#my old posts are all cringe in my mind so i surprised myself by not hating them as much as i thought i would when rereading them

[ran-orimoto]

[ Looooooooong time ago, in March ,I reckon, I posted a The Rescuers Junzumi AU sketchdump I’m very affectionate to and it wasn’t really something that unpredictable I would eventually write something for it soon. In truth, I initially wrote this very small oneshot just for myself in my free time (I stupidly feel cringe while writing about AUs and that’s a very stupid part of me I’m trying defeating just like the fankids one), but then a friend convinced me I could share it with the world as a prompt for Flufftober. I mean, why not, I told myself. Am I commiting some crime throwing stories I put 0 efforts in into the net🤣🤣🤣? Mind you, I did polish this ,tho. It used to be terrible ahahah. ]

{ Intermezzo you wouldn’t expect } aka a short one-shot for Fluffoctober about a The Rescuers AU -> •Stormy night

XXX

“Signorina Izumi, keine Sorge! No need to worry! I’m an expert in reading maps and orientating myself even in the thickest mist, ah!” The stocky man opened a piece of wrinkled and yellowish paper. His brown eyes, darkened by the blackness of a rainy night, were apparently scanning the drawings before them as he frantically searched for something he would never find. Of course.

Actually, Izumi had noticed it from the start: how he hadn’t paid a crumb of attention to what he was doing, attracted and distracted by who knew what else he might think it was more interesting than their invaluable mission. For example, if he had been focused on the map he was holding for real, he would have noticed it was upside down from the unnatural shape the venetian calle and the lagoon had, making it seem a whole sea was going to overflow and swallow the entire city.

Due to her usual courtesy and politeness, she had been wondering how she should tell him about that, if she should at that point since, after all, she could rely on herself and let him play those detective games in his silly world.

Who had ever needed a companion in a first place? She had been travelling around the world for ages knowing she could only trust her own strength, her determination no one else, -modestly speaking-, owned with such an intensity, her spirit. The only mate she had ever needed was the voice of the wind, as kind and reassuring as always, immutable, no matter where she was sent to.

Did those people from up there really believe she couldn’t deal with that situation on her own, she couldn’t take care of herself, she needed someone by her side, a man, nonetheless. From her perspective, from what she had been able to grasp so far, he was the one clearly needing help the most between them, not even being able to speak italian properly and messing it with japanese and german words.

And yet, she had chosen him when they had allowed her to do that, -at least!-. She had, though she had just assisted to a scene in which he was about to get electrocuted after he had voluntereed for the job. She didn’t even know who he truly was, now that she thought about that…Not that she had ever felt that need, either: to socialize with others from the society.

It was enough to be aware they all were adults wanting to help unlucky kids in the best way they could, through money or other types of support, -even, yes, those kinds consisting in sticking your nose in issues that were much bigger than you actually are-. What their life was like out there, who they actually were had never been important. Nobody cared, -and should know, in her opinion-, about the fact she was a flight attendant who would often find herself on modelling magazines or cat walks. And ,in return, she would survive in the obscurity, not ever finding out who he was, where he came from, how old he was, if he was married or not, - without doubts, the latter option held the predictable truth in itself-.

She had always been la Signorina Orimoto, but he had been quick at cutting to the chase and calling her la Signorina Izumi, showing no decency but not surprising her with that in the least.

And he was…Junpei-San…? He had introduced himself like that and she had also heard others addressing him in that way or with a simple Junpei. Against all the odds, he seemed to be known by many members and some seemed to appreciate him a ton, despite the clumsiness he had never managed to hide.

”Junpei-San,” A gloved hand on her chest, she finally interrupted his mumbling, which was the reason why she had eventually decided she couldn’t just let him be like that. The incoherent noises coming from his mouth were so annoying they were interfering with her own stream of consciousness. “Junpei-San!”

”Yes, Signorina Izumi!” Like a soldier, he abruptly straightened his back, but managed to strike a clumsy yet sweet smile at the same time. Slightly puzzled, she blinked for an instant, taking a step backwards without wanting to.

”The map is upside down,” She said, as dryly as you would expect from such an expert at keeping her temper under control. That was one of her good qualities she exploited to promptly make that sudden emotion making her heart beat at a weird pace, even if, again, for just a second, slip in the background of the most trivial of her thoughts,ready to be forgotten and, consequently, soon fade.

In response to her comment, Junpei didn’t immediately react. He stood still, lowered his gaze to the panorama of streets and squeezed his orbs to find that detail, that very little detail, -of course, she is attempting to be sarcastic, santo cielo!-, he had been missing. And then…

“Ja, du hast Recht. Ehm, you’re right, Signorina Izumi, it’s…Upside down.”

”Yeah. It is.” Feeling the time they had at disposal slithering away from her grip, she struggled not to add a pinch of rudeness to her tone, so rare when it came to her, a blonde woman in her fourties enwrapped in a long purple dufflecoat; the symbol of elegance and refinement; a complete oxymoron next to the man in a baggy raincoat.

But Junpei-San‘s fashion tastes were not the main problem concerning him.

”Then…Let’s fix it,” He had begun stuttering and shaking, hiccuping too, but not because they had been wandering in the chilly rain for a while. Her remark had provoked a row of side effects on his body that might have been funny to observe, -she admitted it-, could have made her even giggle in amusement, if she hadn’t been counting each second flying away from them just like that kid, that poor kid.

They couldn’t allow themselves to indulge in more foolery. No.

Her eyebrows twitched and she pulled the paper away from him, accidentally dropping the umbrella he had asked her to hold in his stead go, -it had incredibly dawned on him he couldn’t read his map, if he continued on keeping the umbrella above her head like a true knight would, and per Dio!-.

The umbrella fell on the slippery ground and let heavy drops pour their cascade on their hoods all at once, on the locks of their hair escaping from their shelters. Her legs shaking due to crawling waves of cold, her fists clenching more and more in growing irritation, Izumi couldn’t help gasping: that was it! That was the end! That was the straw breaking the camel‘s back: he was blatantly influencing her with his manners! She would absolutely have to call the SOS society and come up with a valid justification to explain her decision to give up.

”Signorina Izumi…”

“I…I…I just…”

Her exasperated yell cut through the curtain of humidity and ,maybe, -she sensed without being able to explain-, a veil made of something else as well.

She didn’t look at Junpei, whether he had been startled or had grown disgusted by that display of utter embarassment. Indeed, she didn’t even want to. May he believe she had gone nuts and wasn’t the admirable Signorina Izumi he had been staring at with dreamy eyes for the whole day: she wouldn’t be touched by a change of heart happening inside him at all. If he left her in the freezing atmosphere of the incoming night, it wouldn’t make any difference.

But maybe she had always known he wouldn’t, as it suddenly dawned on her the one who would have run away from him, the person who had found himself in front of that side of hers, would have been her herself in other circumstances.

Instead, she had remained there and had silently, unconsciously waited. She waited for that sweaty yet warm hand to defeat the low temperatures of both outside and inside, at a first and single touch of her shoulder. It sent all those nagging shivers and tremors away with who knew what kind of magical trick, and, most of all, succeeded in reminding her Izumi Orimoto, la Signorina Orimoto never threw in the towel, never let stress dominate her clear logic, no matter how hard it was to find a lead, to operate as quickly as possible to rescue an innocent soul.

”Here,” There was another kind of rain that was falling that night. Quieter, more reserved, shyer, it let itself be seen and felt only by Junpei‘s hesitant thumb. She couldn’t help sighing in relief, leaning her cheeks towards that pleasant sensation. “Let’s go home. We will be luckier tomorrow when the Sun comes out again and…The lightnings go away. They are approaching…And very fast.”

”Home?” She echoed, covering his gulps with her suspended reticence.

”Yes,” As if not wanting to let her be carried by the mistral, he grabbed her hand before bending to pick the umbrella up. “I will prepare a good hot chocolate for you. To be honest, I can’t read maps that well, but I‘m not lying I’m good at preparing those. Someday I want to bring a whole tray for the society ah ah.”

…

Chi mi salverà ?

Who will rescue me?

…

I will, no, we will. Wait for us, endure, wherever you are. Give me a little time to…To…

…

Through storms, rain and black nights, never fail to do what’s right.

But ,why not, let yourself sip a good mug of hot chocolate while looking at that mess from the window, as well.

[roccinan]

How do you feel when you watch the spin off? What do you think of it? And do you like it? For me, I sort of like eps 1-4, the rest are just meh, I couldn't bring myself to care for the other characters, I tried. And I was very confused, what year the spin off?. It started off good and... Idk. All I can say is that Andres truly belong in the asylum. That man creeps me out. If I were Camille, I ran away the second I saw that creep. Lol.

Hello anon! I couldn't answer you earlier because I didn't get to watch it. But now I've finished it and, hum, I certainly have a lot of thoughts that I'll probably post later LOL.

For now, here are the most fresh on my mind. I agree with you- eps 1-4 were surprisingly good, last one was pretty cool too, ralicia supremacy. I was mostly just surprised I didn't dislike it. Can't say I loved it, or that it's my ideal berlin spinoff, but for all the "factors" against it that Pina chose of his own free will asdfasdf, it turned out surprisingly OK.

Spinoff takes place around 2013, according to Pina. Which messes with the canon timeline so much we'll just have to see it as a parallel universe where time doesn't matter.

I now call spinoff!Andres my wife. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. So unfortunately, I cannot slander my bride like that.

But I liked that he was still a freak. The show didn't try to make him a better person thankfully, but I think a lot of the reviews were complaining about him being an asshole or complaining that he was ruined for not being enough of an asshole, missed the mark a bit. The main problem, if we have to pick one, about him, is that the context around him is too shallow to take seriously. His speeches about love have no substance (and they actually did in lcdp) because the circumstances have no substance. He's putting romance above the heist because well, why shouldn't he lmao? There's no personal stake here, and it's not like he'll get capital punishment for getting caught.

And that "problem" extends to everyone else. Their motives and actions are just very shallow and There for the sake of being there. Like Roi and Cameron could have had a moving romance, but instead Cameron made me cringe very badly with how much she felt like Alex Pina's idea of "hawt gurl with sad past!!" And said "sad" past was actually really fucked up but the story didn't seem to think so!? It wasn't a tragic romance--it was a 20-something musician sleeping with a 15yo fangirl, abducting her, and then traumatizing her so badly she entered the asylum and ended up hanging out with berlin. Like????

I'll say I misunderstood Keila though. Liked her a lot better in the show than the trailers. But everytime I went "oh, I like her uwu" she'd do something that makes me GAG like inhaling Bruce's sweat or licking his spoon asdfasdf Also the part where she confessed her love for him after the snake bite gave me secondhand embarrassment. None of the love stories felt lasting, believable, or touching to me. Probably because there were too many of them and it was even more convenient than lcdp proper!

Bruce was different than I expected. He's insensitive, but not "dumb" like the character descriptions made him out to be. Same as Keila. Everytime I thought "I like him uwu" he'd do something like talk about pubic hair or cover himself in oil/water, instantly making me die.

Damian is Sergio 2.0 and also Martin 2.0, but straight and old. No strong feelings for him either way. But it was funny that Andres got so mad about sharing a bed with him, when he was willingly hopping into bed with Martin LMAO. Also ngl, it stung my little berlermo heart to see Damian and Andres sing karaoke and go on a lover's bike ride together.

Roi was my favorite new member. He felt like a real original character, and his relationships with Cameron and Andres were nicely fleshed out even if they both confused me. Cameron because the romance was shallow to me. Andres because Roi never told us how they met or why Andres took him in. Andres giving Roi advice on temper control is also hilarious. We'll just have to assume that Andres is willing to raise everyone's kid except his own. He even took that one boy to the bathroom asdfasdf

But overall, I agree anon. I just didn't care for the new characters the same way I did the old gang or the cormorants. Maybe because the stakes were too low or because they were always beautiful and perfect (except Damian lol) no matter the situation. I personally think the producers were trying very hard to create new stars with this show, so they aggressively showed off Pina's flashy new blorbos (cameron, keila, bruce, and roi) but you can't force popularity. This is also my conspiracy theory for the lack of Sergio- they knew having the profesor here would take too much attention from the flashy new blorbos.

Not much to say about Camille. Was hoping she'd be cooler/smarter than this, but what kind of smart woman would not see the red flags in Andres LMAO. Wasn't surprised when Polignac turned out to be an asshole either- man just has the face of a jerk. Was disappointed that they didn't have a threesome with Andres. And the smartest person was Camille's friend.

Lastly, SAME ANON LOL Andres was an insane stalker, off the wall crazy and so annoying about it too. I wish Camille would have slapped him in the end, but oh well- at least their storyline didn't end as stupidly as it could have. She got her money at least XD Hopefully she's not dumb enough to reunite with him (and if she's wife no. 4 we know it didn't work out already).

Does the show deserve a season 2? No. Will I watch season 2? Yes LOL

Main takeaways:

Romance 1/10 Heist 7.5/10 Pedro's face 11/10 New characters 2/10 (not sharing all of their backstories or why/how they ended up in berlin's gang was a major weak point imo) Story 5/10

A solid 7/10 if we don't compare it to lcdp.

[avocate-assia-dazai]

Day 6: Waking up next to a dead body

Author's note: It's been truly long since i write anything. It's just an old text i finally end up (yeap i m going to continue my writtober's list). Who know maybe i'll post a bit more~

Synopsis: I think everything is in the title. The protagonist wake up next to a dead body under a beautiful night.

Number of words: a bit more then 1k (i write less? I'm surprise, but honestly vocabulary feel missing in this langage lol)

One inspiration, then another. I was breathing dead and suffocating alive. It was as if for me everything was meaningless, life was nothing but emptiness and despair. The only break here was pain and suffering. Death was the redemption i was chasing. Nothing should have happened this way. But everything did happened this way. Sometimes I have to tilt, and this time I bow. Even something as simple as death must not want me. The blood was cold, yet it had been boiling a second ago. I wondered if everyone had such cold, viscous blood, and yet so pleasant almost comforting.

I gazed up at the moon above me, looking straight into my eyes, the only witness to my agonizing desire. If she could speak, she'd probably laugh at my incompetence, or perhaps show some sympathy, some pity? But who am I to expect the Moon to take even the slightest interest in my miserable existence? I cut short this contact to turn away from this one-way exchange of eyes contact.

Feeling the blood stick to my skin as I rolled onto my side, the breeze cooling my envelope. The smell I hadn't noticed until now filled my nostrils. A metallic air, complex to describe, I'd never smelled anything like it, yet I couldn't escape the sent that surrounded me. This icy, nauseating air made me smile. Just a moment before I'd felt it as soft and warm. I decided to look at her, and delicately stretched out my fingers to touch her cold cheek.

She loved life so much. She did everything she could to make me contemplate the beauty behind what was my torment. All to make me stay by her side a little longer. But I loved death so much that I did everything to achieve my deliverance. To leave her as soon as possible. Finally, despite all her efforts, the heart of the one who wanted to live had stopped moving. As for the one who wanted to die, hers had never beaten so hard.

My gaze slid over the hole in her chest. Would the inside of my body resemble to that too? Could someone so alive hide the same emptiness as someone already dead? If I were to open myself in two, wouldn't I discover that behind this skin, already hammered by my desires, lies an even more putrid flesh that hides nothing human, nothing alive? I lifted my face just enough to take a closer look at the abyss, where the burgundy liquid had stopped pouring out.

"Why did you take that bullet, even though I was the one holding the gun?”

I wasn't waiting for an answer, I already knew it perfectly well. The answer that made me cringe at the mere thought of it: "Don't you think there are lots of beautiful things you haven't seen yet?” It was stupid, ridiculous, wasn't there just a lot of horrible things I hadn't suffered from yet? That single bullet I'd struggled so hard to find, she'd snatched it from me, stolen it from me, hoping to make me feel guilty. It was my dream she had snatched away, plunging me into her nightmare.

I tried to run away, to believe, to understand. But there was nothing to understand, nothing to try, nothing good to expect. For me, nothing had value. When I was surrounded by those I loved, paranoia cut off all breath. I never felt more alone than when I was laughing alongside them, unable to follow any conversation. But I hated being without company just as much, left with the person I loved and hated most: myself. I don't know what was worse than myself. Only suffering was powerful enough to occupy my mind enough to make me forget how detestably me I was.

Suffering, even it fled from me, leaving me alone to face reality. When I was about to fire that bullet, the only person with whom I could allow myself to be as much me as I wanted without risking a look of incomprehension, had snatched my deliverance.

I wish I'd disappeared right afterwards, that someone would come and rescue me, that someone would help me breathe. If humans are meant to live, then someone so inhuman is meant to perish. This simple wish, which I pursued as the only possible redemption, continued to elude me like sand one would try to collect with an open hand.

But when I pulled the trigger, the smell of gunpowder filling my lungs, which were still breathing perfectly, made me understand. There was no impact, and my gaze fell on an inert corpse lying in almost black grass, the night making me think I was delirious in my last moments.

Her lips were blue, and red had tinted her hair, the moonlight making her look like a fallen angel. I thought unfairly that it was my fault, but far too much her fault, and that somehow the most important thing was how I was going to end it for good. Or should I stay here? Waiting for someone to find me lying next to this dead body. I'd probably get locked up. Maybe by depriving myself of freedom to atone for a crimes who isn’t my crimes at all. I'd be able to die in peace, without having to wonder if life really have any worth, or if anyone will ever give me even a semblance of it.

No one's coming, whether to save me from myself, or to punish me for what she did.

I took an icy breath, filling my lungs with as much air as I could, before releasing it in a long, painful exhale. If this was a dream, make sure I never wake up; if it's a nightmare, make sure I'm someone else when I wake up; if it's reality, make sure my heart stops on the spot, without pain or agony, because my life has been one long, poignant one.

The more I looked at her mortified face, the more I prayed to be able to disappear at her side. Don't make this life even more painful by separating me from her, let me go in the embrace of this liquid that was hers, let me disappear with her gesture of love as my last memory, probably the only thing that proves I had any value, any shred of humanity.

I closed my eyes, let my muscles relax, and perhaps my beating heart, the only proof of life inside me, would eventually stop, and allow me never to suffer from being me again.

hope you enjoyed~ Every comment or critic is welcom!

[akookminsupporter]

yk i used to have an old frnd who i was very close to. like really. we used to talk all the time even though we live miles away and haven't met in like 7+ years. but we always got along. she had a really wide and kind of a different approach to life than other people which i really found admiring. i learned a lot of things from her and i honestly miss her presence sometimes. we don't talk anymore. time got us. there wasn't any fight or anything, we just gradually drifted apart and that's what hurts the most. why am i telling you this? because you remind me of her sometimes. she was strong, opinionated and never feared stating whatever was on her mind. that's a quality i acquired from her. so yeah... reading your messages (replies to the anons) remind me of her sometimes.

hope u do well in life, get everything u want and keep up with your spirit, rosie. i wish you the best in life and i hope everyone around you shows their love in their own way to you. and it's my request to you too, that if you have something to say to someone, say it. you never know when things might change, nothing is forever even the best of relationships (platonic, familial or romantic) end sometimes and you don't know when a stranger might become your new special person. so please don't ever hesitate to show your love to your loved ones. i've lost people and it won't be a lie if i say i barely have friends right now (i'm not forty years old, sigh. just ended high school) but that's fine i still have a lot more things coming. i could meet new people in college and hopefully form new definitions of friendships and relationships. but yes, from whatever i have seen so far, what i am sure of is that nothing is forever. i talk to everyone and you won't believe me people see me as a "happy go lucky girl" which i always like, because why being sad in front of people and making them feel sad when they can't do anything to help you? (in a good way. but i have this serious issue of bottling things up and that lead to anxiety. bad one) i literally have these thick walls because of how scared i am of forming bonds just for the fear of losing them. sigh. i just told you nothing is forever but i, myself have a hard time accepting that. easier said than done, isn't it? lol anyway a lot of sentimental and philosophical stuff have been said. geez i might cringe later at myself if you post this. nvm, it's so good that i found your blog, found bts, found armys, and found uh idk everything? yeah, life could be depressing but i try to smile it off because why not?

a frnd of mine was saying she's going to kill herself and i swear i've heard that lot more times from different people. two kids (15 year olds) commited suicide in the last two months where i live. and i was crying in the bathroom because idk who might be next. and it scares me yk what if it's me next? or in future months or years later maybe if i can't smile anymore? it's so disturbing, sigh. and i hate when people joke and say 'i'm gonna kill myself' at the slightest discomfort in life. at least once, just for a second i want them to think of thousands of those people who are surviving under constant fear of hurting themselves for real, who are actually struggling to keep themselves alive, to fight back life harder than it comes for them, and those who want someone to help them out of vicious circle of depression, anxiety and other similar problems they're caught in. i don't like people who make mental health issues look 'aesthetic'. hope they grow up to know better soon.

god i need to learn how to shut up. sorry this long. i love your blog, please don't ever shut this down. ilysm, hope you stay healthy and live your best life. also, again i'm sorry if my message is too depressing. i started off only to tell you that you remind me of my (ex) best friend lol.

Hi, anon! How are you?

I hope this doesn't sound disrespectful but I was a bit surprised when I read that you recently finished high school. There is experience in your words, experience that is usually gained over the years, with mistakes and frustrations but also joys. You are wise beyond your years, anon. That was nice to see. Although I keep in mind that at no point did you mention your age, assuming you're a teenager is perhaps a bit bold of me.

I think I've said it all day but thank you for the nice opinion you have of me. Thank you for the way you think of me. Thank you for somehow telling me that my sincerity is perceived by all of you. I'm sorry that you and your former friend have drifted apart. Life is funny like that sometimes. Sometimes people come into our lives to teach us something but not to stay. And in itself, that is also a life lesson.

In part, you remind me of me but unlike you, I have never had such positive thoughts about my future. About other people's? Of course, I have, but not about mine, I guess in that respect I like to preach but I don't apply what I preach.

Thanks for the advice and good wishes. You are a special person anon. Try not to change. Always try not to let life and all its tribulations ruin your way of thinking. Maybe try to be a little more positive about yourself. Trusting someone else people say is a rewarding thing to do, I need to work on that too, maybe we can do it together. I sincerely hope that people come into your life who bring something to you instead of taking something away from you. I hope that people come into your life with whom you can form sincere, honest and lasting relationships. You sound like the kind of friend I would like to have. That I often need to have.

I wish you nothing but the best anon, thank you for your kind words. I promise I won't forget what you said to me.

GRACIAS!!

[burgiethewriter]

Asks for a Fic Writer! 🔆

Tumblr really didn't want to show me this, the fiend, but I was tagged by @randomsquirrel (thank you!)

How many works do you have on ao3?

Oh only about 1,365 (6 if I remember to post another tonight)

2. What's your total ao3 wordcount?

2,676,845 I am very mentally well thank you for asking

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Whatever ones the brainworms are currently wiggling in. So currently it's ffxiv and ffxvi and a little dash of sso

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

Breakfast NSFW Stranger Things steddie. Which is actually the sequel to the second most kudosed one but I guess we're all sluts for domesticity.

Monster in the Bed more NSFW Stranger Things steddie. The lines of kudos emails I got from those two were fantastic.

Sunny-weather Snuggles and now for something COMPLETELY different, SFW mlp appledash. I used to have this little tradition, I suppose, of starting a new '30 day otp challenge' for every ship I liked. Don't think I ever finished one though.

Garden Party which is another SFW mlp fic but this time rarijack (I love their dynamic).

Odd Tattoo NSFW wtnv cecilos, god knows why I gave it the mature rating. I actually had this on ff.net initially, it's THAT old. But wtnv is just that popular I guess (for good reason! Night Vale my beloved).

5. do you respond to comments?

I do now after sitting there making flustered noises for a good ten minutes.

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

Funny thing about me, I never remember my fics. Ever. Legit I surprised myself one day discovering a stash of estimeric fics that I just. Don't remember writing. I feel like there was one though. It could be Frozen Wasteland SFW ffxiv which is about the bloody banquet at the end of arr which. Yeah. The saddest part is that I never went anywhere with it because then I started sb and met Lyse and um. Yeah.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Starlight Kittens sfw ffxiv Lyseka I think. There are probably happier endings but that's the one that immediately springs to mind.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes there are weird 'this is so cringe wtf' comments but hey it's not my fault if they don't embrace the cringe.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I was called sin mother for a time for a REASON okay. All kinds, vanilla, kink, monster, you name it. Very much into a/b/o and monsterfucking but I keep overthinking it and that kills the mood so fast.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

[hides the ffxiv/ffxvi one under the bed] I mean yeah. Craziest one was probablyyyyy the Gotham x SSO one. I can't remember what happened but I remember the crossover.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge but it's not like I go looking. Wouldn't surprise me if someone had stolen an sso one though, some of those kids man...

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Again not to my knowledge but I also know that ffxvi is very popular in other languages so honestly I'm waiting for it.

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

I swear to god I have but I can't find it (unless Jack posted it??? It was years ago though) but I suppose the Wild West AU also counts? Green-eyed Drake's Revenge was the last one (god I miss that era so fucking much I met some of the best people but also the worst but I just really loved being a part of such a big project).

14. what's your all-time favourite ship?

The answer probably would've been easier before I played ffxvi but uhhhh yeah it's Terence/Dion from FFXVI. Which you wouldn't know from my fics for that fandom (I keep getting distracted by other ships) but like. Canon gays. Hello. How can I resist. Ship that makes me go 'eeee' and then think about for a while after I see it.

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Haha what unfinished WIPs I don't have those scattered everywhere. I would like to actually finish Frozen Wasteland (linked above) someday but there's also a phoenixflareknight fic that I'm slowly pecking away at but it has no real plot or anything so I don't think I'll finish that. And the aforementioned ffxiv/ffxvi crossover.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Making anything look good, baby. Or so I've been told. Sheer determination? Dialogue maybe?

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

"And where is all of this action taking place?" Shrug emoji. Descriptions.

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

I think it's fine as long as there's a translation somewhere.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Sonic. I don't think I published any of them though. It's probably better that way.

20. favourite fic you've written?

There are a few that spring to mind but I associate them with an ex-friend so ew but Lost and Found is the ffxiv/ffxvi crossover fic I do have published where I put my character and her sister and the arr-era Scions into the world of ffxvi. I love it and wish it got more attention but maybe the time's just not right yet, idk.

I tag @tiredassmage @trusted-friend-ffxiv and @sso-eden-dawnvalley

[ciaossu-imagines]

aww, i can’t believe it’s the last day already. the event was fun, and i’m looking forward to you doing something like this again one of these days! for my request, can you do admin prompt seventeen? 🎀

Aww, me either, honestly! This event has flown by and has been absolutely fantastic thanks to you gorgeous readers and all the interesting asks you guys send in! I’m super flattered you wanted to ask about me, too and I hope these aren’t too boring.

SEND AN ASK: get to know your author

Is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

Honestly, yes. With a new job and everything going on in my life, I do get busy and my writing time can get limited. I always prioritize asks and requests and this blog over any other writing, and anytime I’m not writing asks, I’m working on the two ficlet collections (the K AU! and the comfort/fluff fics) because I know those have audiences that do want to read the next chapters, so those become my next priorities. While I’m trying to be kinder to myself in terms of my writing, I do push aside my crossover and OC writing 99% of the time, even if I have all these ideas in my head because I just normally don’t have much time to write them and still be as active on here as I’d like to be. I did clear off a sideblog I never used to really use as a catchplace for that project and I probably will try to get around to it, but it’s just not something I give myself much time for because I know it doesn’t have the interest or audience that my other writing does.

What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

Oh god, I’ve been writing a looooooooonnnnng time. I started on quizilla and it was cringe, but thankfully with that disappearing, all my earliest cringe writing disappeared. I know at least one person knows my old pen-name I wrote under on ff.net but seriously, I try to avoid looking at any of the writing on there either because it really is just so bad. Even some of my writing that still exists on polycanons, I look at with such embarrassment because I see so many mistakes or things I could have done better. So, in short…pretty much all of it, hahaha!!

What order do you write in? Front of book to back? Chronological? Favourite scenes first? Something else?

Where I write mostly requests, it’s actually really easy and straight-forward, most of my writing. When I write fics though, they tend to be drabbles, which is just straight scenes, or collections of scenes because I do write scene by scene and have a really hard time figuring out how best to connect them! I haven’t sat down and written an honest to god, beginning to end, in chronological order, fic in a really long time because I normally have a beginning and a general outline of how everything happens, along with an ending in mind, with strong scenes here and there, but no in-between parts.

Favourite character you’ve written?

That’s impossible!! I have written for over thirty fandoms to date, and while I might have favourite characters to write for from each fandom, I have no actual die-hard favourite overall!

Character you were most surprised to end up writing?

I’m still surprised at some of the requests I get, seeing which characters tend to be the most popular at any given time in the fandoms I write for. I was really surprised to have Bandou be a character I do get quite a few asks for, as he isn’t too many people’s favourite HOMRA boy, and was surprised to get that V request for Mystic Messenger, because I do know that, while I love him and find him such an intriguing character, he’s relatively strongly disliked within the fandom.

Something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now?

Part of the reason I don’t go back and look at my old writing too often (even old requests on here) is because I always see something I want to rewrite or change. I’ll be proof-reading for stuff I post and then the post will be delayed because my mind will go ‘nope, that isn’t right, you can word that better or you should change it to this’ and while that’s great while proofing and editing, going back and rewriting entire fics or previously answered requests isn’t quite as possible.

When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

I have honestly never had anyone ask if I write, so I just don’t bring it up. I’m not embarrassed, even though fanfiction can be looked down upon, because I love to write, but it’s just more so that nobody really asks and I honestly don’t talk a lot about myself in general.

Favourite genre to write?

I will write most things and enjoy it (though fluff really does not come naturally or easily, but that’s the fun challenge to it). I will say that, overall, a lot of what I write tends to become either smut or angst and I live for writing AU’s, especially AU’s that have paranormal, supernatural, or mystery elements.

What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

Music and exercise really helps me not only straighten out ideas I have and figure out new ones but gives me the right state of mind to really straighten out characterization and wording as well. If it’s too gross to get outside, I’ll throw on my earbuds and music and pace around and around my apartment. If’s it nice out, I throw on music and head out for long walks.

Write in silence or with background noise? With people or alone?

While music helps with brainstorming, it does have to be off for me to write. I need relative silence to write, without extra background noise, and I do write alone or at least tucked away in my own little corner where the screen won’t be visible to anyone else.

What aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

I started writing at 9. Just little baby me, writing fanfiction out on paper, with terrible Mary-Sues and atrocious plot lines and wooden dialogue. Every single aspect of my writing has improved since that point, and I’m always improving in some new area as I continue to write. Even now, I’ll find I’m answering a request and something that would have taken me hours to figure out properly in my head is now only taking me thirty or forty minutes, sometimes even less.

Your weaknesses as an author?

That being said…my fuck, my dialogue writing is still fucking HARD. I struggle so incredibly much with dialogue, which is why you all might notice that it doesn’t occur a lot in my writing. It’s one of those things where, if I can avoid making them talk by summarizing a conversation, I’m taking that route. I do find I struggle a little with fluff or soft, romantic stuff, as mentioned above, but that’s simply because I’m not an overly romantic person as a whole and what I find sweet or cute, other die-hard romantics might find overly practical or bland.

Your strengths as an author?

Nobody can ever accuse me of not giving it my all. I pour my heart and soul into making every request, every fic, every sentence the very best I can do.

Do you make playlists for your current WIPs?

I don’t tend to make playlists for the stories overall or for specific requests (unless the request is music related), but I make them for the individual characters. I have general playlists for characters, for characters when writing particular AU’s, etc. and that is what I throw on when walking out my ideas.

Why did you start writing?

Because if I didn’t, I felt I would go insane. The words, the stories, the ideas cluttered up my head, made me feel overwhelmed and anxious, to the point where I couldn’t sleep, and I just started writing them out, because it helped me get them out of my head.

Are there any characters who haunt you?

Nope. I actually don’t feel haunted by any characters. All the ones I do feel a connection for feel more like friends, former or present, rather than ghosts.

If you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

This one is really fucking personal and, honestly, the answer would not make anyone happy to hear, because it does touch on where I was in my life at that point, so honestly, let’s all skip this one.

Were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? What were they?

My style, my own unique writing voice, is more than likely the result of so many different authors, whose works I consumed voraciously as I grew. Stephen King, Douglas Adams, Jim Butcher, L.M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, J.K. Rowling…I am very sure that all of those authors helped play huge roles in me discovering my own writing style, because they were all mainstays of my bookshelves growing up and even now.

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc.?

I honestly don’t know. I don’t really sit down and write out all these outlines and character profiles and all that. They’re just there, in my head, like what I ate for dinner or where I’ll be next Friday.

Do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

It’s a mixture of both. I tend to sit down to write, with plans to work on writing between this time and that time, and that’s what I do. However, if something isn’t coming naturally or I’m stuck on how to word something or I’m cramping up, I’ll get up and take a smoke break, grab a coffee, mindlessly grind a few levels on Blush Blush, or the like, which is why, on my writing days, you guys might notice it takes me a bit longer sometimes in between posts than normal.

What do you think when you read over your older work?

Kind of answered above, but I really try not to read my older works!

Are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

Yes. Yes, I really do, which is why the rules on this blog exist, so obviously the things that I ban there are uncomfortable for me to write about. But there’s also times, though I do my very best to never let it hint through in the writing, where I really am ripping open old trauma, old scars, old pain and insecurities when answering certain topics or when I’m writing out certain fics. With the requests, I generally can’t help it if the topic requested ends up hitting too close to home, but other times, I’ll be writing a story and my experiences will start to colour it or past experiences will creep into the narrative and while I don’t remove them, because they do often make the characters or story richer for the telling, more nuanced and fleshed out, it is still a very personal, very vulnerable area I’m writing from.

Any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

I have lived a very…colourful…life, with experiences that happen to, viewing them back now, have been very outside the norm. Add to that the fact that I’m a fat, mentally ill, woman who isn’t fully Caucasian (I have enough Native blood to qualify for a card and cheap res cigarettes) and you have someone with lived experiences that can definitely help when diving into characters, when fleshing them out, when coming up with storylines, when playing out situations that might not occur to others.

Have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or story?

Thanks to match-ups, I’ve become somewhat of an expert in MBTI results, despite my firm opinion of it of pseudoscience.

Copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of?

Oh god…this one was hard. I had to really dig deep for this one and went back to the only fic I’m still at all proud of my ff.net days, a kind of ‘what does death hold’ fic for the Vongola family, focusing on Lambo…

“…His hand stretched out to them and he was unsurprised to find it clad in a cow-printed suit, the hand of the five-year old boy he’d been when he had first become Vongola, became family. He went to climb the next stair, went to join his family when a bolt of lightning hit the stair in front of him, shattering the stone. For one terrifying second, Lambo thought he would die before he finished climbing, before he got to them but instead of pain, he felt himself gently held in a pair of strong arms.

“It’s okay, Lambo. You’re home now,” Tsuna whispered out, smiling down at the young cow.

“Took you long enough to come home, dumb cow,” Gokudera’s voice said, drifting on the wind.

Early the next morning, the workers of the Namimori Shrine got quite the surprise. The storm of the previous night, the worst one Namimori had gotten in nearly twenty years, had destroyed most of the area around the shrine. Trees had blown over; power-lines had been knocked down. But most surprising was the steps leading up to the shrine. The second to last and last step had been struck by lightning and were crumbling and burnt. And on those steps was a man, pronounced dead by the medics the workers had called. His wallet gave his name and his information.

At fifty-eight, the Decimo’s Guardian of Lightning was dead, struck by one last fatal bolt of lightning.”

[emoverted]

back to the streets where we began

Me? On Tumblr? In 2024?

Feels like it was just yesterday I patiently waited for Tumblr to be unblocked in Indonesia. The app wandered aimlessly on the phone of a 12-year-old me, just like herself, in the world supposed to be her's from her eyes. With little hope, the app soon came to life and became her world. No, she did not post anything unlike now, but being an observer was enough. Fandom after fandom and phase after phase (feels weird saying those words in 2024), she dived through in the pursuit of exploring herself continuously. While I can't say those days were the best (who would you be proud of their edgy phase?), they did bring me to the person I am today. I still am the same old flawed me, or as I would like to call myself on this site back in the day, potato. But I can safely say my approach in life has greatly differed. Again, not to say I am already living my fullest and best life. In fact, I wouldn't necessarily call it life if I'm fulfilled. Instead, I choose and am trying my best to view both the good and the bad things in life as equal. I'm grateful for the good days, but I'm even more grateful for the bad days. There has to be a deeper meaning when things don't go our way and I aspire to explore that more this year. As I've said, no matter how much I cringe in the remembrance of my Tumblr days, they undeniably shape my present self, and it's the same for other fragments of my past. Just now I realized how I've been lying to myself. I thought I'd put my past behind me, forgiven my younger, dazed, and clueless self when deep down, I still hold a grudge against her. Through this brand new year, I hope to slowly make sense of her wrong choices in order to make peace with my current self.

Well, that was a mouthful. Now as to why I decided that now is the right time for me to post the randomness inside my head in Tumblr specifically, out of all places. Surprise surprise, I've tried posting on more professional sites, I'll let you guess them yourself. But what I realized is it pressured me to publish eloquently written essays, having gone through the tiring process of drafting, editing, and proofreading, all leading up to the final flawless essay. The topic itself should also be something other people would be drawn into. These factors led me to dread what was supposed to be a reflective routine. I know I've loved writing ever since the day I could, but structures and all that jazz are not exactly my cup of tea, although I sometimes unashamedly enjoy the art of writing academic essays and papers. Nevertheless, it's not like I would willingly create a habit out of it. Long story short, I rekindled with Tumblr and realized that its format is just right for me to create as many mistakes as I could within my writings without the guilt following it. Besides, striving for progress and not perfection is on my bucket list, as a self-proclaimed perfectionist procrastinator. Anyway, I shall pour out from the tidbits to the very depths of my mind here with all of its nonsense. But when I do feel extra special for specific writing, I might publish it on those so-called professional sites. In the meantime, I hope you survive being exposed to my messy thoughts.

[theartofquirk]

The Old Ways

Do you ever wonder about your ancestors? I've recently been on an investigative trip around my family tree with some quite interesting results.

I have a (very) distant cousin who was convicted of sheep stealing in the 1800's, deported to Tasmania and subsequently became a timber magnate & world renown apple cider brewer. The liquor is still available today but will set you back over £100 a bottle.

I have a cousin who was dubbed Yorkshire's very own Florence Nightingale for assisting a famous doctor in a malaria hospital in Guatemala. She earned herself the highest honour in that country, the Order of The Quetzal.

I discovered servants, potters, miners and even one committed to the West Yorkshire lunatic asylum. Which may explain a few things...

I initially thought the task to be a fun one but was surprised to find that it was also therapeutic.

My Father had told me about my ancestors on his side when I was a child. My hyperactive, naive brain didn't appreciate that sometime in the future I may wish to remember these stories and not have the chance for them to be retold.

On my Mothers side, there was less knowledge. In fact, we don't even know who my Grandfather was. A fact, unfortunately, taken to the grave.

As I piece together my lineage I find myself feeling more rooted to the Earth. Something I've struggled with for decades with this overactive, dissociation-prone mind.

I also have been spending a good deal of time thinking about local history, the differences in society and about the state of the world at large. This led me to consider whether information, otherwise passed down through generations by word-of-mouth, was lost when dual-income families and internet generation kids (like myself) became the norm.

I remembered my Mother always had a book of Mrs Beaton's Household Management on the kitchen shelf. I looked through it occasionally as a child, put off by recipes that required offal, and condemning the book as 'remnants of a distant past', a past made obsolete through modern convenience.

Looking back I cringe. I'm constantly apologising for my house when visitors come, though I am reassured that most laugh and say it's fine - I should have seen where they just came from! I'm never organised, often forgetful and suffer regular bouts of overwhelm. Perhaps, if I'd have shown Mrs Beaton greater respect, or domestic economy was taught in my family as a necessary skill, I wouldn't have been doomed to confusion and frustration. Or maybe I really am just lazy, as my brain likes to tell me in moments of weakness. Life was comfortable growing up but it didn't orient me very well in the world.

So I've resolved to make up for lost time. I've decided to learn from the real experts, the petticoat-wearing women of old. Starting from the oldest book in the Internet Archive, I'll be working my way though each book to the present in the hope to reveal the mysteries of a well-managed home.

The first book is from the 1800's and is the concisely named:

“The Family Hand-Book; Or Practical Information in Domestic Economy; Including Cookery, Household Management, and All Other Subjects Connected With the Health, Comfort and Expenditure of a Family: With a Collection of Choice Receipts and Valuable Hints”

I'll be pulling out small passages that jump out to me, either as something I wish I'd known or something that I feel is worthy of conversation. I won't be sticking to a set schedule as I'm clearly not that kind of organised but I will post as soon as I find each little nugget of gold.

Pass me my pinafore Mrs B!

[kcwritely]

On Realizing Dreams and Becoming a Writer

Hi! I’m a writer just dipping my toes into posting my original works. I’ve spent a lot of time on the fan side of tumblr, writing for my favorite shows, books, movies, and games. But I was always worried my own works wouldn’t live up to the same positive reception and praise as my fan works. So, I’ve been hesitant to share.

But now, I want to branch out and bring my personal writings to the public! Which I find absolutely terrifying, but we all have to start somewhere. I’ve already posted some of my old poetry, but that hasn’t exactly met the welcome I hoped for. So, I thought I would take a more personal approach and share a bit about myself.

I’ve been writing and creating stories ever since I was a toddler. Of course, it was all about pretend and play rather than actual literature at the time. My interest in writing began in earnest when I was around ten years old. My personal life had become unstable at that point, and it was during this time that I truly began to connect with and find solace in books.

I started seriously writing my own stories when I entered middle school. These were, of course, a bit silly. They are undoubtedly full of all the classic middle school tropes, hang-ups, and pitfalls. But this was the very beginning of a lifelong passion. So, I look back on those old works with fondness.

It wasn’t until I reached high school that I began to write and plot out novels. These, too, were ‘cringe’ and are still a bit embarrassing to look back on. But they were the foundation of who I am as a storyteller today. It was during this time that I discovered my love of world-building. I genuinely believe it is one of the best parts of being a writer.

Unfortunately, I also suffered from crippling self-doubt and a severe case of imposter syndrome. So, I never shared my work with others. I often felt that what I created was not refined enough to be read by anyone but myself or my supportive mother. This mindset followed me for many years, making it difficult to chart a clear path toward my future.

When it came time for college, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do. I have other passions and briefly considered following them. However, I ultimately chose to pursue my love of language and literature. I wound up becoming an English major. Although, I had no intention of becoming an author. At that point in time, my confidence as a writer was low. I just thought it would be better to put my talents to use as an editor. So, I pursued a minor in editing and decided that would be my career.

It wasn’t until the pandemic, after graduating college and a horrible stint in Corporate America, that I realized my life was my own. And I could pursue whatever dream I wanted. At first, this meant pursuing a career as a tattoo artist. A very different path, I realize. But I could not deny my love for the craft. Not to mention, this was another dream I had convinced myself was unattainable just because it was I who looked to attain it. Once I realized I could pursue any path I desired, as long as I put in the work and tried my best, everything changed.

I began practicing for hours daily to improve my art and become a tattoo artist. These efforts eventually led to my skills growing dramatically. I was so surprised to realize what I could accomplish if I wasn’t standing in my own way. It was the first time I truly thought of myself as someone with talent. I followed this dream for quite some time, building my portfolio and researching local shops that might need an apprentice.

It wasn’t until one fateful night when I was driving home from a bridal shower that the idea hit me. An old book concept from my high school days resurfaced in my mind, and I suddenly knew what the story needed. When I finally got home, I began writing these ideas down immediately. I didn’t even realize it was three in the morning by the time I finished. From that moment on, I became infatuated with my story. Rekindling a love I had long thought was lost.

With a renewed interest in my lifelong passion, I dedicated myself to my dreams. I decided that this time, nothing would keep me from achieving my goals, not outside influences and certainly not myself. Through this new resolve, I began working on my largest project ever, a seven-book epic fantasy adventure exploring a vast and diverse world of my creation.

Now, I want to share the process of such an undertaking with all of you! From conception to plotting, world-building to character creation, I’m sharing it all! I encourage anyone who is a writer or wants to be one to reach out to me. I am happy to share my experience and help other writers realize their dreams like I have begun to do for myself. If you have read this far, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing so. I wish you all the best in your writing journey, and I hope you, the reader, can learn something from my experiences.

Please feel free to reach out to me with any questions about writing!

[consistentresearchpractice]

I've taken things too far, Michel.

Recumbent Post guernica above headboard, Michel. slight gormless expression, stroking through bed sheets deep red same as car same as eyes same non committal answer. Michel!

Michel

Once again I sit and furiously type. I've got a sigil in hand. Autechre is on. He assumes he is the bad one in a horror scenario. I do not care if he lives or dies. Michel, I am coming up blank to be honest.

I may be surprised satisfied or not surprised. I am unconvinced. I don't think it is possible to become like what I had thought. An extreme sleaze.... The outer limits look kinda lame!!!!!! Michel!!!

Michel

He asks if I can stand there naked. I say no.

I ask about the urtrans person or gesamtransiton.

Michel

He makes me listen to highly cringe music. Maybe I'll try to get merzbow on?

Michel

Maybe I am thinking of a space more than a person

Michel

I've got the sigil. It must be binned in here. Actually, I revise, it can't. I think he's stupid.

I leave, I can't stop thinking about where I am, I construct a fear that I was the last person to ever see him.

I want to tear my skin off a little

The morgellons begin again to traverse my surface.

Michel

17 Green law. Ground floor green door

I have invented such novel ways to hurt myself

I have invented such novel ways to hurt myself

I have invented such novel ways to hurt myself.

Everyone thinks I am fucked in the head

Everyone wants to fuck me in the head

Fuck me up

Unwanted exposure fucked me up Michel

I knew it was wrong but I painted over it,

Said it's all just porn and academia in real life

But I'm bristling in the city centre

I think it's lurking behind every corner

I'm crying in the sushi place

Into my miso.

I'm screaming in my mind Michel

I think I'm fucked in the head, like I am so fucked up

I can't distinguish real life from fiction

I entered a gap year den of shit

I want to maim the shithead

He tried to wear me down

I didn't wear down

He tried to worm in, I dry heaved

He didn't take it as a hint

I fucking hate the smell

Michel

I fucking hate all the inferiors like him

Raised in barns, probably

No coasters and no coffee table

I'm wearing the skin of a 22 year old tboy

Fuck knows if he even exists

There is no food.

I am exposed to stupid shit

Fuck, Michel

I am so so so so fucked in the head.

[skylitexo]

My life

So much time has gone. So many people have exited. Some for the best and some for the worst. Things come and go. I accept it... or trying too. My mental health is unusual. One thing I take pride in is being able to is working out consistently. Losing weight effectively.. I lost 40lbs. My goal is to hit 130. I am at 138. I am building muscle right now. I went through a period where I wasn’t necessarily living last fall. I barely ate and slept. I was so exhausted. I was trying to graduate as soon as I could. Taking 18 credit hours and an internship on top of it, but I graduated.. I wanted my mom to see it... but she didn’t. She died. Then, earlier that day before she passed my boyfriend, my love.... the one that I connected with so I thought spiritually.. cheated. Not surprised, but it’s okay. I understand. He wasn’t happy with himself. He was insecure and felt the need to be a piece of shit. What a nice touch on his end. Anyway, three days later Mom.. I gIraduated after you died. It was so hard to walk across the stage.. knowing I watched you die the way you did. It was so traumatizing. I have such bad PTSD. The way it came out of your mouth... your body... the fluids.. I don’t want to say because it will scare people away. Mom I miss you. I want to call you and tell you everything. I want to tell you what Jules did to me. What he gave me. How he treated me in the end. I never saw it coming. I couldn’t believe it really, but most importantly mama. I hate coming home and seeing you not there. Where your voice doesn’t echo in the hallway. I hate seeing Todd pass out drunk on the floor almost nearly every night. Hearing Alexis cry over the phone. Her saying, “we need to be strong. It’s okay Sky. We got each other”. This is so fucked up.. all of this. I am thankful that my friend Bo, drove 7 hours to be by my side. I am thankful that Audrey was there and watched me grieve my mom the day she died. She held me, and watched my mom took her last breaths. Talking about this now is triggering. I can’t... I hate cancer. I hate missing you. I hate such bad flashbacks. It’s so triggering. Anyway, I haven’t landed a job.. I am interning still. I move away from U of I and back into my old childhood home for a few months. I have a trip planned to Cali. I been california dreaming for months. I will keep doing so... I will keep traveling the world. I don’t care about being alone. I am okay with it. At least no one will hurt me. I changed a lot as a person and overcame so much. I am stronger than I used to be. I am a deeper person. Spiritually and emotionally. Hell, looking back at all my post makes me cringe. Like why were you crying over someone like that? I a so glad I lost weight and started prioritizing myself. I am still trying to manage my mental health. My mood swings. I was in therapy for a bit and will be going back. There is some insurance issues and cancellations that had occured on their end, but I am counting down the days. Self love may not always look beautiful. It’s not about beating your face. Putting on a cute outfit or changing your hair. It’s a lot of tears, heavy workouts, sleeping, and recognizing your toxic patterns. It’s about digging deeper into yourself. It’s about seeking help when you know you need it. It’s about learning patience and understanding. It’s about putting nourishing food in your body. It’s about sleep appropriately. I could go on and on. I am trying. I will continue to try and live to the best of my ability. I don’t want to rot even though sometimes my mind tells me to disappear or to hurt myself. I am trying to control my rage, but I have and am healing... somethings I am over and some are not. It will be okay. I will be okay. I think. I hope. Also, in my next post I plan to talk about the spiritual things I have encountered before, during, and after my mom's passing. I have been “awake” for awhile now. However, I don’t want to burn one's eyes much longer with my long post. 

[thesoulsearcheruniverse-blog]

HELLO Tumblr. You’re still HERE.

So I decided to visit this old timey. 

The last post I had here was nearly 6 years ago. Upon checking, not a single like or comment was given to any of my post. I figured, no one saw or cared about what I post here.

I came back because somehow, I felt I need to delete this account, since I really have no use for it. I was on a decluttering trip where I decided just delete all of my social media accounts and other things, which of course Tumblr is no exception. Also, I stopped my creative writing a long time ago, and I found myself focused in other things now. When I abandoned this site, a part of my creativity was also abandoned. And everything has changed drastically in those years, not just with me personally, but how the world functioned. Everything is a lot more complicated now for some reason. 

I was a lot younger when I made this tumblr account, and when I posted all those posts. I was a passionate teen that was equally immature and somehow extremely insecure. Realizing it now however, I found my younger self, while vulnerable, was more genuine. It’s different now, when you are a professional and an adult, your work is your life. When you have built your reputation and career high enough, you cannot risk of losing it by being naive or whimsical. And sometimes, you do tend to lose grip of your identity, who are you really? No matter how true you think you are, you are more likely just a version of some other person you are trying to be (or not to be). So again, who are you really?

Going back. . .

Here’s the thing, upon reading the old works I have posted here, I am somehow surprised how poetic I actually was. I am impressed. Before the legal jargons and the provisions of the law that consumes me now, I was more freer with the words I chose, more creative, more edgy, and less technical. It was more of the risky wordplay that bears little to no consequence but the feeling of cringe on some other time. Filled with teenage angst and passion, with an underlying intent of trying to be someone in the ArtLit scene. 

While I have no intention of reviving this account, I also changed my mind on deleting it. Having read all those words I have said before here, I couldn’t help but feel that it is my duty to preserve this version of me that I was actually fond of despite hating it at that time, and because I’ve grown so much that it’s just beautiful to see. 

- Y. R.

[drdemonprince]

I was a massive gaga STAN for years, she was truly one of my Divas. I knew all of the lyrics to all of her songs, including the more obscure deep cuts, I adored Art Pop and was such a huge booster for it despite it's underperformance (and I maintain that it was ahead of its time and was a clear precursor to the hyperpop genre!), I loved Bloody Mary and listened to it on repeat in 2011 when it first came out, I held onto alternative edits of Do What You Want With My Body and had strong opinions on it (The Christina Aguilera version redeems it entirely, but sadly the R Kelly is better produced), I saw her at Lollapalooza in 2010, I had merch, I looked at every photospread she did for ages, and I really enjoyed Chromatica and Dawn of Chromatica more than the average fan, too and went to club nights devoted to those albums. I considered her to be one of my Big Aries Icons that I identified with So Much, and she and I looked so similar back in the day that strangers would regularly bring up the resemblance to me. I made some haircut/bleaching decisions specifically with that resemblance in mind because I enjoyed it.

And yet, compared to some of my other fallen pop divas, like, say, Grimes, Lady Gaga's slip from grace has felt so unceremonious and untortured. After Chromatica and Dawn of Chromatica's releases, she fell off from posting about music completely and put all of her energy into her makeup brand and acting. By then owning a makeup brand had already become somewhat uncool, especially in the wake of the Tati Westbrook / James Charles / Jeffrey Star / Shane Dawson drammageddon, and though I enjoyed the high camp of House of Gucci and considered A Star is Born to be perfectly okay, Lady Gaga's acting was never really all that good. She's put concerted effort into the craft and come a long way since her American Horror Stories days, believe me, but the pretentious Method Acting Energy she brought to the House of Gucci press tour was absolutely cringe. It's not that deep, Stefani.

Add onto that her politically tepid Super Bowl performance (in front of Mike Pence) and her heavy campaigning for Biden and choice to sing at his inauguration and the writing was on the wall. Lady Gaga is a bland old lib, like anyone else still shilling for the Democratic party, and you can't count on her for much. The pro-Israel posts put the final nail in the coffin for me, an unsurprising end at that point. She's become so moderate and toothless that honestly even the pro Dylan Mulvaney post mildly surprised me, but did nothing for me.

Interestingly I find Grime's devolution far more troubling. I think because Grimes is someone who is so clearly unwell and because it's so easy to see signs of Elon's abuse. Even before getting together with him Grimes was unpredictable, terrible at feeding or looking after herself, had to cancel bookings unexpectedly all the time, didn't know how to protect herself during interviews or stay on message, and frayed professional relationships all the time. But once Elon entered the picture the reproductive abuse and financial exploitation as well as the constant undermining of her career really hurt to witness.

(You can call her a phony and a capitalist, traditionalist shill all you like and i will agree with you. it's just also the case that Elon has been recorded verbally insulting her during live DJ sets, is on record as having interrupted her recording sessions at the Cyberpunk studios and demanding to get his own role in the game and making a creative partnership she was excited about all about himself, restricted her access to her son, had multiple relationships behind her back, even getting an employee of his pregnant during one of his affairs, and is just generally a terrifying piece of shit. I think Grimes is both a vulnerable Autistic person and a dipshit. she's not worth the energy either. but i find myself compelled to invest it anyway, because it reminds me of my own experiences.)

With Lady Gaga it feels so clear cut because she is obviously a person who is competent, methodical, professional, and tame. She's the face of the liberal establishment. And I guess that's just a more boring, banal kind of evil than the messy, edgelordy, yet sometimes sympathetic evil that Grimes dabbles in, though again, who cares if she's also a closeted T boy at this point either. (i do!! here's how we can still win!!! i am delusional).

I made fun of the Gaylors and now I'm getting my comeuppance. I hadn't listened to Lady Gaga in a decade but yesterday on a long drive i listened to The Fame Monster-Born This Way- Artpop-Chromatica all in one go and I entered a trance state and now I am a Trans Man Lady Gaga Truther. I'm physically holding myself back from reading any interviews so I can preserve my dignity and call it a Trans Read Of Lady Gaga's Oeuvre.

save your energy homie she's pro israel. shes not worth it

[dangan-meme-palace]

Rewatching a let's play of V3 and post-5th trial, Shuichi apologizes to Maki for what happened to Kaito, and basically says it's like back then with Kaede, he always hurts the people he likes.

A big part of the way Kaito helps him is by supporting the actions that Shuichi has to take as the detective. Their first training session is telling him that Kaede's sins are hers and beginning to get him out of the mindset that he was responsible in some way for her fate. This is a recurring pattern that continues in the trial where he encourages Shuichi to face Kirumi even if she's appreciated by the cast for everything she does from cooking to cleaning, even if her motivation to save her people reads as selfless. I don't exactly remember the exact words, but in Kaito's final FTE, when Shuichi tells him about the murder case he solved that traumatized him, Kaito wonders why Shuichi is blaming himself or feeling bad and ends the conversation by telling that he'll punch everyone who will bother his sidekick.

We're near the end of the game and Shuichi is exactly the same as right after Kaede's death: blaming himself for the consequences of trials (Kaede's and Kaito's executions) that are the result of Kaede's own actions, (and Mugi's) or Kaito and Maki's own actions for the 5th trial, despite having gone through character development, despite Kaito's help, and I'm left thinking that... Kaito wasn't able to help him at all or solve his issues?

Given how much Kaito is lauded as a supporting figure, by the fandom, and by the writing (I lost count of how many times Shuichi says "Kaito you helped me so much...") this is really disappointing.

(I think there's also something to say about how the writing, with Kaito's character, encourages the player/Shuichi to hold Kaede and Kirumi or others accountable when Shuichi feels shitty about convicting them or having convicted them. And here, again Shuichi blames himself for Kaito's fate and... that amounts to nothing. There's no in-game commentary about Kaito and Maki's decisions whatsoever. It's even more surreal because Maki is in front of him as he's saying this and she could say something...)

...Frankly I feel terrible because everyone treats Kaito and Maki coming in Shuichi's life like some sort of blessing, and Shuichi's character development as the best thing, but... people are idealizing their friendships and what they accomplished for each other a lot. I feel terrible for Shuichi dammit he's hating himself forever

I've talked about this in the past, actually, and I still agree with what I said:

Kaito never actually tangibly helped Shuichi or developed his character positively, the trio is over-hyped with little canon substance to back up how the fandom sees them, and the only meaningful impact (lasts longer than 5 minutes) we can actually see Kaito actually have on Shuichi's character are all negative traits which are not only harmful to Shuichi and the cast but actively retcon his prior (good) development and unmake all the lessons he has previously learned that other characters had to literally die to teach him, wasting their sacrifices (and a chunk of our time) entirely.

Narratively, emotionally, and logically Kaito degrades Shuichi's character and destroys any potential he might have had both as a character in need of development (seriously how could you flop on the main protagonist's development holy shit) and as an apprentice detective trying to learn how to do his job better or else everyone will die.

[sailoryooons]

Mine | One Shot | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x Succubus F. Reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi lives a quiet life. His days are organized neatly, and every week he can expect the same results. Then he meets you. Hypnotizing. Otherworldly. Strange. And his life never goes back to the way it was before.

☾ Word Count: 14,864

☾ Genre: Smut, Horror, Thriller

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Buckle up bitches this list of warnings is going to exhaust even me. Overall creepiness, descriptions of liminal spaces, tons of mentions of subspace-like trances, Yoongi's mind is not always his own, unexplained happenings, Yoongi being manipulated subtly, written jump scares (like three of them?), nightmares, hallucinations, the cutest and also creepiest fucking little succubus you'll ever see, Succy (succubus reader) really likes Tokyo Ghoul that should be a hint, hints at eating raw meat (bleh), Yoongi turning against his friends, Yoongi feeling sick/depressed in a couple of scenes, Yoongi is literally addicted to eating reader out soiejijrghij, explicit sexual content including, spit play, nipple play, oral (f. and m. receiving), grinding, unprotected sex in multiple positions, cum eating, switch dynamics between the two of them often, subspace mentions, fingering, ass play (m. receiving), just.... so many bodily fluids all the time, mentions of animal death (it is a cat and it's dead body is briefly described), a lot of confusion and pace changes as a style choice, Succy is literally obsessed with Yoongi so a lot of the pet name Kitty, very cringe behavior for some rando Yoongi met at a bar, ambiguous ending. I think that covers it idk this is almost 15k of pure nightmare fuel I will send you my therapists number alright

☾ Published: October 30, 2022

☾ A/N: If I have to write this authors note one more time because 'a wild tumbeast ate my fucking post I will scream. Do better Tumblr please stop eating my content over and over lmao. ANYWAY. SURPRISE THIS IS HERE A DAY EARLY. I have zero self-control and @gimmethatagustd told me to post it now so I really said fuck it we ball. I didn't use a beta for this one because I'm insane but I did edit it myself.... so if you see errors..... no you didn't. This one was so much fun to write and I hope you all love Succy as much as I do. She deserves the world she is very... scary and cute. 

HAPPY HALIWEEN!!!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask

Friday nights are spent blowing off steam from work with friends. Yoongi has always lived a simple life, and he likes his Fridays like this: second person to the bar after Taehyung, a quick shot of whisky to take the edge off the day, followed by a whiskey neat and some fries from the kitchen that will still be a little unthawed in the middle. 

Yoongi loves his Fridays at Serendipity. 

The name is a bit of a joke, Jimin says. He inherited the old, rundown bar under another name from his abusive father after he passed away. Mysterious circumstances, the long-term patrons mutter into darkened ale and frosted mugs. Still, they come despite Jimin flipping the name. It was the only thing Jimin could afford to flip, the floors still the same sticky concrete that collect vomit, spilled beer, whiskey, and perhaps a little piss.

It's an ugly thing, with the vinyl stool covers splitting open to reveal guts of yellow foam, and countertops that need another layer of lacquer to fight the chipping from heavy mugs being slammed down every time Seokjin gets into an argument with one of the regulars. Yoongi tries to avoid the bathroom as much as he can. Jimin spent two weeks cleaning it and stocking it with a nice care basket with sprays, cotton rounds, and other products, only to have someone puke in it on the first night.

Yoongi doesn’t care that Jimin named the bar as a bit of an inside joke. Yoongi knows in his heart of hearts when he sees you that this moment is serendipitous.

Because when Yoongi sees you for the first time, the world ends.

Not really. But it feels that way the moment he turns at the bar. Perhaps he’s meant to see you – or perhaps it was by your design. He tilts backward when the door opens, searching for any sign of Seokjin who said he would be there in a few minutes.

And there you are.

Lights dim. The world takes on a muted feeling, like the two of you exist between murky, brackish water with something lurking just beyond the clouded space that he can’t quite make out. The roaring voices of the bar fade softly into the background until it’s just a buzz of pressure between Yoongi’s ears - or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the buzzing pressure of awareness pressing on his spine and eardrums. 

It isn’t pleasant but it’s not… uncomfortable. 

It’s impossible to look away from you. He tries - tries to remember where he is. A bar, perhaps? Not this weird, opaque space where the only thing he can make out is the rogue on your lips, a spark in your eye, and the way you walk forward. No. Walk isn’t the right word. Glide might be more appropriate, he thinks. 

As you near him, Yoongi breathes in sharply. Something like cedar mixed with jasmine and amber makes his head spin. The world tilts and Yoongi begins to slide on its new axis until suddenly, the mist surrounding him shatters as his foot comes into contact with the ground, knee buckling under his weight as his hand flies to the bar to hold himself up.

He fell off of his stool.

Yoongi almost doesn’t believe it, except Taehyung is laughing so hard next to him that Yoongi flushes furiously. He slides back onto the stool, brows furrowed and head ducked down to hide his rapidly glowing red ears and face from you.

But then you speak, and Yoongi cannot fight the urge to look at you once more. It’s an instinct pulling him from blushing furiously in his lap to stare at you.

“Hi,” you murmur. Yoongi is a fish out of water, mouth parted slightly, heart racing. Jasmine. Cedar. Amber. It’s all he can smell. His head swims, mind foggy as he tries to string together words. “Is this seat next to you taken? It’s the only one empty.”

Is it? Yoongi can’t tear his eyes from you, but he could swear Old Ass Han had been sitting there before you walked in.

Old Ass Han is the least annoying of Jimin’s customers and sometimes Yoongi doesn’t mind when Old Ass Han rambles about his late wife. Yoongi has no idea how old Old Ass Han is, he just knows that he was ancient even when Yoongi studied as a high school student tucked in the far corner of the bar.

“Um, yes?” Yoongi says and it comes out like a question.

You grin at him and the world ends a second time.

Pleasure-laced fear shoots down his spine. Your teeth are white and straight, but he swears for a split second they were razor sharp. He shakes his head, dispelling a little of the floating feeling as he says, “Of course. Yes. Please sit.”

Yoongi holds his breath and averts his eyes as you slide onto the stool next to him.

It’s suddenly too loud in the bar, a cacophony of voices and chairs scraping against concrete. Yoongi can still smell you, making the world rotate awkwardly as he spins on his stool to find Taehyung staring at him, brows raise and barely concealing his laughter.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you fumble like that,” Taehyung murmurs. He loses control of his laughter and tries to hide it in his cup of cider. Yoongi flushes and angrily stares into his whiskey, hyperaware of you leaning on the bar to call the bartender’s attention. “I mean – she is – holy shit I never believed in faeries or witches before but there's no way she’s human.”

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth. He tries to find a response to Taehyung, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and something tingles along every hair on his arm and neck, a sense of awareness as you lean on the bar, speaking to the bartender.

Again, your voice haunts Yoongi in a matter of seconds. He feels the need to turn and look at you again, but he doesn’t want to be weird. He’s already fallen off the stool once, and he doesn’t plan on further exacerbating his humiliation.

So, Yoongi remains facing Taehyung. Clutches his whiskey glass with shaking hands. Tries to take a breath – it comes out shaky – to calm himself. He has no idea what kind of delirium is threatening him every moment you’re next to him, but he wants to fight it - tries to fight it.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung’s brows twitch, mouth pouting. He ducks his head slightly, trying to find Yoongi’s gaze, but the older keeps his eyes fixed on the wood grain bar. Yoongi wants to look at you again. So bad. Wants to ask you your name. Wants to memorize the curves of your mouth. Wants to memorize every stroke of color in your eyes.

Want want want want.

A sudden throb pulses in Yoongi. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he feels it bloom inside of him, unfurling with warm petals of want want want want.

The urge to turn and look at you gets stronger.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck –

Yoongi grits his teeth. Feels pressure at the back of his head, like there are featherlight fingers pressing into the base of his skull to urge him to turn around and look at you again. His muscles constrict and he feels himself start to turn, hips beginning to swivel in your direction, arms rigidly placed on the bar as if to fight his lower half.

When he doesn’t turn to look at you, Yoongi swears he imagines the light press of fingers turning into a steel grip. His eyes start to water and he clenches his teeth, feeling an immovable force on him pulling, dragging, tearing - and he lets out a small gasp, the grip on him so strong that he -

“Yoongi,” Taehyung says again, voice firmer. Yoongi looks up this time, eyes soft and round, face flushed. There’s a little sweat collected on his brow, and Yoongi feels a dull throb at the back of his head like a fading migraine. “What’s wrong?”

“Um-“ he cuts himself off and clears his throat. The pressure on his head is gone, but the menthol-cool, awareness of you is not. “Maybe too much to drink? It’s been a stressful week, I think I knocked these back too quickly.

“You do look sort of flushed.” Taehyung raises his brows. “Maybe water?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Water, please.”

Taehyung asks for water when the bartender returns with your drink. Yoongi doesn’t look at you, though he can see from the corner of his eye you’re looking at him. He grits his teeth and stares at the mismatched, colored bottles behind the bar. None of its top-shelf – Jimin certainly cannot afford it – but it doesn’t need to be.

A glass of water appears in front of Yoongi in time for Seokjin’s arrival. The pressure in Yoongi’s skull doesn’t return, and the tingling along his nerves like an electric current dies down a little. He still feels shaken as he sips the water, freeing up the dry feeling on his tongue.

Seokjin nestles between Yoongi and Taehyung, ordering himself a drink. Jimin appears around the bar this time, finally done with his bookkeeping in the back, and slides a beer over to Seokjin. Yoongi watches the way Jimin smiles at them before his attention falters and slides to you sitting next to Yoongi, making Jimin blink rapidly a few times.

Irrational irritation flares in Yoongi for a split second. Though his attention is on his friend and watching Jimin reacts to you sitting in Old Ass Han’s place, it occurs to Yoongi that he doesn’t want anyone else to compete with him.

Not that he stands a chance. But for once in his life, Yoongi wouldn’t mind being the one to take someone home. Why can’t it be him? He saw you first. You’re sitting next to him.

Just as Jimin’s eyes glitter, turning to half-moons as he smiles at you, Yoongi spins in the chair, giving you his full attention. Your eyes turn to meet his and Yoongi is falling into them, no end in sight.

“Hi again,” you greet, voice velvet. “You have pretty eyes.”

“All right, hyung,” Jimin murmurs. Yoongi isn’t looking at Jimin, but he can hear the smirk in his voice as Jimin retreats to their friends.

“Thanks,” Yoongi murmurs. He allows himself to drink you in. His head begins to buzz like he’s had too much whiskey, his tongue heavy and cotton-fuzzed in his mouth. “You have a pretty… everything.”

You have to know how beautiful you are. A deity beneath silk-smooth skin. But you duck your head, a shy giggle leaving your lips. You have the decency to look shy, averting your eyes, lip tucked between teeth.

Perhaps later Yoongi will be embarrassed by the honesty. But right now, it’s all he can do to keep his heart rate normal. You are incredible to look at. Taehyung was right – perhaps not human.

An unnatural glow hums under your skin. Your eyes are vivid, drinking him in with a spark that Yoongi swears echoes a deep flame in the pit of his stomach. He wrestles with himself, his hands fighting a magnetic pull to reach over and brush his fingers across the canvas of your skin.

Yoongi won’t be able to stop if he touches you. His thoughts repulse him – you’re a stranger. Someone he doesn’t know. Someone his mind is begging to violate. He fists his pants, flexing the muscles of his hands and willing the strange pull toward you to go away.

He doesn’t even know your name and Yoongi feels like Pandora, watching you with coveted desire and shaking, greedy hands. Fuck he wants to pry you open and see what treasure lurks beneath the surface.

“What’s your name?” You ask him. You stir a beverage straw in your drink – an Old Fashioned. His lips twitch in a smile at your taste in drinks as he offers you his name. “Yoongi,” you repeat back. The way his name melts in your mouth like sugar entices him. “Cute. You’re cute.”

Yoongi flashes you a shy smile, echoing yours. You share a laugh, his rough and scratchy as he chews the inside of his cheek nervously, yours light and floating. It echoes in his ears and Yoongi loses his sense of self, thoughts drug-laced with only you.

And then your lips are on him and once again, Yoongi swears the world around him has fallen to destruction.

It’s hard to remember the order of events. Yoongi doesn’t care. Your mouth is sugar-sweet and hungry, licking into Yoongi’s open-mouthed kisses as he presses you against something firm. He wants to melt into you, your skin like fire under his seeking hands, your breath delicate and soft against the empty air of what he thinks is his apartment as his lips attached to your neck.

Even your skin tastes sugared. A delicacy for him. For his mouth only.

Mine. The word echoes across his mind, but not in is own voice. 

You writhe underneath Yoongi’s hands. He squeezes the flesh of your lips, tongue snaking out to lick a broad stripe of skin up your neck. Your fingers card through his hair, tugging slightly, just enough to make him groan against your skin.

Yoongi is painfully hard. His cock throbs in his pants, the material restrictive and making the ache so much worse. He grinds his hips against yours, mouth sucking viciously at your collarbone, the top of your cleavage, anywhere he can taste you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head thudding against the wall behind you. Panting, you hike up one of your legs, wrapping it against his waist to pull him in tighter to you. Yoongi whines as you connect your mouths again, tongue and teeth, and spit as you grind against him. “I want you so fucking bad.”

“Have me,” he mumbles sucking your tongue into his mouth. You moan, deep in your chest. He swears for a second it’s like a growl. Thinks nothing of it. Just pushes against you hard, cock pulsing. “Whatever you want.”

“Please.”

Yoongi never wants to hear you beg again. Or maybe he doesn’t want you to stop begging. He can’t make up his mind as he pulls you toward a room – his room. Yes, you’re both in his apartment. That’s his slate grey couch that you’re stumbling past and that’s his sheets that you fall backward against.

Licking his lips, Yoongi takes a moment to look down at you. You’re splayed out for him, unfurling in his sheets. He knows tomorrow morning they’ll still smell like you – jasmine, cedar, amber. You look divine, a flower unfolding delicate petals, open for him.

Only for him. Mine. 

You wrap your legs around Yoongi, pulling him flush to the edge of the bed. You release him and press your feet to the bed, knees resting against his hips. You blink at him through fluttering lashes and starry eyes. He’s never seen anything like you. He never will again. He knows it.  

“God damn you’re beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, the words slipping through his lips, unrelenting.

The stars in your eyes vanish. Yoongi recoils, seeing the fathomless black threatening to eat him alive. He begins to pull away, terror shooting through his chest, sharp and angry. You squeeze your knees against his hips, nearly shattering him. Your mouth is a gash of red with rows and rows of black teeth, churning and churning.

“Don’t speak his name here,” you hiss, words slithering in layers of many different voices. “Never again.”

Yoongi blinks and you’re blushing as you look up at him, knees splayed like butterfly wings, open for him. Just for him. He smiles at the way you giggle and hide behind a hand. “You’re so sweet.”

“You are beautiful. I swear it.”

“Touch me.” Your voice drips honey-sweet on his senses. “I want to feel you, Yoongi. Please.”

There is a prickling sensation like fear at the base of his spine but Yoongi can’t remember why as he smiles at you lazily, dipping down between your legs. He props himself above you, hands planted on the mattress on either side of your head to cage you in.

“Ask me again.”

“Please. Please please please-“

Yoongi swallows your begging tongue first, delving into your luscious mouth.

It’s been a long time since he’s been in his room like this with a partner, much less with someone who looks the way you do, but Yoongi’s hands are confident as they sweep up your sides, pulling the fabric of your shirt up with his hands as they go. You lean upward, letting him pull it off you before it flies from his hand somewhere in the room.

The lights are off in his room, but a silver shaft of moonlight spills through the window to paint you silver. Your eyes reflect the light as you drink him in, his hands brushing up your arms, warming your skin as he traces them to your tits, palming them generously over your bra.

A sigh escapes through your parted lips, red lipstick smeared artfully from the clash of mouths and tongues. He dips back down, tongue hungry for your sugar-warm taste and the liquid heat of your mouth.

Yoongi is dizzy. He’s a little off balance as he breathes you in. Your fingers pull through the strands of his hair, hips canting upward as he reaches around to unclasp your bra, peeling the unwanted layer from you.

Heated, shameless eyes meet his. You tilt your chest toward him, eager for his mouth. He doesn’t miss a beat, placing wet kisses over the tops of your breasts, more tongue and spit than lips, leaving a slick trail to your right nipple. Yoongi’s mouth is possessive, sucking your pert but between his lips and flicking it lightly with his tongue, looking up where your lips part in the moonlight to let out a soft moan.

It spurs him further, plucking your nipple with his teeth, pulling any sound he can from you. He gets a loud whine then and you wiggle your hips under the weight of where his waist is pressed into yours. Grinning, Yoongi repeats the motion, giving a generous suck before pulling away with his teeth, gentling scrapping your peak.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Feels so good.”

Yoongi trails chaste kisses from one nipple to the other, giving it the same attention. He snakes a hand down your body, fingers dancing across heated skin to pull at the zipper on your jeans. His hands tremble, making it difficult to free the first button.

Reluctantly, Yoongi pulls his mouth away from your breast, a glossy strand of spit connecting his mouth to your swollen skin as he looks down, using both hands to pop the button on your pants and tug violently at them.

“These jeans are the fucking devil.”

“Yes,” you murmur, so quietly that he can barely hear you. He gets them to your ankle, yanking one more time and tossing them. He loses your hushed words in the rustle of clothes hitting the floor when you whisper, “I am.”

“Hmm?” he asks.

You silence his question by pulling his shirt over his head, leaning to capture his exposed chest with your tongue and teeth. Yoongi stands between your legs, head falling tilting toward the heavens at the worship of your mouth.

Deep groans leave his mouth. You bite more than you kiss, but Yoongi likes the way your mouth leaves a trail of little teeth marks, your mouth pinching his flesh before your tongue soothes it. You have him trembling, nearly making him double over as your hand presses over his clothed cock firmly, applying the pressure he needs.

It’s not enough.

Every part of Yoongi feels exposed. Even half dressed, the world is brushing against him raw, every touch of your hands like pleasure and torture, every fan of your breath like the coldest breeze on a hot summer day.

None of the sensations make sense but he feels high – higher than that time he and Jimin took shrooms at that one festival in college where the lights had whispered secrets of the forest to Yoongi and where he had tasted something beyond what he could describe.

But under your carnal touch, Yoongi knows that is nothing compared to this. Nothing compares to the way you work his jeans down to his midthigh, too impatient for him to kick out of them before you’re dipping a hand in his briefs and taking his cock into your hand.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi gasps, nearly toppling backward. Your grip is firm, strokes deft and confident and oh my god he might come like this.

You lean up to teeth at the pulse point of his neck as your tongue darts out to take a firm lick. “There is nothing holy about me, Min Yoongi,” you murmur against his neck. He shivers, eyes rolling behind closed lids as you speak. He can feel the trace of your incisors, sharper than he remembers against his skin.

Stars dance behind his eyes. You pull your hand away from his cock, making him protest. You hush him with a bite against his shoulder, sharp enough that he thinks you break skin. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting his world sweep from under his feet as you turn him and knock him onto the bed.

When the feeling of spinning stops a little, he blinks his eyes open to help you peel his clothes the rest of the way off. You’re fully naked and Yoongi doesn’t know where to keep his eyes. The swells of your breasts, marked with bite marks and spit from his mouth, the curves of your stomach and waist as you climb atop him, predatory and eager, or the glistening slick of your thighs where you’re dripping for him.

“Come here,” he demands. He’s dying to have you on his tongue, knows you’ll taste saccharine. He grabs your thighs harder than necessary, zeroing in on your pussy as he pulls you toward his mouth. “Wanna fucking taste. Bet you’re fucking delicious.”

You hum in delight, a lethal smile on your face as you crawl up to where he wants you, knees firmly on either side of his head. Yoongi lets out an appreciative noise. Your cunt is sticky and glossy for him, the perfect meal.

With gentle fingers, he parts your folds gently to reveal your slick, clenching hole and needy clit. Yoongi is eager, a finger trailing up and down your warm slit as he lets out a moan.

“Fucking wet,” he whispers before leaning up for a long, slow lick.

Stars explode behind his eyes. He hums in delight, shivering at the taste of you, heady on his tongue. He repeats the motion a few times, flattening his tongue for a slow-drag, appreciative lick up your cunt. He feels the way you drip into his mouth, spill on his chin and he can’t help but curse, at how addictive this feels.

You moan when he dips his tongue into your entrance, gathering your essence on the tip of his tongue before he drags it soft-slow up to your clit, circling your bundle of nerves lazily. Yoongi pulls your clit into his mouth with gentle lips, feeling the way it pulses as he sucks gently.

The sounds you make above him spur him further. He alternates between sucking your clit delicately and butterfly-soft tongue flutters, watching your mouth go slack as you watch him. The more you drip into his eager mouth, the greedier Yoongi gets, fastening his entire mouth on you and sucking harshly.

It becomes sloppy and imprecise. Yoongi can’t decide where he wants his mouth most. He can’t remember ever feeling this lightheaded from oral, much less giving. But he’s starstruck under you, sucking and sucking and sucking – fuck he doesn’t know if he’s even taking breaths.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whisper, a hand going to knot in his hair. His scalp tingles pleasantly where you hold onto him, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hips move slowly over his face. “Fuck keep going.”

Pride swells in his chest. Your voice is airy, breaths short and stilted and overwhelmed as he eats you vigorously. His fingers dimple your skin, pressing into the meat of your ass as he rocks you on his tongue, jaw slack, tongue flat for you to let you fuck yourself on his face the way you want.

Yoongi feels you drip down his face, hears the wet-smack of his mouth against your cunt. He moans. Buries his face further, letting you grind yourself on his nose, chin, mouth lips, anything. He doesn’t care, sticky-coated to the jaw, so fucked out from pleasing you that he almost blacks out when you cum.

Something happens.

He doesn’t know how to describe it – it’s like for a moment, everything goes dark. Perhaps he does blackout. Perhaps he wasn’t breathing. He can’t remember. All he knows is that between one heartbeat and the next, there’s a moment of pure darkness accompanied by a laugh that chills his spine.

And then your mouth is on him, spit and cum making the glide of your mouths sticky-sweet.

Yoongi sucks your tongue into his mouth, pressing his fingers gently to the back of your head, pulling you closer closer closer. He just wants you closer, his stomach burning with a sudden hunger for you. He feels on fire, skin too-warm where your chest slides against his, sweaty and flushed.

Sheets stick to every part of him. He’s aware of the sweat that slides down his neck, a cool finger of relief as you press him further and further into the mattress. He feels like he’s sinking, entering a new domain where he’s no longer in his room – he's just with you. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Your fingers claw at his hair, pulling the strands to pin him to the mattress as you lift yourself, looking down at Yoongi. He blinks, stars in his eyes as he starts up at you, looming. Glowing. Beautiful. His hands are on your hips, a sparking current humming just beneath the surface of your skin.

You feel alive and vibrant.

A moan escapes Yoongi’s mouth, pleasure rolling through him as you grind your cunt on his throbbing cock, warm and wet. His eyes flutter, Yoongi squirming under you, legs kicking and twitching as you tease him. Just the glide of you on his shaft makes him shiver, the pit of his stomach clenching.

“Please,” Yoongi rasps. His fingers dig into your hips, begging. Pleading. Desperate. “Please please please please.”

“You look so pretty when you beg.” Your grinding increases and the room spins. His hands fall from your hips to the sheets, fingers fisted tightly in the fabric. “You’re so beautiful, Yoongi. My Yoongi. Mine. Mine mine mine.”

Your words are lost on him. There’s only the firm touch of your hand against his cock, gripped tight at the base as you lift yourself. He feels his cockhead catch on your swollen entrance and he lets out a strangled noise. He doesn’t know if he can stop himself from cumming. He is bursting at the seams with heat, an inferno so intense he swears that the world catches fire as you slide down his cock, warm and tight.

“Shiiit,” Yoongi hisses. He takes a deep breath and holds it, hips twitching where you straddle his waist, letting him suffer beneath you.

“Feels good.” You lean forward, hands pressed to his chest to support your weight. Yoongi’s eyes flutter open. He blinks at you through wet lashes. The room is so dark he can only make out the barest features on your face, but he sees your eyes clearly. Looking at him. Watching. Hungry. “So good,” you repeat. “So fucking deep.”

Nails bite into the skin of his chest. He feels his skin smart. The hot bead of blood that forms. He doesn’t care, watching as slowly, you lift your hips, your walls hugging every inch of Yoongi. He lets out a shaky breath, hands settling on your waist. He plants his feet in the bed, angling himself better as you reach the tip of his cock before sinking back down.

Heaven and hell. Yoongi wavers between both, gritting his teeth to keep from coming, to keep the feeling of you gripping him tight going. He doesn’t want it to end, it feels so good but it’s wonderful agony, fighting the curl in his stomach, the twitching of his abs, the threat of exploding.

Yoongi's eyes are drawn to where you fuck yourself on him, sticky arousal turning silver in the single shaft of moonlight that spills across the bed where you’re joined. He can’t look away, entranced by the wet smack of your ass on his thighs, the way you just fucking take him.

It lights a fire in him more intensely than the solar flare that threatens to send him spinning into his orgasm. Yoongi growls, digging his nails into your skin, half-moons on smooth flesh as he grits his teeth and fucks up into you. You gasp, nails raking down his chest as he jostles you. His breath comes out as stilted hisses behind clenched teeth.

“Touch yourself for me,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you come all over me – please.”

“Gonna,” you pant, head falling to his chest, claws leaving pink lines on pale flesh. You slide one hand down his body, making him groan as he fucks you with abandon. You gasp, hand working your clit between your writhing bodies. “Gonna come.”

“Please - for me.” He thrusts hard, thighs trembling with the effort, holding his breath as his muscles squeeze. He can feel you tense, pussy clenching so tight he curses and stops, letting you pulse around him as you moan and an unintelligible string of curses that sounds... like another language. “Fuck, just like that.”

Yoongi feels himself come apart. His universe shatters and he floats among the stars. Weightless. Happy. Tired. He feels nothing and everything, a soft frequency of... something dancing along his skin. A soft buzz. Pleasant and warm.

He doesn’t know how long he exists in that space. He can still smell notes of cedar, jasmine and amber. It's stronger now, with a touch of something else... something burning. He leans into the smell and it wraps around him, soft hands around his middle and petal-soft lips against his cheek.

Yoongi becomes vaguely aware that it’s you curled into his side, nose hidden in his neck, chest rising and falling against his arm. It grounds him a little. Brings him back into a dark room that is too obscure to be sure it’s his bedroom at all.

As he drifts off into sleep, he remembers the feeling of your tongue against his neck and nothing more. 

-

Cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

It wakes Yoongi up. His stomach feels empty. His hands seek your warmth, palming your ass, pulling your hips flush to his. He doesn’t open his eyes, content to feel your heat. Again, something like electricity thrums under your skin, tickling his wandering hands.

Your mouth catches his. Pulls him further from sleep. He feels his skin ache from your teeth and nails the night before. Feels the weight of something inside of him that wasn’t there before, although he cannot put into words what it is.

Even in the morning, your mouth is sweet. Gluttonous. You suck his bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling softly followed by a light giggle. He smiles into the next kiss, sloppy and filled with too much tongue but he lets you taste him.

Yoongi swears there is an echo of your taste from the night before. It’s enough to kickstart desire in him, detaching his mouth to plant kisses down your neck. Chest. Stomach. His tongue licks a trail down your velvet skin.

In a shuffle of sheets and skin, you lay back for him, pliant. He’s awake now, pressing your thighs open, teeth nipping the tender flesh. You giggle and the sound makes him pause, lips pressed to your leg, eyes looking up at you in the dim light of the morning. Or night. It’s hard to tell what time it is, here with you in this bed.

Glowing eyes look at him. Round. Soft. Curious. You watch Yoongi with rapt attention, lip pulled between your teeth. Spread. Eager. Ethereal.

Yoongi drops his gaze, groaning when he sees how fucking wet you are. He pulls you closer, sliding a hand under your ass to provide support. Curious, he brushes his thumb up and down your folds, collecting your essence as he does.

“So swollen and wet,” he mumbles, morning voice deep and scratchy. “You’re always so ready to be eaten, hmm?”

You nod. “Please, Kitty.”

The new nickname makes him pause, thumb resting on your clit. He can almost feel your cunt throb under the pad of his finger as he applies a little pressure, watching you whine and kick your legs a bit. He grins.

“Kitty?” he asks as he resumes playing with you. His thumb dips into your hole, ring of muscles clenching around him. His grin spreads as he pulls it away, watching you fight with the loss.

“You have- ughhh – cat eyes. Pretty. Soft. Smart. Kitty.”

He hums, dipping his head forward to give you a single kitten lick. He shuts his eyes and sighs heavily, your taste heavy on his tongue. You taste just as good as the night before. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself. “I like it, baby.”

Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response. He presses in, tongue lapping at you hungrily, refusing to let you drip without his mouth for another moment.

-

Greedy.

You’re greedy. You always are. Yoongi isn’t sure what day it is. It might be the same night as when he brought you home or it could be the weekend or it could be next week. He somewhat remembers the taste of a meal. Some cool water. But he doesn’t recall when he made it or when he showered.

He only knows he showered because he smelled the mint soap on your skin a few moments ago when you had your mouth attached to his throat.

Now, your mouth swallows his cock whole, throat pulsing around him. He curses, fingers twisting in your hair as he listens to you choke. Feels your drool dripping down his thighs. You relent, pulling back with a slick sound. He looks down at you between half-moon eyes, lashes fluttering.

You’re a vision: bruised lips smeared in spit and cum, chin covered in slick, watery, round eyes that blink up at him, innocent despite the fact that you rub the flushed tip of his cock against your abused mouth.

“Fuck,” he swears, watching your devilish tongue snake out to lap at his dark tip. “Fucking cock hungry, huh?”

You nod your head, trailing your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, taking time to suck slopping kisses to his skin. He can’t look away, even as you pump him lazily with your small hand, ravenous little mouth sucking coyly at his balls.

His fist tights in your hair. You look up, tears spilling over rounded cheeks. You look angelic at that moment, weeping before him. He nearly busts right there.

“Does Kitty like when I do that?” You ask softly, voice almost a whisper. Your voice changes, he’s noticed. Sometimes coming out dark velvet, other times tangerine-sweet. “Am I a good girl, Kitty?”

You always call him that. He wasn’t sure about it at first, but with a mouth full of his precum and neck covered in his teeth marks, Yoongi thinks you can call him whatever the fuck you want. He’s never seen a creature so drunk off fucking him before and he’s no better. All he wants to do is fucking live in you.

“Such a good girl,” Yoongi promises. He holds your head with one hand and your chin with the other, pulling your bottom lip down with one thumb. His touch is soft and reverent. You preen for him, smiling around his thumb as he slips it in your mouth and presses on your tongue. Feels the spit and god knows what else there. “Come on, baby. Suck.”

And you do. Yoongi’s eyes roll back in his head. He falls backward on his bed and it feels like he has passed through a portal to somewhere else. He floats. All he knows is your mouth, unforgiving. Your tongue, sinful.

And when Yoongi comes down your throat, and when you pull off of him and smile at him with the slow drip of it, Yoongi feels like he’s in fucking heaven.

-

Monday he calls out of work.

Crunching numbers at an accounting firm seems like hell in comparison to where he is now. You’re bent over the kitchen counter, drooling on the granite as he slowly drags his cock through your drenched heat. He ignores the spilled glass of water next to you. Instead, he watches himself disappear deep into your cunt, collecting cream on the base of his cock every time he pulls out.

Yoongi senses you looking at him. You are, eyes intense and heavy. Your gaze shifts so often he can barely keep up – thinks maybe he imagines the way you go from soft, round-eyed sweetheart to a siren-eyed vixen.

It’s the vixen look at him now. And as though you can read his mind, you slick your tongue out of your mouth, bubble gum pink and eager, eyes dragging down to where he works himself in and out.

Yoongi pulls out slowly, running a finger along your arousal smeared along his shaft, and leans forward, thrusting in hard. You pant, tongue still out and eyes focused on his as Yoongi delicately places his cum-slick finger in your mouth. Presses your cream on your tongue.

Your lips close around his finger, tongue swirling around the digit as you shut your eyes and hollow your cheek, gently sucking your arousal until there’s nothing left.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers, in awe of you.

And you are. There’s nothing you won’t do for him. Nothing Yoongi won’t do for you. So he slams into you, deep deep deep, and grunts until you’re coming around him for what feels like the hundredth time since he’s met you.

-

Yoongi startles awake. He blinks away a dream that he immediately cannot remember. His skin is clammy and his sheets stick to him all over. He kicks them off, heart hammering as he jumps to his feet, trying to get away from the bed.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels danger near him with every slam of his heart.

For a few moments, he’s in total darkness. He can’t make out the shape of his dresser. Or the pile of clothes in the hamper. He can’t see any light filtering through the window. He knows there’s a streetlight out there – why isn’t the light streaming through his curtains?

Panic threatens to seize him. He takes a deep breath and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing fiercely. He opens them, bursts of starlight blinding him until they fade finally and he can see.

There’s a shadow in front of him, all razor teeth and red eyes.

Yoongi screams, flinching backward. He topples over and feels weightless like he’s falling through time and space. The moment of fear stretches out long – too long – and for a second he thinks he will die. His heart is beating too hard in his chest, his mind is screaming too loud, and the adrenaline threatens to crack him open and spill out on the floor.

He hits the curtain behind him and fists the fabric, ripping the entire rod and holders down backward as he goes. Streetlight pours into the room. He thrashes, blind and screaming among the now ruined curtains, the curtain rod, and drywall dust.

Yoongi frees himself, grabbing the rod to defend himself against the creature in a last-ditch effort to live.

Grey light saturates the room. There’s no shadow creature with teeth and red eyes. There’s just you in the middle of his bed, the reflection of the street light turning your doe-eyes to glowing coins. You’re in a t-shirt of his, soft and crinkled, hair messy. Lip trembling.

“Kitty?” Your voice is small. Almost childlike. “Kitty are you okay?”

The panic beat of his heart slows. He swallows down nausea and realizes his shaking, the remaining waves of adrenaline taking their toll. Yoongi lets go of the curtain rod and nods, pressing his head into the wall.

���I’m sorry,” he rasps. Throat dry. You move on the bed – more of a prowl – and you flick the lamp light on. Warmth rushes into the room and with it, relief. “Thank you.”

“What happened, Kitty?”

“A nightmare. I got up and … I don’t know. I thought I saw something.”

You sit on your knees. Hands in your lap, one palm splayed on your thigh, the other lifted toward him. Beckoning. Open. Warm. Safe. He peels himself from the wreckage by the window and walks toward you, feeling as though there is a string between you and him, tethering you to him. Reeling him in.

When Yoongi’s hand touches yours, exhaustion bleeds into him. Safe. He is safe. You smile and there are no razor teeth. Just kiss-stained lips as you shuffle backward, pulling Yoongi back into the bed.

“Come sleep, Kitty.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, he turns off the lamp. The streetlight floods his room now, but it’s comforting, the grey wash of the world enough that he can see anything creeping in the shadows.

Eventually, he falls back asleep with the slow drag of your hand back and forth across his forehead, and your mouth pressing gentle sucks to the side of his throat.

-

“Where are you going?”

Yoongi almost smiles at the pout on your face. You stand in his kitchen, brows pinched, mouth furious. You’re in another one of his shirts – there is nothing else for you to wear. His grin spreads as he comes around the counter, placing his messenger bag down.

Somehow you seem so much smaller in the daylight. Yoongi swears when you’re riding him in the early hours of the morning or when he has you on all fours fucking you deep into his mattress, you’re a force to be reckoned with. A fierce creature feeds on carnal pleasure only.  

But now in the light of day, with your bottom lip jutting out and scowling brows, Yoongi thinks there is nothing more adorable. His perfect baby. You reach out, opening and closing your hands and he laughs.

“Work,” he answers gently, pulling you toward him. You don’t fight him. You never fight him. Yoongi is always your top priority – you’ve made that obvious. He smells the cedar. Jasmine. Amber. His head swims and for a moment, he forgot what you asked.

Moments like this with your skin touching, that high-frequency current that is unfamiliar but feels so good – Yoongi forgets himself. Every time he touches you, he’s somewhere else.

His phone rings and he remembers he’s supposed to leave. “I have work.”

Your scowl gets worse. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want to be with you.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, you’re almost snarling, gripping him like iron. He sighs and squeezes your hips for reassurance. “I’ll leave a little early, yeah? For you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” Your lip wobbles and he leans forward again, nipping you. “Get some sleep. You woke me up very early this morning, hmm?”

You don’t answer, but you loosen your grip.

When he gets in the car, he sees the curtain in his living room shift and he grins. Cute.

-

Work drags. Yoongi’s in a bad mood. His coffee is extra bitter. The water tastes off. The fluorescents in his office are too bright, prompting him to turn them off. When he begins auditing his client’s monthly spending, the numbers swim on screen.

Yoongi takes his glasses off. Puts them back on. He swears that he sees symbols and that the screen glitches, flashing between letters and numbers and… something he’s unsure of. When he rubs his eyes, the screen is just numbers in an Excel sheet.

Sighing in defeat, he glances at the clock. It’s only been an hour.

“Fuck.”

He pulls his phone out, thumb hovering over the screen. Your contact information is in his phone, right? The silence in his office is deafening. It presses in on him as he stares at his phone, unseeing. Why didn’t he have your phone number? Shouldn’t a boyfriend have their-

A knock at the door startles him. He drops his phone, mumbling an apology as he bends down to get it before righting himself and looking at his director.

“How are you feeling?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A little off.”

And… it’s true. Yoongi’s head hurts suddenly, a migraine slamming on the confines of his skull. His too-bitter coffee burns in his stomach. The back of his neck feels too hot and his hands shake as he puts his phone on his desk.

“You don’t look too well. Maybe take the day?”

Yoongi nods. Sways a little when he stands up to retrieve his things and turns his computer off. On the drive home, the headache recedes a little. He grips the wheel tight, taking deep breaths as he tries to steady the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

In the drive, Yoongi takes a deep breath. The pressure in his head is gone and his stomach doesn’t feel as rotten as it did twenty minutes ago. He makes a mental note to look up his symptoms when he gets inside – perhaps he has the flu. It won’t do to feel this way before his client’s quarterly financial reports are due.

Thankfully, when Yoongi steps into his house, he feels much better.

Feels fine as he drops to his knees in the entryway, tongue buried hungrily in your cunt as he presses you hard against the door, drinking in every drop. Above him, you tremble and cry, begging him never to leave again.

When you cum on his tongue, creamsicle sweet, he thinks he never will.

-

Pain shoots up Yoongi’s foot as he stubs his toe making his way to the bathroom. He can barely see in his room now that he has fixed the curtains – and put blackout ones at your request – and the floor is covered with his shoes and chargers and boxes of snacks you keep in his bedroom like a nest.

He has never in his life seen someone with an appetite for junk food like you – especially sweets.

Yoongi opens the bathroom, the gentle, white glow of the night light casting a dull halo against the whitewash walls. He glances in the mirror and his heart launches into his throat. His hand slams against the door for balance and a moment of terror bleeds him dry when he sees the shadow behind him, white teeth flashing and red eyes.

Whirling around, Yoongi’s hand shoots for the light, painfully jamming fingers against stucco. He manages to flip the switch while his heart pulses in his throat, terror working its way through him like an injection straight into his cardiovascular system.

Light spills into the room, so bright that he flinches, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them, there’s nothing. It’s just his messy room, covered in clothes, empty and half-full bottles of lube, a generous amount of junk food, and you.

Asleep. Soft against his pillows, lips parted slightly.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Yoongi chastises himself and shuts the bathroom door. A few splashes of cold water from the tap do the trick, calming him down and cooling the red splotches of anxiety blooming on his neck.

When he returns to bed, your hands seek his warmth, making grabbing motions even in sleep. He indulges you, sliding closer. Tucking you into his chest. You hum in your sleep, that vibrating feeling that lives just under your skin ever-present.

Gently you lean forward, mouth seeking as you press your lips against the soft spot under his ear. He shivers as the innocent kiss turns into a soft suckle, pulling skin between teeth your tongue pressed against his flesh. But you don’t wake up. You seem content to lay in his arms with the gentle pull of your mouth against his skin, smelling like cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

And he falls asleep, moment of terror forgotten.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

Time management was always one of his strong suits. As someone who lived an organized little life in an organized little home, he thrived on order, repetition of days, and knowing what to expect each day.

Except now Yoongi never remembers what day it is. He hardly remembers how he spends his day. But what he does remember are moments with you. Bodies against bodies. The press of his fingers in your sticky cunt. Your curious fingers, pressing into the tight rim of his ass, pulling out orgasms so deep that it takes him hours to move.

Now, you’re pressed against him on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV. He watches you and you watch the screen, completely focused on the world of Spirited Away. His lips twitch in a smile and he yawns. You snuggle closer to him, nearly attached. It’s second nature to you, to fasten yourself to him. He doesn’t mind, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

When Yoongi’s phone rings, it interrupts everything. You immediately hiss, looking toward the ringing device on the counter. He can’t remember the last time his phone rang but he begins to lift himself off of the couch.

Your fingers dig in. “Finish the movie.”

It’s a demand. He laughs as your brow pinches. “I’ll be right back, let me just see who it is.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why don’t you want to watch the movie with me?”

Your voice has grown small again. Not the sultry purr he is used to in the middle of the night when you mouth at his cock, hard before he’s even awake. Not the demanding crack of a whip when you order him to come.

This voice is tiny, a soft thing that immediately draws him to look at you. He cradles your face, your big eyes looking at him with tears rimming them. His stomach drops and he hushes you, thumbs brushing back and forth.

“Fuck – baby why are you crying?”

“Why don’t you want to watch the movie, Kitty?”

“Hey, Kitty wants to watch the movie.” He croons and you pull yourself into his lap, arms going around his neck and winding in his hair. He keeps a soft grip on your face, eyes searching. That thrum is just beneath the surface, like a beating heart. “I just have to answer the phone, baby. I still want to watch the movie.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Of course I do.”

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely recalls one time when he left for work, you had been a bit sad. But ever since he’d started working from home – wait, he works from home? He shakes the question from his thoughts, saving it for later.

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely recalls one time when he left for work, you had been a bit sad. And now you sit on his lap and he hates himself for the way a tear slips down your face, turned into a diamond from the reflection of the TV.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, heart aching in his chest. He leans back. He pulls you flush against his chest. You tuck your face in his neck, your favorite spot to nuzzle and he feels the gentle tuck of your mouth, the tiny suckle of your teeth against his neck. Your comfort.

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely -

He doesn’t remember. What was he thinking about? He doesn’t know.

Yoongi loops his arms around you and squeezes you tight. And his eyes flutter shut, suddenly tired and lulled to sleep by the gentle pull of your mouth on his skin.

-

“Come look at this cat,” Yoongi laughs, crouching down on the back porch. The tabby rubs itself between his legs, purring as it twists figure eights. “It’s so friendly, baby. Come say hi.”

Night sky stretches over the city. It’s colder outside – almost Halloween, maybe. Yoongi lost the calendar in his house and he only turns the computer on if he has to sign on for work, which he rarely does these days.

You peek from the door, looking at the cat rubbing its face on Yoongi’s hand. He looks up at you and smiles. You’re swimming in a sweater of his, though your legs are bare. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting you again – he can’t ever get enough, licking the sweetness from between your thighs only to finish by fucking himself into you until he blacks out.

The blackouts happen more after sex now.

“He’s sweet,” Yoongi promises, holding out another hand to you. “Like you.”

Tentatively, you step outside of the door. The floorboard creaks under your step, drawing the cat’s attention. It happens so fast that Yoongi falls from his crouched position, sitting abruptly on the floor. The cat lets out a terrible sound, somewhere between a horrible yowl and a hair-raising hiss.

A blur of claws and teeth, Yoongi yells as the sharp talons catch him, letting the cat go. It becomes a streak of fur and screeching, vanishing from the yard.

You rush to him, dropping down to hold his scratched hands, blood surfacing.

“No!” You look up at him, holding his hand gently to your chest. He feels the strange hum, the heartbeat that… isn’t a beating heart as much as a constant buzz. “Are you okay, Kitty? You’re hurt.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles. The fear in your eyes is heartwarming. You love him – he knows this. He feels it. “Sorry it startled you.”

-

Autumn sun beats down on Yoongi as he goes to peel logs from the stack of firewood in the backyard. As he jogs down the steps, he slows, frowning. There’s a dead tabby at the foot of the stairs, broken body and dark blood smeared underneath.

“Weird,” he mutters, rushing to get some firewood. “I’ve never seen cats here before. Poor thing.”

When he goes back inside the house, he sees you sitting on the counter. Spread. Finger tracing up and down glistening folds, swollen cunt begging for his mouth. Yoongi drops the wood. He zeros in, licking his lips as you spread your legs a little wider.

“What a perfect fucking pussy,” Yoongi grins. “That for me?”

You nod. “Please, Kitty.”

Yoongi forgets about the dead cat.

-

“I want candy.” Yoongi looks up at you, brows raised. You’re standing in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store, chewing your bottom lip as you look at him with hopeful eyes. Yoongi immediately softens. Feels his heart flutter. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” He looks up at the aisle names. “It’s three aisles over. Can you get what you want while I go back and get milk? I forgot.”

You hesitate for a moment, a moment of fear on your face. Before he can brush away your fears with a simple kiss, you take a deep breath and give him your bravest smile. He preens, proud as you give a confident nod and dart off in the direction of candy.

Yoongi is impressed by you. Leaving the house is hard for you – always has been. The two of you mostly stay inside, locked in your little world. Yoongi likes it that way. Loves knowing after dinner you’ll be nested on the couch, watching him with inquisitive eyes and asking him to put on a new show or to continue the anime you’ve been binging.

Every new experience for you brings stars to your eyes. He loves that about you – loves the way you go awestruck while watching old anime that Yoongi adores, or the way you hum and spin in circles to music he shows you.

Yoongi remembers hearing once that people live many lives. He thinks that if that’s true, you must be in your first life, curious about everything. Surprised by the world. And he gets to watch it over and over, the way you grin when something startles you or when you furiously pout because you don’t like something.

Grocery store trips are new for you. The first time, you’d been stitched to his side, refusing to separate from him. Cagey and flashing mean eyes at everyone. Now, though, Yoongi doesn’t worry as he pulls open one of the glass doors in the cold section, looking for milk.

“Yoongi?” He turns mid-reach for a carton of milk, the cold air hitting him in the face and turning his cheeks pink, glass frosting with the humidity rushing into the fridge. Taehyung is standing behind him, hands shoved into pockets. “Holy shit it is you.”

Yoongi gives Taehyung a funny smile, pulling the milk from the fridge and adding it to his cart. “Why wouldn’t it be? How are you?”

“Dude, how are you? You don’t answer anyone’s calls, I heard you started working at home from some sort of illness, and you refuse to answer your door when we come by.” Taehyung’s face is picture-perfect concern, brown eyes fixed on Yoongi, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “Why can’t you tell us what’s going on? It’s been weeks.”

“What are you talking about? I talked to you two weeks ago.”

Taehyung cocks his head. His brows furrow and an unsettling feeling flips Yoongi’s stomach. He remembers the call exactly. Recites their conversation back to Taehyung, but before Yoongi can finish, his friend is shaking his head.

“We never had that conversation, Yoongi.”

Taehyung takes a step closer. Yoongi’s heart starts pounding. He remembers talking to Taehyung. He had been standing in the kitchen when his phone rang, and you had handed him his phone. Yoongi remembers because he had been half-paying attention to the conversation, transfixed by the way your eyes caught the light and the way you watched him catch up with Taehyung.

But… another thought swirls in Yoongi’s mind. A vision of you slamming the phone down on the counter, shattering it. Yoongi begging you to stop – stop something ­– and then your soft lips on him.

He shakes his head, setting the thoughts free.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung asks, moving past his cart to get closer. Yoongi backs up. He doesn’t know why, but it’s automatic. He feels panic surge as Taehyung pauses. “Are you sick or-“

Maybe he is. Yoongi knows he talked to Taehyung and yet… doubt wiggles into his mind. Eats at it like a worm. There feels like there is a box somewhere tucked in the recesses of his memory, shielded and without a key. If he applies pressure on it, he gets a headache.

Licking his lips, Yoongi places his trembling hands on the cart. Looks at Taehyung. Sees the pleading in his friend’s eyes. Yoongi opens his mouth to ask when Taehyung thinks they last spoke and -

“Kitty?”

Your soft voice cuts the anxiety in half. Yoongi’s thoughts ease as you appear a few feet away from them, bags of candy in hand. Your doll face morphs into unease when you look at Taehyung. Yoongi wonders why that is – you’ve talked to Taehyung plenty of times. You encourage Yoongi to call him.

“You?” Taehyung asks. The vehemence in his voice startles Yoongi. “You’re still around? Jesus Yoongi, have you been shacked up with some girl you met at a bar this entire time?”

Words have consequences. Taehyung’s immediately has an effect, your expression going from soft and sweet to something that makes Yoongi’s hands grip the push-bar on the cart tightly.

“He has nothing to do with it.” Your voice is a layered hiss. A tingle slides down Yoongi’s neck – familiar and dangerous. He has the sudden urge to bolt, but his feet are rooted to the ground as you advance, putting yourself between the two men. “Yoongi hasn’t been feeling well. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I’m one of his best friends!”

Taehyung is one of his best friends. And Jimin. And Seokjin. Yoongi remembers sitting on a stool at Serendipity, listening to Old Ass Han tell him some superstition about female demons who snatched one of his sons in the middle of the night. Jimin had laughed so hard and made Old Ass Han so mad that Jimin covered his tab for the night.

It was such a funny memory that the next Halloween, Jimin had dressed up as a sultry, female demon. Yoongi vaguely recalls laughing with them into the night, especially when Jimin picked up a guy to go home with that night.

Yoongi is full of those memories – at least he was. He thinks he is.

The little place in his mind that feels inaccessible cracks a little and Yoongi winces, a headache splitting him open. He clutches his temple as a bolt of pain lances through his skull. Then your hands are on him, gentle and cradling his face. You’re saying something but he can’t hear you over the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Colors dance across his vision as Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pant through the pain. The pain doesn’t come from that tiny little box in his mind – it comes from somewhere else. Pulling him away from whatever is hidden there, in that dark little forgotten corner.

Suddenly, it becomes too much and darkness swallows him whole.

The last thing Yoongi remembers is the gentle kiss of your mouth on his neck.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

He’s getting headaches all the time. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with them, sharp pain digging behind his eyes. It always worsens when he tries to recall the dreams he has before he wakes up – he knows he has dreams. They’re on the tip of his tongue. But the more he thinks about them, the more he tries to draw up what he imagined, the more the pain grows.

The bed sinks as you crawl in next to him. It’s too hot in bed. Sheets cling to Yoongi’s skin. He feels like there’s a furnace under the mattress, burning through and making everything sweaty and sticky. He shifts a little away from you – your body is always warm, skin heated with the thrum of energy beneath the surface.

Cedar. Jasmine. Amber. Your scent swells as you tuck yourself close to him. Not touching, but Yoongi can sense you there, an awareness tingling along his skin. It’s happened a few times, where a second awareness blinks an eye open and Yoongi feels on edge. Like there is suddenly an instinct inside of him that has awakened, one he is unfamiliar with.

That awareness yawns. Blooms at the back of his mind, where that same throbbing ache has settled. Yoongi tries to steady his breathing, but he can feel his pulse against his pillow, thumping faster and faster as your cloying scent muddles his thoughts.

You don’t say anything. You don’t reach out and touch him. You just lay there, silent and omnipresent. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, and for the first time in a very long time, he wishes that you would go to the other room and watch TV. You love watching TV. Sometimes he finds you sitting in front of it on the floor, knees tucked to your chest, chin on top of your knees while you watch a variety of shows.

Though it seems you have settled on Tokyo Ghoul as your favorite.

“Kitty?” you whisper. He holds his breath. Perhaps if he pretends he is asleep, you’ll go to sleep too. Long beats of silence stretch between you, filled only with the sound of Yoongi’s measured breathing. “I’m sorry.”

He pauses. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi swallows past a knot in his throat. Every muscle in his body is clenching. His fingers are fisted in his blankets, and he’s curled into a ball. He doesn’t remember feeling so braced. He tries to relax, letting himself melt in the bed a little.

“For what?”

“You… need space.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to hear the tremble in your voice. You sniffle a little. The lamp on his bed flickers, catching his attention. He watches the flicker of the bulb as you cry softly behind him. He wants to turn around – wants to gather you in his arms and tuck you into his chest and yet… he doesn’t.

“A little,” Yoongi admits softly.

“Okay.”

Licking his lips, Yoongi steels himself. He rolls over in bed to look at you. You’re buried in one of his hoodies and the blanket he likes to sleep with on the couch. He can barely make out your cherubic face. Your round eyes blink at him, pools of light in the darkness of the hoodie and blanket.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Okay.”

He softens. It’s not so warm in the bed anymore, so he reaches across the space, finding your hand clutched in the blanket. You let him pry your fingers open and he traces your palm. “Just a little space, okay? I can sleep on the couch tonight.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Baby-“

“I’m not tired.”

Your voice is firm. He knows that voice – it’s the one that precedes a tantrum if he’s not careful. He nods, pulling a hand away and sighing, closing his eyes. He is tired. He realizes just how tired he is.

“Good night, Kitty.”

-

Most days it’s easier to placate you.

Yoongi feels like he is worn at the edges. Hot water runs down his neck, his back. Relieves a deep ache that has begun to grow on his bones, pained turned lichen. He feels like a watercolor painting with too much liquid medium, running at the edges and blurring across a once-beautiful canvas.

Sleep comes every night, but Yoongi still wakes up tired. He misses meetings even though he has been working from home for… however long. He doesn’t know where his cell phone is. He lost it somewhere in the house – doesn’t need it much.

Water drips onto the floor as he steps out of the shower. He watches it run down milky legs, soaking into the towel. Steam permeates the air and slicks across the mirror, Yoongi’s reflection as opaque and bleary as he feels.

Yoongi heaves a heavy yawn, wiping a hand across the steam in preparation to shave. When his eyes look up at the three-paneled mirror, a shadowed creature with rows of gnashing teeth and red eyes is behind him.

A scream rips its way out of his throat, the terror is so awful that Yoongi’s knees buckles. He hits the tile hard, head smacking the cabinet. His world explodes into color as he blinks the stars from his eyes, scrambling with damp legs, slipping uselessly on the steamed tile as he backs himself into the corner of the wall and sink.

There’s nothing there. Just an open doorway.

For a few seconds, it’s just Yoongi’s heart pounding so hard that his stomach roils. He fumbles for the toilet, flipping the lid and rolling to his knees to heave the contents of dinner into the bowl. He gasps for air, stinging his vomit-burned throat as he throws up again. Stomach-churning. Lungs screaming.

When he flushes and settles against the bathtub, he hears the TV in the living room. Cool air drifts in from his bedroom. He closes his eyes and takes in deep breaths, counting in for seven and out for seven. There’s the soft patter of your feet on the carpet, and he can sense you in the doorway.

His spine always tingles when you’re around.

“Kitty? Are you okay?”

“Don’t feel good.”

“Oh kitty,” you whisper. He keeps his eyes closed. You slide closer to him and your hands are warm. When they touch his face, he feels a little energy pour back into him and he opens his eyes. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, still. “I’m sorry.”

“Why sorry?”

You chew on your lip. “I’m sorry.”

It feels like you say that a lot these days. Yoongi nods his head and closes his eyes again as you lean forward and press yourself to his side, giving him a gentle kiss.

-

The headache is bad. But he has to know. Lays in his bed writhing in the sheets.

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts.

Memories crack across his mind, each one hurting more than the last.

A creature of shadow. Blacking out after sex. A dead cat that hadn’t always been dead. Your innocent eyes. Your angry eyes. You smashing his phone to pieces. A doctor forging him a medical note. Blood on your hands and face as you came out of the doctor’s office.

-

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi has energy. He feels more himself. Clearer. He gets up early in the morning and makes himself coffee. He sees you lurking near the fridge, throwing him wary glances. You’re a little more worn than usual: sallow cheeks, bags under your eyes. Your eyes are as starry.

When he asks you what’s wrong, you don’t answer. You duck into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind you. He stares, a little confused and hurt before sighing. You’re touchy sometimes, and on the days like this where you’re more like a feral cat than a preening girlfriend, he knows to keep his distance.

Yoongi shrugs and tosses the sugar packet in the trash, frowning. There are empty bottoms of foam that are stained red - meat packages, he realizes. He doesn’t recall having steak at all this week, but perhaps you’re thawing it in the fridge for dinner.

He shrugs and goes to his office, leaving you to your devices.

A morning meeting kickstarts his day, and Yoongi forgets about it.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

You’re worse. You don’t want to come out of his room and you won’t go near the light. There are harsh lines around your eyes and he swears your teeth are sharper. More lethal. You won’t sleep in the same bed as he is.

Worst of all? Yoongi feels great. Feels like perhaps it was just a depressive episode he was in. He no longer feels like he is melted together at the edges, barely hanging on. But it does mean that he’s getting frustrated with you.

“Feral,” he mutters as he walks into his office after you snarled at him and then proceeded to cry because you wanted him to take the day off. “Sometimes I swear she is feral.”

-

Soft lips wake Yoongi up in the middle of the night. He stirs, feeling a tingle run down his spine. He can smell cedar, jasmine and amber and smiles. You’re pressed against him, mouth seeking his delicately, though there is some urgency behind your kisses.

Yoongi opens his mouth to you, an invitation. You suck his tongue into your mouth greedily and arousal shoots to his cock, your mouth doing wonders on his tongue. Fuck he knows you like to suck him off like that too, all greedy and sloppy and spit-slicked.

Your hands pull at his shirt and you kiss him with more fervor, lips becoming teeth, moans becoming hisses. When Yoongi rolls onto his back, pulling your hips on top of him, the dynamic changes.

A gasp escapes his kiss-bruised lips, eyes flying open as you mark his throat. Harsh stings of teeth followed quickly by lavish licks of your tongue. It’s messy and you leave a trail of spit dripping down his neck, making him squirm underneath you, cock tight against his pajama shorts.

“Fuck,” he moans when you suck that spot under his ear he loves. “Greedy devil.”

“Yes,” you shoot back, voice firm. Your hands seek his, pulling them from where they massage your ass to pin them above his head, your grip iron. “Please.”

There’s no way she’s human.

Taehyung’s words flash through Yoongi’s mind when he looks up at you. Your pupils are dilated, two black disks that absorb the barest hint of light in the room. He shivers, afraid of falling into your dark eyes and never finding his way back home.

Have your eyes always been that soulless? No, he thinks.

“Please,” you say again. “Please let me have you.”

He frowns. “You can always have me.”

You shake your head. “Not always. Too much. I take… I take too much. But now not enough. I just…” Your lip trembles and where you hold his wrist begins to ache. He whimpers and you hush him, your fingers loosening a little. “I just need some. Not a lot.”

It’s hard to understand what you’re asking for. Yoongi is lost in the sensation of fluttering in his stomach and the way blood rushes through his body. He feels high when you dip one of your hands below the waistband of his pajamas, taking a hold of his cock in your hand, thumb brushing precum from the tip.

You always take care of Yoongi. His eyes flutter shut as he feels a steady static build in his brain. Your touch is careful but deliberate, each stroke of your hand and squeeze of his shaft sending him spinning. His hips twitch under you.

When you shift down his body, he lifts his lower half off the bed, kicking at the sheets and letting you tug his bottoms down. He’s shaking and eager, unable to look down at you when you take him fully in your hand, tongue tasting the stickiness at his tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers. His hands are still above him, twisted in the pillowcase. He leaves them there, helpless as you tongue the head of his dick before sucking it into your mouth. Your tongue is gentle and your mouth is warm, the barest of sucks making him whine. “Don’t tease me.”

You hum and the vibrations make him speechless. His head rolls to the side, mouth parted, panting as he sees stars. You suck him eagerly, messily. He hears the wet pull of your mouth, the choked cough of your throat when you take him in deep and swallow.

Gentle nails scratch down his legs. He feels like he’s disconnected from the rest of the world, a single strand tethering him as he floats. He babbles as you take him in deep, a hand reaching down below his balls, a single, shy finger pressing against his tight rim.

Everything inside of Yoongi goes taught. He comes immediately and without warning. Spills in your mouth and the world fades away. There is nothing where he goes. No memories, no thoughts, no anxiety. It’s just Yoongi and he feels good – the kind of warm from a bubble bath laden with creams and salts.

Eventually, he comes back down. Opening his eyes, Yoongi sees you blink down at him. You smile, brushing light finger strokes over flushed cheeks. He grins up at you, elated. Hypnotized. You’re so… he doesn’t know the word.

There’s no way she’s human.

That phrase makes Yoongi’s smile falter. You are exquisite. Shrouded in darkness. Yoongi feels the press of unfamiliar air. When he looks beyond you, there’s just darkness. There is nothing. No light streams in from the window again. There is no soft hum of the nightlight in the bathroom where he usually leaves the door open now.

It’s just you.

Yoongi’s heart begins to speed up, panic rising.

You kiss him softly. It’s sweet and his anxiety melts away. Feels the weight of you on your hips, wet pussy dripping on his thigh. You’re being patient, which surprises him. Usually by now you’re needy, grinding your cunt on his thigh to seek friction.

“I want more,” you whisper against his mouth, fingers pressed into his cheeks. “Will you give me more?”

He nods. You lick his mouth, sighing contentedly as you roll your hips on his thigh. He moans, feeling the glide of your bare folds against his leg. You are always so ready for him, eager to take him. Easy to please. Excited to take what you want.

Shaking above him, you bury your face in his neck. Yoongi slides his hands from their position above his head, resting one hand on your thigh and sliding the other between your legs. Sticky arousal greets him, his fingers brushing up and down your cunt as you stop grinding, letting him take control.

“Kitty,” you beg, words muffle in his neck. He grins, eyes half-lidded as he plays with you. “Please, Kitty.”

Yoongi sinks two fingers in your greedy hole, feeling the way your walls flutter around him. It doesn’t matter how many times he buries his fingers, cock or tongue in you – every time is divine. Feels like something holy, taking him somewhere else.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he murmurs, pressing a thumb to your clit. “Come on, baby. Wanna see you make a mess on my hands first.”

“Want your cock.”

“Fingers first, baby. Come on, you can do it.”

A growl rips through your frame. Yoongi stills under you for a moment, heart skipping. But then you move your hips and he hears your soft breath. Feels the drip down his hand. He grins, feeling you swallow his fingers as you work yourself on him, his thumb circling your clit lazily.

Nails dig into his thighs as you lean backward, spreading yourself for him. He can barely make out your figure in the darkness, but he can see the swell of your chest, the line of your neck as you toss your head back, his name falling from flushed lips and floating up to the ceiling.

When you come, it’s wet and loud. He hums, pulling drenched fingers from your legs. He surges forward, surprising you and moving you backward, letting your head bounce near the foot of the bed as he cages you in, stealing a kiss.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging and whining and rubbing against his thigh again, begging sweetly. No one has ever wanted Yoongi the way you do. Ever. He cannot recall a single time someone has been as vigorous in their pursuit.

It makes him hard again, the rush in his veins igniting once more as he slides into you. He pushes in to the hilt, settling there for a moment. You clench around him, clawing at the back of his neck and thrashing under him. Begging for more. Always wanting more. Swearing you just need a little more.

Yoongi sets a slow pace, stroking deep with a purpose. You gasp every time he fucks all the way into you. He grins against your sweaty neck, tongue licking a stripe up your salty skin. You turn your face and catch his mouth with yours, swapping more spit than kissing, moaning into one another’s mouths.

An orgasm winds tightly in Yoongi’s stomach. He feels it at the base of his spine this time, a second sense tingling as he picks up speed, slamming into you until you’re crying under him, babbling again in something that sounds like a language but isn’t quite.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck –“ He grits his teeth and the moment he comes, you squeeze him like a vice, shouting and pulling him into an orgasm so hard that he feels himself fall on top of you, the energy leaving him as quickly as his orgasm had gathered.

At some point, he falls asleep.

-

Hell on earth is waking up battered and torn at the seams. You’re out in the living room, enjoying an early morning episode of Tokyo Ghoul again. He hears you giggle at the TV and he lifts his head in the shower. The rush of the hot water is loud, but the sound of you laughing is in his head.

It always feels like you’re in his head.

Yoongi stumbles when he gets out of the shower. His feet are heavy and there is pain behind his eyes. The throbbing kind that makes him turn the lights out and shoot a text to work telling them he needs a sick day. How many sick days has he had this year? He has no idea.

Yoongi stumbles to the mattress and collapses into the sheets. Everything feels heavy like he is made of glass bones with the weight of the world threatening to break him.

Sleep comes and goes. It doesn’t make him less tired. Yoongi places a hand on his forehead.  He is not over-warm, but he wants to cry, the ache in every muscle so real that it takes him several tries to say your name.

You appear immediately, hovering at the edge of the bed in his hoodie, wrapped in a blanket.

“Are you feeling sick, Kitty?” He nods and you sniff. “I’m so sorry, Kitty… do you want some water?”

Yoongi nods again and you vanish. He rolls onto his back, groaning. He reaches for his phone. The screen is cracked from some incident or another, but it’s mildly legible as he searches his symptoms online.

When you come back with water, he thanks you with a sweet kiss and smiles when you lick his nose affectionately before darting out of the room again. He hears the show start again.

Carefully, Yoongi tries to sit up a bit. The water is cooled with two cubes – just the way he likes it – and it helps staunch the thirst. He drains the entire glass, but still, he aches with exhaustion that has no name.

Every combination he can think of brings Yoongi undesirable results. He has the fatigue of many different illnesses, but not any of the others. Mono seems the most likely, but still, it doesn’t feel right.

Yoongi considers and then types a new search: constant exhaustion after sex.

The results make him roll his eyes. He knows he’s going to get several ads for erectile dysfunction medication, but he scrolls anyways. Maybe he’s just fucking you that hard. But he does remember blacking out after sex and… well he never feels great the next day.

Slowly tapping through pages, Yoongi sighs. There’s nothing that provides much thought beyond Yoongi knowing he’s had too much sex. You’re a starving little thing, constantly wanting –

A word catches his attention: succubus.

Yoongi snorts when he opens the article. It’s a weird string of evangelical stories and musings, and overly sexualized depictions of female demons with generous breasts, shapely figures, and cute little bat wings.

The succubus needs sexual desire and energy to survive. He scoffs and wonders what heterosexual male wrote that dream.

Repeated sexual activity with a succubus will result in a bond being formed between the succubus and the host.

“Romantic,” Yoongi deadpans, scrolling up to close out the article. But a drawing catches Yoongi’s eye - a shadowy figure with rows and rows of teeth and red eyes. “Huh.”

Clicking on it, the page loads to a Reddit thread. Yoongi curses when he has to download the app, but his fingers move of their own volition, tapping across the screen as he creates a login and reopens the thread.

There are streams and streams of comments and links on the thread, a little overwhelming. As expected, it sounds like most heterosexual men overly-sexualizing women or asking about roleplaying – and yet, there’s a thread with a lot of upvotes that he clicks on.

Loss of time. Constantly exhausted. Nightmares of shadow creatures following me. Yoongi licks his lips, feeling his mouth go dry as he continues. Blackouts after sex. Not able to remember life before meeting entity. Dead animals –

“Kitty?” Yoongi flinches, dropping the phone on his stomach, hand covering his chest as his heart pounds in his ribcage. You blink in surprise, cocking your head where you stand in the doorway. A sense of dread draws a slow finger down Yoongi’s spine as he stares at you. “Do you want to come watch with me? We can put on Spirited Away.”

Loss of time. Constantly exhausted. Nightmares of shadow creatures-

“Kitty?” Yoongi has waited too long to reply. He nods his head and clears his throat. He wants to laugh at how ridiculous he’s being, shoving the phone away from him as he slowly peels himself out of bed. You grin and hold out a hand. “Thanks.”

-

Like a cat, you’re curled on the couch. Yoongi gives you a wide berth as he walks to his office. Night has passed into morning, and the flash of the screen lights the way as he opens the door, slipping through a tiny crack before he closes it softly and firmly behind him.

While watching movies, Yoongi could not help but think about the thread he had seen. He doesn’t turn the light on, too afraid of it showing under the door and tipping you off where he is.

Fear settles in the pit of his stomach. His hands are shaky as he wakes up the mouse, the computer light nearly blinding in the dark room. He jams the settings on the keyboard, turning it down a bit as he settles into the chair, taking a few breaths.

It feels ridiculous. You’re his girlfriend, not a sex-craving demon. But Yoongi finds the thread again anyways, clicking through and going back to that original subthread of people claiming to have survived an encounter with a succubus.

Time doesn’t seem to pass as Yoongi reads. He leans on his hand, eyes burning as he clicks through story after story.

Met at a bar – she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I never remember going home with her, but my life was suddenly consumed by her. I lost my job and my friends. Felt good at first, but started getting headaches any time I would try to remember something. And she was always around, always lurking around every corner.

Yoongi clicks on to the next one, stomach flipping nervously.

- I ran into a friend and she swore we hadn’t spoken in months. I remember talking to her but it felt like… they were false memories. Like I didn’t really do those things. It was strange, but I forgot again after a while.

Taehyung’s face flashes in Yoongi’s mind. His palms get sweaty as he navigates the mouse, leaning closer toward the screen. A nervous beat starts to drum up in his heart as he pours over the words and the accounts of others.

The evidence is damning, but it can’t be possible, right?

Yoongi thinks of Old Ass Han telling the story of his son being swept up by a she-demon. Yoongi doesn’t think the story is very funny anymore, and the thought of Jimin dressing up as one makes him nauseous.

Carefully, he navigates to another thread.

I was lucky. She didn’t want to kill me, but she was constantly hungry for more energy that I didn’t have. She would get cagey and feral, hissing at me and hiding in the dark, like she was weaker in the sun when she wasn’t fed. I would find packs and packs of meat rotting in the garbage like she was trying to get her fix elsewhere.

I hope that you take this thread seriously. They are real. And while they look and talk like people, they aren’t. They might grow attached to you, but they don’t love you. You are a meal – and if your succubus is only feeding off of sex, it’s only a matter of time before they need more.

Think Jennifer’s Body, people.

Yoongi has never seen that movie before. He clicks away from the thread and pulls up the trailer. It seems a little ridiculous, but he gets the idea. Sex, eat the guy, move on to the next. But you certainly have never tried to eat him.

So Yoongi clicks back to the thread and searches for something new. How to get rid of a succubus.

He leans back while the page loads, switching to a white screen. This bright, the monitor reflects what’s in front of it, Yoongi’s round and tired face, pale from lack of sleep, and a looming shadow behind him. His stomach plummets and he goes rigid in the chair, frozen with fear.

Yoongi smells cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

"Kitty is looking at bad things,” you sniffle. Your shadow grows in the computer monitor and Yoongi swears he sees the white flash of teeth before his world turns red. "I loved you, Kitty."

[virginmiri99]

I dont necessarily want to answer all the asks I got bc theyre all very similar so I'll just sum up a responce:

Tommy did not commit a crime. maybe he did idk but its no grooming, sa, or murder. But even then, no creators would stop supporting him. Look at any evil minded ytbr in the past still receiving tons of support. Doesn't matter what it is

I know everyone's dying to know but I've realized I don't want to directly talk about the rumor ive heard thru the grapevine bc the info is dubious (i personally can believe it) but I have no true way of verifying it. If its not true I don't want to cause damage, but if it is true at least now if someone else breaks the story no one will be blindsided like in a few controversies past. also since I got out of the psych ward and was prescribed 3 different mood stabilizers I've stopped caring abt twitch streamers that are not squeex or ludwig. I just want to remove myself from white british men who provide nothing to the world. None of this is important not even this post. what is important? the falling leaves in a cool autumn breeze. seeing the ones you love and putting effort in for them. also squeex.

I personally feel like I can't support tommy anymore. maybe bc I have a job and a real life and theres no pandemic that leaves me bored and with infinate time. Do i think hes an evil person down to the bone? no--theres so many factors at play you cant really pin a label to it. this is just my personal feelings and I predict it would be a handful of peoples feelings on twt as well. But again I've come to the conclusion I dont want to be the one to break the news. I have no attachment to british ppl anymore bc ive been hyper fixated on my bf who is a real person unlike the dastardly tommyinnit. I just want to plant a seed so in a way if all this is true no one is left blindsided and getting hella rsd. an old witch in a forest passed off a cryptic omen to you....

I still love gossip i cant help it, but I dont want to involve my presence in it bc I dont care that much. I do love a good keke with an anon always

No more hints. but if youre a true stalker it wont be that much of a surprise. No fans involved. dont take things at face value, and question if the stress is truly worth it #noticing . sometimes its better to let things go and grow to new heights (this last bit is for tommy too)

I know some of u will be annoyed that I caused all this ruckus only to leave u hanging but youll be fine. In a way it might be good for you. Sorry if this pissed you off Ithink I'm starting my period like tomorrow soon ive been mad asf and impulsive all week fuck these cars on the road why the hell are there birds in the sky why the hell is my boyfriend playing roblox FIND THE TROLL FACE YOU ARE TOO OLD FOR THAT SHT GETTOUTAHERE like does anyone else literally cringe when they hear that I feel like im being gaslit abt how its amazing is this how normies felt in 2020 when dsmp was blowing up wtf im sick what was i saying? oh yeah. keep watching tommy if u like the content it wont affect your moral standing trust mejust like how I would hate watch onision in middle school sorry yall i was addicted to #hate. and look. I get to see the beauty of nature everyday. yay! ^-^

uhm ...