#she gets a true sense for the fragility of organic matter. from where she is clamped on his wrist she swivels her electric eye to witness

[falliay]

P-food anon here. In what way was Optimus idealized? Like did others see him close to a father figure like in fanon G1 or a wise leader like in Tfp?

The Praxian Seeker dynamic is also interesting. Are they sister frametypes or sister cities? Are they called Praxians based off of their frame or because they were from Praxus? Is it the same with seekers?

Is Green okay? She's usually organic in stories so I didn't know if she's alive or not. You said some Cybertronians didn't make it and Green is a lot more fragile due to being organic.

I apologize for so many questions, my mind was rambling.

I love rambling!! Don’t hold back, P-food anon

I’ll be providing you links to TFwiki pages BUT they’re not entirely accurate for my AU. It’s just so you have an idea of what it is :3

Idealized Hero

Optimus is seen as this powerful, perfect, determined hero. It’s unrealistic, of course, but in the middle of a war, it’s almost like a way to cope. To think that they will win no matter what because “Hey! Optimus in on our side!”

And he needs to keep that role to maintain their hope. That makes him unable to make real connections with his crew (with the exception of some that knew him when he was Orion Pax)

Is he a father figure to some? Absolutely. He’s the one most Autobots look up to (Bumblebee looks up to a lot of bots but Optimus is THE big role model for him)

This situation he’s put in makes him extremely frustrated. He wants connection. He wants true friendships. Still, he understands he needs to play his role as the perfect hero… for the sake of his soldiers.

His second in command, Prowl, is responsible for making up stories to cover up any of his wrong doings and accidents. What might shock others doesn’t come as a surprise to him - he knows Optimus. Yet, their relationship is as distant as one can be. Optimus calls him “old friend”, Prowl calls him “Prime”.

Praxian-Seeker Conflict

Praxians were the frametype produced in the city-state of Praxus!

With Cold Construction being now "illegal", the only cold constructed bots being produced now were the Praxians in Praxus and Seekers in Vos. They were servants - Praxians took the softer, more noble jobs, while Seekers took the rougher ones.

This difference between their classes, despite being both made to serve, created a tension between the two. Seekers wanted rights. They wanted to be free to fly wherever they wished. Praxians had a false sense of freedom, having wings useless for flight.

Having a Praxian was like owning a fancy car, a sign that you have power and wealth. Seekers, on the other hand, weren’t owned by anyone in specific, but they were seen as less than scrap metal.

When the war started to get more intense, Starscream, now Decepticon commander of the Seekers, organized an attack on Praxus! They destroyed everything and everyone... or at least they thought they had gotten everyone.

After the attack ended, Praxus was gone. Now only a few Praxians remains, Praxians as in the frametype AND those forged who lived there.

And you know what makes this so interesting? The fact that Prowl and Starscream are now the temporary leaders to the factions. They have quite the historical hatred towards each other!

Green!

Don’t worry!!! Green is safe 🫶

She didn’t get aboard the Ark with Prowl and the others and is patiently waiting for her best friend’s return.

I’m not really sure where to fit her in the story, other than in flashbacks and mentions, as of now. She’s an exclusive Roleplay character - but who knows maybe in the future…

#bonfire #fan continuity #alternate universe #au #falliask #p food anon #lore #transformers #maccadams #maccadam

[pricescigar]

My Daughter

Summary: Every story has a beginning, and Monroe's story was one of them. When he believes Elvira could be the recianrnated self of his late daughter, his insanity grew stronger...

The 1918 influenza pandemic was the most severe pandemic in recent history. It was caused by an H1N1 virus with genes of avian origin. It killed an estimated 50 million people worldwide. Monroe and his daughter Elvira, live in the desolate Village in Romania. Even then… The Flu didn't spare his little daughter. . .

8th of August 1919

"You'll be alright Elvira, I promise you… You're my little fighter." Monroe spoke to his daughter softly, he pulled the cold flannel looking at her.

"Papa…" Elvira spoke softly, she was terribly weak and fragile. The flu had taken a toll on her. And Monroe was worried for her, no remedy was working on her. Watching Elvira slowly drift off to sleep, he stepped away to wet the flannel again. Once he returned back to Elvira's bedroom, he knew something was wrong.

Monroe approached Elvira's bed, he gently placed his fingers on Elvira's wrist to feel her pulse… And it wasn't there, he was in denial. His worry increased, he knelt down to her. Trying to wake her up, alas it didn't work. "No… Elvira, wake up, please, wake up for me…" He whispered to her, no matter what Monroe did… Elvira didn't wake up. He held her little body close to his. Holding his daughter close to him, closing his eyes, feeling a few tears running down his cheeks.

1 week later. . .

"I'm so sorry for your loss Monroe, losing a child is never easy… If you need anything. We'll be here to help you." Luiza sympathetically put a hand on his shoulder.

"I just want my daughter back… I don't want help, I don't want anything…" Monroe spoke softly, staring down at Elvira's grave, seeing the little Coffin broke his heart. 

"I know… I know you do Monroe, we won't let you suffer alone. We never suffer alone." Luiza said to him, as they watched the soil being dug up. 

"I wish to be alone." Monroe simply said kneeling down and he placed flowers down by Elvira's grave. Luiza simply nodded and the other villagers who attended the funeral had soon left.

The weeks had been hard for Monroe, he isolated himself and none of the townspeople saw him again. Even if they did it was a rare sight– He remained in his home, alone with his thoughts. Elvira was the only thing in life that he truly ever cared about, forget about all the other people in the damn village… It was only his daughter he cared about, and now she's gone. He could no longer concentrate at his job, the forever battle he was trying to fight in his mind… The grief and loss, it was getting all too much. Not to mention the dreams he'd been having the last couple of weeks… Nothing made sense, nothing did anymore. Life was cruel and unfair to the man, and all he ever wanted was answers. Though he never dared to tell anyone his true feelings…

The cave, that's where he drifted off to. He was so lost, and in so much pain. The grief was hitting him hard, the ache within his heart was a different kind of pain. He was angry, angry with the world. Angry that the epidemic took the only thing he ever cared about. Overstaying his visit in that cave, the mold infected Monroe. And there… He began to see all memories of assimilated organisms, everything made sense to him.

Monroe searched deeper in the vast memories, and there he saw his daughter again. However, she looked much older, this was the future… Impossible, his daughter had been reincarnated into this young woman. The village alone would be in shambles if Monroe would go through great lengths, but his daughter Elvira was back…

Monroe was a different man when he walked out of that cave, he took the molds sample, wanting to find out more about it as a whole. He began to heal the sick to see its side effects, and how it would affect people as a whole. He was fascinated by it's work, with enough people healed, and enough gaining his trust. He manipulated them, from there he made his own version of the mold known as the "Cadou Parasite." 

Monroe phoned himself as "The Blsck God." But to the poor villagers who had abandoned their own Christan faith, serving under Monroe's faith… To a new Pagan Cult that had risen, he then became known as "Father Monroe."

With those long decades of research, experimenting… Failed experiments, hosts out of control; Those unlucky villagers… Those who had turned into Lycans. Soon to make a den of their own, recognised as failed experiments of Father Monroe himself. The most promising candidates of Monroe's Cadou experiments were themselves the descendants of the Four Kings who ruled over the region - Azariel Dimitrescu, Karl Heisenberg, Donna Beneviento, and Salvatore Moreau. Monroe found them perfect as their own individuality despite their ancient feudal rule over the region and they operated together as a council. And that was all they ever were… They watched the village like Hawk's.

In the space of those decades time was slow, even if all was lost. He didn't give up, knowing that somewhere down the line… Monroe would finally see his own daughter again.

During Monroe's free time he created a story, but not any kind of story. A fairy tale, a tale that told of his daughter reincarnated; Elvira, upon seeing her future henceforth, he created the story and was given out to the villagers who had children. Deemed as a local tale to the many villagers and the children who were there and of the truth come what may.

 The four Lords read the books too, however they kept their true options to themselves; But to Donna and Moreau... They were rather excited, to say the least, hearing Monroe's daughter would return. They were happy for him of course, hell the four Lords were lucky that Monroe ever spoke about his feelings.

How could Monroe ever come up with something like this, they would always question. But the four Lords knew well enough; To never question Father Monroe, no one would ever dare to do that. Unless you wanted to get on his bad side…And as the story would always go. . . 

"Long ago, a young woman found herself awake in the cold, dark and desolate forest.  In the freezing cold, the cold air whispered in her ear. Chills running down her whole body, shivering, holding herself ever so clearly for the warmth she needed. Finding such will and courage, she journeyed her way through into the unknown or what may lie ahead of her. At the end of the forest, her eyes met a large castle. For the bell has tolled echoing all throughout the village, the monsters of all the village grew wild. For attacking the stranger that bestowed upon their territory. Managing to escape from the beast's grasps, and finding herself on the way to the ancient castle. While trying to find warmth and shelter, one of the many monsters found her. Knocking her out, while the other monsters called out to the summon. The great witch appeared, his dark figure, dark yet regal . . . Darkness appeared around her. For she, the fly got trapped within the spider's web.  Until then suddenly. . . The bat lord had suddenly appeared! It's great wings spread out, high and mighty. Saving her from such darkness that tried to engulf her . . . Whisking her away to it's grand castle, there his sons would be and his brother. Endlessly fighting for her life, terrified, scared and lonely. Feeling the hatred and burden of it all. In the howling night, the girl struggled to sleep. Tossing and turning in her newly found bed, in no hopes of being able to return back to her old life. The nightmares catching up to her . . . Yet then again, to save her from those wretched thoughts, the bat lord once again was always there.

With his wise and cunning words, his voice sweet and deep like honey. Softly and tenderly tending to her every need to calm her, to soothe her saying to her, in the dark of the night: "My dear, come to me. But do not fret, for I am your guide, your shelter, your protector. Of night and day. . . Until the end of time."

And the story concludes there… The pages blank and unfinished, now why would Monroe give out an unfinished book? Because the story is only beginning.

5th of February 2021

Elvira noticed her father was out and about again, which she didn't mind. She always appreciated her own company, and that was enough. Luckily it was her time off from all the Military training that Chris had been giving her, it was a little tough, but if she wanted to be strong; This is what she needed to do, hearing the front door closing she knew her father had returned. Making her way downstairs to see him, but it wasn't her father. It was a complete stranger. It was Monroe.

"Vater you're- … Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Elvira became suspicious as she stared at Monroe.

Monroe was looking at the photo of Dietrich, Mia and Elvira, which was in a frame as he looked over to Elvira. "I'm here to bring you back." He placed the photo frame down.

"What the hell? You creep, get out of my house." Elvira spoke sternly this time as she backed away from him cautiously.

"Your father is dead, come with me if you want to ensure your safety." Monroe still remained calm, as he extended his hand towards her. Still advancing, he wanted to do this the easier way.

Monroe watched Elvira closely and saw her get a pistol out of the Kitchen drawer, he could only laugh as he watched the pistol being aimed towards him. He wasn't scared at all. "Go on… Shoot me. I'm not afraid." He stepped towards her.

Elvira shot him a couple of times, one bullet went into his shoulder and the other two bullets went into his chest. But it didn't take an effect on him, he grabbed the Pistol, crushing it into pieces like it was nothing. 

"You're coming with me." Monroe spoke seriously, when Elvira tried to escape he grabbed her wrists pulling her towards him roughly. Pressing onto the pressure points in her neck, watching her fall he easily caught her. 

"I'm sorry if it had to turn out like this Elvira, everything will make sense soon… I promise you." Monroe whispered to her.

#resident evil 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #oc #ocs #elvira wolff #father monroe

[sentinelpri]

Intervention, Baby

Unlike many of his Autobot counterparts, Prowl adored organics- especially the ones on earth, whether that be the plants, animals, or humans.

His favorite, though? You. You by far. 

After arriving on earth, Prowl had become obsessed with people watching, usually taking long strolls around the city or going to public parks to watch how humans lived their daily lives. Something about the human species by itself was captivating, but when he’d seen you for the first time, (e/c) eyes and (h/l) (h/c) hair shining under the bright sun as you walked into the local flower shop, he had been completely and utterly enthralled. He’d known that he was supposed to avoid interactions with humans that weren’t necessary according to Prime, but he hadn’t been able to help himself that day. So, he’d gone into the flower shop and sparked a conversation with you to figure out exactly what it was that had him so interested; what it was about you that was so different than the other humans he watched.

You had just moved to Detroit from your hometown for a new job, which explained why he hadn’t seen you before that, and as he’d talked to you that day, he became more and more intrigued. You’d started renting a house nearby, with your very own flower garden, which you showed him that day. He hadn’t been able to tell you much at the time about Cybertron for security reasons, but what he did tell you about himself, you listened to intently. You were a great listener, with kind eyes and a bright smile that made his spark stop at times.

Prowl had been a cautious bot. Whatever caution he had maintained since being on earth had flown out the window with you, though, as he fell quickly, often sneaking away from the Autobots to spend time with you at your house or visit you at your job. A strong friendship was quickly formed, and with how much he was gone, his teammates quickly became suspicious.

It started with questions, the others asking where he was all the time and why he was suddenly so interested in stopping by flower and gardening shops whenever they were out. Naturally, Optimus was the first to figure it out, asking if he’d met someone and then leaving the subject alone when Prowl avoided the subject. However, Bumblebee was the next to catch on, and he had no sense of personal boundaries, so he dragged Bulkhead along to follow him to your house. While it wasn’t the best first impression, that was how you met Bumblebee and Bulkhead, and eventually Optimus and Ratchet as well- since the secret was out in the open now and no one seemed to disapprove of you, Prowl had started bringing you around the Autobot base.

The rest was history, but the more Prowl developed his relationship with you, the more fearful he became for the future. He was a wise and emotionally mature bot, he figured, but he didn’t know how to handle his feelings for you. He had fallen in love. He was cybertronian, you were human, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to initiate anything- not that he thought you returned the feelings anyways. No, you were too pure and sweet, kind and beautiful, fragile and soft. He feared hurting you most of the time. He feared falling deeper. He feared starting something he couldn’t finish and leaving you hurt in the end, but each day he spent with you only made it worse.

Why did he love you? Why couldn’t he have fallen for another Autobot? Why a human? The thoughts plagued his processor constantly, but when you reached over to grab one of his digits and pull him along to show him something in your garden or smiled up at him, he couldn’t help it. You were so soft and delicate, but you still treated him like you would anyone else. You weren’t scared of him, you always offered a listening ear when he needed it, and you opened up to him in return.

Warm, bright, radiant- Prowl felt like you were all of the things that he wasn’t, and as he returned to base and walked into the main room, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Spending time with you seemed exhausting nowadays. He always left with a troubled processor and an uneasy feeling. Was it right to keep seeing you when he knew it wouldn’t go anywhere? Would his unresolved feelings get in the way of your friendship? What was he to do at this point? As much as he’d tried to simply make the feelings go away, he couldn’t; couldn’t develop an interest in anyone else, couldn’t think of anything he didn’t like about you to kill his attraction, couldn’t will it away. Nothing worked, so he drowned himself in it, and while he would have loved to sulk for a little bit, his attention was captured by his team.

He’d walked into... Something, though he wasn’t quite sure what that something was yet. His entire team was crowded onto the living room couch, silent, staring up at him. Seeing them all in one room at the same time was rare when they weren’t sharing energon or working against the Decepticons, but seeing them all in one room and quiet? Something was wrong. 

“Where did you just come from, Prowl?” Bumblebee, who was sitting in the middle of the couch with Bulkhead to his right, crossed his arms as he asked the oddly accusatory question and leaned forward.

“(y/n)’s, why?” Prowl answered. He was so uneasy that he found himself shifting his weight from one pede to the other and averting his gaze. While he wasn’t normally avoidant like that, when it came to you, he couldn’t help how nervous he got.

“Don’t worry about it, but-” Bulkhead started, letting out a nervous chuckle.

The atmosphere was tense and awkward. Optimus Prime, next to Bulkhead on the edge of the couch, wouldn’t even look at him. Meanwhile, Ratchet, who was on the other side of Bumblebee, appeared to be growing increasingly agitated with each second that passed. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Prowl finally demanded, which made Bumblebee stand up and point right at him with a huge grin.

“Intervention, baby!” The yellow bot cheered.

“Intervention? I’m not abusing substances if that’s what you’re-”

“No, no, that’s not what we’re getting at, you bucket of bolts!” Ratchet groaned and face-palmed. “We’re here to talk about you and (y/n)!”

There were two ways this could go, and Prowl wasn’t sure which one he hated more.

One, his team could be concerned about him spending so much time with a human who had nothing to do with their cause. It was a valid concern and he knew it- spending so much time with you put you in at risk of getting involved with the Decepticons like Sari, and unlike Sari, you had no key or Cyber-organic powers to protect you. You were simply human, and it wasn’t fair to you to put you in danger the way he was. But he was selfish.

Two, his team could be concerned about his feelings for you. Whether for the aforementioned reasons or because they had to watch the two of you interact all the time, he wasn’t sure, but it would make sense. He certainly hadn’t expected them to call an intervention over either issue, though, so all he could do was stand there.

They were staring at him. 

It was... Embarrassing, to say the least.

“I don’t see why this would be considered even remotely appropriate- And Optimus, Ratchet,” Prowl glared at the two older bots, knowing damn well that they knew better than to do this to him. “I expect it from these two, but you? I thought you were more mature than this, but I see I was mistaken.”

“Don’t come at us with your maturity spiel when you can’t even mech up enough to tell (y/n) your true feelings,” Ratchet spat.

“Ratchet, you could have phrased that with a bit more tact, but I do believe you are correct,” Optimus agreed with a small nod and offered a smile, glancing at Ratchet and then at Prowl. “While we don’t have the right to dictate what you do, Prowl, it’s become obvious to everybot what’s going on, and... We all support you. You should be honest with (y/n) and tell her the truth. Love is something that should be appreciated and cherished, not hidden away.”

“Yeah! Plus, it hurts to watch you two dance around each other when it’s so obvious what’s going on,” Bumblebee argued. “She likes you back-”

“No, she doesn’t, and even if she did, how would this work?” Prowl raised his voice without meaning to, and the moment he heard how loud his volume was, he paused to take a deep breath and reflect. His team had good intentions, they wanted him to be happy and enjoy a relationship for once, but he was so scared. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? With a sigh, he spoke again, not daring to look at any of his friends. “I’m Cybertronian and she’s organic, and we could have to go back to Cybertron any day now- or, even worse, the Decepticons could kill us. Would it not be selfish of me to confess my feelings for her, start a relationship, and then leave or die? Assuming that she wants anything to do with me, that is.”

“Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but you’ve heard the saying here on earth that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, haven’t you? (y/n) would be more upset if you left or died without telling her the truth than she would be if you told her beforehand. No matter what happens in the end, at least she’d have some closure that way, because she does love you too,” Bulkhead insisted.

“No, she doesn’t,” Prowl mumbled, not having any other defense. Did he think you loved him like that? No, but did he have definite proof that you didn’t? Also no, so he was left without a solid defense, but too stubborn to concede to his friends’ (valid) points. “You’re wrong.”

“Yeah she does, dude, you’re just wrong,” Bumblebee walked over to him and put a servo on his shoulder, meeting his optics, uncharacteristically intense- borderline angry. “How can you even know if you haven’t talked to her about it?”

“How can you know?” Prowl defended and jabbed a digit into the younger bot’s chest plate. The two continued to stare each other down for a few moments before Bee finally sighed and looked away.

“Because I’ve talked to her about it.”

“...Oh. I see,” The black and gold bot took a step back and fidgeted with his servos. He had never expected for you to confide in Bumblebee about such a matter, but then again... Aside from Prowl himself, Bumblebee was your best friend and always had been since he’d started bringing you around. The two of you were similar; innocent, kindred souls with similar interests. Unlike Prowl, the yellow bot brought out your more energetic, fun side, making you laugh constantly, but... He hadn’t been aware of the fact that Bumblebee was a confidant for you, too. Part of him was jealous, but he tried to shove that down with a tense swallow. “I’m going to take my leave, then.”

“That’s what I thought,” The smaller bot smirked, earning a glare from Prowl in return.

“Get bent.”

~

That entire night and the day after were spent locked in his room reflecting upon everything; his feelings, you, the advice that his teammates had given him during their little “intervention”, the potential consequences of what he was about to do.

Whether he wanted to or not, he knew that he needed to confess. What if one of you died without ever saying anything? What if he went back to Cybertron without ever having the chance to tell you the truth and regretted it? What if you had to leave Detroit someday? It was too big of a problem to leave unresolved given how chaotic and unpredictable your lives were, even if he was scared of what could happen. Plus, half the battle was you loving him back, and if Bumblebee told the truth the day prior, you already did.

So, Prowl sat on your roof. Waiting. You were outside for whatever reason despite it being midnight on a Tuesday in human time, laying in your backyard and admiring your flowers. Since it was a warm fall, they were growing quite well, your pumpkin crop in particular thriving. He’d been watching you for a while; (s/c) skin glowing as the moonlight shone upon your body, (f/c) shorts and a black sleepshirt hugging your frame. Your (e/c) eyes were currently trained on your rosebush, though he was sure you had noticed his presence- even though he wasn’t visible behind your chimney, you had an amazing knack for being able to feel when he was there, visible or not. 

“(y/n)?” The Autobot finally spoke, emerging from his hiding place and jumping down into your backyard to stand next to where you lay. 

You sat up to look at him with a tired smile. It was late and you had work tomorrow... Something must’ve been on your mind, too. Perhaps the two of you were in sync with your recent concerns.

“Hey, Prowl, you’re up late. Why don’t you lay with me?” Unable to say no to you, Prowl did just that, joining you on the grass and laying with his back on the ground. The stars that littered the sky were fogged up by the city lights, but while he normally would’ve been agitated by it, you were better to stare at, so he didn’t mind too much. “You sat on my roof for a while and didn’t even talk to me. What’s keeping you?”

“Ah, it’s nothing, I just-” The ninjabot started, close to denying everything flat out and ignoring the subject of his feelings yet again before realizing that’s what the problem was. He couldn’t open up to you and it was making everything convoluted, so with a sharp breath, he gathered all of his willpower and spoke to you again. “No, you know what? I’m tired of this.”

“What?” You looked shocked at the sound of his agitated tone, eyebrows furrowing together as you sat up and glanced at him, making him sit up as well. Your (e/c) eyes burned into his ocean optics in that moment, and a brief silence washed over the two of you before he spoke again.

“I’m tired of us hiding from each other,” Unable to help himself, Prowl leaned closer to you and reached over to rest a servo on one of your hands. “Be honest, what are your feelings towards me?”

You stopped, your breath visibly catching in your throat. The black and gold bot could immediately tell you were nervous, terrible at hiding your negative emotions like you had been since he’d met you, but he let you have as much time as you needed.

“Prowl, it’s a bit sudden for you to ask something like that out of nowhere. You know we’re friends-” You started, but when you looked closer at his face, you gave him a defeated sigh that made him realize; you knew he knew. “Who told you?”

“So it’s true,” He stated, holding your hand tightly and giving a soft frown. Your face was painted with the same fear and anxiety that he’d felt over loving you for so long now. 

Part of him was happy that you loved him back. The other part almost wished you didn’t, wished you could live your life happy and blissfully unaware to avoid the risk of getting your heart broken.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized.

“What do you have to be sorry for, sweetspark?” Prowl asked, tone gentle as he used his spare hand to caress your cheek and leaned in to rest his helm against yours. “I’d be a fool not to reciprocate, but I want to hear it for myself before I do anything. Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m in love with you, Prowl,” You admitted. A couple of tears welled up in your eyes and flowed down your cheeks, those of which Prowl wiped away with his thumb. “I’ve been captivated since the moment I saw you, and I never planned on telling you. I’m afraid of you getting attached to me and not being able to handle it if we ever have to separate because I’m sure there will be a day when you have to go back to your home planet. You can’t stay forever, and I can’t go with you.”

“I feel the same way... I love you too, (y/n)- so much that I don’t think you understand. I held off because I fear having to leave you someday, but I realized that we should take advantage of what time we have left and try our best to make this work,” In between his words, you let out what he assumed was a sigh of relief, making him do the same. Prowl quickly felt the weight of his anxieties leaving his chest and shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your plump, warm lips, then withdrew to press a few more against your cheeks and forehead. You giggled; a sound he would listen to for the rest of his life if he could. “I think we’ll be alright in the end.”

“I...” You grinned and leaned into him with another laugh. “I think so, too. But who told you?”

“That’s... Quite the story. You see, yesterday afternoon, I got back to the base after visiting you and...”

Prowl smiled as well as he started his story. Things were complicated, and he knew this was risky, but you wrapping an arm around one of his and gripping his hand made him realize just how worth it you were. 

Maybe that intervention hadn’t been too bad of an idea after all.

#transformers #tfa #transformers animated #prowl #prowl x reader #tfa prowl #bumblebee #optimus prime #ratchet #bulkhead #tfa bulkhead #tfa ratchet #tfa optimus prime #tfa bumblebee #tfa prowl x reader #fanfiction #self insert #fluff #headcanon that bee is in love w reader here #and gets upset that prowl wont just make the move #bc its painful to watch you two simp after each other and do nothing when hes been in love w you forever #and would totally make a move if you werent already in love w prowl #whoops made this sad BYE hope no one reads the tags

[spenciegoob]

Pathetic and Tragic

Summary: It’s been years since the BAU has tried to catch this unsub, so when Spencer figures out where she is, why did he feel the need to go alone?

Pairing: Spencer x Fem Unsub!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: mentions of murder/blood, slight bondage, hair pulling, choking, gagging, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, slight degradation

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: Hi! This is for a contest by @spenciebabie and I’ve chosen the one-shot prompt why don't you make me? 

Masterlist

____

The case was never supposed to last this long. Spencer knew that, Hell, the whole BAU knew that. A woman with ties to the highest degree of one of the most infamous organized crime families should have been the FBI’s top priority, and for a very long time, she was.

Then the case got complicated, and while Spencer’s mind clouded with an unbearable lust for a woman that would take his life with zero hesitation, the team lost one of their greatest players.

It was tragic in every sense of the word, the way Spencer’s mind replayed their first interaction, his lips feeling her breath on him after all this time, and the bullet that always rested in his bag.

He felt pathetic in that moment, letting her take control of his morals with her vice like grip on his mind, body and soul.

“FBI, freeze. Don’t move.” Finally, the BAU had found who they were looking for since her first appearance on their radar 8 months ago. More importantly, Spencer caught her trying to flee a scene she had no business being at. She looked so out of place, the blood and gore that laid a trail to her small, almost fragile figure making Spencer believe for a split second that she couldn’t have possibly done this.

But time moves quickly, and the second fleeted when she turned around to flash a wicked smile his way.

And Spencer Reid was the one who froze instead.

“Doctor,” she greeted with the utmost of poise and delicacy. “I do believe I have a job to do, so I’m sorry to inform you that I cannot follow your request at this time.”

She was taunting him, and Spencer would fall into that trap again and again if it meant her eyes remained on his.

But this was a criminal, a murderer, a sociopath, and he will not lose his footing this time. Not even for a flawless god-like woman.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murder of Tristen Kepler, Michael Gerdinski and Harold Bennet.” Spencer’s voice was slowly losing its confidence as her face turned from one of pure hilarity to confusion.

“Is that all? You might be missing a few names.” She was proud of her work, it was insufferable. Spencer’s anger level was slowly rising, and if she continued to dance circles around his mind, the task at hand being forgotten, it was going to get dangerously high.

“You won’t shoot me, Dr. Reid,” she continued as she took a step towards him, the grip on his gun tightened.

“How do you know?” Spencer’s voice shook with the same uncertainty as his finger shaking over the trigger. She was right, he wasn’t going to shoot her, but Spencer couldn’t confirm the thoughts of a narcissist.

“Because,” another step. “I’m unarmed, and you, Spencer Reid,” another step. “Are a man of morals and righteousness, and justice.” She spit the last word with so much venom that the story behind her rage could have been the world’s most tragic villain arc.

The whole case was quite tragic.

“Don’t take another step.” Spencer was easily a foot taller than her, and with one scan could tell he weighed twice as much as her, but she still found a way to make his blood run cold with both fear and excitement.

“Or what?”

Spencer could’ve sworn he only blinked and she was directly in front of him, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. She had laid a fog over his mind, taking away his intelligence and peeling back every layer of his mind so only the thought of lowering his weapon in favor of getting on her good side remained.

She was challenging him to do something, but instead of the snake charmer charming the snake, she charmed him.

Spencer must have been hallucinating on the high of being closer to her now, but he could’ve sworn the crime scene they were in was starting to grow the same vines in the Garden of Eden, because there she stood handing Spencer an apple.

Like Eve, Spencer took it.

The second his gun lowered slightly, she pounced. She had him disarmed and on his back before he had time to process the feeling of her skin on his. If the impact to the ground didn’t knock the wind out of Spencer, her close proximity would.

She had a heel digging into his wrist closest to his gun that was only inches away, taunting him for his pathetic lust. Slowly, she bent down, entering the fog, black smoke mixing with his innocent, white cloud to create a gray that he wouldn’t dare call dull.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this, Spencer. Truly, I am.” Her eyes left his to scan his face before she reached over to his gun. The thought crossed his mind that she was going to kill him, but would that be so bad when he was breathing the same air as her?

She emptied the chamber into her hands, only leaving one bullet. He walked this road before, he knew his chances.

“One bullet, one chance.” She spun the chamber before slamming it back in place. “God, I really hope you live.”

For a split second, they shared a gaze clouded with desire for the other. Spencer let his mind fade into what her lips would feel like against his, or how her body would tremble under his. She had control now, but he knew from the way her eyes begged, even just for one second, she wanted him to flip the roles and take her right there. He would’ve too if it wasn’t for the cool metal that pressed against the side of his head.

Click!

An empty threat, yet she still smirked. “Today’s your lucky day, Doctor.”

She looked up to where a single headlight shone through the window above them, her hair trickling down to brush against Spencer’s neck, and he sighed at the small contact. It was pathetic, really.

“That’s my ride. See you around.” With that, she winked and ran off towards her getaway. Spencer laid there, taking in shallow breaths that escaped him during their interaction.

She had been stalling him, and he fell for it.

Spencer still carried around that bullet as a reminder. A reminder that he needs to catch her, she was too dangerous, and anything less than her being imprisoned for life wasn’t good enough. 

It was also a reminder of how he felt when she was with him, over him, dominating him. Spencer never felt that helpless, that pathetic, that hungry for someone, and he wasn’t ready to let that go quite yet.

There was no new case that came in this week, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep that nagging feeling at bay when it came to her this case. They needed to shut it, Spencer needed to shut it, because maybe, just maybe, he could sleep better at night knowing he won.

“Delivery for Dr. Spencer Reid,” a voice called from the entrance of the bullpen. Spencer’s head shot around, finding a very harmless looking intern holding a small package in his hand looking around.

Cutting the kid some slack, he made his way over. “I’m Dr. Reid.” The kid smiled before handing him the little cardboard box. It fit in the palm of his hand, and was completely blank except for the small drawing of a snake on the top.

His blood ran cold, and his lungs forgot how to breath, just like they did a year ago.

A year ago today.

Spencer didn’t wait any longer, ripping the box open despite the strong glue that held it shut with its secrets.

Oh Spencer, hasn’t anyone told you not to open Pandora’s box?

The bullet inside rattled around the small container, one of the bullets that belonged to Spencer before she took them for her trophies.

She may have not killed Spencer, but she definitely took something more than just bullets with her that night.

He knew where she was, and she wanted him to.

Spencer could’ve told his team, hell, he was going to need the backup, so what stopped him from doing so as he raced for the crime scene that has since been cleared and reopened for the public to ignore the ‘No Trespassing’ sign?

Lust, lust is what stopped him, and it was pathetic.

Pathetic and tragic.

She knew he arrived, even if he turned the lights of the SUV off before pulling up the small warehouse. The air around her grew heavier with anticipation as she waited for Spencer to enter the room, no doubt waiting for the element of surprise.

She almost missed his light footsteps approaching her from behind.

“You’ve changed,” she called out. Spencer froze again, just like he had the first time. Was this pathetic enough?

“So have you,” his voice was calm, not caring for tiptoeing anymore. She was right, Spencer had changed, and now he took very little chances with instability.

“Yet here we are, repeating the same cycle as last year.” She turned to face him, and if she was less of a professional, she would have let her hunger for Spencer shine through. He had definitely changed, his hair was longer now, but still beautifully curly and framing his face, the one that was sharper, stubble on his cheeks. 

Spencer was a man now, one she wanted to strip down to nothing both physically and emotionally.

“That’s not entirely true,” he shot back with a sense of cockiness to his tone, cockiness she had no patience for. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

She snorted, actually snorted in his face. “You cannot be serious. You think I would lead you to me just to turn myself in?”

“You’re coming with me, whether you want to or not.” There was no room for argument, but she had other plans. She saw the lust in his eyes a year ago, and though time passed, that passion when he was looking at her still hasn’t faded. She just needed to push his buttons a little bit.

“Why don’t you make me?” It was the final straw, the last drop of water before the dam broke, and Spencer made no effort to stop himself from taking her head in his hands and smashing their lips together in both anger and desire.

She moaned against his mouth, wrapping her hands around his neck to find their place in his hair. Spencer had other plans, because he grabbed both of her wrists before turning her around and bending her over the metal table behind them.

“Listen, Princess,” Spencer whispered into her ear, his lips grazing the shell as he bent his whole body over her to press her further. The cool metal was digging into her hips, but she couldn’t complain when it also meant she felt Spencer’s hard erection on her backside. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, and then I’m going to take you in where you’ll rot in prison for the rest of your life. Do you understand?”

“Only one of us is getting ruined today, and it’s not me.” Apparently, that was not the answer Spencer wanted, because he grabbed a fistful of her hair to pull her back against his chest, making her gasp and squirm against his strong frame.

“Watch the attitude,” he growled out before reaching down with his other hand to unbutton her black jeans. “Now let’s try that again. Do you understand me?”

She only responded in a whimper as Spencer’s hands reached inside both her pants and panties to run his fingers through her slick folds.

“Use your words, Princess.” She tried to grind down on his fingers, but Spencer was quick to remove them from her pants. Bringing his hand up to her neck, he wrapped it around before squeezing lightly. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, I understand. Just please, Spencer.” She never would have thought that the awestruck doctor she wooed a year ago would be so rough with her, and the surprise just added to her need for him.

“Please what, Princess?” Spencer taunted.

“Just do something,” she barked back, immediately regretting her decision when he let go of her neck to push her by her head back onto the table with more force than necessary.

When she heard the click of his handcuffs, she started her relentless squirming. “What the hell, Spencer? I thought you were going to fucking do something!”

“Who said I wasn't?” He asked before completely ripping her pants down her legs, the cool air hitting her bare pussy, causing a shiver to run up her spine.

So this was the game Spencer’s playing.

“God, you’re already so fucking wet, Princess. Wanna taste you.” He gave her no time to register his words because Spencer dropped to his knees and licked a strip up and then down her folds, flicking her clit before taking in completely in his mouth.

Her mewls and groans bounced off the concrete walls around them, only urging Spencer on more. He suckled softly on her clit before flicking it back and forth repeatedly with his tongue at an incomprehensible pace. The knot in her stomach was forming, and at this rate, it was going to unravel fast.

“Spe-Spence I.. I’m g-gonna” Spencer brought his fingers up to her core, replacing his tongue with two slender digits.

“Do it, Princess. Come for me.” He pinched her clit roughly, and that was the final push over the edge, her moans loud consisting of incoherent curses and his name.

When she started to come down from her high, Spencer stood straight up again and started unbuckling his belt. She started to squirm and push back into him at his slow movements.

“I know you’re probably enjoying watching me struggle, but if you could please hurry the fuck up,” she said as she lifted part of her upper body to turn and look at him. She never got a good look, because Spencer reached out and slammed her back down before pushing all of himself into her waiting cunt.

She yelled out at the sensation, Spencer groaning before saying, “What did I tell you about that fucking attitude?”

He set a brutal pace, giving her barely any time to adjust before pulling out so just the tip remained, and then slamming into her with a rough, animalistic force.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sp- Spenc-” He grabbed her by the hair again, using it as leverage to pull her back onto his cock, making her scream out again.

“Shut up,” Spencer groaned out, annunciating each word with a thrust while he reached forward to shove two fingers into her mouth. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She moaned around his fingers, causing him to press down on her tongue, gagging her. Spencer could feel the way she started to clench around him.

“You gonna cum, Princess? That’s it, cum with me.” Spencer’s thrusts grew sloppier as they both ran towards their orgasm together.

When they both finally reached their high, Spencer could’ve sworn he saw stars, his cock twitching in her pulsing warmth, milking him of everything. For a split second, their bodies had become one.

But time moves quickly, and the second fleeted when his actions caught up to him, and he ripped himself from her.

She was still shaking and trying to catch her breath when he undid the handcuffs that were burning her wrists. Confusion spread through her as she used her arms that still felt like jelly to push herself up off the table.

“Why... why’d you uncuff me?” Spencer looked up through his eyelashes at her from where he was redoing his belt, his face unreadable.

“Get dressed. I can’t arrest you half naked.” He looked away from her with a blush on his face as she bent down to pull her pants back up. When she looked back up at him from where he was trying to see from his peripherals if she was dressed again, she caught a glimpse of the man she met a year ago.

“That’s not the reason, Doctor. If you have a question, ask it.”

“Why’d you stop?” Spencer finally turned to face her, catching the surprise on her face before it morphed into that same wicked smile that rendered him helpless last time.

“Would you have come if I kept killing?” He didn’t have to think about his answer, it was the reason he was hoping was true.

“No.” She slowly stalked over to him, but this time she didn’t flip him on his back. Instead, she cupped his cheek, and he didn't hesitate to nuzzle into her palm.

“I still have 4 bullets,” she said softly. They locked eyes again, but this time, the lust they indulged in melted down to a mutual understanding.

“I’ll see you next year, Doctor.” With that, she walked around him, shutting the door with a slam on the way out, leaving Spencer staring at the silver with no attempt to chase after her.

Pathetic and tragic.

____

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[benlaksana]

2021

It's been roughly a year and a half since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic here in Indonesia, and I've recently been trying to understand where I'm at. Not physically, as in physical space, but mentally and probably existentially. What is the state of my mind? I am aware that I've become somewhat bitter, my late nights are sometimes riddled with anxiety for what the next day may bring and reoccurring personal-collective grief has at times, and recently more often than I would like to admit, numbed me.

This may probably be my mind's automatic coping mechanism seeing all this death mainly as a result of how my government has failed us, its citizens, especially during a time of crises. And I really need to stress this point: how my government has failed us Indonesians during the times we need it the most and I very much believe that it is because of this why many of us Indonesians are in constant misery and haunted by that feeling of despair. If chronic physical pain causes constant daily anguish, I am not surprised if chronic physical and mental pain caused by structural violence causes persistent misery as well.

I'm somewhat fortunate in this regard, I'm grateful that I've learned ways to keep my sanity in check. My contemplative practice is key for me. Honestly, I wouldn't have gotten far in life without it. I have many people to thank, but Art Buehler especially, my former professor in esoteric contemplative/meditative practices who reminded me and pointed a certain possible direction of where I should head when I sense a lost in my life's direction, is one those I should thank the most. I know this seems like an individualized response to structural oppression, and I don't intend to paint such a picture, but I do believe we need some kind of mental stability to keep on going. To survive if not thrive.

Art sadly passed away in 2019. I received an email about his passing. And come to think of it I never really did allow myself to properly grieve for his passing. I don't know why. To be told through a short concise email that someone you cared for died, without having the opportunity to properly say goodbye feels like that person never really passed away. It is horrible way to end relationships. A sudden cut, nothing finalized, and since goodbyes are relational, now nothing can really ever be concluded. I have to make amends with myself and only with myself. If I said goodbye yesterday, or if I say goodbye today or perhaps tomorrow, will it ever be enough for me?

Life is individual yet also relational. It's good to have friends, family, people that care for you or the odd mix of all three to get you through life. So although I have these array of tools to possibly help get me through life but if the people whom you look for some kind direction is no longer present, I'm just not sure for how long I can maintain it if I'm doing all this by myself. Will a breaking point come to me?

The mind is a fickle thing, and the mind is as strong as its habits. Bad habits, bad mind. Good habits, good healthy mind (no habits, no mind?). They also say that things that might happen, will indeed happen. It is just a matter of time. If so, how will I break? To what extent? For how long? What will change? What will I lose? Will there be something renewed? Will I come out the same person? Will I come out changed but for the worst?

This is one of the things that worries me. That certainty of uncertainty. The certainty of breaking, the uncertainty of when and of its form. Will I explode in sudden exasperation, engulfed in madness? Will it be a quick balloon pop yet a slow descend into meaninglessness? An unabashed diatribe rant towards someone I care? Something that's just a twitter post away from me on actually doing it. Will this be an opening, an opportunity for 'satori', a sudden lift of the 'veil', bringing about comprehension and understanding of the true nature of things? Questions, questions, questions, not much when it comes to answers, is all I have for now. To be hopeful is hard these days and with the wavering hope, very much coming and going like waves, it has become incredibly hard to even retain any semblance of kindness. That is something I do not want to actively become a habit of. Without hope, comes the cold embrace of fatalism that many on the 'left' are guilty of. Clutched by fatalism, empathy becomes harder to come by. I've seen it, and I have felt it.

I know that my eroding sense of hope is connected to my personal dreams. Specifically how it has become very hard to actualize it. Rara and I never really planned on staying in Indonesia for long. I was confident enough, a bit too confident come to think of it, that we will be out of Indonesia by 2021 the latest. A mere 2 1/2 years after our last stay in New Zealand. The plan was for me to continue my studies, getting into a Ph.D. program and of course a scholarship. That was our ticket out. Hoping that we'll be back to our old routine in Wellington, in and out the university's library, my head in books, loving our 'flatwhites' while regretting having too much of it, the usual stint doing some university tutoring, community organizing stuff, lazy gardening, out and about on the weekends tramping around Wellington and if Covid did not happen or/and maybe if my government handled things much, much better I think that would've been the case. Or at least I constantly would like to imagine that would be the case.

Yet here we are still in Indonesia, me struggling to do my Ph.D. through this wretched distant learning, initially in the comfort of my home yet steadily devolving into cabin fever. And Rara with her own struggles trying her best to get back on her feet as an aspiring musician. None of it is going as well as we had hoped for. All this while juggling trying our best to keep ourselves safe and our families and friends safe. Both of us have become direct witnesses how challenging this has been, physically and mentally. Both of us slowly grappling with the continual kick in the gut, the never ending structural absurdity, violently absurd.

That slow grueling realization of how fragile our lives are. Not just existentially. It is existentially precarious yet at the same time understanding that precariousness in many of its aspects is structurally and politically maintained. It is this political construction of precarity, which Isabell Lorey elaborates in her book State of Insecurity: Government of the Precarious, that angers and saddens us the most.

Lorey provides a nuanced approach in unpacking and differentiating this thing called being 'precarious'. The three dimensions of being precarious: precariousness, precarity and then precarization. On precariousness, Lorey draw's on Judith Butler's conceptualization of precariousness which she sees as existential, relational and inevitable. I'll insert my existential philosophy and Buddhist values here, to help me see and more importantly accept the transient nature of life and that impermanence or change is the only constant. Our lives, our bodies are destined to die and wither away. We humans are fragile mortal beings. The loss of life, the loss of one's identity, the loss of everything that makes us, us is unavoidable. It's also a 'relational' thing, as in it is also a shared experience. Everyone will experience it. It is the great equalizer some say.

Then we have precarity. Yes everyone dies, but the process of dying or even the process of grieving someone's death is dependent on what Lorey see as the “effects of different political, social and legal compensations of a general precariousness”. Some die at young age due to starvation, riddled with poverty and disease and have nothing or no one to ease their pain, others die surrounded by family and friends in a well-cared for hospital. Some have days or weeks to grieve, others have to go back to work the next day as she or he have no luxury to stop working even just for a moment and simply grieve. To stop working even for a day draws some closer to the possibility of death for the person or those dependent on the person working. This is the inequality of dying and grieving due to our social hierarchies. How fragile we are, is dependent on those social hierarchies.

And last we have Lorey's third dimension, governmental precarization which is the instrumentalization of insecurity by the government. In other words, the government using the idea and the reality of insecurity as a tool or device to control its citizens. The calculated, deliberate attempt by the government in destabilizing our lives in order for us to be easily governed. Insecurity, be it real or due to perceived constructed fear of insecurity is an effective governing tool. The fear of being labeled "useless and lacking in contribution to the nation-state". The genuine insecurity of not being able to get a job due to the false understanding that it is simply a result of an individual's laziness rather than due to systematic government policies. The deliberate attempt in making our lives constantly insecure, constantly on the edge, without us initially knowing it and when we do come to understand, the blame is on us. It is normalized and it is internalized.

This is not simply a social issue, it is a deeply existential one as well. We Indonesians have very little to make us feel safe at the moment. Covid and the government's response to it has severely limited our movements and it's not simply physical immobility, but also an existential one, the inability to even have the imagination that our lives are actually "going somewhere", towards a forward direction. Perhaps some sort of minute incremental progress, but progress nonetheless. This imagined mobility is what Ghassan Hage calls as "existential mobility" and this immobility suffered by many of us is what he also calls as "stuckedness".

Turning an often momentary or the ephemeral nature of a crisis into something prolonged and perhaps even permanent is another part of the strategy of governmental precarization. Our lives or jobs are always on the line and again coupled with the sick prevailing idea that we only have ourselves to find the solution. The crisis is permanent, we don't know why but we've been told that way, if we fail to overcome it is because of our personal inabilities thus proliferating and intensifying this sense of stuckedness.

Forcing us to accept whatever solution the government-messiah presents us with in order to relieve us from this suffering. From labour laws that normalizes precariousness even more, to oppressive new laws that limits our desire and ability to dissent, to including who or how our enemies are defined, easily accepting who is to blame for all this insecurity we are all suffering.

Be it the long dead Indonesian communists, the Chinese Indonesians and the racist perception of them being "selfish and greedy", the Indonesian Islamists - the kadruns and their conservatism, the "foreign forces" whomever they may be constantly trying to take over Indonesia, anyone or anything is to blame. Anyone but the Indonesian government and its affluent patrons. Insecurity and the fear that rises from it renders many of us easily governable and compliant.

This governmental precarization and this 'stuckedness', which Hage sees no longer as a possibility that may or may not happen but an "inevitable pathological state which has to be endured" is how Rara and I feel at the moment.

Rara and I feel our lives are going nowhere. We feel that our lives are stuck, constantly rotating in a hamster wheel trying our best to overcome our precariousness. No progress, no forward movement, no growth, just trying our best to survive from this sustained uncertainty. It's an awful feeling, paving way to existential dread. We are very much looking forward to moving back to New Zealand as soon as possible but with the conditions right now, that is something I can't even dare to imagine.

And although I am grateful that the weave of our privilege with at many times just pure sheer luck has kept us alive and physically well for the time being, we both now realize that we have hit a proverbial concrete wall here. Adding to the already precarious nature of life here in Indonesia, our line of work as a fledgling social science academic and aspiring artist and what Rara and I aspire to do socially, what we aspire to become, easily ends in stagnation if we intend to continue to live our lives in Indonesia. (I want to direct you to Social Science and Power edited by Vedi Hadiz and Daniel Dhakkidae to get the gist of what I'm trying to get at here.)

This is a hard pill to swallow, harder to write and even more so to act upon. I am existentially tied to Indonesia, my family and friends are here, my father is buried here and so will my mother. Memories of the distant past, the colloquial language when shitposting on social media, my mind and body have been shaped by Indonesia in ways I possibly do not even fully realize. This is why I oscillate between guilt towards others and guilt towards the self. I feel guilty for simply having an exit strategy when many others don't, I have the luxury of choice. Yet I also I feel guilty for feeling guilty about this, as it means I am also neglecting the well-being of myself, now and in the future. I need to work on this and find my bearings, being stuck in a guilty limbo won't get me anywhere.

And the future is far from stable, I wonder what is on the other end of surviving this pandemic? There is so much collective grief, collective anger and of course personal anger. All this will amount to something, I'm sure of that. Although I don't know what exactly, I'm not entirely confident this something will be good. John Keane's new book 'The New Despotism' comes into mind.

What do I personally do with all this anger? I’ve noticed how anger, especially when it is on the verge of hatred, morphs itself and easily descends into madness, into aggression and often showing itself, unawaringly to us, when the act of expressing anger happens. Your mind becomes instantly clouded, ending in mindless action. This inability to have control over oneself terrifies me. I already have so very little semblance of control over life in general at the moment, if I truly have no control over myself whatsoever, what then do I have?

And I wonder if it is a waste of time asking these pseudo-intellectual questions? I don't know, yet I do know I live in a society where it hones aggression and hostility, whether it be in physical and digital spaces, and I would like to draw myself away from all this at the moment before I transform myself into something I do not wish to be. Anger I can fully understand, and it is needed and useful. Yet to actively transform it into deep blinding hatred and sustain it daily, is something I feel psychologically destructive for me and I'm trying my best not to go on that path.

I rarely update this blog I know, but this blog has always been used as a personal chronicle of how much I have progressed, digressed or both. And I needed to write all this, because I've never been this least sure of what my life should be like and where it should go. I know I am not alone at this. This pandemic has destroyed the lives of many, our futures, our dreams, our sources of love and I hope that anyone of you reading this finds a way to get through it, doing anything you can do day in, day out.

I'm not sure it if amounts to anything. Maybe it won't, maybe it will, or maybe it has but maybe we just can't see it. All I can personally do for now, is to hold on to these 'maybes', and maybe, just maybe I'll get through this too.

“Where must we go...

We who wonder this Wasteland

in search of our better selves?”

- The First History Man, George Miller

[herstarburststories]

Merry... Birthday?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: You love christmas, but Dean doesn’t. Yet, he might make an exception for your birthday this year.

A/N: This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr​ ‘s secret fic exchange. My secret Santa was @katymacsupernatural​. Hey, honey! I hope you enjoy this and happy birthday! You deserve double presents, so here’s mine. All mistakes are mine!

Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

You loved Christmas.

It was probably a nostalgic longing for your long gone urban life. Just in the same way you’d still catch yourself looking through the news for election results or feel your stomach twist if you didn’t eat homemade food at least twice a week. You were dead to the government and certainly spent more on the road than in a home. Besides, you had met up with God enough times to know him. All the encounters and screaming and unapologetic abandonment should make you want to throw any baby Jesus against a wall or even climb on a Christmas tree just to shout about all the hoaxes so perfectly molded in patterns through our brains like braids.

Yet, something about you loved christmas. 

The pretty lights always shining, it didn’t matter where you go. For once, all the city-- everything would be entirely made of light. Their incandescent glow always companishing each person, either it was in an once treacherous alley or only to make the kids' grin bigger as they watched them among the busy streets with wide eyed gazes. The confusion in the kitchen that often ended up with huffs bursting into chuckles between the smell of meals that were too much and would make a room for leftovers for the rest of the week. How everything seemed to be made only of happiness, and nothing could ever cut through those water; all the knives were suddenly swords for kids to play and no white gun. In Christmas, a house became a kingdom for every heart. Everything was good and felt through the skin to the bone, like a single glimpse, a hidden day of what would be paradise.

That was how you were raised, at least. The Winchesters didn’t share the same mindset, no. While you grew up with decorating the tree, they were hiding bodies in the dim light. Leftovers were all through their whole year, and Christmas was described as good or not with one single criteria: snow streets. They had to take one? Annoying date. They didn’t and there was eggnog? Bearable Jesus’s birthday.

Yet, you attempted to make the bunker the more festive possible: buying a bunch of christmas lights, cookies’ ingredients and even a small nativity scene. Your attempts to enjoy the date’s niciities ended up with Sam breaking his arm after crashing on the ground because you insisted on him putting the lights in a place higher than his age, not to mention the burned cookies that looked more like tiny monsters than gingerbread men.

Your parents used to make this look so much easier.

Although the youngest Winchester understood a little more about the concept of holidays, a believer in the good until the very end, his brother didn’t share the idea. You couldn’t say you were surprised. Dean just had two barely normal christmas in his life: one when he was dying and one with Lisa and Ben. Both situations made it to his heart only to shatter from the inside.

‘’Baby Jesus?’’ Dean snorted, shaking his head at the sight of you adjusting the weird little dolls in the nativity. He placed another ruined cook in his mouth, speaking with his mouth full next: ‘’We have the son of Lucifer, guess that counts.’’

‘’Don’t say that once Jack gets home.’’ You rolled your eyes, turning to face the oldest Winchester with your hands on your hips. How could he eat that? You couldn’t even make it a bite and Sam only had half of those. ‘’And stop eating those. They are burned.’’

‘’I’ve had worse.’’ He remarked, adding another cookie to his mouth. You grimaced, wondering for a brief moment how your boyfriend could be simultaneously the guy who saved the world and a man with the taste of a five years old.

‘’Yeah. But I’m the one who has to hear you whining about your bellyache later.’’

‘’I don’t whine--’’ You arched your eyebrows at his statement, making Dean huff in agreement. ‘’That was once and because of Sam’s weird ass vegan bacon.’’

‘’You acted like you were dying.’’

‘’My tongue was!’’

‘’So get this.’’ Sam’s voice interrupted your childish argument, catching the attention of both hunters like a shiny object did to a cat. ‘’Apparently we got an earlier christmas gift.’’

‘’What is it?’’ You asked, approaching the table.

‘’Three teenagers disappeared in the forest, all personal objects left behind.’’ Sam explained as Dean scratched out his neck to glance at his brother’s computer screen. Nothing like a case in Colorado. ‘’The authorities think it’s a serial killer. But one of the girls, Kayla Wodson, said she saw a weird, skinny giant take her friends.’’

‘’Ho ho ho and three bodies.’’ Dean clapped his hands together with a wry curve of lips. ‘’Alright. Let’s hit the road-- Wait, wait, wait. Where do you think you are going?’’

You were standing beside Dean while Sam raised to his feet, ready to pack his bags. Dean, nonetheless, was quicker than his brother, soon putting himself in front of Sammy; hands protectively standing in front of the youngest’s chest to keep him from moving any further.

He shook his head with a scoff. ‘’Dude, come on.’’

‘’Not happening, Sammy. You got a broken arm.’’ You mumbled a sorry along Dean’s big brother speech, to which Sam replied with a comprehensive smile. ‘’Y/N and I take care of it.’’

‘’He’s right. Must be the first time in his life, but he is.’’ Dean turned his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you ‘’Don’t worry. It’s just a wendigo anyway. ‘’

‘’Okay. Just…’’

‘’Don’t forget the fireblazer. As if your brother would miss an opportunity to use it.’’ You scrunched up your noise, causing a chortle out of Sam while Dean commented something about grabbing the specific instrument and walked away. ‘’Maybe you could call Eileen. Ask her to help you to back some christmas cookies.’’

Sammy shook his head at your wiggling brows. ‘’That doesn’t sound as sexy for me as it does for you.’’

Dean Winchester was good with numbers.

Not the urban numerical sense of the deal, of course. He almost didn’t make it in sixth grade with useless geometry and all that, and he still used his fingers to count when he had to deal with an equation. No, his good and quick way with numbers was easier, intrinsic to his head.

How many years since mom died? Seventeen. How many people did he have to save? All of them. How many years had he left? Less than he once owned.

Hunter math was simpler, and was all he really needed since he was four years old, running from the fire with his baby brother in his arms-- which brought him to the second section of his particular geometry: birthdays and death anniversaries. Dean never, ever forgot any special date. Those were his own holidays, the only worth celebrating and remembering. His wishes, grief, and cherishment were reserved for the people he loved, not some celestial assholes who saw his life like a book.

Therefore, his mind went on a golden rush for your day as soon as the Wendigo hunt took more than you both expected. You wouldn't be able to make it home before your birthday, which would be ending shortly, a matter of two or three hours. His inner engineers were useful tonight, in his vision, useful enough to make those sappy movies jealous. While you were washing some guts and leaves away, Dean went to the nearest convenience store. His long arms nesting a bunch of stuff he never dared to touch in years. The cashier with drowsy eyes and escarlet Santa hat seemed bored with his shopping, probably because she saw an uncountable amount of people buying the same things over and over. He couldn’t blame her for the suburban exhaustion. If anything, it was a small comfort for his war orbs to see and be a part of a scene so mundane.

He hustled back to the dive motel room, singing in relief to himself once he stepped in and heard you singing Christmas Tree Farm while the water rushed in. He grimaced at himself for recognizing that Taylor Swift song. How couldn’t he? That woman was 80% of all you heard everyday. Man, he was whipped.

Tilting his head back in reality, he started organizing in clumsy manners of putting everything in place for you. His bruised hands touching so carefully the fragile ornaments to make the motel room with grubby walls and weird black stan on the floor that only seemed to grow a little more like you.

You, the woman who put up with him, who laughed at his stupid jokes, and who watched Scooby Doo, all snuggled up to him every friday. You, the woman who switched from AC/DC to Taylor Swift and then Eric Clapton. You, the one who understood his job and helped him to wash off some of the blood on his hand and never got scared of how red the water could get. You, the girl who rolled her eyes at his first attempt of flirting and now stole his french fries and kissed his lips as if he was worth being delicate with. You, his breathing, his true holiday, his only act of faith besides Sammy.

Dean pressed his teeth against his bottom lip, looking up and down his little manual work. Part of him said it was ridiculous, he surely would make a lot of fun of Sam if he did that to a chick. Yet, mostly he was proud. He wanted you to like it. It wasn’t even near to what you deserved, but it was a piece of it. It was what the Winchester could give you, and that would be hopefully, enough.

While Dean was caught in the crossroad of judging and admiring his surprise, you left the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and lips mumbling Cocaine. Your feet glued to the ground once you witnessed what was in front of you: the room was decorated with christmas lights, a tiny plastic tree on the table, right beside a pie with candle on the top and two cup of what smelled like hot cocoa.

‘’Dean…’’ Your tender tone brought him back from his traineck thoughts as he turned around to glance at you. You chortled in astonishment as he raised his eyes and said surprise! ‘’What’s this?’’

‘’Well, it’s your birthday.’’ He shrugged, scooting closer to you with a smirk. Dean smoothly wrapped his arms around your waist, yours instantly resting around his neck. ‘’In my defense, they just had christmas stuff. Blame your parents for having you close to Jesus’ special day.’’

‘’Christmas stuff include pie and not cake?’’ Your brows knitted together, a heartwarming smile on your lips as you watched his expression marked by multicolored little lights. He smelled like something was a blaze, and you knew that was for standing too close to the candle and not for burning a body this time. Small changes.

He scoffed humorously. ‘’You like pie better anyway.’’ He nodded at the carnival-like situation around you two. Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of man who got insecure, but you could catch a perk of brand nervous hesitation as his green eyes shot you an anxious glance. ‘’Did you like it?’’

‘’I loved it.’’ You pulled cheeks dimpled with joy that was kissed by Dean’s own smiling lips. The kiss was so gentle, it was his own palpable light hearted emotion. You being happy in his arms. It had been so long since he felt he could be enough, he could make someone happy. But you were right there. As you pulled away, another short kiss was given between playful words: ‘’That’s what I call a christmas miracle.’’

‘’Shush.’’ He leaned in and pecked your lips. As Dean pulled back, he couldn’t help but watch around with the pride of Hubris. His glance went back to you, a lopsided grin on his face. God, you loved that smile. You loved that man. ‘’So I added some whiskey to the hot cocoa. We could drink some, eat the pie, and see if those lights make a good improvise rope. What do you tell me?’’

All you could do was kiss him again.

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spnsecretsantaficexchange #dean winchester imagine #dean x you #dean Winchester x you #supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester x you #jensen ackles #dean winchester headcanons

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 17

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2137

Warnings:  Pregnancy, mental health issues

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 17: Therapy

“So, tell me.  How’re things?”

“Good.  Really good.”  That was the truth of it.  I sat on the soft, plush couch in Jax’s office, starting my therapy session and I felt really good.  I was now sixteen weeks pregnant and Natasha and Wanda were now 24 weeks.  I had a noticeable baby bump and we’d be finding out the sex soon.  I was in that sweet spot where I wasn’t too heavy to do things and I was past the morning sickness so I felt full of energy and ready to take on the world.  On top of that, we were feeling the other babies kick now.  The twins loved to put their hands on Natasha or Wanda’s stomach and talk to their sisters until they felt them kick.  They’d squeal and tell everyone how much their sisters loved them in excited jabbering.  I loved touching them too.  It was nice, when the day had come to a close, to relax, cuddled up on the couch with my hands on Natasha or Wanda, just feeling the babies kick.  The kids were enjoying school.  We dropped them off and picked them up in pairs.  If Natasha was one of the pair we’d walk.  If not, we’d have Happy drive us and wait in the car so we could avoid the paparazzi.  They’d made friends and they came home jabbering about all the things they’d done.  We organized play dates for them.  On top of that, everyone had just taken on administrative duties unless there was something really big and they needed a heavy hitter like Thor or Hulk (which was so rare these days), I was almost stress-free and enjoying myself.  So I was good.  I was as good as I’d been in my whole life.  This felt like the way things were supposed to be.

“You feel prepared for the babies’ arrival?”  Jax asked.

“Well, not yet,” I admitted.  “We have the nurseries set up.  We probably still need to go shopping for baby clothes and while we still have the bassinets from the twins, we’ll probably want to get another two, because even with the nursery, we’ll want them sleeping in with us.”

“Won’t that make it hard on your sex life?”  Jax asked.

“I think no matter what, four infants are going to make it hard on our sex lives,” I laughed.  “But we do have two other main bedrooms we use if we need time away from the larger group, for sex or sleep or whatever.  I think we’ll be okay.  We did it with two, I know four is going to be more than twice as much work, but there are a lot of us.”

“That is true,” Jax said.  “Well, I’m sure you’ll work it out.  So just clothes shopping?”

“Well, diapers and bottles.  Wipes, creams.  All that kind of stuff,” I said.  “But there’s plenty of time and a lot of it can just be added to the normal shopping list.  I guess the main thing we still haven’t started working on is hiring a nanny.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jax asked. “It would be a big process.  I would have thought you’d all have Wanda out stalking the potential candidates by now.”

I shifted where I sat as I considered the question. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean I know we need the help.  Even with all of us, six kids under five are going to be a lot to deal with.  But I don’t normally have anything to do with the hiring process.”

“These are your kids though, don’t you think you should be?”  Jax asked.

He was right.  I should be involved.  I had been with the school choice and this was much more important than that.  “Yeah, I guess so.  I’ll bring it up with Steve and Tony.”

“Are you worried about it?”  He asked.

I nodded.  “Yeah, I guess so.  They’re going to be trusted with a lot and it’s not like I haven’t had people break that trust in the past.”

“It is a big thing,” Jax said. “They’ll have access to a lot of your life and your family.”

“We have Wanda though,” I reasoned.  “And Nat and Clint are good at reading people.”

Jax smiled. “I’m really happy to see you taking this view, El,” he said.  “When I met you I think this would have sent you into a state of panic.”

“I mean, you did meet me just coming off my therapist trying to kill a bunch of my loved ones,” I half-joked.

He chuckled.  “Yes.  That is true. But I would say you’ve come along way since then. Do you think that too?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, I think I feel at peace in the world. Like I’ve found my place.”

“What do you think has caused that?” Jax asked.

“It started when the twins were born,” I say.  “I don’t think it was because they were born exactly.  I don’t see them as some magical fix for my mental health.  But I think everyone decided they needed to try harder to get healthy for them.  But I think the major thing was the bonding on Asgard and Thor coming here and then clearing things up with my parents.  I know I still have work to do, but I feel more able to accept the love these guys have.  Plus the power I have has made it so I don’t really worry about them anymore.  I know where everyone is and if they’re okay.  It has let me relax and I needed that.”

“What do you think you still need to work on then if you’re feeling so much better?” Jax asked, getting out a notebook.

“Well, I guess there’s always been the worry about losing my own identity in all of theirs,” I say. “And...I don’t know… I don’t think it’s grounded in logic, but I worry that with so many kids, people will start worrying about genetics more.  I mean… Tony asked to have this one with me, what if he stops being a parent to the others because he has this one?”

“Let’s start with the identity thing,” Jax said.  “What makes you feel that way?”

“Well, aside from work, I feel like everything I do is them or the kids. And really the work is related to them too.”

“Maybe you need to start making more time just for you. Spend some time with friends.  Get your nails done.  Read for fun.  Maybe take up a new hobby.  What do you think you’re not doing that you used to do?”  Jax said.

“I guess I spent more time with friends. And I read a lot,” I said.

“Okay, so put some time aside with you once a week.  That’s what I want you to do for your homework. You’re going to tell me about the hour you spent just on you,” Jax said, taking notes.

“Alright.  I can do that,” I agreed. “Maybe I’ll call Clarke up.”

“She’d like that,” Jax said.  “As for the other issue, do you really think they’ll be like that?  Has there been evidence of it outside Tony asking you?”

“Um… yes and no.  I mean, they’re all very into all the pregnancies and the twins are still the center of everyone’s universe.  But I just… notice when Bucky is with Nat and Sam with Wanda and Tony with me now.  And I don’t know if I’m just picking up on it because I worry it’s because of that, or if there’s no difference to how it always has been.”

“Well, I guess you have two options.  The first is you can track their behavior and if the amount seems out of the ordinary you address it,” Jax said.  “Or you can reflect and consider if this is coming out of your own experience.  If they are attentive to the twins and have been attentive to everyone else too, it might be you expect love to be withheld because you have experience with that in your childhood, don’t you?”

I frowned and nodded.  I had always been the family scapegoat for my father’s temper.  It had definitely felt like they had favorites and I was never one of them.  It made sense that I would think that parents just had favorites and it would be easy to see in a family where genetics wasn’t what made many of them parents.

“You’ve had an issue with that, haven’t you?”  Jax said.  “Believing they had favorites and that you weren’t anyone’s?”

That felt like a punch to the gut.  I had always felt that I wasn’t special when everyone else was.  I was under the belief that I was the spare but if it came down to it if they all had to pair off, I wouldn’t have a pair.  It wasn’t until Asgard when Tony said I was his person that I realized that I had been picked first.  “Yeah, that’s definitely true. But Bucky said they all had favorites.”

“Do you think that Bucky can speak for all of them?”  Jax asked. 

“I guess not, and I guess he was in a fragile place when he said it, but it’s also definitely true for some of them,” I say.

“And for the ones you’re not sure it’s true for,” Jax said. “Do they make you feel less loved?”

I shook my head.  “No, and I feel loved by the ones it is true for too.”

“Do they show favorites out of the twins?”  He asked.

“No, not at all.  They all adore both of them,” I said.

“You know you're worthy of the love those children get right?”  Jax said.

Tears immediately pricked my eyes and I grabbed a tissue and frantically wiped them as I shook my head.

“That old bone again,” Jax said.  “I’m gonna convince you, El.  One of these days.”

I nodded and wiped the escapee tears from my cheeks.  “I know.  I know.”

“And on that topic,” Jax said.  “I have some information.  It’s up to you what you do with it.”

I looked at him and furrowed my brow, not at all sure where the hell this was going.  “What is it?”

“Your mother left your father.  She’s been living in the city.  As far as we know she hasn’t had any contact with him other than through the lawyers.  She filed for divorce and she’s been seeing one of the therapists that work under me.  This was all passed on to me by that therapist at your mother’s request.  She’s hoping you’ll agree to see her.”

“Oh,” I said softly.  I didn’t know what to think.  This had all hit me like a truck.  Those were the conditions I set but I had not at all expected her to meet any of them.  My immediate thought was it was some kind of elaborate trick because my mother had never chosen me over anyone before - least of all my father.  “What do you think I should do?”

“I can’t tell you that, Elise,” Jax said.  “This is your decision.”

“But you have an opinion,” I said.

Jax let out a breath. “I was the one that told you it was okay to cut them out of your life in the first place.  I was very proud of you when you did that.  I stand by the decision you made.  If you don’t want to let her back in, even if her intentions are pure, that decision is healthy and a good one,” he said. “However, you set the conditions for her to re-enter your life and she has been following them. That is big.  Letting her back in might be good for you. But only if she’s really committed to fixing things.  If you let her in, you need to do so while protecting yourself.  If her behavior is still toxic you can’t keep her around.  I know you want your mom to love you the way you love your children.  That’s totally normal.  But if she can’t do that - if she can’t make up for what she did - if she resents you for that - it would be better for you both to just end it.”

“Right,” I said with a nod.  “I get it. I guess I better think about it.”

“Talk to the others.  Clarke too.  But when you make your decision, make sure it’s your decision,” Jax said.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Alright. I think that’s time, El,” he said.  “Remember your homework.”

“At least one special thing just for me,” I said, getting up.

“I’ll see you next week, if not before,” he said.

“Yeah, probably before,” I said.  “See you.”

I headed out of the office, the dark clouds that were my parents over my head again.

// NEXT

#the avengers #steve rogers #bucky barnes #tony stark #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #clint barton #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #avengers fanfic #avengers x oc #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #tony stark x oc #stucky #clintasha #natasha romanoff x oc #wanda maximoff x oc #clint barton x oc #bruce banner x oc #sam wilson x oc #all caps #thor x oc #thor #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #pregnancy #the tower

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: ~700

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away.

Early corruption AU.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

Not five minutes later, Pearl’s cell phone rings.

Or at least, Garnet glimpses many potential futures where it will. It’s not a guaranteed turn of events, nor can she sense who the most likely caller is amidst the flood of uncertainties the house’s destruction has birthed within her, but its probability is strong. Strong enough to address, she eventually decides. After all, few individuals ever dial Pearl’s number outside of emergencies. Additionally, if she doesn’t say anything, the likelihood that Pearl will ignore the call in favor of nervously pacing back and forth across the warp pad is dauntingly high.

 “Pearl, you’ll want to answer your phone when it rings,” she states simply, not desiring to complicate matters with her wealth of unknowns. As the captain of their metaphorical ‘ship,’ she’s long since learned to avoid providing her friends a surplus of information, least it overwhelm them.

 And sure enough, true to a number of rivers she’s charted, the call arrives the moment Pearl pauses in her pacing to pull her phone out of her gem.

 “Hello, Pearl speaking,” she says, leaning against the cavern wall. Whoever is on the other end, her expression quickly sinks, a new wave of concern overpowering her already fragile psyche. “No, we- I’m afraid we  don’t   know where he is. The house is wrecked, and we’ve found his phone in the rubble, but he’s nowhere to be seen! We— no, we don’t know how that happened, either. You said he sent you a message? What—“

 Long pause. She presses her lips together tight as she listens.

 “Oh. I see. Well, we’ll keep looking, all right? Yes, I’ll keep you updated. Take care of yourself, okay?”

 With a long sigh, she hangs up, and holds the phone to her gem. A wide beam of light takes hold of the object, swiftly pulling it back to the meticulously organized void within. Looking ready to cry, she drops her head into her hands.

 “Oh, Steven...” she whispers, unable to obscure the sorrow-laden hitch in her voice. “What happened to you?”

 Frowning, Amethyst strides across the cool stone floor to stand at her side, placing a supportive hand against her shoulder. “Who was that?”

 “Connie,” Pearl says, wiping remnants of moisture away from her eyes. “She said Steven texted her asking for help just a few minutes ago!”

 Garnet stiffens, crossing her arms around her chest. Now      this     is new information, the sort of intel she’d never be able to pull from thin air with her future vision. Not without the proper context. Not without... possessing an intimate understanding of the individuals involved. (The gems in her palms almost ache at this thought.) She fears that the reason her power of foresight is all but static when looking towards Steven is the same reason he desperately chose to reach out to Connie over text instead of seeking help from one of his guardians directly. And yes, she wholly acknowledges that he’s been going through a rough period in life lately, but she can’t help but feel deeply hurt by his recent avoidance. Does he... does he not trust her anymore? She thought they used to be close, that they could talk about anything together. What happened? At what point in their timelines did her understanding of him diverge so sharply?

 And why?  

 What did she do wrong?

 “Y’all,” Amethyst says, her soft voice blessedly slicing through the perilous riptide of her sorrows. “We really, really need to get Greg in on all this. He deserves to know.”

 Garnet presses her fingers inwards. Closes her third eye, allows herself to truly feel the gentle, clockwork thrum of light evenly distributing throughout her form. It’s just a thought. Just a thought. Just a thought. All those questions in good time. For now, the last thing the Crystal Gems need is for her to lose herself within the unknown. She must be strong— for them. And for Steven.

“We could use his help, too,” she announces with a new air of confidence, stepping forward to join the rest of the group. “After all, as his father, Greg knows Steven better than any of us.”

#su #su future #garnet #pearl #amethyst #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

[ginazmemeoir]

Kashibai-Mastani

I was inspired by @allegoriesinmediasres to right this fic. It’s three pages long, so i would advise you to sit tight.

Kashi stood numb as she watched the projector curtain burn. She felt that Baji had burnt their marriage of 20 years too in a single night.

Mastani drew in a breath as Bajirao drew her closer in the Aaina Mahal in open defiance of his mother Radhabai. The anger on her face was clear, and Mastani felt as if she was committing a crime, when she shouldn’t have to.

It had been a year since the Aaina Mahal incident. Baji first reduced his visits, and then stopped altogether. He spent most of his time with Mastani in the palace he had specially constructed for her. The only time he saw Kashi was when she came back from her mother’s home after delivering her secondborn who was at length christened Raghunathrao (she called him Raghu or Raghoba). Even then he had left immediately to assist Mastani with her birth. Kashi hated a small part of herself for wishing that both mother and child died that day. She did everything to convince herself that she was happy, but the shock of betrayal had left her hollow. The maids and noblewomen were silenced by her sister-in-laws, but Kashi felt the sting of their taunts. She tried to believe she was luckier and happier, for she had the support of her entire kingdom and family, but really she just felt stripped of everything – cast adrift in a cruel sea.

Mastani now knew the true meaning of heaven. Yes she missed her father’s palace very much, but she would even trade the pleasure of a thousand jannats to spend time with Baji. He was teaching Krishna to walk right now (she insisted on calling him Krishna, while Baji called him Bahadur), and she felt she was in a dream – beautiful and fragile, and she feared it would break one day and she would wake up cold and alone.

Kashi didn’t know what to do. She considered her options – Mastani and her son’s death would mean that she had a chance to get back everything she had. But she knew nothing would ever be the same – her husband would be a broken man. No matter how much she wanted, her conscience wouldn’t let her commit such a crime, not today when she was worshipping Ganpati, the lord of auspiciousness and happiness. She went and told Baji during the aarti and they both rushed to rescue her, reaching just in time as she slew the final assassin and collapsed. Kashi hugged Bahadur and checked him for any harm. Then looking at Baji, she left and sent for the doctors.

Mastani felt her dream was cracking. She remembered each cruelty she had experienced at the hands of the Peshwa elite – staying in a brothel, being asked to dance in a private audience, and now almost being killed. She now feared for the life of her son, but one look at Baji, and she knew he would do anything to keep her safe. But just for her sake, she asked her father to send a contingent of her loyal Rajput soldiers from Banda.

It had been six years since things changed between her and Baji. Her wounds were healing, and Kashi was going to invite Mastani today for Gauri Padwa. As she reached Mastani Mahal, she heard both children giggling. The mothers couldn’t be happier that the animosity between them hadn’t affected their children in anyway – Raghoba and Bahadur were practically inseparable. Kashi stood near the threshold for a long time. She took in all of the palace – a marvel truly, it was a fusion of Rajputi, Mughal and Marathi architecture. There were jalis and jharokhas, a space she thought was meant for dua and ibadat and then a shrine dedicated to Krishna. Truly Mastani was wonderful. The palace was bare and elegant, sprawled instead with lush gardens, courtyard and fountains. She spotted an armoury, fit for warriors like her. Mastani was reciting poetry to the children then – it was about a pearl yearning to get out of the clam and embrace the ocean. Her poetry was magical, meanwhile Kashi wrote poems about a frog who ate nothing but laddoos and farted. Finally, the kids were sent away and Kashi entered.

Mastani saw Kashi standing near the threshold. She didn’t invite her, but instead used the poetry as a cover to recollect what she knew about her. They hadn’t met often, but on the rare occasion they had, she had found her to be collected and composed, watching everything silently. Mastani’s father had desperately tried to teach her these court manners, but failed on watching her giggling. The rest, she knew from Bajirao. He described her in astounding detail, like one would describe the full moon. She was innocent, but was a born empress. She navigated the deadly world of politics with ease, disarming opponents with kindness and taunts at the same time. She had established a strong rapport with her in-laws, and being the daughter of the richest banker in Pune, she had a head for numbers. Baji even described her palace while constructing hers -  it was an elaborate architecture, covered with statues and intricate carvings. There were not many gardens and the armoury was absent, but there was instead a well equipped kitchen and atelier, with foreign supplies. Everywhere one looked there was light; the entire structure was covered in arches of diyas, lamps and chandeliers. Her room was painted in bright colours, and there was a coveted bronze statue which must have cost a fortune. Kashi was every inch the empress she was. Shooing the children away, she invited her.

Kashi didn’t know what overcame her, but the poison she carried with her for six years came out pouring like a river. She had no sense of what she was speaking, but she knew it was not fit to be spoken by the Peshwain for the Princess of Budelkhand.

Mastani had expected this. She called her mistress and whore, a destroyer of homes; this she heard everyday – what she hadn’t expected was for her to start crying, then apologize and tell her to be strong, and then invite her to the Padwa function she had organized in the main palace.

That day both danced and revelled, ate food, prayed for happiness and shared as women, and unwittingly both had created a place in the other’s heart.

The next week Baji finally visited Kashi’s palace. The place had changed – it was not lit by lamps anymore. Kashi now knew what she was doing; she lashed out at Baji, called him a thousand cruel names. She reminded him of the way he hurt her, and then didn’t even care to come. So she banned him from her palace henceforth. She then wished him a long life and victory in battle, as he headed out to Hyderabad to quell the Nizam.

Mastani gave Bajirao his armour and swords. The right was reserved for the Peshwain, but Bajirao felt a warrior princess was better suited. He felt eerily calm as he shared a cryptic message with her and then rode off to battle.

Baji had fallen sick with fever and there were sores over his body. Palanquins were readied for Kashi and Radhabai in the dead of night along with a regiment of doctors, nurses, maids, cooks and soldiers as they headed to Rawalkhedi, when Kashi halted the procession. She went down from her palanquin, and rushed out, returning with Mastani and her son. Baji needed her. However Radhabai still had her way – Mastani was to come with the soldiers, cooks and maids later on. She arrived two days after Kashi. Bajirao rushed out of the tent to embrace her. That was the first night his week long fever broke.

There was not much to do, and so Kashi and Mastani spent most of the time together. They talked, laughed, ran, played games, and wept. Before long, both the women were fast friends.v

Baji was declared dead. All were shocked beyond measure. Nanasaheb was called from Pune to light fire to his father’s funeral pyre. He was then anointed Peshwa at Rawalkhedi. Kashi and Mastani now knew the real meaning of separation. They felt as if the precarious thread from which their lives were connected had snapped.

Weeks went by even after reaching Pune till Mastani emerged from her palace. As regnant Peshwain, Kashi was immediately swarmed by duties. Both women started moving towards the other, finding solace in the other’s company. It was time for Kashi to shave her head and burn her clothes and jewellery. Mastani convinced her otherwise – she was a human too, and her life without Baji just had as much meaning as with him. Both gave each other courage, and soon friendship blossomed to love.

They embraced each other in a secluded garden like they were the last humans on earth. Kashi wept, for she thought their relation was not meant to be. Mastani was made of stronger metal. She wrote a letter to her father the next day, asking his permission to marry Kashi. It took a week for the letter to arrive with the best of runners. The letter was in her mother’s writing. Both parents had blessed the union, but advised her to move with caution, even telling her to come back to Banda where she would be safe.

Mastani broke the news to Kashi. Kashi couldn’t believe her ears – what she believed was impure and irrational, was indeed love, and Mastani was willing to sacrifice everything for it. Kashi mustered all her courage and contacted her father too. The letter was delivered to her in secret – her father reaffirmed her that all love is pure, and further warned that if the Peshwas further tried to snatch her daughter’s happiness, he would make paupers out of them. Both sets of parents convinced, the only obstacles left were Radhabai and Nanasaheb.

Radhabai had reformed after her son’s death. She had accepted Mastani and her son, and even inculcated mullahs along with pandits to educate the young Peshwa princes. However, it took a lot of diplomacy and some tears to convince her of the union between a Hindu and Muslim widow.

Nana was a tougher nut to crack. He loved his mother, but still hated Mastani with a burning intensity, blaming her for his mother’s sorrows. He had always stayed under his grandmother’s shadow, and thus his young mind had already developed rigid ideas surrounding religion, caste, and women. It took two months for him to accept the union, after realizing the need for his mother to have a partner, and her right to be happy.

The wedding was conducted with full pomp and gaiety. The entirety of Pune, the Maratha nobility, and the relatives of both the brides arrived for this strange ceremony taking place. The ceremony was conducted through both Hindu and Muslim customs to keep religious tensions to a minimum. Both brides were resplendent and happy, and then retired to their quarters.

Their marriage ushered a new peace in the Maratha empire – strengthening unity and for the first time raising questions about women’s and widows’ rights. Mastani had headed with her son to the Battle of Panipat as a diplomat and was instrumental in brokering peace. Kashi played her part as the Peshwain to perfection, handling the increasingly autonomous Maratha chiefs.

They retired after the battle to a palace within the woods. The women lived in peace, and served as an example for history – that love indeed is boundless.

#bajirao mastani #bajirao #kashi #kashibai #mastani #india #fanfics #fanfictions #indian fanfics #indian fics #fics #literature #storytelling #lgbtq characters #lgbtq representation #lgbtq relationships #queer india #lgbtq in india #lgbtq india #lgbtqiia+ #lgbtqia+ #i'm in love with this idea

[jenniferxprentiss]

with my calamitous love (and insurmountable grief)

jj/emily -> read it on ao3 here

“I just want to be a real mom.” Her voice was broken, lips quivering as she looked down at her hands, at her bitten down fingernails and chipped nail polish, a testament to the mental turmoil she had been experiencing.

tw: infertility, canon abortion mention, post-Doyle fic.

————

this is a very personal fic to me, and though I will never know that it’s like to be stabbed in the abdomen with the leg of a table and have my internal organs ripped to shreds like Emily Prentiss experienced, I feel this fic very personally in other ways, and if this fic brightens anyone’s day or is as cathartic to them as it was to me, then I’ve done my job w this one

please do not read if you’re at all triggered by infertility, as this fic centers around it as a main theme. just lookin out for y’all

as always, reviews are appreciated

xo

————

The crushing weight of guilt mixed with sadness hit her like a ton of bricks, watching JJ ghost her hand over the subtle swell of her stomach, still mostly concealed by her flowy tops but prominent enough for Emily to know it was there. A sadness that she would never be enough — never have this experience that JJ did, thanks to Doyle — and guilt over feeling so heartbroken.

JJ looked over in her direction, their eyes locking and Emily noticed the worried furrow of her brow, the way she silently asked if she was alright. Emily nodded, forcing the corners of her lips to turn upwards in a plasticine, practiced smile.

It wasn’t that there was a lack of joy, because god, she was the happiest woman in the world to watch her wife happy and pregnant, her face positively glowing — it was that she felt a sense of failure. Failure to grow their family, unable to become a true mother.

She watched JJ from across their backyard, leaning back in a chair and half engaged in a conversation with Garcia, eyes darting between her and Henry.

That little boy was the light of Emily’s life, and she knew he was JJ and Will’s too. She felt the familiar sting of tears in her throat watching him play, climbing to the top of the slide and shouting triumphantly and racing down. He spotted her across the yard, ran to her and nearly knocked her down with his force, arms wrapping around her middle in a tight hug.

“Mom!” He was breathless, face reddened from the heat and exertion. “Did you see me? I climbed all the way to the top!”

She swallowed back her tears, choked back the emotion that would make her voice waver and uneasy and focused all of her love, all of her energy on him. Her fingers brushed through his sweat dampened hair — blonde like JJ’s, but curly on the ends like Will’s — and smiled down at him, gaze tender and full of adoration for this tiny little person that held so much space in her heart.

“Oh, did I ever! You were so fast, Hen, like lightning. I wish I were as fast as you, really.”

There was a silence between them, Emily unable to look up from the little boy’s face, counted his freckles in the rapidly setting summer sun and felt herself getting choked up again. He hugged her so tightly, so hard, and she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.

Her hand came down to the space between his tiny shoulder blades, pressed him into her for just a second longer before she released him, tiny body squirming against hers and anxious to get back to the slide and swings. Tears pricked at her eyes again and she dabbed at her face, hoping desperately that no one would notice her moment of weakness.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Emily noticed JJ stand and cross the patio, concern etched deep into her features. She tapped Rossi on the shoulder, whispered something in his ear, and Emily had to stifle a sob as she slipped through their back door, guilt settling on her shoulders once again. She couldn’t stop being a distraction for one simple dinner with the team.

Inside their home, the tears began to flow freely, and Emily tried to choke back her sobs. She couldn’t let JJ see her like this — couldn’t explain why she felt this way. She was standing at the bottom of their staircase when the door shut again, quieter than when she had passed through it, heard JJ’s gentle footsteps approaching.

“Emily…”

The brokenness in JJ’s voice nearly broke Emily, choking out a sob into her hand, clapped over her mouth. They knew no one would dare come in the house right now, wouldn’t intrude on their privacy, but Emily still felt too exposed in their foyer.

She extended her arm, took JJ’s hand in her own and squeezed gently — a reassurance of sorts — before guiding her up the stairs to their bedroom. Emily closed and locked the door, let out a small chuckle at the fact that she locked the door when anyone could hear them if they wanted to.

When she turned, she felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards in a half smile at the way JJ was already reclined against the headboard waiting for her.

Emily allowed herself to curl up into JJ, head resting on her shoulder and hands entwined as she let herself cry, shoulders shaking softly. JJ’s free hand ran up and down Emily’s back, rubbing soothing circles and whispering in her ear.

“Em… shh, love, you’ll be alright.” JJ’s heart was breaking at Emily’s sadness, the way she curled in on herself when she sobbed. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Her tears subsided at JJ’s calming tone, the way she was passing her thumb over the back of her hand and rubbing circles into her back. She waited until she felt like she could speak without crying again, thanking god for JJ’s patience and love, picked her head up and wiped at her face with the back of her hand before looking at her wife pointedly.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Em?”

“I’m sorry I distracted you from dinner, that I couldn’t hold it in until everyone left.”

“No.” JJ’s voice was firm, authoritative. She pushed the overgrown bangs out of Emily’s eyes, in that moment realizing how small and fragile she felt. “No, you’re going to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, baby, and I just want to help you.”

Emily let out a sigh, hand coming up to scrub at her face with her sleeve before looking back up. She wasn’t quite able to meet JJ’s eyes, instead staring across the room, her eyes settling upon the pictures hung in a gallery on their wall.

There were pictures from their wedding — of them and Henry smiling brightly, the tiny boy squished between them with so much love on their faces — among pictures from their regular family photo sessions. Her lips twitched up in a small smirk at the picture from Henry’s birthday, the entire team crowded around the boy as he blew out his candles.

She knew there would never be judgement from JJ — knew that she could never be angry with her for a feeling that was purely biological — but still there was a flutter of anxiety in her stomach, the fear of rejection wound so deep in her personality that it almost made her choke up again.

“I’m so happy, Jayje, I promise I am…”

It was a half truth and they both knew it, knew by the sunken sadness in Emily’s eyes that there was more to her statement. JJ waited patiently, hand rubbing gentle circles on the small of Emily’s back, her gaze soft as she watched her wife — watched the way she chewed at her bottom lip, teeth worrying at the already peeling skin. She brushed her fingers across Emily’s lips in a gentle reminder, smiled softly when she released her lip and smiled sheepishly back at JJ.

“But?”

“But I’m mourning.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t ever want to be a mom, not a real mom, until I couldn’t — until I had that option ripped away from me.”

In truth, Emily never wanted children — couldn’t bear the thought of screwing them up the way her mother had done her — but there was a glimmer of hope when she started dating JJ, when she felt herself slipping so comfortably into the role of step mom.

She would think about it sometimes, late at night with Henry dozing in her lap in the rocking chair, always taking the night wake ups after the little boy no longer woke up to feed. Emily would think about Henry with a little sibling, never able to clearly picture the gender, but always seeing a little raven haired child running alongside him.

And then it happened — Doyle happened, and it nearly broke her.

She remembered waking up in the hospital, JJ and Hotch sitting in the corner of the room, their faces crumpling with a mixture of relief and fear — remembered how the doctor told her solemnly that Doyle had destroyed her reproductive system, that she had a full hysterectomy and children wouldn’t be an option for her.

At the time, the only thing that mattered was that she was there, alive and with her family — their little boy snuggled against her side in the hospital bed when she could sit up without pain, a proud beam on JJ’s face from where she sat.

But now? Now that they were growing their family by one heart and two little feet? Emily felt such a myriad of emotions that she could barely sort through it.

Anger, at Doyle mostly, but also at herself for not being able to defend herself — for being unable to carry a child of her own. The jealousy and guilt ripped at her heart, though, and she didn’t know how she could feel so much joy and so much sadness at the same time.

“I just want to be a real mom.” Her voice was broken, lips quivering as she looked down at her hands, at her bitten down fingernails and chipped nail polish, a testament to the mental turmoil she had been experiencing.

“Emily… what do you think you are?” JJ cupped Emily’s cheek with her hand, thumb stroking over the tear tracks gently. “You’re Henry’s mother. You’re this baby’s mother in every sense of the word. He or she is just as much yours as Henry is, you know this.”

The logical part of Emily's brain knew that JJ was right, that she was just as much of a mother as she was, but the irrational, anxiety riddled part of her told her that she wasn’t enough — that Henry already had parents and she was merely an intruder in their situation.

“But you and Will are Henry’s parents… you’re Henry’s mom.”

“No, we’re Henry’s moms. He can have two moms, you know? He can have a bit of a dysfunctional family. He calls Rossi grandpa. He calls your mom grandma.” JJ ran her hand through Emily’s hair gently, her fingers threading through her dark hair. “You’re a real mom, honey.”

“I’ll never have that… not like you do.”

She was right, and JJ couldn’t argue it — she knew that Emily harbored a lot of self resentment for her choices in the past, knew that Emily often regretted her decisions. Her fingers pulled through tangled raven locks, gathering Emily’s hair into a ponytail in the way she knew helped comfort her.

“I don’t know how to make that better, and I wish I could.”

JJ’s words were sincere, but Emily could see the fire at the back of her gaze. The way her nostrils flared a touch and her breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly — knew that JJ could never be upset with her, that she was upset with the situation.

She had so much anger for Doyle, filed in a slot at the back of her mind, couldn’t let herself think about it too much or else the hot, angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over. It wasn’t just anger, but a deep sadness she felt every time she ghosted her fingertips across the prominent scars on Emily’s abdomen, the brand on her chest.

He had taken so much from them — so much from Emily — and JJ couldn’t think about him without feeling a ball of resentment in her stomach. With therapy, she had learned to replace the resentment with pride — that her wife could fight and survive and most importantly, overcome — but sometimes it was hard to push past the feelings of anger and resentment.

“I just want to feel it.” Emily sniffled, her bottom lip ensnared between her teeth again. “I know it sucks and everyone hates it but I just want to know. About the kicks and the hiccups and the way a baby feels. And I know I can feel them through you in just a few weeks but fuck, it isn’t the same.”

JJ was silent for a moment, fingertips still massaging at Emily’s scalp. She had to collect her thoughts, to swallow past the sob she threatened to let out — knew that it wasn’t the time, that this was about Emily and her emotions, not JJ’s anger with Doyle and what he took from her wife.

“Emily…” She let out a puff of air, gathered Emily into her arms the best she could and dropped a tender kiss to the mess of dark hair on her chest. “You know that I’ll never judge you, right? That I’ll never be angry that you’re upset and hurting. Your sadness doesn’t detract from your joy for this baby, for our child.”

JJ smiled when she felt Emily’s hand rest gently on her abdomen, moved her own hand to rest on Emily’s and trace over her fingers. She felt the soft curve of Emily’s lips against her collarbone, pressing gentle kisses into the soft skin she found there.

“I can’t say I know how you feel, just like you don’t know what I’m experiencing… but I promise I’ll meet you in the middle. If you need to be angry and sad, I’ll sit with you in that anger and sadness until you’re ready to move past it. For better or for worse, remember?”

Emily nodded into JJ’s chest, her face still buried against her skin. She inhaled deeply, dizzy from the mixture of the smell of outside mixed with JJ’s favorite perfume — one they had bought together in Paris when they went on their first vacation without Henry. It was floral, and Emily insisted that it smelled the best on JJ and she should be the only one to wear it.

Ever since their trip she had imported the tiny bottles for JJ, always wrapping their boxes in rose gold paper. JJ’s little hitched breath full of excitement at the small box always made Emily giddy, usually giving it to her after they returned from a tough case, or more frequently, when she began to notice JJ’s gentle pout as her bottle started to run empty.

They settled entwined for just a moment longer, Emily curled into JJ’s chest as she reclined against the headboard, her hand resting between Emily’s shoulder blades. She let her head fall, face buried in dark hair as she waited for Emily to feel secure enough to break apart, knew that she wouldn’t want to talk much more — not now.

There was a girlish scream outside their window, followed by maniacal laughter from Henry, both women chuckling softly at the thought of their son tormenting his Uncle Spencer. Knowing him, he was probably chasing Reid with the water hose, laughing hysterically.

Emily sat up, untangling herself from JJ’s embrace, her lips curving upward in a small, shy smile. Her face was puffy, eyes red rimmed from the tears that seemed flow forever, sadness pent up over weeks and months — from the time they left the hospital after her attack, really.

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper, looking into JJ’s eyes with a steely gaze of her own.

“Thank you for talking to me about how you’re feeling.”

JJ was sincere in her sentiment, dabbing a tissue across Emily’s face gently. She was so proud of her for speaking up — for speaking without fear of judgement — because even though she knew that JJ would never be upset with her, it was a challenge to be open, to speak her mind. It wasn’t a luxury she ever had before she joined the team, before she found a family of her own.

The soft thud of little feet running through their downstairs living room made them break apart once more, JJ letting out a soft, rumbly chuckle when they heard Derek call after Henry.

“Do you think I have time to clean myself up?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell everyone your stomach was hurting… must have been the burgers or something.”

The corners of Emily’s lips turned up in a smirk, letting out a breath of a laugh. She leaned forward, hands coming up to cup JJ’s cheeks and pulling her close, pressing their lips together tenderly. She smiled into their kiss, lips barely brushing before she pulled back, genuine smile on her lips.

“Must have been the burgers, hm?”

“Or something.” JJ stood, making her way to the bedroom door, hand lingering on the doorknob as she looked at Emily — watched the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

Emily watched as JJ shut the door behind her, giving her a bit of privacy while she freshened herself up. She felt her lips tugging up in a goofy, girlish smile at the way JJ said ‘we’ — knew that she didn’t mean the team, she meant their little family.

Her wife, their son, their little baby growing inside of her. The family that Emily never thought she’d have, but couldn’t imagine her life without.

@heat-waveee @anepiphany @ssaemilyprentits @f-m27 @whiskey-fluent

#my writing #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jemily #family fic #tw: infertility

[jksangelic]

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

GENRE: fantasy, fluff, smut, a hint of a soulmate au, light angst

PAIRING: village daughter!reader x seraph!yoongi (alternatively, an “angel”)

WARNINGS/TAGS: lots of overthinking/past angst regarding both reader and yoongi separately (yoongi especially), tae is involved as an important plot side character but he’s barely in there i’m sorry, surprise aggression from yoongi because u get in his personal space, slow burn smut but the smut is nice and flavorful, explicit sexual content, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), virgin!reader, clumsy cute smut uwu, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), several positions, unintentional temperature play?, lots of love and respect up in this house and lots of other things i probably forgot. 

also i wrote a lot for the intro you can skim idc lmao.

SUMMARY: your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

WORD COUNT: 18,600

NOTE: welcome to my slice of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls Collaboration!

it’s always really an honor to be able to work with other writers and i’m really grateful that they allowed my butting-in )))): thank you all!!! make sure to check out everyone’s stories in the link above and let us know what you think!

(uhhh i just..... i spent way too much time on research and the politics behind this fic for it to still be aLL oVer tHe plaCe but please cut me some slack. might i throw in that this has no religious/cultural affiliation and instead has more of a fantastical theme to it that is entirely fictional. especially for the concept of the Offering and how i loosely throw around the word “angel” and “heaven” and etc.)

((might i add that i recently discovered that i am *terrible* at describing geography and am totally basing it off of video-game visuals........ cough cough zeldabreathofthewild))

(((this last one’s kinda important!!!!: yoongi is described to be larger than you bc he’s this magical bird being. i always try to keep reader insert broad in description but if you’re taller than irl yoongi boongi, pssst, you’re not in this universe sorry but i make the rules)))

((((this is currently unedited. @14statelier​ get to work.))))

Part One

The snow falls slow and thick. The children catching it on their tongues and compacting it to shoot at each other, screaming and wailing all the same as it continues to pile. It fell particularly early this time around, normally nothing more than cold bitter to the skin and clouds stirring prediction of the oncoming winter. You were always a heavy sleeper despite the beauty of first frost, long past your days of childish amazement through fogged windows and warm fires but you watched the icy cotton substance pile since dawn this morning. Not even drowsiness will overrun your excitement for the day ahead.

“You light three incense and make sure they burn all the way through before you turn around,” Taehee states.

“Find some stones on your way. Use them to hold the tapestry down as you set up. It looks especially windy today,” Mina adds.

Yoona finishes tucking your hair back rather tightly, “You should stop by Jin’s and pick up some extra bread. You know he’ll give you some of his fresh batch if you asked for it.”

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

You chew on your fingers, a nervous habit. Taehee pulls your slobbered index from your lips with a wrinkled forehead, “You better remember this, dear. You only have to do it once but if you do it right, it’ll be worth much more.”

You recite drearily, “Follow the path, set up the altar, say our prayers, return home.”

“Once the incense is out, Y/N. You mustn’t forget.”

“And you cannot explore the manor. Don’t walk around. Don’t look through the windows—”

“It’s a manor? How big do you suppose?” you ask with newfound interest to your words.

“That doesn’t matter, girl. You don’t wander. You don’t explore. You do what is told of you and nothing more. What matters is that you don’t spot a seraph, and that the seraphs don’t spot you.”

You never understood that rule. If the seraph tribe was so kind as to help your country win a rather one-sided war, then why the invisible boundary? To be in alliance and never interact was an odd sense of unity to you, if any. “Have you ever seen a seraph? Is it true they have two sets of wings?” You’d always been curious to the subject, a fairytale-like existence just waiting below the peak.

“The elders claim they do. A large and small set. Some say it’s necessary for having human proportions. You know, they say it’s bad luck to stare at a seraph’s wings. ” Mina says in awe in correspondence to the way she suffocates you with your robe’s sash.

You swat her away, forcing down a smile, “I don’t believe that, you haven’t even seen one! How do you even know they exist!”

“Hush! You’ll get into some real trouble if an elder catches you saying that. They exist. And they live up the mountain. And you will do the Offering with utmost delicacy and respect. Besides, you’re the only one coming-of-age this year! A girl to do it by herself is surely something the leaders will appraise of you.” You avoid their scrutinous, expectant gazes.

You could say you’ve been cursed at birth. Weak in basic skills in which an adult, regardless of age, is identified by. You lacked time management and a sense of direction, you harbored a bad habit of looking down when you spoke, you couldn’t even wash the dishes without chipping a glass. Your legs worked against you at random times, quite literally tripping you up and deeming you as a clumsy, pitiful thing. As you grew older, the only skills you were able to contribute were to the fields, where things were organic and didn’t require fragility.

“I am not as useless as you think of me,” the words come out unprompted but true and exposed.

The women gawk and babble like hens in a flurry of angered denial or soft apologies but you no longer have time to discuss unimportant matters.

In the midst, rough, giant hands encase your face. You don’t realize you’re looking to the floor until Taehyung props your chin upwards, met with smiling eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. His name rolls off your tongue in surprise.

“Hey, don’t start moping before you even start. It really isn’t a big deal. You hike all the way up to the riverbank more than the others and that’s a long way. This is no different. And think, when you come home everyone will come to realize how much they’ve missed you! Me included.”

“It’s not that I’m…” You start haphazardly. Well, it’s not that you’re reluctant to do the Offering. To adventure otherwise prohibited land and by yourself, to prove that you can handle life just fine and don’t need to be seared by the judgement of deploring eyes. Some time to enjoy solitary peace. It wasn’t even a whole day, dammit, but you’ll take what you can get. You choose to lie, “I guess I am a bit nervous. I’ll make sure to pace myself. Besides, I’d run myself short if I finished in half-a-day like you.”

Tae puffs, a little proud of himself, “What can I say… I’d like for the little ones to look up to me.” You roll your eyes, scanning your bed for your scarf. Taehyung eyes the cloth as you wrap it around, a rare moment of quiet. He stares, entranced, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so focused. As you think about inquiring his statue-like manner, you notice that more of the silence is due to the disappearance of the squawking hens. Those sly, evil matchmakers.

You suddenly pull him along and towards the exit, “You can’t be in here. You’ll get us in trouble.”

He blinks dumbly and slumps against your ministrations. “Your aunts seemed to be fine with it. And it’s not like I haven’t snuck in your window a few… several times.”

Your expressed sheepishness is his favorite source of entertainment, “Goodness, as kids! You make it sound so rebellious.” He winks as if you share a grand secret, all to his imagination of course.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was the village’s be-all and end-all. Born to work and carry everyone else on his back. He stands tall with his shoulders wide and prominent, chestnut waves that reached his cheekbones now. Shirt tight around his torso in ways that could excite anyone that risked a glimpse. You can’t help but find it amazing how much of a crybaby he was when you were young and how sturdy and dependable he is now. He was humorously your polar opposite.

You try to shoo him once more, “Anyways. I’m getting ready and you can’t see me. Go wait with everyone else!” His pout is jarring paired with his hard, strong build. Like a teddy bear with abs and palm blisters from years of physical labor.

His body moves on his own at some point, reluctantly reaching for your door handle, “No parting kiss upon my cheek, fair lady?”

It’s obvious he’s being more daring these days. With frequent visits and gifts on your doorstep, and now requested kisses. The whole town knew you were likely to marry him, a relief for most. But on your hand, you’ve just known him for so long. Practically since you were born. You’ve already shared kisses, you’ve already had those butterflies in your stomach; but the kisses were stolen in secret and the butterflies were stagnant. And although it was never a consistent nor official courting, you felt as though Taehyung was already a route taken. You know better to never admit that into the air, though. Not when everyone expected your cooperation with marriage at the least. To care for someone so special, and to bear his children plump and healthy.

What a static life to live, you try not to think. You instead try to blame such thinking on your inferiority complex, to at least ease some of that horrible guilt in your stomach. You should be grateful for your life. Talentless yet adored. A village princess that was easy on the eyes and sought after by those looking for that beauty and its accompanied dowry.

A proposal was near, that much you could tell with his efforts. In his perspective, the sooner the better lest he want someone else to steal you from him. Contradictory to your own reasoning, the only relief you find is that it is him, your dearest friend. Perhaps the only one to disregard your shortcomings and want to fill your empty spaces as much as he can. He cared about you and that could be enough. So you try to convince yourself of that.  

You kiss his cheek softly and without hesitation. Not so much as a blush. He suspects nothing less than mutual adoration and takes his leave like you request, leaving you alone in silence for a relieving twenty seconds. Then the hens come back inside and squabble about who will be able to sew together your future gown.

 Part Two

It starts under the old pine tree on the far side of the village. A crowd gathers as you wait under the swaying branches, mutters and looks of excitement apparent. A cleric waits beside you with three elder women who prepare your things: a woven satchel loaded with the items that you are to lay out, things like dried flowers, fruits, fine wines, tapestries, collected crystals, baked goods and the incense. A replica display of what little the humans had presented at the foot of the seraphs. Untouchable beings with class and power much above your own. Kindness as well, so it seems; to be provided with just this and offer unparalleled assistance to a hopeless cause in the old wars. You wondered if they still watched from afar, curious to the well-being of their mortal neighbors.

"Dear, keep your mind with us. You'll be off shortly," one of the grandmas whisper, placing a carved selenite athame into a leather holster and slipping it into the confines of your robe, "For protection." You smile and thank her kindly, tuning back into the ceremony and waiting for the second elder. They continue to adorn you in charms and traveling goodies, eventually piling on unnecessary weight that will, for sure, slow you down in the process. The trek was basically a day’s trip. If you moved efficiently, you should be home no later than when the sun begins to set, in time for supper even. As much as you’d like to stay out longer, you dare not risk a night in the mountains.

“—this year’s representative will be just as prosperous. May she bring good fortune and health onto our town just as the many before her has done so,” the old cleric roars into the audience, just about finishing his speech as you start to listen. You hope he didn’t say anything too significant. Can’t possibly hang on to every dry word when you were so close to tasting temporary freedom.

You make your way into the parted sea of people, some who grip your hand as you walk by to invoke strength as you move along. A few grumble good luck’s and come back safe’s. Then an angry baker charging through helpless bodies.

“Take this, you stupid girl. You were supposed to stop by the bakery this morning,” Seokjin whines, thrusting what seems to be a warm pastry wrapped with cheesecloth into your hands.

“Thank—Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bug…”

Jungkook pops in from nowhere, hitting your shoulder a little too playfully, “Chin up, love. Don’t be back too soon.” You nod shyly as he distances behind. Jungkook always had a strong nose for your facades but he also always kept your secrets. Clutching your things tightly, you watch your boots as they pick up speed through the mess of attention.

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

You leave northbound until you no longer hear their cheers. Until the snow no longer has indented prints and you think you’re alone and off to the races. A sudden tension snaps when you release your sore cheeks from an artificial smile, not even aware you were sporting one in the first place. There was always a heavy pressure when you presented yourself to the public, and while you were no damn princess, everyone ensured that you at least feel the looming responsibility of one. Curse your family’s political ties and all that, otherwise you wouldn’t give a damn if you seemed like an old witch spotted once in a blue moon.

When you reach the border gate is when you see Taehyung for the last time today. It comes as a surprise to see him waiting for you like a loyal dog, dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes, red cheeks a striking contrast against the bright setting. If you were more grateful, you’d think he looks particularly good today. If anything, it strikes you more that you failed to see his face at the send-off.

“Hey. I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else… and today of all days but if I don’t right now, I don’t think I ever will,” he jumbles. In his hands hold a scarlet scarf, the same one you had seen as a child when his mom would occasionally take care of you, let you help bake, and playfully dress you in her accessories. All but that scarf, folded neatly and tucked into a corner or her closet.

“Oh! Don’t touch that, love,” she said, “That’s something my mother-in-law made for me.”

You had pouted then, a spoiled brat of sorts. But Taehyung’s mother’s eyes were always warm and she spoke softer than cashmere, “I have to give that to my son when he decides to marry. Will you make sure he finds the right one, for me? You are his best friend, aren’t you?”

You remember the challenge you felt, yelling without hesitation, “Taetae will marry me! When we grow up I’ll be his bride and you won’t have to worry!”

She giggled in contentment, eyes squinted in a wide smile and petting you lovingly, “Ah, of course. I know you’ll be a wonderful wife, Y/N. Taehyung will be in great hands.”

“I had been there, you know,” Taehyung chuckles, “When you claimed you’d be my wife when we got older. I was hiding in the hallway and initially, I thought, ‘I’ll never marry my best friend!’. But, now… I just can’t imagine wanting to marry anyone else.”

You grin at him sadly. Of course he had been holding onto this his entire childhood.

“Taehyung…”

“We’re still young, I know that. I just want to give you this for your trip to make me feel more at ease and so you can think about it. You can take all the time that you need. I know Mother wouldn’t mind, especially for you.” You nod. It’s all you can do. Taehyung pulls you into a tight embrace and kisses your hair. When he pulls away, he wraps your neck into the warmth of the scarf you’d always wished to wear. But it’s almost suffocating now, locking in your fate before you even step out of the village boundaries.

“For now, just come back to me. I’ll be waiting for you no matter what you decide.”

You can fathom the communal disappointment of rejecting your strongest suitor. More importantly, you would be shameful to turn down his proposal. Once it was out there, there was no “decision”.

You can imagine your aunts now, squealing in delight and sewing from their best cloths.

 Part Three

Though you never had the chance to explore much, this really was nothing you've ever seen before. An ominous stairway carved into rock weaved in and out of your trail which made it fairly easy to follow along. You can't imagine the labor that went into sculpting this far ahead and all the way up the side of the mountain; it was truly something mind-boggling. As the air begins to thin, the amount of snow starts to grow thicker. If you had waited any longer into the winter you wouldn’t even be able to see the path, you’re sure.

You only need to stop twice to catch your breath and sit down. Snacking on the bread Jin gifted you only a few hours ago. It’s satisfying to look back at the area you’ve covered, how small things look from your height and the beauty of a fresh snow blanket. The scenery to the riverbank was nowhere as near breathtaking to that of the mountain. A dreamscape of evergreen trees and varying shrubbery, crossing over a short wooden bridge floating over a near-frozen stream, even occasional wildlife prancing into view. The summit itself wasn’t terribly high. It was manageable to hike for the most part, more so that your goal wasn’t to reach the peak. 

You could travel all the time, you think. Hike or take a horse somewhere farther than here but that’s not very practical. There was nowhere really to go and you didn’t have the luxury to just up and leave your household, and now Taehyung. The knots in your brain seem to loosen, blame the inclination and dry air infiltrating your head. Knowing your life was to be faced someday and all your immature ambitions to leave the village now seeming childlike and unattainable. The pessimism had yet to blow out your weak flame of philosophical rebellion but it was surely keeping you in check.

Judging by the sun's position, it's midday. Meaning it shouldn't be long before you catch sight of the "manor" and thus will be halfway finished with your journey.

You nearly walk off the cliffside before you notice the route's abrupt change and how it slithers deeper into the eye of the mountain. The farther you walk, the closer the earthy walls begin to shut in on you in a trench-like structure. It's even more unbelievable coming upon a short archway, perhaps man-made and mined through a boulder that could have fallen from atop one of the peaks. Being here, you realize, makes you feel small. Slithering through the terrain like a fairy in the tales your mother had told you at night. Of beasts and cryptids that could appear in the tangles of forest and vanish all in the same. There was a sort of dreamlike trance you found yourself in as you walked under the rock as if it were a portal.

And, unexpectedly, it's there. Atop a few more dreadful flights of stairs, hidden between an odd bundle of trees and beneath a fresh veil of snow, you can barely make out the silhouette of a house. It's still a bit far and eerily surrounded by fog but it's there and it almost looks as if it's... floating. Like a gateway to a secret nook of heaven.

It's one of those odd, puzzle-like mirages when you climb more steps to think you're only getting farther from the house. The swaying of branches keeps you from determining just how big it is and what it could possibly conceal. Even the atmosphere, chill and intimidating, makes your heart skip in perplexed anticipation. Having been at this for hours, if the staircase hadn't just ceased you would have kept walking straight into the dark wooden door.

But your aching legs find relief in the stretching flat surface of a porch and your exhilaration to reaching such a majestic destination that you could squeal. Of course, you don't, and instead get started at the task at hand.

You kneel onto the cool floor and begin to unload your things, neatly and without the need to rush. You lay stones on each corner of the tapestry to hold it down, you lay out the contents in somewhat of an aesthetically manner, you strike a match to light the incense and you mumble your thanks on behalf of the village, all as you were told. The snicker under your breath comes unwarranted as you finalize the display, even Taehyung couldn't have done this well.

It feels a little anticlimactic; a little short-lived. To have come up this whole way and spend a maximum of five minutes in somewhere you could spend days exploring. Idling, you can practically hear the warning clucks of your aunts engraved into your brain.

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

"Even think of doing anything funny and I'll have Seokjin roast you alive."

Maybe it's why it's even more satisfying to you when you ignore them altogether, standing from your position and just dying to see the rest of the manor's exterior. One peek, one peek and I'll never stray from instruction ever again, you think. Just my last burst of freedom and then I promise to be a good girl with no more personality than a wet dish rag.

So you tiptoe to the massive door and lean your ear against it as if you could hear anything with its size and the strong winds. You questioned if anyone even lived here, void of any decorations or signs of recent activity. Maybe the deer would get to the food you laid out before someone even stepped foot on the property prior next Offering.

When there are no obvious indications of life do you weasel your way around the corner, an extension of the porch wrapping around the side of the house to much of your assumption and revealing an expanse of space. The cabin was two stories at the least, maybe even three if not had been for the first story windows and how incredibly tall they were. You could only imagine the comfort of being inside such a space, being able to wake and watch the snow behind a glass wall of incredible proportions. While you ogle the window do you, of course, fail to realize that it's transparent and startle a bit when something begins to move.

The reflection makes it a bit difficult to pinpoint, a large dark figure shifting ever so slightly in its confines. Like a complete buffoon, you near the wall even closer with squinted eyes just making out the shapes of an entity.

Whatever it is, it's incredibly large. A heart in shape and composed of monochromatic blacks, reaching the floor and surely much taller than you. It was killing you that you couldn't figure out what the hell it was, well-near leaning against the glass as you peer into the private space.

You freeze in place as the elongated heart is really in the shape of wings, accompanied by a body as they’re dragged behind it like a veil. Long and dark and ruffling occasionally as their owner rotates a bit...

But you don't get to see his face. The man in which you firmly believed could be nothing but a myth; as propaganda by the village elders to keep your actions in check. Rather, the seraphs were more authentic than you could have ever imagined, and as magical and inspiring as it may be, so are the Offering rules that are now proved and justified, and that could only mean that this was very, very unfortunate timing to be snooping around property that was not yours.

Your feet scramble backwards in attempt to flee out of sight, instead graciously slipping against the frozen wood and causing you to land quite harshly on your side. Your hip burns at the impact but more horrifyingly important, the crash rattles the side of the floating stoop and his eyes burn into your pathetic body. The moment is wedged between fractions of a second, eye contact barely existent but it's enough to see the daggers in the seraph's irises. It's enough of a warning for you to get back onto your feet and sprint as carefully as possible away from such a gaze that could light this winter wonderland into disastrous flames.

All that comes across your mind as you rush down the steps is how wrong you were. How you unjustly became more and more skeptical of the stories and legends of the creatures that existed in the crevices of the mountains. How numb you became to the warnings as your age drew near for your rite of passage. How much of a taboo you would become if you were to ever tell a living soul that you witnessed a seraph and its marvelous wings. Not that you would.

Your ability to run brings you to the realization that you forgot your things but it was beyond you now. For once in your life, you cherish the idea of being home and hiding under the covers in the tranquil warmth of a familiar fireplace. To dream away the moment that dark angel caught a sly fox trespassing into his territory and, rightfully so, looking as if he craved to skin it alive.

You yelp at the sudden caw of ravens as they fly overhead. Their screeches send shivers to your bones, a sudden chill slowing you down. Rustling in the nearby trees deem you completely terrified, a gut feeling deducting the possibility of winds blowing that strong in the middle of dense shrubbery. Your heart drops once more; your athame was left in the abandoned bag.

The last time you had seen a wolf was when you were barely a toddler, sleepily held in the arms of a younger (and much kinder) Mina. It lurked in the woods just past the fields, a little young and possibly separated from its pack. But wolves were smart and they knew better than to make trouble in a town of loud humans. You remember the way it pulled its ears back and slinked back into the sanctity of its wild home and never to be seen again.

These wolves were smart too, howling their announcement upon finding a small, weak girl all alone and oozing dread. Two pairs of eyes track you as their corresponding bodies stalk out of the bushes, large and sleek and beautiful. Both grey and both incredibly hungry, they begin to pace around you maybe 100 feet away. You startle back and up a stair, most favored option to return to the cabin and retrieve your bag, maybe stay near for a bit until the creatures leave but then another, black and larger than the other two, barks harshly and stands its ground on your sacred steps. You are royally trapped.

“Stay… Stay back,” you warn dumbly, looking to the only open direction in the woods. You wouldn’t be as fast as on the path as long as you had to maneuver through the snow but you could possibly break off a hefty branch. Enough to ward them off to get back to the cabin and pray that the seraph doesn’t pose more of a problem than flesh-eating hounds.

So you sprint, robes clenched in your fists and boots sinking into the pillows of ice, disappearing into the trees and disregarding the snarls that start up behind you. You look desperately for something, anything to help you. Snow begins to find its way into your shoes each time you trip over yourself, wetting the soles of your feet. Hands scraping against bark with each twist and turn and your fingers burn. You only look back occasionally, seeing no more than one pair of eyes at a time at a short distance. This must have been a fun game to them, howling their contents into brisk air.

The black dog truly appears from nowhere, a flash of teeth from your left peripheral before it tackles you to the ground the same moment you find a dead branch and thrust it into its snapping jaw. It all happens too fast. You yipe as you roll through the fall, wolf teeth still digging through your only weapon and snapping the poor thing to two. In pure desperation, you dig the sharper broken half into whatever it’s willing to hit. Fortunately enough, the wolf whimpers and tumbles off you. Then you’re off once again, adrenaline ringing in your ears as you don’t even care to recall which way is which, as long as it’s away from, what can you assume was, the Big Bad Alpha.

More howls from them, more cries from you.

You’re able to return to the path without another spotting. It turns out you were going the wrong way when you’re also met with the narrow exit and that cursed archway. A gateway to inevitable death.  

Halfway through the gap in manic rush and you’re face to face with a beast so pale that it camouflaged with the flurry encasing you both. Eyes clear as water and almost… comforting. Even with the low rumble in its throat and one paw in front of the other in a slow, tantalizing chase. The others growl behind you, an enraged black-furred monster bleeding from its right eye socket turned quite smug now knowing that you were completely, utterly trapped.

It’s when the white wolf soundlessly drags a deep wound into your thigh while the three merely watch is when you ascertain that it is, undoubtedly, the pack leader. You fall back as the beautiful thing toys with you, snatching the front of your thick robe and shredding it with a sickening rip. You scream for the first time this entire chase, grabbing at Taehyung’s scarf in fear that it got caught along with it, caring for it more than your own life at this point.

The scream must have been piercing enough to discombobulate your attacker, it’s large ears flitting around as it jumps away from you. It’s even more of a shock when they all flee out of the divide, leaving you bleeding and too traumatized to move an inch. Whatever alarmed them devastates you even more.

The ravens caw loud and the ground vibrates. Watching the birds circle in the sky, you notice the way pebbles begin to crumble from each peak, how snow begins to over pile on such weak grounds and the way it begins to slide inward.

It’s an odd sound; snow sliding against other layers of snow and having so much weight that it pulls a few small trees with it. And this trench-like area only had so much space and you were positive the amount of white that begins to hurl towards you would fill it like a water cup; bury you with absolutely no chance of being able to dig your way out. Despite your fear, you cower at its charge and wait for the weight to hit.

 And then your head lolls back against something wonderfully warm and dry. You were completely soaked but too exhausted to shiver. In your last moments of consciousness, with your neck craned uncomfortably, you see the ground as the sky and the sky as the ground and feathers as feathers. You think of home. Think of warm summers where you would dip your feet in the riverbed. Think of bonfires with Jungkook and Jin and Hoseok and even Taehyung. But everything is still snow and you think you’re beginning to loathe each damned flake. The only comfort you find is the homeliness of the carmine red material that blows softly against your face. With that and the fleeting thought that you might be righteously transported to heaven do you finally pass out.

 Part Four

Yoongi wasn’t particularly fond of humans. Unlike his brothers and sisters that sympathized with such weak creatures enough to put their own lives at risk, it was just something he would never come around to understand. Species were organized and separated for reasons and intermingling was a curiosity that died ages ago for him.

Which is all a hypocritical contradiction when he sees you sleep soundly on his common room couch, changed into dry clothes and buried beneath a heap of duvets. Whatever had possessed him to go after you was pure impulse after the stunt you pulled on him. Prowling around on private property and, more importantly, breaking the village’s strict ritual rules. Catching him going about on what would be another unmomentous day in his schedule, creating enough of a ruckus to capture his attention, and then fleeing as a feeble mouse.

It’d be a lie if he had said he didn’t watch you scramble away down the steps from the comfort of his front door and a fresh coffee in hand, watching you stumble over nothing on your way. It was more when you had left your things like a pure imbecile, food and tools and all, and left without even waiting for the incense to finish burning. It was then that he came to the conclusion that you were incredibly clumsy and that served as entertainment to him.

The howls were his test of will. Knowing the dogs were way farther up the mountain than they normally were and supposing they had followed your poor, unfortunate soul during your trek, waiting for the perfect time to strike. And you were practically handed to them on a silver platter, considering you’d left your only knife on the cold wood of his porch.

Maybe he had come down, grumpily disturbed from his peaceful Saturday, more to save himself from cleaning the remnants of someone eaten in his vicinity more than the compassion to save you. But that was a tad bit too cruel, even for him. He thinks it was more of that uniquely curious glint in your eyes as you practically skipped into his sight. Daring enough to ignore those rather ridiculous warnings and try your luck. Delicate as a deer in hunter’s perspective. As often as he’d go out to restock supplies in neighboring towns would he never come across a visitor in his own domain. Call him quaint, but it was a mediocre surprise.

He prods the fire, making it crackle and reflame with more vigor. It had barely been a few hours since he’s saved you by the skin of his teeth, almost caught in the landslide himself.

He checks the wound on your leg once more, cleaning it again before securing it in bandages. If only he had gotten there faster, Yoongi tsks, but you’d strayed from the path and he could only follow the prints so quickly before they were covered by the flurry. By the time he found you again, you were knelt in front of the pack and submitting to your death. Had he not been on a hill, had he not been able to utilize his useless wings to glide down before the snow had claimed you first…

You groan softly, unable to roll around without a searing poker sinking into your thigh with each attempt. Contrast to the icicle state the rest of your body sported. You felt like hell. Like hell in hell guarded by those hounds. Hell in your thigh and hell in your head and hell in—

“Don’t move too fast. You have a fever and I just replaced your bandages,” a disembodied voice orders. Your eyes snap open to tall, wooden ceiling. Sitting up is your first horrible mistake, dropping back down immediately with a pained wheeze.

“I just said not to move too fast. If you can sit up normally, you should drink some water. I have some here,” it speaks again. You try again cautiously, blurry spots ruining your vision the farther up you scoot. A silhouette is kneeling beside you, maybe a cup in his hand but you’re too jumbled to confirm.

Yoongi tries his best to fold in on himself, lowering the obvious limbs stuck to his back and appear as human as possible. You wouldn’t be able to run again in your state but he tries his best to be courteous to your skittishness anyway.

“Where… Where am I?” You dazingly question. You don’t really… recall too much. Last memory somewhat muddled between your send-off and contact with those treacherous wolves, very few in between and serving no importance if you couldn’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe in my house. In the mountains still. You passed out pretty good out there, been out for a bit. Now drink.”

It’s easy to do as your told with you’re running off little brainpower, downing the water hastily.

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

At some point, you can see again. The blankets that cover you and the large room you inhabit. Of course, the seraph from earlier that awaits by your seat. His seat. But you feel no urgency to scurry into safety. You were discombobulated, sure, but you knew enough that this man was kind enough to bring you into his home and care for you. So you fold back the material slowly and watch his face contort into confusion as you try to stand.

“I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for treating me.”

“Woah now. You’re in no condition to be standing. Besides, the path is blocked. Snow was too heavy and caused a slide. I doubt it’ll clear until the spring,” he informs, looking out the window as if to drag your own attention to it. The snow stopped but it’s fallen a few feet, at least. The path, you remember, chased by wolves and led into an ice trap. The few split moments in which the man must have scooped you up before your demise, remnants of being carried back towards his estate.

His place, in which is even more amazing inside than it was outside, a luxurious wooden mansion of sorts, tall and spacious and filled with those incredible windows that displayed better than you could have ever dreamed. The man himself that sits beside you draws full attention. Despite his position, he was large and still intimidating as the moment you crossed sights for the first time. Hair matching his wings in dark palette, soft and delicate looking. His face anything but, sharp eyes and thick brows, lips that curved into a simper. Above all, he looked more human. Even as radiant and prepossessing as he was, if the cape of wings didn’t follow him where he went he would look just as human as the rest of the population.

“Are you a seraph?” You ask dumbly. Dumb, because he laughs and because he obviously is.

“Are you a human, pretty thing?” He retorts. There’s no condescending lilt to his words but it makes him seem otherworldly to you. With such a provoking question and your lightheadedness, he seemed a blessing to be inhabiting such an earth.

You melt into the cushions once more, leg throbbing and eyes heavy. You watch his wings as they bob with his breath, “They say it’s bad luck to lay eyes on the wings of an angel…”

“Why would that be?,” he scrunches his nose, maybe a little appalled by the idea, “Such a misleading myth. Besides, I’m no angel.”

You don’t know why he stands to leave the room after that, unnoticing how you fall back into sedation a minute later.

 Part Five

You wake with clarity. Check your thigh to find it almost completely healed over except a now lingering scar. All’s left is a dull soreness but god it felt so much better. Enough to stand and stretch in the empty room. Enough to coherently realize that you only wear your underwear while the rest of your garments hang torn and sadly on the fireplace screen. It’s not as unbecoming if it had to be done for the sake of your health and wellbeing, right?

Getting dressed is easy when you don’t even bother with your robe, the gash decreeing it useless and instead tying Taehyung’s scarf around your shoulders as a shawl over your tank. You’re lucky it didn’t get torn.

There’s a fleeting moment where you really think you miss Tae, feeling a little regretful to being so afraid of his proposal in light of the recent accident. You’re sure he must be worried sick; must think you’ve perished under the debris and snow if he’s come to look for you. As his best friend, you solemnly wish he was here to hug you close and promise that it would all be okay. To fend off your shame and welcome you back into the village with teary eyes and a warm smile.

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

You whip around to discover fox eyes in the door frame, poorly lit now that it’s nighttime. The moonlight pairs well with how it sits on his milky skin, almost something out of a painting.

“It’s Y/N. Not ‘human’.” You answer a little sharper than you mean. He notices too, quick to wave it off since he really had popped up out of nowhere. He tries your name once on his own tongue, a satisfying thing to say.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, in case you don’t want to call me seraph all the time.”

You suddenly grab your thigh, rubbing it over your pants in questionable disbelief, “How long have I been asleep? My leg is almost fully healed…”

He rubs at his eye, a little nonchalant about the scene at hand, “Only overnight and throughout the day today. It’s probably quarter to nine about now. I had medicine to help your cuts heal over nicely. Call it, uh, advanced seraph technology.”

The gashes hadn’t been incredibly deep to begin with, thankfully not going any further than the first layer of skin and just really causing some bleeding, but it was still amazing. The feeling is short lived. Even if only a day, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Thank you, um, Mr. Min. For saving my life and everything after that. I’d like to repay you sometime. But for now I’m afraid I should be heading back, I’ve stayed for too long. I’m sure I can find some way over the path.”

It dawns on you that Yoongi is a little facetious, especially when he purrs a, “Well you can do whatever your little heart desires, but I’m here to remind you that there is no path. Here, look out the window.”

You do, tiny bit distracted when he stands by you to point out the ridges of the mountains that surround you. “See those? How they curve in towards the top and how it sort of resembles a bowl? This area was made only for seraphs to get in and out of generations ago; flight only. Trying to climb it would be suicide on both sides. The path that goes through was strictly for human use, and if that’s blocked, there’s no way out, little one.” You weren’t the shortest in your village but Yoongi truly was massive, both lanky and filled-out somehow. Like there’s underlying strength to his lean build. You’re sure if you were to stand directly in front of him, the top of your head would barely surpass his sharp shoulders.

You disregard his name for you, a bit annoyed at this point, “Could you not fly me over the pass?”

Yoongi repeats in disbelief of such a daring request, “Fly… You over the pass… No. I’m sorry. I won’t do that. If you truly want to figure it out, you should do so soon. It's storm season."

Gritting your teeth, you express your discontent for once. What did he save you for, then? For points? You didn't know members of the almighty seraph clan were so keen to half-completed deeds. "And why not? Wouldn't you rather I be on my way? What am I supposed to do if I can't leave?"

"You forget yourself, Y/N. Did I not save your life? Chase after you and save you from being crushed? Buried alive?" He takes a second to straighten himself out, aware of how you look to your feet in frustration.

"Hey," he starts again, "I know you'd like to go home. I only tell you the truth of your situation in its entirety. If I could fly you over the pass I would but unfortunately, I'm out of commission."

You feel heat in your face, embarrassed of the way you address a complete stranger even after all the things he's done for you. But this was frankly a sticky situation to find yourself in, trapped and unable to get Yoongi to help you any further. Though you do wonder what he means by his last statement...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't mean to make demands. I'm just scared and in a place I'm not used to and I'm not quite sure what I'm to do from here. Is there no one else who can help me over?"

Yoongi averts his gaze before he shakes his head, "I'm the last one in this country."

That's even more odd to hear but you don't prod for information that isn't yours to learn.

In silence, you contemplate the work that even went into carrying another human body by use of wings that were structurally built for the owner's own weight and possibly nothing else. Now was not the time to be ignorant.

“What am I supposed to do?” You mumble weakly. Yoongi watches your gears turn warily, stress surely beating down on you.

He rubs his neck, ruffles his left wing, “Listen. I promise I’ll help you back come spring. You won’t be able to make a dent in the landslide as long as it continues to build with snow every night.” He tends to forget that humans are pack animals, often lost without one another and feeble in the hands of species not of their own.

Your doe eyes, beginning to well with tears, convince him over tenfold, “I’ll help you in any way possible to pay you back for all the things you’ve done. I know I’ve caused nothing but trouble but if you have the room, is it possible I stay here?”

And Yoongi had enough vacant rooms to house a whole herd of deer now that he’s been alone for these sum of years. It really was no trouble… and he could make use of you as long as you stayed. His brow shoots up, “You can stay.”

Your grin is enough to light the whole room encased in night’s darkness, looking back down to the ground now knowing you had some hope to hold onto in such an eventful day. A whisper of a thank you Mr. Min is thrown in and Yoongi can feel his fists tighten.

He clears his throat, standing a little taller than he already is and acting strict, “But there are some rules. And you can just call me by my first name.”

 Part Six

 It's always a little weird trying to adjust to new scenery. Though your past experiences have been anticlimactically different than this; not exactly the first time visiting a friend's house or dropping off delivered goods from Seokjin's shop and awkwardly facing an elder who forces you to stay for tea.

Yoongi had shown you around the areas you needed to know. Offered you the closest room to the main part of the house with a king bed, fresh sheets and your own majestic window to stare out of. The living room which you had rested in before and the kitchen, grand and spacious just like everything else. He showed you a greenhouse out back that was utterly ginormous. Stone walkways and a hot compost keeping it from freezing, rows of plants you both have and haven't witnessed before. And again, he showed you what you needed to know.

That goes onto the chores he assigned you as long as you stay, to help him clean come Sundays and manage the plants throughout the week which served as no problem. At least with horticulture you proved some use, struggling throughout the weekend to do anything else but cause Yoongi a bit of a headache.

Tuesday rolls around and Yoongi stops by your room with stationary. Tells you he has a messenger bird to deliver any letters you desire to send home and you hop on the opportunity quicker than the landslide had tried to eat you up.

Of course, it was an exceptionally long letter. Longer than the papers Yoongi had given to you and he had to fetch more when you looked absolutely devastated sitting at your desk. You began with the simple phrase, "I'm okay." Filling it with a volley of explanations and apologies, how you were nearly killed, how the seraph had scooped you up to safety and how you inhabit his home now until further notice. You write how you talk, sure the recipients are sure to read in hushed mumbles and run-on sentences. You explain that there's no use to try to get home now while the clouds continue to precipitate and gate your only exit from the bowl-like wonderland. You end with how you miss them already, a request to send back an update or two every once in awhile, and a final wish to have a happy winter without you (though you're sure they won't appreciate that joke).

You think, if they really receive the letter, how terribly furious they'll be with you. Taehyung and Jungkook will probably come hiking up the mountain to try to put a dent in the debris and fail miserably. Your aunts and how they must feel even the tiniest bit of guilt for thinking you so small and helpless. Mina and her jealous wonder that you've done it now, how you've seen a seraph before her and you're positive she'll have a flurry of questions when you return. When you return.

You come out onto the balcony to pay your respects to your so-called "messenger", pretty white thing large and wide-eyed. Humorous is the familiar to another winged being, bird of a feather, you chuckle to yourself. Yoongi pays no attention when he murmurs directions to the bird and sends it off, straight in the direction you were hoping.

Thursday and you think you finally have your routine down. No longer unsure in the hallways and able to sit when your work is done without feeling completely out of place. It's only when you're around the other member of the cabin do you feel a little subdued, reminding you that you burden him and quickly finding something to do out of that guilt.

❋

Today you feel a bit sluggish. You drag yourself down the corridor, opting for the bath until you see a dark head in an open room. Yoongi sits in his study, presumably reading with his back facing you. You can't say you've seen this room before, ceilings just as tall and walls just lined with books, journals, art pieces and things of the like.

"You can come in," he snickers suddenly, maybe feeling the heat from your eyes boring into the back of his head and warming the space entirely.

"This is amazing... Your collection, I mean." You force yourself down in a chair, hands trapped underneath your thighs in case they feel like touching anything.

"Thank you. It took quite a bit of time to build it up. Not by myself, of course."

It makes you ponder. If he's mentioned his state of loneliness twice, then your questions were expected.

"There were more, right? Family of yours? Why are you the only one left?"

"One question at a time, yeah?" He swivels around and takes off a pair of reading glasses that you would have liked to inspect on his face a bit more, "I can't leave because I can't fly, remember? They left because they held no other duty tied to this land. That's all."

You quiet. He returns to reading whatever it is on his flat desk. "Why can't you fly?"

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

"A story of a girl with a terrible habit of too many inquiries."

"You know, I loved to read when I was a kid. All kinds of things. Novels, studies, maps even. Now I never have the time for such pleasantries." A wistful sigh leaves your lips.

Yoongi eyes you beneath his lashes, watches as you survey the room with giddiness and hands taut underneath your bum. "Why's that?"

You frown, "Too many things to do. Jobs and cleaning and family and stress. If I have time to read, I have time to be doing something more important."

His lips curl, amused at this little play-thing in his room. Like a child scolded all her life, whining and pouting in front of a stranger. Yoongi stands tall and shrugs his sweater tighter around him, "Well then, you'd better hop to it."

"Hm?" You squeak, chewing on your lip when you meet his eyes. So innocent.

"You only have the winter to read these. I'd get started soon. After work is done and you want to poke around in here, feel free to do so. Take them to your room if you'd like, just please return them."

And he swears he sees damn stars in your eyes before he turns and leaves the room. He hears your immediate footing once he's halfway to his room, little yelps of excitement enough as his thanks. Yoongi can't help but smirk, eventually floating away and speaking way out of earshot for you to hear.

"Nothing is more important than the things you want."

 Part Seven

 After a month, you find it a little boring. After receiving a teary letter of how your family misses you, not one ounce of scold or chastisement more than it was just wholesome relief to see familiar handwriting, their only wish was for you to stay obedient and not write so often as to waste poor Yoongi's paper. It was typical, somewhat stress-relieving. And that was that.

It was often you spent your quiet interest reading of botany and romance (in what little you found of it) preferably in his study on days he's holed up in his room. At this point, he still remains somewhat of a mysterious entity, conversing when he must and accidentally showing his face once or twice like a ghost. The only times you really see him are for Sundays with idle chit chat.

One particular evening you find an old, ratty recipe book. Handwritten and falling at the seams and that's how you know that there are some golden tips in there for you to test out.

You choose pumpkin bread. Something to warm the palette while ice continues to build outside. And working in Yoongi's kitchen by yourself was oddly fulfilling, no one to correct you or send you off to another job if you fail to do the first. It's probably why your bread turns out perfect, slicing the loaf and placing a piece on a small plate for a friend.

Rather, someone you'd like to establish as a friend.

You haven't seen him once today; not odd but a little lonely. Pacing on the carpets and looking for an open door with any sign of a sly angelic being. Even after a month, it's the first time you've freely made something with intents of sharing with him. Was that rude of you?

Coming upon a jarred entrance, you speak softly, "Yoongi? Are you in there?"

No reply.

You clear your throat and toe the door open just enough to stand in its frame, "Yoongi? I made some pumpkin bread for us—"

Thank your soft voice does it not wake him, still a snoring log in a bed even larger than yours. His limbs sprawled widely, laying on his stomach and breath soft and slow. Sleeping in the middle of the day while his guest slaves over the stove must be quite nice, huffing subtly and placing his plate on his night desk. Sure to be spoiled even more when he wakes to a treat.

As you turn, your eyes can't help but dawdle over the expanse of his wings. One covering a naked back and one hanging off the side of the bed, a marbling effect of muddled sepias and ink blacks, occasional golden ochre pigments seeping through the deepest layers of feathers. It was utterly breathtaking. This has to be one of the first opportunities you've had to inspect them so, equating staring at his monstrously large wings the same as blatantly staring at his junk.

You draw close like a moth to a damn flame, checking to assure he's still sound asleep. Reaching delicate fingers, you dare to lay a palm on the mass. It's surprisingly strong, an odd firmness as you slide your hand down silky plains and watch as the feathers ripple by your touch.

Then, as if you weren't dumb enough to foretell the upcoming events, he wakes.

A whirl of darkness encases you, whips you around so fast that you see stars in the middle of day, completely flipped and pinned to the bed beneath you. The intense heaviness makes you recoil, unable to budge your wrists and legs with Yoongi's strength.

And his face of unadulterated fury is one that would be ingrained into your memories forever. Pupils dilated and nose scrunched like prey warding off predator. Yoongi was surprised to say the least, a scared frenzy of confusion as he growls down at you.

"What were you doing, human?"

Your weeping gains no mercy, "Ow, you're, you're hurting me!"

"What the fuck were you doing?" He spits.

Incoherence is not what he asks for but that's all you can give, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't touch them again I was just—"

His wings which were so beautiful to you before, makes you feel nothing but fear now, flapping angrily as he keeps his balance and shrouding you in shallow lack of light. When he lets up on his grip, you gasp like he also held your breath. Immediate relief streams through your blood, though he continues to trap you between his thighs. He asks you again and you sob.

"You know what happened the last time I let one of your kind close? Nearly fucking killed me for no reason. You know why I can't take you down the mountain? Why I'm stuck here by myself? Because a goddamn human stole my ability to fly. I can't fly anymore, do you understand me? That's all that I was and they took it!"

Yoongi sees the pity etching onto your face like some sort of charity case. With your pathetic excuse for tears that claim to sympathize with him and it makes the bile in his throat grow. As for you, you could have never imagined such a travesty. Those words that seem to bounce around in your skull, to be wholesomely one thing and to be rid of it by someone else's doing, you could never relate to that.

You itch to relieve his pain in some way as if he never lashed out on you to begin with. Like you were the one truly at fault here even though you know it's a two-way situation. Your hands struggle to not touch his face, to attempt to alleviate those dark, regretful feelings. "Yoongi, I'm so sorry. I would never—I would have never known--I'm from one of the villages where we look up to the—"

"Yeah, well I don’t trust people," He cracks, lungs filled with muddled sorrow.

Both of your breathing is ragged. He takes his leave off your body and sits on the edge of the bed, wings lamely drooped.

"Leave." So you do.

 Part Eight

 You find the most beautifully carved wooden bow the next morning. Sun barely risen and adventuring around in nooks you haven't looked through before. You find it, accompanied by plenty of arrows, leaning against the wall right outside the backdoor. Though it's been months since you've last hunted, you ache to make use of yourself. Wearing bundled layers of the clothes Yoongi let you borrow from what was left and bounding through the condensed areas of the woods behind the cabin.

Food isn't scarce to hunt for, you've come to realize. Rabbits abundant and easy to kill once you got the hang of it once more. Two are struck and red seeps through white. You always sink your knees into the ground after each kill, whispering your thanks before you move back to the house.

Taehyung's father had taught you the basics of hunting and fishing and everything that came after that. Skinning and cooking and preserving the flesh something everyone in the village should learn to do, he had said. Even after your mistakes, even after your hesitation for your first kill, he'd always pat you on the back and reward you with the first bite of fresh food.

You miss them all, especially now. It wouldn't be long until you saw them again with maybe a bit of heightened skills. You hope they'll be proud of you.

Yoongi wakes a little after you're finished cooking the first rabbit. He stumbles in quiet and groggy, as if having no recollection of the previous altercation. But he doesn't speak, doesn't so much as look your direction before he plops at the head of the dining room table and begins to sulk in an odd inner-turmoil state.

You wait a minute or two by garnishing the meat unnecessarily; perhaps he was waiting to say something. To apologize. To ask questions. To kick you out once and for all. Well, you'll beat him to it then.

You set his plate down in front of him, the jarring sound breaking his trance enough where he can finally meet your face.

"I hope you don't mind I used your bow. I cleaned the arrows afterward and put it back where I found it," you hesitate. "I appreciate your kindness thus far; to take me in like this. I was a complete stranger and you gave me shelter anyway, so I thank you. I've packed and cleaned and I—I think it's time I leave now. I'll find a way to get over, I don't care. And I'm, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Yoongi. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but I overstepped my boundary way too far yesterday and I apologize profusely."

You find that you dig your nails into your palms as you talk, head craned parallel to the floor and you wonder if Yoongi could even hear you when you were so rudely speaking to the rugs.

"Stop, you don't... You don't have to leave. There's still no way you can get over the snow." He massages the back of his neck, tense in his own skin.

"I'm so sorry," you repeat. "I let my stupid curiosity get the best of me and I can very clearly see how that made you feel alarmed and uneasy and—"

He cuts you off, "You know the myth, right? How it's bad luck to see a seraph's wings?"

Confused, you nod.

"It's not literal. It's a metaphor that it's bad luck to see our vulnerabilities. Our faults. Years and years and years ago, when the war was still active, I got mixed up with a human. Within enemy boundaries. I was naive and trusting and they made use of that. They sought out my weaknesses, ate 'em up and covered my suspicions with false adoration and love," he says the word like it's an illness, "But then. But then one night, they put something in my water. Drugged me. Something was wrong and I didn't fully go under. I suppose their original plan was to take me, probably torture me as a prisoner. But I caught on and still had a bit of composure and when they realized the drugs didn't work, they sought to kill me instead. Used a dagger and plunged it into my back as hard as they could. Right," he reaches an arm behind and massages a spot, "Right in the cross-section of where all four wings meet. I should have been paralyzed but we're tough. I can still move them but I haven't been able to fly since. Thank heavens I wasn't killed but..."

You can tell by the way that there’s no emotion in his statement, how true it rings, "That day, I might as well have been."

You wipe the pools of tears with your scarf, heartbroken for the shattered man that sat in front of you. Having to bear the sight of his wings every day and full-knowing he would never be able to use them again.

His voice croaks, "In their eyes, my own family's eyes, I commit a sin just by making such a fool of myself. The war ended and I was punished. They left me here and claimed loneliness is what I deserve."

Yoongi then realizes he sounds as if he's trying to justify yesterday's actions and literally sinks to the ground, "This isn't supposed to be a pity party. I just thought you might want to know why I am the way I am and how I had no right to snap like I did. I know you're from the north most village. And that you would never try to do what they did and I was wrongfully paranoid."

Then, out of all things unexpected, he grabs a bare ankle and lifts it out of the length of your dress. When you hobble, he grabs your gentle hand with his other to balance you. He can see the marks he left, not too dark but enough to tell and he can't help but despise himself. In pure remorse, he presses his lips softly to each bruise, not lingering for more than a second, before cowering to the ground with his head low.

"My sincerest apologies, Y/N. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I prefer if you wouldn't. I'd like to get to know you and redeem myself, as selfish as that may seem. Maybe, until spring, I can make up for the things I've said and done—"

You sputter, voice too high and full of embarrassment as you struggle to pull him up, "Please! P-Please get up! I am at fault here! Don't kneel, please! You have nothing to make up for!"

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he watches you yell your affirmations and weakly tug on his arm. It was like watching a little kid throw a fit and that makes him chuckle aloud, how could he have ever suspected you as harmful? When your large eyes shed tears like no other and you impulsively make decisions for others before yourself. You were kind and he could see that. He laughs hard and you stop your squawking.

In disbelief you fall to your knees right beside him, looking plain stupid while you're at it. It occurs to you that you've never heard him laugh like this, smile so wide that his eyes crescent endearingly and it just lights up the room. After watching his handsome face radiate forgiving happiness, you join in too.

You eat rabbit together. The conversations from there on out easier to come up with, more emotional and found in the midst of tranquil understanding. Like you now shared a bit more of each other than before.

Occasionally, you think of all the sadness he must have accumulated until now. Of the things that happened to him that shouldn't have, and those years of isolation and abandonment that he suffered. But now you realize, too, how he's able to laugh and continue on despite those melancholy winters in a desolate place that he once called home. How it's all he can do as his only sign that he's still alive.

 Part Nine

The weeks after that seem to breeze past you; time racing when you have more things to do and someone to do it with. Yoongi really meant it when he said he would try to make up for his past harshness; never daring to miss a meal, spending more time in the livelier rooms if it meant that it was to accompany you, going as far as helping you out with your own chores if he hadn’t taken them over entirely. It was a polar opposite of who you knew before.

The first time he joined you to hunt again, in favor of how you had cooked his meat the last time, he layered himself in clothing that made his appearance softer than you’d ever imagined. Leaning towards darker garments that contrasted against his opalescent skin.

In some haughty attempt to show off your archery skills do you aim for a squirrel in a less-than-mediocre angle, letting the arrow fly without a second thought and piercing good ol’ trunk. Yoongi had a fabulous time laughing at your mishap, yanking the wasted arrow from the bark and handing it back to you.

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

The temperature of your cheeks could have melted the snow, taking the thing with shaky, embarrassed hands, “I was being hasty.”

“You got two rabbits. I know you’re good. Let me just show you some things.”

You walked behind, letting him tread through the snow first so it was easier for you to fall into his prints.

“There. Squirrel,” he whispered. Probably the same one, mindlessly crawling up and down trees like target practice.

“Let me see your form again.” You aimed, self-conscious and probably showed it. You shivered when he swiped a hand under your grip arm, pushing it back.

“Keep it aligned with how the arrow is facing. Completely centered. You can widen your feet a little too,” his voice soft. “Don’t completely lock your elbow but tighten your back muscles before you hold. Does that make sense?”

“Mm. It won’t stop moving though, the squirrel.”

“Watch this.”

Then Yoongi had dug through the snow for a small stone with enough weight to throw. Aiming for a far tree to the right, he tossed just hard enough to cause a knock to echo in its vicinity. The squirrel halts, presumably looking for what caused the noise in its unknowing last thoughts.

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

He watched you silently each time you had knelt next to the victim and mutter your thanks, both sorrowful and appreciative. It was the first time he ever witnessed someone, frankly, talking to dead animals and at some point he asked you why you did so. You responded with a giggle, briefly claiming how all living creatures deserve the same respect, to be mourned, to not be wasted. Yoongi finds interest in the concept of valuing each as their own and of the same importance in the Grand Circle of Life, probably something his family would never have stopped to think about. The seraphs had always placed themselves above others in a deserving, self-righteous kind of way. It made him think.

❋

A particularly windy night and you caught him in the seat of his study's window, drawn to the mirage of colliding trees and listening to the croaks of the house on its plot. A muddled bottle sat on his desk, its glass counterpart being twirled in his hand.

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

"I didn't used to," he answered, unfazed by your sudden entrance, "Caused problems a lot of times. But I think they're pretty fun nowadays. And you?"

"I like when there's thunder and lightning."

Yoongi faced you at that, your twiddling fingers and the way you scanned the dim room.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Although it was a question he poured you one anyway, barely anything more than a few sips worth. Obliging, you took the liquid. Pride a little stung in all honesty, pretty aware of your high tolerance.

He tittered, "Don't pout. You can pour as much as you'd like. But this stuff is ancient, concocted from poison and the desire of Death itself. Watch yourself."

It was always a trait of yours to take on a challenge, though, ignoring his warning and foolishly gulping it down. The burn was subtle despite its awful, awful taste, yet you poured another and let Yoongi watch you spiral down the rabbit hole.

Two stories and one half-glass later and you draped yourself very unladylike on his desk, too warm and too moist and too loud.

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

"Min... Min. Mr. Yoongi."

"That's wrong but that's me."

"Yoongi you have to keep a secret. That I'm going to tell you! From Yoo—from Yoongi!"

"Wait, that you're trying to keep a secret from me or—"

You must had forgotten, instead focused on bunching your skirt and tying it higher up your thighs, "Soooo hot. Too warm. I'm going to leave it like this, ‘kay?"

"You don't have to pass it by me. They're your clothes," he said, biting back laughter. His accidental peak of pretty, bare legs could have made him think different though. Reverting his gaze back out the window, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning that night.

Taking his eyes off you wasn't his best idea. Hobbled out of his chair and sneaking to his place with hands buried in feathers before he could shy away. Yet the wonder stained your eyes with childlike amusement and he wouldn't dare change that face. So he idled in a flustered mess, relaxed in the way you unknowingly massaged his muscles.

"Pretty wings, Mr. Yoongi... Can I touch them?" You asked stupidly. Yoongi grumbled.

When you finished evaluating, you swiveled awkwardly and tripped over his knee, a yelp escaping your lips as if he wouldn't catch you in one swift motion and onto the safety of his lap. Yoongi could smell the bite of alcohol that stained your breath; could see how swollen and red and beautiful it had made your gentle face. The proximity was deadly and your innocent, apologetic features could have slain him right then and there. You didn't even make another peep, eyes drooped in what he assumed was embarrassment for your clumsiness.

In which he thought wrong, your hands slapping each side of his face and squishing it together horrifically. "Pretty face, Mr. Yoongi."

"Alright, time for bed."

You fought all the way until he tucked you in, out with soft breaths and sprawled arms. Even after he had laid you down to rest and calmed back in his lair, there was no slowing the fondness that grew in his ribs.

❋

You don’t know when you’ve started looking forward to Sundays, springing out of bed in the morning with a green thumb and a will to dig, or so you imagine. You knew Yoongi would be waiting for you in the greenhouse and spent a little extra time rinsing your face, doing your hair, and double-checking nothing was in your teeth.

Yoongi was already checking the pots when you had gotten there, wrapped in black per usual and winking as you walked by. The familiarity by now was tangible. There was always a nice flow to your conversations and Yoongi doesn’t back away when you naturally find yourself in his space like he used to. It was both a prideful accomplishment and an endearing new relationship that sparked joy every time you were able to do something together. To step back and see the difference over your time spent here, the things you’ve done, and the way Yoongi warms up slowly.

He watches you mindlessly hum as you harvest what you can, voice soothing when most times it would have been dead quiet. That’s what it felt like being around you: like a void suddenly filled, his whole being gravitating to your aura. You were addicting, if he had to admit.

The scarf, somehow pristine despite how often you wear it, is shuffled up your neck as you do one thing or another. Like a constant reminder that it’s there, you always feel the need to touch it.

Yoongi points to it, “Did you make that yourself?”

“Hm?” You follow his line of sight and crumple the red thing in your hands, “Ah! No. It… It was a gift.”

“Ooh, from a suitor?” He doesn’t mean any harm when he jests but it prompts the things you’ve left at home. No matter how much you’ve tried to suppress it down and not nitpick on the responsibilities you’ll have to return to. Awful as it seems, it makes you take notice to the sun and how it begins to peak out more with every day. You push the thought down once more.

Instead you laugh nervously. Yoongi knows immediately when you say nothing but, “Mmm…”

His gut twists from a melting of surprise and disappointment. How could he be so dim? To not even hypothesize the mere possibility of someone else being in your life. Though the feeling weighs heavy on his head, he speaks lightly and with a smirk.

“You must miss him then.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ve known each other since birth and have been best friends for as long as I can remember!” You chuckle, “He gave this to me right before I left and claimed we could get married once I returned. I was so shocked that I made myself sick thinking about going back. Just nervous, I suppose.” Taehyung, as expected, never said anything in the occasional letter updates to you. He meant it when he said he would only wait to talk about it for when you came home but you ponder how he feels now; what he’s been doing. If he’s changed his mind once he’s realized how incapable you are that you couldn’t even do the Offering correctly, but you know that isn’t true. Maybe just wishful thinking.

You throw dead leaves in the compost and Yoongi eyes you.

“’Shocked’? It’s not something you’ve been looking forward to?”

You look down, “It’s not that I—I don’t know! I just have seen him as family for so long and then there’s this sudden proposal without even talking about it beforehand… And everyone expects it. For me to just be married and have a family and all of that but I just, I just don’t see that for me so soon.” Your words begin to jumble and Yoongi hasn’t seen you so stressed within the span of twenty seconds before.

“Forgive me and my input but isn’t the most important thing what you want? You could just turn down his proposal,” He suggests like it’s the easy answer, hoping you don’t suspect a hopeful tone in there.

“Does it really matter what I want?” You stop to think about the people who matter to you and what would ease their minds most when it comes to your future. Marrying Taehyung seemed like the only option. “I can’t turn him down simply because I don’t want to. That’s selfish.”

“That doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Well,” you sigh, “in the village it’s courtesy to accept a marriage proposal regardless of how you feel. It’s the receiver’s obligation to be grateful towards—”

“Is that how humans treat their women?” Yoongi spits, agitated just by the thought. He leans against a table next to you, arms crossed like he’s simply not having it, “To ignore your own say and force you to think you should just be appreciative? That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s not as serious as I’m making it seem it’s just…” You think of your aunts and the elders and Taehyung’s mom. How you’ve grown into a nuisance, lacking here or there. The time where you were supposed to return to the village after a successful Offering and marry and finally be someone to be proud of. “In my case, especially, it’s probably better off I’m just someone’s wife. I’ve never been much to begin with.”

And that’s truly heartbreaking for Yoongi to hear, so much that he becomes enraged with whatever twisted society you grew up in, “Y/N. What have you been doing these last few months?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, what have you been doing? Just sitting around? Watching me sweep circles around you? Serve your meals on a silver platter and draw your baths? No, because you’ve been doing that yourself. For yourself. By yourself.” The look of confusion on your face causes him to huff before he continues. “Sure, you were a little rough around the edges with some things but who isn’t? You hunt, you cook, you read like no other, you do a lot of great things and it’s not because you’re trying to do it right. You do it right when you like what you’re doing.”

“Yoongi, I understand. Thank you but you don’t have to—”

He walks toward you, lecturing on. “I know it’s by unwanted circumstances. But has your time here been horrible? Have you despised being here and doing these things?”

Your answer is immediate, “No. Not at all.”

“Has it not been nice to have your own space and do things simply because you want to? Because you were thinking of yourself?”

“I-It has been… I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Your legs hit the corner of another table and you notice he’s backed you up into it.

“So, you go back and you do what you want like you have here. Don’t worry about what they think. Wait until you’re ready. Marry for absolute, unwavering love. Be a little selfish,” Yoongi hooks your chin with his index and props it up. You didn’t even realize you were looking to the ground. “Look up.”

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

So Taehyung is his name, Yoongi thinks. He frankly does not care.

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

“Perhaps I was mistaken. Do you want to marry Taehyung because you truly love him?”

You see his lips before you hear his words, parted and nearing you bit by bit. So close that you feel his warmth, aching to close the distance. “I…”

A shovel clatters onto the stone and Yoongi removes his arm that’s found its way around your back, shuffles backwards and lets your hand fall from his face. It was natural to touch him, you realize, unaware that you feel distant and cold when he’s away.

Yoongi picks the damn thing up and curses. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, close to doing the unimaginable to you. You, who was involved with someone else. Heading towards the door, he ruffles his wings like he’s restarting.

“Forget I said that,” he requests, “I’m going to wash up.”

You nod, frozen in your spot with legs too unstable to dare walk. Without even knowing you had reached for him, so close to doing something you’ve only been secretly daydreaming about of recent and how incredibly wrong it was for you to think this way. But in another sense, you would feel worse lying to yourself by saying you weren’t attracted to the seraph. It was a twisted contradiction of emotions and you could scream.

Needless to say, you don’t see Yoongi until the next day, and even then nothing is mentioned of the almost.

Part Ten

On Tuesday, the bird returns with a letter from your family and Taehyung. It’s brief, with evident relief that the snow is melting and how happy they’ll be to see your face. Your heart sinks at how much you miss them yet how angry you are to receive the letter. To what extent would they be happy to have you home? Until you dare humiliate Taehyung when you turn him down? To dishonor your name and his parents and gain the glances of people who care more about your failures?

You calm and shoo such immature feelings away. Yoongi is confused when you don’t send a letter back and you return to your room early that night.

❋

You haven’t had a full night’s rest that entire week. You’re sure Yoongi notices the tension and that makes you feel horrible, but the lingering necessity to run to him and never go back to the village is too prominent to just face head on.

He’s been checking the trail every day, making dents on the softer parts of the snow when he can and updating you when he returns. You know he doesn’t want you to leave and you know he thinks you feel the same. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said anything about the proposal that day.

Flipped onto your back, you stare at the ray of moonlight that floats atop your bed. You would miss it here, so much that it hurts your throat. You would miss the windows, the kitchen, the greenhouse, the library that Yoongi was happy to share. It goes without saying that you would miss him the most.

Unprompted imaging of a possible future with him interrupt your thoughts, something so uncertain and fortuitous in comparison to the stone-set fate you have now. What the stoic seraph would think if you just asked him to stay a little longer, until you know you would never leave. The landslide and how much you had hated that unfortunate event seems so insignificant now, replaced with a dimmed appreciation for this life detour, no matter how short lived it will end up.

You’re probably on the verge of sleeping now, thinking of the incident and it’s wild connection to your present out of pure lunacy. You could bet your entire existence on the fact that you were meant to meet him; your entrapment by the snow no mere coincidence. Neither was Yoongi’s endless solitude atop this mountain. It had to be fate that you two were to meet at this moment and your heart feels it so strongly.

Even for you this could be too far-fetched, or maybe you were just trying to cover up the way your heart is undoubtingly falling for Min Yoongi.

 Final Part

 You prod the logs, provoking them to catch more of the fire. In your last night do you decide to pour a glass of wine, kneel on a pile of blankets and snack on the charcuterie board you made for yourself. In the past, you used to be so hesitant about helping yourself to the manor’s amenities, having no problem doing it now.

The lame, weak fire is your only source of light in the large living room, clouds blocking the moon from shining through. You feel, immaturely, just as cloudy. Set in your intentions to leave your feelings locked away as to not cause more trouble, confusion, and inevitable heartbreak.

“You look quite comfortable,” Yoongi surprises you and he can tell when you jolt. Speaking of the devil. He looks great in the dark too, leaning against a wooden pillar with folded arms.

“Well, it feels like I’ve lived here for quite a bit. Just,” you break to sigh with exaggeration, “soaking it in before I leave. Too beautiful to not.”

If not for the crackling between the wood, it’d be dead quiet.

“Would you like to join me?”

He titters, rolling his eyes before he walks your way. Laying on his side, you offer him your glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I used the wine from the ritual contents. With the stuff you normally drink, this must be nothing.”

“Like water to me but I’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

You cheers to nothing with one glass to share. Occasionally picking off meat and fruit from the board and enjoying how the fire builds up.

“Your family will be so happy to see you.”

You hum. You suppose they would. Avoiding the bitterness you still associate with the thought.

“And I’m sure Taehyung will be too.” He says a little clipped. Not in a way to be facetious or sarcastic but because he feels the need to address it.

Yoongi is caught on the carmine scarf again, downing the rest of your poor wine.

Forcing a smile, you speak faintly, “Let’s not talk about that.”

At this point you both know. He nods to keep you happy, but there is no hiding or pretending. In front of the flames, your lies and justifications seem to melt away unspoken. Changing the subject, you shove him lightly, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I don’t think you’ll ever learn to bake as well as I do.”

He tuts, which is refreshing. “I’m great at cooking and baking, I’ll have you know. It was just nice having someone else do it for once.” You feign betrayal and scoff aloud. He mumbles low, “But I’ll miss you for more reasons than that.”

And he breaks an unmade promise not to bring it up again. Feeling the need to throw it out in the open and even with the simplicity of admitting that he’ll miss you, you really know what he means. The seraph feels for you. He feels deeply. Yoongi doesn’t expect a response, just pops more food in his mouth and rests his eyes.

You contemplate, following suit with a bite to a grape and thinking hard. What to do. What to say. How to say it if you did. You weren’t supposed to feel this way and it goes way beyond the rule of even coming in contact with a seraph, let alone unconsciously falling in love with one. 

But that’s just it: how you live by assumptions and rules based off the words of the ignorant villagers and the elders, how they all believe the seraphs are all still here, how they think there’s a direct relation to the Offering and a year’s good harvest, how it’s bad luck to see a seraph’s wings when it’s brought you anything but. If you learned anything from this winter, it was that you found you own way of living, thank the curiosity your home curses you for. Making your own path instead of aimlessly walking one that was already paved. You learned to trust yourself a little more while Yoongi propelled you forward and believed you deserved it all. You learned you did deserve more. You learned what love really felt like when it was new and fresh and exciting and real. And Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi was the wine to your previously empty glass, and this winter with this man, it was heaven.

You decide the realization is enough for you. Have been gifted with so many things and blessings that you’re grateful for the chance to have met someone like him.

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tastes bitter in his mouth. He felt that if all these years left alone in a manor of silence and rejection was to eventually meet you he would do it a million times, but if all you could reciprocate was this then it just wasn’t meant to be for him. It felt unfair but it also wasn’t his decision. He takes the sourness with him and stands. “I suppose I should head to bed.”

Your sad stare breaks his heart, even more so when you give up and nod. The fire catches your attention as it pops and you leave it at that. He tries to walk away, footsteps haunting, until he stops altogether.

It comes unexpectedly when he wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his knees into your back. A weird sight it is to see his wings unfurl and curl around your rigid body. “Are you satisfied? Is this enough for you?” His voice is soft, like he could take either answer as long as he heard it from you directly.

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, how could I possibly ask you for more?”

He hisses liar into your ear. “Is it your family?”

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

Here you are again, faced with a question that tore you apart in the garden while you ached to be with Yoongi anyway. But there were no distractions here; nothing to interrupt your thoughts. Just you, Yoongi and your truth. He loosens his grip so you can face each other, knees between knees. Instinctively, you reach out for his feathers and indulge yourself with their softness. He pushes his wing into your hand as if to bribe you like a child.

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

A quick glint in his eye, a sort of relief, and then he finishes what he’s started and kisses you. It’s wrong how right it feels, lonely lips moving in tandem to find comfort in one another. Yoongi leans into it, absolutely devastated by your simple touch. The strength of the wine remains on your lips and he can’t help but lick into the flavor, drunkenly entranced by such luxuries. Yoongi’s hands can’t stay, snaking up your back, caressing your face, dragging his knuckles across your jaw and finally grabbing at the scarf. Carefully, he unwraps it from your neck, slow enough to feel it tickle your shoulder blades, before he folds it respectfully and places it elsewhere.

You sigh, more weight taken off your shoulders than there should be.

“Is this okay?” His voice raspy, speaking into the corner of your mouth. You’re stiff, nodding shyly and lacking the fire you brought up until this point.

He rewords, “Do you want me?” Yoongi feels the need to confirm, waiting for this moment for so long that it seems superficial. Like if he’s not careful, you’ll disappear into another one of his many short-lived dreams.

“Of course I want you, Yoongi. I want you more than anything…” But your eyes flicker to the ground, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Then what’s wrong, lovely? You don’t have to.”

“No! I want to, I just… I’ve never done this before. I want you so bad but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—”

His laughs are light, his hand on the small of your back as he dips you onto the floor. Holding himself above, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I want you and we’ll go slow and if you decide you don’t want to anymore, we won’t.”

The way he makes you feel, how gentle he is, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for this to happen. It eases you slightly, letting your arms snake around him in an attempt to let your guard down. He’s patient and wonderful and you mumble about it. “Mhm, okay.”

The night robe he’s gifted you now poses a problem, his slender fingers looping through the bow that keeps it wrapped, “Can I?” You nod again, and he unties you like his own present. The feeling of being bare in front of him becomes apparent when he sucks in and the heat from the fire dances against your skin. Other than that, you look to the window to avoid his face.

“My love, look at me.”

His commands are easy to follow but you cover your breasts to hang onto your last bit of pride, granting eye contact at the least.

Face flushed, you can tell he, too, is trying his best. “You’re incredible. More prepossessing than I could have ever imagined. You shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of me.”

“Well,” you retaliate, “it’s hard not to be when I’m the only one naked.”

He grins at the challenge, sitting up to shed his layers, never noticing his garments having to wrap around in a way to accommodate to his wings. You just thought it was just a more ornamental way of dressing that the seraphs took to. He’s left down to tight underwear that hugs him incredibly, beautiful milky skin exposed and tinted with golden light. “Satisfied?” He lilts.

“You look like an angel,” you trace indents of faint abs. Wide shoulders that taper into a tiny waist, a slim build that you could study forever.

He kisses your words away, pushing you into plush comforters and pillows. A makeshift nest unintentionally built for the two of you. A groan rewards him when he licks your bottom lip teasingly, taking your wrists swiftly to pin them above you. “Pretty thing, I don’t have a halo.”

He starts from the top, kissing each inside of wrist before moving down your arm, slithering onto your shoulder, then into the crook of your neck with gentle suckles. Teeth grazes before puncturing, eliciting a yelp from you that satisfies him. He does this over and over, decorating the canvas of your neck.

“I want to burn you into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget this,” he moans with a wake left down until he meets cleavage. His muscles were relentless, impatient and eager, wanting to worship ever square inch of your body as you rightfully deserved. Your squeaks serve his purpose, his muse as he continues his ministrations down.

Out of nowhere, “I don’t want you to leave me, Y/N.” The profession makes you giddy, happy you’re not the only one who feels so. A hidden insecurity acknowledged and lifted.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

He reaches your stomach and doesn’t hesitate to nibble there too, flinching when your hand flies to his head and buries itself in his hair. He ditches his current plan to grab your hand and plant a kiss to your palm in a second, making you giggle.

He admits, “I like when you touch me.”

“I want to. I feel so useless letting you do this alone.”

“You’ll get a chance if you’d like later. But right now, it’s all about you.” Husking it out. Of course, the idea sounds blissful, but the scene of having you cum by his actions sound better. “Need to cherish what’s in front of me properly.”

So he dips dangerously, laving at the skin above the hem of your panties and hooking his fingers under the sides, “Please,” he breathes.

“You… can do whatever you’d like to me. I want it all.”

He tugs his lip between his teeth, pulling it down. An unexpected wetness strings between your skin and the cloth and you both see it; him amazed, you horribly mortified. You stutter trying to explain yourself, oblivious that you could even feel as aroused as you do now. But his forehead falls onto the jut of your hipbone and you can hear subtle teasing in his tone. “I-I’m just as nervous and that was so incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can go on, shit.”

You laugh stupidly. “Quiet! Not another word! Just hurry up and—”

That terrible habit of looking away becomes your biggest fault, unprepared for Yoongi to filthily bury his tongue into your heat. He flattens his tongue and tantalizingly drags up until he can just barely flick your clit with the tip. Growling in the process.

“You are so sweet. The sweetest I could ever have. You will be the end of me.” Rushed in panted breaths as he does it again. And again. And again. So much that the growing sound of wet against wet echoes in the empty room and renders you paralyzed.

The feeling of it makes you squeamish, like you want to move, buck your hips, pull his hair. Despite the lewdness of having his rough tongue against you and lapping you clean, you could never ask him to stop.

“You just… keep getting… wetter…” He says between turns. “You really wanted me this much?”

“Yoongi—ah! Please, I can’t. It feels weird.”

“You don’t want me to continue, my love?” He asks lightly, blowing cold air onto damp skin and really forcing you to buck.

“No! I just… I have never felt like this. I want you to but I can’t sit still.”

“Oh? Let me help you then. But you have to let me finish.” So you shyly nod and loosen your legs. He uses the prompt to scoop them underneath his arms and attach the back of your knees atop his shoulders, your hips curving up and towards him in a new, tight position.

“Yoongi!”

“No matter how you feel, just let it happen.”

Sultry wails are music to his ears when he brutally sucks on your clit, licking your folds here and there and using all his strength to keep you in place. He spells out his love with his tongue, digs it into you sweetly. His power, though, anything but kind.

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

Unveiling your view, his stare immediately burns into your veins. Looking at you under dangerously slanted lids and that sinful mouth. Holding you in place with strength that could leave prints into your soft legs. With one roll of your clit under his teeth, you feel in ways you never knew how, as if all the pressure that built up in your abdomen suddenly overflowed with a tight burst. Choked sobs and hand gripping his hair enough to make him moan into you, vibrating wonderfully as he works you through it. 

He lets you go, remnants of syrupy arousal trickling down his chin; watches your legs fall open widely and your chest heave for air. Your features bring him joy, loving the way your hair sticks to your face with sweat, eyes closed, and brows knit together in concentration. He loved seeing you painted in warm hues and although he was never an artist, he could replicate this scene exactly how it’s displayed in front of him.

“How do you feel, lovely?”

You respond with a weak smile. “You’re so cruel… Min Yoongi.” You felt flimsy; weightless. A feeling you could come to love too much if you aren’t careful.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” slithering back up to rest his head in your neck, giving you more kisses like you haven’t had enough. You’re happy he’s back, massaging your hands over his torso, up his neck, down his spine. And then you hit it and he tenses.

Thick and raised, an area between his wings that softly juts out. It was fairly large and the texture varied from the rest of his beautiful planes of skin. It was a scar. Wide as a dagger.

“I wish it wasn’t there. I know it’s—”

“Yoongi, baby.” You nudge him to lift his head and he does unwillingly, face turned away. “My Yoongi, it’s nothing. What happened was horrible but it’s over. And I will do everything in my power to make it up to you by giving all of me.”

His lips stop you tenderly, a whisper of affection that pours out love, “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you’ve made me better. I wasn’t able to feel anything for a long time until you. So. Thank you.”

Any remaining embarrassment vanishes. Not when Yoongi’s done his part and you would do anything to take care of him.

Sweat molds your bodies together, heat emanating from a fire that’s ablaze now. There’s a private summer in this room while winter continues outside and it feels special to you. It’s hot here, hot when Yoongi scrapes his teeth against yours, hot where his pelvis lays. You take notice to the hard thing twitching against your thigh, making you flinch.

“Ah, I’m sorry. And we’re in A Mood and all.” Yoongi snickers.

“Don’t be,” you purr, feeling a bit lustful and reaching down to grab it through the cloth.

He hisses, “Fuck! Fuck, please, I’m so sensitive at the moment.”

Ignoring him, you unskillfully maneuver your fingers around him. Just touching to be familiarized with it. He surges forward accidentally, sighing in your ear as he shamelessly humps the space between your groin. You use his distracted state to pull his shorts down, the sudden reality of his skin touching yours bringing about sensual noises from the both of you. A sudden spurt of precum makes it easier for him to drag his heavy cock against your hip.

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll help you.” You stare down as you flick your wrist, encircling him with fingers shaped in an o and pumping him slow.

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

“Is it… supposed to be this large?” It’s a stupid question to ask, especially when you’re not entirely clueless. You know his size exceeds average proportions.

“Don’t spoil me. Seraphs have always been larger than humans. Height wise, I was the smallest of my brothers though.” Which seemed unimaginable to you, not when he towers over you and could easily devour you in a hug. Cock hanging low and barely able to keep in your single hand. He must be acting coy.

“Now you’re just bragging!”

“I’m just being honest. I’m automatically pleasing to the likes of you,” he chuckles.

The dampness overflows, smears over your skin in incredible amounts and how you wish you could taste out of pure curiosity, but he has other plans for you.

“I don’t think I can hold myself any longer. Please.”

“That’s… fine. Um, should we? Like this?”

“It’s so hot, could you flip on your side?” You roll and he figures he’s made a mistake. Entranced by the way your weight, breasts and soft curves, naturally gravitate down in a seductive pose.

“Like this?” You ask, unaware that he could simply die right now.

He lifts your leg to rest on his shoulder again, easy to stretch. “Perfect, my love. I’m going to go slow. If it’s too much we can try again another time, okay? No rush.”

Challenged by his kindness, you shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m ready.”

Whatever’s left of the arousal between you both is more than enough to let him enter easily. Head of his member no problem to push past that initial tension.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

But it’s his shaft that makes you keen, entire length seeming endless as he fills you and overloads your maximum space. You cry, nerves making you writhe, “It’s not going to fit all the way—hah…wait.”

Yoongi struggles to hold himself back, perspiration dripping down his nose, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It doesn’t need to, I’m pretty close to being all the way in anyway.”

“I’m fine,” you pant, head lolled to the side as he stretches you out in an odd, numbing way. “You can… you can move.”

His hips test it, pulling out so little to only be sucked back in with a leveled grunt. “Baby, you’re barely allowing me to.”

“It feels so tight,” you sigh, worried that if you move it’ll really begin to hurt.

“Ah, really? Let’s do this then.” He quick to please, wanting your pleasure before his own and getting you to flip, propped onto your elbows and filled from behind. Smooth chest meets your arched back, him hiding a kiss below your ear while he’s there. A moan aches in your throat as his dick unintentionally digs deeper inside, easier to move and to the hilt.

“Is this better, Y/N?”

“Hah… Yes. Yes, so much better. So good. Please move.”

His hips roll, just enough to grind into you which feels nothing but euphoric in itself. You mimic each other’s lusty whimpers with every movement. Caving into each other’s kisses and licks and pants that you feel synchronized.

Yoongi grows impatient with himself, exaggerating how he pulls out and slams himself back inside. The mere force that he fucks into you sends you forward, opting to lay on your chest and bite the blankets beneath you to keep from screaming. “You feel so good. So, so good. I’m sorry it hasn’t been long, but I feel like…”

His wings fall at his sides and cover you in shadow. It’s weird to see them like this, in a way you could imagine the perspective of having them yourself. But it covers you in unnecessary warmth and makes you grunt.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a quick breath, “Let me on top. I’ll finish.”

The way his member slides out; the way it leaves you tensing over nothing is a sad, needy feeling. You don’t slow at the chance to lay him down and take control, straddling him and watching his face contort in loving awe.

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

❋ masterlist ❋

#bangtanarmynet #btsguild #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #fantastical tales for curious souls collab #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenario #bts #bts smut #bts fic #bts imagine #bts scenario #kpop #kpop smut #kpop scenario

[succulentsunrise]

Where the Fire Lilies Grow

Content: SFW, contains mentions of nightmare and chronic illness.

Hey, it’s my series on Tani and Mereleona, inspired by @thoughtfullyrainynightmare‘s Embers of Sun and Flame! It will tell the tale of Tani meeting and falling in love with Mereleona...but we’ll see if she feels the same 😉

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Chapter 1: Tani, the Verdant Knight

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.” James Baldwin

The morning had begun rather peacefully. There had been no reason to get up early, but Tani was used to waking up before the sun rose. Back at Kikka - her hometown - she had worked hard since the dawn. Now, as a Magic Knight of the Azure Deer, not having to wake up and go at it for the whole day made her feel almost like she was slacking. She had prepared for the day without much of a plan. Still, her planless plans had been ruined by her teammate and friend, Icree. Tani had been calmly treating her small garden of plants, when the red-haired Knight had popped out of nowhere and pushed a new recruit to her shoulders. There they stood now, staring at each other in an uncomfortable silence. The recruit looked young and extremely frail, as if a wind could knock her over. It was a rather direct opposite to Tani’s muscled bearing. The girl’s purple hair was tied into a long ponytail, which could almost reach the end of her long, dark dress. Her eyes were soft and heavy, lending her a youthful and sorrowful appearance.

“I’m Kliodna--Kliodna Sheeban,” the girl said with a hoarse voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

It sounded as if she had smoked all her life, if not more. The smile that she offered was weak at best. Tani nodded uncertainly, recognizing that she belonged to a noble house by her family name.

“My name is Tani Chartreuse,” she answered. “Is your--are you alright?”

“Yes, please, do not worry,” Kliodna quickly rasped. “I was very sick recently, which has left my voice damaged. I will be better soon.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t talk as much, then.”

“I have a lot of questions.”

Tani narrowed her eyes at the innocent smile the girl flashed at her. Straining one’s voice like that would lead to no good. She brushed parts of her short, brown hair behind her ears.

“I will take care of my garden first,” she commented, turning back to her collection of plants. “Then we’ll get you a quill and some paper.”

“This is yours?”

“Yes. Not everything here, but some of these. That,” Tani pointed at a larger, hanging fern a little further away. “And these here.”

The plants she pointed out last were small, potted succulent plants - her favourites. She took care of them with gentle passion, always making sure they had what they needed.

“You have plant magic, correct?” Kliodna asked, clearing her throat a little.

Tani gave her a surprised glance, stopping for a brief moment to evaluate where she got her knowledge.

“Yes. Did Icree tell you that?”

“Icree?”

“The red-head that dropped you here.”

“Ah! Yes. She said your plant magic was impressive,” the girl answered happily.

Tani eased into a small smile.

“It is still far from what I’d like it to be,” she commented, starting to look for her watering can. “The attack on the capital showed there is still much to do.”

Though it had been a couple of weeks since the terrorist organization Eye of the Midnight Sun had flooded the streets with undead, Tani had not been able to think much else since. She possessed great powers in healing and reinforcing magic, as great as any self-trained commoner could have, but no skill in offensive magic. No matter how she tried, she could not learn a spell to harm. To mend this flaw, she had taught herself how to use a sword. Even now it hung around her waist in its scabbard, attached to her belt. The undead, however, had not cared about a few meager stabs to their already dead flesh. Though Tani had not admitted it to anyone, she still saw occasional nightmares about that flaming street, surrounded by zombies and with no friends nearby to help. The dead citizens laid at her feet - those that she had been unable to defend. It had been sheer luck that Icree and Luka had found her in time back then. With Icree weakening the strange magic’s hold on the bodies and Luka’s sculpted jackals tearing them apart, the remaining citizens - and herself - had been saved. Still, the outcome of the overall attack had not been good. There were hundreds of victims, and a captain of another Magic Knight squad, Fuegoleon Vermillion of the Crimson Lion Kings, had fallen into a deep coma due to his injuries.

Tani looked at the moving lips of Kliodna and realized that she had fallen too deep into her own thoughts. She had not listened properly to the girl’s raspy speech nor had she found her watering can. She concentrated in time to at least hear the question.

“--unable to move. You were present then, protecting the capital?”

“Yes. It’s our duty as Magic Knights. Your duty too, now,” she answered, hoping that Kliodna had not realized that she had not listened.

“I hope to make our squad proud,” the girl said cheerfully.

If Tani had not been caught in distressing thoughts, she might have joined the cheerfulness of the girl. Another member of Azure Deer, Fragil, had told her not to dwell too long in memories of the past. She and Fragil were not very close, but it seemed like the other had sensed her unease. Still, she found it hard to forget how helpless she had felt that day.

“I should introduce you to the other members,” Tani stated a little flatly, the thought of Fragil sparking the idea. “Why did Icree leave you here in the first place?”

“She said she was quite busy - don’t get me wrong, she was very sweet to me! - but that you could show me around.”

Kliodna seemed to have sensed that something was a little off. Her gravelly voice was laced with a little bit more forced cheerfulness. Tani gathered herself mentally. She would have to do better than this.

“That is likely true to an extent,” she commented, pushing a smile on her face. “We are all a bit shaken by the attack. Icree spends her days and nights hunched over books, trying to figure out how to cancel the kind of magic we saw on the battlefield.”

“You--we expect them to return still, then?” Kliodna asked, the forced cheerfulness turning into wariness.

“We don’t know. We need to be prepared,” Tani answered. “However, do not dwell on it now. You have used your voice more than is good for it, so let me use mine. I will show you the place and introduce you to the others.”

The young girl nodded, this time obediently saving her voice. She waited kindly as Tani took care of her plants, and then they left together. The tour was short, but sweet. It took Tani’s mind off of the previous topic of conversation. Though many members of the squad were on missions, she was able to introduce Kliodna to a few of them. The first one they met was a dark-haired and lithe woman in the dining hall, Fragil Tormenta. Tani met her dark blue gaze with slight apprehension, remembering how sharp she was with reading others’ emotions. At least she did not comment anything, but instead welcomed Kliodna warmly to the squad. Fragil was a gentle and caring person by nature, though a little introverted. She and Kliodna got along well, especially after they found out that they were of the same age. Tani made a mental note of being right about Kliodna being young - she was 20 years old, making her six years younger than Tani. Two other members passed them by as they were talking with Fragil, only briefly introducing themselves to the newcomer. Tani had never talked to them much. Francis was a tall, black-haired man with a rather cold air to him. Cesc, instead, was a boyish red-head with a bit of a cocky attitude. They were nice people, but not someone you easily got to know better. The last two members they were able to find that particular day were Tani’s friends: Icree Papillo and Luka Diffidus. Icree they found in her room. What once had been a spacious and clean area was now littered with books and notes, and one tired red-head. Still, her greeting of them was as bubbly as always. Icree was a people’s person. She was a short woman in her 20s, with bright red hair crowning her head. Parts of it she had dyed white for fun. There was always a distinct scent of flowers and fun around her - the latter part being a little exhausting for Tani, who enjoyed calm time spent alone much more than fun time. Nonetheless, Icree was a reliable friend, who adjusted her attitude according to the people she was hanging out with. Later, they found Luka in his small studio. It had once been a normal room, but ever since the green-haired noble had come there, it had turned into his studio. Finished sculptures and designs were neatly put into their respective places, and the floor covered with protective canvas. Luka himself was a rather quiet and shy person, who rarely interacted with others. He was handsomely melancholic, as if a sculpture himself - though the illusion was easily broken if he got embarrassed. He could most often be found right here, in his studio, working tirelessly on details of the most beautiful stone or wood sculptures. He and Kliodna only spoke very briefly. The most that Kliodna could get out of him was Luka explaining what he was working on. He spoke of it with quite the passion - but receded back to his silent self as soon as he realized it.

The tour of the place ended at Kliodna’s new room: a simple, spacious place for resting and her hobbies. Her unopened bag was neatly placed on the floor. Tani concluded that Icree must have snatched her right as she had arrived.

“May I ask something?” Tani asked carefully.

It was something that had bothered her for a while: it was not time for the entrance exam. Yet the girl was noble, so perhaps she was allowed to join a little later. Or perhaps she had been scouted beforehand.

“Of course,” Kliodna said cheerfully, though her gaze was inside her room.

It was likely she was tired from meeting all the new people and seeing all the new things - or at least, Tani would be.

“Why are you joining only now? The entrance exam was a long time ago.”

“Oh. I have been sick for a very long time,” Kliodna answered with a bit of hesitation, her raspy voice breaking a little. “I qualified this year to join, but unfortunately it set me back a little. I’m fine now.”

Tani nodded, uneasily looking to the room as well. Either she had hit an uncomfortable subject, or she was causing the girl to strain her already unstable voice even more. Neither was a good thing.

“Well,” she started cheerfully, searching for comforting words. “We are here for you now. If you feel unwell, come to any of us, and we’ll help you in any way we can.”

Kliodna smiled, and with one hand on her throat, nodded.

“I’ll need to rest now, but thank you for everything,” she said silently. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Do you need anything warm for your throat? I could bring you a cup of tea.”

Tani only got a nod as a reply. She smiled at the young girl and left for the kitchen. She understood perhaps a little now why Icree had brought Kliodna to her. Icree was a person that wanted others to talk, so she could listen to them. With this girl, Icree probably had to worry a lot about where the line between talking and asking questions was. With a small sigh, Tani navigated the corridors to the common kitchen. It was not as if she had done any better job. They’d have to come up with some easier way to communicate. Writing on paper would take a significant time and be a slight waste of resources. It wasn’t the same as talking. Yet Kliodna should not be made feel unwelcome either. Icree would have to be pulled into this. Tani set decidedly three mugs in front of her: one for Kliodna, one for Icree, and one for herself. Icree had worked the whole day, probably. A small pause and a little bit of gossip would do her good. A warm cup of tea would be just the thing. Tani prepared the three mugs of tea and placed them on a wooden serving tray. After a brief consideration, she added the teapot on the tray as well, and made her way back to Kliodna. The new recruit received her tea and the filled teapot with gratitude, having clearly started unpacking her things. Tani did not speak with her long, but instead headed back to Icree’s room. Supporting the serving tray with her left arm and leaning it against her waist, Tani knocked on the door.

Icree’s voice was faint through the door, and clearly tired.

“Come in.”

Tani pushed the door open dexterously. Icree smiled upon seeing her.

“Drinks? Anything hard?” the red-head asked with no small amount of hope in her voice.

“Just tea this time,” Tani laughed. “We’ll get better stuff at the festival.”

“I don’t think there will be a festival, Tani,” Icree responded, beginning to make space on her messy desk for the tray.

“Not true. They are holding it.”

“Really?” Icree sounded very surprised. She gave a slightly distrusting glance to her brunette friend.

“I heard the Captain talk about it earlier,” Tani revealed. “The Star Festival will be held despite the concerns. We’ll get to play festival games and eat well. We are in dire need of it, aren’t we?”

Icree smiled tiredly at her.

“We’ll get to watch the scoreboard tell a sorry tale of the prowess of Azure Deer. I talked recently with my friends in the other squads. The Green Mantis’ have sixty-nine stars for all their efforts. The only one we have hope catching up on are the Purple Orcas, and they have fifty-one. Do you have a way of conjuring two more stars out of nowhere?”

Tani put down the tray onto Icree’s desk. The most popular part of the festival was indeed the ranking of the squads. While their squad, Azure Deer, had never had any hope of catching up with the royal squads, they had managed somewhat to stay in the lower middle of the list. Now it seemed like they’d be second last, if Icree’s information was correct.

“Well, at least we can trust the Black Bulls to be last, right?” she said reassuringly, but it didn’t seem to have the wanted effect.

“Black Bulls have one hundred and one stars,” Icree answered bluntly. “I talked with Vanessa yesterday.”

Tani stared at Icree for a moment in surprise. The Black Bulls were a group of misfits, who completed their missions by the means of destruction. As far as she could remember, they had been near negative amounts in stars. However, Icree’s source was reliable. Vanessa Enoteca was a member of the Black Bulls, and not one to boast without something to back it up.

“So we are likely last?” she asked with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Hooray for us,” Icree confirmed, rising her tea mug in a sarcastic celebratory manner.

“Have you told the Captain?”

“Would he care?”

The question hung quietly in the air. They both knew that Rill, their Captain, would likely care, but most often he was rather carefree about running the squad. He was the youngest of the Captains - and younger than both Icree and Tani - and it showed in the way he led. His talent was easy to respect, but his personality was all over the place. Well, that was Tani’s opinion. She would trust him with her life on a battlefield, but on a day-to-day basis of running the squad and making sure everyone had missions? No.

“You know he does,” Tani answered quietly, taking her mug of tea and sitting down on the bed near the desk. “If you don’t tell him, he is going to freak out.”

“He’ll freak out in any case. Better let him enjoy the festival first,” Icree shrugged. “Either way, want to help me with something?”

Tani nodded, having a pretty good guess on what it would entail. Icree always wanted to test out her new theories after a long day of reading and theorizing.

“A new thing you want to try out?” she questioned.

“Yeah. Can you make one of those plants - it can be anything - and just--don’t resist,” Icree requested with a slightly cheered up tone.

It was rather clear she was excited to test out her new theory. Tani closed her fist and concentrated, pushing from between her fingers a pink flower with small petals, large leaves and a long stem: a kalanchoe.

「Molting Larvae」, Icree spoke, creating a striped caterpillar on the plant. Tani had witnessed Icree’s magic many times before: it created butterflies that could hinder and harm enemies. She had never seen her teammate create a caterpillar before. In the most determined manner that she had ever seen a caterpillar eat, this one set out to eat her magical flower. No, it attempted to eat her magic itself. It was a rather slow process, but both Icree and Tani looked at it with wonder.

“I don’t sense you receiving the magic you are taking,” Tani noted after a while.

“As far as I’ve understood my own spell - the caterpillar gets it,” Icree answered, slightly flustered.

“It’s not complete yet. Something is missing. It’s terribly slow and not something I could use in a battle very easily, unless I was able to hide the caterpillar somewhere on the person. Plus, the more magic it eats, the more noticeable it becomes.”

“I could try to reinforce your mana flow?” Tani suggested with uncertainty.

She wasn’t quite sure this was a problem that could be solved with better control of mana, though it was Tani’s specialty. She could help others withstand harder hits and move quicker by reinforcing them and speeding them up, as well as help them regulate the flow of their magic.

“No, it’s not about that,” Icree confirmed her suspicions. “I might just have to keep working with the spell.”

“Well, while the caterpillar feasts - you’ll come with me to the festival? Even if we might be last, we can still enjoy the thing.”

“Of course. I think we’ll all be there, except for Luka. We should drag him out as well.”

“Maybe he’ll find inspiration from the festival,” Tani teased, though neither of them believed in it.

“Maybe he’ll find a muse!” Icree joked a little, her worries melting away for a little while.

They stayed chatting together for a while, leaving behind the worries of attacks and achievements. It was more relaxing to get excited about the Star Festival like everyone else and ponder what to do about Kliodna’s condition.

#Tani Chartreuse #Where the Fire Lilies Grow #black clover #black clover fanfiction

[waterrunstogether]

Rites of Passage in the Fifth World

I’ve been thinking lately about the absence of real rites of passage in modern “western culture”. A rite of passage is a sort of ritualized event (that may or may not be endorsed/organized by a community) in which a person is believed to exit from one stage of life and enter the next, usually from childhood to adulthood. Other than the humiliation of high school proms/frat hazing, or getting your driver’s license, or turning 21 and getting shitfaced, my culture in the United States has little to offer in the way of true rites of passage. 

The result is a population of confused, somewhat disillusioned children driving around and going to work or university and pretending to be adults while hopelessly stuck in the liminal space between youth and adulthood.

~ 20 year old me pretending to know what’s going on ~

I have thought about quinceañeras and baptisms, religious rites of passage commonly practiced still, but considering the traumatic experience that my parents’ organized religion was for me, I don’t believe now that my baptism was a helpful event facilitating my transition into maturity. I think it was a blindingly painful event whose toxicity I needed to overcome in what I now believe was the true rite of passage. 

I first dropped acid when I was traveling in Bulgaria. My partner was in her hometown across the country and I was visiting Plovdiv with a friend. We had just finished traveling the world, or at least Eurasia, meeting new faces and trying new things and taking wild risks in Thailand and Turkey and India and Malaysia, to name a few. I had also just escaped the cult I was born and raised in which had hammered into me from birth that my sexual and romantic orientation was an abomination, as a woman I was to obey men, God loved me and wanted me to fear him (that is to say, love = fear), the leaders of the church were to be obeyed and respected all the time (even if they were obviously wrong) and so on and so forth. It was an insane transition between being trapped in these religious handcuffs and learning that I could break free all along. In fact, I carried so much self hatred and internalized homophobia with me into my supposed new life that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Despite being outwardly happier than I had ever been before with a wonderful partner and community who truly loved and supported me for who I was, inwardly I was constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown due to all of the conflicting thoughts and beliefs I was carrying and creating within myself.

The experience of that first trip was an interesting one. Every step of the way my body seemed to pull me towards the letting go of all of the toxicity that was so thick and had built up like plaque in the arteries of my energetic being--yet, I remained me throughout the trip, at the end feeling somewhat empowered but not yet finished with the transformation.

A few months later I took psilocybin, AKA magic mushrooms, with my little brother on a rainy Summer day in D.C. The whole come up of the trip was talking to trees and observing the movements of leaves, running my fingers over the moss growing on the exposed, knotty roots of tree in front of our house. But at the end of the trip, something changed. Once again my body requested, begged me, to let go of the still-prevalent toxicity inside of me. My health was in rough shape, mentally and physically, and my body knew the culprit. But once more I felt I couldn’t let go just yet, it would be too much for me, I wasn’t ready. So I spent the entire come down and then some, maybe four hours, weeping uncontrollably on the basement floor.

The second time I dropped acid was yesterday, with my partner, here in Berlin. It changed everything.

During the come up I was taken aback by how strong the effect it had on me was. My partner, bless her heart, had taken a larger dose than me, yet felt no effect the entire time. Her tolerance has always been naturally higher than mine for every kind of intoxicating substance, and LSD was no exception. 

As time went on I came to realize that her high tolerance was incredibly fortunate for me and my trip. The initial come up was amusing, as flashes of white light began to fill up my eyes, closed and open; but very quickly I began to get paranoid, strange little thoughts about being set up and targeted running through my mind as my sense of self slowly began to dissipate, just nonsense that the ego conjures up to protect itself. But my partner’s calming reassurances that she loved me and that I was safe effectively calmed me down.

Once I began to enjoy the ride up, holding a half of a pomegranate and appreciating its beauty, touching a slice of orange and loving how soft it felt in my hands, admiring the fractals of color creating all kinds of geometric shapes on the walls and snow outside the window, I became comfortable with my loss of identity. At some point I realized that I didn’t even know my name, and I didn’t care, because it was irrelevant. All that was relevant was experience. 

Imagine experiencing and interacting with the world around you without the barrier of the thing that we are so used to that it’s difficult to think of it as a barrier at all: your concept of self. Ideas about names and races and gender and desire and anger and malice and hatred just made absolutely no sense whatsoever. In this state, all that made sense was goodness and beauty and love. All that I understood was harmony and mutually beneficial behavior. My preconceived notions about who I was and what that meant were being shattered and shredded before my very eyes, exposed for what they were: nonsense.

Once I plateaued and began to slowly come down after about four or five hours I was able to contemplate what these things meant, what they would mean for me going forward. I went into the bathroom around hour 7 and decided that it was time to look into the mirror.

Many people will tell you not to look into the mirror during an acid trip, that it’ll give you the dreaded “bad trip” and you’ll have a shit time. I completely disagree. If you are like me and need to come to terms with yourself through the wonderful, horrific, beautiful, terrifying experience that is an “ego death”, I’m afraid that you’ll have no choice but to look into the mirror at some point. 

So, I stared myself down in the mirror and admitted what I couldn’t admit for so long, due to being taught that I was essentially evil since the day I was born. I’d called myself a sinner, wicked, worthless, ugly, an abomination and just about every other mean word in the evangelical dictionary. But as I stood there looking at my body in the mirror, egoless and impartial, I said, “You have done and thought some cruel things to yourself for some time now. But you know what? You are a kind person. You are a wonderful person. You treat people with respect and love, you treat everyone you’ve ever met with so much empathy, so much caring. You love the truth, you love to be generous, you love to be a good friend. You must begin to treat yourself the same way. I know you’ve had so much hatred in your heart contaminating your energy for so long, but that is enough. That is enough. No more. I am a kind person. I am a kind person. I love you. Remember that night so long ago? Beneath the stars, where they submerged you in the baptismal water and tried to destroy you, saying these sacred waters would wash all your sins away, along with your fragile, meaningless identity? Well, they simply added more to your ego, a darker side. You built up so much negativity for so long. Well, look at you now. Your identity, all of the ideas and concepts that you’ve built up around who you really are to protect you from the hurt of Life, it’s all gone. Now you’re going to baptize yourself again. You’ll be truly reborn, this time dedicated not to destroying yourself for the sake of a religion, but dedicated to renewing and becoming and becoming and becoming.” As I looking into the mirror my silhouette became filled in with the velvet black of the night sky, full of bright stars.

I turned on the water and was baptized once again, by my own hands.

When I returned to the room I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life, light as air, free. I told several people about how much I love them and described my love for them in detail, not as this thing that’s an extension of my own ego, but my love for them was a little bit of energy that I had the honor of holding in me, in this body, and sharing between us for a time, for the wonderful events that we call our lives. I could actually see love. I understood that I was not all of the concepts I’ve built around myself, but an expression of energy in this space and time, connected to every other expression of energy in all of history, from the beginning and until the end. My matter, my body, was simply a vehicle for the energy, and would be recycled into new vehicles after I die. My energy would be transferred into new vehicles as well. That’s what we perceive as death: just a simple transfer of energy and recycling of matter. My ego would not live on, thankfully. My consciousness as conflated with ego would cease to exist with me. But the underlying animating force behind all things in the universe, the true source of consciousness, would never be destroyed or created, simply recycled again and again and again and again. Becoming and becoming and becoming and becoming.

The hilarious and bizarre world of reality is hilarious and bizarre. It’s so beautiful and mystical and wonderful and honestly, nothing I write here could ever explain how I experienced being alive in that sixteen hour trip. Words don’t convey it, words can’t convey it. Reality is visceral, experiential, impartial and impossible to quantify in something as crude as human language. 

All I know is that, today, I am a fundamentally changed person. I’d feared ego death for so long, feared that it would be too much, too painful. And it was so, so painful--but it was so worth it. I am happy and proud to exist, grateful for everything I have accomplished and can accomplish in this miraculous, tiny little vessel during this ephemeral event that is my life. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow if tomorrow exists, and unleash all of my love on everyone who’ll have it. Love is the energy that unites us with our own bodies and the entire world around us. How lucky and strange it is to be anything at all.

May you have a peaceful day. The universe smiles upon you.

[simpmeon]

Lilith Head Cannons

Just some random headcannons I have about Lilith and her personality and interactions with the other characters. Might do a part two if I can come up with more. Sorry if they're all scrambled I literally was like "thought. Thumbs. Post." Djdjjdjd enjoy. Also!!! If you want to add more to the post feel free and remember that this is not cannon, just my opinion on her character, or really her absence of one.

General Head Cannons

I like to think she also was an artist, especially sculpting and painting. She loved the statues of the ancient Greek Gods and would often try to mimic them to look like her father or her brothers. She was also there for the renaissance and fell in love with the style of the time and would paint beautiful portraits of her family that would hang on the walls. In her room dedicated to her in Devildom, there are paintings of flowers that I would like to believe that she painted.

A master storyteller. She would tell all the brothers stories that she would make up on spot before bed. It started as a cute toddler thing, her babbling nonsense for hours before they all went to sleep, but it soon became a thing that neither of the brothers could fall asleep properly without having a story told to them. Soon the useless babbling told into brave and riveting tales that would take hours to tell, and by then Belphie was guaranteed to be the first to fall asleep.

After the fall, all of the brothers could not go to sleep, not because of persisting nightmares, but because their little sister was not there to tell them a story

She's a great fighter. At first she learned basics in case her overprotective big brothers werent there to protect her, but soon she was on par with some of the top fighters in all of the Celestial Realm. She even managed to knock Lucifer down in mid air combat, despite being the strongest physically. This came in handy when her brothers would get into fights and she would often play middle man and have to physically pull them apart and toss them across the room.

She was the fastest out of all of them. Mammon is canonically the fastest out of the current demon bros, but when him and Lilith played tag, you could barely see anything besides the blur of wings. She has outran him several times and often managed to duck out of lectures from her oldest brother simply by just taking off.

She loved to bake and cook for her brothers a lot and often taught some of the newer apprentices the archangels favorite recipies so that they can prepare it for them. She loved teaching them because she would often fill the waiting time with embarrassing stories about her brothers and the archangels. ("No Luci I dont know where they learned that your drool in your sleep...")

Fiery personality, which was often her savior and her doom. She took no nonsense from anyone, rather they be a random demon, an archangel, her own brothers, or even her father. If she didn't like something that was said or a decision that was being made she would not hesitate to speak her mind no matter what the consequences were.

Insanely smart because of all the times she would spend in the Celestial Realms many libraries. No one would peg her to be the studious one out of the bunch, but she just found all the information fascinating. However, just because she is book smart she lacks common sense and street smarts which proves itself when she placed her hand in fire because "she wanted to see what it felt like". Many people think the scars on her body are from battles, but in reality its because she decided she wanted to be her own personal test subject, no matter how dangerous they would be. ("Hey Luci do you think I could bite through selenite?" "Lilith nO-" )

Asks "Can this kill a human?" a lot and to newer angel's it sounds like shes plotting to take a humans life, but to those used to her antics they would just sigh and respond with a "Yes Lilith" or "No Lilith that can not kill a human."

Snorts when she laughs. Theres no other explanation I just feel that she does. Full belly laughs in private, sweet delicate laugh in public to play up her delicate fragile flower persona that she hated so much.

Just like how I feel like she scrunches her nose up when she gets angry and how she will literally get right up in Lucifers face whenever he pisses her off, no matter what protests she hears from her brothers.

Lucifer 

I like to believe that, like Lucifer, she was attracted to the piano. Lucifer would often be playing melodies in the sun room in the Celestial Realm and Lilith would always be the one to find him first. He taught her how to play and even if she just banged on the keys, Lucifer still found her endearing. As she grew older though, the two of them became the best piano players in all of the realm. Didn’t help that she was also regarded as one of the best singers in the entire realm too.

Loved helping Lucifer and Belphie in organizing and categorizing notes from their father that day. She would often make it a game where they would pick their favorite event from that day both as a way to see if they were actually reading the documents being given to them, and as a way to discuss her and Belphies favorite subject with their big brother.

Her and Lucifer were often regarded as the Jewel and Flower of the Celestial Realm. They were both undeniably gorgeous, not that her brothers werent all gorgeous, but her and Lucifer were often pegged as the most beautiful out of all the siblings.

Both put under undeniable amounts of stress and would often seek to reconcile each other because of it. Lucifer was an archangel and their fathers right hand man, and with Lilith being the only daughter fromt heir father and because of that also having a reputation to uphold as being a mediator, the two of them would often find one another in the arms of each other after a particularly bad day, whether that be Lilith just hugging Lucifer and stroking his hair or Lucifer just having Lilith lay on him as she took a nap.

However their titles came with double edged swords. He often was found reprimanding her for possibly tarnishing her reputation because she would often get caught up in her brothers tricks and pranks. They would often butt heads, but as much as he hated to admit it sometimes, most of the time she was right. She was the only one who could wrangle apologies out of him.

Lucifer often treated Lucifer like she was fragile and that really pissed her off. Whenever she would come back with new scratches and bruises he would often reprimand her for tarnishing her beauty and would have to convince their father to not punish her because of it. She hates being treated like that but knows better than to tell Lucifer that he was being overbearing.

Mammon

Mammon was 100% the brother who didnt want a little sister until he got one.

Super cuddly with Mammon. In her early years Mammon was often the one who who she would just snuggle up into and fall asleep on, besides when she went to bed at night with Beel and Belphie. He would just be chilling on a couch after a days worth of work and suddenly would have a tiny baby foot stepping on his cheeks trying to get comfortable on his chest. Soon that's just how they would fall asleep together. Although Mammon would always deny that she wasnt cute whenever his brothers would catch them napping together and how he protectively held her.

Mammon was also the brother to try to use Lilith’s cuteness to woo people and definitely had her in those chest baby carriers whenever he went out of the house.

Lilith was really the only one would dote on him and treat him like a role model and he lived for every second of it. "The Great Mammon" nickname actually came from Lilith whenever she and Mammon would be playing with some dolls whenever she was younger and she called him that after her other brothers refused to play with her.

Mammon and her were the mischief causing duo. Lucifer quickly learned not to leave those two alone after her came home one day and found the two of them covered in flour and melted chocolate after they attempted to make cookies together. The mess was not what concerned Lucifer the most, but rather the fact that the oven looked like it caught on fire in the process. 

Her favorite person to play with because he was rough with her and almost as quick as she was, so games like tag and duck duck goose always melted into a high speed chase between the both of them. They were also highly competitive with each other and would often try to one up each other.

Can’t beat the one time Mammon managed to swipe the spell to make animals and decided to make one of toddler Lilith’s funny looking animal drawings an actual animal for her. Both Lucifer and God did not appreciate the sudden swarms of what Lilith dubbed “Platypus” running around the Earth, but God is a weak man and when he tried to chastise Mammon, she started crying about how he was a good older brother for making her drawing come to life and God let them stay.

He was probably the one she was closest to besides Beel and Belphie. Even though she would go to Lucifer for more deeper philosophical conversations, it was rare to see her not in Mammons room after a stressful day. He and Asmo were the dedicated ranting brothers because both of them would hype her up. Mammon was still her favorite person to snuggle up to and nap on. She would never admit that to Belphie but it was true. Mammon was just always so warm and comforting that she would go out of her way to snuggle up and watch movies with him.

Of course she was also the kind of sister who would throw popcorn at him from across the room, steal his clothes while he was showering, and blame petty things like stealing cookies on him. Their fights were never more than senseless bickering that would often lead to them calling each other names, but god forbid if any other angel agreed with the insults. The chances of having a fist connect with their face just increased, especially if it's one of their other brothers.

Levi

Levi probably was the one with the weakest bond with her out of all his brothers. He felt jealous how she would usually seek out the others before she came to him, but on the days where she would seek him out they would waste the entire day together. Levi’s tendency to love games started when he and Lilith would pass time playing chess and checkers. They would constantly challenge each other and every game had new tricks. 

Levi always had an obsessive personality and Lilith was always the one to stand up for him and even got him things to help with it, for example he was really into sea creatures at the time and so Lilith made him a clay sculpture of a whale and the boy nearly lost his mind. She never made fun of him. 

Most people who knew him as the crazy otaku would never peg him to be the chess mastermind but he could beat Lucifer ten times over from across the House of Lamentation with his eyes closed because of her. 

Her and Levi also were master strategists. She and Levi's pranks were so elaborate and so well thought out that Lucifer himself would be caught off guard. Sometimes it would be something as simply as moving everything in Lucifers room an inch to the right so he could stub his toe on his furniture and other times it would be slowly replacing people in the intricate paintings on the ceilings in the Celestial Realms cathedrals with poorly paintings of rubber ducks. Simeon when he came to Devildom still talks about how hes still finding some to this day.

Loves making Levi laugh. She would play whatever games with him to make him laugh. He would actually be the one to bathe baby Lilith because he would constantly make shapes and creatures in the water to entertain her. He treasures those moments in the giant bathtub just making horses and other animals out of water.

As she got older, it went from the bathtub to fountains. Lilith could be found tending the garden and suddenly would feel something wet by her hand and realize that an animal made of water just brushed against her and it always made her smile because it meant that Levi was near.

Because he was in charge of the Earths oceans, he was rarely home. When his father said that they have to keep an eye out on all creatures he didn't realize he meant ALL creatures. On particularly bad days where he was missing his family, he would always contact Lilith. Lilith always had time for Levi and even if she didnt she would make the time. He would tell her all about the marine life and how the water felt and Lilith always made sure to keep track of his discoveries in her various notebooks. Because their time together was often limited, Levi couldnt help but feel a tinge of bitterness towards his brothers.

Satan

Even though Satan never physically met Lilith, she was quite troublesome for him. Whenever Lucifer was about to go on a rampage, Lilith was always the one to calm Lucifer down. Even if the rage was directed at her, she always managed to calm Lucifer down and have him think rationally.

Satan knows the most about humans only because of the distant memories of Lilith talking Lucifers ear off about humans.

Even though he never physically learned to play the piano, he knows how to play both Lucifers and Liliths melodies by heart from hearing them both so much. Whenever Satan is restless he'll often play Liliths melodies on the piano to calm him down.

The only thoughtful gift he ever gave his brothers was a book of all the stories he could remember Lilith telling them. He claims it's because he wanted Lucifer to feel irreconcilable sadness when reading them, but its truly because whenever he was having a flare up of wrath he would go out of his way to find the book and read the stories to calm down.

Even after her death and after he sprang to creation, Lilith was still one of the only people to calm him down.

Asmo

She loved to play princess with Asmo. She would be a little bossy towards him, but he just adored the fact that he was the one who would braid her hair and blush her cheeks.

He always made sure to be front row for her “fashion” shows and as she got older and more interested in art, he was always the first to volunteer for her to practice anatomy.

He would always take the time out of his day to paint her nails all sorts of pretty colors, her favorite shade being lavender. He was in charge of keeping the Celestial Realm beautiful, and he couldnt let one of his fathers treasures be nothing short of beautiful at all times. Lilith didnt mind because it just meant that her and Asmo could vent together.

Asmo and Lilith have a garden in the Celestial Realm. Technically, they're in charge of all the gardens, but the two of them have a very specific garden dedicated just to the two of them. Their father has very strict rules about what flowers grew where in the realm, but Lilith and Asmo's garden had pink and yellow roses, amaryllis's, tulips, blue bonnets, fox gloves, hibiscus's you named them they had them all in their garden. There were several statues made by Lilith and Asmo even risked getting his fingernails dirty in order to install a beautiful stone archway with a bench. It was like their own oasis just for them. They would have afternoon tea in their garden, gossip about the archangels, even talk about how cute some of the angels are turning out as they grew up.

Like Levi, he also rarely got chances to spend time with Lilith, and if they did have time together it was only for about an hour before one of the angels would just whisk her away to finish a task, but sometimes late at night he would find her in the garden reading a book or tending to the plants.

Would design most of her Celestial Realm outfits or put together her outfits for the day. Paint her nails and do her makeup the whole nine yards, seeing as she and her brother were the face of the Celestial Realm.

Beel & Belphie

They were probably the ones who saw Lilith the most. Not "The Delicate Flower of The Celestial Realm" Lilith, but Lilith herself, with her arms freshly covered in open wounds from combat training, dried paint streaked across her forehead, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat, and hands shaking and covered in blisters and bandages from her gripping her sword too tight.

They'd be the first of the brothers to know about her training, mainly because they caught her trying to tend to a wound on her shoulder blade and they would help her tend to the wound, mentally cursing Simeon for getting too close to her wings.

She was the most comfortable around those two. She would dress casually around them and would often indulge in her more unladylike tendencies because she knew they wouldnt judge her. In fact, Beel was often the one to lug her completed sculptures around the Celestial Realm and Belphie was always in her studio to watch her paint and sculpt.

Her and Belphie would often spend countless hours under the stars of the Celestial Realm just watching and observing the humans below. Her and Belphie would even disguise themselves to get more up close and personal with them.

Loved lazy afternoons where they would all fall asleep on top of each other with the warmth of the sun on their faces. Especially loved the post nap snacks and baked goods afterwards.

Favorite sparring partner was Beel because he knew he could give her his all and shed be able to strike him down. In fact how the rest of her brothers found out about Lilith being a skilled fighter is when they all rushed into the battle chambers and saw Lilith soar over Beel and then full force swing her leg around onto Beels stomach, sending him plummeting to the ground with a loud crash, followed by Lilith hovering in midair, blood trickling from her lips and her arms covered in fresh bruises. That was the first time she ever landed a hit on Beel and her brothers were there to realize that the Flower of The Celestial Realm was a double edged sword. Soon she was having routine sparring matches with her brothers, Simeon being her coach on how to take them down.

Her, Belphie, and Beel all shared a bedroom. Lilith had her own bedroom with her own bathroom, but spent more of her time with Beel and Belphie because that's where she felt the most comfortable. Belphie especially specialized in making sure she didnt have nightmares that night.

#my works #writing #obey me #obey me shall we date #obeyme #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belpbie #lucifer #mammon #levi #satan #asmo #beel #belphie #obey me lilith

[c-ptsdrecovery]

Reading up again on covert narcissism has been really helping me explain some things about my trauma and about my mom’s behavior. Like, I knew she was a covert narcissist, but I’d forgotten how tortuous the workings of a CN’s brain are. Some things I’ve realized, involving some quoting from the above source:

--They want you to feel a confusion between praise and shame, and to feel that you are less than them. It’s a combination of “How dare you achieve?!” and “But you’re still not as good as me.”

--Their praise contains negging. That’s why even when she complimented me, I never felt like I was good enough. Just like the time she read my dissertation and went, “It’s okay... bit dry.” She could always argue that I had myself said it was the more boring version of the dissertation, could argue that other things she had read of mine were better... But at the end of the day, I heard her intended message loud and clear: it’s not good enough.

--Her praise at required times (like telling me I did a good job after a school concert or something) always felt less sincere than my dad’s and I could never figure out why. Well, it’s because deep down she 1) resented that I did well, 2) resented that I had the attention in that situation, and 3) wanted to tear down my self esteem so I would see her as better than me, and so that she could more easily manipulate me in the future

--You can never do things well enough for them. They always have to do things better than you. That’s why I was never good enough at chores, especially cooking and dishwashing. That’s always why she came up with ridiculous reasons to be angry at me every time I brought her my credit card receipts. When she could no longer argue that I was spending too much or that I didn’t give her all the receipts, she began to complain that the receipts were slightly crumpled along one edge! HEAVEN FORBID!

--They refuse to acknowledge your accomplishments. They want you to KNOW they’re not impressed. ...This really explains why she intentionally (and uncharacteristically) tied up the phone line around the time I would finish defending my dissertation so that it was 45 minutes before I could get through to tell her I passed. Because she was jealous that I was getting a PhD and she wanted me to know how little my achievement meant to her. Her jealousy of my achievement was also why her worst abuse began the week I defended (and continued for three years afterward!)

--Mom used to argue that she thought well of my achievements by telling me how she was always bragging about me to her friends. Likewise, she would tell me constantly about how her friends said nice things about me to her. But these things were not about me: they were about HER. She was using MY qualities and achievements to build up HERSELF, not me. If these things had really been self-esteem building for ME she wouldn’t have said anythign about them, because she had a vested interest in me not thinking well of myself.

--I had an absolute COMPLEX about NEVER acknowledging my own achievements or qualities--to the point where I can’t take compliments or ring my own bell AT ALL because it feels SO WRONG--because the cardinal sin of our family is to think well of ourselves. We’re only supposed to think really well of HER.

--They want you to feel unimportant and small

--They want you to know they don’t care about your time or your feelings

--No one’s time, wants, or needs matter except their own

--I still get super anxious when my mom is upset about anything, because her feelings were always my problem. She expected me and everyone else to be entirely focused on her feelings when she was upset, so even if they weren’t my fault, I was made to feel that they were my fault.

--She apologized to me once for being so cold and unloving and cried at me. I said cried AT me because the only reason she was apologizing (because she’s PERFECT; why would she apologize for anyting??) was to make me feel guilty for suspecting her of being cold and unloving, and also to get attention and narcissistic supply from me as I comforted her (which I am proud to say, I did not do). She turned it from an issue of “daughter’s feelings were hurt; let’s focus on her” to “Mom is upset; let’s focus on HER”

--They demand you abide by their wishes. Even when they don’t express them to you. I was always expected to read her mind. The fact that I couldn’t was more evidence of how I wasn’t good enough.

--She forgot me at the bus stop once, and forgot REPEATEDLY to pick me up at school after practice. She had to walk a fine line between “i’m the perfect mother” and “i want you to know that you don’t matter to me/ how dare you require that i put myself out to pick you up?”

--they ostentatiously volunteer to show what a good person they are (teaching Sunday school, joining the library board, working for Christ Among Neighbors)

--she’s extra-sickening on Facebook. “Birthday blessings be upon you, (name)!” because she wants people to know how great she is

--they want to gaslight, manipulate, and confuse you in order to destabilize and manipulate you

--”You’re so sensitive”. Even though they’re obviously the most fragile ego in the room! they can take ANYTHING as an insult! you have to GROVEL to make them believe you’re saying something nice! (this is just a way to get you to say a lot of nice things about them)

--that time i told her i was feeling suicidal and she SIGHED and ROLLED HER EYES and said, “do you need to talk to somebody?” like I was ruining her evening. She wanted me to know how little she cared about my feelings while also saying just enough to have plausible deniability later if I told her her response hurt me (”but i tried to get you help! what do you MEAN my tone of voice was mean?? you always take things the wrong way. I think you hear insults where there aren’t any.”)

--They want you to feel that your emotions, which are inconvenient to THEM, are a negative part of your psyche and a reason that other people won’t like you. They want you to feel that they are in control of their emotions,and their emotions are always right, while yours are not.

--they make you feel small and stupid for needing emotional support. THEY’RE so independent! (except when you have to stroke their egos...)

--they ignore their “loved ones” (no wonder I felt so alone as a child. even now i’m DYING for attention. when other people get attention/praise for things i know i can do as well or better than them i’m TORN because i want other people to treat ME like that, but i can’t draw their attention to myself because that’s so WRONG. and also if i DO get their attention, then i can’t take the compliments anyway.)

--they don’t need to praise others because they’re so obviously superior!

--i was always uncomfortable when my mom sang. i always felt like she thought she was SO GOOD a singer, when she was only mediocre. it always felt icky to me listening to her sing or play the flute.

--they get angry when you’re sick. GOD, that explains SO MUCH. The time i kept nearly passing out and ended up just lying on the kitchen floor because every time i sat up i felt woozy again and i asked her to make me a sandwich because my low blood sugar was part of the problem and she was clearly ANGRY and COLD and didn’t say a WORD to me as she made me the sandwich. like, your daughter is unable to get off the floor, and beyond one, “are you okay” there’s absolutely NO care there. it’s no wonder i write so much hurt/comfort wherein someone is sick and the other person Notices and Cares for them... it’s wish fulfillment!

--they’re condescending.

--they forget about your requests on purpose. she’s always buying me just slightly the wrong thing for christmas and birthdays.

--i showed her some very artistic self-affirmations i wrote once and she started disagreeing with all the nice things i said about myself. because how dare i have self-esteem when SHE was there?

--they make people fight each other. kinda explains my brother and me and our undying enmity...

--they project their own issues onto you. that’s why she tells me i’m always so angry and that i hurt people a lot with my tone of voice. and that i’m oversensitive.

--they give you the silent treatment and make you beg and plead. 

--they never try to make you happy (or if they do, it’s only for show. like buyign you SLIGHTLY  the wrong thing, over and over again. plausible deniability. “i TRIED! i was being GENEROUS! how DARE you nitpick my presents!”)

--they intentionally ruin special days for you, especially birthdays. because they resent you being the center of attention. i remember the first time she let me have a birthday party with friends instead of older relatives (she always invited my aunts and uncles to my birthday parties instead of people my age because SHE wanted to be the center of attention at the parties, not me. the parties were for HER, not for me.) at this child’s birthday party, she organized all the games and ran them all and was very much the center of attention. the only thing i really remember from that party was the game she created and led entirely.

--they don’t really know anything about you. GOD, how very true. neither of my parents have a fucking clue about my personality, my tastes, my interests, or my sense of humor. they know about them on an EXTREMELY surface level. “oh, she likes cats. she did ballet for years. she likes trees.”

--the reason mom got mad at me when i cried as a child was not, as she told me many years later, because she was upset that she was unable to comfort me adequately. The problem was that SHE wasn’t in the spotlight. she was required to pretend to care about MY feelings. She couldn’t comfott me adequately because i sensed that she was mad about me crying, rather than loving me and having compassion. she sent me to my room when i cried so i wouldn’t be the center of attention--and also to punish me for being so.

--i’m scared of spending money because mom 1) made me feel guilty for spending money on myself, because everything should be about HER [seriously, i got seriously scolded once for buying things for myself on a shopping trip instead of ONLY buying xmas presents for the family]. 2) made me scared about our financial situation because she wanted to have money for herself first and foremost for what SHE wanted. Thus her and Dad scaring the ever-living SHIT out of me last summer about finances and then turning around and buying themselves iphones.

--i’ve always felt so alone because subconsciously i always knew mom didn’t love me, even though consciously i made myself believe it. and of course i could never know if dad did, because even now, it’s a pretty fuzzy issue (which basically means he doesn’t. le sigh)

you know what? i’m going to get out that art project of self-affirmations and add some shit to it about being able to see through other people’s bullshit. because GODDAMN, i deserve a fucking MEDAL. i’m not going to let her negging make me continue to feel bad about those affirmations. because she’s just full of shit.

#narcissism #narcissistic abuse #emotional abuse #covert narcissist

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Junior

Just and idea about why Bowser might've told Junior that Peach was his mother.

~

She’d left him, gone back to her kingdom an ocean away. Which was fine, they’d done their best to make it work but it just wasn’t no matter how good a match Kamek and her parents had insisted it was supposed to be. So Bowser was honestly relieved she’s taken the initiative and finally ended it by leaving in the middle of the night. Her only farewell was a letter, explaining her reasons for leaving and a gift.

In a plain unwrapped box, she’d left it on the table in his room. The letter warned that it was fragile and oddly had apologized for leaving it with him. Which didn’t make much sense; if it was something bad enough she had to apologize for it, why leave a gift at all? And even more why had she assured him that it was his? Who else could it possibly be for?

Pulling back the lids of the box revealed an oblong shape, a bit bigger than his fist and wrapped in a soft cloth resting on a cushion. Keeping in mind its fragility, he carefully lifted it with one hand to unwrap it with the other. … An egg. Why would she leave him an egg? It didn’t make sense unless it was…

“Ah shit!”

That couldn’t be it though, could it? She’d have told him, right? … Maybe not, they’d never talked much and thus he didn’t know her as well as one think despite their arranged marriage having lasted almost three whole years before one of them had finally taken the initiative and left.

Shaking a little, he carefully placed the egg back on its cushion. He then rushed back over to his nightstand where he’d left the letter to reread it. … Suddenly her apology for the gift and the assurance that it was his made a lot more sense.

Growling, he balled up the paper and tossed it. She was a deadbeat, leaving him to raise their child on his own, how dare she? Whatever, he didn’t need her, he could do it on his own just fine so she could go fuck herself for all he cared.

A good deal of his anger and resolve faded though as he returned to the table to look down at the egg, nestled snugly on the cushion, the soft cloth still partially wrapped around it. How the hell was he supposed to do this alone? He wasn’t ready to be a dad yet. That wasn’t supposed to happen for a few more years at least.

Holding back a groan, he returned to his nightstand again to ring the magic bell to summon Kamek. About a minute later Kamek arrived through the secret passageway that connected his lab to Bowser’s room.

“Sir?” he said as the wall closed behind him.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now.” With the way rumors normally ran through the castle, Bowser was likely one of the last to find out because there was no way she’d snuck out without someone seeing her. Whoever had spotted her would’ve told everyone long before Bowser had even woken up this morning.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You want me to send people after her?”

“No, why would I want you do that? I’m glad she’s gone.” Or at least he would be if the sole thing they could both enjoy together hadn’t led to his current predicament. They should’ve been more careful but… it was too late now and she’d left him to deal with the consequences alone. “She left me this though.” Carefully, Bowser pulled the egg out again to show Kamek.

“Oh uh… I suppose you have an heir now sir, which was the whole point of the arrange marriage so congrats.”

“What do you mean ‘congrats’? How am I supposed to handle this?”

“Very carefully sir, especially once the shell hardens. That’s when it’ll be its most fragile.”

Bowser growled at him. “You know what I meant. How am I supposed to take care of a kid?”

“Well, I can tell you from experience it is very difficult to raise a child, especially as a single parent. If they end up being anything like you were as a kid, you’ll certainly have your work cut out for you. However, you do have the option to give it up for adoption or hire a nanny to do all the work for you. So really sir, you don’t have to raise them if you’d prefer not to.”

Both of those were options. Going the adoption route, he’d have to be very secretive about it to mitigate the chances of rumors about this popping up. The nanny route would probably be easiest and no one would fault him for it, he already had enough responsibility ruling his kingdom without adding raising a child on top of that. But… it didn’t feel right to do that, not for him anyway.

“No,” he said as he pulled the egg closer to his chest. Its shell was still soft and so fragile. It’d be far too easy to damage it by accident. But despite that… “I’m keeping them and raising myself. Their name is… Bowser; Bowser Junior.” Regardless of whatever their gender would end up being, he wanted to name them after himself. “So help me. You’ve supposedly done this before,” his parents had died before he’d even hatched, leaving Kamek as his sole caretaker, “tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“For now, just keep the egg warm and dry. Near but not right next to a space heater should do nicely. Talk to them occasionally, especially as they get closer to hatching. When they hatch is when the real works begins, that won’t be for a year or more though so there’s plenty of time to prepare for that.”

A year, that’s how long Bowser had to prepare for his role as a single father. That both felt like a long time and a terribly short time. There was nothing that could be done about it though. “Very well,” he said as he looked back up at Kamek. “Bring me a space heater and something to act as a cradle, either through the secret passage or teleport it straight here so one sees. I want this kept a secret for now.” He’d have to announce it eventually but not yet. He needed some time to prepare for that announcement and he wanted to wait for the rumors about his now ex-wife leaving to have died down a little.

“Yes sir.” Kamek was the only one in the whole castle who could be trusted to keep a secret. “And well… I’m proud of you for taking on this responsibility. I believe you’ll be a good father.” With that, he turned and left through the secret passage.

“I hope so,” Bowser replied with a sigh as the hidden door closed, becoming a wall once more.

 -

Over the next few months, he got used to the idea of being a dad. He talked to Junior every day, in the morning upon waking up and at night before going to bed. There was still one thing that bothered him though.

“You need another parent,” he said as he sat down by the egg cradle one night. He’d had Kamek get him some parenting books to act as another source of information on what do about raising a kid and they’d mentioned that two or more parents was the ideal. More would probably be better, right? But he personally preferred the idea of a monogamous relationship and finding one good partner would be difficult enough, let alone any more. “So I’m going to get you one before you hatch, all right? You’ll love them I’m sure.” Hopefully anyway.

The next day, he set Kamek the task of complying as much information about the rulers of all the nearby kingdoms as was possible. Marrying a fellow monarch made the most sense, right? It would expand the lands they both ruled and would give Junior more to inherit when it came time for them to do so.

It took almost a whole week before Kamek returned to him with what he’d found. He’d organized it in large blank binder that he handed to Bowser in his room because despite everything, Bowser hadn’t announced Junior’s existence or his new marriage plans to the world yet.

Each page in the binder was devoted to a layout of information about the primary ruler of all a nearby kingdom, such as name, age, gender, a picture of course, marriage status, and a paragraph of general personality information and backstory. The first page was for King Bomb-omb. He had an attractive mustache and a decent bio but he was already married. After that was King Boo but he was dead and therefore not likely to be a good step parent and the weird tongue thing boos had going on was not something Bowser was into. Queen Bean would’ve been a good option but she too was married.

The fourth page was the profile for the Mushroom Kingdom ruler: Princess Peach Toadstool. Finally, someone who was single and alive but… “If she’s the ruler of the Mushroom King why is she still a princess and why is she human? Isn’t the Mushroom Kingdom populated by Toads?”

“According to what I’ve been able to gather,” Kamek replied, “she was adopted by the former ruler at a young age and declared the heir of the kingdom. However, Toad law is strange, for reasons I haven’t been able to figure out, the actual title of ‘queen’ can only be held by a Toad. Despite that, Princess Toadstool is no less ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. It doesn’t make much sense but that’s pretty standard when discussing Toads.”

Bowser grunted because that was certainly true; the bastards all had names that started with ‘Toad’ which was just plain nonsensical. “And they’re all right with their ruler being human despite that law? Really?” Wouldn’t they want a proper queen?

“Supposedly she is a very good and kind ruler so yes, they’re more than happy to have her as their ruler.”

“Hmmm…” Bowser looked back down at her profile. Everything Kamek had just told him was written there as well some more about her generosity. She was young too, around the human equivalent of his own age – based off what he’d heard of how humans aged anyway. … “I want her,” he decided, tapping her picture with his claw. “She’s perfect.” Her kingdom directly bordered his and Junior deserved a kind mother, especially since Bowser had trouble being kind himself.

“Of course, sir. Would you like me to send an envoy with a message about your intent to court her? Or would you like to write the missive yourself?”

“I’ll just take an airship down there to talk to her myself.” Bowser didn’t have time for letters and all that nonsense. He needed to make sure she’d be good mom and then marry her before Junior hatched which was still several months away but undoubtedly those months would pass by in flash.

***

“Welcome back Your Majesty,” Kamek said as ascended the airship’s boarding ramp to greet Bowser. “How did things go in the Mushroom Kingdom?” As if that needed to be asked with how short a time Bowser had been gone and the less than happy look on his face; he’d clearly been rejected. Which was not surprising in the least and now it would be Kamek’s job to soothe his ego for however long he chose to be grumpy about this.

“Uh… it went well,” Bowser said which was a surprise. “Sort of anyway, really depends on what counts as ‘going well’.” Oh no, he’d done something less than smart, hadn’t he? Bad enough to start a war with the Mushroom Kingdom? Before Kamek could try to find an innocuous way to ask…

“Untie me this instant you horrible people!”

A group of koopatroopas and shy guys were dragging a bound woman out of the captain’s cabin. Naturally she was quite displeased about it as was not going easily.

“Uh… sir, is that Princess Toadstool?” Kamek asked because it looked an awful lot like her pictures.

“Yep,” Bowser said before raising his voice to instruct the minions carrying her. “Take her up to one of the tower top rooms, one of the ones with the lock on the outside. And keep a guard on the door at all times too just in case. Untie her though, I don’t want her to hurt herself.”

“Yes sir!” the minions spoke in unison before hustling to do as ordered.

“You won’t get away with this,” the princess shouted over them, earning more excited murmurs from the minions who’d gathered to watch.

With a sigh, Kamek turned back to look at Bowser again. “May I have a word with you in private Your Royal Spikiness?”

“Fine but make it quick, I got to prepare a proper greeting for my guest.” With a huff, Bowser led the way back onto the airship and into the private cabin. “Now what is it?” he demanded after slamming the door shut.

“Sir, may I ask why you chose to kidnap Princess Toadstool? I was under the impression you’d gone to court her.” Kamek kept his tone neutral in part because he wasn’t really sure how to feel about it. There were benefits to having a rival kingdom’s ruler held hostage but Bowser’s supposed goals might just lead to a huge mess instead. Still though, even that might be exciting, things had been too peaceful and boring lately.

“I did but she rejected my engagement offer. I tried to change her mind because I’d already gone all the way down there but she still said ‘no’ so I may have gotten a little mad and just grabbed her and brought her to the airship. I’m sure she’ll change her mind eventually, I’m the Koopa King after all, who can say ‘no’ to me?”

Ah yes, the good old ‘I want it so it’s mine,’ logic that Bowser liked to employ. Really it was Kamek’s fault for letting him get away with that so much growing up. There was no point telling him that there was no possible way she’d change her mind after this. But that wasn’t much of a bother especially since unless she did something to really piss him off, he’d get tired of the game after a while anyway.

“Now,” Bowser said, his tone indicating the end of the conversation, “help me prepare a welcome party for her. The sooner she changes her mind, the better. And I need to figure out if she’ll be a good stepmom to Junior.”

[One Mario Game Later]

“Fuck that fucking Mario bastard,” Bowser growled for probably the fourth time in the past hour as he got up from his throne to pace angrily back and forth again. “Who does he think he is, breaking in my castle and stealing back my princess?”

“Yes, fuck him Your Royal Furiousness,” Kamek replied in a deadpan as he inspected his handiwork in fixing his bent wand – he had spares of course but magic wands took a lot of effort to make so one getting damaged was aggravating. Personally, he was more frustrated than angry as anyone would be after getting trounced by a man who all sources indicated was just a plumber. But yelling, swearing, and pacing around the room wasn’t going to fix it and at this point was getting quite old.

Bowser huffed and spit out a stream of fire, thankfully not onto anything flammable. “Mark my words Kamek, this isn’t over! I’m going to kidnap Peach again and then if and when that red bastard shows up, I’m going crush him into the ground. And then the princess will be mine.”

“Yes sir.” Honestly Kamek was fine with that. The kingdom had clearly been at peace for too long; the troops were all inexperienced or rusty. Also, Kamek’s work thrived during conflict, testing new spells and/or new inventions worked best when it was a proper field test. So, both for his liege’s sake as well as his own, he was going to do his best to make sure they ultimately came out on top of this new conflict.

#My writing #super mario bros #bowser #kamek #sort of one sided Peach/Bowser #kidnapping #villains being villains