#still too low on spoons to translate though :

[plague-of-insomnia]

seb and finny taught snake to read 😩😭

#black butler #黒執事 #kuro spoilers #ch 209 #sebastian michaelis #finny #snake #mangacap #poi og #man i just realized the english won’t come out till monday probably #still too low on spoons to translate though :/ #gif #100 notes

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Thirteen.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C      

word count: 5.3 K    

chapter summary: Din watches Marathel make bread, Din and Marathel have words, and Marathel asks Fennec a question 

warnings:  angst, mention and aftermath of: rape/object rape/ physical abuse/ritual sexual abuse/violence towards women/ torture/enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing, gluten 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist 

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Din awoke after a few hours of sleep with the kid draped across his throat.  Grogu’s hand was up under the edge of the helmet, and he had a good hold of Din’s lower lip.  Never did Din have a bed partner who invaded his personal space as much as this little green guy did. Din sighed and removed his glove to peel off the three little clawed fingers, only momentarily wondering when the last time was the boy washed his hands. Din kept a hand on Grogu and rolled up and out of bed.  Opening the shutter, Din could see that dawn was still just under the horizon. He carefully placed the still-sleeping Grogu in his carry sack and crept out of the room, heading towards Marathel.  Hopefully she was still resting, and hopefully her door was still open so that he could check on her. 

As he passed the kitchen, though, he heard her scolding voice saying, “No, no, no!  That is far too hot!”  He backed up and entered the kitchen, noticing Marathel with her back to him on the other side of the room, lecturing a hapless crew of kitchen workers, as well as Silnima.  Marathel was wearing a simple tunic top of a deep burgundy with slim black pants.  She had tied a kerchief over her forehead to hide most of the gash down her face, and the ends held her long hair in a tail that cascaded down her back. “Water that hot will kill the leavening, and then you’ll have a tough lump of cachu instead of bread.”  Someone in the gaggle of kitchen staff muttered something too low for Din to hear, and Marathel drew up to her full height and replied, “‘Shit’, madam, cachu means ‘shit’, and I prefer my meals shit-free, don’t we all?”  Someone else tittered, then they all laughed.  Din felt a hand on his elbow.  He turned to see Cobb leaning against the wall, nearly in shadow.   

“Here for the show?” asked Cobb with a grin. 

Din settled against the wall next to the lanky man. “I should have sold tickets.” 

Marathel was showing them how to test temperature on their skin, eschewing a thermometer as ‘silly nonsense, just like boomers that shoot fire’.  Cobb laughed. “I like her.” 

Din preened unconsciously.  “Thought you would.” 

“I wonder what she’s like in the sack.” 

“Shut your mouth.” 

“I hope she’s not as salty as that.” 

“I said,” -- Din turned his head to Cobb -- “Shut your trap.” 

Cobb shut his mouth, and both men watched as Marathel tossed crystallized sweet into the stone hearth, which flamed up and burned.  Marathel said the fire was far too hot; the sweet should have melted instead.  Two of the kitchen workers began lowering the gas jets to bring down the temperature.  Cobb took a breath, and then whispered to Din, “So how was she?” 

Din whispered back, “Magnificent.” 

Cobb chuckled, and both men crossed their arms, getting comfortable against the wall.  Apparently Marathel was satisfied that they could move past the leavening stage, but she was now chastising another worker for how they measured the flour by packing it instead of spooning it.  By the time they got up to the dough kneading stage, Grogu had woken up and was silently watching his Mahr move skillfully around the kitchen.   Marathel’s hands were still in the wooden blocks, but Din noted that the color in them was much better.  She was having a hard time explaining how to handle the dough, and she said, “No, no, you’re not trying to resurrect a dead man’s pudyn!”  This sent up a titter of giggles — apparently no translation was needed.   “More gentle!”  Frustrated, Marathel finally snagged a paring knife and cut the tape off her hands.  Din frowned, watching as her fingers curled up on themselves.  With a grimace, she forced her fingers straight, grabbed a dough ball and began kneading it.   “Like this!  Gentle rolls, pull it out, back in together, flip it over.  Gentle, but still firm, now!” 

Cobb leaned over and whispered, “Is she kneading that dough or trying to get it pregnant?”  Din snorted and bent over, trying not to burst out in laughter. 

Marathel worked out the dough to her satisfaction and put diagonal slashes through it in a pattern.  She once again tested the oven using the sweetener method, and pointed out that the oven was now at the proper temperature, as the sweetener melted.  She slid the bread into the oven on a long paddle, and then watched as the kitchen workers continued their kneading technique. Some time later,  Marathel’s hands were trembling, and she looked down at her hands in pain.  Din immediately went over to her, as did Silnima.  Din carefully placed Marathel’s hands back into the blocks as Silnima pulled out a roll of tape from her pocket and began to re-tape Marathel’s hands.  “Watching, were you?” asked Marathel. 

“It’s always a pleasure to watch a master at their craft,” replied Din. “Your hands look better.” 

Marathel looked at Din straight into his visor and smiled at him for the first time in days.  Din’s heart leapt in his chest.  “I wonder why,” she said, arching her delicate eyebrow.  She turned away and went back to the oven to check the bread.  It was ready, and a worker pulled it out and immediately washed it with beaten eggs, Marathel explaining how the smell of the bread should be able to tell them when it’s ready.  After giving the bread a few moments to cool, Silnima passed it around.  The slashes Marathel had placed in the loaf allowed everyone to easily pull off a part, and Din managed to grab pieces for himself, Cobb, and Grogu before it was all gone.  Handing off a piece to Cobb, Din turned to the wall and shoved the bread into his mouth, burning his tongue and filling him with both contentment and the painful ache of nostalgia.  How many more times will I have the honor of eating Marathel’s bread? 

Cobb took a large bite, chewed, and his eyes fluttered closed as he muttered, “Hot damn and hallelujah, that is good bread.” 

Din handed Grogu his share, now that the bread was sufficiently cooled.  “Told you so.” 

“I would put up with any amount of salty mouth from that woman so long as she kept making that bread.” 

Din absently stroked Grogu’s ear as he ate the bread.  Me too.  Me too. 

Silnima was profusely thanking Marathel for her expertise, and Marathel accepted her praise with a blush.  “If you would decide to stay with us, Marathel, you would be welcome,” said Silnima as she gently hugged Marathel.  Marathel dropped her eyes and tried to slip her trembling hands up her flour-dusted sleeves, alerting Din that Marathel was reaching her limit of what she could handle. 

He moved to her side,  gently taking one of her splinted hands.  “Tired?”  Marathel nodded, and he placed his other arm around her back, but only touching her upper arm, leading her out of the kitchen.   

“Who is that tall man?” whispered Marathel. 

Cobb stepped forward, introducing himself before Din could speak.  “Cobb Vanth, Lady Marathel, I happen to be the Marshall of Freetown.”   

Marathel didn’t understand half of what he was talking about, but she dropped her eyes and tilted her head.  “Cobb Vanth,” she replied quietly.   

“Din has told me much about you, and your bread-making skills.  I’m happy to find out that he was not exaggerating,” said Cobb with just enough coyness in his voice that made Din want to punch him, and not in a friendly way, either. 

“Here, Marathel, I’ll get you back to your room,” said Din, escorting her the short distance.   

“A friend of yours?” 

“An old friend, yes.” The door to Marathel’s room was open, and she stepped through, hitting the light switch with her wooden hand splint.  “You should keep your door closed.” 

Marathel shook her head.  “I can’t bear it.  I feel trapped in here.  At least with the door open I know… I can get out.” 

“It would be safer.”  Din put his carry sack on Marathel’s bed, and Grogu crawled out, sitting down to watch the two adults. 

Frowning, Marathel looked at Din’s visor.  “Are you saying I’m not safe here?” 

“No, no … the palace is safe.” 

“Then why do I need to lock myself in here?” 

Din couldn’t answer that, at least not using a frame of reference that she could understand.  As someone who had probably lived more than half of her life outdoors in a covered wall-less shelter, doors with locks must be an anathema for her.  The only doors with locks were probably the ones in the Hold … like the doors she walked through, holding her head high, to her assumed death, while he stood motionless with a bag of gold in his hand.   

“Are you all right?” asked Marathel, worry in her voice. 

Din shook himself out of his thoughts, noticing that Marathel had sunk into a highly overstuffed chair, and was looking up at him.  Grogu had climbed up on Marathel’s lap, snuggling against her.   “Sorry.  I was …” 

“I understand you suffered a head injury,” said Marathel. 

“I was hit in the back of the helmet with the marchwyl.” 

Marathel looked away.  “The hammer of the under-Captain.  I know it.  I know it well.”  Her mouth curved down in disgust. 

Din sighed, wondering how much he should tell her.  He dropped to one knee and gently took her splinted hand.  He felt her try to pull it away, but he held on.  “When you went through those doors, Marathel … I … after seeing them do those horrible things to you … I attacked the Captain.  I didn’t pay attention to my back, and the guy clocked me, and down I went.”  He looked at Marathel’s face, which she was keeping expressionless.  He turned his head to show her the back of his helmet.  “What I don’t think you understand, Marathel, is that the only thing that can do this kind of damage to beskar, is beskar.” 

Marathel’s brow twitched as if she’d been bitten by a tiny insect.  “You are correct.  I don’t understand.” 

“The marchwyl is made out of beskar.  How, how, is there a weapon made of beskar on your planet?”  

Marathel shrugged and dropped her eyes.  “I don’t know.  I had never heard of beskar until you told me about your armor.” 

“Is there a possibility of any other beskar weapons in the Hold?” 

“I don’t know.  I never paid any attention to the types of metal in the weapons.  I just cleaned them.” 

Din was taken aback.  “You … cleaned them?” 

Marathel swallowed.  “Every morning, myself and other girls would enter the Hold to clean, polish, and sharpen the weapons that had been… used… the previous night. I have cleaned the marchwyl many times.” 

“No other weapons seemed like the same metal as the marchwyl?” 

“Blood cleans off one metal the same as another,” Marathel said with a shrug. 

Din, shocked at her blasé statement, looked down at the hand he was holding, the hand that was at the wrong end of the marchwyl. Her fingers were twisting against themselves, the skin a vile shade of yellow-green.  “The marchwyl won’t be used on any woman’s hand again.” 

Marathel’s face went white as a glacier on Hoth.  “What are you saying?” 

“I have the marchwyl. I will take it to my covert, to the Armourer.  She will melt it down, to make armor.  Beskar is not to be used for weapons.  We will set that right. This is the way.” 

“You … took the marchwyl??” Marathel jerked her hand away.  It hurt, but her outrage outweighed her pain.  “You took it?” She leapt to her feet, hugging Grogu tightly, and began pacing.  “How?  How?  How did you take that weapon from the Hold?” 

Din stood up as well.  “The women who brought you out, they were able to bring it.  Olba, Tymfy, the other two … I never learned their names.” 

“They willingly brought you the hammer?  No, no!  They never would have!” 

“It was not willingly … the woman with white hair and blue eyes was quite against it.”  He thought of her, with the fire in her eyes, spitting on his boot. 

“Lorica, probably.”  Marathel’s shaking hands carefully put Grogu down on the treatment table, and then her hands went to her forehead.  “What have you done, Bounty Hunter?!  You took one of the Elder’s weapons?  Oh …” She bent over at the waist, making a wailing noise.  “What is it with you men?  Take take take, that is all you do! Take what you want, take who you want, never a thought for anyone or anything!  Not everything is yours to take!” cried Marathel. 

“Beskar is sacred to my people, and it was taken from us!  I am bound to bring it back!” snapped Din.   

“And what of the people you take it from?  You don’t think they suffer because of its loss?” 

Din stared at Marathel, knowing she could not understand.  “Silnima is right.  I only seem to upset you.”  He plucked Grogu off the treatment table and left Marathel’s room in silence.  As he stalked down the corridor, he could feel Grogu’s cold look of reproach.  “Don’t look at me like that,” Din muttered. 

In her room, Marathel sat back down with a heavy sigh.  No, he couldn’t understand.  Any behavior outside the acceptable in the Hold was met with swift punishment.  Olba and the others would be made to suffer because they had brought her out to the Bounty Hunter.  She couldn’t imagine what would be done to them once the hammer was discovered missing.  The under-Captain was mad about that hammer, and he liked to use it even in the most unnatural ways … as she well knew.  She’d cleaned more than blood off that handle.  She’d felt that hammer used on her in more ways than one. 

Marathel leaned back in the soft chair, staring out the window.  From this angle, she could only see the pale sky of this planet … Tatooine, that’s its name … and I hate it.  All she could see was sand and dust in all directions.  She could feel it grinding into her skin, coating her hair.  She longed for her hut, the rich blue sky, the sweet sea air that would waft through as she leaned against her post.  Then Marathel felt a seeping line of blood fall from the gash in the middle of her face.  She was so weary. She thought of her simple life before the Bounty Hunter … Din Djarin is his name.  At least have the decency to call him by his name. 

A name he didn’t offer until I pleaded with him to tell me. 

Marathel closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.  The Bounty … Din meant well, or at least he thought he did.  She should be more kind, for he had suffered as well to bring her here.  And suffering should not be a competition. 

Marathel must have dozed off in her chair, as she heard Fennec telling her to wake up.  It must be time to glue me back together, thought Marathel.  Fennec had been nothing but kind to her, and she knew she was taking up so much of the woman’s time with these injuries of hers.  Fennec had glued her skin twice already now.  Marathel knew that this Fennec Shand was very important in this palace, somehow equal to this Boba Fett, the helmet-less Mandalorian.  She had not spoken more than two words to this Boba person, but he’d been kind as well.  Spare of speech, like Din had been in the first days at her hut.  Then there was this lanky man named … Cobb Vanth, that was it.  A curious man, with his easy smile.  Marathel wondered what a Marshal and what a Freetown was.  Silently, Marathel got up and mostly closed the door, leaving only a slight sliver of open space.  If there was at least a splinter of light coming through the gap, Marathel felt safe from her fear of being closed in, of being caged. 

Marathel felt comfortable around Fennec; the dark-haired woman’s dichotomy of no-nonsense backside-kicking versus her fairness and quiet poise reminded her of Diwhyn Olba.  There had been a question on Marathel’s mind for however many days now, and whatever Fennec had injected her with to help with her pain seemed to have the same warm and fuzzy effect of too many dreamberries, as Marathel lay face-down on the table, stripped to the waist.  The painkillers also seemed to have loosened her tongue … or at least her inhibition to chatter. 

Fennec had been working in silence for some time before Marathel posed her question.  “Fennec, what does it mean if a man says to you, I’m fixed and I’m shooting blanks?” 

Fennec dropped the bacta spray bottle on Marathel’s back. “I’m sorry?” 

Marathel, surprised at Fennec’s shock, wavered.  “I, uh … nothing.” 

“Who … Mando told you that? When? How?  What were the circumstances?” Fennec went around the table and dropped down to Marathel’s eye level as Marathel flushed with embarrassment and closed her eyes.  

“Please Fennec, leave it alone.  I shouldn’t have …” 

“No, this is very important, I mean, we know practically nothing about Din Djarin … so you two got … cozy, right?” 

“It is … a lot to explain.” 

“I have time.  Nothing but time.”  

Marathel sighed, and started with a brief explanation of the Dahls and the story of how she could hear the Dahls and how she was able to bond with them. This fascinated Fennec.  “That’s the kind of thing I read about in fantasy stories as a child … or in religious texts of certain systems.  You mean you had an actual biochemical reactive bond to these creatures?” 

“I suppose you can say that,” said Marathel, flushing bright pink once more.  Closing her eyes tight, she relayed the tale of the first night of the Dahls mating, including her reaction to the Dahls … and the Bounty Hunter’s reaction to her. 

Fennec's jaw hung open. “Dank ferrik, Marathel … right up against a post?  I mean, good on you.  But did Mando … he didn't seem to mind, did he?” 

“I suppose not; but then, why would he mind?  He is a man, after all.”  Fennec frowned at this statement, but Marathel didn’t notice.  “But …  he was kind after.  He calmed me, covered me up … he asked me if I was all right.” 

“You mean was if it was all right?”  

“No, he meant me.  I was so frightened and upset.  I think he knew it wasn’t quite me, not fully.” 

“Not quite you?” 

“I mean, I was there, but … because the Dahls were so loud in my head, almost possessing my mind, it was as if I was outside myself, although I could still … feel him.  But that didn’t matter to him at the time, I don’t think, that first time.” 

First time? Holy loth-cats.  "So, he asked if you were all right … and then?”  

“He told me I had bitten him very badly.” 

“You bit him?” 

“Yes, I did.  At the end of Dahl mating, the female turns her head and bites the male, as if she’s saying, get off me.  I apparently bit him when I was … fully pleasured.” Fennec's eyes went wide.  “He had his back to me as he was cleaning his wound.  He asked me if my cycle was the same as the Dahl’s, and I said no, it wasn’t, and then he said ‘well, you should be okay anyway, I’m fixed, I’m shooting blanks.’” 

“Just like that?”  

“Yes.  And then we went to bed … each to our own.”   

Fennec stood and went back to gluing Marathel’s skin.  Gently, with what she hoped was an off-hand tone, she asked, “Why were you so frightened after?” 

“I was afraid and upset because … it ruined me.” 

“Ruined you?” 

“For the Bishop. I was marked for him, and no other was to have me before he did. I was to be his Whyn and no one else’s, not even the under-Bishops.” 

“And I’m assuming a Whyn is a girl who reaches an age of a certain … usefulness?” 

“Well, yes.  More or less.” 

“You weren’t one before you left the Hold?” 

“No.  I was changing but … it seemed to be taking such a long time.  My cycles were … A girl cannot be made a Whyn until her cycles become regular. Then she is ready.  Does that make sense?”  

“Yes, of course.”  

“The other girls would regulate quickly, but my cycles were erratic, maybe only happening once to other girls four or even six cycles.  And I always bled so badly, for many days longer than the other girls, to the point where I could barely do my chores.  Some of the girls I started with had borne one, two children, and I was still not yet able to be a Whyn.  Then I heard the Dahls, and I left the Hold.  I think … I think Olba wanted me out of the Hold, that she feared I would have to be made a Diwhyn instead. That happens, sometimes.  And for me, who was specially marked for The Bishop … it would have been so shameful.  He might have made me a Belwhyn instead, out of spite, just because I was unable to be his Whyn.”  Marathel’s voice started getting strained, panic-stricken. 

Fennec wanted so much to ask Marathel about the different Whyns, what each title meant exactly, but she also knew that Marathel was getting close to shutting down and did not want to derail Marathel’s train of thought.  “What if … what if you had been able to stay away from Mando while the Dahls began to mate?  If you and he hadn’t …?” 

“Then I … I would have lied.  That I had indeed taken him. My confession would have been believed over his protests, regardless of the truth.  In all things the woman is at fault; the woman must be punished.” 

“But … why would you do that?  Why lie?” 

Marathel was silent for a while, and then she said in a small voice, “I would rather be made a Belwhyn for one day, and die, than live however many seasons as the Bishop’s Whyn.” 

Fennec worked on Marathel’s wounds quietly for some minutes.  “Marathel, when you came here, you assumed you were dead.  Can you tell me what was going to happen to you in that Hold?” 

Marathel blinked and took a breath.  “I go the the Hold, the Bounty Hunter gets the coins, he leaves.  I … stay.” 

“You knew what was going to happen to you?” 

“Of course.” 

Fennec frowned but did her best to keep her voice gentle.  “All this, just for coins?” 

“I was to be made a Belwhyn anyway, because of what I had done with the Bounty Hunter.  The Elders didn’t need the coins, not when the Bounty Hunter told me they would be a great help to his people.” 

“Did Mando … the Bounty Hunter know this would be done to you?” 

“No.” 

“Did he try to stop it?” 

“No.” 

Maker.  “Why not?” 

“I told him not to.” 

This woman made a Mandalorian not fight for her.  Fennec, amazed and disturbed, was silent for a few moments.  “What Mando was telling you was that for whatever reason, he cannot father children.”  

“So, he was telling me that he would not impregnate me?” Fennec hummed in affirmation.  “That is a good thing.  If he had, the infant would possibly have been killed right after birth, and I still would have been made a Belwhyn regardless.” 

“Is that what happens to women who have … been with others outside the Elders?” 

“Yes.  If there is a pregnancy, it must always be brought to birth.  If it seems obvious a girl-child was not fathered by the proper Elder, or by one of his highest underlings, then the cord is not tied off, and the infant just … slowly bleeds to death.  I’ve sat with mothers during those births.  It takes so long for the infant to die.  It’s such a terrible thing to watch, and no one is allowed to intervene, for the suffering of the mother is most important.  Olba had sharpened a long thin piece of hard wire, and she and the other midwives would drive it into the top of the infant’s head to shorten all our agony. Most of those mothers kill themselves before being made a Belwhyn.  I would have.” 

Fennec swallowed. What is this horrible place she came from?  “They only kill girls?  What about baby boys?  And what happens to the men?  The ones who father these children?” 

“Nothing.  Nothing happens to them.  Why would it?”  Marathel began to cry.  “Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

“Of course, Marathel.”  Fennec surreptitiously wiped her eyes and went back to spraying and gluing Marathel’s wounds in silence. 

In the corridor, Din quietly moved away from the door, where he had been eavesdropping from the moment Marathel posed her original question.  He turned and began walking away, unaware of which direction he was going, deep in his own worrisome thoughts.  Sometimes children die, Marathel had told him.  Sometimes mothers die.  He thought about how the meteorite burning up in Unmanarall’s atmosphere was the tears of a mother whose child was taken away to be killed.  The stars were the eyes of the mothers that went before her, who had to watch over the girl-children, because the boys were already protected.  The Elders were systematically killing baby girls, and only baby girls, because of doubtful parentage?  There was so much Marathel refused to tell him.  Fennec had now heard Marathel speak of Whyns, Diwhyns, and Belwhyns, but she did not ask Marathel to define each, although he was sure she wanted to know as much as he did.  He knew now that the torture inflicted upon Marathel was referred to as “making her a Belwhyn”, but the significance was still murky.  And the knowledge that Marathel was willing to lie about her having had sex with him — so that she would be punished regardless — disturbed him greatly. 

Din was leaning against the wall, so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice Cobb talking to him until the taller man took hold of his elbow.  “Din?” Cobb asked, his voice full of concern. 

“Hmm?” Din gave himself a shake and turned his attention to Cobb. 

“Are you all right, friend?” Din gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.  “Let’s go out into the courtyard.  Get some sun.  Your tan is fading.” 

The two men went outside and sat on the wide low wall that went around the perimeter of the courtyard, leaning against the palace wall.  Cobb turned his face up into the sun, while Din sat with his knees up, hugging his knees with his elbows while he contemplated a slow-moving beetle on the ground, listening to the children and Grogu play.  The boy seemed to make friends wherever he went, and the children of the palace residents were no exception.  He’d been once again adopted as an unofficial mascot, and it seemed Grogu was teaching the others the alleged rules of Marathel’s running game, which still made no sense to him. 

“How is she doing?” asked Cobb. 

“It is hard to say.” 

“You know … it’s not your job to fix her, right?”  

Din swiveled his head to Cobb.  “Isn’t it?” 

“I don’t believe she blames you.” 

“She doesn’t have to.” 

Cobb chuckled.  “You two already fight like an old married couple.” 

They sat in silence for a while.  “I think I should go to Nevarro, get my helmet repaired.  She’s out of danger for now.” 

Cobb nodded.  “Good idea.  Taking the kid?” 

“Of course.  Keep an eye on her for me?” 

Cobb grinned.  “Never has an easier promise been made.” 

“Dank ferrik,” said Din with a sigh.  Cobb clapped him on the shoulder. 

Grogu came running over.  “Sad Patu,” he said, jumping up to hang off Din’s arm.    

“Hey, kiddo,” Din swung his arm, making Grogu laugh.  “You up for a little trip to Nevarro?  See everyone at the covert?”  

Grogu squealed and jumped into Din’s lap, making him grunt uncomfortably.  Grogu put his little hands on Din’s helmet. His eyes turned sad.  “Mahr?”  

Din shook his head.  “Mahr has to stay here.  She still needs medical attention.  But we will come back to Mahr.  I promise, little guy.”  Grogu hugged Din tightly, and then jumped down and toddled off back into the palace.  “I suppose I’ll see you when I get back,” Din said to Cobb, as he got up and followed the boy, down this corridor and that, until Din could see the tall figure of Marathel walking slowly away from him, splinted hand trailing lightly on the wall for balance.  “Marathel?” called Din, softly.  She carefully turned, looked at Din, and then turned her attention to her feet:  Grogu had attached himself to her ankle again. 

“I appear to have grown a Grogu.” 

Din nodded.  “You’re walking.” 

“Fennec and Silnima want me up and moving as much as possible.” 

“Grogu and I are going to Nevarro.” 

“To your people?” 

Din nodded again.  “I must have my helmet repaired.” 

“You must also give the Aurodium coins to your people … and … and the marchwyl.” 

“This is the way.” 

“This is the way, just so.”  Marathel carefully bent down and picked up Grogu.  “Are you coming back?  Do I need to say goodbye to Grogu?” 

“We’re coming back, mesh’la.” 

Marathel looked up at Din, and then stepped over to him.  She carefully placed her splinted hand on his arm.   “Stay safe … Din.”  Upon hearing her say his name, he wrapped his arms around her as gently as he could, but she stiffened in his arms, making him regret his move.  “Stay safe, and keep Grogu safe,” she whispered. 

“I will.” 

Marathel swallowed nervously. “I’m scared to be here by myself.” 

“Don’t be.  Every one of these people here will kill anyone who tries to hurt you.” 

“What about that Cobb Vanth?” 

“Oh, he’s a menace.  Stay away from him.”  Marathel laughed at that, the sound making his heart leap.  “Mesh’la, cyar’e …” He pressed his forehead against hers.  “I will be back.  Keep getting better.  Gar morut’yc.” 

“Din Djarin … th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin, far’hosa.” 

Din pulled back and stroked her cheek.  “What does that mean?” 

“‘Be safe, Din Djarin, be careful.’”  Marathel gave him a tight smile, kissed Grogu on his cheek, turned away, and continued her walk down the corridor, before her eyes gave herself away … her Oldtalk words were not what she told him.  She didn’t tell him to be safe and be careful. 

She had said, come back to me, Din Djarin, I await your return. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

#the mandalorian angst #mando angst #din djarin angst #din djarin fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #din djarin #din djarin series #the mandalorian #star wars fic #the mandolorian x reader #mandolorian x fem oc #din djarin x f!reader

[snarkythewoecrow]

20 Questions for fic Writers!

thanks for the tag @mammameesh @underwater-ninja-13 💙

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

184

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,391,678

3. What fandoms do you write for?

9-1-1 (mostly buddie), MCU, dabbled in Torchwood, Sherlock, HP, and Old Guard, oh and supernatural for a while too, though I don't have a lot of my supernatural and Torchwood moved to ao3, something I've been working on since like 2012 (there aren't that many more to move, I am just amazing at procrastinating)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Overall, these are my highest: Unexpected Finds (MCU, irondad)- 5 206 If I Could Do It All Over, I'd Find You Sooner (MCU, stuckony)- 2 593 emergencies only (MCU, irondad)- 2 154 between wanting and needing (MCU, stuckony)- 2 087 abuse at your hands, broken at your feet (MCU, irondad)- 1 960 But since I'm mostly writing 9-1-1, I'm going to include my top two from there, cuz I can: I choose you, Pikachu (or the ways two idiots finally say you’re mine) - 1 595 sometimes an onion really is just an onion (and that’s all there is to it) - 1 302

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try really hard to respond, but sometimes I get behind, and there are times when I'm low on spoons and I put them off, and that doesn't mean I don't love them all, seriously, people who comment are so generous and sweet, but it does mean that sometimes they will get a random reply from me two years later lol

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

honestly, not super sure, cuz I can't remember them all off the top of my head, but I guess the one I wrote for irondad, where peter was using hard drugs and it didn't end with a promise of things turning out good, hugs didn't fix things in that one

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

no idea? they are mostly all happy to some degree

8. Do you get hate on fics?

eh, not often, but sometimes, more in the mcu than other fandoms

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes, and mostly gay, many kinks, from vanilla to wtf are you even writing type things, but i do seem to lean toward bdsm dynamic in smut, daddy kink often, and a/b/o (tho i really love writing non-traditional dynamic, a lot of omega/omega and alpha/alpha)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

yes, and probably sam wilson/harry potter, honestly, I really still adore that one, it worked, I swearm, harry was older and fucked up with ptsd, and sam was awesome, as usual

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of? well, i mean, i've once found them posted on small fan sites serving other countries and tbh, it didn't bother me too much, like it wasn't great, but like, hey, life's too short and they obvs liked them, and they did give me credit, sorta

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah, a handful over the years, maybe 5 on ao3? and i know i gave others permisson over the years, but they never linked back so idk

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeah, totally, done it a bunch and had fun

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

steve/tony, then stucky is a close second, like they are the true standbys, I'll always love them, but I have a armada of other ships that also serve me well

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

we don't talk about bruno, dude

16. What are your writing strengths?

description maybe, or writing emotional shit? and like with dialogue, I'm either a god of it or a pathetic feral creature that has never spoken aloud

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

depending on the day, the same as what is written in prior answer

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

honestly, i try not to do it anymore, cuz I don't like making it harder for readers in anyway to consume, so unless I can keep it short and clear enough that you can still gather what they are saying without knowing the language, then I leave it out. I will try hard to find other ways, and i'm not super into translations posted after the text, looks clunky, and not super into translations at the end, but yeah, to each their own

19. First fandom you wrote for?

dudes, i dont know when i ate last, no idea, like maybe some MASH or like Highlander in notebook as a kid? probably my first shared was interview with the vampire, resulting in much anxiety as a teen

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I'm picking from more recent fics, and I kinda love this one atm: sometimes an onion really is just an onion (and that’s all there is to it)

tagging @buckybeardreams @limetimo @painted-doe @psychiccatpanda and anyone else who wants to do it!

Blank copy under cut for you to use 💙

20 Questions for fic Writers!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

#ask game

[atmilliways]

Part Three: Shame On Me

(part one) (part two) (part four) (part five) - complete as of 4/4/23

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2183 Ships: Steddie Major Tags: Jealousy, Casual sex Additional Tags: Pining, Slutty Steve Harrington, Pre-relationship, Landline phones

Author’s Note: Banner by @xirayn​.

Read it on Ao3

-

“—And he’d been pissy about something the whole way here. I mean, if he didn’t want to walk me home, maybe don’t let the bartender take my fucking keys? So that’s on him, not me.”

”What was he mad about?”

“Fuck if I know, man,” Eddie sighs, then takes a long hit off the joint in one hand and jams another chipped-off spoonful of not-at-all-thawed strawberry milkshake into his mouth with the other. The room is still dark—the entire apartment is, the only light he’s bothered with since coming home was the one that automatically comes on when opening the freezer—so the only illumination to see by are the streetlights filtering in through the windows and the cherry end of the roll-up. “He’d barely talked to me all night, too busy rubbing his ass all over half the guys on the dance floor.”

Nancy hums. “Didn’t really need to know that about my ex, but thanks.”

Swallowing down on a mouthful of brain freeze, Eddie smirks bitterly into the phone where it’s pinched between his face and shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you think the chicks Steve flocked with in high school were the only slutty ones in that equation? I thought you were a feminist, Nancy. Equal opportunity and all that shit.”

“Asshole,” she retorts, but with a hint of amusement. “So, everything was totally normal until you had your . . . encounter. . . .”

“Hookup, Nancy. Say it with me: hooook . . . up.”

“Shut up. That was the only thing out of the ordinary though? And he’s never acted like that before? And then he called you Munson, and slammed the door.”

“Yes, no, yes, and yes.” Another hit, another bite of ice cream. “So, you tell me. What does it all mean? Translate for me the mystery and enigma that is Steve fucking Harrington.”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you that Steve hasn’t moved out,” she says, not unkindly. “Robin said he turned up on the early morning bus and didn’t even bring a change of clothes.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t decide to later,” Eddie points out.

“No, but it does mean that your kneejerk worst assumption wasn’t actually his first impulse, so maybe take your own catastrophizing with a grain of salt.”

And there it is: that razor-sharp slice into him that Nancy is so good at. He’d never imagined that he would end up genuine friends with Nancy Wheeler of all people, but she’s good at calling him on his bullshit and doesn’t know how to take fuck off as an answer. 

“Fiiine.” Eddie sighs dramatically, but . . . okay, she has a point. Expecting the worst is kind of his thing, because that way the surprises he does encounter are usually pleasant ones. (He’d gotten even better at it since the spring of ‘86; perspective’s a bitch, and the worst he can imagine is now pretty damn terrible. Bad news first, always.) 

But this? He can’t imagine he’s going to be pleasantly surprised by any of this. That would go completely against his own personal Munson doctrine. He’d told Steve fuck you very much and sent him off like an errand boy, for fucks sake. 

“What am I supposed to do though, Nance?” he asks, voice low because he’s running out of steam. It’s been a long thirty-six hours, and a long ever since he met the real Steve Harrington. “First of all, I can’t take back shit I said or did while I was drunk off my ass. Second, am I just supposed to ensconce myself in a non-horny chrysalis to eternally preserve my virginal integrity? All while watching Steve slut it up with every eligible bachelor across town except me?”

And Nancy—perfect, practical, prissy Nancy Evelyn Wheeler—has the audacity to laugh at him. “Oh my god. Eddie, think about it. This is Steve we’re talking about here. He’s kind of a show-off when it comes to . . . matters of the heart—”

“Matters of the dick,” Eddie mutters through a heavy exhale of smoke. 

“—And he doesn’t always think things through. He likes for people to see what they’re missing out on by not being with him. I didn’t even realize I had a crush on him until I realized I was jealous of Laurie W. of all people—do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”

“Uh, not as embarrassing as the Freak having a crush on the King of the Jocks. Sorry babe, that trophy has my name written all over it.”

“Well, still. There you go,” Nancy says, as if that proves anything. “Everything he’s been doing has certainly got your attention. So?”

Maybe he’s smoked too much, because that makes no sense. Eddie blinks, frowns, and asks, “What? Why would he be pissed that I got laid when he didn’t and want my attention?”

Nancy sighs. “So close,” she mutters, and then refuses to explain what she means.

-

“Eddie?! Eddie!!”

This is how Eddie wakes up, reeling and flailing into a crablike crouch because where the fuck is he (fell asleep on the couch) and why is it fucking dark (never actually turned the lights on) and why is Steve fucking Harrington yelling his name like the building is on fire (it’s not; there would be more light, or at least smoke). 

Stumbling footsteps come to a halt in front of the couch, and he hears a shaky exhale, a possible muttered there you are. 

At a more normal, inside-voice volume, Steve says, “Oh, uh. Eddie. Hi.”

“Wha’ time’s it?” Eddie asks blearily, sounding and feeling like he’s gargled sand. 

“It’s two,” Steve replies, leaving Eddie’s sleep-addled brain to wonder two what. “I took the late bus back from Robin’s,” he adds, which is only just barely helpful, context-wise. Flicking the lamp on the side table next to the couch on—and temporarily blinding Eddie, who hides behind his hair with a hiss—Steve leans over the couch by Eddie’s feet. However much of a rush he’d been in when leaving the other night, he’d still taken the time to change into one of his dorky polos and jeans that do his ass slightly less justice (and yet, in Eddie’s opinion, he could still qualify as a walking wet dream).

There’s a sudden plastic click followed by the curious absence of a background noise that, until now, Eddie had tuned out. Which . . . huh. 

Fell asleep with the phone still on the couch, and the sound had been that funny little frantic beep of a handset left off the cradle for too long. Right. He must have kicked it off in his sleep or something. 

Eddie rubs at his eyes and tries to stretch surreptitiously, but it’s hard when Steve is still standing over him, staring at him with wild eyes and hair that’s been tugged out of its usual expert coif into something the Bride of Frankenstein might be proud of.

“What?” Eddie grumbles petulantly, stifling a yawn and easing slowly into more of a sit than a crouch. 

“The line was busy,” Steve replies. The tone is weirdly at odds with how he looks, sounding even and surface-level calm. 

“So?”

“The last time a line was busy for multiple calls, El got arrested and the Byers’ house in Lenora got shot to Swiss cheese by a goddamn military strike force,” Steve reminds him, almost pleasantly. It’s eerie. 

Eddie processes that for a moment, then screws his face up in something between chagrin and incredulity. “So did you think I got arrested, got shot, or just ripped the cord out of the wall so I wouldn’t have to talk to you?”

“Yes,” Steve all but shouts at him.

It’s way too fucking early for this. 

Grumbling under his breath, Eddie clambers off the couch and snags the empty milkshake cup on his way to the kitchen, rinsing it in the sink and filling it with water that he gulps down and immediately refills. He’s desperately thirsty, but it’s also something to do while he tries to jumpstart his brain into dealing with everything—Steve being here, yesterday, the night before that, the tangle of emotion in his chest that he doesn’t know how to begin to unwind. 

And Steve follows, because of course he does, and blinds Eddie again by turning on the kitchen light. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie grumbles. “You’re something else, you know that, Harrington? All this concern for my well-being, suddenly. Where was this when you canceled movie night last week because of some guy you wanted to ‘hang out’ with?” 

The words echo weirdly in the paper cup that Eddie is staring fixedly down into. He wishes he could have just been left on his own for longer—he’s taken the first step in trying to get over Steve, and it hasn’t gone very well so far, but it’s a start. It’s something, and shouldn’t he get credit for trying? Steve isn’t exactly making any of this easy, with his bitchy yet dogged hovering. 

Complaining and distracted but still walking him home, getting him his favorite flavor of milkshake just because he asked for one while wasted, rushing back from Robin’s in an apparent panic to make sure he isn’t dead or something. . . .

“I, uh,” Steve says, and when Eddie looks up he’s surprised to see that the guy is blushing. He’s blushing, all the way down to where chest hair peeks out of the top of his polo, and it’s unfairly attractive because Eddie can’t catch a fucking break apparently. “Yeah, Robin kind of bitched me out for that.”

Eddie has the sudden irrational urge to either tear all his own hair out or call Robin to snap at her for getting involved, because this . . . thing he has for Steve is supposed to be a secret. If she sniffed it out like some sort of lesbian truffle pig on the hunt for gay secrets and then decided to barrel in and do something about it, he thinks he’s well within his rights to do a little yelling. 

“Great,” he replies flatly. “Glad you had someone to point that out to you after approximately—” he makes a show of checking his watch “—the twentieth time you’ve done it.”

Steve runs both hands through his hair. “Fuck—I know, man, I’m sorry.” He sounds a little hysterical, which, okay, really seems unnecessary considering Eddie is the wronged party here. “I fucked up, Eds! I didn’t mean to but I fucking did, just like I always—” Stopping, he shakes his head like an Etch-a-Sketch, hands still on his head. He drags them down over his face and groans into his palms. “What did Nancy tell you?”

“Uh, no, I think we’re still on what Robin told you,” Eddie challenges. 

And Steve—Steve fucking Harrington—drops his hands, looks him directly in the eye with a despairing expression on his stupidly handsome face, and answers, “She told me that you can’t kick me out for being an asshole while my name is still on the lease. But I was an asshole and it was bullshit the way I treated you last night, so if you want me to go I’ll, I’ll go. I can still kick in on rent until . . . if you want to find a smaller place, or a new roommate.”

‘Your kneejerk assumption wasn’t actually his first impulse, so maybe take your own catastrophizing with a grain of salt,’ Nancy’s voice reminds Eddie. Because his first thought, when Steve offers to go, is to call her back with a vicious didn’t I tell you, but. 

But. 

It’s an offer. The guy looks like a kicked puppy, like this is the absolute last thing he wants to be saying but necessity is dragging the words out of him. And describing his behavior as bullshit, which. Which. Eddie has heard the Halloween party story, hiccuped into his shoulder once at the end of a long evening of smoking it up in their new apartment. ‘Bullshit’ isn’t a word that Steve uses lightly. 

The prospect of Steve actually moving out makes Eddie feel like he’s been gutted, completely hollowed out. It’s not worse than watching Steve with other guys . . . but it’s not better, either.

“I’ll probably leave my bed and the rest of the big stuff, at least until I can figure out where I’m going—”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts, louder than he’d meant to, and Steve’s mouth snaps shut. “Just. . . . You live here, man. You don’t have to worry about that. Relax, okay?” 

Steve hesitates, watching him carefully, then softly says, “Okay.”

In the uncertain silence that follows, Eddie turns back to the sink and refills his cup again. After a moment he hears Steve shuffle around in the background, the fridge open and close, glass clinking on the kitchen table. Eddie doesn’t even turn around before gathering up their standard midnight snack fare: a jar of peanut butter, two table knives, and an unopened sleeve of Saltines dangling from between his teeth. 

It’s an olive branch, just like the second beer Steve has waiting already open for him on the table. 

#i meant to post this earlier but it's been a long day and i still have (checks watch) 4 minutes in it #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfiction #eddie and nancy are friends and no one can take that away from me #my fanfiction #stranger music anthology #lie one more time come on fic

[penname-artist]

Lunch break headcanonning:

Since it's a fire station, the Air Attack's kitchen is available 24/7, and there's always some kind of food cooking over the stove. Generally, Maru and Cabbie try to leave stews and soups going throughout the day for hungering firefighters. Also Windlifter does sandwiches.

Several members of the team prefer snacking throughout the day, but none so often as Windlifter, who eats very tiny portions in very frequent amounts.

Blade and Dusty have the most nightly sneak-ins for snacking past bedtime. The Smokejumpers would be more of an issue, had Cabbie not been a lifelong insomniac that can tell a Jumper is out of bed with the barest creak of the floorboard. No one has since been able to get past him.

A lot of their ingredients come straight out of the gardens around Dipper's hangar, though given the amount of mouths to feed they do also have to order in a lot of food every month. Maru gets to handle the shopping list for the team but Blade does the order itself.

Dipper is a vegetarian as of the last couple of years, so the base does take that into account with the big meals. Though, the rest of the base is still hog-wild for BBQ.

Nothing beats a grilled cheese afternoon. Nothing. They make the best fucking grilled cheese ever, and it's a very popular meal option of theirs. You just can't go wrong with grilled cheese.

This was something of translational confusion between me, Jackal, and Mac while writing/doing art for "What Happens at the Table", but: in my personal headcanon here, the tables in the mess hall are picnic-style wooden benches. It has very strong summer camp vibes, I know. Cabbie kinda complains about it for his knee joint's sake, but otherwise it's an easy and low maintenance setup. No chair assembly required.

Blade, bless his heart, cannot cook worth a damn. He has no chef's instincts at all. It kinda figures, too; he was fed from a silver spoon til the day he was booted from the nest, and then after a few years of microwave meals, he landed CHoPs and ate like a king for many years. Then he went back to microwave meals and whatever the asylum offered, and finally to the base where he was back to people feeding him instead of him fending for himself. Cook? No no, leave that to the professionals.

Maru has a stupid amount of grills and fire pits. To call him a pyromaniac is an understatement. Half of them he doesn't use and they stay out behind the garage, but the others he's jury-rigged into using for most of their cooking. (This HC is thanks to my father who has the same habit to pick up random fire pits and just collect them in the backyard)

#disney planes #disneyplanes #planes fire and rescue #disney planes 2 #blade ranger #dusty crophopper #cabbie #windlifter #the smokejumpers #lil dipper #maru

[llycaons]

At the end of the second book of the English translation of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Wei Wuxian tells us that his injury is "just hole in his body." He's wrong. This is what it would take to save him.

this fic is pretty fun actually. like genuinely a really good time

a blood pressure somewhere around 60 over zero is really too low for effective standing.

to put it mildly

The only hitch was that the guy didn’t seem to understand how to sign the permit. He looked at the offered pen as though he’d never seen one before. Dr. House merely ordered another dose of morphine, after which they couldn’t get the guy to do anything but moan. “Problem solved,” Dr. House said, “He’s unable to sign and this is an emergency.” At least he was interested now.

yeah. in-character. I fully believe that wwx could figure out what a pen was if he wasn't like, dying of sepsis though

they are putting him in restraints just because the think he'll try to leave after surgery :( that's such a depressing image

he was wearing Lan blue, so Wei Wuxian said, “No running in Cloud Recesses.” But there was no way Cloud Recesses had a room this ugly.

ha

“Do you remember me? I’m Travis, short for Travesty.”

WHAT

“Don’t distract me. Was it a knife fight?” The man—Mr. Wei, assuming he wasn’t lying--stopped smiling. “It was a sword. I will not tell you who wielded it.” “Fair. I don’t actually care.”

yeah wwx would not rat out jin ling

Though Lan Wangji had no desire to change, it was a relief to get away from the confusing crowd. They offered him tea there, too, which he drank gratefully, even though it was terrible. The chairs were uncomfortable, so he sat on the floor and meditated.

yep

she found [wwx] smiling and flirting, too effectively, with the floor nurses. He kept calling Dr. House “the great and powerful Oz,” and within a few hours most of the staff was telling stories about “Dr. Oz” and giggling.

yeah he's so charming and funny...he would

The ride to the hospital with Mitch was one of the most horrifying events of Lan Wangji’s life so far...His mind could not organize the images that flashed by. Everything was too big and too strange and too noisy. He gripped Bichen tightly. It took all his control not to draw the sword every time another “car” came near.

hang in there, lwj!

The hospital was an enormous brown building with no grace to it whatsoever.

judgy!

[House] radiated a dissatisfaction that seemed dangerously close to erupting into violence.

astute

After a while, he remembered the rice. It came with a spoon, so he ate the rice with a spoon like a child.

never thought about it like that

Dr. House turned a furious gaze on Mr. Wei, who shrank away from him. Gloria knew he would never harm a patient, but Mr. Wei would not know that. The musician, still unmoving, said, “It is a real sword.” The tone was mild, a mere statement of fact, but the threat was unmistakable.

house definitely harms patients. anyway I love the mental image of lwj stabbing house

I really want to give WangXian a little house in Princeton, New Jersey, with a white picket fence, a lotus pond in the backyard, and bunnies all over everything. But, sadly, between the two of them, they do not have a single marketable skill.

yes to them not having skills they can sell in 21st century america, no to new jersey. you want to set them up in NEW JERSEY??? honestly they deal with a lot of shit in their canon universe but I still feel like it's better than dealing with late-stage capitalism in the usa. this place? yeah no

#may get added to this list. we'll see #ficblogging

[the-pen-is-mighty-and-so-are-you]

Finding what you need, and getting it - pt. 1, from wp blog, 05/04/2020

Good day, dear visitor, how doest thou fare? I finally collected my ideas together enough that calling you seemed worthwhile. Arrangements for this video chat were kind of last minute so, by any chance, do you have your own tea and biscuits prepared? Yes? If not, I'll give you a moment to go grab them - we have all the time in the world these days, so may as well get comfortable.

Ready? Then let's DO this, let's have a CONVERSATION, by which I mean of course a monologue performed by me with you listening.

Right. So. Quarantine life, eh? For some of you, it's a time to prosper and pick up that new hobby you always had your eye on, to get into a healthy yoga routine, to FINISH THAT GODDAMN STORY-

Ahem. Apologies. I projected myself too much there.

On the other hand, for many, it's a confused period of recovery and adaptation, in which most hours are spent quite unproductively feeling useless, or watching Netflix, or generally not doing much of anything. In fact, I think it's safe to say, that's probably most people, though we don't like to admit it. We just share around videos of other people being productive, as if somehow their productiveness will magically seep into our drastically changed lives and boost morale. You could call this period "The Age of Potato", in which there is a danger of everyone melting into the fabric of their bed or sofa and turning into a vegetable.

Okay, let me rephrase that - because there is no 'danger' in that happening. The danger is that that happens and then we feel bad. I think it's fine to spend hours on Netflix that you otherwise might not have, I think it's great especially for those normally hectically busy to experience what it's like to not do much of anything. I think it's not okay to feel useless. There is a difference - but for some people one immediately comes with the other, which is why being a 'couch potato' is seen so negatively. For some, lying around doing nothing makes you feel bad - doing that then gets translated as being in itself 'bad' too. But what if, shock horror, doing nothing isn't bad at all? Just because you're not actively contributing anything to society does not make you a bad person, it just means you're a human being making the most of the time given.

I just wanted to remind everyone of that, as a sort of esteem-boosting motivation to support what I'm about to say. Although, before I move on, I must take a moment and acknowledge that having to confirm whether or not doing nothing productive is negative is a hugely privileged concept to have to debate. Some people, even in a time when societal activity is at a low, still have an essential job to attend to, or cannot afford much besides literally doing nothing. Let's take a moment and consider, appreciate those people.

Moment taken? Good. Now, to continue my monologue to the demographic of the lucky potato people... No offense, visitor.

In my last post, I gave an account of the sudden change experienced in that first week or so, and how I mentally began processing and learning from it. This post is much the same - just a little later in the process.

It has taken me what feels like a long time to pull myself together and put together my thoughts. I've been living in a beautiful bubble, spending luxuriously relaxed days spooning or being spooned by my boyfriend, enjoying the lovely temperament of our bedroom and the natural light that floods in each day, and taking many, many naps in our very snuggly bed. I speak to you as someone with ultimate experience of spending their quarantine being a potato.

This endless leisure time has put somewhat of a haze on my mind - making everything kind of enjoyable and warm, so time passes at a bearable speed, while not being mentally forced into facing emotions or internal conflict (wow, that phrase takes me back to studying Hamlet in Higher English). Everything has been happening in that laid-back holiday way, doing menial tasks day by day mixed in with little mental engagement, filling our heads with Jonathan Creek and Firefly. Anything that takes too much thought and reflection would be filed away in a vague "Meh, I'll get to it" section of my brain. I have loads of studying I could be getting on with? I have until August to look at that, let's just play video games for now. I just had a dark thought that briefly transported me back to my days of mental illness? I'll cuddle my boyfriend and ignore it.

So it took me a long time to get out of a zombified mental state and begin having actively creative thoughts - but, thanks to my experiences in the past few years, especially when it came to mental health and learning to live independently, I'm pretty darn good at taking care of myself. In theory, anyway. I hypothetically know some steps I should take that will prevent mental deterioration - I'm even beginning to know how to, you know, live 'fully', pushing beyond the safe zone I've been protecting myself in and finding what more there is to being me besides the layers of 'coping'.

If that sounded saddening to you, please don't take it that way - I am enormously grateful for all my experiences, because they have made me who I am today. And they prepared me for how to deal with quarantine, because I'd already experienced dealing with drastic changes before - only most of them had been in my head.

I knew I needed to:

- Get in some form of exercise, something to make me feel connected to my body. If I do that, I feel more grounded, things feel more real, and as an added bonus I can release any pent-up energy. So far, I have been doing one session of yoga a day, some twenty minutes, some fifty, depending on how I feel. It's that one thing I do as a signal that I've got out of bed and done something. Though, if there came a day where I don't feel like doing it at all, then I'll respond accordingly and adopt full potato mode. This leads nicely to knowing I needed to...

- Listen to myself and build my day around that. The most important core of my self-care is not feeling guilt, not feeling bad, and being kind to myself. I can't say it's easy, and I'm not sure entirely when or how or why it happened, but back in semester one at some point I had a revelation: so many of my problems came from not being forgiving enough to myself. Once you alleviate that pressure from yourself, even if you mess up, you're in a much more stable position to practically deal with that without the mess of literally being beaten up by yourself. Which is why I also knew I needed to...

- Set realistic goals. This is still something I struggle with. I'm a huge sucker for spider diagrams, and making massive lists, and imagining everything I have to accomplish by the end of this year. But I've found a method that takes place in my beloved 'Fuck it Diary' (Check out 'CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT' for how that came about). I've made a grid, with five areas colour coded - Exercise, Creative, Social, Languages and Uni Work, and Quality Time. When I do something in that category, I write it down and then - the fun part - colour it in. So long as I do something in at least two areas, I count that as a satisfying day. If I do twenty minutes of yoga, and video call my mum, that counts as a good day. If I play video games and write some of my story, that counts too. This way, I make sure I do a little bit everyday, so that in the long run, I know I made the most of my time. I've already mentioned it, but I definitely knew I needed to...

- Call my mums, regularly. They are the people who keep me grounded, who guide me, who reassure me, so I know that if I keep in touch with them, anything that I am dealing with disproportionately will be levelled out. Everything becomes reasonable and manageable once I've spoken with them. I especially enjoy video-calling them, because then they show me the dogs. I mainly call because of the dogs, to be honest.

#covid #lockdown #again this is so interesting to read #what a timecapsule #couch potato

[husbandohunter]

A Small Predicament [Baby Genshin x Reader]

Characters: Scaramouche, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli, Albedo

Synopsis: Cursed for a week, the boys either have to live with it or find a cure as soon as possible. You on the otherhand hoped otherwise.

(A/n): It only takes ONE glance for me to start having ideas. It was twelve in the morning yall, enjoy~

Oh here's part 2

--------

Scaramouche

• "Oh you shrank? I couldn't tell-"

• Threatens that he will murder you to pieces and burn your remains but his voice was so squeaky and high pitched (voice crack) that you couldn't help but burst into a tearful laughter. 

• Its payback time  Bully him, take his hat and hover it above his head. Truthfully, without his hat Scaramouche looks like a little schoolboy. Overall less intimidating.

• Tries glaring. Cute. He's really bratty as a kid, sitting on a high chair (which you had to help him get on) and demanding his servants to do his bidding. In reality, his personality never changed. You realized that even as a grown up he still acts like this (bratty kid in a grown man body).

• The curse made his week a living hell. Signora had the audacity to pull his ear when he misbehaves. Childe constantly messes with his hair while giving head pats and the WORST of all, pinching his cheeks. Scaramouche never wanted to commit arson so bad in his life.

• Eventually finds a cure so he doesn't have to deal with it anymore and orders everyone to never speak of it again. Though, he's plotting how he'll get revenge on everyone who made fun of him using the very same curse (You better run).

~~x~~

Diluc

• "Oh…Oh my! Diluc you're just so cute!" 

• Diluc grimaces as you glomp him in this state. How can you help it? With his head so small it makes his hair all the more fluffier! His coat no longer fits him to the point the sleeves had made past his fingertips. He tried wielding his claymore again, only to lose balance and fall flat onto his bum

• (insert kid voice "Retribution!") Did I mention the babyface?

• Diluc tries to act as if everything was normal, acting like the Darknight hero and Mondstadt's Tycoon but fun-sized. He couldn't. There was no way people would take him seriously in business meetings. Same with fighting abyss mages, his smaller form was too much of a disadvantage. Thus you ended up doing most of his paperwork.

• One time you caught him sitting on the floor couldn't reach his office desk  while reading away the various books for a cure. It was three in the morning. You told him it was way past his bedtime and he argues saying when did he ever have a curfew schedule. In the end you managed to convince him and he begrudgingly obliges.

• The type to NOT ask for help even when it's obvious that he really needs it. Before he was the one who helped you reach things from the top shelves, oh how the tables have turned. He avoids Kaeya like a plague unless he was in it for another round of funny remarks. When he wanted to go out and get some fresh air, you insisted on accompanying him. Worst mistake in his life. A travelling merchant bumps into you and commented that you had a very cute son. Diluc was mortified.

• The day ended up with him sulking in his room. Although it was tempting, you resisted from cooing over his adorable form after days of treating him like a child. It wasn't because you were teasing him, Diluc just works so hard that you wanted to spoil him a bit. At least he could still play a game of chess with you.

• When things went back to normal, Diluc ensures that you will NOT see him as your son.

~~x~~

Kaeya

• "Well look who it is, my little Prince Kaeya~"

• Tries really hard not be bothered by it at all. Kaeya still maintains his suave facade, throwing in a couple of flirting lines here and there (and forcing his voice to go a few octaves too low in which puberty has yet to occur HA). Though no matter what approach, he couldn't ignore the sparkling mischievious glint in your eye. You were obviously not taking him seriously.

• Things couldn't get any worse. He lost his masculine physique and boob window, he wasn't able to go to certain places without supervision. But the worst thing of all was that he was underaged. Kaeya hated the fact he couldn't drink anymore, he even insisted you to sneak him a few bottles (which you refused) and had to settle with plain beverages such as fruit juice (what an insult). He was never really grounded since his childhood days but he certainly felt like he was grounded now. 

• Kaeya still kisses you on the lips whether you like it or not. If you ask him to sit on your lap, he will find a way to turn the position into his favour such as resting his face between your breasts. You're not gonna treat him like a kid, nuh-uh, he actively avoids it.

• Since his personality still remains, Kaeya is a naughty child. He will use his innocent appearance to sway people (even you) to get what he wants. That was how he was able to take a sip of the wine he stole somewhere (he wouldn't tell you). Diluc scolded him heavily and threatened to ban him from drinking from his Tavern for a week (they ended up arguing, Kaeya being the passive aggressive little shit he is).

• He was extremely relieved to return back to his normal form again. He has so much to catch up (specifically his bedtime activities with you *wink wonk*)

~~x~~

Child(e)

• "Hmmm to be honest, this actually suits you very much."

• Unlike the other boys, Childe was completely okay with it. Turns out that YOU were the one who was not going to be okay. If you thought taking care of Teucer was energy-draining then expect Childe to take that tenfold and beyond.

• You've officially became his full-time babysitter who is in desperate need of a raise (and rest). You can't take your eyes off of him and archons forbid that he will ever meet Klee. One point he'll be running ahead by your side and the next you'll find him getting himself in a 1vs7 situation with some shady looking treasure hoarders. Childe genuinely thinks he could take them on but the curse downgraded his abilities. You carried him and barely made out of it alive. (This made you ponder whether the best solution would be to strap him against a chair for the time being…)

• Childe being a child will eat all the candies and ice cream he pleases. You wonder if the curse also turned him a few years back or was it that he acts like this simply because he wanted to (it was the latter). He loves being spoiled, spoiled by you! Childe demands your full attention, spoon-feeding his meals, back rubs and head pats. Yep, he's definitely doing this on purpose.

• Did he just call you 'mommy'? (Childe has mommy kink confirmed).  He has so much energy that it was exhausting, you literally had to drag him away from what ever he was doing in order to get him to bed. "No Childe, your sleeping time is 9p.m stop whining." He bargained that he'll sleep if you sleep beside him (you didn't get any sleep. You knew what he was planning. In the end, you tried to make sure he didn't sneak out behind your back.)

• Finally you were able to get out of that hell-hole. Childe promised to make it up to you, you deserve it after all~

~~x~~

Small (aka Xiao)

• "Did you know in the Liyuean language, Xiao translates to small?" You didn't say that out loud. Not when he's this angry (this angy)

• He just stands there, crossing his arms and grumbling. You were hesitant to touch him in case he might hiss at you. Xiao has always been short, maybe an inch taller than you, but seeing him like this made you think 'my almighty yaksha can't be this cute♡'

• He gets mad when you no longer call his name for help. How could you? He's just so precious~ Xiao makes it clear that no matter what form he takes, it doesn't make him weak ("Adepti and you mortals are nothing alike." Or so he says but you could tell he wasn't running as fast as he used to because…small legs). You may not comment on it aloud but he can tell just by the look on your face and it irritates him.

• Also the type to not ask for help but worse. Xiao is an agressive little kid, he seems as if he'll be willing to bite someone's finger off if they try to pet him (He gives strong cat vibes, so thats understandable). His spear was too big for him to wield so he often has to put it away or else he might knock someone over with it. Xiao hates being short so you'll be hearing him complain alot.

• Since he was an adepti, he didn't need to sleep however, the curse must have brought down his power by a significant amount to the point you DID catch him napping. You almost swooned out loud just by taking a glance upon his face. For once he didn't wear his signature grumpy look. Xiao appears like a normal child, one full of innocence. His snoring was soft and breathly but that just meant he was deep asleep. (You wished to take a picture). 

• Of course, everything had to come to an end (much to your disappointment), he still complains about the incident to this day.

~~x~~

Zhongli

• How is it possible for a baby to still look so handsome? (Must be his godly abilities)

• Zhongli is unfazed by this 'curse' since his past lives have already taken many forms. Though for some reason whenever he walks down the streets of Liyue, young girls, mothers, ladies all come him was and start complimenting him and gushing over him (he was suffocating). They'd squeeze him tight or squish his cheeks, it only takes once glance before the little girls start blushing and hiding behind their moms.

• Needless to say, despite what form he is in, Zhongli is still able to get free stuff. He got some free candies and some free kites to play with. You had to help him carry his items. Zhongli ends up tripping too much because his tailcoat reached his feet (he decided to just take it off. You had to hold that too). Seems like he can have anyone do things for him in the end HA.

• He still got that drippy voice and you're just like ???? "What on Teyvat Zhongli, you're a kid." This is why you can't see him as one, its nearly impossible.

• Actively avoids Hu Tao and Childe. Once Hu Tao caught sight of him and chased him for hours, he couldn't stay in one spot knowing that she might just pop out of no where. Childe still spoils him, however Zhongli feels irritated by the fact the only things Childe buys him toys (its different when other people do it.)

• Everytime you guys go back strolling through Liyue, you had to hold his hand in case more women come swarming hin again. You swear that at this rate he might get kidnapped because hes just such a beautiful baby.

• Zhongli learned an important lesson after his curse was lifted: no matter how many years he lives throughout  never take a form of a child.

~~x~~

Albedo

• You find him buried beneath a pile of books and had to dig him out before he suffocates.

• Albedo has the cutest eyes, they're big and round full of curiosity and they sparkle too (he has the prettiest eyes out of everyone tbh). He is the only person who is fascinated by this outcome and immediately goes in the wild to test out his new physique. 

• He was always curious why Klee T-poses when she runs so he decided to try it out himself. She was thrilled to find out that she now has a little brother to play with. In the end, Albedo indulges in the games she always wanted to play but couldn't because he was too old: princess dress up tea parties.

• You felt many things when you saw Albedo wearing a frilly gown and a plastic tiara tucked on his head. Deep down you knew regardless of what gender Albedo was still pretty. Klee even had the guts to redo his hair and hardly anyone was able to recognize it was him at all. He has pigtails, PIGTAILS! You made sure to burn that image into the very depths of your mind forever.

• The only advantage was the he was ablw to fit through small spaces, other than that, being small was way too inconvenient. He knocked down a few of his potion bottles which damaged the floor (thankfully not him) because they were lethal (he wonders how Klee was able to not injure herself when using bombs). You carried him and lifted him to alot of places such as trudging through the snow because Albedo would surely fall on his face due to his small form.

• Enough was enough, he only lasted a day with this and decided to just make a potion and put an end to the curse once and for all. 

#genshin impact #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #albedo x reader #zhongli x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact headcanons #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #Kaeya #kaeya alberich #tartagalia x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #nya writes #scaramouche x reader

[ticklepinions]

Let's Talk: Tall People

Tall people... You know em, you love em, or maybe hate them because they're so vertically blessed. But how much do you really know about our gentle giants? If we take a look at the animal kindgom, we see that elephants perceive humans the same way humans would regard puppies. In simpler terms, elephants see us as adorable puppers. This is important, because this translates into tall humans seeing shorter humans as cute and adorable lil puppies.

You may be wondering, Onion, what the heck does this have to do with tickling? I'll get to that soon. Did you know there are many perks of being tall? Being the big spoon, reaching things on the top shelf and uh other things I can't think of. What's funny about humans is that we tend to want what we don't have. Those with curly hair sometimes wish they had straight hair and vice versa. It's similar with height. There are cons to being tall like, seldomly being the lil spoon, short ceilings/doorways, lightning would be more likely to hit us in an open field, always being asked if you play basketball and immediately being suggested that you should if the answer was no, etc.

Okay Onion- we get it. Alright you impatient people. When it comes to tickles, tall people don't have more advantages compared to a shorter person, that's what society wants you to believe. This is a guide on how to wreck tall people.

Cuteness Exploitation

You're short and cute. Use that to your advantage. Ask for a simple hug but instead wrap your arms tight against their torso and tickle them.

The Bigger They are the Harder They Fall

Aim for the legs. Can't be tall if your legs are out of the question. You'd need an m-52 chainsaw- oh sorry wrong list. You'll need to latch onto their legs and aim for their thighs, knees, calves and shout TIMBERRRRRRRRRR for comedic purposes.

Piggyback? More like uh... Piggyback

Go on, ask for a piggyback ride. Don't be shy~ Great. They have fallen for your trap. You have access to soooo many tickle spots like the ears, neck, underarms, ribs, sides, back, hips etc. And the best part is, they wouldn't dare hurt lil ole you. There is a rule in Gentle Giant law which states that "no person shorter than us shall be subjected to harm of any kind while in our care". Boom. Can't break the law- So enjoy as your tall person slowly crumples on the floor with you already straddling them, congrats.

I'm the Big Spoon Now

I mean this from the bottom of my heart. Tall people, everywhere, want to be babied. Not necessarily the gugu gaga ooh-la-la want your bad romance, but being cradled as though they were small. Being tall usually means people assume that you're gonna be the bigger spoon. And we say heck no. They've been tall for too long and its gotten to their poor head. Allow them to feel small again and I guarantee they'll love you for life. You just gotta be the big spoon, wrap your arms and legs around them to lull them in a false sense of security. Then boom shackalaka go in for the kill, raspberry that neck, count those ribs, knead those sides, whisper teases in those ticklish ears, go wild. But not too wild.

Stalk Your Prey

This is just a general tip. Most of the time you want to approach from behind and make sure you are crouching as low as possible. Tall people don't like straining their neck muscles too much so you'll be in their blind spot for sure.

⚠Whatever you do, Don't Move⚠

Aw heck. You've been cornered by the very same tall person you wanted to tickle. Have no fear! I have the solution. Stand very very still, science says they cannot sense your presence unless you are moving- Nah I'm kidding, say a quick prayer, manifest some positive vibes or whatever floats your boat because there's no escaping a tall person's wrath. Don't say I didnt warn ya~

#ticklepinion #tickle community #tickle #tickling community #tickling #i should sleep. its 7 am and ive stayed up for what #ignore this trash post #i post trash meme to make up for it... maybe

[nitewrighter]

for the teen Titans ficlet thing, I don’t suppose you could do “there was only one bed” for robin and starfire?

*slams fist down on table* STARFIRE IS THE BIG SPOON.

----

"I think you are overacting," Starfire said, her arms folded across her garish tye-dyed nightshirt.

"Overreacting," Robin corrected, adjusting the waistband on his sweats as he stepped out of the bathroom, "And--I'm not. I've slept in lean-tos in the Alaskan hinterland and in literal trees in the Virunga mountains. I can handle a hotel floor."

Starfire scoffed. "You are being ridiculous! It is a bed! There is room for two! Plenty of my people sleep in Tesh'li!"

"Er..." Robin gave her a blank look and Starfire seemed to realize that that word hadn't translated over.

"Uhm..." Starfire's brow furrowed for a few seconds as she struggled for the closest english equivalent, "Tesh'li are like... clusters? P-piles? It is very common for families."

"...Tamaraneans sleep in piles?" Robin's brow crinkled at the mental image.

" Tesh'li. 'Piles' implies gravity is a strong factor in the composition of bodies," said Starfire.

"...right, floating..." Robin said quietly.

"The whole team had a big Tesh'li in that cave when we had that mission in Markovia!" Starfire said, clearly frustrated, "Beast Boy turned into a grizzly bear and Cyborg turned off his cooling systems to share body heat! You and Raven even shared your capes! Why is this worse? Am I worse?"

"It's not worse--I mean obviously you're not worse-- it's just---when it's just two people--" Robin drew in a tense breath through his teeth before slumping his shoulders, defeated. "It's like... an earth... thing."

"I am aware that earth has many things," said Starfire, clearly not satisfied with this answer.

Robin sighed.

"Oh!" Starfire perked up, "It is one of your earth intimacy hangups! Because large portions of your population spent several centuries convincing yourselves that your natural instinct to be close and reproduce were affronts to your creator deities! And that still lingers in your cultural practices!"

"Uh..." Robin didn't really have a response to that.

"I have been reading the Earth histories," said Starfire, a little smugly.

"That's great," said Robin, meekly.

“Well it is not like any of ‘the funny business’ will be happening,” said Starfire, using the finger quotes around the words ‘funny business.’ Robin really regretted letting Beast Boy teach her how to make air quotes with her fingers and that she had only been getting better at figuring out when to use them. “But I will respect your cultural practice and let you sleep on the floor, even though that is dumb and a little gross and you will wake up with the aching back.”

"You sure are a diplomat, huh?" said Robin, drily.

“Mm-hmm!” Starfire nodded.

This was supposed to be a victory in the argument for Robin--since Starfire was recognizing the boundaries he was laying out, but who was he laying them out for if she didn’t care about them? Himself? Alfred had made a point of bringing him up to be ‘proper’ and ‘gentlemanly’ (perhaps to make up for some shortcomings with Bruce) but Robin’s own childhood in the Circus was closer to what Starfire was describing--the performers spent so much time traveling and setting up and breaking down the circus that they had to catch sleep when they could, sleeping in piles, often with little regard for gender or age. He remembered sleeping splayed across his parents’ laps when he was small, or with his cheek smushed against Samson the Strongman’s bicep, or even in the pile of poodles, borzois, and border collies that made up the act of ‘Rivka’s Fabulous Tumbling Dogs.’ Sometimes he would even wake up with white greasepaint smudged in his hair from sleeping on one of the clowns’ shoulders. But now here he was, feeling like a bit of an idiot as Starfire pulled some sheets off the bed and the extra pillow and handed them over to him, before plopping down cross-legged on the bed herself and turning on the hotel room TV. 

“Did you want to watch something?” Starfire glanced at him.

“I’m fine with whatever you want to watch,” Robin shrugged.

Robin took the uncomfortable wooden chair next to the too-small hotel table where their mostly-eaten one-half pepperoni one half pineapple-anchovy pizza sat. Starfire quickly flicked through the channels until reaching a public access channel where a reindeer bellowed on the screen.

“The noble caribou,” the narrator spoke, “A proud fixture of the tundras of the north that have roamed these grass-covered polar deserts for thousands of years.”

Robin gave a glance over to Starfire who was lying on her stomach on the bed and kicking her feet back and forth, her chin in her hands like any preppy teenaged earth girl watching her favorite low-budget cringeworthy high school drama starring 29-year-olds.

“But this is not a story of the caribou, no we will focus on a friend who has been here even longer,” the camera panned down to a caribou gnawing some knotty, netted-looking substance from the ground, “That industrious, unsung hero: The lichen. This is... Life of Lichen.” 

“What happened to ‘World of Fungus?’” Robin tilted his head.

“You remembered?” Starfire perked up.

“I mean it’s your favorite,” Robin shrugged, “Or I guess this is your new favorite?”

“Life of Lichen is the sequel!” Starfire said excitedly, “Technically it is the third sequel. The first was ‘Our Friend the Algae,’ the second was, ‘World of Fungus’ and now it is ‘Life of Lichen!’ Because you need both algae and fungus to create it,” She paused a bit, “I can... change it if you prefer something else though.”

“Nah I kind of like it. It’s calming,” said Robin, “I used to only research stuff for like... missions and investigations... it’s nice to just... be interested in things.” He craned in his seat a little to see better.

“There is room,” said Starfire, scooting herself over, “You can see better here.”

Robin paused for a few seconds, then got up and took a seat on the bed, propping some pillows up against the headboard for himself to lean against. 

“While lichen bears superficial similarity to moss, there are many differences, the first starting with composition. Mosses, of course, are plants, while lichens are composite organisms, there are over 20,000 known species...” The documentary narrator continued talking as the camera panned across a rainbow of lichens on the side of a rock and Robin found his eyelids drooping, 

He could have sworn he only rested his eyes for a few minutes when he suddenly startled awake. Most of the hotel room lights were off, save for the bedside lamp, the credits were running on the TV and the previews were next week’s episode were promising to delve into the exciting world of lichens growing on trees, as opposed to this episode which mainly featured lichens growing on rocks.

“Starfire?” Robin said, his voice hoarse with sleepiness.

“Mm?” Starfire was already turning around and fluffing up her pillow, the faint green glow of her eyes creating a low spooky light in the room.

“The floor’s kinda gross,” said Robin.

“The floor is indeed gross,” said Starfire.

“Is it cool if--”

“It is very cool,” said Starfire. She reached and got the pillow he had on the floor next to the bed and passed it over to him.

“Alright,” Robin got under the sheets. Maybe he would have found more energy to be flustered about the action if he hadn’t been lulled by an hour of a husky British accent talking about lichens. Starfire seemed to be respecting his ‘earth intimacy hangups’ and slept on her side with her back to him.

“G’night,” said Robin.

“Sleep well,” Starfire’s voice was half muffled into her pillow as he turned off the bedside lamp.

It didn’t take too long for Starfire’s breathing to go slow and rhythmic, but Robin was still staring at the ceiling. 

God, I made that weird, he thought, Why did I have to make such a big deal about sleeping on the floor? I mean I literally was repeatedly saying it’s not a big deal and it wasn’t but now it’s a whole thing. What if she thinks I don’t like her? What if she knows I like her but she’s really pushing the alien thing so we don’t have to address it? No that’s awful, she wouldn’t do that--earth means too much to her to do that. That was shitty of me to think. ‘Earth Intimacy hangups.’ I don’t have earth intimacy hangups. I should probably let her know that it’s probably not cool to tell people they have ‘earth intimacy hangups’ right to their face. I’m cool with it though. Because I don’t make big deals of things. I mean it wouldn’t be a big deal to sleep on the floor. Oh god I’m obsessing over this. 

He turned on his side so that he was facing her back in the bed. He stared at her, watching her shoulders slowly shift with her breath. He tried to match the pace of his breath to hers. 

Tesh’li, huh? he thought, and he felt his eyelids get heavy. He imagined a distant world with high-ceilinged palaces, and a family sleeping in a pile on a heap of luxurious cushions and circular futons, one of their two daughters hovering upside-down just above them. His eyelids slowly slid shut, Doesn’t sound so bad...

He woke up at 2 in the morning drowning in hair.

Starfire was hovering about a half foot off the bed, half the blankets hanging off of her, still in that same ‘lying on her side’ position, though now angled so that the majority of her hair was piled directly on Robin’s face. Robin sputtered quietly, pushing hair out of his eyes and mouth and flinching hard as he realized Starfire was floating.

“Star-pft-fire?” he whispered hoarsely, still pushing hair from his face.

“Robinnn... Kan’ah peq lor-faon eshdarm...” Starfire murmured in Tamaranean.

“...What?” Robin said blankly before she dropped back down onto the bed with a bounce and a loud creak of mattress springs, still dead asleep. A cat-like snore escaped her as she readjusted herself in the blankets. Robin breathed in a steadying breath, coming to terms with what he had just seen and how it was all perfectly normal what with Starfire being an alien. Then he repeated that last mental sentence back to himself and wondered how long ago this work had claimed his sanity like it had claimed Bruce’s. He didn’t have long to dwell on that thought, however, as Starfire turned over in her sleep, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him close, her alien strength moving him with the same ease as she might grab a stuffed animal.

“Star?” Robin whispered again as her arm snaked over his chest. He felt her body pressing into him from behind. His face was burning. 

“Hmm... Wurul tai horqarr, Silkie...” she mumbled, squeezing Robin close.

“Er.. Star--I’m not--Ggk!” Robin winced a little at the tight squeeze, wondering for a few seconds if he was going to get a broken rib,  but then Starfire seemed to nuzzle her cheek against his hair and her grip relaxed with a slight sigh.

Her hair was still enveloping him in a river of orange. She was warm--warmer than any human he could remember, and being in her arms felt like that almost- too-warm that’s perfect for dozing off while reading on summer afternoons. She smelled like ozone, and Lapsang-Souchong tea, and fresh-cut citrus. He wondered how he smelled to her. If he smelled like a memory of another planet. He listened to her breathing for a few minutes longer, as the warmth of her sank into him. He felt the exhaustion he always felt like he was barely outrunning catch up to him again, but here he was willing to let it overtake him.

Maybe I should wake her up? I mean... alien strength... don’t want to get crushed if she has a weird dream or something. Probably the smart thing to do, he thought.

“Zontar-ha peq lor-yuur’vyn...”  Starfire murmured in her sleep and readjusted herself against him again, her body curving around him. 

Eh. There are worse ways to go, he thought as he closed his eyes.

#dickkory #dc #teen titans #I loved hearing Kory speak Tamaranean in the show--it sounded almost klingon? In a good way #...ironically I'm talking about the live-action trainwreck and not the 03 show there #anyway cuddling: we should all do more of it #robstar

[obeymeluv]

The Baby Assignment [Beel]

Not gonna lie, I wanted to do Mammon next but I love this big guy, so... The names for his sons (again, from “The Boys as Dads” post) were pulled from Wikipedia after a bit of research. I wanted to see what other names and history were tied to Beelzebub and I found Hesperus and Baal.

Apparently “Baal” was used to refer to Beelzebub in the Hebrew Bible. It was technically a title meaning “Lord” but could be used to reference specific demons. “Hesperus” comes from Testament of Solomon where Beelzebul (not Beelzebub; at some points throughout history these two were separate entities and at other times they were the same figure with different names) talked about his old high-ranking status in heaven and how he was tied to the star Hesperus.

Mammon’s probably going to be next, but I have to do more name hunting.

Beel is secretly excited to be partnered with you. He’s kind of curious about how the kid will look. More human? More demon-like? The two of you stand in the circle and not one but two babies explode in little clouds

Unfortunately, they’re already crying. Whether they’re hungry or the flash of light hurt them, you don’t know. Beel’s already giving this low, comforting purr and shrugging out of his jacket to swoop them up like some little papoose. This quiets them a little.

He can’t help but giggle because they feel like little hams in his arms. Tiny roasted Devilbirds. They look on the bigger side for Devil babies but they’ve got cute round faces and big sparkly eyes already tinging with that orange glow he gets at nighttime. They are carbon copies of Beel and he’s a little sad he doesn’t see the ‘you’ in them.

They wiggle a bit in the temporary papoose but settle when one arm breaches to grab a tiny, pudgy fistful of his shirt. There’s a few moments of ‘open, close, open, close’ where you think the baby is making biscuits against his chest but he finishes up with a firm grab.

Beel ties the papoose around you so he can carry the magic trunk back to the house. You take great care in keeping the light away from them and don’t know quite how to feel yet about that orange tint to their eyes. They observe you with much interest. They’re still cute though.

You’re walking back to the house with Beel and the others when the jacket blob starts to move. You think they’re getting restless (maybe need air?) and peel it open just enough to see what’s going on. They’re trying to tear a hole in your uniform to latch. They want skin-to-skin contact. One of them has their arm down your uniform top.  The other is trying to jam their hand in there, too.

You just hold them close as you walk to the House of Lamentation. You bet by the time you get there, you’ll be missing a few buttons.

Beel sets up the trunk in his and Belphie’s room (Belphie’s seriously considering relocating to the attic for about a week) and helps you sit down. He undoes the papoose to find they’ve ripped a decent chunk out of your school uniform and are trying to hide between the fabric and your body. They’re holding hands, their other one either tucked under them or latching onto you somewhere else. It’s really cute and Beel goes beet red.

If you’re female, this gets Beel extra flustered because--for some reason? Demon brain and baby hormones?--he’s thinking about you breastfeeding two kids and being pregnant with another one.

Is he gonna be one of those guys that wants lots of kids? Probably.

He opens the trunk in search of jumpers or something that will help them keep their heat and is surprised to see insulated bags of squeeze-type baby food. All KINDS of food, actually!

He’ll have to try some for quality assurance. Does it actually have substance?

Those kids get it honest because they’re literally only an hour old and they KNOW what food packages sound like. Your uniform tears a little more because suddenly two little ginger-headed babies are watching his every mood like a hawk, heads thrust out of the little hole they made.

Beel is not a fan of opening tiny baby food portions. His hands are very big and this is a problem. He ends up puncturing the cap with a fang and squeezing some out. It works, so he hands it over.

These kids snatch food like Mammon taking a grim, okay? Watch your fingers.

Suddenly there’s a little fussy fight breaking out in your top because one baby has one and one baby has nothing. Beel can’t get the second one fast enough. He just shakes it outside the hole and hopes the empty-handed one takes it.

You tell Beel to help you out of your uniform since it’s basically ruined. Boy heats up real bad, touching your skin and everything. Big boy has it BAD!

The kids hiss and growl and cry until you set them in his jacket and make a nest. Then they’re back to being content little angels, gumming and sucking on the little pouches

“I hope all this eating means they grow fast,” Beel smiles as he takes the empty pouches and looks in the trunk again. It’s imbued with magic that only lets the ‘parents’ open it so there’s no accidents. He’s looking for other flavors as you hug the jacket nest.

Somehow you end up with a tiny little hand tangled in your hair as they try to pull you into the nest. You just lay in the middle and they lounge on you. They are BIIIIG on contact. Like to touch all the time. Very snuggly.

You’re kind of shocked but Beel is big into photography. He never answers you when you ask why, but he’s very diligent about taking pictures. They’re not always the best quality but boy never misses a moment.

After about three pouches apiece, they’ve moved onto Beel. They like to snuggle around his stomach and you joke about his ‘baby bump’. You take the pictures now. 

By the end of the night your name has a sound. They are grabbing at you and Beel at the dark, giving calls and trying to wake you up. They want to eat again.

This goes on for days 2 and 3. The twins are more active at night since their eyes don’t hurt and yours and Beel’s sleep schedule are officially messed up. Day 2 they are very vocal with their demon vocal chords, so you basically need a translator. Day 3, you’re used to their nightly disappearances and sneak down sometime after them to see Beel digging through the fridge.

“Apple? See? Apple. Ap-ple.” Beel apparently like smothering them in forehead kisses. He’s passing the food between them and suddenly it’s just three demons cooing over a piece of fruit. They’ve inherited the biting instinct because all three of them bite it at the same time.

He was fixing to wake the house with a happy yeowl about the fangs but had some sense that someone was behind him, so you’re gifted with the sight of three demons still holding onto an apple. “They go’ fanfs,” is what you think you here. Beel technically got the first purr with that one.

When the fangs come out, the food fights start. If you feed them with a spoon or fork it is LITERAL begging for them to let go so you can get more food for them.

Feeding them is a two person job, not because there are two of them, but because one of them needs to attract the biter with a different food so they let go of the utensil. 

They get teary and screechy when they’re not fed fast enough. Hesperus’ first word was “MO’!” (more) as he’s slamming his little fists on the feeding chair and puts a crack in it. Baal takes full advantage of the surprise and latches onto the spoon Beel almost drops. Another struggle ensues.

Between Day 3 and Day 4 they have the muscle strength and build to fully walk themselves. Half of the time they “skitter”. For some reason they don’t like walking upright.

Previously, you could only tell them apart with the brothers’ help (demons can differentiate demons). Now you and Beel have a color-coordinated system to tell the twins apart.

They seem to take after their Uncle Belphie and hide in unusual places. The only way you and Beel find them are by walking around the house and shaking various packages of food. You think this is a joint effort to eat more. 

Baal says ‘thank you first’ and is the gentle teether. He likes to cuddle like that. Hesperus is an avid climber that prefers to latch

Half the time you don’t know if the twins are cuddling and scenting or play fighting. They’re more energetic than you expected.

Ironically, there favorite person is Mammon. He runs fast when Lucifer scares him and they like to chase him. When they want to sleep, they go to Uncle Belphie. He’s just not energetic enough to play with. 

They’ll grab anyone’s leg and sit on them. They like to be carried like this. 

Asmo only managed to get a blurry picture of it, but somehow the twins managed to get Lucifer to drag them around by sitting on his cape. It was very cute.

They’re pretty much Beel’s shadow. They like to follow him and he regularly uses them as extra weights in his routine. Sometimes they run around the yard together. Beel tries to teach them how to play Fangol but they end up trying to gnaw the ball to death and end up wrestling for it. “At least they’re active,” he mumbles as he picks you up to keep you out of harms way

They fall asleep in the grass, fangs still trying to dig into the ball.

Day 5 and 6 they become strong talkers and always insist on going long walks. They want to look at alll the stuff! They’re probably at the age of four or five (maybe six) and Beel deems them behaved enough to see some of his favorite restaurants in the Devildom.

You eat so much you think you’ll be sick. You have three boys who will gladly help you with the rest. They fight over an extra-hard crunchy baguette and don’t seem to have the concept of sharing at this point. They’re fussing and butting heads and Beel notices their horns are breaching.

You bag everything to go and Beel offers to fly you all home since you’re absolutely stuffed. He barely hears it, but a tiny little whine is trying to harmonize with his wings. One of them has grown wings (it was Baal).

That evening is spent with Beel and Belphie gently bumping them with their horns to coax them out.

You’re constantly portioning food and trying to make it fair. Beel is a good mediator. He won’t let his kids starve by any means but if they won’t share after he’s explained (and re-explained) why it’s nice to do so, he just eats the thing so they have nothing to fight over 

They learn that lesson in the dead of night when they sneak down for their own raid and use each other (and the cabinets/drawers) like a jungle gym to get to the good stuff. Whatever they grab, they split. When Beel catches them, some kind of chocolate thing over his face, Baal looks unapologetic and Hesperus just asks if he wants a bite

Beel is not a disciplinarian. You will have to do that. 

Overall the boys are very helpful. They will help bring in groceries and clean up the yard with their uncles. They really love doing the latter because the find all kinds of bugs. They try to give them to Mammon and Lucifer but both of them hate them. A lot.

Belphie notices them and pays them in food to put bugs in Lucifer’s office and bed. No regrets. Satan joins in on this with fancy foods from his foodie connections. They are the unofficial mascots of the Lucifer Sucks Club

Day 7 involves visiting some of Beel’s club activities and the members being absolutely in love with the kids. They get them tiny Fangol jerseys and they run around with the ball. It’s a good day with lots of cute pictures.

They try to hype of the twins and put them on their shoulders but it was here you learned Baal doesn’t like Hesperus getting too far from him and DEFINITELY doesn’t like him being around a bunch of strangers. You don’t know if he thought they were taking him away, but they definitely got dive-bombed by a tiny flying ginger.

Beel has to console him and keep them together for a few hours until he calms down. Simeon overheard the commotion (actually: heard it from Solomon, who was told by Asmo) and offered to make some Celestial Treats to “share the heritage” since Beel is technically an angel.

The twins also love Luke TO DEATH and he is extremely stressed out. They’re cute but very strong and accidentally kind of rough. They chase him too. They want to climb on him; one is enough to knock him off guard and two practically smother him. Send help. 

Simeon is absolutely in love with them and the boys cuddle him and shake him down for sweets as nicely as they can. 

Diavolo may not be as close to Beelzebub as he is Lucifer, but he still wants to see the children. Demon children are a beautiful thing (and he wants an excuse to get out of work)! On Day 8, Barbatos whips up a very fancy meal which the kids are all for. They like playing hide and seek with Diavolo. You and Lucifer both about shit a brick when they take to climbing on chandeliers and up into the crevices of the castle. Hesperus learned to fly that day, and refused to come down for Lucifer.

Day 9, Barbatos and Simeon invite them to a garden-style orchard to pick fruits and vegetables. They boys are covered in dirt and have leaves in their hair but they are very proud of what they picked and can’t wait to make things to eat (they look very cute in overalls). 

Somewhere between Day 8 and 9 both boys have gotten into the habit of shucking off their shirts to let their wings stretch out. When they don’t feel like talking, they sound off with their wings. Beel has adopted this habit and can usually be seen shirtless or in one of those muscle tees with the holes in the side.

On Day 9 the boys decide they want to make a big buffet for the class since Beel took a lot of pictures. They know basic knife skills and have special protective gloves and things like that. Beel bought you all matching aprons. The whole thing goes relatively smoothly; you have a family tray ‘for sampling’, and a bigger portion that will be taken to the class

All bets are off when it comes to making desserts. It’s hard to get the batter into the pan before they’re trying to “lick the bowl clean” (it’s not even empty). You end up with two chocolate-smeared demons that Asmo very reluctantly lets into his bath. You help wash. Beel supervises and is prepared to catch these crafty, sweet gremlins in towels.

Day 10, you make your way to the classroom. The boys want to dig into the buffet (”But your friends are doing it!”) and they almost forget to do the report. They talk for a little bit, pause for a snack. It’s pure bribery. They are finished and rewarded with more food. Beel strings up all his photos at the front of the classroom as the boys sit in your lap and eat.

They make their way to the summoning circle and the teacher has a hard time determining their age. These two are built like brick houses. Are they in the upper percentile for everything or actually older? They’re either very tall eight-year-olds or the age limit goes above 10. Results are inconclusive. 

You get a B that is argued to an A on Satan and Lucifer’s behalf. The teacher tried to argue that they were a little unruly and showed a lack of discipline but duh, they’re kids!

Hesperus growled something out in pure demon and you’re not sure what it was. Judging by Belphie and Satan’s expression, it’s probably something a parent wouldn’t want their kid to say. Who knows where they picked it up from?! 

Baal just looked like he wanted to bite the guy’s nose off, and has taken a protective mantling stance on Beel’s shoulder.

You walk them to the summoning circle and the twins are just as sad as Beel. They want to stay. Baal is crying silently and can only manage to bring his horns out and bump heads. Hesperus makes you promise to cook lots of food ‘for when we come back’ and that he’ll even wash dishes if you promise.

You give them kisses and wipe Baal’s tears away, to which he gently teethes on you. Hesperus just hugs his brother from behind, the two disappearing in thick clouds of smoke.

The class goes on casually as people pick at food and gush about the twins. You stay behind with Beel to pack up the uneaten food. He’s very solemn as he’s taking all the photos off the board, handling them with care. 

“So, uh...why the photos?” you’ve tied up the last bag and have it sitting on the big catering trays Simeon lent you.

“I didn’t want to forget them like I did Lilith...not that I ever really forgot her. Sometimes it’s just...hard to remember her clearly. You know, to remember everything from before. It happens when you’re over five thousand years old.” he’s trying to smile sweetly for you but you can see the pain in it, “I just wanted to keep them with me. I didn’t get that option with her.”

Ooh boy have the floodgates opened for both of you! You hold this big six-something demon boy like he’s one of your babies and he’s never been more grateful. He feels your tears in his hair and you both have a cathartic cry. There’s no where comfortable to snuggle so you opt to heal quietly at the House of Lamentation with some of the leftover food.

It’s a quiet affair, hiding in Beel’s room. You catch him constantly touching your stomach but don’t say anything. His hand is warm and large over your stomach. You’re on the edge of a food coma when you hear him mutter, “Maybe one day.” as he gives it a little pat.                    

#Obey Me! #Obey Me! x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Beel x Reader

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 5

“She broke up with me.”

> genre : Angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 4k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; jjk heartbroken & crying; some wholesome flashbacks to make you swoon

previous - next

The next box arrives about a month or so later. You haven’t seen Jungkook in a while. He had been out of town, hopping from shop to shop, completing a series of long-awaited guest positions. 

He’s kept you up with his days and his appointments as much as he could, sending you dorky selfies, little videos of city landscapes you’ve never seen before, and exhausted late vocal notes made in tiny, with dragged on, mumbled words, to wish you luck and send you some courage for work. 

You did not expect that the day you’ll meet again, he’d be so different from the Jungkook you prefer and left a month ago.

It takes you a few seconds to realize. At first, you’re preoccupied with the sudden set of needles stinging your insides when you hear the peculiar sound of your front door being unlocked. There’s a very finite amount of probability that it’s not him, he's the rudest of your tiny group of friends and the only one that feels comfortable enough in your home to invite himself without any prior warning.

It’s him, your best friend and subject of too many of your both daily and nightly thoughts and preoccupations.

Once he appears in the door frame, with his heavy coat on his heavy XXL sweatshirt, in his heavy military pants, face turned down hidden by his hair, the magic thing, that grows so mysteriously quick. There’s the little explosion of warmth in your chest. The one that makes you smile tenderly without meaning to. He’s allowed to see how happy he makes you, as a friend anyway. Everybody smiles this way when he walks into a room.

Your eyes catch sight of a box, all white, that fits in his hand. Your eyes roll on reflex. You’re about to curse again. It’s not nice, you don’t want to, to attack him as soon as he returns to you but he’s asking for it, isn't he?

He’s still in the hallway, slowly slipping his shoes off, focus fixed on the present in his hand. The time he takes doing it and the seemingly seriousness you feel irradiating from his aura, confuse you.

Jungkook shakes his head twice, the way he does, kind of like a wet puppy would, before setting the box on the counter of your open kitchen.

It’s only when he starts walking towards you, that his head raises up, just a bit, enough for his eyes to meet yours through his hair. He has a tiny smile as a greeting. He looks really upset. 

He should be bouncing on the balls of his feet, he should be doing some TikTok cringe dance moves to make you laugh or yell some greetings in a dialect. He has a lot of peculiar, very Jungkook ways to celebrate meeting you again after a while. Even if neither of you has ever said the words, you do miss each other a lot when you can’t see each other, and the excitement that blooms during your reunions translates that. 

But he’s sad today. It’s obvious. 

When he takes a seat beside you on the couch, he avoids your gaze. You’re agape, watching him with probably too much insistence, a hand holding a spoon half-filled with yoghurt in the air.

These few moments are decisive. They’ll determine rather he’ll talk or not. Jungkook, for someone who cries easily, is not good with feelings and sharing them aloud. Sometimes he can, often he can’t. He’s told you not to worry about it before, that it was fine because sometimes he just didn’t need to, he just wanted a shoulder to lay his head-on. 

“You okay, Guk?”

He shrugs. You just have the time to catch his upper lip sucked in, a twinkle in his eye before he’s switching position, bumping into you and hitting his own shin against the coffee table like a giant dog, unaware of his own growth, would. Only to settle for an impressively tiny huddle against your side, cheek pressed to your shoulder. 

So that’s how it’ll be. 

It’s heartbreaking, torturesome. You always feel miserable when you know he’s sad but not knowing the reason makes it a thousand times worse. You might be the same vengeful kid you used to be. The one who’ll inquire straight away who made him cry and immediately went on her way to beat that reason up -it being another child or the troll of a tree that made him trip. 

Except you are grown-ups now. He knows he can deal with his problems on his own and he would probably not let you go and try to beat up everyone -he probably doesn’t believe you can too, even though he’d be wrong about that. 

Jungkook tears his hand out of his pocket only to mime you to turn up the volume of the television. You do so and the pretty hand is gone and if it wasn’t for his quiet sniffling and the heavy press on your side, you wouldn’t know he’s really here with you at all. 

Your heart hurts the whole duration of the shitty afternoon movie, even if having his warmth next to you helps a little. He leaves later the way he entered, mostly silently, only smiling a bit when you smooch the side of his head and squeeze his forearm in a wordless comforting effort.

Guk

Sorry for earlier

Guk

It was nice seeing you though

You

Don’t be sorry. Can you call?

Guk

Yes, in 5

The five minutes turn out to be twenty. You wonder, hoping to be wrong, how numerous those tears were that he needed twenty minutes to dry them. 

When he finally calls, voice quiet and throat dry, whispering through the phone straight in your ear, uneasiness settles deep and heavy in your stomach as you know, you were right. 

“What happened, Jungkook?”

He must not have heard you this soft and gentle for a while because you can hear a humourless chuckle you recognize as incredulity. He clears his throat a first time, inhales deep and has to clear it a second time before he can start, still choking out on a syllable or two. 

“She broke up with me.”

The gasp that escapes you, loud and obnoxious, could not have been faked. This news is hardly believable to you. First of all, because, to your greatest guilty despair, Jungkook and his girlfriend, who’ve been dating for almost a year, are probably the embodiment of The Power Couple. There’s no doubt, in all the people that know them, that they are meant to be. They look good together. They are on the same page, always, it seems. They’re beautiful and enviable, an example of a match from Heaven, healthy and aesthetic if that's even a mentionable point.

You can’t, even in your deepest, darkest fantasies, have imagined them to break up. 

But the thing that makes it all the harder to comprehend is that she is the one who did it. The girl is great. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and funny, so you heard. She has that glamour to her, with her dainty pretty milky hands and long thin milky neck, with her silky, shiny black locks wondrously floating over her shoulders. She is great, matches him well.

She is not that far behind him but she's still not Jeon-Jungkook-great.

How could she have broken up with him? Someone dumping him makes no sense to you. 

“That’s-“ You catch yourself before the words slip out clumsily. You’ve never really been talented at comforting people with words, especially a crying Jungkook which is the equivalent of your very own kryptonite. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook.” And you mean it. Even more so when you hear him snivel hard. You’ve never allowed yourself to, even just for yourself, in the quiet and discreet comfort of your own head, wish for that to happen. Because if there’s one thing that you want more than anything else, more than having him for yourself, more than your own fulfilment, it’s his happiness. And he was happy with Jiyeun. He’s got the girl he had a crush on for months and they went so well together. “But why? Did she give you a reason?”

You hate how eager you sound asking. The question is so pressing though. You wish to know so bad why, in what circumstances, Jeon Jungkook gets dumped. 

“She-“ There’s a sob he swallows back. “I know what you’ll say,” Your eyebrows dip low on reflex. You couldn’t imagine the reason. He must have really fucked up but Jungkook is not the kind to fuck up. Even when he’s annoying, even when his mindset on something turns a bit auto-centric, he’s too compassionate, he’s too considerate and loving, to suddenly stop wondering how the person facing him is feeling and act without care, hurt them, in any way. It’s just not his kind. So what did he do that even you’ll have a word to say about it. “Spare me because she’s done enough.” 

It takes another set of minutes for him to gather himself, find most of his voice back clear enough for you to decipher. You show yourself patient, not saying anything and leaving him all the time that he needs. In all honesty, in the darkness of your curtain closed bedroom, tucked comfortably in your mountain of pillows and blankets, with your phone stuck to your ear and just the quiet sound of his breathing and humming to himself to break the silence, but rock it rather than disturb it, it’s easy to be patient. Feels like an ASMR. A class A type of ASMR, his breathing to your ear could so easily lead you to sleep. 

“Yesterday, she came to welcome me back and-“ Rather than hurt, his tone sounds weakened by shame now. What the hell did he do? “She found the- the thing I brought for you today.”

The fucking idiot.

“Oh my God.” You feel instant nausea. It's not like you never thought about it. You wondered, multiple times, if she was aware that her boyfriend was buying you these. You never allowed dipping far in the questioning because what would be the point? Ultimately, it's his relationship. And it's his way of shaping your friendship. If she kept smiling pleasantly, asking politely, as she always would, how you're doing whenever you happened to cross her path, leaving his apartment, or visiting his shop, it was fine by you. It must have been fine by her. She might have known about it, or she might not, didn't really matter. Jeon Jungkook is a grown-ass man, who's allowed to make his own decisions, no matter if they make sense to you, or her, or whoever.

But he's a fucking idiot.

If she didn't know, if he didn't warn her, and now she's mad after learning about it, and he's surprised and he's sad then he's a fucking idiot.

“She asked if it was for her, I wasn’t gonna lie!” Fantastic. He's passed the shock, soaked in wrath now. That was quick.

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook!"

"What?" He sounds a bit hysterical on the phone, voice rough and angry, incredulous, even mad that you might suggest he's wrong. Obviously, he already knew you'd react this way, hence the primary warning. "You're my best friend. I get to gift you whatever the fuck I want." He whisper-yells, suddenly very much aware again of the late time and the quiet calmness he'd perturbed. "She-"

"I don't think that's the issue, is it? Did she- Did you tell her that- Like, nothing was up?" You don't know how to articulate what you mean to ask. It sounds so bizarre, so irrealistic, the idea of something romantic or sexual going on between you two. It sounds so ludicrous you can't even say it. And again, you're scared to say the words. You don't know how they'll sound leaving your mouth. Suspicious, maybe revealing.

You owe to ask the question though. Because the cause of the sudden nausea comes from one surprisingly major reason, you would hate for her to hate you. To think of you as the bad guy, the massive bitch who stole her boyfriend. It shouldn't matter but it does.

"What do you mean?"

"That it was just friendly. Did you say that to her?" You stutter, largely on edge.

"Of course, I did." He doesn't seem to notice. Or to pay attention to the, evident to your ear, change in your tone. "She said that it didn't matter." You bite your tongue, along with the couple of words threatening to slide off it. Quite frankly, Jungkook is a weirdo with his own intake on the world surrounding him, she chose to date that special, in a lot of different ways, one, however, you can fairly understand that she wouldn't accept any explanation, of any kind, for this situation. "Do you get that? If she thought I was cheating, I'd understand that she'd be mad but- it's not even the case!"

You try to focus on the essence of the conversation, annihilate the faint words you can read in between the lines. The ones that say that even his girlfriend, in those strange circumstances, couldn't imagine the two of you as more than friends. Just as he couldn't. Just as you can't either.

"She knows and she's still mad. But- I do- I was just curious about it."

"About what?"

"The toys." He pouts, barely articulate like the kid he really is.

"Why didn't you get them for her, then? She's your girlfriend."

There's a pause after your words coming from him.

"She hates those." The pout sounds so thick now, in between the sniffs, you wonder if his mouth won't stay stuck in this position, like a cute permanent raspberry on his cute little dumb face. "I did once and she- threw it in my face and called me a freak."

"Jungkook." You sigh. "That explains a lot, by the way." This comment might be mainly for yourself. He doesn't need an explanation, as it seems. He doesn't seem that troubled about the whole deal, about that new hobby he's picked for himself. But you did. It's hard to simply content yourself with a "well, it is what it is" and nothing more.

He's been curious about them, couldn't buy them for Jiyeun because she wouldn't use them and make him feel guilty about his interest. He's sort of living it by procuration this way.

Now you feel guilty. He can't have found much satisfaction from your reviews if you ever have given him any. And she called him a freak. What a bitch. You wouldn't have imagined that coming from her.

Your mind is a mess.

"And it makes you happy. I see the way-" You hear the friction of tissues, the squeaking of his bed, and the deep sigh that follows when, as you picture, he finds a comfortable position on his back. "You seem much better. Less stressed and-" You cannot deny that. Even though it's partially frustrating, to think that he has this very unpleasant picture of you, of the version of you preceding the very first orgasm brought by him - sort of. You are feeling considerably better. Even if you have to force yourself not to abuse the masturbatory habits, not wishing to turn into a jerk off crazed teen like you once was when your hormones were fucking you up, it helps a lot. Sometimes it's a late-night quickie, other times a longer seance to celebrate the start of the weekend, or find force for the beginning of a new week.

"What was that again? Youthful?" You wonder aloud, an annoyingly amused smile on your face.

"Rejuvenated." He's laughing a bit. And for that, all the turmoil he's been putting you through feels fine and worth it. When you think about the heartbreaking tone of his voice when you first heard it through the phone, it eases an incredibly heavyweight to your heart, enchants you to know that he can still laugh, and you can still be the one reminding him how to. Unfortunately, his heart's just recalled how to hurt and the ache is back as quick as it pretended to leave an instant ago. "She said to never call her again." He confides with a hearable sorrow.

"She didn't mean it." It's surprisingly easy to be a good friend to him. The words you know he needs to hear not even hurting that bad.

"I don't know. We never fought like that before."

"Of course, you didn't. But it's been a year, it ought to happen at some point."

"But if she won't even let me talk to her, how am I supposed to make it better?"

"Be patient and leave her time to cool down." He sighs, already defeated. "Maybe send her a vocal note, she'll listen when she's ready.” They're awfully nice when he sends some to you. “It'll be fine." You're made to be together, probably, you should add. You could add, it might help him immensely, to dry the tears you can picture filling up his eyes. It's a little too much though. You're not that strong of a masochist to force this on you.

"How do you know that?"

"I just do. Don't worry too much." He can't. His heavy silence precisely screams that. "Do you wanna come to my island? I'll let you run in my flowers if you want."

It makes him laugh once again. The lovely, most satisfying sound to your ear.

"That's sweet of you." And it is, extremely sweet of you. If there's one thing that you despise is him sprinting through the mindfully planted flower beds of your Animal Crossing island. It pisses you off. Even more so when he does it by accident than on purpose, because this shit happens way too often. And now, you're allowing him to do so. You're definitely too good at being his friend. "It's fine though. Turnips sell at 138 on mine if you're interested."

It's your turn to be laughing now. You love how even with his heartbroken, upset and crying, he still picks up his Switch to check where's the turnips' stock at.

"Jungkook." I adore you.

You have for seemingly ever. Since the very first time you met.

You'd never forget it. How you almost passed out from laughing because of the street sign that nearly knocked him unconscious. His forehead was already bruising dark, eyes unfocused and shiny with tears. You didn't mean to laugh but he was adorable and funny, and even if you felt guilty for enjoying it, people don't run their faces into street signs every day. You called it in your own head a miracle.

He had to sit for a little while from how dizzy he felt. His ears were burning with embarrassment too, your uncontrollable giggling not helping. He just sat there, on a bench you had dragged him to, hands tucked in the pocket of his sweatshirt, waiting for you to allow him to leave.

The kid stood unbalanced the four times he tried to walk and even if at eleven, you had nothing close to a doctoral degree, you still felt like it was wrong to just let him stumble his way back home straight away. You had to hold him hostage for a little while. You had shared your homemade cookies with him, the ones you hid deep in your bag for you didn't want anyone to ask for a bite at school. You made him drink the whole content of your water bottle because drinking water is never an unhealthy thing to do, therefore, it felt like a good idea.

He was so shy that your own timidness quieted down enough to allow you to make conversation to him. Or more accurately talk over the silence and distract him. He giggled a lot and smiled with cute bunny teeth. Kept saying thank you for every bit of cookies you'd given him and once you had walked him home and he arrived safe and sound, he bowed very low, apologized and thanked you again.

You thought it'd be the end of it. He pretended to be going to the same school as you but you had never seen him also he was a few years younger.

The next day, and every single day after that, at recess, he would appear out of nowhere. Wearing his adorable smile, and a tint of red on his ears, a bunch of homemade cookies of his own filling up his pockets. As a puppy would, he'd follow you around with a certain distance until you waved him over, rolling your eyes, because if he was going to stick by your side, he might as well actually play with you.

The most precious friendship you have ever experienced bloomed from this seed. A friendship, at the start, mainly based on a shared interest for very sugary treats, marbles, and that common memory of him eating shit in this street sign. You didn't mean to remind him, it made him flush furiously each time and you were not that cruel, but you couldn't help bursting out in laughter whenever you'd walk home -with him or alone- and pass that sign. It's your favourite spot in your home town. You never miss an occasion to take a selfie for him whenever you go to visit your parents.

It's hard to define the moment your feelings, once purely platonic, changed. But there's a memory that feels notably significant.

A guy made you fall. A useless asshole, who in retrospect was not even worth a single crumble of your time. You were confused. As you often get, without really knowing why. Maybe it's just you, maybe it's for everyone the same. People start by being too good in your eyes, too good for you not to give them your all, and maybe build pyramides upon pyramides of expectations.

Until they're not anymore.

Suddenly, they hurt your feelings. They suck ass and you felt so invested emotionally, way too invested for it to be any kind of healthy, and their very human selves harm you straight in the heart, where it is the most painful.

It didn't feel like a mistake this time. Like any of the other times, at the beginning, of course, otherwise, it wouldn't catch you again and again.

You fell hard and it's Jungkook who picked you up. He had cooked for you, one of his mother's infamous recipes because he knew you wouldn't even bother eating otherwise. He had held you close. He had kissed the top of your head, your cheeks and your eyelids when a diehard tear had slipped. He had called you baby and sunshine and his little kitten. Had showered you in an unfamiliar type of loving. Something so soft, so tender and warm. Hands firm when they'd wrapped around you and pulled you in. Fingers gentle when they'd brush the hair out of your face. He took care of you, made you feel good in ways no one has ever had. You had not known him to be like that. Suddenly, he really felt like a man when he touched you, when he talked to you. He wasn't only a dorky little overgrown baby anymore. He was a man, shaped like one but also able to act like one. Able to take care of a woman, please one you were sure of it. And suddenly, you wanted, so desperately, to be that woman. To have the same free access you had on his usual candid-self, on this newly met man.

Of course, it's too ludicrous for you to ever act on it. But deep down, a naive tiny voice kept claiming, in the back of your mind, that you could spoil him. Very few people in this world know him the way you do, surely, no one can please him the way you could.

Guk

She listened to my note!!!

Guk

She said she'll make me miss her a bit more and then she'll call

It took less than a day for her to give him a sign. You're not surprised. It's hard not to miss him. You're not surprised but somehow, still, disappointed.

A/N: tadam!! i needed to include some flashbacks because i know my fellow f2l addicts just adore these, also, i just can’t get over writing kookie as a cute kid.

Guess what guys? there is only one chapter to go *sweats profusely* I- am worried. I hope you keep enjoying it and will enjoy the rest. :] For now, let me know your thoughts. I hope you have a sweet, lazy Sunday and wish you a lovely, peacful week! bises!

As always please ask to be tagged for the final chapter on this post

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #ggukienet #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #my writing

[mooshys]

the silver lining of bad first dates

summary: a date gone wrong. a walk in the rain. a simple conversation in a ramen shop. mundane slice of life and mutual pining with kuroo.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note and warnings: curse words galore. set in time-skip. pure word vomit. kuroo’s one of those characters that I’m so scared to even consider writing for because I feel as though I’ll never truly be able to “get” his character. whatever though, I tried.

This date fucking sucked.

Point-blank. No sugarcoating because the dude sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table was more interested in the JASDAQ than your name. Seriously, he couldn’t even be bothered to listen to you talk about your alma mater before he swooped in and started blanketing his insecurities with his recent Bitcoin investment. 

Talk about lame.

Wine and hors d’oeuvres be damned, you were making an escape before he started mansplaining the economy. Even wagyu couldn’t save this candlelit disaster.

Making no attempt to be discreet, you whipped your phone out of your bag and typed up a quick text:

Mind picking me up? Shitty date.

Ping! 

Seriously? Again? What’d this guy do this time?

Ping!

Send the address

Ping!

I swear, this is the last time I’m picking you up

You smiled at the screen, thumbs moving fast.

That’s what you said last week

A bubble with three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.

Ping!

Five minutes.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Like every cliché bad first date, the weather made sure to mimic the mood. The rainfall was nothing less than dreadful, a downpour that left the streets empty as most people kept indoors to avoid getting soaked.

“You’re so lucky that I didn’t have to work overtime tonight,” Kuroo began, standing close to you in an attempt to shield you both from the shower with his janky umbrella. “Otherwise, you’d be walking in the rain or sitting there having your dinner ruined from hearing that guy talk about his gains in the market.”

You laughed at the truth of his words. There really was no one else who knew you like Kuroo. 

“And you know I would’ve walked in the rain out of the two options. I can’t believe someone so dick-ish exists that I’d bail out on a free meal,” you said, raising your voice over the heavy pelting.

Without any warning, a trio of college kids rushed past you two, not paying attention to the other pedestrians walking the sidewalks as their only priority in mind was making it back home before catching a cold. They had their backpacks held up to cover their heads, but it wasn’t much help as their clothes were completely soaked.

“See that?” Kuroo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You would’ve been running like those kids all the way back to your apartment if I didn’t show up.”

You lightly elbowed him and rolled your eyes. Rain fell on your shoulder from the sudden movement, but Kuroo repositioned the umbrella to prevent you from getting wet. “As if,” you murmured, hugging your body in an attempt to keep warm. “Thanks for picking me up. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re oh so welcome,” he waved off your words and then cackled when you narrowed your eyes at him. Sometimes he really knew how to push your buttons. “Anyway, are you trying to date a bunch of crappy guys on purpose? Because I feel like that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s not like I ask to go through a bunch of crappy first dates!” you said, letting out a huff of hot air. The past month had been riddled with unsuccessful first dates. Statistically speaking, you were an outlier; the average person probably went through a handful of bad first dates in a single year: you went through that number in a mere month. Multiple standard deviations past, you were way out of the norm. “Maybe I’m just a magnet for awful guys who only have a thing for themselves.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Or maybe you just like to make my life a little bit harder.”

You smiled at his words.

“Maybe.”

Besides the realization that you were like a honeytrap to flies when it came to bad first dates, another constant came from the start of it all: Kuroo. You weren’t expecting much from the first SOS call; really, just someone to walk you back home when it was late and the taxi fares were jacked up. But you would never forget the first time he waited for you outside that overhyped bar with a bag of take-out, his tie loosened and hair messy because he had just left the office and rushed to the nearest place that sold yakisoba for a decent price.

Maybe you did make his life a little bit harder. It was selfish, but whenever you had a bad date, you actually started to anticipate your escape because that meant Kuroo would be there for you.

He was your silver lining for the past month.

Red brick walls came into view once you two rounded the corner into a more secluded alley, revealing a familiar site that made you hungry. A neon sign which turned brighter due to the haze of the rain drew you in like a moth to a flame. It flickered, but still kept its light. Another constant.

Underneath the awning of the restaurant, Kuroo retracted his umbrella and shook the excess water off of it. He shoved it in the small bin filled with umbrellas belonging to the other patrons and dragged the soles of his shoes on the mat before pulling the door open.��

“Let’s just get some ramen,” he said, ushering you inside. You took the first steps and situated yourself at a lone table. He followed and a waitress quickly took your orders, soon rushing back to the kitchen to help with the line of tickets pinned to the wall. 

“Ramen on a rainy day,” you said, giving a low whistle. “You know your stuff.”

“Duh, ramen tastes best when you’re freezing,” he replied, pulling on his necktie to loosen it. He grabbed two pairs of chopsticks along with a pair of spoons, placing a set in front of you. “And it tastes pretty good after bad dates too.”

“You’re talking to the queen of bad first dates.”

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share too, Your Highness.”

As if on cue, two bowls of ramen were brought over from the kitchen along with an extra soft boiled egg as soon as he finished his sentence. The soup had small ringlets floating at the top from the fat of the broth along with bright green scallions acting as a garnish to offer a vibrant and appetizing color. Wasting no time, you both gave thanks and started to dig in.

“You know,” he started, breaking his chopsticks apart and dipping them into the broth. He pulled up a nice amount of noodles, the steam rising up higher than before. “I really think you should quit dating guys who suck.”

Following Kuroo, you did the same and blew at your noodles. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“It is. It’s so easy.” He ate a mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “You have your top tier guys, your average guys, and then your totally shitty guys. I mean absolute trash—these are the guys you’re dating. Avoid them and all your problems will be solved.”

“Ugh, I feel like we go through this conversation after every single mishap of a date.”

Translation: Kuroo, you sound like my nagging mother.

“Because you never learn.”

Translation: I will nag at you all I want.

You sighed. “Love’s a lot more complicated than you make it.”

“Whatever. Just find a guy who isn’t an asswipe, and then we can talk.”

As you two continued to eat, the kitchen staff remained lively. The sounds of ceramic bowls clattering together along with the static hum of an old radio buzzing some city pop tune your mom would have listened to in her youth acted as background noise while chatting. 

“So... what kind of guy do you think you are?” you asked, curious to hear his answer. Kuroo was in the middle of slurping his noodles and held a hand up to signal you to give him a second.

“Me?” He pointed at himself and you nodded. Who else would you be asking? “I’m your average guy.”

You frowned. “No way.”

“What, you think I’m an absolute trash kind of guy? Harsh.”

“No, I think you’re definitely top tier. Average guys don’t go out of their way to do stuff like this.”

Kuroo raised a brow at you and set his chopsticks down. His bowl was half finished, but he was more interested in what you had to say. “Stuff like what?”

“You know,” you motioned the space between you two, “doing this awful-first-date-rescue-at-the-drop-of-a-hat kind of stuff. No questions asked. Average guys don’t do that. Average guys just pay for your meal and maybe give you their jacket when it’s kind of cold. And sometimes they call you some gross pet name like...” You shivered at the thought. “Kitten or something.”

He looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t like being called kitten?”

“No, something about it sounds gross.”

“That’s just because you haven’t found the right guy to say it to you when—“

Not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say, you quickly crumpled up a napkin into a ball and tossed it at him. He threw his head back, putting on an act as if you actually did any damage to him.

“Stop. Please. Enough. Don’t even finish what you’re going to say.” You went back to devouring your bowl, the noodles more soft than before. Still tasted great as you shoveled in mouthfuls. “I don’t wanf tew heur et!”

Sporting a disgusted look, Kuroo grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser and slid them to your side of the table. “Jeez, you eat like that whenever you’re on a date? Maybe I saved that guy from you.”

“Well, you’re the one stuck with all of this now,” you motioned a hand to your entirety and wiggled an eyebrow. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He held his chin in the palm of his hand and stared at you from across the table, eyes still holding a glint of amusement under the low lighting of the restaurant. His bowl was nearly finished, yet he focused his attention on you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he pondered your words.

You eyed him, his gaze feeling a bit different from before. “What are you doing?”

“Considering,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...It shouldn’t take you that long to,” you mumbled and ate another mouthful of noodles. He kept at it and soon started to crack up. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he shook his head and pushed another pile of napkins your way. 

“There’s a scallion at the corner of your lips,” he tapped a hand on his bottom lip and cackled when you rushed to grab a napkin and wipe it away. Heat rose to your face and you sucked on your teeth.

“You know what? Forget about me calling you a top tier guy. It never happened.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded by your words. “It was kitten, wasn’t it?”

Unable to contain yourself, you laughed into your hand, shoulders shaking. You had to set your chopsticks down as you fanned your face, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. “If I ever heard that from another guy, I would walk out. The second the word came out of his mouth, I would pack up my things, leave, and never look back.”

“But you’re not right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Because I’m a top tier guy. Admit it.”

Because it’s you.

You shook your head and waved the white flag. “Right, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo crossed his arms in front of his chest, satisfied with your answer. Like he won something from this conversation. He liked the way your lips tugged into a smile, not too tight, but enough to showcase the apples of your cheeks; he liked these nights when he could unwind after a long day of work and laugh about stupid pet names; he loved how easy it all was. 

Consideration done and over with, he went back to finish his bowl, the steam from the broth no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Eat up or it’ll get cold,” he said and sipped on the broth. It was still warm, much to his surprise. “I’ll walk you back home when we’re done.”

You took small bites, prolonging the meal in any way possible: listening to him talk about his lazy cubicle partner, ordering another side of gyoza, folding a napkin to tell him his fortune through grade school methods. Both your bowls were empty, pushed to the side with a sliver of broth left as the focus was neither the food nor the JASDAQ jerk from hours before, but rather mundane conversation that went in circles until the shop emptied out.

A hundred dates could go wrong only for Kuroo to show up and make things right.

Maybe it was time for him to become more than a silver lining.

#I had this in my drafts for 4 months and really could not bring myself to post it #like I absolutely despised it and would reread and edit it over and over again #and I kept this only because of the dialogue line with the top tier guys #Yeah Idk dude it's fine now but begone out of my drafts #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #Ok I also feel like a reason why I *didn't* post this is cuz it's like... rlly different from what I usually post??? #like this was so out of my comfort zone and I honestly feel a bit embarrassed sometimes when I write about ~love~ bc it's like. Ew Gross LOL #constant fear of it being too cheesy and unrealistic lmao

[apparentlyaswarmofbees]

Deaf MC vs Devildom

.

A HUGE thanks to @jaywalk-on-me for reaching out to me about this subject. I really hope I have given this it some justice.

Also, to avoid some of the controversies inside the Deaf Culture: I will not be referencing cochlear implants.

And a note for my fellow hearing people, there is definetelly not much difference between us and deaf/hard of hearing people, in fact, after reading about it, I can hardly consider it a disability seeing it can actually allow them to percieve the world in a much different way from ours and would not have any problems in their life if only us, hearing peers, were cooperative and understanding. Everything we need to do is literally minor details and does not hinder our own lifes in the slightest, in fact, it can even help us too! An example is captioning, there is literally nothing to lose, and honestly, even I put captioning on movies of my mother lenguage because sometimes I just can't understand what is being said and captions really help me with that and enjoy whatever I am watching to the fullest! So let's be more understanding. We are all humans, and can all learn from each other's perspective.

And as always

Warning: Uncensored swearing lol, and reference to lesson 16

.

Lucifer

Ah, yes, he knew about it, was in your files, nailed it, he learned your local sign lenguage, all good.

Except his expressions are so damn stiff.

He signs a 'Welcome to The Devildom' and I kid you not, you will not be able to tell if he is trying to be welcomingly polite (and failing miserably) or threatening you.

It was definetelly both

He gets better at it-

Perks if you like classic music though, because you will be able to give him a whole different way of enjoying it.

He won't force you to speak if you choose not to, but he sure will never stop being delighted to hear your voice if you do.

It still baffles him how observant you are, may start trusting you to find details he missed on certain things.

.

Mammon

He definetelly forgot everything he learned on sign lenguage the moment he stepped out of the tutoring Lucifer made him and all his brothers, except for Levi and Satan, go through.

Yes he will mistake around 5 signs per day on the first week of your arrival in the Devildom.

And he will often forget that you most likelly cannot hear him (if his voice frequency doesn't match your hearing that is) and go off blabbing without signing and then just go "oi why ya ignoring me" and he definetelly is this close 👌to being wacked with the closest thing at range.

Again, he gets better too.

In fact, once he warms up to you (and that's like, real fucking fast) he will make so much effort to get things right, and he always pays attention to have captions in movie nights even without you asking??

He tries lip reading once when you told him it's not easy and, I will let it to your imagination what on hell he managed to lip read.

.

Leviathan

As mentioned above, he didn't need the tutoring. Why? Guess what, he already knew at least a few sign lenguages, all because of the many animes, games and shows he has watched portray it, even though the ammount of representation is small.(btw I recomend DARK, there is a deaf&mute character and oh boi she's awesome, it's on netflix)

So he definetelly had no problem communicating with you, in fact, he was almost relieved.

He doesn't need to speak verbally?? He basically would rather spoon his eyes out than talk on the phone so on drug levels texting instead is like heroin????

And oh lord you NEED to invite him to the music festivals on the human world catered towards deaf and hard of hearing people, be will LOVE it.

A little bit of downside though, some of his expression changes are very subtle, but as he spends more time with you, he will start incorporating character voices into expressions and body lenguage instead, and you bet he enjoys doing it.

He will definetelly make music just for you. You only hear high frequencies? Or maybe only low frequencies? Or just nothing at all but you enjoy the rythmic vibrations? He definetelly has spend an entire night making a full fucking album just for you.

.

Satan

Seriously, he knows so many sign lenguages it actually made his way of signing pretty unique!

Another fake ass who will give you gentlemany smiles at first. He may be a way lot more smoother than Lucifer but you bet his fake ass is not passing your vibe check, not with the way his eyes just feel a little bit not right.

Another one who gets better though.

It's kind of nice how he grows so used to signing while speaking that his hands often give off a sign or two even when he is speaking to hearing people.

He will definetelly roast quite a few half assed interpreters.

Also he may or may not have gotten a new obssession after you two watched a few silent movies together??

.

Asmodeus

Oh boy this one needs to chill out a bit.

If you can't interpret signs when done too fast then good luck because his hands will literally be able to spell a full fucking paragraph in 20 seconds.

And oh how he explores your other senses.

Definetelly goes to you first to judge how he looks.

Also he is the best option to keep yourself informed?? I mean, it's also something he can relate with, it doesn't matter if someone killed somebody or just broke their nail, he needs to know about it.

He may be a bit disappointed if you don't speak but he gets over it quickly.

Will ruin many people's carreer if they so much as refuse to attent to you just because you're deaf. There's just nothing wrong with it??? Stop being so petty!

He is now your biggest distraction in mid class and you will definetelly end each day carrying at least 10 paper notes in which he will try to speak with you. They definetelly smell like whatever he smells like at the time. And are definetelly written in colored pen. With glitter. And there are hearts. And possibly a kiss mark-

.

Beelzebub

Big boy definetelly has two types of sign lenguage he uses, and if literally depends if he is eating and what he is eating.

Normally he is just, normal lol. Since he is pretty much quite a bit of an amateur at it he will make use of speech filters a lot when he needs to remember certain signs.

If he's holding something big like a sandwich he will either just gulf it all in to have both hands free or try to make a simplified version with one hand. I'll admit the first scenario is quite amusing.

Yes some of the first questions he asks is how to spells certain foods.

And yes you bet you won't be able to know all of them because Devildom food is definetelly something.

Oh and get ready for a bit of chaos if anyone refuses your order because you're deaf.

Please tell him to flap his wings and proceed lay on him or hug him. The vibrations will be very much close to one of those massage chairs.

.

Belphegor

Oh boy.

First off, he did NOT know about you being deaf because thanks Lucifer.

You guys definetelly spoke in a lot of exchanged notes under his attic door.

He keeps them all hidden somewhere but he will never admit it.

If you're willing to teach him at least how to say 'hi', 'good night' or things like that, he will appear to not be very interested but once the entire lesson 16 fiasco happens they're definetelly the only signs he knows about for some reason when he finally gets tutored.

Still texts you instead.

Even in the same room.

That's what you get from the avatar of sloth I guess-

He does sign a few remarks at you per example commenting on how the new hairstyle Asmo decided to make made his bangs look like a poop behind his back.

Also this:

(The picture above actually happened and was translated to english from my mother lenguage)

#i literally spend DAYS brainstorming this #and then I searched for any other headcanons anyone else has made on deaf people on other fandoms and BOOM #I N S P I R A T I O N #obey me #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #sanaulgi this one is for u #707 #707 mystic messenger #lolololololol

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 49

a/n : "the incantation comes from latin 'protego', 'i protect', and 'diabolica', a declension of 'diabolicus', meaning 'diabolic, relating to the devil'. it is unclear if the translation is meant to suggest 'protection from the devil' or 'the devil protects.'..."

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_______________________________

“Jungkook, will you stop eating all the cookies please--”

“How come Jin gets to eat everything in sight, but I can’t--”

“Because Jin is an insatiable mountain troll with no human manners and six stomachs--”

“Aw, Yoongi, you’re so loving with your words!”

“Shut up, Jin.”

“Kim Seokjin, stop eating the fucking food!” Jimin watches with thinly veiled exasperation as chaos unfolds in Yoongi and Hoseok’s countryside cottage. They’d arrived a few days prior, spending the week together before dispersing for Christmas Day, just in time for the full moon. It had been a chaotic week at best -- verbal altercations were had over stupid things like gift-wrapping techniques, and several small fires had already occurred in the kitchen, mostly due to Taehyung’s ice cream maker.

But somehow, they’d made it to Christmas Eve. And, so far, this Christmas Eve had been spent watching Jin eat all the food as it’s being made and consequently be kicked out of the kitchen entirely by Hoseok. Jimin’s seated in the living room with a perfect view of the chaos happening at the dining table. Y/n’s next to him, reading quietly with her head on Jimin’s shoulder. She’s especially tired today, the full moon just over 24 hours away, so Jimin’s staying close to her.

Namjoon and Taehyung are seated in front of the fireplace, engaged in an intense game of wizard’s chess. Namjoon is beating Taehyung by a landslide, but Taehyung just will not give up, something that makes Jimin smile fondly.

There’s a bang from the kitchen, catching everyone’s attention. Hoseok turns slowly from where he stands at the oven, smiling sheepishly at them.

“I may have put the pie in for too long.” The room is a collection of groans and exasperated laughter, Jin’s complaints overpowering the rest.

“How the fuck do you make a pie explode?! It’s a pie!” Hoseok looks to Yoongi for help, but the boy only shrugs.

“The man’s right, babe -- pie’s not that hard.” Hoseok lets out an affronted scoff, moving to open the window over the sink to let some of the smoke from the oven out. Jimin feels Y/n snicker softly beside him, and when he looks down at her, she’s peering over the top of her book at the scene in the kitchen. She looks so peaceful and happy, even with eyes full of exhaustion. He adores her entirely, and he knows it’s obvious to everyone but her.

Her eyes flick up to meet his then, and, over the cries of outrage from the kitchen about not having dessert, he hears her whisper to him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin purses his lips, smothering the smile that’s rising to the surface. He only shakes his head, his expression judgmental.

“Not everything’s about you, Y/n, geez.” He laughs when she gives him a hard nudge with her elbow, and he moves to wrap his arms around her and trap her in his hold. She lets it happen, only grumbling noncommittally about being unable to read like this. He presses his lips to her temple stubbornly in response. “You have a lifetime to read -- let me hug you.”

“Alright, it looks like we’re having deconstructed pie for dessert, so everyone come eat!” Apparently, the argument about the oven disaster has ended, as Hoseok’s setting a pie on the table, a giant hole in the middle where it had imploded. Taehyung jumps up from his tragedy of a chess game and runs for the kitchen, socked feet sliding to a stop in front of the refrigerator. Plucking a big bowl of homemade ice cream -- its flavor to be determined -- from inside, he makes his way to the table and spoons a giant scoop into the pie’s battle wound. He gestures dramatically at it when he’s done.

“Problem solved!” Hoseok mimics him, gesturing just as dramatically at his disappointed boyfriend.

“The man’s right, babe -- problem solved!” The group laughs, everyone slowly making their way to the table to eat. Y/n sets her book on the couch, moving to stand, but Jimin stops her. From within his pocket he pulls a vial and shakes it, eyeing her knowingly when she groans.

“Ten seconds of pain, and then you can drown the taste out with some ambiguously flavored ice cream. If it makes tomorrow night more bearable for you, then ten seconds is nothing.” She smiles, taking the vial and uncorking it.

“Did you just admit to being someone who eats dessert before dinner?” She downs the potion in one go, eyes squeezed shut. She doesn’t see Jimin gazing at her lovingly, only to lower his eyes when she’s done. She hands him the vial and takes his hand, pulling him to his feet and toward the table.

“You promised me only ten seconds of pain before ice cream, so move faster, Park Jimin.” They take their seats in the chairs nearest them, Jungkook setting his plate down on Y/n’s other side and moving to join them. Tae, Yoongi, and Hoseok sit across from them, Jin and Namjoon taking the end seats. Namjoon leaves his seat after a moment, moving to pass out silverware and swap the ladle in Jin’s hand for a normal spoon. Jin refuses to give up his spoon of choice, glaring at the boy standing over him.

“Dude, I will fight you on Christmas Eve -- I have no qualms about fucking up the holiday spirit or whatever--”

“Stop.” It comes from Jungkook, spoken with a quiet urgency that halts all activity in the room. He’s standing just behind the seat he’d been about to take, his hand resting on the back of the chair. He ignores their questioning glances, his eyes locked on nothing in particular as he focuses his hearing on the open window. When he finds what he’s looking for, he meets Yoongi’s eyes, alarmed.

“I thought you said you put a barrier around your house.” Yoongi and Hoseok glance at one another, shaking their heads simultaneously as Yoongi looks back to the Gryffindor.

“We never got around to it…” But Jungkook’s stopped listening. And, for all the years of jokes, remarks, and complaints Jung Hoseok had ever made about the boy’s heightened senses, he can say with complete confidence later that Jeon Jungkook is the only reason he’s still alive. Because the only person in the room that’s ready for the unforgivable curse that’s shot though the open window, aimed squarely at Hoseok’s chest, is the boy who’d heard the call for death fall from its caster’s lips.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s across the room, launching his body at Hoseok’s over the dinner table and twisting in mid-air to throw his hand out toward the window. He’d never in his life attempted nonverbal magic -- not necessarily the most advanced of students -- but it’s said that wizards can create even miracles if they’re desperate enough. And this is nothing like the World Cup, when Hoseok had protected him from a nasty stunning curse -- the beam of light headed Jungkook’s way right now, in this moment of literal life and death, has been shot to kill. So desperation is exactly what produces the shield charm that emits from his entire body, exploding outwards and shattering all the windows in the house as it goes. The force of it blows them all back, throwing them to the floor and against walls with cries of shock.

And, while a shield is normally null against a curse so powerful, it seems Jungkook’s done more than just perform nonverbal magic for the first time. He’s produced a physical barrier -- an invisible pane of pure energy separating his enemies from his family. It takes out half of the kitchen as it goes, destroying the far wall completely and opening the house out to the cold night around them.

In the confusion of chaos and rubble, Y/n lifts her head from the kitchen floor, catching a glimpse of the group of people outside the house, all equally disarmed from the display of sheer strength they’d just witnessed. She counts 6 bodies, all donned in dark robes, and she knows immediately that this is a Death Eater attack.

Groaning, she drags herself to her feet, grabbing anyone she can get her hands on and pulling them with her, staying low to the ground. Jimin’s the first to follow, holding onto Y/n for dear life, but he can’t help the way he hesitates when he looks past the overturned dining table, the wood splintered and cracked amidst all the wasted food.

Because there in front of him, right where the initial wave of power had surged out from and disoriented them all, is something that is very much not human. When it rises to its feet, it stands to full height, and Jimin knows that it’s easily as tall as he is. Black fur as far as the eye can see, the end of its ears and tail painted grey -- its body practically ripples with strength as it moves, and it’s from behind a set of sharpened teeth and a massive jaw, so powerful it could probably break Jimin clean in half, that a low growl starts to rumble.

It becomes a terrifying snarl in a matter of seconds, those piercing teeth shining in the moonlight with deadly intent. Jimin can feel that he’s still moving -- that all of this is happening in slow motion as he runs for safety and that no time at all has actually passed -- but he feels his whole world stop, drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, when the beast shifts. Preparing to attack, it turns its head at the last moment to meet his eyes, and Jimin sees then that he knows these eyes. He knows the way they look him over with guarded concern and the way they turn away from him as soon as they know he’s unharmed, silently telling him to find his own way out -- after all, Jeon Jungkook’s always made it clear he has better things to do than look after Park Jimin.

Jungkook presses all his weight into his back legs, crouching low for a moment so suspended in time that Jimin doesn’t even see him leave. But then he’s gone, wind rushing past Jimin’s face and blowing debris everywhere as the wolf takes off. After another hard tug from Y/n that pulls Jimin’s focus back to the matter at hand, he only hears when Jungkook finds his first target, the ripping of cloth and the hellish cry of pain ringing in Jimin’s ears like a nightmare.

Tripping over pieces of the ceiling and walls -- the back half of the house essentially crumbling in on itself -- Jimin finds the faces of each of his friends. They’re all there with the exception of Jungkook, who seems almost feral, if the shrieks of death behind them are anything to go by. The group stumbles from the side of the house through a door that’s comically useless at this point, and when they circle around to the back, it becomes clear that there are far more than 6 Death Eaters.

The group that had led the attack has all but been taken out now, Jungkook nowhere to be seen -- but he’s certainly left evidence of his presence there. Jimin can’t tell if these people are dead or still dying, but he doesn’t have time to sort through the discarded bodies to check. Behind the cottage is a field of tall wheat that's surrounded by forest-- a massive expanse of land -- and when they look into this field to the top of a hill not too far away, there’s another wave of Death Eaters lined up, these faces rather familiar to just two of his friends. Jimin hears swearing behind him, and then Hoseok’s pushing past him roughly, only stopped by Namjoon’s hand clamping down around his wrist.

“Don’t, Hoseok! We can’t do this -- there’s too many of them. We have to run--”

“They just tried to kill me, Namjoon! In my own home!” Hoseok whirls around and gets in his face, eyes wild. Jin tenses next to Y/n, one of his hands hovering over his pocket where his wand is. When she follows his eyes, she sees that the line of Death Eaters has started to approach.

They move slowly, as if they have all the time in the world. As if they have nothing to fear, organized and protected against this mismatched group of ambushed friends. She watches as they approach like predators waiting for the kill, and she knows that this is no simple Death Eater attack -- it’s a massacre.

And then, just as silently as he’d disappeared, Jungkook’s returned. Their attackers are given no warning, only registering that the wheat around them is rustling when one of them is violently pulled down into it. He’s gone in an instant, his screams echoing in the night as he’s dragged through the dirt toward the house.

The moment Jungkook emerges at the edge of the field, the Death Eater is flying through the air and crashing into the remains of the house, slung from Jungkook’s jaws like nothing more than a ragdoll. He lands not a few feet away from them, and Yoongi’s jaw clenches when he recognizes the bloodied face of a fellow Slytherin. Turning to lock his gaze onto the line of his old classmates, he pushes past the group and summons his wand from within the rubble of his home with nothing more than the flick of his wrist. It flies from deep within the ruins into its master’s hand with ease, and Yoongi spins it between his fingers casually once he has it.

“I really hope you guys all know how to cast shields as powerful as Jungkook’s -- otherwise, we’re fucked.” The wolf in question falls into line with Yoongi, his whole body shaking from the warning growl forming deep within his chest. The rest of the group follows, facing their enemies head-on.

From Jungkook’s other side, he feels a warm hand press into the top of his head, and he knows it instinctively. He can also feel the cold length of a wand, hidden easily in the darkness of his fur and beneath her flattened hand. Y/n keeps him there for only a moment -- knowing they only have a moment -- and presses her fingertips against his skull as if to hold him back. As if to stall him just long enough to tell him to be careful. And then the moment is gone and she’s wrapping her fingers neatly around her wand, releasing him with a whisper.

“Go.”

--

None of them can say how long they’ve been there -- every second that passes is another that they could lose their lives, so it feels like they’re there a lifetime. They’ve huddled into a small circle, surrounded completely. Jungkook is mobile, weaving in and out of their enemies at too fast a speed to ever be hit by a curse. He’s taking them out slowly, dragging them back into the darkness one by one while the rest work just to stay alive. Unlike at the World Cup, where every enemy shot fired was red, these beams of lights are all hauntingly green, glowing in the night sky -- a sign that things are different now, death standing only a few feet away in the form of old friends.

Every killing curse fired is met with an equally powerful shield, a wall that shatters the moment it meets its mark. They’re cancelling each other out, evenly matched in a battle that won’t end until someone gets tired -- until someone makes a mistake. The only sounds come from incantations, spoken by those of their group that cannot cast silently.

Hoseok and Yoongi fight much like their opponents, masks of guarded silence -- a reminder that while they’re on opposite sides of the war, they were once very much the same. The difference, of course, is that their old housemates are now murderers without remorse. But that’s not their only problem.

Y/n suddenly stumbles next to Jimin, and he can’t even tear his eyes away from the Death Eater before him to check on her. He can only reach for her with his free hand, gripping her wrist in panic, which she rips from his hold with a groan. She only barely manages to raise her wand in time to block the killing curse headed right for her head. The force of her shield colliding with the curse so close to her knocks her back, and she falls into the circle with gritted teeth.

Jimin steps in front of her, closing the gap in their circle and allowing her a moment to recover inside their circle. But she never returns to her spot, only curling in on herself and gripping at her head with a cry of pain -- she knows this feeling. The feeling of her skull splitting, her body rejecting itself as it turns into something unnatural -- something unhuman.

But this can’t be happening. The full moon is not tonight, something she confirms simply by rolling over in the dirt and looking up at the sky, in excruciating pain. She can see clearly that this cannot be her reality, yet the popping of her spine as it dislocates itself is very much real. Reaching out blindly, she latches on to the first person she can find, her hand clamping down around Hoseok’s ankle and squeezing with all her might. He hisses above her and manages to glance down long enough to see an expression of pain he’d long become accustomed to.

“What the fuck?!” It’s the first time he’s spoken in ages, his attention back on his opponent as he works out in his mind how this is possible. There’s no time to reason through what he knows, however, because Y/n’s teeth are clenching so hard she’s afraid they might crack, her grip on his ankle tightening painfully. Hoseok makes a snap decision then, calling out into the night.

“Jimin, listen to me.” The boy’s on his left, so focused on the shield he’s casting that he responds only once he’s successfully blocked the deadly beam of green light.

“What is it, Hoseok--”

“You have to take her into the forest. Now.” His instructions are muffled by the sounds of a curse crashing into Namjoon’s shield, unheard by their enemies, but Jimin hears him clearly. He also hears the urgency in Hoseok’s voice, telling him there’s no time for questions. “It has to be you, Jimin.”

He knows then what Hoseok’s saying, what he hasn’t had the chance to confirm himself. Y/n’s transforming on a night other than the full moon, and they’re out of time. He calls for Y/n then, reaching back for her.

“Y/n -- baby, listen to me. We gotta go.” There’s a moment of nothingness, only her groans of pain, but then he feels her hand slamming down into his and gripping hard. And then his body is working faster than his brain.

Stepping forward out of the circle and straight for the man that’s been trying to end his life all night, Jimin swings his arm out, bringing a new shield up with him as he goes. It hits the Death Eater from the side, catapulting him through the air. Just as he’s in the downward arc of his fall, he’s caught suddenly, torso trapped in Jungkook’s jaws as the wolf leaps into the air to capture his next target. They crash to the ground not far away, hidden away in the wheat.

Jimin pulls Y/n to her feet, pointing his wand out into the field as he runs for the treeline.

“Fumos!” The effect is immediate, smoke pouring out of his wand and swirling around him in a dense fog. It keeps them hidden as they make a beeline for the trees, allowing them safe passage. Jimin chances a look over his shoulder and sees that the smoke hasn’t passed over his circle of friends, ensuring that they’ll still be able to see clearly and protect themselves.

Y/n stumbles again as they run, but Jimin’s hold on her keeps her going, and she registers that he’ll be there for her transformation. Panic seeps in through the pain, and she calls out desperately for him to stop, her vision leaving her. Jimin can feel her struggling against him, but he tightens his grip and forces her to follow. They’re close to the treeline by now, but it won’t be enough until they’re completely hidden. And, although he can’t see where the wolf has gone with his old enemy, Jimin steps in something wet and everything suddenly reeks of blood, so he knows Jungkook is near. Apparently, Y/n can smell it, too, because she’s struggling harder now.

“Jungkoo-- Jungkook, stop him!” Jimin grits his teeth and stops, turning to face his girlfriend and pulling her forward. She crashes right into him, the force of his sudden movement propelling her straight into his arms. Her eyes are wide open but her vision’s completely blacked out, which Jimin can see in the fact that she won’t look at him. But he doesn’t need her to.

Ducking low, he wraps an arm around her waist and throws her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries of outrage as he races for the forest just ahead. She pounds her fists against his back, practically roaring with fury as she fights him. He only pushes on, telling himself he’ll let her be as mad as she wants later, if they’re still alive.

Once they make it into the forest, Jimin runs only far enough that he feels unseen before setting her on her feet. She’s immediately falling to the ground, crawling blindly away from him and clawing at the dirt in pain.

“Go away! Just go away!” Disappearing behind a tree, she swears at him loudly, looking for any outlet for her pain. Jimin only turns to the treeline, letting her curse him as he surveys the land around him for Death Eaters. All he sees is Jungkook in the distance, turning in circles in the field as if lost.

Jimin watches as the wolf races for their friends, sliding to an urgent stop and turning back again in confusion when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He sees when Jungkook’s ears perk up at someone’s call, and his head is turning in Hoseok’s direction. Hoseok’s lips move, giving instructions Jimin can’t hear, but he knows exactly what’s been said when Jungkook’s whipping around to look at the trees.

Interestingly, the wolf hesitates, moving forward before stopping to looking over his shoulder. It’s only a moment, but it’s enough for Hoseok to point out at the forest urgently as he blocks another curse. Jimin can read Hoseok’s lips clearly then as the older boy calls out to Jungkook.

Jimin will die if you don’t go.

The chill that runs down Jimin’s spine at that moment, an omen playing a cruel joke on him, only worsens when he realizes that he’s stopped being able to hear Y/n’s pained gasps. A low whine rings out behind him, and it’s with bated breath that Jimin’s turning slowly on his heels.

Towering over him with an icy gaze locked on him is Y/n -- rather, it’s the part of Y/n that has no idea who he is in that moment. The eyes that see him only see through him, completely empty of anything that isn’t primal. Where Jungkook’s eyes are still his own even in a wolf’s body, these eyes don’t recognize him, and Jimin knows that fact alone will haunt him forever.

Yet, he isn’t afraid of her. He’s only afraid for her -- for the way she’s still curled in on herself, still in pain. He’s afraid for the way she blinks, thoughts muddled and lost, struggling to find herself in the darkness of her mind. He’s especially afraid for the way she finally gives in, losing her will to fight for herself. Her pupils shrink and grow until she’s focusing in on him, and Jimin knows by the way she tilts her head curiously at him that he’s got her attention -- and that’s never good.

When she takes a step toward him, he mirrors it with a step back, and that alone seems to set her off. She moves suddenly, closing the distance between them easily. She leans down until her snout is pushed close to his nose, snarling at him as he stays frozen where he stands. When she raises one clawed hand, he barely has time for a final thought before she’s swinging down at him.

Well, shit.

Suddenly, Jimin’s flying through the air and crashing to the ground a few feet away, rolling to a stop at the base of a tree with a groan -- but he’s in one piece. Lifting his head, he finds that he hadn’t been sliced to pieces by his own girlfriend. He’d been shoved out of the way by a wolf twice his size, the wolf in question now standing where he had just been.

Jungkook’s got his teeth latched around Y/n’s wrist, growling loudly to keep her attention on him. They stand there a few moments, eyes locked in a tense stare-down of dominance. Y/n eventually raises her other hand, claws gleaming in the moonlight, but Jungkook only growls again, a warning. It stops her, as if recognizing this moment, and, although she seems enraged by the display, she lowers her hand anyway.

Ripping her other, trapped, wrist from Jungkook’s jaws, she lets out her own snarl and steps toward him, and Jimin thinks these two might really tear each other apart. But Jungkook’s been here countless times, and he’s still of clear mind, so he knows exactly what to do.

Crouching quickly, he snaps his teeth at her ankles, sending her backwards. She roars angrily, but he persists, snapping at her feet again and again until she’s finally scurrying off into the forest with a cry of outrage. Jungkook watches her go before rushing to Jimin, startling the boy out of his shock.

The wolf sniffs at the air around Jimin, knocking him around with his massive head as he pushes his snout into Jimin’s torso, checking for injuries. Jimin’s lost for a moment, wondering exactly why Jungkook’s expressing so much concern when Y/n should be his priority, but then he remembers exactly what it would mean if he had been caught by one of Y/n’s claws.

Once Jungkook’s done checking that Jimin won’t be turning into a werewolf anytime soon, he’s gone, disappearing after his sister. Jimin only sits there, bruised and battered but alive all the same. Then he hears someone yelling Taehyung’s name in the distance, and he’s on his feet.

Rushing out to the field, he stops at the top of the hill, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the scene down below. His friends are still surrounded, and, although the number of Death Eaters has been severely reduced thanks to the merciless animagus running around, there’s still too many of them. But before he can rush to help, something happens, all too fast to process -- and Jimin has the displeasure of witnessing everything from that hill.

Down in the circle, the rest of the group is fighting for their lives. Many of the boys have sustained injuries simply from their own shields exploding too close to them -- pieces of the ground and debris from the house are thrown around, catching on their bodies in surface wounds they won’t even notice until the next morning.

There’s a special kind of desperation spilling off of Namjoon and Taehyung -- the only muggleborns in that circle -- and it’s making one of them reckless. Namjoon’s keeping his cool, as he’s been in the Order for months now and has had the battle training, but Jin’s having to compensate for small mistakes Taehyung is making out of fear. The Gryffindor’s only a boy, a boy targeted simply for being born. This is the first time he’s ever been faced with his own reality, and he’s terrified.

So when he slips on a piece of rubble at his feet, the only thing that keeps him alive is the fact that he’d moved his head a quarter of an inch to the left just in time. The killing curse flies past him and through the circle, passing Yoongi on the right and hitting a mark just past him -- that mark is the Death Eater that Yoongi had been battling all night.

The boy crumples instantly, the light in his eyes gone. Yoongi watches as he goes, his mind blank as the body crashes to the ground. And then he’s turning on his heel, everything slowed and muffled around him. The Death Eaters have all stopped, equally shocked from what’s just occurred -- after all, they’re just boys, too.

Yoongi hears Jin yelling Taehyung’s name, and he sees Hoseok rushing for him. He watches as Namjoon starts to run to Tae and then stop, raising his wand and choosing to keep guard instead, realizing that their fight isn’t over. Yoongi watches all of it with wide eyes, thinking then that this scene would be very different had the curse hit Taehyung as intended. He spins, staring down at the dead body below him, thinking that this is what Taehyung would have been. This lifeless, empty corpse. And that’s just too much for someone like Yoongi to deal with.

In that moment, the strength of the silent marksman is broken, shattered from within as he fights no longer to protect his own life but those of his friends. In that moment, he proves to be much more worthy than he’d ever thought himself before, breaking through that perpetual tendency to hide himself away — but it comes at a price. Because it’s in that moment that Min Yoongi, for all that he’d tried to free himself of that cursed name, finally gives in to the bloodline he’d spent his whole life denying.

“Protego diabolica!” The spell is cast like the roar of a dragon awakened, enraged -- the first time he’s spoken an incantation in years. It’s ripped from his lungs against his will, uttered with nothing but the urge to destroy, the need to bring pain down on his enemies so that they may never hurt his family again. That dark magic — so forbidden, so evil — follows the command of his left arm, quite literally brought to life by the malice in his eyes and the sweeping of his hand in an arc around himself. And for the first time in the 7 years Jimin had known the shy, self-loathing Slytherin — so guarded from the vulnerabilities of life — he watches from that hill as Yoongi loses control.

The fire that flows out of his hand like water -- icy and unforgiving -- spreads out around Yoongi like a wall of pitch black rage. It passes right over his friends -- they flinch at the foreign magic and its caster, who seems equally foreign to them now. They watch with awe as Yoongi commands the fire, forming a protective circle around them with ease. It almost seems to feed off of his rage, growing with every breath he takes and shrinking with the fall of his chest. He is a snake no more -- a dragon birthed of fire and blood stands in his place.

Jimin watches in pained silence as one of his closest friends loses himself to the war -- but even now, he can still see that Yoongi’s still there. And it’s Yoongi that will have to deal with consequences later, but right now he’s doing whatever it takes to save them. And that includes exploding with anger the moment he spots Jimin still up on that hill.

“Get your ass in here!” The ring of fire seems to swell with his outrage, and Jimin is in no place to refuse. The Death Eaters are still shocked and disoriented by the wall of fire they’re now faced with, and Jimin uses that to his advantage. Racing down the hill, he leaps into the circle, the cold flames licking at his ankles as they let him pass, recognizing him as a friend to their master.

Having seen Jimin’s success at passing through the ring, two of the Death Eaters rush at the wall, unaware of the nature of this dark magic. The moment they make contact with it, the fire senses their intentions, reacting accordingly. Jimin watches as they dissolve into nothing, shrieks of pain ringing out into the air as the fire consumes them. When he turns, he sees that Yoongi is shaken by this, his eyes conflicted as he watches two of his classmates cease to exist, remembering exactly what kind of magic he’s just brought into the world.

But when one of the last Death Eaters attempts to cast another killing curse into the circle, hoping to get through, the fire seems to act not on Yoongi’s command but on his instinct -- and his instinct is to block it. The flames explode outward, concentrating into a wall of protection and destroying the curse. And then they reach further, snaking out to overpower the boy who’d cast the spell, consuming him and his plea for mercy.

There’s only one Death Eater left, standing just outside the circle. Yoongi locks eyes with him, sees the trembling boy staring back at him with fear. They see each other, remembering simultaneously all the times they’d eaten together at mealtimes and suffered together during exam season. They’d grown up together. Just how they’d ended up here, neither of them can recall in that moment, and it destroys whatever innocence they’d had left.

Yoongi finally looks out to the field, his eyes flicking quickly before returning to the Death Eater. The boy hesitates, eventually stepping back. After another moment, he turns, running for his life and never looking back.

When he’s gone, the ring of fire fades, the wall tumbling down until all that’s left is a ring of earth around them that’s been burned to a crisp. Yoongi crumbles then, falling to his knees and staring at nothing. Jimin and Hoseok rush to him, eyes scanning him in concern. They all remain silent, words unable to express what any of them are feeling. Finally, Yoongi lifts his head, still unable to lock eyes with anyone.

“Is everyone okay?” They don’t answer his question, Jin only scoffing in shell-shocked disbelief.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi looks at his best friend, and he knows Jin can see right through him. They all can. He doesn’t respond, and they fall to silence again. Surrounded by bodies and destruction, unable to comprehend what’s happened. Unable to fathom how inexplicably broken they’ve become.

Just when they’re ready to face each other -- when they’re ready to face the aftermath of this night together -- a howl rings out from the forest, pained and haunting. They all lift their heads to stare in exhaustion at the treeline, outlined perfectly by the light of a moon that isn’t full. Yoongi chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he rises slowly to his feet and dusts off his pants before turning to look at what's left of his home with a long sigh.

“This family’s a fucking mess.”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #park jimin #jimin x reader #AHupdate

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-OT7

 2020 has been shit. Covid, Quarantine, tours cancelled, dreams stopped, life at a standstill. And when the boys are nominated-finally-for a Grammy, there’s nothing more you want to do than celebrate with them all, yet, you’re separated by walls and the sense of responsibility to keep them safe. And you feel as if your heart is finally breaking. However, they’re determined to see you-one way or another. 

Tags: BTS, Bangtan boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, boyfriend au, Kim seokjin, min yoongi, jung hoseok, kim namjoon, park jimin, kim taehyung, jeon jungkook, Fluff, Angst

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Title: Life Goes On

“Please, please, please.” You find yourself muttering over and over beneath your breath, like a mantra that you can’t seem to stop. 

“Nominations for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance are as follows-” 

The voice of the woman on the TV seems to be ringing in your ears, sounding as if it’s coming through a tinny phone speaker, and you swallow hard, screwing your eyes shut, as you sit at the break room table, fingers clenched into white knuckles in your lap, half eaten lunch long forgotten. 

“They’re gonna get it, (Y/N).” Tara, one of the fellow nurses, reaches across the table and squeezes your hand in her own, offering you a gentle smile, as you try to give her a weak grin back in return. 

And then, the TV sounds through the silence once more. 

“Justin Bieber, Lady GaGa, Taylor Swift-” 

You can feel your mouth drying with each name listed, and just as your heart is squeezing in your chest, and your throat is feeling as if it will close and cut off our breathing completely-

“And BTS.” 

Your mouth falls open, as cheers erupt around the break room, and Tara is shrieking beside you and clamping down on your hand, as others who you know from work are standing up to congratulate you with pats on the back and high fives. 

You feel numb. But in a good way. 

“They did it.” You say breathlessly, voice hitching on a sudden emotional laugh, as you stand up from the table and hurriedly wipe at the tears that are pooling in the corner of your eyes. “I have to make a phone call.” You say to Tara, who waves you off with a knowing look, and an expression that says she’ll take care of the floor till you get back. 

Barging into the women’s bathroom, you utter a hasty apology to a patron who is almost hit by the door, and ignoring her blatant glare, lock yourself into the end stall, fingers shaking as you struggle to click on Namjoon’s contact information. 

He’ll be the one who is most likely to have his phone on him at this hour. 

You tap your foot on the tile, impatiently listening to the ringing in your ear, as you wait for him to pick up, glancing down at the watch you wear on your wrist. 

It’s 3 AM, but surely, they haven’t gone to bed right after the announcement. 

Not after this. 

“Hello??” Namjoon’s voice sounds in your ear, breathless and excited and loud, and you instantly feel your heart squeeze at the sound. 

“Hi!” You manage to push a smile onto your face, and clutch the phone tighter to your ear, as you adjust our seat on the cold lid of the toilet. Your fingers claw desperately at the speaker next to your ear, as if you can will yourself through the phone and beside them. “You did it! You guys did it, Joonie!” 

“Hold on! I’m putting you on speaker.” There is the rustle of hasty fingers pressing buttons, and then Namjoon’s voice, slightly distant now, comes back in your ear. “Can you hear us, jagi?” 

“Yes!” You laugh, and choke slightly on the tears that are suddenly making an overwhelming lump in your throat. “Who’s there? Tell me please?” 

“Me, noona!” Jungkook’s voice is loud in your ear, and you hold the speaker away a bit, a grin lighting up your features at how incredibly alive he sounds in this moment. You can practically envision him jumping up and down while he talks hurriedly over the noise of the other boys. “Did you watch? Did you see? We got the nomination!” 

“I know, Kook!” You laugh, and the sound is watery, which you hope doesn’t translate through the phone, as you reach up to wipe across your nose with the back of your hand, the tears leaking over and streaming down your cheeks now in warm drips. “I saw. I’m so proud of you, baby boy.” 

“I’m here too, baby girl.” Jimin’s warm, soft tones fill your ear now, softer than his brother’s, but no less excited, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, as a wave of missing him comes over you unexpectedly. “I can’t believe that we did it.” 

“I can.” You respond firmly, the waver leaving your tone for just a moment, as your fingers clench around the phone. “I can one hundred percent believe it, Jiminie.” 

“Taehyung didn’t even react to the nomination.” Namjoon sounds over the phone once more, laughter in his voice, and then you hear the solid sound of someone pushing him aside, as he laughs loudly, the phone sounds becoming fuzzy for a moment. 

Then Taehyung’s voice, loud and clear and defensive, echoes in your ear. “Yah! I was caught off guard, that’s all! I was in shock!” 

“Understandable.” You laugh once more, and the quiver is back, as the lump in your throat grows, as you hear them laughing and teasing one another, without you. Again. “I’m so proud of you guys. I love you. And-” You take in a deep, shaky breath, before you reach up to wipe away a sudden flood of tears with the palm of your free hand. “I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.” 

“Shit, don’t cry, jagi.” Namjoon is back, and you hear shushing in the background, before his voice is loud and clear once more. “We didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“No, no!” You wave your hand in the solitude of the empty bathroom stall, and pull your knees up to your chest, as you fight for breath through the sudden tears clogging your chest and throat. You manage to laugh, though it comes through as more of a half strangled sob. “You didn’t. I’m sorry. I just miss you guys. That’s all.” 

“We miss you too, sweetheart.” Taehyung’s voice is low and serious, and you can imagine the worry in his dark eyes. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening, signalling that you’re no longer alone, has you rising to your feet, brushing at the tears that continue to fall. 

“Okay. I have to go.” You sniff loudly once more, and reach for a wad of toilet paper to wipe your face. “I’ll call you all once I’m off shift. But remember-” You put your lips close to the speaker, and close your eyes, imagining their faces. “I’m so so proud of you. And I love you guys.” 

********

“Did you get to talk to Yoongi?” Your roommate looks up from stirring the ramen she is making for dinner, and offers you a curious look, as you sit at the kitchen table, eyes still puffy from the nap you had just taken after getting off your shift. 

“Yeah.” You yawn, stifling the action with a hand, and your throat and mouth feel raw from all the crying you’ve been doing, and from being exhausted. “He and Hobi and Jin called me on the drive home. They had all fallen asleep.” 

“Ah.” Your roommate grins at you, waving the large slotted spoon in your direction. “That’s cute.” She raises an eyebrow at you. “Did Yoongi cry?” 

“Yes.” You laugh, and the sound is slightly melancholy. “I think we all cried together for the first like ten minutes of the phone call.” 

Turning off the stove, she hands you a bowl of steaming ramen, sitting across the table from you, before she says softly, “You really miss them, huh?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh heavily, stirring the food around, not feeling much like eating, as your heart once again aches in your chest for the millionth time that day. “I hate being apart from them. I wanna celebrate with them, and see them after I get off work, and be in the same bed again. I don’t sleep well when I’m alone.” You laugh, and glance at her sheepishly. “I sound pathetic, don’t I?” 

“You are pathetic.” Your roommate grins. “But I bet they miss you just as much.” 

Your phone, buzzing loudly on the table, distracts you from the conversation, and flipping it over to see the lit up screen, a thin smile spreads across your lips, as you glance over at her and say, “Speak of the devil.” 

Pushing aside the bowl of still steaming ramen, you pick up the call, and before he can say anything, you greet him excitedly, “Is this Grammy Nominated Min Yoongi I’m speaking to?” 

There is a slightly amused chuckle from the other end of the phone, but when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and quiet, as if he’s just woken up from a deep sleep, “Hey, baby.” 

You are suddenly worried, and fiddling with the chopsticks in front of you, your roommate shooting you a questioning look, you angle your body away from her and ask carefully, “Yoongs, you sound tired. Are you okay? Did you just finish therapy? Make sure you’re drinking plenty of water and resting.” 

“Shit, baby. I’m fine.” Yoongi interjects, and his voice holds a tone of exasperated bemusement at your worrying. “I didn’t call to talk about me. I have a surprise for you.” 

You try to think of what he could be referring to. Yoongi was in Daegu. Had he sent you something? Something to be delivered? You felt excitement and curiosity, and a hint of confusion, start to gather in your stomach. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, standing from the table, already headed toward the front door of the apartment. You hadn’t heard anyone knock, but maybe you had missed it? 

“You should go out on your balcony.” Yoongi’s voice fades for a moment, as if the phone has moved from his mouth, and then he’s back again, and his voice sounds slightly less exhausted than before. 

“Why?” You stop in your tracks, and spinning on your heel, head back through the kitchen, as your roommate watches you curiously, toward the living room and the sliding doors that lead out to the balcony. “Seriously, Min Yoongi, if this is some sort of joke-” 

Yoongi laughs, and you can practically picture his bright gummy smile flashing. “Trust me, baby. I’d never do that to you.” 

Letting out a grunt as you push open the one side of the sliding door that always stick, you step out onto the balcony, instantly shivering in the chilly Seoul air, and holding the phone between your shoulder and chin, so you can wrap your arms around your body for warmth, you ask suspiciously, “Okay, I’m outside. Now what?” 

“Now look down.” 

Wait, why did his voice sound so close? So lifelike? As if it weren’t being transmitted from hundreds of miles away through the tinny speakers of two cellphones? What the hell-

You almost drop the phone out of your hand in shock when you step to the balcony railing and see the surprise Yoongi has been referencing-in the form of seven very tangible, and very real, grinning faces, staring up at you from the grass of the apartment courtyard. 

“What-” You gasp out, letting your phone slip into your pocket, because your hands are shaking so much right now, you’re afraid you’ll drop it anyway. “What are you all doing here?” 

Taehyung grins boxily up at you, hands hidden deep into the pockets of his long overcoat, his breath fogging the air, dark hair covered by a beanie. “We wanted to celebrate with you.” 

Your eyes rove over them, and you put a hand up to your mouth as you catch sight of Yoongi, arm in a sling, gums on pink display. He gives you a little wave with his free hand. “Surprise?” 

“You’re here too!” You lean onto the railing for support, leaning farther to take in the vision of them, drinking in their smiles and their faces and their mere presence. “You’re all here! I don’t understand.” 

“We can’t be with you yet,” Jimin jumps in, cocking his head, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he looks up at you affectionately. “But we can see you, at least from a distance. And we wanted to let you know, in person, that we miss you, baby girl.” 

“I miss you too.” You breathe out, warm tears starting to well in the corner of your eyes once more. “But-” You gasp, and wave your arm at them, gesturing to them one by one. “You guys did it! You got a grammy!” 

Namjoon chuckles, and he shifts from one foot to the other in the cold, making you realize that you have barged outside without a jacket and shoes, and you’re slowly starting to feel numb. “Not yet we didn’t, jagi. But with a little luck we will.” He winks at you. 

“Yah.” Jin throws his arm around Namjoon’s shoulders and shouts up to you, his loud voice naturally carrying to the balcony. “Don’t ruin the moment with logic, Namjoon!” 

“I was sleeping and missed it!” Hobi announces, rolling his eyes, before he motions to you and then to his face. “But when I got up, I cried! I couldn’t believe it!” 

You feel warmer just having his sunshine smile shine up to you, and looking down at the seven boys, you don’t even feel the cold anymore. You’re just glad they’re here. 

“Noona, were you excited?” Jungkook chimes in, his dark eyes barely visible beneath long bangs and a pulled down beanie, hands stuffed into the pockets of his puffy winter coat. He dances from foot to foot, as if he can’t stay still. “Did you watch it at work?” 

“Yes!” You laugh, hands gripping the icy railing, as you grin down at Jungkook. “I was on break, and when the news broke, everyone cheered for you guys!” 

“Like this?” Taehyung asks with another grin, before he starts whooping loudly and pumping his fist in the air, each yell echoing off the empty courtyard. 

You laugh, you can’t help it, as they all join their brother, shouting and calling in triumphant, making fools of themselves just to see you smile-Yoongi even joins in. 

“What is all the ruckus out here?” Your roommate appears at your elbow, her tone stern, but a teasing smile on her lips, as she leans over the railing beside you and stares down at the boys. “Will you guys shut up?” 

“Haven’t you heard?!” Taehyung crows out, shooting her a wink. “We’re grammy nominated artists!” 

“I heard, I heard.” She grins now, and slinging an arm around your shoulders, calls down to the boys, “I haven’t stopped hearing about it. (Y/N) never stops talking about you guys, you know.” 

“We know.” Jimin looks smug, and you feel a blush come across your cheeks, as you elbow your roommate in the side. “We never stop talking about her either.” 

“Gross.” Your roommate makes a face and leaves your side, headed back into the warmth of the apartment. 

You sit there for another moment, basking in the joy of simply being able to see them in person after so long, and then leaning once more out over the railing, as far as you can go, hands cold and body numb, you shout out over the courtyard as loudly as possible, for all to hear, “My boyfriends are Grammy nominated, bitches! Did you hear that? GRAMMY NOMINATED!” 

Yoongi and Namjoon look suitably embarrassed, as the rest of the boys once again start crowing out their achievements, and you can’t help the grin that goes across your face as you watch them-your boys. 

2020 had been shit. 

But they made it all worth it. 

And it was only onward and upward from here. 

Together. 

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