#oddly introspective drabble

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.

A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos 

It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.

The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story. 

His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.

Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.

Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.

There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.

“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.

On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.

Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.

The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’

Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.

Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.

There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday. 

A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.

Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.” 

Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.

The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye. 

Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.

Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.

You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.

“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”

“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.

“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”

Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.

The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.

Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.

The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.

Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.

Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.

Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.

“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,

Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.

“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.

“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.

“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”

You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.

“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”

Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.

“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”

Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter. 

“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”

The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.

It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.

Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.

He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.

“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.

Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.

And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.

‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #oddly introspective drabble #i love books #so Pope loves books #the princess bride #william golding #le morte d'arthur #Ella wrote a thing #not quite fluff

[arcstral]

Drabble:   𝑲𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔.

               To be the first soul their master should see at the break of first light as well as their last before the final candles guttered out behind the lantern shades. From what he has observed from the reign of his late father, his present own including, it was considered the selfless honor of an Altean knight to attend their liege before any valet. A means of satisfaction for the loyally epitomized servant, but it was also a justified tradition above all.

               Marth’s great granduncle, the venerated hero Anri, had not expired well. Altea’s first king did not perish in defense of his halls, with noble Falchion in hand, or blissfully to his dreams at the end of a long and natural lifespan. He fell to the irreparable fissures of a broken heart that sought the Archanean princess it could not have. Anri died of loneliness. Beneath the roof housing a few hundred knights, not a single one privy to the cause while he lived. 

               This embarrassment awoke a fierce new tradition in the garrison from the ruling office of King Marcelus and onward. Every morning, preceding a royal’s daily functions of the state, a trusted knight must outfit and deploy him with the free rein to spill any thought he so pleases. As much an opportunity to assess their liege as one to accoutre him for the day. Then, at night, he is undressed and put to bed. This was how it has always been, how it will always be, no matter the age of the prince or king.

               Altea’s temple knights dared not lose another potentate to a cause so trivial, so preventable, as heartache.

               As he extended his arms for the sleeves of his tunic, then bared his throat for the stiff adjustment of a collar around it, Marth’s eyes rolled to the fresco details on the ceiling where pegasi foals and cherubs gamboled angelically in their utopia. His gaze caught on areas where colorful tempera paint had chipped, of a mood to be more interested by the flaws of a painting rather than the perfections.

               “I wonder who painted that mural up there? Whoever the creator, they produced a fine thing. They’ll be happy to know that their work was the only one that survived the Dolhrian occupation.” A pause. “..Perhaps I could order in a conservator to revive it a bit better.”

               “A well and proper idea, milord. I am told that the great founder liked that piece particularly. It appears you share his tastes equally with his talents,” Whereas his other knights moved and stilled their ministrations accordingly, this one continued with hands yanking the tether of belts around his waist.

               Marth smiled distantly. If not by the revelations gained by timbres, he could know the handiwork of his knights merely by their feeling:

               Cain whose congenital lack of patience meant that his prince often had to redo his own sashes once the man left. Abel and Frey with their steady hands, Gordin with his trembling ones. Poor Draug with his ungainly yet endlessly good intentions, always tying Marth’s scabbard on the same side as his sword hand. Then, finally, Jagen with his crisp sense of procedure yet a tendency to tighten the collar like the prim knot of a sailor. 

               Dusting off his lord’s shoulders like a golden lamp, just shy of rubbing away illusory particles with the heel of his hand, the old knight stepped back at last to appraise him with a satisfied nod. Dressing one’s princeling couldn’t have demanded more effort than a household task, yet the fine gleam of sweat shone slick at his temples. Altea’s finest paladin may have been aging well but he was aging, nevertheless. “Exemplary, sire! Alike a precious stone so strikingly cut one could not nettle it for flaws.”

               The compliment was for more than just ingratiation. Every crown prince must be a proud reflection of his country. Luckily, there was no brighter mirror and nimbus seated atop a throne as Marth of Altea. A living emblem of his kingdom’s stately one-hundred-year history, here was one man who did not look as if he would die tragically alone as the late hero Anri. 

               “Thank you, Jagen, upstanding work as always,” Marth replied.

#◜ ╰ ♕ ◦ › kingdom come ‹ WRITING. ◞ #◜ ╰ ♕ ◦ › gathered wits ‹ INTROSPECTION. ◞ #casually posts a semi worldbuilding drabble .. #i feel like it's pretty heavily implicated that anri the first falchion user #died of heartbreak? #he died oddly childless and only thirty seven years after altea's founding #i can't imagine how embarrassed the altean knights were #losing their founder to unseen matters of the heart #marth being hailed as anri's 'second coming' probably sparked some worry #but u know... caeda exists. :'*

[angry-geese]

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

I'll continue to update this as I post more. For now, this is what I have

Last updated: 1/11/24

misc/headcanons/multi

what various jjk charachters smell like - characters: nanami, choso, gojo, yuji, megumi, nobara, sukuna, toji - sfw, crack

asking various jjk characters to kill a bug for you - characters: nanami, choso, yuji, sukuna, gojo - sfw, crack, some fluff

video games I think jjk characters would play - characters: nobara, megumi, geto, nanami, yuji, sukuna - sfw, crack

oddly specific crimes i think various jjk characters would commit - characters: nobara, gojo, geto, toji, megumi, mahito, choso

Retail au headcanons - sfw, crack

Rating various jjk men meeting your parents for the first time - characters: nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna, mahito, naoya, toji, choso, ijichi

Taking care of them while they're sick - characters: nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna, naoya, toji, choso

After Hours Masterlist

Gojo/reader/Nanami - nsfw, threesome (f/m/m)

Choso

Spa Day Fluff - sfw, relationship fluff, mention of nudity

To You Someday - sfw, fluff, afab reader

Blood Ties Masterlist - It's just easier to make a separate masterlist since it has quite a few chapters

Absinthe - nsfw, vampire!choso, slight yandere!choso, dark content warning

Dad!choso drabble - sfw, light angst

Roommate au smut - nsfw

Gojo Satoru

Smut Oneshot

Homesick Remedy 18+

Alien Blues - sfw, fluff

My Neighbor the Sorcerer - nsfw, neighbors/modern au, afab reader

My Neighbor the Sorcerer - nsfw, neighbors au, amab reader

Mochi - sfw, domestic fluff, reader and Gojo spend a night at home together after work, afab reader

When We Meet Again - nsfw, established relationship, afab reader

After Dark - nsfw, established relationship, jealous gojo, afab reader

rises the moon - nsfw, makeup sex, afab reader, slight dubcon warning

Ex-husband!Gojo headcanons - nsfw, toxic relationships, gn!reader

Domain - sfw, reader celebrates their birthday with gojo, fem reader

Gaslight Gatekeep Gojo - ex-husband!gojo x reader, nsfw, fem reader

Night Shift - nsfw, not actually unrequited love, one bed trope, fem reader

Sea, Swallow Me - nsfw, ex-husband gojo smut, fem reader

Geto Suguru

Slasher!geto x reader - nsfw, modern au, dark content warning- dubcon, afab reader

Itadori Yuji

Flourescent Adolescent - sfw, flluff

Nanami Kento

Married life smut

fluff Oneshot

Jealous Nanami Smut

Sage - dad!nanami fluff, sfw

OSHA Non Compliance - nsfw, sex pollen smut

Pregnancy Fluff - sfw, afab reader

All That's Left is Us - nsfw, established relationship, afab reader

nanami comforting the reader after a bad day - sfw, gn reader

Naoya Zenin

Naoya x reader - another one i didn't title - nsfw, pegging, femdom

Naoya x reader - nsfw, femdom, shibari

As Blue as Indigo - nsfw, fem reader

Sukuna

Flourescent Adolescent - sfw

Honor Among Thieves 18+, arranged marriage au

Domestic Parenting Fluff aka i didnt title this one - sfw, unhealthy relationship dynamic, pregnancy mention

For Myself - sfw, nsfw mention, sukuna comforting the reader when they're sick

Oddity - sfw, fluff, sukuna taking car of his s/o with a cold, gn!reader

The Definition of Human - sfw, sukuna with an s/o who makes fun of him/is stronger than him

Curses - nsfw, fem reader

"He's a ten but he licks your wounds" - sfw-ish

The Weight - not osha compliant, fem reader

Toji Fushiguro

Smut oneshot - nsfw, face riding, not the healthiest relationship dynamic, fem!reader

modern au smut oneshot - nsfw, age gap-older man/younger woman, fem!reader

Love Bites - nsfw, afab reader

What's a Devil To Do? - nsfw, dub-con, predator/prey

Introspection - nsfw, professor!toji, fem reader

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #housekeeping #my writing

[loveinlilies]

Tarot Talk: Kumon as the Wheel of Fortune

I had so much fun working on this so here's a drabble abt the symbolism depicted on Kumon's card and it's symbolism/inspo from the tarot!

(Yes that's the card from my deck-)

First and foremost I HAVE to appreciate the gold embellishments they're just so nice of an addition to this.

But for the main course: here's a few imagery related things they added from the original!

- Pages from the books the animals are reading (knowledge attained from those parts of the journey!)

- Wings of the four animals (flight into new patterns etc!)

- The wheel itself (with the same amount of points as there are in the original picture, the metaphorical center of this card)

-Success through Retreat and Introspection (oddly enough if you read this card he goes through Juza to solve it, but that seems to be very similar for the story in this card actually!)

- [Story related!] Anubis and Typhoon (around the center) which represent underlying motives or viewpoints (possibly Kumon wanting that, Juza helping or the fact that Yuki harps on him...)

A little synopsis of my understanding of the card as a tarot reader:

The fool comes across this wheel of fortune, accepting of change and assured he had left his ego to the wind-

when something blows him off kilter. He is unsuccessful but takes some time to think about it.

Many things are at play (I'd suggest reading the rest of the original card symbolism) but the Fool finds himself using the hermit's knowledge to overcome his issues and proceed on his journey.

(Kumon's story was highkey on point for it too! I like how they used Juza as the catalyst for Kumon to look back at his younger self's actions,, I thought that was sweet <:))

#for bubble-wubble-ball!! sorry it took so long #I'm uh going through it but this was vv fun to work on thankies!! #kazu moment <3 #a3! #a3! act! addict! actors! #tarot event #lapin's loudmouth

[allthephils]

2020 Fic Masterlist (so far)

I miss writing. To be clear, I don’t feel bad for not writing, I just miss it. Writing and me were enemies to friends to lovers and just when things got cozy, she got quarantined and we drifted apart. I’m trying my best to woo her back into my life and to that end, I’m going to look at what I did write this year. Instead of focusing on how long it’s been since I posted or how many fewer words there are than last year, I’m posting this 2020 so far master list. And damnit, I’m going to feel good about it.

Honeydew G, 4989 words Dan is a painter who’s lost his inspiration and Phil is a muse on roller skates. Yes, this is a Xanadu au but I think you can enjoy it with no point of reference. tags: roller skating, strangers to lovers, a little bit of magic

Trajectory G, 165 words Monochrome Dan introspection. First person prose/drabble

Maybe Stay Lost T, 1627 words, WIP, Dan is a prince, just looking for some room to breathe. When he meets an oddly charming man in the woods, he finds a freedom he never could have imagined. I do plan on continuing this. Tags: historical au, strangers to lovers, 18th century (loosely), romantic fluff

Unquestionable E, 920 words, Phil went home with Dan, and then he didn’t leave. This is a part two but can stand alone just fine. Tags: strangers to lovers, sexual content

But First, Coffee G 2173 words, Dan and Phil’s stories intersect in a coffee shop. tags: meet cute, pure fluff, alternating perspectives, coffee shop au, alternate meeting

Because Everyone Else is Boring, and You’re Different T, 1632 words, Dan and Phil slip away from the YouTube Halloween gathering, Tags: cannon adjacent, 2009, Halloween gathering

Luna Ursi T, 12433 words, Phil takes in a stray dog and soon realizes he’s found his other half. Tags: very minor mentions of blood, brief mention of homophobia, no animals are mistreated in this story, implied sexual content

Staring at the Sea M, 6640 words, Dan wears a braided chain made of finest silver from the north of Spain, a locket that bears the name of the man that he loves. Title is from a Cure album but this fic was based a different song entirely. Tags: strangers to lovers, non-explicit sexual content, not a strictly happy ending but an open one

Seagulls Screaming (kiss him, kiss him) G, 1922 words, Dan goes to the coast with his family and shares a fleeting moment with a boy on a cliff. It’s brief but it’s clear, this is only the beginning. In another world, this is their origin story. Tags: alternate meeting, 2009, Isle of Man, songfic, shifting perspectives

Just like Heaven G, 2440 words, Dan is a barista and Phil is the best part of his job. Tags: pure fluff, coffee shop au, barista Dan, Bryony Mathewman

Sweeter T, 599 words, Phil finds an alluring boy on the beach who tastes like every sweet thing he misses. Tags: mermaid Dan, Vampire Phil, fluff

Phantasmagoria M, 2299 words, Dan and Phil are mildly Instagram famous for their very realistic vampire cosplays. Tags: au, blood, implied sexual content, Vampire Phil, cosplay

Speed of Sound E, 15712 words, Dan has finally found a voice to ground him and the face that goes with it is even better. Yes this still has one chapter to go and yes it will be finished. :) Tags: meditation, therapy, strangers to lovers,

I also recorded a couple of podfic that you can find on my AO3 if you’re so inclined.

#my fic #fic talk #hopefully i will add to this before the end of the year

[anthropologicalhands]

2020 fic writing roundup

stealing this from @catty-words and even if it’s late, it’s a fun distraction from the sunday blues.

Total 2020 Word Count: 60,805 Total 2020 Hits: 2482 Other 2020 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 194; Comment threads: 42; Bookmarks: 18; Subscriptions: 16.

Total 2019 Word Count: 62,091 Total 2019 Hits: 4714 Other 2019 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 331, Comment Threads: 73, Bookmarks: 42, Subscriptions: 17

links and titles to 2020 works

[crazy ex girlfriend] my breathing is light and my head is filled silly [31,498] - oneshot series got a couple of new ones!

[crazy ex girlfriend] miss do it right [4,885] - heather helps valencia propose to beth.

[the 100] gifts (to be coveted) [5,302] - an outline of emori and murphy’s relationship, lots of emori introspection.

[dilwale] slipping from the shade [3,112] - a coda scene where meera and kaali finally get some alone time...for a little while.

[the 100] peace for the morning [2,698] - a modern AU memori fic inspired directly by a oneshot that I adore.

[crazy ex girlfriend] he’s a fun guy, and he’ll grow on you[5,857] - the nathaniel turns into a tree fic!

[dilwale dulhania le jayenge] the braveheart and the bride return hand in hand [1,511] - after their epic rescue romance, simran and raj face the reality of being married.

[crazy ex girlfriend] there are gators in west covina [5,932] - rebecca has Complicated feelings about nathaniel leaving for guatemala. told via metaphors.

Favorite Fic: Probably slipping from the shade. It’s simple, but I think the language feels nice and really matches the mood I’m trying to go for. Also, posting it after a long period where I struggled to write was really nice.

Hardest Fic: he’s a fun guy, and he’ll grow on you just...logistically figuring out why they were in that situation and what I could get away with for the nymph without exposition, not to mention that it was a very late birthday present, oops. (Also, lowkey annoyed that i just had an epiphany that i could have made nathaniel a cactus and it still probably would have been funny. damn.)

Do You Plan to Take Prompts in 2021? This one’s a maybe - I’m always happy to follow new prompts, but I just can’t guarantee that I’ll get to them.

What was the best thing about 2020? Writing Bollywood fic, oddly enough. The fics I had have a different style and tone that felt very satisfying.

While I haven’t posted anything for YuYu Hakusho yet, I have been outlining some ideas that are completely different from anything I thought I would write before, and I’m really, really excited to execute them.

What was the worst thing about 2020? For a specific concrete goal: I never got around to giving telepathy au a hard edit and got it ready to post.

In a more abstract sense, this has been a really hard year for writing. I’ve been lucky to be secure in my personal life, but for whatever reason, the pandemic took a huge toll mentally. But it’s not because I can’t write - there are at least 20-30,000 words of nearly-finished fics CEG (excluding telepathy au), Bollywood fics, and YuYu Hakusho currently on my laptop. 

What happened (I think) is that the perfectionist tendency I noticed last year has gotten much worse, which keeps me pointlessly revising without necessarily improving the quality of the work. I also was more scared - I posted some of these fics under Anonymous this year, despite not really having a good reason to do so. I’m not ashamed of any of them, but I legitimately had a hard time posting them under my name. I don’t like that.

Therefore, I think my focus this year is to try out a more regimented writing routine, and seriously look at my editing choices and think through why I’m not satisfied with them. This might mean that I need to overhaul my approach, possibly from the beginning - finding out if developing a more detailed outline, or writing linearly, or something else helps me get where I want to go. I think there are definitely some growing pains involved, and it won’t guarantee that I’ll be happy with my work across the board, because every story is different, but you know what? It’s worth a shot.

Any last thoughts for 2020? Good riddance!

Goals for 2021

Post 1 fic per month, even if it’s just drabble length.

Edit and post telepathy AU, because I put a lot of work into it, dammit!

Try new writing processes and find out if there are adjustments I can find to really help me write my stories and feel more satisfied with the end results.

#ellie writes fic

[fictionalarsonist]

heartache — pt.2

pairing ›_yoonkook

content ›_angst ; fluff ; underage drinking ; mild language ; jealous!yoongi rating ›_pg word count ›_4.3k

―

premise ›_they’re two idiots in love still figuring things out.

a/n ›_this is an unplanned follow up to the heartache drabble, requested by taesboba and jazzy3120 at ao3. I hope they enjoy it as well as everyone else who reads. Feedback is always appreciated. edit ›_(Aug.2nd) had to change the title because part 3 was requested. 😂😂 the funny thing is, I wrote heartache as part of a drabble in which I compromised myself in not writing too much, but i'm always happy to take requests. credit › _thank you so much to @mindays​ for beta-reading and helping me out with this one for me. _😘💕

「 ao3 | masterlist 」

[ heartache | part 2 | epilogue ] 

The car stopped and Yoongi looked through the window, part of him expected to see Jungkook somewhere among the other students. He felt the driver’s eyes on him through the rearview mirror and forced himself to divert his attention, sliding his wallet out of his jacket’s pocket to pay the man.

“Look,” the man started, chewing his gum way too obnoxiously for Yoongi’s taste, “If you don’t have a dorm or anything and— y’know, need a place to stay...”

Yoongi saw him reaching inside over the panel and for a piece of paper and a pen, write something down and slide the paper in the folded bills before handing it to him.

“It’s cheap and somewhere— near ,” the man cracks a contained laughter that shakes his shoulders a little, “I guess we could say that?” His laughter dies when Yoongi doesn’t seem to respond to his antics, “Just try giving a call, okay? Have fun in college, kid.”

Yoongi pocketed the money and stepped out of the car, glad that he could breath fresh, untainted air yet again. Yoongi swung his backpack on his shoulder, the old thing could fall apart any day, but he’s oddly attached to it. He shifted the gym bag he’s been carrying from one hand to another after shoving the money in his pocket and leaving his hand tucked in there as he took a quick look around.

Yoongi isn’t exactly what one would call a very good navigator, but he could remember by heart the address Jungkook gave to him. He walked straight along the park until the second intersection, then he crossed the street. Yoongi can’t help but to notice how these traditional colleges have the same type of environment and architecture, but the locations are always random or so it seems.

One could never know where everything is supposed to be. Yoongi recalls how long it took him and Hoseok to figure out the different paths and shortcuts to go from one place to another. Jungkook, being the ever infamous golden boy that he is, always figures things out as if it was nothing to others. Hoseok told him about it, Hoseok would always update him on anything Jungkook related— Not that Yoongi ever asked him too. But, he couldn’t just— Simply ignore it and not listen to it. He just pretended he didn’t.

Then again, of course, this was before that day. Before Yoongi saw the mess that he created. That late afternoon when he cornered Hoseok and made him trace Jungkook’s phone location, grabbed his friend’s car keys and rushed to the place he still knows by heart because that's where Jungkook would always oh-so-coincidentally bump into him with his friends and his girlfriend. Saying he felt like a piece of trash seeing Jungkook wasted like that is an understatement.

It took so much of Yoongi to keep himself together and try helping Jungkook at that moment when he himself was a turmoil inside, not knowing how to feel or how to act. The only thing he knew was that that scene right there was dangerous and he knew Jungkook’s story with alcohol so it made it all worse— All the more scary and Yoongi just couldn’t stop blaming himself.

Not when he arrived nor when he managed to get Jungkook to throw up all that was inside of him and sober a little. Not when he had Jungkook in his arms and felt so powerless because even though he was there he kept pushing Yoongi away and this could be too late for them.

It was hard, stumbling on his thoughts and uncertainties in front of Jungkook sitting across from him in that truck. The way Jungkook looked at him, utterly vulnerable, physically sick, and emotionally hurt when Yoongi— very inappropriately, mind you—  gathered whatever courage he could to finally spell it out his confession.

It could be called a miracle that things turned out good considering how much of a neglecting asshole he was for so long. Now, he’s doing again, dragging himself halfway across the country to meet that annoying brat that is his boyfriend. Six months is too long, Skype calls, phone calls, texts. Nothing’s anywhere near being good enough when Yoongi thinks of just how they were together almost the entire time over their summer break. Even so, it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi’s not quite sure what he expected, but Jungkook is nothing he could imagine and the thrill of a new relationship still burns between them very frustratingly with the many miles that keeps them apart. It’s almost consequential that one of them decided to reach out first and see the other, and since Jungkook’s still going over his finals Yoongi decided to arrange his final project’s schedule around it.

A quick look around told Yoongi he’s close enough. He could see the statue, ‘The Patron’ as Jungkook told him it’s called. And as Jungkook said, it’s decorated with some weird accessories provided by some students that were starting to celebrate the end of another semester, or, in other cases, the end of their major. Yoongi recognizes Jungkook’s contribution to the mess, he’s seen before in the picture Jungkook sent him to let him know what the statue looks like on the ‘How to get to my dorm’ file.

It’s quite unbelievable how the dean doesn’t even try to stop this anymore. His college, on the other hand, would have the staff throwing a fit just for the sombrero on the statue’s head. Jungkoook’s contribution is a copy of Yoongi’s tattoo, painted in white on the dark green statue, at the same place Yoongi has it. A little too detailed, Yoongi thinks, and way too unnecessary as he said before, but professing that to the bratty Jungkook only earned him an amused chuckle and a very teasing-toned reply.

“Oh! C’mon, hyung!” Jungkook started all by himself, knowing his teasing would always stir a nerve in Yoongi, “It’s the end of my second semester. My first year, my first collaboration on the project! I was told to contribute with something that means something important to me.”

“My tattoo?” Yoongi replied, refusing to acknowledge how affected he was by the way Jungkook smiled at him with a purpose and Yoongi liked even less that Jungkook quickly shifted into his mocking demeanor.

“Well, it’s not like I could draw you there. I couldn’t pin you there either,” though, despite his worlds, Jungkook seems to be putting some thought into it.

“Whatever you’re thinking of — Just don’t!” He tried to cut  Jungkook off when the other half-smiled to himself and shifted in bed to lay down.

“I swear, hyung. I’d be a waste, if I could bring you all the way here, I’d pin you right on this bed.” Jungkook provoked, placing his laptop beside him instead. “Do you have any idea of how much I miss you right now? — ”

Yoongi doesn’t really want to think of how Jungkook’s voice sounded so purposefully provocative and instantly made him weak. It’s just embarrassing how things turned out to be. Not that Yoongi doesn’t like it, but he prefers not to think about the way goosebumps runs over his skin and he’s always so responsive to Jungkook.

Jungkook, on the other hand, has been enjoying himself all too much, pushing some limits here and there and seeing Yoongi just allowing him with nothing but meaningless protests. Yoongi’s been quite pathetic, while Jungkook has been enjoying having this effect on his hyung a little bit too much for Yoongi’s liking. Jungkook isn’t Yoongi’s first relationship, but with him everything’s so much more than Yoongi ever had. 

The statue certainly means he’s going the right way and Yoongi decides not to let his mind wander too much or he might get lost which isn't the ideal at the moment. So, from the statue he should take the second left. Jungkook said he’d be in class and would meet him at the apartment, his roommate moved out— Seokjin, or Jin-hyung as Jungkook likes to call him, Yoongi remembers well because Jungkook couldn’t stop singing praises about the guy that Yoongi saw plenty of times on Jungkook’s social media.

It doesn’t quite surprise Yoongi that he recognizes Seokjin when he looks over and he definitely doesn’t need a second glance to clearly see Jungkook beside him. Yoongi pauses his steps as he stops and stands there, furrowing his brows. His watch tells him he’s not late or early, actually, he’s right on time. Jungkook had told him he’d be in class for two and a half hours, so why is he in the middle of the campus, talking to his ex-roommate? Without as much as a second thought Yoongi finds his feet taking him their way.

“You’ll be okay without me around, right?” Jin asks.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, hyung.” Jungkook smiles with a shrug.

Jin takes a once-over at Jungkook and his eyes stop at the messy hair falling over the younger’s eyes.

“You really should cut your hair,” Jin says introspectively, reaching out to try and arrange the loose strands, running his hand through Jungkook’s hair.

“Alright! Geez!” Jungkook starts complaining, pulling back from Jin’s obsessive mania of getting everything into place. “I will, hyung! When the finals are over-,” Jungkook tries to lean back to escape from Jin’s obsessive behavior of always fixing everything.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook’s heels scrape the gravaled ground as he turns to Yoongi walking up to him with purpose. Jungkook’s first reaction would be greeting Yoongi as he meant to do since they parted ways, but something tells him that there doesn't seem to be a space for that at the moment. Whatever Jungkook says is lost in the wind while Yoongi locks eyes with Jin as he coolly retracts his hand from Jungkook’s hair. Seemingly unfazed by Yoongi’s hard, threatening stare.

“I thought you’d be in class,” Yoongi speaks up, his eyes taking their time to look away from the calm and collected Jin in front of him to Jungkook.

“I should , but the professor didn’t show up,” Jungkook says, “I was about to go home and wait for you when I met Jin-hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes quickly land on Jin again, clearly displeased to see that he’s still there. Jungkook’s eyes find Yoongi’s backpack hanging from his fingers and he tries to take it from him, though Yoongi’s fingers have a firm grip on it.

“Just give it, hyung,” Jungkook insists.

“You already have enough on you,” Yoongi contests, resisting even though Jungkook doesn’t let go, nodding at Jungkook’s own backpack and the books under his arm.

“I’m alright, hyung.” Jungkook assures him in a half-annoyed tone, his fingers forcing Yoongi’s to let him take it.

Yoongi sighs and Jungkook knows he’s embarrassed with this, it’s been a pleasure apart from everything else to know this other side of Yoongi. It’s been all the more fun to explore this side of Yoongi too, but Jungkook knows now’s not the moment to push it further. Not with the way Yoongi looked at Jin just a moment before.

Jungkook’s eyes snap at Jin for a moment. “Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Jungkook says with one of his mischievous smiles he knows Yoongi’s always suspicious about and he gave his boyfriend plenty of reasons to be suspicious of, although not enough— or so Jungkook thinks.

“Hyung,” Jin’s attention never left them but his eyes had been softly watching Yoongi with something rather unreadable in them, they slide over to Jungkook, “This is Min Yoongi-hyung—”

“Ah!” Jin extends his hand, “Of course.”

Jungkook turns to Yoongi next and manners his hand to Jin, “I told you about Jin-hyung before, right?”

“Yeah, you did,” Yoongi speaks up loosely.

Against his own will Yoongi pulls out his hand from his pocket and takes Jin’s hand firmly in his locking eyes with the guy. Yoongi doesn’t want to let his mind go over unnecessary things, but he didn’t like how Jin’s taller and perfectly put together self is presented to him. But, the real reason as to why Yoongi gets put-off by Jin is that arrogant smile flashing towards him as if Jin knows something Yoongi doesn’t.

“It’s good finally meeting you,” Jin says with a casual politeness that is an obvious characteristic of him, even not knowing him Yoongi could see it. “You know,” Jin smiles pleasantly, but it just makes it harder for Yoongi to not dislike the guy, “Jungkook’s always talking about you.”

“I’m sure he’d do that. I’m his boyfriend.”

Yoongi finds himself saying, squeezing Jin’s hands in his and pulling back harshly. Jin raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with a clear contradicted expression at first that only lasts for a second before he portraits his signature polite smile.

“Well, I’m just his roommate— Well, I mean ex -roommate, right?” Jin lets out what Yoongi clearly sees as a posed smile, a posed chuckle that he has no doubt others can easily fall for. Not him. “I was kicked out.”

“I didn’t kick you out, hyung!” Jungkook protests.

“Oh, c’mon, Kookie!” Jin seems to genuinely enjoy calling Jungkook that nickname, Yoongi, on the other hand, isclose to having enough of it. “I got pretty sick and tired of you complaining about how our living arrangements wouldn’t allow your boyfriend to come over and stay with you. It was too clear for me to not take the hint, it just worries me about the rent, though.”

“Don’t worry, hyung. I got it.” Jungkook reassures him.

“Well, if you say so—” Jin shrugs dismissively, “Let me know if something comes up. I can always move back in.”

If only looks could kill, Jin would be a dead man long before he could finish saying that with that ridiculous, arrogant, posed smile that’s started to rub off on Yoongi in the wrong way everytime Jin does it.

[ ⁕⁕⁕ ]

“Hyung?” Jungkook calls out for the nth time as they walk to Jungkook’s place. “Hyung, what’s wrong?” Jungkook insists on despite knowing it might not be the best idea, “Hyung! Yoongi-hyung!”

“I’m just fucking tired, okay?” Yoongi speaks between his teeth and Jungkook sighs as the elevator doors open and they step in.

Yoongi turns to look at Jungkook, examining him.

“What~?” Jungkook asks, half-irritated now.

“What’s the problem with your hair?”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks up, not being able to reach up to check it since his hands are busy.

“That guy was running his hands in your hair when I saw you. What’s wrong with it?” Yoongi asks with even less patience and Jungkook chuckles looking back at him.

“Ah, that. Jin’s kind of obsessed with everything being clean and right… I don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs, “He keeps nagging at me.”

“You don’t wash your hair?”

“Wha- No! Hyung, no!” Jungkook laughs, “It’s just that— I should’ve got a new cut, but I can’t find the time to do it, since there’s still some finals to go through and some stupid project I have to finish. I just haven’t had time to go to a barber since he moved out.”

“I think it’s just fine like this,” Yoongi speaks up, “Just cut the ends, I think. So it won’t fall over your eyes.”

He’s not used to this yet. Especially since he knows the provocative smile Jungkook’s wearing right now.

“Thank you, hyung. Actually, I was thinking... I was thinking of just cutting a little just so the hair won’t fall on my face, but I’ll keep the long bangs.”

Yoongi sees Jungkook moving closer to him, he looks over only to find his boyfriend’s face just a breath away from the distance of him. Yoongi turns to look at the closed doors again and feels Jungkook’s breathy chuckle on his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Yoongi can pretty much feel the blood running to the surface.

Jungkook’s always a brat, always finding a way to get to him, the problem is Yoongi finds himself being pretty vulnerable to it.

“But, hyung~,” Jungkook breaths on his skin and Yoongi gulps down the tension building up on his muscles, “That’s only if you’d think I look hot like that. If you really like it, you know?”

Yoongi feels thankful when the doors slide open and he clears his throat. He’d move his feet to bolt out of the elevator first if his feet didn’t seem to be glued down at the moment. He watches Jungkook, with that stupid smug face of his, walk out first.

As Yoongi follows Jungkook down the hall he tries not to think about it, he really tries not to, but he can’t help it. Jin sets him off, he just knew it’d be like that, he didn’t like the way Jungkook kept singing nothing but praises about the guy. How intelligent, eloquent, caring, or whatever this Jin guy is, how they went out and this and that happened, how Jin knows almost everyone who’s someone around the campus.

Yoongi can’t stop thinking how many times Jin walked down this hall together with Jungkook and this is so fucking silly, but Yoongi can’t get out of his mind how freely Jin acted around Jungkook. This was nothing like someone who sees the other as just a friend and Yoongi’s not sure if Jungkook’s oblivious enough not to see it or if he’s pretending not to. Either way, it doesn't help the case.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and gives a quick look at the apartment’s living room. Everything’s organized and clean, something he knows Jungkook isn’t that good at.

“What?” Jungkook asks, his eyes trained on Yoongi.

“Was it you or your ex- roommate who cleaned the place?” Yoongi wishes he didn’t say it like that, but the words just rolled out of his lips.

“Hyung-” 

Yoongi finds it odd how close Jungkook’s voice sounds, so he looks up only to be caged in by Jungkook’s body and the wall behind him. He didn’t even have the time to take off his shoes.

“Are you jealous, hyung?” Jungkook provokes, stepping closer to Yoongi now pressed with his back flat against the wall. Jungkook had that stupid smug grin pulling the corners of his lips, “Are you thinking of Jin being here with me, is that it?”

Yoongi moves his head and Jungkook presses his hand on the wall next to Yoongi’s head, grinning when their lips brush much to Yoongi’s dismay. Jungkook humms, low and provoking and Yoongi swallows around nothing, taking a sharp breath, his eyes drawn to his boyfriend’s lips molded into that stupid grin Yoongi’s oh-so-tempted to cover with his own lips.

But before he can do anything, Jungkook moves his lips to Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi tries his best to not allow his body to shake with the goosebumps that run under his skin so violently. This is the aftermath of pent-up sexual tension between them and Yoongi knows it. He wants Jungkook just as much as he knows Jungkook wants him. Yoongi has been pushing the boundary and testing Jungkook on it, only to be surprised by the younger’s immediate reaction.

Jungkook’s lips brush on his earlobe just for a moment before he pulls away enough just so all Yoongi can feel is his skin tingling under Jungkook’s breath.

“Hyung,” Jungkook breaths on his skin and chuckles when Yoongi can’t stop the tremble that shakes through him, “Hyung, do you think I’d even think of someone else? Me?”

Yoongi isn’t conscious of Jungkook’s hand sliding down the wall beside him until he feels his hand pulling his body and Yoongi can’t help but to be compliant. His hand reaches up on its own until he has a firm grip on Jungkook’s sleeve. 

“My Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes close once Jungkook’s lips touch his jaw light as a feather, brushing on the spot as Jungkook’s hand takes a firm grip on his waist, pressing Yoongi’s side to his chest tightly, leaving Yoongi wanting more than that.

“I could never look at some other guy,” Jungkook speaks smoothly against his skin, lowering his lips down Yoongi’s neck, stopping unexpectedly to press his lips at random spots, causing Yoongi’s pulse to jolt and race each time. “Not when I know I can have you.”

Jungkook’s hand slid down Yoongi’s side, finding the hem of the shirt under the jacket. Yoongi’s hand grips tightly on his boyfriend's biceps and he licks his lips. Jungkook glances at Yoongi’s face just enough to see him frowning; swallowing thickly around his words and Jungkook knows what he wants to say.

They’ve been waiting for this, to hold each other, feel each other like this, push the boundaries they couldn’t dare to during that summer break when Jungkook was nothing but an inexcusable, pathetic mess and Yoongi couldn’t, for the life of him, put together a comprehensive sentence right now. Yet, this seems to be going too far too fast, Jungkook knows and he doesn’t want to force anything, but it’s so deliciously pleasing to have Yoongi there for him, so pliant and responsive.

Yoongi feels Jungkook’s fingertips pressing on the small of his back, tracing his skin without pressing yet. Yoongi finds himself edging against him and even though this isn’t supposed to be happening, not now. Maybe Jungkook doesn’t know, maybe he can’t tell, but somewhere under the haze and warmth of the feeling of having Jungkook surrounding him, Yoongi knows this is just too soon.

“I craved you the whole semester, y’know?” Jungkook mutters against his skin and Yoongi tries his best not to close his eyes, it’s what Jungkook wants and he’s not willing to let him have it. “You don’t know how much I keep thinking about how your voice sounds over the phone- I loved seeing your face flushed that day too.”

Yoongi can’t help it, his eyes close before he notices as he feels Jungkook nibbling on his skin, at a particular soft spot near his clavicle. He fists Jungkook’s jacket and feels the smug grin pressed on his skin and he wants to complain, but all he’s able to muster is a deep groan that has Jungkook humming along as if they’re singing  a song together. Yoongi hates this as much as he wants to keep it going.

“I keep thinking about that one time you called me drunk in the middle of the night, hyung~” The words color Yoongi’s mind with blurry faint memories, the embarrassment of what happened serves off a remedy to make him snap out of this trace, just enough to get him to think of saying something.

His lips part even if he doesn’t know what he’d say and Yoongi hears the sound of a struggled gasp falls from his own lips when Jungkook all knowingly pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his pulse while his arm circle his middle underneath the shirt and his hand now presses harder on his skin. This is ridiculous, it’s nothing much. Yet, Yoongi can’t help himself. He loses himself in Jungkook’s warmth just as easily.

But, next thing he knows, he can’t feel Jungkook anymore, even so, Yoongi’s still into that haze Jungkook wrapped him in, still too lost to see through it all and Jungkook gives him a moment. He stands there, watching this new side of Yoongi; once he sees his hyung is stable again, Jungkook pulls away and he can see the confusion in Yoongi’s eyes looking for him. Jungkook wishes he didn’t have to stop there, but there’s still time.

Jungkook walks away with one of his soft smiles, taking a last look at how flustered Yoongi looks pressed up against that wall, pretending his fingertips doesn’t still tingle, craving for the touch of Yoongi’s skin again. He just has to pretend to not be that much affected and it’s not easy.

“I’ll put your things in my room,” he speaks up, not sure if Yoongi actually hears him, then he leaves before he can get any response. Yoongi could very well ask to stay in the other room and Jungkook doesn’t want that.

Yoongi runs his hands over his face and groans, this time disapprovingly of himself. He doesn’t recall how it started, but he’s relieved Jungkook seems to understand, or, at least, Yoongi hopes he does. Jungkook has always been a brat and he could’ve stopped just because he felt like it, but Yoongi wanted to think it’s because he understood. He pushes himself off the wall and finds himself lost inside the rather small apartment.

“I cleaned it because I knew you’d nag at me, hyung,” Jungkook says ever so casually as he walks in the living room again, as if what just happened was nothing but a speck of Yoongi’s imagination that came out vivid enough to leave the burn on his skin where Jungkook had touched him, “Are you hungry?”

Yoongi swallows, fighting off the awkwardness of not quite knowing what to do with himself and he sees Jungkook grinning to himself as he steps into the kitchen area.

“Why? Did you cook?” Yoongi didn’t even try to hide his skepticism and chose to sit on the couch, he looks down only to see Jungkook’s notebook open on top of a stack of books. He skims the page and naturally doesn’t understand a word.

“I’m living alone for over a year now, hyung,” Jungkook points out and looks back only to see Yoongi running his hand on the back of his neck, to make himself feel better. “If you’re tired just lay down a bit, I just have to heat this up. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Yoongi can hear Jungkook saying something about the bed, but to him, the couch sounds good enough. He tries to keeps his eyes open just a little while, just to drawn in the sound of Jungkook in the kitchen; different than what Yoongi imagined, Jungkook’s not loud, he barely makes any noise and he doesn know if he’s trying to be quiet or this is who he is while cooking. Just one of the things Yoongi would like to find out over these weeks. He hears the fridge being opened and the knife slicing the vegetables, hitting the cutting board and the place’s small and quiet enough for Yoongi to hear the shuffle of Jungkook’s bare feet on the floor and he sleeps with an unexpected reassurance.

⇽ part 01 | epilogue ⇾

#mine #bangtanxm #bangtanscenery #kwritersworldnet #btswritersnet #hyunglinenetwork #angst #yoonkook #yoon!kook #yoongixjungkook #mxm #bts #suga #jungkook #jjk #yg #myg #idiots in love

[mischiefblues]

beaujester drabble

set after ep 85, just imagine they’re back in xhorhas right now. was in sad feelings and had to jot this down. could be better, but alas. unedited.

it's just so like the mighty nein to get caught up in a billion things that don't allow for rest. there's never been a time where they could sit, kick back and relax, instead it's just go there, do this, fight them, get into the middle of a war between countries only to find out that it’s being instigated by the worst god to ever exist who’s trying to break free and you know, other normal things.

she's cleaning the blood and grime off of her fists, wincing from the bruises spattered across her knuckles and she's so tired (the thought that jester is elsewhere and not here to clean and heal them like usual weighs just a little heavier)

there’s a deafening silence within the room, only interrupted by the small bouts of shuffling as she finishes rolling up her wraps for tomorrow. 

her mouth feels sticky. it has ever since her conversation with nott where she finally confessed, (the feeling of carrying it around in her chest had gotten too much and the relief of saying it out loud was more than what she expected)

saying it out loud was excruciating. and of all the people it was with nott, who is quite frankly the least subtle in their group, but somehow it made sense that nott is exactly who she needed this time.

beau always thought that things not said meant they had no control over her. they weren't tangible in any way and so they didn't exist. often that was used as a self defense mechanism, but apparently some things you just can't hold to yourself without exploding.

this was one of them.

and thinking of jester always brings a slew of emotions. she ends up looking too deep into their conversations and overthinking every interaction and gets lost in looking at her when doing anything at all and it's a problem.

because beau has been getting better, better at realising things about herself and noticing bad habits that she's started to slowly cut down. she’s growing and she feels oddly proud of herself for it.

but love… or, well, crushes... that's a whole 'nother thing that beau had blocked herself from for so long that she doesn't even know how to begin to approach the topic without sending herself into a complete panic.

mindless flirting is just that, flirting. it's fun, it makes her laugh and hell sometimes she gets to fuck someone which is all well and good, but this is jester.

jester, who she has to see every day, who she has to sleep in the same room with, sometimes even the same bed. jester who is still way, way too good for the world considering how much pain it has thrown at her. jester who is unabashedly herself and hits and heals people and makes them happy. jester. jester. jester.

tori is the only one who she felt more than just a one time deal for and that did not end well at all (thinking of the unsuccessful goodbye hurts so she pushes it away, that’s not something she can deal with. not right now)

knowing her track record, this would end up getting nowhere and only hurt the both of them, after all beau is rough around the edges and jester is bound to get cut. hell, there's also the whole thing of jester's type being fjord and that's just another thing she can't get into right now for fear of losing her mind.

see that's the thing about saying it out loud - it makes her get introspective and that only makes things worse.

and besides, beau's never been the type to have a happy ending, so the least she can do is not burden jester with any of this.

#critical role #critfic #beaujester #ole writes #really was in a mood from remembering my own unrequited crush #so i just had to jot this down and spew out my feelings haha #better late then never ig to post it

[ficsideblogbecauseanxiety]

A brief drabble about Law questioning his feelings. I wrote this about 4-5 months ago after musing about it on the train home from school.

Pairing: LawLu (or at least Law>Lu) Rating: K+ Setting: Canonverse Wordcount: 594 words

There were times – and he cursed his gay heart for this – when Law found himself romanticising Luffy.

Building up this image in his mind of this great saviour. This amazing man who burst into his life like a rogue firework and who would burn the world down for him if it threatened him.

This was all preposterous, of course.

Luffy simply wasn’t that type of person, and Law was well aware of that fact. Logically-speaking.

But of course, when has love ever followed the ways of logic?

Logically, Law knew Luffy to be a loud-mouthed, impulsive idiot, whose allegiances seemed to change based on who has the most food to hand, or who promises to be his friend. Logically, Law knew Luffy was kind of gross, and unkempt, and almost always a little sweaty, as he reportedly didn’t bathe often. On top of all that, of course, was that the smell of hot rubber always hung around, and was a bit noxious.

However, none of these cold hard facts helped him late at night, when he lay in bed reminiscing, staring at the wanted poster above his desk. Neither did they help him when the newspapers came, and brought new tales of the Straw Hats’ daring do. They especially hadn’t helped during those rare quiet, intimate moments with the man himself; when they stayed up all night talking of dreams and adventures and the future.

Those times were when Law fell the hardest. Which was foolish, he thought, because Straw Hat wasn’t even like that most of the time. Most of the time he was loud, excitable, and really just down right annoying. And yet, at times even these traits of his were oddly captivating.

His hot-headed impulsive nature, once any emergency had passed, was almost amusing in hindsight. His excitability and excessive volume were endearing to say the least, especially when it was barely restrained in an attempt to look professional. Not forgetting, of course, that he could also have a serious side, and when that came out it made Law’s heart race.

What made all of this even harder was that Luffy seemed besotted with him. Always trying to spend time together; always invading his personal space; always chattering excitedly to him about nothing; always getting his face a bit too close before pulling away; always placing his hands anywhere a bit too long to take back, but doing so anyway. Law always meant to ask about that, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

Luffy, ultimately, didn’t seem the type to feel that way about anyone. Romantic feelings – or at least the realisation of such – required at least some manner of introspection, Law thought, and that was something that seemed pretty beyond Straw Hat. Even if he felt some inkling of ‘like’, he probably wouldn’t dwell long enough for it to consume him. Too much to do, in so little time as one has when they live as fast as him. Too little time to bother separating romantic from platonic.

All of this was just a fool’s game. Why did Law even feel this way? What was the point? Luffy already loved him as much as he was going to – as much as he loves all his friends – so why dwell so much? Why waste so much time? So much emotional energy?

If you ever find answers to any of those questions, I’m sure Surgeon of Death, Trafalgar D. Water Law would love to hear from you. Lord knows he’s never been able to figure it out himself.

#lawlu #lulaw #one piece #trafalgar law #monkey d luffy #trafalgar d water law #op canonverse #rating: K+ #finished #drabble

[ao3feed-soriku]

Puzzle Pieces

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2QiqfEZ

by TheBlackSouledFox

Soriku Week Day 2: Familiarity

There's something oddly familiar about Roxas...

Words: 606, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of SoRiku Week 2018

Fandoms: Kingdom Hearts

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Riku (Kingdom Hearts), Roxas (Kingdom Hearts), Sora (Kingdom Hearts)

Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Riku & Sora (Kingdom Hearts)

Additional Tags: SoRiku Week 2018, Angst, Introspection, Drabble

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2QiqfEZ

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #soriku

[nightblink]

I wrote the Grave drabble back on May 25th, 2017 and now Sanderson gives me almost the e x a c t same introspection in-book that I’d written all those months ago - albeit shorter, and the situation not at all the same, but. Damn. Am... am I allowed to feel proud and oddly accomplished that I managed to read/predict my sun-son so well

#oathbringer spoilers #or is it just another indication of my spending way to much time thinking about this sort of thing #ah well #(currently on ch. 93)

[emer-gency]

Send me a gency fic prompt!

and [noire] will write a short drabble fic. note that i’m going to (attempt) to write them in the same style that i wrote my fics for gency week, but they’ll most likely be much shorter than the 10 part goal i’d set before. for a reminder of the self-imposed torture rules: 

(1) Most of the fic must be written in 100-word drabbles. (2) Non-drabble sections must be rare, and must have word counts that are multiples of 100. (3) To prevent the drabbles from becoming oddly-spaced paragraphs, five minutes must elapse between each drabble, or there must be a change in perspective.

i will attempt to write for each prompt that i get, but please note that i specialize in character introspection and angst. while i’m open to fluff and light hearted cuteness (because the world needs it), those might take me a little bit longer. i’ll also write character centric, non-gency prompts, but i will not accept prompts for a different pairing

send and ask with your prompt and i will do my best to indulge ouob

#gency #emergenji #overwatch fanfiction #noire noot noot #depending on how long they are/how many i get #i'll probably compile them into groups and post them en masse #instead of individually #since they'll all be relatively short #most likely

[ciebei]

*

Inspired by numerous hellchat ladies, I’ve decided to compile some wips / bits of writing I’m probs never gonna use! 

_____________________________________________________________________

(I got inspired by @sequencefairy​ and wrote a kinda space-y one too, but writing is hard and idk if im gonna finish it ever)

“So, you’re the one who took down the Menos?”

Ichigo Kurosaki - 11th squad in the 13 squad guardians - turns, or rather, stumbles, to face the rogue voice.

Their eyes meet, and he almost recoils at the intensity of her gaze.

(She has leadership branded to her veins.)

“I’ve never met a person more disastrous.” She grins, mirth shining in the depths of her eyes.

And yet, there she stands - all titanium curves and milky skin, inky hair swept back with elegance - with her gaze boring into his very soul.

He, lacking words, stammers something indecipherable, and hurries to down his drink.

Stranger- until, the cogs whirr abruptly in his head, and, “Shit— I mean, you’re— Commander Kuchiki! Uh…”

_____________________________________________________________________

(AU where Ichigo’s memory was erased by SS and Rukia goes to visit after a long period of time.)

“It’s your birthday.”

Pausing, he frowns, a deep ridge on his face. Rukia counts the freckles off by heart before her eyes drift to confirm, a nasty swoop of nostalgia rising in her gut. His mouth opens as if to say something, then closes. Tight.

“How’d you know?”

A movement grips her like waves, then she is entering the small apartment with little concern for the rainwater she drips onto the floorboards. The motion of her shoulders makes him laugh - a shrug so defiant it seems implausibly haughty for someone of her height.

Somehow, he cannot bring himself to stop this moonlit stranger from entering his home. His eyes trail with the liquid of her strides.

“A hunch.”

She answers simply, her voice cutting through silence and years of empty.

It feels, suddenly, like his apartment is a little bit more whole. Lord knows why.

There’s a pair of amber eyes at her head; she knows. Too well the molten hues are embedded into her brain - in fact, she had studied the autumn leaves this morning in their fiery halos and wondered if his hair contained those same elements.

It does.

She watches in her peripheral as his hand rises to tousle his hair like he had done so many times before.

Her fingers flow through the river of silk as if weightless, a soft, thoughtful smile playing at her lips. Her summer dress.

“What does it mean to you?”

“Oh, that…?”

The man moves a hand to the crown of his head, falling into silence. A good moment ticks by, the creaking of wooden boards her only other company as she pierces him with her gaze. Breaks him apart. Oddly, there is a great familiarity in the starlight of her eyes.

He shrugs, “Everything.” The words are brushed off his lips like dust, but she revels in the sound on her tongue.

“Oh?”

Her expression has the same taste as nostalgia, and he wrinkles his nose and wonders at the pinpricks behind his eyes.

Still, she remains, all the same. Desperately, he wishes it isn’t all a dream.

_______________________________________________________________________

(ISHIHIME!!!)

He wishes she were thunder so they could see each other more than once a year.

.

She listens to the static waves of breath on the line, and places them at the sea, that gentle ebb and flow. Imagery of an ocean is fitting, she thinks. Because one has grown between them.

_____________________________________________________________________

(Inspired by @mizulily​‘s drabble from a while ago, an introspective piece about Rukia THAT HURT A LOT AND CAN BE FOUND HERE!)

You wonder if, like the moon, you have phases too.

Is your full moon watching Sode no Shirayuki’s blade disperse to ice? Or is it locking lips with the sun?

.

Before him, you were a vast, impenetrable wall of marble. Pure, and untainted, and emotions kept under lock and key. Before him, you were immortal.

Carved out of ice and withheld in the elements, a stony, absolute fortress of will.

He thawed your heart with just his touch.

After, he teaches you emotion. He teaches you what jealousy means. He teaches you how to see his colour.

Then, he becomes golden.

And you melt, a mirror for the moon.

He was a golden boy and he fell through the gap of your world too soon.

He was a golden boy and he broke just as toy soldiers do; just as bad. He gave you splinters and heartache and your life.

He was a golden boy, and he cried too. It was sunlight and rain and day-lilies, and it made you choke.

He was a golden man who held the sun in his eyes and called you his moon.

But the sun and the moon are never supposed to meet, and neither are you.

 (An eclipse doesn’t exist in a world with no sun.)

He tells you that you were always the moon, never her reflection, and you believe him. He swears by it, and signs his name in blood.

Golden boy doesn’t bleed golden, he bleeds rust.

He was a golden man until he split himself in nebulae, casting his atoms between your world and his, wedging between your teeth and your eyes and his town’s concrete.

      It pulled him apart.

          (You pulled him apart)

Not true, not fair. He had told you once, on his knees and pleading, his eyes that liquid amber, don’t you see? You weren’t the moon’s /reflection/, you /are/ the moon.

_____________________________________________________________________

He shudders, and envelopes her, bone to bone, atoms to atoms, their reiatsu a reaching, binding force.

Uncertainty is hot in his gut when their eyes place, hers holding that forlorn, weary stare.

“Ichigo…” She begins, parched.

He listens, lighting her arm in glass green.

_____________________________________________________________________

Her gentleness meant he loved her.

(Because soft touches and a sweet voice can compare to a fortress of iron will, or the bow of ice at her feet.)

Her compliance was his cue to give back and to grant acceptance to the infatuation she had thrown at him since—

—since when?

Bitterly, he thinks to himself that there won’t be much of a story to tell Kazui.

_____________________________________________________________________

(Pieces inspired by the mess of SS trying to cover up the war)

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He drips poison from his tongue like a viper, turning on his heels only to be struck with a pleading, downcast stare.

“Oh, no, no— You don’t get to look at me like that right now, Rukia.

“Ichigo.” A hint of sternness creeps into her corners, haori billowing in the wind.

He wants to rip his Shihakushō from seam to seam.

He steps forwards, muscles as coiled as before, anger charging the air in a forbidding heat.

Anger.

He didn’t know it would taste like this.

He thinks of Kurotschi Mayuri, and the flood of reiatsu Ishida had emitted when he swore to cut him down. He thinks of Ywach, a hot lesion in his temples; puppeteer of his worst dreams; he thinks of his mother, her face, her presence in his blood as Ywach had ripped it from him and the pit of nothing it had left behind.

He thinks of that, and goes blind.

“—You- You don’t get to do that.”

.

“You don’t think this is all fucking wrong?”

There is a fury, barely contained, snapping under his skin like fireworks. He sticks his finger out towards the vast walls of Seireitei, the stone behind him now a vilified presence.

“Dangerous eyes you got there, kid.” The shinigami leans in; leers, “But this is none of your concern.” When his lips peel back, the air around them becomes leaden in response. Rarely does Renji unfold his reiatsu; if it weren’t for Ichigo’s grip around Zangetsu or his own vast reserves, he’s certain his knees would buckle.

Around them, the crowd stills.

Ichigo pivots, expression a storm of emotions. A stab of gold; a large, iron weight of reiatsu prowling from his skin.

“Fuck you. You call this, this piece of shit dystopian society a paradise?” Muscles tense, and that familiar, coiling sensation up his spine creeps steady as he readies himself, enthralled; blood thirsty — He is at the back of his teeth —

“—If I fucking believed in that-“ He begins, garbled with instinct,

“-I’d be offended.”

Renji visibly stills, a grim set to his lips as his eyes glint darkly under the storm of sky.

_____________________________________________________________________

He feels Zangetsu unfurl within him in response, his thick presence trickling down each vein; each inch of his body.

      “Patience.” He mutters, and feels a rumbling complaint from within.

Patience has not, admittedly, been a virtue of his.

            (But he had always thought his soul had a bit more tact.)

Evidently, they are both as restless as the other when it comes to Rukia Kuchiki.

Ichigo watches as the sickle-cut of moon is consumed by a bright, golden glow.

“Come on…Come on…”

_____________________________________________________________________

#my writing #bleach #ichiruki #ishihime #anti ichihime #sort of #implied #long post #when are jess or ro not inspiring tho?? #there is a surprising amount here i think its all the drabbles ive had sitting around but #its nice to put them somewhere #ANGST #ps #who woulda thought

[wonderfulchaos69-blog]

342 Kuromahi

Daily drabble time! I decided to go Subclass!Mahiru on this one, because I seriously like writing Kuro introspection. And Scratch the Surface kind of needs more world building anyway.

Title: Give A Little To Get A LotFandom: ServampCharacters: Kuro, MahiruSummary: Sure, Mahiru is alive and should be grateful for that. But the human seems to be freaking out. For some strange, unfathomable reason. Mahiru as a Kuro Subclass. KuroMahi.Notes: Written for the theme ‘crave’. Completely open to interpretation, right? Right.

Sometimes Kuro can recall the taste of Mahiru’s blood on his tongue and he hungers for more. An untested will like that, what would it have been like if Mahiru had been able to call out his name instead of listening to that ‘friend’ of his? The annoying one with the green hair, that dared to takes Mahiru’s blood in the first place. He likes to think, in the end, he tasted the more savory part of Mahiru. Because he had no need to put Mahiru into a temporary sleep to obtain anything from him. Instead, he was Mahiru’s savior; but that was a pain in its own way.

He lounges on Mahiru’s floor in the form of a little black cat, on his back and little paws curled up. Any second now Mahiru is going to notice and stop pacing, surely, but the pit-pat, pit-pat of the young man marching back and forth does not cease. Really, such a pain, he thinks and rolls back to his feet to get up, giving a shake of his head as he settles back into human form.

“Mahiru,” he calls, reaching out to place one his hands on Mahiru’s shoulder. His new Subclass flinches at his touch and Kuro retracts his hands, wary now. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What wrong?” repeats Mahiru, stressing the 'wrong’ part. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I could have died. Not to mention that my cat isn’t a cat at all, but some … some …” Kuro holds his breath, eyes wide, as he waits for the word 'monster’ to fall from lips that once spoke only kindness to him. “Some kind of good-looking guy, and that’s really pissing me off!”

Kuro stares for a long moment until that comment sank in and color floods his face. “Ehhh, that’s not …”

“Look, man, I get you were helping me and everything, but isn’t there a way to, you know,” Mahiru makes an exaggerated motion towards his neck and pretends to make fangs with his fingers until he realizes he actually has a pair and drops his hands, startled. “Can’t we fix this?”

“Sure,” Kuro shrugs, quickly paling at the thought, “if you don’t mind dying for real.”

Mahiru freezes and gapes, slapping his hands to his neck like it will somehow protect him from harm. That is a vampire stereotype, of course. Always going for the neck? Kuro prefers an offered wrist held out in willing subjugation. Though he honestly can’t be bothered with that either, not unless his hunger overrides reason and he doesn’t think he’ll get to that point. He eyes Mahiru, thinks about how much he liked the taste of his blood, copper-tainted and desperate. And he knows if he really had been able to make this person his Eve, there would be a lot less control over his own emotions. Especially linked so directly as a contract required.

In a way, he thinks it’s for the best. This way, as long as Kuro keeps living, Mahiru will too. He doesn’t have to worry about him dying any time soon. He doesn’t have to say goodbye to someone who wormed their way into his heart.

“I feel like take-out,” he suddenly says, hands in his pocket as he slouches forward to use Mahiru as a leaning post. “If you don’t want me to eat you, let’s go grab something else.”

Exasperated, Mahiru asks, “And you expect me to … what, just go along with this?”

Kuro holds up his hands like a cat begging for a treat. “Aww, come on. You gotta treat your pets better, meow~”

“You’re not a cat!” rebukes Mahiru, pushing him off. Kuro loses his balance for a second and catches hold of Mahiru to keep upright, one hand on his hip and the other placed at the center of his back. “H-Hey, where are you touching?”

Instead of dropping his hands and giving his new Subclass the space that he probably wanted, Kuro nuzzles into the side of his neck. A cat that wants its master’s attention, right now, as he whines, “I’m hungry, Mahiru.”

“Fine, fine!” the young man tells him, cheeks flushing as he scuttles back out of Kuro’s grasp. “J-Just don’t do that again!”

Blinking, Kuro shrugs once more. “You were expecting more?”

“No!” denies Mahiru, turning redder. “You better not eat a lot,” he mutters under his breath, counting out how much is left in his wallet before pausing all of a sudden. “Wait, vampires can eat normal food too?”

Kuro nods and then raises his hand to his mouth, yawning. “So are we going or what? 'Cause if not, I’m gonna take a nap.”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Mahiru grumbles, but there is a tiny smile on his face now. Kuro wonders what it’s for until Mahiru explains, “I think I won’t mind this as much as I thought I would. It’s simple,” he seems to tell himself, “if you can’t beat them, you join them. Hey, Kuro, how about hamburgers?”

“Fantastic. With that settled …” Kuro switches back to his cat form and plops on top of Mahiru’s head. “Free ride. It’s the least you can do.”

Oddly, Mahiru doesn’t argue. He simply reaches up and scratches behind fluffy black ears. From here, Kuro can barely make the smile broadening into a grin, but he hears it in Mahiru’s voice, like sunshine through a cloud, “You’re such a pain.”

Hey, that’s my line, Kuro thinks sleepily, curling up and resting his eyes. But I guess we’re both stuck with each other. He peeks one eye open, catching a glimpse of the apartment they’re leaving behind, and it reminds him that he even has a home now. Mahiru said it himself: See that? It means you have a home now. No more running off. With each step that leads them closer to food, Kuro hears the sound of a bell jingling in his ear. A reminder of where he belongs.

#servamp #kuromahi #sloth pair #subclass mahiru au #chaos writes fic #500themes #theme - crave #anon answered #thank you for sending one in anon!!! #it means a lot

[ao3feed-doctorwho]

Introspection

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JJnVRr

by WondersoftheMultiverse

You could feel the pressure building inside your chest with every passing moment. Your heart hammering at a frantic pace, completely out of sync with your own breathes. Stumbling slightly you powered towards the oddly placed house before you, knowing full well it was the Masters TARDIS.

You could barely think as the deprecating thoughts swirled around in your head, each and every one negative towards yourself as you continued to self criticise. Closing your eyes you stopped before the aged wooden door, your hand pressing against the splintered wood as you tried in vain to tether yourself to the present.

Just breathe.

Words: 2384, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Tumblr Drabble Requests

Fandoms: Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: The Master (Dhawan), Reader

Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Reader

Additional Tags: Drabble, Panic Attack, Hurt/Comfort, Comforting, Pep Talk, YOU ARE AMAZING, You are awesome, mental health, Hints towards Depression, Happy Ending

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JJnVRr

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #doctor who #dw