#i say its time these guys get some HEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

takemebackto-eden · 5 months

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EM ‘Hey Stranger’ • Chapter Twenty Six - Euclid

Chapter summary: Here comes Vecna.

content warnings: mentions of mental health (depression), mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of parental abuse / PTSD.

A/N: this chapter might be a bit confusing as its in two different locations (regular Hawkins trailer park and the upside down version of the trailer park) so I hope it makes sense!!! Also, the song isn't from the 80's but fuck it fits perfectly with the scene, its also my favourite song atm and would 100% bring me back from the upside down if I heard it lmao.

I really recommend listening to the song at the same time when reading this chapter so you get a feel for the vibe I'm going for but its totally optional! Any excuse for me to talk about Sleep Token lol.

link to song: Youtube link to Sleep Token - Euclid / can also be found at the Hey Stranger Playlist (which contains all the songs used in this series! :)

Friday / 1pm / Eddie’s trailer / 4 days left

Nina: “Can Ozzy and Garfield stay with Sheryl, Robin and I for a while?”

Eddie: [confused] “Sure, why?”

Nina: [muttering quietly] “Vecna might get them if they stay here.”

Eddie: [amused] “Don’t think Vecna feasts on kittens, sweetheart.”

Nina: [blushing, cute] “Just to be on the safe side.” [she picks them up and puts them in their carrier] “Don’t want anything bad happening to the children.”

Eddie: [looking at Nina fondly, amused] “So it’s fine if Vecna takes your soul and snaps your bones like a twig, but kittens are where you draw the line?”

Nina: [tickling Garfield’s chin] “They’re our boys!” [looking at Eddie, smiling] “I just want to make sure they’re safe.” [teasingly] “Glad to see you’ve got your sense of humour back, you had me worried for a while there.”

Eddie: [rolling his eyes, voice soft] “They’re going to be fine, and you’re going to be fine.”

Nina: [unsure] “I know. Just to be on the safe side.”

Eddie: [sighing] “All packed?”

Nina: [going through her draw in Eddie’s dresser] “Nearly, yeah. I’m sorry about this, Eddie.”

Eddie: “Don’t apologise, I want you to feel safe. It’s not safe here for you at the moment.”

Nina: [shy] “Funny, this is usually my safe place.” [cautiously] “You’re gonna stay with me, right?”

Eddie: “Always.”

Nina: [picking up a tape from the drawer] “What’s this?”

Eddie: [blushing] “Erm, that was meant to be a surprise. I was making you a mixed tape. It’s not finished yet.”

Nina: [grinning] “You always said you were going to make me one.” [teasing] “I can’t wait to hear it.” [joking] “If it’s finished before my bones get crumpled like a piece of paper.”

Eddie: [grinning] “See, we’re both making jokes about it now.” [Nina smiles at him] “That means that we’re definitely going to beat Vecna.”

Nina: [sarcastically, bitter] “Actually it means we both have really healthy coping mechanisms and good luck in our lives.”

Eddie: [wrapping his arms around her waist from behind] “My luck has turned I’ll have you know, the day I met you.”

Steve: “Ugh, get a room honestly, Hawkins is about to get blown to smithereens and Nina crinkled like a leaf and you’re both still groping each other.”

Eddie: [grinning] “See, even Steve’s got a sense of humour about it.” [Nina rolls her eyes]

Nancy: “You guys find anything?”

Nina: “Nah, nothing. Just packing some stuff to take home.”

Eddie: “I’ll take them to the car.” [he picks up Nina’s bags, kisses her cheek and leaves the room]

Robin: “You okay, honey?”

Nina: [solemn] “Yeah, I guess.” [frustrated] “Just wish we knew what we were up against.”

Robin: “I know.” [wrapping an arm around her, resting her head on Nina’s shoulder] “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Eddie: “Ready to go?”

Nina: “Yup! Oh wait, I forgot to get something from the bathroom.”

Eddie: “You can say condoms, Nina, we’re all adults here!”

Nina: [appalled] “Eddie! What the hell!” [muttering to herself] “And why would anyone keep condoms in the bathroom? Dumbass.”

Jonathan: “Why are you talking about condoms- Nina? Are you okay?”

Nina is looking at the mirror in the bathroom.

Nina: [cautiously, afraid] “Can- Can you guys see that?”

Robin: [coming to Nina’s side] “See what?” [looking in the mirror] “There’s nothing there.”

Nina: [pointing at the mirror] “There’s something in the mirror.”

Nancy: “There’s nothing in the mirror, Nina.”

The lights in the bathroom begin to flicker and the group gasps, the flickering lights now spreading to the whole trailer. The lightbulbs begin buzzing and the electronics turning on and off; the microwave pinging, television crackling static and Eddie’s amp whining.

Nina: [going pale] “I can see it, he’s right there.” [turning to Eddie who is stood facing her] “Eddie, can you see-“

Eddie’s hand reaches out to touch Nina, and as his hand rests on her arm, Eddie’s body disappears in a puff of dark smoke, as does Robin’s, Steve’s, Nancy and Jonathan’s. The trailer begins to swirl and furniture evaporates into dusty black clouds, Nina falls backwards in fright. Where Eddie once stood now stands the black figure from the mirror, it’s long claws reaching out for her.

Vecna: “Nina….”

Nina screams and scrambles on the floor, desperately trying to skate away from the tall figure looming before her.

Eddie: [worried] “Nina, what’s wrong?” [he goes to reach for her again and she shuffles back in fright, he looks around at everyone, scared] “Guys, what’s happening?”

Steve: “It’s happening again, he’s here.” [looking around, frantic] “We need music!”

Robin: “Nina, can you hear us? We’re here, don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there!” [She reaches to touch Nina and Nina screams, backing away on the floor, hitting her head off the wall as she presses herself against it] “Somebody find some god damn music!”

Eddie: [rushing around the trailer] “Damn it Wayne, why yesterday of all days did you decide to tidy?!”

Nina: [blinking furiously, shaking] “Stop, make it stop!”

The figure transforms into Nina’s Mom and she walks slowly towards Nina, crouching down to her height.

Nina’s Mom: “Going somewhere, Nina?”

Nina: [frightened] “Oh god, please no!”

Robin: [shaking Nina’s shoulders] “Nina! Wake up, wake up!” [she clicks her fingers in front of Nina’s face, Nina looks straight through her, staring at nothing in the middle of the living room]

Nina’s Mom extends her hand to stroke Nina’s hair, Nina flinches with fright.

Nina’s Mom: “No need to be scared, it’s just me, your mom, Nina.”

Nina: [whimpering] “Leave me alone!”

Eddie: [pained] “Nina, can you hear me? It’s me, it’s Eddie!”

Nina’s Mom’s hand leaves her hair to wrap around Nina’s throat, Nina panics.

Nina: “Not again, please, no!” [Nina stands and runs, hurtling fiercely out of the trailer door, tripping over her feet and landing on the wet ground with a thump] “Please, not now!”

Eddie runs after Nina as she sprints out the door.

Eddie: “Nina! Nina, wait, it’s just us, Nina!” [he catches up with her as she is standing motionless on the grass outside the trailer, her back to Eddie] “Nina?” [he grabs her shoulder] “Nina?” [he moves to stand in front of her and he pales] “It's happening again. Oh fuck, it’s happening again! Guys!”

Nina is standing completely still, her eyes white and bloodshot, her body and mind unresponsive.

In Nina’s mind it is just her and Vecna; the trailer park she’s stood in now dark and cold, the only light shining from the moon. The trailer park is deserted, the howling of the wind the only noise in their encounter.

Venca: “I’ve been waiting for you, Nina.”

Nina: [in the upside down] “Let me out of here, please, I don’t want to be here!”

Vecna: [approaching her] “You can’t run from me.”

Nina: [muttering to herself] “I’m gonna fucking try.” [she begins to sprint in the other direction, carefully weaving in between the trailers]

Vecna: “You’re good at running, aren’t you Nina?” [Nina continues to run, turning her head occasionally in fear to see Vecna creeping slowly behind her] “Running from your feelings like you did in the woods that day,” [Nina remembers running in the forest, when Eddie found her bloody and crying] “Running from your mom in California,” [Nina remembers sitting in the airport for hours, watching the minutes on the clock tick by] “Running from letting Eddie and Robin into your life.” [Nina stops in her tracks, stunned] “But you can’t outrun this.”

Nina: “I’m not like that anymore.” [her bottom lip quivers] “I’m better, I’m fixed now. I’m not running anymore.”

Vecna: [bitter, venomous] “Fixed? How could you be fixed?” [condescending] “Deep down you’re still that broken little girl who cries herself to sleep at night.” [walking towards her menacingly] “You think that I don’t see you? See your pain?”

Nina: “Stop.”

Eddie: [shouting back to the trailer] “Get me some fucking music, now!” [looking at Nina, terrified] “Please don’t go, Nina.”

Vecna: “It could be so easy Nina, just take my hand and I’ll make it all go away.” [Nina begins to tear up] “You think I don’t see how you hid in your room, praying it all would end-“

Nina: “Stop, please!”

Vecna: “-Praying that one day your mother would push you just that little bit harder, hurt you that little bit more-“

Nina: [desperate] “Please! I don’t want this!”

Vecna: “-So that she’d put you out of your misery-“

Nina: [clutching her chest, squeezing her eyes closed] “Stop it, get out of my head!”

Vecna: “- So that you wouldn’t have to do the inevitable-“

Nina: [panicking] “It wasn’t like that, I-“

Robin: “Something! Anything that plays music! Right fucking now!”

Steve and Jonathan are rushing around the trailer looking for anything to play music on, a radio, Eddie’s record player, but their minds and hands are shaking with fear. Nancy stands next to Robin, both of them watching Nina as she hangs lifelessly in the air.

Steve pulls the stereo off the wall in the living room, chipping the wallpaper and breaking the power socket in the process, and plugs the stereo in in the nearest plug socket by the open front door. He turns the volume up full but no sound comes out.

Back in regular Hawkins, Nina’s feet lift off the ground; her body now at least twenty feet in the air, arms spread out.

Eddie: [pained, reaching for Nina; fingertips only inches away from her foot as she levitates above him] “Nina! Nina, please! Come back to me!”

Steve: [slapping the stereo angrily] “Why isn’t it fucking working?”

Nancy: “Give it here!” [She fiddles with the buttons, with the switch, no sound comes out]

Steve: [sarcastically] “Oh yeah Nance, I forgot about your ability to manipulate electricity!”

Eddie: “Hurry up guys!” [to himself, watching Nina] “Holy shit.”

Nancy: [thinking out loud] “The electricity… he’s manipulating the electricity.”

Vecna: “Nobody knows how long you lay there on your surfboard, praying nobody would find you, hoping you’d float out to sea and be done with it.”

Nina: [screaming, distressed] “it wasn’t like that! I can’t do this! Get out, get out!”

Vecna: “I could make it so easy for you Nina, it’d be like floating right up to heaven. We both know you’ve thought about it.”

Nina: [screaming] “Get out of my head!”

Robin: [watching helplessly as Nina floats in the air, her helplessness turning into determination] “Oh, fuck this!” [Robin storms into the trailer, rummaging through the clutter on the sides, finding a mixtape on Eddie’s desk]

Robin runs back to the living room and puts the mixtape in the wireless battery radio from the kitchen and turns the volume up to the max.

Eddie: “Robin! That’s not finished yet! I-“

Robin: [shouting] “I don’t care! We need music!” [Robin pushes play on the player]

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac begins playing on the speaker.

Eddie: [running to Robin’s side] “Wait, not that one!”

Robin: [stressed, exasperated] “Eddie! I don’t think which song matters right now! I’m trying to save my best friend's life!”

Eddie: “That song makes her sad, not that one!” [Eddie takes the player and skips a few songs] “This one, trust me!” [to himself] “This will bring her back.”

Euclid by Sleep Token begins playing on the speaker, Eddie holds it in his hands like a boombox and raises it in the air.

Nina crouches on the floor, hands over her ears and eyes closed tightly shut when she begins to hear music.

Just run it back, give me five more minutes,

I am thick tar on the inside burning.

Nina: [softly] “Eddie.” [she opens her eyes] “Eddie? Robin?” [peering around] “Guys?”

Robin: [shouting in the distance] “Nina! Come back to us! Follow the music!”

I got a ghost in the hallway grinning and a heavy head that won’t stop turning.

Nina: [standing up, looking around desperately] “Where are you guys? I can’t see you!”

Vecna: [approaching her] “You won’t get away Nina-“ [Nina begins to run] “Nina!”

If my fate is a bad collision and my mind is an open highway,

Give me the twilight two-way vision,

Give me one last ride on a sunset skylane.

Nina: [sprinting, out of breath] “I’m coming! I’m coming guys! Where are you? Wait for me!”

Call me when you get the chance,

I can feel the walls around me closing in.

As Nina runs through the trailer park, ghostly figures of people from her past stand in her way.

Nina’s Mom: “You can’t run away forever, Nina.”

Nina: [pushing the figure out the way, it dissolves in her hands] “Go away!”

Carly: “You were a terrible friend, Nina.”

Jessie: “I only stayed with you because I felt bad for you.”

Nina: [annoyed, still searching for the gateway] “Oh, fuck off!”

Just running forward, a life like wires,

I see the past on the empty ceiling.

Robin: [faintly] “Nina! We’re right here!”

Steve: “Come on Nina!”

Eddie: [pleading] “Baby, please, I love you, don’t leave me now.”

I play along with the life signs anyway,

But hope to god you don’t know this feeling.

Nina’s Mom: “You were a mistake, a constant disappointment.”

Jessie: “You are unlovable, Nina. Who would want you?”

Yet in reverse you were all my symmetry,

A parallel I would lay my life on,

So if your wings won’t find you heaven,

I will bring it down like an ancient bygone.

Nina whimpers as she runs, running in circles at this point, running away from Vecna. She stops to catch her breath.

Vecna: “You can’t leave us Nina, we’re a part of you now.”

Nina turns around startled, seeing Vecna’s tall figure stand before her.

Vecna: [raising his hand to her face, making her squirm and fight] “Join us Nina, we’ll make you whole.”

Call me when you get the time,

I just need to leave this part of me behind.

Nina: [crying, desperate] “This isn’t how it’s supposed to end, please! Let me go!”

Eddie: [faintly] “Nina! Nina please, I’m right here!”

Nina: [finally seeing the gateway behind Vecna, eyelids fluttering with emotion, whispered] “I tried, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

Do you remember me, when the rain gathers?

And do you still believe that nothing else matters?

Nina remembers lying on the couch with Eddie on the stormy night after his gig at the Hideout, how safe and peaceful she felt.

She remembers playing in her welly boots in overflowing puddles with Robin in the summer.

Vecna: “They’re better off without you Nina, give in to me.”

Nina: [softly] “It’s not enough.” [looking at Vecna] “It’s not enough.”

Vecna: [proudly] “That’s it Nina, join us, and soon you’ll be free.”

For me, it’s still the autumn leaves,

These ancient canopies we used to lay beneath.

Nina is reminded of the gang carving pumpkins before Halloween, of her and Eddie watching Ozzy and Garfield play in the piles of orange leaves in the trailer park, of cosying on the couch with Eddie and the gang on their weekly movie nights.

Nina: [being raised from the ground, tears flowing down her cheeks] “Just a glimpse of them is not enough.”

By now, the night belongs to you,

This bough has broken through,

And I must be someone new.

Nina is reminded of the night in the caravan with Eddie, the song they danced to, the flicker of the fairy lights and the twinkle of the stars and meteors above, the way he looked at her with so much love and devotion.

Vecna: [claw-like fingers only inches from her face] “You’re mine now.”

Nina: [looking at the gateway] “It’s not enough.” [determined, kicking back against Vecna] “Fuck this!” [Vecna tumbled backwards, dropping Nina to the floor] “I’m coming!”

No, for me, (just run it back give me five whole minutes, I am thick tar on the inside burning)

Vecna: “No!”

Nina: [scrambling to her feet] “I’m coming!”

It’s still the autumn leaves (I’ve got a ghost in the hallway grinning and a heavy head that won’t stop turning)

Eddie: “Nina! I’m right here baby!”

These ancient canopies (if my fate is a bad collision and my mind is an open highway)

Robin: “Nina! We’re waiting for you! We’re right here!”

We used to lay beneath (give me the twilight two-way vision, give me one last ride on a sunset skylane)

Nina: [hurtling towards the gateway] “I’m coming, Robin!”

(Just running forward, a life like wires,

As I see the past on an empty ceiling)

Jonathan: “You can do it Nina!”

Nancy: “Come back to us!”

The night belongs to you,

Eddie: “Please baby, please. Come home.”

(I play along with the lies and anyway,

But hope to god you don’t know this feeling)

Nina: “I’m coming!”

This bough has broken through,

Vecna watches Nina as she races through the dark trailer park.

Yet I’m reverse you were all my symmetry, a parallel I would lay my life on,

Nina crashes through the gateway.

I must be someone new,

Nina’s body lets out a loud gasp as she drops from the sky to the floor.

So if your wings won’t find you heaven,

I will bring it down like an ancient bygone.

Eddie: [pulling Nina’s weak, shaking body onto his lap] “Nina? Nina, can you hear me?”

The whites of your eyes turn black in the low light,

Nina: [softly] “Eddie…”

In turning devine, we tangle endlessly,

Eddie: [crying] “Oh, Nina!” [he pulls her tightly into him, his face in her neck]

Like lovers entwined,

Eddie: [choked] “I thought I lost you.”

I know for the last time,

Nina: [breathless, panting, pale] “Not getting rid of me that easily, Munson.”

You will not be mine,

Eddie: [clutching her desperately] “I hope not.”

So give me the night, the night, the night.

Comment to be added to tag list, please leave a comment if you liked this chapter! :)

➡️ Chapter Twenty Seven - Follow You

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voxofthevoid · 5 months

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I would love to get a closer look at your thoughts about choso's characterization with #09. (That is the correct title, right?) The pieces you've given us of your viewpoint of him are very chewy.

It is! I'm delighted you remembered the name 💜 And it's great to know you find those bits chewy.

The thing with characterization is that I tend to figure it out via writing. My first JJK fic helped me nail Gojou, the second Yuuji, and prophetic self-destruction is how I dug into Chōsō. IIRC, I started writing this shortly after everyone regrouped after the Megumikuna incident to unseal Gojou. In addition to Chōsō's...everything regarding Yuuji, something that really caught my eye was the implication that Yuuji ate (or will eat) the remaining Death Paintings and that Chōsō was alright, even glad in a roundabout way, with it:

(Side note: That last panel, sweet jesus. Gege can't draw Chōsō looking at Yuuji with that expression and not expect me to go feral about it.)

Between these scenes and the ones at Shibuya, there's a lot to bite into. Chōsō exhibits an immense degree of devotion toward Yuuji, and brocon jokes aside, it isn't a healthy attitude. This isn't a complaint; no one in JJK is sane, and the ones who are don't seem very interesting. Chōsō seems to have made his brothers his raison d'etre; it's there from the first scenes with Esō and Kechizu, and it only becomes more obvious when you see how quickly and intensely he latches onto Yuuji. And fair enough! The guy spent 150 years as a sentient shrunken fetus. There are worse coping mechanisms. I also like that his attachment and adoration toward Yuuji don't manifest as over-protectiveness or possessiveness. Like I said above, it's devotion that characterizes Chōsō—but it's also somewhat one-sided.

Yuuji seems fond of Chōsō at the current point in canon, but there's still a clear imbalance there. Despite telling the others to think of Chōsō as his big brother, I don't think Yuuji has quite processed that himself. That also makes sense because he went from having no living family to a villainous mother and some very strange brothers, two of whom he killed, in the span of six fucking months (I'm assuming here that the near-death memory he has of Jin and Kaori is something he does remember now, as that scene and its aftermath heavily imply). Frankly, I don't think Yuuji's had time to sit down and think about half the shit that's happened to him during and after Shibuya. It might even be best for his sanity that he doesn't bother just yet. Point is, you get the sense that Yuuji values Chōsō as an ally and genuinely likes him as a person, but those feelings are nowhere near as intense as Chōsō's utter devotion. To quote myself from another ask I answered about chosoita, "that contrast of complete, immediate devotion and cautious, burgeoning affection makes me want to do unholy things to them both."

To situate all this in the context of prophetic self-destruction via some examples—

The narrative starts when Yuuji doesn't think Chōsō is his brother but knows that Chōsō believes it. When he initiates sex (as a sort of reciprocation for Chōsō letting Yuuji eat him), incest isn't even on his mind except as a "this might be weird to this guy" way. And when he later realizes they are blood relations, one of the first things he asks Chōsō is why he let Yuuji fuck him. This is the response:

“You…” Chōsō shrugs. “You asked.”

Later, once Gojou enters the picture, you have this exchange:

“Is that all it takes to get in your good books? Someone...caring about me?” “Gojou Satoru will never be in my good books,” Chōsō says, staring off into space with a dead-eyed expression that softens the next second as he refocuses on Yuuji. “But I’m not a complicated person at all. I want my brothers happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t know or trust that man, but I do trust you. And if he makes you happy, I want that for you.”

(Don't worry, this fic still has chosoita and goyuu both as the endgame; the relationships just have different developments and dynamics.)

...I might have gotten a little carried away, but it comes down to the appeal of Chōsō's and Yuuji's starkly different feelings for each other and the differing degrees of their respective attachment.

#thearchaticarchitect #i love my anons #chosoita #cw: incest #fic: prophetic self destruction #wip open season

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smurphyse · 2 years

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Make It To Bed | S.R.

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter 2 of Operation: Sand Leopard

Warnings: homesickness, sort of suicidal thoughts, anxiety, explosions,

Summary: Spencer struggles to adjust to Iraq. When he's finally alone, he lets out some of his stress

You took Spencer to the post exchange on base next, as those dumb dress shoes and slacks would be in tatters in a day or two in the rough terrain of Iraq. With the constant barrage of sand and wind, one had to be covered nearly head to toe in thick clothing and heavy boots just to stay in one piece.

When you were in the Corps, you called exchanges MCXs, but you were on Air Force and Army territory here, serving with a bunch of grunts, so instead of a base exchange, as the Flyboys called them, you referred to the on base grocery stores as post exchanges.

For a civilian, this place was more of an on base grocery store combined with a clothing shop, but they all functioned the same no matter what kind of base you were on.

Spencer looked around with a hardly restrained grimace at the options you had grabbed for him- mostly cargo pants and long and short sleeve tees.

"You're what? A size twelve?" you asked absentmindedly as you snagged a pair of Danners from the rack and handed them to him.

Spencer bit his lip and nodded, so you frowned at him, "What?"

"It's just…" he started, catching your eye. He sighed, "I'm out of my element, I guess."

"You knew that before you came here."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "yeah I did."

You eyed him carefully for a moment as he stared nervously at the boots in his hand, like they might jump up and bite him. You knew what this place did to a person, how hard it was to adjust to living in the middle of a warzone. It took time, and someone to lean on, and as much as you didn't want this civilian here to babysit, you felt for him.

You groaned internally, seeing Teddy's face giving you the stink eye for giving the new guy a hard time.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in," you started, and he looked to you with wide eyes. "It doesn't… get much easier than this, unfortunately. It's a hard way to live, fighting for your life every day, but as long as you don't let this place suck the life outta you you'll be fine."

Spencer looked at you in disbelief, "How the hell do you do that?"

"The outside world doesn't exist here, Doc," you shrugged. "You live in this little bubble, wake up each day just to get to bed at night, and it'll be over before you know it."

"Is that how you've survived out here this long? Luke said you joined up at eighteen and came right back after you joined Homeland."

"What can I say? I love sand in my underwear and sweating through my clothes."

"I'm serious," Spencer said firmly, his brows pinching together as he stepped closer. "Why do you keep coming back?"

You looked up at him and felt small, thinking about how time and time again you left your life in DC to come back to Iraq or Afghanistan or Syria for yet another mission. All the things you'd missed out on because you and Teddy both couldn't stay away from this place and its people, your commitment to your jobs. You couldn't seem to help yourself as you spoke a dreadfully honest truth.

"Because it's easier to survive here than to live there, where people want you healthy and safe, where your loved ones don't want you running into the line of fire without conscious thought.

"It's just… easier here," you shrugged again, glancing away from him to fiddle with the lace of an errant boot on one of the shelves. "All I have to do is make it to bed every night. Nothing else matters."

"That's not exactly a healthy coping mechanism, Agent," Spencer said, and when you glanced up at him he was smirking down at you.

You huffed a laugh and nodded, "It's as healthy as you're gonna get around here, Doc. They don't call it the shit for nothing. You're up to your elbows and there ain't nothing you can do about it."

"Sounds familiar," he grumbled and looked away toward the checkout. "Better get on it then, right?"

"Sure," you perked up. "Let's get dirty, Dr. Reid."

------------

Spencer sat uncomfortably in the mess hall with you and Garrett, or the DFAC as you'd told him to call it.

He was painfully aware of the eyes on him even as he sat in cargo pants and a black shirt. Everyone here knew he was an outsider, an 'OGA' who didn't belong with a bunch of battle hardened soldiers.

The scratchy cotton bothered his skin, making him feel even less worthy of being here for letting such a little thing upset him. He preferred his soft silk and high quality fabrics and button ups. T-shirts were not for him, and while the boots made it easier to walk in the sand, he hated them too.

You and Garrett paid him little mind, tucking into trays of dreadfully bland potatoes and peas amidst a sea of Army grunts and Air Force flyboys much too young to be in combat. He poked at the food with a furrowed brow, eating it without complaint even though it tasted like sawdust.

"Boss, you're not gonna fuckin' believe it!" a voice came from behind, and Spencer looked up just in time for a brick wall of a man with biceps larger than Spencer’s head to plop down next to him on the bench seat.

It creaked under his impressive weight, and he was followed by a much taller but just as muscular dark skinned man who sat on Spencer's other side, and a pretty woman who slid in next to you.

"Sup?" he nodded to Spencer, but quickly turned back to you. "Heard some pencil pusher dropped down in Bombaconda this morning. Real dope, from what I hear."

He watched as you stifled a laugh, covering your mouth and avoiding his gaze.

The man squinted at you, "What?"

Spencer stuck out his hand, "Dr. Spencer Reid, also known as the dope."

"Oh sheeeit," he grunted, but then he flashed Spencer a megawatt smile he couldn't help but return. He clasped Spencer's hand in a deathgrip and nearly shook the soul out of his body, "First Sergeant Chuck Barretti, good to meet you."

"How's your foot taste in your mouth?" the pretty woman asked before throwing a wave his way, "Staff Sergeant Shaina Corbin, they call me Peanut."

Spencer made a face, "Why?"

"'Cause she's the baby, only twenty three," the dark skinned man said. "Sergeant Major Alessandro Morello. Good to have another dope on the team besides Chuckles over there."

"So, you uh, like a surgeon or something?" Barretti asked, and you laughed again behind your hand. Spencer shot you a glare and turned to Barretti.

"PhD, actually," he said sheepishly.

"Oh," Barretti said, sounding disappointed. He perked right back up and clapped Spencer so heavy on his back he coughed and his chest hit the metal table. "Good to meetcha, Doc. Welcome to the team."

Spencer could feel the heat in his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath. He nodded and croakily said, "Thanks."

"The Doc's former FBI," Garrett drawled, earning a round of grunts from the unit.

"Shit, man, what are you doing here if you could be in some cushy office stateside?" Morello asked, raising his brows at Spencer.

Spencer shrugged and poked at his food again with the plastic fork. You watched him expectantly, offering him no relief from their mini interrogation, and he knew you were wondering the same thing.

"I just, uh," he started, then decided just to tell the truth. "I had to get out of there. I've been in DC for nearly eighteen years doing pretty much the same thing… I wanted to put my skills to use somewhere else."

Corbin gave him the reassuring smile he needed, "What did you do for the FBI, Doc?"

Doc, it nearly made him laugh out loud. Three hours in Iraq and he'd already earned a nickname it didn't seem he was going to shake.

"Behavioral analysis. Profiling."

"Lawman head shrinking, I like it!" Barretti boomed, and he clapped Spencer again hard enough to bruise.

Spencer hoped the pained tears weren't visible in his eyes as he gave him a shy smile back.

"You ever conduct a warzone interrogation?" you asked sharply, and all eyes turned to you.

You had your arms crossed over your chest as you watched him with a queer gleam in your eye. Again, you were sizing him up, and he knew he was going to have to really prove himself to earn your approval and Garrett’s by the way he followed your lead.

"No, but I've conducted thousands at this point," he shook his head. "Whatever you're wanting me to do, I'll do it. Teach me and I'll learn it."

"Hmm," you huffed, but Garrett bit back a grin and nodded to himself like he had after Spencer snapped at you by the coffee shop.

"We'll make a soldier outta you yet, Doc!" Barretti beamed, and Spencer braced for the impact of his meaty hand on his back again, but instead the man wrapped his arm around his shoulder and squeezed him tight enough that Spencer's ribs must have cracked.

------------

After dinner, you led Spencer through the maze of tents and trailers to the barracks he'd be staying in.

There had been a handful of friendly fire outside the perimeter of the base, and Spencer's hand flew to his waistband every time, but he didn't have his service pistol.

He wasn't in the FBI anymore.

As you led him silently through to a set of trailers in the east part of the base, the darkening sky lit up with a barrage of booms, nearly knocking him off his feet.

You held out a hand to steady yourself as the ground shook, then turned to him with a grim smile, "They don't call it Bombaconda for nothin'."

He'd read as much as he could about life on base before coming here, but really nothing could prepare him for the sound of a bomb going off and having nothing to protect himself with. The last time he'd been in an explosion he'd nearly died, and he swallowed thickly as the blast eased off in the distance.

You cocked your head at him and sighed, “You carry a weapon while you were with the feebs?”

“Uh, yeah,” he gulped, trying to let the anxiety cease its pounding through his veins. “Smith & Wesson Model 65, I’m… better with a revolver.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled for a moment before palming the M9 Beretta on your hip. You pulled it from the holster and ejected the magazine, then held it out to him. He took it cautiously, angling his body and the gun away from you to admire the weapon.

“Still has one in the chamber, so don’t shoot me,” you said, earning a glower from him. “It’s a nin-.”

“Nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol adopted by the United States military in 1985,” he finished for you, making sure the safety was on before handing it back. “As a former Marine, I’m surprised you’re not carrying a SIG Sauer M17.”

“First off, there’s no such thing as a former Marine,” you scolded him, but it was playful enough that a bit more of the nerves fizzled their way out of him. “Secondly, the M17 didn’t hit the Corps until after my bit was up, but I’ve got one of those as well.”

You put the magazine back in and holstered it again, flashing him a small smile, “We’ll get you a real weapon tomorrow. You’ll carry an M14 when we go outside the wire.”

Spencer frowned, “Outside the wire?”

You pointed off to where the explosion had come from, “Into the shit, y’know? You think you’re just gonna be sitting pretty on base while we do the dangerous stuff?”

Spencer huffed and shrugged his shoulders, waving his hands in frustration, “I’ve got no idea what the hell I’m supposed to be doing here. All the DoD told me was that I’d be supporting you and your team.”

“That means tactical support as well, Doc, or did the feebs not teach you how to hit a hot target?”

“Of course they did,” he growled, and your smile only widened. It shocked him, nearly making him reel. You seemed to like pushing his buttons, and it only made him more determined to earn your approval. “I may not look like much, but I’ve been into my own kind of shit plenty of times before.”

“Riiiight,” you drawled, nodding at him like such a jackass he just wanted to smack you. You waved a hand toward a section of trailers and walked off without him, “C’mon, Doc, I’ll take you to your CHU.”

Now, that was a phrase he’d read. Containerized Housing Unit, a commercial shipping container with linoleum floors and cots or beds inside. Most had a door, window, top vent, power cabling and air conditioner. One version houses four people while another is split into two two-person rooms. The version with a shower and toilet shared between two rooms is called a "wet CHU," which provides less crowded latrine and shower conditions than tents. The CHU gives soldiers a lot more living space than tents.

“Welcome to the OGA CHUville,” you said, waving at the trailers like they were a new housing development he should be happy to be in. “All us Homeland deployments stay here. Lucky you, yours is right next to mine.”

You led him through as he adjusted his pack awkwardly on his shoulder. Spencer had never stayed in places like this. Sure, he’d slept on couches, cots, floors and everything in between, but a shipping container in a warzone was something new to him entirely. He gulped as you stopped in front of two containers on the outside edge of the CHUville, as he could see more desert than he was comfortable with.

You stomped up the metal stairs and pushed the thin door open with your boot, leading him into a small corridor with three doors at the end. You pointed to the one in the center, “That’s the latrine, you share it with Agent Garber. He’s one of our satellite support guys, mostly spends his time in the tech tents. Pretty quiet, pretty nerdy, you’ll get along fine.”

Spencer rolled his eyes as you opened the door on the left and waved him inside. It was a tiny room, with a cot pushed to one edge and a footlocker at the end of it and a desk with a lamp on the other. A bedroll sat on one singular pillow, looking just as desolate as the bedroll they’d given him on his first day in prison.

His vision tunneled into the scratchy green fabric, his breathing picking up. The linoleum swayed beneath him, and his hand clutched the aluminum door frame as he tried to keep himself standing.

“Hey,” your voice came softly from the edge of his sanity, pulling him back just enough to lock eyes with you. Yours were wide and worried, and you set a cautious hand on his shoulder, “It’s just a bed, promise. Not as bad as it looks, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Spencer gulped, doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t panting and sweating even more than he had during the day. “Just getting used to the heat, I think.”

“Okay,” you said, softer than you’d spoken to him all day. You squeezed his shoulder once before pulling away, lowering your voice to barely above a whisper, “Seems all rough and tumble, but… you’re not the first to come here, y’know? Plenty of people have gone through what you are right now.” “Yeah, yeah,” he assured you, giving you a small tight-lipped smile. “I know.”

You nodded and made your way through the door, turning just enough to catch his eye, “I’m right next door. Mess starts at 0600, so set your watch for 0500 if you wanna shower before breakfast. Be outside by 0530 or I’m leaving you to find the DFAC on your own.”

“I got it, thanks,” he said, and you nodded one more time before standing tall and heading out the CHU to your own.

When the front door slammed shut, Spencer closed his own as quietly as he could. He leaned heavily against the sheetmetal and his chin began to wobble. Spencer tossed his pack to the floor and slid down the door to the ground. He held his knees to his chest as the tears finally came, trickling down his cheeks and dampening the collar of his shirt.

Spencer pulled out the dog tags he'd been given before he stepped foot on the plane, just to look at them. He had memorized them in an instant, but they still looked foreign to him.

REID

SPENCER W.

9993847290

A POS

NONE

In case he died here, they'd know who he was. They'd know Spencer Reid's blood type, where he was based out of, and that he wasn't religious… no need for a special ceremony for his funeral.

He tried to stay as quiet as he could, but released as much of the stress and nerves as possible as he cried on the linoleum flooring. His chest shuddered with his fear. Even though he wasn’t frightened of death, he was terrified that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

Spencer wasn’t cut out for this place. He wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t even really a fed anymore. Technically he was working for Homeland, but it was only because after all the time and effort he’d put into the BAU… he’d washed out. He couldn’t cut it.

Nearly eighteen years of grief and trauma had taken him from the one job he’d ever wanted. He’d been beaten and broken, pushed to his limits and it had destroyed the one thing he’d put his heart and soul into.

Spencer rubbed his eyes roughly with his hands and sniffled hard. The quick pants in his chest eased as he forced himself to breathe slower, boring his gaze into the floor to focus on something other than that fucking bedroll.

They don't call it the shit for nothing. You're up to your elbows and there ain't nothing you can do about it.

Your voice came to the surface, making him nod to himself in the dimly lit room. He realized it then, that he was going to have to change to survive here. He’d promised JJ he wouldn’t leave pieces of himself behind but… maybe he could rearrange them for the time being.

The person he was in prison, he could be that here. He could focus on surviving, but at least here the people around him weren’t trying to kill him or worse. The unit seemed to like him enough, even Garrett, and he knew enough about the Army that they’d have his back whether they liked him or not.

With trembling limbs he got to his feet. He tossed the pillow to the head of the bed and unfurled the bedroll without thinking too much about it. He felt too exposed to sleep in his underwear like he normally did, so all he did was unlace his boots and take off his belt. Tucking the boots under the cot, Spencer tossed the belt on top of the foot locker and laid back on the bed.

He didn’t even bother to cover himself up, just stared at the little fan going in the top vent. Another round of gunfire echoed in the distance, and he sighed as his eyes fluttered shut. Spencer took a deep breath, counting to five before letting it go.

All I have to do is make it to bed every night. Nothing else matters.

Spencer had made it to bed.

Nothing else mattered.

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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Notes: </3 My little heart breaks for Spencer

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter

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throttlegainwell · 6 months

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For the fanfic ask game, 🌞 and 🌈 (for already wise, already worn, which is my personal favorite).

Thank you so much! That's so sweet. I'm actually really fond of already wise, already worn, so that's so cool to hear!

🌈 What inspired you to write [insert fic here]?

Sorry it got so long! But here we go, under the cut.

[CW for implied/referenced sexual trauma]

So for already wise, already worn, I really wanted to show some of the internal processes that both help and hinder Jonathan. He's got trauma on trauma on trauma, some of them very big and dramatic and some of them more subtle or that he's maybe conflicted about; they intertwine and can't be neatly separated, for the most part. But he's also got a life, and he can't really afford to just not be functional, most of the time. He keeps moving. There is no real before and after for him because what he's got going on is a case of well-aged C-PTSD. It's shaped his thinking and how he handles things. And all of that would have been true even if when there's fire on the ground hadn't happened. But you can't really neatly slot most coping mechanisms into "healthy" and "unhealthy" boxes or say what's good or bad, categorically. It's much more complicated than that.

The other stories show what's happening generally, but I wanted to look at what he's doing. His strategy of "maybe if I have enough sex that I actually enjoy, I can forget what happened" doesn't pan out, but it was still proactive and shows a real thought process, you know? His "I just won't think about sex at all until I'm in a safer place" doesn't end up really working out either. But he's still trying. He's very much active in this; he's not passively accepting it or ignoring it and hoping for the best. He's absorbing, thinking, testing, evaluating, and readjusting all the time. Lots going on in there, lots of moving parts. It's pretty exhausting for him.

But I also wanted to show how the traumas (especially but not exclusively the rape) affect his developing sexuality, particularly as a queer guy who's very intentionally rejecting the toxic gender bullshit his dad has harmed him with but who still lives in this society--and as one whose experience of sexuality may look different from what he's been led to believe is the norm (like how he has a sex drive but not a particularly high one, and he's not getting crushes on people like it feels as though everyone around him is). This particular trauma gets into a lot of areas--his self-esteem and self-image, the way he relates to others, what he wants and the desires he allows himself to acknowledge. It's deeply internal and messy in a way that's very different from the rest of the series. I wanted to really get into his head and show him navigating this incredibly messy, painful reality that he has to reckon with during a really critical developmental point.

And that's a delicate balance, between allowing that space for his pain and maintaining that pragmatic kind of endurance the way he does. He's aware that a lot of what he's experienced isn't okay, and to a large extent, he's also aware that it's affecting him and how, but, like, what's he supposed to do about that? He's just trying to live his life. This is the best he can do with the tools he has. So it's not something that he buried, just something that he never really shares and doesn't know how to talk about. But it's there.

Basically, I wanted to talk about Jonathan's sexuality and I wanted to explore the more subtle or weirder ways in which trauma can leave its marks and insinuate itself into a person's life, and how he feels about it/conceptualizes it--to show his agency in this. I wanted to show his joy in exploring his sexuality, tentative though it sometimes is, and I wanted to temper that with the hurdles he encounters. I wanted to show how all of those things converge and interact.

(Sorry, lol, I can't quite tell which question the sun emoji corresponds to.)

Thanks for the ask! This was a really fun one.

#ask game #please don't wake me series #already wise already worn pdwm

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violettierre · 1 year

Text

If you're my mutual or we've interacted before please read this,

So to save your time im going on a hiatus.

And here's some elaboration;

Tumblr have never failed to put a smile on my face it's a fun website to visit and i've always enjoyed the content made here, and most of all, enjoyed interacting with poeple that have always been very kind and sweet and some even consider me a friend which is a far bigger deal to me than one may think because of personal reasons and i really mean it when i say Tumblr never fail to make my day with those silly posts and inside jokes that may mean nothing, overall, it's my go-to place to relax from my noisy life and be my questionable silly little inner violetta that im thankful no one really judged, and it was a breath of fresh air when i signed in here. I've treated my account, like most poeple, as my account where i talked about stuff i enjoyed and my opinions in things, ect... but if you are my mutual i feel like you did notice sometimes i slip and im no longer enjoying my inner self like i usually do, which is common. It does happen to lots of poeple where real life issues just hit too hard for them to enjoy their distractions they used as coping mechanism to keep themselves sane just like i do that's why no one really judges that from what i concluded in my experience. However, as many times as everyone thankfully ignore that, those moments still bother me every time cuz it's never been about other users noticing, it's never been anything outside of personal. Like i said before, this is my prefered go-to comfort space that i open to rest from real life issues and the effects it had on me, and the interference that accure between them never fail to make my health worse, and so i don't go to details, this place simply start to lose its charm for me because it began losing the one thing i personally associated it with. Which is why as far as i believe, it'll be better to take a pause from being active here. Because sometimes the stuff that help us get through things that hurts, shouldn't be exposed to it, and the less harmful option is to hide it so we can go back to it when we're desperate for comfort instead of losing it completely.

Naturally, I have no idea how long i'll be on a hiatus for, it may take months, or maybe a year, who knows, even if i wish for it to be sooner than later, it's something that happen undecided, but it may most likely last at least until my personal crisis calms down and im a little more stable and ready to use once again that one violet that i admit i've mistreated as well, because in order to stop my stress and mental health from sneaking into my safe space i must face it and deal with it, which im really scared of, but that's pretty much what is left to do. Things that go our way aren't necessarily our ideal solutions.

It's a silly little hiatus for most poeple, but behind it, im going to a metaphorical war and im scared that's why im writing this long useless elaboration post before getting a pause from all my social media not just tumblr and try to look after myself in a way i've been running away from.

And if you're reading this as my moot or we've interacted, i do hope you understand this and mostly hope that everything will stay good between us once i come back sooner or later, it's already gonna be awkward for me to do anything i like again after im basically right now going to ditch my self care, so i just want you to keep in mind i do not want to lose you or anyone in here and we could remain in good terms.

And happy new year from now, since i won't be able to celebrate it here. I wish everyone on tumblr a healthy and lucky new year lifestyle starting or continuing from 2023 and fortune will follow everyone everywhere. And merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and whatever other holiday i won't celebrate in here, im sending all my love throughout those times and all time, thanks to everyone for everything and hopefully i get to interact with you guys later on.

With all my geniune love, Violetta.

#important

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koinvyokan · 2 years

Text

what technoblade means to me

this still feels so surreal. its so strange to know that one of the most impactful content creators, and people in general to me has passed away.

i only joined the dream smp/mcyt fandom a year a ago. lore was really daunting to get into, and one of the only reasons i kept up watching old lore was definitely technoblade. watching his doomsday streams and daring escapes from the butcher army made me feel like i was truly watching something cinematic and dramatic in a way that no other lore did. he's the reason i stuck around at first. he's the reason i have this blog and have been able to meet so many great people.

he became the most interesting character and cc to me quickly, his sense of humour just perfectly fit with mine. i binged all his skywars, skyblock, and potato war videos. like i got home from school and only watched techno videos till i went to sleep it was actually a problem to my schoolwork at a point. i watched his old smp earth vods and minecraft monday tournaments. i was so consumed that a non mcyt irl knew enough about techno to buy me a pig plushie for christmas (of course named techno). here's some techno plush content to hopefully make you smile

my mental health took a big dive from it's already kinda shit starting point around november 2021 and up until recently. one day, the one year anniversary of my friend's suicide, the only thing that made me smile a little bit and took my mind off of things was rewatching techno's potato war videos. i will always remember that. i suffered from a lot of insomnia in that period, and for a very long time the only way i could reliably go to sleep was putting on a long techno stream and waiting. it always worked. he was my healthy coping mechanism. it sounds like a joke or something, saying 'i watched technoblade just to feel something' but yeah, i did and i still do. i know that his videos or streams will make me laugh, or put me in awe and appreciation of his skill and dedication, or that i will be transported to a story where this decked out giant pig guy singlehandedly takes on the world and always wins. his content has served as such an important escape for me, i would have been so much more miserable without him. im so so thankful. i hope he understood even a fraction of the impact he had. techno accompanied me through my darkest times, he was joy for me.

the passion that this man had for everything he did was immense, his dedication inspires me to this day. his skill was unmatched because of that, and i will always consider him the greatest of all time at the craft. he displayed such kindness towards his friends and fans alike, i try to treat my friends how he treated his. his wit and humour brought life to everything he did. he managed to make hundreds of bedwars and skywars rounds each be interesting and memorable thanks to the strength of his personality. also he murdered orphans. an all around great guy.

god when i saw that notification. i saw 'so long nerds' and immediately my mind was jumping to conclusions. oh, so he was taking a break from youtube. maybe he had to go through with the amputation after all and couldn't continue with minecraft. i didnt even consider the reality as an option. when his dad started to speak my heart dropped to the floor. my love is going out to his family and his friends, what theyre going through is just horrible and it must be exacerbated by having to go through it so publicly. techno deserved a long and happy life, but it gives me comfort and i hope it does for everyone that he said he would choose to be technoblade all over again.

i really dont know if there is anything after this life, but i believe that the people we love stay with us and it is our duty to keep them alive in our memory. i also know that it is necessary for a while, but unhealthy to wallow in the grief. this is sad. this is terrible. but techno brought so much joy, and i just want to remember that. its gonna be a challenge to get to that point, but he deserves to be remembered like that. for you the world, techno.

#dont rb #also i changed the url back he deserves it

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renemesis · 4 months

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if you got overwhelmed, how would your f/o(s) try to comfort you?

OMG forgor I still havent answered this one... really awesomesauce one tbh I'm the king of being overstimulated so 👍🔥💥 LETS GOOOOO

Ok so. I think all of my f/os would try to help to some degree. But the definition of "helping" ranges greatly and can be anything from making accidentally ableist 'encouraging' comments to having sympathy meltdowns JCJGJSJJGJD no goodness um. I think the ones who would handle me getting overwhelmed the best would be like... Dusa, Elliott, Raul and oddly enough Eric?? (They're not the only ones good at comfort but. Yknow .)

Dusa would definitely get sympathy jitters but all about healthy communication and finding good solutions/alternatives to problems so. Yes she is a quirky eccentric decapitated gorgon head BUT SHE'S COMPETENT!! She'd give the good ole steady breathing and "name five ___" distraction and reality anchoring tips it's so her I feel it. In my soul. Its obvious though that she's also struggling a little but like in a cute way. Like shes trying so hard and doing so good but it ends up being almost a mutual comfort situation but it's so sweet and funny that it works out in the end 👍👍💗💗

Elliott I think would worry alot but would mask that worry in favor of providing comfort and verbal assurance! Would acknowledge that the negative feelings are completely valid and understandable and would offer to leave the situation in question if possible/necessary, or just continue providing comfort unto the feelings pass. I don't think he's like. Not in the loop abt mental health or 'proper coping mechanisms' but he's a flowery poetry talk guy I can't exactly imagine him doing like cliche therapy talk at me yknow... hes just so♡♡♡♡ yeaj

Ohh Raul. Ok I very much do not imagine him being like Elli or Dusa whatsoever like let's be real here. That's not him. But also he's been alive for over 200 years and has loved and cared for people for just as long like he KNOWS ok. He's all about being honest and acknowledging the truth of the situation no matter how bad it is but nothing he says or does is meant maliciously or to make the situation worse. He's just stating what's happening so we can get past the situation quicker! So he'll give his input, offer solutions, and give assurance that no matter what choice is made he'll still be there no matter what (in his own sarcastic kinda well-meaning shithead way lol) like he's a well meaning realist who's cynical but loyal yknow... he also provides more classic comfort if needed but in an awkward old man way and I think that's so awesome 💖💖💥💥

Ok and Eric. Well um. I'll be real with you he's not a meathead or emotionally incompetent but he's so bizarre. He's so bizarre and ridiculous and especially after his death and resurrection (and the following immortality gained from it) he does not react at all like he mightve while still being a normal human. Like he COULD offer good ole physical affection or words of wisdom. And sometimes he does. But he could awfully make an awfully timed joke about the cruelty of the world or what death feels like or how he last killed a man. And like it's so out of nowhere that it makes the situation feel so ridiculous and instantly just washes away the previous negative emotions bc. How do you RESPOND to a goth zombie murderer vigilante saying whatever is going on in his mind?? Then he'll just laugh like yaay glad you're ok do you wanna feed the local stray cats now :3 LIKE HE'S SO??! And obviously I'd say yes. It's great it all works out♡

#ask #anonymous #THEYRE GETTING LONGER AND LONGERRRRRRR!!! GAWD!!!

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nightfallsystem · 5 months

Note

hey, is everything fine?

i… don't think hurting yourself is healthy…

i mean nothing in my life is going fine rn considering i get misgendered so so much and i am sad everyday of my life for some reason (papers say anxiety and depression? but idk if its a diagnosis or just this bitch is sad and anxious)

i mean no its tthe opposite of healthy but i havent found a better coping mechanism that is as effective as this . there probably is one but addiction is keeping me from like finding better coping mechanisms so . i am stuck here for a while! + i have a lot of free time and i find it a good way to pass the time...

like i dont see myself getting any better even if i got therapy etc . i am too far gone but thats ok idrc im just one person out of the 8 billion people on this earth so who cares about one guy ppl will get over me and forget me . even if they do remember me i dont want to be remembered because theyll all remember me as a girl named deadname and not who i really was..

but like i appreciate the thoguht... i will live.... probbaly cuz i keep failing to die :/

#i want to escape this place thats all...#i should read more fiction its the only healthy coping mechanism i have to escape reality #tw vent #vent #tw self harm #tw suicide

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smoglitch · 1 year

Text

4 am ramblings with an open 3rd eye

ill stay vague about p much everything im going to write here bc i dont like oversharing as much as i did as a teen. doing so is going to make this text look like its written by a lunatic: im aware and im fine with it. im writing as if its a window on my brain

it’s incredible how easy it was to almost completely reset all of the useless parameters. im not saying it was the most obvious way but still it was already a big option. it’s like guys im normal im not crazy anymore. i get it now. it was actually that easy.

my one big life support has tried to cut itself from me without realizing it and instead of freaking out i’ve decided to help it in its endeavor. i used to think i was fine cutting off everything i didnt like umprompted but i really wasnt, and now i dont think its the right solution bc its just too unhealthy in general. but i believe it is healthy in some specific cases, like this one for example. im sure im still not as prepared as id like to be, but i have the help i need this time.

death has never been so present in my life. it’s everywhere i look. cant ignore it no matter what its everywhere. ive been trying to clean myself from this stench and it just wont go away so im coping with some realer cleaning instead. im scrubbing my bathtub, the floor, the kitchen stove like it’s one big, big body i have to take care off. i can only scratch so much dirt from my body before i become insane, its too tiny and grief is so much bigger. the “try not to think about it” mechanics dont work so i have to look at the corpses in the eye and cope. here they are, would you look at that. they’re in some of my dreams too. i wake up not remembering who exactly is dead or alive or between those two.

anyway im not as tired as i was before. i think ive finally escaped from the “survive” state. it did imply giving up on some things, and reevaluating some other things worth. n said i didnt even look angry and thats how i realized. how many years it has been since my last peaceful rant about it all. it’s never happened. no sacrifices have been made, i just changed.

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myheartbeginstorace · 2 years

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There are circles of hell for people like you

There are so many things that I have been thinking about since I heard what you said about me, and I want to just write a few of them out. I think it’ll help.

You’re the first person I’ve said no too since my sa. My most dependable coping mechanism (regardless of if it’s healthy or not) has been that, if I just say yes, no one can r me again. If I just consent, I’m in control it’s my decision, it’s just sex I regret. Saying no to you was MASSIVE for me. Not just because of the fact you’re fucking famous and there are legions of girls out there writing fan fiction about you and in their minds, I’m living in one, that’s something all on its own, but for ME in MY RECOVERY JOURNEY, saying no because everything about the situation was wrong and I felt uncomfortable and didn’t want to hook up with you, is a huge milestone. The fact you’ve decided to now go run my reputation to the ground and punish me even more harshly for saying no is so fucking evil.

You and your fucking label bros are out here calling ME clout chasing when I’m 1) on private on everything, 2) never told anyone about the fact you came onto me, 3) I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOUR FUCKING BAND!!! You guys are the ones sitting around a table in a restaurant talking about ME to random industry people, thinking that there’s no way any of them could possibly be my friend. You realize how fucking stupid and clout chasing YOU LOOK throwing my name and place of employment around like a badge of honor notch on your bedpost? You’re the ones going around giving lip service to me. Not me about you. The fact you caveat it like “she’s ugly but she was so easy I did it bc I could.” You’re the one that sounds like you were so obsessed with the idea of fucking me that you set aside how unappealing I was just to claim me. Actual psychopath behavior fr.

You’re mean. You’re just so fucking mean. When this whole incident happened I was pretty deep in my ed. I was grasping at straws to not throw up every day, much less every week. And as HORRIBLE FUCKED UP BAD RECOVERY TACTIC it was to put meaning behind it, you making a move on me made me feel better. Maybe I don’t need to make myself throw up every time I eat a meal over 600 calories or drink more than 2 drinks. I can’t possibly be that repulsively fat if you, who has tons of way better options, wants to fuck me. Even if I say no, the fact you wanted to comforted me. It actually was the rock that got me through my first month of recovery. I relapsed about 6 weeks later, but that relapse period was so much shorter, only about 2 weeks before I went months without forcing a toothbrush down my throat. The way you now are so ego hurt about what happened that you’re calling me fat and ugly has shred so much of that apart. Having to tell myself that it doesn’t matter, that it 1) doesn’t invalidate what I had told myself before and 2) isn’t evidence to validate my insecurities, BLOWS. I know I’m going to relapse. I tried already but it was too late to get anything up. Fuck you dude. Fuck you to hell.

I’m not going to sit by and take this. Thinking that you can shit talk me and these other girls (who also fucking deserve respect and kindness even if they aren’t as influential in the industry as I am) is absolutely moronic. I’m not some random person in the crowd at your show, I’m a 5+ year veteran music industry employee. And YOU’RE the artist who didn’t ask for consent and came onto me. The fact I didn’t say anything about it prior should already be enough of a kindness from me. Making a move on me when I’m in a position of influence to help or hurt your career and then acting this way when you get rejected has to be the stupidest thing you could have ever done. There’s a whisper network for women and if you think saying all these ugly things about me and lying that you slept with me wouldn’t push me to ignite a flare for everyone to stay away from you, you couldn’t be more wrong. There’s plenty of idols out there who aren’t absolute jackasses to women, we’ll support them instead. Get a life.

#diary

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sor-vette · 2 years

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#15.5 134340 (slowed)

“It’s a refurbished student housing,” you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don’t understand what you’re saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there’s always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in

• type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly) • w/c: 10.6k • rating: explicit

• c/w: *cracks knuckles* passive & active suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt (drowning) & mention of previous attempts, depression, homophobia, internalized heterosexism, toxic family dynamics, parental issues, use of f slur, infidelity (not really but idk how to describe it), alcohol consumption & its abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, a relationship falling apart, (your beloathed) lack of communication, self - hate, arguments, sort of breakup, crying, pining, struggling with one's sexuality, mentions of depersonalization, so much crying like a ton, angst + smut!! oral (f receiving), spanking, use of a vibrator, light choking (it's...yeah.. hands... the ones who get it, get it), overstimulation, body worship, praise, light marking, just a dash of (healthy!) possessiveness as a treat, implied voyeurism, reader is insecure

• series’ masterlist • other works

• a/n: SMUT IS AT THE END SO IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ IT FEEL FREE TO SKIP :) In this chapter, the relationship between the boys is messy, like just pure angst. At this point in the timeline, they've understood that the nature of their relationship is not only "friends" but they're really struggling with it because 1) there's a lot of them, 2) some of them are insecure with their sexualities 3) all of them are stressed and overworked this year as it was in real life. No one has made it official, so they're all kind of struggling to understand what is this, some want to breach the next step, some are too afraid to commit. No one's the designated bad guy during this, everyone has their reasons, everyone has their hurt, which is I guess, the whole point of this fic. It mostly takes place from early 2018 to early 2019, with the exception of time skip to present day at the very end. In the endnotes, you'll find some trivia about this year and what's released when in this universe. Also, forgive me for the smut, idk how to write it lmao

There's no point in time that Yoongi could name as a schism, as a reason why he felt different to everyone else. There was a boy named Min Yoongi, born on March 9, 1993, and he reckoned that he lived like other kids did.

Yes, the point of darkness was overwhelming yet also invisible. One day a boy, next day a man on a brink of suicide. It wasn't like he wanted it all the time - to die. Maybe once or twice had he gone to the level of planning it out, of doing it, half-heartedly, of course, if not he wouldn't be here to lament on that fact. It was just a never-ending morbid curiosity, like a shock wire that zapped him intermittently over the years. It was just always there - unshakeable, unmendable, a deep need to just rest, disappear, become once again nothing from which he was brought out into life.

It was hardly a new experience, more of an old wound, a scab but he knew not how to treat it. Maybe he should just adjust that this was him, a fundamental part of his existence - to hate it.

Namjoon stormed into his studio, face chafed red from the wind and eyes dead to the world. He walked without speaking a word, dropped a stack of torn pages on top of Yoongi's desk and left just as mutely as he came in. It had become a routine occurrence. Their hatred towards each other had snuck up just as invisible. Or it was not hatred... Yoongi's hand reflexively sank into the pages. Hoseok... No perhaps not hatred, but whatever it was hurt enough to cause unceasing bitterness. Shaking his head, Yoongi purged any stray thoughts - of Hoseok, of Jimin, everyone. Fuck them, he was too tired.

Lazily, he raised the pages to his eyes, trying to decipher the erratic, jumping lines. The ink was smudged in some places and if he would brush them, the words would fade even more as faint moisture still clung to the paper. He glanced outside. The weather was beautiful, with not a single rain cloud in sight.

He drew a big, exhausted sigh but made no attempt to follow Namjoon, it would not be welcome anyway. Rather, he fished out a nearby pen and traced the lyrics.

If only I could, I wanted to ask you Why did you do that back then? Why did you kick me out? Without a name to myself, I still revolve around you Our goodbye is colourless, that unchanging colour

He stood frozen with flowers in hand like a complete fool, stuck mid-step. What he wanted, was to run to fly, no, to evaporate, perhaps never to be born. She was really pretty and nice, blushing timidly she adjusted Hoseok's shirt around her bare thighs and Yoongi turned away to not make her uncomfortable. He wanted to hate her, to scream and curse at her but it would be unfair and he was not in the habit of ever insulting women. As Hoseok padded out of his room, he froze as well, momentarily glancing down at the flowers. The ones Yoongi knew he knew were meant for and for a brief, passing moment Hoseok's face fell dour, even something akin to guilt coloured his cheeks but then it passed and if there ever was a sound to heartbreak it would be the one Yoongi heard right now.

"Hi, you're Suga, right? Hoseok's friend?" the girl asked awkwardly, trying to ease the surging tension.

"No," he croaked.

Hoseok was staring at the wall. How do you tell your sneaky link that Yoongi was not only "that friend" but also soulmate, a lover, a hole of fucking dirt it seemed that deserved no explanation, not a single word of clarity. Her eyes flitted between the two men as tension was rising to a nearly unbearable degree.

"I'll go freshen up," she at last squeaks and was quick to scurry away. Yoongi wanted to do much the same.

"What's her name?" Yoongi asked, tone deep and expressionless as he watched her disappear. His head simply refused to turn towards Hoseok and maybe that was for the better.

"It's...uh... Do-Yun, yeah."

"Do-Yun is blonde."

Hoseok fell silent, dropping his hands by the side. Yoongi didn't know which one was worse if Hoseok would start actually loving them or remain like this. Either way, he was tired of hearing how he was Hoseok's happiness, how he set him free, how he could be the only one Hoseok didn't have to pretend with, only to be met every other morning with this - a new starstruck fancy and his own heart in tatters. He was done.

"Hey...Yoongi," Hoseok began, perhaps telling from Yoongi's expression that this time was different but he didn't want to listen to anything anymore. Definitely no more lies.

Without replying, he took a step back when Hoseok reached out and tossed the bouquet into the trash without looking back.

The most aggravating thing, of course, whether they believed it or not, was that they were all connected. More like flies in the same spider web but connected nonetheless. So when Yoongi wanted to leave, he couldn't. There were still remaining five members with who,m the relationship was no easier nowadays. They didn't know what exactly was the catalyst but the situation was stifling. They tolerated each other only due to the sheer force of managers manifesting itself as being physically pulled by their hair to be in the same room, it was just that nauseating.

Yoongi breezed past Jin, not acknowledging his presence in the lobby. To be fair neither did he as Jin's gaze remained firmly focused on the ground. From one of the rooms, raised, furious voices were travelling down the hall, inciting piqued and also nervous attention. The door was ripped open and Jungkook ran out, cheeks covered in tears. He pushed past everyone, blind and deaf to Jimin's calls after him. Wasn't that a familiar scene. Jimin stood in the doorway, frowning. On his neck Yoongi spotted a hickey and though faint there was a perfume lingering in the air that distinctly didn't belong to any of them. It was sickening and yet by now familiar.

"What do you want?" he snapped at Yoongi watching him.

"Nothing from you."

Jimin turned around and slammed the doors shut so hard they made a loud creak of protest. Numbly Yoongi trekked on, ignoring everyone's inquisitive glances. But the day proved itself in desperate need to screw him over because in front of his studio lo' and behold sat Hoseok. Unkempt and sleepless, he was perched on the ground, seemingly gone to the trouble of being here the whole night - waiting. Where once this gesture would make Yoongi's heartbeat out of his chest, now it left behind a sour taste. He just wanted to be alone. They didn't want him anyway so why the display?

Noticing Yoongi's slumped shuffling, Hoseok sprung up, eyes wide in panic.

"Hey," he stammered but Yoongi didn't respond.

Walking straight ahead he typed in the code and would have run into the safety of the four walls if not for the hand grabbing his elbow.

"I'm... Listen... I can be better-"

"No, stop. Stop spewing the usual routine! I don't care anymore."

With some sick satisfaction, he watched Hoseok recoil. When he spoke his voice was thin and watery.

"You don't?"

"No," Yoongi lied, "I don't. Did you think I was going to wait for you forever? Like a dog? Am I your pet?"

Hoseok took a step back, shaking his head, mortified.

"No! Of course not! It's just..."

Yoongi narrowed his eyes.

"Just - what?" he asked venom dripping from his tone.

"You know...It's not... you!" Hoseok shrunk in on himself. "You're confident about it. You...you say who you are and you don't care what people think! I can't...you know I struggle."

"So does Namjoon," Yoongi snarled. "But he at least respects me."

"I do respect y-"

"No, no. I'm done, Hoseok, I'm just done."

And so the conversation ended with a similar door slam.

There’s no name allowed for me I, too, used to be your star You must feel nice to be the light All I did was to receive you

Yoongi sat fiddling with the water glass, his hands clammy and his heart trembling to the point he had half the mind to worry whether it was an early stroke. The pleasant music of the restaurant did nothing to soothe his nerves.

"Hello, son," his mother cooed all the from the entrance across the floor. He got up and was instantly welcomed in her arms. Her grip was so strong he began to choke. His father trailed behind and the only greeting between them was a brisk nod. While the attempts to remain civil and conversational were made, they quickly fell through and they were left ticking slowly away. The dam burst with a seemingly innocuous albeit difficult question.

"Are you still living with those boys?" his father asked, tense and glaring at the steak.

"They're in dorms, honey, of course, they would live together," his mother laughed, glancing anxiously at Yoongi. Her eyes pleaded to not say anything but as the night progressed, so were his nerves stretched thinner. He was just so very, very tired.

"Still, when you're on a break shouldn't a healthy young man live on his own? What if you want to bring a girl home?"

Yoongi's jaw tightened.

"I don't bring girls home," he quietly amended.

His father's lips thinned.

"What do you mean by healthy?"

The whole table stopped breathing and his mother drew a big sigh, preemptively hiding her face away.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Yoongi hummed, "but please explain anyway."

He didn't, instead, simply kept glaring but Yoongi being now not a 15-year-old kid but a seasoned man well versed in all manners of hate, responded in earnest.

"Oh, did you mean if I would bring men home? Would I be sick then?"

"It's not natural."

Yoongi fixed him with a cold glare.

"You know what's not natural? For a father to ignore his family, for him to gamble away all day when his children and wife work themselves to death to eat."

"I WILL NOT HAVE A FAG FOR A SON!" his father smacked the table so loud, the wine glass tipped over and spilt all over the white linen cloth.

"Then I will not be your son," Yoongi calmly concluded, raising to stand. He bowed to his mother, expressing that he was glad to see her and left the restaurant.

Driving back home, he bought bottle after bottle,, so much so the cashier was worried he'd drink himself to death. Yoongi wanted to smirk and crack a joke that indeed that was the plan but deciding against traumatising a stranger he settled on an impassive shrug. He drank until laughter rose from his chest. Though when inevitably it stopped, he felt somehow even worse. His phone kept buzzing, and his father's words kept ringing into his ears, and the numerous arguments and disappointments kept replaying in front of his eyes and he just wanted for it to stop. Stumbling his way to the bathroom he looked at the clear water of the running bath. Then without much thinking, acting on a split second straying thought he stuck his head in and kept it there. He forced his head down as his lungs began to burn as it started to hurt, oh God, it hurt so much but stubbornly he kept his head underwater, feeling with every passing second like he was going to explode. Namjoon should have a fun time trying to get a call back if he was dead. But still, when the moment came, his body slung back, deprived of all strength and miserably Yooongi was still very much alive, only hacking up water and clawing at the bathroom tiles.

After that, he took a sick leave and was happy to not see anything but the wall for three days straight.

What meaning is left of the fallen planet’s remaining life I’ll receive it til' I die, your stifling stare I still orbit you, and nothing’s changed If love has no name, everything has changed

Yoongi was sitting the furthest away from everyone when in the meeting room they weighed on the idea of disbandment. Bang Si-hyuk and Sejin were sweating bullets, rightfully so, but there was nothing they could do to stop the golden geese from leaving if they wanted to. And by the looks of it - they wanted to. No one did so much as a glimpse at each other maybe for Taehyung and Jungkook but one glance at absolutely homicidal Jimin and Jungkook, at least outwardly so, cast away any regrets.

"Boys, boys, I'm sure you can patch thing up!" Sejin tried to appease. Namjoon opened his mouth but was quickly interrupted by Yoongi.

"I don't want to patch thing up."

To say that Bang Si-hyuk felt sick would be an understatement. If Yoongi wanted out there was little chance the rest could be dissuaded.

"I'm done being your doll and I'm done with everyone in this room," he sneered and walked out, trying to not even catch a peek of the heartbroken expressions.

He kept working still, too scared that if he would go home, the incident would occur again but when his head hit the edge of the desk and his shoulder hurt too much from lounging on the sofa, begrudgingly Yoongi dragged himself out. It was 3 in the morning and so Bighit was emptier though not entirely vacant.

He walked with head hung long, sight occasionally blurring. Another body slammed into his and Yoongi was just about to apologize when he recognized that it was Jimin. So he said nothing. The fights had been too many to count and so brutal Yoongi didn't even recall what he should despise Jimin exactly for but he did his best to keep the flame going

"Does your shoulder hurt?" it was said exceptionally wry and with a hard scowl.

"Yes," Yoongi grimaced as well.

"Take some pain medication."

"I will."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"You know what I hate most about you?" Jimin asked and Yoongi's fists bunched up as if to physically protect him from the heartbreak.

"What?"

Jimin lunged forwards and as he did there was perhaps a briefly humorous flash of "that gremlin is going to beat me up!" but instead of a punch, Jimin landed a hug.

He clung around Yoongi's waist like a lifeline and when his nose made impact with his neck, it became wet.

"I can't hate you, I try and I can't!" he cried. " I don't hate you or anyone or even her, I just..." his breath became a mess of incoherent sobs. " I just really hate myself."

Hearing the sharp desperation in his voice. Yoongi wrapped his arms around Jimin's waist in return. He was shaking so bad it was a miracle he was still standing.

"Tell me how to not hate myself. Tell me, Yoongi, please!"

And with a sad, hollow feeling that rises when such a realization takes place, Yoongi recognised he didn't know.

Could it be really that you’ve found Eris Tell me, how am I not as good as that moon Us is the plural form of U Maybe I wasn’t there from the start

They agreed to at least stay amicable if the worst is about to happen. And it was about to happen. Yoongi felt much like he was strapped to a maglev train, rapidly breezing past everything towards an unforgiving and cruel cliff face. There was nothing he could do to stop the collision, nothing to save them from the painful demise, bounding without a care for their well being. Of course, the arrangement to at least call once a year is only made with Jimin. He was the only one Yoongi had spoken a single word on his own wish. But he was getting worse each day. They all were. When cameras turned away all smiles and cheer fled, leaving only soulless shells, lingering around like ghosts. The disbandment was largely now an undisputed fact. Preparations were made to say the final words and dance the final stage. It felt surreal to quit right at the height of their career but if anything that strained them only to new lows. No longer having their trusted supported system, everyone sought comfort wherever they could. Yoongi and Jimin drank regularly, Jin spent thousands if not millions on food or locked himself in the room all day, similarly to Jungkook. No one knew exactly what Taehyung was doing but since his other friends haven't heard from him either, the general understanding was that he did it alone. Namjoon busied himself into work, nearly all hours of the day could light be seen in his studio. But it was Hoseok who took to it the hardest. He reeked of cigarettes, sometimes came to work dreadfully hangover and spoke only in single sentences with long periods of silence between. It was hard for Yoongi to insist that he didn't care when watching them all just...fade. It did become easier when he recalled previous strings of lovers some amassed all while telling Yoogni that they were in love with him. Yes, then it became easier. But not by a lot. In many ways, time was ticking to an end for Yoongi's career, his friends and maybe his life too. He just wasn't sure of anything these days.

Someday, you’ll also understand my words My seasons were always you My cold heart is 248 degrees below zero It stopped the day you erased me Damn

"What do you mean you're in Rome?"

"It means that I'm here," Yoongi replied dryly.

"You are supposed to be in Paris!"

"I'm well aware."

If feasible, Namjoon would scream right into the phone but being a good leader he just relayed the information to Sejin who did scream. There was this little tiny detail that in twelve hours, he was supposed to be in concert in Paris but he was, extraordinarily and without his understanding, standing in Rome.

Yoongi was rather certain he had taken the right plane but the point stood that against all logic he wounded up many kilometres away from where he needed to be, without a manager or a bodyguard in sight. He was for the first time in a long time, longer than he could recall, free. With only a backpack to his name, he blended well into his surroundings with none the wiser of his identity. That actuality washed over him, making his head swim as though intoxicated. There was a great deal of chatter behind the phone, compromised security, postponement and such but it all brushed past him. He kept blinking at the airport announcement board with a newfound sense of amazement, wondering time and time again - what if he just kept being normal? Kept having the privilege of enjoying simple things?

All he gathered, in the end, was to not wander off. They shall send him security and managers. Jugnkook even advised to lock himself in the bathroom but Yoongi did no such thing. He got a coffee, a sandwich, plus some kind of sweet thing that he did not know the name of and while swaying his legs back and forth enjoyed this small reverie. It was somehow easier to breathe and his shoulder despite still aching, hurt a lot less than usual. If Yoongi didn't know better, he would almost think there was something magical at play this particular day. As he looked over the crowd of rushing people his eyes naturally lingered on one. He didn't know why he kept staring at the stranger but deep inside he had this gnawing like a distant suspicion. Intently following their journey, from the sleep-deprived stumble into the doors to the breakage of the suitcase. A suitcase whose colour made his blood run cold. Suddenly, he's taken years back, rain bouncing like bullets underneath the tarp of the 24/7 store. Him, tucked by Hoseok's side and someone, that someone, you, standing further away, red suitcase in tow and watching them back from the dark.

The longer he looked at, the less he could reign in the horrifying reckoning that her and well, her, were, somehow, the same person. He knew that red, he knew that shade. It was such a little detail but he remembered it so well. That red is the same red they kept mentioning in their songs, that red - the same red Jimin loathed so, that red - the same one which he saw behind his eyes, wondering how life would be if they'd done things differently.

She raised her head and met Yoongi's gaze. And he couldn't look away no more and he couldn't think of anything else. Did she understand? Did you understand who sat before you? Did you understand the things unravelling outside your reach?

No, you must not, because you fixed your suitcase, beat the fallen off handle in its place and walked away. Yoongi sprung from his seat. There are muffled complaints coming around - his coffee cup had fallen on the floor - but he didn't think of them. Didn't spend a single second on anything else. In frenzy one he didn't quite fully understand, he rushed after her. The only thing in his vision was the stupid red of her stupid suitcase which he chased like a moth does a flame. This is wrong, he told himself, it's wrong but he couldn't stop. He wanted to cry on her shoulder and tell her all the things that were or could be and most of all he wanted to know whether she had this space as well. Like a missing tooth or a piece of misplaced furniture, an awkward gap in Yoongi's heart that reminded him ever so often of what was not where it should be.

He finally found her right at the exit of the airport standing unsurely by the revolving doorway. The beautiful city of Rome was in front of her and the slight wind ruffled her hair. She should be excited but she was far from so. In fact, Yoongi had not yet seen eyes so lifelessly vacant. He thought to himself that she did feel as terribly lonely as he did.

He took a cautious step forward, ripping the skin off his fingers, not quite knowing what to do. But if she was as abandoned as he, maybe the story of having soulmates will bring some comfort, no matter how delirious. That there was someone, well, seven someone's meant to care for her. But then he recalled Hoseok, staring off into the wall as the next girl escapes their apartment, the endless arguments, the brushed off affections, crying, screaming, panic attacks in the corners, diets and his head below the waterline, hoping that this time will be the one he would be successful. That made him pause mid-step and gaze sadly on. What love did they have, could they give?

"I just really hate myself," Jimin's words rung crystal clear back into his ears. They had none for themselves where else to another person. Whatever dread she was feeling passed and after drawing a deep breath she stepped outside the airport. Outside this small miraculous bubble of impossibility that brought them together across the wide world. And as Yoongi watched her leave, the red suitcase trailing behind, he wished only the best.

The Paris show started as planned. It went so well, momentarily everyone forgot the circumstances around each other, animatedly chattering backstage. Jimin was lounging across Jungkook and Taehyung, Jin and Namjoon laughed heartily on the side, Hoseok hugged Yoongi and he did not push the man away. It seemed for an insane moment that the bad times will pass, that this hurt will heal on its own so that they could just enjoy each other's presence like they used to. But it doesn't. The second that rush died down, the hurt settled back like an oozing scab and one by one they realized what they were doing. And to everyone's chagrin, the playful atmosphere dissipated. And Yoongi, now brushed away, thought against mentioning that he'd seen her. Selfishly, he kept this memory to himself.

I’m just orbiting you (I missed you, I lost you) I’m just going in circles (You erased me, you forgot me)

I once belonged in a world under the sun (The song paused, the song stopped) A smoky layer of mist in the heart of the stars (You erased me, you forgot me)

It’s not much different from yesterday ay Same old days, except you’re not here We were together just up until yesterday ay But it’s to the point where it’s scary, same days but no you

This was it. The tour was coming to an end, ominous December 18th looming on the calendar. The last days. Yoongi had not seen anyone else for some time now. The only contact was Jungkook's text sent some time ago.

Even despite it all, I don't regret meeting you.

And that was it.

Eight years down the drain. Any day now Bighit will publish the disbandment announcement whilst furiously trying to arrange schedules, decline meetings snd generally ease them back into obscurity. They queued up their last songs, their final messages and prepared to promptly disappear from everyone's and especially each other's lives. Soulmates?

What a bunch fucking bullshit.

He heard a ring by the door, frowning at it from his nest of blankets on the bed. Around him there lay documents and chunks of scratched lyrics. Namjoon's song which he had worked all the way from March was yet unfinished and Yoongi feared it never will be. It was too much...too much of him had bled into it, leaving behind spots of ink pooling like blood around the paper. Sneering at the fallen papers when Yoongi at last rustled to climb out the bed, waddling his way to the door. Warily glancing through the peephole, he was surprised to see Hoseok on the other side. He was gnawing on his lip, pacing around with flowers in his hand. It had been nearly a year since meeting not-Do-Yun nevertheless he was hit with a wave of deja vu. His hair was unwashed and he was so tired, he couldn't even stand straight. For some unknown reason, his heart beat sickly in his chest, too faint and too strong at the same time. Should he just leave Hoseok, just never open the doors? He wanted to. It would be a safe action. But then he looked back onto the big bold letters of December 18th on the calendar. They didn't have much time left. Who knew maybe this was the last time he would ever see Hoseok face to face like friends, like... whatever the hell they were to each other.

Oddly self-conscious, he popped the door open and Hoseok jumped, clearly not anticipating that he would be listened to. When he saw the opening doors, his face was briefly illuminated by the brightest smile Yoongi had yet seen on him this year, and he tried not to think at all how it stirred something in his gut.

"Hey," Hoseok swayed on his feet, waving awkwardly. "T-these are for you."

He thrust a bouquet of colourful tulips into Yoongi's arms before he even could say anything. He held them close, not quite certain what to do anymore.

"Thanks," he wheezed. Hoseok looked him over.

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

Yoongi hoped that the bandage on his arm was not noticeable at this angle or the shards of glass from when he smashed the bottle of whiskey yesterday.

"Adequate enough."

It was obviously a lie but one Hoseok did not call him out on.

"I just wanted to say that they pulled out our appearance SBS’ Gayo Daejeon year-end show as well as KBS’ Gayo Daechukje year-end show."

Yoongi nodded along, gazing at the flowers. They smelt nice and the petals were in pristine condition.

"Jimin will release his solo track "Promise" on December 31 and then -"

"That's it," he concluded emptily and Hoseok's eyes began to get suspiciously damp.

"That's it," he echoed, trying to subtly wipe at his face. Yoongi shifted from one foot to another but nothing alleviated the lump rising in his throat. That train had picked up speed and he was breaths away from hitting the wall.

"Have you heard it?" he asked Hoseok lowly receiving a jittery shake of the head in response. He was on the verge of tears.

"N-no, h-he...we h-haven't made up," he gasped for air. "I-I've on-only seen Namjoon."

Yoongi remained standing in the doorway, wrenched apart by guilt and discomfort and pity and the need to protect and the need to curl up into a ball and just die. This was not how it was meant to be. They were okay with the world tearing them apart, expecting it anyway but not each other to do so. Why had the arguments become too much to be settled, since when was pride too important to listen to the other? When had they gone so wrong?

That point of darkness remained invisible still.

"I-I came here to say, th-that I don't regret meeting you. I regret hurting you, I regret lying but not meeting you," Hoseok cried in his sleeve, muffling most of his voice so that the tears would at least not be so audible. Yoongi heard it nonetheless.

"Take care of yourself. You deserve more. I'm sorry for everything. I love you, I'm sorry," and then he simply ran off.

Yoongi was yet again left standing alone and numb.

I’ll be honest, even up until one year without you I was fine, I didn’t have any feelings left The last day I had forgotten I don’t even remember your scent But wait, I’ve smelled this perfume somewhere, ay Just when my memory was about to come back I turned my head around and saw you You’re smiling brightly, but beside you there’s

I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry.

He glimpsed back onto the apartment. It was messy and trashed. He didn't have the strength to cook, to clean, to do anything but spiral, deeper and deeper. He knew, he knew it in his bones, that if he stayed he would do something to himself and that it was no little chance that his luck would finally wear out.

"What the hell are you sorry for, bastard?" he muttered to himself, stomping through the streets. Large, wet snowflakes were falling from the sky, dusting the world in a faint white layer that inevitably melted into a sludge of grey and brown. People and cars rushed past him but he nor heard, nor saw any of them.

I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry.

It became too much. The words pressed on his head, creating a neverending noise looping round and round and round. All that was said, what should be said what won't be said. It was getting hard to breathe.

He won't see them ever again. They will remain too stubborn, then too scared to reach out. They will never see each other again. It will be over. He had met his cliff face and it destroyed him. Splatters of yellow, white and red painted the snow. It was the tulips. Yoongi had been holding them all this time and as he struggled to breathe, unknowingly he had broken the blooms from the stems when he had clutched them too hard.

With a sharp gasp, he kneeled down, trying to gather them up once again but the damage was irreparable. The flowers were broken.

"Are you okay, mister?" a pleasant voice asked and a swishing end of a bright red coat entered his vision. He raised his gaze, desperate for it to be her, he thinks she would understand him, but it was not. Snow fell into Yoongi's face and he didn't know whether that made his face wet or was he crying just like Hoseok. It was not her.

"No," he replied.

"I don't think those flowers can be repaired."

"I know."

Yoongi made no attempt to get himself off the cold ground. He wanted to melt into it, into serenity and stop all of this.

"You can pick up the blooms though. My mom used to do that. Just the blooms and then put them in a shallow bowl of water. They'll keep living at least for a few days."

Obeying her command, Yoongi picked up the blooms and bowed to her in gratitude though he spoke no more. As he walked further along the streets, holding tightly onto what he could salvage, he didn't see how the woman looked after him. When he turned the corner she shook her head.

"Idiots," she whispered to herself and walked away.

Yoongi moved without much understanding or even recognition of what reality was. The lights blended in one, all the sounds, all the people, everything was a mass that enveloped all around but he could not make sense of.

He will lose, he had lost everything.

Namjoon, his number one supporter, Jin, his number one entertainer, Hoseok, his ray of sun, Taehyung, his unexpected but devoted idiot, Jimin, both the angel and the devil on his shoulder and Jungkook, who looked at Yoongi like he was the star. Like he was someone special. They all looked like he was someone to be adored, someone to be loved.

He stopped walking when he tripped over something and fell flat on his back. The tulips he managed to keep close to his chest this time. And for some reason his coat smelt of Hoseok.

"Yoongi, are you okay?" he heard Jungkook's voice and not a second later was yanked upwards. He blinked wearily through the snow and saw the once familiar 24/7 shop, the tarp, the seats, the tight voices of everyone around. He had found his far way into Daehang-no.

How are you? I’m doing okay Unlike my heart, that feels like it’ll explode The temperature right now is -248 degrees

"I hate you more!"

"No, I hate you!"

"You had no right to say it!"

"You had no right to do it!"

"Do you want us to part?! Do you want to get away?!"

"No, I don't want to! Do you?!"

"No, I can't stand the thought!"

They screamed their throats raw and once they did that they talked, and drank, but mostly talked. Yoongi said little as usual, merely looking on. Jungkook placed his head on Yoongi's shoulder as neither had the strength left to put up the front that they didn't care. They cared so much, perhaps too much. Maybe that's what caused the drift in its core. Not the hate, but the care that had been left unspoken and unmentioned for too long.

"I can't stop thinking of her," he muttered to Jungkook, brushing the petals of the red tulip. "I can't stop thinking of what her day is like, what she's doing, how she's feeling."

Jungkook reached to touch his chest.

"She's fine today," he answered as if he knew.

"You don't know that."

"I know. I have... a talent."

Yoongi put his head atop of Jungkook's and pestered him no longer. If he said he did, maybe he did. The world was so strange, far stranger than Yoongi had given it credit for.

"I don't want to leave," Taehyung cried onto the table, the warm tears melting away the small remnants of snow that managed to stick to the plastic. "I don't want to leave! What am I supposed to do without you?"

"Don't cry, Taehyung," Jimin insisted wiping away his friend's cheeks even if he was the one that bawled the most.

"Fuck this, let's just stay together," Jin called out. "Who cares what we are? What we call each other? Do you care?" he looked onto Namjoon who shook his head furiously, turning briefly green as the motion sickness took over.

"Do you care?" Jin asked Yoongi and nuzzling into his padded coat, Yoongi shook his head as well. He did not.

"Then what, pardon my language, the fuck are we doing? Are we idiots or something?"

"Undoubtedly," Hoseok murmured.

After a few more drinks, Namjoon fell flat on his ass and announced in horror that Sejin was releasing a statement of their disbandment. Rushing, tripping and yelling over each other they rushed to BigHit and upon seeing Sejin tackled him to the ground.

"We changed our mind!"

"Cancel the disbandment!"

"We're not leaving!"

Sejin was getting purple in Jungkook's chokehold. And Yoongi who kept the tulips in his hand, standing by the side, laughed and laughed until his stomach hurt.

I’m just orbiting you (Beyond the fog, I watch you as you continue to smile Without you or anything There’s no meaning to my irregular orbit)

Jungkook and Jimin finished singing the chorus and Yoongi gave a thumbs up. Namjoon and Jin were sleeping behind him on the small of the couch, Hoseok sat next to him, chiming in occasionally on what sounded better what not and Taehyung was designated on the coffee duty.

It was April 2019 and there had been no disbandment. The tour was quickly gathered up, extension dates added and the single 134340 was set to be released soon, more than a year after Namjoon had dropped the initial lyrics onto Yoongi's desk.

It had not been easy after that, arguments still rose, insecurities still persisted but they did not allow them to escape their control. And when Yoongi told them of the "incident"... they accepted him as he was, while helping the best they could. It was, for now at least, easier to not settle onto any terms, they were as they had been and had no intention of parting and whatever relationship they had going on, that was its groundwork.

"I really like your part," Hoseok remarked, bumping Yoongi's healthy shoulder.

"Thanks," he replied, blushing faintly.

"You sure you want to keep Adora in the song?"

"Yeah, if it's a song about us, she deserves a spot in, even if it's actually Adora's voice."

"Yeah," Hoseok drawled as the door was kicked open and Namjoon fell on the floor, somehow yanking the lamp with him from the shock. Taehyung without batting an eye stepped over, beaming wide and with numerous coffees.

"I got cookies as well," he announced. "They started to sell those giant ones downstairs."

Yoongi's phone rang and so he left right when they began to squabble over who would get the chocolate chip one. It was his brother for some reason.

"Hello?"

But there was no one on the other end. At least, not directly so. There were voices, arguing and loud voices fighting in the distance.

"I will not lose my son!" his mother yelled. Yoongi had not heard her this angry...perhaps forever.

"But he's..."

"I DON'T CARE WHO HE IS OTHER THAN HE IS MY SON! HE'S BEEN WORKING HARDER THAN ANYONE IN THIS FAMILY! HE'S THE REASON WE HAVE A STURDY ROOF OVER OUR HEADS AND NOT YOU! DAMNIT, YOU STUPID MAN, YOU WILL EITHER ACCEPT HIM AS HE IS OR YOU'LL SEE NONE OF US EVER AGAIN!"

And there was a hard smack of doors behind her, most likely the front. Then only silence.

"So you got that, right?" his brother suddenly spoke, nearly sending Yoongi into a shock state.

"Yeah, I got it."

Then he dared to breathe.

"Why did you show me that?"

"I don't know," his brother replied, shrugging almost audibly. "They've been going at this for a while now and I just thought that maybe you might feel...I don't know...unloved, forgotten? ...So don't think that you are... I don't know."

Neither of his mother's sons had the gift of talking easy what they felt, oftentimes, it was easier to just settle on cut fruits, tokens of apologies but not actual words so to hear his brother reach out, no matter how awkwardly, was... it stirred something unexpected when it came to his family.

"Do you care?"

"Not really. I mean, no offence, but you didn't really hide that you're gay even back home."

"I'm not gay."

There was a pause of silence.

"Ok, do you...have you...I don't know, do you identify with something or is it more like "whatever" type of thing."

"I'm pansexual."

Surprisingly, his brother didn't linger anymore.

"Ok, noted. Congratulations?"

"This sort of thing is not congratulated."

They both snickered on each side.

"Ok, noted that as well."

"How...how is he?" Yoongi tapped at the wall while he spoke. His therapist had recently begun working him through on the habit of ruining his fingers be it biting or nibbling, tapping was supposed to help. So he hoped.

"He's...different. It's not that he doesn't...don't think that he hates you...he's just...yeah."

His brother truly had not been gifted with conversational skills, yet Yoongi understood what he meant.

"Hmm."

"Do you wish he would accept you without mom threatening to leave him?

Yoongi laughed dryly.

"Wouldn't that be a perfect world?"

"Yeah," his brother sighed. "Shame though. Listen, I know you're probably busy these days, but...maybe you want to...you know..."

"Meet?"

"Yeah, it'd be cool to catch up."

"Sure. I'll free the schedule. Next week?"

"Alright, next week then. Bye, take care."

"You too."

Still unsure that the call ever happened, Yoongi lowered the phone and a new message popped up. It was from his father.

You are my son.

It took him five whole minutes to send the following text, but Yoongi had kept staring at his phone, so he didn't miss it.

If you want to be.

That was a very good question. A complicated, hard question he didn't know the answer to. Still, he gathered enough courtesy to reply.

Give it some time.

Drawing a deep breath, he tucked the phone away and re-entered the studio. Taehyung was brandishing the chocolate chip cookie.

"My king," he bowed deeply with a lopsided smirk, presenting Yoongi the treat like a crown.

"Knock it off," he scowled playfully, feeling his face grow hot and rushing back into the chair. "What did I do to earn this luxury?"

Namjoon yawned, nearly splitting his jaw in two.

"You've worked on this song harder than any of us. You deserve it."

"Do you think she would like it?" Jimin asked, staring at his cup of coffee. Lately, all his questions were about her but no one could fault him for that. Now, that everyone had stopped arguing, they were left wondering, wondering and dreaming of possibilities far away.

"I like it," you finally gave in as Jimin had gripped your face in his palms and refused to let go. "Of course, I like it. What do you want me to do, say no when you're here to strangle me?!"

It was Friday evening and years had already passed since the creation of 134340. Looking around Yoongi could hardly believe that things could have ever gone so wrong. Sitting in the small sofa, with word games and cards scattered around, squeezed amid the various take out boxes it felt so far away - the bad days, though Yoongi was not naive enough to assume they were out of reach. The arrival of Mark to him felt ominous and your mother even more so. He had somewhat patched things up with his father, not completely but enough to stay in touch, mostly for the sake of his own mother's well being. But he would rather have you not be strained into something like that.

While you and Jimin kept squabbling, he crossed eyes with Hoseok who was watching you intently from the sidelines. He hadn't let you out of his sight ever since the meeting with Mark. Sometimes Yoongi pondered had he looked at Hoseok the same way - reverent but so scared, scared to hurt, to be hurt. As they glanced at each other, they bloomed into knowing, bittersweet smiles. Everything still hung in balance but they had pulled themselves out of a more hopeless ditch so maybe, despite their shared idiocy, everything would fall in its rightful place.

He rather not think of an alternative. The "incident" was not entirely forgotten.

"Yoongi, there's literally a seat over there," Namjoon pointed out, peeking over his glasses as he leisurely munched on a fry, simultaneously obliterating Jungkook at Pictionary.

"So take it then," he tossed back, snuggling deeper into your lap.

"Dear God, it hurts," you whined as he pressed you deeper into the sofa.

"Life is pain, baby, you just have to bear it."

And so he continued to practically purr in your lap while Jungkook was breaths away from tearing into Namjoon. It felt nice having everyone around. Felt like a dream, to be honest.

When the house had quieted down and they retreated for the night, he lingered back to stare through the kitchen window. It still threw him out the loop to find somewhat unfamiliar sights staring back at him. But he didn't regret it. How could he?

When he heard someone padding into the kitchen, he turned around, expectant.

"What are you doing sitting in the dark, weirdo?" you accused him walking to get a cup of water. A habit of yours, one he hadn't at all anticipated this night.

"Waiting for you. Big bad wolf and all that."

"Get the garb, wolf, you're supposed to look like a grandma," you smirked back.

He glimpsed you all over, darting his tongue to wet the drying lips. Your bare legs, your shoulder from which that small piece of fabric you dared to call a nightgown had slipped away from. There was nothing really seductive per se and yet also it was everything. No wonder, Jin had gotten a nosebleed when you started wearing this thing.

"Come with me," he reached his hand out, standing upright. You eyed his hand dubiously.

"Why? It's 1 in the morning and again - why?"

"Do you have to ask so many questions?" he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because you have this zoned-out look in your eye."

"I do not!"

He perhaps had a very vivid dream three days ago. One he, up to this point, thought had hidden rather well.

"Yes you do and if the Red Riding Hood had asked more questions maybe she would not be eaten."

"What if she wanted to be eaten?"

Even in the dark of the kitchen where the only source of light was the streetlamp outside, he could not miss how you squeezed your thighs closer. He licked his lips once more.

"No one wants to be eaten," you grumbled, peering anywhere but him.

"Get your ass over," Yoongi grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. You began to stare at the ceiling.

"I want to show you something."

Not even a bomb could distract him from the fact that your eyes peered downward, for a millisecond but they did.

"Not that, you pervert," he snickered.

To say that it was mind-boggling to sit in between Yoongi's legs was an understatement. Everywhere you turn, you look or smell, he's just there, like a wall. A very sturdy, warm wall. Or perhaps a blanket. He had wrenched you in between his legs as you both sat and listened to his new tracks. The mystery of his daily appearances had been solved, he was still working, renting out a small space, three streets away and creating his own private little studio. You try to listen, you really do but his arms were flexing right beside you and his fingers were gently but skillfully gliding over the keyboard. And he had interrupted the now daily pleasuring session. It put you to sleep and it eased the nerves that gathered during the day. You may have gotten used to their presence, but not to them always fondling you, especially Jimin and even more so Yoongi. He'd gotten brazen, ever since Jae first appeared. In your own private dreams, you had the delusion to think that maybe he was flirting with you. More often than not he would just stare at you, sometimes looking away when caught, blushing and giggling shyly to himself, other times meeting your gaze full-on with a fuckboy-ish smile.

It was just weird.

"Hey, are you listening?" he nudged your shoulder with his nose, still typing and adjusting something on the equalizer. You had about the same gathering they did when you talked about cornice.

"Uh uh," you were intently following his middle finger stroking down the edge of the laptop.

"I could have sworn you were instead thinking of all those fun times you have with yourself here," his voice dropped down by an octave, not even really sounding like himself while your stomach lurched.

Mortified, you pretend to not understand what he was talking about, trying to not at all weigh on the fact that his arms, shockingly muscular arms, were squeezing you tighter. Or that his breath was in your nape. Or that he was in fact real. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe you were having a dream too good.

"And what would those be?" you snapped but your voice was breathless.

"You should really invest in a quieter vibrator if you want to keep it subtle."

He laughs, not exactly mocking but it does make you shiver.

"Every night as well! Me and the boys can hardly get any sleep."

It should gross you out but it doesn't that they had been listening. The embarrassment of it all of course tells you to toss yourself off the bridge, how were you supposed to look them in the eyes afterwards, but the more frivolous part of yourself is over the moon. These remarks make you feel something you never thought was possible - desired.

"Oh, shut up," you grumble, adjusting the silky nightgown.

It had been an impulse purchase, something to remind yourself once in a while that you were not a formless, putrid blob. Your mind was so loud it was hard to connect it to your body. It was perhaps silly and juvenile to do such a thing through sleepwear but now basking in someone's touch and attention it was more than successful. You felt like you were about to erupt, every touch and every graze reeled you in and out of reality.

"Why? Can't wait to get back to it?"

Yoongi toyed with the strap of your gown and you can barely remember how to breathe.

"Why are you doing that for?" you squeaked.

"Because I want you," he replied like it's easy, like it doesn't just cause your brain to explode. "Do you want me?"

You keep quiet, eyes somewhat squeezed shut. It's not horrifying but it is scary. What are you supposed to say? You hope Yoongi after all this time is not the type to lead you on as a joke, or just because you could but you never met someone who didn't do that. Most of the time you weren't even an option, let alone second or the third or the tenth and it had not bothered you because you hadn't wanted anyone. Before them, at least.

And it was them not just Yoongi.

Images of Hoseok pinning you to the wall, kissing you like he's starved, like was going crazy about not kissing you invade your mind. You well remember the heartache it caused and also the conversation. About asking. Was this Yoongi...asking?

He gently spins you around and you come face to face with his sombre expression. Fuck, he was asking. But you still don't know what to say. Hoseok said that you wouldn't be thinking, really thinking, what it meant being with them. And you weren't. It was hard to think when it all felt like a fever dream.

"Do you want me, baby? The same way I want you?"

You lick your lips and his eyes instantaneously focus there. He even seemed to be shaking, his hands on your shoulders definitely were.

"Don't overthink it, but be certain. If you don't want me, I'll go."

You skim him over. He's good looking of course but that's a little factor, a mere footnote, he was just...comfort. Even now, wearing an oversized shirt and sweats, he looks cosy, like he belongs here, there's no gap of him, the star and the idol and you, the mere mortal with your own mountain of trobles.

"I do want you," you say, squeezing your eyes shut. It was easier to say these things in the dark. "But I don't know how you want me..."

He throws his head back and lets a deep, throaty laugh, hands coming up to squeeze your sides. You shudder violently.

"Is it really not that obvious? Have we been not fawning over you enough?"

He gently noses at your neck and you lean back allowing the small space where he can lay a series of gentle pecks against your thrumming pulse.

Everything of you was rapidly going into overdrive.

Holy shit, holy shit, this is real, you're not dreaming this is real! Wait, you hadn't shaved! Wait, maybe your breath stinks! You still have that rough patch of skin around your knees! You need to shower, you need to shave, you need to get ready! Does he have a condom? Will he fit? Does your vagina even look like how it should?

Yoongi sensing your tensed shoulder leans back, gently massaging them.

"You're overthinking," he mutters, "don't."

"I have anxiety, this is the only thinking I do," you growl back at him and immediately feel a harsh slap on your ass.

Your eyes shot open and you find a mischievously giggling Yoongi staring back at you, smile so wide, his gums show.

"Did you...did you just spank me?" you ask, stunned.

Still snickering, he dares to shrug.

"It'll distract you."

Half joking, you wrap your hand around his neck. Feeling how his heart is threatening to rip out of his system. He blushes bright red but otherwise seems happy.

"You don't know how to choke someone."

"Maybe the intent is not sexual," you threaten.

Quickly he grabs your fingers into his, holding them still and wraps his free hand around your neck. His long fingers wrapping around with ease, noticeable but not overbearing. You stop moving, struggling to breathe from the excitement. Thoughts form and pass by without the capability to stick because - holy shit!

You sit in his lap, the faint sound of his newest tracks still playing in the background, forgotten for now and the room settles with a newfound intimacy of just being close to each, taking in the actuality of the scene.

"If you want to stop, if you feel uncomfortable, say so or tap my shoulder, clonk me on the head, okay? This is about you and what you want."

"That seems slightly unfair," you murmur, caressing his hand absent-mindedly. He shivers.

"I just want to make you feel good. We all want to."

It's the sincerity in his words that makes your shoulders slump back. You relax as best as you could.

"That's a nice start, you're doing very good," he purrs and begins to leave a series of warm kisses against the column of your throat, occasionally biting on the skin, though his palm stays wrapped around your throat. It makes you tremble.

"I thought hickeys are..." your breath hitches, "are...a teenager thing."

"Don't care," he whispers, running his teeth against the soft flesh, "he marked you purple, so will I."

It seems like no passage of time will make them less salty about Jae.

Once he's satisfied meaning your neck looks like you've been chewed by a pack of boars, Yoongi tugs you upward, hands still kneading any knots of your shoulders, releasing any lingering tension.

You might just black out from pure anticipation alone.

As you lean back on the bed, shivering in the cold air, Yoongi stands over you, eyes as dark as the night, seemingly content to just keep watching.

"Stop staring," you murmur, self-consciously, covering your chest with your arms. Your skin feels feverish and you have to squeeze your thighs to lessen the rampaging need for someone to do something. Anything.

"How can I?" he retorts, quickly crawling on top of you. "When you look like a fucking dream."

Oh, he was a menace.

"Quit saying such things," you hide your face in the pillow.

"What that you are gorgeous?" he repeats innocently, kissing your collarbone while his fingers flutter across your inner thigh. "That you're a dream come true? That if I would have my way, you'd be in this bed for days?"

His finger lightly teases your entrance.

"You're so smart, baby, so, so smart but in some areas, you're really not getting some things."

He begins to kiss down your stomach, and even with the nightgown in the way, you can feel everything. You were having a fever, he was putting you in medical condition from all of this.

"So we're just going to make you do some affirmations, alright?"

His hands reached to grab around your ankles as he pushed your thighs open. You stare at the ceiling, unable to breathe or think, just wondering somewhere in a distant brain cortex whether one could die from teasing.

Kissing up each of your thighs, lingering a tad longer on the stretch marks and imperfections, he finally breached the pregnant silence with a guttural growl.

"Question time, baby. What do I love about you?"

"I-I don't know."

He smacks your thigh, the flesh jiggling from the impact.

"My legs!"

"Correct. What else?"

Your mind is coming up blank when his breath ghosts over your cunt.

Giving another hint, his arm reaches to squeeze your nipple.

"My breasts!"

"Correct. What do I want more than anything right now?"

He dives in with a bold lick, teasing your clit.

Your blood reaches a new boiling point.

"Me," you gasp and he hums in agreement. All of which you can feel. It's not long before your thighs begin to shake and attempt to close and the familiar coil begins to wind up in the pit of your stomach. He keeps them open, fingers digging into your flesh while he eats you out like there wasn't anything on heaven or earth that could compare.

Tears begin to collect in the corners of your eyes as you start to shiver violently all while trying not to make a sound.

If they all liked you, which both Yoongi and Hoseok had implied, wouldn't they feel betrayed?

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Yoongi briefly retreats for a breath.

"Keep singing, baby," he insists, smacking your thigh again. "So that everyone can hear you. Namjoon, those stupid neighbours in 38."

Apartment 38 and Yoongi had been having beef for some time now. Something about wrong mail in the wrong mailbox. You couldn't give less of a shit.

"Why Namjoon sp-specifically?" you tug at his hair and he grunts appreciatively.

"He's probably suffering right now, all blue-balled. He's been the horniest out of us all."

That...honestly wasn't as surprising.

Something digs in your back and you whine in pain. Yoongi is quick to look up, sobering slightly at the sound.

"You want to stop? Everything alright?"

Trying to ignore the embarrassing feeling of him just seeing you bare, you dig for the offending object. To your neverending mortification, it is your purple rabbit vibrator.

Yoongi laughs loudly when seeing it.

"Hello, nemesis. I've been wanting to see this thing for quite the while."

He grabs it out of your hand and to your horror, turns it on. The sound is indeed loud.

"It's like a whole truck," he giggles. "And it matches your hair as well!"

"Would you shut the fuck up," you hiss fake crying and then jolt upright as without warning Yoongi pushes it up against your clit. The sound alone had ramped up your nerves to a thousand and you feel that damning sensation of needing something in you as your pussy clenches around nothing.

"You got so wet," he remarks continuing to greedily eat you out, circling the vibrator around your clit. Your back arches and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop making sound. Moaning, whimpering, begging to stop or to continue, it's getting harder to tell.

"Another question, baby," he growls, turning the vibrator to the highest setting. You scream louder, trashing around, all mind and worry escaping.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You! Please don't stop!"

"Say that again."

"I'm yours! Just, please -"

"And who am I?"

You frown in confusion but after a quick slap on the thigh, you dare to say the unimaginable.

"You're mine," you gasp, one stray tear rolling past your temple. "You're mine."

"That's right and don't you forget it."

If Yoongi feels any pain from your attempts to rip the hair out of his head, he doesn't voice it and for a moment all world disappears as that coil in the pit of your stomach rips open. When you come from your high, Yoongi softly pecks at your thighs, casting the vibrator aside.

There's a suspicious bang coming from the other side of the wall and you remember that Jin was sleeping just there. He must have heard, there's was no way he couldn't have but still shivering from the pleasure, it's hard to care for it.

"You did so well, baby, so, so well," he praises crawling away from your lower half and wiping the stray tear. "Do you want to continue?"

You nod mutely, nuzzling already boneless into his arm.

There's no way no one is unaware of what's happening, definitely not when Yoongi has to reach up to the headboard to get the proper angle and it pounds repeatedly against the wall. Or when he hoisted you on top of him, laying his sweaty forehead in the crook of your neck and muttering incoherently how much he adored you, while he palmed your breasts and when subsequently the bed broke and you both rolled onto the floor. It didn't deter anyone. In between sloppy kisses, thrusting so deep you could swear you could feel him in your throat, he opened his mouth to say something, something important, to say that, but you smacked a hand over his lips.

"Don't-don't say it, I'm-I'm not ready for that."

His eyes briefly widened but he understood and nodded along.

When you both came, sticky and covered in sweat, panting and shivering, he whispered in your ear.

"Still, you know that I do. We all do."

You sniffled lightly, overstimulated and emotional. No matter how hard you tried that simple truth was rather hard to grasp. He moved to lay next to you, trembling from the cold seeping off the floor.

"When...when did you start?"

Yoongi sighed with all the weariness in the world.

"Longer than you think. Before we met, really."

You peeked up to his relaxed face, while he leisurely carded his fingers through your hair.

"How is that possible? You can't love someone you've never met."

"Sure you can. If they're your soulmate. Now shut up and go to sleep."

previous ⟷ next

me, dropping this beast of a mess after a long ass time

so, the promised trivia about this universe:

1. 134340 was released as a single in 2019 and not in LY album

2. ARMY was convinced that the boys will disband in 2018 bc it was really apparent how bad their relationship was this year. 2019 started really messy because they were supposed to disband but instead they picked up the tour where they left it off starting with Japan in January 12, 2019

3. Because of the whole situation with Yoongi, Hoseok is so hesitant with MC, he once saw how bad he could mess things up so he's scared that it'll happen again

4. Namjoon saw MC in UN on September 24th and Yoongi saw her in FCO Airport in Rome on October 18th, 2018. She was just accepted late into the interior design program hence why they met. As for how did Yoongi even ended up there, let's just say fate lol

5. I know that irl Yoongi didn't solely create 134340 but in this AU the lyrics really fit with his storyline (and it's one of my faves), so here it is more of his song

6. Yes, literally everyone but MC has gone to therapy lmao

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