#it's a good and tough question and i wish it were easier to sort but mostly i wish he could've told us himself

[septembersghost]

Sometimes idk if I can believe everything that’s written about Elvis in books, even by people who knew him. Do you feel that way too? There are so many conflicting accounts you know.

for sure. personally i don't think we should believe everything. there have been people who are very much out for themselves or have their own agendas, or sensationalized (or fabricated) things on purpose, because unfortunately spicier content generates attention and sales, so when there are discrepancies or conflicts in those accounts, i think we have to be very careful and circumspect in what we believe, and weigh who's saying it and what they might have to gain against everything we definitely know to be true. stories about his key character tend to line up whether it's from people who knew him or people he only interacted with briefly, and it's easier in a way to build a picture from that, where those aspects of him really connect and are very clear, than to try to pin together stuff that's more like gossip and intensely subjective. my friend JUST sent me audio of kathy talking about him and something she said stood out to me: "no matter where he was, there was laughter, and i don't care what any of the guys that write all of these negative books or whatever - that's what they miss too, that he was fun, he was a fun person..." and then she talks about his kindness, and says, "i wish the world were full of elvis presleys," and it's like...he was a unique soul, a complicated and dazzling person, and he sought those connections and had different dynamics with different people, but every one of those people has had something to gain in using those pieces of him to tell their story, whatever their intent might be, loving or disparaging. we learn what we can and we feel what's still shared and vivacious from what he left behind, but having certain things filtered through secondhand accounts can feel disorienting and even unfair, i know what you mean. he isn't here to tell us himself, to set the record straight, to still exercise that seemingly boundless kindness the way we know he did in life. there's so much extraneous noise, but there's one clear voice, and it's his alone. we have to decide for him (and for ourselves) what information has value and what reflects his true spirit, and take whatever means the most to us.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

I agree with you about your stances on punishment, and I think it's so important to see that perspective instead of the more common one. I do not want to live in a world with the death penalty or prison.

But I'm very curious how you got to the point where you want your abuser to be happy. Capital H happy. I've never seen that before. I think it's great, and it must've taken a lot of time, and if it's not too personal, I'd like to hear about the process. If not to help myself, to help someone else. I'm personally very very jaded to the whole "forgiveness" mentality (it seems very catholic to me somehow? I forgive you so I'm better than you?) But the way you put it feels different somehow. Sorry for picking your brain, and if it's too personal I totally get it. Thanks for your time.

Thank you for this question.

Hm, it's a tough one. It may be informed by my lack of any singular capital-A Abuser. Certainly, I have had people who were abusive to me longer term (my mother especially), but for the most part it was many dozens of adults in single instances or shorter term situations during my childhood and teenage years that raped or otherwise harmed me. That lack of any singular individual to act as a locus for all the damage may have made it easier for me to come to a point where I wish them well.

I remember being 19, face in my toilet bowl, puking my guts up after downing a fifth of rum in an hour or two. I think it was a Thursday. I understood my mother for the first time. I wanted to stop drinking, and I didn't know why I couldn't.

My roommate at the time slept on a mattress on the floor in the living room. He left his family the day he turned 18 and took the Greyhound across the country to crash with me. We were good friends when he got here, but my negligence and failure to control my drug use ruined that relationship within a few months. He stayed with me for two years. He didn't have other options.

I don't remember those years well at all. Besides various temp jobs, all I did was drink, get fucked up, and make messes I never cleaned up. It was a one bedroom apartment and I had the bedroom, he couldn't really go anywhere. He didn't really know anyone. I was a fucking terror to live with, and a terror he couldn't even really get away from.

And I didn't mean to be that way. I didn't mean to hurt him with my dereliction. But it doesn't matter, y'know, impact is more important than intent. I fucked up bad.

Eventually he left. I was and still am filled with remorse for putting him through what I did. Maybe this perspective is the christian upbringing, maybe it's twelve step bullshit, but often I see my feelings as very self serving. I can justify just about anything, as long as I use enough self pity. But this feeling was different. It was just... remorse, pure and unfiltered. No rationalizations as to how it wasn't really my fault, no equivocations, no blaming outside factors, just acknowledgement that I fucked up and I hurt someone I loved. I was sorry that I had done that.

Humility does not come naturally to me. This was a humbling experience.

I--and everyone I've ever met, everyone who ever harmed me--am a human being. No more, no less. In each of us is potential both to love deeply and to do great harm to others. No one is without both these potentials.

It comes down to this: what I wish for myself, I must wish for all.

Do not mistake me here--this does not neatly translate into a pragmatic political position. For me, this is simply some sort of spirituality, that is to say, how I strive to navigate my life, day at a time, in the world as I find it. This is as small scale as it can get.

I understand that feeling about forgiveness you mention. What I have to say about it probably won't help the christian connotation; I am an atheist and a subjectivist, though obviously culturally evangelical. Maybe it is that last part that influences this next, but I don't feel I have the authority to forgive anyone. Or, in another word, 'let he who is without sin cast the first stone.'

Now, of course, I believe in neither god nor sin, but I do believe in harm. 'Let he who is not capable of such harm cast the first stone,' perhaps. Not all harm is equivalent, certainly, but no one is innately capable or incapable of greater harm than others. The ability to actually do harm is relative to relations to power, no doubt, but a given power relation is not innate.

So yeah I end up back at 'i have no moral high ground over or under anyone else, the forgiveness is neither mine to give nor withhold,' which frankly is a rather christian viewpoint.

There's this idea in Judaism that has stuck with me for the last few years: tikkun olam. To repair the world. What must I do to ensure my part in that repair happens?

There is so little I have control of. The only thing I can change is what I do. If the world around me is hardened and cruel, why must I adopt that cruelty into myself? Will it get me better outcomes in life? Perhaps, perhaps not. I have found it hasn't, but others may find it has. But that's talking about results. And I don't have power over results.

I cannot change the world, cannot repair it alone. But I think I can work to repair myself, and in the process, the smallest portion of the world may be repaired alongside me. Maybe, maybe not. It becomes a matter of faith. Or to put it in a therapeutic framing, it's an 'even if.'

I'll end with this, an old twelve step saying: "resentments are like drinking a bottle of poison and expecting the other person to die."

What is a resentment? Re- as in once more. -sent, as in sentiment. Feeling something once more. It is the reanimated corpse of a feeling, not the feeling itself. It looks like the feeling you know, maybe walks and talks like it too. But it's rotting away. It died long ago. So why should you pretend the corpse is alive? It moves, it rasps, but it's something else now; it only shares a body with the original, nothing else. So maybe it's time to let go, and begin to move forward.

[softcitrus2345]

Hii!! This is the first time I have ever reached out to someone in this community because I am very scared of being 'found out' and I find it hard to accept myself for what I like 😓 But your account feels very safe, and ur art is so gorgeous bsjsbdj!!!. I read ur tips from a while ago about how to start an account and I would rlly like to share my art out there and connect with likeminded people, and present all my ocs to the world that I have hidden in a folder on my procreate HELP. If this isn't too personal of a question, do u have an tips on self acceptance when it comes to this niche?

Oh man, I totally feel you there, I'll do my best to help ya out!

I completely understand the struggle with self-acceptance with this niche, so many spaces both in the internet and real life have stigmatized this kind of niche and made it out to be something disgusting and perverted, and something to be ashamed about..

I struggled for years with myself, feeling guilty for being into these sorts of things, and for "tainting" my characters with these thoughts, and the occasional drawing I would make in a notebook and promptly rip out and hide somewhere out of shame-

It took me a long time to finally understand why I felt the way I did, and what specific things about this niche appealed to me.

The thing that has helped me the most with the self-acceptance aspect is having a sense of community. Whether it be with just one person, or with a small group, having other people with similar interests that you can talk to and feel comfortable with helps a ton.

Around the same time last year was when I started to get more comfortable with this niche. I joined the server of an artist who's chonky art I really liked, and I got to meet new people and explore that part of myself more. But the best thing for me was finding out that one of my closest friends was also into the same things I was. It was just such a huge sense of relief when I found out, and once I started talking with her about it and sharing ideas back and forth, it became a lot easier to talk about, and it helped me get a lot more comfortable engaging with these interests of mine. A few months later, I found another one of my friends also liked this stuff, and then a few more months later, I found even MORE of my already close friends were into this

I guess the universe was just on my side, I'm so fortunate to have such kind and understanding friends that I can share this stuff with, and explore my interests with

Without them, this account wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't be making this kind of art that I share here, so I will always be grateful for that.

The best advice I can offer you is to find that sense of safety and community, whether it just be one person or several

Joining servers of artists who's work you enjoy is always a good way to meet new people, as well as interacting with artists you admire or other people in the community!

It's never easy to start, and don't get me wrong, I still do struggle with this stuff on and off, but I promise you it does get easier. Try to be kind to yourself

Think of it this way. It's SUPER normalized in society to be into like. Buff guys, or big boobies or butts or whatever, right?? Well being attracted to fat can also be seen that way if you really think about it-

Not saying that fat people should always be objectified in that way but I'm just trying to put that into perspective-

Hopefully that makes sense lol

Also, I am so glad to hear that you can find comfort and a sense of safety in this blog, because that's exactly my intention to have a safe space for people to explore their interests without fear of outside judgement

It means the world to me that you like my art so much and that you felt comfortable asking a tough question like that. I hope my advice can bring you some hope and clarity involving your situation 💖

I sincerely wish you the best, anon, I hope you can find the confidence to share your art with the world someday! I'd love to hear your ideas and see what kind of stuff you put out there!

[flowerandthesongstress]

When I was a child, a mangy cat dragging a freshly killed chicken almost as big as himself, entered my room through a closed window in a balcon-less apartment on the fifth floor of a high-rise building, in the downtown of a bustling metropolis of 8 million people. 

In the darkness, I found a box of matches by touch and lit a candle, and I rose up on my elbows to see him better, and I rubbed my eyes first at the clock (the hour was 88:88) then at the cat as he placed the dead chicken at the foot of my floor ‘bed’ and spoke to me, explaining his reasoning. 

He was aware that I hadn’t had any meat in half a year and he took it upon himself to rectify the situation, as little children need a nutritious diet in order to grow big and strong, a steady diet that includes lots of protein. 

Concerned, I asked: but isn’t this a laying hen? One that lays eggs? 

He succinctly answered ‘Eh’, meaning that he didn’t care neither about this chunk of meat being a laying hen, nor about anyone else’s sorrows outside of the apartment. Times were tough: you either prioritize or you perish. Besides, he couldn’t very well ask the hen to come over and stay and lay eggs for me, could he? A hunter and ruthless killer such as himself is limited in ways he could assist anyone. 

Nodding, I agreed that this sounded logical. I thanked him. I did. Multiple times. 

Being a little child, affectionate and cuddly, and lonely and deprived and touch-starved, I tried to hug him, too, but he opted out. Due to personal issues, most likely (I decided not to pry).

In conclusion, he asked if I wanted any rats, as they were easier to catch and more fun to kill — and thus were his favorite. I said no, thank you, and that he should have the rats.

The next day he left through the window on the fifth floor of an apartment tower in a city of 8 million people that is 8 hundred miles away from the nearest sea, the city that has a river of crude oil flowing through it, and brought back some fresh fish. 

I could not have wished for a better, more resourceful friend.  

∞

Magical realism is for when you can’t wrap your head around something, when that something is so unbelievable and so unthinkable and traumatic and ‘how was it even possible’ that a simplified fairy tale causes less cognitive dissonance; when an explanation for what really happened and why it happened would not only take dozens of pages instead of a couple of paragraphs, but would sometimes seem less realistic than a fantastical one. And/or would not be accepted as the truth by those who weren’t there. 

When trauma remains and persists into your adulthood, when you do not have it in you to ‘get yourself together’ and explain the truth out loud, either because your therapist wasn’t there and wouldn’t understand the scope of the horror that you feel, or simply because talking about the truth is more straining than inventing magical shit...what do you do? How do you process?

You say ‘fuck it’ and you go ahead and make the fabulist fictionalization a little MORE realistic and grounded and logical than the true event. 

You change the apartment into a country house. 

Hey, it’s a village. It’s the ground floor. The window was open. 

Plenty of food everywhere around those parts. Nature and abundance and all. The cat did not have to make much of an effort. Not a chicken, no, of course not a chicken. It was a uuuh...partridge. Yes, a wild and free partridge not locked up on someone’s balcony lol what balcony.

The cat’s thievery did not cause anyone else to starve. 

Moreover, he was not a thief at all.

The cat talked, because magic. No big deal. Magic is also abundant around those parts. 

And the cat had been given clear instructions and sent by a caring parent, to provide for you. Hmm? Why wasn’t the parent providing for you? Good question. Well, that was only because a pesky curse of some sort was preventing the parent from doing that, from seeing you. 

You, the child.

The inner child. 

Everything will be okay. Everything is okay. Shhh.

The fridge is full to bursting. Look. Look at this. There’s plenty of food. 

There’s even ice cream. All the ice cream you could ever want.

Look at this beautiful bed. It’s yours.

You have someone by your side to hug every day. And he knows. He knows, he understands.

No outages, there will never be any outages either, now come on, turn off those extra lights, you don’t need them. 

You’re not going back. Not. Going. Back.

∞

I recently gobbled up Anya von Bremzen’s memoir, and the chapter on the nineties had me sobbing. I felt like I was back in the helpless body of a tiny hungry child.

She did try to explain the truth. Duh doy; a memoir. Nonfiction. Pages upon pages of realistic, ample, poignant and even (bitterly) witty explanations...yet I can see how these explanations might be perceived as sensationalist and ‘this is some bullshit’. I think they do sound a bit sensationalist and were written as such on purpose, because sensationalism is also an alternative for processing trauma — a trauma that isn’t as deep-seated — utilized by someone who was only grazed by reality, someone who can tell a story to a crowd of well-fed outsiders and feel, if only for a couple of hours, like she belongs with them now and perhaps has always belonged with them, and like their gasps inhale her fear.

Decades older than we are, she was just a visitor, already whisked off abroad and having a safe place to return to. My mind brings forth images of rich white westerners at a dinner party, their eyes wide, the tips of their fingers against their ever-so-slightly open mouths in a show of polite consternation as they listen to an ‘exotic’ and ‘horrifying’ tale that ‘just can’t be true’ or ‘goodness, I had no idea it was that bad’. 

It took my husband decades to realize that he wasn’t ‘allergic to candy’ as a child. Same with me. It took each of us decades to separate the truth from the many fairy tales. 

Anyway...Captain Obvious here:

Authorial reticence is not for ‘being mysterious’ or ‘unique’ or ‘cool’ or ‘edgy’. It’s for when otherwise you’d stay silent, because the truth will remain stuck in your throat, choking you.

Fabulism is not for whimsy, quirkiness, ‘surrealism’, or gratuitous ‘weirdness’. It’s for when reality is more frightening than the truth. Casual magic is safer than the truth. Truth is creepier. Truth makes you want to thrash your head around, repeating ‘no, no, no, I don’t want to remember, I am NOT going to talk about it’. 

Magical realism is for when someone needs to cope, but doesn’t know how. A defense mechanism against the terror that lives inside you for all of your personal infinity, and will never go away. 

I’m sure there will be another MASSIVE boom of magical realism literature, coming up in two to three decades. 

If they get as lucky as we got; if they, too, get to grow up.  

[theskeletonprior]

The Third: Oh, Right. My Mood Disorder.

This is a casual little writing challenge to get myself into a habit, perhaps, or if not, to get some words from the meat of my brain to the pulp of the page. All of my stories for this challenge are set in the world of RAVENOT, and if you're curious, you can take a look at my WIP intro right here. And if you're really keen, you can read the first chapter (sort of a pilot as I toil) right here! Now onto the daily ramble.

Yesterday was pretty tough! I didn't write very much at all, though I'll count it a win because I did eke out a couple hundred words. One of the obstacles to my writing is my good old mood disorder. I experience some pretty gnarly anhedonia, which sometimes interferes with my ability to write, because pleasure is something often centred in the act of writing. And I do enjoy it, some of the time, but on occasion I get hit with a wave of perfect indifference, and nothing feels good. It's difficult on days like that to do things anyway, especially when they aren't work-related, and even when they are work-related, the thought that this is work sometimes tangles me up. There's a tendency, I think, to associate work with discomfort, and this is kind of contrary to the idea that writing should also be a passion, a pleasure. Am I a writer even when I don't enjoy it? Is my work important when I do? Is it work, then? These silly little ideas can slow me down considerably. But I wrote anyway, so I'll take that for the victory it is. Today, I feel a bit more motivated. I had a very nice chat with my husband, who listened patiently to my ramblings and asked some very good questions about the worldbuilding and character motives and whatnot. And while I struggle to tell myself that this is an endeavor worth undertaking, it's easier to imagine that it will be fun. I have some Dungeon Master business to attend to today, in preparation for my very first birthday-party session (I am, indeed, a birthday clown, but instead of balloon animals, I bring dragons). This might interfere with my writing, but I hope to make short work of it. Anyway, behold yesterday's excerpt.

Ravenot stood in the dark. Even with the word given, the rush of sentries to open the gate to admit him, he kept his hands raised to show that they were empty. It was well that the town's young guardian had been so reluctant to grant them passage. The Dead could sow deceit when they wished it, take on disguises, or other such cunning, to go amongst the living. Some did so harmlessly, but not all, and not everyone knew what made Ravenot unlike them. Or perhaps the sentry had merely forgotten. Ravenot passed through the gates, flimsy though they were. This town lacked the wealth of the larger cities, and though their wall was well-maintained, it would not have kept him out for long. He kept his hands in front of him, as though he had forgotten to lower them, well aware of the anxious looks from the sentries, roused in the dead of night to let him pass. They parted like a murmuration of birds to clear the way for their elder, who dragged the archer from the wall along by the elbow. "I'm Yarrowling. This here's Hadan," she said. "He's the one who shot at you. Has something to say about it, if you'll hear. And…" Her wrinkled mouth pulled into a crooked grin. "You can put your hands down, now, unless you find you like them better up there." Ravenot did lower his hands, at last, and turned the stillness of his mask on Hadan, who looked as if he might be happier hiding behind Yarrowling. "I'm-sorry-I-shot-at-you-I-didn't-know-who-you-were!" Ravenot canted their head. "You were brave," he said. "It was no harm, though I hope not all thy guests are welcomed thus."

Until next time! Taglist: @rosieartsie @void-botanist @carmillasboywife

As always, let me know if you'd like to join or leave the taglist, and I'll act accordingly.

[aeoki]

Blackjack - Santa Will Not Come: Chapter 2

Location: Yumenosaki Student Council Room Characters: Touri, Shinobu, Souma, Mao & Yuzuru Season: Autumn

Mao: Last year’s “Star Fest” was a send-off party for “Trickstar”.

In other words, the main goal of the event was for everyone to give us their support and cheer us on since we’ll be representing Yumenosaki at “SS”.

Every year, “SS” begins less than a week right after “Star Fest”.

“Star Fest” is like the eve of the “SS” festival – something like a rehearsal of sorts. It’s efficient and logical.

Touri: Really…? Honestly, that wasn’t on my mind at all back then, so I don’t really remember.

Yuzuru: Hehe. You were going through a rough time back then after having the proposal you came up with rejected…

Touri: Yeah… I won’t forget the misery I felt, thinking everything was over, and how cold the snow felt on my knees and in my palm.

Of course, I won’t ever forget how bright and dazzling the performance after that was too.

Souma: Hehe. Even though it was the send-off party for “Torikkusutaa”, I remember everyone was grappling with their own problems.

In reality, that was the least of everyone’s concerns…

Naturally, “AKATSUKI” was the only one who did not get swayed and worked diligently to give “Torikkusutaa” a proper send off.

Touri: What? Are you trying to say that “AKATSUKI” is better than “fine”? You’re so impertinent, Kanzaki-senpai, and you’re not even a member of the Student Council!

Souma: Hehe. My apologies. I was simply stating the truth – I had no intentions of provoking you.

Mao: Watch that mouth of yours, Touri~ Kanzaki may not be a member of the Student Council but he’s still your senior. He’s been helping with our work since the beginning of the new school year, so we’re indebted to him.

Souma: Well, it can be easier to work if one is not affiliated with the organisation at times.

Even so, I am here to help as that is what Hasumi-dono has asked of me, so it is not my intention to cause trouble.

Please treat my presence as you would the air and continue with the discussion.

Mao: Well, this air certainly has a LOT of presence…

Anyway, if you guys have something to say, then feel free to mention it – that includes you, too, Kanzaki.

The others will speak if I don’t so that’s nice.

Sengoku, Anzu, do you have any questions so far?

Shinobu: Y–You don’t have to make sure we’re included every single time, you know!? Didn’t you just ask us that?

Mao: Right. I said that on purpose. For twice the comedic effect.

Touri: Can’t you speak unless it’s got something to do with comedy, “Trickstar”?

Mao: Heheh. Anyway, it seems this year’s “SS” will be fundamentally different from last year’s.

“Trickstar” won’t be the only ones taking part – every single idol can at least take part in the Qualifying Rounds if they so wish to.

Touri: So what you’re saying is since “SS” has changed this year, the same needs to apply to “Star Fest” too?

Mao: Yup. If it was the same as last year, we’ll just be criticised since we’ll be the only ones favoured.

I’ll just be repeating what you just said, Touri, but we also have to change everything for “Star Fest” in order to match “SS”.

The one thing that won’t change is the fact that it’ll be a one-day event held during Christmas Live.

By the time “Star Fest” reaches its climax, it’ll be a new day and everyone will celebrate by saying, “Merry Christmas!”

Touri: The same thing happened with “Tanabata Fest” but it’s gonna be tough performing into midnight… I get so sleepy every time.

Yuzuru: During last year’s “Star Fest”, the Young Master fell asleep halfway through, perhaps due to feeling less tense.

Touri: Yeah… Maybe Santa came by right then, but there were presents everywhere when I woke up.

Shinobu: Hehe. Santa did a good job using that opportunity. He’s definitely a stealthy one ~de gozaru.

Mao: Yeah. Anyway, in order for the one-day-only “Star Fest” to be the best festival there is, we idols will be seeing hell, though.

Shinobu: This always happens with Anzu-dono’s proposals.

Touri: Yeah. It makes me realise every time that the most important thing an idol should have isn’t singing skills or cuteness, but stamina instead.

Mao: You hear that, Anzu~?

Well, seeing as it’s another of Anzu’s proposals this year, I guess one thing won’t change – it’ll be a test to see how long we can hold out for.

As long as we’re up for it, we can stand on stage for as long as we want, as many times as we want.

Souma: It is certainly something Anzu-dono would come up with.

If it is the job of a “purodusa” to guide us “aidoru” to the stage we’ve wished for, then Anzu-dono has done a splendid job.

Touri: That’s a compliment from the upperclassmen with tons of stamina, but it’s gonna be tough for the new students who don’t have the right physique for it. Don’t forget about them.

Mao: I’d like to think they’ll be fine, though. There have been fewer students collapsing compared to last year – Anzu included.

Touri: Anzu has also grown after learning a thing or two.

Mao: I can’t believe how different you are now – We couldn’t leave you alone at all back when we first met you.

Hm? I’m the same? I didn’t seem reliable in the beginning but now I’m doing an excellent job as the new student council president?

Oh, stop it – you’re making me blush~♪

Touri: Stop flirting with Anzu and get this discussion going!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[nebulouscoffee]

10, 15, 35, 43 for the Trek ask game?

Thank youuuu and sorry for the late answer! Love these questions <3

10. Which alien pet would you most want for your own?

Honestly I have always been very charmed by Worf's childhood pet domesticated targ (portrayed by Russian wild boar Emmy-Lou😂) - but I would happily adopt a Bajoran hara cat, Cardassian vole, or that cute lizard who climbs over Jadzia on the jungle planet

Anyway look at this lil guy!!!

15. Top 3 favorite alien crewmembers?

Oooh, this is tough. Am I choosing my favs overall, or based on how much I like their alien-ness specifically? If it's the former, then Kira, B'Elanna, and Dax - if it's the latter, then Odo, Worf, and Saru (Discovery). (Deanna and Kes leaving you out Hurt Me but they didn't write you alien enough for the latter list!! Still top 5 favs though <3)

35. A minor character you wish had become a main character?

Okay let's talk about the long-form arc potential both Seska and Suder had. Literally my favourite thing about the Suder episodes is the questions about restorative justice they raise- is there any point in locking a man up after he's sincerely reformed and no longer dangerous? Is it possible to be? Is it fair to the victim's loved ones to give him the right to roam around like nothing happened? What sort of thing could count as "reparations" in Voyager's situation? What if they really had been stranded with him for 75 years? Would he ever have been able to move on from what he did? What sort of hobbies might he take up in his new life? What would it take to win Janeway's trust? Would the victim's friends ever forgive him? Would he rather disembark the ship and start anew somewhere, or remain with his own people? Would he have been able to make new friends? Are you reading this string of questions in Jonathan Frakes's voice too? Would our main characters all have been able to get past his actions? Would it cause disagreements? How would his relationship with Tuvok have progressed? What issues would their getting back to Earth early raise for him? ... Aaaaand then the show decided to give us none of that😂 (well. except for Jonathan Frakes in a brief cameo that is :D) As for Seska I really don't know what they were thinking with her lol. She starts off as such a promising villain- literally the "reveal" in 'State of Flux' gives me chills! And you can actually understand her actions, her unexpected attachments to Chakotay and the crew. Instead of the whole pregnancy subplot (which made no sense) I would've loved to have seen her grow increasingly afraid she'd made a mistake in teaming up with the Kazon, and try to defect back to Voyager - the questions that would raise would be similar to Suder's, though in this case a bit more personal for characters like Chakotay and B'Elanna. Is she for real? Is she just doing this to trick them again? How do the Bajoran crew members feel about this? What would it take for her to win back people's trust? Say she does something messed up again, does she get a third chance? Would she make friends with Seven of Nine; someone she never personally betrayed who is also seeking redemption for past actions? Society if we'd gotten her as a regular character all the way till S7 - like an actually great redemption arc, where she ends up on good terms with a lot of them by the end (sort of like what they did with Garak on DS9) - ahhh the possibilities!!!

43. Order of shows from most to least favorite?

This is hard😅 okay I'm going to tier rank them that's easier!

Fav tier: DS9 (It's the best <3) Second tier: TNG (I can't not put it here this show literally changed my life) & VOY (has wonderful characters and has also become very important to me) Third tier: TOS movies (love them), Discovery (I have developed a nostalgia for it by now. Plus Michael is blorbo!) Fourth tier: TOS, SNW, Enterprise, Lower Decks (shows I've enjoyed but only really seen once so far) and I guess the AOS movies lol (imo 'Beyond' is the best one) Fifth tier: Picard (if it was just the first season it would've been higher! I actually liked that one) & the TNG movies (ugh) (I am yet to see TAS and Prodigy)

[wildcatofgreen]

@sonorous-strings asked:

►►

Send me ‘►►’ to see what my muse would be like if an important event in their life didn’t happen.

If Sonar never met Carol

. . .

Anonymous asked: How do you feel about Lilac?

The wildcat was sitting in her chair, balancing it on it's hind legs by pushing her foot against the desk. She was kind of just... bored? There wasn't really much to do--try outs for the Battlesphere thing were in a week, but she already knew she was a shoe-in. She's Carol Tea--why wouldn't she be a shoe-in?

So, when her gemerald lit up with a question--something to get her mind off of the nothing that occupied her brain, she lit up herself! Picked up the gem from her desk and spun it.

"She's my best buddy! We've known each other for like, years, decades even!!! I lov--"

Stopped herself, cleared her throat.

"The girl's incredible! Dunno what I'd do without my Lyli.

"Which, uh. Makes this whole ''her findin' her parents an' Merga'' thing kinda hard to sit through. She's been gone for... a while now. I'm kinda worried, y'know? Like, I'm sure she's fine, but... Iunno, I ain't think it'd be this hard 'ta be without her, y'know?"

#''kinda wish i decided to go with her anyway'' #''but lmao i cant NOT stay 'ta keep watch of cory y'know'' #''who tf knows what she'll get up to if i aint here 'ta bully her with my puns!!!''

---

Anonymous asked: How do you feel about Carol?

The dragon had been with Merga for a while now. She felt lucky that she found her so quickly! Who knew she'd be in Parusa? And who knew Parusa would have such a vast recess of water dragon technology!!! It was incredible to look at. This was just what she wanted too. More information about her people, maybe information about her family. Maybe things would get easier from here. Maybe she wouldn't have to worry so much anymore.

The dragon was currently trying to figure out that water dragon language!! It was really tough to get down!!! But she was interrupted by the wrist bracer she had found while searching the place. She didn't know what it did, but Merga had told her to put it on, that she might find out more about it if she just used it. That is, if she could figure out how.

So, when a little message popped up on it's sensors (apparently from some sort of gray face?), she was cautious, curious, but decided to answer either way.

"Carol? She's the best friend anyone could ask for. Used to call her my tail, too! Seriously, the bond we have is unlike anything else!!! We always did everything together, too. From watching the stars to grocery shopping to even sleeping together sometimes! And don't get me started on how much butt we kicked way back when!!!"

Anonymous asked: You two ''slept'' together?

"Not like that. We cuddled a lot when it was cold.

"Or when I...

"Anyway! Carol's like a little ball of warmth. You can't blame me for wanting to cuddle."

#I miss Carol's cuddles a lot... #I miss her more than I realize

---

Anonymous asked: Do you miss Lilac at all?

Getting deep now, weren't we?

"Tell me this--your gir--er, best friend who you've been with for practically all your life suddenly dips an' ya can't do nothin' about it. They're in some weirdo remote place with no access 'ta their phone so ya can't even talk 'ta 'em like ya wanna an' ya got no idea if they're okay or not. Would you miss 'em? Would you be worried about 'em? There is a wrong answer, an' ya will be graded on this."

#''seriously come tf on bro'' #'' 'do i miss lilac' is the sky blue mike foxtrot''

---

Anonyous asked: How do you think Carol's been doing?

"Knowing her? She's probably been getting herself into a TON of trouble with Lady Neera!" She giggled, "That girl couldn't stop stealing if her life depended on it!!!

"Really, she's probably fine. She's safe at the palace and she's got good company. Last I talked to her before my reception died out, I think she was going to try to be the Battlesphere Champion? Stones, I don't envy her.

"Carol HATES reading!!! If those contracts are as big as Lady Neera says they are, she's gonna be in for a rude surprise!!!"

#I wish I could be there to see her face! #I'm laughing just thinking about it!!!!

---

Anonymous asked: How long has it been since you've talked to Lilac?

"Like, Iunno, couple weeks? She stopped answerin' her texts awhile ago. Told her the Battlesphere thing was comin' up an' that was like... about it. Eugh.

"You think you guys can magic up some bravo sierra 'ta get her phone workin' again? Like that's all I could want, really. Please?"

#''do me a solid lemme talk to my girl again i miss her''

---

Anonymous asked: What do you regret the most?

". . .

"I tried to sneak out to find Merga. I didn't have a lot of my supplies at first so it was kind of a stupid move, but I didn't want anyone to know I was gone until it was too late.

"Looking back, I wish I didn't try it. Carol found me as I was leaving, and she looked so sad. She tried to hide it. But I've known her for years. She'd never be able to hide that from me.

"I hurt her. I made her feel awful. I don't know why I did that, I wish I knew. But hearing that nobody found Merga...? That she wanted me to look for her...

"I had to leave. This was my only chance to get any information about myself. or my heritage, or my parents.

"I just..."

#I wish I could forget how she looked that day... #I wish I could do it all again...

---

Anonymous asked: Biggest regret?

"Y'know Iun't hafta answer this. I could jus' leave ya be without your precious answered question, an you'll be sittin' here all cryin' like ''wah, wah, the famous and awesome carol tea aint answer my question, WAH''.

". . .

"Like, besides not killin' Brevon?

"Iunno. There was this one time where--"

Her head flashed the memory of her and Lilac's hug. How long the hug lingered, how warm it felt, how she didn't want to let go.

How, when she saw her face, it made her smile.

How, when she saw her eyes, she started to feel fuzzy.

How, when she saw her lips--

"Y'know what Iun't think we're gonna talk about this anymore.

"I regret not killin' Brevon. There, simple, done, easy. Ya want anythin' else?"

Anonymous asked: Are you gay?

"Half. I'm bi."

---

Anonymous asked: Are you gay?

"What's it to you?"

As if this gray face needed to know that! Sure, maybe she's thought about kissing a girl once... twice... okay, three times max!!! Or more. But that didn't mean these random strangers could know that kind of personal information!!!

#I don't really know /what/ I am right now. #I've never really thought about it before. #Kind of.

---

Anonymous asked: You ever kiss a girl?

"HA!

"I wish.

"I ain't ever meet a girl--nor a guy--who was ever interested enough 'ta wanna. It's kinda lonely, not gonna lie. Ya'know how many couples we saw in the wild when we were doin' that whole Merga adventure???

"Like, three!!!!

"All bein' smushy and lovey-dovey an' all that bravo sierra. UGH. What a pain."

#''dont help that one of them was merga and cordelia'' #''dont help that THEY WERE ALL GAY.'' #''I WANNA KISS SOMEONE STONES DAMN IT'' #''I AM SO JEALOUS. I AM /SO/ JEALOUS. SDI AAAAAAAA''

[elismor]

This is tough.

I posted my first piece of fic in something like 1995 and the fandom spaces on the internet were very different then, but this problem was there anyway. In some ways, it was a little easier to cope with because fic went to email lists and there was no way of knowing how many people read it or looked at it unless they took the time to send you an email about it. It was also shouting into the proverbial void, but when people did respond it was with more than just a like or a kudo--because of the nature of the medium.

I was spoiled in that regard. And then I started posting on LJ and that, too, was a medium that sort of forced more thorough interaction.

I was lucky enough in both cases to have stumbled into writing something that really struck chords amongst the fandoms in question, so I wound up sitting with the cool kids and the feedback loop became self-perpetuating. NGL, that's a good high, for sure.

That is not where I am now. And the nature of the interactions has changed and, also NGL, it's taking some adjusting to. There's a post going around now about how fic is really a kind of alchemy--you never really know what is going to make one thing take off when another, similar thing does not and that's something to really consider, I think.

As writers, the only control we have is over our own work. Once we post it (wherever we post it), it's up to others to find value or not, to respond or not. That's hard to swallow. We know how much we love it, how much work we put into it, how much it means to us.

But we can't ask that anyone else feel, well, anything about it. I don't know this for sure, but I would hazard a guess that pro-novelists have similar doubts and fears and sorrows. They too have to build audiences and cultivate narrative and put it out there into the world, hoping it will spark.

Here's something else to consider. As much as it is disheartening to not get feedback, being a popular writer comes with its own pain. You knock one or two things out of the park and suddenly there is pressure to keep doing that, both from your audience and from yourself. That? Can be crippling. I know people who stopped writing all together because of it. (I was one myself.)

IDK. I'm not trying to say that anyone should stop wishing for more feedback. I'd like that too. It feels really good when people respond well to you. But I, personally, am trying to adjust my expectations. Fandom is not the same place it was when I was getting a hundred comments on a fic. Fans are not the same. And I am not the same.

I am in violent agreement with all of these types of posts asking readers to give back in the form of comments, but I also think it's a slippery slope. We cannot expect others to respond the way we woud like them to and it's a little...idk...unproductive of us to put something out there with expectations.

Fandom IS about give and take. But I think it's in better faith to give freely.

may's candid and personal take on fandom

On a more candid note, I’d like to talk more about my experience as a writer in fandom. I spent a long time thinking about this (a better part of the last six months, on and off) as I am usually trying to keep my opinions to myself due to events that are long ago now.

I really need you all to be kinder to writers.

I have been here since sometime around May 2020 and I think it is telling that the fandom circles around the same problems again and again and nothing ever changes.

Interaction is really low and I am not the first writer to lament this, nor will I be the last one but maybe I have this naïve hope that if enough people read the same thing again and again, it will finally stick. I know I haven’t put out content on a regular basis for a long time now but while it is not directly related to the level of interactions these works get, that rhythm will for sure not improve if interaction stays as low as it is. It can be really disheartening to know you have over a thousand followers and the reblogs/comments on your works do not even exceed 50.

Obviously, the way tiktok and fast paced social media work have influenced how we interact with things on all kinds of platforms. But I really need you all to understand that a like on tumblr does not count the way it does on Instagram or maybe even tiktok. That is a bookmark at best. Do I mind if you serial like an entire series of mine? Of course not, I am happy to see that someone is actively reading something of mind and enjoying it. But please have the courtesy to maybe comment on the masterlist or the most recent part.

Fandom is taking and giving and I think it is unfair that it is somehow is expected of writers to pump out story after story without having to give them something (comments, asks, reblogs) for it. And when someone complains about it, suddenly we are deemed as ungrateful to the few that actually read our stuff.  

Back in lockdown, there was more of a balance for obvious reasons. But now that I see that writers cannot post as much due to real life or maybe other reasons, it is like the number of notes has diminished across the board. Writers in fandom are people who are not (and cannot be) paid for their works. (Side note: If you accept fanfiction commissions or money for fanfiction, I will find you quicker than the mouse mafia because you will not ruin this for us.) On one hand, the expectation seems to be that writers should update ever single week without fail. On the other hand, it seems too big an ask of readers to actually comment/reblog the things that they read.

(Waiting for a new chapter for weeks, months, hell, even years, was never unusual in fandom spaces and I need this to be more common knowledge.)

Then again, the negativity in fandom has really fucking increased. It comes and goes in wavesand I will not pretend to be affected because I was so inactive this last year. (This is simply a side note but it is something that I think needs more attention: The way I see poc creators treated is despicable and while I do not write for PP characters anymore because of all the drama, people really need to reflect how they see Pedro Pascal as a human being instead of a sex object.)

For me, personally, I have noticed that if I get genuinely angry at something happening on tumblr, it is time for me to log off and really focus on real life and I think it is something that we all should take to heart. Sadly, the more time passes, the more I am convinced that this fandom might not even be worth it anymore and I genuinely understand many creators who decide to leave permanently. It often feels like people are just there to create drama or to vague or that important and serious posts about how we should treat each other and the actors we admire are simply ignored in favour of the “I don’t like drama.” line. Which, like, one is drama and one is not. (Spoiler alert: Discussions on fandom inclusion and racism within fandom are not drama.)

Anyway, Readers need to be more mindful of the power they have over writers and if you want to complain that so many creators have deactivated or become inactive, I would like to ask that you reflect on when was the last time that you commented on someone’s fic.

[cynettic]

Hello, can I request a reaction with childe, albedo, xiao and diluc where their SO is pretty clumsy and one day, they (the characters) just snap and say mean things? Please end it with comfort or something nice, my heart isnt strong enough to handle full angst :')

Clumsy S/O x Genshin

Summary - As someone clumsy, the genshin boys often pay special attention to your little accidents and mishaps. One day they snap, comforting ending though ;-;

Pairings - ClumsyReader x Childe / Albedo / Xiao / Diluc

Warnings - A bit of possessive behaviour for Xiao- but otherwise, a tad bit of angst at the beginning of each one.

A/N - After I wrote Albedo’s hc I realized that seeing him angry… would be really hot. Might write up a degradation one after-

Childe

“Stop it! It’s not funny anymore!”

It wasn’t surprising that once again, you’d managed to trip on your own feet and now somehow the vase sitting on the stool next to the couch had fallen… and broke.

But it was the first time you’d heard those words come from him.

“What do you mean… stop?”

Childe had never said anything about your clumsy antics, always picking you up and laughing or teasing the situation off. On the occasion that you got hurt, he’d tend to your wounds and make you promise to be more careful. Of course there was always a next time, and next time, and text time…

Until Childe had enough.

“From falling- tripping over your feet and taking down everything with you! No one tumbles around this much… so either you’re just doing this for fun or- or…”

He began to realize after those words that he’d taken it too far. When glancing at your teary eyes and how your figure started to shake he knew he couldn’t take those words back.

He knew it wasn’t your fault, he knew you tried to be as careful as you could.

But it was so frustrating.

You were still laying on the ground from the fall, and he bent down to help you up. You didn’t look him in the eyes, and an empty feeling buried itself in his stomach when you stood up.

“I’m… sorry.”

It was you who spoke these words, shoulders still shaking. You knew it might’ve been frustrating or annoying for Childe.

The two of you are just standing there, Childe feeling ten times guiltier because you apologized, and you feeling terrible because you’d broken another vase and he’d yelled at you for it.

The two of you feel so bad about it- ;-;

It isn’t till Childe acts out and pulls you into a hug that you realize he felt bad for yelling at you. Sure he may have been frustrated, but it was only cause he was worried about your well being, he didnt want you getting hurt.

“Im sorry Y/n… I didn’t mean to act out like that. I know you're trying your best.”

Albedo

“What happened.”

It was supposed to come out as a question, his eyes trailing over the mess of his lab and the sorry pitiful state it was in.

It didn’t come out sounding like a question.

Seeing Albedo angry of all things was only a myth among the knights of Favonius, a joke to Klee, and a topic never brought up to the citizens of Monstadt.

Albedo? Mad?? Impossible.

Well, you were living proof that it indeed wasnt a myth to see the alchemist angry.

“I fell…” was all you said in response to his glare. “I wasn’t paying attention and I tripped against the table… I’m sorry…”

Of course you were sorry, just waiting for Albedo to get home and maybe scanning the lab and all his experiments while he was away. No bad intentions, but unfortunately your bad habit of tripping over your own feet summoned itself at the worst moments.

Usually, Albedo would catch you with utmost ease. A reflex he’d learned from Klee before she went sprinting out to cause more of a ruckus. If you were to get hurt, he’d usher or carry you back into his house before patching you up. It was always quick and painless, but he made you repeat why you’d fell and how to avoid it.

Albedo wouldn’t be comforting you now.

“You fell?” He simply asked, his tone menacing enough to know that it was something important in that jumble of experiments. “You seem to do that a lot nowadays don’t you?”

You’re at a loss for words, “I’ll help you clean it up… I didn’t mean to-”

Not wanting to mention how the glass shards had cut your hand, you stood up with wobbly knees to start picking up the pieces of glass. You were sure your boyfriend had put a lot of work towards this, and you felt terrible for having ruined it all.

Albedo isn’t a savage tho.

He notices the cut on your palm, and your shaky figure as you begin to clean up the mess you’d made. He knows that cleaning up the lab as soon as possible is important, but you’re still his top priority.

“Come here.”

When you don’t immediately go to him, he walks to you. Taking your wrists and getting a good view of the injury. He tugs you to the doorway to get you fixed up, and realizes that you’re shaking, a little bit too much…

“It… seems I was a bit too harsh earlier.” He fully faces you, expression softening. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t mean to, none of the items on the table were of any importance if it makes you feel better.”

Please let him wipe any stray tears if you do cry, he didn’t mean to sound so angry, and really doesn’t care too much about what was on that table. Poor man’s just had a tough day at work.

Xiao

“I worry for you, every single minute of every goddamn day- every moment that my eyes aren't on you! Why don’t you make it easier for me and just sit still?!”

Xiao is protective.

That fact is known, its accepted, you might even find it endearing.

But Xiao has lived a much longer life than you, he’s seen the people he loves crumple and drain away. Watched them fade from his life one at a time, so he’s dedicated to making sure you stick around.

He knows that eternity isn’t an option for you, so he makes sure that the time you both have together is s a f e . Which means yes, he will catch you every single time you fall. Especially if it’s off the Wangshu stairs that you somehow always trip on?

The poor boy worries excessively for you, so much that he will try to hurry up the process of clearing out the normal hilichurls or threats that lie around Liyue Port.

But on the very rare occasion that you somehow end up into trouble without him there…

You don’t yell “Xiao” like he told you to, you know he makes such an effort on making you safe, a bit too much… you don’t want to summon him to every trouble you have. You’re independent, one scrape isn’t going to kill you.

“I’m fine,” you simply say when he comes back to find your whole hand encompassed in bandages. “Just tripped.”

Xiao is not impressed.

He worries too much, far too much, and seeing you brush it off when he tries so hard to make sure you’re never in pain- he wishes you’d just sit still, wait for him and not trip on your own feet when doing such mundane things.

“I worry for you, every single minute of every goddamn day- every moment that my eyes aren't on you! Why don’t you make it easier for me and just sit still?!”

You’re obviously taken aback by the statement, “Xiao?” You offer him a comforting hug, trying to loosen his stiff muscles. “It’s impossible from protecting me from everything y’know… I appreciate your worry but I’m fine.”

But that’s a matter that is strained between the two of you, and will continue to be that way until either Xiao somehow lets go of his protective anxious faze, or you just accept it.

Either way, the boy will continue to catch you when you fall. Even if you broke apart from him, left him, you’d still occasionally feel the lightest touch when you trip over your feet and feel yourself steadied.

Diluc

“Are you doing this on purpose?!”

Just like Xiao, Diluc is fairly protective over you, especially if it concerns your health.

He’s often not quick enough to catch you, but instead picks you up in his arms and sits you on the table to make sure you’re not hurt.

You often get bruises, but nothing more serious. He makes sure to kiss them better- something you jokingly stated once, and he’s actually taken it seriously.

“Kissing it will make it feel better? You’re sure?”

Overall, Diluc was very understanding to your clumsy antics. Maybe even find it endearing on a hard day of work, either way, he’d never yell at you for it.

Until he had enough.

It’s exhausting, to hear something clatter and know that you’d probably tripped. Tripped and harmed yourself in one way or another, the options were infinite, and Diluc’s anxiety could heighten at the slightest crashing noise.

“Are you doing this on purpose?!”

Eventually it became too much and he asked you that exact question, hands tangling through his hair as he stared at you wide eyed, furious. There you were on the floor, just a single chair knocked down as you were beginning to shakily stand back up.

“No… of course not. I wouldn’t do these things for fun-“

It’s not like you enjoyed absentmindedly stumbling into objects, it just… happened. Diluc was usually so patient and understanding… so why?

“I know… it’s just...” he rubbed the temples on either side of his face with his thumbs, frown set in a line. “I keep worrying and worrying- every time I hear a noise like that…”

It doesn’t take long for him to sort this out through a conversation, and then settle that you need to be more mindful and careful, something you have to improve on. He will simply watch on the sidelines, catch you when he can, and coax you when you end up hurt.

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Stranger Things boys and when they fell for you.

AN: Did I make this just because I wanted to post a picture of Steve in his yellow shirt that I love so much? Yes, that's exactly what I did.

Steve Harrington

It had been another day working with you and Robin at the video store that was like every other: you would finish shelving the vhs tapes, Robin would work the cash register, and Steve would do anything else (and flirt with the lady customers)

You had just finished putting away the new movie "The Breakfast Club," when all of a sudden Steve had grabbed your wrist and turned you to face him.

Wild eyed with red cheeks, Harrington was truly a sight to be seen as he frantically searched around in his pants pocket, for what you didn't know.

"What's wrong, Steve?" You asked, noticing his manic state.

"Does my hair look okay?" He asks, patting down the sides of his head and then deciding to ruffle it back up again. His eyes kept darting to the back of the store towards the romance movies and that's when you saw her: Laura. Guys fawned over her all the time and were desperate for her attention, I guess it didn't surprise you that Steve felt the same.

Fixing his parting by running your fingers through his hair, Steve had a starting realization.

He was horribly infatuated with this.

Laura suddenly became a topic of the past as he watched you work his hair into the right shape, stepping back and eyeing your work.

"It looks good now, go get her!" You encouraged and went back to finishing your task.

Needless to say, Steve walked back to the front counter and confided in Robin about how this was the beginning of something between the two of you.

Billy Hargrove

Billy wasn't the most in tune with his emotions and how he felt about you, but he knew that there was something in him that wanted to be around you all the time and that searched desperately for your approval.

Sitting in his car on the way to school, he had offered to drive you just like everyday and Bon Jovi played on the speakers, also as usual.

You had been intently staring out the window watching the town of Hawkins pass as the two of you made your way to the school; fingers drumming against your notebook that you had brought from home.

"Are those the math notes from yesterday?" He asks you, voice gruff but still soothing. You were the only person he treated with such respect and there was something about that exclusivity that made you fall for him even harder. You just wish it was mutual.

"Uh yeah, they are." You said, shifting in your seat. They most definitely were not the math notes but rather your diary which included all about how you felt towards your friend. You were bringing it to school to photocopy some of the drawings you had doodled in the back of it.

"May I borrow them? I'm totally failing Mrs. Hampton's class." He threw out a smile and held out one of his hands to collect the book in question, the other hand on the steering wheel.

"You should be looking at the road silly. But yes, you can borrow them." You said, handing over the book. You were terrified to say the least, but this might be your only chance of properly communicating how you felt.

"Thanks." He said and put the book under his thigh as the ride continued. Once you approached the school, you got out of the car and smiled at Billy. "Love ya." You said, a normal phrase among the two of you.

"Love ya too." He says, immediately starting to go back to the gruff and tough Billy that the rest of Hawkins High was used to. It was cute.

Once you had gone, Billy remembered that he conveniently had a math test on this specific Tuesday morning, so he decides to open your notebook and study as he walked down the hall.

Let's just say, he was glad to know that you felt the same way as him; pining after you for so long, it was nice for him to find out that getting you to be his would be easier than he thought.

Eddie Munson

You had met him at an odd store of sorts, one that specialized in board games and such. You had collected a Ouija board for your own pleasure later and that's when you noticed a giant mass of fluffy hair stationed below the counter looking through the Dungeons and Dragons dice.

"Hey," you said, startling the man on the floor, "Is this where I'm supposed to pay?"

Jumping up from the counter with his shirt acting as a bowl full of ten and twelve sided dice of all different colors, the man was just slightly taller than you with a bagel in his mouth. Dropping the dice onto the counter, he took the bagel out and smiled. "Yes! That's what I work here for!"

Giggling, you set the board down on the counter and watch the mysterious guy ring you up. "You're buying a Ouija board to play with friends?" He asks, trying to start conversation. He might've thought he was being discreet about it, but the pink blush dusting his cheeks gave him away.

"Not really, I was gonna play by myself since everyone was busy." You said, smiling at him.

He would've gotten down on one knee and popped the question right there with that response.

"That's so badass." He said, rubbing the bagel seeds onto his white shirt labeled "The Hellfire Club."

"Why thank you. You know, if you're not busy you could join me sometime. I have a couple of beers at my place." You state with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Underage drinking? Totally in." He says, giving you the heart eyes and handing you your receipt.

"Great. When do you get off of work?"

"9:00" he sighs, looking at the clock which read 5:00pm. Looked like he wasn't getting to spend time with you soon.

"What if we just pop it open and play in here?" You offer, throwing your purse on the counter and hopping over it, taking a bite of his bagel.

Eddie Munson asked you out that very day.

[theyoutubedork]

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not too,”

Masterlist

The one where you get the vaccine, and boyfriend!Harry comforts you when you get really bad side effects.

Trigger warning: COVID times, pain, mentions of needles, and LOTS AND LOTS OF FLUFF

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

A/N: ok, so I haven’t written anything for tumblr in a while, I’ve been writing on wattpad a little, but I’m lacking inspiration on that front, so I’ve been flocking to Tumblr once again. Instead of finding inspiration for the story I’m writing on wattpad, I’m gonna just completely procrastinate and write something entirely new instead. Obviously my brain has the best ideas so here we are.

WARNING: (PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING)

this is based off of my personal experience with getting the jenssen (Johnson and Johnson) vaccine, which is what inspired me to write this story. I had a very tough go with the side effects of the vaccine. I’m fine now and I am not saying that you shouldn’t get this vaccine. Obviously this is a slightly dramatized version so that it is easier for you guys to understand. These side effects only lasted for a few hours within the first 24 hour period of getting this vaccine, which is very common and likely to happen. It just knocked me for a bit of a loop, that’s all. The amount of pain I experienced was something that I was willing to go through so I can get vaccinated. It is was very much worth it. Please get vaccinated, and please be safe.

——————————————————————————

As soon as you walk through the door, you see Harry’s head spring up from behind the couch. His hair is slightly messy, evidence of one of his random, mid-day naps. His eyes immediately soften, looking at your face, which is twisted from the small discomfort you felt in your arm. You had to go alone because the vaccination site had told you so, and you didn’t want Harry to wait for you in the heat for god knows how long. Harry immediately gets up and gives you a tight embrace as soon as you put your belongings onto the kitchen counter. He lets out a quick sigh of content, being a bit more touch-starved lately, which he doesn’t really know the reason for. He finally brings his head from the crook of your neck, and melts at the sight of your adorable puppy-eyed stare.

“How did it go? I was so worried about you love, wish I could’ve been there to hold your hand,” he coos. His hand pets your head, trying to soothe you from any remaining nervousness, which admittedly, you still were. He knew that you severely disliked needles, especially when getting shots. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a flu shot or blood work, you always had to have your head turned away. Thankfully you aren’t nearly as bad as you used to be. When your were younger, you would scream and cry. There was even one time when you were super young, that an extra nurse had to hold you down like a stereotypical psycho-medical horror film. Screaming bloody murder just for protection against measles. Eventually you grew out of that phase, only having to have your mother rub her hand on your back to try and distract you.

Your mother did that a lot actually. Whenever you were upset, she would always give some sort of physical contact to remind you that she was there. Her most common ways of this type of affection was either rubbing your back or circling her thumb on the back of your palm. However, if you would get hysterical, she would even put her hand on your head and scratch your scalp or even run her finger along the bridge of your nose. She learned this from one of you day-care teachers, who used this tactic to make you finally fall sleep during nap time. Upon reflection, it definitely could seem strange to others, but for some reason your mother always calmed you down with these methods, even when you became an adult. Obviously she doesn’t do this nearly as often, given that you can control your emotions better than you could when you were a kid, and the fact you didn’t live with her anymore.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when Harry wraps his arm around your side to bring you closer. You immediately wince as his arm wrapped around your left arm, squeezing it tightly, making the arm already more sore.

“Harry, my arm,” you mutter, and he quickly lets go, scanning over your features quickly to make sure you weren’t in pain. After you give him a goofy smile, he chuckles and gives you a small peck on the lips.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to hurt you.” He murmurs, pinching your cheek before grabbing your hand.

“Well now that you’re home, we can finally start that show you wanted to watch. I already went to the store and got you some stuff, just in case you get any side effects.” He rambles excitedly, plopping onto the couch before dragging you down towards him, your limbs already entangled with his. He adjusts slowly, making sure your left arm isn’t pressing up against anything too harshly. He pulls a blanket hanging on the backside of the couch over the two of you. You don’t let this distract you from giving him a narrow-eyed look due to his last statement. He sighs, noticing this,

“I know-“ he starts but you interrupt him,

“It’s very sweet that you went out and got stuff for me, but you know I don’t like if when you go out by yourself.” You say, tracing your fingers over his anchor tattoo as you continue, “But, you are an independent young man, who can do whatever he wants, so just text me before you go out and do that stuff ok? Don’t want anything bad happening to you,” you say softly, looking up at him with a worried look. He lets out a small “aww” as he grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips, peppering small kisses on your knuckles before he looks at you with loving eyes.

“I know, you’re right, but you don’t have to worry about me love,” he says, wrapping his hand lightly around your neck, pulling your head closer so he could give you a small kiss on the forehead. You rest your head on his chest, facing towards the tv. You pick up the remote off the coffee table, turning on the TV to start scrolling though Netflix.

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not to,” you say somewhat absentmindedly, since this was something you say to Harry all the time. He constantly begged you not to worry about him, and you always say there is no possible way you could not worry about him. Not just because he’s your celebrity boyfriend, but because obviously you will always worry about the people you love. People may see that as a bad thing, but it just means that you always want the best for the people you care about, and that you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them.

You feel Harry’s ring-less hand, (he must’ve taken them off when he went out so he wouldn’t face any more risk of recognition; people are way too observant for their own good) find it’s way into your hair, lightly sifting through it.

‘Harry’s hands are surprisingly soft for someone who plays instruments as often as he does,’ you thought.

Ever since he found out about your mom playing with your hair, and other types of physical affection whenever you got upset, which he found adorable by the way, he had started to do the same, except at any given moment, not just when you got upset. You didn’t comment on it, but you secretly revel in it. He always was touchy-feely, but this was much more personal and intimate, and the way he pays extra attention to you makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you.

“You still shouldn’t worry about me so much,” he says, knowing full well that he will never be able to stop you. He knows that you worry about him for the obvious reasons, and that you would honestly be a bad girlfriend if you didn’t. He is one of the most famous people in the world, at least according to famousbirthdays.com.

After a few minutes of silence you hear Harry speak again,

“You know you’re the best girlfriend in the world right?” Harry says cutely, curling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

You let out a small laugh. He asked you this all the time, as if he never asked you the question before. You always brush off this comment, and this time is no different.

“No I am not,” you scoff, selecting play on the screen, the Netflix logo filling the screen. You feel Harry tug on your hair enough so he could make you look at him. This action makes your face heat up like the surface of the sun, making you try to look away from him.

“Look at me, love,” he whispers and you reluctantly comply. You see him with a tight lipped smile that rested below the apples in his cheeks. His eyes were slightly closed from how much he was smiling.

“I mean it, I know I tell you all the time, but you really are the best girlfriend in the world, you’re always so worried about me, making sure I’m ok,” he firmly states, scooping your stray baby hairs out of your face, “you’re like my bodyguard,” he chuckles. You raise a teasing eyebrow and he begins to laugh a little harder at your expression.

“Hey! You are like, the cutest bodyguard I’ve ever had,” you let out a small giggle at this, making Harry smile even wider.

“Damn right, I’ll kick everybody’s ass just for you babe,” you chuckle, air-punching the air aimlessly. Harry laughs loudly at this, giving you a peck on the head.

“I know you will, lovie,”

*

*

*

Later on in the evening, Harry had finished making dinner, and you were sprawled out on the couch. You usually would be in the kitchen with him, but for some reason you just didn’t want to move. Harry didn’t pay any mind, knowing that the vaccine you got was a single shot, meaning it was going to be a more potent dose. This also meant that you would probably be experiencing more severe symptoms than he did when he had gotten his two shot vaccine. He wanted you to get the same one as him, but he knew that the place you were setting up your appointment only had the single shot doses, and that you didn’t want to have to go through two rounds of needles.

He was only away for 25 minutes, so when he rounded the corner to enter the living room, to say that he was concerned was an understatement. He saw you, sprawled on the couch, your face scrunched together in pain as you tried to get comfortable. Your chest was heaving up and down at a not so steady pace. He set the plates in his hands on the coffee table before crouching down to make his face level with yours.

“You ok lovie? Dinner’s ready,” he said in a hushed tone, placing his hand on your forehead to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. However, when his hand reached your forehead, he noticed that the hair was glued to it, your forehead slightly slick with sweat. You let out a small groan of pain as your response. He immediately placed the back of his palm against your skin, not caring about your sweat. Not a fever, but not too far from one.

“Baby why didn’t you change into something a bit lighter?”

“I was going to but then I just didn’t want to get up. Or...move.” You whined. Harry’s face softened when he saw your cute little pout that you do whenever you get lazy or tired. Or both.

“Okay well do you wanna have dinner then get changed, or get changed and then have dinner?” He says.

“I wanna move as little as possible, so let’s eat dinner and then I’ll change.”

“Ok lovie...now eat before it gets cold.”

*

You were barely able to keep yourself up by the time you finished eating, and Harry immediately sprung into action. He quickly cleaned up the kitchen and put everything somewhat away before he rushed back to you. He had to catch you slightly since you were trying to make it to the bedroom before he came back.

He gingerly helped you out of your clothes and tucked you into your bed. Quickly shedding his clothes, and slowly getting into bed, trying not to dip the bed drastically. You immediately curled into his arms after he turn out the lights, and you let out small groans every once and a while.

“It’s alright angel, you probably won’t sleep super well tonight but I’ll be right next to you if you need anything. Okay lovie?” He murmurs, bringing his left arm around your waist to slowly trace circles at the bottom of your spine, soothing you greatly. You let out a small hum of understanding before nuzzling into his chest more, letting out a small sigh.

“You know you’re the best boyfriend in the world right?”

[brownandblackpearls]

🦇𝒯he  𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader) Pt.3

PART 3 SUMMARY:

You’re given a lackluster tour of Dracula’s castle that adds more questions than it answers, yet your quarters are beyond admirable and enough to forget the mysteries for just tonight. His ice is slowly melting, but not enough for you to see anything certain. To help speed things along, you decide to be a friendly guest and cook breakfast for the both of you.

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ previous. ☾ next.

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Your host is as gracious as the circumstances allow, you begin to realize. As immense and as glorious as the few parts of the castle you’ve seen are, your host confides that they were once even grander. He speaks briefly of there being a battle of sorts. He doesn’t say when or why, despite prodding, but it helps to fill in some of the gaps you have.

Spying some of the deeper gouges and gashes in the tough stone, you can’t help but wonder exactly what he was battling.

“You won the battle, then...?” You ask.

“Something like that,” he says simply enough, but it reads rather ominously to your ears.

You pause as you follow him, trying your best not to sound too afraid. You hope no enemies from this past battle still sneak about...

“So it’s just you and I, here…?”

He turns on you slowly, and a familiar dread rises in your gut as you realize you’ve angered him once again. Unfortunately for you, you’re not sure how. His features appear natural and still, but what you are feeling under your skin hints at the truth to his demeanor. You catch a hint of fang as he speaks, and you wonder if it’s intentional.

“Yes. Does that suit your plans?”

You hesitate, unsure.

“I…’plans’? I don’t—“

“—Allow me to assist you. Silver is a trifle. Stakes are laughable. Garlic does nothing, and no holy symbol nor water—no matter what wayward priest you find to bless it—will help your cause. Sunlight is a pleasure to my skin, which heals from fire, knife wounds, and all other maladies in conception, if you even manage to pierce it. If a Belmont had trouble making me bleed, you surely will. The few things that I am susceptible to, are magic, decapitation, and stakes, but then again, who isn’t? I implore you to try though, and wish you luck. Believe me, you will need it.”

Like before, as if you’ve been transported back behind the walls of books, he is upon you, and you cannot help but tremble. The ruby red is back, flickering just behind his sunstorm eyes. You are beside yourself but you do your best to think quickly as to what nonexistent offense he’s percieved.

‘Does he think I mean to kill him? How even could he assume such a thing…? From me, of all people...?’

“I do not wish to make an attempt on your life,” you say slowly, clearly. “My magic is very poor, but not my behavior towards hosts kind enough to allow me in their homes.” You put a heavy emphasis on the ‘host’ portion, hoping to remind him of his promise from before.

“Enlighten me then,” he asks in a tone that seeks anything but enlightenment. “Why do you want to know if we are alone, if not to better plan something that would require isolation?”

You find yourself frowning.

“You…you completely misunderstand me, sir…” you begin, stepping back. “I just…I asked if we were alone because….I…I…”

Something in your face must call out to his reason, because the red drains out from his eyes and he steps away, reeling back. The grieved look returns.

“You’re afraid,” he realizes suddenly, aloud. “You want to ensure nothing else lurks in these walls.”

You nod, happy to be comprehended, for once.

“Yes,” you insist. “The damage from the battle...I see it, and I think that your foes were very strong. I only hope they were all defeated and that it is just you and I here, alone, sir—er, Alucard.”

He nods, looking somewhat embarrassed now.

“It is only us, in these walls.”

You sigh happily, glad to have your fears discarded. The castle was still scary and intimidating of course, as large as it was. It felt as though something had to be tiptoeing somewhere around in the fortress, yet...he would know the place better than you, wouldn’t he...? And if he says its just you two, then hopefully that is so.

“Good,” you sigh. 

He makes no move at the sound of his name in your mouth, but he does think on your words before bowing his head ever so lightly.

“I apologize,” he admits. “I keep...jumping to conclusions. I made you fret after giving my word. Forgive me.”

You watch him with pleasant surprise, the corner of your mouth quirking up. 

So there were manners somewhere in there.

“You’re forgiven. I’m sure you must have had a rough go of assassins, being who you are and all.”

“I’ve had my share,” he admits, before turning to advance through the corridor. You don’t have time to think about his ‘share’, trying to keep up. You know he can move far faster than he is showing now, and you appreciate the effort he makes to go at a human pace so that you may follow closely behind. 

Deep down, you are still worried about what lays in the castle. You do feel safer, knowing something supernatural like him is at your side, and vowed to make sure no harm befalls you.

“Well,” you continue conversationally, trailing after him, “thank you for soothing my concerns. I feel all the safer for it.””

“...Odd,” he comments. “Hm?”

“You, feeling safer alone in Dracula’s castle, with a dhampir.”

You chuckle.

“I suppose it is odd when you put it that way. Just work on that temper of yours, and I’ll really be right as rain!” The jest is funny enough for you, but it doesn’t land so well with your present company.

He scowls, but the real heat is gone. Energized from knowing he is bound by promise and that there are no others here, you feel bold enough to place an assuring hand on his arm. 

He feels strong and solid, like stone. He stiffens before pulling away, peering down at you.

You try your best not to look too hurt. You smile assuringly instead.

“Believe me, Alucard. I’m not here to try and do you in. I mean, look at me! You think I’m foolish enough to attempt such a thing on you when I could hardly handle that crowd of ruffians outside?”

You laugh then, slapping a hand on your leg. It is the bare one from the rip in your dress, and the smack is much louder than you anticipate. It’s enough to silence you into meek embarrassment.

Alucard simply watches you before turning around and leading you on.

You follow him silently now, and you quickly find that the tour is rather lacking. He says little about the winding halls you are led through, and you can’t help but wonder the stories of each hallway, of each room. Will you ever learn of them?

The place is monstrous, and so the soles of your feet are a bit sore by the time you reach what Alucard regards as your quarters.

“You will stay here,” he gestures past a large emblemed door into a wide room. 

You peer inside, finding a beautifully canopied bed, heavy curtains attached to what you can only assume is a gigantic window. There is a large bookcase, a fireplace, an armchair, a desk, and a small door leading into another room. 

“That is your bathing room,” he notes.

When you stare at him curiously, he explains.

“My father possessed immense technological advancements,” he says quickly, as if he’s explained it several times before. Perhaps he has.

‘So his father is Dracula,’ you think. ‘But the stories of Dracula were much more…gruesome and cruel. If this is his son...this man is certainly scary when roused, but…’

His deep voice breaks you out of your reverie.

“The washing room has a basin called a ‘tub’. There is also a bidet with a smaller basin called a toilet. No need for outhouses or bringing up jugs of water here. We have plumbing.”

Now, you’re utterly confused.

Alucard sighs.

“Just…follow me. I’ll show you.”

You do just that and watch, engrossed, as your host thoroughly lays out and points to every faucet, knob, and all of their uses. Before long, you ascend from a common traveling woman to an expert in an alternate world knowledgeable on things such as ‘plumbing’.

You beam at the tub and sink, too giddy with joy to hide it. You bounce a little, your hands drawing to your chest excitedly.

Alucard levels a raised brow at you, pausing.

“...Are you alright?”

You nod happily, twirling in the bathroom to face him.

“This place is incredible! Plumbing! Who would’ve thought? There was almost something like this I saw over the Eastern seas, but the people there called them…acq..acqueducts! They were these large beams that delivered their water…oh, but no matter! My hair! Goodness, it will be leagues easier…”

Alucard glances at your crown of curled, kinky locks before refocusing on you.

“How did you manage, before?”

“Oh, ponds. Streams. Rivers. The seaside. That sort of thing,” you say absently. “The chill of the water did wonders for my mane, but I felt like an icicle the entire time. And you say I can have heated, freshwater through these devices? I can’t lie, I’m ecstatic!”

Alucard nods shortly at that, watching you curiously, but seemingly unable to share your interest in the fixtures. Perhaps you’re more of an interest for him at this point than the plumbing. You eyeball his own healthy mane and assume he’s long been used to such luxuries.

“Oh, but…can I wash my garbs in the tub, too?”

Alucard tilts his head at that before realization sparks in his eyes.

“No. No, you’ll wear something else. That’s fairly ruined.”

You silently leave out the part that it is partially his fault, but he seems to catch on anyway.

“I…” he tries stiffly. “I apologize again. For before.”

“Oh?” You respond innocently. “For what? Scaring me? Yelling at me? Threatening my life? Tripping me?”

He sinks a little lower with each act. 

“All of it.”

“Oh! Well, then you’re forgiven. As much as I appreciate the apology, I have a feeling that this ‘tub’ will more than make up for it.”

Alucard seems to relax at that, showing you the cabinets with everything you’ll need.

“I’ll…” he trails off. “I’ll find you some clothing.”

He turns to leave, but you reach out to gently grip the tuft of white blouse peeking out from his sleeve. He turns, watching you sharply. 

He does not pull away, though. You call it progress.

“Alucard,” you say. “Thank you for your hospitality. Sincerely.”

He looks to the floor instead of your eyes—as if he’s afraid of what he’ll find there—before gently pulling away and wordlessly leaving the room.

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You are lucky enough to find interesting soaps and good-smelling candles before working the bath. With some maneuvering and much delight, you are able to conjure bubbles through use of items you’ve scavenged from the cabinets. You find washcloths, sponges, brushes, and an assortment of other things.

You want to wait for your host to return first, but as the minutes continue to pass you realize you need to take advantage of the hot water before it cools.

You shed your clothes, undo your hair, and step into the water-filled basin.

“God…” you whisper, goosebumps rising on your skin.

It feels incredible.

You sink into the water, a smile on your face. You haven’t felt something this good since traveling to hot springs in your more daring adventures. Back then, you had to evade the cultist locals for a hint of heated water. This was so different, as it was your own personal hot spring whenever you desired!

You sink deeper into the water for a bit before beginning to scrub and lather your journey off of you. You decide to empty and fill the tub once more, just because you can, and bathe a little more before feeling pristine to your liking.

Stepping out, you massage in some leftover body oil from your pack. You clean the basin before peeking out into your room.

There is no one present, but a new, soft nightdress lays comfortably on the chair. Your fireplace is even lit.

You smile to yourself as you step out and lift the nightdress, assessing it.

“So his bark is louder than his bite,” you decide aloud.

You change swiftly, and despite being in such an strange situation, once in the massive bed, you find sleep has come right on your heels. Your eyes almost slide shut until you hear a knock at your door.

You open your eyes and slip out of bed. You push open your door—which has a heavy lock, you now realize—to see Alucard, in low lantern light, gazing back at you.

“I trust you found everything,” he says, rather than asks. You hear the question for what it is.

“Yes,” you smile. “Thank you.”

He considers your expression for a long moment before nodding his affirmation.

“Hm. Very well. There is a lock on the door of your room…if that’s any consolation to any fears you may have. Feel free to use it. Good night then,” he says, turning to leave.

“Alucard?” You call.

When he waits for you without turning to face you, you speak.

“Where will you be staying?”

‘If I need you,’ you think. 

You soon realize that this may become a situation where Alucard hears something in your speech that is not really there. With a solemn look, and the absence of an anger just as disturbing as its presence, he points to a door just down the hall from you. You would be pleased if not for the expression on his face.

“Just there,” he says. 

You realize that due to the two misunderstandings being him assuming you want to kill him, that this is likely what this third time revolves around. 

“Alucard,” you try, “I don’t intend to condescend, but you must know, I only ask for my own concern. I’m happier to know that my host is nearby. I meant no ill will by it. I’d be a poor assassin, remember?”

“Yes,” he answers quietly, as if he really is just recalling it. “I remember.”

“You’d hear me before I even entered, I bet!”

“I would.”

“So there is nothing to worry about…right…?”

His stiff shoulders finally seem to relax an inch. 

“I suppose. In any case…You are not to enter my domain, under any circumstances, outside of imminent danger. It would be…unwise of you.”

You nod, unsure of what exactly he means but positive he that he does mean what he says.

“I will see you in the morning...?” 

He pauses at that, looking somewhat bewildered. 

“I…yes, you will.”

“Alright!” You nod, pleased. “Good night then.”

Closing the door, you turn to the large, firelit room and beam.

It is a princess’s quarters…no, a queen’s! You will live lavish while you’re here, it seems.

You lay on the soft mattress under the thick covers, knowing pleasure you’ve never felt before until sleep takes you gently into the night.

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When you wake, it is before the sun has fully broken into the sky. Pretty blues and pinks spill across the sky outside your window, so different from the cold colors of the day before. Rising in your nightgown, you spy a dress on the chair of your room. Alucard must have entered in your sleep. Had you locked the door...? You cannot recall. Under normal circumstances, traveling on the road, you would have never forgotten such a thing as utilizing a lock. For some reason, perhaps last night you felt you didn’t need to. 

You absently palm your neck for pinpricks of the vampiric sort, and find nothing.

‘Good enough for me, then.’

The dress lays before you, waiting

It is different, without any tears, and deep in its color. You pause before adorning it, turning this way and that in the looking glass before attempting to do something with your hair. 

‘I look rather stunning in this. Why does he have such nice women's clothing lying about, I wonder...?’

Once complete, you decide to do something as equally nice for your host as this dress was for you.

“Breakfast! I’ll make us breakfast. Dhampirs can eat food, right…? Now, if only I could find the kitchen…”

You spy your basket by the door. Another gift from your late-night visitor.

You pick up your newly returned basket from the room’s entrance, flipping over the blanket to spy your stolen vegetables still intact. 

You leave your rooms with a smile that slowly falls.

‘He said not to disturb him…perhaps I can find the kitchens myself? They must be on the first level, maybe the underground chambers, if anything. That’s how all castles are. I’d better start now if I hope to finish in time.’

You’re certain you will get lost, but you have a feeling that your host can easily find you again.

You pause, realizing something.

‘I hope I don’t find bottles of blood or something lying around…or something else’

On that sobering thought, you strap your dagger’s hilt tighter to your thigh. Alucard said you were both alone, but it couldn’t hurt to be vigilant.

You venture out and do your best to recreate the inverse of Alucard’s path to the great hall. After several turns and rerouting, you finally begin to recognize the way back to the grand hall. It takes far longer than you anticipated, and your soles begin to complain a little once you find the grand staircase.

With some exploration on the main floor, you finally come across a door leading into what appears to be a small kitchen. The floors are clean as are the pots and pans hanging from their hooks on the walls. You spy plenty of utensils, knives, and what appears to be another basin...plumbing. You will ask Alucard the name later.

You set down the basket, pleased to have reached your goal, and get to work.

“Can’t have just a vegetable scramble. He’s a literal dhampir, and I could use some protein.”

You can't find any aprons about, and so you wrap what looks to be a tablecloth around your pretty dress. No reason to ruin it with the trials of breakfast.

You hunt for eggs, meat, nuts, and anything of the protein type. After some pillaging, you are able to find all three and get to work. The eggs are small, and the meat is fox, rabbit, and fish instead of the typical villager fare of cows and pigs, but you make it work. You wash your hands and begin to carve out fillets, prep vegetables from your basket, and luck upon some spices. You search for oil, but can only find butter, and so you do your best with it.

Soon enough, the kitchen begins to fill with the scents and fumes of a bountiful breakfast. You plate the spiced eggs, the braised meat, the sautéed vegetables, and fill a pitcher with water. You think about finding the secret garden nearby once more to perhaps make juice from berries and fruits, or even preserve. Turning to the wood table, you set everything down before finding your final item.

The loaf of bread is well hidden, but not well enough. It is a little stale, but not enough to discourage. You claim it and cut it before setting it out on the table as well.

Turning to wash your hands one final time, you are unsurprised to find Alucard stalking in the doorway of the kitchen when you turn back around.

“What are you doing...?” he grouses, clearly just having recently awoken.

“Cooking us breakfast,” you sass, “you’re welcome, by the way. Oh, uh...you can eat food, right...?”

Alucard’s sleepy demeanor slowly fades as he nods, his interest growing as the smells of food clearly begin to assault him and cause wonders for his mood.

“Well?” You say, undoing the tablecloth-apron and taking a seat for yourself. “What are you waiting for? Sit with me, let’s eat!”

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ previous. ☾ next. 

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[ikeromantic]

Uncomfortable Questions

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction occurring after the events of the romantic epilogue! Approx. 3000 words of fluff and stuff.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Friends and Frenemies

Miyake was nervous. He did his best to hide it. His job today was to stay with Lady Akechi, to keep her safe and happy. Normally, he’d consider it an easy task. A pretty girl, a new place to explore . . . but this was his Lord’s wife! And . . . other complications.

He swallowed.

“Do you want to go shopping too, Miyake? I see you’re wearing another of Sasuke’s t-shirts.” The lady smiled back at him as she asked.

“Nope! I’m good. I like this shirt. And the ninja took me out for some pants that fit too. I'm just here to keep you safe.” He glanced up at the tall tall buildings to their right and left. “Where, uh, do you want to go?”

Her shoulders sagged. “It’s not so much what I want to do as what I should. I need to stop by the clothing designer here - the place that hired me. To apologize for disappearing like I did.”

“Think they’ll be mad?”

“I hope not.” She mumbled something else, something Miyake didn’t catch.

“What was that?”

“Oh. Ah, just that I imagine they won’t be nearly as hard to apologize to as my family.”

Miyake nodded. Families were tough. He’d left his own to go serve Akechi, and never looked back. Not everyone could or would do that.

The lady stopped at a gift shop to pick up flowers for her former co-workers. Miyake didn’t let her lift a thing. Better safe than sorry. He even offered to carry her bag - her purse, she called it - but she wouldn’t let him.

Then they rode the train - which would have been fun if there’d been a seat for the lady. Standing, Miyake spent the whole time worried she might fall. Every little lurch made his jaw clench.

She seemed to notice his concern, and when they got off the train, stopped. “Miyake, I’m not that fragile. I don’t know what Mitsuhide threatened you with, but I promise, I’m perfectly capable of carrying things, walking, and standing on my own.” She laughed. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“I know, my lady. But it just seemed like . . . in your uh, your state . . .” He gestured helplessly. Neither the lady nor his lord had said a word, and it seemed wrong to just put it out there before they did.

“My state?”

Miyake tried to hide behind the bouquets in his arms. “Ah, maybe it’s the wrong word. But hey! Isn’t that the shop you’re looking for?” It was a two-story building. A large sign hung above the double glass doors, with a spool of thread and a needle.

The lady turned. “Yep. That’s the place.” She squared her shoulders like a soldier going into battle. “Let’s do this.”

Grateful for the topic change, Miyake followed her across the street and inside.

The woman at the front counter recognized her immediately. Rather than anger, her face lit up with a big smile. “You’re ok!” She called out, “Hey ladies, our new hire just showed up six months late.”

Lady Akechi blushed deeply.

Three heads peered past the corner and then the other designers filed into the room. Besides the young lady at the counter that recognized Lady Akechi, there was an older woman with red cheeks and a round face, a short, thin girl with ponytails, and a tall woman that looked like she might arm-wrestle in her spare time.

There was a round of re-introductions between the five of them, hand shakes, and bows. Lady Akechi apologized several times, and then came the barrage of questions.

“Is this the guy you left us for,” one asked, coming over to inspect Miyake.

“N-no, he works for him though. Oh! And those flowers are for you.” She gestured for Miyake to hand them out.

He dutifully gave out the bouquets under the speculative stairs of four strange women.

“Huh,” said another. “So you found some rich guy and now you don’t need to work? Lucky!”

“This one’s pretty cute though,” the older lady said.

The short one with her ponytails smiled bashfully. She hid her smile behind her hand.

Lady Akechi stumbled over her words. “Oh - oh, I still work. I just do commissions now. And ah, ah, that’s Miyake.” She pointed to the older woman. “Miyake, this is Aiko.” She gestured to ponytail girl, “And Masako.” She nodded to the girl from the counter, “Takara,” and then to the tall woman, “And that’s Kei.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Miyake bowed. He felt himself blush under the weight of their gazes. He hoped this apology and leave-taking wouldn’t take too long, but that was a futile dream.

The women invited them out for tea, and promptly closed the shop. They walked, chattering together, to a cafe nearby.

Masako hung back to walk beside Miyake. She kept glancing up at him, shy but forward. After a block or so, she shoved a piece of paper into his hand and then hurried back up to join the other women.

Miyake looked at the paper. It had some numbers on it. Some sort of code? Was Masako a kunoichi? He studied the paper. Ten digits. Three numbers and a dash, three more numbers, a dash, and then four more numbers. The number 2 repeated. Huh.

He put it away when they got to the cafe. The place smelled strongly of coffee, a bitter beverage that people in this era seemed to enjoy. Miyake preferred tea. There were glass cabinets with sweets on display too. Things he didn’t even begin to recognize.

“What would you like,” lady Akechi asked. “I’m getting a cold coffee and some financiers.”

Aiko laughed at the expression on his face as he scrutinized the display. “You look like you’ve never been to a French bakery before.”

He nearly admitted he hadn’t, but he knew better than to give information away. Instead he just smiled. “It all looks so good. What do you recommend?”

Takara shrugged. “If you like sweets, the macarons are great. Otherwise, get a croissant or some brioche.”

“I like the crepes,” Mayako added.

He wound up getting the crepes and a tea. While the girls continued their chatter, now asking lady Akechi about her whirlwind romance and her future plans, he focused on his plate. Miyake prodded the food suspiciously. What was a crepe made of? What was in it and on it?

Miyake picked up the fork the way Sasuke taught him, cut off a piece of fluffy golden crepe and some of the fruit and poofy white stuff inside, and then stuck it in his mouth. The flavors hit him all at once. Sweet and buttery, the texture smooth as velvet, contrasting with the tart fruit.

“I think he likes it,” Aiko grinned.

“I know how to make crepes,” Mayako spoke up.

Takara elbowed her.

Kei laughed. “Men don’t usually order stuff like that here. Glad you’re not shy about what you like.”

Lady Akechi gave him a gentle pat on the arm. “He doesn’t go out for sweets often.”

Miyake nodded, feeling his cheeks flush again. Going into battle was easier than sitting through tea with a bunch of women, he thought.

When the ladies returned to their conversation, he felt safe enough to polish off the crepes, and order a second round. By that point, Aiko and Kei were giving lady Akechi tips on how to keep her man, and Miyake wished he could turn his ears off.

The conversation finally wound down, and the group returned to the clothier shop.

“You know,” Takara said, eyeing lady Akechi, “if you’re going to be around at least a few weeks, I have a commission or two you could pick up. Since you’re still working.”

“I’d love that!” The two of them headed to the back of the shop, and Miyake followed.

Masako gestured for him to stop. “That’s not for customers.”

“I’m not a customer.” He stopped though. From here, he could see lady Akechi and the other woman chatting beside some bundles of fabric.

The girl squinted up at him. She was, he thought, exceptionally short for a grown woman. “Are you some kind of mafia guy? Yakuza? Are you in a gang?”

“What?” Miyake’s eyes widened.

“I won’t tell anyone. Just me and Kei thought, the way you follow her around, you must be hired muscle.”

“I work for Lord Akechi,” he said slowly. “He is not . . . any of those things. I think.”

Masako frowned. “Fine. Don’t tell me. At least, don’t tell me yet.” She tugged at a ponytail, pulling it over one eye. “Maybe you can tell me when you . . . when you call me.”

From behind them, Kei snorted. “That is not how you flirt, Masako. You sound like a salesman.”

“I do not!” The shorter girl bristled. “Just because I’m not pushy like you!”

“Guys like pushy. Makes it easy for them to say yes.” She was standing pretty close, Miyake realized. She’d come up behind him and now he was trapped between the two women. He turned to look at Kei.

This was the wrong thing to do.

When he turned, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. It was . . . not a bad kiss. She was clearly experienced. Still, he gently pushed her away.

“See? Now if I gave him my number, you know he would call me.” Kei smiled smugly.

Masako looked furious. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Mikaye understood now that he was the cause of this bizarre argument. A few days ago, he might have enjoyed being fought over by two attractive women. Not today. Today, he knew who he was going to marry and it surely wasn’t either of them. “I’m sorry ladies. I am already spoken for.”

“Oh sure! All the hot guys already have girlfriends.” Masako threw her hands up.

Kei chuckled. “What she doesn’t know, hm?”

“I ah, appreciate that, but -” He looked down the hall toward lady Akechi. She was lifting one of the cloth bundles. “My lady, no!” Miyake pushed past Masako. He lunged into range and grabbed the cloth out of her hands.

“What are you doing?” She looked stunned. A few bits of thread still stuck to her fingers.

Miyake grimaced. “You can’t be picking things like this up, my lady. It’s not safe for the baby.”

The four shop women all gasped at the same time. “You’re pregnant?” The question was a chorus of sharp disapproval to happy surprise.

Lady Akechi’s hands went to her hips. “No! Not, not as far as I know. Miyake?” One eye brow lifted and the expression was so like Mitsuhide’s that Miyake nearly handed back the bundle of cloth, certain he was wrong.

But he knew she had to be with child. Otherwise the dates wouldn't add up. “I - sorry my lady. I know you didn’t announce it yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Miyake took a deep breath. “Well. Yesterday, you know how I got quizzed by those professors?”

“Mhmmm.”

“They said I’m going to marry your daughter. Lord Akechi’s daughter, I mean. So I assumed . . .”

The four women burst into a whole new round of excited questions and now Miyake was the focus.

Lady Akechi came to his rescue. “I think Miyake’s just being . . . metaphorical. Yes. Not literal. Because I’m not pregnant. And anyway, ah, it really is time for us to go! But I’ll be back in a few weeks with the evening gown you commissioned. Thanks for that!”

Saying goodbye still took half an hour more, but they did get out and back onto the street alone.

Miyake snuck a look at his lord’s woman. She looked angry. Or worried. Maybe both. She kept touching her belly as if to be sure there was nothing new there.

“I’m not pregnant,” she said after they’d walked a little way back toward the train station. “I think I’d be able to tell. I mean, Mitsuhide and I, we don’t . . . you know, we just . . . but it takes awhile to make a baby, right? Like, lots and lots of . . .”

He swallowed. “Uh, sure? I mean, I knew some girls that got babies after one night with a man, but, I don’t know?”

“But not me. I'd know,” she said more firmly. “But . . . let’s stop at a pharmacy before we go home.”

***

Mitsuhide was having a fantastic day. He and Sasuke were riding the train out to the university. He tried to memorize the map of train stations, and even took a snapshot of it on his phone before Sasuke showed him how to download the ‘app.’

“Are you planning on traveling places on your own? I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mitsuhide smiled obliquely. “I don’t know yet. But that is the problem for me here. I don’t know many things.”

After a moment, the ninja nodded. “And that is also why you agreed to come with me today.”

“Yes.”

Sasuke bowed slightly. “It would be my honor to teach you whatever you want to learn in this modern day.”

“You have me at a disadvantage but do not seek to exploit it?” One white eyebrow lifted in a gesture his fiancee was mimicking half a city away.

“No. I wouldn’t do that to the man my modern era bestie loves.”

Mitsuhide pressed. “This, despite working for my sworn enemies, Takeda and Uesugi?”

Sasuke’s shoulders tensed. “Yes. And technically, they are Nobunaga’s sworn enemies, not yours. And in this day, they are dead.”

“I see. You are desperately balancing your allegiances and rationalizing your actions to suit the situation and your preferred outcome. Are you sure you aren’t interested in a job?”

“You aren’t in a position to hire me.” Sasuke’s mouth quirked into what Mitsuhide was realizing was his smile.

The warlord nodded. “True. Perhaps I will ask again when we return home. Which will be . . .”

Sasuke flushed. “I am not certain. Perhaps, three months? The magnetic device I put together to predict and to enhance the conditions surrounding the wormhole was destroyed when we were pulled through.”

“So we could be stranded here.”

“Yes.” Sasuke’s voice was very quiet as he agreed.

“You seem unusually disturbed by that. Yet, this is your home?”

The ninja shrugged. “It was. We should be going now. The professors will be waiting for you, and we still need their help.”

Mitsuhide knew he hadn’t gotten to the reason for Sasuke’s unhappiness at their current predicament. He needed to know why the ninja was perturbed, but good intel took time. Instead, he spent the rest of the trip to the university solving the mysteries of bank cards and how to operate a smart phone.

The university was a pleasant surprise. A vast complex of buildings dedicated to furthering knowledge and culture. There was one entire center given to poetry and literature. Another to medicine. One to agriculture. Walking through them made Mitsuhide miss his friends. He thought of Ieyasu and Mitsunari, of how they would enjoy the time to page through these endless shelves of books and scrolls.

He thought too, of his lord, and the oceans of blood they shed to reach this place. This time. Mitsuhide could not help but wonder if there was ever another way to get here, to this, or if war and sacrifice was the only way forward.

It was with these troubling thoughts in mind that he sat down across a desk from two aged men. One of them looked deeply distrustful, while the other seemed excited. The excitable one was Sasuke’s contact, and they greeted each other familiarly before the ninja introduced him.

“Professor Fukuda, this is Akechi Mitsuhide,” Sasuke bowed to his friend. “And this is Professor Sakai.”

The men greeted one another and then the questions began.

“So you claim to be the historical figure, Akechi Mitsuhide? The traitor of the Oda?”

“I do.” Mitsuhide smiled sharply.

The enthusiastic professor Fukuda nodded, interrupting. “No need to be hostile to the man. Just ask your questions. For verification.”

“Hmph. As if I can verify an impossibility. But . . . the other one, Hidemitsu, he was very convincing. Alright.” And he proceeded to ask about minutiae. Random details. The color of this, the material of that, the name of this or that scribe, and so on.

Mitsuhide wore his patient mask. The face of the eager servant, he called it. He answered the questions as fully as he could until finally, the skeptical Sakai ran out of steam.

“Are you satisfied, sir? Do you believe me now?” Sasuke waited for a reply.

“I suppose I have no choice. Besides, Professor Fukuda was showing me the formula for your time travel theorem. I’m no physicist, but it looks solid. And . . . Mister Akechi answered everything correctly. Down to the last detail!”

Mitsuhide took a breath. That was one obstacle down. “Now that I have your confidence, are you willing to make a deal with me?”

Fukuda took a breath. “Sasuke already gave us a list of your needs -”

“Yes. He provided the beginnings of our requirements. There is more.”

“Well? Go on then,” Sakai gestured.

Mitsuhide nodded. “I require unrestricted access to your libraries and data - databases. I will require an assistant to teach me how to navigate your net-work, and may also need to use your laboratories, which you will allow with proper safety measures in place.”

The two professors exchanged a glance and then nodded. “Done. Is that all?”

“No. I’ve one more request. I may at some time, need,” he glanced to Sasuke, fishing for the word from his new vocabulary. “Scholars. Scholars’ ships.”

“Scholarships. For special situation admittance,” the ninja added helpfully.

“Yes, that. Three of them.”

Fukuda leaned forward on his elbows. “Is it for more of you people from the past?”

“No. Let’s say, as a reward of sorts for some of those assisting us. I am not in a position here to offer them places in my retinue or at my castle. But I will provide for them.” Mitsuhide’s eyes were hard. This was not a negotiable point.

“Why not,” Sakai waved toward the window. “We have people drop out of programs all the time from the stress of studies. It shouldn’t be a problem to put three people in.”

Mitsuhide relaxed back into his chair. “Then we have a deal.”

*In IRL history, Miyake marries Mitsuhide's daughter and takes the name Akechi Hidemitsu so I decided to include that tidbit!

Next: In the Spotlight

[be11atrixthestrange]

The Luckiest (19 Years Later)

I wrote this as an epilogue to my multichapter fic, Completely Mental, but it works as a standalone drabble too. So here it is! I just love these boys (men!), and I love their friendship.  #HarryAndRonBrotp

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19 Years Later

The soft autumn sun smiled down on the Burrow’s grounds, its reflection illuminating the windows like a lighthouse. A crisp breeze whistled through the garden, bringing with it a hint of cooler days to come. Inside, the smell of dinner sizzling on the stove, butterbeer bottles clinking, children playing, and adults laughing filled the room, but it was still too quiet for Harry’s liking.

Harry always loved September. Growing up, September marked the transition from 4 Privet Drive to Hogwarts, and it came with a sweeping feeling of relief knowing he’d finally be able to see his friends again. Every year, his anticipation for September would grow stronger and start sooner, until summer eventually became something to endure rather than enjoy.

His love of autumn — and by extension, his distaste for summer — persisted into adulthood, even when life moved on after the war. Although there were no more shopping trips to Diagon Alley, journeys on the Hogwarts Express, or sorting hat ceremonies reinforcing Harry’s eagerness for the fall, his feelings remained. Harry would wake up on September 1st giddy and eager, like a child on Christmas Eve, and then proceed to make breakfast for the kids and floo to the Ministry for an Auror meeting, just like any other day. There was no longer anything particularly exciting about September, but he kept a tight grip on his memories of the scarlet steam engine, trolley snacks, and welcome feasts.

That all changed two years ago when James began his first year at Hogwarts. That year, September 1st brought a change that he wasn’t ready for — watching his son board the Hogwarts Express. James’ eyes sparkled with excitement, but Harry shared none of the enthusiasm. Instead, Harry’s stomach felt heavy with dread as he watched the train roll away, smiling and waving at James’ anxious face in the window while holding back tears and desperately wishing it was still August.

The following year wasn’t any easier, and today was even worse. When Albus joined James on the train, it took all of Harry’s effort to reassure him that everything would be okay because, for Harry, it probably wouldn’t. It was funny how Harry could defeat Voldemort at seventeen, but he was still convinced that saying goodbye to his kids on platform nine and three-quarters was the most difficult thing he’d ever do.

Harry was half-listening to the hustle and bustle of the Burrow and trying not to get too comfy in the extra spaciousness in the living room, made possible only by the absence of the older children when he spotted a flash of red outside in the garden. Ron was sitting alone on a bench, cradling a butterbeer, his hair a stark contrast to the muted green of the overgrown lawn.

Without a second thought, Harry moved toward the Burrow’s exit, following the narrow stone pathway that curved into the garden. It didn’t cross his mind whether or not Ron wanted to be alone, and even if he did, there was an unspoken agreement between them that ‘alone’ didn’t exclude being with each other.

Ron smiled ruefully when he spotted Harry approaching, but it only lasted a second before his shoulders slumped and his smile vanished. “Hey, mate.”

“Hey,” said Harry, plopping down beside Ron on the bench. Ron shifted sideways to make room for him. “You okay?”

“Dunno,” said Ron, before bringing his butterbeer to his lips and taking in a long gulp.

“Thinking about Rosie?” asked Harry.

Ron nodded and coughed, clearing his throat from his oversized sip. “Bloody hate that she’s gone.”

“I know the feeling,” said Harry. “Was even worse this year with Al going too.”

“I bet. Sorry, mate.”

A few comfortable moments of silence passed, as both men knew perfectly well that there was nothing to say to make the other feel better.

Ron gulped down the rest of his butterbeer before speaking again. “I just hope she’s okay.”

Harry smiled, remembering how he said that about James his first year. When James turned out fine, better than fine, Harry had to admit his concern was for his own loneliness rather than James’ safety. “She’s probably fine, but you know that,” he says, earning a moment of confused eye contact from Ron. “It’s us you should worry about.”

“We almost died at Hogwarts. So many times,” said Ron, a wistful smile forming on his lips.

“And thanks to us,” said Harry, “they have it better than we did. Either way, she’s a tough girl. Smart. You raised a good one.”

“Thank Merlin she takes after her mum.”

Harry laughed. Hermione always said that Rose took after Ron, not her. Harry thought it was both. They probably saw the best traits in their daughter and assumed they were from the other parent. “Rosie takes after you a lot more than you think.”

“That’s what Hermione says. But thanks, now I’m even more worried,” laughed Ron. “Think Rosie and Albus’ll be in Gryffindor together?”

“No doubt about Rosie,” said Harry, as the memory of Rosie’s first time on a broomstick resurfaced. Rosie’s face was scarlet-red with excitement as she took a nosedive toward the ground, followed by a frenzied and panicked Ron. The cushioning charm he just barely cast in time turned out to be unnecessary, as she swerved at the last second to avoid a collision, but Harry was pretty sure Ron’s blood pressure had never returned to a normal level.

“Yeah, stupid question,” laughed Ron. He smiled, and Harry wondered if he was recalling the same memory or one of the many other times Rosie demonstrated Gryffindor courage, even if it meant disregarding her own safety. “What about Albus?”

“Honestly, no clue. I could see him being in Gryffindor or Slytherin,” he said, noticing Ron wince at ‘Slytherin.’ Ron’s reaction filled Harry with a parental defensiveness he wasn’t expecting, and he added pointedly, “I’ll be proud of him either way.”

Ron nodded in agreement, maybe a bit too eagerly, but it momentarily settled the passing fear that Albus would be sorted into a different house than his siblings and cousins. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want him to be in Slytherin, he just didn’t want him to be alone.

But maybe Albus wanted to be in a different house than his family, and Harry was just projecting.

“I wonder who they’re sitting with on the train,” said Ron as if reading Harry’s mind. Then he flashed his lopsided grin, still goofy and youthful even at the ripe age of thirty-seven. “You know those unfortunate souls will have to be their friends for the rest of time.”

Unfortunate souls. Harry smiled at the insinuation that becoming Ron’s best friend was determined as soon as they found that empty compartment together on the Hogwarts Express. Maybe Neville was meant to lose his toad, and Hermione’s subsequent intrusion was no accident. As far as Harry was concerned, prophecies had only caused him trouble, but maybe he owed destiny a token of gratitude, too. “Whatever souls they’re sitting next to are extremely lucky.”

“The luckiest,” added Ron with a nostalgic smile.

It was unclear if Ron was still referring to the kids at this point, but it didn’t matter. It was all the same to Harry. They were the luckiest.

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For more moments like this, read Completely Mental on Ao3 or FFN. Now complete! <3

[labomi]

play by the rules [1]

Nanami Kento is a well-known bodyguard who always adheres to his own set of principles when completing a job. But when his next assignment is protecting you, he suddenly finds himself second-guessing his morals and questions whether or not some rules are just meant to be broken.

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: none for this chapter, please look at the series masterlist for general content warnings

notes: i’ve been meaning to write a multichap fic for nanami for so long and i finally got around to outlining most of the story and writing the first chapter yay! i’m a little unsure if the plot will actually be good or not lol but i’m hoping it’ll turn out okay! thanks for reading!

series masterlist

There’s a distinctive knock on your door that pulls you out of your thoughts as you lay on your bed with an unopened book in your lap. You had been meaning to read the story for the past three months after seeing rave reviews about it online, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite find the energy to start reading. Every morning, you pulled the book from your shelf with the full intention of getting past the first page. But every night, it was returned to the same spot on your shelf, remaining untouched.

With a quiet sigh, you force yourself to crawl out of bed, leaving behind the comfortable warmth of your blankets. You drag your feet as you walk over to the door, dreading the imminent conversation you’re about to have.

To be honest, you’d rather he just leave you alone to wallow in self-pity in the comfort of your own room. You knew he had good intentions, but you dreaded his frequent check-ins with you. If he had no good news to deliver, you didn’t want to see him. And there had been no good news for the past three months.

You have no expectations that today will be any different.

With a hesitant hand on the doorknob, you take a deep breath and try to suppress the bitterness you feel towards the person on the other side of the door. Once prepared, you open the door with a wide grin and a bright twinkle in your eyes.

“Hi Dad!” You greet him with a high-pitched, chipper voice.

Your father looks pleased to see your lively expression. “Good morning, princess. Do you mind if I come in?”

You manage to hide your surprise. Most of his visits consist of a quick hello just to confirm you’re alive in your room, but he heads off to go back to work. If he intends to enter your room, there must be something serious he wishes to discuss. You try to ignore the small glimmer of hope that flutters in your chest. 

“Of course!” You waltz over to your bed and sit down, patting the space next to you. Your father sits on the plush bed beside you, twiddling his thumbs idly in his lap.

“I’m aware these past three months have been hard on you, princess,” he begins.

You dig your nails into the palm of your hands and bite your tongue to prevent yourself from spitting out a harsh retort.

Yeah, no kidding.

“They’ve been tough for me too.” He pats your leg comfortingly, giving you a sincere, apologetic look. “I hate seeing you stuck in your room all day, but you know I only do this because I love you and because I want to keep you safe.”

Your father’s words are genuinely heartfelt. There’s no doubt he cares for your well-being and bemoans the unfortunate situation, but you’re not in the mood to be swayed by his guilt.

After all, it’s because of him that you’ve been trapped inside for three long months.

“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t blame you.” You try your best to act like a caring daughter who wants to console her father and assuage his fears that you despise him for his actions. “I know it’s for my own good.”

Three months ago, your father fired your personal bodyguard. 

This also meant that three months ago, your father shredded your only ticket to the outside world.

You can only venture outside the family’s property lines if a trained professional, tasked with keeping you safe from potential harm, accompanies you to pre-approved destinations.

Your father worries about your safety in public, because he often does business with local mafia groups in the area. He is not an influential or well-known member of the underground economy, but in this line of work, it isn’t unusual to piss off the wrong person in a deal gone bad. Family members are the most common targets, so you are a natural choice for disgruntled clients to take their frustrations out on. 

On one hand, you believe it is unfair that you are forced to live a restricted life under the constant protection of a bodyguard because of your father. You have nothing to do with his business, yet you must suffer from the consequences of it.

On the other hand, there is no doubt that you reap the benefits from the success of your father’s career. You had never worked a day in your life and always received any material goods you asked for, so perhaps you do deserve to face at least a share of the consequences.

Your father is insistent that you must have your own personal bodyguard after an incident involving your mother that occurred when you were just a baby. There was an altercation when she had encountered one of your father’s enemies while doing some errands alone in the city.

It hadn’t ended well, to say the least.

So for three long months, you were stuck inside. To his credit, your father had immediately begun the search for a new bodyguard, but his vetting process was so rigorous that it was not a timely process. There had been some mishaps in the past with previous guardians, and your father had vowed to never let those mistakes happen again.

You know you should be grateful that your father cared about your safety enough to have a dedicated group of his team spend endless hours thoroughly investigating each and every potential candidate. You also know you shouldn’t complain about being trapped in a luxurious mansion, but you hate being at home.

You hate seeing your father’s workers around the premises.

You hate thinking about what sort of shady business deals are happening just a floor below you.

You want nothing to do with it. You don’t even want to think about it, which is why you prefer to spend as much time as possible away from home. 

“I’m so glad you understand,” your father says with a relieved sigh. “But I have some good news this time.”

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. The moment feels almost surreal. You had been waiting to hear those words for so long, you almost thought it would never happen.

“I approved your new bodyguard.”

This time, you didn’t have to fake your excitement.

“Really?” you gasp, looking at your father with wide eyes.

He nods at you.

Unable to contain your burst of elation, you throw your arms around your father with a squeal, giving him a fierce hug. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Your father lets out a hearty laugh, patting your back as he revels in seeing your utter joy. “He starts tomorrow, so you may leave the property again in the morning.”

In less than 24 hours, you are free to once again explore the city, visit popular shops, and stop by your favorite restaurants. You can barely contain your enthusiasm as your heartbeat drums in your chest from the rush of adrenaline after hearing such wonderful news. Pulling away from your father, you continue to beam at him, feeling an unusual wave of gratitude towards the man.

A loud beep disrupts the heartfelt moment.

Your father looks at his smartwatch with a tight frown. “I’m so sorry, princess, but I have to go to a meeting now.” He gets off the bed and gives you a small smile. “I’m glad I could finally give you some good news. I’ll hopefully see you for dinner tonight.”

Before your father can leave, you reel in your scattered thoughts after being almost too excited to think straight. “Dad, before you go, can I at least ask for this name?”

You cannot believe you almost forgot to ask such a crucial question.

“Nanami. Nanami Kento.”

You nod at him. “Thank you! Good luck at your meeting!”

Alone once again, you throw yourself a little celebration which consists of childishly dancing around the room blasting your favorite “good vibes” playlist. Afterward, you grab your laptop and plop onto your bed with a satisfied grin. You crack your knuckles. 

It’s time to get to work. 

In order to maximize your free time tomorrow, you need to have a rough idea about what you want to do and where you want to go. But before you start the task, you need to make one important phone call.

“Hey, Itadori.”

Itadori Yuuji is one of your father’s henchmen, but he’s a sweet boy who had nowhere else to go when his grandfather died. Luckily, he isn’t directly involved in the main operations of your father’s business. Known for his fast feet and powerful arms, he is mostly used as a source of manual labor to move heavy boxes that are brought in or shipped out of the various underground warehouses scattered throughout the property.

The two of you had become friends when you saw him trying to sneak food out of the main kitchen during the late hours of the night. Only your family and your father’s trusted confidants had permission to be in this part of the mansion.

Itadori immediately got on his knees and begged you not to tell anyone that he was stealing food, but you just laughed and showed him where the good snacks were located. Together, the two of you had a mini feast using the leftovers from the culinary staff. It was the first of many secret dinners to be held.

“Hey. What’s up?” he answers.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Can you sneak into my father’s office and copy a file for me? It’s someone named Nanami Kento.”

There’s a groan. “Seriously? But you know how hard it is to sneak into his office,” he whines over the phone.

“I’m sorry, Itadori,” you apologize. You know you aren’t making his life any easier, but you need him to do this for you. “But I know you can do it. You’ve done it plenty of times before without a problem.”

Itadori sighs. He knows he can’t refuse you, not because he’s afraid that you’ll turn him in for punishment (or worse). No, Itadori genuinely likes you, and he’s grateful for your presence in his life for many reasons. Therefore, he does whatever he can to help you out whenever you ask.

“Alright. You got it.”

“Thanks, Itadori.”

Several hours later, a manila folder is slipped underneath your door. With a victorious grin, you grab the folder and set it on your desk. You shoot Itadori a quick text confirming that you got the delivery and thanking him once again for his help.

Quivering in anticipation, you open the folder and see a grainy, black and white copy of a man’s photo on top of the stack of papers. Even with the image’s poor quality, you can see the man’s sharp cheekbones and styled, light-colored hair. You think he looks rather handsome, but you’re not quite sure with the fuzziness of the copy.

Setting the photo aside, you read his file with an interested hum. Because of your father’s rigorous vetting process, the folder is stuffed full of numerous background reports. You vaguely wonder how Itadori slid such a large stack of papers under your door.

Nanami Kento, huh.

You flip over a page and continue reading.

What an interesting man.

“Did you finally accept a new job?” Gojo asks curiously, craning his neck to get a better look at the papers spread about on Nanami’s desk. He spots a photo of a woman among the various files that catches his attention. “Who’s that?”

Nanami rubs his face with an exasperated groan, wishing his coworker would mind his own business for once. He tries to hide the photo under other papers, but Gojo is too quick. The white-haired man easily snatches the photo off the desk before Nanami can touch it and waves it in front of him in a teasing manner.

“Nice try,” he grins, pulling back to observe the photo up close. “Oh, she’s pretty cute. I’m guessing she’s your new client?”

“No,” Nanami answers begrudgingly. He knows Gojo won’t return the photo or leave him alone unless he partakes in the conversation. “Technically her father is, but she’ll be the one under my protection.”

“Oh, so you did accept a new job then.” Gojo returns the photo with a satisfied grin now that his original question had been answered. “Surprised it took you this long to choose one. How long has it been since you finished your last assignment?”

“About three months. I wasn’t in a rush to start a new job.”

Nanami can afford to be picky about his assignments now. Over the years, he has built a strong reputation as a proficient bodyguard who always follows orders and always gets the job done. Now that he is well-known in the industry with a long list of satisfied clients, Nanami no longer has to scramble to accept any odd job. Plus, as part of Gojo’s renowned bodyguard service agency, he can rely on the secretaries to filter out any scams or seemingly impossible requests before they reach his desk.

Nanami is now constantly flooded with inquiries from influential celebrities, notorious mafia members, and other wealthy figures. These people are always willing to pay big bucks for an extra sense of security as they go about their lives, but Nanami is no longer interested in solely the money now that his multiple bank accounts are flush with cash. Instead, he wants to take it easy with a simple, straightforward assignment that won’t involve a lot of gunfire, blood, or death. 

Being a bodyguard is a lucrative career, but it is also both physically and mentally taxing.

Simply put, Nanami is tired.

This is why he waited three long months to find his next job. With each additional request, he ignored how many zeros were listed as compensation and instead took his time to scrutinize the client, their family, and their motivations in seeking a bodyguard. He had a mental image of what he was looking for in his “perfect” job and much to his surprise, he stumbled upon a request that checked almost every box.

While Nanami was lost in his thoughts, Gojo had secretly snatched your file from the desk and had been skimming through it. He couldn’t resist learning more about this new client.

When Nanami returbs to his senses, he sees the missing file on his desk and glares at his white-haired coworker. Gojo just laughs in response. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just curious to see what kind of person would pique your interest after all this time, Mr. Picky.” He purses his lips. “Hmm, she’s not much younger than us. Surprised she’s still single too. Aren’t most women in these sorts of families forced to marry early to strengthen business ties? Oh, maybe her personality is so bad her father can’t marry her off to anyone!”

Nanami rips the file out of Gojo’s hands with a scowl. “None of that concerns me.”

“Aww, come on, Nanami,” the white-haired man pouts. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time with her. What is she’s a demon in disguise? Women are pretty scary, you know.”

Nanami figures Gojo skipped the part in the file where your father had described you as a “bright, bubbly young woman who loves to shop and eat”.

“I think I can handle it,” Nanami responds flatly. “After all, I can reasonably get along with everyone except you.”

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically, acting like he had just been shot. “Nanami, you’re so cruel to me!” He then drops his hands and places them on his hips with a devious grin. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone now. Good luck! And don’t fall in love!” He lowers his sunglasses and winks. Gojo can’t help but get in one last jab to irk his coworker.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

Nanami is a serious professional, one who always plays by the rules. He adheres to a certain set of principles in order to remain successful in this line of work. Without them, situations can get messy, and he has all too often witnessed other bodyguards make the mistake of deviating from protocol and facing the consequences.

There are three fundamental rules that Nanami always follows without fail:

Never go above and beyond what a job asks you to do.

Once a job is finished, leave immediately.

Never get personally involved with a client.

And under no circumstances would he ever disregard any of these rules.