#when i told her i might have depression i also tried telling her i have it since 6th

[just-miru]

my mother going from "you should wax your unibrow off because it's ugly" to "you should wax it off because it's not normal"

...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my dad to let out his emotions?

(cw: this entire post is about animal death)

Long story short, my dad (58M) has wanted a dog for decades. My mom (54F) has been refusing a dog for all 25 years they've been together. A few years ago, she finally agreed to get a puppy, and my dad was more excited than I've ever seen him be for anything.

Our dog passed away from a tumor a few months ago. He wasn't even three years old. This practically destroyed all of us, especially my dad, since he'd fought so hard for a dog for years. On top of that, he hasn't had much of a chance to let out his emotions since my mom keeps stopping him, and also making it worse.

A couple of weeks ago, on the way home from a party, something reminded my dad of the dog, and he started to cry in the car. We all comforted him, but after a few minutes my mom rolled her eyes and told him to stop crying. When we got home, my dad apologized for getting emotional. I (18M) told him he didn't have to apologize, since crying in grief is a completely normal thing to do. My mom told me I shouldn't say that, since he would just "wallow in his sadness all night" and it was better to just tell him not to do that.

I was baffled by this. I realized that she wasn't trying to make him feel better, she just didn't want to deal with him crying anymore. (I also recently noticed that she does the same thing to my sister (14F) and I.) Apparently this has been going on for pretty much their entire marriage of ~20 years.

On top of all of that, my mom brings up the topic of our dog and his death to people at Every. Single. Opportunity. And it always makes the rest of us feel like shit. She ordered a custom portrait of our dog as a Father's Day present for my dad. When I implied that this might be a bad idea, she said "So you hate it. Great." She also wants another dog exactly like our old one, despite the fact that he was a purebred, and had some health problems because of it. At this point, she wouldn't shock me if she said she wanted to clone the poor dog.

My dad has struggled with depression for years. He lived a very difficult life growing up, and was basically taught that showing sadness or fear was weak. Throughout my life, though, he's always made sure to tell my sister and I that he never wants us to have to bottle up how we feel and that the "boys don't cry" attitude is stupid.

So you can imagine my surprise when I tried to comfort him earlier tonight and he said "No, no, I'm fine. Boys don't cry. Don't worry about me." After that, my parents got into an argument about my mom telling my dad that he needs to "move past this".

TLDR: My mom keeps doing things that remind my dad of our dead dog, but then when he gets overwhelmed and starts crying she tells him to stop because she doesn't want to deal with his crying. AITA for telling my dad that she's wrong?

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter ten of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: References to sex, Kind of depressing, Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, this one is really sad y'all, like REALLY sad, I'm serious this one is really sad.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

1980

“Ben, stop.” You shout.

“Move damn it!” Ben’s eyes blaze a dark green sending a tremor down your spine, but you don’t budge.

“No.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” He snarls louder.

You stand defiantly in front of him, where he towers over you, eyes narrowed, and shoulders tensed. His broad shoulders block the fluorescent lights that hang overhead and illuminate the gym, dramatizing his imposing figure.

“I’m not going to. So you’re either going to have to move me yourself or you can go cool off.” Your retort your voice icy.

The heat from Ben’s anger vibrated through the air between you, but you weren’t going to move. Not when he was being ridiculous.

Noir was angry, angry that Ben took a movie role that he wanted. In hindsight you also thought it was ridiculous that Ben needed to star in all the movies. He was already America’s First Superhero and the Golden Boy and America’s Sweetheart, but it wasn't enough for him for some reason. You often thought his obsession with fame had something to do with his dad. Ben had a lot of problems when it came to his father, all of which made Ben compensate other ways, such as, feeling the need to be in charge, feeling the need to be loved and accepted by others he didn’t know, being unable to express his emotions, and the current problem which was feeling the need to claim the dominant role as most popular superhero.

Aka when he turned into Captain Toxic Masculinity.

Honestly, you were exhausted. All of this was exhausting. Ben was exhausting.  As someone who’d loved him this long you couldn’t help but see the shift from the boy you used to know into something unrecognizable. Occasionally you could see Ben, the old Ben, your Ben, who laughed with you, but those moments were few and certainly didn’t happen in public.

You shoulders tense with the force of your own anger and frustration, standing tall between Ben and Noir who lays on the ground behind you. Noir hadn't made an effort to get up, still stunned from the blows he took from Ben. The first few punches you hadn’t stopped, but it was when Ben felt the need to continue despite Noir’s pleas to stop that you had to step in.

You didn’t know where that came from, Ben’s need to beat people who were conceding. When he was younger you'd seen Ben get in a fight before, but those few times he hadn't continued to beat the other person when they gave up. The smell of whiskey and reefer floats off his clothes and you wonder how much he’s had to drink. Ben had two moods when he was drunk angry or clingy, and right now the anger was winning. You could hear the mad pump of his blood through his body and you wonder what else he might have taken today.

Because whiskey and reefer isn't enough? If he wasn't so damn indestructible he'd probably be dead from overdose.

Ben’s lip is curled back in a sneer, eyes flashing from where Noir lays on the ground then back to you. You know that he's ten seconds away from ripping Noir in half, and that's why you don't move. Noir didn't deserve that.

The way Ben's eyes burn through the space between you is hauntingly familiar as the memory of the night you hid Ben from his father settled over your mind. You fight the shudder at the comparison.

Ben wasn’t anything like his father. The thought is immediate, but then the memory of the past forty years begins to settle over your mind. Or maybe he was.

“Fucking pussy. Having a woman stand up for you.” Ben snaps at Noir.

Ben leans around you to spit at him, then raises his gaze back to you one more time before he stomps off, slamming the door of the gym so hard that it breaks the glass.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Everyone on Payback was watching you like you were crazy and you partly were. Getting in between Ben and someone else was beyond stupid. It wasn’t the first time, but you knew that you were the only person that could do it. If Countess or Gunpowder had stepped in Ben would not have relented. It had to be you. It always had to be you.

And you hated the weight of that burden on your shoulders.

You turn towards Noir, holding out a hand to help him up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighs taking it . “You didn’t have to do that.”

“He’s just being… well. Him.” You mutter.

You hated that this was the new harsh reality, the new Ben that was born when he took the serum and became America’s First Superhero.

“It was incredibly stupid.” Countess sniffs from where she stands with the TNT Twins. Gunpowder is leaning back against the outer ring with Mindstorm who stares unblinkingly at you.

“Well, guess I took a page out of your book then.” You say, narrowing your eyes at her.

You couldn’t stand her. Ever since she joined Payback all she’d done was try to catch Ben’s eye and get between the two of you, but he never gave her the time of day. She had quickly won the favor of everyone else on Payback, which only made you even more angry because it always seemed like you were the odd one out wherever you went.

Countess only sneers back in response, flipping her red hair over her shoulders. Despite Ben's exit the tension in the room is almost choking. Your so-called team was watching you with unreadable expressions and you suddenly got the impression that you were trespassing or interrupting. It had happened before, when you came to a training session early and you walked in on the rest of the team, sans Ben, talking in hushed tones and they immediately broke apart when you appeared.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that despite the fact you stood between Ben and Noir, the rest of the team still didn’t like having you there. Probably because they associated you with Ben. It made you uneasy.

Because despite Stan’s efforts to keep you all together Ben's continuous outbursts drove you all further and further apart. And you worried what would happen the day when the shoe finally dropped.

One look at the clock on your wall showed that it was almost one in the morning, but you weren't tired. All you could think about is what almost happened to Noir. It wasn't that you particularly liked anyone on Payback other than Ben, honestly the whole superhero thing was getting tedious and you had considered more than once getting out.

But you couldn't. Sometimes you felt responsible for Ben, like you were the only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow. Of course every single damn day that road was getting narrower and narrower and now it was more like a balance beam than a two way street.

Ben's new outlook on life that revolved around drugs, women, more drugs, and more women didn't make it easier. 

You frown at your sketchpad remembering when Ben founded Herogasm. You'd gone the first time, regretted walking through the door, stayed ten minutes, and then left.

Sex without feelings never appealed to you, but that wasn't why you left, it was watching Ben with other women that hurt you. You could barely get through it when he mentioned something in passing, but watching him there with them made you uncontrollably angry and not to mention frustrated. You didn't understand him, couldn't understand why Ben was different around you. Didn't know why whenever you were alone he would give you hope, just to take it all away again.

How could so much change? How could everything go to shit so quickly?

You think of all the years that followed the night that Ben asked you to come with him, how you thought that Ben was telling you that he loved you in his own way. But he didn’t. You were realizing that now, as painful as it was to admit to yourself, Ben only saw you as a friend, would only ever see you as a friend.

When you decided to come with him you thought that the change would be your friendship into something else, but it never came, the only thing that changed was Ben.

A loud banging at your door makes your entire apartment shudder and pulls you out of your memories of the past.

There's only one person who can do that.

Your home was a small two-bedroom apartment in New York City, but you loved it. It was quaint and comfortable and each time you came home you felt relaxed because you were able to shut out the life you lived everyday. The small kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in, but it made it more intimate and cozy. The living room had a soft leather couch, but no tv despite Ben’s complaints that you should get one. He hated that you couldn’t watch his films when he came over. You liked listening to music more anyway. Your collection of vinyl lined the living room wall in clean bookcases next to a small record player. The spare bedroom served as your studio, not that you were trying to sell your art, but because you needed a place to exist where you weren't a supe and where you weren't in love with Ben. There were stacks of sketchbooks in the studio closet from when you were a child, but you couldn't bear to get rid of them. Sometimes you imagined living here with Ben, cooking in the small kitchen while he read the newspaper, lounging on the couch and listening to music together, and falling asleep on his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

You sigh, pushing away the warmth of the thought, and wave your hand to telekinetically unlock the front door behind you. The familiar purple glow from your abilities fills the apartment. Ben had a key, but you figured he just wanted to make an entrance.

Always the drama queen.

“Got anything to drink?” He asks as he enters the living room.

You glance over the back of the couch to look at him. He's more casually dressed now, wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt the same color of his suit.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by, see if you’re still pissed.”

“As I recall it was you that was pissed.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Only because you were getting in my way Sweetheart” The way he says your nickname is harsh and mocking, so different than the way the old Ben used to say it. When it sounded genuine, caring, almost special.

“Because you were about to rip Noir apart!” You gesture with the pencil in your hand, snapping your sketchpad shut.

“That pussy deserved it. Thinking he was better than me. I’m fucking Soldier Boy and he’s nothing more than a-“ Ben scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Ben I can’t do this if you’re gonna be like this right now.”  You interrupt pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingertips, still annoyed from earlier. You hated that he did that, when he made you feel like his babysitter, when he made you feel like you had to make apologies for him.

“Like what?”

“High, drunk, acting crazy-“

“I’m not acting fucking crazy!” He snaps.

“Ben-“ You begin with a sigh.

“Fine.” He spits. “We don’t have to fucking talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.” You wave a hand haphazardly towards the kitchen. “There should be some whiskey in there somewhere. Though I don’t think you need anything else to drink.” Your nose wrinkles as you inhale, the smell of stale alcohol wafting back, followed by the unmistakable scent of perfume and sweat.

The super senses really sucked sometimes. Smelling the women that Ben had sex with was an unfortunate skill you had acquired.

“Fuck off.” He rolls his eyes, but waits for a minute eyeing you. “You’re not going to get it for me?”

You ignore his sharp tone and turn back to your sketchpad. “Nope. I don’t want to enable you.”

Ben stomps into your kitchen. It's immediately followed by the loud banging of him searching the cabinets for booze.

He should know where it is, spends enough time here.

“If you break anything, you’re going to fix it.” You shout opening your sketchbook back to the page you were on. You were drawing the Philadelphia of your youth, the familiar streets, the cars, and the women dressed in beautiful outfits.

“My hands are better suited for other things Sweetheart.” You hear him mutter under his breath and you try not to snap your pencil in half. His taunt made you think about Herogasm and the scent of perfume on his skin, and that was the last thing you wanted to think about.

Ben comes back and slumps onto the couch beside you, a large whiskey gripped in his hand. He sighs loudly to get your attention when you don't look up from your drawing.

"Alright, what is it?” You ask continuing to draw.

"Nothing.” He grumbles drinking from his glass.

“Ben, I’ve known you for over fifty years I can tell when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Well I doubt it’s over what you said or did to Noir today. So what is it? What are you not upset about?”

"I just thought it would be different." Ben swirls the glass in his hands.

"What?"

"Being on Payback."

"What do you mean?" You continue to sketch the shape of a woman walking down the streets.

"When I first started doing all this fucking superhero shit it was different. Felt like I was promoting something, now it kinda feels like I’m just here. And no one respects me.”

“They’re not going to respect you if you keep threatening them and beating up whoever pisses you off.” You mutter.

“They might.” He snaps.

They won't.

"Well the way things are going with Russia I’m sure there will be another war." You sigh, thinking about the recent newspaper headlines. Everything was devoted to the Cold War, everyone was afraid of what Russia was doing or what they were planning. Stan Edgar and Legend were talking about some Anti-Communist campaign videos and posters that they wanted you to pose for, but you weren't sure you wanted to.

"You think so?" He sounds optimistic.

"I’m not gonna hope for one, but probably. I get it though. You’re doing all those movies and premieres and photo shoots, it doesn't feel real."

It was exactly how you felt. You felt that all this supe shit was coming to a head and what did you have to show for it? A few pictures of you holding up a car or a painted caricature of you on the side of a jet or a short film with stupid prerecorded lines that made no sense and even more ridiculous outfits that Legend tried to get you to wear. When you got the serum with Ben you thought you’d be contributing something to society, but no. It was just like when you were a child, dressed up like a China doll, made to be looked at but never used.

"I like those movies."

"I’ve noticed." You breathe remembering earlier when Ben almost killed Noir over the movie role.

Noir technically started that, but Ben just took it way too far.

"What about you?"

The question catches you off guard. “What about me?”

"You haven’t done any movies lately. Legend said that you turned down a few films." Ben takes a swig from the glass in his hand.

"Aren’t you afraid that I’ll steal some of your thunder Soldier Boy?” Your taunt. “Because I already saw what you tried to do to Noir today. And I’d rather you not beat me to a pulp-“

“You’re not like Noir. You’re different.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” You sigh rolling your eyes at him.

Ben sits there for a minute. You can feel his gaze on you. “I’d never hurt you y/n.”

The softer cadence of his voice makes you pause your pencil against the page. You knew it was true. Even when Ben was pissed off it was the line he never crossed. Ben never touched you when he was angry, but it never made it any easier to deal with him.

“Hey.” Ben whispers to get your attention, but you continue to look down at your paper. “Look at me.” His thumb comes under you chin to lift your eyes to his.

“You know that right?” Ben’s gaze is soft, you hadn’t expected it to be given the way he entered you apartment and his sullen mood. “You know that I’d never hurt you?”

The look in his eyes makes your throat tight, makes you see the Ben you used to know, who promised to look out for you and who promised to be strong for the both of you. And it hurts more than you thought it would, because you weren't sure that boy was still there.

“Yeah. I know.” You nod, but you don’t smile. You knew it was what he wanted to hear. “You’ve been talking to Legend about me?” You say to make the warm feeling of his touch fade.

He shrugs satisfied with your response, the softness fading from his eyes as he drops his hand. “I was worried.”

You fold your legs up under you. “I don’t know, I didn't love any of the scripts. And I’ve been thinking about getting out. I’ve been doing this so long-"

It was the first time you'd said it aloud to Ben. You'd mentioned it once to Legend and then made sure he never said anything about it. You weren't sure how Ben would react to you leaving.

"What?" Ben's eyes widen in surprise.

"Come on Ben, you’re telling me that you don’t want to have a normal life? Meet someone, have some kids, settle down? We’ve been doing this shit for years. Doesn’t get any easier."

"Sometimes.” He smirks at you. “So who’s the guy?”

“What?” You raise your eyebrows in confusion.

“The guy you’re going to settle down with.”

“What makes you assume that I’ve met him?”

“I mean, I’ve never seen you with anyone. And I’ve never walked in on you fucking anyone. Plus, you never come to Herogasm-“ Ben pauses. “It’s not Noir is it? Is that why you were protecting him today?”

“No.” You scoff, shading the side of a building to avoid his gaze, because how do you tell him that you met the only person you’d ever wanted when you were 8 years old?

“Good.” Ben drinks from his glass. “I do think about it sometimes.” He says it quietly.

“Huh?”

“The house, having a few rugrats.” He shrugs. “Might be nice.”

“Yeah.” Your throat is tight imagining Ben with someone else like Countess, sitting at his wedding, watching him say those vows to someone else. You didn't think you'd be able to just sit there if it came to that.

“How about you and I get married?” He says it nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean it. He was just saying it to joke with you like always. Ben never saw you that way, you were realizing that more and more each day, even though it hurt to think it.

“We’d kill each other before we say I do.” You quip staring down at the page.

“Maybe. But really, we’ve known each other long enough-“

“That’s not a reason to get married. Plus, we both know that you’re not a one woman kind of guy and if you're actually being serious about this it would mean that you would have to change-“

You think about it. If Ben actually did want to commit, could he do it? His wandering eyes and hands would drive you crazy if he finally did want to start a relationship. You definitely did not want an open relationship. You wanted Ben to be wholly yours as much as you would be his, because you knew that if you devoted yourself to Ben, he would probably cheat, but then be furious if you spent any amount of time with someone else. You remembered all the ways he acted around Howard. Ben was crazy around him, and you and Ben hadn’t been together.

Imagine what he would do to someone else if we were.

“I can be a one woman kind of guy-“ Ben scoffs. “I can do anything.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You mutter, but you know he can hear you.

Ben puts down his glass on your coffee table before his hand lays on top of yours against the sketchpad in you lap.

“Y/n.” He whispers. You can smell the whiskey on his breath, but you don’t look up at him, you can’t. Because you know as soon as you look into his eyes you’ll do whatever he wants.

But you didn’t want to be his consolation prize. You didn’t want Ben to marry you because he was bored, drunk, and he thought he might as well marry you. You wanted Ben to marry you because he was 100% head over heels for you as much as you were for him.

He tilts your chin upwards to look at him. Electricity thrums in your veins when you lock eyes, the look in his gaze is open, gentle, almost tender.

It reminds you of the boy you used to know. Lately you hadn’t seen him. If you were being honest, you hadn’t seen him much since the night he came to ask you to come with him, before the serum, when you thought he finally realized that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

The only time you’d see the real Ben was when it was just the two of you, not the angry, macho, vengeful fighter for justice that he put on whenever he was in front of the team or in front of the cameras. You didn’t understand that. He said that showing emotions made him less of a man, but he never seemed to have a problem being different when it was just the two of you.

You hated that. In those quiet moments you felt your heart clench tight in your chest because each time you thought that he would finally admit that he loved you, that after all these years you were the one.

But he never did.

“I could change.” Ben whispers. “I could be with one woman.” 

“Ben.” You take in a deep breath to clear your head, fighting the ball of emotion that has begun to burn at the back of your throat. “You’re drunk.” You breathe.

He blinks a few times as if he can’t comprehend what you're saying.

“You always get like this when you’re drunk. You know?” You pull back from where his hand rests on your chin.  “But you can stay if you want. There’s some pizza in the fridge and I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed.” You stand and step around him, the urge to cry building in your chest.

“Okay.” Ben whispers to the air, because you're already gone, fleeing down the hallway before he can see you cry.

When you step into the shower you allow yourself to break. The soft sobs drowned out by the sound of running water. You wished you could move past this, all of this and more importantly you wished that you hadn’t fallen in love with him. 

Memories of the past lodge themselves in the back of your throat. You remember the day he begged you to come with him to get the Compound V injection, when you left your life behind and chose him. You thought that was his way of saying he loved you, that he couldn’t live without you. You were wrong. It hurt to admit that, but you were wrong. Ben didn’t try to build on the relationship you had, he kept it the same, the friendly banter, the hugs, hanging around with you whenever he couldn’t stand to be alone. He still slept over, but that’s all that happened. You thought that day meant something, that it was the beginning of something, some wonderful romanticized future filled with warmth and love.

You never thought it would be like this.

You didn’t regret going with him often, but on nights like this when it was late and Ben was drunk and he acted differently you did. Because it made you think that there was a chance of a future with him, but then when he woke up the next day sober, it started all over again with him being short tempered and a dick to everyone who was around him.

It was exhausting. And you didn’t know how much more of it you could take.

The only thing you regretted about the serum was that it made you immortal, invulnerable, and that meant whoever you decided to make a life with would die. There was only a handful of others like you and you hadn’t liked any of them except Ben. You wondered if this was your penance for saying no to Howard, your mother's last laugh when she said that Ben would never choose you and now you had to go on like this forever.

You remember the fear that you would be trapped in a marriage with Howard, you never thought that you'd feel trapped with Ben.

But now…

When you walk back into your bedroom, Ben’s already in your bed, laying on his back, smoking a blunt and looking at the ceiling. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, that you bought him forever ago so he didn't have to sleep in his jeans, and the same t-shirt as before.

“What did I say about smoking those in here?” You sigh, getting into bed beside him, but being careful as to not touch even though it’s all you want.

“It’s a free country doll.” Ben mutters, but he puts it out in the ashtray that you left for him on the bedside table. Because you knew that he would continue to do it even when you told him not to.

The amount of times he ended up here at night always surprised you. Ben might have been bed hopping, snorting, and drinking himself into a stupor but the amount of times you woke up with him in bed next to you was astounding. He’d let himself in with the key you made him for emergencies while you were asleep. It was almost like he didn’t sleep in his apartment anymore and you hated how much you depended on him being there in the morning when you woke up. But the truth was, Ben was all you had, and the thought of losing him scared you. Which meant you continued to put up with the man he became, trying to hold tight to the image of the boy he used to be.

You lay on your back beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The inch of space between your bodies is almost too obvious. “I’m going to go to Philadelphia for a few days.” You breathe.

“Why?”

“My brother isn’t doing too well. His son called.” You say, your throat thick. “He said he thinks that it’s time.”

Your parents had passed a few years ago and Ben had gone to the funerals with you. When Ben’s father had passed, he hadn’t gone to the funeral, he’d drowned himself in the 21st annual Herogasm. And after he showed up on your doorstep smelling like sweat, drugs, booze, and cheap perfume. You’d made him take a shower before getting into bed. The next morning you had woken up in his arms, but more surprising was the fact that he had woken up before you and hadn't pushed you away, in fact he had held you closer to him. You figured that he needed someone there with him. His father had done and said horrible things to Ben, and you kept him company if that’s what he wanted, but couldn’t admit it.

“I’m sorry.” His hand finds yours on the bed. The gesture surprises you.

“Yeah. But that’s the way it is now, I guess.” You whisper, squeezing it.

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t age. Everyone else does. Means that we’ll always just see everyone else go.”

“But not us.” Ben says it like he’s trying to cheer you up.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

Does that mean it’s always going to be like this? Me waiting for him to come here after a 24 hour non stop orgy or after he’s had one two many? Just because he can’t stand the thought of being alone?

You didn’t want that future. You knew that he wanted to be there with you, but it wasn’t enough and it wasn’t the same thing you wanted.

Maybe getting out of this would be good. Put some distance between me and him, let me try to find me again.

Ben is quiet for a minute, the only sound you hear is the thrum of the blood in his veins and his heart steadily pumping it.

“Do you want me to come?” He says it slowly, his thumb rubs against the back of your hand in a soothing motion. 

The question breaks something inside of you, because you wanted nothing more than to have him there with you, but you didn’t want the version of Ben who was Soldier Boy, the loud, angry, short tempered version who was always high or drunk. The one that you felt that you needed to apologize for.

“Nah. It’ll be okay. I’ll get to see my great nephew. He’s supposed to be walking now.” You try to force cheeriness into your tone, but it doesn’t stick.

“Okay.”

You can’t help but wonder if Ben is hurt by your rejection. You did not often say no to him.

He doesn’t let go of your hand though, in fact he brings it up against his chest while he looks at the ceiling.

"Do you regret it?” Ben says in almost a whisper

"Hmm?”

“Coming with me.”

You pause for a second and think about lying, but finally settle on the truth. “Sometimes."

"Why?” Ben's voice rumbles against where your hand lays against his chest, and for a second you think he sounds almost pained.

"We’ve changed so much than who we were back then. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.”

You didn’t want to say that it was him you didn’t recognize. Or that it always felt that you were running after the boy he used to be. The one that made you feel safe, comforted, made it feel like home.

"I don’t think change is a bad thing."

Of course you don't.

"It is if it’s in the wrong direction.” You whisper, but know he can hear you.

“So that’s why you want out? Because you don’t recognize yourself? Seems like a shitty reason."

“I just think it might be nice to try something new. I’ve been doing this for such a long time-“

“That’s why the films would be a good idea. If you want I can talk to the director about you being a co-star in the one we start filming next week. He won't say no to me-“ It was the closest you’d ever heard him come to pleading, besides the night he asked you to come with him to get the serum.

But why? Was it his way of keeping me with him? Was it because he didn’t want me to leave because he wanted me here? Or was it because he just wanted someone there to sit with when the silence was too much? The silence that seems to follow when he's not with me.

“Ben I’m okay. It’s okay I just want something different.”

“Like what?” You hand is still clutched in his where it rests over his chest and you can't help but wonder why. It was surprising. Sure Ben tolerated the occasional hug, but holding your hand for this long was unusual. You attributed it to the booze. When Ben got drunk he tended to be more clingy, he never admitted that, but you saw it.

“I don’t know. I just want a family again-“

“You have a family. You said you’re going to see your great nephew-" Ben says it like he doesn't want you to leave and it breaks something inside you.

How can he not admit that he cares about me? That he loves me? He has to after all these years doesn't he?

“I know. I mean I want a family. Someone to come home to every night, someone I love, someone who loves me-“ You fight to keep the frustrated tears from falling. The dream of him and you inhabiting your apartment together washes back over your mind in shades of gray. You wanted that so badly.

“Oh.”

“You don’t want that?” It’s taking everything for you not to tell Ben that you want it to be him, that you always wanted it to be him.

“Maybe.”

The silence grows between the two of you as you lay there and Ben still hasn't let go of your hand.

“Did you want to marry him?” He says after a few minutes.

“What?” You look at him confused. Ben isn't looking at the ceiling like you thought, he's looking at you. He almost looks, sorry. And you wonder again how much he's had to drink.

“That asshole." He clarifies.

"Howard?"

"Yeah."

“It’s been 40 years-“ You sigh as if it doesn’t matter. But it does. You chose Ben that night and you thought that him asking you to come with him meant that he was choosing you as well.

“Come on.” Ben squeezes the hand that rests against his chest.

“Why does it matter?"

“Because you’re saying you wanted a family. Someone to come home to and that pussy would have given it to you.”

You pause for a second trying to read his expression. “I like the idea of marriage. Of saying those vows to someone else.” You say slowly. “But I didn’t want to say them to Howard.” You don’t say that you wanted to say them to Ben, don’t say that the night he told you not to marry Howard you thought he was trying to tell you that he wanted to marry you instead.

“So you want to say them to someone?”

“Yeah. One day.” You frown, turning back to look at the ceiling. “You never want to say them to someone?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. “Maybe.”

Probably Liberty.

You sigh to yourself thinking about one of your least favorite supes that you’d come across. She wasn’t terrible, just pushy and into supes being united together. You also didn’t like that she felt that supes deserved to be worshiped, that supes were gods, but you knew you weren't. The powers were not random, the gifts were not given by God, they were given by the devil and all those deals came with a price. Even if you tired to walk away, you wondered if Vought would let you go. You also hated how much time Ben spent with her.

The thought of her leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and despite how good it feels, you pull your hand free from Ben's grasp  and turn your back to him, cuddling into your pillow. Your grip is so tight on fluffy material you wonder how it hasn't ripped, but you need to stop talking to him. Talking to him when he was like this made it harder and right now it was taking everything not to cry again.

And you were just so tired of everything. You wondered if one day it would be different.

“Goodnight Ben.” You whisper.

“Goodnight.”

And just as you drift into a dreamless sleep, you think you feel him put his arm around your waist and pull your back into his chest, but when you wake up the next day you forget and Ben is gone.

n/a: Yeah, this chapter is really sad. And I wish that I could say it gets better, but honestly, it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. 😭😭😭

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts

@onlyangel-444

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Incomprehensible's Chapter 346

Brief summary: DK sends the 5th Battalion to investigate. Aurora's group relocates to another place. Cale got lore-dumped by Aurora. Cale's group leaves the Demon Realm. Cale gets dragged by mom and son dragons to fetch Lock who's about to become pope.

==========

The Demon King's response was to send the 5th Battalion to investigate. It was not elaborated why the 6th Battalion kidnapped villagers, except that it was for a special mission, and that the hunters, demons, and divine race had some secret agreement.

Meanwhile, Aurora's group and the villagers relocated to an abandoned coastal village. The villagers agreed, knowing that the DK might still target them, but also relieved after finding out that Aurora was the daughter of the former DK.

Aurora: Umm... Cale: It's okay. You don't have to tell me. (I don't need to know about ancient powers and the divine realm! It's bad enough that I'm involved with the demons, and now, it's the divine race!) Aurora: This info can help CH. Cale: ... (Damn it. Okay, let's hear it! Let's hear that secret!) Aurora: *lore-dumps Cale* Cale: (Let's ignore them. Unless they touch me, let's ignore them. My only job is the hunters and the omnipotent god. After that, I'll return to Roan and take a rest! That's right! A rest! Absolutely!) Raon: Human, why do you look depressed? Cale: (Why does it feel like my slacker life have gotten away? Why is it that the more I get closer, the more it moves further away from me? Ah. I really want to punch everything.)

Poor Cale. Flags keep being planted, and his slacker life continues to drift further away. 🤣🤣🤣

As for that lore dump, here's a summary:

Only single-lifers can become gods.

But there are exceptions, like those who broke the limitations of their race.

Divine race can't use aura or mana. What they have is a power unique only to each of them, similar to ancient powers.

In the ancient times, ancient powers were called "unique power".

When humans (as in races that do not live in the divine, demon, and god realms) began having unique powers, the divine race felt threatened.

The leader of the divine race made some pact with the gods so that no humans would no longer have unique powers from that moment onwards.

But CH's aura is slowly growing into a unique power, so Aurora is worried that it might catch the attention of the divine race.

Aurora is unsure if something happened to the divine realm that left a hole in the pact.

Given that CH and HD were both on the verge of getting unique powers, and Cale's other allies had the potential to gain it too, Cale could not help but feel worried. I guess he's going to the Divine Realm in the future? 😂

Count Deshran was the new Number Seven. He was stunned a total of 24 times, using his own book. Once by CH, and the remaining 23 by Mary's skeleton monster. 🤣🤣🤣

Cale wanted to rest, but upon returning to Aipotu, Sheritt told him about what happened to Lock. 😂

Cale: *nervous* Sheritt: *bangs table with her fist* I tried to talk with them, not punch them, but... Raon: *bangs table with his fist too* Lock is family! We can't leave him in Aipotu! The table: *cracks after being struck by two dragons* Cale: ... Raon: Human, let's go get Lock! Let's get him from the Aipotu beastkin who wants to make him their pope! Cale: *scared* Okay, let's get Lock! Raon: Let's go! Cale: Uh, uh... *gets dragged out by Raon*

I'm just laughing here. 😂😂😂 So Lock got captured by the Aipotu beastkin, who clung and cried to him, begging him to be their pope... 🤣🤣🤣 But Cale was more scared of the mother and son dragon who cracked the table reinforced with magic. 😂😂😂

Ending Remarks We finally returned to Aipotu! Lock's problem though. 😂 Next chapter would be Cale's group "rescuing" Lock from his ardent followers.

[pablitogavii]

I NEED A NEW POST ASAP 😭😭😭😭

Coming your way! <333

Good News

It was a grueling couple of months for Pablo. You made sure to be besides him through all of it and show your support.

Oftentimes you couldn't do much about the pain but after the long physicals you would cuddle him and play with his hair while he sleeps on your chest.

You also tried to talk to him through more depressive steps where he would watch his old videos with teammates and reminisce of the times he played for Barça.

"I want to go back amor ... I'm lost without them ... and so tired" one night he cried after a very intnse physical feeling his whole body trembling from how much pain he had to push through.

"I know, cariño ...and you will just rest now" you reassured him while he kept swiping through pictures enjoying your hands in his hair.

Today was a talk with his doctors who will give him an approximate return date and Pablo was so nervous about it. It was scheduled for ten in the morning but he was already up at five twisting and turning in bed until you woke up as well.

"Pablo, it's not even morning ...go back to bed cariño porfa" I said and he pulled you closer starting to kiss all over your face not letting you sleep.

"I can't sleep amor ... I'm so anxious!!!" he whined and you giggled opening your eyes and pulling him into a kiss.

"Want me to make some breakfast then?" you ask and he holds you tight not letting you move away from him.

"I want you here with me ... just tell me everything will be fine porfa" he said twirling a piece of your hair around his fingers.

"Of course everything will be fine cariño ... you're recovering nicely and I'm sure it won't be too long until you return to the pitch" you said and he smiled praying to God you were right.

"Thank you, princesa ... what would have I done without you?" he said and you giggled kissing him.

"You wouldn't have anyone to torture at five in the morning!" you said and you both laughed while enjoying your time in bed.

When it was time to leave, Pablo's dad noticed his son's nervousness as he opened his car door.

"Did he sleep at all?" he asked you and you smiled saying he was just a bit anxious but will be better after the meet. You sat besides him holding his hand the whole ride.

Once arrived at the camp, there was a crowd all yelling "good luck Gavi!" while he nodded holding your hand tightly and limping inside carefully. There all his friends waited and gave him a reassuring hug before we were invite into the office with the doctors.

"Let's not crowd the room" the doctor said and you offered staying out but Gavi wouldn't let go of your hand now really starting to panic.

"Can she come inside with me, doctor?" he asked adorably and the older man smiled nodding his head and letting us both in followed by his father.

"First, I want you to know these are good news so don't be nervous" he started and Pablo finally relaxed. The doctor explained that his recovery is moving better than expected and that he will be ready for preseason maybe even earlier.

"So I might play Euros too?" Pablo was already ready to jump back in but doctor told him that would be a cardinal mistake.

"Cariño, remember we need to be patient" you say touching his cheek and he nods still a little disappointed but knowing this was all a blessing.

'You just keep listening to your lovely lady, and you will be back in no time kid" his dad says and Pablo kissed the top of your head lovingly while you smiled with red cheeks.

"I couldn't of done it without her ..." he said and everyone smiled at the two of you while you rested your head on his shoulder thanking God for there good news <333

y.n.bebe

Barcelona, Spain

From being his biggest fan to being his girlfriend ... my champion is coming back in June and I am thanking God for such a blessing every day. Love you, cariño ❤️❤️❤️

comentarios:

pablogavi: i love you mi amor!!!❤️❤️❤️

pedri: welcome back brother!

ansufati: the best!!!

fcbarcelona: waiting for you with open arms gavi❤️

aurorapezg: her love healed him❤️

gavisfans: love them together! come back strong champion

I'm so happy to hear he's coming back stronger! ❤️❤️❤️

[loveswrites]

Is love enough? Poly Joe x Love x reader

Poly! Joe Goldberg x reader x Love Quinn

Time it took me: 5 hours spread out a few days

Word count: 1058

I asked you guys on a poll if you guys would like a poly xreader with Joe and love and you guys definitely did! So Let me know how you guys like it! The closer I got to the end I was thinking about making this one into a mini series! As I could do a lot more with this one! Tell me if you'd like a part two!

When you finish reading tell me. Do you think love is enough?

Love <3

"Depression makes you do crazy shit Joe!"

"That doesn't make sense, Love! just accept the fact that you killed her for no reason but the fact that you can't control yourself!" Joe yelled at love with wide eyes. 

"I can't control myself? I can't control myself?! You were the one obsessing over yet another woman! What did you expect me to do?! We have a family!" Love yelled back at Joe with tears in her eyes. But they weren't tears of sadness.

"Babes? What's with all the yelling what's going-... on.." You questioned coming down the stairs but paused seeing exactly what the yelling was all about.

"What happened?.." You whispered. On the ground all you saw was blood and the body of some blonde. 

"What are you doing here!?" Love and Joe yelled in unison.

"You told me to come pick up Henry so you could finish on some things- What happened!" You yelled, snapping out of your explanation of your presence.

"I- I she fell-" Love attempted to say but you quickly cut her off.

"Into an Ax!?" You yelled.

"It was an accident!" Love tried defending herself.

"What the fuck! What the actual fuck? I- Where is Henry?!" You yelled out looking around the dark basement for the child you came to pick up.

"He's over there he is fine!" Love gestured to Henry who was literally a baby in a corner.

You watched as Joe paced the floors as you could only assume he was thinking about what to do about this.. situation that lies in front of you three.. and a half. 

You Joe and Love were in a relationship together. It was a loving happy relationship you felt secure in some aspects of it. Besides that fact that you never knew if the police would show up at your front door and arrest you was all. It was one of the things that made the loving happy relationship feel a little less secure. Also with love's impulsive behavior and Joe's constant need to have a new fixation every other month put a damper on the relationship at times. But none of that stopped you from loving them both. And them loving you. 

"You said no more. No more killing. No more death. A fresh start and a New beginning. And Joe you no more.. obsession plus the killing also." You whispered shifting your eyes between you two lovers. 

"How can neither of you keep your promise?" 

"I haven't killed anybody!" Joe yelled.

"But you stalk! And you creep! And you lie and cheat on both me and Love! Why?! Why are we not enough for you? I keep your secrets, I'm there when you're scared! When you're scared that you might do another bad thing! And you Love I'm there for you every sleepless night when Joe is gone! We were all supposed to be happy here! But since we're all killing and lying, I'm going to tell the truth I hate it here! I hate the suburbs I'm a fucking city girl I don't belong here yet I am trying to adapt for you for you both because I love you! You both ripped me apart from a city that I loved so much to lie in a house with two people that I thought loved me more than I loved that city just to feel like some neglected piece of trash! I hope to God Henry never feels like this- Oh wait he probably already does since he's facing a corner chilling in a room with a dead body!" You screamed with so much pent up aggression you snatched up the baby carrier that held Henry.

"Pleas-" Joe started but you cut him off without turning to face them.

"Don't call me, don't text me. Fix your mess then maybe me and Henry will come back." You said causing panic to rush through both of their veins.

"Maybe?!" Love yelled her eyes widening. 

"What do you mean maybe?! I love you, there is nothing that I wouldn't do to make you stay!" Joe yelled.

"Shut up." You said, shaking your head as you walked up the stairs leaving the bakery. 

When you've been in a relationship with basically two insane people you learn when their threats mean you harm or not. In that case Joe threatened you out of fear. Not anger. He was never angry at you much. He got mad at Love more than he would you. Him and Love fought more than you, him and love ever did combined. Which you couldn’t lie was understandable because seeing that their habits could land us all in jail. You’ve never killed anybody but that still doesn’t make you a good person. 

You’ve lied for them. Threaten people for them. Even though Joe and Love do their best to keep their dirty habits away from home, it’s inevitable that one of those habits will come knocking on your front door. You’ve helped with the..bodies. So no matter how sick it makes you or how bad you feel about it you are and will forever be an accomplice to their crimes for no other reason than the fact love makes you do crazy things. 

When you got to your car you went to buckle Henry into his car seat. He was crying. You almost missed that.. How could you miss a screaming baby? As you tried to zone yourself out of your deep thoughts about your two loves you tried calming the only love that mattered right now. You found it hard to do this as tears rolled down your own face. Who was going to calm you down with their love? As you shhh henry to calm down rocking him in your arms on the side corner of the bakery you started to think what if this was all?

What if this was it? 

What if all your life now consisted of was lying, hiding, running, crying, screaming, fighting, shovels, dirt and muddy midnights. But at least you had your two lovers by your side, That’s all that matters right? Could the love between three people be enough to grow into a happy family?

Getting into the driver's seat you started the car. And as you drove away from the bakery you couldn’t help but think, is love enough?

[nattroan]

𝓣 𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆!!✦

𝓓𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬!!🕸

When you first started dating her, she was a little cold trying to make sure if she could really trust you, until one day she just came to your house after an argument with her father and you listened so carefully and hugged her and comforted her. so affectionately that you made her feel so safe with you, after that day she was much more affectionate alone with you

She's really so obsessed with giving you cute nicknames in Italian

She thinks you are the most beautiful person in the universe

Once during a sexual moment that you were having with her, she grabbed your neck out of lust and the heat of the environment. The problem was that she grabbed your neck more than she should and left the mark of her hand on your neck (and you didn't you wanted to tell her that she was taking your breath away because you didn't want to ruin the moment) and when you went to sleep after that she saw the mark on your neck and the mark on your neck reminded her of when her father was trying to kill her mother with her hands and began to cry on your shoulder while asking for forgiveness, you woke up and automatically asked her why she was crying while you hugged her and well, she told you what was happening to her while desperately asking for your forgiveness (my little baby thought that night that he had become his father😭😭)

When she's jealous, she puts her hand in one of the back pockets of your pants and gives you a kiss in front of the guy who's flirting with you just to make it clear to him that you already have a partner and it's her (if that doesn't work, she might start telling him to the guy who leaves you alone but with insults like that

“Hey idiot, don't you see that she already has a partner, leave her alone if you don't want her to break your fucking nose”

When she loses a match she feels super angry and yells or speaks badly to everyone who tries to tell her to calm down or who tries to talk to her, except you, <3

I think you are the only person capable of calming her down (help, I can't stop laughing, this reminded me of a scene from the kissing booth😭😭 look at me, Noah look at me!)

She thinks you look so cute in any type of clothes

Sometimes when she is stressed and it is not yet time to leave class she throws you a piece of paper in the middle of class telling you to meet in the locker room, when the two of them get to the locker room Natalie simply starts kissing you until she forgets why she was stressed

Natalie just loves having you on her lap while she kisses you

When she is depressed or angry the only thing she likes to do is go to your house and lay her head on your chest while you caress her head or play with her hair while a Nirvana song plays in the background

She really loves to tell you things and teach you songs from her favorite bands or soloists

She also loves it when you tell her about your tastes too and she will always listen very carefully

I feel like she would have been terrified when you told her you wanted her to meet your parents

until she finally comes to your house for dinner and sees that your parents aren't as bad as she thought, your dad asked her some questions but that's it, your parents absolutely like Nat

I think he really loves every part of your body but his favorite part of your body would be your thighsis

her loves to put his hand on your thigh and also lay his head on your thighs

You once gave him a Nirvana CD and he couldn't stop kissing you that day

She loves it when you steal her clothes and wear them, she thinks you look so cute with her things

you love the way her rings look on her hand and you're obsessed with always grabbing her hand and seeing her rings

“you really like my rings love”her said making fun of you a little

Oh, shut up,” you said laughing blushing

“Admit it” her said, grabbing you by the waist while giving you small kisses all over your face

Sometimes she gets very insecure and you have to remind her that you only love her and that you are not going to abandon her

She has a mixtape full of songs that remind her of you and she listens to it when you're not with her

when they kiss she likes to whisper I love you between kisses

You were the first to say I love you of the two, although she says it to you more often

Her loves to flirt with you just to see your blushing face

she dedicates many songs to you

For Natalie, you are the most beautiful woman in the world and it hurts her so much that you don't think the same

Every imperfection you see in yourself is something she loves

“baby you know you're too beautiful right?”

One day you told her about all your insecurities and she kissed all the imperfections you saw in yourself

n/a: hii, sorry if there are any spelling mistakes, English is not my native language, I'm sorry,and if you are reading this, I just want to tell you that you are surely a wonderful and truly beautiful person, even if you don't see it for yourself and if you ever feel too bad with your physique or you are having a bad time in your life. I'm always attentive to my messages so write to me and I will try to help you <3

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Dad!Changbin x F!Reader TW : angst ; talk of child loss ; reader is pregnant ; guilt ; anger ; reader has the baby (non-descriptive) ; postpartum depression ; paranormal experience ; happy ending because they deserve it ; (I know these TW's are all over the place, but trust me it makes sense I hope) ; Word Count : 2.6k Request : I feel like part 2 is needed for Changbin, he deserves it, reader deserves it.

The two lines faded into view on the little white stick, but instead of that feeling of excitement that most women would get when finding out something like this, you were filled with guilt. The therapist that you and Changbin had been going to for this had told you that over time, the feeling of guilt would go away and that the two of you would even begin to actively try having a baby again. The both of you were highly doubtful about that. 

To be entirely honest, it’s been almost 4 whole years since you and Changbin had tried for a baby, and it’s not like the two of you were trying for one now. Things had gotten… sloppy during a night of drinking, celebrating your 6 year anniversary does that to people, and now here you were, sitting on the edge of the bathtub trying not to cry. 

It felt wrong to be having another baby, it felt wrong to even attempt to be happy about it. It wasn’t just the guilt though, it was fear. Fear of the unknown outcome of this pregnancy. Would this baby make it, or would you and Changbin go through 9 months of dreams and planning and hope and excitement just to have this child taken away from you too? It was absolutely terrifying, and you didn’t know how or even if you should tell Changbin, not wanting to get his hopes up either. 

///

“It’s a girl!” “Your pregnancy is progressing well, your daughter is healthy.” “Your due date is October 14th! We’re coming right up on it!” All of these things you had heard before, but you refused to let yourself get excited. Now, as you sat in the waiting room where expectant mothers sat with their husbands or their boyfriends, smiles on all their faces, you could only feel sadness. 

It was a conundrum to be quite honest. You felt awful for having another baby, you felt guilty, like you were replacing the daughter that you had lost. With all of that, you also felt bad for this new baby, this little girl that didn’t know the pain that you and Changbin had gone through, yet her arrival wasn’t looked at in the same light as your other daughters. That made you feel even more guilty because it wasn’t this baby’s fault, it wasn’t anyone's fault. 

“The due dates are the same…” Changbin whispered to you as his thumb brushed along your tense knuckles. The irony of both girls sharing the same due date was scary, downright terrifying. It almost felt like an omen, or a way for the universe to preemptively prepare you for another loss. “She’s our little rainbow baby. She’s coming on her sister's birthday so that we won’t be sad every year.” 

You weren’t sure how Changbin could still be so optimistic. Maybe he was just trying to cheer you up so that you wouldn’t worry so much, but it seemed like he was happier than you were at the announcement of your pregnancy. He was ready to start this next chapter in your life, and you were still hung up on the pages from 3 chapters ago. “It doesn’t seem right. Why… Why would she decide to come on her sister’s birthday? How am I supposed to be happy and celebrate the life of another child on the day that we lost our girl? I just… It feels wrong, Bin…” 

It’s not that Changbin didn’t understand, he fully grasped what you meant. Deep down he was suffering with guilt, but he knew that it would be unfair to his second child to treat her any differently just because of the loss of his first daughter. “Baby, it wasn’t her decision on when to come. She might come earlier, she might come later. But her birth will never overshadow Chonsa. We can celebrate the both of them if she does decide to come on Chonsas birthday.” But even that felt wrong, everything about this pregnancy felt wrong even though things were going perfectly fine. “Maybe… Maybe this is what Chonsa wanted… So that you wouldn’t be sad anymore. So that day wouldn’t be one where you spent all day crying again. Maybe-” 

“Stop… Seriously, Changbin.” You mumbled, biting the insides of your cheeks as you averted your eyes, looking anywhere but at him so that he wouldn’t see you getting teared up. “You know I don’t like talking about that… I just want to get this appointment over with and go home, okay?” So he went quiet, nodding his head as he squeezed your hand. He was trying, he was doing his best. You had both gone through the same thing, but you were both handling it in very different ways. 

///

“Baby, you need to eat. Please… You’re worrying me…” Changbins voice was riddled with worry as he stood outside the bedroom door. You hadn’t left the room since you’d been home from the hospital after delivering your daughter, and what scared Changbin even more was the fact that you hadn’t even held her. As soon as you walked through the front door, you had grabbed Chonsas urn from the mantle and gone straight into your bedroom, refusing to leave for anyone or anything. It had been 2 days since then and Changbin was beginning to panic. “Ssoni needs you… I need you… We need you… Y/N, please…” 

Something loud thudded against the bedroom door, causing Changbin to jump back as he held Ssoni closer to his chest. “Leave me alone, Changbin! You finally got your baby, let me just stay in here with mine!” You screamed, and there wasn’t more than a second of silence before your sobs were heard through the door. 

This was expected, the doctors had all talked to you and Changbin about the possibility of depression after having another baby, especially considering what had happened the first time. The only thing is that Changbin hadn’t realized just how bad it could get. “Fine… If that’s what you want to do, fine. Just… please, eat something.” Begging hadn’t worked yesterday or the day before though, so he knew that begging today wouldn’t work either, but it was worth a shot. 

There was no response, only the continued sound of your crying, and Changbin felt absolutely helpless. You didn’t want to be near him, you didn’t want to be near the baby. He had called the guys to ask them what to do, he had called the doctors to see if there was anything he could do. All of them said to just give you a little bit of time right now, and if you weren’t starting to get better in a week that he should take you somewhere to get help, but that in itself felt wrong. Of course you’d be upset, and he knew that you had a lot of questions, questions that nobody had an answer to. He had those questions too, but right now, he had to push all of his feelings aside so that he could be there for Ssoni, so he could try to be there for you. 

Each hour that passed had Changbin panicking more and more, and it only got worse once you went silent. He’d press his ear against the door, straining to hear the sound of your fast paced breaths that would indicate that you were sleeping. God, how he missed sleeping beside you, holding you close against his chest, your hair tickling his nose whenever you’d move the slightest bit. He missed the smell of your shampoo, the way you’d steal all the blankets on the coldest mornings, the way you smacked your lips whenever you rolled over. He missed being able to just be with you, but it seemed like the sight of him and the sight of Ssoni only irritated you more. 

“Postpartum depression. It’s not rare, it’s actually quite common. In her case, we have to remember that Y/N has gone through more than what most mothers have gone through. She’s lost a child, and her emotions are very clearly still strongly affecting her. Now, with her hormones out of balance after just having another daughter, her emotions are only going to be stronger. I’m sure that it doesn’t make matters better considering your daughter was born only a day after the loss of your first daughter. She might have mood swings, she might sleep more or less, she might not want to even interact with the new baby. There’s a lot of symptoms that come along with PPD, but they should subside within a week or two, and if they don’t, we can set her up with a therapist, or prescribe her some sort of hormonal medication to balance out the hormones. For now, I suggest just looking out for her, taking care of her in a way that won’t upset her. We don’t want to overwhelm her, and we surely don’t want to force her to do anything. Just give her time and space, and I’m sure that she’ll be fine.” 

Changbin hated the fact that you were suffering silently, the fact that he couldn’t do anything this time because you didn’t want his help. It was the waiting game, and he tried to keep the doctors updated daily, hoping that they’d give him something different that he could try to do to get you out of the room, but they’d just say the same exact thing each time. How much longer was he going to have to have to wait? How much longer was too long? His heart was breaking. He finally had the family that he felt was stolen from him 3 years ago, and now you didn’t want any part of it. Was he never meant to be truly happy? 

///

“Momma! Dadda!!” Ssoni called from her bedroom, her shrieking voice jolting you from your slumber. You sat straight up in your bed, shaking Changbin from his even deeper sleep before kicking the blankets from off your legs and getting out of bed. “Momma!!!” Ssoni called again, and this time Changbin was jumping up out of the bed, his eyes not even open as he ran to the door and out into the hallway with you following close behind. 

“What’s the matter, honeybear?” Changbin groggily asked, the bright lights that had been turned on in her room were practically blinding after stepping out of the darkness of your own bedroom. Your daughter, who had been standing in the middle of the room, clinging tightly onto her stuffed bear, ran over to Changbin and lifted her arms, demanding to be picked up. “Did you have a bad dream?” He questioned, brushing his fingers through your daughter's curly hair. 

“Nuh uh!” Your daughter's head shook quickly before she pointed into the corner of her room. “Dere’s a girl! She over dere!” Panic set in almost immediately, as it would with any parent, especially the parent of a famous child that was known around the world. Her tiny finger continued to point into the corner, and what was worse was the fact that she was basically pointing at her closet. It was big enough for anyone to hide in, so you quickly grabbed your daughter out of Changbins arms and went back into your own bedroom. 

Changbin returned quickly, and the panic that was once written across his features was gone now, replaced only with confusion as he looked between you and his daughter that laid underneath the blankets in the middle of the middle. “Honeybear…” Changbin murmured, climbing into the bed beside her and brushing her hair away from her face. “Are you sure you weren’t just having a bad dream? There’s no one there…” 

Ssoni sighed loudly, her tiny bottom lip booting out as her face scrunched up. “Yes! Dere was a girl! She say… She want to see me! She say she love me!” You and Changbin looked at each other with narrowed eyes as you both listened to your daughter rant. “She say… She my big sister… Her name… Chonsa? Yeah! Chonsa!” Ssoni nodded her head just to ascertain that the name she said was correct, but it felt like the air had been knocked from your chest as you listened to your 5 and a half year old daughter say the name. 

Neither you, nor Changbin had ever told her about her sister, she was far too young to understand. The two of you never even brought up your daughter around Ssoni, not wanting to answer any questions that she might have because you both knew the topic wasn’t one that she would grasp. “Did she… Did she say anything else, honeybear?” You asked, trying not to get choked up already, and you could see in the low light of the moon cascading across the room the glistening of Changbins eyes. 

“She say you and dadda don’t have be sad no more… Cause she love you too… And she say… She say it not you fault…” Ssoni said it so lightly, as if recounting a simple conversation with a friend. She didn’t know that what she was saying had you swallowing back tears and clenching your teeth to hold back the sobs that were building in your throat. “She say dat she hear dadda talk to her evy night… And dat she miss you too… And she say dat she here all time… And dat she keep me safe… And she send me for you to not be sad no more…” Ssoni shrugged before nesling deeper into the pillows between you and Changbin, her childlike mind oblivious to the way you and Changbin were both silently crying. “I sleepy now… I go sleep here.” She muttered, pulling the blankets up higher around her body. 

It was hard to fall asleep, almost impossible, so you and Changbin both laid quietly beside your daughter until you were sure she was fully asleep before slipping out of the bedroom and going to the living room. “She wouldn’t know that… She wouldn’t know any of that… Bin… How does she know that?” You gasped out, falling against Changbins shoulder and he immediately held you close, his body trembling with shaky breaths. 

“I don’t know… But… She knows… She… She knows a lot… And I think maybe it’s time to tell her about her sister… Just a little bit. It’s clear that… Chonsa visits her…” You sighed softly. This type of thing wasn’t something that you believed in, not because it didn’t seem true, it’s just that you slept easier thinking that it was fake. Now, with everything that happened tonight, everything that Ssoni had said, you couldn’t not believe it. “She’s still here with us… She’ll always be here with us… And it’s nice to know that Ssoni was sent to us by our little angel… She doesn’t want us to be sad… And she knows we love her… She knows…” 

You nodded your head along with his words, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. It felt bittersweet, it felt like you had just finished an entire story, one that had more heartbreak, more sorrow than you could ever imagine. You were finally picking up the next book in the series, and this one was lighter, happier. There was no more sadness, there were no more tears to be shed as you flipped through the pages of life. You had both your little girls with you, one was an angel, and the other was sent by that angel so that you wouldn’t have to feel sadness, so you wouldn’t have to feel that loss. You were happy, Changbin was happy, and you both felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. The weight of loss, grief, guilt… It had all been washed away. You had each other, and you had been given back the chance to be parents to your beautiful little girl once more. 

A/N : Putting this at the end so I don't spoil the ending! I know that the whole ending is strange, and I know a lot of people don't believe in stuff like that. It's loosely based off of a personal experience though from when my own mom went through something like this with my baby brother who passed away, and my other younger brother who was about 5 at the time would talk to my baby brother and play with him. So it wasn't just some "gotta tie things together" ending. I was planning on it ending like that from the beginning. They needed closure.

Perm Tags :

@whatudowhennooneseesyou @duchesskaren @mytherapisttoldmenotto @lovesunshinefelix @moon0fthenight @kurolils @maruskz @hello-2-u-from-me @mrswolfiechan @bunnychangbin

@his-angell @if-spearb @yomomma104 @lanatheawesome @facelesswrittes @grannyindehouse @cutie-wooyo @felixmainacc @syuuji @jiisungllvr @yukichan67

@randomwimp @silentreadersthings @cutiespaghetti @furiousheartpoetry @its-hannjisung @lixpixstix

@felixluvr915 @wordsofkpop @kayleigh-28 @szkstay @spnwinchestersd @fleatree @yehsehneeah @vampcharxter @iloveksmohsomuch @lvlnijiro @neteyamsmate4life @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @delululi @insertsomethingaboutanimehere @karlitaburrito @laylasbunbunny @chimicurri-a @bandolls

@syuuji @moonlight-the-writer @smutdumpskz @extrhotjne @manuosorioh @yeonjunsfox @jazziwritesthings

[maleyanderecafe]

Yandere Killing!! ~When I told my obsessive childhood friend, "I love you too," she shifted to the romantic comedy route~(Manga)

Created by: Toyama Monaka/Kazuichi

Genre: Smut

The continual descent into translating yandere stuff continues. This one only has one chapter out for me to translate so far, so really the only last maybe 10 pages have any semblance of smut. Still though, the artwork for this one is very pretty and I am so happy with the way that I typefaced this one like you will not believe how clean it is compared to other ones I've translated.

The story starts out with a man named Isogi begging in front of Miyoshi to take him back after he cheated on her with another girl. Miyoshi of course bluntly rejects him, stating that the one thing he cannot forgive is cheating to which Isogi is dragged away. After that, her coworkers get worried about her and she continues her work at the coffee shop, only to meet up with another man named Ohara who asks if the two of them will be eating dinner tonight. Ohara and Miyoshi are childhood friends and have a tendency to eat together with her sister Ryoka. Outside, Isogi stalks Miyoshi until Ohara comes to "have a talk with him". At night, it seems Ohara is late and Miyoshi and Ryoka eat together instead, before Ryoka turns in for the night warning Miyoshi to be more careful when it comes to Ohara. Ohara comes over to eat and we see that Miyoshi has had a long time crush on him, however, feels that he has no interest in him because of an event that happened when she was in high school. At work, Tayaka ends up proposing to Miyoshi after she laments about her ex for a bit promising that he will be loyal, however, is interrupted by Ohara. Ohara seems pretty pissed which leads to Miyoshi feeling depressed about this fact as she still has a crush on him. Not wanting this to eat her, she tries to call Ohara so that she can confess to him, even if she feels he won't reciprocate. However, while attempting to do so, her sister ends up calling her instead, warning that Ohara is right behind her before Ohara takes her phone. Ohara is extremely jealous and starts to touch her. talking about how Isogi and Tayaka don't deserve her before basically mating pressing her at the end.

Basically I think that the plot of this smut (I mean most smuts barely have a plot, fair enough) was pretty intriguing until the very end of this chapter where everything escalates way too fast. I guess considering the title states it goes into a comedic route that might be the reason why? Hard to tell with just the first chapter though. Also because we know that the male lead is a yandere at all times, the misunderstanding of her not realizing that Ohara does have a huge crush on him is pretty like...well, the dramatic irony is not lost on me, I suppose. Still, I did think that the entire thing with Sayuki's drive to not try to get back together with someone who cheated is pretty good, although I'm not sure why she feels like that since we don't know if she's actually had problems with cheaters in the past (before Isogi) and I feel (?) like it's pretty standard for people to not get back with someone who has cheated on them if there is not reason to (like having kids or being financially dependent on them for instance). Like I said though, the ending of that is pretty confusing- how did Sayuki's sister Ryoka know that Ohara was right behind her and why did she call in the first place? I mean, I know Ryoka was pretty much the only person who knew the two liked each other, but how did she know he was coming for her? And like. I don't understand why Ohara didn't just try to confess to her in the first place if he likes her so dang much anways, especially since it did seem like the two of them were close. Again though, this is a smut so it's not like the plot is the most important part of this story, there's just a lot of things going on that don't really have an explanation now.

That being said, this artwork is very pretty and it does a good job with the yandere expressions that we did get. Hopefully as more chapters come out that I can translate we can figure out what is going on in this story.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Yesterday I Felt like Dancing (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: You have burnt both ends of the candle and haven’t been taking care of your mental health. Unable to get yourself out of bed, Astarion begins to worry about you…

Author note- I have been hardcore struggling with my mental health lately and writing my silly little fics has been the only thing pulling me along. I thought it might be therapeutic to write about my current feelings (I have ADHD, MDD, and GAD so it’s a party up in here). I hope you enjoy!

CW- Suicidal Ideation, symptoms of depression, brief outburst, mentions of mental health diagnosis and poor medical advice.

Title inspired by song “Into the Walls” by Griff.

*not my pic, could not tell you where I found it so I apologize in advance. If you think it might be your picture, please message me so I can give proper credit.

Your last day before backtracking from the Mountain Pass to the Goblin camp is a difficult one.

Not for the group as a whole- just you specifically.

Days before a Mindflayer kidnapped you, a healer back home had told you your brain was sick. You had been devastated- resigned to your miserable fate.

You had been struggling for years at that point with inconsistent motivation, exhaustion, nightmares, and irrational thoughts for months. You have been functional for the most part, but then an overpowering wave will hit you like Warhammer in the ribs and you are rendered useless until it passes.

The healer suggested sunlight, exercise, eating healthy, and spending time with friends to help your affliction when you hit rock bottom. You were wildly unimpressed with her. At the time, you preferred to self isolate so you stayed by yourself in the woods trying to find peace there. You would have to let her know that her “going out and enjoying the sun” message is not always wise- you may get a tadpole shoved in your head. You can’t be that mad though- the tadpole helped bring your pep back.

Anyway, you have been doing all of that for weeks now, you even felt great, but today? You could not have hit rock bottom harder even if you tried.

You woke up that morning unable to get yourself out of bed. It was a rest day so it wasn’t a big deal, but you also know that your companions are going to have things they need to talk to you about and favors they need you to take care of.

Gods you had tried to get up. You are grateful that your past self had the gumption to wash off and change into clean clothes last night, but your armor is still disgustingly sitting outside your tent and your hair is long and wild. You had wanted to braid it, but it all felt like too much work.

Everything feels like too much work right now- even staying awake- so you drift in and out of uncomfortable naps throughout the morning. No matter how many times you fall asleep, begging for relief from the painful brick wall sitting on your brain, it never leaves.

You can feel the midday breeze rustle your tent. You’ve been laying here for hours now. You are crying and you honestly aren’t sure why. You feel completely paralyzed by all the things you need to do to be ready for the Underdark.

You need to clean your armor, go over the Goblin Camp’s map with Wyll, find Gale a magical artifact, and probably comfort Lae’zel since she’s been branded a heretic- but you won’t. The shame and self loathing continues. You are a silly, worthless little human being.

Every person who knocks on your tent gets a simple, “I’m just not feeling well,” and then they walk away. You don’t know why it makes you more sad than appreciative. If you were in their shoes- you would be bending over backwards to make sure they had everything they needed and you wouldn’t let them feel alone. Then you resent yourself for feeling that way towards your companions- they don’t owe you anything and you were the one who chose to help them- you didn’t ask for anything in return. This is all your fault.

The only person who hadn’t come to visit you was Astarion- which hurt your heart just a little, enough that the numbness coursing thickly through your body wavered for a moment. You are quite smitten and he is obviously not. Another mistake to add to the swirling black hole your mind has fallen into.

You knew it was stupid to want his comfort and affections- you had merely slept together a little less than a week ago. Astarion has been quasi avoiding you ever since and when he does talk to you- he’s awkward. You constantly look for flying pigs- Astarion feeling awkward or being awkward is unheard of.

You have come to accept that you were just some tryst and obviously he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he said he did.

Astarion isn’t to blame and the situation itself certainly didn’t contribute to the sudden lack of emotions. You knew that you were on the verge of a mental collapse sooner rather than later, but you had foolishly hoped you wouldn’t be alone through it. It feels less all consuming when you try to find a reason. It’s more comfortable to know than it is to give up and say, “my brain is fucked and there isn’t a damn thing I can do so I guess I’m stuck here.”

You are jolted out of your thoughts by another knock on your tent.

“I’m sick,” you say flatly.

“Ha- you act like that will deter me. I can’t even get sick, Darling.”

Before you even have time to register that Astarion is on the other side of your tent- he pushes his way through the flaps and stares down at you in confusion. And… concern?

Astarion steps inside and kneels down next to you- scanning you for evidence of illness or injury.

“I suppose I had been worried for nothing,” he smiles sweetly at you, “you are totally fine. Come on Darling, you have to get up and eat. Wyll is fumbling with that map.”

You look at him and begin to cry. Astarion’s face lights up with alarm.

“What- what did I do!?”

“Please don’t make me,” you sob, “I just want a break. I’m so tired. I want to lay in this bed forever and never leave, but there is so much to do and it’s paralyzing.”

You continue to cry and you cover yourself with the extra blanket- successfully hiding your face.

“Go away,” you whisper, “I need to be left alone.”

You say it, but you are far from meaning it. You want him to stay- to hold you- but he doesn’t want you so it will only make everything hurt worse once the numbness fades away.

You wait for several moments and then you hear him leave. Your silent cry turns into choked sobs and your body is shaking from the pain you are in. The numbness hurts. The numbness tells you that you shouldn’t be alive.

Maybe you shouldn’t be.

Everyone here would be able to figure it out on their own (eventually) and you would finally be free. Free of your uncomfortable brain, free of your ugly body- free of the expectations of others. You would no longer be holding them back like you are today- like you will again in the future.

You are sure they would temporarily grieve you, but that was the deal with this whole journey. You had all accepted that one of you or all of you could die at any moment. You will just put them in more danger by being here…

You shake the thought from your head, violently- your head is pounding from the growing tension headache and dehydration. The tears eventually stop and you just… well, lay in bed again. You stare blankly at a book over in the corner. You keep trying to convince yourself to get up and read the damn thing- do literally ANYTHING else than just stay here in your bedroll.

Instead, you fall asleep.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up to someone knocking on your tent post. You grumble incoherently, covering your head and you hear your unexpected guest sit down next to you. The smell of food fills the tent and your stomach grumbles.

“You need to eat, my Dear,” Astarion says softly.

You are stunned to hear his voice grace your ears. You slowly pull the blanket down to just below your eyes and look at him. Astarion looks distressed, like he doesn’t want to be here. Why would he? You’re a nuisance.

You sit up gingerly and grab the bowl from him. You manage to give him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks. You don’t need to stay, I will be fine on my own,” you say apathetically, staring into the broth.

“I want to stay,” he says, “if you’ll have me.”

The expression on his face is unreadable, but he seems genuine. You nod, your lips pressed together tightly. You eat as much as you feel like while Astarion studies you.

Usually your anxiety is at an all time high (in maybe one of the better ways) when you are around Astarion- he gives you butterflies, butterflies, and even more butterflies. Usually your heart is racing in his presence, but right now you just feel empty.

“Where is your hairbrush?” Astarion asks.

You frown with confusion, “it’s in my bag, why?”

Astarion gets up and goes over to the bag- digging out a few items. He pulls out a lantern, your hairbrush, and a hair tie. Astarion comes over to you and sits down behind you. You feel him gather up the stray pieces of your hair and get to work.

Astarion runs his fingers through your scalp and your tangled hair- the feeling is soothing and it opens something inside of you. Your body shakes silently with sobs and you feel the worm behind your eyes wiggle as Astarion asks for access. You aren’t sure.

“I want to understand,” Astarion says, “please.”

His voice is so raw and desperate- you swallow thickly before allowing him to explore your current emotional state. The silence in the tent is palpable and you feel tense, uncomfortable even. No one has ever cared for you while you are in this state before.

You feel him continue his hairbrushing after he exits your mind. Astarion leaves soft kisses on your shoulder as he gently pulls apart every knot. It helps- you realize- to feel cared for. The numbness still hurts, you still hurt, but it’s nice to not feel so alone.

After Astarion is done brushing your hair, you feel his delicate fingers begin to intricately braid your hair. You wonder when he learned how to do hair.

“Leon’s daughter, Victoria, used to ask me to braid her hair all the time,” Astarion says in a bittersweet voice as if reading your mind, “I picked it up so that she would stop bugging me about it. She said and I quote, ‘you have the perfect braiding hands!’”

You smile to yourself tenderly, “That’s very kind of you, Star. I am sure she appreciated it as much as I appreciate it now.”

You feel Astarion’s hands falter at your words and you are unsure if you have upset him or not. A pregnant pause occurs before Astarion finally clears his throat and goes back to braiding your hair.

“I’m glad that I can help,” Astarion’s delicate, vulnerable words hang in the air, “I’ve… been worried about you today.”

You feel positively flustered and bad for making him feel that way.

“Oh you don’t need to worry about silly ole me! This happens sometimes” you make your voice chirpier than it needs to be, “This is actually the longest I’ve gone for a long time without this happening. I have theorized that the tadpole might help which is kinda cool- I think?”

You laugh awkwardly- desperate to ease his worry.

“How often does this happen?”

Shit. That was the winning question wasn’t it? Astarion will surely never see you as anything less than broken now.

“I’m not really sure,” your voice comes out in a whisper, “I usually always feel a bit of it all the time, but it’s manageable. I function very well regardless.”

“But this one isn’t manageable and evidently you aren’t functional right now.”

You sigh, “No, it isn’t and no, I’m not.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, maybe too harshly, “that’s the part that drives me crazy. Yesterday was incredible- I was on top of the whole world, felt like dancing and screaming from the rooftops, but today!?”

You inhale and hold back the muted scream that wants to fill the air.

“Today,” you hiss, “I don’t even want to deal with any of this shit anymore. I’m so fucking tired. There is too much to fucking do and too many people depending on me. Then everyone gets irritated with me if I ask to push off their problems so I persevere through it despite knowing I’m getting bad again. I’m a giant stinking trash heap that everyone keeps adding more to.”

Astarion finishes braiding your hair and presses your back to his chest, pulling you into him. He puts his arms around your waist and settles his chin and face in between the crook of your neck.

“I just feel like such a nuisance all the time- no matter how hard I push myself to prove I’m not. Sometimes I think everyone would be better off if I just… went away.”

You both sit there quietly. At some point he had taken one of your hands in his and he was tracing shapes into the back of it with his thumb. Your omission still hangs heavily in the air.

“I wouldn’t be better off,” Astarion says hotly, “I’d be stuck with all these weirdos by myself. That would be truly miserable, Darling.”

You shake your head, a half smile on your face.

“And besides- you are not even close to a nuisance,” Astarion states, leaving a kiss on your cheek, “at least you aren’t in constant need of magical objects to eat or blood to drink. Oh and you don’t require a painstaking amount of searching to prevent you from literally burning everyone alive.

“Oh and did I forget to mention, we have not one, but two women who despise each other and follow hateful Goddesses which was a fun choice for whatever sick bastard twisted our fates this way.”

You laugh breathily, closing your eyes and letting the sound defrost some of your insides.

“What I’m saying is- I think you are the least of everyone’s ‘nuisances’, my Darling,” he says, squeezing you tighter to his chest, “despite how little you think of yourself. We ne- no, I want you to stay. I know everyone else would say the same, but I must emphasize that I would be horribly distraught if you disappeared. Hells I’d even pay to have you resurrected.”

You gasp playfully, your voice falling slightly flat, “You? The most frugal man I have ever met would pay 200 gold coins to ‘Strike thy name from the record’?”

Your impression of Withers gets Astarion to genuinely laugh- the sound vibrating in your chest. You lean into him and he guides you back to laying down. Astarion entangles his legs with yours as he holds you tightly- your faces are mere centimeters apart. You love the way Astarion smells- rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. You wish you could be wrapped up in him forever. You are still in pain- everything still hurts and feels too difficult, but right now it feels a little less heavy.

“I would throw bags of Gold Coins at that corpse out of revenge, my Dear,” he teases, “you couldn’t possibly think I would ever let you rest peacefully in your grave- I would be far too angry with you and unhappy without you to let that happen.”

You lay there and despite yourself, you lean forward and leave butterfly kisses along his cheeks with your lashes. Astarion scrunches up his nose reflexively and smiles at you. You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips.

“Thank you Astarion- for everything.”

You close your eyes as he traces circles along your lower back. Your eyes begin to droop, and you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When you wake up the next morning- you are disappointed to find that you are all alone in your tent. The heavy numbness is still there and you sigh. At least last night made it more bearable.

You look on the side where Astarion had been sleeping and find a note with a bottle attached to it. You pick it up and begin to read.

Tav,

Astarion had asked me about herbs for some relief regarding mental discomforts. I unfortunately don’t know many, but this is a mixture of St. John’s Wort, Valerian Root, and Ashwagandha. Historically, I know these have been used to alleviate emotional and mental pain.

Astarion didn’t tell me why he was asking, but I deduced it was you pretty quickly when he began shooing everyone away from your tent this morning.

I hope this helps- we are all here if you need us. May Silvanus light your path as you navigate this difficult time.

-Halsin

You sit in your own stunned silence for what feels like hours. Halsin knows and he wants to help? Halsin doesn’t think you are screwed or a nuisance? The man barely even knows you!

You are a bit embarrassed, but you can’t help but laugh at the image of Astarion telling everyone to leave you alone.

You open the bottle and a pleasant, earthy smell fills the tent. You drink the mixture (that definitely does not taste anywhere near as pleasant as it smells) and you do feel a slight bit better. Your apathy feels even more tolerable now. You will have to thank Halsin.

You slowly rise from your tent and look around. Everything is packed up neatly in the corner- your clothes from the previous day are folded nicely and you notice all the holes are sewn up.

You jump when someone enters your tent abruptly- the midday sun warming your skin. You turn around and Astarion is smiling at you, but looks nervous.

“I cleaned off your armor and your weapons,” he says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “I also packed up your stuff- as you can see. We have to start leaving unfortunately, but I’ll help you get on your armor like I usually do- I might still need help with mine though, but I can ask someone else if it’s too much for you right now. Lae’zel and Karlach offered to pack up your tent. Wyll and Shadowheart figured out the map- Wyll is going to be our ‘fearless’ leader for the day. Gale has some food for you to snack on while we travel- which you will be eating, by the way.”

Astarion is looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. He plays nervously with the gold coin in his hands.

You can hardly believe what you are hearing.

“Did- did you do all this for me?” You say with disbelief.

You never thought Astarion was capable of smiling shyly until he had admitted to you that you had been his first thinking creature- you certainly never thought you’d see him become shy twice in your presence.

“I did and it wasn’t a nuisance so don’t even begin to worry about that,” He walks over to you, gently cradling your face in his hands, “I hope this is all okay.”

You smile- the first genuine feeling of happiness you’ve felt in the last 24 hours gently sparks in your chest as you stare up at him. You get up on your tiptoes and bridge the gap between your lips.

“Thank you Astarion, this is perfect- you are perfect,” you are crying tears of joy, “this is the kindest gesture anyone has ever made for me. So just, thank you.”

“Of course, Darling,” he says smiling in between kisses, “I won’t let you lose to yourself. We’ll get through this together from now on- no more hiding.”

And for once? You actually believe someone.

-if you guys like this, please let me know if you would want a part two written from Astarion’s perspective.

Update- I did the thing you silly geese

https://www.tumblr.com/chaoticbardlady99/735969926279528448/i-took-all-this-love-i-found-and-i-hope-that-its

Tag-list: @spacebarbarianweird @domainoflostsouls

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not wanting to be in my cousin's life? This will be long, I'm sorry

I (f19, but this started at 15) have a rough relationship with my family, I don't have a better word to describe them as besides just not the best towards me. But the real issue now is that I don't want to be involved in my cousin's (f8, but this started at 5) life. This sounds very silly, I know, but let me explain. My cousin is physical in how she expresses herself towards me (she likes to throw things at me and hit me and bite me, and I can't do anything about it because I get in trouble if I do). I have a severe nut allergy and there have been multiple times she's been caught trying to smear peanut butter on me or in my mouth while I slept. She likes to tell me she wishes I'd just eat the peanut butter so she'd never have to see me again. She just hates me, honestly (I'm not sure why, I've never hated the kid, I'm not mean to her, none of us have been able to figure out why and when asked she just says she hates me because she hates me)

The house we lived in contained just me, her, my mother, and my uncle. She is not abused by either adult, before anyone asks, she's actually quite spoiled due to the fact that they can't discipline her in any way without risking her being taken away. And I don't hate her at all, I'm bitter about how she treats me, but I know she's only a little kid. However, I just don't like being treated that way. I recently moved out and I told my mother that I didn't want to be part of my cousin's life until she stopped treating me that way. (Info: My mother thinks she treats me this way because she's a kid so she can't vent her anger out on the adults and I was the only other kid she could vent it out on.) My mother thinks I'm being cruel and punishing my cousin, she says I'll regret this choice and that my cousin will be all I have one day so I shouldn't do this. I've tried to explain that I'm not doing it to punish my cousin, it's just not good for my mental health and I can't be around this behaviour anymore. Other family members and family friends have agreed with my mother, but my friends think my decision is right. Since moving out and not going through that every day, I've started to feel better about myself, my depression isn't as bad and I don't have as much anxiety when I go to sleep. That is kinda swaying my decision to me thinking I'm right for choosing this for myself, but I still worry my mother might be right and I might be ruining my cousin's mental health by leaving.

I want to add that I know I'm way older than her, and some of you might be wondering why I don't stand up to her, but I could never do anything to stop her. I spent many years in foster care due to issues with my family (my mother, specifically), and I know that even the littlest thing where I live can get your kid taken from you. If I even raised my voice at her to tell her to stop and she told someone, she could be taken away from my family and I can't do that to her, I know the horrors of foster care. I also have spent most of my life being abused and don't know how to protect myself or defend myself in situations like these. Please keep this in mind when/if you call me pathetic or stupid, trust me I know I am.

Please, I know a lot of you may think this is silly or dumb or bait, but I need to know aita for not wanting to be in my cousin's life?

Reasons I think I might be NTA: I think my decision is good for both of us and I believe I should put mental health first in this case as it can be dangerous in the future if I don't. I don't want to stay longer and end up hating her, she's just a kid and doesn't deserve to be hated.

Reasons I think I might be TA: This could be seen as punishing her, and she might hate me more for it. She's already started being meaner to other kids now that she can't vent it out on me and I'm an adult so I can take it better than one of her classmates could. She might think her behaviour drove me away and blame herself.

What are these acronyms?

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: Late Night Visitor

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter two of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. Reader is described as being "curvy." I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

1934 Philadelphia

The subtle scratch of your pencil against the smooth page of the sketchbook filled your quiet bedroom. One look at the ticking clock on your bedside table stated that it was past midnight, but you didn't care. The dark circles under your eyes the next morning were well worth it, tiredness forgotten as the haze of creativity dulled the weariness of the day you'd had.

It was your fifteenth birthday, and although your parents had thrown you a lavish party to prove that the y/l/n family had not been touched by the destruction of the depression and were not concerned with the horrors of war overseas, there was only one person that you wanted to be there.

Ben wasn't of course. He was still at boarding school number five, and you imagined that a number six was already in order, given his track record.

You smile to yourself when you think of your best friend. You hadn't seen him in two months, not since you walked with him to the train station and he tried to act like he didn't care that his father was sending him away again, but you knew he did.

The things that Ben's father said and did to him made anger surge behind your ribcage. You didn't understand how his father could be so callous, so uncaring. You also hate that it drove Ben to drink, though Ben didn't seem to drink quite as much when you were around, because he knew that you didn't like it.

The party would have been more entertaining if he was there. Yes he did tend to get drunk and flirt with whatever walked past him, but he always had a way of cheering you up. And he had a wonderful knack for keeping your mother at a distance, who prayed that Ben would stay away from you, but never did.

If he was there your mother wouldn't have hovered over you all night, slapping away your hand every time you tried to take a piece of cake or hiss something at you when you pulled at the itchy pink dress that she brought home three days ago, your least favorite color. When you got dressed for the party you felt like a porcelain doll in a China cabinet, made to be looked at, but never touched.

It wasn't too far off. Being the only daughter of one of the richest families that lived in Philadelphia your reputation and pedigree were two of the most important things to your mother. It meant that in a few years you would be married off to another rich family, have rich babies, and then put your own daughter through the same cycle of hell all over again.

Suitors were already beginning to trickle into your life, sons of your father’s business partners each screened by your mother before the introductory meetings where you felt bored, stiff,  choked by the thick fabric of the dresses your mother picked out, and plastered with makeup. All of course the best of Europe, which you had no idea how your mother managed to get given that there was a war on.

Ben was the only thing in your life that wasn't planned and you loved him for it.

You look up at the dark corner of your room to get a view of the long shadows that creep along the bedroom floor, and cut through the light coming from the gas lantern on your bedside table. You try to distinguish the sharp edges and smooth curves and watch them take shape beneath the ministrations of your pencil against the page.

Art was your only escape, the only thing you did that your mother approved of.

"A proper lady should have a hobby." She had sniffed, but then narrowed her eyes at the graphite and ink stains on you hands.

Part of the fun is the mess. You had thought to yourself watching her disapproving look.

A tap on your window makes you lift your gaze from the page and look towards the window seat that faces out the third story of your home onto the street below.

Ben is crouched there on the ledge that juts out only a foot from the outer brick wall a wide smile on his face that you can't help but return. You had been friends since you were both eight, when your parents threw yet another party and you found Ben in one of the side rooms trying to avoid his father. When his father tried to come in to find him, you lied and said you hadn't seen Ben.

And when his mother died two years later, Ben would show up some nights, scaling the large tree outside your window to stay with you. He never wanted to talk about it and you never asked, instead you talked about everything else until you both fell asleep.

You felt your heart thud loudly in your chest and a familiar warmth tracing lightly against your skin when you lock eyes with him. It was hard to be in love with your best friend. But you were, and you couldn't tell him. You didn't want to ruin the only meaningful relationship you'd ever had in your life. Ben knew everything about you, you trusted him and you couldn't imagine what it would be like to live your life without him, didn't want to.

Sometimes you hoped he felt the same way. When you woke up before him in the morning and the light from the window made his hair lighter and he held you close to his chest because in his sleep he had wrapped his arm around you. You liked to pretend that he did it on purpose, not just because there was barely any room between the two of you in your bed because now you both weren't as small as you used to be. You don’t know when Ben got so broad, tall, and muscular, but now it was impossible to ignore, especially being pressed against his chest when you woke.

 It was improper to be that close in bed together of course, but you didn't care. You didn't care what other people thought about him or you. He was your best friend, and although you wished for more, you wouldn't turn your back on him just because other people thought he was trouble.

Which he was.

You put your sketchbook down and go to the window to unlock it. "Ben what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't miss your birthday." He smirks as you take his hand to help him into your bedroom.

"What about school?"

"Wasn't a good fit." Ben pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and you try not to think about what it would be like to do it yourself.

"Uh-huh. What you're really saying is that you flunked out of another boarding school just to make it back for my birthday. Right?" You laugh.

"Thought it would be a nice birthday surprise." He leans forward with a smirk. "Would you like to unwrap your present?"

You roll your eyes and raise a hand to push him back, but he catches it against his chest.

"Come on. You're telling me that you didn't miss me? Not even a little?" Ben pretends to be hurt.

Of course you missed him. When he wasn't there it felt like apart of you was gone, but you couldn't tell him that. You knew that Ben didn't feel the same way. He was just flirty, all the time.

"No."

"Liar." He says. "How was the big party?"

"Oh it was the bee's knees." You snark. "I danced with Howard Stine and he stepped on my toes, my mother didn't let me eat and bought me a ridiculous dress-"

"Let me guess, pink?"

"Pink and ruffly. I looked like a giant cupcake."

"I'm sure Howard loved it." Ben sing-songs.

"Shut up." You punch his arm. "He's not that bad-"

"With a boring name like Howard, imagine how boring he'd be in-"

"Big talk from a guy named Benjamin." You interrupt.

The look in Ben's eyes darkens for a minute. "I'd be happy to prove you wrong."

You shake your head at him to stop the flush in your cheeks and avoid the way your breath catches in your chest at his words.

It would be so easy to give in to him, but you knew that Ben didn't see you that way. Ben had chased after anything and everything that caught his eye. If you were to give in, you were afraid of what would happen after. Ben was your best friend and if you crossed that line what would it mean?

"You're incorrigible."

"If that's another word for gorgeous then yes, yes I am."

You turn back to the bed and where your sketchbook waits, trying to calm your racing heart.

"But you don't want your birthday present?" Ben asks from behind you.

"What happened to you being the present?"

"I am a gift, but I did get you something."

You turn and see that Ben is holding out a package wrapped in gold paper a little bit larger than a book. Surprise momentarily spikes at the back of your mind. Ben had gotten you gifts in the past, but you hadn't expected one this year, especially since he just got out of boarding school.

"Did you steal it?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Not this time."

You take the box from his hand and sit down on your bed to peel back the paper. "I can't believe you actually wrapped this."

"The saleswoman did. Now she was really-"

"Don't need to know." You shake your head with a smile, eyes still on the gift. When you finally pull back the paper you can't help but smile. It's a box of watercolor paints, a package of brushes, and a small pad of watercolor paper. "Ben-" You look up at him with a wide smile. "Thank you!"

 "Do you like them?" Ben asks hesitantly, he looks almost nervous.

"I love them! I've never tried to paint before."

"I know. I remember said you wanted to try. Plus I thought you could do some nice nudes of me in color-" Ben smirks.

"Ben!" You snort.

“I’m just trying to help you learn how to draw anatomy.” He wets his lips with his tongue arching an eyebrow in a challenge. “Of course there are more fun ways that I could teach you that.”

“Ben!” You flush bright red.

“Sorry. Sometimes you’re too easy.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.” You shake your head at him with a smile.

An odd look crosses his face, but it disappears as quickly as you see it.

"Honestly, thank you. I can't wait to try these out." You look back down at the paints, admiring the silver box they came in.

"You're welcome."

Ben hovers by the window at the edge of your room as if debating whether or not he should stay. After all these years you noticed that Ben had trouble with the idea that you genuinely wanted him there. You knew it stemmed from his father's constant disapproval and his father's constant need to push him away, and it made your heart break for him.

And yes, maybe Ben did fill his life with brief flings and alcohol, but he was still your Ben.

"You’re going to stay right? Because you’ve already missed my birthday and I’d like to know how you got kicked out of boarding school number five.”

He nods once a small smile quirking the edge of his lips before he removes the dark jacket with the embossed prestigious logo of the aforementioned boarding school. It catches on his shoulders and you look away before he can see your blush.

“Are you hungry?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Ben, when was the last time you put something in your stomach besides alcohol?” You raise an eyebrow. He couldn’t lie to you and you knew he was only saying no because he didn’t want you to have to creep downstairs in the dark and also because he didn’t want to admit that he was hungry.

“Earlier.” He says it with a shrug, looking down at the coat in his hands to avoid your gaze.

“Well I was going to go see if I could find some of that birthday cake anyway. I haven’t eaten since this morning and all I had was half a grapefruit.”

“Another diet?” Ben frowns.

“Mother thinks I can slim down a little more. Says that I’d get more suitors if my hips were not so big.” You try not to dwell too much on it, you’d been dealing with your mother’s constant berating  since you were born. The corset you’d worn at the party was so tight that it left bruises on your hips and under your arms, but your mother had been pleased with how it looked. “She won’t be happy until I’m thinner than a chicken bone I suppose.” Instead of looking at Ben you stand and turn to look at yourself in the full length mirror in the corner. You never thought that your hips were too big or that your chest was, yes you were more curvy than any of your friends but you liked it.

"You shouldn't listen to her."

You shrug.

"I'm serious y/n. You're-" Ben stops talking.

"What?" You turn to look at him again eyes wide and open.

"Well you're-" Ben looks nervous again, tightening his hands on the dark jacket. He swallows. "You're not fat." Ben finishes.

"Well I don't think I'm fat Ben, but thank you." You can't help but be a little disappointed with his answer, you were hoping that he would say that you were beautiful.

My mother thinks I’m fat. You try not to wince when you think it, but instead you focus back on Ben.

"Alright, stay here. Try not to wake my parents up."

"Trust me that's the last thing on my mind doll."

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 8

WE ARE FUCKING BACK! (I immediately started hacking my lungs after typing this, I'm sick :P)

To make a long story short, for the past few months I've either been really busy, really depressed, and usually both. Also for some reason chapter 8 was already hard to write and I don't know why.

ALSO before we get into the fic, @your-local-furby drew some absolutely lovely fanart of MC apologizing and seeing the library from the previous two chapters. I think it finally kicked my brain back into gear lmao.

Without further ado, please enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

It feels like the ground beneath me is sucking me in.

I feel myself sinking,

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

Embarrassment washes over me and swallows me whole. I feel the air leave my chest I want to break free but I feel like I’m drowning. 

You take the page you’re scribbling your notes on and crumple it into a ball. You’ve reread your rough draft and decided the arranged wedding scene you had planned wasn’t tragic enough. The blind musician is tasked with performing for the prince’s wedding, but his heartbreak causes him to mess up his performance, which causes everyone to notice he’s crying, including the prince. You’re trying to convey the feeling of knowing every single person in the room is watching you during the lowest point in your life, but it’s just not coming together in a way you like. You’ll run it by Alik later.

Technically, Alik is no longer your editor as a result of your deal with the Yae Publishing House. Still, they’re one of your few friends, and their workload has lightened since your previous publisher terminated all of those other book deals. Now they’re acting as your beta reader before you send off the next draft to the editor at the Yae Publishing House. It’s actually making progress go a lot faster, so much so you might only need one final draft of the whole story before it’s finally published, as opposed to multiple drafts. 

I do not need sight to know everyone in the room is looking at me. I feel it in my broken notes that trail into nothingness. I feel it in the resulting silence. I feel it in the quiet murmur spreading through the room.

I feel tears in my eyes as I drop my head down, praying no one sees me crying. If I could, I would sprint out of the room, out of the palace, so no one is witness to my heartbroken embarrassment. I’d run so fast, the prince would have no time to chase after me. It would be for the best anyways. He deserves his perfect and beautiful bride, and I am no bride, I cannot verify if I am beautiful, and in this moment, I could not feel anymore flawed as a person and human. 

A knock on your door breaks your concentration. You’re dreading whatever is on the other side, but know it’s better to get this over with. 

“Yes?”

The door opens, and your mother pokes her head in through the gap. She offers a smile. “We have company. Come say hi, please.”

“I’m… kind of in the middle of something,” you reply, “and I’ve told you that I’m going to see Alik when I’m done writing.”

“How is she, by the way?”

“They’re fine.”

“And Maria? How’s she?”

“She’s alright, I think. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Well, tell them both I say hello. Anyways, if you have a minute, I would like you to come downstairs. There’s someone I’d like you to talk to.”

It takes you a moment to recognize what this is, mostly because it’s been a while since she tried pulling this off. When you realize what’s happening, you just shake your head and look at your mother. “Which family friend is this?”

She gives you a very unconvincing look of confusion. “My dear, what do you mean?”

“Mother, please.”

“... Ana. Anastasia.”

Anastasia is your younger sister Adéla’s friend. Much like your sister, she’s only a year younger than you, but unlike your sister, she actually likes you. Adéla and you have butted heads throughout your lives, as siblings tend to do and especially with such a small age gap, but Adéla has taken it a step further saying that it’s your fault her childhood was so “miserable” as she puts it. She claims that your diagnosis made you the centre of your parents’ attention until your youngest sister was born, and then they focused more on her than Adéla. Conveniently, she’s never had any sisterly drama with her, only you. You feel for her, but there was only so much you could do at the time, seeing as you were eight years old.

“Absolutely not,” you tell your mother.

“But you two got along so well when she would visit,” your mother insists, “and she’s become a fine young lady since the two of you last spoke! Don’t you remember reading together when you two were little?”

“I’m sure she’s beautiful,” you say, “but Adéla will throw a fit if she finds out you set me up with one of her friends.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And I don’t want to find out,” you tell her, “and I told you I don’t like being set up on dates.”

Your mother lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just worried about you, okay? I want to make sure my son is happy, healthy, and I want him to find someone he can settle down with. Your brother was already married at your age, and Adéla’s going to be having another baby soon.”

“Yes, but I’m not Pavel or Adéla,” you say, “the dating scene is different for me, and playing matchmaker isn’t going to make me feel any better or help me.”

Your mother just looks at you. That sad, pitiful look you know all too well. It stopped pulling on your heartstrings long ago, but sometimes it’s just easier to indulge her than it is to fight her on it. Besides, she means well, you think, it just can’t be helped that she doesn’t know her son has no interest in women.

You sigh, and stand up, much to your mother’s delight. “I’ll say hi, and that’s it.”

She grins, and she motions for you to follow her.

----

“... and she just happens to be single, too.”

Alik sets their glass down. “Interesting. So when’s the wedding?”

“It’s not happening,” you reply, “thank the Tsaritsa for that.”

“I’m honestly surprised your parents haven’t put you in an arranged marriage yet,” Alik comments.

“How many viable marriage candidates do you think there are that would be thrilled to marry someone who’s not only going blind, but could pass it on to their children as well?”

“Depends on how much the family is getting paid.”

“And it would not be much.”

The tavern is surprisingly quiet tonight. You chalk it up to it being the middle of the work week, not as many patrons willing to get drunk if they have work early in the morning. Currently, you and Alik are sitting at a table in the corner of the room while a few older patrons mill about, chattering on about their own lives at the bar. It’s actually rather nice, you think.

“What would they try to sell your bride to be on?” Alik asks.

“Um…” You look into your half drunk glass, trying to think of something funny. You clear your throat, straighten your posture, and put on your best business smile. “Here’s a fine young man who has no real work skills, and it’s not like they would do him any good since he’s considered legally blind and has between thirteen and fifteen years before he is fully blind. His only profitable skill is writing, though he doesn’t make enough to support a household. His blindness is also genetic!”

“By the Archons, at least say one nice thing about yourself,” Alik teases, though there’s a subtle sincerity to their words.

“I think I’m decent,” you say, “I think I might even make an okay husband, but I don’t think I’d be the kind of husband Pavel or my father are.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Alik replies, “there are plenty of families and couples where the husband isn’t always a provider. Besides, you’re not really a ladies man to begin with.”

You shake your head. “It’s not even that, it’s just… you know I try not to make a big deal of me going blind, but it’d be naïve of me to pretend that it’s not, and especially if I was in a relationship. Whether I like it or not, whoever I marry is going to inevitably become my caretaker. There will come a day where I’m going to need help, and I’ll rarely be able to return that favour.”

“That’s why it’s in sickness and in health,” Alik comments. They reach across the table and take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good house husband, before and after you start seeing the world how Maria does.”

Maria is Alik’s cousin, and one of your few very close friends. She has been a big help to you in writing your book as her blindness is similar to the main character’s. While he was born blind, she actually had vision when she was born. Unfortunately, she suffered a very severe head injury when she was very young. She has little to no memory of her life before she lost her sight as a result, as well as having some developmental problems growing up. These days she’s doing much better, though her eyesight is still gone. At most, she can detect if there’s light, but that’s the extent of it. 

“Do you have permission to make jokes about her being blind?” you ask.

“I not only have permission, but that’s not even the worst joke I’ve gotten away with.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“For the best.”

Your table goes quiet as you and Alik take a moment to drink. You try not to cringe at the taste of whatever the hell Alik recommended you try. It’s a beer, and you can taste that, but it’s a lot more bitter than you like. Still, they bought it for you, it would be rude to spit it out.

“You don’t have to drink that, you know.”

“It’s an acquired taste, I’ll get used to it.”

You see a smile twitch onto Alik’s lips, and even if they try to hide it, you can see a shit eating grin from miles away. 

“Okay,” you say, “out with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You thought of something terrible, I want to hear it.”

Alik glances around the room, assessing how audible their comment would be. You take a sip of your drink, and they grin.

They lean in. “I’m sure Pantalone would be happy to hear that.”

You immediately sputter, spraying Alik in the face. They yell, swiping at their face as if they were sprayed with acid. You cough as what was left in your mouth goes down the wrong pipe. “Fuck, w-why’d I take a drink–”

“Did you have to spit that in my face?” Alik asks.

“Shut up,” you wheeze out. You give one more hearty cough, your throat and chest burning, and you can breathe again. You sit up, rubbing your chest through your shirt while Alik wipes their face and the table with napkins. You look around, and see the few patrons staring at your table. You painfully chuckle, and turn back to your friend. “S-Sorry, I should know better by now.”

Alik shrugs. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“I told you that in confidence,” you whisper.

“You actually told me before the tea party,” Alik tells you. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s starting to show in your book.”

You feel your face flush, and you narrow your eyes. “I think I would know if I was writing about him, thank you.”

“The prince was a lot more arrogant in your first drafts,” Alik explains, “but in more recent iterations, it’s been toned down a lot. He’s also a lot more understanding of the musician’s blindness.”

You’re confused. “Well, yes. My first drafts are years old, so I’ve had to make some adjustments to better fit my writing style now. Besides, I’ve read too many stories about asshole love interests that don’t really learn anything, they just get tragic backstories that authors think justify their shitty behaviour. I’m not adding my characters to that pile.”

“No, I agree on that,” Alik says, “but even then, he was still a solid character, arrogance aside. He was just a spoiled prince who had to actually think about other people for the first time in his life. Like he’s never had to deal with someone with a disability, and doesn’t know how else to feel other than annoyed. In the more recent drafts, he still doesn’t know how to deal with it, but he’s a lot more willing to make up for the disrespect, where the old version did it, but complained the whole time. It just so happens that this change happened right when you met him for the first time.”

“That’s… hm.” You take a sip and don’t spit it in Alik’s face. “You’re on the right track, but I don’t think I was writing all of that because of a crush.” You feel your face flush warmer again. “He was a bit of an ass at the party, but since then he’s become one of…” You take a moment to count names on your finger. “... six or seven people that aren’t patronizing about me going blind. I’d just been putting up with most of my family either coddling me or being inconvenienced by me, but he’s a rare instance of someone making accommodations, but not making a big show of it. That’s why the book was like that until I met Pantalone.”

You stare into your glass. “And… a-and it’s why I enjoy his company so much…”

Alik doesn’t say anything. You look up, and you see their expression has softened a little bit. They lift their drink up to you, and you smile and lift yours up.

“Cheers.”

You both take a swig, and somehow the disgusting drink tastes sweeter going down. Your face feels warm, and you wonder why you’re still blushing when you see you’re already halfway through your drink. Alik has a similar glow in their cheeks. 

“That’s really sweet and cute,” Alik says, “but I do have to ask you something.”

You feel whatever warm feelings you’re feeling lessen when Alik’s softened expression gains a hint of concern. Their smile looks awkward by comparison, before they sigh and lose it altogether. You’re already dreading what they’re about to say.

They hesitate for a moment, and when they speak, it’s in a whisper. “Do you like him, or do you like what he’s done for you?”

“W-What?”

“I wouldn’t ask that if we were talking about anyone else,” Alik clarifies, “but I have to ask when it’s him. I don’t want to rain on your parade, I’m happy you like someone, but… he’s a harbinger. One of the more likeable ones, but not without flaws.”

“I know…”

Alik sighs. “Look, if it were some other handsome rich man, I’d say go for it. The fact it’s a harbinger specifically makes me a little worried, I won’t lie.”

You sound like my mother. “It’s a crush, not an engagement,” you tell them. “We enjoy each other’s company while he works with my father and sister. I just enjoy it differently than he does.”

“Still, even as friends, I’d be cautious. If not for what he’d have planned, then for what others might have in store for him.”

You take a swig. “You want to know what’s funny? You’re the first person to bring up his enemies as a point for why I shouldn’t get near him.”

“I am not.”

“No, seriously. My mother doesn’t want me near him because he’ll probably, I don’t know, kill me or sell me or steal my ideas, depends on the day. My father thinks I’ll ruin everything those two have built together, which I still don’t know why Pantalone is working with him.”

“Maybe your dad’s indebted to him or something.”

“...”

Alik notices your silence. They say your name in a soft voice, seeming worried by your expression. Your father’s not in debt, is he? The business isn’t as prosperous as it was when you were little, but job markets change all the time, and the economy is ever fluctuating. It’s purely the result of what happens when a business runs for as long as it does. Sometimes an empire doesn’t crumble, but rather dies slowly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You snap out of it. “I’m, uh, I’m fine.” You push your seat back and stand. “I’m just, um, I’m going to go to the washroom for a second.”

“... Okay? Just watch yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” you call out over your shoulder before immediately bumping into someone. Unlike with Pantalone, you actually manage to catch yourself before you fall. You know that Alik is holding their head in their hands, possibly stifling laughter too for a little extra salt in the wound.

“Archons, sorry,” you immediately blurt out, “I didn’t see you there.”

The ginger haired man laughs. “Oh, no worries comrade! Just be more careful next time!”

You stare at the man, eyes widening. His smile grows, almost reaching the dull blue of his eyes.

“Why the surprised face?” he asks jovially.

You sigh and shake your head. “I have got to stop meeting harbingers like this.”

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader ❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut ❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love. ❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior. ❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Published on AO3 like FleurRi

❣ Prologue: Roses scarlet like blood ❣

 Every story has a beginning: a magical, inexplicable moment—an elusive contact between reality and dreams. When thoughts emerge from the edge of consciousness, a stream of colorless letters appears on the parchment of our fate, eventually becoming an event. Life's intersections, fragments of various plots, are continuously repeated, lost, or deliberately forgotten. They are like unwritten melodies; the echo of their angelic voices follows us through life, like the bright tent of a wandering circus that incessantly makes noise. is full of tinsel, and raves with dreams.

  There are millions of them. No. Billions, like the sleeping stars, sway peacefully on the sky-blue wire; their scattered light tells the wayward souls the way in the velvet folds of the night's darkness. These are our memories. Some are dazzlingly bright, as fresh as summer breezes, while others are barely flickering, covered in the marble ashes of time and a diamond crumb of emotion. And they all live so far away and at the same time prohibitively close together, there, in the labyrinth of the underground sky and on the endless roads of the blood rivers, where it is impossible to find them: in our memory.

  Just as a pebble thrown into the ocean sinks into the murky depths, so does memory. Drowning into the viscous muddy depths without a bottom, in that rich and uncharted area that we call “oblivion,” it sinks in time. And few of us have been given the opportunity to preserve living images of memories of the feelings we have ever experienced: to drown in the bittersweet water of sorrow and joy; to fill our consciousness to the brim, like a vessel with golden honey, with the feelings of pain and keen passion, and to die. Die happy. The greatest privilege of all.

  Seconds, minutes, days, and years—colorful fragments of time; sharp crumbs scattered under our feet. Unlike us, those who plunge into eternal sleep, our memories that have insidiously dissolved in ink in our blood will not disappear. They fear death, flee from it, and hide in the thick of the earth that blossoms with fluttering glass, forget-me-nots and drunken petunias that, in their intoxicating happiness, kiss the eyelashes of the blind God. You hear them whisper, “I’ll never forget you…”

  My story begins with an innocent question that I’m sure you’ve heard more than once: “Do you like roses?”

  Once upon a time, I would have answered, "Yes, I love roses." But, as it turns out, all our words are followed by consequences, and small rosy spikes can be much more dangerous than they seem at first glance, just like in the fairy tales that we were told in childhood.   You know, there are things that we might call fatal: people who decide other people’s lives as long as they reach out to them like they're God. And then there are the flowers, which keep the mysteries tenebrous and ancient.   I'm almost a hundred years old, maybe more. I should start my story right now; this is the perfect moment.

  I will tell you about who I once was and who I am now. I will tell you about love, which is akin to obsession, and the death of her faithful friend. I will also tell you about the people, ghosts, or maybe illusions that were around me. They were with me once…   Now, there are others, but they’ll be in my story later. They will come into my life with a chorus of angelic voices; the sound of a heavy autumn downpour, and the pretentious solemnity of death. Yeah, they’ll be there, though, if you think about it, they were always there, from my first breath to my last breath, by my side.   But I’m forgetting what’s important.   I have to tell you about the roses, and only about them.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

Mina's long hair shimmered like luxurious silk under the early morning light. Bloody strands fell in curled doll curls onto her bare shoulders, as if in Baroque paintings. The lush blossoms of white roses woven together in her hair made her look like the ancient Greek goddess of spring.   Her appearance has always been astonishing, blatantly perfect rather than real, but that was sometime in the past. Now she was like a pale ghost of herself, a blurry reflection on a black surface of water on a moonlit night. The only thing that reminded her of her former beauty was her hair, which remained perfectly groomed and scarlet, like blood. Oh yeah, there are still roses.  These flowers… there was something unnatural about them, something otherworldly. Each petal was painfully perfect, as if made of satin. But the flowers were real; they were alive and breathing and too demanding. It seemed that just because they wanted this, Mina could wear them in her hair. It was their choice, not hers.  “Do you like roses, Rosa?” · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

This is the moment when my life changed forever. If I had known that this innocent question would be the beginning of my end, but can this be called the end? Would my answer have been different?

  I’ve thought about it a thousand times. Over and over again, I played this scene like a broken record, crossed my answer out of the script, wrote a new one, and made comments and footnotes, but…   But the answer was the same. I couldn’t change anything; it was destined. Much later, when I fall asleep in a warm bed, I will feel a gentle kiss on my closed eyelids and hear San’s angelic voice whisper in my ear that fate is never wrong. That they would find me or that I would come to them does not matter; in the end, we would still be together in life and in death. In eternity.

  I’ll come back to that later, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“They’re beautiful, Mina, but I don’t like them anymore.”  I sounded terribly rude from the outside, and I could see Mina’s eyes filled with tears, as if I had slapped her.

 “But Rosa!” Mina reached out her pale arms to me. “Look how perfect they are; don’t you care about their beauty? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you look at them? O Rosa, these flowers are special; they never wilt.” She shook her head, as if confirming her words. “Yeosang gave them to me before I left” Her long, thin fingers reaching for the white rosebuds in her hair. “I want to give you one.” Hooking the flower, Mina gently pulled it out of her curls and stretched it towards me. I didn't have the desire to accept her gift; something in her behavior and her voice caused me anxiety. And there was this name: Yeosang. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it was a long time ago, and I still remember that Mina mentioned others with that name: Hongjoong, San, and Mingi. They sounded familiar to me as a song once learned by heart. She pronounced them in a special way: with a gentle intonation and an exciting euphoria. As if it had been repeated countless times at the same completely new to her.  All I could hear was the echo of that song, which came along with those names in the conversation. It was an ominous echo, like an impending, inevitable storm. Mina was still holding out a rose, and I looked at her hands. Arms with a faint web of blue veins that looked like dried stems of faint flowers. For some reason, I came up with the idea of sirens holding out their hands to pirates while their voices led them into the welcome embrace of death. Did they look like Mina’s hands now?

I remember these hands weaving long pearl threads into my hair during festivals. I remember the feeling of intertwined fingers as Mina led me down the dark corridors of my grandmother's old house. I remember them gently wiping my tears when I was rubbing my feet until I bled in ballet class.

I remember the touch of those hands… I know him. These cold fingers that so carefully hold the snow-white flower no longer belong to my sister. Their touch changed, becoming foreign and distant, as did the mysterious land where these perfect, never-fading roses grew.

Didn’t that sound like a fairy tale? Just in our history, there has been no magic mirror, no Queen-Witch whose crown shines like a star, and no apple full of poison, but there is a coffin of shimmering crystal, and a prince that sleeps in it. Of course, there are also roses—thousands of roses.

“Rosa” Mina turned to me again. “Please take them; you will surely love them. Just try to feel them…”

She put a flower in my hands. The drops of nectar froze on the wax petals, and the first rays of the dawn sun made them sparkle like diamonds. “This variety is special.” Her voice sounded soft. “It's called the Deva-Rosa. I want to show you where they grow. It’s so beautiful. I want you to come with me, Rosa. We’ll be there together, you and me.” Mina smiled dazzlingly, but something was wrong with that smile. The once-sensual kiss lips were painfully curved, the corners awfully lifted, like the forever-frozen smile of a Venetian mask, and the warm pink shade was gone.

I was always jealous of her lips. They were so tender, plump, and enticing. All her features attracted attention, but it was her lips that made Mina's beauty unique.

She shone like the sun, easily becoming the center of everyone's attention—a beautiful white swan. The main heroine of the story. 

Then there was me, only a shadow of her perfection—gloomy and pale as the moon, the complete opposite of the burning heat and the sexuality of my sister. Unlike Mina's, my features were not sensual and breathtaking; no, they were old-fashioned, like those of a porcelain doll. I didn’t find myself ugly or unattractive; just ordinary. One of a hundred million. The classic tragic heroine of a Gothic novel, someone like me, doesn’t make it to the finale.

Now looking at Mina, I can no longer see her life; her fire has almost been extinguished, leaving embers smoldering. And only her hair, like a burning sunset, was the only bright spot in her appearance. They crimson her white dress like blood rivers in the snow. 

 “Rosa, come with me.” The touch of her hands was icy and gave me a nasty shiver. It wasn’t Mina anymore. “Let's go, please. We can admire roses together. We can be together, Rosa. Remember what we promised each other when we were kids? Forever.”   Mina leaned towards me with her whole body, completely trespassing into my space, and with her intimacy came the suffocating, sugary smell of roses. It was a thick, enveloping aroma that instantly sat in the lungs. I thought that if I breathed it in deeper, these strange, unnatural flowers would sprout in my veins, intertwine with my bones, and create a new home for themselves in my body.

 “No!” I exclaimed, pushing Mina away from me. “I don’t want that, Mina. I don’t want you or those freaking roses in my life.”

  Suddenly on my feet, I took a few steps away from the pale Mina, who was staring at a rose that had fallen to the ground. Her posture was as vulnerable as that of a wounded animal, and her limp arms reached for the flower, which, surprisingly, began to darken and fade, touching the ground.   In her eyes, once radiant with happiness and dreaming, stood tears, and her lips began to tremble. It was as if a child whose beloved toy had been mercilessly abused had fallen to her knees, picked up a dying bud, and, in despair, pinned it to her lips.

“How can you be so cruel, Rosa?” Mina whispered, her lips gently touching the petals. “You hurt them; it breaks their heart. Can’t you just accept their love? Accept the roses?” She continued to kiss the petals.

 “What are you talking about, Mina? Whose love should I accept?” I asked cautiously. Her behavior began to frighten me.

 “You must give yourself to them, Rosa; I must give you to them.” Mina ignored my question, methodically kissing a faded flower. His dead petals began to fall away, slowly, baring his heart. “O Rosa, the rose is a rose; the rose is a deva; the deva is a rose; is a rose.”

 “Mina!” I called her by her name in an alarm. The entire situation had me in a state of primitive terror.   Mina began slowly swaying from side to side in time to your words, all the while continuing to say, “Rose is a rose, the rose is a deva.” It was meaningless, like the ravings of a madman.  The words were repeated in an endless circle, like a prayer or a ritual chant. Mina’s voice grew louder, higher, and higher until it broke, and abruptly she stopped all movement, standing there like a graceful statue.

  Once I admired her every move; now I want to cover my eyes so I never have to see her again.   What happened after became the most traumatic thing in my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I want it. It seemed to be imprinted on my eyelids, and even after closing my eyes in my sleep, I couldn’t get rid of those memories.

  Her movements were fleeting, like the wings of a butterfly. Here she is before me, tense and waiting, and then her throat crosses a ragged line, and blood rushes through her body like a waterfall.

  Eyes shining from tears are wide open and so resemble smooth black pearls, and lips are opened as if waiting for a kiss.   For a second, Mina's body stretched like a thin string and then softened, falling on the grass.   I heard someone start screaming; the sound was so deafening and heartbreaking that I wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my ears with my hands, so I couldn’t hear.

  I found myself screaming. I needed to call for help; I had to call an ambulance, and I had to try to help her. Put my arms around her neck and cover her gaping red velvet wound.

  But I was yelling about something else instead.   My name is not Rosa; you hear me, Mina!   I am not her. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I awoke in a frenzy, sweating profusely and with a wildly pounding heart from an endlessly recurring nightmare.

 This dream has haunted me for months since Mina’s funeral. Night after night, I have lived this sunrise over and over again. I didn’t like morning anymore; I started avoiding sunlight and hiding in the velvet folds of the night, sharing my loneliness with the darkness. I made the moon my friend, and the stars my silent witnesses.

  My memory is folded paper, folded a thousand times. Sometimes, I want to unwrap it, but not completely: open the brittle edges of the fragile sashes, smooth out the folds and creases with my fingers, spread out the time sequence. Unwrap it just a little, and then fold again, mixing letters and days, reality and dreams. I never want to open the pages where the memories of that morning are stored. Every time I get almost to the end, moments before the final, I run away to the safety of happy days.

  I try to come up with a new ending to this story, a different ending, but the dream comes to me like a cat, gently calling me into its embrace, and I find myself again in a place I don’t want to be.

  It’s early in the morning, and the sun is just rising above the horizon, shimmering like a limitless purple-pink ocean.

 In Mina’s crimson hair are snow-white roses, and her dress looks like an intricately woven ruffle and lace. Her pale hands holding flowers, her puffy lips in a painful smile, and her bare feet—the ground must be cold since it was the middle of October.  Her blood… and the roses.   And if it were possible to personify hatred and death, then for me, it would be roses.

  I hated and despised these flowers with all my heart. They brought only sorrow and gloominess into my life. The beautiful symbol of mourning solemnity.   They started it. They ended it all.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I was sixteen when Mina first called me Rosa. One January afternoon, she came home with a basket of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. Scarlet like the blood of a rose, they were magnificent and perfect. From that day on, I became Rosa. Why did Mina start calling me that? She never spoke.   But she completely forgot my real name. For the whole world, I was now Rosa.   After this case, every day in our small apartment, the roses became more and more numerous, until every inch of free space was filled with scarlet buds. Their smell was suffocating, thick, and sticky like honey. It is absorbed into the skin, hair, and dissolved in the blood. It made me dizzy and nauseous, and I could taste it on my tongue with every breath.   But it wasn’t just a smell. It was a color that screamed “red,” like blood itself. It poured over our house, coloring the entire apartment in a disturbing shade.

  After that, every day in our house, the roses became more and more numerous until they filled all the surrounding space.

  Soon, they became so numerous that our house looked like a tomb filled with scarlet petals hanging from the ceiling. We've been arranging here with all honors, breathing in a haze as imperceptible as rose-scented mist. 

  In all the time I lived there, not a single flower withered. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Day followed night, and night gave way to day; but no petal lost its pristine beauty, and no bud bowed its heavy head in sorrow. There was not a single bouquet that would dilute this velvet sea with its mourning black.

  And if that did happen, Mina cried long and hard over these flowers and blamed herself for not saving them. At night, I heard the sound of her apologies and her fanatical prayers. 

  Whether she prayed to God or to the Devil, I couldn't tell. I'll find out for whom these prayers were intended many years later.

  Roses were always sent with a postcard and a box of expensive chocolates with some intricate filling. The box was necessarily in the form of a heart. The signature was also one; once the unchanged calligraphic handwriting deduced only one phrase, “For you,”

  Mina never told me who gave her these magic flowers or why the roses didn’t wither.

  I tried to ask her these questions several times, but she only brushed them off, throwing her long hair from one shoulder to the other and angrily declaring, “You must love them; you don't need to know more.”

 Mina also dyed her hair scarlet, like roses.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. Constantly surrounded by these flowers was unbearable, and one day I packed up all my things and moved in with a friend, leaving Mina alone in her regal rosary.

  My first night away from home, away from the roses and Mina, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned anxiously in bed hour after hour; but the dream never came, and then the phone rang. Mina called. Crying, she begged to come home, and when I asked her why, she barely whispered, “The roses are wilted.”

  I hung up, and Mina never called me again. Two years had passed. My life had changed, and I think my luck had smiled. I found wonderful friends who were eccentric and bright. I had a great and caring boyfriend, and the internship at ballet school was promising. Everything worked out perfectly, and there were no more roses.

 Until my twentieth birthday, a huge bleeding bouquet of scarlet roses tied with topaz-embroidered ribbon appeared in my new apartment. The candy box was heart-shaped, and the caption read, “For You.”

  I burned the bouquet, threw out the chocolate, and tore the note apart, and blew it to the wind.

  No one was supposed to see or know.   Even me.    Exactly eight days after these flowers appeared, I got a call from former neighbors in the apartment complex Mina was still living in.   I was urged to come and deal with the situation; the smell of rot and death was unbearable, and Mina didn't open the doors or answer the phone.   I opened the door with my key. Opening it wide, I crossed the threshold and could not contain a short scream. All the once-luxurious roses had rotted, dripping thick, stinking jugs on the floor and accumulating in gleaming poisonous lakes. Every corner of the space was occupied by large vases with black velvet buds and tall candles. After my move, Mina got rid of all the furniture, leaving only the big bed, which was now covered with dried stems strewn with thorns.

 This place was like a grave — cold and dark — where my sister was supposed to rest.   Going deeper, I found no hint of Mina's presence. Absolutely nothing.     Only putrid roses and an empty heart-shaped box.

  Mina was gone. For a whole year, I tried to find her without success. Old friends, distant relatives, acquaintances, and any other connections she might have ever had—I checked everything, but there was nothing to help me find her. It’s like she never existed.

 In the two years we’ve been apart, I didn’t know anything about her. Mina didn’t call, and when I tried to contact her, she would reply with a short message, always the same: "Roses have wilted; come back." just like the night I left her.

  All Mina had ever thought about since that unfortunate January day were these sinister roses.

  The police began an investigation. Two years after her disappearance, Mina became officially missing.

  And a year after that, she showed up at my door in the twilight of the fall morning, barefoot, in a sophisticated lace dress with a rose crown on her head. From the Mina that I knew, all that remained was her hair—long, silky, and crimson like blood and roses.

  She still kept calling me Rosa, calling me out, and promising that we’d be happy together. That it will be only us, forever. She promised to show me where these strange flowers bloom, which she called the Deva-Rose, although these were not her words, but those of someone distant and unfamiliar to me, Hongjoong.

  And then...then Mina died. The dawn painted her body in pink shades, flooded the grass with sparkling gold, and dyed the white roses of her crown scarlet. She slit her throat. Ragged a sharp spike into it. As it turned out, even the tiniest rose spikes were deadly.   It was a nightmarish and, at the same time, majestic end to her story.   The image of Mina haunts me in dreams even now—this distant gaze in her pearly eyes and a complete absence of fear of death. No, Mina wasn't afraid. She welcomed death as an old friend, graciously opening her arms.

  It was her exodus.   I remember screaming loudly. Blood thundered in my ears, and tears flowed in an endless crystal stream. I screamed that my name wasn’t Rosa; that I wasn’t her, and never would be.

  Her funeral was truly a royal one. Rain and thunder rattle in the sky, as if raising a toast in her honor. The flat haloes of the black umbrellas swayed peacefully as the guests made their sorrowful speeches.

  Mina seemed to fall asleep, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress, lying there like a princess, drowning in thousands of roses.   The flowers were brought at dawn. Their color was deep and dark, as if every petal was filled with the gloaming of the night. They mourned with me.   But I knew better. It wasn’t the end; it was the beginning.  Death follows life in an endless cycle of rebirth. When one flower fades, plant a new one.  Back home that night, I found a black envelope at my door, sealed with a monogram wax seal.

  It lacked an address and the sender's signature. The message was clear and concise. "I live for you, my Rosa."

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   I went to the window and opened the curtains with my newfound determination. It’s time to stop being afraid and run away. Whatever it is, I’ll find out what happened to Mina. Let her start it all, but I’ll be the one to finish the story.   The last surviving girl.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   How naive I was then, how stupid. The moth always flies to the flame, attracted by the warm fluttering light; he himself goes to his death.

I was that moth. Without realizing it, I came to my inevitable fate, which has been waiting for me for centuries, maybe longer. Their hands have stretched out since the darkest times, when the light didn't exist, and the Devil was as real as you and I. At that time, everyone knew his face, felt his hot breath on his skin.   The story I’m going to tell you isn't going to be bright and sweet; we’re going to go down to hell and come back. I'll take you through the dark woods to the horrors of uncharted lands where barefoot priestesses rock their sharp teeth in alluring smiles. I will take you to the castle where the prince rests in a crystal coffin and make you drink wine that tastes like blood.

  Now I have to ask you, "Are you afraid of the dark and what’s hidden in it?"   But my question is, "Love, do you like roses?"

[beezelarts]

So, I’ve been thinking.

One of my favourite tropes in books, movies or shows is the obsessed artist. A mixture of genius and insanity. So, I’m trying to think of ways in which Bradley and Jake might fit into that category.

For Bradley, it’s pretty straightforward in my opinion. He’s obsessed with proving Maverick wrong, obsessed with flying as best as he can and (but this is kind of a headcanon) obsessed with Jake. He can’t get over how Jake always seems to be the superior pilot, someone who is seemingly better at everything where he himself is lacking. He tries to compensate by telling himself that Jake is a bad team player and arrogant (true, but I think he might still be the better pilot). From the second time watching TGM and rewatching TG1986 it was clear that there are parallels between Mav and Hangman whereas Rooster seems more like Ice. At least when it comes to the way they fly. This might also be a reason for why Bradley and Jake seem to not get along at all. Now, this is purely a headcanon based on what I read in Hangster fanfics: Bradley being obsessed with Jake as a sexual object. While a lot of those stories are advertised as romance stories the way Bradley thinks about Jake and about what he likes about him seems very superficial and oftentimes solely focused on Jake’s body.

In conclusion: Bradley is obsessed with proving Mav wrong and with Jake, either as his rival and/or the object of Bradley’s sexual phantasies.

Now, when it comes to Jake being obsessive there’s a lot more room to play: we don’t really know much about Hangman aside from his tendencies to leave people behind and only care about himself. And of course his callsign. While the movie suggest that his callsign refers to him leaving his teammates hanging or his air-to-air kill (hangman = executioner) I think it’s secretly because of his dyslexia (solely headcanon). Therefore, it must have been a great struggle for him to get through school, the academy, flight school and Top Gun. The fact that he most likely excelled is probably because he, too, is obsessed with flying and being the best.

However, this still leaves his character kind of flat.

One of my favourite shows is Queens Gambit, a series about a young female chess genius in the fifties and sixties who is truly obsessed with the game to the point where she fails to take proper care of herself. (If you’ve watched it you know what I mean, if not… I really wholeheartedly recommend it. It’s on Netflix.)

Something I’ve read in numerous fanfics is how Jake never joins the others whenever Bradley is at the piano playing and singing. And this might either be due to his jealousy towards him because Bradley seems so much more popular and likeable. But today I remembered something my music teacher in high school said. He once told us about this one man with whom he sang in the church choir and how worked up the guy got when people sang off-key. That was because he had absolute hearing and couldn’t handle people singing in a different pitch even if they didn’t sound off-key to anyone else. So, Jake never joins the others because Bradley frequently sings in a different pitch compared to what the original sounds like. This leads to my other not-navy/flying related obsession. Music. It’s either the piano or the violin.

In my head, he inherited this trait from his mother, a great pianist or violinist, started to play at a very young age and became great at it himself. In this case, Jake kind of grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, a seemingly perfect childhood. However, behind the scenes he has a neglectful mother and an uncaring father who doesn’t bother supporting his wife through her depression and other mental illnesses. The only thing binding Jake to his mother is their common obsession with music. A vivid memory of Jake with his mother is how he’d watch her take numerous pills, downing them with either wine or bourbon before sitting down next to her on the piano stool. As an adult he refuses to take any opioids or anxiety medication and has a love-hate relationship with music because it always brings him back to those moments.

When Bradley and Jake eventually move in together, Bradley finds about Jake’s musical talent. He learns new songs playing by ear because he can’t read sheet music and sometimes struggles to find the right note.

„This song is written in C minor, Bradley. Try with G and then E flat.“

I love this headcanon because it gives Jake so much depth not related to flying and has great angst!potential.

Now, this was a long-ass, poorly structured post. Apologies for that and kudos to everyone who made it to the end. Further questions and suggestions are greatly appreciated! This is a lovely and welcoming fandom ♥️

[carlossainzwho]

get him back!

carlos sainz x ex!reader

warnings: not proof-read and swearing

part one | part two | part three | part four below!

now, y/n doesn't care about him anymore

i met a guy in the summer and I left him in the spring, he argued with me about everything, he had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye, he said he's six-foot-two and I'm like: dude, nice try!

she met him in summer, sun shining

left him in the spring, rain pouring

he wouldn't shut his mouth

about all the other girls he could have

such a big red flag,

lied about his height

and a lot more stuff than y/n liked

but in the end

who gives a shit?

but he was so much fun and he had such weird friends and he would take us out to parties and the night would never end another song, another club, another bar, another dance and when he said something wrong, he'd just fly me to france!

but the night outs with him were so damn fun

his stupid friends with their drunk asses

one party after another

and never-ending nights

one party after another

'feeling down, y/n?'

next destination, monaco!

so i miss him some nights when i'm feeling depressed till i remember every time he made a pass on my friend do i love him? Do i hate him? i guess it's up and down if i had to choose, i would say right now,

and so y/n missed those nights

where things would lead to the bed,

but all those times he slept with her friends

could not leave her head

did she really love him?

or hate him?

well...

i wanna get him back i wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad oh, i wanna get him back 'cause then again i really miss him and it makes me real sad oh, i want sweet revenge and i want him again i want to get him back, back, back

she wanted vengeance

she wanted to kiss his friends, make him feel sorry

but also

she wanted him for herself

she missed him so damn much

she wanted revenge, she wanted his love

she wanted to get

him

back!

so i write him all these letters, then i throw them in the trash 'cause i miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh yeah, i pour my little heart out, but as i'm hitting 'send' i picture all the faces of my disappointed friends

'hi carlos'

'how are you?'

'hi bab- oh wait-

you're not my babe anymore'

but i want you so bad

i need you to kiss me and make me laugh

tell me the jokes you tell to her

i want you

come over

here's my address

but oh

goddamn it, y/n

he's not worth anything

your friends will be so disappointed in you

because everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do he said i was the only girl, but that just wasn't the truth and when i told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me i was tripping but i am my father's daughter, so maybe i could fix him!

it was no surprise

that he left y/n

everyone knew he was a son of a bitch

he went with other girls and told her she was the only one

y/n tried so hard

to fix it all, tell him how he'd hurt her

but she was her father's daughter

and her father was no coward

y/n vowed to show carlos what he was missing

oh, i wanna key his car i wanna make him lunch i wanna break his heart stitch it right back up i wanna kiss his face, with an uppercut i wanna meet his mum, and tell her her son sucks, yeah!

f1 car or road car, she wanted to destroy it, destroy him

but y/n wanted to make him lunch, tell him how much she loved him

she wanted to make him jealous, break his heart

but she wanted to be the one

to mend it for him

she wanted to kiss his handsome face

with an uppercut

she wanted to meet his mum

and tell her

how her son is

a

liar

reyesvdec <;/3

monday, 23rd march

hi reyes, can you ask carlos where he is? he won't answer my calls.

Hello love, of course!

He's out with some friends, he'll be back later!

ok!

thursday, 25th march

reyes, where is carlos?

reyes, i think he's with someone else

what do i do?

reyes, please

please?

today, 3:54 am

i hate your son, reyes

delivered

AHH i love the little text messages in the end, idk why i liked writing that so much?? also i think this might be the last part but i'll defo write some more carlos and oscar fics if you're up for it!!

what can i say, thank you so damn much for reading my fics, it means the world to me <3