#anyway some muses are in limbo for now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fcble · 3 months ago

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INVIDIA + LIMBO for my man mingeun!!

INVIDIA — A time my muse was vindictive and held a grudge or wished harm upon others.

In which Mingeun receives the opposite of a welcome. July 28, 2024. 0.9k.

Mingeun arrives home less than twenty-four hours after he left, feeling... lighter? No. Vindicated? Perhaps. Normal? He'll settle for that. Normalcy lasts until he unlocks the door of Fable's apartment. That's when he's met with the uncomfortable sight of Daewoong on the couch, looking rather hungover, for lack of a better description. Andrew sits on his right with enough space for another person to sit between them, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. It's like a meeting of the Anti-Mingeun Convention. All they're missing is Taein, a couple thousand online detractors, and maybe one or two of Haksu's sasaengs, just to spice things up.

It takes less than two seconds for Mingeun to process the fact that he's in an incomprehensible amount of trouble. Like he always is. He folds his arms over his chest, still carrying his backpack of one day's worth of clothes. "What did I do now?"

"I don't fucking know," Daewoong says irritably. "Andrew told me he doesn't know either. Is that correct?"

Mingeun hates him. He's hated Daewoong from the day he first arrived, another SM Entertainment reject, high and mighty and simultaneously a failure. He hates his helicopter management. He hates how he acts as an extension of Taein's will, the sword wielded by a king, with no discernible independence of his own.

"Yes," he lies. Andrew didn't throw him under the bus. It would have been easy for him to tell the truth, to say, "Mingeun went to Japan because his girlfriend is there." He didn't do that, and now he's a witness to Mingeun's latest downfall.

Daewoong steeples his fingers together, a near-perfect mirror image of Taein. "So what did you do?"

It has to be an intimidation tactic. He wants Mingeun to incriminate himself. After all, going on vacation isn't a crime. And he did what Taein asked of him, anyway. Somehow, Mingeun doesn't think the logic he used with Hwajung will go over well with his manager. He spends a minute fantasizing about wrapping his fingers around Daewoong's throat and feeling the flesh give beneath his grip. He's had similar thoughts about Taein before, sitting across from him in his office in the shittiest plastic chair known to man. He wonders how long it would take before Andrew would interrupt, or if he'd let Mingeun have his way. He digs his fingers into the side of his rib cage until it hurts.

"Nothing," he says levelly. An immediate response is a sure sign of a frantic cover up, and Mingeun is nothing if not a proficient liar. Andrew doesn't so much as shift in his seat, and Mingeun appreciates him like he's never appreciated anyone before.

Daewoong brings his phone out of his pocket. "Read the headline." He gives his phone up to Andrew in another power play.

Andrew reads out loud in a tight, stiff voice. "'Fable's Byeonghwi, Mingeun, and Intak Spotted at Neon Nights Show.'"

Mingeun's heart drops into the pit of his stomach. Daewoong plucks his phone out of Andrew's grip with two fingers.

"I wouldn't call flying to Japan last night nothing," Daewoong says. He holds his other hand out. "Passport. Phone. Wallet."

Mingeun doesn't move. He's almost twenty-five, not twelve. He pictures, again, his hands on Daewoong's throat, the realization in his eyes at the moment he recognizes that Mingeun is the one with the power, not him. Andrew would let him get away with it, he decides. There's no love lost between the two of them. His therapist hasn't told him this is an unhealthy coping method yet. Probably because he hasn't told her about it.

"Mingeun. We both had long nights. Now." Daewoong speaks like Mingeun is some unruly animal, easily tamed by a stern word and a firm hand.

There are only two ways out of this situation that he can see. First, he leaves, like he always does. The problem with that is there's no telling how long Daewoong is willing to wait. This is his job, after all. Second, Mingeun can give in. He fiddles with one of the straps of his backpack.

Andrew reads his mind. "Don't give it to him," he says, in English this time.

Mingeun is already lowering his backpack to the ground, so he hears, more than sees, the vicious crack as Daewoong backhands Andrew. He flinches nevertheless. He knows Daewoong is capable of this violence—just like he is—but he's never raised a hand against Fable before.

"Speak Korean, Yejun." Daewoong all but snarls around Andrew's old stage name.

Mingeun's passport and wallet aren't hard to find. He keeps them both in the same outside pocket. He risks a glance up at Andrew, who sits there with fury blazing in his eyes, one side of his jawline tinged pink.

"Here," he mumbles, fishing his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and handing over the pieces of his modern lifestyle to Daewoong. He watches Daewoong rifle through his wallet and take out both his credit cards before tossing the rest of it back at him. It would be so easy, Mingeun thinks, to throttle him, to leave ten nearly identical bruises scattered along his windpipe—not enough to kill him, just enough to scare him. He hides his hands behind his back and digs his nails into his palms.

Daewoong stands abruptly. "I'm staying in Eunsu's room again. Clean it up."

He leaves, presumably to collect whatever he needs to move into Eunsu's room. Mingeun stares daggers at his back, flopping down on the couch next to Andrew, tired and phoneless and utterly drained.

"I fucking hate him," Andrew says, still in English, massaging the side of his face.

"Who doesn't?" Mingeun responds, taking great comfort in the fact that Andrew would have backed him up in his most impulsive moments.

LIMBO — A time my muse acted faithless and disloyal.

In which Mingeun flakes. April 20, 2024. 0.6k.

It took three weeks for Mingeun and his mother to plan a single dinner. Between her job and his job and the time difference and the fact that Mingeun doesn't want to see her, it's a miracle any plan formed at all. According to his mother, the timing is perfect. It's almost the end of Eunice's sophomore year of university, and Fable's New York tour stop isn't far from her campus. His younger sister seemed even unhappier with the plan than Mingeun does. He wonders how many more years will pass before his mother recognizes the common factor in all of her children moving away from home as soon as they can.

The plan they finally agreed upon is dinner at some upscale seafood restaurant, one of many in a chain run by some celebrity chef Mingeun's mother follows on Instagram, the night before Fable's New York concert. She also asked him if there's anyway the two of them can get last minute tickets to the concert, griping about prices and resellers on the phone. Mingeun lied and told her no, despite knowing that Andrew's parents will be at their LA stop in decent seats, close to, but not directly in front of the stage.

The only task left for Mingeun is to tell Daewoong he has plans for that night. The day creeps closer and closer. The practices ramp up, until he goes to bed with 'Platonic Love' looping in his head. He stays quiet. Andrew is stressed about an already-booked car rental and an already-planned vacation itinerary, on top of everything else he has to worry about. Mingeun doesn't utter a word. Then it's the first night of their Seoul concert, and the second night, and they're packed on a plane to Los Angeles. Daewoong remains none the wiser.

Mingeun wishes he could say he tried. The problem is that he hasn't tried at all. He doesn't talk to Daewoong. He doesn't talk to his mother. He doesn't even talk to Eunice when she texts him and asks, are you srsly going to dinner w/ mom?

Maybe his mother will come down with a cold and miss her flight. Maybe one of Eunice's professors will assign her a major homework assignment due on the same night. Maybe Mingeun will fall off the stage at one of the earlier stops and break his leg.

None of those things happen, and before he knows it, he's in New York and he has a miserable impending family dinner in the next few hours.

His savior comes in the form of Byeonghwi, who descends like an angel sent from heaven, looming over him as he stews in despair in a hotel bed. "Are you busy tonight?"

Mingeun thinks about his mother and her plans and pushes them out of his head. He props himself up into a sitting position. "No."

"Do you wanna go out?"

He has a suspicion that Byeonghwi is asking him because he speaks fluent English. "Why didn't you ask Andrew-hyung?" he asks, even though he would really not like Byeonghwi to ask Andrew, and he's going to say yes, regardless of where the out is.

Byeonghwi hesitates, and then says, "He wouldn't approve."

That sounds even better to Mingeun. If Andrew doesn't approve, then Daewoong certainly wouldn't approve, and that means Mingeun should do it.

"Yeah, sure. Where are you going?"

Byeonghwi shrugs, and Mingeun can't help but wonder what he signed up for. Maybe Andrew was right to disapprove.

He might be a little bit of an asshole, but he isn't a complete asshole. He does the bare minimum and texts both his mother and Eunice that something came up and he won't be able to attend the night's dinner. Eunice responds directly to him with a gif of some animated character falling over, captioned with "dies from cringe."

Mingeun spends a minute feeling guilty about leaving his baby sister—who also happens to be an adult—at the mercy of their mother. Then he feels relieved about saving his own skin, and doesn't even bother to pry a plan out of Byeonghwi.

#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ answers. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ writing. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ mingeun. ]#oops all drabbles #i think i have more to say but tmrw morning. if i remember.

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inkheartedwanderer · 2 years ago

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please, let me get what i want || e.m.

(lord knows it would be the first time)

in which the wounds of the heart hurt more than those of the flesh, but they’re easier to fix

based on this song

eddie x reader.

content: post S4 (super minor spoilers), eddie survives, mentions of death and blood, this is mostly eddie’s headspace, i guess? pining, jealousy and insecurities. i just really want to give this guy a hug.

word count: 3k

Eddie Munson doesn’t consider himself a religious person. He’s dealt with too much shit in his short life to really care about whether there’s a higher power somewhere in the universe or not. If anything, he’d say he’s always been left to his own devices, so fuck whoever’s supposed to be looking after him. Theological matters are not something he’s ever been particularly concerned about, anyways.

Having spent the last ten days bound to a hospital bed, however, Eddie’s had plenty of time to reflect on his pathetic existence and the string of unfortunate events that have led him to this situation. In these ten days, he’s thought about his parents more often than he has in the last ten years -his father leaving for good after being in and out of prison for months, his mother’s untimely passing when he was too young to understand she was never coming back, and the sharp pain that floods his chest if he dwells on the thought of them for too long. He’s thought about Wayne, constantly taking extra shifts at the plant so he could put food on the table, and how he’s repaid him by failing senior year once, and then a second time. A triple-senior loser drug dealer, always being too much -too loud, too weird, too freakish-, but never enough. Not attractive enough, not smart enough, definitely not rich enough.

He’s also thought about death, and how closely he tasted it. The harrowing tangibility of his own mortality, sticking to his skin until he was coated in it, until he couldn’t breathe, washing over him like a tidal wave. He’s thought about Chrissy, and Patrick, and Nancy’s friend Fred, who weren’t as lucky as him. About how scared he was when Dustin found him, choking on his own blood, scared of dying, of dying alone, scared of what was waiting for him, scared that he wasn’t seeing any holy light amidst the darkness and he was supposed to, right?

And all he feels right now is guilt, because he’s thought about all of that and still, the main object of his musings the last ten days has been you. That’s why he’s considering that surely there must be some kind of deity, that there must be a heaven somewhere, because you’re an angel.

Soft in the way you speak and in the way you move, delicate when you touch him, Eddie still can’t believe that you’re not a figment of his imagination. In this aseptic limbo, the best part of his dreary days is getting to spend time with you. You, sweet as sugar, lovely as can be, arriving with the early morning light and leaving at nightfall when someone else forces you to go home and get some rest.

You didn’t even have it in you to pretend to be mad at him when he woke up, disoriented and confused, covered in bandages, every inch of his body sore and in pain. “You scared me half to death, Munson,” you’d said, looking at him through teary lashes, “don’t ever go playing the hero again, please.” It was a whispered imploration, so gently spoken that he could only nod his head yes.

He’d do anything you asked him to.

Ever since he met you, there’s a strange new feeling nestled in the pit of his stomach, or maybe just above, by his heart, and Eddie can’t quite put a name to it, can’t make sense of it, because he didn’t know who you were two weeks ago.

The feeling is warm and light, a comfortable weight in his chest that blooms in flowers and vibrates through his bones when you walk in the room, when you sit by his side and quietly start talking to him. About nothing, about everything -news about Max, who’s doing better by the day; a book or movie or song you like and think Eddie will enjoy too, the puppy that came up to you that morning on your way to the hospital-, whatever crosses your mind is good. And he listens willingly. He likes hearing your voice and its cadence, he likes how everything you say seems deliberate and how your smile shines through your words.

He felt it first in the cold, humid boathouse, as you sat side by side on the wooden floor for two days, your leg pressed against his and both of you scared to death. Eddie found solace in your company, in how you chose to stay with him even though you had, quite literally, just met him.

“We’re not leaving him here alone, Steve.” You’d said, an unexpected determination settling in the frown between your eyebrows.

And you didn’t, even though Steve tried to dissuade you and Max and Robin shared a worried look. You stayed, and told him things would be alright. You sat down next to him and let him hurt in silence when he needed to, and vent when his thoughts became too much.

You stayed, you sat and you listened to him without judgement, and suddenly you were looking out the window as the sun set outside, and your face was painted in shades of gold and lilac and Eddie had never seen anything quite as beautiful as you.

Minutes blended into hours and lighthearted comments turned into lengthy conversations inside that boathouse. In the rare times Eddie felt safe enough to let his guard down, his usual playful demeanour surfaced. Somehow, you found his knack for the dramatic hilarious, and countered his witty remarks with your own, good-natured and sprightly, with just the right amount of mischief to keep up with him.

The feeling blossomed in his heart and took shelter between his ribs, a nice kind of ache, one Eddie wasn’t used to, but that felt strangely familiar, as if he had been born to feel it, to find you, to know you. Damn his fantasy books and their promise of adventure and true love, and damn those metal songs for tricking him into thinking freaks like him could find the one, too.

But it grows heavy sometimes, a lead blanket that weighs him down and makes him feel vulnerable, minuscule. When his insecurities take over, it’s easy to believe the darkness that clouds his brain, his own voice humming harsh cruelties, reminding him of everything that he is -loud, weird, a freak- and everything he’s not -not enough, never enough, and not Steve fucking Harrington.

How could he ever compete if he doesn’t even compare?

Although you’ve mentioned before that Steve’s like the brother you’ve never had, it’s hard for Eddie not to read too much into the way he looks at you, or how easy it is for him to reach out and touch you, how easy it is for you to lean into it, and just how fucking much Eddie wants to be the one by your side… well, at all times.

Like right now.

It’s late. Eddie’s not sure exactly how late, but the sky outside is the colour of dark blue ink, splattered with stars, and the rusty orange glow of the streetlamps is casting shadows across the floor of his hospital room. He’s just woken up from a long nap, one of the many his body demands every day (who knew that almost dying would be so exhausting?) and the chair beside his bed is empty, your jacket draped over its back, your perfume lingering in the air.

He sighs deeply, eyes closed, sinking against the pillow. There’s an ache in his bones that doesn’t seem to go away despite all the painkillers the doctors have put him on, and it clings to him like the cold in the room. He’s tired and he’s cranky, it’s hard not to be when inhaling feels like breathing fire and he’s only allowed to get out of bed to go to the toilet; even harder when he looks out the ajar door and sees you, leaning against the wall next to Steve, eyes closed, your head on his shoulder.

The boy’s hands are respectfully tucked between his legs, and his gaze is trained on the floor. You are muttering to one another in low voices that Eddie can’t make out, but you look exhausted. Harrington, of course, looks straight out of a magazine with perfect hair and fancy clothes.

Eddie stares forlornly, eyebrows furrowed and pouting lips. He wishes more than anything to be the one to ease the worry on your face, the one you go to for support, for company, for advice. Still, the weight in his ribcage and the lump in his throat are too heavy to call your name, tell you to come and sit, tell you that he’ll let you rest your head on his shoulder and he’ll even hold your hand, ask you to please let him.

It’s a sensation he knows all too well, the bitter resentment of feeling like the second, third, last, worse choice. He’s good at pushing and pushing it down until it becomes nothing but a dark smudge at the back of his mind. This time, though, it poisons him from within until it’s all he tastes in his mouth.

And the worst part is he can’t even hate Steve. He’s been kind to Eddie. He helped him get out of the trailer park alive, he’s come to keep him company every other day, and he’s actually a pretty nice dude. Could he really blame you if you fell in love with Steve? He doesn’t believe so, but his throat constricts at the thought.

But as if you could read his mind, you open your eyes and find his gaze with yours. Suddenly, the sullen expression is gone from your face, the corners of your mouth are curving upwards and you're moving away from Steve and into the room.

"Hey, you're awake!" Your voice is soft, barely a loud whisper, and the dim light from the hall obscures your silhouette for a fraction of a second as you rush through the door and plop down on the worn-out chair by his side.

Eddie doesn’t miss the way your hand falls to rest on the bed, close to his own, twin sets of fingers twitching, tips tingling, eager for contact. He doesn’t dare move, but he looks up at you and you’re wearing the sweetest smile he’s ever seen in his life, the type of smile he’s never felt worthy of receiving.

His voice is hoarse with sleep and stuck emotions when he mutters, “Yeah, hi. You’re here.” The boy gasps when he feels the gentle touch of your fingers on the back of his hand, drawing circles and waves that ripple through his blood and tint his cheeks pink. Your smile widens, becomes softer, and your eyes mirror the look in his, shiny with unspoken affection.

“I’m gonna go see Max and then I’m out.” Steve, leaning against the rails of the bed, throws a thumb over his shoulder and nods his head at you. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

You shake your head no and tuck your hand in Eddie’s, and he swears he sees the sparks flying where his skin and yours touch. “I’m staying here tonight if that’s alright with you.” A gentle pressure of your fingers brings Eddie’s attention back to your eyes. “Is it?”

He nods, the most subtle movement, almost a blink-and-you-miss-it gesture, but enough for you to chuckle and tell your friend to go.

“Alright then,” Steve pats Eddie on the shoulder, more gently than anyone would expect from him, that fervent need to look after people shining through, so characteristically Steve, Eddie has learned, “you take care of each other, yeah? I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

And, with a soft smile, he leaves without waiting for an answer, leaving you two alone. A comfortable silence fills the room, one you’re both used to by now, as you stand and move around the space, placing your backpack on the windowsill, getting ready to spend the night by Eddie’s side. His skin still feels the ghost of your hand over his, its absence an emptiness that he yearns to fill again.

"You don't have to stay, you know that, right?" He whispers, the remnants of his jealousy still burning on his tongue, words fighting against his own willpower when he speaks next. “You should go home and get some rest. Go find Steve, go home.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, mirroring his tone but softer, sweeter, oozing a kindness Eddie’s not sure he’s earned. “I want to stay. Plus, I had a great nap earlier today.”

Eddie doesn’t understand why you’re so nice to him all the time, but he’s not about to argue. He falls silent, looking up at the ceiling as you sit down, bend your arms and lean on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes studying his face carefully, blinking slowly, and your lips turning upwards.

“Do you remember when we were hiding in Skull Rock?” You say, sitting down and bringing your knees to your chest.

“Yeah.” Eddie frowns. The memories of his days on the run are the most unwelcome ones.

Soaked and tired, covered in mud and sticky leaves, you sat side by side under the solid protection of the rock. Eddie was trying hard not to cry, not in front of you. It would’ve been the cherry on top of the cake, and the last thing he needed was to embarrass himself further.

He leaned his head against the stone and willed himself to calm down. He then looked at you through pinched eyebrows, calling your name softly. “I’m sorry.”

You rubbed your clammy cheek with the back of your hand and shrugged. “This is not your fault, Eddie.” It hurt to see the pained expression on the boy’s brown eyes, their usual sweetness replaced by pure despair, their spark gone.

“But it is.” The boy shut his eyes tight and ran a dirty hand through his hair. It felt gross, messy and knotted. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me. This sucks. I’m sorry.”

A cold hand wrapped around his, pulling it away from his face, and you were looking at him with so much resolve he almost fell backwards. “Eddie, I said I’d stay with you and I meant it. And I’d do it again, alright? I’ll be damned if I let you go through this alone. Okay?”

Eddie blinked and you blinked back at him. Your next words cut through the cold air of the early dawn like a knife, an arrow straight to his heart. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your eyes now are softer than they were that night, but the conviction shining on them is just as firm, exuding reassurance and affection just for him, an affection you’ve never felt for anyone before but the boy in front of you earned in a matter of hours. “My word still stands.”

No, Eddie Munson is not a religious person, but later tonight, when he wakes up after a vivid nightmare, he looks at your figure, curled up on that ugly, uncomfortable chair, so close to him that he can hear your soft breathing, so close he could caress your cheek if he reached out; and then he looks at the clear dark sky behind you, and the million shiny stars that frame you, rings of diamonds with you at the centre, and then Eddie whispers a quiet prayer, a humble plea, a wish for only him and the quiet of the night to know.

He asks for you to stay, once again, to stay as you have before, like you said you would; he pleads to keep the one good thing that's come out of this nightmare, the best thing that's happened to him in a long time, maybe ever.

Eddie Munson calls to the gods, the ones people talk about on the street and the ones he knows from his books and his games, and he confronts them -his life is a mess, where are they, where have they been all this time- and bargains -they owe him, they owe him this one thing, this wish that's hidden like a secret in his heart-, and whispers your name like a sacred prayer, very low and very carefully, cherishing every letter, kissing them as the air leaves his lips.

And he truly thinks you can read his mind, there must be a connection between you two, because your eyes flutter open, and they gleam in the faint light that creeps under the closed door when you look at him, and your mouth curves upwards in that sweet way you save for only him.

You look so lovely, with your hair tousled and your cheeks apple pink, so sweet in your big clothes that seem to swallow you whole -in his sleepy state, it takes him a second to realise you’re wearing an old black hoodie of his-, that Eddie feels his heart skip a beat, and two and three. It’s overwhelming, really, how much he likes someone he’s just met, someone he barely knows. It’s worse when he notices you’re looking at him the way he’s looking at you.

The chair scrapes the floor when you pull it closer to his bed, and you lean your head on the uncomfortable mattress, your temple against his shoulder. Your hand travels down his arm until your fingers can wrap around his, warm and soft against his calloused digits.

Eddie blinks back the tears that threaten to fall from his tired eyes. You’re real, and you’re there by his side, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s the only other person in the world.

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back. Your twin giggles break through the silence of the hospital room. Maybe for now, this is enough.

The stars outside twinkle when he looks out the window again, the words dying between his lips. Thank you.

🌷 🌷 🌷

a/n: thank you for reading if you’ve made it to the end, I hope you liked it. I had the song on repeat for hours when I started this one, and it’s both very sad and very beautiful, I had to write something. Likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome and appreciated. Much love!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson angst #angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you

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astragreenwoode · 7 months ago

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ART DUMP #1

It's been a hot minute since I posted here. Have some recent art that I've been procrastinating posting.

Life is. . .okay. Kind of in a melancholic daydream right now; a sort of limbo. I've been unemployed since February and I'm on a new med change that's pretty tough, but I'm not giving up. Remember guys, progress isn't always linear.

More info about each piece below the cut.

(1). Self Portrait - Kind of experimented with style on this one. Wanted to see if I could do a more simple, cutesy style. I'm thinking about doing a lot of silly comics that I'll eventually convert digitally, and I'm not too fond of having to do a bunch of detailed drawings of the same thing. I once tried to take an animation class when I was, like, 11 or something. It was. . .not my bag. Maybe one day I'll get there, but today is not that day. Took lots of inspiration from Night in the Woods.

(2). Good Morning, Madness - Yes, the background is official Adventure Time art. Please don't sue me, Pendleton Ward. I'm not making any money off of this. Anyway, I don't remember the last time I felt so connected to a character like this. Betty Grof is my fucking muse, and I don't care who knows it.

(3). 'The Hall Incident' - Watched Game Theory's video on Kissy Missy, and besides Theo as Catnap, Patty has the most tragic backstory. I have this whole side theory about how she had her own child and/or sibling she was raising before she was turned. When she went missing, Playtime Co. took custody of her and put her in Playcare, and that's the child in the photo we find her looking at in the secret room in Home Sweet Home.

. . .

I hope you like my work and please let me know what you think, as I really appreciate it and use it as motivation. Be sure to follow me and come back for me, please!

Stay wild, free, and safe, my dears!

-Astra

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kyuureimu · 2 years ago

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💚⚖️

send a 💚 for a coming idea that still needs development

Eh heh... Uh, I actually don't really have a lot Specifically Established on whatever scientific fuckery Colress/Plasma did to Kyurem during B2W2, other than it is Really Fucked Up In the Head and I Really Need It. A part of me just wants to let it simmer in the background and only bubble up when it's relevant to the thread, or if I ever bounce around ideas with a Colress muse. Kyurem is clearly repressing that entire experience anyway, so it'll be a fun surprise for everyone involved when I finally think of something spicy!

send a ⚖️ for something stuck in limbo

...Do not ask me anything specific about the Forces of Nature, especially Enamorus. I do not know, I have been drawing blanks for years and I wanna cry. I would hate to half-ass something as significant as the kamis and their whole... everything, but I cannot ignore their overall existence either. The only vague thing I remember establishing In Ye Old Days is that Landorus may or may not be spawned from or has been cultivated by the Original Dragon in some way, since he is a representation of fertile earth and became the god of harvest that way, then Thundurus and Tornadus came... later. (And again... do not speak to me about Enamorus, nevermind the fact I didn't finish PLA to even SAY anything about her to begin with. OTL)

I do not know, please, let that remain a skeleton in the closet for now...

#ask to tag #:')#exnusquam #[ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ ] :: ooc.#[ qᴜᴏᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ] :: inbox.#trivia tag #TY NECRO MWAH........

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welcxmetxthechaxs · 7 days ago

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@erxsxre asked:

[ HELP ] for the taller muse to use the advantage of their stature to shield the shorter one from something. (For Dette)

Things were so calm at the start of patrol, one could practically hear a pin drop from 3 streets away from just the echo traveling on the breeze alone, but now? Things were set ablaze, vehicles turned on their sides, the screams and shouts of the panicked as they were guided to cover ringing in the air like a siren. On more than one occasion this evening she'd had to phase civilians through the walls of shops and other assorted structures to get them to safety, her staff gripped so tight in her hand that there was a rather prominent reddened bruise forming diagonally across her palm that it was now resting on pins and needles from the amount of blows delivered with it that she couldn't feel it anyway. Much like the rest of her body from minor scraps along the way with the more easily fought foes.

Amidst the chaos riddling the streets, through fluttering ashes and smoke that dried the eyes to the point of watering, the reoccurring thought of where Erasure had ended up, how he was doing and the hope that he was safe continued to flare in her brain. They'd started the evening together but had since gotten separated, how long had it been now? An hour? Maybe more maybe less? It was all a blur. All she could hope was that this smoke wasn't causing him too much set back or trouble. Speaking of quirks, the side effects of her own were starting to set in, the pressure rising and pulsing against the side of her skull in a steady drumming rhythm that was getting harder to ignore the more it was pushed.

By the time she'd hit the city center, the area was practically in shambles. Fallen over billboards, phone posts, downed lines, broken hydrants that were leaving sizable streams and puddles, but for the most part it looked unsettlingly void of any people, both friendly and otherwise. Cautious steps were taken leading up to the center of the road, the only light being the roaring flame from an exploded SUV that hadn't quite gone out yet. Her eyes scanned over the street around her, ears listening for signs of anything or anyone that might give her an idea of where to go. Had everyone moved on?

Crash!!

The sound of screeching metal, from what looked like some sort of support beam or construction scaffolding, across the damaged road rang for a good few blocks, along with the booming impact that followed along with it not only crashing into the wall that stopped it's motion, but the blonde stupidly standing right in its path. Having no time to evade before it dragged her along with it, rolling and scraping straight into the side of the building, her staff clanging and rolling to a stop a good meter from her. The blow had knocked her into a limbo state of conscious yet still very disoriented and foggy visioned, the world around her fading in and out of clarity while forcing herself to try and stay aware. Her costume now torn in a few places, something was throbbing, but where it was she couldn't place amongst the soreness of everywhere else and she could feel a warmth dripping down the side of her temple. Wonderful..

Somewhere in the distance there was a burly figure emerging from the smoke, and the way it was approaching? It was far from coming to help. With what little energy she had, what was left of the adrenaline fumes were keeping her awake and moving she activated her quirk one last time, dragging herself across the sidewalk and away from the mess of metal that had damn near taken her out, and towards the slime shining silver shape that was her staff. The movement didn't come without it's fair share of pained grunts and winces, if her body could speak for itself it would more than likely begging to be still, but what else was she supposed to do?

The overly sized fist of the figure was drawn back, plummeting into the ground beneath their feet causing a harsh rumble that rocked and crumbled at the building towering above her that had now become weakened by the impact, a low hanging fire escape platform being knocked loose and now falling straight for the spot in the pavement that she'd dragged herself to. There was no way to move, especially given the fact she couldn't even get up, so the only thing left to do was cover the head and brace for it, eyes squeezing shut and her spine arching to curl into herself, just waiting for the impact.

#𝒪𝒽 𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 [odette]#уєℓℓσω ρσρρу [ѕнσ��тα/σ∂єттє]#єяχѕχяє #ƒαтιgυє∂ нєяσ [ѕнσтα αιzαωα]#α нєяσ ¢αη αℓωαуѕ вяєαк συт σƒ α тσυgн ѕρσт.[мнα/вηнα νєяѕє]#long post #This got way longer than intended! I'm sorry!!!!#tw: injuries

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lordofbrattiness · 4 months ago

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Musing Section 1: Blue Rafters Tavern

I knew that you had preferred for me to stay but I simply could not ignore the maddening visions of an entire world so unknown and so far away.

I had so many wicked dreams of leaving limbo town- tis was the world above sending their siren call down!

this will not make my mother proud. she will only cause a scene, upset upon seeing her baby boy "wasting" away his life.

I know she'd feel that she ought to scream- " oh foolish witch-boy, what have you done? you are now a blue rafters boy! I reckon you cause trouble in some blue rafters tavern."

oh, mother, I am merely looking for thrills! it is quite fun to watch others get the chills when they see me. it is simply where I must be up at the blue rafters tavern!

I will follow through with my antics up at the blue rafters tavern. I will follow through with my antics up in the city of the bat and the shadows. I will follow through with my antics up at the blue rafters tavern- the blue rafters tavern!

do not.. think for a second I could simply leave it all behind me. you all back in limbo town are often images that I can see. mother, I should note that at least once per week- I hear your old fashioned and ever-lecturing whisper through the barrier and the earth crusts down below. you say this:

" oh you foolish witch-boy, did you even know what you have done? transforming into a blue rafters boy. you are beginning to behave more and more like your father!"

and I simply reply saying:

" mother, this is simply what I was meant to be. there is no turning back time - no longer anyway! an' wouldn't ya know it? even if I mess up and blow it, it doesn't even matter anymore because as you should know by now - chaos follows me wherever I go!"

#📖✍️: book of shadows #inspired by pink pony club

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missvelvetsstuff · 5 months ago

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Firstly there is no need to apologize to us. Whenever you update ur stories is completely up to YOU no matter the circumstances. I very much appreciate all of the time and effort u put into ur work it’s so amazing well written. You’re truly one of my favorite writers on here.

Anyway if u don’t mind me asking how was the visit from ur dad

First, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to reply to this, I rarely get messages so am bad about checking my inbox.

Thank you so, so much for your kind words. Reading, and now writing, fan fiction has helped me keep my sanity in the world since covid. Bucky is always here to listen and love me when I need him. Even if he's a dumbass sometimes. I'm glad you have enjoyed our misadventures.

My visit with my dad was really nice, he's 83 so I'm grateful that he's still here and spry enough to drive around the country and come see us. The last 2 years we took a father/daughter road trip to see some of the sights and really got to know each other more. Learning about the challenges we've both been through has really strengthened our bond. He wasn't up for that this year and I really missed it, realizing that it's unlikely we'll be able to do that again.

I lost my mom 12 years ago, we went thru it when I was a teen but when she passed she was my closest friend, like the saying goes 'my mom taught me everything, except how to live without her'. My dad has tried to help fill that void.

The week after my dad left, my youngest graduated high school and we're both trying to figure out what happens next.

I'm in Phoenix summer limbo now, too hot to do anything outside that doesn't involve water and the stable where I volunteer is on hiatus until November when it gets cool enough to ride. Hopefully that means more time to write but we'll see if my muse cooperates.

I actually have a couple of ideas I've been writing little bits of but trying not to get too into anything new until I finish some of my WIP's, so I haven't posted any of them yet.

Sorry for the ramble, apparently I have a lot on my mind but Thank You so much for reading and taking an interest in me and my life outside of Tumblr.

XOXO

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ofmoonlitmagic · 8 months ago

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He'd predicted it, but it still lit up his features as she said it. "Always," he promised, despite knowing that was more a statement than actual fact. It was still their thing for her to share her portion with him, and to him, that was always its own small declaration of love. All the little moments sprinkled with 'I love you's, they lived it, they breathed it. They could say more in actions than others could with a million words. "You'll get your reminder," he swore, as if he were falling in love with her all over again with that adorable scrunch of her nose, "we have the lambo all the way out here in the middle of Nowhere, USA. Can't waste that now."

His smirk grew all the more at her protest because that wasn't going to stop him, especially not when the tone was to encourage only. He listened carefully for any signs they were legitimately unsafe as he continued his attention to her neck, murmuring, "you wouldn't let us crash." Fingers pressing lightly against the inside of her thigh, he kept them from going too far because her skill wasn't quite to that level of multi-tasking yet. There would be plenty of time to go higher when they were at a stop. "You focus on driving, let me focus on this," he teased as though his actions posed no challenges to her focus at all.

Finally, he did release her back to full focus on the road before both got carried away and ended up with a story to explain to whoever needed to come pick them up. "Stuck with you, huh?" He mused, shrugging, "well, that doesn't sound so bad."

While he knew she would have wanted him to be happy, to move on and find love again if she never came back, Briggs couldn't see it. She was the love of his life, and in every universe, she always would be. The only person he ever could have looked at this way, to have been so eager to marry it burst out of him without a thought of a plan, who could make him feel any happiness at all in a world of horror was her. She was it. It was that simple, that sure. "I absolutely did," he promised, "he's right there, I can feel it. Who knows, we might get back to some news. He was planning a fancy dinner with some pretty heavy-handed cologne usage."

Listening to her laughter, he could have stayed in this moment forever. He could see it now, setting a bunch of dragons who made his family look normal on a casino. Pulling out his phone, he pretended to send out those texts as they remained in this limbo: are we or aren't we serious?

Her hint caused his brow to furrow in thought before he quipped, "honeymoon?" His eyes were never far from her, finding it impossible to look away or not love her. He wanted her to know with his every breath how loved she was by him. There were dozens more that knew her and loved her since they first met, but his love was all he could control and it had only grown. "I'd marry you tomorrow," he murmured, "nah, I'd marry you tonight. I like how that sounds: my wife. Billie Mikaelson? Oh, yeah, I know her, she's my wife." Her comment on the manual brought a laugh, shaking his head before it faded into a contented smile as he held her gaze. "How did I get so damn lucky?" He mused, running his fingers over the back of her hand. "I'm so madly in love with you."

As they finally stood at the back looking everything over, he thought it might have been a better idea to have grabbed some hammocks they could have tied to trees. "Not too late to get back in the car and drive to Vegas," he remarked, before more laughter rose at her suggestion. "I don't think I know any tent making spells, but I can maybe use something to speed this up," he said, feeling a slight need to show off, "and I got the fire down." He probably shouldn't joke about that, but he did anyway. Floating the gear out of the car so he didn't have to drag it, he got to work on it, glancing over his shoulder as he channeled the earth to raise some leaves on the ground to circle around her with the wind.

Billie knew that Briggs would be anticipating her response, one that had began with her stealing his clothes and would absolutely last them a lifetime. “What’s yours is mine” she quipped proudly, before a giggle rose from her throat “and – what’s mine is my own.” Although, that couldn't have been further from the truth. To this day Billie remained in the habit of splitting everything with Briggs, even if they didn't necessarily need to anymore. Her giggle flourished into full blown laughter as she glanced towards him with a playful scrunch of her nose, “I’m very aware of where your skills lie, baby” she teased, “all of which I intend to be reminded of tonight.” Before returning her eyes to the road again, she was getting real good at that part.

“Nuh uh, no way” her protest arose playfully as she caught Briggs leaning closer out of the corner of her eye, already anticipating what was to come as her stomach knotted and a white hot ache surged through her veins. His hand pushing away her curls had her leaning into his touch, practically begging for more, before attempting to protest “are you trying to make me crash?” A weak cuss escaped her lips as his found her neck, followed by an ill suppressed whimper as he murmured against her skin, “this – is definitely not helping" adding breathlessly, "doesn’t mean you should stop though.”

A subtle whine followed as he began to move himself away, practically begging for his touch to return and thinking to hell with the consequences. Laughter soon rose once again in response towards his comment, “i’ll take care of that part” she hummed, before promising with a grin “i’m afraid you’re stuck with me, babe.”

Billie hadn’t ever given marriage much thought before, or at least not until Briggs had mentioned it and the proposal had followed. They didn’t need to prove their love, but this was so much more than just that. It was about them taking back control over their own lives. Of the future they both desired and deserved, beneath a family name that held great importance to the both of them. And now, all she could think about was marrying him, to finally be his wife. Billie’s amusement returned at the mention of the rings, a brow lifting at the revelation before musing herself, “please tell me that you gave him the push he needs?” before lifting a hand from the wheel as she playfully zipped her lips.

His comment coaxed another wave of laughter from her, grinning ear to ear again as she mused “really, cus i’m definitely getting rainbow road vibes right now. But, I should have apologised in advance for the whiplash.” The idea of the Mondragons taking Vegas was almost too perfect, and Billie nodded proudly “she would love it there and while I feel that we absolutely should not let her loose in a casino, now the idea’s out there i’m tempted” she teased. Feigning a gasp, Billie sat herself up straighter as she glanced towards him once again, “send those invitation texts baby, it’s happening.”

Her eyes were eager to explore each feature, somewhat irritated by the divide between them, caused by the car's interior. For now however, his hand upon her would suffice. Grinning proudly, she hummed “-- I mean, on a certain night we can, but that’s the only hint you’re getting though.” Her eyes followed him adoringly as he leaned into her touch and placed a kiss against her palm, it was the subtle actions that were the constant reminder of just how loved she was. Leaning into the seat herself, her expression softened as her hand dropped from his cheek, resting against his forearm now, “I agree, you better hurry up and marry me” she mused, “but only because I can’t wait to be your wife.” Her smile returned, accompanied by a soft giggle, “all the faith and no doubt, you got this and even if you don’t, I packed the instruction manual.” As his gaze captured hers, Billie sighed with sincere contentment, willingly losing herself into those crystal blues as she caught the inside of her lip between her teeth, completely and utterly at peace “just a few more minutes” she breathed, taking in each feature, eager to remind him “I love you.”

Eventually, the time did come to step out of the lambo, particularly if she wanted to give Briggs his gift. Stood by the trunk of the car now, she peered over at all of the gear before turning herself around, and leaning against the lambo, “this seemed like a really good idea before I remembered we have to set this up." Sighing playfully, she continued “can you like – you know, witchy woo us a campsite?” It was unclear as to whether that was a joke or not. "If anyone can, it's you, my love."

#( thread | billie dawson. )#( billie 010. )#( briggs & billie. )#// brain is mush so writing is trash but their LOVE

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heartsings · 4 years ago

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nothing is posted there as of now, but the pages are basically done, so find this multi OVER HERE NOW.

#it's past 4am here i make bad life choices #anyway some muses are in limbo for now #some stayed #i kept my buffyverse muses so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#some of my fantasy kids #anyway pls love me #i wanted to tag myself but tungle won't let me

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orchardisland · 2 years ago

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━━ 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐢

Let me tell you the story of one of our unfortunate residents who seems to be a STUDENT & SUNRISE WAITRESS on the island. Fate has assigned this individual guidance from THE HANGED MAN REVERSED card. But they needn’t worry, their secrets are safe with me.

DOB: december 15th, 1995 DEFINING TRAITS: endearing, kind, listener, immature, stubborn, flaky RESEMBLES: wjsn kim hyunjung (seola)

YOU ARE PRESENTED WITH A PRISTINE DECK OF TAROT CARDS. TAKE YOUR PICK.

woori is at the point in her life where everything seems completely busy, yet absolutely mundane all at the same time. she feels left behind as childhood friends of hers have moved out of the island, and she doesn’t have many friends from her younger days left, often befriending those from her latter years in life. she feels as if she’s falling behind, yet she’s doing the best she can. she’d piled on the classes only to burn out and drop out of many courses, only to pick it back up part time, and continue working all the same. but it’s all a cycle that woori can’t seem to escape out of. bullet journals and phone notes have calculated that this is going to take a few years, if not many years to finally graduate, if she even does. and then what will happen after that? so, she’s pressed the unpause button to get her out of the point where she was completely stuck and not making a decision to go back to school, but at this point, woori feels as if she’s suspended in limbo, stuck enrolled and working part time, eternal. the perception of failure and success are so contradictory, yet are what keep her going. there’s mild unawareness behind her decisions, or lack thereof. and while she wants to move forward, she’s not quite ready, perhaps her biggest struggle.

THE CARD FLUTTERS TO YOUR FEET. WHO WERE YOU BEFORE THIS STORY BEGAN?

gwasuwon. this is life as she knows it. woori has rarely left the island, if only for short trips, finding herself overwhelmed by big city life and preferring the quiet life of more rural places. good thing her family home is literally in suburbia and is such a solace of sorts. stray cats visit her in her backyard. that’s good enough. growing up in her childhood home, woori didn’t imagine that she’d still be there to this day. she’s moved out a few times but ultimately, she’s moved back in due to financial reasons. yea. that’s precisely what she’s going through right now. a portrait of a girl who hasn’t quite grown up and isn’t quite classified as a woman yet in her mind because she hasn’t taken all those ‘rites of passages’ (whatever rules people would abide by.) there are expectations that are theoretical in her mind, yet woori doesn’t reach them, nor does she necessarily want to. simply though, the standards are set in a strange way that will never be unattainable for her. what is the meaning of baby steps?

is anything truly wrong with spending all your free time lollygagging in the yard and curling up with said cats in the hammock that she’s hung up between some trees? no. (yes, her mother chides. but she allows her to do so anyway.) but there has to be more to life.

which is absolutely not found thus far, beyond hearing the interesting stories of customers that come in through work. some of them throw her for such a ride, though woori is probably equal parts skeptical, yet entertained enough to let the strangers and some regulars go off with their tall tales. if this becomes the rest of her life, woori muses as she pours a refill of hot coffee, certainly it can’t be all that bad... ah to settle.

#gsw:accepted #oc krp #krp

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angelicgentleman · 11 months ago

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There's a small pinch in his non-beating heart at the mention of his home country. He never really got out of South Park, ultimately meeting his demise here, far away from friends and family. Were they even aware of all this? Or were they still hoping to hear a word from him? There's a slight drop in his expression and pause in movement; even a hold of pretended breath. He never thought about it.

It takes him a while to look at Nimue again, but when he does, he's back on track, smiling again. He'll have to think about it later, it would be impolite to run off now. It's not like he can get home anyway. "I am." he finally replies, "I suppose ghosts do get stuck in places." he mused.

"Well, you're a step ahead of me then." he chuckled, shaking his head lightly, "Some of us aren't even alive." Pip has slowly accepted that he has died, or rather, he is getting used to it. He never really denied the fact that he had died. It happened, he couldn't change that. It was sad and upsetting, but he couldn't return to the living. Not alive, at least. "Still, you don't owe yourself to anyone but you. I do know it's difficult to think about it like that, though. Just try to get to it before something stomps on you." he offered her a warm smile. It took him his whole life to understand it, granted it wasn't long. Nimue showed him genuine kindness right from the start, so he didn't see why wouldn't he return it, even if they had just met.

Philip tilts his head slightly as he listens to her, "The fall happened. I can't undo it." he replies softly, "It doesn't mean I'm happy about it. It hurt back then, and it hurts now, but it happened." The pain might just never go away. Not until Damien can help him, at least. Still, pain or not, he won't be able to forget the fall if he tries. Sure, it might have looked pretty, poetic even. But one more thing he remembers from it is the fear and solitude. No one hears you fall in limbo. So, while he can never forget this, he tries to take the best out of it, even if it hurts right now.

"Oh, Damien is likely right. He knows things." he mentions, thinking about it. Back in middle school, he never really thought about Damien as the son of the Devil. Many have perceived him as just it, but Pip couldn't be bothered less by where someone comes from. Granted, their meeting was rough, to say the least. Still, being the Devil must have its advantages, at least a few in all of the hell... of Hell. "I don't think Angels are really up to talking if you're not an Angel yourself. Which you are, by the way, but you know what I mean." was it a slight tease? Maybe. Or maybe he was just awkward like this. Talking to yourself in limbo really doesn't boost your social skills.

He says that at as a joke, but a small frown crosses her face. She wouldn't put it past the town to have some sort of supernatural ability to keep people in this terrible place. Everything she's seen, everything she's heard. It all just continues to spiral and spiral, but never end. Something she'll never understand.

" You're from England, I'd wager? I probably shouldn't assume that I suppose. It's a shame you never got out of this town, even as you are now. It's like you're stuck here .. unable to get free .. "

Her voice trails off for a moment, it's amazing how unfair the world can be, even to those who are dead it seems. A part of her wants to offer him a hug, but perhaps it would be considered as pity, and she didn't want him to think that she pitied him, especially since it can make someone rather bitter. Instead she stands there awkwardly, tapping her nails together as she looks for a response.

" I suppose not, but it's hard when you grow up with it. It becomes ingrained in you, everything they say and the insults they throw. Or maybe I'm just weak. " There's a slight shrug. " I'm still alive though, surprisingly enough. I live out of spite at this point, I suppose that'll do for now. "

There's a frown as he explains things further, of course that has to be the case, god forbid he be an angel before passing through. Still the casual mention of the fall makes her want to grab him and shake him lightly, to say that it's not something to be casual about, but she's not close with him, so she doesn't dare try.

" I .. suppose that's one way of looking at it. I wouldn't really think about the view if I was plummeting to God knows what kind of pain. Makes me wish I had the power to do something y'know? Damien tells me not to mess with witchcraft and anything spirit related though. Says it only causes problems. Not that he's wrong I'm sure. Be nice if there was a way to contact angels though, find out why they let this happen. "

#nebula drcams #verse: my angel flew away

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kanonsarchivedblog · 3 years ago

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Right Where You Left Me

Word Count: 4,600 Characters: Raven, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Koriand'r/Starfire, Garfield Logan/Beast Boy, Victor Stone/Cyborg, Jun'Ichi Fujihara Ships: DickRae/NightRae, Dickory (mentioned; past) Rating: T Warnings: None Notes: This takes place within an AU that myself and my partner created. It's massive, it expands over three-four decades currently, and involves all of the DCU. It's neat.

Anyways, this was inspired by that scene in Black Widow when Yelena has her small breakdown about her family, and Taylor Swift's Right Where You Left Me. I'm salty about the lack of Raven content these days, and I enjoy putting my favorite ship through pain. [ Psst, you can also read this over here on my ao3! ]

November 1st, 2017 Blüdhaven, New Jersey 6:23 p.m. “Why did the Titans split up?” Jun’Ichi asked as they lay together, the television playing softly in the background. She couldn’t remember exactly what it was that they had been watching- some B-rated horror movie that Netflix produced. Her gaze drifted, settling on the window beside his bed. They weren’t a couple- barely even considered to be friends with benefits. “I ask myself that often,” Raven replied as she sat up, dark tresses spilling over her shoulders in messy waves. It’d been all tied back in twin braids earlier- that is, until it started raining on her. Which is how she ended up here, in Jun’Ichi Fujihara’s apartment on the northside of Bludhaven. “I’d like to say it was bound to happen, but I’m not sure.” “Fighting in the group?” He mused, reaching over to comb his fingers through her hair gently. It’d gotten long; she’d be cutting it soon. “It was time for us to part ways,” she shifted, tugging the shirt she’d borrowed down over her knees- which wasn’t much of a feat, considering how large he was. Really, what did they feed him growing up? Steroids? Pure protein? “It was difficult- more difficult for some than others.” Jun’Ichi hummed, hand dropping from her hair to settle on the bed behind her. They’d met nearly nine months ago after he unintentionally kept her from getting her ass kicked. The perks of having a family name that strikes fear into the hearts of those in the Scene. She’d gotten mixed up in a fight, and he’d been on his way home- one thing led to another, and they swapped numbers. And then they began to text, and then came coffee, and then- Well, she was familiar with his apartment now, and he with hers. “I’m gonna borrow your shower,” Rachel decided as she rose, grimacing at how her hair clung to her. Rainwater wasn’t her friend, especially when her hair was longer like it is now. “Do you mind?” “Go for it,” he waved idly, jade gaze warm, smile soft. “I’ll fix us some dinner?” “Sounds like a plan,” turning on her heel, she nabbed a clean pair of sweatpants she’d left here last weekend and one of his hoodies. They weren’t serious- nowhere near it. Just… Friends, who occasionally were pent up and needed a little bit of help. They hadn’t had sex- no, he wasn’t interested in that, and she was secretly glad. Heavy petting, kisses- those were okay, those were as far as either one were comfortable with going. Someone to fill the void. Three years, two months, sixteen days since the Titans had split. She was twenty-one, now. Dick’s birthday was a month ago; Garfield and Kori’s were two months ago. Vic’s was in five months. No one had reached out to tell her happy birthday- but she didn’t expect it. The bathroom was nice- clean. Jun’Ichi kept his apartment spotless, cleaning daily. Her gaze swept across the skincare products- her own moisturizer, his facial cleanser and beard oil, his electric trimmer, a brush that she used that certainly wasn’t his, but didn’t belong to anyone else. It was a strange limbo they hung in; she knew his ties to the Fujihara crime family, he knew her ties to the Titans, but neither knew the other’s past. Bare basics- that’s what they’d agreed on after that first night. It hadn’t been a one-night stand; it’d been her birthday, and he’d invited her out to get drinks and meet some of his siblings. He had an older sister who was in Gotham’s police force, and a cousin in the same police force. Big family, the Fujihara. They’d accepted her like she was always part of the family. It had been nice; Ayame (his mother) had bought them all dinner- him and her and all of his siblings- at this little hole in the wall hibachi place in Bludhaven. They didn’t sing happy birthday, but they gave her cards, and the sake had been good. She’d met Jun’Ichi on accident when they’d both grabbed the same flannel at a secondhand shop- and they hit it off. Friends. They were friends. Sure, she liked him- but not in the way she’d held feelings for another. Violet gaze settled upon her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was long-

falling below her bust, now. She’d cut it soon. Not now- not with a pair of kitchen scissors. Maybe she’d make an appointment and actually get it styled for once, touch up the purple tips. Nodding, she turned away to face the shower. Jun’Ichi didn’t like showing that he came from money, but his shower certainly showed it- and the apartment. And the building the apartment was in. His downstairs neighbors were fashion designers, apparently. Fancy ones. The kind that have their clothes in Fashion Weeks. The shower- oh, she hated it and loved it. There was only one handle, and it was a trick to get it to the right temperature of almost boiling but not quite. Fiddling with it, she was reminded of the time when Kori broke her shower because she turned the handle too far and it just snapped off. She’d been so confused, so startled, she’d started crying because she thought everyone would be mad at her. Vic had fixed it for her. They all had a good laugh; Raven had revealed the first time she’d used a shower on Earth and had been convinced it took some sort of puzzle to get it to work. That had gotten laughs out of everyone. Those had been good days- happy days in the beginning. The shower head came to life, letting water fall like the storm outside. Sighing, she tugged off the shirt, pants, and underwear, discarding them in a little pile to the side. Next came the multitude of rings she wore, which made a pile on the counter, and the necklaces. The earrings would remain. Stepping under the warm spray, a sigh escaped her lips.

Dick was working fulltime as Nightwing now; were he and Kori still together? The thought sent an odd pang through her, made her chest squeeze tight for a moment. Vic was working for S.T.A.R. Labs and the Justice League now- the major league. Garfield was back with the Doom Patrol- though he helped out the new Titans occasionally. Apparently, Batman shoved another Robin in the role of leader- this one was named Tim.

Dick was the first. Jason Todd, now known as Red Hood, was supposed to have been the second before the Joker took his life and Batman refused to kill him. That was a mess and a half; apparently, Dick and Jason were back in contact with one another. There were other Batkids- too many for her to really remember. A family. Her teeth clenched as she shook her head, trying to keep her thoughts clear. Even so, that night kept trying to force its way to the forefront as she massaged shampoo into her hair. It smelled of lavender; it should have been calming. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ November 18th, 2014 Titans Tower, Manhattan, New York 4:38 p.m. “It’s time.” Dick sighed, arms crossing over his chest. “We all knew this day was coming.” “Did we?” Garfield argued, confused as to why this was suddenly their last night as a team. “Why is it happening now?” “Because someone needs their pride and joy,” Vic muttered, gaze trained on the screen he was working on repairing after it’d been destroyed during their last outing. “Doesn’t he?” “You don’t understand-” Dick tried to argue gently, brow furrowing over his domino mask. “... Gotham needs the help.” “It is not as bad as it seems!” Kori spoke up, hands clasped before her chest as she hovered beside Dick. A nervous antic- one Raven recognized. “We will all still be in touch! With Cyborg joining the League of Justice-” “Justice League,” Dick corrected gently. “Yes! The League of Justice,” Kori repeated, “we will all be in contact still!” “What about Rae?” Garfield asked, drawing attention to the one person within the room who hadn’t spoken yet. “Where does that leave her?” “Wherever she wants to go.” Dick answered simply, not understanding. “There isn't a contract binding her here. She can go wherever. This is a team. We’re friends.” “Not family, though?” Vic asked, looking up to meet Dick’s gaze. “You used to call us that.” “Things- change.” “Do they have to?” Garfield’s voice pitched upwards as panic began to set in. “I don’t think we all have to leave at once- I mean, there’s no reason for that, right? Right, guys?” “I’m being called in tomorrow,” Vic sighs, leaning back against the back of the couch. “But we’ve all known about my leaving for a few months. So what’s the deal with pulling the rug out from under everyone now, Grayson? We ain’t a real family anymore to you?” “This isn't about that.” About what, exactly? Dick wasn’t even sure of the answer himself. His gaze drifts for a moment, studying Raven behind the domino mask- and for some reason, he knows that she can feel him looking at her. She doesn’t speak; her gaze is distant, focused on the windows, lips pressed into a thin line. Closing herself off. Garfield and Victor continue to bicker as Kori tries to keep the peace when Raven slips away silently, footsteps barely making a sound on the floor. Sighing, Nightwing slips out as Kori begins to explain her own plans- what she’ll be doing off-planet for the next year. “Rae?” He calls softly as he opens the door to the roof. This was her favorite place to come when she was troubled. It reminds him of two years ago, when Trigon had made his appearance and attempted to take Raven over, when the world was almost lost had it not been for Raven’s strength- and their teamwork. All of them. “Can we talk?” “What is there to say?” Raven rasped, not turning to face her teammate- but it was too late to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Helpless, abandoned once more by the ones she cared about. “What is there to do? Kori has to return to her work as a literal Princess, Vic has been chosen to be a part of the League, you’ve been called back to Gotham, and Gar has plans to help with the next generation of Titans.” Her shoulders rose in a small shrug as she watched the sun begin to dip beneath the horizon. “We knew this wouldn’t be a team that would last. It was temporary.” “That doesn’t mean this is the end, you know?” He settles in at her side. Idly, he reaches up, removing the domino mask with a sigh. “I don’t have a choice. He has a new Robin in training, but he

needs me- Gotham and Blüdhaven need me,” “I thought you wanted to get out from under his shadow?” Her voice is soft as she turns, her brow furrowed; Dick had grown much taller than she had over the years, causing her to have to look up to meet his gaze. “Why follow him? You know you can have your own life.” “Because I owe him for saving mine.” “Bullshit.” “Rachel-” “No.” She reached up to drag her fingers through her hair. It’s gotten longer, Dick noticed- falling beyond her shoulders. “No, don’t Rachel me. You could have a life of your own. You don’t owe anyone anything!” “I wish it was that easy.” He took a step closer, reaching out with a gloved hand to catch her wrist gently. “I wish it was as easy as just hanging up the mask and uniform and walking away from all of this.” The way his voice cracked had Raven wincing. “Are we too young for this?” She asked, brow furrowing as her gaze settled on his hand, how his fingers inch up her palm to entwine with her own fingers. “We were just kids when we started this, thrust into a world that we could only barely begin to understand.” “But we aren’t kids anymore.” Dick’s voice had softened, barely above a whisper as he studied her; the setting sun painted her skin in shades of gold, giving the lavender of her gaze flecks of fire. “We haven’t been kids for a while.” “No, we haven’t.” She swallowed roughly, unable to tear her gaze away from his own, even as tears filled her own. “This is it, huh? The end of the first Titans team.” “Not the end- maybe just a pause.” “A lull in a conversation.” His lips quirked into a smile- boyish, charming, full of light and love and laughter. It made her heart ache. She could feel something beneath the surface in that moment, howling to be let free. But he pushed it away, pushed it down the same moment he pulled his hand from her own. “I’ll be seeing you around, yeah?” No, you won’t. “Sure,” she lied, giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He hesitated for a moment longer, lips parting as if he were going to speak. “Raven, I-” “There you two are!” Kori called, making Raven jump and Dick to shove his mask over his eyes quickly. Security blanket- she understood that too well. “We are ordering pizza! One last dinner together! Come, please!” Kori took hold of Dick’s hand, pulling him close while her hand hovered over Raven’s shoulder- not touching without permission. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The water shut off as she turned the handles to the right, leaving her standing in the steam-filled bathroom. She could hear Jun’Ichi singing along to a song on the radio, the scent of whatever it was he was cooking reaching beginning to invade the bathroom. Nabbing a towel, she stepped out and began to dry off. Her fingers twitched, causing the shower door to close behind her and for the fan to turn on, drawing the steam up and away. Her phone buzzed idly with a notification. Brow raising, she stepped carefully over, not wanting to slip on the damp tile. Passcode quickly tapped in, her phone unlocked to reveal a new message had been delivered. Curiosity getting the best of her, she tapped on the messages icon, only to find a familiar name popped up. Nightwing. ‘Are you in Blüdhaven?’ The text read. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at the letters. It had been delivered fifteen minutes ago, five minutes after she’d started her shower. ‘Currently. Why?’ She responded quickly, setting her phone aside to grab her toiletry bag. She needed to work some argan oil in before she could dry her hair; the north was not kind to her hair, surprisingly. She blames the water for it. Fingers combing through dark locks, she pondered the reason as to why he would reach out to her now of all times. Her phone buzzed once with a notification. ‘Wanna grab coffee sometime? :^)’. The message was simple, innocent. Most likely just catching up, touching base again now that she was back in the States. ‘Sure. Tomorrow morning?’ She turned away as she grabbed Jun’Ichi’s hair dryer. Flipping over, she did a quick rough-dry of her hair, making sure

that the bottom layer was dry before flipping her hair back over and turning off the hair dryer. The rest could air dry- which wouldn’t take very long, now. The next text she receives is a simple smiley face, the conversation ended- for now. Shaking her head, she nabbed her clothes that had been politely set just inside of the door, freshly dried and still holding warmth. Tugging the sweater and leggings on, she grabbed hold of her phone and slipped out, leaving the door cracked to help the steam escape. “Hope you’re hungry,” Jun’Ichi called as she plopped onto the couch. “I made plenty for you to take when you head home.” “Thanks,” Raven called back, gaze trained on her phone’s black screen. How did he know she was back? She hadn’t done any work recently, especially not here. The last time she’d made headlines had been two months ago in Scotland when she fixed John Constantine’s fuck up. Shaking her head, she set her phone down and rose, making her way to the kitchen. “What’d you make?” “Miso soup, edamame, and grilled salmon on a bed of rice.” He nodded towards the timer on the microwave; five more minutes. “Comfort food for a cold, rainy day in Gotham. It’s what my mom would make when we were younger.” “That must’ve been nice,” Raven plucked an edamame from the bowl and idly bit down on the pod, prompting for a bean to break free. “Hungry?” He asked again, glancing down at her. Something was up- but it wasn’t his place to ask. “Famished.” Raven replied with a small smile as she turned to grab dishes down. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ November 2nd, 2017 Blüdhaven, New Jersey 9:15 a.m. The coffee shop was quiet for a Tuesday morning. Black nails tapped a nervous rhythm on the top of the table, an old habit that could never be truly broken. Violet gaze glanced down to her phone, studying the blank screen. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice that her guest had appeared until the chair across from her was being pulled free. Jolting, she looked up, eyes widening in surprise at the sight, meeting equally wide, surprised amber eyes. “Raven,” Dick Grayson greeted, lips twitching up into a small smile- shy, boyish. “It’s been a while.” That smile still made her heart skip a beat. Damn him. Damn Dick Grayson. “Three years, two months, seventeen days,” Raven replied, shifting to settle into her seat, arms wrapping idly around herself. The sweater she wore hung off of one shoulder, big and worn and warm, a deep navy shade. “If you wanted to be exact.” A chuckle escaped the vigilante. “Right,” his hand raised to rub at the back of his neck, ruffling the hair that had grown out- shaggy. “How are you?” “I’m good- just got back a few months ago from traveling.” He looked older, now- the baby fat having left his face, replaced with a sharp jawline and smooth skin. “How’ve you been? How’s Kori?” Something strange occurred, then- a grimace that he tried to cover, but the anxiety that flowed off of him at the mention of the Tameranian princess was unmistakable. “She’s good- I’m good. Busy.” “So I’ve heard. You’re all over the news, you know,” idly, she raised the cup of chamomile to her lips, sipping idly. “Boy wonder and all, covering Blüdhaven all by his lonesome.” “I’ve got it handled,” he shrugs, though his gaze wanders to the side, as if he didn’t want to talk about this. Anxious. “It’s not the… Worst.” “Have you heard from any of the others?” Why was Dick so nervous? That was new; he wasn’t the kind of person to get nervous about nothing. Then again, he used to get nervous anytime Koriand’r would sit too close. He perked up at that, brown gaze warm as he nodded. “Yeah, I talk to Vic occasionally- he’s working with dad now, part of the League. Garth’s over in California, helping with the Doom Patrol, apparently- sounds like he and Vic might, uh, be… Close.” His cheeks colored a rosy tone that got a soft laugh out of Raven. “What about you? Heard from anyone recently?” “Mhm,” she hummed, sipping her tea for a moment, giving Dick time to really look her over. She’d gained weight- not that that was a bad thing! She looked

healthy, now- her skin holding color, her cheeks rosy. She no longer held shadows in the hollows of her cheeks or beneath her eyes. Her hair had gotten long- or, well, longer than it ever was when they were a team. She smiled easier, now, too- as if she were more at peace with herself. “Roy’s back in Gotham, actually. I met with him a few days ago.” “Is he?” Roy Harper- he hadn’t talked to him in a little over two years, after they had a fallout when he was just getting out of rehab. When Dick hadn’t believed him. “How’s he doing?” “He looks good. Healthy, now- clean for a few years, officially sober for a little over three. He’s got custody of Lian, now.” Lian Harper-Nguyen, the surprise child that he hadn’t anticipated. “I’m helping him with some internal troubles.” “Therapy?” “Of sorts. I refer to it as Shadow Work, but it is a form of therapy- healing the darker parts of yourself that you’ve left unattended for far too long.” She sets the cup down gently, drawing Dick’s attention to her hands. Her nails had grown- or perhaps they were a set- filed into points, painted a glossy black. She wore rings, now, too. A lot of rings. “Gar is doing well. I spoke to him a few weeks back.” “Yeah?” Gar, now going by the moniker of Tempest- a former teammate, and someone who had been interested in Raven. “How’s Atlantis?” “Atlantis is good, as is Kaldur'ahm. Did you know they are in a relationship?” “Really? Huh- I had no idea. Good for them!” A silence fell over the pair in that moment, Raven’s gaze settling on the table as Dick settled his chin on his palm, smile softening. She really did look good. It’s amazing how much a person can change in a few years. Her gaze flickered up, violet meeting umber, and settled there. He felt a tug for a moment- not a physical one, but a tug on that old soul bond she’d created with him. It was warm, familiar, comforting. “Why did you want to meet, Dick?” She finally asked, head tilting slightly, reminiscent of a bird. “Why did you text me?” “I heard you were in the neighborhood.” He admitted, sitting straighter, brow furrowing. “And I… Wanted to catch up.” “After three years of radio silence?” The words were soft, yet held such an icy, bitter tone that it reminded him of the cold December wind. He grimaced; it had been that long, hadn’t it? “Kind of shitty to do that, if you ask me.” “I didn’t know how to get a hold of you,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize that everyone else had cut contact, too.” “Not everyone. Gar kept contact- but he was about the only one.” Until Roy. He’d revealed that he and Dick had also fought. The circumstanced had been messy; they hadn’t made up, not yet, but he wants to. He’d been working with Jason- and Koriand’r, apparently. “Why isn’t Kori working with you?” “How did you know that?” He snapped, only to immediately recoil. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” “That answers everything.” Raven rolled her eyes as she grabbed her cup. “You need to work on yourself before you try to reach out to those you’ve wronged, Richard Grayson.” She rose with a smooth movement, skirt swirling about her legs. Without a further word, she began to make her way to the door. Dick floundered for a moment before he grabbed his coffee and took off after her. “Raven, please- wait! Wait up!” He slipped out of the door as she paused, her brow furrowed. Snow had begun to fall, the flakes big and fluffy. Not good for snowballs, a part of him whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry that you were left alone and no one was there for you. I’m sorry that I failed as a leader and a friend,” the words spilled out in a rush as her eyes widened. “I’m sorry that I left you on the rooftop that night. I’m sorry for breaking your heart, Raven.” She swallowed roughly, head tilting to the side as she squeezed her eyes shut- a meager attempt at staunching the tears that threatened to fall. “Don’t say that. Don’t- you don’t get to just come back into my life and apologize like this. Do you know that the Titans were the only family I had for years? You all were my family-

I loved each and every member. And you all left me!” She exclaimed, hands raising. She’d tossed her tea the moment she’d gone outside. “I was left alone! The tower cleared out, and I was alone, and no one came back!” Her voice cracked on back, tears spilling over. Mascara began to run down her cheeks, much to her annoyance. “I stayed there, dust collecting, while everyone else moved on. I stayed right where you left me.” Dick fell silent, his heart hammering in his chest at the realization. Seeing her cry like this- he went to reach out, only for her to take a step back. His hand hung in the space between them for a moment longer before it fell. “Raven, I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. I’m going home.” She turned on her heel, beginning to walk away before calling over her shoulder, “Call me when you’ve got your own shit figured out, Grayson. Get out from under his shadow and be your own god damn man.” She turned down an alleyway, and in another moment, was gone- portal opened and closed with adept swiftness, a practiced movement that she’d worked on for years to perfect. Dick stood in the middle of the sidewalk, coffee held limply in one hand, the other hand raised to his mouth as her words sank into him, stabbing like knives heated with a cooking torch. What had he done? What had he done to Raven? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Novemeber 6th, 2017 Blüdhaven, New Jersey 4:19 p.m.

Her apartment was a safe space, her haven. She was settled on the couch, wrapped up in a massive hoodie that Roy had left behind. He’d be back in a few days after finishing the assignment she’d given him. He was home in Oljato at the moment.

Her mind drifted as her fountain pen hovered over the page of her journal. The meeting with Dick had been four days ago. She’d seen no one since then, telling Jun’Ichi that she was busy with research. Her brow furrows as the journal and pen settle on the table. She couldn’t focus, not like this.

Sighing, she unfurled her legs from beneath herself, only to pause at the feeling of foreign energy approaching her door. Quietly walking to the door, she listened for a moment before a knock sounded. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. Creeping to the door, she cracked it open. “Can I help you?”

The sound of a smooth, feminine voice met her ears- lightly accented. Arabic? Egyptian? Somewhere within the region, the lilt originated from. “I do hope I’ve got the right apartment. Raven, yes?”

“Depends. Who are you?” The woman stepped back. Raven felt her heart fall still for a moment as realization dawned. The flowing sleeves, the leotard, the veil, the boots. “My name is Tombstone. May I come in?” Tombstone, famed sorceress and summoner. The new Sorcerer Supreme. The locks undid themselves quickly as Raven stepped back, the door swinging open. “Of course. Why are you… here?” “Well,” she stepped in slowly, towering over Raven. “I was hoping I could speak to you about a job opportunity. Have you heard about the Justice League Dark?” Raven felt her heart jumpstart in that moment. Perhaps coming back to Blüdhaven hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

#raven #dickrae #dick grayson #teen titans #titans #dceu #garfield logan #koriand'r #victor stone #cyborg #starfire #robin #nightwing #dickory #angst #no warnings apply #m's scribbles

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

dark place, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is a man with no recourse, looking into the depths of an empty bottle. He’s in his dark place now and there’s no end to the darkness. The only one who holds the light is you, the other with your own dark place, the one he drove away. You shouldn’t have come.

warnings: mentions of attempted suicide; depression; former (toxic) lovers; rated M (18+) for language, alcohol consumption; heavy angst; smut (fem reader, f and m-receiving oral, tit fucking, penetrative sex)

“Hey.”

He must be seeing things. This couldn’t be real.

“You smell like alcohol.”

He did. He did smell like alcohol. He reeked of it. Because he was alone. Because he was thoughtless. Because he was empty, just like the whiskey bottle in his hand. Because he wanted to go to heaven, as soon as possible, and maybe, just maybe, if he drowned himself enough, he could part the sea of his own tears, walk across them, and never come back to this version of himself.

You pushed the door open, just a little. He relented, stumbling back. You stepped inside quickly, catching him. He pushed you away and you let him, sighing softly. You closed the door behind you and stepped out of your heels, watching him wobble into his apartment, almost tripping, almost dropping the bottle.

“Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi paused, swaying. You watched his form, waiting.

“Who sent you?”

His raspy voice was grating and accusatory.

“Hoseok.”

For a moment, you thought he was going to hurl the whiskey bottle. Instead, he just crumpled, sliding to the floor slowly, a mountain of black. Black hoodie, black sweatpants, black hair.

A long time ago, you had asked him the question. The question that drove you two apart, the question that you knew the answer to, but asked anyway. Back then, you thought nothing was more painful than limbo.

“I can’t.”

Those were his words to you at the time.

You took a few steps in, bending down to take the empty whiskey bottle from his limp hand. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t trying to stay conscious either. You were in your black slacks, black vest, and white dress shirt. Your bartending uniform. You knelt down and gently took him by the arms. He tried to fight you, but it seemed more like he was fighting himself. His whole body was shaking, pale face paler and gaunter than before. You dragged him to the bathroom, to the toilet.

He vomited.

You waited, him crouched over the toilet bowl, emptying his stomach of the liquor.

You told yourself you would never come back here. Jung Hoseok called you many times, asking you to come. Asking for help. And every time, you told him you couldn’t. That you weren’t ready. Hoseok pleaded with you, begged. Said you were the only one who understood, the only one who could even fathom what was going on in Yoongi’s head. And every time, you said you couldn’t. Because of what he said.

I can’t.

Then neither can I, you had thought to yourself.

You heard Yoongi choke a little and reached up to pat his back. Ran your hand over it, feeling his bones under the thick fabric, feeling his shivering. He flushed the toilet and you lifted him, righting him in front of the sink. He bent over it, rinsing his face, washing out his mouth. You didn’t say anything. Watched him brush his teeth and rinse some more.

You didn’t look at the mirror. You didn’t want to see your own face. If you didn’t see yourself with him, then maybe it would be like you never came. Like you were never here. Like you never gave in.

“I’m afraid he’s going to kill himself.”

That’s what Hoseok had told you. And you knew you shouldn’t have come, because when you’re in that place, no one can help you. No one can hold you. And you knew that. You knew that, because years and years ago, before you met Yoongi, before you even knew love could exist…

You had stood there, in that dark place.

That night, in that garage, covered in gasoline, you stood there, shakily holding that match. You really thought that was the end. You really thought, this was the way. Not simple, easy, effective, but full-on suffering. You thought you deserved that. You were young then. You didn’t know there were easier ways. You just wanted it to end.

Yoongi lifted his head. You could tell that he was looking at himself in the mirror, looking at that dark place. You knew there was nothing you could say. Nothing to do but stand there.

When two people are in that dark place together, the relationship can’t last. The relationship can’t breathe, because even if you’re in the same place, you both got there in different ways. Both of you would try to heal the other with words that never worked, because neither of you understood how you got there in the first place. You knew that now, much too late.

Yoongi turned around. You could see it, reflected in his dead eyes. The same scene you saw when you were standing in that garage that night so long ago.

“Why did you come?” he rasped.

You smiled sadly and told the truth.

“I don’t know.”

He looked down, at your clothes.

“You look dumb.”

You chuckled wryly. “I thought you liked formal wear.”

Yoongi frowned at you. His dark circles were even worse now.

“You look better naked.”

You shrugged. “I might get arrested on my way here if I did that.”

He scoffed, the side of his mouth raising a little. He pushed himself off the sink and tried to brush past, only to sway and descend against you, sliding down. You reached out and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Even though Yoongi was taller than you, his body felt like nothing. You stood there. He was breathing raggedly.

“I haven’t eaten.”

“You never do when you’re…”

You were about to say, like this, but you trailed off. You had the same habit too. That’s how you knew you were slipping back to that dark place.

Yoongi shuddered, leaning his head against your stomach. “I bet you were never like this after…” He trailed off too, not saying it.

“I was. In a different way.”

“Not anymore, though.”

There was a long silence.

“You learn to pretend.”

He stiffened at your words. “Don’t give me hope.”

You narrowed your eyes even though he wasn’t looking at you. You scowled. “You were the one destroyed it all.”

He lifted himself away from you. Broke out of your grasp. He was kneeling, staring at the floor.

“I know.”

You felt the anger come back. You wanted to scream. If you knew, why? If you knew, then why would you do this to me? Why would you ruin everything? Why would you say, I can’t? I can’t. The words that haunted you every night, every day, every waking second, and every nightmarish dream. But you didn’t cry. You didn’t start. Everything was apathy.

“Do you love me?”

You thought you were mishearing things. You thought your thoughts had come to life and spoken to you. For the first time, you looked into the mirror, into your own eyes. Your own dark circles. Your own face, gaunt and sickened from lonely nights. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Some kind of twisted déjà vu? You huffed in disbelief and looked down, down at the black curled-up form of Min Yoongi. Had he really, just now, said those words to you?

You crouched down. He wasn’t looking at you.

“I can’t.”

He flinched a if he was slapped. Then, very gradually, he turned his head to face you. Staring at you, with those empty, hollow dark brown eyes.

You exhaled deeply. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” you whispered.

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

You knew why he said it back then. Depression. You were both in that dark place. Neither of you fully understood why the other was there. Both of you used it to manipulate the other. Both of you used it like poison, puppeteering the other into the kind of love that was only based on pity, on fear, on sadness. And both of you knew it was wrong, it was terrible, and it was not the way to live. It was not love. And when you finally pulled the word out to him, he pushed you away, either from self-loathing or to protect you. Maybe both.

You sat down on his bathroom floor, looking into the eyes of the man you loved. And maybe they were the same as yours. You didn’t know. You kept yourself busy with work, taking double shifts to forget everything, working your body until you ached and collapsed in bed every night.

Yoongi’s face was completely blank.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

You wanted to hold him. Touch his face, tell him it was okay. Tell him you would always come back.

“There’s nowhere else to go,” you replied.

He was hurting. Hurting so very much. Yoongi stared at your face, at the spirit that he knew he broke, at the heart he knew he shattered. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

“I should have one more.”

“You know you shouldn’t.”

Yoongi turned his body, swallowing hard. His legs fell open, one knee up, the other on the floor. A familiar position, where you used to crawl up to and sit with him. But now you sat across from him, unmoving.

“I can’t do anything.” His voice was a cracked whisper, despairing. “I can’t compose. I can’t write lyrics. I can’t think of anything new. Everything sounds like shit. Everything is shit.” He smacked his head against the sink cabinets, brows furrowing. “My muse left me.”

He opened his eyes, slowly. Slowly. You weren’t crying. You just looked at him, heart aching.

“You told me to leave.”

His eyes shifted down. He wasn’t really looking at the floor. He was looking somewhere else, into the dark place.

“I know.”

You knew it would hurt you. You knew his voice, caked with remorse and shame, would hurt you. You knew and yet you came anyway, running at Hoseok’s panicked tone. You also knew, as Yoongi held his hand out and touched your face, brushing his fingers against your cheek, that you shouldn’t have come.

“I’m sorry.”

Because you knew it would be like this. So genuine and real, the way he said it, intoxicated, on the edge and hating himself. You knew because you were capable of the same thing. And yet you let him pet your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. Yoongi studied your eyes, your mouth. He leaned forward, pink lips parting.

You wanted it to be different. You wanted to hold your hand up to stop him. You wanted to be the voice of reason. You didn’t want to get hurt anymore.

But you let him kiss you because, in the end, you were weak too.

He pressed his lips against yours, a little minty from the toothpaste. You inhaled softly, breathing in that familiar smell. He still reeked of alcohol, but there was his own scent too, the scent you loved, the scent you dreamed about. His familiar taste. He leaned in more, crawling to you, cupping your face, lips molding to yours, his gentle breath against them. His tongue slipping out, licking yours. And you knew, with every second, that you were digging your own grave, but you let him because he was falling apart and maybe he was just using you an excuse to not think anymore.

Maybe that’s all it was.

Yoongi’s hands dragged down, finding the buttons of your vest. Pulling them apart, opening it up. He pressed his palms against your chest, nipping lightly at your lips. You breathing hitched, pushing your head back against the bathroom door as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, to the collar of your white shirt. You bit your lip as he undid each button, kissing every bit of exposed skin. You tried to tell yourself to stop him, but he was already pulling your dress shirt out of your pants, pushing it down to expose your bra.

“You still wear front clasp bras.”

You shrugged. “Easy access.”

Yoongi looked up at you, eyes in pain. “For who?”

You looked at the floor. “No one, anymore.”

His deft fingers undid the clasp.

“Was it only for me?” Yoongi murmured, spreading his fingertips on your breasts, pushing the cups aside.

“Everything was only for you.”

He paused. Your chest was fully exposed, shapely breasts with perky nipples poking out at him. He was between your legs, having spread them apart to move downward. Still fully clothed. Yoongi lifted his head, scooting back up to your face. His dark eyes found yours. He pressed his clothed chest against your naked one, forehead against yours.

“I’m hurting you.”

Your hand came up and petted his dark hair. Ran your hand though his dark locks, holding him close.

“That’s okay,” you breathed against his lips. “I know why.”

His large hands slid up your naked back, eyes closing. He turned his head to kiss you again, harder this time. Hungrier this time. Trying to tell you he was sorry for being this way, sorry it was like this, sorry he couldn’t stop. His nails dug into your back, dragging down, and you gasped, breathing into his mouth. He moaned, rolling his body into yours. Rubbing his hoodie into your nipples. You whimpered as the thick fabric stimulated them.

Yoongi pulled back a little to yank his hoodie over his head, dragging the white t-shirt underneath with it. He placed his hands on your waist and drew you into his lap, pulling your shirt and vest off, placing you two back in that familiar position. He was thin and pale, as if he hadn’t been outside for a long time. You leaned down and kissed him, soft kisses on his lips and cheeks, hands on his shoulders. He whispered your name and you whispered sweet nothings, holding him to you as he kneaded your breasts. Gently feeding his ego, falling into a familiar pattern. He smiled up at you, rubbing his thumbs against your nipples, making you moan.

“Has anyone else touched you?” he murmured. “Anyone else since that time?”

Even if someone had, you wouldn’t have told him. “No,” you breathed, gasping as he tugged gently at your nipples.

“I couldn’t think about anyone else,” Yoongi mumbled, pressing his hands into your breasts again, cupping them. “Your body is like a drug.”

You smiled into his forehead. “It’s a pretty normal body.”

“No, it’s not.”

His hands slid down to your waist, nails scratching into your sides. You hissed, arching your back. He continued, clawing at your sides, leaving red marks as you squirmed, throwing your head back as he teased your erogenous zones.

“It’s the body I remember,” Yoongi purred, tilted his head up at you, watching you fall apart. “It’s the body I loved, the body I continue to love, the body I will forever love.”

You wanted so desperately for it to be true, but there was no point in asking now. You clenched your jaw and panted, pleasure prickling up to invade your thoughts, each a blooming spiderweb over your doubts, your fears, your reason. You saw Yoongi’s lips part, trembling as he watched, becoming just as aroused as you.

“Look at you.” His voice low and gravelly, familiar. “You love it when my hands are all over you, don’t you?”

His nails scratched up your back and then back down to your sides, over and over, crisscross marks into your skin like an animal, marks you used to stare at in the mirror and rub yourself to, thinking of him.

You looked down, breathing hard.

“Always.”

You reached for your slacks as he continued, your body shaking with pleasure, unbuttoning them, unzipping them. His hands dragged your pants and panties down, stopping because of your spread thighs. His nails came down to your ass and you moaned, grabbing his shoulders, wishing you were stronger, wishing you were better, wishing depression wasn’t a forever contract. Because you were weak when it came to Min Yoongi, weak when he pushed you to the hallway, yanking your pants down and shoving them aside, weak to him spreading your legs, dipping down.

You sighed in pleasure as his tongue touched you, daintily pushing your slick folds aside, hands on your hips, holding you still as he breathed into your heat.

“Ah, Yoongi…”

His name, so cruel and beautiful, leaving your lips as he closed his eyes and played with your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Just take the pills and the dark place will go away. But it never went away; it just found more creative ways to break you, and you had shared it with no one but the talented tongue beneath you, the tongue that greedily lapped at your clit, so fast and hard that your spine arched, hands on his, every muscle tensing.

“Y-Yoongi, you feel s-so good…”

And you knew it was wrong, you knew you had to stay away, for your sanity and his, but it was too late, too late as he pushed you over the edge, sucking on your clit and licking fast. Your hips bucked and it poured out of you as you pressed your head against the floor and moaned his name again, eyelids fluttering as he sucked it out of you like a vampire, moaning into your pussy, your orgasm like honey, coating his tongue. He fucked you with it, feeling your walls close in on his tongue as he pushed in and out, scooping out more, drunk on you.

Your chest rose and fell as Yoongi continued, softer, licking every little bit out of you. When he was done, he crawled back up to your face, lips swollen and glistening, kissing you deeply, thrusting his tongue in your mouth. You could taste yourself, whimpering as he fucked your mouth with the wet muscle, his saliva sliding into your throat.

You felt wetness on your face. You opened your eyes a crack and tears clung to his lashes. Your hand slid up his back, tangling into his hair. Pulling him closer, kissing him deeper, sucking on his tongue. You realized his eyes were open too, watching you, aware that you had seen, but you only held him tighter, closer.

He broke apart, his exhale heavy against your skin, your name so delicately forming on his lips.

“Can I take you to the bed?” Yoongi asked quietly. Trembling, afraid.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Please.”

He got up and extended his hand. You didn’t have to take it. You didn’t have to hold it. But you did, hand fitting perfectly into his, grasping tightly, letting him pull you up. He swayed a little and you smiled, tipping his head towards you to press your nose to his.

“Haven’t you drunk too much?” you teased lightly, intertwining your fingers.

He scoffed as you two began to walk to the bedroom. “Are you implying something?”

“No, not at all.”

Yoongi frowned at you and pushed you into the room, shedding his sweatpants. “You should know I have a high tolerance.”

“You face is still red though.”

You sat onto the bed, facing him, backing up with your hands. You knew how much space was between you and the headboard. You knew where his pillows were. You even knew the feeling of his sheets on your bare body.

Yoongi’s eyes went to the floor. He walked over to his nightstand, opening the drawer.

“Maybe it’s red for a different reason.”

You chuckled as he took out a condom, pushing down his boxer briefs. His cock popped out, semi-hard, tip glistening with pre-cum.

“It’s not me, since we’ve had plenty of sex,” you remarked off-handedly.

He climbed onto the bed, still not looking at you. You slid down, opening your mouth. He stiffened as you wrapped your lips around his cock, closing your eyes as you swiped your tongue over the head. You groaned at his familiar taste, sucking all over, feeling him swell in your mouth. You pressed your tongue against the bottom of his cock, rubbing from side to side, making him suck in a tight breath.

“It is you.”

You opened your eyes, slowly, his cock still in your mouth.

“Because you came back and I don’t deserve that.”

You blinked up at him. Yoongi sunk his teeth into his lower lip, sighing softly.

“And I’m getting hard, even though I’m not supposed to,” he hissed, voice thinning. “And I still want you, even though I’m not good enough.”

You pulled your mouth off him and took him by the waist, dragging him to you. Pulling him as he resisted you feebly, reluctantly. You made him get on top of you, his cock hitting your breasts, wetness dripping everywhere.

“I’m not good enough either,” you said apologetically. “I guess we both suck.”

You pressed your breasts together, trapping his cock between them. He moaned softly, using his own hand to push his cock into your cleavage, rocking his hips back and forth. It should have killed the mood. It should have ruined everything. But it didn’t, either because both of you were incredibly fucked up or too fucking horny to really care anymore as Yoongi humped your tits, covering you with your own saliva and his pre-cum, rolling his hips into your chest.

“So soft…” he groaned, pressing the head in between your breasts. You rubbed your nipples as you held him tight, moaning with him, staring into his dark, cat-like eyes filled with lust, his black hair framing his slightly rounded cheeks, lips dark pink from pleasuring you.

“You’re still the sexiest man I’ve ever seen,” you murmured, knowing he wouldn’t believe you, knowing he didn’t want to believe you.

He chuckled, drawing his cock out from between your breasts. “You always say that. Your eyes need checking.”

You touched your chest, skin sticky and rapidly getting cold. “I’m offended.”

Yoongi shook his head at you, unwrapping the condom and sliding it on. A small smile danced on his lips as he grabbed your thighs, spreading them. How many times had you fought for that smile? How many times had you prayed and hoped that smile would stay, always? And how many times were your dreams shattered as the darkness always came back, dragging you both down into it?

Yoongi positioned you in front of him, one leg onto his shoulder, one leg around his waist. Slowly, slowly, pushing into you, a soft sigh escaping his lips, eyes closing as he felt you envelop him and pull him in, pulsing around him.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” he groaned, shuddering. “How can I fuck anyone else, knowing you’re this tight and this good?”

He went all the way in, hitting your deepest parts. Yoongi always fit you perfectly and you always clenched around him, controlling your muscles. It was sinful with how good it was. He slid out just a little and pushed back in, making you whimper, your legs tightening around him. He dug his nails into your thighs and dragged them over your skin. You gasped, clutching his sheets, feeling his cock throb inside you, tongue tucked in his cheek as he focused.

“Y-Yoongi…”

He smirked. “Can’t get that anywhere else, can you?”

You smiled back, raising an eyebrow. “Not sure, dildos these days are crazy.”

Yoongi laughed. Laughed and made your heart stop. His teeth and his gums flashed as he threw his head back a little, a little dry and raspy, the same laugh you remembered. His dark eyes went to your face, still gripping your thighs, realizing what he had done. You looked away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He jerked his hips sharply.

“Hey, I’m still dick-deep here. Pay attention.”

You scoffed and turned back to him as Yoongi leaned down, pressing your leg down to get a higher angle. He rolled his hips into you, grinning as you moaned, your other leg tightly around his waist. You flexed your muscles and he sucked in a tight breath.

“Fuck…” He thrust again, harder this time, shuddering as he felt you squeeze him. “You’re so fucking wet and tight.”

You pressed your head into the pillows as he began to fuck you, really fuck you, hard and fast and powerful, the Yoongi you remember, the Yoongi who clenched his jaw and fucked you so hard that you were gasping for breath, clutching the sheets and moaning as he hit all your deepest parts, making the bed squeak in protest. Your eyes found his and he watched you, pink lips parted, bruising your hips together.

“Fuck, I love the way you sound,” he mumbled, brows furrowing as he increased his pace. You whined, tipping your head back, exposing your neck. “All those sexy noises you make. Fuck. I could cum listening to only your voice.”

“Y-You have…” you gasped. “You’d call me at work, demanding me to g-get you off…”

He grinned. “And you’d always complain about getting in trouble as you fingered yourself in the bathroom.”

“It could have happened,” you hissed. Yoongi leaned in even more, lifting your ass from the bed, thrusting even harder.

“Might still happen.”

Your heartbeat skipped, but then you orgasm crashed down, making you wail loudly as your pussy convulsed around him, massaging his entire length as you shivered, hips jerking involuntarily. He chomped down on his lower lip, swearing as he roughly pounded you, determined not to cum yet, determined to get one more out of you.

“Come on, darling,” he purred, killing you slowly with your old pet name, murdering you with his deep drawl. “Give me another.”

He lifted one hand and swiped at your side, igniting pain once again. You cried out, slamming you head back into his pillows, hips raising to meet his. It made his cock bury deeper into you, unforgiving and unforgettable.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you hissed, his breath hot against your skin, his sweat dripping onto your chest. “Fuck, Yoongi, why is your cock so fucking gooood…”

Your eyes rolled back into your head and you wailed his name, loud and clear, radiating off the walls, a familiar noise to these walls, a familiar scene. He sucked in a breath and rammed into you, gasping as he came, cock twitching against your walls as you felt his entire body tremble as he orgasmed, chest shuddering against your leg.

It took you two a moment to untangle yourselves, comprehension sinking in. Yoongi climbed off you, condom in hand, going back to the bathroom. You laid in his bed, closing your eyes, ribs rattling with shaky breaths. You shouldn’t have come. You knew this would happen. And you knew what would happen next, because you got up robotically, empty inside, wishing you could be stronger, knowing you would have to go to the hallway and the bathroom to collect your clothes and then go home, go home and pretend nothing happened, go home and pretend you were okay, even if nothing was okay.

Nothing was okay.

You stared down at your stomach. His red marks, crisscrossed all over you. His scent, painted on your skin. His taste, all over your lips. His arms, wrapping around you, pulling you to him, holding you tight.

“There’s no home without you,” Yoongi breathed against your skin.

Your eyes looked away, into the dark place. You visited there less often now, but still; it was there. Always waiting. Always coming back.

“Do you love me, YoongI?”

The question, so long ago.

I can’t.

You braced yourself for the answer.

“I do.”

The sound of rain.

“I love you.”

masterpost

if you have visited the dark place always remember, it is only a visit. long visit, short visit, but still, only a visit.

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you

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