#soap is just /so/ easy to project onto sometimes

[forestshadow-wolf]

Ghost sees himself as a terrible person so he lies to convince himself that his actions were necessary/makes him less of a bad person (he doesn't need to tho). No no he had to do that or his team would have been in danger.

Vs

Soap sees himself as a terrible person, but instead of trying to rationalize his actions to make himself seem better, he lies to make himself seem even worse than he is. He wasn't even thinking about his team then, it was just lucky that he didn't kill them all.

They know eachother inside and out. They know exactly how the other thinks.

Soap knows just how to remind ghost that he's good. That he's not this terrible unforgivable /thing/. That sure maybe some of the things he's done are, objectively, terrible, but that that does not make him a bad person.

Ghost knows how to refute soap perfectly without invalidating his feelings. Knows that soap doesn't actually want people to think he's a bad person, but thinks he deserves it. He knows how to explain from an objective but gentle standpoint how what he did/didn't do may not have been good persay, but it's nowhere near as bad as he twists it to be

[eenochian]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJte3P7N/

Starting to see what you see in Yuri, he’s 👀

THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYINGGGGGGG

AUGHHHHHHHHHH GOD I KNOW I’VE BEEN ON A MAKAROV KICK LATELY BUT I’M GONNA FUCKING COMBUST BESTIE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

the way people don’t talk about him enough and ONLY mention him when talking about other characters. like fandom people PLEASE HE IS A CHARACTER OUTSIDE OF MAKAROV PLEASE PLEASE HE’S SO INTERESTING AND IF YOU JUST LOOK AT HIM YOU’LL UNDERSTAND

(i had to add a read more bc i went insane i’m so sorry 😭)

his entire backstory is so good. the original trilogy had like four pairs that all reflected each other and i’m so excited to ramble publicly about this instead of annoying my brother— like. okay. we all know that price-soap was THE duo of the OG games. but there’s also shepherd-allen, zakhaev-makarov, and makarov-yuri. HEAR ME OUT ON THIS.

price-soap is very much a mentor-mentee relationship. price basically took soap under his wing after the latter joined the SAS and helped him become the best of the best. this really reflects shepherd-allen and zakhaev-makarov, which are both darker adaptations of this duo. shepherd-allen involves someone “good” (allen) being manipulated and influenced by someone “bad” (shepherd) in order to achieve a goal. zakhaev-makarov is even darker, with someone “bad” (zakhaev) training someone (makarov) to become even worse, or, in their minds, the best of the best. it’s all in reverse.

makarov-yuri is a LITTLE bit different here, since the two are closer in age. they met sometime in 1994 or (more likely) 1995, when makarov was 24-25 and yuri was “young”, but old enough to be spetsnaz (likely ~22 years old). the two became friends because zakhaev liked yuri’s patriotism and loyalty to his country, so he and makarov welcomed him in with promises of “restoring russia’s glory” and all that bullshit that the ultranationalists preached y’know. still, makarov and yuri became close friends and yuri spent the next 16 or so years thinking he was doing right by his people and helping his country, ONLY TO FIND OUT WHEN MAKAROV NUKED 30,000 PEOPLE THAT OH?? WE’RE THE BAD GUYS???

most people think that yuri didn’t betray makarov until 2016, during the airport massacre/no russian. HOWEVER. soap’s journal (my beloved) mentions yuri a couple times, and one of those times soap says something along the lines of “nikolai vouches for him (yuri), says they go way back.”

nikolai was literally introduced as an ultranationalist informant. it’s completely possible, if not LIKELY, that the two met while nik was undercover, and that after the nuke (which happened after nik was compromised), yuri got into contact with him. yuri says in his flashback sequence that the nuke was when he realized “this wasn’t war, it was madness” and i’m just like… y’all really thought a man saying that was gonna be chill for the next five years? i’m convinced he was feeding nikolai information, and the reason why makarov didn’t confront him until the airport massacre was because makarov trusted him, so he didn’t discover the betrayal until then.

HE’S SO COMPLICATED OKAY HE THOUGHT HE WAS DOING SOMETHING RIGHT ONLY TO DISCOVER THAT HE WAS IN THE WRONG AND THAT HE HAD TO FIX THE MISTAKES HE MADE. like, when he’s introduced in MW3, nikolai straight up tells price that yuri’s the only person that hates makarov more than he does. most of that hatred is DEFINITELY yuri feeling betrayed by the person he was closest with, but i’m willing to bet part of that anger was his own self-hatred for what he had done. it’s easier to project it onto someone else, to find someone easy to blame for his own mistakes. he WAS manipulated and lied to. however, he was still responsible for his own actions. makarov never forced his hand, yuri made his choices.

i could say more. his tattoos give so much info. the fact that he even ended up in that situation says so much to me. but froggi. bestie. his personality. no one talks about it enough.

his personality is a little difficult to see because he’s silent most levels and only talks occasionally during cutscenes. BUT THAT’S WHY “DUST TO DUST” AND “BLOOD BROTHERS” ARE THE BEST LEVELS. he’s literally just— like. okay. he literally starts off dust to dust by making a fucking joke. he and price are getting shot at, about to kill their greatest enemy, and this dude cracks a joke. makarov’s men are yelling and shooting at them, and yuri looks at price and just goes, “i think they know we’re here! :)” like YEAH. THEY SURE DO. KISS ME RIGHT NOW.

but also just. he’s a mixture of methodical planning and research – he memorizes info, he pays attention to people and their patterns. he was makarov’s right hand man, the second-in-command of the inner circle, one of the loyalist commanders (and probs the most involved of the three). his literal job after joining the ultranationalists was to escort and guard makarov. he was constantly working against overt AND covert enemies, he didn’t survive that job for 20 years by NOT knowing how to read people.

i said he’s a mixture because he’s also reckless as hell. not anymore so than someone like soap, but in “dust to dust”, price has to reel him in. after the elevator sequence, yuri just. picks up a frag grenade, throws it, and sprints right after it?? also vaults over a couch so that was hot as fuck, but price literally has to go, “yuri your armor’s gone, BE FUCKING CAREFUL” because he’s just rushing in. he wanted blood and i’m just… 🫣. usually he’s patient and takes the time to do things smart. but he’s also perfectly willing to use dangerous tactics and risky maneuvers to get the job done. he keeps his composure alarmingly well, but there are things that can make him lose it because he’s still human. like in blood brothers? after he and soap fall from the tower and are laying on the street?? yuri’s barely awake, barely ALIVE, and he’s desperately reaching out to soap, one of his ONLY true allies, trying to save him. i’m so confident in that moment being horrible for yuri. one of his only friends and allies was killed by his former friend, and even though yuri’s presence wasn’t the reason for the bomb being planted, i can guarantee that he blamed himself for soap dying.

i’m just. AUGSSKDLWJWHFKDBWBDLFOWJ. i’m sliding down the wall ripping my hair out screaming crying rattling my cage bars losing my mind. i love yuri so much. he’s so interesting and the fact that people only talk about him when talking about makarov makes me so sad. like yes the two are very important to each other’s stories but C’MON. yuri may have a buzzcut and blue eyes but he’s also my gorgeous babygirl that can SPRINT while carrying a 6’2” man on his shoulders in a sandstorm 🤭

he’s also legitimately the reason why my brother thought COD had super soldiers. the amount of shit yuri survived and the sheer amount of stuff it took to kill him is insane. it took a consecutive TWO direct-impact rockets, being set on fire, impaled on metal, AND three bullets to the chest and head to finally kill him??? he deadass survived being shot point-blank, another rocket that led to him falling down a cliff into a raging river five days after being shot, falling out of a clocktower (like TEN stories??) and slamming into scaffolding before landing on a stone road, price punching him down a flight of stairs like 30 minutes after, ANOTHER DIRECT-HIT ROCKET—

it’s wild. he’s my indestructible beloved military wife. my main oc is a medic because this man needs someone to treat his wounds around the clock. i love him so much it’s not even funny. if he’s not in the reboot i’m marching down to IW and activision and starting a riot. if he does appear then i’m gonna write fics faster than the speed of light. i’ve already got plans for a makarov/reader/yuri fic that’s gonna be pure filth because i’m a simp.

anywho i hope this answer was a reasonable length and very sane to you! 🤞🩷

[sea-salted-wolverine]

Social media interactions are kinda just doomed to be awkward but we just power through. Talking in the reblogs specifically is good because it makes the convo public and theoretically some expert could see us fumbling around and swoop in with decades of knowledge and perfectly supple leather. But failing that, here's what I got.

All my hides came from animals hunted for food, so pelts are usually an afterthought once I get through meat processing. People will also give me hides from their hunts because tanning a hide is more work than most people are ready to deal with. But that means that the hide was peeled of as fast as possible in a bush somewhere and usually the hide is left on the quarters for the pack out. So what's left over will have holes and blood and chunks and bits stuck to it.

Paradoxically, sometimes this makes things easier. There are bits to grab and hold onto and pull on, especially if its something greasy, like a beaver or wolverine. I think the skin as much as I can while the hide is green and peeling back those layers of connective tissue I find to be easier when everything is fresh.

The dry salt has a purpose beyond simple preservation. The hypertonic environment locks the hair follicles and prevents sloughing and hair loss. If you're trying buckskin (leather without hair) soak in freshwater and depending on the state of your hide forgo the dry salt.

I stretch my hides before I soak them. They salt dry with the remaining connective tissues fully extended so its much easier to break them. For a small skin this is as easy as tacking it to a board, I've used a cardboard box when I ran out of space. Don't worry about the pin holes you can't even see them. Case skins can be stretched on a metal frame (there is a specific name for those that escapes me atm) or you can make one out of bendy twigs or even slide it over a well sanded 2x4.

Big hides are more of a pain. I have a frame build out of 8 foot 2x4s that I can lace bigger hides into and then tighten the laces to get a nice even pull. I am not a big person but I can do it alone for the most part even with really big animals. The flesh side does have to be kept out of direct sunlight.

Stretching hides does not play super nice with faces. Its possible, but very finicky. I generally don't keep faces and paws unless it's a bear rug and I'm still experimenting with that project.

As for the soak, I'm less concerned with Ph and more interested in degreasing. I think this could be one of your issues, especially with the badgers. The subcutaneous fat will harden with drying and tanning so I use dawn dishsoap in the soak and also scrub the bejezus out of it with a brush. This is less necessary depending on the season and the species, but weasels are as a general rule pretty greasy. The dish soap will raise the ph but it does a better job of degreasing than acid alone. Length of soak should also vary by species, the smaller thinner skinned animals only need a few hours, I've heard fox pelts only need as little as 15 min, but jury's out on that one.

Once you enter stretched your hide it will have thinned out quite a bit, (like bubble gum) and if you already did most of your fleshing while it was green, there should not be too much left to do. But after the soak is a good time to clean up edges and holes and blood stains and that kind of thing. The edges of a pelt are always a pain because as you've probably already noticed they roll in and its hard to get them as clean and dry as the rest. We're tanning for different reasons, I'm more concerned with a final product and you're preserving, so I usually end up trimming a 1/4 inch or so off my edges just so I dont need to get so fiddly, but you may want to put in that extra work.

As far as knives and scrapers go, I highly recommend you get yourself an ulu. You don't need a super fancy custom art peice, you can get the cheap tourist version for $25 and it will work just as well. Helpful link goes here. There is a pretty steep learning curve, but because of the way you hold it the leverage comes from your wrist and your arm rather than your fingers which is a lifesaver for hands that don't work as well as they're supposed to. Also the wide curved blade makes it way easier to get a single smooth cut between the layers of connective tissues rather than the chewed up look you get with a standard knife or a scalpel. The blade is only ground on one side which means they can get super stupid sharp but you can also flip it and use it as a scraper as well.

I've been using Deer Hunter's and Trappers Hide Tanning Formula (HTF) mostly its the easiest option available, but I've also been experimenting with egg yolk, mayonnaise, and brain tanning. Its all more or less the same process, rehydration the tissues you just spent so much time beating the water and oils out of with an oil of your choice. Commercial tanneries use extra special plasticizers and industrial preservatives that are not domestically available so don't feel bad that your hides don't look like that.

As for breaking the hides, its really a case of picking your battles. Rabbit really does need to be done by hand because its basically paper and you will put your thumb straight through it, even if you're being super careful. But if its hide thats going in a place it can be stiff? Its gonna be stiff. I have a hide on my office chair that i let dry most of the way and then drapped over the chair while it was still slightly damp and it molded to the chair. It looks cool as hell and is super comfy but when I lift it off the chair its as stiff as a board. Same with rugs and wall hangings.

I've heard of people putting hides through a dryer, (as in laundromat) but that seems unnecessarily hard on both the hide and the machine. I try to break while the tanning solution is still drying. I have an infinite supply spruce poles for breaking hides and I use a truck hitch I mounted to a log for the really heavyweight ones, but its really just the amount of work I'm willing to put in. Anything I'm using for clothing is getting lined anyway so the tanned side won't show and I haven't got into taxidermy so my process works for me.

there is no handicraft that will have you screaming TRUST THE PROCESS like tanning hides. remember that pristine ice-white snowshoe hare pelt that went in the salt bath? yea. now it looks like what dog groomers clean out of the drain.

[barkkletshunt]

Those Worth Fighting For Part eight

I feel like I’m really pushing out these parts right now lol It’s been so long since I’ve had a few days off to work on this. I hope you like it! 

Part one             Part two

Part three           Part four

Part five             Part six

Part seven         Bonus scene 1

Part eight (You’re here)

Taglist: 

@ladybug-182 @fruit-snacc-ace @miraculous-simmer7 @lavenderjunes @use-flamethrower @fan-written @all-mights-asscheeks @birdie-posts

Marinette looked over her pajamas, wondering why she thought having a pajama date as one of their first dates was a good idea. It was her idea and she wasn’t going to go back on it, but oh God why didn’t she own any cute pajamas? 

“Marinette, I thought you wanted to have a laid back date? Why are you stressing out about your outfit?” Tikki knew Marinette better than anyone else, but even she had a hard time understanding her current holders mind sometimes. “Why not wear your comfiest pajamas?”

The blue haired girl looked over to the pajamas she had worn the night before, the comfiest pajamas she owned, and sized up the hot chocolate stains and the tear on the left leg from when she got it caught on the balcony bar. She meant to fix it, but with school and her other projects as MDC the PJ’s were put on the backburner. “Yeah, no, that’s not happening. I’m still trying to impress him.”

“Then what about the set your Grandfather bought you for christmas?” Tikki asked, floating above Marinette’s shoulder to look at the silk pin striped PJ’s. “Those are impressive!”

“But they’re too impressive. It won’t look natural and it will come across as I’m trying too hard.” The woman began biting at her lip, looking over the other pairs of pajamas she owned. “What if I wore the pair Chat Noir bought me? They are comfortable, kinda cute, and they come with slippers to match.”

“The Ladybug ones?” Tikki thought it over for a moment. “They are nice without being too nice, and comfortable without being overworn. I think they’re a good bet!”

Marinette changed into the pajamas her former hero partner had given her, and tucked her feet into the boot slippers that matched. Although they were too big for her as a teen they now fit her perfectly now that her body looked more like her body as a heroine. She was taller now, and from constant training with her mother and Kagami her muscles had grown strong and resilient. She still couldn’t leap from building to building as a civilian, but she could certainly hold her own when it came to freerunning and parkour. 

“I wonder what he’s going to wear,” she said absentmindedly to her kwami as she changed, stripping off her school clothes and hopping into the pajama pants successfully without falling over. “Something flashy, I’m sure.”

“Maybe he has normal pajamas and is worried you’ll think he isn’t as fancy?

“Ha, I wish. He’s fancy through and through.” Marinette laughed, pulling the shirt over her head. “Maybe I can convince him to dress like a normal person like the rest of us mere mortals. He’d look really good in a turtleneck.”

She looked herself over in the mirror and sighed. She looked too much like Ladybug for her own comfort. While they were the perfect level of baggy, and the colour was slightly off from her actual suit, having red pants with black polka dots made her take a second look at herself. 

The shirt was white, with a pun on it, with red sleeves that matched the pants, and even the booties matched the ladybug pattern to tie everything together. She either looked like someone who absolutely loved Ladybug, or Ladybug herself trying to throw off someone's scent by pretending to be a die hard fan. Either way, she needed to change.

Knock, knock, knock.

Or she would change if Felix wasn’t so damned punctual.

Marinette grabbed her coat and the baked goods she got from her parents earlier and headed towards the door. On the other side was Felix, looking as handsome as ever. She could see baggy track pants underneath his black trench coat, but none of that mattered the second he leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on the top of her head.

“I brought you coffee.” His voice was soft, as if worried saying anything would stop the butterflies that began to flutter in her stomach. “Are you alright with pizza tonight? I was running errands all day and I didn’t have a chance to pick anything up to cook.”

Marinette wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight, feeling him stiffen for just a moment before returning the affectionate gesture. It wasn’t the first time she had hugged him since reuniting with the blond, but it was the first hug she had given him that she allowed herself to savour. 

She could feel his back muscles through his thin coat, and wondered briefly what he did to make them so defined. In his suits it was hard to tell how muscular he was, but from the hold he had on her she figured he was a lot stronger than he looked.

It was just a simple hug, but he held her like he was afraid to let her go. Maybe it was just her mind going haywire from how good the man before her smelt, like fresh soap and coffee. It was warm and clean and she loved it. 

The hug was over too soon and both parties let go with mild embarrassment at how much they enjoyed it. They looked at the walls and the floors, anything not to meet each other's gaze until they finally did. Neither could help the laughter that bubbled from their lips at seeing how the other felt the same way. It was easy and light being with him, and she wondered if that was how the starting of love was supposed to be. 

“So, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, are you ready to go back to my temporary Parisian home with my cousin and his fiancee and look over the seating placements?” Felix asked, trying to regain his air of formality but failing as his smile kept returning. He offered his arm to her, finally giving up on hiding his giddiness at their first official date. “And start preparing the invitations to what I assume is half of France itself?”

“Why, Felix!” She giggled, taking his arm and walking down the hallway of her apartment building with him. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Felix was a gentleman. This was an irrefutable fact. He took the bag of baked goods from her to carry it himself, he opened the car door for her and waited until she was in and buckled before closing the door and getting in on his side. He made sure to get out of the car first to hold her door open for her again, and did the same at the front door of the house. It didn’t even seem like he was trying to impress her, it was just his natural habits. 

“Fel! Mari! Good timing!” Adrien’s voice called to them the second they were in the house, before Felix had a chance to take her coat and hang it up. “We’re in the living room.”

The two looked at each other, their confusion etched upon their faces. 

“Well, better get this over with.” Felix sighed, slowly unbuttoning his coat and taking it off. Revealing the black t-shirt underneath with the design of a suit printed on the chest. She wanted to laugh. Of course, how did she not think of it? This way he could still wear a suit to bed! “Oh, it gets better. I have a matching pair of slippers to yours.” 

As Felix reached into the closet to put his coat away, he pulled out a pair of familiar looking slippers. She hadn’t seen them before, but she had seen up close where the design came from. The slippers Felix put on resembled Chat Noir’s boots. Without planning it out ahead of time the two of them matched. No wonder they liked each other so much.

When they made their way to the living room, with a slight detour to the kitchen to set down the pizza and the baked goods, they saw Kagami and Adrien sitting on one of the sofa’s dressed like they came right out of a 90’s parent teacher conference. Kagami wore a blouse Marinette was sure she had never seen on her friend before, and Adrien wore a dress shirt with a sweater vest over it. They both had glasses on, and she knew for a fact neither of them needed glasses. 

Adrien looked at Marinette and seemed to freeze for a moment before returning to his disappointed face. 

“What’s going on?” She began to ask, but the two crossed their arms and nodded towards the couch across from them. 

Marinette and Felix sat down, looking confused as ever. 

“Marinette, darling, we need to talk.” Kagami started, her monotone voice not matching her words. “We were informed today about something that shocked us to our core.”

“We’re not mad that you didn’t tell us,” Adrien continued, nodding along. Marinette noticed the model was wearing a fake mustache. “Just disappointed.”

“And what, prey tell, was I supposed to tell you?” She wanted to laugh. She knew their game, she knew exactly what they were playing at. It didn’t make it any less hilarious to her. 

“And Felix, I expected better from you than withholding secrets from me.” Adrien fake cried onto Kagami’s shoulder, who only patted his back in an attempt to soothe him.

“It’s okay dear, as her father I will handle this.” Kagami whispered.

“I thought I was the father, that’s why I’m wearing the mustache.” Adrien lifted his head.

“You’re the emotional mother who doesn’t know how to handle her daughter's secret life, and I’m the father who will be stern but also loves his wife despite the facial hair because you have a beautiful spirit.” Kagami stated. 

“You’d be a great dad.”

“I already am.” Kagami adjusted herself. “Marinette, how could you not tell us you were dating Felix?”

Felix stared at his cousin and his fiancee. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Had Adrien always been this goofy? Had Kagami?

“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry, it’s still new. This is our first date.” Marinette leaned forward and grabbed Kagami’s hand. Felix groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he wasn’t already smitten with the blue haired woman, he was sure he’d fall for her again right then and there. His cousin and his soon to be wife, correction, his family loved Marinette so much that they had these silly little jokes and the woman had no problem playing along. She was every bit of the family already and if they were that protective of her then he knew he was falling for the right girl. 

“First date so far, but thankfully you two have given us enough excuses to spend time together that we’re bound to have more dates in the future.” Felix nudged Marinette lightly with his elbow. “Maybe we’ll even, gasp, become a serious relationship and rival your fame.”

“You will if Alya has anything to say about it.” Kagami mumbled. 

“What?” Marinette squinted at her friend, but Kagami shook her head and refused to answer. 

“Well, do I need to grab my sword and threaten you not to hurt my daughter?” Kagami asked Felix, all joking leaving her. 

“No worries, Ma’am, er, sir? I will treat Marinette with the utmost respect.” Felix gave a salute to the Japanese woman. “Now can we go and finish our mission of preparing the invitations to your wedding? While we may be dressed for night time, we aren’t planning on working all night.”

“Speaking of how you’re dressed,” Adrien’s voice wavered for a second. “Marinette, where did you get those pajamas?”

She looked down at herself. How was she supposed to say that the former black cat of Paris gave them to her alter ego self for Christmas? She wasn’t. “A friend got them for me, I’m not sure where he bought them from. Why? Are you jealous?”

Adrien laughed, but it almost sounded forced. “You got me. I wanted them, but oh well.”

Kagami looked at her fiance who just waved her off.

“Well, those pajamas look good on you, M’lady.” Adrien stood up and offered his hand to Kagami who took it and followed his lead. “We’re going to go spar for a bit. Let me know if you two want to join us!”

M’Lady? When had Adrien ever called her that? 

“Well Miss. Bug, shall we be off?” Felix’s voice snapped her out of her train of thought, and then immediately threw her down another hole of questioning. Did he just call her Miss. Bug? The same way that Alley Cat did? Was it just her pajamas making the two blonds act this way, or was there more to the story? God, she was beginning to sound like Alya. 

“Pizza first, invitations second, and third movie time! Sounds good?”

“Anything sounds good if you say it.”

Marinette’s cheeks burned. With all thoughts of Chat Noir and Alley Cat forgotten, the two of them left to the kitchen.

[pearlsephoni]

Shinkane Week Day 4: Fluff

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: M

Fandom: Psycho-Pass

Pairing: Shinkane (Kogami/Akane)

Characters: Shinya Kogami, Akane Tsunemori

Summary: Every human deserves to be treated with gentleness every now and then, and Shinya Kogami, for all his notoriety, is still just a human. 

A/N: This is fluff, yes, but still a little bit angsty. Also, this isn't NSFW, no sex or anything, but there's a definite sense of sensuality in this one, so I'd call rate it as Mature...ish? Hope that makes sense...  Further author’s notes can be read on AO3.

Shinya Kogami was the most steadfast man Akane knew. He was brash and reckless and stubborn to a fault, but he was also brave and strong, sometimes to a fault. He hated showing any weakness, prided himself on his combat prowess and sharp mind, on being the wall between his enemies and their goals. To an outsider, a walled-off expression and focused eyes meant that he was not to be interrupted. He was a man on a mission, focused only on his task. 

But Akane wasn’t an outsider. When she walked into his apartment and found him frowning at his computer in his office, she didn’t see a figure of strength and focus. She saw the man she loved bending under his own pressure, his own sense of justice that pushed him to destructive lengths. 

She tried to leave him to his work. She brought him dinner and stole an absentminded kiss from him, but when she poked her head in later, she saw that his dinner was barely touched, and he only flashed a guilty grimace as she took the mostly-full plate. 

Normally she wouldn’t have minded. It was almost a silly routine at this point, the only variation being who was working and who was checking in. But there was a weight on him that she hadn’t seen since she was 20 and in innocent awe of her self-destructive subordinate. Whatever it was he was working on, it was making him slide back into old, bad habits. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t try to stop him before it got too far. 

It was close to midnight when she stepped into the office for what she hoped would be the last time that night. Kogami was standing at his desk, which was covered in photos and notes and documents, his communicator projecting something onto the wall in front of him. Akane was careful not to peek - it was all under FAD jurisdiction, nothing she wanted to get involved in. She was only focused on the slouched form silhouetted against the madness. 

Her footfalls were quiet, but they carried in the small, silent office. He didn’t startle when her arms wrapped around him and her head nestled between his shoulder blades. The only acknowledgement he gave was his hand pressing hers to his body, as though he needed an anchor of some sort. It was the signal she needed to speak and properly break his concentration. “Hey...come shower with me.” 

“Akane, I don’t...right now’s not really…” 

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” she interrupted with a soft laugh, “I want to shower with you.” 

“Dare I ask why?” 

“Because if you won’t take care of yourself, then I will.” She felt more than heard his sigh, and she had to be quick to continue. “Because I love you, and I don’t like seeing you like this.” 

He stilled at that, and after a moment, he turned to face her, shifting her hands so he could hold them once he’d turned. Akane’s heart sank at the shadows under his bloodshot eyes and the way he leaned towards her, as if he couldn’t quite stay upright. A sheepish grimace crossed his face at his own unsteadiness, and he finally gave in. “Alright. Because I love you.” 

He had agreed to the shower, but didn’t agree to behave. He was the one who turned down sex, but Akane’s easy dismissal of that idea had apparently changed his mind. As they undressed in the bathroom, Kogami kept reaching for her, tugging her close and dropping kisses to her shoulders, her forehead, her lips, and his fingers sought out her most sensitive places with a practiced touch. 

“I thought you said no sex,” she protested breathlessly, dancing out of his reach when they were finally undressed. 

“That was before you were naked in front of me.” His smile was somehow both teasing and hungry, and it took everything in Akane not to give in. Instead, she rolled her eyes and stepped into the shower, shivering at the first cool drops before the water warmed. 

Joining her seemed to make Kogami realize that she was serious about just wanting to shower. He was still interested in pressing as close to her as possible, and she allowed it, but only so she could rub as much soap on him as possible. For all his teasing, exhaustion weighed heavy on him. Maybe letting him wrap his arms around her and rest his head on her shoulder slowed things down, but it wasn’t a problem until she realized that washing his hair would be difficult whether his head was on her shoulder or standing tall above her. 

Which really left only one option for her. “Can you kneel for me?” 

“And here I thought you were being so innocent,” Kogami said with a soft laugh. He obeyed before her frown could form, his head falling just above her hips. He pressed a sly kiss to her skin that she only acknowledged with a soft sigh as she focused on lathering the shampoo into his hair. 

She could feel a hand trailing up her leg to hold onto her thigh, and his breath was cool on her wet skin, but as her fingers gently massaged the shampoo into his scalp, he became increasingly...still. No more teasing touches or kisses. Concern flickered through her mind, but she kept working, carefully washing out the shampoo and stroking a little conditioner through those messy dark strands. 

Then, as she gave his hair a final rinse, she felt a shudder run through him. It wasn’t a shiver from the water, but a full body shudder, one she could feel beneath her fingertips and along every part of her body that met his. “...Shinya?”

“I’m ok,” he whispered, but his voice sounded choked off, like he couldn’t quite get his words out. She was suddenly aware of a warm dampness where his face was pressed against her hip, a sensation that was somehow different from the shower water. 

And suddenly, she had a stunning realization: he was crying. He was silent, and he’d only let a single shudder run through him with a breath, but he was crying all the same. Akane’s hand immediately moved from his hair to gently stroke at what she could reach of his face. He grabbed at it, shifting just enough to kiss her palm and whisper against it, “I’m ok, really.” 

They fell back into a silence, and it lingered when the shower was turned off, when she gently toweled him off, when she pressed soft kisses to his lips and the trails of water the towel didn’t catch. His tears had dried, but in their wake, his eyes were rimmed with pink, and they watched her with a quiet disbelief and adoration that made Akane feel almost shy. 

Still, he was pliant under her hands, his muscles relaxing as she massaged lotion into his skin, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps across her body, his lips brushing kisses against her skin whenever she stood in front of him. Where before, his kisses and touches had tried to tease out her arousal, now they made her ache with tenderness. Neither of them said a word, content to etch their love and gratitude and care for each other across their skin. 

They didn’t get dressed, didn’t see any need for pajamas. The vulnerability that had spilled out of Kogami made Akane want to press every inch of her skin to his, give him another reminder that her love for him was as natural as the way their bodies fit together. He waited for her to settle back, his gaze glinting with undisguised appreciation before he carefully settled over her with a kiss to her throat. His damp hair tickled her chin, and his weight was warm and comfortable even as his body pressed hers into the bed. 

There was a familiarity to the silence that made Akane reluctant to break it, and she had almost drifted asleep when Kogami suddenly murmured into her skin, “Thank you.” 

She looked down at him just as he lifted his head, revealing grey eyes that were shining with new tears. Despite that, he looked peaceful in a way she couldn’t remember seeing on him in...far too long. 

Love felt like it was bubbling up in her and filling up every bit of space in her, choking off any words she could say until she could only respond by kissing him, kissing his lips and forehead and finally pressing her lips to his damp hair. Their arms tightened around each other, and as she drifted to sleep, it was to the slow, deep rhythm of his breaths.

[bellamyblake]

"#also my hc is that he has a vague recollection of his dad#and he hates ppl who are not him calling him skn" WHY IS THIS MAKING ME SO SOFT FOR HIM AND HIS DAD sndhsdf

also, everyone else that called him son probably took advantage of him and his mom

Nonnie don’t you even START me on the subject of Bell and his dad cause I have about 1000 headcanons that I’ve shared with only a few people randomly making them sick of me but YES, absolutely YES. He hates people calling him that. You know why? 

Because in my HCs he has a vague recollection of his papa. And he wasn’t randomly conceived like i guess the writers were trying to make it out to be like with O/ctavia. No. In my head Aurora fell for his dad hard when they were young, they were school rivals, enemies to friends to lovers of sorts, and Aurora was a sharp, beautiful girl who didn’t take anyone’s shit especially boys in her class who were a little cocky, thinking they were too good for anyone else or at least that was her first impression of his dad (In my head called Nate). 

They rivalled constantly in school and she beat him at every contest, the best and brightest of her class. 

Nate was a promising young man who came from Factory as well but had a sharp mind and would try to shoot for being an engineer.

They first got closer when they had an Earth class project together and she realized that he was one giant dork who had knowledge on more than fifty percent of the books in the library. He had memorized them since he couldn’t own them and would retell her stories of stars and ancient myths that she later passed onto Bell and Octavia. 

Then in their final year Aurora’s dad passed away and she had to drop out of school to work as a seamstress and support herself and her mom who was ill. 

Nate would come by her place every day, bring her school work or books and soon she started inviting him in. Their parents approved of their relationship cause they were both good kids and Aurora challenged Nate, she was a force he could rarely reckon with but he was smitten and she wasn’t so hard and collected then, still pragmatic she had let her heart out in the open for Nate who loved her dearly, honestly, truly.

They married when he graduated and moved into their own little cabin. At first Aurora didn’t get pregnant right away and that got her sad and a little depressed. Nate was at his wits end how to bring the smile on his good girl back but soon enough a year and a half into their new life, he came home and found her sobbing on their little cot.

He rushed to her, kneeled down and took her hands-Rory, what is it? Are you hurt? In pain?

And she simply shook her head and smiled-Nate, I’m pregnant-she had whispered as if she was afraid to say it out loud, it was so surreal.

Nate picked her up laughed and kissed her. He had only been happier on the day Bell was born.

Her pregnancy was hard, though, she had to stop working when she was six months in cause she had really high blood pressure and Nate was going nuts how to provide everything they needed for their little baby that would soon join them. He took extra shifts, came home late but even if Aurora was already asleep, working from home on her bed, stitching clothes together, he’d lay next to her and kiss her bump, talk to the baby and she’d wake up to him stupidly crying cause he was so emotional.

Despite the pregnancy being hard, giving birth happened fast and relatively easy. Nate held Bellamy in his hands and weeped next to a tired Aurora who had to stay a week in the hospital due to her still high blood pressure and presistent fever that left her weak for months after.

But they were happy, oh god they were so happy.

And Bell when he cried it was so quiet Nate wasn’t sure he really heard it and panicked at first-as if he didn’t want to bother them with his presense. He was a quiet good baby that eat a lot. Aurora had to nurse him constantly and soon he was all chubby cheeks and big bright eyes.

Nate marvelled at him, spent every waking minute with him and sometimes sat by his crib and just stared at him while he slept. 

“My brave boy-” he would always say when he held him though Bellamy wasn’t doing anything but drooling all over his shirt and blabbing in his baby tongue “My little wolf cub.” that was his nickname for him.

So Aurora knit them matching hats with little wolf ears on.

Bellamy was a smart blubbering child who cheekishly learned early how to escape the confinments of his crib and fall directly into his mom and dad’s bed, waking them in the middle of the night and curling up between them.

He was fast to crawl but not fast to walk and they worried. Had to take him to a doctor who said he has calcium deficience and prescribed more vitamins and a special formula.

The day he walked Ante was washing his onsies in the kitchen sink and talking to him, telling him a story after he placed him on the little blanket with his few tosy to play with.

Out of nowhere he heard Bellamy’s giggle and his tiny hands wrapping around Nate’s legs. He turned around and gasped, dropping everything, hands soaped, he laughed and picked him up.

“My brave, brave boy!” he rubbed his nose against Bell’s “I love you so much, my son!”

Okay I’m stopping here cause i licherally have a 43k story about bell as a kid on the ark and his parents but I wont bore anyone anymore with this LOL. 

[poutyhannie]

Also, I have no idea whether or not Jeongin is insecure or not (I don’t think he is bc have you seen that boy) but please keep in mind this is a fanfic and not reality.  It’s just really sweet to comfort a significant other.  

warnings: fluffy as jeongin’s hair, college student!jeongin, fem!reader comforting and loving jeongin, showering together

word count: +2k 

part 1, part 2

Wearily walking out of your lecture hall, you sling your burdensome backpack over your aching shoulders and prepare for the twenty minute walk back to your apartment.  It wasn’t unusual for a college junior to have moved from dorms and into an apartment but it was unusual for a college junior to not have a car.  

Because your university was in a densely populated metropolitan area, rent was through the roof.  Though school was easy and you could keep up your GPA with relative ease, ‘adulting’ was currently the most difficult part of living for you.  Taxes, landlords, jobs, and finding out what to eat consumed what little time left that you had.  Though stress and anxiety often left you drowning, you could find comfort in a very special someone.

His bright and cute smile meets you from across the courtyard, despite thousands of students milling about.  You exhale a sigh as relief floods your body.  Merely seeing Jeongin transforms your day.  

He makes his way towards you, dangling his car keys on a pretty little finger, a mischievous smile on his face.  “Did you really think that I would just let you walk alllllll the way home?” Jeongin asks, quirking his eyebrow.  You guys met in an advanced ancient literature class where the then freshman caught your eye.  You told yourself in the beginning that your interest for him was just because of his youth in a class for juniors up.  After all, your counselor didn’t even know if you could keep up with the class as a then sophomore.  But after you two were put together for a project, you quickly came to the truth that Jeongin was just so adorable and you had to squish his cheeks every day.

So you do.  He crinkles his face up and lifts his shoulders, uncomfortable at the public affection but you can tell by the glow in his eyes that he really loves it.  

“Yes,” you respond as you both start walking to the student parking lot, “I was gonna change into tennis shoes, actually.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Jeongin pout a little, readjusting his backpack so you quickly add, “I thought you still have a midterm left so I assumed you were gonna go back to your dorm to study.”

This seems to placate his pout and he turns his body to you, legs walking awkwardly in an attempt to not trip.  “That last midterm was today and I waaaaas going to go back to my dorms but,” he leans closer to you as his calming scent fills your senses, his nose scrunches up in the most adorable way, “I wanted to spend time with you, Y/n.”  

You mask your endeared smile with a scoff and poke his cheek.  Jeongin rolls his eyes walking straight now, seemingly annoyed at you patronizing him, but you know that deep down he loves it.  “That’s good, babyboy.  You wanna sleepover?” You ask, peering intently at him.

He smirks as if that were his plan all along, “I packed clothes for it,” he says, gesturing to his backpack.  Jeongin grabs your hand, surprising you at the bold move, cutely swinging it around before smiling widely at you.  “You’re all finished too, right?  If it’s alright with you, my parent said they’re okay with me staying here over break to study but honestly, I just wanna be with you.”

At that, you can’t contain your smile, looking up to meet his playful gaze.  “Did you tell them that you’ll be staying with me?  Don’t make them pay for dorms if you’re not using it.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving his free hand around, “I told them I wanted to stay with you.  You seriously sound like my mom though.”

In mock anger, you slap his chest as he pulls out his keys, laughing.  

The car ride to your apartment is literally five minutes and you’re so thankful that you don’t need to pass that creepy alleyway to get home.  Your apartment is at the top of the building, small, and basically empty other than your books, clothes, and shoes at the front door but its cozy when Jeongin is around.  He runs to your bedroom and jumps on your bed, smiling widely at you.  “What’dya wanna watch, Y/n?  Or we could cook.  Are you hungry?”

Though you intend to fling your backpack far into the closet, you don’t really take into account how freaking heavy it is so it thumps down halfway to its destination.  Groaning, you kick it all the way to the back of your closet and let out a sigh.  Making your way over to the bed, you try to ignore Jeongin’s concerned gaze.

“What’s the matter, Y/n?”  He asks cautiously, laying a big, clumsy but warm hand on your shoulder, “Did I say something?”

Pressing you lips in a firm line, you shake your head, guiltily looking up at Jeongin.  “I’m just really drained from that last midterm and my professor hates me so I really needed to do well so that she’d give me an A so that I can keep up my GPA for my scholarsh—.”

Jeongin presses a light, unsure kiss to your lips, making you lift your eyebrows in surprise.  “I’m sorry, Y/n, do you wanna take a shower to forget?”

A knowing smile spreads across your face at the cheeky boy.  “Now I see why you wanted to sleepover, Innie,” you say, laughing, “Sure, let’s take a shower, babyboy.”

He excitedly jumps up and grabs your hanging towel and and rushes to the bathroom.  Chuckling to yourself at his cute antics, you grab a pair of panties and root through Jeongin’s backpack for his boxers.  You pull out a pale yellow pair that has little green hearts all over them, smiling.  Having Jeongin here really lets you calm down and relax.  He almost alway seems to know what you want and is more than willing to give it to you.  

Almost always.  

After making your way into the bathroom, you’re met with a beautifully bare Jeongin, his faint abs in full view as water flows down his face and over his shoulders.  Seeing you, he covers his stomach with his arms while the hot water steams up the mirrors.  

You tsk your tongue, striping and stepping into the shower.  Gently removing his arms from his stomach, glaring up at him, “No, baby, we’ve talked about how much I love your body.”  

Jeongin’s cheeks fill with blush and it spreads down his neck.  He doesn’t look at you.  “I know, it’s just-I’ve seen your ex around campus gym and it just makes me a bit insecure sometimes, ya know?”

Sighing, you pump body wash onto your hands and begin stroking Jeongin’s wet arms, trailing up and down and into his collarbones, down his chest before resting your palms flat on his stomach.  “Look at me, babyboy,” you whisper, gazing softly up at him through the water.  Eventually, his wandering gaze finds yours and you tilt your head to the side, smiling up at him.  It breaks you to see how sad his eyes are though he wraps his arms around you.  “I don’t care about my ex.  I broke up with him for a reason.  You know what that was, Innnie?”

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to hold back his emotions.

“It was because he was a fucking bastard.  I thought he was a genuinely good person but I was just wrong; he just wanted me for my body.  But you,” You tap his chest, “you’re a good person.  You’re so caring and considerate and not just to me.  You put your classmates and teachers first and everything around you feels your love, baby.  I fucking love you and it really doesn’t matter to me if you have something as silly as abs or not.”

The earnestness in Jeongin’s puppy eyes breaks you.  

“Plus,” you add, smiling, “I really do like your body.”

With that, Jeongin lets go into a wide, beautifully untamed smile, burying his face into your shoulder.  You’re not really sure if all of the wetness is from the shower.  Placing one hand on his head, running your fingers through his scalp, the other hand pumps some shampoo.  Gently, you begin massaging it into his hair.  He doesn’t lift his head.

“Babyboy,” you whisper, “you’re gonna get soap in your eyes like that.”

He begrudgingly lifts his head, a full, adorable pout gracing his lips.  You can’t help yourself; you press a delicate kiss on them.  Rinsing out his hair, Jeongin starts soaping you up to, smiling in spite of himself.  “Thanks, Y/n.  I really,” he sighs deeply, “I really needed to hear that.”

Closing your eyes, you let the feeling of Jeongin’s fingers in your hair take over your senses.  “Is that why you were acting so cute today?”  You ask, cracking one eye open to see his reaction.  

Jeongin flushes deeply, “No,” he denies, bashfully looking down, only to look back up quickly.

You smile, knowing the reason for his flighty gaze.  “Innie, you’ve seen me naked before, why are you like this?”

“I dunno,” he says, a dumb smile on his face, “You’re just really pretty that’s why.  And I was acting ‘cute’ because I was excited to be with you.”

You let out a groan at his overwhelming cuteness and nuzzle your nose against his.  “Lets finish up and cuddle, yeah?  How does that sound to my babyboy?”

Jeongin’s shaky breath fans over your face, “Actually,” he starts, causing your gaze to snap up at him, “I was wondering if we could…You know…”.  He trails off, averting his gaze.

A smirk spreads across your face but you quickly shoo it away in favor of a mock concerned expression.  “What do you mean, sweetie? I don’t understand what you want, babyboy.”

Jeongin's blush blooms from his neck up and spreads to the tips of his ears like a wildfire.  You know exactly what this brat wants and are willing to wait until he confesses.  “No-no.  Its okay, Y/n.  You’re right lets just cuddle.”

You roll your eyes, stepping out of the shower to towel off.  

You’re just in Jeongin’s sweatshirt and he’s in one of your shirts, sprawled out on top of you, his cheeks squished against your boobs.  He knows what he wants and he knows you know but this bashful baby won’t say anything.  Sighing, you sit up, causing Jeongin to roll off you, looking up at you wide-eyed.  Maybe you won’t wait till he admits it.

“I am fucking sick and tired of you acting like this, baby.”

The panicked puppy-eyes Jeongin gives you is almost too much to keep your angry act up but you push on.  “What were you gonna say in the shower, huh?  What was my babyboy wondering if we could do?”

Realization floods your baby’s eyes and his face turns red once again.  Knowing he won’t get out of it now, he stutters, “I-I just wanted—I was wondering if we could…You know, since we’re both done with school for now and we’re alone…Like-would you be okay with or do you want to…to like I dunno…make love?”  He coughs loudly, covering his face with a hand that you have to pry away.

“See, Kitten?” You murmur, voice dark.  Jeongin’s pupils blow out at the petname, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He shakes his head softly and you reach up to gently stroke his blushing ears.  “Okay, Innie, when I come back, I expect you stripped and kneeling on the bed.  Can you do that for me, Kitten?”

Jeongin gulps and nods vigorously, scrambling to get hisyour shirt off.  “Can I please touch myself?” He begs, his pretty eyes wide and glossy.  Your stomach burns at the thought of your pretty little baby stroking himself and you nod, “Just no cumming.  I know you want to be good for me.”  Jeongin whimpers and nods.  You smirk and leave the room, leaving him to obey you.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Projecting onto soap again because it's been a while I've decided it's time... love ya, shampoo :)

Everyone looks at soap and slaps a label on him. He's arrogant l. He's air-headed. He's an idiot. He's horrible at following orders. He's stupid. He's here out of sheer luck. He's a loudmouth.

And he doesn't do anything to fight them. Just lets them think what they want, maybe even leans into it a bit.

Could he prove all of those statements wrong? Sure, easily. But it's not worth it. Not to him. Plus it's so much easier to flaunt displaced disappointed than it is to hide the real thing.

And maybe he kinda likes it. Like it's his own little secret that nobody knows about. If everyone wants to think a load of gobshite about him then fine, who is he to say otherwise, right? If they want to talk or laugh about him behind his back, then who is he to stop them? If it ruins his reputation, well, it doesn't matter because he's still where he is, right?

Maybe ghost notices. Slowly but surely. At first he thinks all the same things that everyone else does. Mactavish is loud, arrogant, doesn't know when to shut up, oblivious, irritating.

But the longer he observes soap, the more he sees. That sometimes when he smiles it doesn't quite reach where it should. How sometimes the beams of light that seems to project off the man, serves to shadow his eyes. How when he talks it all just that. Nothing of importance, just to fill the silence. Always the worst after a harsh mission with too many greenies. At first he thinks it's because soap needs it, then he sees the dead look in his eyes and he knows that all he wants to do is shut up. It dawns on him that it's for the greenies.

He realizes that soap isn't arrogant, just that there's always that one person that nobody wants to be. There's always that one that grabs attention, that distracts. It's all an act to soap.

Sure soap is irritating, but ghost sees soap do it on purpose. When tensions are high, and all anyone wants to doo it yell or hist someone to pet it out. He's seen soap do it plenty of times. Hell, he's had soap walk up to him, and spark a fight on the mats.

He sees in the dead of night how soap stays up scribbling furiously in his journal, watched him tear pages out. Watched him be anything but what everyone sees him as.

He wonders why. Why offer yourself up to the world as something so unlikable, when there was someone else underneath?

Ghost has noticed. Those are almost the exact words he thinks to himself when the brit walks into the rec room at ass crack o'clock in the morning. Ghost has noticed. But he won't say anything... he thinks thought.

"Why do you do it?"

Play dumb. Play dumb, Mactavish. "Do what?" Wooow so smooth.

"You know what."

"Why not."

"People might like you more."

"They should like what I show them. I'm not exactly hiding."

"Why do you do it?" Ghost asks again. Soap doesn't know what he's getting at here, why does he want to know?

"Because it's easy." It's the truth... depending on perspective.

"That's not why. And it isn't easy." Ghost shakes his head. Ghost knows. It cycles through his mind.

"It is. It's easy for me." He means that. Just maybe not in the way ghost takes it. It's easy enough to ignore the talking and whispers, and the looks. It's easy enough to 'yes and' the rumors. But that's not what he means. He means it's easier to accept the disappointment when he knows it's what people already expect of him. It not so easy to let everyone down because they put him on a pedestal. It's easy to ignore false accusations, when he know that it doesn't say anything about who he actually is. It's not so easy to have someone see you for who you are and say you're not enough, or that they don't like you. So, yea, it's just easier.

[lxveille]

strawberry frosting at the center of the universe

seungkwan x reader

word count: ~ 3140 warnings: mentions of sex, making out a/n: friends-to-lovers; part of the morning after shuffle

This is familiar. The angle that the sunlight comes through the window. Being woken up by warmth and light from underneath smooth, soft sheets. There’s a place on this bed carved out just for you from late nights at the office and even later weekend adventures. It’s comfortable. A place you know just as well as your own apartment, thanks to it belonging to the best friend you’ve ever had. 

Except -- of course. The except only comes as you fully come back to consciousness. 

The first time you ever stayed here, it had been a Wednesday. Seungkwan kept checking in on you throughout the night while you insisted you’d be fine but that you had to stay at the office just a bit longer. Eventually the work was done. Eventually turned out to be near three in the morning. When you texted you were finally heading home, he replied that his apartment was just around the corner. A warm bed would be much closer if you just crashed at his place. Between your exhaustion and the prospect of a thirty-five minute trek back to your home, you didn’t need much convincing. 

After that one time it became a habit. When projects were finished only hours before morning deadlines, Seungkwan was always ready to let you slip half-awake through his door and under his sheets.  

Sometimes he was still awake. The one nagging you to just turn in for the day. Reassuring you that work can, in fact, wait. Once he linked you to some health website’s article about how irregular sleep schedules are bad for your wellbeing. Of course, you answered that his schedule isn’t much better when he stays up checking in on you. 

Other times you would come up with the idea on your own, calling Seungkwan’s number as you left the office and hoping he’d pick up. He did. Nearly every time. He’d open the door for you with eyes still half-closed and hair sticking out in all directions.

And eventually, it wasn’t just a place to crash after late nights at work. It was a comfortable place to spend the night in the city when your head was pounding from alcohol or club music. Or, as was more likely, both. It was easy. Relaxing. Safe.

Nothing has changed. Not the color of paint of his walls, nor the scent that lingers on his linens. Even the feeling of waking up in one of his old shirts is the same. Seungkwan was always insistent that you should be comfortable, regardless of the reason that had you crashing at his place instead of your own. 

But also, it’s all changed. Maybe even drastically so. 

Last night the two of you had planned on going out. Having made it through a long and stressful week, you both agreed you’d earned a few hours of drinking and dancing. Anyone planning for a night out knows it’s too expensive if you don’t at least get a little buzz going at home. And Seungkwan’s door was open as always. So the two of you poured a few glasses and hooked his phone up to the speaker for music, setting the mood with laughter and singalongs in between suggestions of where to go. 

Neither of you ended up getting to a bar. 

The whole itinerary was forgotten. 

All it took was the playlist shuffling to a slower song. The two of you slowed along with the melody, laughing and leaning into each other. Breathless from dancing and shouting lyrics. The song played on, but it felt as if his apartment went quiet. He might have asked to kiss you, or he might have just looked at you in a way that said it all. 

You’d never thought of kissing Seungkwan. At least not until his lips were on yours. And then you thought, maybe you had. Without even thinking of it, it might have been waiting to be felt. Because he certainly felt unresistable once it started. 

There’s some children’s book that was once read to you. It had pages filled with illustrations and text about seeds, how they seem invisible underneath the soil. They take root and begin to sprout little by little, hardly noticeable in the grass at first. Then one day, there’s a new plant blooming unexpectedly. In the story, it might have been a weed. It might have been a cautionary tale. Pay attention. Take care of your garden before it gets out of hand. 

Maybe it did get out of hand. Hands were involved, for sure, alongside hushed words and deeper kisses. Stumbling feet and uncertain touches. Seungkwan’s embarrassed laughter as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on your shirt and the reassuring graze of your lips against his cheeks when you took over for that task. The playlist carried on, masking over the sound of shaking breaths and moans, keeping them as a secret from the neighbors on the other side of his walls. 

Not every unexpected plant you come across is a weed. 

Or not every weed needs to be uprooted.

You turn under the sheets and find Seungkwan’s shoulders. He’s on his side, facing away from the window, dyed hair an uneven muss against his pillow. You cuddle down into the pillow he gave to you and watch the subtle rise and fall as he breathes steadily. Your fingers grasp at the sheet and feel yourself smile. Uncontrolled and bright, and no one to know it was there except for you. You bring one arm up to your face and bury your head into the crook of your elbow. 

You would welcome falling back asleep. A few more hours of nothing but warmth would do you good.  The more you wake up, the more you might begin to worry. Maybe once you come out from under the blankets, you’ll start to doubt everything Seungkwan said last night. Maybe it’ll just be sex, and this will be the last time you ever wake up in his apartment. 

Except. 

You are awake. Those thoughts drift across your mind, but they feel far away. Like having a melody stuck in your head without being able to recall the lyrics. Just dropping by. You’d know the words if it were something that really struck a chord. 

There’s no getting around it. You’re awake and awfully fond of Seungkwan. You shift and slip out your side of the bed. It’s a bit of a marvel. There’s never had a side of the bed with someone after the first time having sex. A guest, maybe. An escape route, on occasion. Here, you’re already home. Or home-away-from-home. 

Your feet meet the floor, and you pad as quietly around the foot of the bed to head towards the bathroom. Behind you, there’s the sound of Seungkwan stirring. He mumbles something, but you don’t pause to find out what. 

The lightswitch in his bathroom is finicky. The push button doesn’t always quite stick when you press it on, resulting in the lights flickering off after an instant. So you come in and push once, ready to insist more firmly when the small room goes dark again. This time, however, the switch functions just right. The yellow light overhead stays on. 

The ziplock bag is where you left it. On the opposite side of the sink from his soap dispenser. You pull it open and take out your toothbrush and face wash to set them out for use. You had come prepared to spend the night. Even if you hadn’t predicted what an intimate turn the night would take. The soap dispenser had been a housewarming gift from his mom. Because it was tacky to just have the plastic bottles from the store out in front of guests, he said. Sometimes when you came over, one would be out anyway. The dispenser empty, and he in no rush to refill it. 

“What would your mother say?” You scolded jokingly as you took it upon yourself to unscrew both caps and pour the citrus-scented liquid from one container to the other. 

Seungkwan smiled. “That I’m lucky to have met you.” 

As easy as that. Maybe you’ve been something other than a guest for longer than you know. 

When you go back into the room, you’re greeted by Seungkwan’s voice veiled in morning grog. “Where’d you go?” He doesn’t lift his head from the pillow. But he stretches one arm out, open palm towards you and fingers spread. 

“I got up,” you answer and meander towards his bed.

He comes back with only another question: “Why?” 

It’s so simple, with such an evident answer that you can’t help but chuckle. “That’s what people do in the morning.” You reach your hand up to meet his and allow your fingers to lace with his. 

Seungkwan huffs and peeks his eyes open. With hands still linked, he lets his arm go loose in your hold so the two of you find a happy medium of where they should settle. Less than an arm's length away from the mattress, you stand there with hands swaying idly in the cool morning air. “We don’t have to get up,” he proposes. 

“I already did.” 

A valid point. To which he responds by rolling slightly back and tugging, pulling you back onto the bed. You don’t resist. Once you’re lying beside him, Seungkwan wastes no time letting go of your hand in favor of locking his arm around your middle and nuzzling into your shoulder. It comes easily. As if this is simply the way the both of you have always been. And sure -- there have been hugs and small cuddles before. But this is closer than those. 

Your hand finds a place on the back of his head; fingers moving slowly in mindless patterns through his hair and over his scalp. He gives out a pleased sigh, his breath hot against your collar. 

For a while neither of you says anything. The two of you take up only one half of the mattress, pressed close together. One bundle of intertwined limbs and steady breathing. Sunlight stretches out further across the room now, batting off some of the chill still lingering in the air. The warmth, from light and from Seungkwan combined, is pleasant. It lulls you gently back down into a haze of sleepiness. Your eyelids close. The only way you really register still being conscious is through the slow movement of your fingers in his hair and the slight tickle of his breath on your skin. Even those fade to the background.

It doesn’t feel entirely clear whether you fell asleep again or not. Dreamishness can come easily in this arrangement even without proper slumber. You only know when it lifts. Both of you still close together, lazing in the morning light. 

“Seungkwan?” you probe to see if he’s awake too. 

He hums and raises his chin so his eyes can meet yours. There’s a smile on his lips that makes you mirror the expression. 

Without another word, Seungkwan kisses you. Just a simple press of his mouth against yours. He barely pulls away before kissing once again. This time it lingers, moving in a kind of slow-motion against each other. His tongue is cool against yours, and you find your bodies moving without intention. It’s like swimming through molasses. No urgency, and barely even a distinct thought. There’s only gentle touches and the hypnotic sensation where your lips meet. 

You end up hovering over him, your elbows sinking into the sheets and fingers tangled in his hair. His hands refuse to settle anywhere in particular; warm fingers running down your neck, across your shoulders, over your hips. Overcame by breathlessness, you separate from him. For a moment, Seungkwan doesn’t open his eyes. He lies beneath you, as if in a trance. A blissful sort of look on his face with the dusting of reddishness that goes from his cheeks to ears. 

His lashes flutter, and then he’s looking into your eyes. Smiles return to both of you simultaneously. He murmurs your name delicately. As if finally replying to when you’d done the same with his. It only makes your expression blossom into a grin. Seungkwan has one hand at your elbow. The other rests along your spine, having snuck beneath the shirt he’d leant to you somewhere in all the kissing. 

He looks like he might stare up at you for an eternity. Or on the verge of saying something profound. Maybe you’d be happy if he did either. But you aren’t disappointed when he settles for arching up to leave another peck against your lips before asking, “You don’t have anywhere to go today, do you?” 

“Nope.” You let yourself lower on top of him gently, readjusting so one arm lays across his chest. “But we can’t stay in bed all day, you know.”

“Why not?” 

“Don’t you want to eat breakfast at some point?” you counter. “The kitchen isn’t a bed.” 

Seungkwan isn’t impressed by your answer. “Have you forgotten what year it is? We can get breakfast delivered.” 

You hum. “Someone will have to get out of bed when it gets here.” 

“That hardly counts.” He sounds offended you’d even hold the premise of staying in bed to such strict guidelines. He moves slightly, and you shuffle to let him reach over you to the bedside table. With his phone in hand, he taps away at the screen a couple times. “What do you think we should get?” 

You give and shrug, and push yourself into a slumped-up position that matches his own against the headboard. Your head rests upon his shoulder so you can see onto his screen as well. Various delivery options scroll by, ratings in stars and expense signs and time estimates. 

“I think that bakery Seokmin keeps talking about delivers,” he mentions. The small pictures beside each restaurant name flies by as Seungkwan scrolls rapidly back up to the search bar. “Would you want croissants or muffins or something like that?” 

“Oh.” You let out more as a filler as you watch him start to type in the name. “Do they have doughnuts?” It’s a reaction more than a question. Because rather than an exterior shot by the search result, there’s an image of two frosted doughnuts with a branded napkin peeking out beneath them. 

“It looks like it.” 

So it isn’t a difficult decision to make. 

There’s an estimated twenty-five minutes before the half dozen would arrive. 

Enough time for more making out and then some. 

Morning sex doesn’t turn out to be drastically different from what you’d done the night before. It’s more comfortable, in a way, with both already more familiar with each other’s bodies than you’d been twenty-four hours ago. There’s laughter, broken up between moans and gasps, when you ask what he’d do if the doorbell rang right that instant. And more when he barely manages to reply that doughnuts can wait, just a while, for this. 

Two two of you end up holding each, utterly unaware of time and regaining steady heartbeats. Seungkwan peppers barely-there kisses against your temple and your shoulders. At your neck, his breath tickles the skin, and you wriggle away from him suddenly. 

He follows after you. He corners you against the pillows and kisses that ticklish spot as many times as he can. You yelp and push against his arms, protesting through laughter. When Seungkwan stops, it���s only to put one hand against your cheek and embrace you properly. It seems like a fixation. Like neither of you can resist continuing to kiss. Even being breathless from laughter, you melt into it. All the tension slips out of your muscles and your arms wrap around him. Maybe it’s a way of making up for time. 

The bell goes off, interrupting your affection. Seungkwan grins at you and moves off the bed with a speed that only the promise of food can summon at a time like this. He slips on a t-shirt before disappearing to answer the door. 

Alone on his bed, you look towards the window with an absentminded smile. There wasn’t much to think about. Only a quiet warmth planted squarely in the center of your chest, spreading slowly through your veins. A feeling nearly like a promise. 

Seungkwan is back in the room only moments later, carrying the flat box of baked goods. At his arrival, you sit up and fold your legs into a crossed position. He slips into the space at the foot of the bed that was freed up by your change, and sets the box down on top of the comforter. 

He tells you to pick first before taking a pink-frosted doughnut from the bottom right corner of the box for himself. As soon as you take a bite, you can’t help but let out an appreciative hum. It’d been easy not to realize just how hungry you were. Or else the bakery is really that good that just a small taste inspires even more hunger. 

“This was a good choice,” you say once you’ve finished chewing. Seungkwan nuds enthusiastically to make up for the fact he can’t reply with words, still busy with the piece in his mouth. 

The conversation carries on like one you could be any morning. Starting with how Seokmin found this gem of a bakery, and meandering from there to various stories of the people in your lives, laughing and passing judgment in different measures on all the triumphs and trials of your twenties with him.  

A lull comes in, both of you in the middle of sugary mouthfuls. 

Once Seungkwan swallows, he doesn’t jump back into complaining about work. He’s satisfied for a moment by simply watching you -- still slightly disheveled from sleep and wearing one of his old shirts -- carefully handling the piece of doughnut in your hand so as not to get frosting on your fingers. 

“I’m glad you stayed.” Seungkwan’s voice is tender and certain. Something that he has to make sure is said, even if he suspects you must already know. 

It’s the first acknowledgement either of you has given that this isn’t all just typical. That all this intimacy is new. That today, regardless of where all this newfound intimacy goes, is a landmark of something. 

The warmth from your center is all over by now. It gives you the confidence to smile and tell him, “I am too. Really glad.” You place the leftover half of your doughnut back down in the box and lean over to brush your lips for just a moment against his cheek. 

Somewhere out there, there’s a whole world that will have to be dealt with eventually. 

For now, the next kiss you share tastes like strawberry sugar and vanilla. And everything that matters in reach.

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

JN (Part IV)

We’re back with yet another installment of this series, and I believe it will be the last one for our One and Only. 

To unofficially wrap this up, here’s a GIF of him looking all cute and cuddly in this cozy hoodie! Yes, I’m a sucker for alliterations. 

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

–––

Summary: As always, that GIF is a clue! Read on more random scenarios based on the prompt list of @neoculturedrabbles​, and please take note that these were written with the tensest timeline in mind still. I’m going to call the pre-Johnny and Essie as a couple timeline as that from now. 

POV: 2nd for the first, 3rd for the second. 

Word count: 1,700+ words

Warning: Italics are for foreign terms this time. 

–––

Prompt #3: “Is that my hoodie?”

Living with Johnny and Mark means you get to swipe items from each other. If not that, either one of you uses the item of the other.

For example, every time you bring out your sandalwood soap, Johnny and Mark use it. You noticed that it was used when there were remaining bubbles on the soap when it was your turn to take a bath. You wrinkled your nose in annoyance, remembering that Johnny criticized your soap preference.

“Baby, this smells like a man’s soap. Unless you like that, of course,” he told you one time you stepped out of the shower after using a newly-opened bar of sandalwood soap.

“The hell you care, dude. I’ve become used to it, and it helps with my skin conditions,” you grumbled in response before storming back to your room.

To get back for his bashing and using your soap with no permission, you decided to get one of his million hoodies inside his closet. You were lucky that he didn’t lock his room at all – it was easy to get one of them whenever he was out. Mark was abroad again, and that means you have the apartment all to yourself lately.

You got a light brown hoodie from his closet, which was one of your favorites on him. You tried it on, and you wiggled in delight at how soft and comfortable it was. “This is mine for now, Johnny Suh,” you whispered to no one in particular before leaving his room.

\\\

When he arrived at home late that night, you were lounging in your room in his hoodie and your jogging pants. You were working on your novel again, writing about the back story on one of your characters. As you typed furiously in front of your laptop while listening to a curated playlist to get into the mood, you didn’t notice him enter your room.

As you were about to finish writing one sentence, you heard someone clear their throat. You looked up and saw the towering form of your housemate, who raised his eyebrow at you.

“Hey,” you greeted briefly before going back to your manuscript.

“Hey yourself,” you heard him through your headphones, “and is that my hoodie?”

You didn’t respond, intent on finishing the sentence you were working on.

“Is that my hoodie you’re wearing?” He asked again, his voice louder (and a bit annoyed) this time.

You took off your headphones and looked at up him again with a smile on your face. “Yeah, it is. It’s mine now,” you said confidently, flashing him your pearly whites.

“Hey, is this your payback for using your soap? Come on! I like that hoodie!” He whined, now sitting beside you and tugging the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing.

“You have a lot of hoodies, Youngho. You bought what, like 4 or 5 of them in one go? It wouldn’t hurt for you to let go of one,” you muttered, prying his fingers off your arm.

“But that’s one of my favorites! It’s part of my Top 5!”

“Nope, it’s mine now.”

“Essieeeeee!” Johnny tackled you on the bed, and you thwacked him on the head. “Duuuude!” You grumbled, sitting up to put away your laptop on your vanity. “Don’t do that when my laptop is here.”

“And you’re more concerned about your laptop than me?” He fake-sobbed first before tackling you again back to the bed.

What ensued was a hilarious (and a bit awkward) bed wrestling fight – you two were a tangle of limbs on your messy bed.

“Ow!” He cried when he got poked by your plastic hand bookmark that has now escaped the book you were hiding under your bed. “Serves you right for messing with me!” You stuck your tongue out and pushed him off you.

He didn’t let you do that easily – he pinned both your arms and was now on top of you.

“Give back my jacket please, baby,” he purred, giving you his best aegyo even if his face was as flushed as a tomato.

“No, it’s mine. For now, that is. Can’t I borrow it for a week?”

Johnny let go of his hold on you and laid beside you on the bed. “Fine, just for a week. After that, it goes back into my closet.”

“Then I’ll pilfer another one next time,” you snickered, which earned you a pinch on your sides. You glared at him, which he ignored as he continued to pinch you more.

“No, I get to choose which one you’ll get next time,” he said, now tilting his body to face you. “There’s nothing wrong with you wearing my stuff, but you’ve got to ask permission first, okay?”

“But you didn’t ask for my permission when you used my soap!” It was your turn to whine, and he just laughed at your statement.

“Essie, it’s just soap. And I bet you have a truckload of that since you always ask your sister to get you that every time she goes to the States. So please, don’t mind us when you use your soap.”

His words took a moment for you to absorb. “Mark uses it too?!” You were close to hysterics already, making the tall guy laugh harder. “Yeah. As you said, it smells good, and it helps with skin conditions.”

You looked at him for a hot minute and focused your attention on his neck. “I doubt it’s helping you,” you said, pointing at the red mark on his neck. “Your insect bite is still there.”

“Heeeeey!” He swatted your finger away from his neck and held it. “That doesn’t count. But maybe if I use it more…”

“Fine. Let’s call it quits. You can use my soap, and I get to keep this hoodie.”

“No way, Jose! It’s still mine. You can use it for a week, that’s it.”

“But Johnnyyyyy!”

\\\

Prompt #9: “What are you doing?”

“…nothing.”

When Essie and Johnny weren’t still roommates, he often texted her or left her a voicemail to hang out with him.

“What are you doing?” Ninety-nine percent of the time, this was the first message that Essie would always playback.

“…nothing,” was her usual reply. Later on, he would text her about some activities he wanted to do with her. There were some that she agreed to, and there were some that she declined out of tiredness or she wasn’t up for it.

Since Johnny vlogged during his free time, he would always tag along with Essie and Kibum in his adventures. They did challenges together, and the three became known as the Le Fabuleux Escouade, thanks to Kibum and Essie’s French vocabulary and the netizens agreeing that it was a nice nickname for the trio.

There was a time that the two had their usual exchange that ended up with them having a mukbang at his apartment. Kibum was out of the country, so it was just the two best friends who filmed while eating Essie’s favorite Filipino dishes – Bicol Express, afritadang manok, ensaladang pako, palabok, and pichi-pichi. There was a newly-opened Filipino restaurant downtown and the girl was too eager to order almost everything from the menu.

“Since I asked you guys on my social media what you would like to know about me and Essie, we’re going to read some of them right now as we eat all this glorious food,” Johnny said to the camera, pointing at the pichi-pichi and palabok near him. Essie gave a small wave and pointed to the Bicol Express and afritadang manok beside her.

As Johnny scrolled through his phone for the questions he received, the girl started eating. She put some rice on her plate first before getting a portion of the Bicol Express. “I’m so hungry right now, guys,” Essie whispered loudly enough to be considered ASMR.

When he looked at her, his eyes widened. “Hey, don’t start without me! Wait!” He was quick to whip out his plate and put some rice and Bicol Express on it as well.

They ate a bit before Johnny went back to his phone to answer questions. He almost choked when he read the most asked question.

“Are you and Essie dating?” He read aloud before showing off the proof that almost everyone wanted to know the real deal between him and his best friend.

The girl looked at him incredulously before staring into the camera with the same expression. “Seriously, guys?” She asked before eating a spoonful of rice and meat.

“Well, Essie and I are best friends. I mean, I have a lot of people I consider that, and she’s one of them. We have been friends for over a year now,” he looked at her briefly before turning his attention back to the camera, “and I’m glad that we still are. What can you say, baby?”

She slapped his shoulder playfully before sharing her answer. “That’s true. He’s one of my best friends as well. Even if our friendship isn’t as long as my other besties, I still feel that we are. Sometimes, it isn’t about the labels that define things. It just happens, you know?”

The two gave each other a high-five before they went into their friendship clap.

“We’re just best friends, guys!” Johnny started, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “But who knows?” He glanced at her, hoping that his look of longing wasn’t that visible on camera.

To be honest, he was starting to fall for her. The more time that he spent with her, the more he wanted to be with her. He tried not hanging out with her for a week, and he felt empty. It wasn’t the same anymore.

“Hey!” Essie shouted, pushing him away from her. “Don’t lead them on like that!” If Johnny was paying close attention to what her words meant, then he would’ve realized that her statement reflected what she was feeling and not the viewers.

Essie shared the same feelings too, and their life would be even more complicated if they do get together.

Who would like their relationship to be projected onto screens, right? Not Essie, but she’s not sure if Johnny feels the same.

–––

FIN

P.S. All those Filipino dishes made me hungry! I hope you get to eat your favorites today!

[gra-sonas]

It’s been just a little over a year since “Liberty Biberty” became a part of our cultural vernacular, but that’s when Tanner Novlan garnered national attention as the tongue-tied, clueless, narcissistic actor in Liberty Mutual’s line of popular commercials. “I had seen the series they were doing of Liberty Mutual commercials in front of the Statue of Liberty,” Novlan relays. “And yes, people do come up to me all the time and say, ‘Liberty Biberty.’ It’s so fun that everyone can relate to that obnoxious actor. He was so much fun to play. When you get BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL, you’re like, ‘Wow, this is a career-changer,’ but for a funny little commercial like that, you never think [like that].”

Novlan auditioned for B&B in March and landed the part but couldn’t start, or even talk about it, until the soap began production over four months later due to the coronavirus pandemic. “I don’t know their old way of filming, so this is my new normal,” the actor relays. “Being the first production in North America to be back, it was amazing. It’s like, ‘This really is the new normal.’ It’s been such a unique process but it’s been amazing how all the producers have come together to figure this out and put forth these groundbreaking guidelines, making things safe and efficient and being able to work around all of this and keep everything alive. They’ve come up with some really creative ways of making shots work, but also feeling natural. Yes, we have to socially distance. We always are wearing our masks so we’re very cautious in that manner, but when you get into the scene and you’re reading opposite Jacqui [MacInnes Wood, Steffy], even if she is off camera, the connection is there, and I think it comes through.”

Novlan is thankful that he had some inside knowledge of how things worked at B&B, since he’s the real-life husband of B&B alum Kayla Ewell (ex-Caitlin). “It’s so perfect to have someone who has already been a part of the family to walk me through this,” he says. “She’s great for advice, and not just on work stuff. She gives me advice all the time on life. Listen to your wife. It’s always a good idea [laughs]. But with this team, I feel like I can ask any questions, and everyone was welcoming and straightforward.” Novlan and Ewell’s real-life love story sounds like it could be part of a soap, too. “It was technically kind of a setup because we both starred in this music video for an Australian band [circa 2009],” he relays. “The band is called Sick Puppies. It was one of their first hit North American releases. The name of the song was called ‘Maybe’ [which can currently be viewed on YouTube]. So, that’s how we met, on this music video at 3:30 in the morn- ing in the high desert [of California], which is where I met the woman of my dreams. We were very professional on set, but there was definitely something special about her — and I held her sunglasses for ransom. We were shooting outdoors and locations were changing and the makeup lady accidentally took our sunglasses home with her. The next day she called and said, ‘I have your sunglasses.’ I went and picked them up. I saw hers sitting there and thought, ‘I’ll give these to Kayla,’ so I snagged them and I said to her, ‘Lunch and your sunglasses?’ Luckily she took the lunch, probably just to get her sunglasses back.”

The rest was history, and the duo has worked to navigate the demands of their chosen profession. “The job sometimes involves distance and being away from one another, and there is also the time away that certain projects can require,” he points out. “It can be difficult sometimes but the trick is, we try very hard to make sure our schedules coordinate so we can be with each other. We have a two- to three-week rule where if one of us is away working for that long, you have to fly out and see the other. It’s almost like a must. And with our new baby, Poppy, we’ll definitely make sure that’s the case. But that’s the beauty of a having a great job like B&B. Luckily, I’m here. I’m local in L.A.” Novlan’s mom, a B&B super-fan, couldn’t be more thrilled about her son’s new gig. “My hometown has 500 people in it,” he explains. “I come from a very small farming community so even just coming home was a shock to her, but she’s cool. Kayla is so down-to-earth that none of that mattered. But believe me, my mother is chomping at the bit to come and visit the set of B&B as soon as COVID [passes]. That may be the real challenge, like, ‘Mom, you can’t wander onto the set. You’ve got to stay over here.’ That’s going to be a great day when it happens.”

Novlan credits his mother’s influence for getting him from Saskatchewan to Hollywood. “My mother was originally from Sacramento so I always thought it would be great to come and work in the U.S.,” he explains. “I started doing some print work in Canada so that’s how I originally came down, but I fell in love with acting as my immigration papers were being processed. I went to acting class here but I never could I have imagined having a career in film. But when I came down here and got a taste of it I was, like, ‘Wow. I’m hooked. This is it.’ ” But he admits he had no idea what he was in for. “My first job was a commercial for T.J. Maxx, back to school,” he recalls. “It was the first audition that I had ever been on and I got it and I thought, ‘Well, this is easy!’ I quickly learned there’s a lot of training that goes into it. So, I came here quite green but over the years, I’ve been able to call it a career.”

Over the next decade-plus, Novlan landed high-profile roles in MODERN FAMILY, ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO, the TV rom-com MY BEST FRIEND’S CHRISTMAS and the upcoming PUCKHEADS. 

He’s up for a ROSWELL comeback, schedule permitting. “There could be a chance that we might see Gregory again,” he notes of playing the caring brother of series regular Tyler Blackburn (Alex; ex-Ian, DAYS et al). “I know ROSWELL has been picked up for a season 3, and the character has been pretty well-received from the fans, as well, which is always amazing and such an honor. You never know. It was a great experience, but right now, everything is about B&B. Even with COVID, we’re finding a really nice groove with maintaining safety while keeping that classic B&B look. It’s been pretty smooth, I’ve got to say. How lucky am I?”

“Sinn” City

B&B fans have dubbed Steffy and Finn “Sinn”, which is just fine by Jacqueline MacInnes Wood (Steffy). “I told him this character is his own,” she says. “He’s not a recast, so I told him, ‘Make it your own and have fun with it. Even though we are eight feet away from each other in scenes, feel free to play with me. Let’s connect as much as we can in these scenes.’ He’s been great. He’s been absolutely wonderful on set and taking direction very well — and he’s a fellow Canadian so, of course, we hit it off immediately. He’s a really sweet guy and he can keep up with our pace. I think the fans will really like him.”

Just The Facts

Birthday: April 9 Hails

From: Paradise Hill, Saskatchewan, Canada

My Girls: Married to Kayla Ewell (ex-Caitlin, B&B) since September 12, 2015. They welcomed daughter Poppy Marie on July 16, 2019.

What The Puck? “I grew up playing hockey, and I like to play hockey once a week with a group of actors. We have these really intense games.”

All The Right Steff: “It’s time that Steffy meets a man with a new set of values, and a new version of what passion and love can bring. She just had her daughter and I think she’s ready. Finn seems to have her best interests in mind, and I think that’s a good thing for Steffy.”

Finn In A Nutshell: “Helping people is in his nature but he can get a little too involved, and that can also get him into trouble.”

Grandma’s Boy: “My grandmother is in Canada in a nursing home and the last FaceTime I got was from my mom asking me to help set up grandma’s DVR. They’re very excited about this, and it’s nice to know that my grandma gets to see me every day — and, she’s super-proud that I’m a doctor!”

[whitmanpumpkin]

okay, bear with me?? i saw this post and it’s been a downward spiral for the last four days or so? so, yeah -- we’re doing this.

being married was a mistake, and this wasn’t a statement you’d come out of nowhere with. 

you’d been able to brew over the idea for months -- long months without much entertainment except for the evening news and a few neighbor’s potlucks. there had been plenty of embroidery sections against the sound of radio soap operas and the sensation of pricked thumbs, as well as a couple of walks through the park close to the house and cul de sac you lived in. and in all of these moments, you brewed over the same fact: marrying your high school “sweetheart” had been the worst choice of your life and you didn’t know how to get out of it. 

there had been a few times you contemplated running away. if you moved to a city like new york or los angeles, nobody would know you; you could do everything all over again and with the hindsight few were allowed. 

but then you were brought back to reality with the notion that by running away, you might make the situation worse for everyone. the scandal it would cause your parents? could you ever come back home? a loveless marriage didn’t seem nearly as bad as those outcomes, even if it meant more solitary time in a home that felt more like a prison. 

with a husband that spend long weeks and months away from the homestead, selling globes and encyclopedias, you didn’t really know a life that involved taking care of another person for more than a couple of weeks at a time. sometimes, you swore that the man you married felt more like a guest in the house than the person who’s name was on the damned lease. 

so, as his car peeled away once more and for another trip, and you waved from the doorway, you really thought about trying to escape. again. because you weren’t quite sure how many more months away from a social life you could stand. 

with no children in the mix, and neighbors who seemed too interested in their own lives to come by, you relegated yourself to the continuation of embroidery patterns and trying new cooking techniques. 

the first snow of the season fell at the beginning of december, when you’d been in the house and on your own for the last thirteen days. you were just taking out a loaf of bread from the oven when a knock came on the door. and it was an odd sound, really, even if it was so trivial in it’s nature. being at the end of the cul de sac, you rarely had visitors and never when your husband wasn’t home. 

but nevertheless, you tossed your oven mitts off to the side of the kitchen and headed to the door. on the way, you scooped up your heels and placed them firmly on your feet -- just to make sure that whoever was on the other side of the door wouldn’t see you so indecently. 

and peaking through the peephole, you found a smiling mailman and a rather large box. 

unlocking and opening the door, you greeted the man as he explained the delivery. “you’re y/n y/l/n, correct?”

“i could be,” you jested as he handed the box over. your arms jerked slightly, not expecting the heavy weight of the parcel. the mailman came to help, rushing to move his hands back under the box as support. and you caught his eye for just a second too long, which let you take in the blue irises and the way his right eye seemed just a little uneven from his left. and you wanted to remember it for some reason. 

you looked away first, eyes scanning the empty streets for someone who saw a moment that didn’t exist. 

he helped you carry it in, setting the large and heavy thing down by the kitchen table. and then he tipped the brim of his hat to you, and headed out the door with a gentle goodbye. 

and over the course of the next week, you made a habit of greeting the man. and he would always smile and tip his hat, and there was a twinkle of something in his eyes when he did so. 

by the next week, there had been an interesting development. 

you weren’t dreaming about the mailman. 

it was easy to tell yourself that the first couple of nights, but then it happened a third time. and a fourth. and by the fifth night, in a lonely bed, you had to accept that these feelings sort of existed. they could never be acted on, of course. but where was the harm in talking to the man?

at first, you just watched him make his way down the street, from the window under the guise of reading. he’d finally come by, and you’d watch him from over the cover of your book as he rifled through his canvas bag and pulled one one to two letters -- just like he’d done with the rest of the residents on the street. and then would come the knocks -- three gentle taps against the wood frame of your door -- that would have you standing up and heading towards the entryway. 

and as you peeled back the door to see him with a beautiful smile, you couldn’t help but smile back. because he just seemed so kind. he’d even small talk with you. which was probably one of the best things about your day; having that little extra human interaction (especially with him) is what made the whole day worth it. 

he liked the smell of your cooking. he actually told you that one afternoon, when you were just finishing up a pot roast that would feed one for the evening. but, it could feed two, you guessed. “would you want to come in and try it?” you had asked.  

bill, which you had learned was his name a few days ago, looked hesitant at first. he glanced between you and the kitchen, and then his empty mail carrier. finally, he shrugged and figured “what’s the worst that could happen?”

so, that was how you ended up with bill sitting across from you at a small kitchen table. the dining room wasn’t set up -- which bill said he didn’t mind. and it was alright, because you secretly liked having him so close. if you just reached out your hand a little more, you could slip a hand into his or at least rope it around his wrist gently. but those were the thoughts that kept you silent as you took another bite of the potatoes you’d prepared. 

“your food is delicious,” he said inbetween forkfuls of the cuisine. you smiled bashfully. “if i could cook half as well as you, then i wouldn’t need to buy so many t.v. dinners for one.”

you couldn’t help but ask, “you’re not married?”

and he paused. his eyes slowly came up to meet yours, a brow hitched up in an inquisitive manner as he asked, “did you think i was?”

you guessed not; you just figured someone as kind and attractive as him would have to be married to a lovely girl and spending his weekends taking her on beautiful trips. but, maybe that was you projecting something onto him that didn’t need to be spoken of. so instead, you shrugged. “i guess not. i never saw a ring.”

“but you were looking?”

and you blushed. “i’m too inquisitive for my own good.” 

“i don’t think so,” he replied. 

and his smile caused your heart to stop for just a few seconds, because this was something a little more intimate than that wide-toothed grin he gives everyone as he tips his cap.

he gave you the same wonderful smile the next evening, when you invited him in for dinner again. 

you had never been more happy that your husband picked a home at the end of the cul de sac -- it had meant more isolation and a cheaper price originally. but now, it meant you could have a handsome mailman over for dinner.

and not just once or twice, but enough times for it to be considered a regular occurrence. by the sixth dinner, you offered him a glass of wine. he accepted with only minor disagreement. and into the second glass, he wasn’t hesitating at all. he even made sure that you were getting a third glass as you continued a story about the neighbors down the street and their horrid dog -- which bill laughed at. 

you adored his laugh. 

and he loved getting one out of you. which was often. because he seemed to have such a natural funny bone, and everything he seemed to say was funnier than the last statement. 

bill placed his fork back onto the table, another plate cleaned. “i’m going to have to start letting out these pants, y/n. your cooking is too good.”

“i could do that for you, if you needed.”

“i wouldn’t expect you to. besides, there’s no reasons that a, uh, a married woman as kind as you should have to let out anyone’s pants but their husbands.”

“i’m sure he’d never know.” you tried to wave the thought of the household man away. he hadn’t been home in five weeks, and you were starting to think that his postcards were ornamental. maybe he’d never come home. 

bill sighed. “but i would. and i couldn’t do that to you.”

“even if i wanted to?”

he paused. his eyes wouldn’t come to meet yours; they stayed very still on what seemed like a pointless and printed flower on the tablecloth. “y/n,” he started with heavy caution. “you’re not talking about the sewing anymore, are you?”

you were about to answer, your mouth opening to try and flounder out a response as he clambered to his feet. “please don’t answer that.” 

and then he was gone. 

the next day, the mail was left in the box outside your door. 

and the same with the day after that. 

on the third day, you waited by the window and watched as he filed through his bag quickly and deposited the few letters you had into your mailbox. but then he looked up, and he met your gaze, and nothing needed to be said. because you were still married, and he was too nice of a person and too much of a gentleman to ever do anything. so, it was going to be up to you.

[blanxkey]

a soft epilogue || 800 words || ao3

their days, for the most part, are filled with light.

///

homes are wrecked by those who create them, they say. eliott doesn’t understand, it’s too much sometimes. he falls in love and that’s that, no questions asked. it’s too early, they say, too soon, too fast. but lucas loves him, anyway. his mind is messy, sometimes; the days are heavy, sometimes easy, sometimes flawed, but they’re home. finally home. their days, for the most part, are filled with light. lucas cooks for them, eliott helps, mostly he draws. there’s a collection of his drawings sitting proudly on their desk, over the mantel, taped to the fridge, to the living room wall. eliott brings in the piano from his old place and asks lucas to play, and each note is soft-edged and melodic, soothing. mornings come and go, noon falls, and the nights are diamond-like and beautiful. sometimes they forget to take it day by day, minute by minute, but it’s okay.

they’re okay.

they’re older now, braver, not alone anymore, and every morning eliott wakes to lucas tucked at his side, running warm all over. he smells like myrrh and woodsy soap, like christmas itself. sometimes all eliott does is stare, stare at the boy with celestials on his skin and the universe in his eyes, while something flutters inside his ribcage. sometimes, he presses nebulas of his own, etches saturn’s rings and definitions over his skin. adjective, adjective. now, today, he leans on his elbow, watches as lucas stirs and groans. eliott smiles, feels the warmth curling across his chest, rubs lucas’ cheek, says, “merry christmas.”

lucas rolls his eyes, the pattern familiar, sleep-warmed, fond. “not yet, eliott,” he says. (they’ve just returned from yann’s halloween party when eliott, excited, drunk maybe, twirls lucas in his kitchen, yells “merry christmas!” when they kiss, eliott feels the curve of lucas’ smile against his lips.)(the first snow falls at the start of december, and they go outside and watch, lucas holding onto his hand. he does that a lot, eliott doesn’t mind. it’s cold, too cold, lucas wraps his scarf tightly around him. sun glints off of the blue in lucas’ eyes, snowflakes cling onto his eyelashes, eliott smiles— “merry christmas, love.”)

but he’s smiling, and he looks like he always does in the mornings, like fairy lights and pale blues and falling dusks and eliott loves him, he does. he traces a thumb over lucas’ lips. “i’ll make breakfast,” lucas says, stretching, swinging his legs off the bed. he likes to cook for eliott. “i love you.”

the day, despite the slow start, flows on. they do some last minute shopping; lucas buys a few gifts, eliott some drawing supplies. he’s sketching for everyone this year.  he’s never had so many people to draw for before. he supposes  he has lucas to thank for that as well, like many other things. he lifts his head to watch lucas and a jumble of fairy lights, mind projecting a stream of i love you’s and thank you’s and i love you’s. lucas glances over, smiles; eliott hopes he understands.

the day is hectic, and it goes by with lucas by his side. he draws for himself, and for lucas, too, something to hang on the wall, to remember this by, to revisit on the days he forgets to breathe, darkness and her synonyms ebbing on. a promise of hope and sun and shadow.

lucas comes to bed after he does, fatigued and bleary but so full of light. he takes eliott’s hand and talks about the gifts and presents and christmas, and how they’re crossing another first off their list. eliott smiles and listens. lucas’ breathing slows down, evens out, deepens, until he’s sleeping and everything’s quiet and soft, so soft. and the world narrows down to just them, just lucas and eliott, the sun and moon, interlocked.

///

eliott dreams of sun on his skin and lucas. it’s five thity-two in the morning when lucas wakes him up,  cold hands clutching at his arm. his heart picks up speed; he wakes up worried, disoriented, vision blurring around the edges. but it’s just lucas, lit up in pale yellow of the bedside lamp, blinking sheepishly down at him.

“what is it?” eliott asks, groggy, words scratching past his throat. panic recedes a bit in his ribcage.

“it’s…umm,” lucas says. his voice is soft, nepenthe.  a finger runs through eliott’s hair, sleep still clings onto his eyelids, and lucas breathes, “— it’s christmas.”

eliott smiles. his heart stops, aches, maybe, moonlight and her silver wrapped around lucas. outside, the night shifts, morning chirps, dawn a smudge of inky purple over the sky.  and there’s snow, hard and soft,  blushing pink and beautiful. winter drags on, slow, the atlantic concealed in her shadow, but eliott’s warm. he’s always warm, always home. lucas grins. look, here comes the light. merry christmas.

[readerinsertfanfiction]

An ask I got through my DM’s! I’m not too great at using Tumblr’s DM system and formatting messages doesn’t seem to work, so instead I will just answer through a post. That way I can address everything in there.

TL;DR: You can never bother me. I cut my chapters up on the gut, but there are legit tips out there. Dialogue is like any RL conversation, you don’t catch all parts, you don’t get to say all you want, you don’t want to respond to everything either.

Key with me is brevity, but that is also my style. Just, be yourself and enjoy what you do. I’m (finally) enjoying what I write and just being myself. It just took me twelve years. The rest will follow. The rest will come.

If you wish to read my complete in-depth response, click below. Warning: it is long and I’m rambling at certain points, but it is my honest response. 

Also, must read for everyone: DjDangerLove’s take on ‘good writing’. Because, honestly, #truth. 

I wish to start off with: 

never feel like a bother to reach out! I honestly do love to chat (the amount of times I have been pinned on discord now for another one liner is getting embarrassing 😂). This is also going to be long and rambly, because there is so much I wish to address.

For the compliments, thank you! I’m not a star in taking them, but they make me happy, inside, just imagine me brimming (I can’t believe I enjoy writing Madara either, so you and me both.😅)

To answer your questions: 

I separate my chapters purely based on intuition. I write, see where I end up at, try to read it through once and then decide that this is a good point to cut off and this is probably better for the next chapter. Vague, I know, usually I pick a good cliffhanger like it is some damn soap-opera. 🤪

I did read some really good advice on deciding where to end chapters, and good triggers are: when a new day is starting, or a new (major) event (like a war/fight), or you’re switching pov’s, or you are switching locations, etc... All legit reasons why you would want to end and start a chapter because that reads smoother for the audience and also keeps the flow of your story. There is no real length that a chapter should be anyway (though some will argue there is, but Maggie Stiefvater dedicated a one page chapter about someone’s wet dream and I like and respect her).

Dialogue is trickier. 

Sometimes I write starting out with dialogue alone, sometimes I write and rewrite it a dozen times. The Unfaithful series started all around the line: “if a farce is what you want, I will set the stage with you.” (Part 3)

What I learnt from over the years is that dialogue is just a conversation you have with any other person. How does that one go? How does it flow? A mistake I see a lot of people often make is that they feel like they need to address EVERY single component of a dialogue, but that is simply not feasible.

People communicate in different styles. Some only talk about themselves, and you’ll notice how every conversation will revolve around themselves and they never ask about you. Some don’t and they will converse in a different way to avoid giving you a piece of themselves, but have you lay out all of your cards. Sometimes communication goes by so fast that you forget to address something mentioned of which you only think of much later, or which the other wished you had asked about, but it simply slipped your attention.

Point is: even in real conversation you don’t get to say all you want. I read back on asks sometimes and notice I forgot to address parts because I was in a hurry, or I simply forgot in my excitement. However, I already answered and to go back and address it anyway would be awkward for everyone. That is how dialogue works.

As for my brevity. 

That would just be my style and personality. Just like that you have your style and personality. Some like to fill up the spaces, some find it not so necessary. Anyone that has spoken to me will agree that I’m a very straightforward person with too many answers for everything.

I like brevity, my favourite writers are authors who convey so much in so few (simple) words. I admire that talent to have one word carry several meanings, which is why I love poetry, but especially asian poetry, for one character can be interpreted in so many ways, but still paint a full picture. I love mythologies because of their simple styles but packed with a deeper message, I adore fairy tales for the way they can entice a child, but make an adult deliberate about concepts so profound.

— It is also why I love ATLA so, so much, Big Fish & Begonia and so much about Studio Ghibli’s movies. However, I shall stop gushing here.

I sometimes wish I could write longer, with more body and purpose. I wish I could write like Tolkien and Martins where they can drudge on and on about the world and politics and create something so gigantic they won’t be able to finish it within their lives. Alas, where I see them as rocks from which a steady stream flows, I’m more of a storm. I come in, I rage, and then my inspiration leaves. I need to catch onto my ravenous need to write and run away with it, but I’m not an endurance runner in writing it seems. I’m a sprinter and I only have now.

It certainly isn’t easy, however, or effortless. I still have to think a long time, ponder over each word I use (being multilingual helps with the vocabulary!) and plot out my stories accordingly to what I already have and already planned. I have been writing for twelve (12?!) years now, with small pauses between, through several mediums and on several projects. I promise you, I was terrible when I started and I barely spoke English as well. I got a lot of feedback, read a lot of works by others, both published and unpublished, I observed and was determined to one day be a writer I’m proud of (I still am on that path). It has been a long road in which I gave up several times, and still wonder if I’m good enough. A journey in which I have decided that I don’t need to be good, I just need to enjoy.

Which brings me to fanfiction, this place, this blog. It is mostly through fanfiction that I have found back my joy for writing. It comes out easier because, in a way, there is less pressure to do well, to be good. It is in part because of the stigma people put on fanfiction, which is why I was so anxious about being connected to fanfiction. However, it is real and it takes just as much effort and time as original pieces, just less perfectionism from my side.

In any case. Don’t be me. Don’t be another writer. Be you and enjoy what you do. The internet has 1001 tips on how to write well, and how to write well in genres, or in scenes and so on, but in the end it is an art and art knows no rules but that it needs to be appreciated and enjoyed.

Me enjoying my writing after years of hating it is huge. You appreciating my work is even more delightful! I have also been told otherwise, plenty, but we are subjective creatures with our own likes and wants and that is fine. 

I’m sure there is someone that will appreciate your work. As long as you keep on writing and sharing, the rest will follow (I haven’t read any of your works myself, yet, but since you put thought into this matter I’m sure there is someone who is touched by what you write).

[neon-sparrows]

Jam in a Jay gets shot but lives AU

send me your requests! | my ko-fi

A sudden jolt in his side and Jay is sucking in air like a drowned man shoving his head above water for the first time in a long time, gasping and choking on every inhale. There's the rapid beeping of monitors to one side of him and a cacophony of noise, noise and sound and a sensation of cold.

The pain is centered at his abdomen, slightly to the right of his navel. It spreads from there, spindly fingers of cold, a wedge of ice in his gut that sends meandering vines of freezing pain to spread throughout him. His hands are shaking as he presses it against the side and the noise increases, a pounding in his chest and an overwhelming panic and--

Warm hands on top of his. Gentle pressure. His vision blurs in a mess of lights and colors and it is harsh artificial light, it is the dim light of an empty bedroom, it is a single lamp on a hotel room side table projecting all it has onto the ceiling for the residents to pay any attention to.

"You're still with me, Jay." A heavy voice says, on the same side as the gentle pressure on the wound in his side. Jay lifts his eyes, slow.

Tim stares at him, his expression vacant and unreadable, somewhere between sleepless and lost. There's a softness in his eyes, still, something that might be grief and might be something Jay has no name for.

His hands are cold.

Jay shifts, wrapping both hands around Tim's wrists to cling tight to him. He feels-- just cold. Tim is warm under his bony digits and he feels cold in return, leeching the heat from his body into his own and Jay pulls him closer without giving it any real thought in order to push his face into Tim's sleep shirt and breathe deep. Cigarette smoke and hotel soap. The fabric is rough against his cheekbone and he doesn't care, his hands remaining like shackles around Tim's wrists and Tim tilting his head to rest his cheek on the crown of Jay's.

"You're still with me." He says again, almost insistent this time, and one arm moves around him.

His heart's still pounding in his ears. The mess is detached and strewn about the floor, discarded tapes and broken cameras and still needing to look, to seek and know and understand and it is impossible to rewind when all the reel's been pulled out and scrambled together. Tim's easy breathing gives enough of a model, though-- In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Gulp it down and swallow when he knows he's just gonna burp up anything left over later.

Jay shifts back enough to put his hands on the side of Tim's face, cold fingers pressing into his scalp and holding tight as he looks at him. Intently, searching, thinking, breathing. In, hold, out.

"Nightmare?" The question is gentle, and Jay does nothing but nod in reply. Tim has not moved from where Jay is holding him, the moment shrinking gradually down to the two of them. "You okay?"

Jay's reply is a shake of his head, and Tim gives a non-committal grunt in response, shifting onto the bed gradually without making Jay let go of him. Jay has to move over to one side to give him room again. He's shivering. Shivering and still struggling to breathe deep enough even with Tim's proper example and he feels-- frustrated, almost, angry, convinced that it was more than a nightmare and there's still more beyond that, there's some unreachable intangible thing just out of his line of sight either watching him or waiting to be watched and--

Tim's forehead rests against his.

"You're thinking too loud, Merrick." He mutters, lowly, and Jay blinks into those brown eyes that fill his vision. "Quiet down a little."

The blanket around his waist is pulled up, drawn up over Jay's shoulders and Tim's body to let the warmth build. Blunt nails dig into the sides of Tim's face, and then relax. The spreading vines of freezing cold meander their way through his veins, ice shards gathering up at his joints and cracking with every careful movement. He imagines his skin splintering, sort of, like it had, a gunshot and cracking ice and cold water. Too red for that, though. Too hot.

Jay closes his eyes and feels Tim's breath warm on his face, smells cigarette smoke and something undeniably him, feels strong arms move steadily around him, feels his warmth sapped into his flesh and eliminated in the same moment as Jay holds him tighter, feeling he should apologize for the way his nails are digging in. Tim doesn't seem bothered, though. Doesn't seem to be thinking about it, or he'd say something. Wouldn't he? He would. Wouldn't he?

"I'm still here." Tim says, gently, and Jay's lanky body curls tighter, joints popping and he pictures bones grinding together with every movement because it hurts to move still sometimes and he's not so sure he's not the equivalent of a sapling frozen in the snow. "I'm not going anywhere, Jay."

He can't speak, but his grip loosens to let his arms wrap around Tim's neck instead of risking bruising his face.

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth

—    basics.

▸     is    your   muse    tall    /   short    /    average? smols. Beth is a flat five feet tall, and because she also weighs less than a hundred pounds with a delicate bone structure she tends to look smaller most of the time.

▸     are    they   okay    with    their   height? She doesn’t want to be an amazon but she WOULD like to reach the second shelf in the kitchen without having to ask for help or climb onto the counter..

▸     what’s    their   hair    like? She likes to change up the style and subtly alter the colour now and again but Beth’s hair is usually kept long. The more humid the air the more its natural wave comes through. It is very soft, and healthy looking, with her natural colour being a very dark brown. It often smells faintly of macadamia nuts, tropical fruit, and vanilla; so like Hawai’ian cookies.

▸     do    they   spend    a    lot   of    time    on   their    hair/grooming? Beth is for the most part a very natural person. She uses earth-friendly, free-trade, certified organic, cruelty free beauty products, very little if any make up. She might use mascara and some eyeliner, a little lipstick for Social Events. She uses natural soaps especially if she can make them herself. Instead of perfume she uses essential oils. For personal reasons she keeps everything waxed, below the eyebrows.

▸     does   your   muse   care   about   their   appearance/what    others    think? Ninety percent of Beth’s wardrobe is long, loose hippy skirts and blouses all cobbled together from second hand shops across the country, or scrubs. She owns leggings and one pair of jeans, also yoga pants that she wears...surprisingly...for yoga. The other ten percent is designer evening gowns and very expensive shoes for those times that she’s forced to make charitable appearances in the name of the Family.

—    preferences.

▸     indoors    or   outdoors? Outdoors ▸     rain    or   sunshine? Rain ▸     forest    or   beach? When your mother is the ocean....beaches all the way. ▸     precious    metals   or    gems? Beth likes garnets and certain crystals, she prefers silver as a metal because of its associations with the moon, but on the whole she really doesn’t pay much attention to this kind of thing.  ▸     flowers    or   perfumes? Definitely flowers. ▸     personality    or   appearance?  Personality. Beth doesn’t experience primary attraction to people and she finds beauty in her own terms. ▸     being    alone   or    being    in   a    crowd? Beth hates crowds unless she’s out dancing. ▸     order    or   anarchy? Neither in great doses but she’s more inclined to anarchy. ▸   painful    truths    or   white    lies?  She would rather be told painful truths. Nothing good comes from lying to someone. ▸     science    or   magic? Well, she is a witch...so... ▸     peace    or   conflict? Beth is very peaceful, and offers that succour to others. However she tends to be attracted to violent, stormy souls. ▸     night    or   day?  Day. Beth is phobic of the dark. ▸     dusk    or   dawn?  Both, those are her favourite times of day. ▸     warmth    or   cold?  Beth prefers cold; deep water. Snow. Cool rivers and streams. Dancing in the rain. ▸     many   acquaintances    or    a   few    close    friends?  Few Close Friends are best, people who understand her and that she trusts implicitly but she’s a very people oriented person, so she ends up knowing many acquaintances through no fault of her own. ▸     reading    or   playing    a    game? Both. However, Beth is extremely competitive and has been known to occasionally cheat during games.

—    questionnaire.

▸     what    are   some    of    your   muse’s    bad    habits? Beth has an extraordinary ability to take everything and anything in the WORST way humanly possible, which can make her very thin skinned and argumentative. She has a two-glass a day wine habit, that she feels necessary to cope with her challenges. She tends to forget to take her meds on Good Days. Beth is insecure a lot of the time, always second guessing herself and the motives of others. She tends to be clingy with certain people and breathtakingly, morbidly codependent with her brother.

▸     has    your   muse    lost    anyone   close    to    them?     how    has   it    affected    them? In most verses that her brother has died {as per canon}, Beth died inside that day. In other verses where he lives, Andy eventually moves on with his life, leaving her devastated and unable to cope with herself. Her mother divorced her father when she was ten years old and Beth has always blamed herself, especially when she found out through the internet, that her mother remarried and went on to have more children. Because of these reasons, she often feels like a burden to others, unwanted and just allowed to exist alongside people until such a time that they will leave her too. As such, Beth cannot bring herself to use the word ‘love’ with other people. That’s too big a risk to take when they won’t stick around.

▸     what    are   some    fond    memories   your    muse    has? One of Beth’s fondest memories was the first time she surfed by herself and rode the wave all the way to the shore. There was such a sense of freedom and triumph and doing something for her own. She has the vague memory of a blonde and blue eyed boy with the biggest and brightest smile who called her Izzy and who she used to be very close with. She doesn’t remember much more than that except they were on the boardwalk of a beach. She remembers getting her acceptance letter to Columbia University and knowing that it would both change her life forever, and that she might finally be able to escape the long shadow cast by her father, knowing she didn’t have to be afraid of him any more.

▸     is   it    easy    for   your    muse    to   kill? Sometimes nature dictates that the kindest and best thing you can do is to let something die. But being both a nurse and a witch, it is very difficult for her to accept that. She understands the need to kill for survival, or pruning something back so the rest of it can be healthy, but no. No it isn’t and it is never a decision she makes lightly in the course of her work.  That being said, she does find violence extremely fascinating and can’t pass up the opportunity to watch someone else doing it.

▸     what’s    it   like    when    your   muse    breaks    down? It honestly depends on the source of her breakdown. If its root cause is anger, she’s more prone to lash out verbally, spitting vitriol from her own fears and insecurities, projecting it out at the object of her anger. Red faced, tears of frustration. She might push the other person, she might get in their face, or poke them with a finger, but she isn’t normally prone to physical violence. She will though in extreme circumstances where she doesn’t feel like there’s any other choice. If the root cause is depression, Beth becomes sluggish. She curls up in bed as the will to do anything else but lay there evaporates to the point that she doesn’t so much as desire to reathe, to exist; often in physical or emotional pain and turmoil that overcomes her better instincts. She becomes exceedingly moody and silent, often for weeks.

▸     is    your   muse    capable    of   trusting    someone    with   their    life? Beth is very capable of this, especially if the other person is promising her that said life is going to be exceedingly short and painfully lived.

▸     what’s    your   muse    like    when   they’re    in    love? In love, Beth is selfless. She will go to the most extreme measures possible to ensure her victim is cared for, loved, supported to the best of her ability. She might not be able to say the words, but she does her best to show them through actions. On the less pleasant side she can be clingy, needy, and combative, always second guessing the other person’s motivations and desires. She is completely unaware that she can be jealous and/or territorial, though most of that has to do with the fact that people tend to fall in love with her brother and forget she exists and that her father has damaged her with a life time of telling her that no one wants her because she’s a burden and broken, and unattractive. That the only people who would find her a suitable partner are those interested in the family’s wealth and prestige. As a demisexual falling in love with someone requires a deep emotional connection that leaves her very vulnerable to that person, she doesn’t have a tremendous amount of experience in the ways of relationships and romance, most of it textbook or anecdotal evidence. She tries though, to be a good person. She wants to be a good person. She wants someone who will love her despite all of her flaws, someone who will actually see her, who can actually understand her, someone who wants ONLY her.

Tagged by: Dax-alicious @untamedgoodoleboys​ Thanks, darling!

Tagging: @therealgamble, @multi-mused {whomever you like}, @mynameisanakin, @ronmanmob, @corinnebaileyrp, @tabbyrp, @unaugmentedmonkeyscantfly, @dcddyrecper, @damagedbyfate​ {whomever you like}, @glassmenagerieofmuses​ {whomever you like}, @thepropertyofalady​, @amaarok​, @musescomefrompain​, @lokitheliesmith​, @thedarcydichotomy​, @down-in-dixie​, and anyone else who would like to! Thieve this! Do it! Tag me back! I love you all!