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#so sometimes i just get emotional and start weeping
thebibliosphere · 4 months
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In case you were wondering how deep down the Batfam fixation hole I am, it's something I've actually been talking about in therapy a lot.
Not like, in a worried way, more just when my therapist asks me what I'm doing in my downtime, my answer always used to be either "sleeping" or "I don't have downtime. I have too much work to do."
Now my answer is "playing my Batman game" or "watching Batman show/reading comics/writing unhinged Batman x Muppet fanfic."
And my therapist is delighted. She's fucking ecstatic. She's like, "You have interests again!" and I'm like !!!! Because here's the thing.
Almost dying in 2019 kinda irrevocably fucked up my brain, like, a lot. Like a lot, a lot. And I've been grieving over that for the last few years as well as recovering from the physical aspects of it. And to cope with it, I threw myself into work even though I wasn't physically or mentally well enough, and that made everything worse, and well, if you've been here, you know.
My brain has not been kind to me for a long time. It still isn't. But I do the work. I do multiple types of therapy a week. I piece myself back together on the daily and try to remember what it means to be human and not just this numb static void that sometimes sounds like shrieking if you listen too closely.
And then randomly, a few months ago a friend bought me Gotham Knights on Steam, and it was like a light turned back on. The engine that'd been refusing to turn over for years suddenly sputtered back to life, and something in my brain went, "Hey, I remember this... this is fun?"
And then I started tentatively searching the tags here on Tumblr, and yeah, actually. I remember this. I remember enjoying this. I can dip my toes into this. This is safe. This is a childhood interest from Before the almost-dying-trauma. And besides, it won't get in the way of my work. This isn't going to consume me. Nothing consumes me like it used to. I'm too broken for that.
Except, haha, jokes on me because, for some fucking reason, Brucie fucking Wayne and his gaggle of chaotic crime-fighting children is what reached into my brain, picked up my trauma, and started shaking it loose like a category 7 earthquake.
I actually laughed about that with my therapist a few weeks ago. Of all characters, of all pieces of media, it's Batman that's helping me process a significant chunk of my emotional trauma in a healthy way.
The most emotionally constipated vigilante in superhero existence, and I'm weeping like a child every time I get an achievement in Gotham Knights, and it says some bullshit like this:
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ID: a purple steam achievement icon that says: He'd Be So Proud Of You. Reach the maximum level as any member of the Batman Family. 6.3% of players have this achievement. /end ID.
(for context, Batman is dead in this game, and you are playing as his emotionally devastated children trying to keep it together. Wailing, gnashing, crying, throwing up etc, etc.)
And my therapist, who has sat with me through EMDR sessions and a multitude of other shit designed to rewire your brain, just shrugs and says, "Sometimes we need to externalize our emotions through safe media. For you, right now, that safety is Batman having a relationship with the Muppets."
And like... okay, yeah. I'll take the win on that one.
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katiexpunk · 18 days
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Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV
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Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.
Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.
W/C: ~8K
A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications
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Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry
The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.
The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that. 
But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two. 
In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.
The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–
Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet. 
“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.
“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office. 
“Don’t,” Joel bites back.
“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists. 
“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.” 
He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits. 
Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid. 
Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month. 
And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts. 
“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.
As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old. 
He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time. 
Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.
++++ 
God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30. 
He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits. 
He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you. 
Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand. 
"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"
He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty. 
Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking. 
His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse. 
Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep. 
He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place. 
 "Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table. 
“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.
He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked. 
“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.” 
He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself. 
Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake. 
He’s just another customer. 
The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy. 
He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible. 
More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen. 
He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it. 
He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back. 
But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face. 
“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it. 
“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it. 
++++
The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night. 
Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it. 
“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented. 
He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell. 
“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright. 
He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you. 
A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer. 
On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it.  Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot. 
He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You. 
He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore. 
He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip. 
When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello. 
You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is. 
“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know. 
He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that? 
Jesus. 
No. 
He’s just a customer. 
He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything. 
“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?
But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back. 
She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan. 
He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet. 
He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever. 
He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone. 
But you don’t call or text. 
He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager. 
But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type. 
You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock. 
Fuck. 
++++
Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except – 
Somethings wrong. 
There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off. 
He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.
It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense. 
“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight. 
He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that. 
He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now. 
“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.
It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.  
He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect. 
The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two. 
"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern. 
He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside. 
"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.
"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.
He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened. 
"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.
"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal. 
Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you. 
His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind. 
In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you. 
"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.
His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one. 
"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need. 
“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her. 
“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response. 
Rip off the fucking bandaid man. 
“Why didn’t you call?” 
He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.  
“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?
He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye. 
“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?  
He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt. 
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.
There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things. 
But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him. 
But no. 
Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.
“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his. 
“Ki–” 
Fuck it. 
He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more. 
He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more. 
He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral. 
“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.
He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.
“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.  
“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal. 
Fuck. Yes. 
His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more. 
He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.
“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs. 
“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots. 
You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.
He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body. 
“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now. 
He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby. 
“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you. 
You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast. 
“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you. 
He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More. 
He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you. 
“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line. 
“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away. 
Please, he pleads to himself silently. 
He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan. 
“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.
“O-kay,” you say on an exhale. 
“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you. 
He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him. 
“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing. 
He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole. 
He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core. 
“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him. 
“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle. 
“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again. 
He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more – 
“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height. 
“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste. 
He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor. 
“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now. 
“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.
He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.  
“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now. 
“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you. 
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life. 
He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.
 “Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you. 
He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust. 
“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him. 
He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare. 
Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind. 
He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time. 
“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him. 
He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.
“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin. 
“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless. 
“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep. 
Yeah, that’s right. Use me.  
And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second. 
“Where do you want me, baby?”
“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him. 
Holy fuck.
After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.
The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you. 
When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it. 
He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up. 
“Wanna smoke?” 
++++
“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.
“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own. 
“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.
“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both. 
“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.
You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day. 
You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with. 
And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept. 
It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat. 
He wants more. 
And something tells him you do, too. 
END
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Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal
478 notes · View notes
tarjapearce · 6 months
Note
Can we get a little story or something of how would Miguel take care of pregnant mama? Like I KNOW he would do the most and go the extra mile. But can we get it in your words?
Pregnancy Cares With Miguel ~ ✨
Warning: Pure fluff and a mild squeeze of nsfw.
Let's meet this weekend. MJ and I found this new place. And the hamburgers? God. 🤌🏻🤌🏻. They have these amazing artisanal beer.
You pouted at the screen. You wanted to go for a burger, but for some reason, you retched at the smell of beef. It was a big no for you. Plus you couldn't drink, for obvious reasons.
I need an outing so badly. Need a drink, work is getting so stressful. This weekend or the next one?
Jessica replied as MJ sent a ':) ' emoji on the group chat.
Can't go :(
What? Why tf no? You've been telling me you need a break. 😐
🤰
Miguel had sent the emoji and you rolled your eyes
I WAS SUPPOSED TO TELL THEM MIGUEL!!!
Wait... Fr?! 😱
OMG ❤️
MJ texted as the rest appeared as typing.
OMG Imma be an auntie!!?? 😳
Boy or Girl?
We don't know yet
You don't know 👀
Stop. Playing.
🤭🤭
SPILL OUT THE BEANS 🙄
Peter had sent a nervous gif and you cackled.
You'll find out tomorrow 😊
I swear if you don't tell
😏😏 What's gonna happen?
Guys... Im pretty sure these sort of things got you in the current situation you're in, can you not do this in the chat please?
FR
MJ just sent a 🤭 emoji.
Fine, woosies. It's a girl. ❤️❤️💖
SHUT UP 🥹🥹
MJ sent another gif exploding in hearts
Congrats on both 🎉🎉
Miguel remained quiet. You pouted.
What you didn't know is that when he came home, he'd get you a lovely bouquet of tulips and some pickles. He'd just pulled your grumpy self into a tight loving hug as he kissed your temple repeatedly until your mood vanished.
"A girl? Really? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Cause the doctor just sent me the results! And you ruined the surprise. I wanted to tell them in a different way!"
"Yeah, yeah. It's a girl! You know what that means?"
"That I'm gonna get so fat?"
"No, mensa. And even if you did, I'd still hit that." (Dummy)
"Not funny" Your cheeks flushed softly as he chuckled.
"Means that we can finally paint her room"
Your eyes swelled up in tears upon hearing him speak so softly and lovingly. He was excited. You could tell by the little flush in his ears.
"Shopping day tomorrow?"
"Ps obvio" (Obviously )
You giggled.
.----
Ever since you told Miguel you both were expecting a girl, it was like a switch turned in him.
He'd cuddle you with such care, he'd think you'd break. Wich was annoying to you since you missed sleeping ontop of him.
And when the cravings started? Dios mío.
"M-Miguel" You'd whimper as you wiped your eyes. He'd startle and instantly go in alert mode.
"¿Qué pasó? ¿Tas bien?" (What's wrong? You ok?)
You hiccuped and weeped "We have no pickles."
He'd stare at you, trying to process the correct emotion to feel in this situation.
"You're crying cause we don't... have pickles"
"Don't be mean!"
You'd hit him softly with a pillow and curled back to your bed.
"Ok, ok, Don't cry? I'll go to the... the store. Be right back."
"Can I have Nutella too?"
"Uh, sure."
Drowsy eyes looked at the clock. 2 am. On another time, he'd surely would ignore the senseless petition and talk to go back to sleep. But how could he do that when you were pregnant? He was an ass sometimes, but with a pregnant you? Never.
He went to the store, to his dismay there was only two small pickle jars, and they were inside a lady's basket.
... Puta madre...
Why was everyone suddenly in the crave for pickles?
He didn't have to elaborate much and explained the lady. She just laughed it off and kindly surrendered them to him.
"Cravings? Oh boy. You better buy her the three jar packs. And avoid wearing too strong colognes infront of her! It might get her queasy."
"Thanks" With a polite smile he paid for the pickles and went home.
You were waiting for him, teary eyed and pouty. He opened the jar of pickles for you and stared at you with awe and a mild disgust as you dipped one of the pickles inside the Nutella and scarfed the veggie down with such hunger it made you cry again.
"Its so good."
His shoulders slumped with a sigh and wiped your chin.
"You're such a weirdo."
"Want some?"
"No, thanks. Keep eating"
"But I'll get fat"
"It's normal to gain weight during pregnancy."
"You'd love me if I was chubbier right?"
"Yes. I would. Eat your... thing."
He'd chuckle watch you eat until you were satisfied. three pickles in total with half the bottle of Nutella.
The next day he got you a small pack of pickles and two big bottles of that sweet spread to then rub your feet.
---
As time went on and your belly grew, the doctor appointments never got skipped or missed. He was there making sure everything was in order. His big hand hugging yours in a secure embrace as you got your ultrasounds. Everything was going perfectly.
The most dangerous months had passed and he allowed to breathe a bit more.
He had refused when you told him you wanted to work from home. Even if it was home office.
"No. It can lead you to stress out. And that will stress the baby out. Something can happen and no. Let me handle it."
"Stop being paranoid, I'll be fine! I just... don't like sitting all day or sleeping. I need to do something. And you didn't let me do much in the baby's room either!"
"Mi amor. You need to rest. I know you don't like it. But you need to."
"Could you at least get me an exercise ball?"
"Sure. Just don't-"
"Ay ya, Miguel! Ni que fuera a romperme!" (Stop it. I'm not gonna break!)
you whined
"I worry, mi reina."
"I know, and I appreciate it, but I gotta do something around!"
"Just promise me you'll go easy, ok?"
"Fine."
You kissed his cheek and cuddled him, the heat he provided felt heavenly against your back. You had started to waddle and to your dismay a new nickname was born. You were his Pingüinita. (Little penguin)
On the six month mark, you'd toss and turn on bed, feeling either too hot or cold. One moment you were snuggled against him, for the next to remove your clothes and lay naked next to him.
One particular night you felt suffocating. Summer was rampant and you woke up in tears at the oppressing heat.
He'd wake up no long after and filled in the bathtub with the right kind of water. Sweat and hormones raging on your body. Despite sleepiness clinging to him, he'd help you to the tub and bathe you.
Big and gentle hands massaged your wet scalp to then massage your shoulders and lower back. He splashed your body with water and kissed your temple carefully.
"Feel better? "
"Great, thank you, mi amor."
He'd smile lazily and remained there with you, almost falling asleep again in the bathroom until you were ready to leave to sleep.
- - -
He'd buy you long and cotton nightgowns. They were breathable and made everything a bit more comfortable for you, along some essential vitamins. And a hammock for the porch. He'd find you sleeping often in there.
Whenever you went out with the rest he'd make sure that none ordered meat. You still were sensitive to the smell, despite Peter longing for a burger.
Miguel would bathe with you to help you wash your back. But it was just an excuse to touch you and feel you. He'd be as gentle as he could with you. It turned him on to see you swelling with his child. Even brought out things he didn't know was into. Like, a lactation kink. And eat you out despite your protests of not being able to see him.
He was absolutely moonstruck with you. And when the time for you to deliver his baby finally came. He tried to remain strong and collected, despite his hands trembling like an earthquake. He kept an eye on you like a hawk, always looming around you.
He couldn't help but melt when Gabriella's cries echoed loud and healthy on the room.
He kissed you with such pride in his eyes that you'd think he was about to cry.
He knew his life with you had just started, and he was glad he had chosen you. Happy and grateful even. You just made him a dad of a wonderful little girl that instantly quieted down when he held her in his arms. One of the nurses snapped a picture of him holding and cooing Gabi as you got a well deserved nap.
Despite him not being a texter, he sent the picture of Gabi to the group chat.
OMG! Congratulations! she's so beautiful! 😊
I wanna cry so badly right now. She's gorgeous 🎉🎉
I'm an uncle now. :') So proud of you, Miguel.
Thanks
When can we see her?
Lemme ask Pingüinita and I'll let you know.
🐧?
683 notes · View notes
myslvtwritings · 8 months
Note
HIII COULD YOU DO THE UPPER MOONS WITH A CRYBABY READER? (A thought of mine,of them taking care of me while I sit and cry and babble in there arms about something small 😖😖😖)
Aww, i love this idea! yes i’ll definitely do it!
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➤ Uppermoon’s reaction to their S/O being a crybaby
➤ headcanons
Uppermoons x crybaby!GN!reader
including: Muzan, kokushibo, Douma, Akaza and the Hantengu clones (Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu & Urogi)
warnings: smaller reader, mentions of murder, semi-nsfw?
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Muzan Kibutsuji
• We all know how he is.
• Being the demon king, he isn’t the very best at comfort. I think we’re all aware of that.
• Isn’t fazed by your crying. i mean, it isn’t anything new to him. He murders and eats people on a daily basis so crying isn’t something that’s unusual for him to witness..
• However, it’s YOU crying.
• You crying makes Muzan feel… not good.
• He can’t really explain it.
• All he knows is that he strongly dislikes seeing/hearing you cry.
• At first he scolded you for showing such emotions. But then he only realized he made you cry more afterwards.
• Muzan feels horrible. But you’ll never hear that coming from him.
• The two of you are the complete opposite.
• He only got angry at you for crying at first because you were crying over something so stupid and second of all he didn’t want to admit he didn’t like seeing you cry and has no idea how to comfort you properly.
• He doesn’t want to come off as weak.
• Eventually, he’ll own up, apologize for his behavior. After all, he didn’t really mean it. (Believe it or not)
• Muzan isn’t just so great with emotions and he isn’t used to have such an emotional S/O.
• Will stroke your hair as you lay your head in his lap.
• He’ll listen to you vent about whatever upset you. Even if it’s stupid in his eyes.
• “You weep over such silly things, my dear.”
• Muzan will hush and wipe your tears. Thats all you’ll get.
• Now if SOMEONE upset you, they’ll be dead immediately. No questions asked.
• Muzan doesn’t care if you don’t want it. He’ll do it anyway or just lie and say he won’t do it. Which he will
• Doesn’t give a shit who it is either. Even if it’s a family member he’ll destroy them.
• Because how dare they make his beloved S/O cry?
• He’ll literally torture whoever made you this upset. So that’s another way of him showing his love for you. Even if it’s in a horrific way.
• Then he’ll proceed to tell you about how he killed the person who made you sad. 😟 (Doesn’t leave out any details)
• Goes into a state of severe confusion as you cry more. He expects you to treat him like a superior being and says you should be thankful he decided to lend you his presence and time in the first place..
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Kokushibo
• Like Muzan, he isn’t an expert when it comes to comforting someone.
• He’s used to being solitary so this is all new for him! Please understand.
• But unlike Muzan, Kokushibo won’t be annoyed by your crying.
• Kokushibo has cried himself before so why should he judge you? (Even though he’s only cried like.. once)
• All though Koku has cried before. It was awhile ago and he barely remembers it. However, he isn’t a crybaby.
• He’s honestly surprised by how much you cry.
• Never has encountered a human who cries as much as you do.
• It comes to a point where sometimes he feels helpless.
• Kokushibo isn’t very vocal. So expect him to be more on the physical side when it comes to comfort.
• Words of affirmation isn’t his strong suit either.
• Becomes immensely confused when you cry more whenever he hugs you. (You cry more when people comfort you)
• Like huh?? Why did you start to cry more?? Should he stop??
• Kokushibo will just pick you up bridal style and set you down on a futon. He’ll cuddle you for awhile until you fall asleep in his arms.
• Isn’t the type to give you advice nor is he responsive but he’ll definitely listen to you.
• Just holds you against his chest as you sob into his embrace.
• Will brutally murder anyone who upset you. He isn’t going to let that shit slide.
• If you beg him not to he’ll be hesitant. He wants to kill them for you but at the same time he doesn’t want to make you further upset if he does carry out the murder.
• Let’s all be blunt, in the end, he won’t listen to you. He won’t let anyone get away with hurting his S/O.
• Kokushibo will know this’ll upset you more but he does it anyway. He doesn’t want anyone messing with you.
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Douma
• Oh great heavens..
• Out of all the uppermoons he’s definitely the most touchy/affectionate/comforting. (somewhat)
• Knows how to comfort others. (But it’s not genuine)
• With you it’s entirely different though!
• Butttt he’s still the type to tease his S/O. His toxic trait is that this sadistic basted finds great pleasure in seeing you cry.
• The way you’ll cling yourself to HIM, in need of HIS attention and comfort, desiring HIM and no one else:
• Douma FEEDSSS off that shit.
• Gets off by how vulnerable you get. (New turn on)
• Another thing is that he won’t severely pity you when you cry. After all, he’s not the best when it comes to emotion.
• Also not the type to be fazed by your crying state. i mean, he deals with his followers crying to him ALL the time about their stupid problems.
• Does not give a fuck about them.
• He is USED to not giving a fuck. That’s why he’s surprised he cares whenever you’re crying. Even if it’s over something so minor.
• Douma cares but doesn’t understand fully, yk?
• You need to be patent with him. After all, emotion is new for him. (He only experiences it around you)
anyway..
• Babies you whenever you cry.
• “Oh, my, my! What’s wrong, my sweet lotus?”
• As soon as he sees your tear-stained face he’ll just snatch you up without even asking and pull you onto his huge lap.
• Adores how adorable you look on his lap! You’re so tiny in his arms like this!!
• Let’s you babble about whatever upset you.
• Honestly, he ain’t even listening, he’s just admiring how vulnerable you look right now.
• He’ll just pepper your face in kisses and wipe your tears away.
• Cups your face and whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Douma reminds you that everything will be okay and that you’re safe with him.
• Sometimes he licks your tears.
• Teases you relentlessly if you cry over something stupid.
• Will instantly kill anyone who made you upset.
• Douma usually eats people when they’re this upset so they no longer have to bare the pain but he doesn’t want to eat you. Surprisingly.
• Confused by his own feelings.
• There was a time where you were upset and Douma straight up asked you if you want to be eaten by him.
• Yeah, bros a menace.
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Akaza
• This man is SOOO sweet about it.
• The first time you cried in front of him he flipped out😭
• Like huh?? what’s wrong?? are you okay??
• On the inside he’s panicking.
• Is surprised by how vulnerable you can get whenever you’re a mess like this.
• If you’re human, low-key enjoys the power imbalance.
• Though, Akaza absolutely despises witnessing you cry.
• Never makes fun of you. Even if you’re crying over something that others view as stupid. He won’t ever pass judgment towards you or even tease you.
• Akaza will 100% listen to you vent about whatever upset you.
• Oh? what’s that? SOMEONE upset you?
• Yeah, he is coming after them. even if it’s a woman.
• Doesn’t care.
• No one hurts his S/O.
• Akaza wants to protect you. Out of every uppermoon he is the most overprotective.
• Is almost TOO protective.
• You were growing relatively concerned for how overprotective he was. You mostly just didn’t want him to get hurt.
• “I have to ensure you’re safe at all times.”
• Kinda scary at times.
• He wants you out of harms way at all costs.
• Isn’t used to physical touch but whenever you’re sad he’ll definitely give you lots of cuddles.
• Will let you babble on and on.
• Isn’t the best advice giver but he’ll help you in his own way.
• Demons aren’t used to comforting others after all so he needs to ease up to it.
• Proceeds to ask you what he can do to make you feel better!
• You cry frequently and it honestly concerns him.
• Once you finally tell him you’re just sensitive and that you cry over things easily he’ll understand.
• Lays down with you and holds you firmly against his chest as you cry your little heart out.
• Forehead kisses too.
• Akaza is a gentleman! Would so cook your favorite meals whenever you’re having a bad day.
• He isn’t toxic in any way. Just his only red flag is probably being too overprotective? (If you could even call that a red flag)
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Sekido
• Let’s be completely honest.
• Sekido is going to be aggravated over the fact you’re a crybaby.
• He’ll be passive aggressive towards you.
• Not because he hates you, or because he’s mad at you. This is all just a cover up because he legitimately has no clue how to help you or comfort you.
• He’s very uneducated and inexperienced when it comes to this kind of situation.
• Sekido just grows more angered with myself that he doesn’t know how to help you. Instead of communicating with you about it he just takes his frustrations out on you.
• This makes you even more upset and only turns you into a bigger of a crybaby.
• Sekido secretly feels horrible.
• Eventually he mans up and apologizes stubbornly. Admits that he’s not used to comforting others and isn’t a fan of crying.
• Of course you forgive him because you know how he is. You know that he didn’t mean it.
• Sekido is not exactly uncomfortable around those who are sensitive. I mean, he deals with Aizetsu so he’s used to it.
• Sekido isn’t just used to comforting others.
• In fact, he’s HORRIBLE at it.
• The best you’ll get is cuddles (if you’re lucky)
• Then again, he ain’t used to this 😔😔
• Fortunately for you, Sekido will do his best to try and appear less intimidating around you.
• Lowers the volume of his booming voice for you and attempts to act more soothing around your presence.
• See? he does care. Just is not ideal at showing it.
• Like the other demons if anyone made you cry Sekido will definitely take care of them for you!
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Karaku
• THIS MAN ADORES YOU! (in a peculiar way..)
• The second he sees you a crying mess he’s scooping you up into his arms and cradling you.
• He’ll lay down with you and allow you to lay your head on his chest as you cry.
• Karaku will understand if you’re upset over something that actually makes sense but if it’s something tiny he’s like; ???
• Teases you about it:(
• Similar to Douma, he gets off by how you rely on him when you’re an emotional wreck.
• Sometimes Karaku will purposely make you cry because he’s lowkey a sadist.
• Karaku has that little secret smirk on his face whenever you start babbling about whatever it is upset you.
• Just shushes you as your babbling continues.
• First, he will comfort you before gladly executing the asshole who hurt your fragile little heart.
• “Awhh! It’s okay darlin’ you don’t have to worry about them anymore!!”
• Once he debated on whether or not he should tell you that he kills whoever upset you.
• Unlike the other uppermoons for some reason he doesn’t tell you that he killed the person who made you cry.
• Karaku doesn’t say anything in hidden fear that he’ll scare you more or make you cry again.
• Don’t get me wrong, loves comforting you, loves how you need him, but he also hates seeing you cry.
• Always wants you to feel satisfied and happy!
• Karaku will do ANYTHING in his power to get your tears to stop.
• Offers you sex to help you feel better 💀 (bros a hypersexual)
• However, if he’s having a bad day then he might not be the best at comfort. But if he’s not having a bad or unusual day then he dedicates all his time to you and you alone!
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Aizetsu
• Aizetsu understands you more than anyone else.
• He also has the strong tendency to be a crybaby himself.
• At first, Aizetsu will he too shy to comfort you.
• This is is mostly because he is afraid he might do something wrong.
• But eventually he gets over it.
• Aizetsu feels bad for you and would hate to leave you alone.
• He does what you do to comfort him whenever he’s upset.
• Like you, small things will trigger his emotions.
• So he relates to you in a way.
• Aizetsu adores you and loves you so much!
• Will give you all the attention and comfort you need.
• Aizetsu will even ditch missions just to take care of you. He’d hate to leave you alone.
• You’re always there for him whenever he’s feeling down so of course he’s going to do the same for you!
• He desperately wants to hurt whoever made you cry
• Unlike the others, Aizetsu will listen to you and not murder who hurt you if you protest against it. He respects you and doesn’t want you to feel even more hurt.
• Y’all are both big crybabies together.
• Crying sessions? yes. 100%.
• Aizetsu will hold you and play with your hair while whispering sweet nothings into your ear to soothe your nerves.
• Literally on the verge of tears whenever he sees you cry:(
• He isn’t a big fan of seeing you upset so he’ll do anything to make his precious S/O smile!
• “You don’t know how much your smile means to me..”
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Urogi
• HATES seeing you cry.
• Becomes veryyyy overprotective.
• But not to worry! He will never judge you.
• Might tease you a TINY bit though.
• Okay, i’m bluffing, he’ll tease you A LOT. not as much as Douma and Karaku though.
• Urogi will only really tease you when you’re crying over something small.
• Knows when something is up or when you’re holding back tears. It’s pretty damn obvious no there’s no need to lie to him.
• As i said before, Urogi won’t ever judge you!
• The moment you begin to break down you’re scooped up into his arms
• “Hey, hey, hey! what’s the matter, sweetheart?”
• Will pressure you into telling him what’s wrong.
• Isn’t too thrilled when he realizes how downright negative you are.
• Probably forces you to smile, he’ll gently use his talons to force your lips into a smiling while chuckling at you. (Tries not to accidentally cut you in the process)
• Gives you reassurance that he’s here for you and there is no need to feel upset!!
• Is more than happy to kill the unworthy bastard who made you dry.
• I feel like Urogi would just take you flying somewhere to get some fresh hair. That’ll help, right?!
• The type to wrap his wings around you. His wings are quite big so he loves seeing how tiny you look in them.
• Tickle fights? yes! definitely! Wants to see a real smile so this menace will begin ticking you out of no where until you’re a giggling mess.
• Urogi is the talkative type so he will keep talking to you in hopes that’ll calm you down/distract you at least.
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That’s about all! I apologize if some of them are shorter than the others. Thank you for sending in this request! i’m working on more at the moment so my apologies if it takes me awhile to post.
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twignotstick · 20 days
Text
Broken Brothers (and How to Fix Them)
Part 2 💙 | <- Part 1 🧡
Note: This story is based on @cupcakeslushie 's Empyrean Weeping au. These characters are not my own, and this story is in no way canon to the main story. I wrote this as my love letter to the story and the characters. Especially April :)
Tags: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, ROTTMNT, Leo & April, NOT MY CHARACTERS, Empyrean Weeping AU, recovery (i have a sneaking suspicion that will apply to the whole fic,,), talking it out because we're adults, movies, comics, they're becoming friends
Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): Mention of violence (its one sentence, but figure I should still put it here :P)
Words: 1,588 (there's less setup this time)
Summary: April was able to figure out her first brother easily. Now, she gets three more, with a couple more issues to worry about.
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As soon as she even saw Leo for the first time, she knew he wouldn't be as easy to get along with as Mikey was. Mikey was always so open, so bright, so bouncy. Leo, in comparison, was still, dull, and closed off. He had just come from a terrible ninja clan, beaten by his own master. It was kind of warranted.
Any time April would enter the medbay where they were keeping Leo, he would silently stare a hole in her soul. His face had hardly loosened from the scowl he had adopted, and any time April would get near, it would just harden more. Even so, April kept trying to get close. Despite Raph's concerns for her physical health. (And with Mikey's encouragement, because he was happy to enable the potentially dangerous behavior.)
One afternoon, she decided to bring a ton of her Jupiter Jim comics to read. The boys needed a break from watching their somewhat-volatile-yet-severely-wounded brother, and April knew he wouldn't talk to her. So, once she settled down in her chair a few feet away from the bed where Leo was scowling, she pulled out the comic she'd left off on: Jupiter Jim Breaks Newton's Fourth Law, Volume 8.
After a few minutes of reading, April couldn't help but notice a change in Leo out of her peripheral vision. He wasn't staring at her anymore, but at her comic. This glare wasn't full of discontent and uncertainty. Instead, it was filled with emotions he was trying (and failing) to hide- curiosity and excitement.
“You read Jupiter Jim?”
Leo was surprised by the sudden question and whipped his gaze away, a slight flush coming to his cheeks. “No.”
April's journalism senses were kicking in. There was a story here. “Why not?”
“Things like that are…” Leo's posture tightened, almost as if the thing he was about to say wasn't what he believed, “useless distractions.”
“I don't think so,” April said, shifting her chair a little closer to the bed. “I think it's important to have distractions sometimes. Y'know, during finals, when you're sick, when you've got a broken arm…” Subtly, April started slipping the comic in her hands to the bed. “You can read it, if you want.”
“No. I can't.”
Leo looked surprisingly aggressive when he responded. He seemed to catch his unwarranted anger and mumbled, “I still haven't read 6 or 7.”
“Oh!” April sat up straight and grabbed her bag from the floor. “I've got the whole arc up to 9 in here, I thiiink-” Once she had fished out the comics she was looking for, she placed them on the corner of the bed by Leo's feet.
The slider stared at the comics like they'd offended him.
“...well?”
“I-I can't. I can't hold them with my arm-”
“I can hold it for you!” April said. “I can turn the pages whenever you need.”
Leo finally looked back at April with that trademark scowl he always had. “What's your game, woman?”
April smiled. “No games, just trying to make you feel comfortable in your new home.”
Leo huffed. “This isn't my home.”
“It's where your family is, isn't it? Isn't that what matters?” April asked genuinely.
Leo looked back down at the comics. His eyes softened while the rest of his expression remained, and he picked Volume 6 up with his good arm. He opened it and silently began to read.
They both sat and read for a while. April noticed Leo struggling to turn pages sometimes, but she didn't dare try to help him. She thought he might bite her hand if she did. He was still scowling at the comic as he read, but it looked less like a scowl of anger and more one of concentration.
When he got done with Volume 6, April spoke. “So, who's your favorite character?”
“...JJ, obviously.” Leo slowly reached out and grabbed the next volume.
“Seriously? That's so basic.”
Leo scoffed. “Really? Then who's your favorite character?”
“Atomic Lass, obvi,” April said, flipping her hair for emphasis.
“Atomic Lass?! Her personality is literally just ‘woman’.”
“Uh, yeah, and that's the point?! Atomic Lad is just ‘man’. Haven't you watched Jupiter Jim on the Atomic Sub-Moon?”
Leo's shoulders lowered. “...watched?”
April sprung up and put her arms on the bed, looking down at Leo in shock. “YOU'VE NEVER WATCHED A JUPITER JIM MOVIE?!”
“NO?! THEY MAKE THOSE?!”
“THAT'S IT!” April grabbed her bag from the floor and moved it over to the side of Leo's bed. “You, keep reading. I'll get one of the boys to watch you. I need to head home and get my box set. We are having a movie night. Understand?!”
“Y-yes ma'am!”
“We can start with Last Trip to the Moon 1, but then we are watching Atomic Sub-Moon, I DO NOT care if the context is lost, you'll figure it out.”
“O-okay?!”
“RAPH!”
----------------------
“So… the real Atomic Lad and Atomic Lass are dead?!”
“Yes! And the Atomic Lad and Lass we know are-”
“People carrying on the legacy, who the Atomic people believe are still the originals?!”
“YES! That's why they never use their real names, that's why-”
“Why they act like Barbie and Ken for space…”
“Now you get it!” April leaned back into her bean bag and put her arms behind her head. The movie night had gone way better than expected. They had to set up the best pillow pile they could, since they didn't have a sofa big enough for everybody. In the end, April and Leo stayed in bean bags and watched the movies while the others went about their day. It took a minute for Leo to get into it, but once the moon buggy showed up, he was hooked. For the first time, April saw a child in Leo. 
“So, have I won you over with an emotional, heart breaking backstory?” April asked slyly.
“Uh, no.”
April's eyes snapped to the slider. “WHAT?! What do you meeean?! I don't get how you like JJ more than Atomic Lass!”
“Well, he's the main character for a reason, for one.” Leo took another bite of the pizza slice he had been eating. “And second, he's the one who always gets everyone out of the bad stuff. He's the hero, and he isn't scared to sacrifice for his crew.”
“But, consider this, Atomic Lass has a giant rocket powered hammer, Leo.”
“JJ doesn't need a weapon. He's got the nerve pinch technique.”
“They never use the nerve pinch technique, though!” April whined.
“That doesn't mean he doesn't have it!”
“I never thought someone could be as dorky as April,” Raph said from where he stood a few feet away from the bean bag setup. “And yet, here we are.”
“Wh- dorky?!” Leo scoffed, looking at Raph incredulously.
“Yeah, dorky!” Mikey popped out from behind Raph's shoulder. “Y'know, nerdy? Geeky? Criiinge?”
Leo's face flushed and he curled in on himself, stammering.
“Hey, y'all are just jealous that we're bonding,” April defended. “If you gave JJ a chance, you'd like it too.”
Raph and Mikey both shut up quick. April waved them off, and they hurried out to the kitchen again, saying they were “getting more snacks”.
Now that they were alone, April looked over at Leo again. “They're stupid. Can't appreciate good media.”
“Good media?” Leo asked. “You mean B-Movies and old comics?”
“Yeah, man.” April grabbed a blanket and tossed it over at Leo, making him fumble to keep it off his face with his good arm. “It makes you feel good, doesn't it?”
Leo looked down and contemplated. “I mean… yeah. But I-”
“Shouldn't?”
Leo took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“You don't have to worry about what you should or shouldn't do here, Leo,” April said, sitting more upright to look at Leo better. “You do what you want. What makes you feel good. That's all you should worry about when you're home. Doing what you want and feeling good.”
Leo turned away, looking at the TV, paused at the end of the credits.
“If it means anything, this really made me feel good,” April said. “It's cool to have somebody to talk about ‘nerd stuff’ with. And I'm glad you liked the movies. Atomic Sub-Moon is one of my favorites. Not as good as Pluto Vacation 4, but good.”
“There's more?” Leo asked timidly.
“Oh, there's loads more!” April grinned. “There's like a jillion Last Trip to the Moons, there's Jupiter Jim and the Overly Complicated Magic System, Jupiter Jim Squared Minus One, Jupiter Jim Breaks into Federal Prison, there's tons! We can have more movie nights, if you want.”
Leo looked at the blanket laying over him, grabbing it and rubbing it between his fingers. “I think… I think I want that.”
April pumped her fist. “Sweet! This means I've still got time to win you over to the Atomic Side.”
Leo let a single laugh escape his lips. “Yeah, not happening. Jim is the best, I don't care what you say. Even Red Fox is better than Atomic Lass.”
“AH! HOW DARE YOU?!” April stood up and looked down at Leo. “Just you wait, nonbeliever. Just wait until I show you the Atomic Lass spinoff comic. Or the Atomic Lass movies. You will change.”
“I wouldn't bet on it.”
“Oh YEAH?! I will bet on it. I'll bet on it so hard, you can call me Troy Bolton.”
Leo's eyes nervously shifted from side to side, centering back on April. “...who?”
“...YOU'VE NEVER SEEN HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL?!”
“NO?!?”
“RAPH!”
○●○●○●○
Yippee! Part 2! Part 3 is giving me more... issues... so it might take a minute to come out. But its coming! 🟪🐢
I really leaned into Leo's inner dorkiness here. I just thought him and April bonding over their obsession with an insane astronaut man was so cute. <3 (This is also why I'm so excited for the rest of Leo's arc in the actual comic! GAH!!!)
Congrats to everyone who won the first round of @tmntaucompetition voting! Very excited for the next round coming up :)
Part 3 -> 💜
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boydepartment · 2 months
Text
process- idol!park sunghoon x surgeon!reader
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a/n: HIIIIII this was requested by @isawritesss i hope you like it <3
request: can i please ask for a very angsty idol!sunghoon x surgeon gf!reader where they get into a very big argument and she was already having a bad day at the ICU cause she had to perform a surgery on this lil kid and her mind wasn't in the right place and just needed him :( with comfort in the end like idk why but imma obsessed with angst and hurt comfort.
warnings: I AM NOT A DOCTOR but i tried my best into focusing more on the emotions side. i am not a stem student either SO I REALLY TRIED MY BEST i have no connection to work or training in this field!!! angst to comfort obviously. the reader and sunghoon use strong language but it’s all okay in the end
wc- 250-300 words
MASTERLIST
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your day was rough to say the least. work was stressful and even if you helped save people’s lives you can also lose a couple in the process.
sometimes it’s too much and it hurts your mental even if you loved your job. it’s a lot a pressure.
today was exactly like that.
when you got home you saw that sunghoon was already home, smiling now because you barely get to see him home you wanted to talk to him.
“hey i didn’t know you were getting home early today?” you went to the fridge, turning around to see the back of his head unmoving.
“yeah.”
you took out a water bottle and opened it, “rough day?”
“yes.”
you walked over to the couch and sat next to him, “i’m sorry, my love.” you went to put your hand over his and he moved his hand.
sunghoon got like this sometimes but would normally just say he needed a breather and walk to your shared room for a bit.
he was usually good at talking to you.
“do you want a breather?” your voice was quiet.
sunghoon looked at you, “fucking obviously y/n. have i tried making any conversation with you since you got home?”
you looked at him, eyes narrowing, you were not going to take this after today, “maybe say that then! don’t act like it’s my fault! god forbid i talk to my boyfriend who’s barely fucking home!” you stood up and went to your shared bedroom slamming the door.
the stress from the day crashed with you when your knees and fits hit the floor. you started to weep quietly. not taking in the footsteps approaching the door.
“y/n?” sunghoon’s voice called out through the door, followed by soft knocks.
you stood up and wiped your face, “i don’t want to talk to you right now. you wanted to be left alone didn’t you?” you were hurt and your voice was evident in that fact. your feet carried you to the bathroom and you got changed as well as showered and washed up.
when you walked back into the shared bedroom you saw sunghoon sitting on your bed, you didn’t lock the door as that was a rule in your household. communication always came first.
he sat there looking defeating at his feet, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to snap at you and it was my bad.”
you were about to speak but he spoke first
“i should’ve asked about your day and told you that i needed a bit.” he looked at you, “i disrespected you and im sorry.”
you walked over to him and sat down next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder and snaking your hand in his, “i accept your apology.”
“was your day okay?” sunghoon whispered, playing with your hands.
you shook your head no, “it… was really bad…” your voice broke again, sunghoon almost immediately pulled you down further into the bed and held you against him.
“i’m sorry… do you want to talk about it?”
you shook your head no, “maybe after i process it more…”
sunghoon nodded, “take as much time as you need okay?”
you nodded and kissed his jawline leaning into him more, his grip on your waist tightening, “tell me about yours i need a distraction.”
sunghoon sucked in a breath, “it was just a lot of work, we made progress though, um an engene broke into the company building, we went out to-“
“WHAT?” you sat up and looked at him. he started laughing and pulled you down to him.
“i’m lying. did it make you laugh though?”
you smacked his chest, “you’re horrible! i actually believed you!” your lips curled up and he took the opportunity to kiss you.
“i love you so much, i promise what happened earlier won’t happen again.” he whispered, “my job as your boyfriend is to keep you smiling.”
you nodded and kissed him again, “you can always talk to me too… i love you too…”
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lilacargent · 1 month
Text
As im currently dealing with the loss of a loved one, this is my way of coping.
Grief
Grief is an interstellar concept. Almost every species in the galaxy has its own traditions and practices. Humans are no exception, like with most of their emotions their grief is all encompassing. Traditions vary from one culture to another, even people deal with it in different ways.
Kilare as part of a flocking species wonders about the human crewmates when one is lost in a battle. She knew the passed human Ellie very well. Turns out they grieve like a flock, huddled together weeping, almost giving into the urge to join she turns away, expecting this to last for a long time she leaves them be. When she checks next the little unit is drinking and laughing, she can hardly believe it, carefully stepping into the room “i am sorry, may i ask something?” The humans look up some still blotchy from crying, the human she knows as liz nods “you were all weeping just now, but you seem happy? Im confused…” fluffing her feathers Kilare backpedals “not to be insensitive, im just trying to understand your process.” Evan gets up and walks to her “that is okay, you knew Ellie well right? We are talking about her and how we miss her, laughing comes with the tears.” Motioning for the taller feathered woman to join the little group Moira makes eye contact and starts explaining “i know you are from a species that grieves as a group, if i remember correctly mostly weeping and spread ashes on the wind to join in every flight” impressed by the womans knowledge she nods Moira goes on “humans have many different traditions, but every one grieves their own way and time. Mostly in five stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. No two people go through it the same or even through all of them. There is times we grieve as a collective, sometimes you need time and process as an individual. We are now reminiscing Ellie, but i already know im gonna have a cry later and ill never forget her.” Kamare could understand and respect that so she joined in. It soothed her soul.
It was years before she saw human grief again so up close.
When the Ri’ktil attacked they committed what humans called warcrimes without batting any of their eighteen eyes. The horror of the people quickly turned to fear. It was when they blew up a human colony Kimare saw the unified grief. Human governments trying to bargain with the Ri’ktil, families travelling to the floating remnants of the colony trying to find survivors, denying that what had happened killed everyone man, woman and child. A month passed and humanity had grown silent and passive, the Ri’ktal took this as victory and broad cast it to the rest of the species in the galactic counsel. A warning that they would stop at nothing and break them like they broke the humans. Kimare remembered her conversation all those years ago and realised that anger was still coming, she could almost seeing it brewing under the surface.
A month was what it took. A month for humans to start walking upright again. Not only humans on their planets but everyone, on every world and every ship seemed to have shared in the depression. So when the fog cleared the whispering began, then came the talking, when it turned to yelling the Ri’ktil took notice. It was too late for them though. Because humanity started screaming, unified rage became a spearhead of humans all over the galaxy, noone even considered not helping. The tsunami of humans that could not wait to tear their enemy apart surprised them, no matter their way too many eyes, this they did not see coming.
The counsel joined the humans in their fight, and quick as the Ri’ktil had invaded were they beat back aswell. The defeat of their enemies did not dismiss their grief. But instead of on a specie scale individuals began their own process. Four years later Kimare noticed a change, they had made a monument out of the destroyed colony, it seemed to signify an end point. Humans went there to process and make peace, they had accepted what had happened moved past it. But never forgotten.
Humans didn’t forget when they grieved, they remember and accept.
~~~~~~
Tadah
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orchidyoonkook · 1 year
Text
Under The Willow Tree | MYG
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Title: Under The Willow Tree   
Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader
Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life
Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?
Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.
Word Count: 7401
Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM
A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process. 
A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k​, @katykatmeow​, @here4btsfics​ and @phthartic-fox​​ for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness. 
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It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.
Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.
It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.
The one under which you had your first kiss.
You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.
But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.
It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.
To get away. From anyone and everything.
There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.
Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.
Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.
Copy. Paste.
Copy.
Paste.
You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.
You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.
You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are. 
And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.
Copy. 
Paste.
It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.
You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.
You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.
What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.
You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.
Of leaving.
But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.
It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.
You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.
You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.
Seen how they treat him.
Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.
You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.
The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.
Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.
Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.
They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.
As if he were acid.
As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.
You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.  
And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.
You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.
You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.
And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.
You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’  having not once in your life resonated.
You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.
The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.
The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base. 
Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.
No one bothers you here.
Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.
And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.
So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.
Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.
Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.
Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.
So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.
You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.
You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering. 
You’re always elsewhere. 
And he’s finally figured out where that is. 
He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did. 
Not to him.
But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer. 
Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.
So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house. 
For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.
After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves. 
You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you. 
Soft. Wistful even.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.
Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.
And as he does, you get your first real look at him.
He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.  
The ones now focused on you.
“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”
So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?
…Why you?
You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.
To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.
It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.
Can you trust him?
No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.
All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.
“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.
“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”
Those four words alone are all you need. 
He gets it.
“Yeah.”
Maybe you can trust him.
Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.
And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”
You think about it for only a second.
No. No you didn’t.
“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”
He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.
And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.
“Yoongi.”
An introduction.
“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.
His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff. 
So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.
Releasing, he settles in.
What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.
It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.
Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.
Your favourite.
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Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.
Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.
The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.
You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.
On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.
    “Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.
    Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.
    “Pride and Prejudice.”
    That was the last answer you expected.
    “Why?”
    He lifts his head to look at you.
    “I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”
After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.
    “Just have to save up enough money first.”
    You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?
    Who knew?
    Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.
    He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.
    That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.
    You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.
    “Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.           
    “Getting there,” was all he gave.
And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.
    Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.
    “My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”
    You grieved for him as he told you his story.
    How he had to raise himself.
    Just like you did.
    “I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.
    Knowing how it felt to be alone.
    You understood.
    You did, you did, you did.
    Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”  
    It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.
    And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.
    How you’d…treated him.
    A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.
    Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.
    “My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.
    Even though it was August.
    “He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”
    You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips.     He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.
    He understood.
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It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.
The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.
Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.
Just him and his bike.
You turn sheepish.
“Can I tell you something?”
He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.
Brown and endless.
“Yeah, sure.”
You take a deep breath.
“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”
A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.
“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.
“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”
There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.
He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”
You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.
“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too. 
But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.
“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”
“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.
“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”
“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.
“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”
Oh. Well then it must be,
“Your pants pocket?”  
“Nuh uh, try again.”
Damnit!
You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?
“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.
“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”
Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.
It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.
He holds it against a palm to show you.
“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.
With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”
A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.
And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.
An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.
One he doesn’t know if he deserves.
Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.
“Yoongi,” you hesitate.
It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.
You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.
What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.
You falter. “W-what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like I’m doing?”
“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”
“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”
“But I—”
“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”
It never leaves your neck.
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“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.
“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.
“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”
He was kidding right? He must be.
For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.
What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.
So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.
But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.
“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.
“Because I’ll be there.”
And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,
“Okay, fine.”
Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.
“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.
Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.
“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.
“Oh.”
What a weird place for an ignition. 
“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”
Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.
“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.
He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”
Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.
You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.
Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”
You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.
The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.
“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”
“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.
“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”
Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.
You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.
Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.
Holy shit!
You’re riding a motorcycle! 
You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?
Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.
Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.
He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.
You’re positively giddy.
“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.
Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate. 
But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.
It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.
“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.  
Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.
And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.
The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.
Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy. 
“Really?”
He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’
You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.  
Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.
Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.
And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,
“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours. 
What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well... 
“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided. 
Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen. 
Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.
He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.
You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.
You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.
You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to. 
Literally.
But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.
Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips.  A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you. 
Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.
Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.
Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.
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Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.
He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.
And you’re worried.
Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.
It’s not like you can go looking for him.
And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.
But you can’t help it.
Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.
Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.
They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.
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Six days.
It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.
“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.
“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.  
And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.
“What?”
“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”
Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.
“B-but why? What happened?”
“I got fired.”
“Fired?”
“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”
Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.
Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.
The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.
The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.
The Yoongi you fell for.
Your Yoongi.
The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.
He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.
You don’t know this person.
And you hate it.
You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.
He’s—he’s leaving. 
Actually leaving.
This place, it’s people.
You...
The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.
“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.
Don’t let him see you cry.
He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?
You don’t get to feel this way!
Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.
Make it go away. Far, far away. 
Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.
In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.
His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.
He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.
Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”
But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.
You’re crying.
He made you cry.
And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.
“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.
Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.
Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.
You have no one, aside from Yoongi.
And now you won’t even have him.
So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.
You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.
Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.
But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help. 
And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.
An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight. 
He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.
He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.
You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.
When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.
“I got you.”
“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do. 
This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust. 
Of course he’s got you. 
You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.
“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”
The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.
“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.  
“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.
It doesn’t meet much resistance.
Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.
He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.
Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.
It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.         
You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.
So close, yet so far away.
Because he’s leaving.
And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.
He’s as special as they come.
Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.  
Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.
Like him.
You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.
It’s funny, really.
It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere. 
Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.
Anywhere he can reach.  
Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.
You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.
And then you’re scared.
Terrified, actually.
To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.
What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?
Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?
What if you just ruined everything?
Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.
For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.
Is it shock? Or worse.  
Disgust?
Doesn’t matter.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.
“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“
Lips on yours shut you up.
It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.
It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.
He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.
You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.
Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.
The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.  
Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.
He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”
You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”
“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”
Yoongi looks so serious but..
He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.
And now?
Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss. 
“Come. With. Me.”
It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.
So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.
You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.
“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”
He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.
Your salvation.
And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.  
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Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.
In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.
In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.
Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years. 
Something he never wants to lose again.
He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.
Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.
Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.
For not being like one of them.
Because you’re not one of them. 
You never have been.
And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.
You don’t have to anymore.
You’re free.
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A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3
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I've seen several questions like this, so I wanted to know, could you do a scenario or headcans of Toby visiting his Y/N's grave please?
take care of yourself
Make sure to take care of yourself too! Some angst for ya coming right up.
After your passing, Toby finally shatters. He doesn't know what to do, or how to control himself, and he rarely talks or interacts with others, and when he does he's constantly screaming and yelling and picking fights because he doesn't have you there to comfort him and calm him down anymore. He's never felt more lost and alone in his entire life, and it terrifies him and breaks him all at once. He doesn't know how to process any of his emotions over your death, and so he's constantly exploding into either anger or tears, unable to think or center himself without you by his side. 
During this time, he spends the majority of his free time at your grave. It's the one place he feels calm and restful, when he's lying down on top of your grave just breathing and resting, feeling exhausted from all of his outbursts. He never processes how much time passes when he's out there, and it could even start pouring down rain and he still wouldn't notice or make any indication that he should move from his spot, which has gotten him sick multiple times. A few months pass like that until he finally starts to calm down. He goes through a period where he's feeling too distressed and guilty to go to your grave, when he clings to Tim and Slender, feeling so alone and desperate for connection that it scares him. Eventually, they encourage him to start visiting you again.
Sometimes he goes alone, and sometimes he brings one of them with him, for reassurance that it's okay for him to visit you. He blames himself for your death, and he feels wrong, seeking you out for his own comfort, like today. He sits on your grave, picking grass and sitting in silence as Slender watches from a distance, nodding at Toby that it's alright whenever he glances towards Slender for assurance. It's these days that Toby is able to speak to you like he does now. He tells you about how he's been feeling, the things he's been doing to cheer himself up and make up to the others for all of his angry days. He apologizes for not being able to save you, for being alive when you're unable to. He tells you about how he misses you, and all the things he wishes he'd been able to do with you. It's days like today when he sheds tears the whole time he's out there, unable to stop them from coming out as he sobs and screams for you, his body shaking as he falls to the ground above you. He always says that he feels better when he gets to cry in your company, and so he spends hours there weeping until his body collapses and he has no more tears left to shed. 
Slender comes over to collect him, but Toby shakes his head at him, not wanting to leave you yet, so Slender joins him, sitting next to him on the ground. Toby lays there, fists gripping into the grass he lays upon, unable to bring himself to separate from you. He promised you he'd always stay by your side, and so he does his best to uphold that promise. He eats his meals with you, tells you all of the things happening in his life, and some nights he even sleeps out here with you when it's not too cold. Today, he ends up falling asleep upon your grave, with Slender resting beside him. Slender strokes Toby's hair comfortingly, melancholy emotions running through him as he glances upon your tombstone. Slender apologizes to both of you as he lifts Toby from your grave, Toby's hands trying to grip tightly to the dirt, but in his sleep they aren't strong enough, and so he goes along with Slender's movements, curling up into his arms. It's too cold today for Slender to knowingly leave him there, and so he regretfully carries Toby away from you, back to the warmth of the mansion. As he sleeps soundly in Slender's arms, a faint 'I love you' can be heard passing from his lips, swaying in the breeze back towards your grave, and the breeze seems to echo it right back to Toby, passing your own 'I love you too' back to him. A soft smile blooms on his face as the breeze brushes softly over him, the first smile he's had since your passing as your words settle over him, words that only he can hear.
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avelera · 2 years
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The Curious Absence of Masculine Pride and Competition : Diagnosing Why Male Characters Sometimes Feel OOC in Fics
For all the mockery that's been leveled at male writers fixating on the sexiness of female characters with lines like, "she titted boobily down the stairs," (deriding how male authors have POV female characters thinking about their own boobs an absurd amount) I think it's worth noting that female* writers often do the same for male characters, just not for physical traits, but rather for emotional openness, humility, and vulnerability.
(*There's going to be a lot of sweeping generalizations in this essay, but the gender nomenclature is being used as shorthand and is intended inclusively. Likewise, any mention of "cultural norms" is from a US/Anglosphere perspective and not intended or expected to speak to all experiences.)
Men in female-written fanworks often cry a lot more than their canon counterparts. They're emotionally available and vulnerable a lot more often, especially with their romantic partner. They're more permissive about letting another person tell them what to do or letting someone else see them in an emotionally or physically vulnerable state.
This is not a criticism of works that do this. Oftentimes, what fic is specifically addressing is a desire to see something that isn't in canon, or isn't in canon as much as the writer would like, and that often includes a character opening up in an emotionally vulnerable way, especially to their lover.
But, if you've ever wondered why a male character in fic sometimes don't feel quite right, please feel free to read on. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this, mostly to address OOCness in my own works, and I wanted to share my thoughts with those who might have puzzled over this question as a reader or as a writer.
(Some fandoms mentioned below the cut: Our Flag Means Death, Captain America, and Punisher.)
Let's start with a common scene: a male character has gone through an incredibly difficult time, fighting bad guys, losing loved ones, or going through a stressful experience. Maybe they're falling in love with another character but don't know if that love is reciprocated. Everything would be so much easier if they would just talk about their internal conflict!
Then the man gets drunk. Finally, while inebriated and crying into his cups, he admits he's in pain, or that he's in love, or that he's scared. This is an emotionally powerful moment that reveals a lot about the character and fandoms tend to eat that stuff up. Yet, when fanworks include this character, they include facts we learned from that time they were drunk, but they don't get the character drunk. The character just says the same things.
The vulnerability of that male character's confession has been included in the fanwork but the obstacles to him being vulnerable and the build-up of what it took for him to reach a point where he could be vulnerable have been largely removed.
I can give a few examples, like Steve in Captain America 1 going to get drunk to deal with the loss of Bucky, only to find he can't which means he's struggling to open up even with Peggy about what Bucky meant to him. Or the often derided need for war movies to put men into extreme scenarios just so they can hold their buddy as he dies. Women sometimes tease the emotional constipation of the need for a man to get drunk or be in an extreme situation before he can hug his male friends, but men I've spoken to like my partner find those moments more true and resonant than scenes common in fic, where male characters start weeping about their feelings the moment they're asked. That's because there are a lot of social restrictions around showing vulnerability to other people, especially other men. And as cathartic as those moments might be on screen, they're also rare. This adds to the power of the scene when an emotionally closed-off or intimidating action hero kind of guy suddenly opens up about the pain he's in, but it's not just a deliberate use of scarcity to make the moment resonate.
The thing is, you'd never know how rare it is for a male character to cry or open up about his feelings based on how often they do so in fic. To go back to Steve Rogers in the MCU as a character, I think the man gets maybe one scene per movie where he has a short, stilted dialogue with someone very close to him about the pain he feels or the fears he has? Those moments are heightened because they're rare but they're also kind of realistically rare. A lot of guys just don't go "bleeding" all over the place. It's kind of a huge problem societally, actually.
To go to another example, I've seen a lot of fics for Our Flag Means Death predicting Season 2 and a lot of them have Ed as an emotionally shattered mess because of Stede's perceived abandonment. Now, OFMD is a very unique story in how often it does allow its male characters to be vulnerable. Fic writers can point to moments on screen of the characters crying and being vulnerable with each other, not the case with every fandom source material. But, I think what's being overlooked is that in Ed's "blanket fort" scene and in the final shot of him sobbing in Stede's bed, he is alone. He has hidden himself rather than be seen crying in public. When he does come out of the cabin to sing about his feelings, he specifically notes how scary it is to be emotionally open like that and Izzy as the voice of Masculine Restrictions shuts him down because of it, showing that there was a reason in Ed's mind that was confirmed by the narrative for why he might want to hide those feelings and that vulnerability from the world. It's not right, it's not fair, it's not the way things should be but that's not the point. The reason Ed opening up was powerful and a singular moment was because it was in spite of those societal restrictions and norms.
Men in general aren't being constipated with their emotions and their emotional truth because they're being deliberately difficult. They do it largely because there is a lot of cultural pressure put on the need to do so and a lot of social punishment leveled at those who cry in public or admit something hurt their feelings. This is where masculine pride comes in to, the need to be seen as strong is a huge social imperative thrown at men. The need to be the best at what you do, to not show weakness, and to show constant strength and mastery are enormous burdens they're expected to uphold.
On the one hand, it's why moments where those restrictions shatter are such catnip to fic writers, but on the other, I think it should be noted that they're catnip scenes because they're very rare. Works written created by men spend a lot of time building up to those moments and earning them, not letting a guy cry until his buddy dies in his arms, not letting him say what's going on or that he feels weak unless he's impaired with alcohol or in some other extreme situation like locked up in an elevator with another character until they finally admit what's going on inside them.
Now, let's get into the craft of writing for a second. One thing writers, especially newbie writers, struggle with is obstacles. Obstacles are what stand between your character and their goals. They can be emotional or physical or mental or symbolic. How a character deals with obstacles is what makes us get to know them and get to like them, it's how we learn about who they are as people. Stede and Ed from OFMD, or Captain America, or any other character you can think of would all approach a locked door in a different way. That locked door is an obstacle to what they want: what's on the other side of the door. How a character approaches the locked door tells us who they are. Do they shoot the doorknob? Bash through it with their shield? Test the knob and sigh comically when it's locked? Pick the lock? Do they go around back and look for another way in? When the character gets through the obstacle, the audience experiences a certain amount of catharsis and pleasure, if the creator has done their job right.
Now, masculine pride and social restrictions are an obstacle to the characters getting what they want. A really delicious and tantalizing one for many, especially if you're writing romance: what will it take to get this guy to admit he's in love? Some fic writers though want to skip cracking open the hard outer shell and just go straight to the juicy vulnerable center. And that's ok! Maybe you don't want to write an entire novel about Frank Castle, the Punisher, or any other macho tough-guy character getting worn down to the point he breaks down crying about the pain he's in. Maybe you just want to write the scene where he sobs in the arms of his best friend about it, just go straight for the catharsis.
But, if you're writing a longer work and you can't put your finger on why the Punisher feels out of character, well, it's because a tough guy character like that usually doesn't want to open up. It's gonna take some intricate rituals for him to be allowed to touch the skin of another man or a woman for that matter. These obstacles to him opening up tell us more about the character and they also serve as the meat on the story for the audience, who wants it to feel special when this guy finally does open up. If he was bleeding his innermost feelings and emotions all over the place, those moments wouldn't feel as special, or realistic, or important. Fic writers who just want more of that moment understandably write fics that just go straight for the pay-off, but the wait and the rarity of that moment is what makes the character, especially a male character, feel in character and plays to the traits like being the strong, silent, stoic type that attracted people to that character in the first place. Therefore, keeping or including or simply being mindful of those obstacles to a male character being emotionally vulnerable also plays to why people liked those characters in the first place and will make your story feel more authentic.
Aside from emotional vulnerability as something men avoid showing, there's also male pride as a motivator. A guy who sets out to be the very best at something probably has a fair amount of masculine-typical pride motivating him or as a trait the creator of that character keeps in mind while writing him.
Stede from Our Flag Means Death is a fairly effeminate man and that's actually a pretty big plot point. It's a plot point in how it makes him lash out at those like Nigel Badminton who don't take him seriously enough, and his wrestling with what it means to be a man is a huge part of his emotional journey in the show. If he just wanted to go to sea, he could have run off and joined someone's crew, but instead, he built a ship and styled himself as a captain, and worked as best as he could to be worthy of the title of "Fearsome Pirate Captain", often to hilarious results, but again those obstacles to him being what he wants to endear him to us. But make no mistake, he wants to be those things. He wants to be his own version of the masculine ideal of a powerful leader, killing with kindness instead of weapons, but he still wants to be one.
Conversely, Ed in the show wants to be soft but it's a jealously guarded secret for him, because he has succeeded in the masculine ideal of being a fearsome pirate captain, and felt incredible pressure to hide that he wanted softness in his life. Even as he was trying to overcome those masculine restrictions he was intensely aware of them.
If one were to write these characters without them being aware of masculine desire to be a fearsome pirate captain and masculine fears around being seen as wanting softness in their life, that makes them behave a certain way to hide this about themselves, they'd be missing a huge chunk of what makes these characters tick.
Again, I don't want to tell people how to write fic. But for those this resonated for with an eye towards their own writing, keep in mind the qualities of masculine pride and competition when writing male characters, as something they're at least aware of even if they're not concerned about it within your particular story. These societal imperatives and obstacles are minefields in the lives of many men and are built-in as expectations for many male characters, especially those by male creators. To ignore these qualities and expectations will make the character somewhat OOC, it might make them behave differently in your story than they might in canon, if canon-realism is what you're going for.
Consider talking to a man in your life about how another man would react to a certain situation, what it would take for them to be vulnerable, or how they'd react if another man saw them in a vulnerable situation. Cis male writers aren't the only ones who get other genders wrong and while it doesn't have to be a consideration your fiction takes, it can help one write more realistic male characters to ask these questions and include these common emotional and societal barriers to vulnerability in your work.
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blueparadis · 1 year
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❝ I CAN'T HELP IT ❞ + BACHIRA MEGURU ❪ playing ⌗10, ⌗11 & ⌗12 ❫─── via radio line ❛anatomy of emotions ❜〳 from this is what ____ feels like !⠀
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[ content and themes ] :: abo au + modern au, f!omega!reader, pov!bachira, slice of life, exs to lovers, mutual pinning, flirting, fast burn,angst and comfort, silent confessions, fluff , $mut descriptions; word count— 2k // [ synopsis ] :: After a whirlwind of highschool years, Bachira trips over an old flame and this time he is not afraid to get hurt no matter how many times he falls. // [ notes ] :: this is for my beloved dee @semisgroupie via snow’s valentine gift exchange ( @suyacho ). just wanna say that I've never been so happy with the results of a lottery ;› ß’read by cherry <;3 ( @cherrykamado ) // [ tag index ] :: for blog navigation ; event masterlist is linked in title. also available in my ao3.
Break-ups are never easy. They tend to do more damage than we expect, than we could ever do to ourselves. Humans say that falling in love is the most beautiful feeling. It would never let hope die,however weak it is. It would never let you weep alone. No matter how much you trip and hurt yourself, you still manage to be up on your feet again to follow them everywhere till the last breath. Love is eternal, they say. They never say how to fall out of love. Humans claim that they fall in love only once; true love happens only once unlike such animals. 
Such is the theory in this world where alphas, betas and omegas exist along with humans. Not only that, but they are actually thriving well, that is, the prospect of cohabitation has become more flourishing than before.In fact, the head representative of such inhumans claims that within a century , there might not be any existence of humans.
Bachira agrees. He agrees with the theory of love, not the animalistic part. He agrees, if he falls, he will fall so hard that he would not be able to pick himself up, at least he thought he wouldn't. His first break- up at least taught him how he was so not in love with y/n. People tend to miss their partner after break-ups, but he never missed her, not even once. Sure, there was this unsettling feeling at the corner of his heart but it faded with time. 
Sometimes, he even thought that there was not enough love between her and himself so he would miss her, after she was gone like the wind. And now she is standing in front of the list of the candidates that have cleared for higher studies. Bachira did too. He can see his name in the list of dominant alpha males. He can also see her name and her feeble stature at ease amidst the crowd. No doubt she is a human, must be, otherwise what kind of omega would not be able to detect the presence of an alpha?
Bachira starts to walk towards her hoping she would recognize his scent, turn around if he released enough pheromones but he halted, he had to. How could he not when she ran away with tears in her eyes to the nearest restroom. Was she not happy about her selection? Did she see his name too? Who on earth would cry if they had cleared scholarship exams? Humans. Twisted humans.
It has been a week since I saw y/n on campus. I don’t even know her particulars and not that I need to but it would be nice to have some info on her so that I could avoid her at all costs. She was the first person I have ever dated. There were a few after her but it wasn’t like I imagined. I didn’t miss her like I was supposed to miss after a ‘break-up’, I didn’t try to contact her or anything like that after she left due to her father’s job transfer. Now that I think about it, it’s pretty much ;ame reason for a break-up. We didn’t particularly talk after we parted. . . wait, does that mean we never broke up? That’s even more lame. Fuck fuck fuck why does she have to go to same college as I do. It could have been any other college in this gigantic city. . . oh fuck! I hate this, I hate this so much.
Bachira does not have any idea how to react if he were to cross paths with her, how to act like an ‘ex’ and hence he was always on guard. Whenever he could feel her presence he would always resort to detours rather than the normal shorter paths. Part of him felt horrible about himself , and another part was happy that she was coming to college, studying , living her day without being aware of her ex’s presence. Must be nice to be a human, to be so clueless about the raw edges of emotions. While he had his own emotional waves to avoid Y/N had her own inner turmoil to come at peace with. Not only did she crack the scholarship exams but also she was identified as an omega. The worst part was she came to know when she saw her name in the list of omegas who are selected for a pass in higher studies. Throughout her whole life she was taught how to talk like a human, behave like a human, feel like a human and now she is one of them now; a creature of the wild. Even though her parents were able to accept it quickly she took a few weeks to come in terms with it. Why was that? 
Her mother is human but her father is not. He is an omega with dominant genes. After first, y/n thought that her parents had a cute love story, just like one of those fairy tales— beauty and the beast. It felt nice. It felt perfect. She wanted it for herself, she wanted to experience one such fairy-like love story, at least once in her lifetime but it ended when she saw her father yell at her mom, so loud, so harsh that she almost cried. Y/N tried to overlook it as ‘just one-time’ but arguments became regular after that. Home was not home anymore. 
But the sun shone upon Y/N again when the family was blessed with another child, a boy, an omega. She was happy that her mom and dad did not fight anymore but the fear in her heart never went away. And, hence when her father had an order of job transfer she left without saying goodbye to her boyfriend who was as warm as the sun. In her defense, she did not have her personal cell phone yet, nor had a chance to see him at school. 
It was during summer vacation when they left the city without any trace of good memories.
And what are the odds that after a year they would bump into each other after a sultry summer afternoon? “Woah!”, y/n blurted, noticing that her ex was playing soccer with a bunch of guys from her class. 
Thereafter, each Monday she used to sit to watch him play. He has not changed, not a bit. Just a little here and there on appearances. He was taller than before, had a piercing just above his cupid’s bow and had a short ponytail; it seemed like he would let his hair grow.
And, each Monday whenever Bachira could not sense her scent anymore, could not feel her presence anymore he would look back to check and watch her walking through the corridor till she was out of sight. He even got hit by the ball for being distracted but that’s okay. He could let it slide. 
Y/N missed two Mondays in a row and his head was everywhere but not in the game anymore. He could muster up enough courage to pass by her classroom. He almost locked on the probability of not seeing her again, expecting her seat to be empty. Four more steps and he will pass through the back-door of her class room.
one.
two. 
three.
four.
The poor fruit juice can was a victim of Bachira’s anger. He never felt so betrayed before, not even when y/n left him without any word or explanation. But the second he passed that back door he was still like a sculpture witnessing the greatest miracle that life has to offer. She was looking outside through the door, with her lips having an upward crescent of mischief that made Bachira lock eyes with her. The bell rang. It was lunch break. All the students were walking out of the classroom, running through the corridor yet only two souls remain still. 
All this time. She knew. She knew that her past was slowly trailing back to her. 
Days rolled on, nights crept in but Bachira could not forget that face of hers, amidst the joyful unified screams of the students y/n was sitting in her place with a smile on her face. He even asked if they could have lunch together or not but all she did was to nod, part her lips to speak yet did not say a word before joining the crowd. 
Thereafter, bachira’s toilet breaks became frequent. He felt like he was in love, again but he knew it better than anyone that it was ‘just a phase’, maybe infatuation or a crush. There is no way he would let an old flame rekindle when there was no affection to begin in falling for her. Yes, sure he liked her but maybe not enough to have her as girlfriend again. But he could tell something was different, something about her felt different. It’s her scent. It’s different than before. 
“Nice play.”, Isagi yelled as he shared a high-five with Bachira. He thought of staying back even after practice since his parents are gonna be home late, it would be better if he dedicated some of his stamina to soccer. Everyone was getting their belongings together, changing dress and as such. 
After a while all the commotion faded. Bachira was all alone in the locker room, the slow breeze soothing his muscles while he kept his head bowed, eyes closed trying to recharge as quickly as possible. There was a feeble sound, someone was humming. Curiosity over took him and when he figured the source it amused him. It was a girl humming and moving her hips, probably practicing her steps as cheerleader, at least her outfit suggested so. 
She closed the cupboard, turned around and almost jolted at the presence of another person, Bachira. He took a few steps towards her. Two to be precise, she backed away with two short steps feeling her back being pressed against the metal locker.
“Let me go.”, y/n tartly responded trying to avert his eyes.
It was as if he was under reflex when he thought for a response. “Kiss me and I’ll.”, Bachira boldly whispered and waited.
Two things began to happen simultaneously . One : y/n slowly began to lose control over her pheromones; she was new at this. It would have been easier if she were introduced to this way of living since childhood. It takes more effort to teach a grown man to behave than a child. It’s a reboot of her whole being within just a few weeks, certainly there would be cases where it would become faulty.
Two : Bachira was starting to feel impatient. He closed the gap with quick steps entering the room and locking the door with a loud thud with his foot. He was already tired from the practice but never before he felt this uneasy, this restless.
“What’re you doing?”she asked, squinting her eyes at him. There was no sound except the dull drilling noise of the fan. Bachira's lips parted to respond, “I . . . —- but his answer ended with his lips on hers. It was a short, dry kiss, just grazing of supple skins against one another. Bachira opened his eyes when he felt a strong push on his chest. Instinct took him over as he grabbed the edge of the bench otherwise he would have knocked his head on the ground. 
“Fuck. . .”, his head felt heavy, vision a little blurred. He blinked a few times before getting up on his feet. He saw her bags and earphones on the ground. There was a bunch of noise in the corridor, giggles and talks of girls. Before anyone could spot any trace of disaster, he grabbed her belongings and left the site immediately.
It was a cold wintry evening when Bachira fell in love again, tasting the tanginess of his first love. He was wrong about so many things. They were still not over, not like this. Their love was just in brilliant sparks back then and now it turned into a wildfire.
 —
@tokyometronetwork
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josiesullysblog · 1 year
Text
Emotions p2
~AGED UP Neteyam x Na’vi reader, Sully family x Na’vi reader
~ANGSTTTTT, fluff
~Proofread?-no
~Summary-[Y/n] is naturally gorgeous, and a bubbly girl. Just by the way she carries herself, you’d never know what happens at home.
~Note-so glad I was able to get this done! Outcast p4 will be done tomorrow!
~Warning: Parental abuse and signs of mental illness are shown throughout, please read with your own discretion.
***
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Why? Was the only question going through Neteyam’s mind. Why wouldn't you tell him about this? Why were you subject to such abuse? How long had it been going on? How come nobody saw the signs? All these questions ran through his mind as he watched you sleep.
You were such a calm, gentle soul so for one to want to cause you pain shocked everyone. Neteyam stayed by your side the entire night. Kiri was shocked looking at your body, bruises covered you. You looked nothing like the girl she grew up with. Tuk hugged her mother as Mo’at was healing your body.
“When did you find her like this?” Mo’at was never one to cry, she fought tears as she looked at you. “We walked in on that woman beating her,” venom fell from Neytiri’s mouth mentioning that woman. Jake had taken her to a holding tent, while he looked for your father. “Excuse for a mother, what mother would dare raise their hand on a child?” Mo’at seethed with anger.
You stirred awake, your head was booming it felt as if someone dropped a weight on your head. Neteyam quickly rubbed your arm up and down as your eyes opened. Neytiri quickly handed Tuk to Kiri, “go straight home, nowhere else,” Kiri was going to protest but she knew her mother was serious. She looked at you once more before leaving.
You jumped up quickly, “mama! Is she alright?” you tried to head toward the exit, “child, you must rest,” Mo’at tried to bring you back to lie down but you hit her arm away. You started crying as Netryam held you in his arms, “it's okay, pretty girl,” you sobbed as you hugged him back, “she's going to kill me!”
For years your mother threatened you if anyone found out about your abuse. You began hyperventilating as Neytiri approached you, “it's okay they can't hurt you anymore,” her words gave you no comfort as you cried, “yes, they will! They always do!” tears slipped from Mo’at’s eyes, she excused herself.
True fear was written on your face as Neteyam was finally able to calm you down. Left to sniffle as you finally lay down. “I promise you, [Y/n] you will never have to see them again,” Neytiri looked you dead in the eyes, “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Neytiri couldn't see why such an amazing girl like you, had to endure so much.
“It's not your fault,” Neteyam told you, and for the first time you felt noticed. “Thank you,” you felt more tears fall from your eyes, “thank you so much.” Neytiri smiled, “you were born into a family that doesn't always appreciate you,” she held your chin, “but things are going to be very different, we will love you no matter what.”
And from that day forward, things were different. You never saw or heard what happened to your parents, you were too afraid to ask. You were scared to mention them as if even muttering to your mothers name she’d come back. So, you never brought them up, and nobody pressured you to talk. You had never felt so much love surrounding you. You were truly happy.
Sometimes though, you found yourself slipping into old mindsets. One time, you, Kiri, and Lo’ak were in the forest. One moment they were behind you, the next gone. You start hyperventilating, screaming their names. It was just like all those years ago when your mother would drag you into the woods, and attempt to leave you there. You rolled up into a ball weeping, “please, i’m sorry I’ll do better please don’t leave me.”
Jake had been the one to find you. He immediately grabbed you, pulling you in for a hug. “It's okay, baby girl i’m here,” he held you close, letting you weep in his arms. At that moment he knew your trauma was a lot deeper than he had thought. “I’m sorry, please don’t leave me,” Jake’s heart broke as your grip on him tightened, “I’ll never leave you out here,” you calmed down after his words came out. “I probably look so dumb,” you sniffed wiping your tears away. “No, you don't,” Jake patted your head as you stood up.
“It’s just no matter how hard I try,” you stopped talking as you felt more tears come, “no matter how hard I try they're always here,” you broke down again as Jake grabbed you into his embrace. “I’m always in that tent, they're always there with me.”
Memories of your childhood filled your head, your father was emotionally absent while your mother beat on you. “I can't get out,” Jake felt tears swell in his eyes he wanted nothing more but to protect you, “but the weird part is that I miss them,” Jake looked at you, “I’m messed up, aren't I?”
Jake shook his head, “sometimes we accept the love we think we deserve,” you took his words in, “what they did to you isn't a reflection of you, [Y/n] it's alright to miss them,” you felt more tears come down. You hugged the man, “I know you’ll be alright,” Jake smiled at you, “how?” It felt as if your past was always going to follow you no matter where you went.
“I got faith in you,” you wiped your tears, “why?” he smiled while kissing your forehead, “I just do.” You both walked home that day, and you decided it was the last time you were going to let what they did to you define you.
You and Neteyam had become very close. He became very protective of you, something you had never had growing up. He introduced you to people you’ve never spoken to, and new ways of living, but most importantly he showed you love. How genuine love looks like, feels, and sounds.
He had brought you by a beautiful waterfall, “wow!” you smiled big looking at the scenery. Neteyam watched with love in his eyes. He has never seen someone so excited before, “let's eat here!” he brought you to the side of the waterfall. He had brought you on a picnic, something his father introduced to him.
You gladly eat the food in front of you while you and Neteyam conversed. “Wanna go for a swim?” you looked at him with hesitation, “I don't know how to swim,” he smiled, “I’ll be there don’t worry,” you took his hand trusting him completely.
He walked in first and you were behind him, floating with water, you laughed when he splashed you, “see? I told you it is fun!” you both played in the water, running around. Your laugh was real, cheeks hurting from smiling so much.
Neteyam grabbed your hand, and bringing you closer, “I love you, [Y/n],” you smiled at him before fear laced your face, “I don't know what love feels like,” Neteyam brought you even closer, “I can show you,” with that he connected your lips too which you gladly responded to. It was short, but it made your heart beat faster. After you both disconnected he placed his forehead on yours, “I’ll always love you.” You smiled at him, “I love you too.”
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You lived a very happy life, you were mated with the love of your life, but your mind still went back to your parents. You wondered how they were, where they were. You couldn't deny that in some weird way, you still loved them. But as you spend more time away from them, the more you realized you didn't deserve the way they treated you.
They made you feel as if you were unlovable. Like there was no way someone could ever love you, they destroyed everything good about you, yet you still came to the other side. You wanted to see them. One last time, before you could truly put it to rest.
You couldn't tell anyone, anytime anyone mentioned your parent's name, it was met with hisses and whoever you were with would drag you away. They meant well, but you needed peace and the way you could get this type of peace was by seeing your parents.
You had overheard a Na’vi saying they kept your parents in solitary. This was before, Jake would exile them from the tribe. It had been months since you saw them, so you were shocked to know they were still there. You always had someone with you, besides when you had to use the bathroom. You excused yourself when you and Lo’ak were helping set up dinner.
You walked quickly, you wanted this to be quick and easy. You fidgeted with your hands, you wondered if they’d be happy to see you. You never knew how your mother would act, and your father was probably ready to kill the woman already. You approached where they were staying and took a deep breath, “quick and easy.”
Everyone took notice of your absence, “where's [Y/n]?” Tuk questioned, “she was meant to do my hair,” she pouted a bit as Neteyam walked in, “where's [Y/n]?” Lo’ak shrugged at both of them. “She said she needed to go do something,” Lo’ak stopped doing what he was doing, “to think about it, she said that like thirty minutes ago.”
Neteyam’s mind went crazy, and he immediately went toward his parents, “[Y/n]’s missing,” Neytiri's heart dropped at the words, and Jake immediately stood up heading towards where they held your parents. “These God dam bastards,” Neteyam and Neytiri hot on his trail. The three of them saw red.
You walked closer seeing your father facing the wall, and your mother in a ball crying on the floor. You cleared your throat gaining their attention. “Hello, momma,” you looked at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes, “MY CHILD,” she hugged you hard. “Hi, dada!” he came up behind her hugging you as well.
“My daughter,” tears came out your eyes, it was moments like these where you tried to convince yourself they changed. That they are different people who wanted you, and you three would walk home hand in hand. The woman pushed you away quickly, “took you long enough, I knew the minute you’d find a mate you’d leave us.” Then they show their true colors, and you remember that they’ll never change and are terrible people.
You decided to cut to the chase, “I wanted to come here to say bye,” tears fell from your eyes as you spoke, “and that even though you were terrible to me, I still love you,” your mother scoffed sitting down, “when I was younger,” you stopped yourself maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, “get on with it.” You sighed, “I mean when I was a kid, did you ever love me?
“Did you think my mom loved me?” she stood up screaming, “poor fucking you, we ain't stay home and cuddle you like those Sullys.” at the mention of them, they appeared watching from afar. “No, we made you tough, knowing you'd hate us for it.” Anger grew in your body as she spoke, “I'm sorry i’m not like that Neytiri always shoving it in my face, piece of shit of a daughter.”
Neytiri hissed but Jake placed a hand on her shoulder, don't get him wrong he was seething. But he knew you needed this, and he trusted you could handle yourself. “You cursed me, both of you are the ones who should be apologizing,” you looked between them before giving a dry laugh, “you act as if I can't remember,” you looked at your mother, “I can’t even go in the goddam woods without having a panic attack I'm going to be left behind.” You shocked your parents with your words, “I might have done some things I shouldn't have, but I did not deserve what you two did to me.” tears poured out your eyes, “neither of you care about me, you don't give a shit.”
Your father stood up stopping you, “of course, we give a shit-,” you cut him off quickly, “you shouldn't make people if you're going to leave them, dad,” he hissed at you, “don't give me that victim shit, [Y/n],” you rolled your eyes. “At least the Sully’s care about me,” your mother quickly stood up, “child, this will stop now!”
You shook your head, “momma, I wished every day that you didn't turn out this way, that you were a different person,” you approached her, “love is not weak, or ridiculous. It’s a wonderful thing and I wished you got to experience genuine love.” You noticed tears pull from the woman's eyes, as she hissed at you, “I know one thing child, you have no room for such thing!”
And with that Neteyam stepped out of the bush, heading your way, “Neteyam!” you said as his hands engulfed you. “You're still with the man that pushed your mother,” your father hissed at you both, “if I should even call her that! That woman has done nothing for me!” Jake and Neytiri came out next standing in front of you two. Neytiri hissed loudly at your mother, blade in hand ready just in case.
“You both should be ashamed of yourselves,” Jake spoke with authority, “you were blessed with the most important jobs in the world, and you have failed. You have failed to keep your little girl safe, and yet you still expect something in return?” Jake grabbed your father abruptly, causing a gasp to leave your mothers throat, “you two will be exiled and stripped away as one of the people.”
Your mother fell to the floor crying, a static she used on you as a child to get what she wants, “you will walk pandora, knowing of the mistakes and pain you have caused your child.” Neteyam dragged you away, kissing your head as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. “You were amazing, pretty girl.” you smiled wiping your tears away, you hadn't really known what you wanted to do with your life. But you knew for sure if you were to ever have kids, they’d never feel the way you felt growing up.
You heard screams as you walked off, you knew Jake and Neytiri were having their rounds with your parents. You smiled as you kissed Neteyam, you couldn't have been any happier.
***
TWO STORIES IN A DAY!!! I owe it to you all especially since I've been kinda slacking hope you all enjoy it!
Taglist: @cherry-blossom24, @yourbobaeyestell, @erenjaegerwife, @mashiromochi, @nxptury, @eywaheardyou , @vviolaswrld , @fanfictons-loveavatar, @c78r , @stevesdick, @inutheangel , @neteyamforlife , @mommyneytiri @btsiguess-kpop , @slythermania , @tejas-kris, @cwufst , @hornknee-and-bi-myself , @laviedanslespetal , @scarletrosesposts @itssiaaax, @ssc7514, @inutheangel, @reguluscrystals, @virginslutsstuff, @rspbrryoare
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zenderstorm · 2 months
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i remembered i havent posted this yet here, so have this !
ZOHAKUTEN VARIATIONS
concept & headcanons !
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ive read some of those ideas which another “boss” clone is formed when a clone besides sekido absorbs the rest. this is my take on it ^^
all four of them are “zohakuten”, and they represent different ways one can show and feel hatred. [I didn’t go with “evolved emotions” like anger -> hatred or sadness -> depression because 1. you can feel hatred without anger and 2. its funnier with more haters on the team]
i made it so that all their abilities are related to music (?) like how the OG uses drums. [ik zohakuten’s drums are based on a japanese thunder god’s drums or something but i only remembered that after i finished this 😭] all of them have around the same levels of strength, but have different techniques.
theoretically it’s impossible to manifest them all at once.
any clone can absorb the rest to form zohakuten. but the clone with the final say is often sekido, because he’s more aggressive and dominant compared to the rest. so they form the OG (who has a personality similar to sekido.) however there’s a chance that another clone gains control, creating the variations.
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fusion probability 7%, formed from karaku, finds pleasure in hating
extends fights for over weeks on end, because he gets a bit relaxed with attacks. his defence is really high though so u can’t really take advantage of his relaxation.
fights with explosions. his explosions have the qualities of each emotion clone like sonar screech explosion, weeping spears explosion, etc. the explosions are triggered landmine-style and when you step on it it plays a piano-like sound. different notes represent different attacks. he’s immune to the explosions.
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fusion probability 0.5%, formed from aizetsu, hates those who make him sad
most likely to spare victims. if you don’t make him feel miserable you can probably get away. but like he won’t let you win, he’ll just let you escape.
fights with wires. the wires are strong & thin enough to cut flesh, and spread further out the longer you fight him. they sprout out of trees, an even if they look organic up close, are electrically charged. he strums them to control them (wrap around victims, strengthen electrical current) and is unharmed by the wires.
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fusion probability 90%, he OG formed from sekido, we know how this works, he hates those he sees as villains.
his probability is the highest cuz the other clones kinda let sekido form him, since this zohakuten is the hardest to fight and won’t play around.
we know how this pookie fights. however I headcanon he can transform surrounding trees into even more wooden dragons.
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fusion probability 2.5%, formed from urogi, hates those who he thinks are happier than him, so don’t you dare show him a smile.
quickest to eat his victims. like he wants to chow down so bad. sometimes even if he hasn’t killed them yet he’ll just start biting.
hearing him sing causes small figs to sprout in your ears, which can grow into full on trees. he can hide & sprout his wings (i let him do this cus of that one scene where tanjiro cut urogi’s wings!! so this zohakuten can hide his to prevent it from getting cut) he can also use the emotion clones’ techniques while singing.
maybe i’ll draw them fully one day 😭 idk. thank you for reading my yapping this far here are his beans
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riseofamoonycake · 7 months
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So I wanted to know how would the characters react if a usually serious/strict gn reader came back from a round and when theyre getting treatment the anesthetics making them feel warm/cuddly. For example if adam/eve visit them they'd pull them into a hug saying they love their mom and dad so much
This is the sweetest thing I could write! AAAAA
Let's start!
NOTES: Implied ships.
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Adam and Eve
They are not your natural parents: when they found you you were an orphan, alone and left to your own devices, and they immediately took you with them
Because of the lack of love in the early years of your life, you find it difficult to express your feelings verbally, especially affection and love; you demonstrate them best through actions, while always remaining contained
Adam and Eve know this and defend you every time from those who tell you that you have no empathy and feelings; you are special to them just the way you are, you don't need to change anything
The fact that when Brunhilde contacts you to fight into Ragnarok for humanity you immediately accept is the best proof (for skeptics and those who don't believe in you) that you have a heart
Eve weeps a lot hearing it, fearing for you; Adam manages to calm her down and talks to you for a long time, instilling even more courage and tranquility in you, and when your time comes the two watch the fight together, hand in hand, urging you to give your best
When you win, they are so happy they can't even talk; immediately they go to the infirmary, where you were taken to have your wounds treated, and wait to see you
Once in the room, they both watch over you, exhausted asleep, and they gently stroke your forehead and cheeks waiting for you to wake up
So imagine their surprise when out of nowhere you open your eyes, look at them and immediately smile, and the next moment you jump up, hug them so tight and cover their face with kisses as you scream "Mom, Dad, I love you, I wish I was always with you, I will never leave you!", and immediately afterwards you fall asleep again because morphine has won over you; however, you do it with your head in Eve's lap and your arms around dad's waist
After a moment of stillness, Eve hugs Adam so hard that he stops breathing, then starts crying with joy while Dad weeps too and strokes your hair
Both are so full of emotions and feelings that they remain silent, staring into space with a stupid smile on their faces, for hours and hours. Shhh, leave them be, they're in their Heaven now
Don't worry, they love you just the way you are and won't change a thing about you, but seeing you so cuddly made them melt in a pool of love and they'll remember it forever *^*
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Okita
Okita always interests you: you find him adorable with that funny ponytail and cute smile, and very powerful when the homicidal aura shows off. You admire him a lot, praise his seriousness and his ability, for you he is a model to follow
Also, Okita is a playful guy, and sometimes he manages to make you smile slightly because it is impossible to resist him
He doesn't matter your always serious and strict personality because he finds you very honorable, worthy and interesting and loves to tease you a bit, but without disrespecting you
As skilled warriors, you two often fight together and love to clash in duels where you test your skills; so it is not a surprise that you both get selected for Ragnarok
Okita promises to cheer for you until he loses his voice, and you promise him you'll make sure neither of you lose; shortly after, your turn comes and you say goodbye to him with a long look, wondering why even now you can't tell him everything you feel
The fight is very hard: your opponent is really strong and pushes you to face every limit you have and to experience unpleasant moments. However, the certainty that Okita is watching and cheering you on pushes you to hold on and fight back, giving your best until victory is yours
At that point, Okita cheers like crazy and runs out of the observation room to reach the infirmary, followed by Kondo
Until admitted to the chamber where you rest, he spends his time walking up and down the corridor screaming and cursing
When Okita finally manages to get in, he runs up to you, already awake but under the influence of morphine, and smiles warmly at you
You wait a moment, then smile back, stroke his ponytail and then take him by the arms, pulling him towards you. Then, to his surprise, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him on the nose and cheeks
Awwww, my boyfriend was very worried about me, wasn't he?
He freezes at these words, his mind completely blank, while Kondo watches from the threshold and bursts out laughing at the scene, unable to hold back
Okita is basically 0_0, and remains so for the hours to come, in which you sleep briefly and cuddle, squeeze his cheeks and pat his head whenever you can
Congratulations, you sent the Shinsengumi Captain into crisis, 100/100
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Confucius
It goes without saying that when you were selected for Ragnarok, everyone immediately knew it: Confucius did nothing but shout it from the rooftops, running here and there like a top and praising you a lot: even before actually seeing the fight, he knew that you would win, he never had any doubts about it
And yet he spent the whole day before the fight weeping on your knees in despair
Confucius is the light of your days, it is expansive, chaotic and romantic beyond measure; it's your opposite, and that's also why you find each other a lot because it helps you see and understand realities that are different from yours, and you do the same with him
When the moment of fight arrives, you let yourself be embraced and give him a tender pat on the cheek, a gesture that he doesn't expect and which melts him completely. You are a little sorry to enter the Arena leaving him behind, especially now that he's about to cry again, but that's how it must be and, with a last caress on his head, you part with him
Throughout the fight you hear his shouts, his cheering, his eyes on you, and it gives you an absurd strength. You fight for him, you fight to get back to him, and your energy triples to allow you to grant this wish
When you win, the only thing you hear are his screams of joy, because his voice is so loud that it drowns out all the others
Since the fight was very hard and you suffered non-negligible injuries, you need to go to the infirmary; and here Confucius immediately joins you, begging the infirmaries to let him stay
You lose consciousness almost immediately, even before you can say a word; however, when you open your eyes again he is there looking at you, the sweetest smile as he takes your hand and kisses it, confusing and breaking up the words without being able to express what he feels
You stop him and sit down, then you hug him so hard that it takes his breath away, then lie down again dragging him with you on the bed
Hmmm, have you always been so warm and soft, Confucius? I think I'll keep you for life, then!
His face is scarlet, his mouth wide open; no thoughts, head empty, only Confucius with heart eyes
Try not to break any bones, as you now have superhuman strength and a huge desire for hugs and cuddles!
For the rest, do what you want to him because receiving all your kisses, caresses and cuddles is what this puppy has always wanted the most
It is very likely that the nurses will have to force you apart in order to monitor your condition
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The Science Crew (with Tesla)
The entire science crew comes to see you after your fight: you are the youngest of the whole group and your friends were so scared to see you fight but also very proud when you were selected to participate in Ragnarok
All of them showered you with encouragement, advice and love before entering the Arena, even shedding tears and without expecting you to reciprocate their words: the only thing that matters is your return. Please, return to them
Your victory, obtained with the genius, intelligence and originality that has always distinguished you, made them cry and scream with happiness and even if they know you are not the type to cuddle, now they want to at least give you a hug
The first to enter the room are Tesla and Edison (the ones who are crying the most), followed by Marie and Galileo, worried that their noise will disturb you, while Nobel and Einstein are planning to cook your favorite dishes when you get home and Newton is so relaxed now that you have won!
In order not to embarrass yourself too much and make yourself uncomfortable, they decide to send Newton ahead, the calmest of all, an speak first
You look at them all with a slight smile and wave your hand in hello, then you watch Isaac approach and ask how you are and if you are in pain, and to congratulate on your splendid performance. You made them all so proud!
You listen calmly; then, without even letting him finish, you grab the scientist's wrists, drag him towards you and sink your face into his chest, rubbing your cheek against his massive tits and smiling blissfully to everyone else's shock
Hmmm, so soft! Now you are my plush, Sir Newton!
Tesla looks at the whole situation trying to analyze it well but can't, Edison is petrified with his mouth and eyes wide open, Einstein is completely speechless, Galileo is worried about your health and looks at you with concern, Marie covers her mouth without believing what are you doing, Nobel has to do violence to himself not to burst out laughing but he can't, so everyone turns to the man and stares at him laughing and laughing. Newton stands still, not knowing what to do, and lets you treat him like a toy amidst the most diverse and funny reactions from the rest of the group
Many questions will follow this event, we are all sure of this; but for now, let's leave all the space to cuddles ♥️
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bengiyo · 9 months
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Tokyo in April is…: Ren Thought He Raped Kazuma for Ten Years
I apologize for the provocative title, but it’s something I want to unpack in this episode. As a Sad Gay Boy Who Watches Too Much Stuff, I want to get into the depths of the horror that Ren has lived with for ten years, and how it informs so much of his behaviors. I have a lot of complicated thoughts about this and will be using direct and sometimes-coarse language to talk about some of these ideas in this post. Please bear that in mind as you continue.
Trigger warnings: sexual assault, self-harm, suicide, child abuse, child disownment.
Ren is such a terribly tragic character. It’s been a long time since we had a gay character so completely unable to accept the love being poured onto him, and I think we need to get into why Ren is so incapable of love that he doesn’t even know how to cook.
It’s Mutual, But They’re Gay
Let’s start with everything through the aftermath of their first time.
We often see the trope of “It’s mutual, they’re just idiots.” I don’t think that applies here. Like with Lee Wan and Shin Ki Tae in Our Dating Sim, Wan didn’t conceive of a reality where Ki Tae reciprocated his feelings. Ren couldn’t ask Kazuma directly if he was also interested in him and had received indication from Kazuma that he was interested in girls.
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In a spiral that he would never connect with Kazuma, a kind boy that he loves dearly, he decides to just get it over with and solicits sex from a stranger on the web.
Meanwhile, Kazuma has been nursing a crush on Ren this entire time, but he keeps second-guessing himself because every time Ren invites him somewhere, Ren also covers the fact that he’s angling to be alone with Kazuma by inviting other people around. When asked about girls, he gives the expected answer; we’re all men here, right? When he sees Ren going so far as to solicit sex online, he’s confused.
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He chases the guy off, and declares that, if Ren has to do it, to do it with him.
Ren is always holding back with Kazuma, and it hangs over their first time. He apologizes that Kazuma’s first time is with him instead of a girl he might like, and Kazuma’s face drops. Ren asks if they can kiss, and quickly backs off the request. He remains completely still for the kiss, clearly scared of taking too much.
During the act, Kazuma gets overwhelmed with emotions about how the boy he admires so much is having his first time in such a seedy place. He begins to weep, and Ren interprets this as Kazuma being upset that he just did something so intimate with him. He thinks the favor he asked for hurt his friend.
Kazuma has no memory of anything after that night. He got deathly ill, and by the time he was cogent again Ren was gone. For Ren, the horrors are just beginning.
The Horrors
Before we get into this, I think it’s very clever of this show to frame the scenes in the past within this episode as coming from the memory of Ren. I think it gives them permission to go for style, and I think it makes filming easier for everyone. It allows things to be played kind of stilted.
The next morning, Ren realizes that something is wrong with Kazuma and he’s very sick. He does the responsible thing and calls for medical assistance. I can’t imagine how terrified he must have been at that moment. The boy he loves is dying, and now he’s got to tell the adults in his life that he might be the culprit and he’s been told that Kazuma might die. In his mind, he coerced Kazuma into sex, and in conjunction with his waiting around in the rain, enabled him to get deathly ill. A part of him probably wonders if he should have noticed something while they were intimate and sleeping next to each other.
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gif by @save-the-data
He knows exactly what he’s admitting to, and still goes through with it. He doesn’t like. Kazuma’s life is more important to him than any consequences he might face. He says he forced Kazuma to have sex with him and reports on his lack of food intake, and then Kazuma’s mom slaps him and says to never appear before her son again. He is then summarily disowned by his family, forced to change his name, and sent away to France to be forgotten.
I think it should be noted here that Ren is a bottom. I can’t help but imagine the kind of images the adults int eh room must have conjured when he reported his actions. You know in their minds he forced himself inside of Kazuma as Kazuma struggled weakly. Could they have conceived of some sort of psychological coercion where Kazuma tops him? I don’t think so. They will never understand the sad disconnect between two boys who loved each other.
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Seeing that he may never see Kazuma again, Ren has a terrifying moment involving a sharp tool. Thankfully, he fails, and goes to see Kazuma at the hospital. He breaks down crying as he apologizes to an unconscious Kazuma for liking him.
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He begs Kazuma to live.
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gifs by @wanderlust-in-my-soul
After this, he is sent to France, and Kazuma loses his old phone and his various Tokyo contacts.
That’s what Ren sat on for ten years. His last encounter with the first boy he loved was an emotionally confused sexual encounter followed by a terrifying health incident and ostracization from his family. He thought Kazuma regretted the entire exchange and almost died because of it. He believes he forced his friend to do something against his will. He thinks he raped his friend. He lost his family. He wears a wristband to hide his scars
That was the last ten years for him until he finds Kazuma’s box of research.
Ren Has Few Love Languages Left
Oh, but Kazuma is here! He was looking for him! Kazuma doesn’t regret what they did! He means exactly what he’s been saying this whole time. He missed Ren. He searched for him. It wasn’t just Ren. It wasn’t just in his head. He’s literally begging Ren to let him back in.
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I cannot overstate how gentle it was for this show to follow up on such a heavy set of reveals by showing these two in a domestic bubble for most of the remaining episode. Still, I can’t get over how this forces us to see how stunted Ren is by the entire affair.
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Ren doesn’t have much game. He doesn’t flirt with Kazuma that much. All he can do is spend time with him and seek reassurance and connection through sex. He doesn’t have a lot of other hobbies, so has no special places to share with Kazuma. He can’t make food for Kazuma to share his affection.
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gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses
So often in these Japanese shows, food itself is love. Unlike Kakei Shiro, Ren doesn’t know how to cook. He can’t express his affections back to Kazuma in that way. All he has is love of his shows and the ability to spend time with Kazuma. It’s at this point that their Friends With Benefits rules start to break down. Ren spends the next few days living with Kazuma. He doesn’t want to leave him anymore.
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gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses
They start cooking together and feeding each other food. As a gay man, I’m choosing to read them both feeding each other in a sexual context. We get Kazuma’s voice over saying, “Nothing else mattered. You’re the only thing that’s important to me, Ren,” as Ren smiles at a sleeping Kazuma and strokes his face.
These two are doing so much better that their coworker comments on how good they both have been looking lately!
Final Thoughts
My only goal with this was to write down how deeply sad Ren made me in this past episode. We see so many gays in these shows that are Shiny and Chrome. I find myself often drawn to the gay men in these shows who have suffered, because I have suffered. I carry old wounds on my soul from the gay disappointments of my youth. For all the spectacular sex that these two are having, I am struck with the deep sadness that Ren is just now learning how to express love to someone.
I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve hurt someone because of a misunderstanding and know that you will never be able to do anything to make it right. I know what it’s like to be young and love a boy and think that he doesn’t love you back only to later be told that he was interested. It hurts. It is a permanent ache you feel in the joints in your hands.
I get Ren. I am rooting for him.
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allykatsart · 25 days
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This idea just crossed my mind, and I just had to ask your thoughts: What if in a continued storyline for the PK, he has to learn what his children had to go through? This thought came as I was thinking of the line, "No voice to cry suffering." He'd have to feel their pain without being able to speak out in resistance. Probably not a very good basis for a story but there's that idea out there now
Mortal Radiance AU
I've had this ask for awhile and I've been thinking about it passively.
There's a lot of ways one might continue this. Pale King learning about what Hollow/Ghost struggle with, what it means to be mortal, and learning what restitution means.
His conflicts with Radi would also be interesting. And there WOULD be conflict! The new gravedigger is not so nearly at peace as she may seem. She is grieving the death of her Seer and she is still so VERY angry at all she has lost. She's still learning to have empathy, she's still flawed and still growing all the same.
She is mortal, after all.
Pale King, too, is learning how it is to be brought down to earth. To no longer be a higher being, or a king at all. No one who knew him recognizes him now. He cannot claim a title that is no longer his, he has no voice to do so with. He is as his children were, no one and nothing in a world that has forgotten him. Pale King has yet to truly be humbled.
With his voice being gone, most of Radiance and Pale King's fights would be one sided. She would insult him, desperately longing for a fight, for her anger to be vindicated! But... She is denied. She cannot argue with him, cannot spiral into a rage to hide from the grief eating her up. He has already had everything taken from him, what other punishment could she possibly lay upon him?
Nothing that would change what has happened.
Slowly, she stops antagonizing him, and instead replaces her cruel words with helpful ones. She sees him struggling, and assists. She lets herself weep at the loss of her moth and slowly comes to accept it. And, in the end, she talks to the Pale King.
They are, in some way, the only thing the other has left.
They're the only ones who can truly understand what has happened to the other. It is not perfect, of course, but slowly Pale King stops treating her so coldy. Despite everything, there's a part of him that starts to understand her pain as well.
Then there's the Pale King's children...
Hollow would be conflicted, both wanting to see their father again, but also being terrified of the judgement. They have so many questions they cannot ask, so many things to apologize for that have no answer. Meeting their father would bring pain again...
Next, there's Ghost. Ghost visits the most regularly, mostly to check in on Radi. They seem to be less of a mystery to Radi, now that she understands them a bit more. She'll always make a drink for them if they come over. Sometimes Ghost will bring her new mourners looking for a grave. Often, she gives them what they're looking for.
And then there's Hornet.
Hornet who grew up too fast. Hornet who knew the secret of what the Pale King was. Hornet who protected this fading grave of a kingdom. Hornet who lost her mother..
Hornet's feelings on the Pale King are... Complicated. They get even more complicated now that he's back. Does she see him as a father? Or does she judge him for what he's done? Should she take what he's trying to do into account? Should she even acknowledge him? I don't think Hornet knows the answers to those questions and they would be overwhelming.
In the end, she wouldn't have anything to say to him. It's too much for her. Now, she has new people to protect, a new family to look forward to. And she will not let her father see her pain.
He loves her, though. Pale King, even in mortal form, cares about his daughter. The one child he got to keep. He doesn't understand why she shies away when the other two vessels seem fine with his presence. Then again, she's not a vessel. She's a child with emotions.
It's a messy situation. He wants connection to her, a connection that pains Hornet. She doesn't know how to explain it to him. Ghost and Hollow can't explain, even if they did understand. So, It would be left to the Radiance to try and meditate. To her immense displeasure.
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