#started bleach forever ago and never finished it

[a-very-cute-snake]

Fully convinced that Aizen got a taste for completely fucking people over instead of just being sneaky when he did it to these guys

[littleeyesofpallas]

Hello! I come from your 2019 post (that I found on a Google search while doing some research) where you "disect" bleach character's names. I also want to create a very meaningful name for my oc, but I have no clue on the language. Do you have any advice on how I could go about this? Google is no help ):

(Im so sorry i started up a draft for this what feels like forever ago and it never quite took solid form and just sat in limbo for a while. Anyway I have a samurai TTRPG campaign I'm trying to piece together and came back to the subject, so it seemed like a good time to try and finish this... )

Oh boy, so I don't really know if i'll actually be much help with this, as I'm not a native speaker so I don't have the ear for Japanese that lets me just intuit when things feel "off" or "unnatural", but I can sort of walk you through some common tropes:

One approach is to take a core word/kanji and work the name out of them, fiddling with suffixes or pronunciations until you get something that "sounds like a name." Given that a lot of anime characters don't actually have "real" names this gives you a lot of wiggle room, but also there are definitely some sensibilities that --again I'm not personally a good enough judge of-- that make certain non-names sound more or less passable than others. This can be a tricky thing to play with, but there are a few shortcuts that might help.

Several suffixes are extremely common in Japanese naming conventions and most of them are gendered. A handful of super common ones are things like....

-ko[子]: "child" but typically denotes a girl's name

-me[女]: "woman/female"

-mi[美]: "beauty/beautiful"

-ne[音] "sound" but implicitly a pleasant one, like a chime or a musical note

-ka[香]: "scent/smell" but again implicitly a pleasant one like flowers, perfumes, or incense

etc...

...for girls. Or for boys, things like...

-rou[郎]: "son"

-tarou[太郎]: "big/thick/fat son" (implying he's health/plump/robust, not obese)

-suke[佑]: "help(er)/assist(ant)" but more colloquially just denotes one who facilitates the appended thing.

-suke[助] actually a homonym/synonym for the above.

-maru[丸] lit. meaning "circle" or "whole/full/complete" (kind of functions as just "...one" in the English sense? Like the meaning "One who is XYZ" might comparably be rendered XYZmaru.)

-emon[衛門]: "defense gate" but it has a distinctly old-fashioned sound to it, and kind of evokes samurai or yakuza depending on the era.

Attached to these are a few other sort of commonalities. Ichiro[一郎], Jiro[二郎], Saburo[三郎], Shiro[四郎], Goro[五郎], etc... are common boys names that are just a # and "son" indicating order of birth...

[edit]: okay no I super underestimated how stupid long this post was gonna look in Tumblr format... Cutting here for length, more under the cut

...the -suke:"assistant" suffix is often appended to aspirational traits or values, sort of like how English Puritans had a habit of naming kids English words like, Charity, Temperance, Faith, Credence, Prudence, etc... albeit without the background radiation of the cultural baggage of the Puritans.

But these suffixes are also often used to make unique fantasy names that are pretty distinctly not real names historically. In Shaman King, the ghost of a samurai named Amidamaru[阿弥陀丸] is just the suffix -maru[丸] slapped onto Amida[阿弥陀], the Japanese name for Amitabha[अमिताभ] the Buddha. This is absolutely not a name any real person has, but in the context of the manga you wouldn't expect to question it, although it sounds a tad silly. -maru specifically is also a common name-ifying suffix for nonhuman names, things like naval ships and swords often get names that are distinctly not human passing, but still very overtly "namey" names.

Incidentally it should be kept in mind that depending on the sort of characters and settings you're dealing with there are certain restrictions that you might want to consider. For example, the real world Japanese Ministry of Justice has maintained a list of Jinmeiyo kanji[人名用漢字] since the 1950s which dictate which kanji are permissible in the legal documenting of a person's name. For the most part this is to prevent weird or stupid rude or inauspicious names; you cannot for example name a newborn something with the kanji for death[死] or shit[糞]. But plenty of anime characters absolutely do not abide by this.

Otherwise there are some common conventions you can turn to with anime in particular, as again there is a certain affordance for nonsense.

Names with obvious color associations are super common, often by proxy of Super Sentai as a franchise and derived tropes. This can apply to either given names or surnames, and often are worked in as puns rather than kanji specific readings.

aka[赤] red

ao[青] blue

ki[黄] yellow

ha/hakku/shiro[白] white

kuro[黒] black/dark

kin/kane[金] gold

gin/shirogane[銀] silver

momo[桃] pink, but literally "peach" as momoiro[桃色]: pink color(ed)" is literally "peach colored"

which brings me to another point: Japanese names refer very heavily to plants and flowers specifically. Most common flowering plants, be they cultivated for lumber, decorative flowers, or food have some notable presence in Japanese naming conventions and can be pretty readily turned to. These tend to be predominantly girl's names either alone or as a root, but not exclusively,

sakura[桜] cherry

tsubaki[椿] camellia

azami[薊] thistle

ayame[菖蒲] iris

sumire[菫] violet

kiku[菊] chrysanthemum

etc... (although not all of these can function as names on their own without some appended suffix/prefix) But also a wide wide array of other regionally specific and seemingly more obtuse plant names pop up all the time. Also, while flowering/fruit bearing plants are very commonly evoked for their beauty as girls' names, there is also hanakotoba[花言葉] the japanese flower language, which can be a quick reference for what features might be evoked by specific flowers more generally, and for both boys and girls.

Oh and a few more general terms also show up in a lot of names, ha/ba/wa[葉]:"leaf" in names like futaba[双葉]: "Twin leaf"; [梢]: "Treetop/tip(of a branch)" [枝]: "Branch", [幹]:"(tree)trunk," etc... Not all plants as names or nonspecific plant related terms are as flashy or romantic as you might expect.

Animals are also a popular motif, but I won't get into those because that's just an endless list of like every animal... You can probably think of some really obvious ones just off the top of your head though.

Typically they stick to very general types or families of animal and of course those most obviously native to Japan, or else those with names borrowed from Chinese, both for the real and the mythic. In fantasy settings these may be evoked directly, but more realistic settings may opt to reference more menacing or otherwise less dignified animals(vermin especially) only through puns/homophones.

Domesticated animals or those with virtuous/valorous associations would be easier to accept at a glance, real or not, while those with overt negative characterizations might be a little campy. (I actually totally forgot but Hiruma[蛭魔] in Eyeshield doesn't actually "evoke" the word for leech phonetically, it just straight up IS the kanji for leech in his name. [蛭]:"Leech" + [魔]:"Demon/EvilSpirit" in fact. Like, for every test he ever took all middle/high school he just signed "LeechDemon" at the top. Neither of those are legally approved jinmeiyo kanji in the real world of course.)

Also worth noting as an extra layer in all these considerations, is that most common Japanese names will probably average 2 or 3 characters, maybe 4. A handful of names are single kanji and as you'd expect are thus very straight forward in their meaning. 5 or more kanji to a name certainly aren't impossible but they can be unusual, and I feel like they tend to appear as older, outdated, and samurai-esque names, if not just weird or ostentatiously silly.

(for example, in Bleach, Marechiyo's whole family shares the root Mare[希] and as each family member is introduced the names kind of escalate in silliness, until we get the younger son, Marejirousaburou[希次郎三郎] which even comically uses the -rou[郎]:"son" bit twice. His name literally reads as "Rare NextSon Third Son." It sounds very stupid and kind of pegs him as a spoiled rich kid. I guess in a way we sort of have a similar cliche in English about rich kids from stuffy old money having multiple middle names and "Jr." or some roman numeral tacked on.)

Rather famously there is just a random living businessman in Japanese whose given name is Taroukizaemonnoshoutokinori[太郎喜左衛門将時能] which might more readably be broken down as Tarou-kizaemon-no-shoutokinori. Written this way you might notice that basically each individual section could itself be a name by itself.

There is also supposedly some record of a meiji era citizen registered under the name Egawafujifumishigozaemon’nosuketarō[江川富士一二三四五左衛門助太郎], Egawa-fuji-i-fu-mi-shi-go-zaemon-no-suke-tarou. You may note that thoes are like 3 separate nameifying suffixes just slapped onto the end there(-zaemon, -suke, and -tarou) and the middle bit is just "1,2,3,4,5." So as I said the tendency for super long names is a distinctly silly tone.

Once again there is a distinctive kind of aesthetic or familiarity to long names that someone who knows better than me can definitely just kind of tell when a long assemblage of kanji and syllables just does not sound like a name. No advice for how to sus this out yourself, it's kind of just a matter of prolonged exposure.

On the flip side of things, it's entirely possible to write names with no kanji at all. For example, despite the very obvious evocation of cherryblossoms in Sakura's name in Naruto, her name is just written SA-KU-RA[サクラ]. If you just like the way an existing name sounds and don't want to risk implying other meanings that picking a random existing kanji writing might, you can in fact just opt out of it. It'll still carry some connotations but it at least won't look like you were trying to hone in on one reading in particular.

In some cases I also think it's just a common practice for media aimed at elementary school kids, as it foregoes excluding anyone on the basis of their reading level, where as you're less likely to see this kind of thing in manga aimed at, say, young adults.

So after hacking our way through all that... the other approach is to take a real existing Japanese name's phonetics, and find kanji that can serve as a homonym to the more conventional root in the name.

So, for example, the name Tanjirou is a real name, but it's written any of a few ways, including [丹士郎]: "Rust-Colored Samurai Son," [丹次郎]: "Rust-Colored Next Son," and [丹治郎]: "Rust-colored Peace(&order) Son," but in Demon Slayer the protagonist's name is Tanjirou[炭治郎]: "Charcoal Peace(&order) Son" alluding to his family's job as charcoal artisans and his affinity for the fire and sun elements by swapping in an unusual character with the same pronunciation. (the "peace and order" part probably referring to like a governor being a peace keeper which makes it a partial synonym with "samurai" as a part of the ruling class)

Does that all make sense? I can't tell how easy to follow any of this is for someone without a kind of cursory familiarity with this stuff...

And then surnames... I don't want to get into this oneb bcause it's just too damn big. but they do tend to follow some pretty familiar conventions used in the west. Locational surnames are common, denoting landmarks:

yama[山]: Mountain

kawa/-gawa[川]: River

mori[森]: forest

tani[谷]: valley

ta/-da[田]: field

mura[村]: village

etc... Some also reference manmade landmarks like towers, temples, bridges, wells, marketplaces, etc... Or even more general elements like "stone" or "tree" without pointing to an actual singular and specific object in the landscape. These kinds of root words can then be modified by adjectives like colors, size/dimension, cardinal directions, (one of)twins, and very often eachother. (i.e. Yamada[山田], Yamamura[山村] Kawamura[川村], Yamagawa[山川], Tamura[田村], Kawada[川田], etc...) I don't really know how to cleanly or neatly break these kinds of things down into easily referenced categories... It's just kind of a broad range of things that can be applied, and that's just in regards to real names, the realm of fantasy settings, even mundane ones, opens things up substantially.

But unlike a lot of western languages, there aren't actually a whole lot of occupational surnames. i.e. things like Smith, Baker, Carpenter, Mason, Miller, etc...

(and... uh... I'm not getting into kira kira names... that's a whole other can of worms and a very modern/recent issue, and I dunno that I know enough to really comment on it meaningfully. you can google it though and you'll find stuff even in english discussing it in some detail.)

Oh and of course the last "method" is just that some creators will just straight up lift their character names from other characters entirely. Like, in Naruto Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru are all just the names of the characters in the 19th century folktale Katakiuchi Kidan Jiraiya Monogatari[報仇奇談自来也説話]. Like the names don't have any directly evoked meaning based on how they're written, they're just direct reference to the themes and motifs of preexisting characters. Same way Sasuke's name is just lifted from Sarutobi Sasuke[猿飛佐助], popular turn of the century fictional ninja hero.

I'll be honest, I'm not a fan of this one. It tends to feel flimsy and shitty. The only exception being those characters that are actual in-world evocations of historical characters/figures, like Ishikawa Goemon XIII, in Lupin III, just straight up being a descendent of the legendary Ishikawa Goemon. Although in Eyeshield 21 Takekura Gen has a cool one where the name Takekura[武蔵] is written the same as Musashi[武蔵], and so he's given it as a nickname and given a reputation and motif evoking the samurai Miyamoto Musashi.

Anyway that was a lot of blustering about just to get to the point now where I can say: This all is extremely incomplete/unexhaustive, and of questionable real practical use to anyone as a guide to actually making up new names for a sort of anime/manga type setting. This really turned out to be less of a guide and more like a laundry list of just loosely adjoined/adjacent observations: Less a guide to bowling and more just a pair of bumpers to put in the gutters to help guide otherwise still utterly untrained attempts at success. It's as much as I can really muster in this regard.

[j0kers-light]

Hi, Chaos! This request is kinda specific, but you can make it more general if you want. Let's say the reader wants to dye her hair blue (or any color, but I like blue💙) She doesn't want to tell J though, she wants to surprise him and see his reaction. (Positive, negative, "Hmm... such a beautiful color on ya, sweet girl. It, ah, suits you" or something to that effect). I'm not really sure, but I'm very curious what could be done with a reader who (with no experience and lots of nerves) decides to get her hair dyed and then J reacts. Plus, I'm curious of your take on this. I hope you have a good day!

Hello my beloved @alittlesmartcookie !! 💙✨

Blue Is the Warmest Color (hehe wink)

This one is a personal fav since my hair is currently blue and also because blue is my favorite color followed immediately by black. So I hope you enjoy and gather the courage to dye your hair!!!

Image credit

You have absolutely no idea what possessed you to travel to the beauty supply story and buy bottles of bleach and arctic fox.

It originated from a lazy night in, a random spurt of boldness or maybe pure irrational thought, plus the fact that J wasn't around to tell you it was a bad idea.

He'd been gone for the entire week-- out of town doing who knows what, leaving you unsupervised.

You were craving something new and feeling reckless and what better way to get both desires out of your system than with a new look?

You could always cut it if you didn't like it.... 👀

You already experimented with bangs (mind you it was DIY and you were absolutely petrified it would look terrible) Brad Mondo would be so proud!

You look phenomenal with bangs but you never dabbled with color before.

You thought it was impossible with your hair type. What if you damaged your curl pattern or messed it up forever?

Smart Y/n would've done extensive research before applying bleach, but you were feeling reckless and not thinking straight. YOLO?

The store clerk gave you some tips on how to dye your tips and sent you on your way with the necessary tools to get the job done.

You decided to start out small and just dye the ends of your hair and work from there if you ended up hating it.

You weren't ready for a full head dye job. You weren't that bold and you genuinely did not know if Joker would like it.

His opinion didn't matter since it was your hair but you still wanted him to like it!

Joker was your heart and if he didn't like your new look... nope you did not want to think negatively!

You donned plastic gloves, mixed the color and toner together, blasted some motivational music, and got to work.

You were not expecting the opacity and the payoff to be so...

"D__n, I look good."

You had finished dying and rinsing out the remaining color and set about styling your hair. You couldn't stop flipping your locs over your shoulder and staring into the mirror. You were most definitely feeling yourself.

Your electric blue hair tumbling down to your mid waist looked so good! Your hands were still shaking as you ran a hand through the loose curls to apply a finishing serum. Color treated products were now your hail Mary.

You can't believe you actually did it. Two hours ago you were sitting on your couch with virgin hair and now... you laughed out loud and quickly covered your mouth.

You did a small victory dance and didn't notice J walking into the bathroom. He heard you laughing to yourself and decided to see what all the fuss was about.

Your back was to him and his eyes widened at the vivid blue that was now your hair.

"Uh... doll?" he said.

You screamed as you turned around. You weren't expecting Joker for at least another day or so!!

You didn't have time to clean the stains in the shower or rid of the soiled towels, forever stained blue. No one warned you that hair dye well dyed everything.

"HI JOKER HOW WAS YOUR TRIP?!" You turned around and tried hiding your hair as if he couldn’t see it.

Too bad he could still see it in the mirror's reflection. You were so cute when you were nervous it made him smirk.

You couldn't get a good read on if Joker was upset or not but he walked up and spun you around by your shoulders. You heard his indifferent hum (the one that could be interpreted as good or bad) and waited for this verdict.

Your heart couldn't bear it if J hated your new look. He kept quiet as he played with the freshly dyed strands. The vivid color was a lot to take in. The suspense was driving you insane so you started to talk your way out of this just in case you were in trouble.

"I can cut off the blue if you hate it but I was bored and wanted to try something different and you really shouldn't leave me alone for long periods of time when I get like this you know I'm just as unpredictable as you and why aren't you—"

Joker made eye contact with you in the mirror. "Bunny. Slow. Down."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. "If you hate it then I can—"

Joker snorted and bent down to leave a big wet kiss on your cheek.

"Its uhhh diff-er-ent but I didn't say I haTe it. Hmm, such a pretty shade of blue an' especially on you sweet girl. It ah.. suits ya."

He rested his chin on your shoulder and continued to admire you in the mirror. It took him a minute to get over the initial shock factor but the color was growing on him.

You were speechless. He liked it!

"You.. you like it?" Your face cracked into a smile. Joker hummed and nuzzled his nose into your neck. It made you break out in giggles.

You were so nervous about him hating it, you didn't calculate the possibility of him liking it.

You spun around to give Joker a hug. He caught you with a roll of his eyes. He could tell you were nervous about his opinion but he would still love you if you decided to go blonde or even shave your head.

No matter what style you chose, you would still be his girl, his Bunny.

He was more concerned about being away from his sweet girl. A week was far too long and he wondered what else you got into during his absence. Hopefully you behaved yourself.

"Oh, I accidentally stained the shower by the way." You mentioned.

You said it so casually, Joker didn't register it at first but then his eyes snapped open and darted over to the shower. He could see the splattered walls from across the room.

On second thought Joker was never leaving you alone again. Who was gonna clean that?!

[sio-writes]

Blood and Bourbon - Chapter 1

<<Prologue

Summary: Elliot finally feels like he's ready for a new chapter in his life, he's moved in with his immortal partner and runs a successful vampire aid clinic, it finally feel like life is giving him a break. But not all good things stay, as Elliot's past catches up to him and threatens to destroy everything he's worked for in a shower of blood.

Tags: discussion of (fantasy) medical practices including the consumption of blood (They are vampires after all!) and

Read it here, or on AO3!

Lifeline Specialized Vampire Clinic is a two-story stone building in the Medical District of downtown Braedon. It only opened for business a few years ago, but specialized vampiric clinics are hard to come by, even in the most progressive of cities, so the center is full nearly every hour of every day. It specializes in early- and late-term transitions and post-transformation lifestyle management, with several group therapies staggered throughout the day to help patients find a sense of community.

So the sight of a young woman being wheeled in on a gurney from the hospital is a common occurrence, even at two in the morning. Elliot is used to it, and he filled the sight into his brain for later. At the moment he has a list of things to do once he's finished his rounds in the inpatient wing upstairs. There's group therapy at 4:30, another set of rounds, and once that's over he has to chip away at the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He's finishing the rounds upstairs, thankfully everything went on schedule, when he's stopped by Head Nurse Marcy. She pulls him aside in the stairway down to the outpatient division. "I know you have group, but I need you to see our new patient. She's just started to turn, and her parents are very adamant about speaking to an 'actual doctor'."

Marcy slaps a manila folder on his chest, and Elliot hums, thinking. "Is Dr. Henrickson not available?"

She shakes her head of fiery red curls. "He's running the other group session, and Deb isn't in until seven."

Elliot curses under his breath, causing Marcy to smile. She likes seeing him break professionalism.

Elliot skims the patient's profile, taking note of her age: 17. Elliot supresses a groan. He hates talking to parents of young vampires. It's always tears and angry accusations and, if he's lucky, something will get thrown at him. He still needs to make sure both the parents and their child have the information they need, but it's his least favorite part of running the clinic.

"You run the 4:30 group then," he says to Marcy.

"Yes sir," she gives him a lazy salute before walking off. "She's in 114!"

***

Elliot's barely in the door before the father inside scoffs and crosses his arms. "Are you an actual doctor?" he asks. He's got combed-back, dirty blonde hair, and he's wearing a pressed bowling shirt and golf shorts. Next to him is, presumably, his wife, with bleached blonde hair and a bright, patterned dress that ends at the knees. She's sniffing into a napkin that looks like it's seen better days. On the bed is a young woman with short brown hair, wearing torn cargo shorts and an equally torn tank top. She's so young, and Elliot's heart breaks. Her chart had said she was a minor, but Elliot will never get used to seeing someone so young here.

When humans are turned into vampires, the body stops aging. Elliot's always going to be 32, Marcy will always be 25, and this young woman, Margaret MacKenzie, will forever be 17. Those born with vampiric blood age slower depending on the ratio, too. Vampiric births are rare, they're difficult to bring to term, but for the few that happen each year, the aging rate can vary wildly. Elliot saw by Margaret's chart that she was born human, not a drop of vampire blood in her lineage.

Elliot nods at the father, maintaining his professionalism. "Yes, I'm the head doctor as well as the owner of the clinic. Your daughter Margaret--"

"Maggie," the wife says, her voice thick with emotion. "Her name is Maggie."

"Maggie," he corrects. "Is in the final stages of vampiric transformation. She'll need to be admitted to the clinic for a few weeks until she stabilizes." He checks his chart. "There doesn't seem to be any pressing issues like injury, thankfully."

"Thankfully?!" the father snaps. "She's turning into a monster!"

Mrs. MacKenzie chokes back a niose before bursting into tears. Mr. MacKenzie frowns at Elliot like it was he who bit his daughter. "Will she even survive?"

"Her vitals are stabilizing and her readouts look good," Elliot says. "She's made it through the worst of the change, and the longer she rests, the higher her chances are." He skims the report again, taking notice of a specific note in the margins. "She was a runaway?"

Mrs. MacKenzie sniffs like she's trying to collect herself, but she falls into tears again, and Mr. MacKenzie speaks for her. "She ran away about three months ago. Cops told us she probably got picked up by a trafficking scheme."

Elliot checks the notes of the report. Nothing else about that. "Was there a reason she left?"

"What're you implying, you--"

"Mr. MacKenzie, I'm only trying to get the facts--"

Mrs. MacKenzie clears her throat. "She's been seeing this…asshole. A creep, and a bad influence for my daughter. He was into some kind of cult and we tried to tell her that he was a lost cause, but she didn't listen, she didn't want anything to do with us. She left on a Saturday, and came back sick and with a mark on her back."

Elliot frowns. That wasn't on the report, either. "A mark?"

"On her shoulder," Mr. MacKenzie says. "Three triangles interlocked. We thought it was a tattoo at first, but it's a brand." He spits out the word with disgust, and Elliot is inclined to agree.

Vampiric cults are a dangerous problem. There's as many organizations as there are vampires in the world, and they all have their own calling card, a symbol of the house their leader hails from. They steal humans right off the street and indoctrinate them, churn them through the cult's system until they're obedient enough to take the transformation without complaint. Elliot has a brand on his inner arm that itches whenever he talks about matters like these.

Three triangles, though, he's not familiar with. Anxiety sparks underneath Elliot's skin. He should know. It's part of his job, protecting those who call for his help.

"I don't know the exact group, but I'll look into it." He makes a note on Maggie's chart to check the symbol once she's moved to her room. Elliot flips the pages on his clipboard until he sees the pamphlets stored in the back and hands them to Mr. MacKenzie. "For now, I'll give you the information I do have. Maggie's vampirism will be unique to her, but there are some ground rules. She can't have solid foods, only liquids from now on. She'll likely be craving blood frequently once she wakes up, and it's completely normal. You'll see in that second pamphlet-- yes that one, the amount of blood she'll need to sustain her every day, and I'll tell you now that these are just the minimum values, there's no maximum. Direct sunlight is out, as is indirect sunlight, such as through a tinted window or shade, until she hits the one year mark."

"Oh god!" Mrs. MacKenzie cries out. Mr. MacKenzie rests a gentle hand on her shoulder, comforting her as she cries. "She loved the sun, she loved the beach so much. She won't be able to go ever again?" And before Elliot can answer, she breaks down into sobs again.

"After a year," he continues as gently as possible, "Maggie will be able to handle indirect sunlight, including shaded areas. So, after a year, she'll still be able to go, just cover up and bring an umbrella."

His words seem to calm Mrs.MacKenzie, at least, they stop the tears. Elliot continues, "Blood management is the most crucial at this point time. The banks have a program to provide you with your first year's supply. She'll need to stay away from any pets for at least the next four weeks, which won't be a problem if you decide to admit her here."

Mr. MacKenzie cuts in, "Will the cult come after her?"

"Once I find out which group is associated with that symbol, I'll tell you everything I know." Hopefully this cult is a smaller one, and Elliot's only seen their sigil as graffiti somewhere in the city. "We have security protocols in place as well, the upper floor where she'll be staying is under 24/7 surveillance, and only approved guests are allowed, such as you two and anyone you approve."

Elliot goes through the rest of the pamphlets with the MacKenzies, including the paperwork to admit Maggie to the clinic. He tells them her eyes will change color, and her body will be slow to react at first. Elliot answers their questions as best he can, but Mrs. MacKenzie breaks back down into tears after he reiterated Maggie can only drink liquids. By the time Elliot gets Maggie upstairs, the nurses get her IV hooked up, and he answers many, many more questions, it's nearly 8am.

The MacKenzies are yawning by the time Elliot shuts the door, and he doesn't blame them. It's nearly seven the morning, he's supposed to be home. Mathias should be waking up right about now, he should be there to greet him.

He walks into the covered garage and starts up his beat-up Ford sedan, anxiety thrumming behind his eyelids, making his fingers twitch. He's anxious all the way home, wondering how such a young girl escaped this mystery cult, and who was coming after her.

***

Elliot nearly drives to his old apartment, swerving away from the exit at the last minute and scattering his thoughts like loose playing cards. He'd been so distracted by that symbol and it's origins he nearly forgot to take the right exit.

No, he's living with Mathias now, in his fixer-upper two story that Mathias has owned since 1982. It doesn't feel real, like it's too good to be true. It's been a little fast, but Elliot's trying to take it all in stride.

Mathias is in the kitchen cooking breakfast when Elliot opens the door. "Hi-i-i! Welcome home!"

Elliot's home. It's strange to think of the house he's only been in for a few weeks as home. Strange, but not unwelcome, especially with Mathias to come home to each morning. He's seen Mathias off to work nearly every morning since he moved in, it's a nice ritual that Elliot is glad he didn't miss. He can't eat, but the house smells of waffles and syrup and it makes his mouth water. "Smells good. Long day?"

Mathias usually just grabs his coffee and rushes out to make his nine o'clock class time, only taking the time to cook when he anticipates a day without snacks. Immortals have a higher daily calorie requirement than the average human.

"Midterms today," Mathias replies. Elliot walks through the kitchen and into the breakfast nook. Mathias has laid out more than waffles, he's also got bacon, eggs, and sliced strawberries set out on the dining table.

"You've got quite the spread, here," Elliot comments, sipping from a dangerously full glass of orange juice. No pulp, perfect. Mathias comes up behind him holding a plate of pancakes that smell divine. The flour and sugar and mountain of dishes tell Elliot that Mathias made them from scratch, too. He kisses Elliot gently on the cheek as steps around into the nook. Elliot takes his place opposite Mathias and watches as he eats.

Mathias' eyes are solid gold, bright like the sun, irises marked with a pale brown ring, and if Elliot were to shut off all the lights, that set would be glowing at him like a cat. The eyes of an Immortal. It's an intense stare, to say the least. Mathias catches glances from him, and his flirtatious stare makes Elliot smile behind his hand.

After a few minutes, Mathias says around a mouth full of pancakes and strawberries, "You were late this morning. Everything okay? Busy day?"

Elliot rests his chin in one hand and tries to summarize his night. "A girl came in from the hospital today with two very concerned parents. Which makes sense! She was a runaway, and appeared in the middle of turning. She was out cold."

"Yeesh," Mathias says sympathetically. "The parents didn't let you get any work done?"

"After about a thousand questions, which again make sense when your only child is turning into a vampire."

"Mm, I see." Mathias hums around another bite of pancakes. "Do you think they'll try to reverse it?"

"It was too late in the change." In truth, Elliot would have liked if they'd come in a day earlier, that would've been the last possible second to reverse her turning. But he's not a magician, as he'd told Mr. MacKenzie outside his daughter's room.

In the time it took Elliot to drive home and speak to Mathias, his feelings have changed from anxious to something else. He feels melancholy about the whole thing. Not quite sad, not quite angry, but both, diluted within the slurry of other things that weigh down on his conscious. He tries to keep work away from home, but when cases like Maggie become personal, it's hard to let things go.

The feeling of deja vu hadn't left him since speaking to the MacKenzies. He's seen that symbol somewhere, somewhere important. It has to be in Mathias' books. If it's not, he can try and wrangle his ancient laptop to scour the internet.

After Mathias kisses him goodbye, Elliot decides to spend the next few hours going through boxes of books piled nearly to the ceiling of the library. It's a smaller room, probably meant to be used as a den that the two of them built in-wall bookshelves. Some books are his, but most belong to Mathias and he has even more in his office at the university.

They'd moved in together only a few weeks ago, and there's so much left to unpack. But Elliot is on a mission to find that symbol, and Mathias was briefly interested in occult histories and bought several tomes on the subject. If any books have that symbol, it'll be those.

First he finds a large textbook on the history of the occult in modern society. There's a lot on tarot readings, crystals, and Elliot reads Mathias' tiny, slanting script about the trip he'd taken in 1907 to the French Quarter and had his palm read. There's no interlocking triangles in the first book. The next two are unmarked, Mathias must not have gotten to them yet, and also offer no help by way of the symbol.

The other books he pulls seem promising. He finds a series of ancient organizations, modern reiterations, and speculation on future activities. It's another hour of rooting through books, finding nothing, then putting them on the shelves. Elliot goes from sitting to laying on his back, and his eyelids grow heavy. Another hour of fruitless searching, and Elliot is fighting sleep with every paragraph and soon, he falls asleep right in the library.

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

“I wish you could see the way I see you” with topper please! :)

sweetsunflowerkisses valentine's celebration

pairing: topper thornton x reader

prompt: #12: "I wish you could see the way I see you"

genre: fluff, mild angst

warnings: none really? just mentions of alcohol and some super light angst

word count: 1737

(a/n): I loved writing this but I definitely went way over what I thought it was gonna be lol hope you enjoy my dear anon!

Lazy beach afternoons with Topper were your favourite way to spend your days, and having been his best friend for four years, and having spent almost everyday with him for the past two, lazy beach afternoons were quite a common occurrence.

Right now he was out on the water while you stayed behind reading Pride and Prejudice. From your place in the sand you could see him riding a wave. You smiled as you watched, thinking about how content he always looked when surfing. After finishing riding out the wave he decided he’d had enough for the day and jogged up to you, surfboard in hand, smiling at you as he shook the water from his bleach blonde hair.

“Top!!” You cried “You’re getting water all over me!”

Topper simply laughed, sitting on the edge of your towel, “It’s just a little water Y/N, it can’t hurt you.”

You giggled rolling your eyes as you smacked the top of his toned arm with your book. “No but it can hurt the wonderful writings of Mrs. Jane Austen.”

“Y’know you carry that thing everywhere, I’m starting to think you love it more than me.” Topper said, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“And what if I did love it more than you, Top?” You said, a similar grin pulling at the corner of your own lips.

Topper fell back dramatically, collapsing on top of your lap. “I’d say that I’m wounded, but I won't since I know it’s not true, considering I am your best and only friend.”

“You are not my only friend Top. You just can’t bear to be away from my beautiful face for long so I never hang out with anyone but you.” You smiled, turning and putting your book in your tote.

It was you turning that caused you to miss the completely smitten look on Topper’s face. The blonde kook was honestly head over heels for you, he had been for some time before Sarah he thinks, yet somehow, against what seemed like all odds, you never noticed, despite all the incredibly obvious hints he had dropped. Of course, over the past couple of months, Topper had begun to wonder if you had noticed his advances these past two years and just ignored it for the sake of your friendship with him and so he had started backing down on the flirting recently.

“You’re still coming to Kelce’s party later tonight with me right?” Topper asked, pulling your attention back to the boy on your lap.

“Of course Top, gotta play wingman for you, Lord knows Rafe and Kelce suck at it. Plus you haven’t dated in like- two years! It's really time for you to get back out there bubs.” You laughed, trying desperately not to let the slight bitterness you felt slip through the cracks.

You had been in love with Topper Thornton since the summer that Sarah broke up with him, almost two years ago now. It was spending everyday with him, comforting him over the loss of Sarah that really made you realise it. But over the course of the past two years you forced yourself to never act on it, quite convinced that he only saw you as a friend. You honestly couldn’t risk losing him over some crush, and so, you resigned yourself to forever playing the part of the faithful girl best friend.

This was why a few short hours later you found yourself packed into Kelce’s living room in a short blue dress with a red solo cup in hand. You did your best to move through the crowd, peeking up over shoulders and looking through gaps to try and find Topper and your other friends in the crowd.

Luckily Rafe, being the 6 foot menace that he was, found you first, wrapping his hand around the top of your arm and dragging you through the crowd to the kitchen. You sighed, placing your cup in the trash and tugging the hem of your dress down slightly, before turning to the dirty blonde that had rescued you from the crowd.

“Thanks for that Rafe! Couldn’t find you or Top or Kelce and I was starting to get nervous.”

Rafe simply nodded, grabbing another solo cup from the bag on the counter and filling it from the Keg beside it. “Yeah no problem Kid. You know me and the boys will always look out for you.” You smiled, turning to get another drink yourself, missing Rafe mumble “Topper especially, the lovesick fool.”

You stayed with Rafe in the kitchen, waiting for Top and Kelce to show for a few more minutes before the heat of all the bodies in the house became too much.

“If you see Topper, tell him I'm outside!” You shouted to Rafe over the sound of thumping music and loud people. He nodded giving you a thumbs up as you made your way through the crowd once more.

It was on your way to the front door when you finally saw Topper for the first time that night. He was standing in the hallway next to the front door, seemingly engrossed in some conversation with a blonde kook that you were pretty sure was in your graduating class but whose name you couldn’t remember for the life of you.

You halted for a moment, taking in the sight for a moment, feeling your heart shatter in your chest. You shook your head slightly and downed what was left of your beer, knowing you would need it to be able to make it through that door.

When the cool air of the night hit your skin you let out a small shaky breath. Somehow, you had made it past Topper and the blonde without him noticing, or so you believed. You made your way down Kelce’s very crowded driveway, stopping only once you saw your beloved red jeep.

You clambered up onto the hood, resting your back on your windshield and looking up at the night sky. You became lost in thought rather quickly, remembering all the times that you and Topper had gone stargazing, nights when neither of you could sleep and instead sought out comfort in the other.

“Y/N?” Topper’s voice broke through the bubble of thought you had created around yourself, startling you.

“Jesus Top!” You laughed, trying to erase all evidence that you were feeling anything but happy “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Are you ok? You looked a little lost in thought there.”

“You laughed, throwing your legs over the side of the hood and sliding off of it “Oh yeah, you know how parties can get, just needed a break.”

Topper tilted his head lightly, an unreadable expression etched into his face. “Was it a guy? Do I need to go talk to someone?” He asked, brow furrowed and voice laced with an odd combination of concern and anger.

You giggled at the boy’s eagerness to defend you, “No it wasn’t anything like that, it was just hot and loud and crowded.”

Topper let out a soft oh, a small smile gracing his features as he pulled you in for a light hug. “Glad it wasn’t that, let me know if anything like that does happen though, yeah? No one messes with my girl.”

You backed up slightly, looking into Topper’s icy blue eyes, “Your girl?” you asked playfully.

Topper simply rolled his eyes, moving his hand to interlock with yours.

“Of course I’d come to you dummy, I always do.” You said smiling, the feelings of bitterness towards the earlier situation beginning to dissipate as you talked with the bleach blonde, of course right as you noticed those feelings leaving you were reminded of the fact that he left the girl inside. “You should get back inside, I wouldn’t want you to waste your chance with that blonde girl, she looked pretty into you there bud.”

Topper opened his mouth slightly, before closing it again and frowning. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in his system or the fact that he couldn’t take being in the friendzone anymore, but the words ended up tumbling out of his mouth.

“Why should I go back to her? I don’t want her.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, jaw falling open lightly.

“I want you.” He continued, pulling your interlocked hands to his chest, cupping your jaw lightly with his open hand.

“You don’t mean that Top.” You said with a sad smile, trying to gently pull away from his grip, but he didn’t allow it.

“I’m serious Y/N.”

“Why?” You asked, “Why me? She’s ten times prettier and likely far more interesting than me.”

“She’s definitely not. I want you, Y/N. You, who is gorgeous and kind and funny and absolutely obsessed with your books and your shows. You, who has been here for every breakdown and moment of weakness, and still stood by me no matter what I said or did. God I just-” He paused for a moment letting go of your face to run a hand through his frosted tips. “I wish you could see the way I see you. You are everything to me, and even if you don’t feel the same Y/N, I just needed you to know.”

Topper was panting now, the short rant having taken the air from his lungs, yet he found himself completely refreshed the second you smashed your lips to his, his free hand moving down from your jaw to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, wanting to feel, and hold, and claim every inch of you after having held back for so long.

When you broke apart he smiled, the biggest, goofiest grin of his life, completely content with life in that moment. “I love you Y/N. I have for a very long time.”

You chuckled softly, closing your eyes and pressing your head into his chest, “I love you too, I also, coincidentally, have for a while. I just always thought I was your best friend and nothing more.”

“I don’t know how you could think that,” He laughed, “You’ve always been more to me.” And with that the two of you met for another kiss, completely unaware of the two dumbasses who had witnessed the whole thing and were now silently, and drunkenly, cheering the two of you on.

[myelocin]

ten days, ten years | miya a.

Synopsis: This is the kind of real that’s yours and his. 

Genre: Fluff, Domestic | WC: 1500+

Characters: Miya Atsumu

A/N: this is a commisioned piece by @hvnlydmn <33

real estate - adam melchor

commissions

“So this is it,” said, with a voice signaling finality rather than a question.

Atsumu looks over the empty space of a house that was just in the market a few weeks ago, boxes stacked in the corners by the walls, and smiles. You peer at him from across the room, car keys in your hand while the set for the house are in his.

“This is it,” he says again, and when he peers at you, eyes making his message known before words could even attempt to do it justice, you soften.

There’s a lot of definitions that come with describing what’s real, but yours comes along looking like this.  

Real refers to Miya Atsumu and a history that’s you, and him. It’s the moments away from the limelight—his limelight—where he snorts at a couple jokes a little louder than how his manager would have appreciated. The tiny scribbles on the corner of the receipt; starting out as just a line before he’d eventually spiral and connect circles to dots, and little swirls until he’s covered half of the paper’s surface. It’s watching him on the screen, hair slicked up, and parted in just the right way, his control like it’s practically second nature, and his eyes as smooth as the words a person other than you would never be able to tell is practiced.

Because that’s who he is outside of here. (Outside of this.)

Practice interviews, the face on a billboard, and the child next door’s role model.

Real, on the other hand, is the present. Real is the face you wake up next to every morning, drool on the corner of his lips, where you still catch yourself thinking that you could never love anyone more than you do him. The black roots of his hair that grow out much faster than yours, and the way he leans in close to let you clip back his bangs that get in the way of his eyes natural.

It’s him blinking at you; hazel eyes like two pools of chocolate in any kind of lighting, the freckles on his cheeks a sight only you get to see because of how faint they are from a far. The scar on his cheek that you know the story of, healed and barely there; though you still make it a habit to leave kiss on its surface just because.

Real, is defined as the arguments that come and go; sometimes big, sometimes small, but always resolved long before the sun would set. Backs that are never turned from each other when the time came to sleep, because he knows sleep would never find you well unless his forehead was pressed against yours.

Real, like the keys on his hand and the wood floors of what you both would eventually call your forever home. The proof of the years that’s passed etched into the photographs within the first few pages of an album, while the spaces after it are left blank for the purpose of storing the memories of the years that are sure to come.

For now it’s just Atsumu’s fluffy slippers next to yours, and one framed photo of the two of you hung lopsided by the door because he insisted on hanging it up as soon as he entered, but it fits. Little by little the house that was just on the market a few weeks ago is beginning to feel like home.

“So this is it,” you say this time, because it truly is.

You cross the room and settle with standing beside him, his shoulder beside yours, in his eyes a hello. Atsumu smiles at you, then at the lopsided frame before he drops the keys on the makeshift bowl he found in the back of his car. He smirked at his discovery, and to be fair you did too—even though you knew it was something he swiped from his brother’s restaurant just a few days ago.

But it fits right in, you think.

A little black bowl with the familiar logo inked on the side, placed on top of one of the boxes that were sealed shut from the place it left with the intention to be opened within the walls of a new home. A forever home.

Something in his heart bursts at the realizations that something as little as opening boxes and hanging picture frames is what turns a house into a home.

“Do you see it?” he asks you in a sudden, his voice tender.

You hum out the voice of your curiosity, quirking an eyebrow in his direction as you turn to face him.

“See, it?” you question, when Atsumu decides to keep his silence.

He turns to you, flashing you a quick grin before he pads to the center of the room, hands on his waist as he continues to stare at the framed photograph that still is hanging crooked on the wall. But it fits, the voice in your head says, and in a way you suppose that it really does.

Imperfections within a love that feels perfect. Atsumu’s black roots coming in again, and the tag of his shirt poking out from his back. Your keychain with the little pizza man missing half an arm, but you keep it anyway because it was Atsumu’s first gift to you all those years ago. His pants fitting him just right, but the zipper of his fly halfway opened.

You snicker when he groans at you pointing it out, but he thinks that the sound of your laughter makes this house feel even more like home.

“I really see it, Ains,” he tells you again after a moment shared in laughter. The happiness that trails from it lingers, like it’s always done, and the word forever feels even more real.

He holds his hand out for you to take when you walk towards him, feet bare under the cool wooden floors, and he’s smiling. Atsumu’s more than in love, and he’s smiling because your hand snug against his feels like that puzzle piece that finally pieces the whole picture together.

You look at him, bathing in the comfort of the silence plus his few words; just the sounds of his breathing and the life that continues to move outside sounding like music instead of noise.

Atsumu pulls you towards him, spins you in the way that has you laughing at the silliness of it all, before he pulls you back again, your back to his chest, his chin on your shoulder. The crooked frame stares back at you, the two faces captured within it smiling, so you do the same.

“I see us here,” he begins.

“Ten days, and the boxes will be half emptied out. The couch will probably come in and maybe some more furniture, but we’ll have somewhere to sit,” he continues, and so the smile on your face remains.

“Ten months and the plant that Samu gave us will probably be dead,” he laughs, which prompts you into doing the same, your hands quick to give his arm that’s locked around your waist a little squeeze.

“That’s on you if you don’t water it,” you snort, craning your neck to face him and reaching up to pinch his cheek.

He rolls his eyes, gives you a laugh that sounds like all the sounds of love—of real love, before spins you again, first repositioning your hands so they rest on his shoulder while his settle on the dip of your waist.

“Then ten years later, I see little versions of me running around here,” Atsumu laughs, his eyes crinkling.

“Why versions of you?” you rebut with a laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through the strands of bleach blonde and black on the back of his head. “Why not me?”

Atsumu pokes out his tongue, puffing his chest out as he says, “Obviously me, because my better genes are superior.”

In exaggerated dramatics, you sigh, thumb reaching out to rub at the skin on his nape. He leans in, as if it’s a reflex, and you smile at the way everything just slides into place with each other.

“The Miya genes really are good right?” you sigh. “Should have gotten with Samu though,” you continue, looking away with an exaggerated huff. “He always was the cuter twin.”

Atsumu makes a show of pinching your sides, though only soft enough just to kick start a laughing fit. “Oi.”

You poke his cheek, leaning up then forward to press a kiss on the tips of his nose. “I see us too,” you say.”

“But it’s more like I see you every day. I see you leaving a sock there, and throwing your underwear three feet away from the laundry basket, and your bajillion cups of pudding in the fridge.”

Atsumu smiles, because he knows that love can be this too.

“I see us tonight,” he says. “Probably sitting on the floor because the furniture’s not here yet, and you’ll be picking out the vegetables in the pizza and putting it on my plate instead.”

“It wouldn’t happen if you just got the damn meat lover’s special,” you comment with a laugh.

“But it still works right?” He asks, pinching yours sides again. “We always have a way of working out right?”

You think about the road the both of you walked to on your own before you got here. The movie nights under the blankets, where if anything it was just you accompanying him so he could watch replays before a game. Atsumu’s laughter that booms before it echoes as if it’s screamed, then placed in contrast next to how he loves in silence, and gentleness.

“We always work, Tsumu,” you reassure. “That’s why we’re here now.”

“—because we’ll still be here ten years later,” he finishes for you, and you smile.

You suppose you can’t disagree with that; more than anyone—you see your world ten years later with him too.

[zephfair]

all right, i must know: "halloween tentacles"

Ehehe 😏😏😏

Thanks for asking. I hope this doesn't scar you.

I started it years ago when I was thinking about tropes I'd never written and thought about tentacle smut (like you do🙄). I wondered if I could even attempt it, but then I was hit by an actual idea. There was a Buffy episode where everyone became their Halloween costumes for better or worse, and I thought, what if the Bleach gang were having a Halloween party and that happened. And a certain substitute shinigami was wearing part of a homemade octopus costume ... and things happened with a certain blue-haired party guest ... But frankly, I haven't written good smut in years so I don't know if there's any point finishing that part. If I just fade to black, all that's left is crack. It's such a ridiculous idea that I just want to write it and get it out of my mind (and WIPs folder) forever.😂

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever. 

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong.  You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners. 

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment.  Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

 content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

[nsk96]

This mf really waited for my mom to prepare dinner for him yesterday.

Long-story short, my dad had shoulder surgery a couple months ago and so can’t use his right arm. He has shown that he can use his other arm really well and is capable of holding things with his right hand.

As expected, my mom came back home late from her dentist appointment, and so had to make up hours, so instead of working until 5pm, she worked until 8pm. I’m in my room studying and the only things I came out for was to do my laundry (which takes forever because it was my school clothes which I put in special laundry bags to wash, and hang to dry instead of putting in the dryer) and grab a snack. I did not eat dinner

My dad literally waited until my mom finished work, for her to get him dinner…from the fridge. He’s more than capable of getting his own food from the fridge (which he has done many times already for breakfast and lunch while my mom is at work). He’d rather sit on his ass and watch tv or porn on his phone, and then pester my mom who’s had a long-ass day and is in pain from her teeth, to get him food. And my mom has to do it or he’ll complain to his family and talk shit about her (he does that anyway so idk why she cares except for in the case of a divorce)

And you should have heard how rude he got with my mom a few days ago when she asked him to help upkeep the toilet, because the toilet was in a mess. All she asked is that he pour a little bleach into the toilet bowl, once in a while. He got angry and said “how am I supposed to do that with one arm?” (When it’s literally just a small squirt bottle. My mom made this shit so easy and he still can’t even do that?). Then he said “tell [Nadi] that too”. That shit pissed me off so much because I’m the one that’s been doing it. I only didn’t get the chance to do it that week because I had exams and started my clinical rotation at the community pharmacy. Like he seriously doesn’t know how the chores are getting done and he doesn’t care as long as he’s not the one that has to do them right?

It’s f**king hilarious how much he claims he can’t do, when all this time he’s been saying he’s going to make pancakes. So you can make pancakes, an activity that takes two hands, but you can’t take out your own food from the fridge nor pour bleach into the toilet, both being one-handed activities?

His weaponized incompetence never fails to make me feel even more disgusted by him. When the time comes to leave his ass, I hope my mom is actually ready to leave…because I sure am. Sometimes I still catch her making excuses for him when I say something harsh about him, even though she’s said over and over that she’s tired of his shit…I’m sorry mom, but he’s not the man you married. He hasn’t been the man you married for the past 32 years. He’s never gonna be. Stop thinking he’ll change.

[thequeenindisguise]

SOMEWHERE IN NEVERLAND (ICHIRUKI AU)

Here it is! My first and probably last entry for Ichiruki Month 2021... to be more specific, it’s for Day 11 with the prompt “What do you dream of?”  

I think the last time I participated was like, what? Five years ago? Yikes. I didn’t even improve haha and okay, I know somewhere, sometime ago, someone has already done this AU though. And this was based off the amazing work of jon-lock from deviant art so this would look like crap next to his work. I mean I suck at coloring and at a bunch of other things, I know! But I just really felt like doing this. 

I was actually thinking of writing a fic about it, but if I’m the one doing it, it’s probably going to be multi-chaptered and I just can’t commit to that. So if you know of any fics or fanart with the same theme, hope you can link them to me 😊 I’d really love to dive myself in them.

But despite saying that, it didn’t stop me from writing this silly one-shot called Somewhere In Neverland feel free to read and review there, if you have the time.

And now, if you read through all that, thank you so much for your time! Be safe, hope you enjoy the rest of your day and the rest of Ichiruki Month :D

And now for some more story time, you don’t need to read through this. It will be just me sharing some personal stuff… So feel free to move on with your life without this. Seriously. You can stop here if you just accidentally pressed the keep reading button, you are forgiven 😊

Oh… you’re still reading? Okay, then. So I’ve been really depressed lately, more on because my current job sucks, I just lost the opportunity to get my dream job, the pandemic’s still on-going and I just feel like nothing’s really going on with my life (T.T) I’m broke AF, it’s hard to fall asleep, my face is all pimply, I’ve gained a lot of weight and basically, this is just a low point for me. 

Okay, I know that there are other people with much bigger problems than what I’m going through right now so I just try to deal with it on my own. I made a fanart, just to feel like I’m focusing on something and I actually finished the thing just to ease my mind of my worries. It was kinda therapeutic and I kind of like the feeling of actually accomplishing something. And I even mustered up the courage to join the discord server for IR. My anti-social ass was proud of that. I was even thinking of posting this fanart there just to show everyone that I really appreciate them for welcoming me but at the last minute I chickened out but ended up posting it here? I don’t know either. I’m weird like that. Even though everyone there seemed really fun and supportive, I just… didn’t want to ruin the vibe with my negative aura (the latest chapter was enough to trigger everyone. Didn’t wanna add to that).

Anyway, thinking about these past horrible days and listening to some really sad songs, because why not add to the drama? I was listening to one song about running away to “Neverland” and it got me thinking wouldn’t it be great if I were to just stay a kid forever? That way I wouldn’t have to deal with the pressures of adulthood. Then I thought about Wendy from Neverland and somehow I remembered that on that 2nd Disney movie, she grew up. And to confirm it, I just had to search for that clip on youtube. And yes, it was the part where Peter saw her as an adult and oh god, I kid you not, I started bawling. One, because I didn’t realize that I ship them… oops… and I wondered if Wendy, even as an adult, ever thought of what it’d be like if she had stayed in Neverland. Then I also found this deleted scene from the live action movie which showed Peter reuniting with her, hoping to take her back but he couldn’t anymore because she’s all grown up, and he was so heartbroken by it but then she introduces him to her daughter, with who he takes with him (weird? Maybe that was why it was deleted haha).

And so, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and as always I ended up thinking about Bleach and IR because of the new chapter and all (which wasn’t released yet back then). And I wondered what would it be like if they were in Peter pan and Wendy’s shoes—but first off, I didn’t think Ichigo would fit the role of not growing up because I don’t know, despite being a teen, he looked matured and kinda scary? Kids would never go with him. He’ll be better as the Grinch of Christmas because kids would probably feel like they’ll be bullied even though he’s a nice guy. And so I realize, oh it’s better if we switch them up and make Rukia Peter Pan because she’d be looking young forever while Ichigo grows old (which was what I was expecting from Bleach but somehow they all seem to be aging at the same time now, with all the marriages and the making babies or whatever) And to parallel the manga I realized that maybe having Ichigo live his life (in the world of the living) and have a family would probably be something that Rukia would be really proud of and would be happy to see (Okay, hold up. Just to be clear, I still don’t like the ending for so many other reasons but if it had to go down with Ichigo making a family WITHOUT Rukia then this better be the damn reason for it and that’s to protect him by making him live a normal and safe life before they reunite again in SS. I rest my case.).

And so I connect all this to Day 11 – What do you dream of? Because, well, since the prompt really is up to interpretation… it can be like a “dream” in life? Or just maybe a dream at night? Anyway, this is what I dreamt of literally. Again, I’ve been thinking about it all the time lately  so I had to let it out. And of course, in relation to IR and in this AU setting, they probably dream of being together too (both in life and at night haha) <3

And that’s about it. I just want to leave this long message here so that when the time comes that I feel so much better, I’ll know what I was going through behind this not-so-good-but-a-little-better-than-my-other-works-so-far fanart and that one-shot that I tried my best to write despite my writing skills being very rusty, and know that it will be alright someday and that I’ll probably get through it whatever it was that I’m going through at this moment.

If you’ve reached until the end then wow. Bless your kind soul really and hope you have a great dinner and of course, thank you for lending me your ears or eyes (since you had to read). I may not know you but I really, really appreciate your time 😊

[wtf-yoongi]

“I need one of those baths”

pairing | yoongi x reader

genre/warnings | literally how can giving a bath to yoongi have any warnings except for it’s 100% fluff and i’m 100% soft

words | 2,576

note | i had this idea and i’m sorry in advance oh man

Your head instinctively turns.

The TV is on. You’re sitting down with your legs close to your body when you hear a sharp noise coming from the door. You know it all too well – it’s Yoongi’s keychain hitting the wooden door with the many other keys he just has to carry around with him.

From the moment he walks through the door, you know it’s been one of those days. His hair is sticking to his forehead a little bit and he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even more so than usual.

It’s that time of the year again. Deadlines are almost here.

You know that not just because he casually mentioned it like it was nothing a few weeks ago, but also because of the way his shoulders don’t really fit into his usual posture and he seems to push every single body cell to just drag himself to the sofa and collapse next to you.

You notice there are little pen stains on his fingers that he couldn’t wash away.

“So I’m guessing it was a productive day at work,” you start slowly, waiting for an affirmative response. “It’s past 10 p.m.”

“I guess you could say that,” he says with his eyes closed, his voice small and calm despite looking like he just crossed the whole desert to come home. “I’m sorry for being so late, but there’s still some adjustments and…”

“How much time left now?”

“Ah, a couple more days, I guess… Until we have to send some things for them to hear.” Yoongi moves his body slightly, trying to make himself more comfortable. “I don’t wanna talk about that, I’m sick of talking about work.”

He laughs lightly at his own statement and opens his eyes, right hand looking for yours. When Yoongi finds it, he immediately intertwines your fingers and brings them closer to his chest.

“I need to ask you something, though.”

This guy has plans. You nod your head for him to go on.

“I need one of those baths,” he confesses in a very low voice and a small smile appears on his lips. He knows you know what he’s talking about.

“Wanna spend the bath card so early in the month?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. “Must be serious.”

“It is,” he agrees. “Very serious indeed. Literally, the whole next album depends on this.”

“I thought you said it was almost finished,” you scoff, turning your whole body in his direction.

“Yeah, but the finishing touches are like the icing on the cake, I can’t mess it up now or everything will be ruined.”

You both laugh lightly, almost as if you’re trying not to wake up someone sleeping right next to you.

“I’m so tired, and tense, and stressed out from work, I just need it now,” he tries to convince you, kissing your knuckles for better effect. 

Even if it is supposed to sound exaggerated, you know with a heavy heart that it is actually true. He’s just making fun of his own misery as he usually does. It’s a self-defense mechanism. 

“Come on, it’s my bath card, I can use it wherever I want.”

“Yeah, and a week after this you’ll forget you’ve used it already and ask for a bath again.”

Yeah, that has happened, like, a thousand times before.

“Can’t I just get an advance from the months I won’t be home?”

“You’re getting advances for as long as I can remember, how is that fair to me? I don’t get advances ever.”

“I’ll give you ten baths before going on tour, I promise,” he holds onto your hand a little bit tighter and smiles again. “Please, I just need it.”

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, faking an annoyance you both know it’s not there. You love giving him baths – it’s just one of those intimate things that no one knows about. It’s like waking up in the morning and lazily dragging yourself closer to him as he whines a little bit from wanting to sleep more and not be disturbed, but welcomes you in his arms anyway; or Yoongi brewing coffee and serving you a mug exactly as you like it even though he doesn’t and could never understand how you take your coffee with one and a half teaspoons of sugar (“it’s disgusting, you’re ruining it by trying to make it sweet”).

Without saying a word, you’re the first to move, reaching for the remote to turn the TV off and leave the sofa, dragging Yoongi by the hand he is already holding. When you look behind you, he’s still moving his feet like he doesn’t really want to move his feet at all, but at least he has a shy smile on his face – the smile of contained victory.

Upon entering the bathroom, you leave him for a moment to open the hot water tap on the bathtub and check the temperature until it becomes warm so can you can close drain. Meanwhile, Yoongi is slowly but surely moving his hands to reach for his toothbrush.

“You wanna wash your hair?” You ask casually, picking up the products from where they usually stay inside the shower. Looking over at Yoongi, he slowly nods, so you pick up his shampoo and conditioner too.

Looks like he’s going to fall asleep at any moment now.

You move over to him as he just finishes wiping his lips to get rid of the leftover toothpaste. He looks so soft and sleepy you just can’t resist leaving a kiss there when you get close enough to start stripping him out of his day clothes. Everything is so calm and natural it’s almost like you rehearsed it a thousand times – and you kind of actually did if you count the times this has happened in the past.

“If you fall asleep in the water, I’m gonna have to wake you up and you don’t like that,” you warn him with a smile, one he promptly, but lazily mirrors. “I don’t want you mad at me so you better keep yourself at least 10% awake.”

Yoongi nods slowly again while he helps you free his body of the ripped jeans. “I’ll do my very best.”

As soon as he’s in the water, you turn the tap to slow the flow. There’s a bath cup you bought for the only purpose of helping you give baths to Yoongi and that’s the first thing you reach for to aid you in bringing the warm water to his shoulders. He immediately drops his head in front of him and you can almost feel the tension starting to leave his body.

“Yeah, I really needed that,” he admits, taking a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t even shampoo your hair yet,” a small laugh leaves your lips and you lean in to kiss his left shoulder. “I’m sorry about work, I know it’s too much sometimes.”

“It’s part of the deal,” he simply says, and you finally pour enough water to wet his hair. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. How cliché is that?”

“Ninety seven percent cliché,” you agree, picking up some shampoo in your hands to start massaging it into his hair. “But it’s true.”

“How do you think my hair is holding up after being bleached yet again?” He suddenly asks, mocking the state of his own hair. It’s not even a joke anymore, it just needs a break.

“Definitely holding on for dear life,” you both laugh on queue. “Not as bad as last time, though, I think this new shampoo is helping with something.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel as bad.” Yoongi inhales deeply, really enjoying the moment. “I love it when you wash my hair, you do it better than anyone else.”

“This is the epitome of idol who doesn’t even know how to wash his hair anymore because other people do it for him,” you mock him, taking your soapy hand and touching his face with it. 

He turns to stare at you with the most unbelievable smile. “It was supposed to be a compliment, you know?” He moves his hand to his face to wipe it off. “You do everything better than anyone in the team… But I think my opinion is biased.”

“Oh, really?” You ask with an unsurprised voice.

“Yeah, because you sleep in my bed and there are things you do that no one else in our team does to me.”

“Well, good to know, I guess?” 

You smile and keep working on his hair for a few minutes before asking him to close his eyes so you can rinse it properly. Next, you apply the conditioner in silence, turn the tap off completely and move on to scrub his back with that grapefruit-scented thing he loves too much. You can feel him starting to lean forward a little bit.

“Hey, don’t sleep on me,” you try to get his attention and Yoongi soon scratches his eyes. “Just a few more minutes, huh?”

Yoongi slowly turns his head to look at you while you soak the sponge with more water. “Could this last forever?”

“Your fingertips would turn into a pudding and the water would become cold and you would have a sore throat. And all of that in less than 17 minutes,” you smile at him as he pouts. “Come on, wash the rest of your body while I do your back.”

Yoongi is not exactly satisfied with it, but he does as you instruct and moves his hand to reach for the body soap while you massage his shoulders. He isn’t lying, he is tense. You try your best to relieve some of it and all of a sudden he corrects his posture to crack his spine. 

He laughs at your look of horror. 

You absolutely hate it when he does that. It sounds like he is going to break into two completely separate pieces. 

“Ah, that felt nice,” he fully smiles now, knowing pretty well how you feel about that. 

You don’t open your mouth to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, you just move your hand to rinse the conditioner – and his shoulders in the process. Only a few minutes pass before you’re standing up again to grab a towel.

Opening your arms, you spread the towel to welcome him in. When he stands up, you immediately press the towel against his chest, then shoulders, then arms, only stopping when his still wet hands reach for your face. Yoongi leans in for a sweet and delicate kiss.

He doesn’t say anything – and, honestly, he doesn’t really have to. The way he holds your face in his hand protectively and looks into your eyes are probably worth hours upon hours of deep conversation. Nothing needs to be said anymore at this point, so he just moves his hands to circle around your whole body in a tight embrace.

You can’t count the moments you stand in the same position, but long enough so that his hair is dripping on your white oversized shirt, wetting the left side of your hair as well. His body is now growing cold even in the warm bathroom.

“You should get dressed,” you suggest, not having enough courage to actually move. 

“I think I folded that t-shirt I wore to bed yesterday and put it in the second drawer, can you get it for me?” 

He doesn’t move either.

“Sure,” you say, but nothing moves, not even the air around you. “You have to let me go, though.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m gonna stay here, freeze to death and get a sore throat, I don’t mind.”

“Stop being silly,” you laugh lightly and take a small step backwards. “You’re really gonna get sick.”

Yoongi reluctantly lets you go, clutching the towel so it doesn’t fall into the water. As you move into the bedroom to get his clothes, you can hear him leave the bathtub and finish drying himself off. 

You get back and hand over his change of clothes. “Are you going to blow dry your hair?”

“Probably should, but I don’t wanna,” he says, doing his best to take the excess water off with the towel and shaking it with his fingers. “Too lazy, too sleepy.”

“It’s gonna be a mess in the morning,” you warn. 

“It’s gonna be a mess anyway,” he corrects. “Who cares? I’m just going to the studio, a hat can cover it all up.”

After getting dressed, he looks at himself in the mirror and you know he’s wondering if it’s too bad to skip skincare for a night. The bags under his eyes are begging for some rest.

“Just moisturize and go to bed,” you laugh at the internal battle he is struggling with. “No one has to know.”

Yoongi finally gives in and picks up some of your own moisturizer for whatever reason. You don’t actually mind and help him out with some leave-in for the hair.

“I know you don’t really like to bleach it, but this color looks so good on you,” you compliment, both of you looking in the mirror. “I think this dark gray is my favorite.”

“It’s so close to black, though. I wish it was just black.”

“I think this is sexy, honestly.”

“Don’t try to change my mind.”

“I’m just saying!” You raised your hands in the air before washing them with warm water to get rid of the leftover product. “You don’t need it, but it looks good on you.”

“Come on, you can’t just say those things,” Yoongi whines, somehow finding a way to hug you from behind and kissing your half-exposed shoulder in the process. “I’m too tired for that now.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you laugh briefly, his movements tickling your neck, while trying to turn both your bodies to finally go to bed.

“Oh, but you did. You can’t just say something is sexy and move on like it’s nothing.”

“It’s just hair.”

“You said I didn’t even need it. Did you mean I’m already sexy enough?”

“I wish I had your self-esteem sometimes.” 

You move closer to the bed and try to pull the covers, but Yoongi is just making things difficult by not letting go of your middle. You’re not complaining, just… Mentioning.

He finally lets go for a few seconds, just enough for both of you to get under the thick comforter. As soon as you pull it to you neck, Yoongi is once again turning to your side, raising one leg to rest on top of yours. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“This isn’t because you just gave me a bath, but I really do love you.” He has a shy smile on his lips and opens his eyes again just to stare into yours. “I also love you for giving me a bath, but I want you to know I would love you regardless.”

You can’t help but smile back. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Are you feeling better?”

“Much, much better,” he nods.

“Good,” you say, adjusting your face on the pillow to rest in a more comfortable way.

“Say you love me back before I fall asleep,” Yoongi asks, slowly closing his eyes.

“I love you.”

“Good.”

He immediately drifts off.

Read more ›› masterlist

[writemekpop]

Elastic Heart | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: Your life changes when you are diagnosed with a fatal heart disease. You don’t want to drag Yuta down, so you break up with him. But when Yuta finds out about your secret, he rushes back to you. Will he make it on time, or will he be too late?

Genre: Angst 💔 & Fluff & Suggestive - the works 

Word count: 2.7k

Request: Yuta x reader angst imagine where he is an idol and you are his girlfriend but you are diagnosed with an incurable illness so you broke up with him to not distract him from his career. Later he found out the truth on why you broke up with him but it was too late cause your already dying.

Gif: @vitaminyuta​

“Y/n! You’re here!”

Yuta lifts you into his arms, twirling you around in the air and sending your heart racing. Even after two years of dating, Yuta still fills you with butterflies.

When Yuta sets you down again, you stagger, almost falling to the ground. Yuta steadies you just in time. “Woah! You ok, babe?”

“I’m good… I just feel a little dizzy.”

“Are you gonna be okay for the race?” Yuta asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be fine babe, don’t worry.” You take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

Although you don’t actually like running, the smile on Yuta’s face was enough to get you to sign up for this charity fun run. What with Yuta’s crazy schedule, this was the only chance you get to go out on a date anyway.

“On your marks, get set, go!” Yuta takes your hand and you start running together.

For a while, the dizziness seems to be disappearing. But after a few minutes, you begin to feel sick again. You let go of Yuta’s hand and slow down.

“Are you alright? We can go slower…” Yuta says.

“I’m fine, Yu-”

Suddenly, white spots bleach your vision. Your legs feel like jelly, and they start to crumple beneath you. Before you know it, the wet grass hits your cheek.

“Y/n!”

You slowly open your eyes, and see Yuta hovering above you. His brows are creased, and his eyes glassy.

“Oh, thank god. You’re awake!” Yuta leans down to kiss you.

You sit up slowly. A man in a blazing neon safety vest hands you a bottle of water. “Miss, you should sit out of the race. And just to be safe, go and see your doctor. Has this happened before?”

You hurriedly shake your head no – you can’t risk worrying Yuta. But the truth is, you’ve fainted twice in the last month.

You turn your head to Yuta. “Babe, I know how much you wanted to do this run… you should on go without me. It’s probably nothing, anyway.”

Yuta pulls you onto his lap. “Don’t be silly. Let’s just sit here till you’re better.”

While you are sat together on the side of the racetrack, you notice Yuta’s eyes following the racers whizzing by, his leg bouncing up and down ceaselessly. You place your hand on his thigh, stilling his movements. “I’m sorry I ruined our date…”

“Of course you didn’t, darling.” Yuta gives you a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

---3 weeks later---

“Your tests results have come back. I’m afraid you have a condition called arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy.” Your doctor’s voice is soft, but her words send your head spinning.

“Arrhythmo… what?” you ask, feeling dizzier by the second.

“It’s a heart condition. It’s why you’ve been fainting so much lately.”

You nod slowly. “How bad is it, doctor?”

Her face creases with concern. “I don’t think you should hear this alone… is there someone we can call, maybe a boyfriend?”

Your mind flashes to Yuta. Lovely Yuta. What you wouldn’t give to have him by your side right now. But he’s been practicing day and night for NCT’s concert, and he doesn’t need something like this throwing him off course.

“No, there’s no one I can call. Please, just give it to me straight.”

The doctor gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m afraid… it’s not curable. Your heart might give up suddenly.”

“So… I could drop dead at any time?” Your chest feels like it’s collapsing.

The doctor nods, her face grim. “Try not to do anything too strenuous. Outdoor sports, exercise, dancing - anything too exciting really…”

Your throat aches. It’s like she just listed off everything that Yuta cares about.

The doctor continues, “And, speak to your loved ones. You need all the support you can get.”

You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath.  

---

Yuta rushes up to you as you walk back through your apartment door.

“Hey babe, what did the doctor say? I wish you’d let me come with you...” Yuta’s warm brown eyes are so full of love and concern. It hurts you to lie to him, but you have no choice.

“N-nothing. It’s fine… I just forgot to eat lunch before the race… that’s why I fainted.”

Yuta pulls you in for a hug. “Thank god. I was so worried, Y/n!” Yuta ruffles your hair, pulling you towards the couch. “Let’s finish that movie we started. I want to find out what happ-”

“Yuta?” you say, cutting him off.

“Yes, babe?” he says.

You reach for his hand. “Can we make love?”

Yuta raises an eyebrow. You’ve slept together countless times, but you’ve never asked for it like this.

After a moment, his lips curl into a smirk. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

If Yuta notices that you cling to him harder than usual when he kisses your neck, or that your nails dig deeper into his back when you ride him, he doesn’t say anything.

When tears fall down your cheeks as he brings you to your climax, he keeps quiet, simply pressing soothing kisses into your skin.

Yuta doesn’t understand why you need him in this moment, but being the loving boyfriend that he is, he gives his whole self to you willingly.

---

Three months have passed, and you still haven’t told Yuta the truth about your diagnosis.

He’s been too busy to even notice you sneaking off to doctor’s appointments and hastily gulping down medicine. But you can feel your lie gnawing at you, hollowing you out from the inside.

It’s getting too much to bear.

So, you’ve been preparing yourself to break up with him. You remember the days when you talked on the phone all evening, till you fell asleep on the line. Now, you don’t call him for weeks.

After cancelling on Yuta three times in a row, when he invites you back to his dorm this evening, you agree.

You knock on his door.

It’s pulled open to reveal Yuta. When he sees you, his lifts his arms towards you, as if to embrace you. But after a gut-wrenching moment, he shoves them back into his pockets, clearing his throat stiffly.  

“You came…” he says, eyes trained on the floor. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Yuta.”

You follow Yuta to his room and sit down next to him on the bed. “You changed your hairstyle,” you say.

Yuta runs his fingers through his short blonde hair, smiling absentmindedly. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure this style would suit me, but everyone I asked said I should go for it.”  

A pang cuts through your chest. “You didn’t ask me,” you say. You know you’re being petty, but you just can’t help yourself.

“Well maybe if you answered my calls once in a while, Y/n, I would have.” His tone is cold. “What’s gotten into you lately? Why are you being so… selfish?”

Hot tears sting your eyes. “Selfish? You don’t know what I’m giving up for you.” You take a deep breath. “Yuta, I…”

“What? What is it?” Yuta stands up, his fists clenched. “You don’t answer my calls, you don’t come around, you won’t have sex with me… hell, you won’t even kiss me! Tell me, what is this big sacrifice?”

Yuta stands in front of you, arms crossed. His dark eyes bore into yours.

“Yuta,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sick…”

Yuta’s eyes widen. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say-”

“No,” you interrupt. You see his expression, and suddenly your short-lived confidence vanishes. “I’m sick… and… tired… of this. Of us.”

It’s like you can see Yuta’s heart shatter into a million pieces in front of you.

Yuta drops to his knees, now face to face with you. “Y/n,” his voice trembles. “I don’t want to break up. That’s not what I meant… I just miss you…”

“Just stop!” you shout, pushing him away and getting up from the bed. You walk to the window and stare out of it, knowing that if you meet his eyes now, you won’t be able to let him go.

“Y/n, please don’t leave me,” Yuta whispers, coming up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his forehead on your shoulder. You don’t have the energy to push him off. So you let him hold you - one last time.

Yuta’s body shakes with soundless sobs as he grips you tighter, his fingers crumpling your blouse.

You wait for his trembles to subside before you speak again. “I’m sorry, Yuta. It’s over.”

You turn around to face him. His eyes are red, and his hair is a mess.

Your heart breaks at the sight of him. You long to wipe the tears from his smooth cheek and press kisses to his lips. But you’re doing this for him, you remind yourself. You can’t tie him down forever. Yuta will get over you.

“Goodbye, my love.”

---

“I’m really worried about Yuta,” Mark says, his brows creased.

“Me too,” Taeyong replies. “I haven’t seen him eat a proper meal in ages. All he does is practice. He’s going to end up hurting himself.”

Taeyong leans in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. “What happened with Y/n? Do you know why they broke up?”

“No idea… Should we go and talk to him?”

Taeyong nods.

Taeyong lightly pushes open Yuta’s door. “Hey… Yuta, how you holding up?”

Yuta is sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up. “Go away, Taeyong.”

Taeyong sighs and turns away, but Mark isn’t having any of it. “Yuta!” Mark shouts. “It’s been two months since you and Y/n broke up. You need to get out of this funk, man!”

Yuta snaps his head up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about - get the fuck out,” he spits.

Mark pays no attention to his rebuff. “Look, you need to get over her. You… you should start by getting rid of her stuff.” Mark walks over to your bag, lying in the exact same corner of the room where you left it all those months ago. He picks it up and holds it in the air. “I’m trashing this.”

Yuta springs to his feet. “No! Y/n might want that back!”

“If she wanted it back, she would have asked for it. She hasn’t even called you once since you broke up. This is going in the trash.”

Yuta lunges towards Mark and grabs the bag, but Mark refuses to let go. They both yank at the bag, till it bursts open, scattering its contents all over the floor.

Each of them gasp when they see what’s inside.

Dozens of medicine bottles are strewn over the floor. Most are empty, but some have a few pills left. Taeyong bends down and peers at the label of one bottle. “These are for Y/n… did you know she was unwell?” Taeyong pulls out his phone and starts typing.

Yuta’s stomach twists with confusion. “N-no she never said she was sick… wait, hold on...”

Yuta has tried his hardest to block out that day from his mind. But now, he has to rack his brain for any signs that you might have been hiding something.

Yuta’s heart coils in sickening realisation. You were sick. And you were hiding it from him.

Taeyong stands up abruptly and walks over to Yuta. He holds his phone up for Yuta to read. “I think Y/n has a pretty serious heart condition. Do you think that’s why she…” he trails off.

The blood drains from Yuta’s face. He needs to see you, now.

Yuta runs to the door, his coat and phone lying forgotten on the floor . It’s a twenty-minute walk to your place. Ten if he runs.

“Wait!” Taeyong shouts from behind him. “It’s the middle of the night, and there’s a storm outside. You’ll get soaked!”

Yuta doesn’t care. All he needs now is you. A light flickers at the end of the tunnel. If you broke up with him just because of this illness, then maybe it isn’t over between you.

Yuta sprints into the rain, heading to your place.

---

They say that when you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. But all you can see right now is Yuta. You think about him every waking hour, and at night, his face fills your every dream.

The fainting spells have been getting worse lately, and every time you move too fast you feel like you might die.

You’re lying in bed, trying to block out the sound of the thundering rain. You press your hand to your forehead. It’s cold and clammy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you beg for the dizziness to stop - when you hear three sharp knocks on your door.

Your eyes snap open. You were sure you imagined them, but there they are again. Three knocks. Louder this time.  

You lift your aching body off the bed and check your phone. It’s 2AM. You’ve pretty much alienated everyone you care about, so you don’t know who could be knocking on your door right now. A tiny part of you wishes that it’s Yuta, but you block that thought as quickly as it came.

Walking up to your door, you unclasp the latch and pull the door open to reveal…

Yuta.

Yuta, the real Yuta, is panting before you. His rain-drenched T shirt sticks to his firm chest. His dishevelled blonde hair is dripping into his matted eyelashes. His cheeks are wet with tears and rain, but a fire smoulders in his gaze.

“Y/n…”

The shock of seeing him after all this time is too much to bear. It feels like your heart will jump out of your chest. You reach out to Yuta, but your vision starts to go blurry. Oh no. Not again.

You feel your limbs collapse beneath you. You brace yourself to hit the cold ground, but the impact never comes.

Yuta has caught you before you can fall. You feel his warm, strong arms wrapped around you as he carries you inside. The dizziness is unrelenting, but you finally feel safe now Yuta is here. Yuta is here! You can’t quite believe it.

Yuta softly places you down onto your bed, then all of a sudden, his strong arms disappear, leaving an aching emptiness.

You open your eyes slowly, your vision refocusing. Yuta hovering by the bed, his face contorted. When your eyes meet his, he drops his gaze and turns towards the door.

“Wait… don’t go,” you plead, your voice hoarse.

Yuta stops in his tracks.

You stare at his back, mentally begging him to turn around. “Please Yuta… just lie down with me.”

Yuta pauses, then steps back towards the bed. You release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Peeling off his drenched T shirt, Yuta pulls on his old hoodie that was draped on the edge of the bed. You never had the heart to throw it away.  

Yuta climbs under the covers with you, but he remains in stony silence.

You wrap your arms around his warm chest and press your ear to his heart. The rhythmic thumping plus the gentle rise and fall of his chest finally calms your raging heart.

Just before you drift off, you hear his voice in your ear. It’s ragged, and so soft that you almost miss it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

You gulp. You don’t know what the future holds, but being here with Yuta right now, you feel like you could die happy.

You don’t answer his question. You just nuzzle closer to him, pressing as much of your body to his as you can.  

Yuta places a kiss onto the top of your head and whispers,

“I would have ripped out my heart and given it to you, if you had just asked.”

[cherry-toxic]

Fic writer questions!

I was tagged by @introvertia - thank you so much :) Your answers were really interesting!

How many works do you have on AO3?

Only 8

What's your total AO3 wordcount?

141754

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Four: Beyblade (gen fics mostly), Shizaya (Durarara), Grimmichi (Bleach), and Harringrove (Stranger Things).

I usually sit in a fandom for a quite a while before I actually start writing anything. I'm amazed by those people who can get stuck in right away (how do you do it!?!)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. end the fight; before the fight ends you

2. Bound to Happen

3. Year of You

4. Broken Boys and Butterflies

5. So come take a drink (And drown your sorrows)

All Harringrove aside from 'Bound to Happen' - which I'm rather surprised came in second because the Grimmichi fandom is waaaaay smaller than the Harringrove fandom.

'end the fight...' is also the only wip here. The rest are completed one-shots.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes and no. It depends. I want to respond because comments really do mean a lot to me and I love rambling with people, but I have issues with online communication. Like, sometimes I write out a response and when I read it back to myself my brain just goes 'no that's terrible you sound like an idiot delete it now' and then I go 'yessir you're completely right how silly of me.'

When it comes to wips, I tend to reply to every comment when I'm getting ready to post the next chapter, that way it's like a little heads-up - new stuff incoming soon!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Y'know as much as I love angst I actually prefer to have my fics end on a relatively positive note (angst with a happy ending is my shit).

But I suppose 'So come take a drink (And drown your sorrows)' is overall pretty angsty and I left the ending open so if I ever felt like continuing it I could do so easily.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've ever written?

Big nah. Kind of like AU fics, they just don't interest me that much.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, but it came from someone who was just making the rounds on a bunch of Harringrove fics and they were highly suspected to be an anti so it didn't really bother me that much because I knew they were trolling.

I've had a few like, vague comments/back-handed compliments that got under my skin a bit though.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes, occasionally I do. Generally I'd say I'm pretty vanilla, but I am currently writing an a/b/o fic, though I think it might go under non-traditional a/b/o because, again, vanilla lol

My smut usually comes with a lot of introspection, like they'll be doing the deed and one of them will be internally streaming a 5000+ word monologue (I do this with Grimmjow sometimes because he's a big virgin who views sex as silly human nonsense).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Parts of a fic, yes. I came across this fic that was clearly plagiarizing from several different authors (they forgot to change the characters names and everything) and I found entire paragraphs that were copy/pasted straight from one of my fics.

The thing is, this was over 10 years ago, something I wrote when I was... seventeen, maybe? So... I don't get why they copied it because it was pretty bad to be honest...

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, an old one called '10 Miles in Your Shoes' (beyblade) although it was never completed because well, firstly, I never completed the original, and secondly, when the translator asked me how long I was planning on it being I said around 20-30k and uhhh... lets just say I overshot that by a mile!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. While I think it would be interesting to try I honestly don't know if I could give up control like that!

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Hard to say because I tend to go for characters over ships. Like, I got into Grimmichi because of Grimmjow and Harringrove because of Billy.

But since Grimmjow is my all-time favourite character then, I guess Grimmichi, but Harringrove is definitely a close second because the fandom has spoiled me rotten with all their amazing fics (in terms of reading material, Harringrove is my fav).

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

'10 Miles in Your Shoes' - the bodyswap fic.

It's been a long time since I engaged with anything related to beyblade but I have a lot of fondness for this fic because it was the second I ever started writing and it was the fic that allowed me to truly grow as a writer. There's a huge improvement from the first to the most recent chapter (most recent being 5 years ago...) to the point where it looks like it could have been written by two different people, and I received so much positive feedback and encouragement throughout those years. I wish I had it in me to go back and finish it off but I struggle enough while writing for my current obsessions so it's looking more and more unlikely...

At the very least, I think I might transfer it to AO3 since ff.net seems to be slowly going under. Even if I never complete it, I don't want it lost forever.

What are your writing strengths?

This might sound ridiculous but I don't know? I always feel like I'm winging everything!!

I guess. One thing I've been complimented on a lot is my ability to portray messy (for lack of a better word) situations in a realistic way. I've been asked a few times if I've ever studied psychology and -

Nope

Just winging it!

What are your writing weakness?

EDITING!!!

I really should get a beta because I miss so many stupid little mistakes, like - okay - I always used to write in past tense, it was never something I even thought about, past tense was just the default. And then suddenly, around 2017/18, I began transitioning to present tense completely unconsciously and now every time I re-read 'Bound to Happen' I get angry because I bounced between tenses all the way through that fic and I didn't even notice until a year after I posted it.

Also. Incredibly slow. Lack of consistency. Perfectionist until I get stuck and then I feel like you can spot exactly where I lost momentum. Utterly hopeless when it comes to descriptions of setting/scenery. I don't think I'm very good at building atmosphere either. Dialogue, although I am improving at that.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I can't say I really have any thoughts on this? I don't do it much myself.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Beeeeyblaaade! I was fifteen when I wrote my very first fic (now deleted because it was awful!)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh god, this is hard!

If we're talking completed fics only, then probably 'Year of You'. That was my I-Do-Not-Accept-Billy's-Death fic but I WILL take all of the angst material from S3 and ride it hard.

If we're including wips, then both 'end the fight...' and 'metamorphosis' are probably my favourites right now.

'End the fight...' is my BIG Billy redemption fic which I started plotting out not long after S2 and there's so many scenes I'm looking forward to writing (yeah I know its been a while since i last updated but the past year has been rough okay)

'Metamorphosis' is the a/b/o fic which I was kind of nervous about at first because its not a trope that i read a lot of but i'm enjoying how its turning out so far!

Whew! That was a lot!

I'm tagging: firstly, whoever wants to do it because I like reading about peoples writing experiences (make sure to tag me!) And then: @shadowthorne @bentnotbroken1fanfiction @callieb @backwardshirt @memes-saved-me @murderlight @magniloquent-raven @aeon-of-neon @louhetar

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Chapter Nine of Artifice- The Pirates Pub

Summary: In the year 1915, the infamous painter Beca Mitchell is commissioned by one of the richest men in America to capture the essence of his wife, Chloe Beale.

[A/N: @lilhan this one is for you!]

The water curved nicely against the setting sun, its bright white light creating a warm slice of heaven. There was a hint of salt in the air, one that tore at Beca’s throat hungrily. She listened to the fisherman, the clink of their knives as they pushed them past reflective scales and pulpy guts.

She had gotten away from the Beale Manor, with its stretching ivy and deep Spanish roots. She was no prisoner, not of Chloe or of Garret alike. But the walls were gated and the scenery was tired. Her skin buzzed being this close to the sea.

Stacie was adamant that she stay within the compound. A certain edge of fear leaked through every word, even though her stare was directed towards the blade of a knife coming down hard and fast on the vegetation cultivated from the garden.

She figured it dangerous for any woman to wander the streets of the island by themselves, even in broad daylight. It was a simple stop for a trade industry washed in deceit and thievery. The men pulling crabbing traps onto the shore were rough and bruised. Hairy and deemed as beasts.

But this had been Beca Mitchell’s element all along; she craved the feeling of unease that came with the sea. More than anything, she craved something stronger than the bitter wine that she had consumed at the kitchen table a few nights previous. It made her feel filmy, even after hours of steeping in cream-colored bathwater.

A few cafes rested against the long stretch of sun-bleached wood. They had pulled their chalk signs in as soon as the star hit high noon. The day grew darker and the last of the hard-working men pulled their bounty in and headed towards Moon Dodge’s- the only place bellowing shanties and spilling hot light onto the docks each time the door swung open.

Beca was drawn to this place. She found herself walking with her shoulders drawn back. No one gave her a second glance when she stepped over the threshold. There was a deep scent of clove and greasy meat fresh off the bone. Men shouted and laughed and bellowed. They grinned as they threw hands of cards and scooped coins to their heavy chests.

A woman pressed down hard on the keys of a piano, but the music was barely heard. She hit a few sour chords and no one complained as she pulled a sloshing mug, frothy with yeast and foam, to her lips. The red pigment left a rim around the basin.

Beca breathed in deep and made her way to the bar. She took a seat at the very end, palming a mix of hardened corn nuts and dried berries. She figured a tooth would be mixed in, but she shoved it past her lips without a second thought.

“Aye, if you get a disease from that mess, you canny go after us for it.” A gruff man behind the split counter grinned stupidly, Welsh accent thick and hot “What can I get for ya?”

“Anything you have,” She relented.

He seemed to like that answer; someone who was complacent compared to the high-stakes travelers that often frequented here. A mug of ale sloshed in front of her and dripped down the sides before collecting at its base. The liquor worked its ways into the cracks of the counter. She didn’t give it much time to fester, she took four even gulps until her throat burned.

“Do my eyes deceive me delicately?” There was a throaty laugh from behind her, charming and stout.

The young painter turned around, not letting her feet hit the sticky floor. It took a few moments for her eyes to drink in the sight of Emily Junk. Captain Emily Junk by the looks of it. Her white collar was soaked in blood and a long scar ran down her cheek in a pink line too crooked for comfort.

Her smile was vast and a sword hung to the tip of her leather boots, fastened to her belt. There was blood on that too, but Beca was still more than sure that it could slice skin as if it were a fine paper canvas.

“They don’t,” Beca beamed at the familiar face.

When she hugged Emily she got a healthy lung full of chewing tobacco, decaying flesh, and ocean water. She was the epitome of life on the sea as a pirate, a successful one at that. She waged that every single man and woman in here could have been a part of her crew- and if they weren’t, they were in danger of becoming so.

She gripped the woman tight, melting into her touch. Beca didn’t know if it had something to do with the familiarity of the girl, or the memories they once shared. But a few looked on as if seeing their leader display in any type of genuine affection was startling as it was sparse.

“Missed me that much, aye?” Emily said, pulling away, but keeping her hands on the painters' shoulders “You could have written.”

“And where would I have written to? The depths of the ocean as if a siren would personally hand-deliver it to a sea captain? Te sorprendería cuántas veces lo he intentado”

Emily threatened to roll her eyes before draping her arm around Beca’s shoulder and ushering her back towards her seat at the bar. This time she wasn’t alone, and the gruff man wordlessly catered to them but setting down two more mugs of copper.

“Never thought I would see you again,” Emily took a long sip “After the docks in Barcelona I figured you a famous, posh painter.”

“I’ve had my fair share of adventures. They happened to lead me to the island.”

“The island where the lord of trade himself calls home? Perched in his castle along with the beauties and treasures of life. I hear it’s right decorated up there, even for a man impossible to please.”

Beca nodded and took a long drink, running her thumb over the side of the glass, pressing hard enough to cut into tender skin. It didn’t, and she thought about her next words very carefully. “I work for him”

Emily frowned “Under him, or for him?”

“For him, under his wife,” Beca said.

“Huh... Under her, or under her?”

Beca didn’t want to fluster at the question, but she did and Emily noticed. Her cheeks blistered with color and she was hoping it had something to do with the alcohol in her unkempt system but they both knew that it didn’t. Chloe Beale had a reputation, and it had clearly hit the open waters as it had the dark taverns.

“People talk, is all” Emily scrambled to fill the silence. “I knew Garrett Beale would go after you at some hand or another. He’s a lavish man, creating a whole island just for trade of the stolen. It works in my favor, but it won’t in his, not forever.”

Beca drew in a breath “what are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything that hasn’t already been said.”

“Ah,” Beca didn’t know how to respond so she finished off her drink and grabbed her started to stand from the stool, the crew around them were starting to get louder and smoke thicker. It was time to leave, she decided, full of ale and queasy from heat.

Emily grabbed her wrist and Beca reveled in the touch for a simple moment. It was cold and delicate, much too gentle for a pirate of her caliber. But in the end, she was still that farm girl who had sneaked onto the same ship that Beca had eight years ago.

“I’m going to say something that isn’t implied, Beca Mitchell, and I will say it strictly for the sake of our friendship.” Emily’s dark eyes were suddenly hard “You need to leave the Manor on the Hill before it’s too late. Because when the time comes, I cannot protect you, and I most certainly cannot spare her.”

[ayellowcurtain]

Can you write a fic where Sobbe are listening to the Fletwood Mac album while cuddling in bed and Robbe gets really emotional at Songbird

Robbe opens the bathroom door, putting his head out to make sure he’s hearing correctly. He laughs and leaves the door open while he dries himself, Fleetwood Mac traveling around their tiny flat, a good soundtrack while he puts some comfortable clothes on, trying to see himself in the mirror, cleaning it with his hand, but he only has a few seconds before it’s all mat and sweaty again.

He’ll leave his stubble for tomorrow morning. He can’t help the way his heart beats just thinking about it. After amazing, but long waiting years, they’re finally doing it. They already did the official part, full of papers to sign, but Sander said he needed a party. So that’s happening tomorrow. And no matter if they’re already married in the eyes of the law, it feels like a bigger deal to have a party with everyone they know to celebrate it.

And Robbe knows it means a lot to his mom too so he’s happy but extremely nervous. He’s not one to dress such fancy clothes and walk down a long pathway to find Sander while everyone else stares.

“There you are!” He finds Sander at the bathroom door, eating his croque without even waiting for Robbe to eat dinner together. He gets happier just hearing the tone in Sander’s voice.

In the back of his head, Robbe was wondering a few days ago if this level of happiness and excitement had anything to do with an episode, but he would like to think he learned the signs and that he can tell the difference after so much time together. The rest of their lives promised and signed now.

“I said I was going to take a shower...” Robbe talks softly, wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck, letting him finish his bite of the croque he’s eating. Even eating this man is attractive to him: his jaw clenching, him pouting a little to fit such a big bite inside his mouth, his bleached hair, Robbe can see the dark roots already starting to grow. He looks so happy and relaxed it’s contagious.

“Yeah, half an hour ago. What were you doing there? Didn't you need help?” Sander raises his eyebrows and pushes them a little back inside the bathroom, looking over Robbe’s shoulder, smiling slyly.

“No, no need for help, sir. We’re getting married tomorrow so no sex today.” Robbe can’t even trust himself with that promise, but he tries to see Sander’s reaction.

“What? This was not on those papers we signed, I made sure to read everything.” Robbe laughs wholeheartedly like an idiot, burying his face against Sander’s neck. He smells like fried cheese and graphite and Robbe feels at home with that smell because it’s very unique, just like his husband. After a long day of work and some inspiration to cook their favorite food, Sander couldn’t smell like anything else.

“No, but those are the rules.” Robbe bites the inside of his cheek not to smile with the way Sander rolls his eyes, snorting, pretending that he’s annoyed. Maybe he really is, but since tomorrow is such a special day, Sander lets him get away with it.

“Come, the croques are ready and we won’t want them to go cold.” Sander kisses the bridge of his nose and holds Robbe’s hand, not really giving him much of a choice other than to follow him back to the kitchen, still shirtless.

“Tonight is a Fleetwood Mac type of night...?” Robbe stands on his tiptoes, holding the stool behind him so he can sit, pulling the plate closer to him while Sander is on the other side of the island, grabbing some soda for them inside the fridge.

“Yeah. You like it, no?” He lifts his eyebrows, opening both bottles, putting one in front of Robbe, walking around to sit close to him, one of his hand finding its way to sit comfortably on Robbe’s thigh, looking at the croques, trying to pick the best one.

Robbe nods his head, smiling, eating the best croque ever. Sander doesn’t take his eyes off of Robbe while he eats and he smiles, tilting his head, sliding on the stool to face his husband.

“What?”

“You’re perfect.” Sander answers instantly.

“I’m so far from perfect.” His husband leans down to put his head on Robbe’s shoulder, purring while brushing his nose against his neck, up to his jaw.

“You’re perfect to me. We’re married.” Robbe takes a deep breath in, letting those word dance inside his brain, around his chest, “I said it would be just the two of us, forever.”

“I’m glad you kept your promise.” Robbe kisses Sander’s forehead in between his bites, trying to look at him even from this weird angle.

“It was easy. Everything is easy with you. And I wouldn’t trade for anything else.” Robbe finishes his first croque, thinking about eating a second one because he knows they won’t have much time to sit down and enjoy croques together tomorrow.

Sander puts his second one down on the plate, cleaning his hands on his shirt while he stands up.

“Come,” He holds Robbe’s hand again, walking back to their living room, playing with Robbe’s fingers while he drags him to the middle of the room, in between the couch and the tv.

It’s Robbe’s favorite song. So in Sander’s brain, they always have to dance.

Robbe knows every word to Songbird. Any other day he wouldn’t mind what they say, always thinking about Sander when hearing it, but today is not a normal day. Tomorrow will be the day they celebrate the best thing he’s ever done in his life.

Sander knows him as well as he knows himself, so he tries to make things light. He puts Robbe’s arms around his waist and puts his hands on Robbe’s hair, pushing it back so they can clearly see each other. Sander sings softly, making faces and Robbe tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He can’t believe this is his life, that he turned out this good. That he deserves someone like Sander to love him back, forever.

And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before

Robbe smiles and Sander snorts because of his dumb, deep voice when he sings, kissing Robbe’s cheek, letting him put his hands back around Sander’s neck, burying his nose against Sander’s warm neck skin, closing his eyes when Sander kisses his cheek close to his ear, whispering the next line in his ear.

But most of all, I wish it from myself

[nostalgiabones]

Being Known is Being Loved // L.H

The idea for this came from this post, which I thought was so sweet and beautiful — so I just had to write about it! Features soft boyfriend and dad Luke, like pretty much all of my writing does lmao. As always thank you to @calumrose for talking about this with me all day and reading along the way! I’m really happy with how this turned out so please let me know what you think if you enjoyed it too.♥️

Word count: 2,480

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy.

“I think it’s time for a coffee.”

Luke thinks out loud, talking to Petunia as he opens the front door to your shared home, unclipping her lead so she could get a drink from her bowl. Since lockdown had begun, Luke had gone to the effort of going for a run most mornings — wanting to get out of the house (and his head) before a day of Zoom meetings and phone calls.

Running usually left him feeling energised, yet today is one of those days — he knows he needs at least one more coffee before he gets anything done. He left around an hour ago, leaving you in bed to wake up at your own pace. The house is quiet as he steps in, but he knows you’re up — he can hear the rumbling of the TV from the lounge, needing something to fill the silence of the house whilst he’s gone. He knows you have your own work to do today too.

“Good morning, babe.” He calls out into the lounge, looking into where you’re curled up on the couch — mug of tea in your hand, laptop on your lap. It’s still relatively early morning — he hasn’t checked the time, but he knows you have to be logged on by 9:00am.

“Hey, good run?” You ask, looking up at him and taking in his post run state — something he hates, yet you couldn’t get enough of it. There was something about it — long, bleached blonde curls tied back into a little bun, a tank top that perfectly shows off his arms. He leans down, lips brushing against your forehead in a silent hello. “You’re all sweaty.”

He ignores your comment, looking at your face — eyebrows furrowed a little as if he was confused about something.

“What’s up?” He asks, taking one of your hands and lacing his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. Now it’s your turn to look confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re irritated by something,” Luke tells you, almost like he knows your emotions better than you do. How does he know? You did get a frustrating email from a work colleague just before he came back from his run, but he doesn’t know about that. “Your left eye is twitching. You’re doing that cute eyebrow thing, too.”

You scoff, taken aback by his words, as you’d never noticed that you did that when you’re annoyed by something. Even more annoyingly, Luke is right.

“How did you... I don’t do that.” You argue, and Luke laughs, happy that he’s at least distracted you from whatever you’re annoyed about for a moment. “What cute eyebrow thing?!”

“You do, babe,” He replies, raising his eyebrows in a knowing expression. He loves how defensive you get. He’s seen you do it countless times. He’s never mentioned it to you before, he assumes you know — but it’s always a telltale sign that you’re not happy about something. He remembers the first time he noticed it — when you’d asked him to take the bins out and he’d completely forgotten. Lockdown had made it even more clear that it’s your body’s reaction to whatever was annoying you, since he’d seen it more than ever since working from home. “Well, let’s see if I’m right. Are you annoyed about something?”

“Well... yeah,” You roll your eyes when he smiles in triumph. “I got an email from my boss that pissed me off. I’ll be lucky to finish everything he sent by midnight at this rate.”

“Thought so,” He says, mainly to himself. He brushes his lips against yours in a soft peck, before pushing up from the sofa and heading to make himself the coffee he was thinking about. “It’s okay, babe, you have me here to entertain you all day whilst you work on it. Anything I can help with?”

You shake your head, knowing it would take even longer if you tried to explain it to Luke.

“Coffee would help.”

He smiles to himself in the kitchen, as he has already gotten a mug out to make you one too, knowing it would help you through the morning.

“Coming right up, honey.”

***

There’s no sound more soothing than that of crashing waves.

Especially in the late evening — the sun set creating a beautiful orange and purple haze. Everything felt quiet, peaceful, serene. You’re sat on the wall at the seafront. The sand felt warm beneath your toes, a contrast to the cool sea breeze causing goosebumps to break out over your bare arms. Luke notices.

“Here,” He takes off his denim jacket, leaving him in just a black t—shirt, before he drapes it over your shoulders, tucking the material around you. You cuddle into the jacket, stealing his warmth — the scent lingering on the material surrounding you with Luke. He knew from the moment you left the house, that he’d be giving you his jacket at some point in the day. He’d suggested you take one when you set off, but you waved him off — saying you’ll be fine in what you’re wearing. He made sure he wore one, so he could give it to you. “Better?”

“Much,” You nod, kissing his scruffy cheek and resting your head on his shoulder. His loving gestures made your heart melt. “The baby isn’t cold anymore. Thank you.”

The baby.

Luke still isn’t used to those words, yet the more he hears them, the more he hopes they sink in. You’re almost at 12 weeks — almost at the point where you can start to let others in on the secret you and Luke have so happily been keeping. He’s excited for his parents and brothers to find out, to see his mum’s reaction to becoming a grandma. He can’t wait to hear his bandmates, his brothers, argue over who is going to be the godparent. He can’t wait for it all.

He smiles, resting his cheek on the top of your head as you watch the sunset. He hears you sigh in contentment, knowing you truly feel at peace when you’re with him, especially when you’re at the beach. Two of your favourite things. He had planned an evening out for the two of you, wanting to go later in the day as it would be less crowded — as well as being able to watch the sunset.

“Can we walk down to the sea?” You ask, noticing how the tide was starting to come in, and if you didn’t go now, you wouldn’t be able to. “I won’t splash you, promise.”

“Of course,” He pushes up from the wall, lacing your fingers with his to help you get down, before you head down the sand. Most of the people who had been around had left, leaving just the two of you on that part of the beach, along with a few dog walkers. “It wouldn’t be a trip to the beach without it.”

You make it to the edge of the sea, the sand wet beneath your feet as they sink into the soft ground. You grip Luke’s hand a little tighter to keep upright, and he can’t take his eyes away from your face. He knows exactly how you feel in the moment. Your eyes are glistening with a happiness he doesn’t often see, one that’s reserved for what he thought were special moments between you both. Going to the beach isn’t anything special, but the feeling he knows you’re experiencing right now is. He’s unsure whether it’s him, or the peaceful evening at the sea, maybe a combination of the two. The pregnancy glow is real too, Luke is sure of it. He never understood what people meant when they said that you glow — yet looking at you right now, he knows they were right.

He’s so used to seeing you stressed and anxious, worrying about work or a family member, and everything in between. Especially since you found out you were expecting, too — always worried about something going wrong, as well as just general fears of parenthood. He savours moments like this, where he knows you truly feel as careless as you can. Your smile is different. He’s caught off guard by a larger wave and it makes you laugh — really laugh, one that isn’t forced, and he knows when your nose scrunches up as you smile at him. He can tell when you’re truly happy — and he knows in this moment, you are.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you suddenly feel a little self conscious. Luke shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” He replies, acting innocent — like he isn’t thinking about you’re feeling, like that’s not all he can focus on. “I just love being here with you. And I love you.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his body, your face pressed against his chest. Your arm wraps around his back, hand landing on his side, holding yourself close to him. His free hand slips beneath his jacket, over the ever growing bump beneath his palm — feeling the soft rolls and kicks. He basks in the feeling, hoping it would last forever — although forever didn’t feel like long enough when it came to you.

“I love you too.”

***

Luke is cautious as he sways around the room.

He delicately hums under his breath, not wanting to make too much noise, but wanting the sweet baby in his arms to know he was there. She seems to find his voice comforting — something he has learned over the past five days of her life. Probably from all the hours he spent talking and singing to her when she was still a bump.

“Is she down?” You ask quietly, slipping into the bedroom and carefully sitting down at the edge of your bed. The lamp in the corner of the room is dimmed, creating a soft ambience in the room, relaxing all three of you. You can’t get over how tiny your daughter looks in her dad’s arms, barely fitting along the length of his arm. His broadness doesn’t help, yet there’s something so sweet about the size difference between the two.

“Nearly,” Luke yawns quietly as he looks down at her face. Her eyes are pretty much closed — long, delicate eyelashes gracing her full cheeks, rosy from the warmth of being tucked in his arms. She’s not quite ready to fall fully asleep just yet though, wiggling in his grasp as he rocks her. “She’s fighting it a little bit. Ain’t so bad, though. I don’t want to put her down.”

You chuckle at his words, pushing back the thick duvet and tucking your legs beneath it, trying to get comfortable. Sleep is few and far between as a new parent, something you and Luke have grown to learn over the last week. You’ve never seen Luke so fixated on something — the way he’s gazing at the bundle of blankets in arms makes your heart flood with adoration.

“God, she’s just like you.” Luke murmurs, lifting his arms a little so she’s closer to his face. His lips brush her forehead, leaving the lightest of kisses against the soft skin. The weight of her in his arms was such a comfort to him, one that he’s never felt before.

“In what way?” You ask, curiously. Over the last few days, you’ve noticed a few features of Luke’s in her — obviously, she has his perfect slope of a nose. You’re curious to know what he has noticed of you in her.

“Well,” He gently sits down next to you, shuffling over so you can see your daughter, so you can look at her together. You can hear her snuffles and little noises as she falls asleep, a sound that has grown to be comforting ever since she was born, so you know she’s okay. Luke feels as though he learns something new about her every time he looks at her. “Do you see how she’s pouting? How her bottom lip is out, even though she’s asleep? You do the same thing when you’re asleep.”

“Really?” You ask, noticing that Luke was right. She’s pretty much fast asleep, yet her little bottom lip is out in almost a full pout. Luke smiles at you realise, taking his thumb and ever so softly running it beneath her full lips. She doesn’t react to his touch, staying asleep as he continues to rock her gently. “I didn’t know I did that.”

“You do, and I love that she does it too.” Luke admits, his pointer finger trailing down the middle of her eyebrows, down the slope of her nose, tapping it ever so gently. Her nose scrunches up at the action, a yawn following — Luke chuckles at the face she pulls as she does. “That too. Her nose may look like mine, yet the little scrunching is all you.”

Luke pays a lot of attention to her mannerisms — he observes them whenever he gets the chance. He looks for parts of you in her. He doesn’t have to look far. She even has a freckle behind her ear — one exactly where you do — he noticed that the first time he held her. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything compared to the love he feels towards her, when he sees parts of the love of his life in the tiny being he helped to create.

“I can’t wait to hear her voice,” You think out loud, not wanting the time to rush by — yet you can’t help but think about everything you’re yet to know about her. Luke smiles at your words. You get to raise her, to watch her grow into her own person together. She’s there as a constant reminder of you to him.’ She’s perfect. “Her laugh, too. I hope she laughs like you.”

“As long as she’s happy, I don’t care.” He means it. He can’t wait for all of the milestones too. He knows the journey is going to be difficult — he’s only been a dad for a week, yet it’s been one of the most nerve wracking weeks of his life. “I hope she’s as happy as we are.”

He feels like he already knows her, as he stands up to put her to bed. He rests his forehead against hers for a second, basking in the feeling of her asleep in his arms, before he slowly lowers her into the crib. She’s unsettled for a moment, wondering where his warm arms have gone — yet she’s soothed when his fingertips graze her baby grow covered back, and she falls asleep. You know, he knows, and...

To be known, is to be loved.

***

Feedback is always really appreciated! I really love how this turned out and would love to know what you thought. My ask box is here! <3 

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