#social isolation DOES SHIT to your brain

[clownsecret]

cazador, about to invent a new nightmare punishment for his spawns: you know what would be really fucked up? the skull of vellioth that he talks to because he has no friends: skull: cazador, sighing: why do i even bother telling you anything

[ddollfface]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗮𝗳𝗮𝗯!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"You should stay up, I wanna keep flirting with ya';)))"

Trigger Warnings: reader is describe as "good girl", yandere behaviors, insinuation of abduction, some unwanted groping (not done by yandere), LoveSick!Athlete is delulu, possessiveness, a shit tone of manipulation, talking about LoveSick!Athlete's childhood (it was bad), bad writing, yandere invalidating reader's rightful anger/emotions. If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Just a yandere alphabet about my favorite boy. If you want more on him, or having any ideas, then send some requests! Or if you want to see a yandere alphabet for any other characters I've written about, then do that too!! (not proofread btw)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Okay, so I've touched on how LoveSick!Athlete shows their affection, but to expand on it, he is very, very touchy. He's always gotta hand on ya', never letting you further than a few feet away from him. It's not nessarily out of possesivness as he's pretty laid back as a yandere, but it more so comes from a place of wanting to take care of you. Not in a fatherly way! God no, that gross lol, but it's more so in the way of a husband providing for his wife. He wants to take care of you, watch over you, and just show you that he's the best option for you. He knows he's the best, but he's just gotta make sure that you know that too!

Another factor is that he comes from a very, very big family that's very physical with each other. His mother would always greet him with a hug, she still does now! He's the same. He's very touchy with both his friends and his darling. With his friends, he's patting them on the back, ruffling their hair, or wrestling with them. It's the same with his darling. LoveSick!Athlete is naturally playful, so he'll want to playfight with you. He wants to mess around with you! He wants to hold your hand, loop his arms around your shoulders, and pull you close. LoveSick!Athlete just finds the warmth of another person to be comforting, just knowing that your heart's still beating, and your brain's working puts him at ease.

Now, does it get intense? Well, it depends on the person. Say, you're not a very touchy person and you show your love through other means, then yes, it will be. Being with LoveSick!Athlete will be a constant tug-of-war as he'll have a hard time understanding your boundaries of not wanting to be touched. I mean, you're friends, right? Yeah? So then what's the big deal?

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Surprisingly, he won't get too aggressive with others. He's literally the embodiment of 'wear whatever you want, I'm tall and I can fight', no joke. He doesn't care too much what you wear. If anything, he prefers it, seeing as he gets to show you off to all the losers on campus.

If a guy gets too touchy or makes you uncomfortable, then he'll step in and teach the guy a lesson. He's an athlete, so he's strong and capable of fighting someone. Will he kill someone for you? Sure, depends on the situation. LoveSick!Athlete leans more towards mental forms of manipulation than physical violence. He gets enough of that in the rink too much to be bringing that into his relationship. For a brute, it's surprising how level-headed he is, or how he seems to be.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Hmmm, how do we define "abducted"? 'Cause LoveSick!Athlete doesn't techinically kidnap his darling, instead he slowly isolates them from their social circle, gradually becoming their only safety net. It gets to the point where you'll come over to his house and just never leave.

But let's just say we're counting this as abduction (I do lol), then nothing really changes. LoveSick!Athlete treats you the same. He's still touchy, affectionate, happy, and laid back. He's pretty confident in his ability to convince make you stay with him.

LoveSick!Athlete doesn't do mocking, especially not toward his darling that's reserved for the pigs who perv on you. He's a little more forceful with his affections, only if you aren't behaving like a good girl. If you aren't fitting into his ideal view of a relationship, then he won't be too pleased, but he's patient. He can wear you down.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He'll force you into a relationship, into giving him affection, etc. Though you don't really realize this until it's too late. The thing with LoveSick!Athlete is that he's a mass manipulator. Honestly, he should get paid for how good he is at it.

LoveSick!Athlete will trick the people around you into believing that you two are in a relationship, not denying any allegations against you two. He'll brag to his teammates that he's got the sweetest girl in the uni. You'll be confused as hell when a bunch of hockey players are sneaking glances at you from the bench, trying to creep a peek at the Captain's new girl. Though he won't tell you, just stating that people must see the chemistry between the two of us. It must be a sign, yeah? And blah, blah, blah.

He'll whisper some sweet words laced in honey, causing your cheeks to grow warm and hands to become clammy. It's the same with affection. When you're just friends, he'll wrap an arm around your shoulder, intertwine your hands with his, and place a hand on the small of your back. All these actions are too small to think anything of, but they just put you off. I mean, it's nothing to get too worked up over.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bear to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

You see, LoveSick!Athlete does love you, no, really. He does, with all his heart, but that thing is that he's used to wearing a mask. He's constantly playing up the "popular jock" stereotype. He has to be cool and get all the ladies. That's just his 'mask', if you will.

But with you, it feels like he can be real, y'know? Of course, this will take time and will likely only happen after he's abducted you and you've figured out all the shit he's been doing behind your back. Once he feels like he's gotten all the hard stuff out of the way, like the threatening, lying, and more, he'll drop the mask. The persona isn't too far different than the real him. The real him is a lot less cocky, more self-assured, and calm. LoveSick!Athlete, the real him, is far less brash and cheeky, instead, he's more sluggish. He acts more like a smitten fool, feeling secure in his relationship with you. Without the mask, he's just a normal dude who wants all your affection. He doesn't know how to handle this overwhelming sense of need he feels for you, the need to provide for you, protect you, and prove himself to you. And this primal need to feel useful is what drives his yandere tendencies.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Meh, he doesn't care too much. If anything, he finds it amusing. He might tease his darling, but not mock them. He'll try to resolve the situation with a level head, trying to calm you down. He'll use different manipulation tactics like gaslighting, guilt-tripping, playing the victim, and more. It all really depends on what you do, honestly. LoveSick!Athlete is a very patient person, surprisingly, so it'll be difficult to make him overly pissed off. You'd have to do something very, very bad.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Nope, not really. Listen, LoveSick!Athlete wants comfort, he wants you. He wouldn't be pursuing and locking you away providing for you if he didn't see you as a viable partner! That'd be a waste of time, which he doesn't have.

Though, he won't deny that he finds it somewhat amusing when his darling tries to get rid of him. He more so, just wants to know the reasoning behind it, wanting to get in your head. He wants to know how you tick, what makes you think. This way he'll know how to break you down and make you his help you understand his point of view. He also just wants to know who you are.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Hmmm, okay, so this is going to get pretty grim, but reader's worst moment with LoveSick!Athlete would be when he let his teammates rough 'em up. You both had just gotten into an argument, something about you're relationship. Let's just say that you may have claimed screamed that you didn't need him. That you were fine on your own, that maybe, just maybe, you're friendship or relationship, in his eyes, was holding you back, and you may need to see different people.

Obviously, LoveSick!Athlete wasn't pleased with this, but he'd make you stand by your word. You think you don't need him? Okay, fine then. Try it.

And that's what he does. When his teammates, around three of them, begin to crowd you, their hands getting a little grabby, and eyes layered in lust. He doesn't do anything, I mean. Afterall, you don't need him, right? You don't need his protection, yeah? You're a big girl. Act like it then.

He watched as his buddies fondled you, touching you in places only he had. Your eyes flooded with tears, blurring your vision. You called out to him, begging him, wanting him to help you. You confessed, you needed him.

He made you repeat yourself, wanting you say it again. You do. That's all you had to do. Really, it was pretty simple. You need him.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Well, LoveSick!Athlete is a college student, so he's not thinking too far ahead. But he does know that he loves you. He wants you. He wants to be with you for the rest of his life. He wants to get a good job, not in athletics. He's good, obviously, but he knows that it's stupid to grasp at straws, so he's pursuing a program that'll help him get his associate degree.

He doesn't know if he wants kids, yet, but he won't deny that the idea of a mini him and you running around is a nice thought. But you're young. You've got time. Nothin' to rush, yeah?

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

I've already written about this in another post, soooo refer to it right here.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

I'm pretty sure that I've already gone over this in the previous letters, but I can kinda expand on it ig.

LoveSick!Athlete likes to show you off. You're his girl, his ride-ordie, y'know? He's proud of you and your accomplishments. He'll rave to anyone who'll listen, going on and on about your recent successes and such. He'll tell a random cashier about you, proceeding to get yelled at by the old lady behind him. In total, he's a lovesick puppy.

He's clingy but confident at the same time. He has to be touching you at all times, seeing it as his way of showing affection. He buys you things, you sucks up to you, and more. He's the definition of a simp, but he's more laid back. He's not necessarily in your face as he has a chill vibe to him, if that makes sense lol.

Idk really what else to say on that so yeah :)

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He'll drive off any competition, scaring them off with his broad shoulders, and lean muscles. However, he doesn't really need to scare others off as most people get the hint 'cause he never stops talking about you.

Anyway, he'll force you to study with him, pretending to be stupid so that you'll take pity on him. This way he'll get you talking, wanting to listen to you just speaking. From there he'll ask you out to coffee.

Or he'll suddenly interject himself into your friend group, but no one will question it as he's too smooth. LoveSick!Athlete is very charismatic and a lot of people like him, so they wouldn't think much of it.

Overall, he'll listen to his darling, absorbing everything they say like a sponge. He'll try to see you often, this way you'll be absentmindedly thinking of him. He might even convince some of his buddies to talk about him to you, hyping him up and such. If you have any siblings, then he'll become buddy-buddy with them, especially if they're younger than you both. (He's good with kids btw).

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Literally, talked about this exact thing in letter E lol

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

LoveSick!Athlete doesn't really do punishments, y'know? It's mostly taking away privileges that you've given previously. For example, you'll have your favorite food taken out of the pantry, forcing you to eat oatmeal or something idk. Maybe, he'll take away your phone, make you do a shit tone of push-ups or something like that. The majority of the punishments he does are just inconvenient, nothing too scary.

But that's just for minor things. You try to run away or something, but there are certain things that make him "snap" if you will. Things like hurting yourself, trying to kill him, and insulting how well/well he takes care of you. Like the situation I described in letter H, if you insult it capabilities of providing and taking care of you, then he will spiral. And that won't be fun...

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Nope, out of all my OCS, I would say that LoveSick!Athlete is the most laid back. He doesn't care for too many things. Honestly, he's probably the best yandere to have if you're a brat. He'll humor you instead of squashing you, even though he could easily do so.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

I've already gone over this multiple times throughout this post. Lovesick!Athlete has the patience of an angel, which is surprising due to how aggressive he is in the rink.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No, God no, he'll shut himself out. He'd likely quit his sport and never play away. He wouldn't be able to enter a rink again, there's no way. If you were to somehow die, then he'd fall into a manic depression, all of his patience wearing away slowly. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. When you were with him, he knew what he wanted in life. He had a picture of you and him, together with a little boy. The baby would've had your eye shape and his hair, dark curls. His whole life was there, just right there in his reach.

But say you were to successfully escape, he'd immediately going to try to find you. He knows that you wouldn't be able to go to the police, he's not stupid. He knows how to cover his steps, besides, he's a master manipulator. He's probably ruined your mental fortitude and he can do the same to the cops.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No, not really. He doesn't believe that he abducted you, instead, he thinks that he just convinced you. That he just led you down the right path, to him. Everything does is fueled by his love for you, all he wants to do is be happy with you. That's all.

Sometimes he'll feel a little remorseful if his darling begins to close themselves up and lock him out (metaphorically), but he doesn't process the abduction as being the reasoning for the behavior. He just thinks that you're going through something, there's no way that he could be the problem, right?

He does feel bad, as he does have feelings, but he just doesn't associate your negative reactions/emotions with his actions.

And, about letting his darling go, no he wouldn't. He doesn't think he's holding them hostage in the first place! He just believes that he's keeping the relationship thriving. He doesn't think that your relationship is toxic (despite the constant gaslighting he puts you through), so he just wants to mend your relationship. I mean, just talk to him, there's no reason to be so rash!

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Let's just say that LoveSick!Athlete didn't have a father in the home, causing him to drift away from his family and spiral (at certain times). He never grew up in the most stable home, money was tight, and his mama was exhausted, having to care for four kids and all. And seeing his mama struggle so much caused him to want to be a provider, someone his loved ones could call for help. He wants to be the breadwinner, the person keeping you safe (both physical and monetarily).

The only problem is that he...well... doesn't really know what a healthy relationship looks like, seeing as his mama was never in one. Before his pa left (when he was two), he would beat his mama and siblings. Though LoveSick!Athlete doesn't really remember, as was just a babe at the time, y'know?

After that, his mama never stayed in one relationship for very long, besides him mama also wasn't the most stable person. She had BPD (Bipolar disorder), so she'd always have high highs and low low, never staying emotionally stable. Though LoveSick!Athlete doesn't have BPD, he did inherit some of his mama's habits, from watching her maneuver in her relationships.

Her habits imprinted on him, and let's just say that they weren't the healthiest thing in the world. This is where he got his good manipulation skills. At this point in his life, LoveSick!Athlete absentmindingly will use manipulation to get what he wants. Love bombing and gaslighting seem to be his main tactics he uses on others. (if people want to know more, then I'm totally open to an in-depth of his crappy childhood)

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Refer to letter R for this)))

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere

Noun. yandere (plural yanderes) (chiefly Japanese fiction) A character, usually a girl, who has an obsessive and possessive side in regards to their crush, ready to use violent and murderous means to maintain an exclusive bond. This is what google defines as a yandere and I'm going to use this as my basis for this question. Now, LoveSick!Athlete differs from this definition in the last part. He doesn't really resort to violent or murderous tendencies, instead using his manipulation skills to keep you close.

He doesn't feel the need to get violent, seeing as he's the best (in his mind). Don't get me wrong, he will if he needs to, but usually not.

I suppose that's something makes him different. Another thing is that he's very, very lenient with his darling, never putting too many boundaries on their shoulders. In his mind, he's in a normal relationship with you, meaning he doesn't need to act super crazy. Though he won't hesitate to take this privileges away from you, so just behave like a good girl, yeah?

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

The fact that he let's you go out into put freely or, more so, how many privileges you get. It's really easy to escape, no joke. But the only problem is that he has connections. Though he's only in college, and he's young, he has a lot of connections through his athletic scholarship and such. He knows a lot of people, due to his charisma (or rizz lol) and they're all under his thumb.

So it's easy to get out, but staying out is the hard part 'cause he'll hunt you like a dog on a misson.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Maybe he'll grip you too tight or give ya' a little spanking (if you know what I mean pffttt), but he'd never lay a hand on you. He wouldn't cut you, stab you, or anything like that. Nope. He watched his mama get hurt far too many times.

He just wants to be your protector, not your abuser. Though he can get a little out of hand. If you were to ever accuse him, or just plainly call his a woman beater, abuser, etc. etc. then he'll go a little... crazy?

He wants to feel needed, loved, and cared for, so if you start going on about how you don't need him, then he may be a tiny bit mad. Situations like the ones I talked about in letter H will happen far more often if you take this sentiment.

If you don't realize that you need him, then he might need to make you realize it. Of course, he won't be touching you so violently, but that doesn't mean he won't get someone else to do it for him.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He doesn't worship his darling, but he does respect you. He sees you as his equal. If he didn't, then he wouldn't even be pursuing you. He wouldn't be spending so much time tyring to get with, going through all the work to infiltrate your life, and make you notice him. He doesn't have time for that, but he's making time just. for. you.

Now, how far would he go for you? I don't think he'd murder someone, he'd just rough them up, make them know their place. He doesn't really do violence, preferring public humiliation and underhanded tactics. He'll threaten people, blackmail them, and just plain gaslight them. He won't go any farther than that, unless he's provoked I suppose. Like if it's a dire situation where you, or him, need defending, then he's more than capable of putting a guy six feet under.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As long as it takes, baby. He's young, you're young, you're both young. You guys have time to waste, time to life and such. You're both in college, so he thinks that he's got time to convince you, to reel you into his arms.

I've said this previously, but he's very patient. He's willing to wait if it's for you. But something that would make him snap is if you try to move away, though this won't push him to kidnap your necessarily, it'll just put him on edge. He'll begin to be more forward with his advances if this were to happen.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Accidently? Maybe. Purposefully? God, no. I'm even skeptical about the accident part, I don't think he can break you. He's far to calm and gentle of a yandere to break his darling.

You'd have to get him really, really mad for something drastic to happen. Even then, compared to other yanderes, it's not even that bad. Or that's what he tells you at least.

[ceilidho]

childhood frenemy soap who torments you all throughout primary and secondary school.. when he joins the military, you get a good few years of peace and almost forget he exists till one day you bump into him. hes grown a lot.. physically and emotionally. he recognizes you immediately, apologizing for how he acted whej he was younger. he seems genuine enough so you give him another chance.. but all the sweetness is just cover. he was just waiting for you to get comfortable with him before going right back to his old ways. but its not just school level bullying now, its emotional manipulation, its gaslighting, its isolation, and its love bombing.. sorry ive just got brain worms abt shit stain soap

No, you’re literally Cassandra and everyone telling you that you’re wrong just doesn’t understand!!!!! You get it!!! He grew up pulling your hair and slapping the books out of your hands in the halls at school and commenting mean things on your social media when you were in high school together and then years later he’s soooooo much hotter and bigger from growth spurt + training in the military, and he grovels until make you forgive him :((( but that’s just until you let guard down :((

everything he did in high school was just a cover for wanting to fuck you btw he was just wayyyy too immature to express that (this does not excuse his behaviour at all, Johnny is just a grade A asshole and he’s still into you like a decade later). Too bad for you the psycho who had a crush on you in HS and bullied you grew up hot and strong :\\

[eldritch-spouse]

Kalymir and tactition reader? Sort of a brains and brawn situation?

[I enjoy this. "Big dumb villain and their smart assistant that's not paid enough"-core.]

He starts pacing around the table, always does, when something you say isn't to his liking.

" DON'T FUCK ME! "

Fortunately, you were hired to be the brains to his muscle, not to glaze his metaphorical balls.

" M'lord I'm fairly certain I couldn't even if I tired. " You eye him up and down, silently asking if he's done with his bitchfit. " Nonetheless, I believe this is no time to be aggressive. You'd do well to send scouts- "

" SCOUTS?! " He snarls at the top of his rather annoyingly large lungs. Some kind of battle axe flies over your head, decapitating baby hairs. You barely blink as it embeds itself into the wall behind you. " THIS IS BARELY A PROPER SETTLEMENT! I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO EVEN THINK ABOUT THIS PIECE OF SHIT RESISTANCE POCKET- "

The King stomps forward on mighty talons, nearly swiping your pondering orb away as he gestures toward it with a fury of such might that it makes the muscles in his arms swell.

" LOOK AT THESE INSECTS! "

" Precisely. "

The demonlord looks as if his honest desire is to cut your back open and slurp the spinal cord out. Yet, in the midst of the anger constantly frying his nerve endings, is a tungsten carbide core of minimal intelligence that reminds him eviscerating you is a most terrible idea.

" EXPLAIN THEN, YOU MOUTHY CUNT. "

" I've been trying to do so this entire time. "

" THE FUCKING NERVE Y- "

" This resistance pocket- " You start, snapping your fingers repeatedly as if trying to garner a large dog's attention. " Is mixed and dangerous, m'lord. "

Although Kalymir is visibly fuming, he does listen.

You scroll through the field of view offered by the hidden summoned aid currently hiding in tall trees. It provides a top-down map feed of the location Kalymir's latest headache has been operating from. Currently, at least. People buzz from one side to another, not many in numbers but extremely well-organized and efficient, almost as if controlled by something.

" Notice there are more than just wrathful demons in the midst, this group employs humans and monsters, especially the less social of the bunch. The kind of monster you'd find hiding in darkened places, isolated but by no means uneducated. To gain the alliance of these monsters, one would need a surprising sense of- "

" I'M FUCKING SNOOZING HERE... "

Sometimes, you're the one that wants to maul him.

There's a tired sigh.

" Harmonious diversity equals no-no. "

Pause.

" I'M NOT A BABY, YOU SURFACE WHORE. "

" Putting that aside, I'm sure you've noticed by now, that they brandish weapons of ancient times. The very things that allowed the initial group to leave the Rings unscathed despite being hunted, not just in Wrath but in the territory of all the Lords you've made agreements with. "

" CELESTIAL WEAPONRY. " The warlord sneers, thoughtful.

" Yes. "

Kalymir shakes his head.

" YOU CAN'T TELL ME THEY'RE ALLIED TO ANGELS! MOST ARE DEMONS, YOU CAN'T BRIBE ANGELS INTO HANDING THEIR TOOLS OVER- " He slams both fists onto the worn and dented table, making your chair jump. " THEY'RE HARDLY EVEN SEEN. AND LIKE FUCKING HELL THESE PARASITES CAN KILL ONE! "

A smug smile tugs your lips. " But, my King, they don't need to be allied to angels to have those. "

Kalymir makes a rare effort to calm down, sharpened claws tapping at the same table. You can hear a heavy-tipped tail swing, the woosh mildly distracting.

" SPEAK! "

" The archives. "

You can hear the gears melting in his cranium.

" THE ARCHIVES... " He stands, mighty body straight as he beings putting two and two together. " THE ARCHIVES! "

You nod, arms crossing.

Not just any archives, the Royal Archives of Wrath, containing a litany of detailed instructions in old Infernal about how to dispatch different types of celestials. The same archives that guarded weapons of Eden stolen from perished angels, weapons that destroyed the limbs of the brave demons who managed to retrieve them, whose core names and sigils have been carved into the cases holding these artifacts. Those are the only celestial weapons left behind, as far as anyone knows. The type of material prize a lord of Wrath would die protecting.

" NO! " He barks once he realizes the first possibility that statement implies.

" Yes, my King. "

" NO ONE COULD HAVE BROKEN IN, YOU SNOT-BRAINED ANKLE BITER! "

Hm, that one's new.

He's right, no one could have broken in, he knows you know this, and the fact that you always seem one little step ahead of him is both infuriating to the King but also exciting.

" Correct. "

" THEN- "

" Who has access to the Royal Archives of Wrath? "

" I DO! I'M THE KING- "

" And who had access? "

As soon as you ask that, he falls eerily silent, pacing again, this time to the opposite display of weapons, subconsciously studying them as he thinks.

" IMPOSSIBLE. "

You recline on the chair, eyes closing. " Is it? "

" I BUTCHERED HIM! I HUMILIATED HIM. HIS VERY SKULL SITS ABOVE MY THRONE OF VICTORIES! "

" His offspring, my King. His descendants. " As far as you know, they were only juveniles when Kalymir murdered their father.

" ONE DIED IN THE CRUCIBLE... "

" The other...? "

Kalymir doesn't answer, he doesn't know. And neither did you, not until very recently.

You don't need to spell the implications out this time, he gets there on his own two synapses.

" YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS. " The demonlord bristles, not because he finds the suggestion ridiculous, but likely because it's going to make things a lot more interesting.

" But I am. He can't show his face, it'd be too risky, but some dissenting demons still recognize and have followed him to the surface. He then seeks the help of monsters living in the margins of societies or straight up outside of them, safer options to utilize holy weapons. And not just that, these monsters muddle our understanding of the resistance's origins and goals, adding humans to the mix just makes it all more confusing. Many of the non-demonic members are likely under contractual obligation to do this too, I'd reckon. "

The King is silent.

" Think about it. You lost track of them a long time ago. This prince-to-be witnessed the death of his father, his brother, his mother has likely died of old age. He has nothing. Nothing but a sweltering desire to dethrone you. This is his doing. "

A cruel glint settles in your eyes, belying that there is room for your frigid coldness in the boiling Ring.

" Unfortunately, he must have been too young to properly absorb his father's teachings, because this is amateurish at best. A little bit of care and thought is all you need to nip his budding plans, m'lord. "

The King smiles, drags a hand down his face, chest heaving faster as a very thunderous bark of raucous laughter shakes the entire fortress. The clapping of meaty red hands accentuates how wolfishly delighted he is.

" YOU GLORIOUS, ROTTEN WENCH! HOW COULD I NOT HAVE SEEN THIS?! "

Yes, really, how did he not see this a mile away? He should have figured it out before you, you actually had to do research concerning the past ruler of Wrath.

Kalymir damn near sprints towards you, reaching over the table to grab you up by the collar of your outfit.

" LEAD ME TO HIM, STRATEGIST. TELL ME HOW TO GET MY HANDS ON THE WORTHLES TWERP. I WILL WEAR HIS BROTHER'S SKIN. "

" Of course, my King. I will lead you to victory as always. "

" GOOD. GOOD LITTLE HUMAN. "

You're dropped back down unceremoniously, feeling a creak in your hip but remaining composed. Kalymir is clearly getting overly excited over the whole deal, you can tell he'll be obsessing over it from now on.

" WE WILL MAKE A NEW CHANDELIER OF HIS BONES. "

Satisfied, there's a pep to the demonlord's step as he makes to leave, opening the great doors to his hall.

" AND ONCE THIS IS OVER, YOU- "

" YOU WILL SIT BESIDE ME AS QUEEN. "

[space-invading-pigeon]

Steve came home from work one day pissed as hell. His coworker had made three of his little ones cry, the service dog that was supposed to visit the long-term patients was cancelled last minute, Dustin texted him to cancel their weekly phone call because he and Suzie were fighting, Hopper had to postpone his monthly check-in because El caught a stomach bug at school, and Mrs. Ryans stopped him in the lobby to tell him that she's praying his "no good devil worshipping roommate" received the damnation he supposedly deserves.

So Steve burst into his home, fuming, face flushed red in his anger, and startled poor Eddie out of his armchair. "I called Mrs. Ryans a stupid old hag and I'm not apologizing!" He announced, practically throwing his shoes into their proper place. "She's stupid and I hope she breaks her other hip."

Eddie started his usual task of making brownies (he's a firm believer that chocolate can make anything better, and he knows that Steve's got an almost pavlovian response to the smell of brownies now) while Steve changes out of his scrubs and into something more comfortable. He'd completely bypassed his own closet, instead stealing one of Eddie's prized Iron Maiden tees to go with his threadbare pajama bottoms. Eddie opened his mouth to ask what had happened that day to make Steve so upset, but Steve didn't let him.

"Seriously, why does she hate you so much? You're like the sweetest person ever. So I told her to stop talking shit about you, and she was like, 'why should I,' so I told her that my baby sister would slap the wig off her bald little head if she kept being shitty to my boyfriend, and I might have actually given her a heart attack. Should we go check on her?" Eddie froze at Steve's admission; first of all, a baby sister?? But, more pressing, boyfriend. "Oh, my god, I might have killed our elderly neighbor. El wouldn't actually slap her! Wait, yes she would. She's still learning social norms and I don't think Hop told her that hitting old people is frowned on. I don't- does Hop know not to hit old people? Eddie, my dad might abuse the elderly."

"Stevie, honey, slow down," he finally settled on. Eddie bypassed their little dining table to sit Steve on the couch. "One thing at a time. Mrs. Ryans is not dead, we'd have heard all the munchkins singing by now."

"I'm not going to prison for shocking our neighbor to death, Eddie, I'd rather be melted into a giant flesh monster," Steve piped up. Eddie didn't have time to unpack whatever that meant, so he ignored it.

"You're talking about your sister like she's not used to humans."

"She's not, really. She was ex- she was, um, bad home life. Before we met. She's Hopper's daughter now, but before, her dad fucked her up. Like, doomsday, raise the children in isolation, fucked up." Steve was marginally calmer, but his anger gave way to nerves as everything he'd said caught up with him. "I called you my boyfriend."

"Good to know you've got beauty and brains, sweetheart," Eddie cooed at him, smacking an exaggerated kiss to his cheek. "Not every day I have such a cute guy screaming at old ladies for me."

"J-just the one old lady. You're not mad I called you my boyfriend?" Eddie paused there, giving Steve the flattest stare he could manage.

"Steve. I've been flirting with you for two years. Bruce has been trying to get me to propose to you for one of those two years."

"Bruce just had a baby, he should worry about-"

"Bruce tried to explain to you that we're dating and you called him a funny guy, honey. Congrats, you're the last to know."

"We're dating?" Steve shrieked, and Eddie couldn't help but laugh. Steve's face was so incredulous, like he really had no idea, and as sad as it was to see that, it was just too funny to Eddie that they'd been dating in almost every sense for more than a year before Steve seemed to be aware of it. "Are you telling me I could have kissed you this whole time?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. Stevie, you really didn't know? I thought it was obvious how much I love you, sweetheart."

[zimthandmade]

You asked for it, and here it is, Near scenario:

You mentioned a while ago that you imagined at some point Mello just lost it and injured Near seriously.

The fight is followed by a meltdown, a bad one like he hadn’t had in years. Near shuts himself in his room after receiving medical attention, his roommate his only contact with the outside.

He had gotten better at controlling his emotions and reactions since he got to Wammy’s, his self esteem had gotten slightly better since so many failures in public school. But losing it completely in front of all of his classmates, like some baby who can’t stand up for himself, is incredibly humiliating. He’s not angry at Mello. Not that he likes what happened, at all. Still, no matter how supportive his family is, how well Wammy’s taking care of him and helping him, he can’t help blaming himself every time he has an outburst.

Since the staff can’t manage to get him out, after two days they decide to call the family. He doesn’t want to speak to them. Not another failure, not after his parents had found some hope that he might manage on his own.

The day next, his sister comes. She comes into the room, Near’s roommate politely excuses himself.

Near’s in his corner/laboratory on the ground, keeping his hands and eyes busy by dismantling some toy robot. His face is all purple and bandaged.

After a while, his sister gets him to talk to her.

S (for sister, can’t remember her name): so, who do I have to kill? What happened?

N: Don’t be silly, if you want to commit a murder I should remind you that a school full of future detectives isn’t really the ideal place. Unless you want to become our new assignment of the week. You would make the children really happy though.

She asks if he wants to come back home, he refuses. It takes him a lot of effort to convince her that he was not being bullied, and that this was a very isolated accident. Yet, she insists on wanting to know what’s going on.

It’s afternoon, and yet the orange light does not come through the window in the isolated room that was picked just for his needs, sealing him away from his classmates.

Near shares his consternation at having been unable to read the situation before it escalated, and his shame for the meltdown in front of everyone. Of course he knows that it’s mostly Mello’s fault for beating him, but he also knows that if he wants to become a good detective he’ll have to know how to recognise a violent reaction when it’s arriving, or he’ll never be independent.

She smiles.

“Nate-“

“Don’t call me that, you can’t do it here.”

“Nate, when will you get it into that huge brain of yours that nobody ever is actually fully able to function on their own? All of us got blindspots, but not many are so aware of where they are, and not so many would be such sticklers in trying to make up for them. You are doing your best. That’s more than many people can say to do.”

N: “….I’ll admit I haven’t seen much improvement in Mello’s anger issues lately”

S: “haha definitely not, by the way where can I find him? Mom ordered me to-“

N: “whatever it is, please don’t.”

Near is not completely alone in his dark room for that evening.

That’s the gist of the scene. Hope it can be inspiring.

Thank you for reading ❤️❤️

I had this in my inbox for so long now cause I wanted to write that incident out better first but I couldn't get around to do it yet </3

But this here, this is the good shit ☝️ Thank you so so so much for this absolutely lovely scene, Anon 🤍

Sister's name is Alison btw!

----- My other socials Commission Info Let's drink some Ko-Fi! 🍵

[whetstonefires]

Very fun thing actually about Jin Guangyao is he spent so much time and energy passing himself off as normal. The Normalest Guy, Look How Normal I Am. The Very Best And Most Skilled At Normal Things, Like Being Normal And Having Normal Opinions.

Which is great because on the one hand it reflects how he was kind of aware he absolutely was not. (And that by default this isolated him and this was Very Unsafe.) But on the other you see, with all the times he falls into the typical mind fallacy under stress and projects weird shit onto people, he also on some level believed everyone was doing this.

That being a Normal Person who had Normal Reactions to things, like being appalled by brutal violence, was an elaborate social lie everyone had to maintain to keep up the facade of civil society, and actually everyone was basically the same as him deep down. He was just better at it, and also the smartest.

Which is a very long way to say his character arc is heavily tied up with his evolving relationship with and skills at masking. I'm not gonna armchair diagnose him because that's beside the point, the point is that he is trying so fucking hard to be normal, but without a particularly well-developed definition of what's abnormal about him to begin with, resulting in some misfires.

And then you contrast him to some other characters and it gets more fun. One of his direct foils is Nie Mingjue, who literally does not know how to mask at all, not the slightest bit, but is fortunate enough to have been born the exact kind of weirdo his position in life demands, with special interests in 'saber training' and 'destroying evil.'

(He explicitly, per narration from wwx being inside his head, has no other interests and doesn't really understand the idea of having more than one activity you care about, do not tell me Nie Mingjue is walking around with a normal brain.)

So he is (jgy has a point about this, although he actually makes it about the luxury of having moral compunctions) free to totally embrace the conviction that everyone should basically be their authentic selves at all times, and just not do evil things about it.

On the other hand, and this really illuminates their relationship for me, Lan Xichen is absolutely trying to be normal. Like, he does try to excel, he wants to be best and he knows he's good, but as a person he is also trying to be as normal as circumstances allow.

He understands 'being normal about things' as a goal not in jgy's terms as an elaborate social fiction but as aspirational shaping of the self; if everyone is normal about everything then there won't be needless conflict. Living as normally as possible will optimize your mental health and your respect for others, and it's just a good baseline from which to be good.

Which is fine as far as it goes, but means harmless eccentricity (including gay) is to be tolerated and swept under the rug rather than really supported, and prejudices him to instinctively side with Jin Guangyao and anyone else who is pushing for Let's Be Normal About This, even when the people being weird are in the right.

(This is also to a non-zero degree a trauma response behavior; what Lan Xichen experienced as the largest existential threat to him growing up was something along the lines of being perceived as a selfish disruptor of norms, like his father.)

And then contrast that to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, who are both very concerned at least initially with how things and people and they themselves are supposed to be, and feel some responsibility for ensuring this supposed-to is reflected in reality.

But neither of them makes any particular attempt to be normal about it.

And then ofc Wei Wuxian, another jgy narrative foil, never attempts to pass himself off as normal. He will sell 'I'm better than everyone ever' and 'I'm scum of the earth' in the same breath before he will try for normal.

Except that he genuinely seems to think his most virtuous traits, his throw-himself-between-victim-and-weapon impulses, are basically normal. If not everyone (who isn't a total shithead) does it, it's because not everyone has his insane confidence they can pull it off.

Which in a good mood he would say is fair, because he is in fact awesome and really good at winning. (In a worse state of mind he would definitely hate on all the selfish cowards.)

Nie Huaisang is probably the most genuinely normal human being in the main cast, probably even more normal than Jiang Yanli, and he's very happy to play that up and present himself as actually even more normal and average than he is, in order to keep expectations down.

Up until his whole life gets fucked and this little pretense turns into the most elaborate and successful mask in the entire book.

[valtsv]

last serious post for tonight i promise but i think part of the reason i value critical thinking so much (even though i realize that might come as a surprise if your only knowledge of me as a person comes from here, because tumblr is more of an escape slash stream of consciousness collaborative scrapbook for me than a platform for spreading awareness or teaching and learning tool - no offence to anyone who does use it for that, i just prefer to treat it as a hobby myself) is because i grew up both extremely isolated and controlled and prevented from expressing myself while also watching my parents fall hard down the conspiracy theory pipeline and experiencing the creeping horror of growing old enough to understand that and learning more about the world and being exposed to more people and ideas in it and realizing that my fear and frustration around them wasn't just typical teen angst but an entirely reasonable reaction to their increasing capacity to be very dangerous and untrustworthy people.

and like. i did actually try to pull them back. i wasn't very good at it (partly because i was a kid, and partly because i have my own biases and misconceptions and just plain bad ideas that i'll spend my entire life working on unlearning and trying to be aware and receptive to criticism of) but goddamn it did i fucking try. i tried discussing, i tried debating, i tried arguing back and standing up for myself and others, i tried researching and learning and presenting my counterarguments backed up with actual evidence, i tried to get other people to support me despite lacking much in terms of social skills or confidence or people around me who didn't buy into all the same bullshit, or something equally stupid and harmful. i even read the things they sent me and showed me so i could say "look, i approached this with an open mind and genuine good faith, i reflected on it and i used my critical thinking skills and tried to understand, but this is wrong and it's going to get people hurt. it's going to get you to hurt people."

i grew up knowing that as the closest person to them who hadn't fallen into the same trap of facebook radicalization groups and increasingly deranged and cult-like (and i don't use that word lightly) organizations and communities online i had a responsibility to try to protect people by warning them that my parents have the potential to cause a lot of harm and suffering if nothing else. and i failed. i'm not a trained deprogramming therapist and they probably crossed whatever event horizon ordinary people who aren't professionally taught how to combat that shit could have any chance of pulling them back from long ago. but the one thing i still have the ability to do is not let the same thing happen to me. i refuse to just passively let everything i see and hear fester in my brain until it starts poisoning all my thoughts and interactions with the world and people around me, and i'm still willing to try to encourage others to be aware and critical of everything around them so they don't end up following the same path and ending up unrecognizable to their former selves. i'm not perfect, i've definitely made some very bad mistakes and hurt people in ways i can't and don't want to be forgiven for and have many regrets, but i will never let myself end up like that as long as i have the ability to fight back.

[kevotsuka]

I want to hear more pregnant Bezz thoughts of yours. What's his pregnancy like? Cravings? Illness? What does he do most of the time? You mentioned he isolated himself, does he get sad when lonely? Does Pecco visit him and help him with stuff? Does Bezz attempt to remember who the father could be and contact him? How does Bezz feel isolating himself when he's usually a very social person? Any preg!bezz thoughts you have, I love your cute au 🩵🩵

ANON I'm sorry I'm so late but my head has lately decided go to a writing strike HSHSHSHS but I've been listening to Alejandra Guzman, Cristina Aguilera and RBD in loop and now I'm better

You have very VERY important questions.  Preg! Bezz has been spinning like a piece of spicy chicken in my brain and im go and talking to a bunch of moms to project my man into their problems wuwuwu

This answer is going to be too long and a mess, I'm so sorry orz orz orz

(and each pregnancy is completely unique. What is normal for one person may be a sign of absolute danger for another. Always remember to go to your trusted gynecologist/obstetrician!)

1. What's his pregnancy like? Cravings? Illness?

He craves Japanese food but is banned from sushi!  He is an unhappy Bezz when people told him that sushi is dangerous for the baby.  Beyond that, he doesn't really have food cravings, he just eats a lot (and then throws up because he feels guilty for eating so much. He has more problems with food than cravings. TCA/Eating Disorder Bezz is very personal to me- but it's going to therapy and continuing with a new nutritionist!)

About symptoms.  At first he thinks it's an asymptomatic pregnancy, and it's more like the pregnancy is camouflaging itself.

Like. He's throwing up his guts, but he think “its relates it to the end of the season and the stress causes that in him” (even though he's no longer in line for the championship) (and he's never thrown up from stress before).  He then feels fatigued and can't sleep, but that's all because he travels a lot, jet lag and all that.  He misses his dog and cries looking at his photos. He has belly cramps, but it's probably something he ate in the paddock when he had a sudden aversion to the smell of chicken and he couldn't eat anything from the hospitality.

On top of that, his painkillers are kicking him between physical therapy.

When the season ends and his body has a chance to catch up, all the symptoms hit him like a truck. Headaches, heartburn, constipation and generally the desire to die to end the torment of him. He is also bloated…? and feels like shit. The bug is charging for every fall he had at the end of the season, or at least that's what Bezz thinks as he gets up for the second time in the night to urinate at the end of the second trimester or when he has to drink his calcium-fortified milk -very expensive and he hates the taste-.  The bug is really demanding with they needs!

2. What does he do most of the time? You mentioned he isolated himself, does he get sad when lonely?

I said “practically vanished from the face of the earth.”  He wasn't really alone, he is a family man, and of course he returned to his childhood home!  His older sister was very happy for him!  (The youngest offered him a rue tea as soon as he mentioned that he are pregnant, before Marco clarified that he was going to keep it- wait “Laura, how do you know that these are abortifacients?” “Oh Marco, don't ask questions for which you don't want answers.")

 (i'm sorry i love his sisters so much hshshs)

But yeah, he feels so lonely because he went from spending almost all the time with his team or the people at the ranch, not just the other riders, and now is just his family and his new “medical crew” (obstetrician, psychologist, nutritionist).

Also, He is an unemployed man!  At least until Valentino calls him and tells him he has something for him to do at the academy (like Migno, lol)

He can't help in the mechanical workshop (although now that Vito goes to the races with him, I wonder what's happened with that), so he goes with his mom to do the administrative work.

 He hates it so much :)

Those first months are torture for him and his family. His two sisters capitulated as soon as they could and left (they have a life to, Marco!). When he's not helping his mom or learning to become expert in Excel, he's watching old seasons of MotoGP, F1, and NBA. He stays at home mostly. He gets in a bad mood about it, but he prefers it to having to face his friends :(

But he can now recite by heart the podiums of every MotoGP and F1 race from 2007 and 2008!

3. Does Pecco visit him and help him with stuff?

Yeah! Bezz calls Pecco to tell him because he knows he can't run away forever for his friends, but he calls him at week 15 which is a long time past the period for a termination of pregnancy (wait, are abortions even legal in Italy?).  He called pecco when he say himself “there is no turning back from this.”

 (He's a fool...)

Pecco, once he discovers that Bezz is no longer going to lock himself in and respond to his messages (although not those from the academy's WhatsApp group...), finds out his home address and appears from time to time to check on him and take him out to eat Japanese food (but not sushi :c).  He texts him constantly and listen to Marco when he calls him to tell him something about how horrible he feels and how none of the websites he's seen talk enough about back pain (they do, he doesn't really read a lot).

Bezz is also ignoring the absolute circus that is the 2024 season because he feels rubbish not being there, and Pecco is happy not to touch on the topic at all because talking about the season is talking about Martín and Márquez and no, thanks.

 Pecco invites himself to the baby reveal date in the obstetrician (Marco doesn't throw a reveal party, booo) and together they discover that the bug that Bezz is having will be a little boy.

It's Pecco who brings Luca and Franky when Bezz says he's ready to mention it to more people (after finding out the sex of the baby).  Luca is the obvious choice for everything and Franky is Franky, so he has to be there. And they go on a shopping trip - with Pecco’s bonus - so they don't have time to process anything at all.

Franky keeps trying to buy VR46-themed things (why are there so many?) while Luca asks the -no- innocent question of “who is the father?”

4. Does Bezz attempt to remember who the father could be and contact him?

NOW. THIS QUESTION.

Short answer: no :)

Long answer: To each person who asks, Bezz will say a very eloquent “I am the father of the baby :D”.  He admits that he had sex with a lot of people at that time and doesn't remember most of them, so it's not worth looking for the child's other father. The bug is his, he is carrying it in his body and they don't need anyone else.

REAL Answer: Marco absolutely has an idea who the father is and will DIE before telling anyone, not even his family.  He will take that secret to the grave.  When his little bug is born and grows with brown eyes and to have curly brown hair, no one will ask about it anymore.

(when the boy grows up to have blue eyes and straight hair, people have QUESTIONS. Marco is not answering.)

 SORRY IT'S SO LONG it's just- pregbez

[spearxwind]

not to sound weird but what was that work you put in to get where you are 🙏 i want to improve my life so bad but have no clue where to start. even a general gist of things

You dont sound weird! I think it's commendable to want to change your life for the better, and I want to help in any way I can :D

This is also my own perspective but I think a lot of it could be universally applied if you look at it through different lenses of ppls different situations. This also got rly long so I'm putting it under a readmore ^^;

So I had pretty much been isolating myself with increasing ferocity for years until recently. Even when trying to reach out to people I was extremely closed off, keeping my feelings behind many walls and chains always. A lot of my hard work has come from undoing all of that fuckup. I put all my eggs into my online friendships (and even then had a hard time with them).

My behavior was a cluster of personal garbage, learned mannerisms from keeping bad company, and hardwired reactions to specific behaviors. It's something pretty hurtful to realize when you do realize it, but that doesn't mean that you are a bad person or a failure or anything like that. It just means that you have certain bare minimum survival behaviors that worked before but now are only doing you damage, and you have to learn to undo them. (which is a great step!!)

Which brings me to what I have (painfully) learned over the past several years: the basis to any and every good relationship, romantic, platonic, family, or anything is crystal clear communication. Straight up for the love of god communication skills will save your life time and time and time again

And also like I said in earlier posts the solution to wanting to be more social is just BEING more social. This is arguably extremely hard, especially after years of "if they want me around they'll ask me" and always waiting to be invited but not wanting to bother anyone by asking if you can join NO!!!!!!!! GET THAT SHIT OUT OF YOUR BRAIN EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!! It really does NOT work that way at all. People will invite you to things if they see you express interest in them. The same way that in your head you think 'theyll invite me if they want me to go' if they dont see you express interest people will think you dont want to join. If you go someplace and just stay recluse because youre shy they likely will also think "theyre probably not comfortable or dont want to be here, so we wont force them". People are inherently kind and they are definitely NOT thinking about shunting you on purpose (and I am speaking this, genuinely, from personal experience)

While I was studying my major I got close to a group of people and thought of them as my friend group, but they always seemed cold to me, and I rarely got invited to hangouts because they seemed closer among themselves so I ended up always thinking that they didn't really want me around, and created all of these assumptions in my mind about them or what they thought of me.

Years later, recently, I found one of them again just... randomly while walking through the street and we started talking. And in my much better state of mind I asked about this whole thing because I wanted to know how the rest of the group was doing (I care very much for them still) and he revealed to me that THEY were the ones who thought I was shutting myself off of the group bc I didnt wanna be close to them. Which just blew my mind but it made a lot of sense and explained a lot. I was always on my phone too, talking with my internet friends (because it was my comfort zone), so what they'd assumed was that I already had a friend group that I was invested in and so I wasnt going to prioritize them. SO basically this whole thing ended up being resolved with clear communication and would have been solved much earlier if I had just spoken up about it and gotten braver (though my mental state did not let me at the time)

Anytime you are making up assumptions and ultimatums in your mind without communicating them to the other party you should stop and very much go and speak out loud to the other party (or parties) it will genuinely do you good cause huge as hell brain snowballs do nothing but drown you in your own mind.

Also on the being social front, if you dont have the practice in then it will be hard but a lot of it is very much "fake it till you make it" and I genuinely cannot recommend that enough. Inject yourself into conversations and places and act like yourself unapologetically because the secret isnt to craft a persona that you think people will like, its just being yourself and finding people who will love you for who you are. And like I said I just got invested in other ppls plans and asked to be able to go to places, and oftentimes just by expressing interest i got invited "oh I love this show very much!!" "well we have a plan to watch it at my pals house do you wanna come?" "we were planning on going to X place this week" "omg that sounds so cool can I come with" "of course!" Generally people will respond with "the more the merrier" so please dont be afraid to ask. And even if you get a rejection or two it's fine, don't let it discourage you. Some plans are simply not meant to be, and that's totally fine too!

Something else I worked for was reestablishing contact with old highschool friends I'd lost and I missed terribly. I went out of my way to find them again (old phone numbers, old emails, old instagram accounts that hadnt posted since 2019), and I found them!

And most of them really missed me too and were absolutely thrilled I contacted them again, we picked up right where we left off eight years prior. With a lot to catch up to but its genuinely so nice to have them in my life rather than just melancholically thinking about them and wondering if they hated me or anything. Turns out that they had also thought to contact me as well or had tried and lost my phone, or some of them even thought that it was better to leave things as they were to not "stir up shit" so we were all stuck in the same loop of insane thinking without actually confirming it until one of us (me in this case) finally broke the ice (and it took a damn long time too)

The thing is, people are just like you. We all have our own mental nonsense to fight, and we all have our assumptions and propensity to think ourselves into the grave, that's why its so so so so important to communicate things as clearly and as often as possible. Bearing your suffering alone will only make you miserable in the end, and your circle is there to help you

As a last note, I do want to say I have been incredibly lucky, because the friend group I've been adopted into I have met through that one friend from uni that I just HAPPENED to find on the street. I could have not waved him over on the street and just kept walking with my music on and ignored him. I could have said 'no' to his offer to get dinner that day if I'd wanted to be home earlier. I could have never spoken up about liking eurovision and never gotten invited to the hangout where I met my bf. And none of this would have ever happened at all. But that just strengthens my advice of "just say yes and reach out of your comfort zone" because you never know where it's going to lead you!

All this to say:

Communicate clearly with your peers to reduce misunderstandings. More likely than not they'll be in the same boat as you are. (Also extra note. Communication works BOTH WAYS. It needs to come from both parties. It is also a skill you have to nurture and hone!!)

Be kind!! and be loving!! and be yourself unapologetically!!

reach out to people the same way that you'd want to be reached out to. It sucks that sometimes (even often) you have to be the one to do it, but you eventually reap what you sow and people will learn that they can reach out to YOU

People will respond in kind to you being nice to them and a positive energy in their life. Some people will take advantage of it yes, thats just how things are, and its something you have to learn to recognize but you should never let that steel your heart. It is so so so important to remain kind and loving the world needs it so much. We're all out here trying to make our own lives and our loved ones lives a little bit brighter <3

[casuallyimagining]

Fallen (2) | myg

Min Yoongi x Female Reader

➢ Summary: If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then where does that leave you? Spurned by your ex-fiance, you seek the one person who can help. But as it turns out, the price of revenge may be a little more than you bargained for.

➢ Word Count: 11,874 ➢ Genre:Fallen Angel AU, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst ➢ Warnings:homelessness, abusive ex, manipulation, emotional abuse, forced isolation, major character injury, blood, mentions of critiques of organized western religion, threats of harm, brief mentions of an almost-panic attack, arguing, suspected stalking, smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity (which is a dumb social construct), alcohol consumption

➢ Notes:Thank you to @daechwitatamic and @madbutgloriouspond for reading through this fic and for listening to me talk about it literally every day. And many thanks to @btsmosphere for helping me with the angst, and @luaspersona and @vsualitae for their help with the smut (and more!).

Fallen Masterlist

You call out sick the next day. And the next one. Suddenly, it’s two weeks later and you’re not quite sure how you got there. It’s like how when you’re driving, and nothing’s really happening, and you can’t exactly remember the past few miles. There’s a fog that’s been eating at the edges of your brain. Your motivation is shot–you go to work, and come home, and go to sleep, going through the motions, but not actually participating in your life. 

You feel like shit. It feels like everything in your chest has been turned to lead. Your stomach has permanently sank somewhere just below your feet, your heart is heavy, your lungs feel tight. 

And what’s worse, it’s started to snow. 

You sit on the steps leading up to your apartment, forearms resting on your knees. Snow falls gently around you. It’s just now starting to stick, the sidewalk and road covered in a light dusting. It’s cold–you’re in your coat and a knitted beanie, so you aren’t freezing, but you’re the only one stupid enough to be sitting outside at a time like this. But there’s something about how calm and still the world feels right now.

When you first moved into this neighborhood a year and a half ago, it hadn’t been your favorite. There are no tree-lined streets, no parks nearby, the buses are always late, and the closest subway stop is down three flights of stairs. But after Dawoon, it became your refuge, too far beneath your ex for him to bother with you. You sigh and lean back against your door and watch the snow drift down around you. A black SUV drives by slowly, the third one this week. You have a sinking feeling it’s Dawoon checking in on you. You can feel the telltale signs of panic start to niggle in the back of your mind, and you take a deep breath to try to prevent it.

You sigh and force yourself to stand, and for a moment, your thoughts drift like the snow. Despite everything, you find yourself thinking of Yoongi and whether or not he’s cold. The demon attack had destroyed his coat, and no matter what had happened, you didn’t want him to freeze.

Once inside, you hang your coat by the door and collapse onto the couch. Passively, you observe your apartment. It’s not much–one bedroom, small kitchen, a living room–but it’s yours. But lately, it’s felt… off. Nothing bad necessarily. It’s still your home, still your stuff. But every once in a while, you’ll walk into a room or come home and something will seem different. Sometimes, you can identify it. A coffee cup where you don’t remember leaving it. A blanket neatly folded on the back of your couch. At first, you’d thought it was weird. But now, your brain is so fogged over, you’re pretty sure you’re just doing things and forgetting about them.

You’re exhausted, despite the fact that you haven’t done much, and when you turn on the tv, you can feel that you’ll probably be falling asleep halfway through whatever you decide to watch, so you grab a blanket. Better to be prepared to fall asleep than wake up cold later. You squint at the tv, trying desperately to focus on the old sitcom you’d flipped to, but you can feel yourself slipping. You’re almost gone–in that gooey area somewhere between wake and dreaming where you’re aware of your surroundings but only barely–when you feel the blanket tug up and over your shoulders. 

You snuggle in and before you know it, you’re asleep.

Something wakes you up. You’re not sure what exactly, but it was definitely something. A noise in the house. Or… something. You sit up, grabbing the blanket and draping it around your shoulders before it falls to the ground. Nothing is wrong in the apartment, at least as far as you can tell. Nothing is out of place, no weird sounds, no mysterious movements. You almost have yourself convinced that it was something outside that woke you up when you hear it.

Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.

It’s slow, measured, purposefully quiet. 

Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.

In the kitchen, maybe? Slowly, you stand to look. The light isn’t on, but you can still hear the gentle flapping. Or maybe it’s pattering? It doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t be happening in your kitchen. You grab the television remote–ammunition, just in case–and tug the blanket closer around your neck. Nothing can hurt you when you’re under a blanket. At least, you hope that’s how that works.

You creep toward the kitchen, hiding behind the door frame. You can hear whatever it is pacing in front of your cabinets, though the footsteps don’t sound normal. Back and forth, back and forth, from the refrigerator to the sink. A burglar with anxiety, perhaps?

With a deep breath, you step into the room and flick on the light, readying yourself to throw the remote. The figure–you can see now it’s a person–freezes, hunched over slightly. You can see the muscles in their back tense, and you can tell they’re going to flee.

“Don’t,” you warn, voice low. The figure sighs and hangs its head, turning to face you, and seeing the mop of black hair again brings your anger to the surface again. The blanket slides off your shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you,” Yoongi practically whispers.

You scoff. “So you decided to break into my house and creep around in my kitchen?”

“I was afraid Dawoon would-”

“Like you care.”

“What? Of course I- Why would you think I don’t care?”

You rub your face. You’re tired, in the obvious way–it’s late, and you haven’t been sleeping well–but you’re also just drained. You’re sick of being mad, sick of being scared, sick of being on-edge. “Please just… just go, Yoongi.”

“No.” He says it firmly, takes a step toward you. 

He’s close enough to reach out and touch now. But you don’t. Even though a part of you remembers how comforting his presence was. Even though a part of you admits that his presence is still kind of comforting.

His hand brushes your forearm and you recoil. “Don’t act like you’re trying to help. I told you I didn’t need it anymore.”

“I want to help. I do care. If you would just listen-” He grabs your elbows gently and you can feel your blood pressure spike.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, hitting him. “I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. Leave me alone.” With each sentence, your hand connects with his chest, but he doesn’t let go. 

“Not until you listen-”

“You left. Don’t you know how much that hurts? We…” The words stick in your throat. “And then you were just gone. Without an explanation. I wasn’t sure if I’d done something wrong, or-.”

“Of course not, I-”

“You said you’d help, but now everything is worse. Leave. me. alone.” You hear your voice crack, and suddenly, you’re aware that you’re crying. You aren’t exactly sure why you’re crying, only that you are and there’s no way you’ll be able to stop. It’s like a freight truck of emotions has crashed into you at highway speeds–emotions that you didn’t even know you were feeling. 

He lets you hit him, takes every blow on the chest easily and unflinchingly. Quickly, your energy runs out. You’re positive it doesn’t hurt him anymore, if it ever did, but you keep at it anyway. Much like the crying, you’re not sure you can stop. Ever so gently, Yoongi tugs on your arms, pulling you toward him. You fight it weakly and try to get out of his grip, but even if you weren’t exhausted, he’s much stronger. He pulls you close, trapping your arms between your bodies. But his hold is strong, and he’s warm, and there’s something about feeling his steady breathing that soothes you, if only slightly.

“He’s never going to leave me alone,” you lament softly, squeezing your eyes shut. “Things are just going to keep getting worse until…”

“Hey, kid, no.” Yoongi’s voice is gentle, kind. You get the sense that he’d use the same tone when talking to a frightened animal. “I know it’s tough now, but-”

“What do you know? You haven’t been here.”

He hums, and it reverberates in his chest. This close to him, you can feel it, and your stomach–the damned traitor–flutters at the sensation. “Not that you could see, no.” You feel him sigh. “I’m sorry I left. I could sense something had changed with Dawoon and wanted to find out what it was, see if I could prevent anything from happening. When I came back, it was too late.”

“You saw him at the bar?”

“Everything.”

“Then why-”

“If he had known I was there, it just would have made it worse. And you, dear kid,” he squeezes you gently, almost playfully, “are notoriously very bad at not acknowledging me when I’m trying to be sneaky.” You can’t see it, but you can feel him smile. Suddenly, you’re warmer, cozier, and you can feel some of your exhaustion melting.

You sigh and wiggle your arms out from between you. You’re still mad that he left–seriously, who leaves after kissing someone?--but it makes you feel better to know his reasoning. It’s nice to know that even then, he was still trying to help, even if it was a little misguided and a lot frustrating. But you don’t want to focus on that now. You tuck your chin over his shoulder, the one the demons had injured only a few weeks ago, and your arms fall to wrap around his waist. 

For a moment, you stand there in silence, wrapped up in the warmth of him. It’s comforting, you decide, having him here. He even smells comforting, like vanilla and oranges and winter and a bit of smoke. You sigh, and his grip around you tightens.

“It’ll get better,” he vows softly. “I’ll make it better. I promise.”

It’s weird, having Yoongi back. Not because you don’t want him to be back, but because it’s… it’s just weird. Part of you expects him to leave again unexpectedly–that one day, you’ll turn around to say something and he’ll have left without a word. 

Part of you wonders if that would make things easier.

But you’d notice if he was gone because you barely sleep. A fun side-effect of Dawoon’s torment. Almost any noise wakes you up, from the natural shifting and settling of your apartment to noises out on the street. All total, you’ve probably gotten 20 hours of sleep in the past week. You’re surviving on energy drinks and ice water, chugging one can of liquid caffeine just before you start your shift at the bar and downing nearly frozen water for the few hours you have to be coherent enough to serve people. You aren’t really sure how you get home, but you’re pretty sure Yoongi’s responsible, because he’s been following you everywhere.

You startle, sitting bolt upright from where you were curled into the armrest of the couch and frantically looking around. From beside you, Yoongi soothes you back down from the metaphorical ledge, his gentle shushing and a warm hand on your arm lulling your heart rate back down to a healthy level.

“I heard a noise,” you mumble, tugging your blanket up so it covers more of your torso. You’re exhausted, and you can feel your eyes drooping, but you will yourself to stay awake.

“The tv,” he explains, and when you turn your head, you see he’s watching some movie you’ve definitely seen before but are too tired to identify. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been jumpy and on-edge for weeks now.”

Weeks. The days had started to run together, a blur of hypervigilance and paranoia. You can’t trust that Dawoon wasn’t watching you, can’t guarantee that he hasn’t hired someone to follow you or watch your house. The black SUV continues to circle your neighborhood–several times a day, now, it’s parked just down the block. Always the same shiny black with tinted windows. You never look too long at it for fear of what you’ll see. 

You sigh, smoothing out the creases in your blanket. “I don’t want to give him any more reason…” You don’t finish your thought. He already knows about Yoongi. That’s more than enough reason for him to ruin your life again.

You reach for the iced coffee sitting on the side table, chasing the straw around the glass for a moment before finally honing in on it. But before you can take a sip, Yoongi is taking the drink from your hands gently. “You don’t need more caffeine. You need a break,” he says softly. His eyes are gentle as he looks at you. Suddenly, you feel scolded, and you tug the blanket even higher.

“I don’t know that we can just declare it’s break time. That’s not how this works.”

“We need to get you somewhere you’ll feel safe. Somewhere you won’t feel like he’s constantly watching you.”

“How? The second I step out that door…” You sigh. Yoongi means well. He’s trying. You don’t want to yell at him again.

He shrugs. “I could take us.”

“Like the diner?” He nods. “Do you know anywhere safe?”

“Do you?”

The question gives you pause. Do you know anywhere Dawoon would never think to look for you? Somewhere safe from him and his influence and his threats. Maybe, but…

“Why don’t you pick where?” you ask quietly. What if you pick wrong?

“It should be somewhere you can relax.” Yoongi’s hand finds your thigh over the blanket and he gives a comforting squeeze. “I don’t know that I could guess.”

You hum. A break does sound nice. A day without the black SUV parked outside sounds nice. A day to actually relax for the first time in forever sounds nice. 

“When?” you ask, allowing your head to fall back against the couch.

Yoongi mirrors you, his dark hair falling into his face, casting deep shadows across his delicate features in the low light of the tv. “Whenever you want.”

“What if it costs money?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Yoongi.” You didn’t want to steal anything. Almost all of the relaxing places you could think of involved renting a hotel room or something.

For a moment, he’s silent, his catlike dark eyes clouded in thought. Then, he smiles cheekily. “Pick somewhere cheap.”

You roll your eyes. But surprisingly, you do know of somewhere. Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, and you can see the question behind it. For a moment, it’s like he can read your thoughts. And maybe he can, because silently, he turns his hand over from where it still is resting against your thigh and he raises an eyebrow. 

Ready? The question is silent, but it’s as obvious as if he’d said it out loud. And without hesitation, you take his hand.

“Think of where you want to go.” His voice, soft and deep, enters your mind, and you aren’t sure if he spoke or if communicating with thoughts is just something he can do. But you listen to him, and your thoughts drift to your destination. 

Yoongi squeezes your hand, and a warm breeze picks up. You know what you’re in for this time, but the lurch of your stomach still sucks. Suddenly, you’re standing, and everything around you is dark. If it weren’t for the warmth of Yoongi’s hand clutching yours, you would think you were alone.

“The breaker panel is in the corner,” you say quietly, dropping his hand to go find it. 

There’s not much to go off–your memories of this place are fuzzy with age–but eventually, your blind groping leads you to a metal panel set against the wall. You open it and flick on a couple switches, and you can hear the hum of a refrigerator coming to life in another corner of the room. Suddenly, light envelops you, and you blink a few times at the brightness. Yoongi stands by the door, his hand on the light switch as he inspects where you’ve brought him. 

The cabin is small, just one large room with an offshoot for the bathroom. There’s a small kitchen in the corner, with a wood-fired stove and a drop sink. Close to the fireplace is an old couch that you know pulls out to be a full size bed. There are curtains on the windows, dusty old things that used to have a pattern but it’s impossible to tell what it was. There’s a frame opposite the bathroom that used to have a mattress on it, but it’s no longer there.

It’s freezing, and you cross the room to the door beside the fireplace. You open it, and a gust of icy wind blows in some snow. It’s been years since you’ve been here, and you have no idea how long it’s been since anyone else was here, but just outside the door is a pile of chopped wood, perfectly stacked waist-high. You grab an armful of logs and return inside. 

Yoongi watches you stack the logs in the fireplace, and you notice that somehow, he has a pair of bags at his feet. You don’t question it. At this point, you’re not sure what the extent of his powers are, but you’re pretty sure he can do almost anything. It only takes a few moments for you to get the fire going, and once the flames are strong enough, you collapse onto the couch. 

“What time is it?” you ask. The exhaustion has returned, hitting you like a freight train in the process. Your whole body feels like it’s made of lead, and you’re not sure that you could stand again if you wanted to.

“Nearly three in the morning.” Yoongi turns the light off and joins you on the couch. Somehow, he has a blanket, and he drapes it gently over you. “Where are we?”

“My uncle’s cabin. He only uses it during hunting season.” You stifle a yawn. “Dawoon and I came here once in college when we needed a break. There’s no way he remembers it. It’s the only place I could think of.”

He hums. In the flickering light of the fire, you can’t read him. Not that you really ever could. He’s sitting beside you, the warmth of his body radiating into you. Half of the blanket is draped across his lap. Cautiously, he lifts an arm and tucks the blanket tighter around you. “Get some sleep, kid.”

A high-pitched whistle jolts you awake, and you sit bolt upright. For a moment, you’re confused. This is not your living room. It’s colder, and the couch is far more uncomfortable. But then you hear Yoongi swearing under his breath off to your left, and you relax slightly. The cabin. That’s right.

You groan and force yourself to stand, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders as you meander the few feet into the kitchen. Yoongi shoots you a small, sheepish smile as he guides you to the table. “Sorry for the noise,” he says softly, helping you tug the blanket more securely around you. “I was hoping to catch it before it did that.”

You almost ask what he’s talking about, but then he’s placing a steaming mug of tea in front of you, and it starts to make sense. The whistling. He must have found a kettle in one of the cupboards. The mug warms your fingers as you grip it, and when he pulls out a chair and sits close enough that his knee bumps yours under the table, the rest of you is warm, too.

It’s quiet as you sit there, sipping the tea Yoongi made you. It’s… not great, admittedly. You can only guess how old the tea leaves are, but it’s warm, and it’s sweet that he made it, so you drink it anyway. You didn’t get a great look at it last night, but the cabin seems cleaner somehow. You wonder if Yoongi slept at all, or if he even needs sleep. There’s so much you don’t know about him.

There’s so much you want to know about him.

Luckily, Yoongi packed you a book. You still aren’t 100 percent sure how or when he’d packed bags for you, but thankfully, he’d been thorough. It’s surprisingly nice, being holed up with him here. The cabin is cozy, despite its age and disuse. The couch is shockingly comfortable to sit in–though notably less so to sleep in–and you spend most of the day curled up against the armrest reading your book. 

You’re vaguely aware of Yoongi puttering around the cabin. At some point in the afternoon, he opens the door and shrieks at the snow that gets blown in with the wind. But other than that, he’s mostly quiet. Part of you wants to talk to him. Part of you isn’t sure what to say. So you let it go, until it eats away at you.

He must know that something is up because when it’s dark out, after he’s done tidying the kitchen, Yoongi sits beside you on the couch. “Is something wrong?”

You sigh and close your eyes. You’d been staring into the fire, and now you can see the dancing of the flames behind your eyes. For a moment, it’s quiet. He doesn’t push you to talk, simply sits there and lets you stew in your thoughts for as long as it takes. He’s close, close enough to touch, to hold, if you wanted. But you don’t move. Even though you do kind of want to.

“What’s it like?” you ask softly. “The afterlife?”

“Where’s this coming from?”

You shrug. “Just curious.”

“It’s…” He sighs, takes his time, chooses his words carefully. “They say it’s different for everyone.”

“You haven’t seen it?”

“Only the archangels can go there. Well, them and the big guy’s chosen ones.” You only hum in response. “Why?”

You’re not sure why you asked. Only that you’d had a thought and now you can’t shake it. “When I’m… 80,” you start carefully, “you’ll still be this?” You gesture vaguely at his face, his body. He makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and a wordless question, that says he doesn’t fully agree. “No?”

“When I fell, I didn’t think I’d have any powers at all.” His voice is quiet as he navigates his thoughts. “I’d heard of so many angels who had fallen in love with humans and who fell because of it. They lost their powers on the way down. But when I pulled myself out of the river, I… hadn’t lost anything. The snakes said that the loss is because those other angels loved a human. They said it’s a gradual process.”

“That’s good for you, right? You still have your powers.”

“I’ve been getting weaker,” he admits softly. “I’m not sure how much is left.”

You sit there for a moment, confused. Why would his powers be weakening if he’s not… Oh.

Oh.

The only sound is the crackling of the fire. You’re suddenly aware of how warm you are, and you’re not sure it’s all from the fire. Yoongi is sitting awfully close, his hand is mere centimeters from your own, your knees are almost touching. There’s something fluttering in the pit of your stomach. Is that… nerves? You aren’t sure why you’re nervous. It’s Yoongi. Despite everything, he’s been there for you. He’s never judged you, or thought less of you. Even when you’d hidden things from him, even when you’d literally hired him to help you get revenge on Dawoon, he’d always been kind. He’d always treated you like a person. Like you were worthy of respect and care.

Maybe it wasn’t nerves. 

When you turn to him, he’s already looking at you, dark eyes reflecting the flickering of the flames in the hearth. Before you can think, you’re reaching out, pulling yourself towards him. Your lips meet. He doesn’t react. You pull away ever so slightly, worried that maybe you’d read the situation wrong, that maybe he hadn’t meant you. But then his hands are on your waist, bringing you back, pulling you closer. His lips, still a little chapped, mould against yours perfectly.

Your hands cup his face, his skin soft against your touch. Your thumbs smooth across the apples of his cheeks, and the soft hum that it elicits from him rumbles in your own chest. He pulls away slightly, breathless and wide-eyed, and he adjusts his grip on your waist. There’s a moment that passes between you, a question and answer that isn’t voiced, checking in, making sure this is okay. And then he squeezes your hip, and one of your hands slides into his hair. 

Kissing Yoongi this time is different. The first time, weeks ago, was tentative, testing the waters. It was two people navigating an unexplored ocean together, unsure of where things were going or where you’d end up. But this? This was more purposeful, more direct. It’s tasting the waffles he’d made for dinner still on his lips, it’s the synchronous movements of your lips, your hands, your bodies. It’s bumping noses and clashing teeth and tugging hair. Desperate and passionate and sweet.

His hands are everywhere, gripping the dip in your waist, the curve of your ass. He hums and gives tentative squeezes everywhere he finds that he likes. And he seems to like quite a lot. His hands travel up, up, up your body, exploring your curves over your clothes, following the lines of your sides. He pauses at your ribs, thumbs resting just below the wire of your bra, and shifts his hold once again so that one of his hands is behind your back, pressing you closer, as if he’s trying to merge your bodies, mould them together like clay.

You kiss your way away from his mouth, peppering kisses along his jaw, down the column of his neck until you get to the spot. Just above his clavicle, almost under the neckline of his shirt. You leave a kiss there and he groans deliciously, deep and gravelly and guttural. Amused, you repeat the action, nipping his skin ever so slightly. He jolts under you, another groan rumbling through his chest as his hold on your side tightens ever so slightly. His touch is pure fire, hot and all-consuming. You should maybe be worried about what he’s doing to you—what he’s done—but god, you would pay anything for it to keep going. 

“Off,” you say impatiently, tugging at his sweater–your sweater. The cream fabric hangs off his body. It’s cute how big it is on him. You help him pull it over his head and drop it somewhere behind the couch. Soon after, your own shirt joins it. 

Yoongi’s hands wander tentatively, his fingertips barely brushing your skin as he drags them up your sides. They settle at your ribs, his long fingers splaying against you, thumbs gently caressing the silken cups of your bra. Your eyes wander his torso as your hands slide up his chest, stopping at three pink and angry scratches on his left shoulder. 

“These aren’t healing very well,” you manage, tracing the slashes with your finger as he laves at your neck, nipping and sucking at a tender spot on your nape. 

“Needed the energy for other things,” he mumbles against your skin. 

You hum and press a gentle kiss to the scratches. Yoongi shifts his weight under you and suddenly, you can feel him—all of him—straining against his jeans. And god, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you. 

You crave him in so many ways. You’re already drenched, you can feel it when you shift and move in his lap, the wetness and need in your core. But you also just want him, want to curl up in him and make a home and never leave. It’s sweet and not entirely unexpected how gentle he is. It’s nice to feel wanted for a change. It’s nice to feel revered, the way you do with him. 

That feeling is only exacerbated when you reach to unclasp your bra. For a moment, Yoongi’s hands keep the fabric in place, his thumbs still gently caressing over the silken material. But then one of the straps falls down and the cup slips a little bit. More of your skin is exposed, and he allows the whole thing to fall off. You scan his face, feeling a little self-conscious, but all you find is wide eyes and awe. You can see the flush affect his body, watch it spread up his chest and neck to tinge his cheeks darker.

“Can-can I…?” His question trails off, but it’s clear what he wants–his fingers twitch ever so slightly, his hand reaches toward you almost imperceptibly. And for a moment, nothing else matters. Your past doesn’t matter, your argument doesn’t matter, it’s all gone. The only thing left is the man in front of you, looking at you like you hung the fucking moon, asking for permission to touch you.

It’s that moment that you realize you’d give him the world if he asked.

You whisper a breathless, “You can do anything you want,” and that’s all it takes. He leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses across your chest, his hands finding your breasts. At first, he’s tentative, gently squeezing and massaging your skin like a cat. But then, he seems to get brave, kissing his way to the valley between them before choosing a side and trailing barely there kisses to your left breast. He’s gentle–everything he does is gentle–and he lets out a shuddering sigh, resting his forehead against your chest for a brief moment. You laugh a little, his warm breath tickles your skin, and your hands find his hair once again, playing with the long locks. They’re a little damp now, though you’re not sure if he’s warm from the fire or from the exertion.

You tangle your fingers in the softness of his hair, tugging ever so gently. You rock your hips slightly, and the friction between your bodies elicits a noise of pleasure from you both. You guide his face back up, kissing up his jaw until you capture his lips. You move again, and you can feel the groan rumble in his chest. Carefully, you untangle your legs from around him and stand. Your hands travel down, sliding down his chest, your nails gently raking against his skin until you get to the waist of his pants. He lifts his hips enough that you can tug the offending fabric off. His jeans and boxers pool around his ankles and he kicks them away. You take the opportunity to shimmy out of your own pants.

You return to him, your knees caging his thighs, and for the first time, you notice that he seems nervous. He’s drawn into himself. His hands are no longer actively exploring your body, but rather, they settle rather limply on your hips. His eyes are big and dark, a small pout sits on his chapped lips, and he looks… awkward. For a moment, you consider asking about it, but then, it hits you. He is nervous. He’s an angel. Notoriously, angels are pure, virtuous. You wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never even thought about sex.

“Hey,” you say softly, cupping his jaw and kissing him gently. You want to distract him a little, get his mind from wherever it’s gone. “You okay?”

He hums a question, his eyes finding yours after a moment, and nods. “Yeah. Just… this is new.”

“New is… good?”

“Yeah.” He squeezes your hip. “Yeah, kid. New is good. It’s… a lot. But it’s good.”

You watch him for a second, searching his eyes for signs that he’s hiding anything. The last thing you want is for this to be a bad experience, for him to not enjoy it. But his eyes are blown out with excitement and lust, and he gives you a small nod before kissing you. You hum into it, playfully nipping at his lower lip. He laughs and pinches your side before his hands start to wander again, one coming up to cup your breast, his thumb ghosting across your nipple. It sends shivers through your body and causes goosebumps to appear across your skin. He smiles when he sees your reaction, leaning forward to place a kiss just above your left breast.

Carefully, you reach between your bodies, finding his cock on touch alone. He’s painfully stiff. You hadn’t let yourself notice it until now, too concerned with whether or not Yoongi was okay, but you take the time now to appreciate him. He’s heavy in your hand, a noticeable vein running along the underside. Slowly, gently, you move your hand around him, running your thumb across the slit, collecting the beads of precum that had started to leak out and spreading it along his shaft. You barely get two pumps in before his hips are stuttering, his eyes fluttering closed as he lets out a soft moan. Very quickly, he’s reduced to a breathy, squirming mess. You can tell that he won’t last and you let him go, trailing kisses along his jaw. His hands slip down your sides, and when his fingertips brush against the fabric of your underwear, he whines.

“Take these off,” he mumbles, trying to paw them away. You raise up a little, your attention almost fully on that spot on his neck just above his clavicle, and he slides your underwear off your hips. You easily untangle yourself from him to stand and let them fall the rest of the way off, and much like Yoongi’s jeans and boxers, you kick them out of the way. 

You climb back into his lap, and pull away, both satisfied with the mark you’ve made on his skin and wanting to check in with him. His dark eyes meet yours and nods ever so slightly, his breathing already heavy. You take his cock in your hand and line him up with your entrance, dragging the tip through your folds to make things easier. You’re so wet that sinking down onto him, despite his girth, is easy. He gasps and you move slowly, easing yourself down until he’s completely buried inside of you. The feeling is strange and intimate–stretched but not painful, full but not overly so–and you fight the urge to lean down and kiss him.

“Holy shit.” He lets out a shuddering breath, his head falling against the back of the couch. It strikes you that this is the first time you’ve ever heard him swear. “Give me a second.” And you do. You still as much as possible, letting him get used to the feeling. It takes a moment, but eventually he nods and you begin to move.

One hand buried in his hair, the other lightly clinging to his shoulder, you slowly roll your hips. Yoongi lets out a heavy breath, swearing quietly. His eyes never leave your face but his hands roam, coming up to squeeze your breasts, gripping your hips, dragging up your sides. It’s cute how much he seems to crave that skin-on-skin contact, even now.

When you start to bounce, he practically loses his damn mind, his eyes fluttering half-closed. He groans deeply with every stroke you make, the sound rumbling in his chest and into your core. His chest rises and falls quickly, and you can tell he’s already starting to get close. Even still, he’s looking at you.��

It’s weird. With Dawoon, you would have felt like he was judging you, trying to pick out any sort of imperfection as you chase your high. But with Yoongi, you feel like the watching is part of his pleasure, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory, like he’s worshiping you and your body.

You alternate like that, bouncing and rolling your hips, changing speeds based on how it feels for you and how he reacts. It doesn’t take long for him to start to squirm a little. He squeezes your hip tightly and lets out a little whine.

“Pressure,” he whispers, gesturing vaguely to his tummy.

You nod. “That’s good,” you encourage, tugging slightly on his hair. He groans. “Tell me when it’s too much, ‘kay?”

He hums. Or, at least, you think it’s a hum. It’s somewhere between a hum and a high-pitched whine. But he nods, too, so at least it’s positive. You abandon your grip on his hair and reach down between your bodies, the tips of your fingers finding your clit easily. You chase your own high, his moans and whines a beautiful underscoring for it, and soon enough, there’s a pressure building in your core, tightening almost too much.

“Too much,” he warns, echoing your own thoughts. He’s tense, his shoulders are practically at his ears, and his eyes are squeezed shut.

You chuckle softly. “Relax,” you manage to breathe out, cupping his cheek with the hand that was on his shoulder. “You’re good, right? Feels good?”

“Yeah.”

“Just relax.” You lean in and kiss him softly, slowing your movements for the moment. “Let go if you feel it. It’s okay.”

And with a few more rolls of your hips, he’s coming undone, his face is all scrunched up and he lets out a strangled groan. You ride him through it and follow shortly after, the coil snapping and all of the tension in your body coming to an impossible head before releasing all at once. You fall down into the wave crash of your pleasure, your grip on Yoongi’s shoulder keeping you grounded.

He’s breathing heavily when you focus back in, and you can feel him starting to soften inside of you. Before you can even climb off his lap in search of a towel to clean up, the sound of a sheet being unfurled permeates the cabin. Yoongi’s wings appear suddenly, folded up behind him somewhat comfortably. He looks just as surprised as you do, and the dark flush creeps up his chest again. 

You wet a cloth and clean yourself up before returning to Yoongi, who is still on the couch. Gently, you wipe him off. He hisses at the contact, apparently still very sensitive, and you mumble a soft, “I know, I’m sorry.” 

Finally, you climb back onto the couch, curling into his chest. He holds you close, an arm around your shoulder tightly. And after a second, his wing folds around you, too, almost protectively. The feathers are soft on your skin, even the broken and damaged ones, the downy tendrils like a whisper as they settle into place. You reach out and stroke the feathers along the top ridge and the wing twitches away as Yoongi lets out a hiss.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask quickly, your hand immediately freezing mid-air.

“No.” He pulls you closer. “No just… they’re sensitive right now.”

“From…?”

He shrugs. “Probably. I’ve never...”

“Ah.” You hum and place a soft kiss to his chest.

Yoongi lets out a noise somewhere between a hum and a grunt, but says nothing else. The room falls quiet except for the crackling of the fire. It’s getting low–you’ll have to put another log on soon. But you have time, so you reach behind you and pull the blanket from where you had haphazardly draped it across the back corner of the couch earlier. You cover both of your bodies up with it and snuggle in, your head on Yoongi’s shoulder. Ever so gently, you trace part of the three angry, pink scars that run from below his clavicle to his mid-back. His skin, golden and beautiful in the light of the fire, pebbles with goosebumps, but he otherwise doesn’t react.

There are things you need to say to him, but part of you–a pretty big part–is scared. If this is going to happen, you need to be able to be honest with him. You need to feel like you don’t have to hide your feelings. 

You need to be able to trust him to not leave.

Still, you’re scared. Partly because you don’t want to dampen everything that just happened, but also because what if he does leave? You’re not sure you can take that kind of devastating heartbreak again, the kind that only comes from being abandoned and betrayed by the person you love most. You don’t have it in you to start over again, you’re sure of that.

But it’s unfair to keep it bottled up, both to you and to Yoongi, so you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your hand stills and flattens over his heart. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you can feel his heartbeat under your touch, steady and rhythmic. It comforts you, grounds you.

“Yoongi?” His name is quiet on your tongue, and for a moment, you aren’t sure that he’s heard you. His focus is on the fire, watching the flames dance in the hearth. But then, he hums an acknowledgement, his thumb gently rubbing against your shoulder, and you continue. “There’s something I need to say.”

If you were braver, you’d sit up. You’d have this conversation facing him. You’d look him in the eye as you spoke. But you aren’t brave–at least, right now you aren’t feeling very brave–and you don’t look at him at all. You can feel his heartbeat quicken as he processes your words and their meaning, but you can’t bring yourself to look up.

“I’m sorry we fought,” you begin softly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and that I called you useless. You aren’t, you didn’t deserve that.” He stays quiet, but he squeezes you to him ever so slightly, signaling that he’s listening. “But Yoongi, I…” 

You can feel it already, the sting at the back of your eyes, the lump in your throat. You take a deep breath in an attempt to push them away. And it works. Sort of. But you continue anyway.

“When I woke up that day and you weren’t there, I was really angry. I mean, who does that? Kisses someone and just fucking leaves? God, I was so mad at you, but mostly I was mad at myself.”

“What?” You can hear the shock in his voice, and from the way he shifts, he’s looking down at you now. “Why?”

You shrug and try to bury yourself in his side, pulling the blanket up further. “I’ve already been abandoned once. I don’t think I can go through that again. I mean, Jesus, Yoon. I barely felt like I was a person. And then here you come, with your powers and your pretty eyes, and you make me feel like Dawoon was the one that lost out, like I’m…” You screw your eyes closed. You can feel the stinging growing, “Like I’m worthy of being loved. And then we kissed and then you were just gone.” It comes out small, almost imperceptibly soft. You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve felt this vulnerable. A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek and landing on Yoongi’s chest.

It’s quiet for what feels like ages. Neither of you move. Your heart, which moments ago was full and content, is somewhere in your stomach. You resist the urge to get up and hide in the bathroom. But then you’re being tugged closer, until you’re practically laying on top of him. His wings shift, and you can feel them slide across your back. The feathers tickle a bit until they settle. You can feel how quickly his heart is beating, and when he takes a stuttering breath, you can feel that, too.

“You are,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Of course you’re worthy of being loved. Of course you are.” He sighs, and for a moment, he nuzzles into your hair. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like that. I never meant to hurt you, I hadn’t even considered…”

“I know you had good intentions. I’m just extra sensitive to it, I think.”

“No.” You can feel him shake his head. “No, you’re right. I should have left you a note. Or I just shouldn’t have left at all. I’ll do better.”

Like all good things, your time at the cabin comes far too soon. You’re only able to spend a few days there. You don’t have that many paid days off at work, and neither you nor Yoongi were sure just how long his powers would last. Everything you needed in the cabin, he had to somehow get. There wasn’t anything to do, really, so any type of entertainment you wanted, Yoongi pulled out of thin air. A new book, a board game, even things like snacks, he provided without complaint, despite the fact that each thing put his abilities on even more of a timer.

So, after only two days, you convince Yoongi you’re ready to go home. You aren’t–you dread the black SUV and the anxiety that Dawoon will appear at the bar again–but you put on a brave face anyway. It’s better than the fear of being stranded in your uncle’s cabin. 

Begrudgingly, you return to work. It really sucks that Dawoon has made you hate coming here. You really used to like your job. You’ve always loved the vibe and aesthetics of the bar. It’s old, almost an antique, with high tin ceilings and a dark, heavy bar backed by an aged mirror and stained glass. The clientele is an interesting mix of college-aged young adults–mostly seniors and advanced degree students, you’d guess–and people in their mid-thirties looking for a cool place to hang out that isn’t too rowdy. 

It’s towards the end of a long shift–you’d come in early to cover a late-lunch shift for one of the other bartenders–and the bar is packed. It’s dark in the bar–there’s just enough light that you can see what you’re doing and make sure that things are safe. Amy, the other bartender working, bumps gently into you in a moment when everything is quiet. You’re making a margarita and a whiskey neat for a couple of regulars at a table in the corner when she slides up beside you and leans against the speed well. 

Briefly, she turns her back to the bar and turns her head so she can’t be seen in the mirror. “There’s a guy down at the end of the bar that keeps looking at you.”

Your blood runs cold, and your head swivels to see the end of the bar she’s indicating. But immediately, you’re overtaken with another emotion, one that warms you from the inside and makes your skin grow hot. There, perched on one of the polished wooden barstools near where the bar meets the wall, is Yoongi. He raises a hand, waving ever so slightly.

Amy hums and presses close after you hand the two drinks you’d made to the server to deliver to the table. “This is new,” she notes, and you can tell she’s clocked you, can tell she’s seen the grin on your lips before you’re able to school it into something more customer service-approved. But something strikes you.

She can see Yoongi. 

Casually, you make your way to the other end of the bar, knowing full well that Amy is watching your every move like a hawk that has spotted a mouse. You pause and take a couple orders along the way, pouring a couple shots for some people and sliding an Old Fashioned over to one of the masters students who frequents the bar. When you finally get to Yoongi, he shoots you a shy smile. Out of habit, you place a cocktail napkin in front of him before you lean against the bar, your arms folded over the dark wood.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, barely loud enough for him to hear you. Suddenly, you’re struck with a thought. “Is Dawoon coming here?”

“No.” His eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to hang out.”

Oh.

“I close tonight,” you tell him with a pout. He returns it, jutting bottom lip and wide, dark eyes making him look like a sad kitten. You gesture to the bar. “Do you want anything?”

“I don’t want to trouble you.” You flash him a look that says ‘seriously?’ and he relents. “I don’t know what to order.”

You think for a second and step away to the speed well. You pour him a Jack and Coke. It’s classic, not too heavy on the alcohol, but you think he’ll like the sweetness of the soda. He watches you make it, something akin to awe in his eyes, and when you place the glass onto the cocktail napkin in front of him with a bit of a silly flourish, he claps lightly.

“I have to get back to work,” you say, and you’re genuinely sad about it. You would happily stand here and impress him with the little bit of flair bartending that you know. But unfortunately, you can see Amy at the other side of the bar making six Bloody Mary’s at once.

“I’ll be here.”

And you believe him.

It doesn’t take long to help Amy dig out. You check the time. Only a few minutes to last call. She bumps you again and nods slyly to Yoongi at the end of the bar. You can see him from where you stand at the speed well. He’s apparently brought a book, and he’s sitting there reading, his head resting against his hand.

“That’s new.” She repeats herself from earlier.

The thing about Amy is that she’s not really your friend. You wouldn’t ever ask her to hang out outside of work, and you can tell she very much feels the same. But she’s a work friend, the kind that knows enough about your personal life to vent to when you’re on a slow shift, and you know about her boyfriend and their two-year-old. You trust each other with minor oversharing every once in a while, and she knows enough about the Dawoon situation to know that this was a new–and important–development.

“New enough,” you confirm softly, and for a moment, you think she’s going to drop the subject as she gets distracted by a table of three asking to be cashed out for the night.

She returns, though, when she’s done. “He’s cute.” She says it like she’s shocked.

“He is.”

Yoongi is far more than cute, but you don’t correct her.

“You like him?” 

And suddenly, the speed well is far more interesting. You grab a rag and start to clean around it, wiping down the soda gun and sopping up where the liquid had oozed out of the nozzle during a particularly busy moment. Of course you like him. But you’re concerned about where the questioning is going. And truthfully, you’re not sure how to answer much more about your relationship. Amy laughs but thankfully drops the subject. Instead, she checks her watch and announces last call.

The next half-hour goes by in a blur of serving final drinks and cashing out tabs. You almost forget Amy’s questioning in the chaos. By the time the lights are up and the last patrons are filtering out of the door, you’re in the back, chatting with the kitchen staff and putting glassware into the dishwasher trays. Amy brings a bus tub of dishes and drinkware back, and when she grins at you, you know she never actually dropped the subject. She was just biding her time.

“He’s still out there,” she reports as if it’s scandalous.

You nod. “He probably wants to walk me home.”

“That’s sweet of him.” She offers you a genuine smile, and you forgive her for all her needling. “You do like him, then?”

“Obviously.” It’s exasperated, and you’re very much reconsidering forgiving her.

“Good. You deserve someone that’s sweet.” And just like that, she’s gone, flipping the rinsed bus tub over so it can dry and stepping through the swinging door into the bar. 

It only takes you a few minutes to finish putting the trays into the dishwasher and start the load. You join Amy behind the bar and start to wipe down the well when she bumps into you and nods to where Yoongi still sits at the end of the bar.

“Poor thing seems a little gone,” she says quietly, nudging you out of the way and silently encouraging you to go check on Yoongi.

You grab a rag and make your way over. He’s not facing you, but he’s the only one in the bar, and you can tell that he’s feeling what little alcohol you’d given him. He’s humming quietly and leaning back against the edge of the wooden bar. He’s playing with his own fingers, but his focus is on the big window and the street. You slip through the hatch in the bar and stand beside him.

“I’m watching.” He means to whisper it, but it’s very much not a whisper. 

You loop an arm around his back and he leans into you ever so slightly. “What for?”

“Dawoon.” You stiffen. But then he continues. “I can’t feel him anymore. I don’t know if it’s because…” He trails off, but you can assume how the sentence was going to end. 

Because his powers are waning.

“I won’t let him in, though,” he concludes, sharp eyes never leaving the window.

You squeeze his shoulder. “I just have to finish cleaning up the bar and then we can go.”

“Nah,” Amy’s voice cuts across the bar. “You kids get outta here. I just have to finish wiping down the bottles and lock up.”

For a moment, you want to argue. It’s not fair to make her clean your well. But then Yoongi wobbles a little on the barstool trying to crane his neck to look outside and you decide to accept her generosity. “I’ll cover you the next time,” you tell her. 

She waves you off. “Go have fun. Be young.”

You roll your eyes–Amy is barely two years older than you–but you’re already shrugging into your coat. Yoongi’s coat–or, your coat, you suppose, since you haven’t had time to buy him one yet–is hanging on a hook nearby, and you hold it up for him to slip into. You make eye contact with Amy, just to make sure that she’s sure it’s okay for you to leave. She nods and shoots you a warm smile.

“I’ll lock the front for you,” you tell her.

She waves, and her tone is finite when she bids you goodnight.

Outside, you slip your keys back in your coat pocket. Yoongi stands off to the side, his eyes on the street. It’s snowing, and small white flakes are starting to gather in his hair already. When you walk, he falls into step beside you silently and stumbles, though you aren’t sure if it’s from a slippery part of the sidewalk or from the alcohol. You loop an arm around his regardless, and you begin to walk arm-in-arm.

The quiet of four in the morning is peaceful. Snow falls around you, the flakes growing from small and dainty to fat clumps as you make your way home. There’s almost no one else out at this time. Just a few people rushing to their early morning jobs, a few people rushing home. You don’t envy the early birds. Waking up at three in the morning is a lot different from going to bed at six. 

Most of the houses along your route home are dark. They’re small, like your own apartment, with almost no space in the front between the brick of the building and the sidewalk. A few, though, have a small front patio. You know that in the summer, they’re usually filled with plants or heavy outdoor furniture. Now, though, they’re filled with snow. You pass one that has been cleared out fairly well, and beside the steps leading up to the front door stands a medium-sized snowman.

You turn down the next street, and you both slip a little in the snow. You gasp, but Yoongi giggles softly, and he has a surprising amount of coordination to keep you both upright. You lean into him gently as you get your balance again and calm your heart, and your arm slips from where it’s tucked around his own to holding him around the waist.

“Question,” he says when you start walking again. You hum in response. “Why are humans obsessed with snowmen?”

The question catches you off-guard. “What?”

“You humans love these frozen persons. Why?”

You shrugged. “Honestly?” He nods. “No idea. I read somewhere once that snow was the cheapest art supplies back in the day and if given the chance, people will make art.”

“But why the vegetables?’

“You mean the carrot noses?” Again, he nods. “Practical, I think. Carrots are cheap.”

“And you dress them.”

“Well sure, they can’t be naked.” Yoongi chuckles. Carefully, his arm snakes around your shoulders, and he pulls you closer. You hum. He’s warm.

You’re excited to snuggle up under a blanket. Your hands are numb, and you know that the pink that’s tingeing Yoongi’s cheeks is reflected on your own face. It’s weird, hearing the wet slopping of both of your steps. You’re still not used to him walking–you’re more accustomed to him floating everywhere. But his powers have been unpredictable since that night in the cabin, and it’s easier–and safer–for him to conserve his energy. Even escalating things with Dawoon is on pause. He says he still has enough for the smaller things, but nothing more.

Something catches your eye when you’re almost to your front door. You pause and turn, untangling yourself from Yoongi in the process. Something’s off about the street, and it takes you a second to figure out what it is.

The black SUV is gone. 

For a moment, you stand there, stunned into silence. The SUV is gone. What does that mean? Has Dawoon given up? Was it even Dawoon to begin with? Your mind swims with questions you don’t have answers for. A warm presence pressing closer to you draws you out of your thoughts, and you look to the side to see Yoongi’s focus on where the SUV had been parked. He’s quiet as he stands there shoulder to shoulder with you.

“I… I want him to burn,” he says softly. “For everything he’s done to you. I wish I could’ve done more.” His head falls, and he shrugs. “I guess that’s not very angel-like of me.”

“Maybe not, but…” 

Suddenly, you’re feeling overwhelmed. You’re unable to finish your sentence, your mind is blank. All of your nerves feel like they’re on fire, but it’s not… it’s not bad. It’s strange. You haven’t felt like this in a very long time. You pull Yoongi closer, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Once again, you have the strongest urge to curl up inside him, to make a home beneath his skin. Anything to be as close to him as possible. And when his arms wrap tightly around you, you can only hope that he understands what you mean.

Thank you for being there for me.

You make me feel like a person.

You’ve helped me feel normal again.

I love you. 

The sharp crash of a glass hitting tile jolts you out of your focus. The tv show you were watching is forgotten as you jump to your feet and rush into the kitchen.

“Yoongi?” You call out to him, worried. He’s standing in the middle of your kitchen, leaning against the counter. Shards of glass are scattered at his feet.

He sucks a breath in through his teeth, clearly struggling. “Watch your step, kid.” His grip on the countertop is like iron, his knuckles white with effort. There’s a definite grimace on his face, like he’s in pain.

You sweep up the glass quickly, using a wet paper towel to get the tiny bits. Yoongi barely moves, but you can hear his labored breathing as you dump the glass in the trash. “Did you step on a piece? Are you hurt?”

Yoongi shakes his head and takes another harsh breath. “My back feels like it’s on fire, what’s-”

“Oh my god!”

Your shock causes him to freeze. How you hadn’t noticed it before now, you aren’t sure. But the back of his white t-shirt is slowly soaking through with blood, like someone stabbed him. You rush to grab something, anything to help staunch the bleeding. He’s sitting at the table when you return, his chest against the back of the chair so you can look without obstacles. 

You help him take his shirt off. It’s difficult–at this point, it’s sticking to him from all the blood. You throw it in the sink to deal with later and wet a towel to try to clean his back off before you bandage it. As soon as the cloth touches his skin, Yoongi hisses in pain and you’re taken back to weeks ago when he’d shown up on your doorstep after the demon attack. This time’s different, though. This time, his blood is red.

“Just a little more,” you tell him softly, cleaning his back as best you can.

Now that you can see what’s wrong, you struggle to comprehend it. There, just below his shoulder blades, are  two jagged holes in his flesh. Thankfully, they’re already healing on their own, but it’s slow. Slower than it had been during the demon attack. You get the sense that the wounds had been much deeper, that if you’d actually looked at them a few minutes ago, you may have been able to see bone, but at least now, things are stitching themselves back together a bit. There’s a divot, though, in each wound, and it suddenly strikes you what’s wrong.

“Your wings,” you breathe, placing a square of gauze over one of the wounds. It barely covers the rough maw, but you rip off a piece of medical tape to secure it anyway.

Yoongi sucks a breath through his teeth, and for a moment, he seems to strain with something. His back goes tense, and he lets out a soft grunt. But then he deflates, a deep breath leaving him dejectedly, and he groans.

“I’m sorry.” You finish taping the second piece of gauze.

He shrugs half-heartedly. “Knew it would happen eventually.” Carefully, he spins so he’s sitting the correct way in the chair. 

“Still.” You gingerly brush his hair back off his forehead, the long locks flowing through your fingers like water. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

For a moment, you stand there silently playing with his hair. It’s soft, and his shampoo smells like peaches, and you fall into a trance of running your fingers through it. But then he shivers, and you’re reminded that he isn’t wearing a shirt. He stands, stealing a kiss on his way up, and gently pats your ass as he turns to leave. You press the medical tape firmly onto his skin as he passes you before going to the sink to see if you can salvage his bloody shirt. It’s still wet–most of the blood hasn’t dried yet–so you fill the sink with ice cold water and leave it to soak.

You wander back into the living room just as he’s leaving your bedroom. He’s put on a fresh white shirt and one of your old cardigans. He must be cold. You bump the thermostat up a couple degrees before plopping into the corner of the couch. Gingerly, Yoongi sits, too, easing back against the plushness of the sofa. Once he’s comfortable, he opens an arm and you scoot over to him. He pulls you in when you’re close enough so that you’re leaning against him, your back to his chest with his arms draped around you.

It’s quiet for a bit, the only sounds coming from the television as you both focus on the show you’d been watching. But then he shifts and lets out a hiss, and you’re worried.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask, a little stupidly. Of course it still hurts. His wings are gone. But you aren’t quite sure how else to phrase what your mind wants you to ask, so you go with the dumb question.

He shrugs, arms tightening around you. “It’s just tender. The archangels were nice enough to rip them off while I still have some strength left. At least it’ll heal before I’m out of juice.”

You hum. You hadn’t realized that his powers were running so low. Truthfully, you feel bad. This is your fault. He would still have his powers–he’d still have his wings–if-

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi asks quietly, nuzzling into your hair. “You’ve got that intense look you get.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, okay.” He chuckles, and you turn your head, your lips sneakily catching his cheek. He lets out a surprised noise and snuggles in.

Logically, you know it’s ridiculous to feel this way. You know that Yoongi’s feelings for you are a good thing. He loves you. How could that be bad? And yet, all the same, you feel guilty. He’s been forced to change so much, to abandon so much of himself. It doesn’t seem fair.

“I’m sorry about your wings,” you tell him. 

“It’s honestly not that big of a deal, kid.”

“It is, though!” You turn your body so that you can look him in the eye. Your hand comes up to cup his jaw. “It’s bad enough that they kicked you out. But then you have to lose part of yourself, too? It’s kind of bullshit.”

He smiles. It starts small, almost demure, but then it grows to big and gummy. His dark eyes sparkle, and he gives you a look that says ‘silly human.’ His hand comes up to cover yours on his cheek. “I wouldn’t change anything about it,” he says softly. “I’d give it all up a hundred times if it meant I got to spend even fifteen minutes with you.”

Your insides do an awkward little flip-flop, and suddenly, it’s like a thousand little butterflies have taken flight inside of you. God, he’s…

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t help more with Dawoon.” Yoongi sighs, and he squeezes your hand. “Didn’t really get to ruin him, did we?”

No, you hadn’t. It had been the whole reason you’d sought him out in the first place. Personal and professional ruin. Just like Dawoon had done to you. You’d been so mad when you’d found Yoongi under the el that day, so full of rage and hatred. And then when Dawoon had ambushed you at the bar, you’d been terrified and angry all over again. But what about now?

“I still haven’t paid you.” You shrug. “So we can call it even, I guess.”

He hums, and you can tell that he isn’t satisfied. His dark eyes swim with something unintelligible, and you’re struck–not for the first time, certainly not the last–by how beautiful he is. Even with a slight frown on his pouty lips, he’s angelic, no matter what the archangels think. You kiss his cheek softly before snuggling back into his chest, your focus shifting to the television. 

Your hand slips under his cardigan to rest against his hip, your fingers toying mindlessly with the hem of his t-shirt. It’s peaceful. He smells nice, like the peach of his shampoo and something spicy you can’t identify–he no longer smells like the fires he used to spend time around. 

Almost no time has passed when Yoongi fidgets slightly, his arm tensing and untensing around you. “Is your back bothering you?” you ask, sitting up a bit so that less of your weight is on him. For a moment, he looks uncomfortable, but then he shakes his head. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind as he thinks. “What’s wrong?”

“We could go somewhere,” he says quietly, dark eyes cast downwards, away from you. “Away from Dawoon. So you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

You’d be lying if you said you’d never considered it. Packing up your things and going somewhere Dawoon would never be able to find you had, at one point, been a dream of yours. You’d been so scared and so angry for so long that it seemed like the best option. Remove yourself from the equation. Start over. Find happiness in a city far away from all of your problems and heartache. 

But leaving seems a lot like giving up. And you like your life here. You like your apartment, even though it’s a little small. You like working at the bar. Amy is a good person, and the guys that work in the bar’s kitchen might not be your friends, but they’d give you the shirt off their backs if you needed. You like the city, like the atmosphere. You went to college here, spent your entire young adult life here. And sure, some of your worst memories and moments happened here, but you aren’t willing to give up on all that just because of stupid fucking Song Dawoon.

“I don’t want to leave.” Gently, you cup his cheek and guide him to look at you. “Fuck Song Dawoon. I’m tired of letting him ruin my life.” Yoongi’s eyes widen, eyebrows disappearing somewhere into his hairline. “I’m happy. You make me happy. You’ve done more for me in three and a half months than almost anyone has ever done for me. I love my life. I love you. And if Dawoon wants to take that from me, he’s going to have to try really fucking hard.”

You feel Yoongi inhale sharply, watch as the blush creeps up his neck to his plush cheeks. And really? You’d kind of been talking out your ass. But now that you've said it, all of it is true. 

You’d been here once before, sure. But Dawoon showed you who he really was. You’d given Yoongi opportunities to walk away, to get mean right back at you, but he never had. He’d always come back to you with care and gentleness. Dawoon could burn in hell for all you care, you’re done giving him even a passing thought. He didn’t matter. Not anymore. The only thing that mattered to you now was the man sitting beside you and the strange little life you’d started to build together. A life built on respect and love and kindness.

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer, impossibly closer, and he places the softest of kisses against the side of your head. “Hell yeah.” He says it softly, mumbles it into your hair. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

You might not know what the future holds, but you’re certain that with Yoongi at your side, things will be okay.

Fallen Masterlist

If you’ve stumbled across this fic and you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts! I love hearing from y'all and when you send your thoughts and opinions in the comments or in a message, it makes me happy!

[samuelroukin]

Okay fuck it, team Roach, the 006 to the 141's 007, is roughly:

Roach: Captain Sanderson. Very soft spoken, stuck with extreme baby face despite being a hardened combat vet, tremendously calm, rational and easy going even when being shot at. Very reasonable and inhuman levels of stealthy. Never raises his voice, which is often Worse. He's not really sure how he got here but he is unfortunately Very Good at This. Which is both leadership and Warfare. In his heart of hearts he just wants to be chilling on a pool floatie with a beer in hand but Alas.

His Second in Command: Handsome, Polite, Charming and Clinically Insane. As in they are 100% fudging this man's psych evals. He seems easy going and fun but this man is basically a monster, he is the type that signed up to kill people and not go to jail. Graves but Worse. He's only technically a Hero because Roach is holding his leash but. Seriously he seems fine until you're alone in an enclosed space with him and your lizard brain sends up a panic alarm akin to being trapped in an elevator with a lion. The more he talks the more you realize he... doesn't live in the real world. For Reasons Unknown Roach is pretty much the only one that does actually have a collar on him. He Gets Real Weird and Jealous over Ghost when they finally meet.

Tex: Your Killing Machine Has Anxiety. Possibly the world's best sniper and a true mathematical genius, who has next to no social skills, the legacy of a childhood stutter and growing up in a Very Rural Isolated area. Excellent at taking directions but it's hard to not pin a kick me sign on him despite him being, objectively, a very dangerous guy. A lot of people assume he's Like That because of warfare/soldiers get strange/ptsd etc. No he was always Weird, he is definitely Undiagnosed Neurodivergent, but so is his whole family. A Cheetah in search of a Dog in his Pen. Hypercompetent in the field, who let you out of your cage otherwise.

Doc: World's Bitterest Medic. Loves humanity as a concept and truly believes in medicine as a science dedicated to the betterment of life and wellbeing. Also Hates Every Single Human Being he has ever come across. Extreme Pissed of Mom Who Says Get Your Ass Down Here Now Or I Will Beat You to Death Myself energy. Means he generally keeps them in line socially as well as the Angry Mom Friend so Tex generally hides behind him. He grumbles but he secretly kind of loves it. Unfortunately, these Idiots are *his* idiots. You are Stupid and Embarassing and he Will Run Out Under Heavy Fire to Save You at the risk of his own life. Running in joke is "does the life threatening wound hurt enough to subject yourself to his bedside manner?" Absolutely terrible taste in music he subjects them all to.

There are at least one or two more guys in this train wreck but these are the mains. Unsurprisingly something this disfunction works out horribly well and they are incredibly effective. Tired Dad Energy Roach vs You Should Have Gone Before We Left Mom Medic plus Their Frail Victorian Son of a Sniper plus I Will Kill For You Please Ask Me To Kill For You and Give Me Attention 2IC means this shit is actually A OK by the brass.

lmao didn't you just say you put no thought into them? these guys are far more developed than my ocs, give yourself some credit! they all sound great and like i said i already love tex and doc but uh HI second in command 👀

[yanderu-deredere]

Hello!! Ive been slowly working my way through your ocs and can i just say!!! They are soooo tasty, your brain is very big, also linking the profiles is soo nice im terrible with remembering stuff so its a nice refresher

Anyway i was just wondering how do you think Ayaka would be with a childhood friend darling 🤔

a/n: SORRY ANON BUT YOU'VE HIT THE JACKPOT this is literally my SPECIAL INTEREST i absolutely DIE AND LOVE THE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

ayaka yamato ★ profile

being childhood friends with ayaka means getting to know the social media super star before she became popular girl material

before, her hair was pitch black and she also had a lot of acne. like now, she wore thick rimmed glasses but they were always plain black. she also wore a lot of formal clothes, chosen by her nanny. stuff like button ups, long pleated skirts, etc

as a kid, ayaka was basically caged so, to be her childhood friend, your parents had to have been really good friends with her parents

ayaka's parents often scheduled play dates with their good friends' children as a way to gain more social power among the rich

unfortunately, that's really the only way you could've met her before she began her rebellious phase

like frfr ayaka was basically isolated as a child. i cannot stress this enough lol

her little brother was doted on by her mom and her older brother was coddled by her father (since he's the heir) so, often times, she was left to her own devices

she, of course, had nannies and tutors but none of them really truly treated her like the child she actually was

to everyone she met, she was a yamato. and that was the only thing that mattered about her

this made her very hungry for affection and she took whatever she could get

and if you gave her any sort of affection? when she's starving? she'd eat that shit up and praise the ground you walk on LOL

though caveat to that is that you'd have to be in the same boat as her LOL becos she's always been easily jealous, especially back then, and if you were more free than she was, she'd resent you too much to get attached to you

she'd definitely use you as her guinea pig when she starts experimenting with fashion and make up too lmao

when she does go thru her transformation from goody good daughter to how she really wants to live her life, she brings you with her

but she won't let you become a socialite like her. no, you're only allowed to be with her, to be close to her, to be her friend

anytime you start slipping from her grasp, she starts isolating you until the only person you feel comfortable clinging to and depending on is her

"Do you think there's more to life than this?"

You looked up from your homework to see Ayaka staring intently at you, her head resting in her arms. She was pushing around one of the fruit peels that she'd left on the desk but it was obvious from her expression that she'd been serious about her words.

You considered her words for a second before cocking your head a little to the side "What do you mean?"

"I don't know... more to studying. More to being the kid of a CEO. More to all of this." She just huffed in reply before leaning back and crossing her arms "Feels unfair that we live like this."

I don't want you to live like this. She wanted to say but the words just stayed lodged in her throat.

Unfortunately, she didn't inherit a lot from her parents but she did inherit their inability to express affection. The sweetness, the love, always felt awkward and tough on her tongue.

She wanted so desperately to tell you about her feelings, to let you in and let you know, but all she could do was peel you clementines and sit by your side, hoping and praying that you'd notice her.

Certainly, if not her, you found yourself thinking about her words. You'd never really thought about that before. You were always following your parents' rules that it felt blasphemous to consider going beyond them, to see what it was like beyond the rules and the gilded cage.

Because you were aware. You knew the life they had you live--the life Ayaka's parents had her live--was one of imprisonment, doomed to never do what you wanted to do.

But you'd lived the life for so long that imagining what life would be like any other way left you drawing a blank.

"Let's start living life our own way." Ayaka suddenly uncrossed her arms and took your hands into hers, that eager grin on her face infectious "You and me. Nobody cares about me like you do, anyway."

"And nobody cares about you like I do, right?" There was something dark to her tone right then, like there was more to her words. But she looked so mesmerizing, so sweet, that you found yourself nodding.

Ayaka only beamed even brighter "We'll decide how we want to become, not our parents."

[einsteinbrosofficial]

What kind of accident happened that ended with a TNR and a rabies hold? Like I need to know about all of this

@sleepywinchesters Disclaimer do as I say not as I do. This is a story of hubris.

Cat professionals don’t judge me I know where I went wrong I just thought I was built different

Our TNR program only has one dropoff day a week & you have to make your appointment with # of cats ahead of time.

I have two traps so I’m aiming for 2, I’ve trapped for this colony before and it usually took multiple tries to get the right cats! Like I’d have to free at least 2 fixed cats for every unfixed one I caught.

I tell you this so my decision making doesn’t sound as stupid lol.

I was prepared to stake out these cats for hours at a time every night until my drop off appointment. So I start trapping like. 5 days early.

I also set up a big dog cage with some essentials in case I got any of them TOO early, which other cat people will see as red flag # 1 but I SWEAR makes sense with how much work I put into socializing these cats and I would not have pulled that move if I hadn’t been working with this cat colony since 2018.

Ok my dumb decisions have been detailed.

So anyway I literally set myself up with stakeout snacks and everything and I catch two cats within 10 minutes of trapping.

One of the cats I trapped is Charlie Chaplin. I’ve been feeding him about 4 years and he has a mustache and like a week before this he let me get within two feet of him without running.

I go to transfer Charlie to the dog crate (at my home where he’ll be chilling on the patio) and when I go to close the gate door behind him it got STUCK.

Charlie is terrified and he BOLTS and does an actually very beautiful leap DIRECTLY INTO THE POOL.

As I have since found out he’s largely blind in one eye! Which explains a lot of this! So he is now experiencing a pool for the first time in his life completely by accident.

I panic and start throwing all of my electronics off my person so I can jump in. He figures out swimming, escapes the pool, and then scales 10 feet of patio screen and starts trying to spider-man upside down across the roof.

Charlie then jumps down and proceeds to jump directly into the pool AGAIN! I jump after him because his head kept dipping underwater the first time (bc he has presumably never swam in his life before this) and I’m worried. I did not put on my wildlife handling gloves before this, which is another goof. I scoop under his tummy and I’m trying to carry him to the edge of the pool while keeping his head above water.

Anyway to Charlie this is actually even worse because he doesn’t know I’m trying to remove him from the pool, he bites the absolute SHIT out of my arm (valid), I get him to the edge of the pool and let go bc fucking ow, he JUMPS BACK IN THE POOL.

At this point my bonus sister tosses me a towel to grab him with and I manage to catch him safely and deposit him in the crate. Then I had a half hour long panic attack abt whether I had to euth him over me being stupid but I didn’t lol

If you’re unfamiliar with the protocol for potential rabies exposure, the literal only way to test for rabies is to euthanize the animal and biopsy their brains. There’s no way to test an animal while keeping it alive. A lot of the time if you’re able to you need to try and capture the animal that bit you and hand it over to whatever doctor you go to so they can send it for testing. Like. Secured though. Or already dead. Don’t give your doctor a loose potentially rabid animal.

HOWEVER, if the animal is a cat or dog specifically and is not otherwise showing obvious symptoms you have the option to isolate and observe them for 10 days. There’s research showing that dogs & cats who are far enough into the disease to transmit it (apparently they can’t transmit it during the incubation period, yay) will either show symptoms or die within 10 days. ONLY applicable to dogs and cats. If they show symptoms (or die) you send them to be tested, according to the county rabies coordinator I called about this.

I did not in fact have to get a rabies shot because we have already gotten past day 10 of his observation period and he’s chillin.

Also the other cat I caught early did fine, already got spayed and vaxxed and released. I just saw her earlier today when I went to check on the colony and she ran away as soon as she saw me lmao.

[captaindibbzy]

Drowning a screenshot so I can have a bitch about this in private. Like, no shade to the OP, it's just something I see a lot of sometimes and this morning it hit a nerve. And I don't want to have a go at OP. But...

Nobody explains why small talk is important.

Like, yes, people complain about it and struggle with it. Teenagers especially. People with neurodivereity. People who are ostracised from society. People who aren't taught this very learnable skill. I struggle with it. I find it very difficult. But it took me to my 30's to figure out why people are doing it, and how I am supposed to interact with it. Nobody sat down and told me this, they just expected me to know it and got annoyed when I didn't.

People talk about skills you're not taught in schools, and this is one of them. Especially if you are isolated from your peers, or shoved off in to the special lessons away from everyone else. You have to interact with those above you in a very specific way. You don't have small talk with your teachers, and you get punished for it. You don't have small talk with your peers cause you get punished for it. Then you're dropped in a real world situation and someone's talking to you about the weather and you're on edge cause when does the other shoe drop? What do you want from me? People only talk to me when they want something and this is incredibly anxiety inducing so just tell me what you want so we can get on to it.

Small talk is a method of communication between two people who don't know each other well that is used to politely acknowledge the other person as someone you respect, and to test the waters on potential topics of conversation going forward. It's checking the wall for wires before you hammer a nail in and hit the mains. It's two dogs in the park wagging their tails and sniffing butts going "hello dog! I am also dog!"

"Hello human! I like sports. Do you like sports? Oh. No... Ok :( Weather? Do you like weather? How about show that was on? Do you like show?"

Cause we are inherently social animals.

But if I talk about what I want to talk about people get pissy at me. I get odd looks. The conversation stops. The respect dries up. What is the difference? Nobody can tell me what the difference is. Nobody has told me how to navigate this!

Some times we learn our of necessity that we are not allowed to be sociable except if it is under very specific circumstances, and we are so hungry for that circumstance we don't want to do the dance we just want to KNOW if it is safe to exist or not.

Some part of our brain is screaming DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! and it's very difficult to take in someone who is going "oh did you see the weather today? Rain again haha. Yeah. I saw a good show this weekend" while the alarm is going in your head and you're not actually interested, and you're trying to figure out what they want from you, etc. This person wants your resources, your energy, your attention, because they are a human person who wants acknowledgement and is probably trying to offer you the same thing. But that is limited to a very specific list of things that nobody has handed to you and if you deviate from that list the odds of that respect drying up vastly increases, the odds of mockery vastly increases, and the odds of being in danger vastly increase. Meanwhile you are burning through your resources at an alarming rate cause of all this extra stuff you're going through. And you just want to feel SAFE.

And that's why a lot of people, especially on this website full of neurodiverse and isolated individuals, detest small talk. And if you can do it I am glad for you, and if you get something out of it that is great. It was made for you, go forth and use it, and treat customer service workers with respect, and have light conversations to fill up your I am a human bar. But people aren't being deliberately obtuse and rude when they detest this shit. It is genuinely really REALLY difficult for us! And nobody ever explains it!

[dollsonmain]

So there was a post by someone that said they do a lot of job interviews as the interviewer (I got so anxious about it I closed it without thinking to save or reblog it) and talking about like, what interviewers look for, why they ask the questions they ask.

The first thing they said was like “I’m seeing if you can play the game.” which INSTANT anxiety spike.

Holy shit why does life have to be a game? Why can’t I just be honest??

Yes, I can work on a team, yes, I can take and follow directions, no I don’t mind if my superiors are younger than me and won’t give them trouble for it, yes, I show up on time, yes, I will dress as I’m told.

Why is that not enough???

“Why do you want to work here?” I need money. We live in capitalism, everyone needs money. To. To live. I just. Money.

I mean, I know no one wants to hear “I’ve been forcibly isolated by an emotionally, sexually, and financially abusive narcissist for 15 years and I want money so I can support myself and escape.” Like, at least I know now to whip that out in an interview.

I guess I’ve missed out on a lot of socialization due to being raised in an abusive, strict household, then joining the military, then into another abusive, strict household where I was never allowed to make decisions or go out into the world and experience these things other people did, no I cannot play the game.

I can’t lie about some sort of like “I feel a strong connection to your company and their whatever the fuck do” it’s

money I need money. That’s it.

I’m not even looking at “a career” I’m looking to like, run a till or stock shelves.

The poster went on to say like “When we ask you if you have any questions for us, good ones that we like to hear are EXAMPLES” and I was like whaaaaa the fuck why would anyone ask any of that? I would never, ever think to ask any of that. None of it. What even.... Who thinks like that because it’s not me.

I can’t play the game. My brain doesn’t work that way.