#i am sick of the concept of living | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

In 2020, 27% of US Tumblr users had an annual household income of over $100,000.

#i am sick of the concept of living

blazeball · 9 months

Text

parkermegan is just so good like. you were created to be a star in the sky and you failed the instant you were created. you are a failed sun and a failed son. but you are a good blaseball player. so that has to be something. your mom is even kinda proud of you for it. you even develop a rivalry of sorts with this guy. and she's so fun. has a whole thief gimmick going on. kinda cute. time passes. you start burning up, like you were meant to do in the first place. you start burning everything else up. you feel guilty but you just can't stop. and its all their fault anyway. they did this to you. you were content being a failure and then they lit you up. so they have it coming. but they are dying. you are killing them. so you get it when you're trapped in the forcefield. but that guy. megan. she's been keeping an eye on you. your rivalry is kinda dead without you being able to like, play. you're on the plate (as always) and you can't move (as always) and usually this inning would pass and you' d just sit and sit but megan. has her thief thing, right. she walks right up to you. proposes a trade, doesn't wait for your answer. and you can't help but burn everything up. everything. and megan is. well. she should be dead. and she kinda is. but she can't die, because she's stuck. that forcefield. she's burning up, and you can't stop it, and why did she even fucking take it. she's gonna burn up and you're gonna burn everything everywhere. but, again, she's stuck. she's stuck so bad, reality can't handle it. she's wiped out, which is kinda worse than just straight up dying. and then someone who looks just like her is raised from the flames. and she's the same guy she's always been, kinda, but at the same time. you do not know her at all. and she does not know you. and you killed megan, and she killed herself, and new megan ito is alive, right there. entirely different and entirely the same. you guys can even fall for one another again, but it'll never be the same. she made you kill her. she made you start killing everyone again. the whole league will burn. but you still love her in some twisted way. and maybe the person who rose from her ashes will love you too

#this is so incomprehensible i am so sick right now vut parkermegan is getting me through it. thank you parker. thank you megan #quincy.txt #also i might have straight-up made up stuff that didng happen in canon. thats fine.also may have gotten things wrong #this is what lives in my head thiugh. this concept. so its ok #blaseball #parkermegan

86 notes · View notes

indstrialomns · 3 months

Text

the new bad omens track fucking slaps and it doesn't even have the lead singer's vocals in it. lowkey genius move if you ask me

edit: saw someone pointing out how in the teaser poppy says everything starts disappearing bc she's the AI that took full control on everything and they noah did in fact disappear from the goddamn song and she's the one doing the vocal part lmfao i fucking love these guys

#like it would've never worked well with noah's vocals let's be real #also i am very intrigued by the whole “violence against nature theme” i better read whole essays on it bc i am not very good at words lol #i'm sure the lore is pretty much well explained in the comics but i choose not to buy them so i'm kind of missing out on that part #overall their approach to art and music is really sick and like it always has to have a meaning and a concept and i live for this shit #mia talks bomens

4 notes · View notes

icewindandboringhorror · 1 year

Text

Daily Log 4

Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.

Activities: Woke up late because I went back to sleep with a headache briefly, then kind of struggled to focus all day ToT

Worked more on the aforementioned tapestry/painting type of thing. I've done the base layer of painting for the main image, now I'm lining in darker outlines. I wanted to finish the center art before getting into the intricate borders. Still haven't translated the text lol..

Made a small bowl and also a little box with a lid out of more avocado pits. Still just with random nail cuticle tool things and kitchen knives, as I don't have proper carving tools.

Finished editing and proofreading the new poll adventure post!! I don't have time to post it tonight because I need to get to sleep early but.. I have it Completely 100% Ready.. finally..

Also washed the clothes I got together yesterday. Called about the bloodwork. Sent an email to a doctor.

Reviewed some writing documents to get back into my game maybe?? (basically, I started working on a visual novel type game a few years ago, decided it was a huge project so kind of put it on the backburner for a while in favor of things that were more easily finishable/tangible. then later on a game website I play (similar to neopets or something, there are collectable little creatures, etc.) there was an opportunity for me to design a pet on site, so I made a smaller shorter visual novel centered around that, where people on the site have to play the game in order to earn the pet, and I have a google form for them to answer a few short questions about it. All of the feedback is quite positive (reached 200 responses a while ago! though still only like 4 comments on the itch.io page lol.. Mandatory Form vs. Optional Comments evil showdown), but sometimes I get commentary that's really enthusiastic and inspires me to start back working on the OTHER bigger game. The small game was kind of like, a proof of concept that was safe because I had a guaranteed audience, that has helped me gain more insight for the larger one.

Anyway, since I've abandoned the Main Large Game for so long, I have to re-read and review/probably rewrite A LOT of things just to pick it back up again as A Thing I'm Actively Working On, so it's another one of those tasks that I do maybe 45 minutes of and then realize it's going to take days and days and get discouraged lol..

Notable sights: Saw two cats in windows. No clovers. It rained a little today but I didn't get to go outside and see it. One of the pieces of asparagus in the fridge was like the size of a carrot, comically overgrown downright ridiculous looking asparagus. Maybe I'll get taller after eating it.

Goals moving forward: Consistent sleep schedule. Focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with ones I have. Physical therapy exercises. Plant nasturtiums. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc.

Notable foods: ASPARAGUS AGAIN BABEY.. yeaAAAAGHHH asparagus squad !!!!!!

#just posting these publicly since it feels more like I'm doing something or easier to hold yourself accountable if you make public #declarations of goals and progress or etc. .. perhaps.. for now..#I wonder if you can eat too much asparagus. Hopefulyl I don't get sick ghjbj #Still craving lots of savory foods and soups. Also in a big big worldbuilding mood.#Not enough to actually edit the worldbuilding slideshow videos apparently since I've barely done any of that all week #>:Y #(they are different though.. actively writing wolrdbuilding is different from like.. editing recordings of you talking about it #BUT STILL...)#In an ideal world I have a little house in scotland or canada or something and am sitting cozy by a window watching it #rain whilst I eat lasagna and like a huge buffet table of every single hearty food I am having Anemia Cravings for #and my cat is sitting near me and I am furiously sketching various designs for different worldbuilding details. I have finally found #a weird hermit platonic best friend I'm compatible enough to live with and they are up in the attic doing their own weird little hobbies #but every once in a while I can call them down and tell them about an idea so we can bounce concepts off of each other. I somehow walk away #with no heartburn or stomach upset or nausea despite eating 800 plates of craving foods. It's cold and summer #does not exist anymore but not in a Catastrophic For The Earth type of way more in a like.. I am in a magical bubble #that only affects my direct vicinity and sheilds me from the temperature ever getting above 65F #(also I have a comfortable amount of money and good doctors and reasonable health etc. etc. but that's a given in any Ideal Scenario lol)#oughh... I just want to eat hearty breakfast foods and think about elves for 5 hours.. is that so much to ask #Why must... responsibilities... capitalism... limited time and no energy to focus on 100 projects at once... why these things...#ANYWAY #daily log

7 notes · View notes

ardenigh · 1 year

Note

It was fun reading about Lucky and I’ve thought of several questions about him:

1) How did Tegan die and how was he brought back?

2) What was Tegan’s life like?

3) What sort of person is Tegan’s brother?

4) What is Lucky’s daily routine?

5) Does anyone else in Tegan’s family know about Lucky? If so, how are they taking it?

6) How similar/ different are Tegan and Lucky’s personalities?

7) Besides Dmitri and the helmet, does Lucky keep anything from Tegan?

8) Would Tegan’s brother dig further into denial as time goes on or would he accept that Lucky is a person of their own?

9) Would Lucky ever be comfortable at looking at Tegan’s face?

it is once again... Lucky Hour

(thank you sm for the ask and the wait, omg! this got really ungainly really fast bc i like talking too much about my boy, so I'm dropping a cut here!)

It was fun reading about Lucky and I’ve thought of several questions about him:

1) How did Tegan die and how was he brought back?

He was brought back à la Shepard in an effort led by his older brother, a talented neurologist willing to call in every last favor he'd accrued over his career. Experimental cybernetics and nanotech to knit the corpse back together… synthetic neural weaves to shore up and repair the brain damage… The aim was to rebuild his damaged parts, resuscitate his basic autonomic functions and, in turn, facilitate the recovery and augmentation of his higher functions - all with the end goal of bringing his little brother back.

As for how Tegan died?

Motorcycle accident.

Eyes on the road, guys.

2) What was Tegan’s life like?

Probably less legitimate than most people’s - not that he ever let his mother know, back when she was alive. Ostensibly, he was just an apprentice at a tattoo parlor and liked frequenting the library. Beneath that, though, he had a familiarity with the city’s rougher crowds and lesser-known corners. A known neutral party to those interested in such things, Tegan was the king of the illegal street racing scene and a popular racer to bet on. ‘Course, being so familiar with the fast and loose life, Tegan was no stranger to witnessing other crimes from time to time. Some of his old racing buddies, the ones who know how observant he was, think that Tegan’s death was no coincidence - but they know to keep their voices down.

3) What sort of person is Tegan’s brother?

Janus… is a perfectionist, a visionary, and a brilliant academic to boot - he holds a Ph.D. in neuroscience and a master’s in software engineering, and he fully intends to broaden his wheelhouse as he goes. He’s also very much the picture of a resentful older sibling for most of his and Tegan’s upbringing, because, like - while he studied the blade, Tegan was out here goofing off and getting into trouble and still somehow being the favorite son, to salt the wound. Of course, what he lacks in close connection and open communication (and he really is lacking there), he makes up for with a ferocious tenacity. If this man sees something worth salvaging, he will immediately lock his jaws on it and he will not accept failure as an option.

He knows he should have tried more with Tegan, and he refuses to entertain the thought of never having that second chance.

4) What is Lucky’s daily routine?

For the most part, Lucky is a courier and busy with it; lets him combine his love of riding with an easy way to see new things and meet new people. He lives on lots of little catnaps interspersed with lots of running around - it’s not unusual to see him out and about early in the morning, and again in the middle of the night.

His routine is a little like this: deliver package, stop by new hole in the wall place he passed earlier, deliver package, head home to sleep and feed dmitri. head over to janus’s lab for mnemonic exercises and a vitals check. deliver package. Find a new piece of media to delve into. Take nap. Leave city limits to stargaze.

Not necessarily like that all the time, of course, or in that order.

5) Does anyone else in Tegan’s family know about Lucky? If so, how are they taking it?

Oh, no. Going down the list, it’s like - father passed when the boys were little… mother a couple years before Tegan’s accident… between Janus’s aversion to regular communication and busy student life, and also Tegan being none too keen on letting on that he’s making a living racing illegally, neither one is close with their relatives.

The most they know is that Tegan was hurt. He’s made a full recovery, though, so don’t worry, no need to visit (says Janus, stonewalling every single attempt while also frantically trying to snap his brother out of whatever delusion of identity he’s working through).

Now, Tegan's associates, on the other hand… some are very concerned about the sudden personality changes.

6) How similar/ different are Tegan and Lucky’s personalities?

They both love an adrenaline rush! They’re also both pretty social and will initiate conversations. Neither of them actively seeks romance or relationships, (‘no one in this city can handle me,’ says tegan. ‘i’ve existed for, like, three weeks,’ says lucky.) They’re also both good at compartmentalizing when they need to.

Tegan is louder, for sure, though - he’s developed an affectation of infuriating nonchalance after years of being constantly dealt his brother’s disapproval, the “why are you always like X” and “why do you never do Y.” He will not be judged, thanks, and certainly not by the guy who only communicates in criticism and academic citation.

Lucky is still chatty, but he speaks a little softer, and he pays more attention to the people around him. He skirts around people in a crowd rather than walking straight through. He’s taken by small details and twice as observant as his template, and people who knew Tegan are a little unnerved by how much more insightful he is, these days. Novelty makes him gentler, keener to listen in. He still shares Tegan’s pull to go fast at all times, though.

To sum up the main difference, though: Tegan will tank a sucker punch and grin through bloodied teeth.

Lucky will dodge.

7) Besides Dmitri and the helmet, does Lucky keep anything from Tegan?

Aside from all the basic identifying and legal assets? Tegan's apartment for one (although he does take care to partition everything that's not his own). Walking in, you would think two people were living there - only, one of them has been away for so long that an atmosphere of neglect has settled over his things. It takes a long while for Lucky to peek into Tegan’s collection of books and journals, so they’ve been getting a bit dusty. Can’t bring himself to throw anything, though. Feels disrespectful.

Tegan’s bike was completely totaled in the accident, though. Lucky would have kept it, otherwise.

8) Would Tegan’s brother dig further into denial as time goes on or would he accept that Lucky is a person of their own?

Ooh, that is a very good question, like, thematically. Janus is the reigning champion of not letting things go, tbh; it wouldn’t just take time, either. It would take a slow, methodical dismantling of everything Janus thought he knew about Tegan. It would take little, sharp instances of realization, that Tegan had passions and hobbies that he’d had no idea of. That Tegan had always looked up to him, behind the cavalier rebel front. That, really, when it came down to it, he never really knew his little brother at all.

Honestly? First he has to accept that he can’t fix this; it’s too late, and his brother is gone.

Only then will he even begin to be able to accept Lucky as his own person.

Something something Janus’s stages of grief go: anger, bargaining, denial denial denial…

9) Would Lucky ever be comfortable at looking at Tegan’s face?

Yes! I mean, very early on, he hardly even had a problem looking in the mirror - like, it was tragic and all, and of course he harbors a lot of curiosity about who this other guy was, but it was only up until people started expecting him to be Tegan that it started to cause him discomfort. Once he has a firm grasp on who he is, ‘cause he’s still feeling that out, and once certain people understand that he’s Not The Guy They Want, then he’d be able to look himself in the eyes without wanting to crawl out of his own skin a little bit.

bonus: quick doodle of tegan and lucky for a bit of feature comparison

#this did Not want to be posted lol. begging pleading Please Turn Blue @ post button #i'm going to put myself on the spot here this has been in my inbox! for A! Month! a MONTH the sheer amt of patience required #vastly gracious of u ngl thank u #nyway things r lookin up spoonswise but also I've been hecka sick for a hot minute. you know that thing where like #you mix a spoonful of honey into a cup of lime juice and then slam it?? idk if that helps like it is said to #but man if it didn't give me instant heartburn for 20 years #i am hearing the Just Drink Onion Water from all sides it is insane #i'm not even opposed to the concept i'm opposed to its tiktok popularity #like i already drink weird concoctions on the regular man i just prefer to get them sourced from the weird guy who lives three streets down #this aint about me though its about my Boy #and the now abundantly clear fact that his entire story is for me an exploration into the stages of grief and what it means to find closure #but its also abt the novelty of finding things that bring YOU joy regardless of the expectations others have. and its about grape soda #oc: tegan ''lucky'' holloway #ty for the ask!

10 notes · View notes

7amaspayrollmanager · 4 months

Text

I should stop but u know what's really bothering me is that there are people online going "these protests are not helping you're not helping the people of gaza at all with your boycotts they're meaningless" and like linking the website to some peace group in tel Aviv like "these are REAL activists who are making change" and its like- the people of gaza the medics, the journalists, every day people that I follow asked us to protest. And have said that it warms their hearts when they see the protests on their phones with whatever little connection they have. To zionists, the people of Gaza genuinely are not even active voices in the struggle unless they can exploit them if they direct their frustrations towards Hamas as they're starving bc of Israel's siege. That's how awful they are

There is a page on instagram that should have more followers and its @gaza_coalition and its a group of gazans running the page and one of their latest posts is asking people around the world to protest on new years eve. This is late but I'm still going to post this because I am really sick of people just assuming that the hours and effort that palestinians and allies in cities around the world are putting into organizing protests and boycotts for the people of Gaza "don't actually care for Palestinians." As a palestinian get fucked this has been the greatest solidarity we have ever seen on a global stage and the people of gaza need boycotts, need the protests, need the direct action

ID/ Direct your efforts towards organizing demonstrations on New Years Eve, demonstrate in front of American embassies, key decision-making centres, and establishments of involved actors and entities to exert pressure on the United States, its allies, and all those complicit in the ongoing massacres in Gaza.

GLOBAL CALL FOR SOLIDARITY PROTESTING GENOCIDE ON NEW YEAR'S EVE CEASEFIRE NOW OPEN THE RAFAH CROSSING AND LIFT THE BRUTAL SIEGE IMPOSED ON GAZA

After an excruciating 82-day period marred by a genocidal war targeting the Palestinians in Gaza, the Security Council issued a hollow resolution, stripped of any substantive reference to an urgently needed ceasefire, succumbing to American pressure and veto. This cowardly act not only granted lsrael the audacity to persist in its slaughter of Gaza's populace, but it also exposed a reprehensible collusion within the Arab and international community.

Consequently, we vehemently refuse to accept the celebration of the New Year while cannons persist in obliterating families, maiming and killing innocent children. We call to mobilize our collective strength on this momentous occasion, transforming it into a global protest against the unrelenting massacres and their supporters. Since the initial moments of this aggression, the United States, along with its allies in Israel, has fiercely rejected any prospects of a ceasefire.

Many governments have conspired against reaching a ceasefire, perpetuating their historically hostile policies towards Palestinian rights. This culmination of tyranny was exemplified by the article by the Foreign Ministers of Germany and Britain, characterised by insufferable conceit and a gross distortion of facts. The cessation of aggression and the very notion of a ceasefire are derided as a "blow to peace," as if this imaginary concept can only be achieved at the expense of the lives and dignity of our martyred children.

For a brighter future, humanity must unite in the face of this rampant tyranny, a relentless affront to the sanctity of life and the principles of justice.

End ID

1K notes · View notes

jiminrings · 1 month

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

637 notes · View notes

hazbinwhoree · 2 months

Note

omg im INFATUATED with this guy!! is it possible to request for a fallen angel reader x Adam concept? i've had that in mind for sometime now,,,smut or not is up to your choice! i'm perfectly happy with anything!

Fallen Angel

(Name) had done the one thing that landed angels a ticket straight to Hell. She asked questions. “Don’t ask too many questions,” Adam had told her. She clearly hadn’t listened.

They were at her trial, and Adam felt sick to his stomach as Sera read the verdict.

“For treason, the punishment is The Fall.”

“I didn’t commit treason!” (Name) cried as two exorcists closed in on her. “Please, Sera!” Sera looked away, troubled. She hated her job sometimes.

An exorcist kicked her to the floor while Sera opened a portal that looked down upon Hell. (Name) cried and begged and Adam had to look away as her wings were brutally torn off. Her scream would haunt his nightmares.

He looked back just in time to make eye contact with (Name) before she was thrown into the portal. Adam was doubting the greatness of Heaven.

Angels weren’t supposed to interact with The Fallen, but Adam couldn’t stay away from (Name), even if she wasn’t in Heaven anymore. With his status, no one questioned his coming and going from Hell.

The first time, right after (Name) had fallen, Adam found her in a ditch made from the impact of her wingless body hitting the ground. She looked different. Horns replaced her halo, a sharp tail replaced her wings. Her skin was more ashen and less lively. Adam hated seeing her like that.

But he had to get used to it because that’s what she was now. She was a Fallen, a demon. But Adam loved her so much that he forgot all previous prejudice towards The Fallen and demons.

He visited her once a week to avoid suspicion from Sera. He watched her settle into her new life and even work her way into becoming an overlord. That took Adam aback. In Heaven, (Name) had always been adamantly opposed to one owning someone else’s soul. Now she owned twenty.

They were sitting in (Name)’s shitty apartment during one weekly visit, when (Name) suddenly blurted out, “Why don’t you touch me anymore?”

Adam was gagged. “What?”

“You don’t touch me anymore. You don’t hug me, you don’t hold me, you don’t fuck me. Is it because of what I am now?”

The question broke Adam’s heart. It was true, he hadn’t touched her since he held her right after her Fall. It wasn’t really intentional, it had been almost subconscious. But it had obviously been on her mind and bothering her for a while.

“Babe, it’s not like that–” “Then what’s it like?”

Adam sighed. “I have no issue touching you. Swear it.”

“So touch me.”

Adam stood from his seat on the couch and walked over to (Name). He got up in her personal space, standing toe to toe, and he towered over her. She opened her arms expectantly, and Adam gently pulled her into his.

(Name) let out a long, shaky breath, and Adam realized just how much she needed this. His hands gently brushed over the scars on her back, exposed with her outfit. (Name) sniffled. “Are you crying?” Adam asked. “You pussy.” (Name) laughed through her tears. “Shut up.”

Adam grinned. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this. But of course, he had to go and ruin the moment.

“So what was this about me not fucking you anymore?”

#hazbin adam #adam x reader #fallen angel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #x reader #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin niffty #hazbin lucifer

600 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 4 months

Text

Title: Accidental mating

Fandom: criminal minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Chapter: one

Warnings: male reader, omega verse, mpreg, enemies to lovers, Omega male reader

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(name) woke to voices, muffled and distant as he snuggled into the nest, cum leaking from him as he stared off "Hey, Hun" a female voice spoke out and (name) focused his bleary eyes to see Prentiss crouching before him "You handled this well, kid" she said softly "think you can get up?" She asked and (name) shakily stood up, hips burning and Hickeys and Bite marks everywhere "Wow, you two went at each other" she teased and (name) glared, though he wouldn't admit it it was one of the better fucks he had in a while.

(Name) walked out into the living room to see the team, the assistant groaning in embarrassment as his boss swiftly checked him over worried "I should have checked the calendar, his ruts next week-- well it was supposed to be next week" he said worried and (name) just sighed "can we just pretend this didn't happen? It was an accident, one was claimed and I frankly just wanna go home and take a nap" he said simply, the team looked worried, Spencer refusing to make eye contact with the Omega that he had speared on his cock a few hours ago, he couldn't believe he accidentally shared a rut with (name).

The two were constantly at each other's throats, bickering about something or another--- frankly, the team thought they fought like a married couple. (Name) and Reid avoided one another like it was the plague, neither wanting to deal with the other or even thinking of bringing up what they call the "incident" and giving looks if anyone dared bring it up.

"Again?" Prentiss asked confused and (name) sighed as he sipped water "Yeah, I think I'm coming down with something..." He didn't wanna be sick, it was the last thing he needed "Well make sure to rest up" she said as (name) went to bring a coffee to hotch, Prentiss quickly went to Penelope"ok I might be wrong but I think (name) might be--'"--pregnant? Oh absolutely, he could barely stomach the smell of (drink) and he drinks it as he breathes it" the hacker said not even surprised at the concept of pregnancy, it had been weeks since the "incident" and the two worried about how it would go, it was too late for him to get an abortion this late.

"How do we bring this up?" Prentiss whispered as Morgan came to drop off papers to Penelope "Bring what up?"

"(Name)s pregnancy to (name)"

"/what/" the three halted as Spencer looked horrified at their words "he's pregnant?!" The Alpha did the math in his head before rushing to find the Omega "Reid!" Morgan tried to stop him but it was too late, the brunette was gone.

"(Name)!" Reid hissed out as he found the Omega alone in the breakroom, working on some stuff as Hotch had a meeting and his desk was in his office "What Ried" the other man said disinterested as he looked up to the seething Alpha "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?! Why did you keep it?!"

"Ried what the hell are you talking about, I'm not pregnant"

"What?"

"As far as I'm aware I'm not pregnant..."

"Thank god, fucking thank god!"

"I haven't done a test or anything but I don't think I am, wow so relieved not to parent with me are we?"

Ried rolled his eyes before speaking "Well now that that's sorted--" but I should take a test... I have been nauseous..."

"Pardon?"

"It's better to be safe"

Three pregnancy tests stood before them, a timer for each as (name) fidgeted, playing calm but Spencer could read him. He was nervous. Anxious even.

"If I am... Pregnant, you don't have to take custody, no child support or anything" (name) 's voice was barely above A whisper "I know co-parenting with me would be the last thing you would ever want" Spencer looked at him confused but remembered his reaction earlier, the Omega couldn't break away from the sticks as the timer went off. "Pregnant...pregnant... Pregnant" (name) 's voice was watery as he realized that yes, he was pregnant.

Pregnant with the most pretentious asshole he ever met.

"I'll take responsibility"

"What?" (Name) was on the verge of tears as his emotions were building "I'll take responsibility, they're my kid too"

"A-alright..." (Name) whispered as he shakily took the pregnancy tests put them in the plastic bag from the store and walked out, currently figuring out what he was going to do, he was an unmarried and not mated pregnant Omega, he would need a bigger apartment... Oh god, he needed to get things in order...

(--e), (--me)... (Name)!" (Name) jolted out of his thoughts as Hotch looked at him worried, his assistant looking like he had gone through hell as he tried getting back into a work mindset "O-oh! Sorry sir!" He said nervously and he was so thankful to be wearing scent blockers so the whole floor didn't reek of anxiety and panic" Are you alright?" He asked with genuine worry and (name) swollowed "I-I... Could I talk to you in your office?"

Spencer came out of the staff room looking panicked as he spotted Morgan and rushed to him "I have a problem" he said rushing as he led Morgan to an empty corner "What's up pretty boy?" The other alpha was worried for his close friend "I-I got (name) pregnant, I fucked up" Morgan had a feeling this was coming, his best friend panicked and stressed "Hey, what happened between you two was an accident but what you two gotta do now is figure out how to not go at each other's throats for this kid" he said softly to the genius who looked even more stressed on how he was going to interact with (name).

"That baby is gonna need two functional parents, especially during the pregnancy, I'm not saying be besties just... Stop pointing out every mistake he makes" something Reid did specifically to annoy (name), "maybe be nice to him... You may see good results"

"I'm pregnant" (name) said barely above a whisper and Hotch looked beside himself, guilt evident on his face "I'm so sorry... If I hadn't sent you--"Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted"

"You are the best boss I have ever had and if I hear you blame yourself for something no one could have expected, I will throw my shoe at you" (name) said simply and the Alpha chuckled "You have been hanging around Garcia to much" the room felt lighter and (name) looked at him seriously "would you be a godparent? Over these years working with you, I have seen you as a very close friend and it would mean the world to me"

"(Name), I would be honored to be that pup godfather"

(Name) spent the week during his free time looking for apartments, sighing as he was rejected time after time, a pregnant single Omega wasn't something many renters wanted to rent out to...

"What are you doing?" Spencer raised an eyebrow at the other who glanced up "Apartment hunting, I need space for the pup" (name) was just starting to show slightly, the Omega putting plans in motion for his pup and how his life will project "I was wondering... Do you want to join me for my first ultrasound?" (Name) asked softly, the Omega extending an olive branch to the Alpha... "You want me there?" Spencer asked softly and (name) sighed "They're your pup too"

"Y-yeah... I guess"

"My appointment is at 2:45 pm on Tuesday, planned parenthood, if you're late I won't let you come to another one"

"Fair enough"

#criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #omega male reader #omega reader #omegaverse #male reader #x male reader

473 notes · View notes

satoruxx · 6 months

Note

sorry to go feral in your inbox but ghostface!miguel who is crazy about you (in a good way I promise) and does everything in his power to protect you and keep those horrible college guys from your classes away from you but you only know him as the mysterious gravelly voice who calls you every night that you’ve grown fond of as your personal lullaby-

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader | 1.5k words summary: ghostface!miguel, stalking, possessive miguel, violence, death, killing, obsessive behavior, suggestive, killer miguel ofc, reader is WAY too trusting, miggy just loves you so much !! rheya’s note: NONNIE BABES YOU GENIUS !! he absolutely would oh my fucking god. i am so normal about this (going feral) i was literally squealing while writing this it was rough. why is this concept hot? do i need therapy? probably. anyways he's a creep in this but in a good way? (the way this ask literally got me inspired to draw ghostface!miguel UGH) anyways ENJOY !!

miguel isn't a bad guy. he's not. he's one of the good guys actually, a hero. he's always been a hero.

it's not his fault that there are some assholes in the world that are fucked up, preying on innocent people who just want to live their lives.

sweet, innocent people like you.

how a girl as sweet and precious as you managed to get yourself surrounded by such horrible people is beyond him. and you're so nice too, always assuming that nobody has it out for you or that everyone has some good in them. with that mindset, you were just asking to be put in danger.

so, being the hero that he is, it's his obligation to look out for you, right?

it starts off quietly. he doesn't make an effort to connect with you, choosing to watch you from the shadows as he silently tracks your day. miguel is nothing if not observant, mentally noting every single person you interact with or looks your way. and if they get a little too close, a little too comfortable? well, then he'd just have to take care of that for you, wouldn't he?

he hates that one flirty coworker of yours, always leaning a little too close to you and chatting like he's your fucking boyfriend. miguel can see the little crease of discomfort in your brows whenever that coworker is nearby, and he decides that he hates that expression on you. but you feel fine afterwards, because when your coworker goes missing the next day, you send a quick thank you to the heavens, trying to push down your guilt.

he finds out that you try to make some extra money by tutoring a guy at your school. and when miguel watches the two of you through the windows of the library he feels hatred like no other run through his veins because he doesn't like how this guy looks at you. that asshole probably didn't even need tutoring to begin with, using it as a pathetic excuse to get close to you. what a fucking joke. but you don't have to stress about tutoring anymore because the next day you get a text saying the kid has transferred schools. you never hear from him again.

oh but the worst ones are the ones who ask you out on dates. they don't even know how lucky they are, getting to see you all dolled up and pretty for them, only to absolutely destroy your hopes for a good time. it makes miguel so angry he sees red. every fucking time one of those losers makes a comment that has your shoulders slumping with disappointment, a miserable frown on your pretty lips by the end of the night, he feels sick to his stomach. but he hopes that when you see your date's body on the news the next morning, you won't be so disappointed anymore.

only after watching over you for a while does miguel decide to finally talk to you, finding the perfect hiding spot to watch you through your window as you pick up your ringing phone. he has to stop himself from groaning because your voice sounds so much sweeter when it's in his ear, smooth and precious as you ask who it is. and he can't resist playing with you, dying to hear more as he sighs behind his mask.

"tell me your name and maybe i'll tell you mine." miguel answers, gravelly voice practically purring through the speaker. he can see the confusion on your face as you pace your kitchen, reaching for a bag of chips before walking back to your couch and settling in to watch a movie. he hears the screams from the tv and bites his lip. "what's that noise?"

"a movie." you reply, the expression on your face getting less guarded as you listen to his voice.

"a scary movie?" he asks, leaning against the edge of the roof so that he's got the perfect view of you. you take a chip and pop it in your mouth, chewing quietly, and he follows the movement of your lips with eager eyes.

"mhm," you nod, and miguel thinks it's so fucking cute the way you move your head even though you think he can't see you.

"you like scary movies?" he asks with a hum, and you voice out a yes. his eyes remain hooded and attentive as he effortlessly continues the conversation. "you got a favorite, sweetheart?"

he catches the way you melt under his sweet words, and miguel decides then and there that he's never letting you go. he listens to your answers with a grin, tucking his knife away and watching you animatedly talk to him for the remainder of the night.

and the rest is history.

you tell him about a guy who's bothering you? he'll bury him. someone made you cry? he'll break their legs. your date stood you up? he'll stab them so many times he loses count. and then after all of that, he'll call you like he always does, rumbling honeylike words into his phone as he casually watches you from behind his mask.

"and how was your day today, sweetheart?" he'll drawl out, late at night as he perches on the neighboring roof to your apartment. with the way he's angled he can perfectly see the innocent little smile on your face as you settle in bed, talking on the phone like you're not scared of him at all.

and you shouldn't be, because he'd never hurt you, of course.

some nights you'll giddily tell him about the most exciting parts of your day, smiling and giggling until you fall asleep without a care in the world. but on the nights when you complain or whine about somebody that's made you upset, wronged you, or god forbid, showed interest in you? well, those are the nights miguel has to grit his teeth and clench his fists, trying to control the flare of pure rage that courses through him. he lulls you to sleep with sweet words, trying to keep his cool but still vibrating with anger because who the fuck do they think they are, getting near you like that?

"don't worry, pretty girl," he sighs into the phone, twirling his knife between his fingers. "i'm sure they'll stop bothering you soon enough."

and they do. but you being the precious oblivious little thing you are, assume that you're just lucky. a guardian angel, you had said, was watching over you. miguel had just chuckled into the phone, deep and rich as he smirked at you from the roof once again.

"guardian angel? well lucky you, huh?" he had asked, feeling all too pleased with himself. you agreed with a nod.

well, if that's what you wanted to see him as he had no problem playing guardian angel for you.

and no he doesn't even want you to find out, because the last thing he wants to do is scare you. no no, he'd much rather protect you from the shadows, eliminating every single threat could ever harm a hair on your pretty little head. his reward comes in the form of you living your life, carefree smiles and all.

and granted he feels much more rewarded when he calls you late at night, deep voice teasing with an underlying sense of possessiveness as he speaks to you about anything and everything. he doesn't understand why and how you decided that he was safe to talk to, but you do, laughing and sighing into the phone until you've dozed off.

and if you've accidentally left your windows open, well of course being the gentleman he is, miguel will close them for you. but not before he stands at your bedside, raising his mask to watch you sleep peacefully. such a pretty little thing, so sweet and gentle. and after pulling himself away from your sleeping form, he quietly shuts the window behind him, yanking his mask back down with a smirk because he doesn't want anyone else to see you all vulnerable like that.

you were too trusting to begin with, but you trusting him is alright. after all he's the only one who's been looking out for you. anyone else tries to get near you and he'll have no choice but to tear their limbs off. they could be a threat to you, right?

but that's why he'll never let you out of his sight.

you're his after all.

575 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

omaelse

becausecards

Because Cards

giantspinach

things change

bikedundee-blog

Bike.Dundee

eco-skeleton

doodles