“It was when I was at my worst that Kim
Seokjin came into my life, like a beaming ray of sunshine after an eternity of
FLUFF (w/ mentions of bullying and body
Summary: You weren’t the ideal body type, far from it, but Jin loved you all the same.
A/N: For all of those who are in the constant
struggle of loving your body. You’re all beautiful <3 It’s something that I
really feel strongly about and something that I know we’re all guilty of –
criticizing our own body. BTS is constantly telling us to love ourselves and
that they love us as we are and it melts my heart. T_T So I was infired to
write this. Please enjoy and pass on the message! YOU’RE ALL BEAUTIFUL and please take care of your health for yourself and for those who love you <3
Your body was never – how should you
put this – “ideal”. Back in the day, it seemed to actually offend
other people, so much so that they took their time and effort just to rub it in
and announce it to the world.
It’s not like you didn’t know you
weren’t the most appealing body type. It’s not like you didn’t know you were
unhealthy. You hung your head down and avoided eye contact. You knew your mere
presence made people either grimace or look at you sympathetically. And you
felt sorry…sorry that how you looked made other people feel so negatively. You
were sorry that teachers had to work extra hard just to pry people off of you
or scold them about their actions.
But you were stuck with yourself. You
loved eating. You loved food. Your parents were pastry chefs and you were their
more than willing test subject. Apart from that, your family didn’t have the
thinnest bones and they were never ashamed of it, so why should you have to be?
You tried to remain positive. You
had other qualities to offer. You were kind and generous to a fault. You were
intelligent, hard working, and proactive. You loved yourself…even if no one
else did. If you didn’t – then who would?
In a fit of retaliation to the years
you spent being bullied and shamed about your weight, you just let yourself go.
Yes, you were obese for your body type. Yes, you had more body fat than muscle.
But you didn’t care. Because you loved yourself. You were going to show
everyone that you could be happy even when you looked like this. You could be
successful even after everything they had put you through.
But while you put up the pretense
that you loved yourself…you really didn’t.
You were conscious of your body and you
simply masked it with over confidence. You were afraid if you changed anything
about yourself, people would know they affected you…that you had let them
win. If you did nothing, well…you hoped you would eventually get used to the
You were stuck, and running around
in a never ending battle with yourself and with society’s standards.
You loved your personality. You
hated your body.
Which was more important?
You wished that somehow you could
love both about yourself, but you couldn’t. So you settled that if you had to
choose one, it would be what was inside that mattered to you most.
Everything would work out because you
loved yourself regardless of how you looked…right?
Years later, you learned the hard
way that loving yourself and taking care of yourself were two
entirely different concepts.
It was your first day of work at Big
Hit. You thought they would ease you into the job slowly, but you were terribly
wrong. It was filming day for the internationally famous Bangtan Boys, and you
were swept into the scene. You had dressed up professionally, but as soon you
saw the other staff members, you realized you were incredibly overdressed.
You were already drenched in sweat
standing in heels that couldn’t handle the weight of your body and squeezed
into a pencil skirt, while your spanks held in what they could and dug into
your gut. They ordered you to carry props and parts of the scenery hurriedly,
not sparing any time for introductions. So you struggled to drag them from one
end to another, your feet throbbing, and your heart racing incredibly fast.
Your clothes were constricting every movement; even simply breathing seemed
like a chore. The room began spinning as you tried to make your way to set up
the scene, and then everything turned black.
"Y/N. Y/N! Y/N.“
You heard someone’s voice calling
your name from the darkness and a strong fragrance filled your nose. You
finally realized that you weren’t waking up in your bed and that you had been
at work last you remembered. Your FIRST day of work.
You contemplated pretending to be
unconscious so you wouldn’t have to face the embarrassing reality. But then you
felt a warm hand on your forehead and you wanted to scream because you were
disgustingly sticky and sweaty, not wanting to disgust the owner of the hand
once they made contact.
"She’s sweating and hot. Can
anyone get me something cold? We have to cool her down.”
You sensed the urgency in his voice
and you felt apologetic for making them panic, so you slowly opened your eyes.
But as soon as you saw who was in front of you, you wanted to pass out all over
Oh my god or a number 13. Sorry I got excited when I saw it
This was so much fun to write! It’s more lighthearted than the other two but hopefully still enjoyable. If you like reading about dad!Newt than you should enjoy this. Also, it’s longer than the other two so that’s good! I have three requests lined up but I’d love some more so feel free to shoot me an ask or a message. Cheers, May.
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Newt was a great mother to his creatures. They loved him, growing attachments to the unusual human who cared for them. That’s why you weren’t worried about Newt being a father to your baby. In fact, you were thrilled when you found out you were pregnant.
Newt was happy with the announcement too. The two of you had been married for around a year and having a child seemed to be the next step. But under his excitement was fear. He was going to be a father. He was going to have an actual child. A child of his own. He tried to hide his worry from you but you easily saw through his facade.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” you whispered into his ear as the two of you lay cuddled up to each other on your couch.
“Hmm,” he moaned soothingly, playing with a strand of your hair and twirling it in his fingers.
“I’m serious,” You sat up and Newt whined at the lack of closeness between the two of you. “You’ve already had practice with your creatures and you’ve done a wonderful job.”
He nodded his head in agreement but only because he knew giving in would be the only way to bring your head back to his chest. You gave him a stern gaze before laying back down on him. He tried to believe what you said. He really did. But, to him, being the mother to his creatures was completely different than being a father to his actual child. For one thing, the creatures he cared for were independent. They knew how to care for themselves for the most part. Their lives didn’t depend on him to be a good parent. His child’s life would be completely and utterly dependant on the two of you. You were the ones who brought him into the world and you were in charge of protecting him until he could protect himself.
Newt managed to hide his fear from you for the rest of your pregnancy and one day in April, you welcomed your son, Jacob, into the world. Newt immediately fell in love with the little bundle. Everything about Jacob seemed perfect to Newt which didn’t help ease his fear.
Newt avoided being alone with Jacob as much as possible. He loved being around his son but it was much better when someone else was there too. Someone to make sure he didn’t mess anything up. The occasional times it was just father and son, things went by smoothly and without any mishaps though this didn’t calm Newt’s fear at all.
One day when Jacob was almost a year old, you had to go into the city for a meeting and Newt was left alone with your son. Things started off fine as they usually did. Newt read the child stories and watched as he played with his beast figurines, never daring to take his eyes off the precious creature.
Jacob was still too young to say anything comprehensible but Newt loved the little sounds and coos he made as he played. He sat on the floor next to Jacob, gazing in admiration at the little boy who had become the center of his life.
His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing in the kitchen. You were a muggleborn and had insisted on having a phone in your apartment so you could communicate with your family but it ended up being used a lot between you and Newt. Thinking it was you, he hurried into the kitchen answering the phone. It turned out to be Queenie, asking if they would be home the following week when she came to England for a visit.
After a quick confirmation, Newt hung up the phone and rushed back to where he had left Jacob. But Jacob wasn’t there. He felt panic rising in his chest and flooding his body as he frantically scanned the room for any sign of his son. He tore apart the room, looking behind furniture and calling Jacob’s name repeatedly. But Jacob simply wasn’t there. He searched the whole flat but there was still no sign of the child. The only place he didn’t bother checking was his case. It was locked up and Jacob was too young to know how to get it open.
“I’m home!” Newt heard you call from the front door and he froze at the thought of having to explain the situation. “Hey darling.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before looking around the room. “Where’s Jacob?”
“Um…I lost our baby.” Newt blurted out and then the rest of the story followed quickly. He explained about the phone call and coming back to find Jacob gone. “I’ve searched the whole house. He’s not anywhere.”
“It’s going to be okay.” You placed a gentle hand on Newt’s arm. “We can’t panic. We know he can’t have left the house because all the doors and windows are locked. He’s got to be here somewhere.”
The two of you split up, each taking a portion of the house to search. Newt ran his hands through his hair in shame, heart pounding rapidly in his chest. You tried not to let your worry show. You knew Newt was tearing himself up over the situation and you knew your panic would make him feel worse.
You turned into the bedroom you shared with Newt and searched the room, looking under the bed and in the closet. That was when you noticed Newt’s case sitting next to your bed, the top slightly open. You felt hope soar through you as you opened the case all the way and descended into the room below.
“Jacob!” you called. You heard a faint giggling that sounded familiar. You knew immediately it was Jacob. You took off in that direction and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw him. He was sitting on the ground next to the bowtruckles’ home. They had gathered around the young boy and he laughed as they crawled around on him.
“Jacob,” you sighed breathlessly, scooping up the cause of your panic. “Thank god.” You pressed him tight to your body, kissing the top of his head. “Newt! I’ve found him! I’m in the case!”
You could hear stomping and frantic breathing and Newt came running towards you. His face broke into an expression of relief when he was your son securely held in your arms. He shakily moved to the two of you, engulfing you both in a hug.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered shamefully. “I failed as a father.”
“Don’t say that,” you said sharply. “You haven’t failed anything. You’re not the first father in the world to lose track of his son.”
Newt smiled gratefully at you. What had he done to deserve such a forgiving and loving wife? He was constantly amazed that you had even agreed to marry him. You saw the look of love on his face and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to his lips. He responded, softly moving his mouth against yours. The moment was ruined when Jacob began to squirm in your arms. You both turned your attention to him to see him pointing at the bowtruckles. “Twuckles!” he giggled.
“Very good!” Newt smiled encouragingly. “Those are bowtruckles.”
“Like father like son.” You rolled your eyes and Newt shot you a grin. “You should take him down here more often!”
“Only if his mother joins us,” he responded cheekily and you smiled despite yourself.
I hope this high school AU fluffiness is to your liking! Happy Valentine’s Day <3
Because That’s Love
Derek hated carrots. Derek hated a lot of things Stiles liked. But none of that stopped Mr. Popularity from asking Stiles out.
Stiles had originally thought it was a joke, becoming another punch line of another joke for the popular crowd to laugh at. So, Stiles may have panicked and practically ran away from Derek when he approached him in the hallway while Scott was invested in staring longingly at Kira as she spoke with Allison and Lydia.
Derek was left in the hallway to stare after Stiles, a slightly confused and bewildered look falling over his features. He looked at Scott for a helpful hint, getting nothing more than a confused look before Scott realized what happened and ran after Stiles. However, he didn’t give up.
Derek had always been a bit of an attention whore when it came to showing off. He did backflips to the cheers of the crowd when warming up before a basketball game. He flashed a charming smile when running for class president, beating Lydia Martin by only a few votes—which didn’t matter because Derek and Lydia entered into a pact to being each other’s vice president, despite the results. He helped to arrange a drive for charity by having rallying the basketball team into posing for a calendar—all classy photos, PG enough for the PTA and school board to not petition.
In short, sitting down next to Stiles at lunch wasn’t that big of a deal to Derek. Derek offered a nod to the others, registering that he wasn’t a threat.
No one could ever possibly know how many times Dean had pictured this moment. Not even Sam, who over the course of the past few months, had developed a Pavlovian response to say, “We’ll get him back, Dean,” every time Dean so much as looked in his direction.
But Sam couldn’t possibly know. He couldn’t know how much Dean had mulled over all the times, real and imagined, that he’d let Cas down. All the ways he’d planned on making it up to him, if and when they ever got him back again. All the things he’d say, all the confessions he’d make.
But now? Now that Cas was in the car with him, safe and sound (well, apart from the little matter of the world being about to end), gleefully devil free, and most importantly, without of an audience, Dean couldn’t think of a single goddamned thing to say. Now how was that for a cruel irony?
Dean had taken every precaution. He’d even guzzled a few beers to loosen his nerves a little, before taking Cas out to buy more liquor (that they already had plenty of to begin with).
But nothing helped. The words he’d rehearsed so carefully, straight out of one of those chick flicks Dean secretly loved so dearly, had evacuated his mind.
Now all he was left with was a blank whiteboard for a brain, the seemingly unattainable object of his affections in the passengers’ seat, and a droning silence full of things left unsaid.
Dean had never been so frustrated in his life. He had to say something, dammit, or one of them was going to explode again.
Taking a shallow breath, he prepared himself to speak, unsure as to what would come out when he did.
Their conversation was…anticlimactic. It wasn’t disastrous – if anything, it was their version of small talk, full of references of recent satanic possessions and whatnot.
As it progressed, Dean fumbled towards what he’d wanted to say all along, but it danced maddeningly out of his reach, taunting him with his own inadequacy. Everything he said seemed to come out just a little off the mark.
*You’ve been there since the beginning, Cas. You’ve stood by me at my worst and my cruelest, and never complained once.*
That’s what he was THINKING, anyway. What came out instead was, “But you’re always there, y’know?”
*Nice going, Winchester,* Dean thought grimly. *Making him sound like a goddamn stray cat now.*
This was ridiculous. He’d waited months for this moment, and now he was chickening out? Dean gathered his nerves to say something, three little words he’d wanted to say for years now.
Then, something happened. Memories flooded him, like his life flashing before his eyes, only worse. Memories of times with Cas. The best ones and the worst ones, the ones that reminded him why he could never, ever have him.
He remembered the years of frustration he’d felt in Cas’s presence, angry that the angel stirred up feelings and desires in him he’d worked so hard to repress. He was more attracted to Cas than to any woman he’d ever been with – hell, he couldn’t even get himself off anymore without Cas invading his thoughts – and it made him angry.
He remembered how many times he’d taken that anger out on Cas, putting him down and snapping at him, and not even knowing he was doing it till later.
He remembered purgatory, those long nights he’d spent cuddled up against him (“For warmth,” he’d claimed). Benny, the uncomfortable third wheel, had thankfully replied, “I’m fine over here, thanks,” when Cas had suggested he join them.
He remembered telling Cas to leave the bunker when he was at his most vulnerable, and the long nights that had followed, spent staring at the ceiling and wondering if he’d made the right choice, wondering where Cas was, if he was alright, if he was anywhere resembling happy.
He remembered that night after Cas’s disastrous would-be date – one that Dean was secretly shamefully glad had failed – when he’d confessed to Dean that he had no place to say. Dean had felt awful. But as much as he’d wanted to bring him back to the bunker with him right then and there, Dean knew (or at the time, thought he knew) he couldn’t. Not without risking Sam’s life to do it.
So, Dean did the next best thing. He got him the Honeymoon Suite at a local hotel. Or, more accurately, he’d gotten THEM the Honeymoon Suite at a local hotel.
When Dean had crawled into bed with him, shirtless and just slightly tipsy from the hotel’s minibar, he’d thought he was doing him a favor, giving him some good experience with sex after that bitch of a reaper exploited him just weeks prior.
Oh, it had ended up being so much more than that.
Dean remembered the way Cas had looked up at him then: with such pure reverence, like he was looking at something sacred, and Dean had felt as though he could have drowned in those crystalline blue eyes. He remembered the way Cas had smelled: usually, he smelled faintly like lightning, but at the time, he smelled like cheap aftershave and a slight musk that made Dean feel oddly feral. He remembered how soft and warm and human he’d been, and selfishly, Dean had wanted him to stay that way forever.
To date, it may have been the best night he’d ever spent. So good that it took days for the guilt to catch up with him.
It was bad enough that Cas was a guy (or at least, something that looked like one) and after that day when he was sixteen years old, and John had caught him with that boy from school, well. Sufficed to say it wasn’t an experience he’d ever wanted to repeat.
But to his surprise, Dean was angry at himself for a different reason entirely: moral outrage.
How dare he use Cas like that? How dare he use someone at such a vulnerable point in their lives? Especially, Dean thought grimly, after HE’D been the one to put him there to begin with.
So, Dean did what he was best at: he pretended it never happened. And Cas, by default, followed suit. That night was never talked about, never mentioned. The only difference between them was the fact that the awkward sexual tension they’d always shared had grown thick enough to cut with a butter knife, and even that Dean managed to ignore.
It had been three years since that night, and Dean had just about convinced himself that it was nothing more than another wet dream.
The point was, Dean had had his shot to be with Cas. And he’d missed it. And by the looks of things, he’d probably hurt Cas with it, too, though of course, that had never been his intention.
Of course, there were other things, too – for instance, he’d beat him within an inch of his life less than a year ago, and Mark of Cain or not, Dean knew he’d never quite forgive himself for that.
Bottom line was, Dean was now certain he didn’t deserve Cas. And Cas surely deserved better than someone like Dean.
What he needed more than that, Dean decided, was a family. A brother. And that was something he was sure he COULD give him.
“You’re our brother, Cas,” Dean concluded. “I want you to know that.”
This is the prologue of the new Boueibu novel, aptly named “Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu LOVE! NOVEL! II”. BIG FLASHING CONTENT WARNINGS are in effect for child suicide; you have been warned.
Other than that, look forward to Yumoto being awesomely Yumoto, En being the biggest dork on the planet, and, unlike the first novel, a blissful lack of Wombat banging on for thirty pages about onsen manjuu.
Many thanks to @intra-fiducia for helping me with the epigram, and for pointing out the bible reference that I shamefully failed to notice. Also thanks to @nardaviel for reading my draft and pointing out many, many things. Errors are, as ever, mine, not theirs, and believe me, there will be ALL THE ERRORS. But hopefully you can get the drift.
Not sure if I’m putting this coherently, but I think we all also need a little bit of hope, or at least a galvanising call to action. Apathy and negativity is draining. So…I don’t see a point perpetuating the idea that ‘no one cares about Aleppo’, when people do care- people care enough that organisations are doing work to help, which we can donate to, to support. I’m specifically talking about people not in Syria, particularly Westerners with regards to this. I do think the int’l community has failed shamefully in Syria but it’s not a situation where literallyno one cares. I understand doing the ‘no one cares thing’ if there has really been almost no media coverage or any NGOs working to help, but it’s not true in this case. Many news organisations are reporting the situation; I follow the BBC and they’re liveblogging the ongoing evacuation.
Making posts just about how ‘no one cares’, idk, doesn’t it become harmful beyond a certain point, if it reinforces the apathy? By giving impression there is nothing we can do because even if we care nobody else does? I don’t think that’s helpful. Wallowing in this kind of guilt and cynicism is a waste (and a luxury we have that the refugees don’t) when small as it might be, we can do our part by donating, contacting our government representatives or spreading awareness about what’s going on. The situation there is awful, but if what we do helps at least one more person, that is going to mean the whole world to that person. In our position, we have to think ‘yes, we can help’.