on his berth, you’re not surprised to find him at his desk. Hear the soft click of him setting his little, metal triangle down and then carefully nudging it until it’s in line with his other fidget toys. Knowing exactly what he’s doing even with his back to you blocking your view. Sometimes you wonder if you’re a fidget toy to him, too. Right now, you wonder if you accidentally overwhelmed him somehow. Maybe you rolled over and ended up against him? Sometimes he likes the warmth of you sleeping against his chassis and others, he’s said it’s too much. That feeling your heart beating, your breathing makes him feel like he’s overflowing. Too much to process. “Hey,” you call out softly and he doesn’t look at you, but you know he’s not ignoring you.

• “Hello,” he replies, slowly rotating his square until that warm hum of satisfaction spills through him. Likes you. Likes knowing you’re right there, that if he turns, he’ll see you, that he can reach and touch you. You’re warm when you curl against him, soft. Hates that touching you is sometimes too much, that he’s not sure what you want from him or if you want anything from him. Especially hates when you’re shivering and cold and he just can’t. Shoulders lifting guiltily, he reaches to pick up the ball and play with it, soothing himself with the familiar as he vents slowly. “You’re cold?” Can’t understand you sometimes, a lot of the time, but he tries.

• Grabbing a pillow and stretching out on your belly hugging it, you wish he’d look at you. But you don’t want to make demands of him. He’s so gentle with you, so kind even though he owes you nothing and you like him, weird little habits and uncomfortable awkwardness included. “It’s okay,” you say. “I can go out in the hall if I’m keeping you up?” And he finally turns to look at you. It doesn’t help that you can’t read the expressions on his alien face, don’t know when you’re stressing him out.

• “I like you here,” he mutters, servos rolling the ball in his palm. It’s just hard. You’re hard. His work, geology, tectonic plates, those make sense, but you rarely do what he expects you to do. Say things like that and it makes him anxious. Because he must have made you think he didn’t want you here. Did he say something wrong? “I like you here,” he repeats, uncomfortable with your eyes on him.

• “I like being here,” you offer and he’s just staring, servos rolling the ball to make it softly click against his metal skin. You wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at you like that. If he really does wish you’d leave him alone, but he’s almost painfully blunt most of the time. If he wanted you to go, he’d just say it. And he turns away again. Picking up his shapes and sitting on the edge of the berth, leaning to carefully lay them out. It’s not lost on you that he’s as far from you as he can get while still being on the berth, either. Wanting to be close, but not that close. With you, but not touching. “I like you,” you whisper and his servos falter in the act of arranging his toys. Laying your head down on the pillow, you’re dimly aware of the soft click of metal on metal as he soothes his anxiety. Almost asleep when he gently pulls your blanket up around your shoulders, a servo touching the back of your hand then gone.

[soukokuluvs]

A little thought about Sakura, Togame, and Choji

After reading WB181, I can't stop thinking about how this conversation Togame had with Sakura was important for him too.

Togame immediately knew Sakura was conflicted because HE had already seen this happen, but in a situation where he was the closest friend. He knows how difficult it is to see your friend suffer without being able to do anything, and it's as if he's sympathizing with Sakura's own friends as well.

Togame saw Choji aspire to the top (and even want to be like Ume), but he also saw Choji fall into a lie of believing that power lay in the false sense of freedom and not in the people who accompanied him.

Togame saw Choji become defensive and, instead of confronting and trying to make his friend wake up from this "dream," he was 'weak'. He accepted what Choji believed precisely because he loved this friend so much, precisely because he didn't want to see him hurt.

But that's not how things work, and we saw all of this in the Shishitoren arc. This is already in the past, but it's a story that marked Togame and Choji.

When Togame puts himself in this position of listener/more distant person, it's as if he thinks 'What if Choji didn't say this precisely so I wouldn't worry? What if I just didn't notice the signs? What if he had a third person to talk about his own feelings before communicating it to me?'

I often think about how Togame was, in a way, charging his past self, as I really like to think about the post-Shishitoren arc, because we know that it significantly affected all the members, and we saw a healing process between Togame, Choji, and their other friends (and we know that Sako, for example, now sees them as a reference on how to face their problems head-on).

Sometimes, we love the people in our lives so much that just the feeling of venting a conflicted emotion causes us panic because we don't want to disappoint our friends/family with our sadness. But in a healthy and happy environment, we will be embraced; we won't be treated as a burden. We will be loved. And Sakura, little by little, is discovering this path too.

If Togame hadn't intervened, for how long would Sakura have kept this bad feeling to himself? For how much longer would he have kept this a secret?

In the end, we are seeing Sakura also trust someone from outside Furin, and that's incredible.

Today I think a lot about how we are moving towards seeing Sakura telling more about himself to his closest friends and even expressing his insecurities, but only the future will tell (and the future will be bright).

[evansbuckle]

Mechanic!Singledad!Bucky Barnes AU

Woop woop it's part five! I'm so grateful for the love that this little series has received and I'm so thankful people are reading and enjoying this! Thank you for taking the time <3 Likes & reblogs are always appreciated!

Wordcount: 2.9k

Warnings: Reader referred to as y/n & uses she/her pronouns, smut, kissing, sick kids, hospitals (and thus me pretending I know about hospitals), swearing i think, grammer - proofread but not well.

masterlist part one part two part three part four

I woke up at 4am to the shrill sound of my phone ringing.

“Bucky?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late but I just, I didn’t, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Is everything okay?” I sat up, accidentally waking Cheryl who was asleep at the bottom of my bed. I got up, turning the light on.

“I’m in the hospital and I-”

“What?”

“No well, not me, Becky’s-”

“I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

I called a taxi, getting dressed as quick as I could, trying not to let my brain race. Before long the taxi gets there, and I sprint out of my apartment. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the hospital, and it doesn’t take long to find the Barnes’ either. Bucky sat in a chair by the bed that Becky was asleep in, an IV hooked to her little arm.

I all but ran over to Bucky, kneeling down in front of him, grabbing his hands into mine.

“Hey,” I whisper. He startles at my presence, and pulls me up into a bone-crushing hug the second he realises it’s me. I wrap one arm around his neck, the other rubbing his back. “What happened?” 

Before he could answer, a doctor walked into the room. “Mrs Barnes, glad you could make it.” She doesn’t give me a chance to correct her before continuing, “Good news, Becky’s going to be fine. It’s gastroenteritis. Stomach bug.” I feel Bucky’s body relax just a little. “She’s dehydrated, which is what the IV here is for, and we’d like to keep her overnight and then reassess tomorrow morning.”

“So she’s okay?” I ask, looking over the girl in the bed. She’s not very big as is, but seeing her in the hospital bed makes her seem even smaller. 

“She’s stopped throwing up, so looks like she’s on the mend. I’ll get another bed brought in for you.”

The doctor leaves, and Bucky sits back down, grabbing onto her hand. “I don’t know how it happened, she didn’t eat anything bad at home, maybe I wasn’t paying attention.” He whispers, head hung low.

“Stomach bugs don’t happen just through eating, babe. She could’ve caught it off someone at school, kids get sick so easily.” I place my hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. He looked up at me, his eyes glassy. “She’s going to be okay, Bucky. Once she gets all hydrated, she’s going to be okay. It’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve known.” 

“How? You can’t feel her stomach for her Buck.”

He shakes his head, a tear escaping. “I should’ve known something was off with her.” He wipes at his face as a nurse walks in, pushing in a bed. I nod toward it when he leaves, “Lie down at least.” 

Bucky looks over, brows furrowed. 

“I’m not saying go to sleep, just lie down. I’ll go grab you some water, or something. Do you want a snack?” He shakes his head again, lying down on the second bed, not taking his eyes off Becky.

I leave them for a moment, walking over to the vending machine. I grab a water, and some crisps too. The overhead lights flicker a bit, the place buzzing. It smells clean, like bleach almost, sterilised. There are soft beeps echoing through the hallways, paired with hushed words and sniffles from the waiting area. 

“Here.” I hold out the water to Bucky, but I’m met with silence as I take in his sleeping form. He looks exhausted. And massive. His legs don’t really fit and his back is bent, trying to squeeze himself onto the bed. I shrug off the cardigan I’m wearing and place it over his torso, walking over to sit down by Becky’s bed. 

“Hey sweet girl,” I whisper, taking her hand into mine. “Quite a scare you’ve given us there. Remind me to bring Cheryl over to you when you’re better, lift your spirits up.” 

I sit like that for a while, holding her hand and talking to her. She can’t really hear me, but that doesn’t stop me. I don’t notice the sun come up until I feel Becky’s fingers twitch. 

“Daddy?” 

“He’s on your other side, baby.” 

“Y/n! I missed you.” She giggles, her smile taking over her face. 

“I missed you too Becky, how are you feeling?”

“‘M tired.”

“I bet. How’s your tummy?”

“No more wobbles i think.” 

I chuckle, thumb stroking over the back of her hand. “Do you want me to wake your dad?”

She shakes her head no, looking at me with big eyes. “Cuddle please.”

I pause. There’s no part of me that wants to turn down a toddler cuddle, but there’s also no part of me that wants to overstep boundaries, she’s not my kid, I have to remind myself.

“With me?” 

She nods her little head and pats the bed next to her. I make my way over, squeezing between her bed and Bucky’s, and gently climb in, trying not to move the bed. I don’t have much of a chance to situate myself before she’s pressed up against my side, her left arm over my middle. I move my hand to gently stroke her hair. 

“My daddy likes you.”

My heart catches in my chest, as I glance toward to the sleeping man. “Yeah?”

“I like you too.”

“Thanks Becky.” I whisper, looking over at the girl again. “Shall we try and get some sleep?” 

She nods, then promptly tucks herself even closer to me. She drifts off quickly, and it doesn’t take much longer until I follow suit. 

*

The opening and closing of the hospital room door wakes me up. 

“Hi, sugar.”

I look over at the voice coming from the chair, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Hi, Buck.”

“Cute outfit.” I glance down at the cat print shorts and “I <3 dilfs” T-shirt I was wearing. I groan at myself, rubbing my hand over my face.

“I was wearing it before I left last night, I didn’t even realise, sorry.” A faint blush heats up my cheeks. 

“No need to be. I’m thankful you came. Think I would’ve been a blubbering mess if it wasn’t for you.”

“Anytime, Bucky. I’m just glad she’s okay.” I look to the snoring girl beside me, her hair all over the pillow and all over me as a result. I can feel Bucky’s eyes burning into us, so I turn to look. 

“Come home with us today.”

“What?”

“Come home with us today. Becky would like it, I’d like it. Hell, bring the dog if she’s okay with it.” 

“Bucky I, I don’t know. I don’t think Becky would appreciate that. I mean, she’s not 100% yet I don’t wanna intrude.”

“Sleepovers!” Becky yells out from next to me, making me jump. My hand flies up to my chest. “Please, y/n, pleaseeeeeeeeee.” Her little voice drags out the word and I can’t find it in myself to say no.

“Alright,” I laugh at the identical smile on both their faces. “But I don’t think I can bring Cheryl, she doesn’t like sleeping in unfamiliar places.” 

“Aw no puppy?” 

“I’ll bring her over sometime so you guys can play in the daytime.” 

That seems to satiate her as she starts to create a whole schedule for the day, hands flying everywhere as she talks.

“Looks like someone’s feeling better,” the doctor walks into the room, clipboard in hand. She performs a few tests, then removes the needle from Becky’s arm and I can physically feel the worry swallowing Bucky as his body tenses and his hands don’t stop fidgeting.

“Alright. I’ll have the release forms ready in a couple minutes and I’ll bring them over to you guys.” Bucky sighs, his shoulders sagging, as he leans back in the chair, watching the doctor leave. It’s a few seconds before Becky starts chatting away again, clearly excited to get home. 

Bucky doesn’t stop bouncing his leg even when he’s signing her out, or while he’s driving us home. He only seems to calm down when we walk through the front door, and Becky makes a bee-line for the sofa where her frog teddy bear lay forgotten. 

He takes a minute, watching her from the hallway as she lies down. “I really don’t know what I’d do if I lost her, y/n. I swear, I’ve never been so damn scared.”

“She’s your daughter Bucky it’s natural for you to be scared. It was worrying. But she’s home now,” I nod toward where she’s sat on the floor now, preoccupied with a previous colouring project she’d left. “Safe and sound, because you did the right thing and took her to get help.” 

He turns to me, eyes still full of worry. “I also don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thank you, plum, thanks for picking up in the middle of the night.”

“For you, Bucky? Always.”

His hands cup my jaw as he steps closer, pulling me for a chaste kiss. 

“I’m dying for a coffee though. Sit with Becky?”

I walk over to where she sits on the floor, colouring in a pink unicorn. “Unicorns can’t be purple, you know.”

“Oh?” I raise my brows, “Why’s that then?” 

“Well because they’re pink. And white. But most they’re pink. Sometimes their horns have glitter.”

“Can the horn be purple glitter sometimes?”

She taps a finger against her chin, taking a minute to think. “Yeah I think that’s okay. Colour this one.” She pushes another colouring book toward me, one with trucks this time. “This one reminds me of daddy ‘cos he likes cars lots.”

“I do baby, but I like your pretty unicorns too.” Bucky hands me a steaming mug, and places a  bottle of water down by Becky. He doesn’t join us on the floor, but sits behind us on the sofa instead, watching. 

My coffee grows cold as colouring turns into Lego, which turns into a puzzle, which turns into a dinner and a movie, which promptly led to Becky asleep on the sofa, head in my lap and feet in Bucky’s. I let my hands stroke her hair gently as the television plays in the background.

“I’m so grateful your car broke down.”

“Well…”

Bucky raises a brow. 

“I’m really grateful for where it’s led but honestly it’s kind of annoying not having a car.” 

He laughs then, the rest of his worry dissipating. “It’ll be done tomorrow, sugar. Can drive to your hearts content.”

“How much?”

“Well as much as you want. Although the car itself isn’t a great one so I wouldn’t go any longer than a day or two.”

I slap at his arm playfully, knowing that he knows it’s not what I meant. “Money, Bucky. How much will it cost? I lost the form you gave me.”

“Eh, what's meant to be will be.”

“Bucky.” I sigh, knowing I’m fighting a losing battle.

“What goes around comes around.”

“None of these phrases apply to this. Will you let me pay you?”

He shakes his head no, muttering a ‘I’ll be right back’ and carrying his daughter off to her bed. Two seconds later he reappears. 

“D’ya want a shower or anything? I have a spare toothbrush and can give you some clothes?”

I look down at myself and realise I never changed from the hospital clothes. 

“Yeah actually.” I follow him to his room as he grabs me a shirt of his and some boxers, then leads me to the bathroom. 

“So, turn right for hot water, left for cold. There’s towels here, and a toothbrush in the cabinet. Shout if you need.” 

The door closes behind him with a soft click and i turn the shower on, waiting for the water to heat up. I brush my teeth while I wait, looking at myself in the mirror. The bags under my eyes were bad, and my hair was sticking out in every direction it could. I needed this shower more than I realised. 

I step in and let the hot water just run over me for a second, not moving. I let the heat relax my muscles, and drench my hair. Slowly, I wash myself, taking a second to appreciate the sandalwood smell that encompasses the bathroom now. I wash my hair next, not enjoying the 3-in-1 but still enjoying the way it smelled like Bucky. The way I smelled like Bucky. I dry off and get into his clothes, shirt falling to mid thigh, just enough for his boxers to peek through under. 

I creep quietly from the bathroom to his bedroom, not wanting to wake Becky. I push the door open, and am greeted with a shirtless Bucky, lying back on his bed. 

“C’mere.” He pats the spot next to him. 

“I hope you know your pillows gonna be wet.”

He smiles, “I don’t care, would you please just come here?”

I get in next to him, a sigh of relief escaping me. “I didn’t realise how much I wanted to just sit back, I guess.”

“Yeah, sugar, ‘m tired too. It’s been a long day.” He lies down fully now, and I follow. We face each other after he turns his bedside light off. “I meant it when I said I’m grateful, y’know.” 

“I know.”

“Dunno how or why, but seeing you has become the best part of the day, sugar. Like a little lifeline,” he pauses, then says “I don’t want this to end when you get your car back.”

“It’s not going to. I’m not with you because you’re fixing my car. Or well technically I guess I am but you know what I mean. I like you, Bucky. And I really don’t think that’s gonna stop the second you give me those keys back.”

“You like me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“I like you too, sugar. A whole lot more than I can describe.” His hand cups my jaw again as he presses his mouth to mine, kissing me slowly, noses softly brushing up against each other. My arms come to rest around his neck as he moves now, propping himself up with his hands next to my head. His stubble drags along my jaw, then my neck, as he kisses softly, nipping every so often. 

“You smell good.”

“I smell like you, Buck.” I giggle, a little breathless. He groans at my response, sending a short vibration through my neck and chest, making me tilt my head back a little. 

“You like this, sugar? Feel good?” 

I hum in appreciation as he sucks little marks over my neck, finding the pulse point just underneath my jaw, one hand coming to turn my face sideways a bit, giving him more space. 

“Good, ‘cuz I think I’d like to express my gratitude to you.” 

“Huh?” 

“Can I touch you, plum? Will you let me touch you?” He looks at me earnestly, searching my eyes for any sort of discomfort. 

“Yeah, please.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I sit up and lift my arms up, letting him take it off. 

“You are so pretty,” he takes his time looking at my chest, fingertips tracing ever so lightly over my boobs, leaving soft, wet kisses as he moves downward, all over my abdomen. He bites down on my hips, gently still, as his fingers snap the waistband of my boxers. 

“Can I-” 

He chuckles when I lift my hips up, not waiting for him to ask his question. He peels off the shorts, throwing them on the floor.

“Oh, fuck me, sugar,” he presses a kiss to my inner thigh, “look how beautiful you are.” Then presses one to the other. 

“Are you still okay with this? You can change your mind, y’know.”

“Bucky if you don’t touch me, I will.” 

And it’s enough to get him moving. He leans into my core, pressing a feather light kiss to my bud before licking a stripe up. My hands find their home in his hair, tugging gently as he continues to lick into me, nudging his nose against me every so often.

“Bucky I,” I gasp out, biting down on my bottom lip, trying to keep quiet. He moans into my core, tongue in me as he makes out with my pussy. I pull harder on his hair as my hips move against his face, chasing my own high. Bucky moves, lips ghosting over my clit as he pushes a finger into me, both of us moaning out. 

“Sugar, you’re tight, so fuckin’ warm.” His finger starts moving slowly, feeling every inch of me. He adds another, and I arch into him again, silently begging him for more.

“Greedy baby, want my mouth again?”

I pull his hair in confirmation, pushing him toward my core. His tongue laps at my clit now, fingers pumping into me faster and faster. One of my hands flies up to my mouth, quieting my moans as much as I can.

“That’s it sugar, nice and quiet for me, hm?” He sucks on my clit and I come with a silent cry, grinding on his face through the aftershocks. He leans back up, kissing me sweetly and I can taste myself on his mouth. Bucky turns, lying down on his back. 

“Bucky that was, I, thank you.” I say, still breathless as I turn to face him, “let me-”

“No.”

“Oh, what?” 

“I told you, plum. I wanted to show my gratitude.”

“Wait are you sure? Cuz I don-”

“There’ll be plenty chances, I promise, sugar. Now let’s go to sleep yeah?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Goodnight, Buck.” 

“Night.”

I fall asleep fairly quickly, the added noise of cars driving by outside lulling me to sleep. 

Bucky on the other hand stayed up, just a little longer, watching the girl in his bed sleep away, her leg in between his calves.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

taglist: IF YOU'D LIKE TO BE ADDED LET ME KNOW.

@yellowsbutter @stell404 @truebluehue @sophiiwasheree @witchywannabe3263 @schlattslonghairytoes @theirmindpalace

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Heyyy!I I love your whc works and enjoyed them all, so I decided to request one myself. Can you please write something si-eun and a draf(also mute) reader who is also Hu-min's sister?like something fluff,or just howeve you like,ty for your hard work!<33

Quietly Yours

Pairing: Park Si-eun x Deaf/Mute!Reader (Hu-min’s younger sister) Genre: Fluff, slow-burn, soft comfort Length: ~3.5k words Warnings: Mentions of past bullying (light), overprotective Hu-min, KSL (Korean Sign Language) references

P.S this is giving twinkling watermelon

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Quietly Yours”

Hu-min had always been too protective. Si-eun knew this already.

He’d seen him chase down entire gangs in defense of his classmates, so it made sense that Hu-min would be even worse about his little sister.

Especially one who couldn't speak. Especially one who couldn’t hear a word they said.

And yet — when Si-eun first saw her, sitting on the edge of the school rooftop with her sketchpad resting gently in her lap, he forgot all about that.

She wasn’t scary. She wasn’t loud. She was calm.

And she was sketching him.

He only noticed because when he got closer, her fingers flinched in surprise and tried to turn the page, cheeks turning red in a way that felt... different from fear.

He sat down beside her, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong to disturb the silence she lived in. It felt wrong to interrupt.

So he didn’t.

He just waited — and eventually, she peeked at him again. And smiled.

It became a routine.

When she showed up, he stayed.

She never spoke, never waved, but sometimes she’d smile or offer a cookie from her pocket, or tap her sketchbook and scribble something for him to read.

“You have sad eyes.” Then later: “You don’t look sad when you’re around me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that — didn’t know if he could say anything. But something about the softness in her gaze made his chest feel full and tight all at once.

Si-eun had always struggled to connect with people.

She didn’t seem to mind that.

“Are you learning sign language?” Hu-min frowned, arms crossed as he watched Si-eun sitting at the corner of the library with an open KSL beginner’s book and his phone balanced on one knee.

Si-eun blinked slowly. “...No.”

Hu-min raised a brow.

“I’m just... trying.”

“Trying what?”

“To not be a total idiot around your sister,” he muttered.

Hu-min looked like he was calculating a million things at once, then he sighed. “She likes you, you know.”

Si-eun’s head snapped up.

“She watches you like you hung the damn moon. It’s annoying.”

Si-eun blinked.

Hu-min narrowed his eyes. “But if you hurt her—”

“I won’t.”

His voice was sharp and certain. And for once, Si-eun didn’t regret how fast he’d said it.

Their first “conversation” in sign was clumsy.

He spelled out every word like he was holding a toddler’s crayon, and half his movements were wrong, but she watched him so intently — her eyes glowing with something close to pride.

Then she signed back:

“You practiced.”

Si-eun nodded. “For you.”

Her cheeks turned pink. Her fingers fumbled for a second.

Then: “I like talking to you.”

He didn’t know how to sign it back, so he just whispered, “Me too.”

She never asked him to say much.

She just wanted him there — and Si-eun realized, over time, that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted peace and quiet before.

It wasn’t just that she didn’t expect him to fill silences. It was that she made the silence feel safe.

When she sat next to him, the world wasn’t so loud.

It happened one rainy afternoon.

She’d brought him a drawing again — a sketch of him sitting under the rooftop shelter with his head leaned back and eyes closed, peaceful for once.

At the bottom, she’d signed her name. And beneath that, something else.

He traced it with his thumb.

“I feel less broken around you.”

Si-eun looked up, heart pounding. She wasn’t looking at him. She was nervously fiddling with the corner of her sleeve, trying to pretend she hadn’t just exposed her whole heart on a scrap of paper.

He didn’t think.

He just reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

Her head snapped up.

Si-eun smiled — that quiet, rare kind of smile he only gave to her.

Then he signed:

“You were never broken.” “But if you were… I’d stay anyway.”

Her hands shook a little as she signed back:

“Even if I can’t speak?”

He nodded.

Then, very slowly, he leaned closer, heart hammering.

His lips brushed hers in the softest kiss he’d ever given anyone.

And when he pulled away, he cupped her cheek gently and said, “You don’t need words. You’ve already said everything I needed to hear.”

They stayed like that for a while.

Wrapped in each other. Quiet.

Just the way they both liked it.

[lalaurelia]

I have thoughts about that last line of Akutagawa's about luxury. And like. Please if someone with a better knowledge of Japanese has something to add, please do.

So Dazai goes: 芥川くん頑張ったね

"Akutagawa-kun, you did well". 頑張る is such a versatile word. The easiest meaning is perseverance and persistence. So like, "good job making it this far". But I feel that Dazai's words have a more broad meaning there.

And then we have Akutagawa going:

...嗚呼 (basically an interjection, "Ah/Oh") 何と美しき音楽 (What beautiful music) 許されるのか (can it be allowed) このような贅沢が (this luxury?)

The music phrase I feel refers to Dazai's praise. Akutagawa wanted his praise and acknowledgement for so long, and hearing it is beautiful, of course.

Then the next two. This seems like a single sentence to me. Please note that there is literally no pronoun anywhere, it's open to interpretation, this happens a lot of Japanese sentences. That's why I feel more confident translating Japanese into Russian first to get the feel of the sentence flow, because in Russian you can also omit pronouns and subjects and whatnot.

So. That sentence reads to me as Akutagawa asking himself if he can be allowed to having/enjoying the luxury of Dazai's praise. Asking himself if he truly earned it.

Not acceptance, but a drive to continue clawing at the enemy to survive.

I'm really curious to see what the next chapters will bring, in light of that.

Also, Akutagawa and Atsushi have to meet again. They're the core of this manga. It can't just be the end for them, it's too abrupt that way.

[sleepyhouse2art]

here are some crayon drawings from the hospital. they are bad but its hard for me to draw with a tiny blunt crayon. i barely got to draw and i really missed it so i thought id share these and talk about my time away

was restrained for four days and shot up with haldol. was let up only to call my husband which i think is illegal because it was too many hours. the er wouldnt give me my meds so i think i went through withdrawal cause my anti only has an 18 hour half life you know? i didnt eat for six days altogether. there was a nice cook who sometimes made me special vegan things but being there was hard so my nerves were shot and i couldnt really eat much. after four days i was finally transferred to the psychiatric hospital.

this is my therapist. shes been my therapist for five years and we like each other but when she told me to go to the hospital she promised id go to a nicer one and the crisis van took me to the wrong one. she wouldnt call or talk to me or answer my husbands texts. i was very mad at her. i dont think ill bring it up to her on wed. i just want to vent i think. i know she takes good care of me.

a drawing of myself

a little guy, a tiny prayer. i missed smoking! i blasted so many cigs when i got home lol. i didnt use the nic patch cause those make me super sick so i muscled it pretty good

my handwriting translated because its kind of hard to read sorry:

a window which you cant see thru

i miss hearing music

infected

if you freak out they put you in a little room with a picture of a palm tree on the ceiling. they also give you drugs

this is jocelyn. they left her unshowered for a month and left her sitting in her period blood for three days. it stunk up the whole unit and people laughed at her and a very aggressive fat girl said it smelled like shark coochie. she was very very sick. she was too scared of the orderlies because they were so mean but my friend melissa coaxed her into letting her change her pants and pad. i pray god will protect her and watch over her.

little experiential details:

the windows were pasted over with this blurry stuff so you couldnt see a thing. no music. the tv was always on mute for some reason. the er and the hospital didnt treat my cuts so they got really infected, all yellow and hot, and i got a fever for three days which i worried would keep me in there for longer. when i arrived i had to strip naked in front of a man and a woman, which has happened to me before. they notated all my scars and tattoos. the man was very gentle though. he wore a kippah and was always nice to me. we are mispocheh.

the hospital was hard. i was often denied water and the bathroom for a long time for some reason. i drank out of my sink from my hands like an animal. the orderlies were universally mean and snapped at us to get our attention like we were dogs. the nurses and doctors and admin knew our names but there were forty of us on the unit so the orderlies would just scan our wristbands when they needed to know who we were and referred to us by our room number. the orderlies liked to talk shit about us to each other within earshot. this big fat lady with giant spider fake eyelashes who was always glammed out said about me (and i was better so i know i was not hearing things) "that creepy bitch. she got them big ass dark circles and them big eyes and she tiny like a bug. always peeking her head out the door." lol. one of the friends i made had a very serious physical illness, i think it was called mcas she said, a mast cell disorder, and they wouldnt give her her medication and she got very sick and they all said it was somatic and talked about her behind her back.

i made friends with:

my very best friend melissa who would talk with me for hours. she had mast cell like i said and was denied treatment cause they said it was all in her head. she had a horrible scarring breakup after a divorce and asked a cop to shoot her. she was a singer songwriter. she told me its not my fault my brain is different and that i was so compassionate to our friends and i should show that compassion to myself. she told me i was a good person and i cried a little, but i had to nut up because if they see you cry you stay there longer because it means youre sick.

a guatemalan/italian car detailer who loves cars and her cats. she was followed at 80 mph by a cop and arrested and put on a hold and sent to the hospital, where they told her she was paranoid and put her on antis. she was very short and very sweet and she would try fruitlessly to sort all the crazy mismatched shitty crayons.

an autistic trans woman with a beautiful name who was my bestie. we made each other laugh so much. we were blue band team because we had dietary restrictions so always went to the front of the cafeteria line. she was so funny. she would hold herself when she laughed like it hurt. she told me crazy stories about her vampire sugar daddy who had a mansion in italy and two girl bulldogs who kissed her. they drank pints of each others blood and also cow blood she said. i tried to defend her because she kind of couldnt and people were mean and called her a man because she has a beard and laughed at her. im normally a very passive person but i couldnt let that happen. she was trying to go to a nice group home and was excited but her guardian totally blacked out on her and wouldnt answer her calls or let her go. i worry for her. she was lactose intolerant and ate cheese all the time anyway and it gave her bubble guts. she tried to be vegan with me one day because she said i was her role model which was so sweet. she liked to pour mixed coca cola and ginger ale in her salad with ice and eat it that way.

a very autistic man who was timid and scared and very gentle. a very aggressive man was screaming in the dayroom and throwing things and crushing cups of water and he got terrified so me and my friend held his hands even tho we werent supposed to touch. he likes to build model trains. he had an apartment and a job but his sister was trying to put him in a group home.

a man with a big scar on his head who they were trying to send to the state hospital even tho he wasnt sick. they said he had schiz like i have but i dont think he did. he gave me one of his shirts because i was always cold and let me keep it. i brought it home. it is a new york shirt. he says new york sucks now. i told him i was being discharged and he said i was the wards little princess.

a former banker and 30 year dope addict who had cool tattoos to cover his tracks. he was from the west coast like i am and had been all over this country. he gave me his sweatshirt because i was freezing all the time. he was gentle and kind and the meds made him sleep sitting up. he was the only person ive ever met who knew who sugar pie desanto was. she is one of my favorite singers. i will post my fav song of hers tonight or tomorrow.

a pretty twenty year old girl with bpd. she was a new mom to a six week old baby with a beautiful name and she was already pregnant again. her baby daddy was a useless cruel moid trash man who lived with her but didnt pay for anything or take care of the beautifully named baby. she had an ed since she was 12 like me. we both were trying to stop purging and didnt do it at all while we were there. i wish her so well.

an artist who had schiz like me. he was lightskinned and very tall and shy and sweet. i think he had a crush on me lol because he seemed very disappointed when i said i was married. we talked about god and time travel and belief. he was lds and im a jew so we talked to each other.

my roommate who had schiz too. they put her on a first gen because she screamed for three days and then she slept constantly. we would wake up at five and talk for an hour and have so much fun and she would go back to sleep. she let me shower in the morning and she showered at night. she said i was very funny. i made her laugh which made me feel good because she was so sad normally. shed been to the hospital a lot like me too.

a big girl with bpd who was very nice and i was nice to her but we had a weird relationship. the first thing i ever heard her say was at the med window and she said she didnt eat voluntarily. it was weird because shed focus intently on me from her table in the cafeteria and watch me do my food rituals and eat what i could or would. she looked at my body a lot. we liked to talk about our cats together but it was just really weird.

other people i met:

this bipolar guy who was really manic. he said he was a songwriter and he would scream sing and do that trill thing. he was really aggressive and scared people and menaced the women and afab people. he said he wrote songs but they all looked like this:

he made me sign it for support lol

this very mean fat girl who i said good morning to and she said how are you and i said good, you doing okay? and she flipped out on me and was like what the fuck you mean am i okay and said watch yourself you stupid bitch i dont play that. so i was always kind of scared shed hit me. she was really rotten to my trans girl friend i talked about. it was rotten. i didnt like her at all.

this man who always touched me and bumped up against me in the cafeteria line and touched my hurt arms through my sleeves. he always tried to hold my friends hand. he was always asking me to play dominos and uno which i dont know how to play and i didnt want to play with him. i wasnt delusional anymore so i am very sure the constant serial killer staring he did at me was real. i was scared of him but didnt tell staff because i worried they would think it was my paranoia and i wasnt getting better.

all the orderlies were mean to me and treated us like legit animals and i hated them. all i did was keep my head down and apologize to them constantly for walking by then and asking for water and the bathroom and asking questions. i came home and asked my husband for water and a cig like i was still there which made him sad. i very much appreciate my big old nice house but everything feels like a beautiful luxury with which i must be careful. i know i wasnt hospitalized for long this time but this always happens to me when i am, idk why. guess it comes with the territory. a lot of julian from my kirche street pharmacy comics and art comes from me but in a much more extreme and tragic fashion. i relate to him a lot tbh. maybe other people with mental illness can relate to him too.

i still have big yellow bruises from er staff and orderlies grabbing me by the arms really hard. my cuts are all healed but i think theyll scar badly which sucks cause its summer. isnt the solstice on the 20th or something right? ive been thinking of taking pictures of my arms so maybe people can relate and feel less bad about theirs. i only started at 27 when i really started getting very sick and they are a mess and im really embarrassed but i feel comfortable showing you guys cause you know me. also i have sick dumb stick and pokes lol

ok this is really long i am so sorry its probably really boring and whiny and uninteresting but i guess this is my blog so you signed up for this ha ha 💀

thank you for all the love and care and support you have shown me. i scripted ten pages of hard core drugs in the hospital so now i just have drawing to do and i will resume my work tonight cause i really missed it. just have to uh decipher my fucking crayon bullshit lol. so look out!!

ok i love you see you later. btw if anyone is ever struggling my messages and asks are always open and dont feel weird about talking to me. honestly im a pretty open book and i love talking to people and relating and making new friends. i know this is corny but i just want people to know im someone whos always around ♥️✌️unless I'm in the fucking hospital LOL

[rainy-matcha]

THEORY about Sugarfly cookie!

(warning, I have not read/played Eternal Sugar cookie's beast yeast episodes, this theory is based off Sugarfly's dialogue)

In her dialogue, she talks about her wings a LOT. Both mentioning that they're very pretty and she loves but also that she doesn't "need" them.

Along with her dialogue with Pavlova where he says she used to be able to fly before but can no longer.

She also has this line, which is particularly interesting to me:

This line in combination with:

Implies that she used to have wings that she could fly with, (when she entered the garden) that were "dull" and "boring". Then, Eternal Sugar cookie gave her the wings she has currently, "Eternal Sugar cookie gave me **these** wings" - which are very pretty but she is unable to fly with. I personally think that Eternal Sugar cookie dipped her wings in syrup which made them glisten but also made them too heavy to fly with. She's based off of a butterfly, and when a butterfly's wings are wet they become to heavy to fly with. When she refers to not needing or wanting wings she means the old ones she was able to fly with/having the ability to fly, and when she praises her wings she is talking about the new "pretty" ones. A lot of her other dialogue indicates she cares about beauty and things being pretty, "why do unpretty things exist..?" So I think she is telling herself her new wings are better and denying the part of herself that wants to fly freely. Eternal Sugar cookie probably got rid of her functional wings because of her attempting to escape, or potentially to embrace sloth more ? I think the first one makes more sense, since Pavlova still has wings. Eternal Sugar probably disguised this cruelty with "I was just making them prettier" <3 knowing that Sugarfly loves pretty things

[kadisiyuswyrd]

MCR GAYLIST MASTERPOST

Hello, gays. I'm in the process of making a video & I'd like some input.

(I blame @cordspaghetti for keeping Alpharetta Gerard in my mind)

As the title implies, the video will rank every MCR song based on how gay it is in chronological order (more or less). Hopefully, it'll be released the first day of the new Black Parade tour (July 11, 2025). No promises, though.

At this point in the writing process (just finished Bullets this morning) I think Everyone Hates the Eagles is their gayest song. Prison, Mama, & To the End are up there, though ("he's not around he's always looking at men," I mean...c'mon).

I'm not too good at lyrical analysis, though, nor is my knowledge of MCR as robust as I'd like, so I'm interested to hear different queer readings of their songs.

As unserious as this video concept is, I actually want to approach it from a really earnest lens. Tier lists are already so subjective; gayness is such an arbitrary, amorphous label. I want to play around with the inherent stupidity of this.

There are some fundamental questions that I still haven't really answered but would love to explore:

What does it mean for something to be queer / gay (weird)?

What does it mean for something to be straight (normal)?

I really have no conception of what normality is anymore. I find strange things normal, normal things strange; when I act normally I feel strange, but am called strange when I think I'm acting normally...

3. How does rock music manage to attract both extremely gay and extremely straight fanbases (e.g. Nirvana, Queen, Misfits)?

Nirvana's fanbase always surprises me because the band was so left-leaning and anti-machismo, but because they sounded rough and masculine they attract these really weird, pretentious assholes. The way that rock music oscillates between hypermasculine presentation (leather jackets, jeans, shirtless, hairy) and queer theatricality (David Bowie, early Queen) is really interesting to me in general. It's a genre that's been sexist and feminist, homophobic and relentlessly queer in the same decade.

4. Is there value in deliberately ambiguous queer representation?

This question makes me think of iLLi. She emerged from ambiguity and I think that's part of her appeal. Fanfiction is grasping at straws to make something beautiful and whole. Isn't the ambiguity sometimes preferrable—to allow unique fan interpretation?

Not all of these questions need to be answered in the video, but I want them on my mind while writing. Part of me wants to make a normal tier list video, another part wants to kind of deconstruct it...but. this video is shaping up to be a behemoth as is, so maybe I should avoid scope creep and keep my ambitiousness in check.

We'll see how it goes. I'd love to hear from y'all.

(Also, big shoutout to @angstics who is, by my estimation, the seminal queer MCR scholar. I've been referring to a lot of their writing during the research process.)

Below is a list of the sources I'll be referring to during the script writing process. This is a living document, so except this list to expand in the coming weeks. Cheers.

—Kay

Research w/Notes:

This article is a fun look at the early days of the band. It features a fun story about a sickly Gerard getting punched by record exec to give him energy to record his vocals. It worked.

Blistein, Jon. (2021). How a Sucker Punch Fueled the Rise of My Chemical Romance. Rolling Stone. https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/my-chemical-romance-rise-book-excerpt-sellout-dan-ozzi-1247331/   

One of Gerard's answers during his famous 2014 Reddit AMA. Mainly focused on his answer to question 5 about Drowning Lessons and its status as MCR's "cursed song."

Way, Gerard. (2014). Reddit AMA https://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/2i1840/comment/ckxylaq/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button 

A really thorough video about queer (sub)text in You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison. A helpful resource. souryogurtgirl. (2024). My Chemical Romance's Gay Anthem? YouTube. https://youtu.be/jDP5_Kl36ms

A TRACK BY TRACK BREAKDOWN OF TBP. Hell yeah.

Great MCR essays. The essay SEX & VIOLENCE is the most interesting to me, at least in relation to this video. Love & suffering is such a deeply queer idea. The "queering of violence" is so central to MCR's lyricism. Love how the essay points out the importance of Gerard's delivery, that's something I want to highlight in my own analysis.

[crazycat010]

What am I even doing?!

Of Shadows and Stardust MASTERLIST

GOJO SATORU X READER part 2

Warnings: mentions of death, fatal car accident, alcohol abuse, slight child abuse, hitting, solitude and loneliness, reader being basically split in half between their normal version and sorcerer version, running away from home, (mostly from memories or brief references).

Word count= 3K+ words

Once again, you were woken up at the first lights by her grumbling. What was the matter with her? Ever since you’d encountered the Second-grade curses a few days ago she had been restless, muttering and blabbering mindlessly in your own mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything and causing you the worst migraines ever.

“What the heck?! Just Shut up! I’m trying to get all the sleep I lost because of you!” You thought, yelling at her in her mind, frustrated.

“I know what we must do. I figured out a way to solve this problem!” She muttered.

“What problem? What are you talking about?” You started getting out of your bed and preparing a nice warm shower. Perhaps that would ease your senses and bring a little comfort in these painful days.

“You know what I’m referring to, ungrateful child!” She scoffed loudly. “The curses started arriving in masses at the Tokyo Central Elementary School just as you became a teacher there and started going there regularly. It’s a pattern that has been following you  ever since we came in contact…”

“What’s your point?” You asked, utterly confused and completely stressed out by the whole situation. Realization however, was starting to kick in, and soon sadness followed, filling your soul like water in an empty glass.

“You and I both know it’s not a coincidence. You can try to fake it as much as you want, but we’re the problem. We always have been. Wherever we go, we attract curses, like light attracts moths. We both have known for the longest time, but you’ve decided to ignore it. Now that we’ve gotten stronger, we need to take action and do something about it!” She explained. It made sense.

Besides, you’d always known, deep down, you just had never actually acknowledged it.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!” You screamed out loud. You already knew the answer, it was just to painful to admit. How were you supposed to live like that?

“We need to escape, find somewhere quiet and without any people around. We’re threats to all living life.”

“Talk for yourself.” You said, getting under the boiling hot jet of water, trying to suppress all the emotions that were hitting you all at once.

You thought about how you’d gotten to know her.

Turbato pacis, that’s how you referred to her. It meant ‘disturber of the peace’ in Latin, the Ancient language your mother had forced you to learn during high school.

You’d never given your mother enough credit for keeping your family together while working three jobs and taking care of both you and your father for god knows how long, not until it was too late and didn’t matter anymore, anyways.

Something about you had always been different. You remember how you used to win every single street fight you got your stinky ass into with the big mouth of yours. You always wanted to help the defenseless, those whom people chose to tear the eyes away from.That’s how your mother had raised you: a brave warrior that helped the poor, wether it was with food, sweet words, hugs, or punches. You felt kind of like Robin Hood, the main character of your favorite tale. Ever since you’d been first read the story to, you’d been amazed and greatly impressed by the grand gestures of such noble-hearted and gentle man, a kind soul who stole what others didn’t need and, instead of keeping the bounties for his own poor self, he gave them away to those in need, aiding his people in any way possible.

That’s what you dreamt of becoming, a beacon of light in the surrounding darkness, justice in a pool of misery and mischiefs. However, life had many surprises prepared for you, leading you through one bad situation after the other.

Even though you never lost, you always ended up patched up by your furious mother, mad at you for your reckless behavior. You couldn’t help but pick fights with people bigger and stronger than you, which did indeed mean their downfall, but also a broken nose for you, if not worse.

You’d always fought injustice, like your mother had wanted, until the most unjust event happened to the two of you.

You were chatting mindlessly, probably about school, an ice cream in one hand and the other holding your mother, who was skillfully managing to eat her own creamy delight while balancing in her arms three shopping bags and that small black full of scratches leathery backpack of hers, where she kept her most useful belongings, alongside some money and tissues for her daughter. Your father was right behind you, busy checking business stuff on his phone. You waited patiently at the crossroad before the traffic light became green, and then you started crossing the road, as you would normally do.

Nonetheless, it was no normal or ordinary day that one, on which your mother ad been able to convince you to go shopping with her, bribing you with food.

A drunk man had decided he wanted to go outside too that random Thursday evening, and thought, why not have a ride on his new car as well?

Too much liquor in his body, he hadn’t even noticed his pants were missing, so how could he have seen the traffic light turn red at the crossroad? The last thing he saw before ascending to the skies to his long-lost mother were two women, or at least one woman and one woman-to-be, crossing the same road as the one his was driving one, before all went down.

You didn’t have the time to realize it as your mother threw herself on your small figure in a useless attempt to keep you out of harm’s way. You should have died as well, that day, but fate seemed to have other things planned for you.

The car crash was chaotically, to say the least, and it ended with the new red car crashed on a nearby secular tree, two unrecognizable bodies shattered in the middle.

Nevertheless, one of them was the driver’s, as you’d somehow and jumped your way out of the crash.The aftermath was a mix of sorrow, grief and anger driven actions, compelled mostly by your father, who had watched the whole scene unfold right under his very nose, unable to think or react.

You didn’t understand how you’d saved yourself, too shocked from all the events to even try to think hat maybe, there was a connection behind all the mysterious stunts you always pulled whenever danger came your way.

That was until she actually came out, Y/n 2.0, another way you called her.

Out of everyone, understandably, your father was the most stressed out one. He moved frantically, spending his days pacing the living room with a never-ending bottle of beer in his left hand and a picture of your mother in his right one. He couldn’t rest, eat or drink, just like you. However, being the innocent child you were, you didn’t understand what was happening, simply wanting your dada back from crazy-land.

You tried to tell him to calm down, tried to get him to sit down and have dinner with you, but before you knew it, he had dropped the picture of your mother, taken a big gulp of that golden liquid, a small amount of which fell in small droplets on his chin, and swung his big calloused hand aimed for your cheek.

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the hit, but it never came. Trembling, you opened your eyes to see your father’s eyes wide open in a mix of surprise and alcohol-driven rage and madness. While you covered your face with one hand, the other firmly gripped your father’s forearm, preventing a rather harsh hit.

Panicking, you quickly let go of him and ran upstairs to your bedroom, locking yourself inside and heading to the little sink to wash your face.

As you rinsed it thoroughly and then proceeded to dry it with a dirty cloth. As you did that, you couldn’t help but notice the reflection in the mirror. It was you, as usual, but the ‘other Y/n’ had black eyes, the darkest bag under her eyes and black and green tattoos, that resembled strange figures and terrorizing snakes. Her black hair had stripes of a flashy bright green in it and she wore a black long robe with green and silver accessories, very different from your worn out beige school uniform and plain black hair.

As if it couldn’t get any weirder, the reflection started talking to you.

“Hello Y/n.” It said, with the calmest tone.

You screeched in surprise, not knowing what to do, but still kept your eyes on the mirror, as you tried to learn more about her.

As you were about to discover, she’d always been a part of you, ever since you were born. However, until then, you’d always had control over her, or as she’d say, she kept quiet and didn’t interfere with your life. Nevertheless, she was still a part of your life, helping you during fights for example, but never completely taking over your body. When the incident with your mother had happened, she’s sensed your turmoil and knew something was about happen and she’d have to help you. That’s why she intervened during your fight with your father, and had now completely detached herself from you in order to protect you, leading to the creation of two Y/ns, as one could call it. She tried to reason with you that you couldn’t stay there anymore, and being the sweet and pure kid you were, you agreed, not taking the risk of hurting anybody.

That was the night you escaped, with a small backpack and a picture of your family in hand.

You didn’t know what you were to do, but perhaps that’s what made it so exciting, the thrill of a new adventure.

In time, you learned to co-exist with Enchantress, the name you usually used for her because of the power she held. She taught you all you knew about curses, and you tried to teach her about life in the real human world, whenever you could get her to listen. You became each other’s best friend, unable to rely on anybody else or trust the mere strangers that popped into your life.

After you’d gotten into a good university and found a way to live freely without the need of your father’s or any other tutor’s presence, Enchantress stepped aside, letting you live your life at its fullest. She still talked to you and entertained you with her snarky comments, but she’d actually intervened, until a few days ago…

You felt the water becoming cold and knew you had to get out of here, not only of the shower obviously, but you had to leave your job and go somewhere isolated and safe, for everybody’s sake.

That day, after spending some time in school and enjoying your last hours with your students, you resigned from your job without explanations, and started packing your bags as soon as you came back home.

What you didn’t expect that day, was a visitor, much less Gojo Satoru himself knocking at your door and seven p.m. in the evening.

“Helloooo…” He cheered, but frowned and gave you a confused look upon noticing the scattered bags all around your apartment.

“Are you moving out?” 

“Hello to you too Satoru.” You said calmly, going back to stack the brown boxes one on top of the other.

He kept his frown, urging you to answer his question.

“And yes, I am moving. I should be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

He gave you a saddened look, and only after a while you understood its meaning.

“Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you! Sorry Gojo, ehm-I mean Satoru. I really wanted to call you but I didn’t have the time. It was a pretty fast decision, if you know what I mean.” You tried to explain to the white-haired man.

“Don’t worry, I figured you must’ve been busy. But why are you moving out? And where would you be going anyways? I thought you really liked it here…” He said, looking around your apartment.

He’d visited you a couple of days after you’d first met and you’d told him about how you’d just moved in a couple of months ago and really enjoyed your new home and job.

“I did, it’s just…” You stopped yourself before you could say anything else. You couldn’t lie to a sorcerer! He’d detect it right away and then you would be in big trouble. You had to avoid talking about the reason for which you were leaving. “It’s complicated, really. And besides, there is no real matter. It just feels like I don’t belong here…” That part was true. Ever since you’d run away from your home, you felt like  you didn’t fit in anywhere, and all the dangers you’d faced had only made you stronger and perhaps gave you some trust issues, and now you constantly felt alone and unwanted, though it was a minor thing, considering your real issues- Cough-cough-Enchantress-.

“What if you come teach at Jujutsu High?” He asked.

What?! He wasn’t possibly proposing to…huh?

“I mean, the kids already have teachers for sorcery stuff and everything, but there’s a lack of more…How can I say?…normal subjects? Like, they don’t know anything about Maths, History, literature, science or any of that stuff, but I know it could be really important if they don’t become actual Sorcerers or even if…I mean, they could really use a teacher like you.” He said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Surprisingly enough, you thought about it. You knew you had to get out of the city, but wherever you went, you had to get a job to survive, or you’d have to go back to the way you were as a runaway teenager, which were years you only wanted to forget about.

Besides, at the High School you’d be protected from curses and evil sorcerers and you wouldn’t bring more danger or trouble than the ones all of the students would ordinarily face.

“Don’t you dare!” Enchantress, ever the party crusher seethed. “We’ve already made this decision! We’re heading to a small village in the country where we won’t bring danger to ourselves or anybody else. Besides, you’d be living with sorcerer, which means they would find out about us sooner or later, whether you like it or not, and I’m 100% sure they won’t like us. I heard stories about people killed for this! For being like you! You can’t do this, the risk is too great, as you would put it, the cons are way more than the pros.” She tried to reason with you, though you tried to keep your mind open to every possibility.

You hadn’t made a final decision yet, so why not try?

Besides, Gojo seemed like a pretty chill guy, so after getting on friendly terms, you could tell him about your situation and you were sure that, with his kind nature, he’d help you (he did say he liked you, and you didn’t want to use his feelings against him, but, they sure would help!).

“I…have to think about it…” You told him, not giving a definite answer.

“I understand. I don’t want to put too much pressure on you, but I think you’d be a great fit for the kids and everyone there will love you. Besides, it’s a very friendly and chill environment, so you’d get used to it pretty quickly. In addition, you wouldn’t have to worry about food or a place to stay, since all of us teachers and students live in buildings on the High School grounds.”

You nodded in thought, but he began speaking once again: “Anyways, I got the feeling you’ll move out regardless, so why don’t you let me help you gather all these boxes and then we can go eat something?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.” You answered. A new feeling entered your heart, a feeling of fondness, happiness mixed with something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You had finally found a friend you could trust, so why not? Why not try to be part of something bigger, be part…of a family again.

You felt your eyes begin to tear up and, without any warning, you threw yourself in Gojo’s arms. He didn’t ask you anything or question your motives, keeping you latched onto him as tight as possible.

As soon as you felt better, you muttered with a cracked voice, in between soft sobs and hiccups: “Thank you, for everything.”

With a hopeful gleam in his eyes, he said, making circles on your back with his long fingers to soothe you and ease your nerves: “Does this mean you’ll come teach at my school?”

You simply nodded, your mind (mostly Enchantress though) screaming at you to not do it, but for once, you didn’t listen to her. For the first time in a very long time, you followed your heart, that pleaded you for a chance to be part of a family that truly loved you, regardless of who you were or what you did. You were finally free, and it felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders as you detached yourself from Gojo, who stood in front of you with that recognizable beam of joy in his eyes. It reminded you that you weren’t in this alone, and even thought you’d just met him, he would help you throughout every step of your journey, your trustworthy friend. On this journey, you’d probably make mistakes and things would probably go wrong many times, but that didn’t matter. For the first time, you thought about what you wanted, without over caring about the consequences of your choices on other people: it was your life dammit!

Heart full of hope and joy, you felt ready ready to start this new unexpected chapter of your life!

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[birdofwildness]

Remus Lupin coming out to the marauders.

♱coming out.

♱Remus Lupin

sumarry:: what the title says lmao

warnings:: being afraid to come out, Peter isn't a bigot just insecure about himself.

Sirius Black::

It happens late at night, when the dorm is quiet.

Remus doesn’t plan it. He never would — planning this kind of thing makes it harder to go through with.

It’s a quiet night, Sirius is lying upside-down on his bed reading a record magazine, and Remus is fidgeting with his sleeve hem in that way he always does when he’s overthinking.

He just says it. “I think I’m gay.” Voice low, almost swallowed by the night.

There’s a pause — not because Sirius is shocked, but because he’s trying to process it properly.

Sirius immediately sits up, expression blank for just a second before he smiles.

“That’s what you were working yourself into a knot about?”

He throws a pillow at Remus. “You scared the hell out of me, Moony. I thought you’d been bitten by a second werewolf or something.”

Then, quieter he says“Thanks for telling me.”

Sirius doesn’t make it weird — he makes it safe.

“Is this the part where I tell you I’m gay too?” he adds a beat later, voice light.“Bit obvious, yeah? I mean, have you seen me?”

They both laugh, the kind that bubbles out like pressure releasing from a valve. It feels like fresh air.

Sirius immediately becomes the world’s most aggressively supportive friend.

The next day, Sirius punches a fourth-year Slytherin who makes a slur in the corridor.

“He wasn’t even talking about me, Sirius—”“Don’t care. Don’t want that filth in my airspace.”

Sirius starts referring to them as “the Gays” when it’s just the two of them. “The Gays demand snacks, Moony. You’re closer to the kitchen.”

He buys Remus a pin that says ‘Howl If You’re Gay’.

Remus wears it once. Just once. On the inside of his robes, where no one else can see it. Sirius knows it’s there. That’s enough.

James Potter::

It happens during a peaceful moment — no pranks, no noise, just two best friends.James is quieter than usual. It's one of those rare introspective afternoons, and Remus takes the opening.

Remus starts clumsily, unsure how to say it.“I think I’m gay.”

James pauses, not in a bad way — just letting it sink in.“Oh. Okay.” Then he adds. “Wait — do you fancy me?

Remus groans, shoving him. “No, you narcissist.” James breaks into a wide grin. “Well, that’s rude. But good. That’d be awkward.”

“You’re still my brother. Just one who happens to like blokes.” That moment means everything to Remus, more than he knows how to say.

James immediately gets protective.“If anyone ever gives you crap for it, just say the word. I’ll duel them before breakfast.”

James gets a tiny rainbow charm from a Muggle shop and gives it to Remus in a joking-but-not-joking way.

Lily immediately becomes Remus’s fiercest emotional defender.“Anyone gives you shite, I hex first, ask questions never.”

She asks genuine, respectful questions.She listens. She learns. She never makes it about her.

Lily gives him a gift a week later — a little homemade pin.It’s enchanted to look like the phases of the moon, but subtly glows rainbow when you tap it.

And she always makes sure he knows: “You’re not alone. You never have to be.”

Peter Pettigrew::

Remus debates whether to tell Peter at all.Not because he doesn't care about Peter — but because he isn't sure Peter will understand.

He tells Peter in a quiet, one-on-one moment.Maybe they’re paired up for an Herbology project, working under the dim greenhouse light.

There’s an awkward pause — not hostile, just shocked.Peter blinks. Looks up from his notes.“Oh.”

He doesn't smile. He doesn’t hug him. But he doesn't freak out. Which, honestly, Remus takes as a win.

Peter doesn't know how to respond, so he deflects with a joke.“Bet Sirius is jealous you didn’t come out to him first.”Remus snorts despite himself. “He was actually the first.” “Oh.” Peter’s voice goes flat. “Of course he was.”

Deep down, Peter struggles with insecurity, not bigotry.

It’s not that he has a problem with Remus being gay.It’s that Peter is terrified of being excluded from yet another part of the Marauders’ world.

Eventually, Peter does come around.It takes a few days. But one night, while everyone else is asleep, he taps Remus’s bedpost.“Hey. I’m glad you told me.”

Peter is awkward with queer topics, but he tries.“So, like, do you think Karkaroff is hot?” “Peter, what the hell.” “I’m just trying to be inclusive!”

Later, when everything falls apart, this moment haunts Remus.

[space-writes]

thinking about the obedience boys again and,,ough. tell me about their favorite date plans.

they love going out to dinner, are they likely to have a restaurant that's their go-to or do they try something new every time? how would ashenivir like an opera/theater date now they're together?

also because they're such homebodies i can see modern!them having a movie night at home, maybe rizeth cooks as a special occasion? what would their favorite genres be?

OUAGH i have been Thinking about them too. mostly their wedding. because reasons. (also some idle thoughts about Rizeth’s mother…because i love to inflict emotional pain on that man, and her still being alive and showing up…gives me much to chew. ANYWAY)

i’m like 50/50 on the restaurant thing because I think that Rizeth is the kind of person who very much likes a routine, established place where he knows food will be good and the staff are competent and they can have a nice time, BUT Ashenivir loves variety and novelty, and Rizeth loves watching him experience new things. so i think they do have A Favourite that’s their go-to, but often they’ll go try new places mostly so Ashenivir can enjoy Rizeth frowning at new menus, and Rizeth can enjoy Ashenivir eating whatever he picked for him that night.

I think that now he’s not freaking the fuck out about his feelings, Ashenivir would be able to give opera a much fairer try. theatre 100% he’d like, though; opera would heavily depend on which opera (not that i know fuck or shit about opera adsjlds). Part of the enjoyment for him now though would be a mix of ‘getting to hold Rizeth’s hand in public the whole time’ and ‘how much teasing can i get away with when the lights go down before we’re either caught and removed from the theatre or Rizeth threatens me (sexual)’

oh, modern!boys are absolutely movie night at home boys. i’m torn between Rizeth wanting to show Ashenivir Classic Cinema, and Rizeth knowing absolutely NOTHING about movies and never really watching them until Ashenivir starts showing him all his faves. because on the one hand, i am such a sucker for Rizeth being a Teacher in more aspects of their relationship, but on the other hand, i fucking adore the idea of Rizeth not getting like 90% of pop culture references until Ashenivir educates him. that man doesn’t know what a Star War is. he’s never heard of a Xenomorph. he can read Lord of the Rings he doesn’t need to watch it.

however, yes, he would cook - for a date night he’d probably do something a bit more elaborate than his usual cooking; to Ashenivir (and to me) his usual cooking is already elaborate because he doesn’t just throw frozen things into various devices until Food Is Edible. do we think he bakes as well? he definitely can, but would he bother? i feel like he might. the ability to bribe your sub with homemade baked goods is powerful…

as for genre, i don’t think they’d have a favourite particularly. i can see Rizeth being partial to murder mysteries - not action thrillers, but actual Mysteries, because then he and Ashenivir both sit there solving them by the midpoint; or coming to different conclusions and arguing about it, that’s also extremely cute.

Ashenivir i think likes fantasy movies and maybe horror movies, though I think he’s the type to either watch them in the daytime, or forget and watch them as it gets dark and then spend the entire evening with a resting heartrate of ‘oh fuck i made a mistake’. making Rizeth watch scary movies with him is entirely an excuse to play up how scared he is and get comforted. Rizeth knows this. he indulges, because Ashenivir is adorable.

(also ty for the opportunity once again to ramble about the lads. i somehow still have 1 million things to say about them TT_TT)

also fuck it, taglist ahoy, because if anyone else is going to enjoy Cute Domestic Facts about the Boys, it's you lot:

Obedience taglist: @foxboyclit @belovedviolence @thegreatobsesso

@notwritinganyflufftoday @exeiguess @firesidefantasy

(ask to be +/-)

[honeylemonteaasblog]

Imperfectly

summary: These boys will always be there to remind you that love isn’t about perfection. And you don’t need fixing, you are a fighter after all.

pairing: ot7 x reader (first person using “I”)

genre: comfort and healing (so… fluff, angst but more internal pain than relationship angst— these boys are so soft)

word count: 2.5 k

warning (not detailed): negative self-talk and internalized toxicity, references to anxiety, depression, and trauma, [soft boys that make my heart feel like it is bleeding out]

note: this one means a lot to me and I really hope everyone finds a little piece that resonates with you (not because negative self-talk should be normalized… rather we all deserve to be kinder to ourselves.)

“Don’t you get it?” And at this point, I’m pleading because I need them to understand. “I’m broken.”

I didn’t know how else to explain to them that they weren’t the problem. God, these boys would never be the problem. I was. Even on my good days, I could feel the fragments shifting beneath my skin, biding their time like forgotten shards of glass hidden in the carpet.

I can never explain how I’m feeling. I know what I feel—I’m the one experiencing it—but I can’t put it into words when emotion clogs my throat. I can’t communicate with them in the way they deserve.

And I’m weighted down by my own pain, so there is no strength left to carry their burdens. I’m pathetic for still wanting their support. It hurts to accept that I can’t support them in the way they deserve.

And most importantly, I don’t know how to love them without burdening them with me. “I need to fix myself before I can love you. You deserve to be loved fully. I can’t give you that. I can’t love you when all I have to offer is this… broken, imperfect love.” They deserve so much more than I can give them.

That truth felt like swallowing glass: I can’t love them how they want to be loved, so I would never be enough. It was better to cut this off now before anything could take root and flower. I needed to figure out how to cut them out of my life, and fast, because the intensity with which these seven boys were looking at me made me think it would be one hell of a battle.

“That’s not how I want to be loved.” Taehyung’s voice was thick with something I couldn’t identify. “None of us do.” But it was his eyes that made me feel like I’d just stepped into quicksand. Betrayal splashed across his features, sucking me in, but I didn’t understand what I had done to make him look at me with such sadness.

My fingers twitched at my side, aching to reach across the gap and smooth his features. I liked relaxed Taehyung so much better. I wanted to make it all better, but I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t understand why they would be upset with me. I could feel my shoulders curl up towards my chin, so ashamed I’d hurt someone I claimed to love.

Jimin pressed closer like he couldn’t bear the distance. Or maybe it was the tears in my eyes; they always hated it when I cried. His fingers twitch at his side too. But I pulled my gaze away, not letting myself read into it too much. I needed to stick to the plan.

It’s hard though. They make me feel like anything is possible. They make me feel like I’m bulletproof. It was when they left me alone with the voices in my head that the doubt crept in. Comfort never seems to last; I’d be pulled back into the depths sooner or later.

“We just want to be loved by you, Sweetheart. If it’s you, we want to be loved imperfectly.” I blink away Jimin’s confession. It’s hard to trust my senses when I have such blurry vision. My eyes shutter close to focus on his voice. It reminds me of a storm cloud sagging along the horizon.

I could tell the rain was coming, but he was trying to put on a strong front for me. Jimin was always like that. He was fragile, like me, but he tried so hard to be stronger for me. I don’t think he realized that I liked that fragile version of him too. I liked the version of him that cried when we watched sad movies and wrote really long birthday cards because he’d create excuses to show how much he cared.

“And yes, that’s selfish.” Namjoon cut Jimin off, always the first to admit fault. Namjoon, my protector, liked to take as much blame as possible because he thought it would ease some of the burden off other shoulders. He was willing to carry it all; he wanted to carry everyone else’s pain. Sometimes, I think he forgot he had his own pain to hold too.

Sometimes, late at night when only the shadows dancing across my ceiling were awake, I wondered if Namjoon focused on everyone else’s pain so he could pretend like his didn’t exist. Then, when I was really brave, I wondered if he would ever let me shoulder some of his burden too.

He was always harder on himself than anyone else was. “But it is everything to us.” He kept his distance, like he was afraid that inching closer, as Jimin had dared, might scare me off. I want to blame him for that, but he isn’t completely wrong either.

Namjoon was always able to understand my thoughts better than I could. Maybe that was why I was so drawn to him, to all of them. They understood me in a way no one else had ever tried to. They saw through me like my skin was wet tissue paper. They treated me with a tenderness no one else had shown me before, like they knew just how delicate I really was. I craved their gentleness.

“It’s the kind of thing that lets me breathe— to know that I’m loved by you. There are so many people in this world who don’t know you. And I don’t understand how they do it. I don’t know how anyone can live without being known by you.” Hoseok’s voice cracks, and emotion pours into the space between us. He gestures wildly, throwing his arms open like he wants to capture my entirety within them, but gave up at the hopeless aim.

It’s the first emotion I can pinpoint. And I’m starting to see that my flawed love might mean something to them. In fact, it might mean a whole lot.

I want to lean into that, please believe me. But when you’ve only been taught a single version of love, it’s incredibly difficult to shift your perspective and realize there’s another version you were never lucky enough to know before. Opening up your heart to the possibility of an all-consuming, untethered love is terrifying. And it’s so much easier to push it away instead. To protect yourself in the only way you know how to: by closing any doorways that could lead to something better.

It probably isn’t the best way, but it’s the comfortable way. And no one should fault me for choosing what I understand over the unknown. It’s a shame that these boys will never let me self-isolate again, even with my own thoughts. Though I guess that depends on who you are asking, they’d be delighted.

Yoongi doesn’t move, but he doesn’t have to because he’s already closer than any of the other boys. And he’s been watching closely. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t even blinked. He seems like the kind of person who would learn how to go long periods without blinking just so he could stare at the people he cares about for a few more uninterrupted seconds.

“To be loved imperfectly by you gives me more than being loved perfectly by anyone else.” It feels like another puzzle piece sliding into place. Yoongi has never claimed to be perfect and I don’t think he would ever claim to love perfectly either. We’ve shared those demons in our heads with each other, from under the safety of our blankets.

Sometimes, we build blanket forts in the basement when neither of us can sleep. The only lights are fairy lights because obviously they’re a must when confessing any horror. We huddle together and talk about all the things that we can’t voice during the day, holding each other while we cry. We both know we’re broken, but that never made me look at Yoongi any differently. Yet, it’s always harder to extend that same compassion to myself.

Those nagging, dark little voices that have made a home of my mind always cut a little deeper when they’re talking about myself, compared to someone I love. I’ll always find it easier to be brave for the people I love than for myself. It just took a really long time to realize that maybe I’m not alone with that thought either.

“But I don’t know what that means,” I whisper, afraid the truth might break their fragile promises. I had yet to realize that their promises weren’t fickle things. They were engraved in stone. They would die before breaking their promises to me.

They need their word to mean something to me. They need me to trust that they would do anything for me. If I’m unsure about their commitment then the very foundation of their world would crack open at the fault lines. Their reality might just crumble apart. They’d never come back from that.

“I don’t know what it means to love someone without all the expectations and conditions. The only love I remember receiving is the version of love where I had to prove I was worthy of it.” Saying it aloud felt like a gut punch to my reality. It was the kind of thing that you repeat in your head all the time, but when you say it out loud you realize the demons might have distorted voices. Thoughts sound different in the sunlight compared to the dark corners of your mind.

It’s easier to justify the voices’ doubt when they are bouncing around my head without any guards still standing to defend me. When I tell other people and I see their reactions, it makes me think I might have been too gullible. I’m starting to realize maybe I shouldn’t have validated these voices for as long as I did.

Maybe I should’ve fought back.

Deep within the inner walls of my heart, I know I believe them. I know that these seven boys, cradling their hearts in their hands, are telling the truth, but I can’t make sense of it. The truth doesn’t fit into my reality, the one that I’ve constructed after being scorched by love one too many times.

I’ve constructed a narrative from all the voices that haunt me, ensuring I never get close enough to be loved; it’s the only way to protect myself. Their inked promises are breaking my world apart all because I’m starting to believe that maybe allowing these seven boys to love me is a form of protection too.

I don’t think they would let anything hurt me ever again. So, I take the metaphorical jump, closing my eyes because I can’t bear to look, and trust that they’ll catch me like they promised they would. I’ll land on solid ground.

“I want to be loved by you.” I keep my eyes shut but they flicker behind my eyelids, unable to settle without making sure they’re all there. “I want to be loved without needing to prove that I’m worthy of being loved.”

Jungkook’s arms wrap around my stomach and even without seeing him, I can tell it’s him. So I dare the universe to try and stop us, and open my defiant eyes to meet his doe ones. I can see all this emotion swirling inside them and though I can’t quite pull apart what it means yet, I know I’ll get there. I lean into his arms, letting him hold me up. I like how I feel with them. And I wish I could bottle it up because I know the moment I step away, everything will feel a little heavier. Each step always feels a little harder on my own.

“Princess. We would love you whether you let us or not.” And it makes me laugh because no matter how I feel, they’ll always be able to make me laugh.

“We are broken and working on fixing parts of ourselves too. We can’t love you perfectly either, though we’ll do our best. We would never expect you to either.” His words make me stop and really think. From the safety of his arms, which lessens the weight of my own thoughts, I finally have a moment to think.

I’d never expect anyone else to be perfect. And yet, I demand that of myself. The world doesn’t flinch. People are hurt every single day. No one is perfect and everyone has some piece of themselves they should probably mend. But I’d never demand that they fix those pieces before being given entry into my life.

“I’d never demand that you all be perfect in order to love me. I’d just want you to love me imperfectly too.” My voice is a mere whisper, but they’re waiting with bated breath, so close they heard me anyway. The betrayal and worry wash away with some simple reassurance. Their eyes lighten while they watch my heart crack right open, spilling into their palms. Jungkook’s arms tighten around me as if he wants to hold the broken pieces of my heart together.

It was a simple hug really, but I’d never experienced one so possessive before.

Gently, Jin tilts my chin up and forces me to meet his eyes. “Promise me.” He pauses, suppressed emotion threatening to overwhelm his voice. He glances away to collect himself, as if I were the one causing him to feel so much. When his gaze locks back onto mine there’s an intensity there that steals my breath. “Promise me you’ll learn to do the same for yourself.”

“You don’t need to love yourself perfectly either. You don’t need to be healed and all patched up with sparkly glue and duct tape in order to show yourself love. And compassion. You can love yourself imperfectly just the same.” I don’t know how to respond to that because my throat closes up. My eyes sting but I don’t let him let go, not that he would’ve, and nod.

He pulls me into his chest. All the air rushes back into my lungs despite being crushed and for the first time I can remember I feel truly safe.

I know the doubt will return when my boys leave. But this time, I feel like I have the strength to claw at those demons with my bitten nails. I think I could tear them apart and wash my hands in their blood, if need be. And I promise myself, just as I promised Jin, that I will never be some passive recipient of my self-hatred again. I’m not some idle victim of my past trauma who needs to be saved by the men around me. I’m a fighter.

I’d forgotten that. But I know that my seven boys will never let me forget ever again. If I’m going to drown in the darkness of my mind, I’m going down swinging because I have people who love me.

And people I love perfectly imperfectly.

[the-meme-monarch]

So, I found the note in the Easter room.

It seems Delilah isn't the one who decides who is a main and who isn't... Which means her hands might be tied in how things happen with the toons. For some reason I can't share it (keep getting errors when I try) so uh... I hope you found it. And would like to hear your thoughts behind it.

three in a row to make the post shorter

INCH RESTING……….. ARTHUR being the one to do something probably bad for a toon’s well-being and delilah being the one to try to convince him otherwise? also DELILAH CARING ABOUT A TOON’S WELL-BEING…… DELILAH’S NOT EVIL TRUTHERS COME GET YOUR FOOD!!!!!!!!!