#when the Bunny calls; the writer must answer

[fruitgoat]

I love each and every one of my followers. (Even you, @ObviousPornBot6969, I'll block you with LOVE.) Giant hugs and extra headbutts to you all. Y'all have (sometimes literally) dragged my sorry ass around for what, 16 years? And that's just on tumblr. That's not even counting my nearly two decades on Live Journal/Dream Width. Special shout-out to everyone who Knew Me When. And maybe it's just because what I've been writing has featured a lot of 15-19 year-olds lately (or the fact that I've watched and thus re-read Heartstopper about a dozen times each in the last two weeks) but I'm feeling SO nostalgic for high school right now. Not that I want to be back there (nope, thank you, once was enough), just like, I want to record a (probably slightly revisionist) version of events. Because looking back, at least parts are actually REALLY funny. (Some part of this need might also be due to me giving my bell-set away to my more musically inclined siblings. And realizing that 7 years of being in/winning actual awards because I was actually good/loving Band doesn't actually count for shit with them. Because that was high school. And I hate/never leaned Music Theory so I don't do any "give me a third up, but maybe minor?" bullshit.) And then I realized, to horribly misquote/take out of context Oscar Wilde, "that is what fiction means." I'd love to give my obvious proxy more of My Story (she's already pretty much Me In A Hat, she even has my name - to be fair, she had it first) but most of what I'm thinking about won't really work for the story I'm telling. So I'm cooking up yet another YA book I'll somehow get out of writing for years. I'm REALLY good at not writing. But I think I just figured out the hook on the story I'm absolutely not writing. And, fuck me, it actually just might work. Fine, fine, add it to list.

#there's a reason i have three flash drives called #Plot Bunny's Answering Machine #when the Bunny calls; the writer must answer #but some ideas are better if they live as voicemails for months or years #i'm still very unhappy about the broken flash drive #lost almost 6 years work on various little nothings #maybe someday i'll be able to restore it and realize everything on there was shit #writing is hard yo #i need to get back to the part where writing is fun #hopefully solitude will work for me

[some-thrilling-heroics]

I posted 1,187 times in 2022

32 posts created (3%)

1,155 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@broken-lycan

@headspace-hotel

@wistfulwatcher

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I tagged 1,183 of my posts in 2022

#lol - 244 posts

#the sandman - 210 posts

#dream of the endless - 128 posts

#critical role - 115 posts

#art - 100 posts

#animals - 78 posts

#mighty nein - 69 posts

#the sandman meta - 52 posts

#lucienne the librarian - 50 posts

#queer - 47 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#if your doc tells you you have terminal disease it's not them treating you bad it's just their luck to be the one to give you the message

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i know lucienne used to be dream’s raven, so clearly she used to be out in the waking world, and before that i presume was also a mortal like matthiew so there’s that but that must have been eons ago right? 

so she’s been the librarian for ages, and i don’t suppose she’d have a reason to leave the dreaming.... and then dream gets captured and all goes to shit and im just thinking - would she be scared or wary of going out into the waking world? even if there was a valid reason for her to leave the dreaming? would dream be wary in a protective way if it ever came up that lucienne wants to go elsewhere for reasons? is she allowed? the questions just multiply like my damn plot bunnies dammit

and then, she saw the dreaming collapse, does she feel safe there? is she scared that one day her library will disappear again? does she have anxiety? *sobs*

38 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

#4

so who’s writing lucienne-centric parallel episode to the pilot where dream is gone and she has to wonder abt him and worry and has no answers and more and more dreams and nightmares go away and she has to manage the decay and hope he comes back, with a nice ending when she finds him laying outside the gates finally - or do i have to do everything myself around here? xD

48 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

#3

ya im happy for victor and the trans coming out and how that was worked into the plot, that was nice and i liked the little bonding diego had with allison

but what the actual fuck was everything else? warning for spoilers

lila dropping their child on diego after having custody for 12 years? and his shitty attempts at parenting until the kid killed klaus? and then it’s tu eres mi sangre and it’s fiiine - oh btw it’s not actually their kid, lila just wanted to fuck with diego but she’s pregnant and surely that’s a great prognosis for a healthy family i can’t even....

allison is off the fucking rails this season and five is worried about VICTOR turning into a villain???? what the actual fuck? what do you call somebody using mind control to try and rape their brother huh? act of a superhero???? and at the end she gets her happy ending with the daughter from the present and husband from the past which i am happy for on one hand but at the same WHAT THE FUCK how about we get an explanation HOW that works? we didn’t care about diego’s fake kid enough to bring him back to life and check on him after the universe reset but this is cool huh?

don’t get me started on ol’ reggie - somebody needs to kill that slimy bugger for good and dismember him and just to be extra sure the chopped body parts should be locked separately in different corners of the world, maybe THEN the bastard will stay fucking dead

the ending was a mess and im not satisfied - they went to an alt dimension? and stood on magic tiles and almost died to power up some alien machine that was left by the creator of the universe or whatever that reggie somehow knew how to operate and the button was pressed an boom, allison has happy family and they are all healthy

ON THAT NOTE, i would just like to say FUCK YOU sincerely to the writers for that ending - one character loses two fingers in the final battle, the other loses an arm but guess fucking what? they are fine and dandy after the magic reset bc of course it wouldn’t be a happy ending if disability was allowed to exist right?

52 notes - Posted June 23, 2022

#2

so jodie regenerated into DT, huh? not into the new guy, but into DT

and ya i was dreading RTD coming back bc he has issues and is a one trick pony - i was just proven right

to add insult to injury (or the other way round), you know how every doctor at every damn regeneration wears the clothes of the previous doctor bc regeneration only affects the body and ya clothes may be ruined but THEY'RE THE SAME CLOTHES? well not now! apparently DT couldn't possibly wear the clothes jodie wore for her entire run, very curious as to WHY that is.

and also saw a screen in another post that DT and CT are not just coming for a special anniversary but they get THREE EPS? which you know, very weird having loved them as much as i have, when they were on in S4, and i should be bloody excited right? but there's no enjoyment, just bitterness im feeling bc they could have come back in a completely different way - any way.

there are crossover eps with multiple doctors, it's not HARD but i guess RTD couldn't have his best pal DT play second fiddle to a new guy or something - like, honestly WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK?

ALSO as much as i love DT - JESUS FUCKING CHRIST he regenerated from chris into tenth doctor, then in s4 he regenerated but stayed as DT 'bc he liked that body' and then later in s4 got a bloody half human clone with his own face, and now we have another regeneration into DT face and like, i don't give a fuck at this point if there IS a magic brilliant explanation for why he showed up and why the clothes changed along with the regeneration, im just pissed bc HOW IS THAT BLOODY FAIR?

the news abt casting of the new doctor? overshadowed by DT + CT coming back! and now that jodie is out, in the trailer there was just a small one liner snippet from the actual next doctor - they couldn’t let him have his own day be about him so the trailer too cannot be about him.

yes i know this is a messy rant and im probably shitting on the fucking parade some of you have (i wish i could be happy about them coming back) but DT and CT coming back COULD HAVE BEEN HANDLED MORE RESPECTFULLY and they couldn’t even bother to do that AND THAT pisses me the fuck off.

75 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

spoon feeding blood to a vampire

but the spoon is silver

94 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[rachelbethhines]

Hi, I just wanted to say that I adore your salt marathons! It's such a shame to me that the show could have been improved so much if they didn't create convoluted ways to have Rapunzel inserted into storylines that she didn't really fit into, or solving problems that she wouldn't really know how to deal with (even in the book as you recently mentioned where she was somehow teaching Cassandra to swim??) Unfortunately, I think this sort of 'main character must be perfect and able to solve everything/be a part of every situation' ideology is becoming a lot more common in modern cartoons (Ultimate Spiderman, Miraculous Ladybug etc). I was just wondering if you had anymore ideas besides what you have mentioned already in the salt marathons about how they could have balanced characters better, or even wny this sort of thing seems to be beckming more common? (Sorry for the long ask, and thank you for providing fair critiques of the show 😅)

Thank you.

I don't know about becoming more common as this is a problem that you can see spring from way, way back in folk lore like the American tall tales... Pecos Bill, Paul Bunyan, and the like. Which bled into American comic books, ect.

You can even see the problem arise in certain anime, were the favored protagonist overshadows everyone else.

People see heroes as a power fantasy. So the hero can't have flaws or do anything wrong.

Now in a short subject, like the Superman shorts from the 1940s, or a medium where there are few characters, like Bugs Bunny's solo cartoons. Having the protagonist always win and take center stage isn't a huge problem.

But when you get into longer story arcs, with more subplots, and large ensemble casts, you can't make the lead 'perfect' and always right, without risking thier relatability or derailing your story.

Wonder Over Yonder pulls it off, but only because it allows the characters to get annoyed by the main protagonist and even he isn't always right all the time and can make mistakes, even if it's rare.

It takes a lot of self awareness to pull off that type of story.

Now good ways to balance characters and story is to ask yourself, 'who needs what?'

What does Rapunzel need? She needs to grow up. She can't do that if she's not allowed to learn. She can't admit she screwed up if the people that she wrong can't call her out for it.

Rapunzel isn't just hogging the limelight here, she's failing to serve her role in the narrative. That's why she feels superfluous in her own damn show.

So story wise, the audience needed to see consequences for Rapunzel's actions and have the character acknowledge why those consequences are happening, and then alter their behavior as need be.

And while Rapunzel suffers the most from not getting what she needs out the narrative, the writers underserved all of the characters in similar ways.

Rather than asking what the character needs/wants they forced the characters to do stupid shit for the sake of plot and everything just falls apart.

Cassandra did not need to steal the moonstone. There was no reason for it, the writers never provided one, so her arc flies off the rails.

Varian needed justice and a reason to trust people again. He never gets that closure so his presence in season three feels unsatisfying.

Eugene needs to become comfortable with who he is. But is never allowed the agency to do so, so his identity crisis is left unresolved.

I'm sure there's more examples here, but you get the idea.

So when writing, ask yourself, what does the character need? What do they want? Why can't they get either? What's the conflict? How do you resolve the conflict in order to provide what they need, which may or may not be what they wanted?

You answer those questions first and you then have your story. Plot always follows character. It stems from characters making choices. Characters need reasons to make the choices that they do.

If you try to work backwards and have the characters just do things for the sake of the plot and you'll wind up with the mess that is Tangled the Series.

#Tangled #disney #writing advice

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.���  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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[haileygarciasunshine]

What to Expect When You're Expecting

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Written: May 7th, 2021

Posted: May 7th, 2021

Warning: Talk of Miscarriage, Unplanned pregnancy, Douche bag of an ex (Not Bucky), Mentions of Blood / Bodily fluids, Some swears, Mentions of Nausea.

Word Count: 1,085

Author's Note: This is for all the women who had miscarriages. You are seen, you are heard. I hate that shining a light on miscarriages is taboo. If you don't agree or whatever, you don't to read this. You're responsible for you're own media consumption. // Feedback is always welcome! // Please bare with me as I'm still learning this Tumblr thing, and I'm not too sure how to write in texting .-.

Summary: When your ex-boyfriend knocks you up, he claims the baby isn't his. Leaving you along with the baby, you call upon a friend for support.

Y/Ex/N (Your Ex Name.... I think I did that right? idk)

TV and Movie Inspired Masterlist

Sitting on the chilled tile floor, you shut your eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, you felt the slight tremble of your body. Your heart fell into your stomach as you thought of thousands of different possibilities to thousands of different outcomes.

Leaning further against the tub, you heard your phone pinging. Tears prickled the ends of your eyes as you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. Rapidly getting to your knees, you lifted the toilet seat up before emptying the contents of your stomach. Your previously tied up hair becoming useful, once again.

A soft knock sounded through the door. "Y/N?" Bucky's voice called. "Are you alright? Can I come in?" His voice quickly becoming filled with concern.

"No!" You shrieked, taking some toilet paper and wiping your mouth. "Please don't come in here. Everything's fine!" You spoke, flushing the toilet.

With no response from the other side, you made your way towards the sink brushing your teeth. The timer on your phone going off, signalling five minutes have passed. Taking a shaky breath, you returned to your previous spot, leaning against the bath tub.

Glancing at the test between your hands, you weren't prepared for the answer at your fingertips.

Pregnant.

Tears began welling in your eyes, before they streamed down your cheeks. Your stomach began churning again. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you attempted to muffle the sobs that began escape past your lips.

"Y/N? What's going on?" Bucky questioned. "I'm coming in."

Before you could stop him, the bathroom door opened. Taking in your disheveled appearance on the floor, his heart fell into his stomach. Dropping to his knees beside you, he pulled you in towards his warm embrace. Tucking your head under his chin, he pulled you into his lap as he occupied your previous position leaning against the tub.

Sobs wrecked through your body as you began shaking. Bucky rubbed up and down your back, cooing slightly in your ear. Time had escaped you, as your eyelids began growing heavy.

"Bubba?" Bucky questioned softly. "Lets get you something to eat."

Nodding your head slightly, you hummed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked gently. "If not, that's okay too. I figured you might want-"

"Bucky." You mumbled, leaning away from his chest looking in his eyes. "I'm pregnant." You sniffled.

"Are...Are you sure?" Bucky questioned furrowing his eyebrows together.

Lifting the pregnancy test in your hands, you showed Bucky the evidence. His jaw falling slightly, as he gazed between you and the test. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as shock still overwhelmed him.

"Lets get some food."

Nodding your head, you moved off of Buckys lap. Extending his flesh hand towards you, he gently pulled you up from the floor. Leading you into your kitchen, he began busying himself with getting food ready.

After eating in silence with Bucky, you moved to leave.

"Wait." Bucky mumbled.

Groaning, you turned to face him. "Look Bucky, I appreciate you being here with me...But i think you should go."

"Go?" He questioned furrowing his eyebrows, moving to stand.

"Please...Just, go." You spoke, holding your hands up slightly as you backed away.

Retreating into your bedroom, you made yourself into a blanket burrito closing the world out.

---

"Is there a reason why you didn't want Barnes, here with you?" Natasha questioned as she pulled into a parking space.

You had asked her to take you to the OBGYN, not wanting to go alone.

"I mean, you two are practically conjoined at the hip." She spoke, getting out of the car.

Letting out a sigh, you knew she would question why you wanted her there instead of Bucky.

"I just didn't." You shrugged, making your way into the office.

Lifting your shirt, the sonographer placed gel on your stomach, before placing the transducer probe on top of it. The sound of a rapidly beating heart filled the room. Natasha gently grabbed your hand in excitement. Glancing up at her, you thought you could see a tear or two escape her eyes.

"Congratulations!" The sonographer spoke. "It's a little too early to tell the sex...But you get to take these sonogram photos home!"

As Natasha drove you home, you couldn't take your eyes off the photos. Your mind in a disarray of thoughts, as you couldn't fathom a tiny living human beginning to form inside you.

"Hey." She spoke softly, as she pulled in front of your apartment. "We're here."

"Th...Thanks." You stuttered, quickly placing the photos back in your purse. Opening the door, you were ready to get back into your burrito.

"Y/N?" She questioned.

You hummed as you leaned in slightly.

"You should really talk to Barnes." Natasha gave you a sorrow filled smile.

Nodding your head, you gave her a closed lip smile. Letting out a sigh, you knew that Natasha was right. Bucky is the only person you wanted around right now, and you had pushed him away.

Making your way back into your apartment, you sat on the couch. Pulling out the photos, you knew what you had to do.

---

"Thanks for meeting me." You offered a fake smile. "Have a seat." You motioned to the unoccupied chair before you.

"Well, I must say." Y/Ex/N, gave you a toothy grin. "I was surprised when you called, and even more taken back when you said you wanted to meet." He smirked.

"Uh huh." You responded, dropping your gaze to your hands as you began picking at the skin around your nail bed. An anxious habit you had developed.

"So, what is it that you want to talk about?" He flashed you his infamous million dollar smile.

"Y/Ex/N..." Letting out a sigh, you needed to feel the relief that would come from your confession. "I'm pregnant." You blurted.

His face faltered. "That's impossible." He spat.

"Well...It happened." You shrugged keeping your gaze upon your fingers.

"That's not my baby." Y/Ex/N shrugged, crossing arms. "You must've cheated on me."

Glancing up, your jaw fell slack as your eyes widened. "I-"

"Whatever." He spoke, pushing his chair back readying himself to leave.

Tears began welling in your eyes as you were face to face with your worst nightmare.

Before you knew it, you had driven to a familiar neighborhood. Racing up the stairs to an apartment that felt as if it were your second home.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you knocked on the door.

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[ookami-tsun]

Stargazing

I read the request wrongly and got the emoji wrong so here is another extra story! Due to mistake on my part, I posted this late...I'm sorry!

100 follower event

plot idea : tsun, writer : tsun

Albedo🌟

Telling Albedo about how you missed having a date since both of you were busy and could not spend time with one another.

Hearing that, Albedo paused for a moment before suggesting something: he will be the one to pick the location this time

You feel really surprised as he have never ever take the initiative to choose the location The pleasant thing is that you knew how he enjoys his time with you anywhere.

The very next day, he left a note on the night table saying that he will be back at night and make sure to stay awake as he will be bringing you somewhere.

Wondering about how he became secretive, you anticipate as you go about cleaning the house as it is the weekend. It is hard to stand still and wait when you are anticipating it after all.

Soon night came and you heard the door opening and instantly, you left your book on the sofa and approach Albedo who held a basket on one hand.

Trying to peek into the basket, you lean over... But you were blocked by Albedo who hid the basket behind him while talking to you.

"Are you ready to go?"

Hearing him, you immediately carry your travel bag over while replying

"Yes! Please tell me where we are going!"

"No, it is supposed to be a secret, so...."

Pulling out a cloth, he started explaining its use and asking you to trust him before using it to blindfold you.

"Are you really not going to tell me where we are going?"

"You will know when we go, it is a secret before then"

Soon, he grabbed your hand and led you away.

...

Arriving at the secret spot, he let go of your hand, but not before warning you about keeping the blindfold on.

Deciding to be a good listener, you stood on the spot and listened to the sound of the leaves rustling as you felt the cool breeze cooling you off from travelling so far.

During the time he spend messing something out of your sight, you started guessing what he tried to do from all the 'clues' you gathered during the travel.

As you get closer and closer to the answer, Albedo suddenly called you while grabbing your hand once more.

"Please come here and sit..."

Slowly sitting down on the ground, you realized the ground was covered with a cloth. A small considerate action that made you happy.

He gently removed the blindfold and you rubbed your eyes and blinked, trying to get used to the lack of cover.

The moment you got used, you started looking around and you turned speechless as you noticed the wonderful sky filled with stars that it seems unreal.

"I am not good at picking locations," Albedo confessed while holding your hand which you placed on your hand "so I decided to show you my favorite location"

His favorite location turned out to be Starsnatch cliff, a place that is far from civilization, meaning that the stars are clear and bright.

Feeling warm inside, you replied back to him "No, I am glad you showed me this beautiful sight"

"I'm glad" Albedo said as he gave off a sigh of relief "I have something for you..."

Pulling out something from the basket, he presented a bunny made with metal parts.

Putting it down, you tried touching it and it suddenly moved while music flowed out of it.

"I often forget my surrounding while doing experiment... So I hope this can accompany you when I can't"

Feeling pleasant from his surprise, you gave him a kiss on the cheek before thanking him. Who told him to plan such a nice date.

Definitely 10/10... You thought as you doubt Albedo claims of not being good at planning date. He is a gifted date planner.

After all the night picnic date, both of you returned home to sleep and ended up sleeping till the afternoon.

To your surprise, you noticed a painting in the living room of you playing with the rabbit at Starsnitch Cliff.

"Albedo... He really..."

Really.... good at making someone fall deeper into love with him.

'I must plan better of our next day' you thought while you admire how good Albedo is at painting.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin al #genshin stories #genshin albedo x y/n #genshin albedo x reader #genshin alternate universe #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #genshin albedo #genshin impact albedo #albedo genshin impact x reader #albedo kreideprinz #albedo x y/n #albedo x gender neutral reader #genshin impact alternative #albedo genshin impact #albedo x reader

[drivingsideways]

Hey talk to me about your top three favourite kdrama women. What makes them special? What's a fic you would like to write about any one of them?

Mystery anon! :D What a lovely ask. 

I’m going to cheat a bit and divide my answer into characters I loved a lot, but do not want to write fic about, because I think the canon gives me what I need; and characters that I loved a lot but NEED TO BE RESCUED ZOMG.  (My fic writing impulses are 50% spite and 50% fix-it )

Caveat being that I’ve still watched only maybe a dozen kdramas, so I’m pretty limited in my knowledge!

Characters that I love a lot, but have very zero fic impulses toward:

Han Yeo-jin from Stranger/Secret Forest: What a delight! What an iconique character! Is there anyone like her? NO. LSY-nim gives us a delightfully complex character, and Bae Doona knocks it out of the park in every single scene, so I’m just happy to be along for the ride. I think what makes Yeo-jin special for me is the intrinsic place of empathy that she operates from.  I think “righteous” is a word that often comes with negative connotations (self-righteous, for eg), but I do think she’s one of the most righteous-in-the-good-way characters I’ve watched in kdrama or any drama. I’m tired of stories that portray goodness as “boring” , as unworthy of narrative breadth or depth, and I love that Han Yeo-jin comes to us like a breath of fresh air in our particular dystopian narratives hellscape. She’s good, but never naive. She’s righteous but never cruel in her moral certainties.  I think that LSY nim, in the second season especially, gave Yeo-jin the kind of arc that character deserved when she’s forced to really dig deep into herself to figure out how she’s going to live in the world in the face of a deeply cutting, deeply personal disillusionment, and I’m really hoping for an S3 to see how that plays out further. 

Goo Hae-ryung from Rookie Historian: Ok, I will admit this may be rose tinted glasses view due to this show being my gateway drug into kdrama, but c’mon! She’s a reader! and a Thinker! And loves her wine! She’s plucky! She’s cute! She’s got a wry sense of humour! She’s got principles! She’s got a solid common sense to her that somehow doesn’t get in the way of her dreaming BIG! Oh dear, doesn’t she sound like the Mary-est of Mary Sues? Good for her.gif,  I say! Anyways, Shin Se-kyung is unutterably charming in this (AS IN EVERY SHOW OMG GIRL) and I just have a huge fondness for free-spirited heroines who get to tramp through the narrative changing the world as they do! 

Lee Ji-an from My Ahjussi: I’ve never had my heart broken more OR restored by any single character. IU is *phenomenal * in this, I think she really stepped up to what the script demanded from her. Ji-an’s weariness, her fear and vulnerability, her prickliness, her anger and her bitterness, and how, despite everything, she fights : GOD. Just. Again, what I love about the writing in this show is that it’s deeply empathetic without being cloyingly sentimental. I think a less, hmm, imaginative writer/PD might have focused on the Lee Ji-an the victim, and while the show definitely tells you in no uncertain terms that she is one,  of both circumstances and a cruel society, I think it refuses to take away her agency over her own life.(Lee Ji-an when we meet her is too busy hanging onto life by tooth and claw to indulge in self-pity, but we also see the toll it takes on her not to be able to say “this is too heavy a burden for me to carry myself and it isn’t my fault”; the show I think approaches Dong-hoon from the opposite side- his emotional isolation is partly a result of his own choices, but he doesn’t see it yet, and so his journey is also about letting people in and sharing the burden, but also recovering his own agency over his life. It’s an interestingly gender-bent arc, which is one of the things I love about this show. )

Ok, can I please add one more?

Hwang Han-joo from Melo is my Nature: She just felt SO real to me. She’s someone who doesn’t have the spectacular brilliance of either Jin-joo or Eun-jung, and struggles with accepting her limitations but not allowing herself to be defeated by them? I love her struggles as a mother, as a working woman in a sexist industry, a woman who’s perhaps having to rethink and reimagine what she wants from romance. I love that she’s a little silly, a lot kind, and an optimist, and just. I just think she’s the bravest of the three, tbh, and I LOVE HER AND I WOULD WATCH A SPIN OFF ABOUT JUST HER (i shouldn’t have faves among the three i know, BUT I DO, IT’S HER, IT’S HER.)

Ok! On to the next section! And I’m going to cheat again because I can’t stop at three. SORRY. NOT SORRY. 

Characters I love and SHOULD write fic for if I weren’t such a tired and lazy bunny:  

Song Sa-hui from Rookie Historian: Oh, girl, girl, GIRL. I love how she fights to snatch her freedom from the jaws of the patriarchy. I love that she unapologetically centers herself while doing that, because she knows that nobody else will.  I love that she’s prickly and calculating. I love that she’s smart and knowledgeable. I am SO HAPPY that she got to carve out a little bit of freedom for herself, even if it also is exile to some degree. She *should * be Emperor Jin’s Prime Minister and steering the ship of state, while also carrying on a tumultous affair with Queen Min Woo-hee, while ALSO commiserating with Emperor Jin about his boyfriend Historian Min Woo-won’s regrettable tendency towards Principles (TM) and masochism-but-not-in-the-fun-way. (This takes up much of his time which is why Song Sa-hui is running the country, of course. It works out well for all concerned, well, except her dad, of course.)

Song Ga-gyeong from Search:WWW: What’s NOT to love about our brilliant, beautiful, emotionally tortured gay icon? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I loved how the show allowed her to be flawed and make bad decisions, and then allowed her to make better decisions and regain control of her life. What I do need to do, of course, is see the CANON LOVE STORY between her and Cha Hyeon through to the end. It must, of course, include at least one baseball game, a lot of tequila and messy beach kisses. 

Oh Ji-hwa from Beyond Evil: Oh boy, this year’s runaway hit cleared the extremely low bar for standard crime/ thriller shows by leaving more than one of its female characters breathing and with all limbs intact, and got called feminist for it BUT it didn’t do justice to any of them in any meaningful way and that never hurt more than in the way they sidelined Kim Shin-rok’s talent by not giving Oh Ji-hwa anything much to do. She’s a tough as nails cop, a loving sister, a devoted but unsentimental friend-and by rights SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE HEROINE OF THIS SHOW. My secret fic fantasy is to rewrite the show entirely by making her , and the two other female characters in non-antagonist roles- Yoo Jae-yi and Im Sun-nyeo- as the central characters, as they investigate a serial killer who targets women.  It’s the only acceptable version of this done-to-death (ha!) genre, I have no idea what the Baeksang jury and tumblr fandom is smoking when they hype the show so much, I want none of it. 

Jung Sun-ah from The Devil Judge: I love her rage, her spite, her passionate defense of women, her style, her sexiness, her rage, her rage, her brilliance, her tenaciousness, her smartness, her clothes, her refusal to hate herself for everything she is and chooses to be, her ambition, her comfort wielding power, her EVERYTHING. Dead, her? NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. Here’s what *really * happened at the end of canon- she gets out of the building by planting that lady-like but still deadly gun against Kang Yo-han’s temple and making him lead her through his own “secret escape route” or whatever the fuck it was the show wanted us to believe. From there on out, it’s all sunshine and beaches, and scheming and waiting for the right moment to strike again-though of course, this time around, she also has to reckon with vigilant, tenacious cop Soo-hyun -another character who REALLY didn’t die for manpain reasons and had the good sense to leave her gay best friend to follow his psychopath boyfriend to Switzerland or wherever it is that star crossed lovers in kdrama land meet up on the regs these days- anyways, Soo-hyun and her are in this catch-me-if-you-can epic transnational honest and cute cop-and-beautiful sexy villain chase and yes, they WILL kiss (and more) AND IT WILL BE GLORIOUS. 

*whew *

Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk.

#kdrama #thank you for this ask OMG #[fiona apple voice] ladies ladies ladies ladies

[ohmightydevviepuu]

writers month prompts

twenty-four:  fake relationship

a/n:  ok, so now you know.  you’ve been reading one story this entire time.  go back and catch up and tell me how i did; i knew i was building to this all along but let the flavor and approach come to me at the last second.  thanks to @optomisticgirl as an expert of all things timey-wimey.  to @katie-dub, indefatiguable sounding board.  to @thisonesatellite for 30 ideas i didn’t use, and one that i stole.  to @profdanglaisstuff for letting me be weird even when i should be better (and for bake-off).  

six more to go.  hang in there, kids.

--

Flicker.

Flickerflickerflickerflick—

Emma blinked at the sunlight streaming in through open curtains and contemplated the figure in the bed beside her.  The clock on the nightstand flashed eight-sixteen and she said, “You have to go.”

His answer was unintelligible and likely unfit for polite company, which was exactly the kind she was expecting.  For brunch.

Imminently.

“Seriously, Killian.  You have to go.”  Emma kicked his leg until he sat up, deliciously disheveled, the bed sheet dipping dangerously low down his abdomen.  “Mary Margaret is going to be home soon and we have—”

“Brunch, aye.”  He said the word like it was a joke, and probably it was.  Emma Swan hosting brunch had to be a joke.

She kicked him again but he caught her foot, twisting the sheet even more as he did it, rubbing the arch.

“It’s not for me,” she said, not for the first time.  “It’s for Mary Margaret’s step-thingie.”

“Monster,” Killian muttered, which made Emma smile.

“She’s getting married,” Emma continued, “and we’re hosting the pre-shindig brunch, okay?  Family tradition or some bullshit.”

“Curse, more like.”  Killian grimaced, and let go of her foot as he made to move out from under the sheets.  “Can I have a cup of tea first?”

“No.  Mary Margaret will be home any second, which means you have an elsewhere to be.”

“Or—“ he paused in pulling on his trousers “—you could tell her.  The way you might tell your best friend about a relationship.”

But Emma had already made her way to the door and this wasn’t exactly a doorway conversation even if she was ready to have it.   Which she wasn’t.  So all she said was:  

“No.  I can’t.  It’s not.”

But she couldn’t stop thinking about it—could really think of nothing else.  Which was why she said, absently, during all of the talk of guest lists and table assignments and the not-shocking-at-all revelation that Regina had extra spots to fill and needed butts in chairs and the frankly inevitable mutterings about why Emma couldn’t just show up with a date and thus get two butts in chairs instead of being left to languish at some kind of hell otherwise known as a ‘singles table’—“Oh,” she said, not thinking, or maybe thinking too much.  “It’s fine.  I have a boyfriend.”

—

“So why don’t you just bring Killian?”  Elsa’s question was so simple that it was complicated for Emma to answer.

Especially because she didn’t have an answer.  Just that gnawing sense of self-doubt that lived in the pit of her stomach, always.

“They know it’s not Killian,” Emma said, “because I gave fake boyfriend a name.”

Elsa quickly bit off her laugh.  “What’s his story?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma said.  “Walsh Green.  Meet cute at his shop downtown when I was buying some things for the apartment.  Nice guy, you know?”

“Sounds safe,” Elsa said.  “Boring, even.”

The opposite of Killian.  On both counts.

“Thus the basis of his appeal,” Emma snapped, ignoring the way her skin seemed to crawl even just saying his name; ignoring the flash she got in her fingertips as she gripped her mug and stared out the window.

“Who cares?” Anna interrupted.  “Bring Killian.  They’ll be so distracted by his accent they won’t care that you lied.  Besides, you guys should totally be banging like bunnies—all of that tension, you know?  What are you waiting for?”

Elsa almost choked on her coffee.

Emma had nothing to say to that.

—

“Hey, I need to talk to you—”

“About the wedding?”  He cut her off.  “I said yes.”

“Really?  Did Elsa—”

“Yes, really.”  But he didn’t sound happy about it.  “You made your feelings quite clear this morning, and then Ruby phoned and invited me.”

The idea that Regina must really be desperate warred against total, crushing heartbreak.  Emma almost dropped her phone.

“Swan?”

“Yeah,” she said, in a voice that didn’t sound like it was making words.  “Sure.  Uh, save me a dance, okay?”

“Like you care?”

“Of course I care!”  The words came out louder than she meant them to.  “I just—”

(And she couldn’t help thinking, somehow, that this was not the first time they’d had this fight.)

“Admit it, Swan.  You see a future here.  A good one.”  If it wasn’t meant to be a doorway conversation it was brutal as a telephone call.  “But you’re afraid to be a part of something.  And I--” he took a deep breath “—I need to stop chasing you.  I’ll see you tonight.”

—

Be a part of something.

You see a future here.  A good one.

Perhaps there is a man you loved in the life you’ve lost.

We make a good team.

Choose to see the best in him.

—

Emma ignored the empty chair between her and Killian; ignored him, too.  And everyone, really.  No one had blinked when she made excuses for “Walsh Green” and no one seemed suspicious in the least and somehow that made everything even worse, until she excused herself to go to the restroom.

“I need to fix my lipliner,” she said, hoping that make everyone leave her alone.

Alas.

“The thing is, Emma—”  Mary Margaret cleared her throat.  “You have these walls, you know?”

“Barricades.”  Ruby snorted and leaned against the door, blocking it so they wouldn’t be interrupted.  “With moats and shit.  Piranhas and sharks and things swimming around and a troll at the bridge.”

“You’re the one that brought him!” Emma very carefully did not yell, not that anyone could hear them.  

“Yeah.”  Ruby fixed her with a stare.  “Did it work?”

“What?”  Emma turned back to Mary Margaret.  “I have a boy—”

Ruby’s smile practically bared her teeth.  “I dare you to say that to Killian and pretend it isn’t true.  You’ve been fucking for at least a month already.”

Emma couldn’t even deny it.  She looked between Ruby and Mary Margaret and felt herself deflate.

“You have these walls,” Mary Margaret repeated.  Firmly.  “And they keep out more than just pain.”

—

She definitely wasn’t moping as she sat outside in the garden under the apple tree, away from the hustle and bustle of the reception.  

(She definitely wasn’t waiting for him, as if she knew he would come, as if she remembered it because it happened before and Killian Jones would go to the end of the world or time before he ever stopped chasing her.)

But then he was there, like magic, devastating in a jacket that fit him perfectly and looking at her with bottomless blue eyes like he never wanted to look at anything else, ever.  Memorizing her.

Mesmerizing her.

She smiled and stood up.

“I was hoping it’d be you,” she said, and watched his smile light up.

(Green, and white.  Faith and trust and pixie dust.)

“Dance with me,” he said.

Flicker.

Flickerflickerflickerflick—

--

@shireness-says @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @pirateherokillian @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @spartanguard @justanotherflailgirl

#cs fic #writers month 2021 #fake relationship

[byunbaekby]

title — no body, no crime (teaser) pairing — detective!doyoung x female reader genres — angst, fluff, best friends to lovers au, time travel au, detective au, crime, mystery, slow burn overall warnings — crime, violence, kidnapping, mentions of death, language (to be updated as written) teaser warnings — language teaser word count — 918 words summary — time travel is a concept you’ve played with your entire life. then suddenly, your world is turned upside down when you’re transported to the future, where you learn that you have been missing for seven years. now, your quiet and studious best friend from college is the lead detective in your case; will you be able to help him find you before it’s too late? additional — for the NEOCLOCK collab hosted by @nct-writers​  

projected release — january 10, 2021 8am kst / january 9, 2021 3pm pst projected word count — 15-20k

send an ask to be added to the tag list! graphics by @suh-insane​.

A flash of light, and you’re here.

Though you attempt to land straight on your feet, the force of your sudden movement drops you to your hands and knees, limbs meeting cold concrete. “Shit,” you curse out as pain shoots through your kneecaps and wrists at the sudden impact. 

There’s a struggle to regain your stance on your feet, but once you do, you take in your environment. Despite the fact that your head is still spinning, throbbing from the sudden agitation of… whatever it was that you just did, you attempt to regain control of the situation and assess your surroundings. The room is medium sized, its walls an unsightly saffron beige and illuminated by a few dull light fixtures that hang from the ceiling. A number of desks, squished rather closely together with mountains of papers towered atop, a table in the corner with a coffee pot and some disposable cups. On the wall furthest from you, an investigation board with a motley of pictures, newspaper clippings, and more pinned to it. 

You’re at the police department… but why? 

A few light, careful steps take you to the collection of desks. Though you’re careful not to touch anything, your attention is suddenly caught by the gleam of light on a nearby desk. It’s not as messy as the others, the piles of documents stacked neatly at their corners. But, there’s a pile of sticky notes and crumbled up papers on one side of the desk. One sticky note reads in angry red ink: 2516. There, hidden behind a giant stack of papers, a glimmer of a silver desk plaque that shines when the light hits it:

Detective Doyoung Kim.

Doyoung Kim… your best friend since high school, who had been studying his behind off to become an accountant? No, there’s no way. It must be another Doyoung. And besides, your Doyoung is nineteen and a first-year in university.

Wait. 

Your careful and feather-light movements from earlier are discarded as you suddenly push aside a stack of papers to look for a calendar. It’s a large paper one, found underneath the papers. You search the maze of X’s to find the last date crossed out. The date is… November 2, 2020.

No, no it can’t be. A gasp leaves your lips, the first sound you’ve made since arriving, then an audible slap as you press your hand to your mouth. Two minutes ago it was December 2013, and now you’re seven years in the future. For a moment you’re shell shocked, simply staring at the calendar in absolute disbelief until you realize: you’ve done it. You’ve time traveled.

But, how? And why to this time? 

Suddenly you’re looking around frantically, trying to make sense of the scene before you. Why are you here? How did you get here? Why the police station of all places? Your questions are suddenly answered when a deep voice interrupts your frantic deliberations. “Who are you?” 

You turn sharply to the owner of the voice, who had just entered. Doyoung. 

He looks the same, but still worlds different. His jet black hair is the same, though it’s cut slightly shorter than the length he preferred in his youth. His once gentle bunny-like features are now sharp and angular, eyes darkened by maturity. Though the Doyoung you knew preferred loose jeans and plain t-shirts, future Doyoung is dressed in his full business attire—gray slacks and matching blazer atop a white button-down and a black tie. 

“Doyoung,” you say, voice soft and light at the appearance of a familiar face. However aged, he’s still your best friend Doyoung. 

But the expression he wears on his face is alarmed, dark eyebrows furrowed into his eyes which display surprise, and even fear. “Y/N, is that… is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s really me,” you say gently. Surely there’s a future you that he still knows well, so seeing the nineteen year old you from his past is throwing him off. But he knows that you’ve been building your time machine for years, so you tell him, “I’m sure you’ve figured out now that I’m from the past. Is it really 2020?” 

After a moment of silence and continued disbelieving stares, he nods. “Okay,” you say. “I… I time traveled from the past. I did it!” You exclaim, proud that your life’s work has finally come to success. “And you said that time travel was a fantasy.” 

But rather than smile, roll his eyes, or offer any kind of reaction, Doyoung continues staring, eyes wide as though he had seen a ghost. Suddenly, he rubs his eyes frantically, beginning to pace back and forth, a habit he’s clearly failed to kick in the past seven years. “Oh god,” he mutters to himself, massaging his temples. “I’m going insane.” 

“Doyoung,” you call out to him, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing. The moment you touch him, however, he pulls his arm back and stares at you with frantic eyes. “It’s me, it’s really Y/N.”

“You’re not Y/N,” he suddenly says. “This must be a sick joke.”

Your eyebrows deepen into creases, your frustration growing. “What are you talking about, Doyoung? I’m right here. I know it’s hard to believe, but I really time traveled.” He doesn’t respond, only continuing to gawk at your figure. It’s then that you realize his eyes are watery. “Why are you staring at me like that?” You ask.

“Because, Y/N…” He starts, voice shaking. “You disappeared seven years ago.”

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #neothestars #doyoung angst #doyoung fluff #doyoung fanfic #doyoung scenarios #nct angst #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #kim doyoung #doyoung #doyoung fic #s: no body no crime

[tiftaf-the-world-jumper]

Hbnjgrfg j,y6n)hnv4

@kanohivolitakk @tiredspacedragon @redwingskyfiresslayz @randomyetnot I have a galaxy brain transformers prime fanfic idea but like I’m not really a fanfic writer and if I have to suffer this plot bunny so do you,anyway

So like alpha trion give a box to Orion pax to deliver to “the last knight in kaon” but there’s a catch: he must only answer to the name optimus until The knight relieves pax. Triondoesn’t care if it’s paxs closest friend or lover calls out his true name, under absolutely no circumstances is he to respond to them as Orion pax. Also take this strange torch in case you get into trouble. All Of This Is Strange TM but then again- trion has alway been strange.

Anyway like four days later he reaches kaon and wouldn’t you know it he bumps (literally) into megatron- who immediately recognizes him and calls out to him inviting to bunk with him or whatever reason

Pax is like trying and miserably failing to casually speed walk away but megs catches up determined to figure out wtf he’s doing the

“You must be mistaken, I’m just a simple currier on his way to deliver a message” no I’ve never worked in the archives what are you talking about hehe

Fine. Megs can play this game.

This loud interaction catches the wrong kind of attention

As in people are now shooting at and running at pax

Well frick

Just fantastic

After trying to lose the shooters (twice) the get cornered and because I said so running low of ammo

Pax remembers the torch throws it at the nearest victim

Boom

Bright obnoxious flair later and megs is questioning (mostly jokingly) wonders why they are friends again then some helpful folk jump in saving there butts. The big scruffy praxian addresses them first. “ you are not alpha trion.” He sates with a glare. Orion notices a familiar blue Siegel. “No we are not.” He replies hesitating for a moment. “My name is optimus and I have been sent to deliver a package.”

Megs is just like wtf is happening this reeks of shady nonsense.

Oh look how nice the shooty people seem to have some friends and had soooo KINDLY invited them all the way over here

Just lovely.

The praxian just grabs our quested adventures and yeets them down a secret passage before following close behind them megs flips out and the praxian who’s been called “barricade” decides that he doesn’t have time for this nonsense and by some freaking miracle manages to knock him out.

Pax is beginning wish that he turned trions request down

The eventuality end up in a room with someone watching a vid screen intensely. “It has been two days since the most shock murder in iac-“ the screen is quickly turned off.

The small femme seems quite surprised to see visitors even more so when she sees who “Cade” is carrying over his shoulder. Megs is really not happyTM

Pax is like Uhhhh I have a package and stuff.

The femme frowns for a split second upon hearing the name “optimus” before going quickly back to smiling. “Im HoloRush”. “how is the old mech? He normally delivers things himself in person. Is he ill?”

“Uhh no? Why?”

“Cool. So all the way from iacon huh, that’s quite the trip.”

“Yay she has signed for it! “

“Uh yeaaahhh”

Scrud she’s not giving his pen back what do

“When did you leave?” She askes peeking into the box seemingly satisfied with its contents.

“I think it’s non of your business” megs grumbles

“Four days ago”. Pax responds just to be polite. speaking of we REALLY must be going now.

“Ima fraid I can’t let yah do that.”

Pax is very nervousTM

Just release me of this stupid name he thinks

The femme taps the screen back on and turns it towards them.

“It has been to days since the most shocking murder has happened in centuries. alpha trion who once worked in iacons grand archives was confirmed dead by sentinel prime on the scene. And authorities suspect a data clerk known as “Orion Pax” is to blame. Here is sollarset at the scene with more information on this gruesome development in the-“

Pax looks shocked(and maybe a bit pale)

Megs says thought he already knew- he had assumed that he’d come to hide out with him and his loud dramatic greeting (which was so rudely interrupted btw) was supposed to be a subtle a “frick off and don’t mess with his friend who he’d kill for don’t touch him” thing.

What. The. Everloving. F-

The open package is slid towards him revealing its contents something he saw his mentor use every single day. His writing quill.

By talos this can’t be happeningTM

“As of now alpha trion of iaconious has intrusted you into my care. And I know this is extremely sudden and I hate to have to ask after you have had the shock has worn off a bit I need you to give me a list of any friends, allies, etc. that you can think of same for your friend over there. I know the prime all to well and I know he won’t stop at one and i need to know how many me and my high lord protector are well- protecting.”

Why wait what

Why is sentinel prime going after archivists all the sudden?! high lord protector?! As in the person that chosen by THE MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP to handle most military/ protection matters of the ENTIRE planet for a prime?! Didn’t Sentinel have it?? The frik.

Oh boy oh boy A3/alpha trion has once again left her to do the explainy part. Isn’t that NICE of him.

Uh so to rip the metaphorical bandage off- * proceeds to give exposition dump about how he’s the literal reincarnation of one of the original primes also your technically my uncle because of that because of who her parents are and uh yeah. Sentinel apparently knows that and he’s scared that you’ll get the other half of the matrix that we don’t have before he does.*

Pax faints

It just kinda seems like one of THOSE days.

And that’s all I got thanks for coming to my 3:40am Ted talk

#tf ocs #holorush #tiftaf #transformers fanfiction #maccadam #tfp #suffer with me

[dalamjisung]

Today's the day. Your sweat is dripping cold, and your hands are clammy, gripping the edge of the bleachers.

“Bunny,” Felix calls from his room as you were in the kitchen talking to Chan and getting an ice pack ready. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You don’t answer but walk back to the room with a weird feeling of loss and anxiety. “Yes?”

His face soften when he notices your nervousness and he grips your hand, pulling you to sit on his lap. “Babe, no need to look like that, it isn’t anything so bad.”

“What is it, then?” You mumble laying on his chest. “Because I have a wild guess, and I would hate to be right…”

He sighs. “I’m playing regionals.” You were right.

“Felix…” You sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, clearly confused. “What do you mean okay? Are you angry, sad, happy… anything?”

“Does it really matters?” You mumble, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You didn’t want him to see the tears forming in your eyes. “It’s your decision, Lix, and I’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

“Bunny…” He was at a loss of words. He expected you to lecture him about the effects that playing would have on his future, but somehow, to have you looking like that, defeated and sad, seemed way worse. “Say something.”

“What can I say?” You blurt out. “It scares me, because any hit to your ankle will hurt you, which will hurt me, so I’m scared. But there’s nothing much for me to say, Felix; this is your life and it’s your decision. You love playing more than you love yourself, apparently, but I don’t. I love you way more, so if that means that I have to sit and watch you play while in pain, and then later, when it’s just us, hug you to sleep while you flinch with every movement you make, then so be it. I’m not backing down.”

He could feel your tears now, soaking his shirt and shoulder. He pulls your face from its hiding place and looks into your eyes, his thumbs wiping your tears, and a small smile– the one that shows how fond of you he is, your favorite Felix smile– plays on his lips.

“You love me that much, huh?” He whispers and let his forehead rest on yours.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You sniff, reeling on this feeling that you wished lasted forever.

“It kind of is.” He chuckles and kisses you.

And now, a week later, there you are, with your roommate and all of Felix’s roommates, everyone the same– nervous and worried, but cheering for him nonetheless. As you get to meet them, you noticed how much of family they actually are; always looking out for each other, even when they don’t ask for help. It makes you happy to know that Felix has them, just like you have your Sweets. You now know he’ll always have someone, even if one day that someone isn’t you anymore.

“Hey, he’ll be fine,” You feel a hand on your shoulder and you turn to look at Hyunjin. He is sitting with Seungmin, who smiles at you warmly and you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, I’m sure everything will be okay.”

And now why would you say that? The first half of the game could have been considered ‘okay’ to some extent. Normal soccer accidents happen, but the players just get up and play again. Felix is playing his best, his feet agile and precise, and all you can think is in how much pain he must be at that moment. When it’s time for a break, they are winning by 2x1. If they manage to keep the score like that, they advance to nationals; and as worried are you are, you can’t help but feel pride bubbling in your chest. However, it isn’t that easy and you know it. The other team starts to get more aggressive, and as the end of the game approaches, the more they start targeting powerful players, such as Felix.

You are not sure what happens first, if you see him fall or if you hear the crowd gasp; all you know is that Felix is on the ground in a second or less, clutching his ankle, with measly 2 minutes left for the game to end. You can’t breath. Chan and the boys start screaming, saying it was foul play, but you don’t even care. Felix is hurt. Again. I promised, you think to yourself, trying to calm down and keep the tears inside. I promised I’d stand by him, so get it together Y/N.

Felix is slowly raising up, the anger and dedication on his face covering the flashes of pain his eyes shine as he walks. He is going to get a free kick, and you’ll be damned if you aren’t going to be as close to him as you can.

“Felix, come on!” You shout running to the fence, and his head whips in your direction. “You can do this!”

“I know!” He shouts back winking, and then dabbing. You laugh, relief washing over you as you are pretty sure you fall in love with him again and again. 

You’d be lying if you said that when he scored a goal you didn’t feel a little smug. You want to tell everyone that Lee Felix is your boyfriend, but for the sake of your dignity, you content yourself with just smiling. When the game is over and all the players are hugging each other, you walk to the ambulance that waits for Felix. He waddles over and sits down at the bench, smiling proudly.

“Are you okay?” You ask running your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“In a lot of pain,” He laughs and winces at the same time. “But overall happy.”

“I’m glad,” You say and kiss his forehead. “Because I’m going to kill you.”

“I didn’t expect anything else, Bunny.”

———————————————————–

foul play // fourteen : stand by you

pairing: soccer player!felix x med student!reader

genre: college!au, fluff

description: They met through a mutual friend and that was the start of it all; Felix’s one sided crush and Y/N’s constant worry. The boy, a right forward player, was known in the field as one of the best players in the game; and also known in the hospital as one of the clumsiest. Y/N worked at the nurse office as part of her on-campus residency and believe it or not, the nurse office has its regulars, and Lee Felix was one of them. Sprained ankle, broken wrist, two concussions, and yet, he never takes a break. Until Y/N stepped in.

masterlist

chapter thirteen // chapter fifteen

taglist: @banqtlattae @dream-toaster @strxwberrifields @cryoskz @p2q3r4 @lochness-butmakeitsexy

———————————

chapter 14, on time! we are almost done with Felix’s series, everyone... who do you think is next?! 👀also, if you want to be tagged let me know :D and please, if you enjoy my stories, don’t forget to engage with it :) like, comment, share... we writers love interacting with all of you!

And don’t forget: WHEN I HIT 600 FOLLOWERS, I’M DOING A GIVEAWAY! A STORY JUST FOR YOU! I won’t post it to the blog unless you want me to, and I will write it per your exact instructions :)

#skz #skz fake texts #lee felix #stray kids felix #felix fake texts #foul play series #dalamjisung #stray kids imagine #bang chan #seo changbin #Lee Minho #lee know #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #kim Seungmin #yang jeongin #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids as #skz imagines #skz imagine #skz as #fake text #fake texts #social media au #stray kids social media #yongbok imagines #stray kids yongbok #yongbokkie #yongbok

[ryttu3k]

Already finished Coteries of New York, so on to Shadows of New York! I’ve seen the first bit in an LP, at least, but the bulk of the story will be new. This will have two playthroughs, one for each ending, since at least it has them XD First up - the ‘good’ ending!

Oh dang I like the music.

Julia is a bit on the edgy/cynical side XD

Yeah, she’s got a shit deal :-\ And what’s worse is that it’s all planned out.

Interesting note - at Lodestar, there were shadowy figures in the background, but you could rationalise it as people on the other side of the windows. On the train, you only see the shadowy features, and it’s otherwise empty, so no obvious figures casting them...

I guess if you choose the ‘don’t shoot’ option, Julia gets drained and it’s an early game over?

God that Embrace scene is intense. I got goosebumps!

Spirits, huh? Oh yeah, Obtenebration became Oblivion and is now connected with necromancy, IIRC?

I’m glad she had a good few nights XD;;

Valerie Duval, she was... the scourge in CoNY hunting down the Red Hook killer?

Nice to meet you, ‘Katherine Wiese’ XD

Cool ponytail, Qadir! I really dig the relationship between him and Julia, it’s fun. ‘sup Aisling, how’s Agathon? A blood hunt, really? Y O U. Okay yeah probably better for Julia’s long-term survival for Arturo to ignore her XD;; Samira’s so pretty. Ooh this guy is Hope’s sire, yeah?

“You wanted to hear about which member of New York City's Camarilla I dislike the most?"

"Yes?"

"Too bad. They're all my dear colleagues, and I deeply respect every single one of them."

"Sure you do. Wouldn't want to blurt out something that could lock you out of Mr Vanderweyden's legal services, would you, you ass-kisser?"

"I do expect to find myself in need of a good defense attorney when my broke, incompetent, and foul-mouthed assistant finally pushes me over the edge."

THEMST.

Benoit hi!! “Got any news about Sophie Langley?” *sharp intake of breath* Benoit backstory, that’s rad. I wonder if it’ll be uncovered in-game? Like we know Arturo is still around, Panhard is still around. Presumably Adelaide Davis is still around. Callihan... well, I know what happens to him. I think Torque ditches the scene before Sophie dies?

Father Leonard seems like a good sort. I wonder what his deal is?

Dakota is adorable. I’m going to do the ‘good’ end first even though I know it’ll make me feel horrible, but dangit, the ‘bad’ end is totally going to be my canon.

...Vin Diesel? XD

DING DONG THE DOUCHE IS DEAD. ...Deader than usual, I mean.

jfc Panhard that is pretentious as hell. Both the party description and the costume, actually XD Qadir’s mask is kind of funky. Oh my god Arturo you are a Toreador is that the best you can come up with?! Nice horns, Aisling.

...Thought, given their clans, Samira/Aisling could be interesting as hell.

Man, Arturo and Panhard must be pissed off XD Unless they’ve already picked their replacement stooge?

And here’s where the plot starts! Hey, isn’t that the priest’s house? Ohh, they’re meant to be meeting with Mia. I guess they’re just reusing assets.

“It’s a list of four names. ‘D’Angelo. Hope. Agathon. Tamika.’“ *SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH* Okay, that could be the list Sophie gave the fledgling. Which one did Callihan get it from?

Oh criminy Dakota don’t tell me you’re into that Q-Anon shit XD;; Ooh okay that makes more sense. Neat.

Ahhh man I was hoping to get a lead and instead Julia has to punish this poor fuck XD;; Yeesh. Okay, Bunny as a Reporter it is, then.

Almost run over by a limo, huh? *chinstroke*

Oooh this is the lead to Hope! Yeah, I’d say she has a connection with a Montgomery XD Wonder if she did end up eating her? Huh, contact used LeakyGutSyndrome... didn’t Hope end up having to retire that one, or was it the other one? Let’s just... Dominate this guy. Sorry dude it’s for your own good.

Agathon’s missing? :( Damn, he’s like one of the only decent Tremere. Oho, a diary! Oh sweetheart :( Oh, Silvia died :( Damn, interesting past, though... and a reference to CoNY again.

Fucking shadows, I literally glanced over my shoulder.

S C H E M E S. And yeah, looks like I’m on my way to the ‘good’ end :-\

Oh shit, Adelaide or.... whatshisname, Kaiser’s dude? Oooh man who to meet first... Kaiser’s dude. Oh. That was a bit anticlimactic XD

On to see Hope at Double Spiral. I think this is one of those choices that leads to one of the endings, so what’s more ruthless and Camarilla... busting in it is.

Nastya isn’t having a good night, is she XD;; Also Hope’s suit is badass.

...huh. Sounds like she’s actually managed to get shit sorted decently XD

Interesting... the coterie members were a list of heroes for hire that multiple people had, including Sophie. Well, that widens the scope a bit! Anonymous information broker, shall I assume that’s Kaiser? OH. No, it’s her sire!

“The story going around is, he left me alone and I hate his guts. Well, at least half of that is true.” Which half, though...

Aww man I wish I had saved some of those websites! I miss SciFiVine...

You know, I’m not 100% sure Carter’s the murderer (my main suspect is Arturo at this point tbh) but damn, the bit about Stern’s show kinda makes me want to slap him anyway XD;;

Queer Catholic blues, huh :-\

“Haven’t you noticed what’s going on in the news? People are going absolutely insane about this virus, cancelling trips and orders and --” Ahh. We’re in that 2020 XD;;

Okay the scene with the kid meeting his girlfriend was cute but then spooky time?? jfc was that the Abyss?!

Ooooh did she just find Tamika solely by accident? Thanks, Abyss XD I love how Julia’s first response is ‘shit, she’s hot’. And she took out a whole SI squad herself? Nice. Calebros mention! Huh, so the SI are maintaining the status quo... they became an issue because the Camarilla tried to sic them on the Anarchs and Sabbat and it backfired, maybe it actually succeeded here?

Ooh, a history with Torque. Neat. Also not sure with the art, but are those tattoos on Tamika’s arm, or fur? I mean, Gangrel beast marks and all.

Sorry Torque I’m just trying to get the ‘good’ end :(

Mention of the fledgling! Officially ‘disappeared’, that leaves it fairly ambiguous at this point.

Oof. The Circulatory System are... not cool. And yeah Julia’s just been called tf out, I do look forward to this scene in the ‘bad’ end XD;;

COVID strikes back. The Big Beat Burger is closed :( Charlie is sweet, at least! I hope his mom is okay.

Well that rat bit was weird. Hi D’Angelo! Oh my god blood doll rats? Drunk blood doll rats?! Still a damn good detective, though, that’s good shit. On to Kaiser and some answers! ...Yeah, okay, he’s a prime suspect too.

Kaiser, you are a deeply unpleasant person :-\

...good to know pepper spray still works. And, uh, probably satisfying to beat him up XD;; And yeah, there’s the last choice for the ‘good’ ending. Sorry dude.

...huh. Okay, I was at least partially right XD;; Oh Qadir, not you too :-\

Well that’s a bit... weird of Dakota, yes.

lmao oh Benoit you absolute mess. Religion as A E S T H E T I C XD I have a theory he’s from Michael’s line and I also quite sincerely believe that Michael would take one look at him and bitchslap him into the next millennium. He’s a Path follower, isn’t he?

Father Leonard is okay. I wonder who the ‘friend’ is?

This is very Agatha Christie, revealing the killer in the midst, except I have the horrible feeling Qadir’s going to go with ‘it was suicide’ and not ‘it was everyone’.

Denouement! Before it ends, Julia’s traits:

Loyal only to myself

Glass half-empty

A little abuse of power never hurt nobody

You can’t be a writer and not lie

The ends justify the means (duh)

Honestly she may have just blackmailed her way into power, set up Carter to take the fall, and sent poor Dakota to final death, but the drama was impeccable XD Good luck not ending up in the Abyss, Julia!

#ry plays sony #vampire the masquerade #vtm shadows of new york

[dreamerswriter]

Sherlock X Irene: Five More Snippets in their Lives Part 3

Another five! He has a photo of her above the fire place! Are you kidding me?! That’s pining! Also, her and Yujin must be friends. Please? Sigh, I love them. Enjoy the story!

Number 11: Sing Along  

In which the detective and the opera singer found themselves tied back-to-back and left alone in a dark cellar. It was supposed to be a simple case, pick up some groceries, and then back to the flat before his friend, Ryunosuke, Susato, and Haori arrive. Yet nothing was ever simple. They were chasing after a thief and now, they were locked in a room.

"Well, this is certainly not how I imagined today turning out" Sherlock confessed  as Irene shook her head.

She couldn't complain. She loves her life with him, Iris, and the rest of their friends and family. Solving cases, singing her songs, and traveling around the empire with them. Though, she would love to see her family and prepare a meal with Iris. She reached for his bags and tried to find his bunny charm.

"Ah, my intended, what are you up too?" he asked with a knowing tone.

"Getting help. When I saw so, shout for help" she said as she gripped the bunny, "Now"

"HELP! OH HELP US!" he shouted as the bunny transmitted the call to them.

"Holmes-san?!" Ryunosuke shouted in shock.

"Is the Great Detective on another case?! How exciting!" Susato exclaimed excitedly.

"Where are you?!" Professor Mikotoba exclaimed in distress.

"Somewhere in a stone building. Please do hurry. We really shouldn't keep my daughter-who-does-acknowledge-me-as-her-father waiting" he said warmly as Irene shook her head.

"Can you hear me?" she asked gently.

"Yes, I can Miss Adler" the professor said in relief.

"Alright, then here is what we are going to do" she explained, "I'll sing. Follow the sound of my voice through the telephone"

"Genius!" the professor, Ryunosuke, and her charmer exclaimed as she grinned.

She began to sing as her intended leaned his head against hers. Oh, he could listen to her singing all day. Soon enough, their friends found them. For the rest of the night, Sherlock could only express how clever Irene was with her thinking and saving them.

Number 12: A "Mama"

It was before the Great Detective and little Prodigy Writer and Inventor had met Ryunosuke and their other friends and family members. Sherlock was working on another invention while Iris had just finished writing her script for her work. She showed it to him as Sherlock complimented the work.

"Wonderful work, Dr. Watson!" he cheered as she grinned, "This will be posted tomorrow and be read by everyone in our wonderful city! Tomorrow, we will go out to the café for a nice dessert!"

Iris agreed warmly before her attention was taken when she heard a family consisting of a mother, father, and child laughing together. Sherlock noticed this and waited for a moment.

"Iris, dear mate, is everything ok?" he asked cautiously as she jumped and turned her attention to him.

"Oh, nothing!" she insisted as she shook her head.

"Ah! But you were startled by the family on the street! Why though? They were just laughing and enjoying the peace" Sherlock asked in calm tone, "We should enjoy the peace. Please tell me what is troubling you"

She sighed and confessed, "Well, I think we need a prim, proper lady in this flat of ours!"

Sherlock stood up and nearly fell at her statement. A lady?!

"W-why do we need a lady in this flat, my dear Iris?" he exclaimed as he tried deduce the reason behind this.

"Well, a good mother like figure would be helpful, don't you think?" she suggested with a confident expression, "And you need a wonderful lady to help you with your deductions and make sure to keep you in check. What do you think, Holmsie?! A wonderful lady in our flat to help us?"

The Great Detective, himself, was puzzled by this predicament, but then Iris waved her hand to return to her work on the type writer. She left the Great Detective in a puzzled mess and confused for an answer.

Of course, after their adventure, a lovely lady did step into their lives and effortlessly captured the heart of the Great Detective. As the detective talked with the opera singer, the little writer and inventor smiled from a distance at her papa and mama getting along wonderfully. Her wish came true, after all.

Number 13: A Heated Argument

"Children!" Sherlock's voice boomed over the room.

Gina, Iris, and Maria were stunned for a moment as the detective faced the opera singer. Anger was clear on both of their faces as they faced each other. Iris was about to storm between them, but Gina restrained her and walked out of the room with Maria following them. Silence filled the room as the two of them faced each other. Neither willing to back down.

"Irene" he said in a tense tone, "You should not have done this!"

"Oh, whatever!" she snapped at her with her arms crossed over her chest as she turned her head away from him, "It was a perfect moment! We caught the culprit, the kids are safe, and no one was hurt"

"That's not the issue!" the detective replied, "You could've gotten hurt! You were in danger! That was too close!"

"As if you don't recklessly put yourself in danger!" she snapped in reply by pointing at him, "As I recall from your many stories, you didn't hesitate to throw yourself into danger either! Always trying to solve the case without thinking twice! Why is it different for me to play my part in finding out the truth?"

She faced him as he held a hurt expression.

"I only threw myself into dangerous situations, because my best friend was married and had a child he had to return to. I was not going to let him get hurt because of my personal love of deductions. No, that was not going to happen" he answered sharply and simply as he took a step towards her, "I don't know if you've caught on, but I am more cautious with each case we've taken. After all, if anything happened to either one of us, it would affect the kids and our loved ones. We've all gone through so much, and I want us to live our lives long and together"

He gently held her shoulders before lowering his head. He was shaking a bit with little tears in his eyes. She was taken aback by his reaction.

"Sherlock" she said gently to him before he whispered so quietly, "I love you"

She gasped as he held a tense expression. She held his face in her hands and smiled softly.

"I apologize. I'll be better about keeping us safe" she vowed in a gently tone, "I love you, Sherlock"

She gently wiped his tears away before pulling him into a warm hug. He sighed in relief as he held her close to him. She pressed her lips against his cheek as she mummed in relief.

Number 14: Caught Confessions

The Great Detective found himself in one of the most dangerous situations ever. Nothing came close to Iris being kidnapped, Ryunosuke being gravely ill, Ryunosuke being kidnapped, and the very law itself being harmed. However, now he found himself in another dangerous situation. Although he made sure Iris remained with her uncle while Gina and Maria remained at the Yard. He and his intended had traveled through the darken streets of the empire. They gotten separated. He knew his intended could handle herself in any situation she finds herself in. So, the amount of fear and dread he felt when he found her unconscious before him and underneath the culprit's clutches was through the roof.

"Irene!" he shouted as he took a step forward with only thinking of her safety above all else.

"Don't you dare move, you third rate detective" the culprit said as he pointed at gun right at Irene's unconscious form, "Otherwise, I will not hesitate to take her life right before your eyes"

The detective froze for a minute and pondered his next action. He has to make sure his intended is safe before anything else happens to her.

"How about a deal then?" he offered to him with a calm expression, "After all, between my intended and myself, I have more to offer. I have ties to the Yard and could get you anything you desire from them"

However, the detective noticed a shadowy figure coming towards them. He raised his index finger similar to how the detective would when he went about his deductions. Sherlock knew who this person was and continued to distract the culprit as his intended stirred.

"Sherlock?" she asked weakly as she looked at the worried detective.

"Irene!" he said in a panic tone as he tried to reach her.

She held her hand out, but the culprit roughly pulled her up and held her close to him. Sherlock was tense as he took a step back and raised his hands. As for the culprit, he held Irene by her arm between her shoulders. She growled at the culprit while keeping her eyes locked on her charmer. The gun was gently placed behind him as he used his other hand to hold her neck. Sherlock's blood boiled as he saw how the culprit mistreated his intended. She's is more than he could ever realize.

"Such a beautiful lady" he purred against her as she struggled, "Why bother with a detective like him?"

"At least he's a gentleman and isn't rude to those who are just as intelligent as him!" she snapped at him and tried to elbow him away.

However, the culprit roughly pulled her hair as she let out a yelp.

"Don't you dare hurt her" Sherlock threatened in a low tone before sighing, "If you let my intended go, you can do anything you want with me. I'll follow any orders you give, but you will not harm her"

Irene gasped at her charmer's offer as the culprit simply chuckled and picked up his gun by releasing his hold on her neck. He then pointed the gun right at the detective who noticed the figure getting closer and closer with a silvery weapon in hand.

"Or, maybe I shall take the life of a detective who has tried to ruin our lives time and time again. With you gone, who's going to stop the string of crimes in our empire?!" the culprit shouted as he prepared to pull the trigger.

With a loud thud, the culprit was knocked out as Irene pulled the gun out of his hand and stepped away from the culprit. Sherlock lunged forward to hold Irene close and examine her. She wasn't hurt and seemed to be alright. He sighed in relief and pulled her into a warm embrace. They were both shaking for a bit as the shadowy figure sighed and stepped towards them.

"Honestly, you two act like a typical, annoying couple" Mycroft said as he adjusted his gloves, "It is sickening. How does my niece handle you two at all astounds me"

Sherlock gently held his intended back from beating up his older brother. Although his older brother did try to murder him, they let bygones be bygones. As for Irene, she would never forgive him.  

"Thank you" Sherlock said kindly to his older brother who was surprised for a brief moment before scoffing and turning away from them.

Although his older brother wasn't too accepting of others after the death of their younger sister, he remembered his promise to her. He was grateful his little brother did find happiness after their sister's untimely demise at the hands of the Grim Reaper. He simply nodded his head and went to work securing the culprit.

"I'll bring him back to the queen. You two better return home to my niece and her friends" he said simply and left them with the culprit.

Sherlock and Irene then left the alley way together and walked back to the flat. Once they arrived, they found Iris asleep with Gina. The detective and opera singer retired for a the night, but the detective had wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. The two of them took comfort in knowing the other was safe. They slept on the couch and held each other close as they slept through the morning.

"Should we wake tem?" Gina asked in a whisper to Iris.

"No, let them sleep" Iris said with a small smile on her face, "After all, they've been through so much last night. Though, it will make for a wonderful story!"

She smiled warmly before heading to her typewriter and getting to work.

Number 15: Cuddling!

With Iris testing out her new invention with Maria and Gina, Sherlock and Irene finally had a nice evening for themselves. Sherlock prepared some warm tea as Irene cooked some biscuits. The two of them then sat on the couch as they remained quiet. The flat was actually quiet for once. With the roaring fire in the distance and the dimly sounds of the busy city in the distance, the two of them were just sitting together and having a nice snack. Irene leaned her head on his shoulder and ate a biscuit as Sherlock enjoyed his tea. Once she finished the biscuit, she then wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close to herself. Sherlock then finished his tea and gently held her close and pulled their legs onto the couch. The two of them soon hummed in delight and closed their eyes. She hummed a little tone and laid on his side while he gently stroked her head and tapped along to her song. Though, the two of them soon fell asleep, but neither of them cared. They were happily drifting off together and enjoying the peace. Of course, Iris, Maria, and Gina returned to the flat soon enough with Kazuma behind them to find the detective and opera singer asleep together. Iris hurried to get a blanket for them while Kazuma had ushered Gina and Maria to the antic. Iris threw the blanket over her papa and mama before following her friends, leaving her parents to sleep peacefully.

#dgs sherlock holmes #the great ace attorney #sherlock x irene #herlock sholmes #irene adler

[undertaker1827]

Can i get 21,22, and 23 for William T. Spears please 🥺 if that’s too many you can pick one!

Ooh my first request for William!! Yay!! *Sherlock voice* I am on fire!! My writer’s block is gone!

21] They extended a hand to you. “Come here.”

22] “I missed you.”

23] “You’re so beautiful.”

Have a flick through the prompt list?

-

It was the middle of the night, or rather some ungodly hour of the morning. You had gone to bed alone, like most nights, only you found you couldn’t sleep. Having rolled around in bed in a tired daze for a good few hours, you had given up and decided the only port of call was to go downstairs to get a glass of water. Therefore, it was to your great surprise to find the reaper who you had seen so little of recently at the kitchen table sharpening his death scythe.

When William glanced up at the sound of your quiet footfalls, his gaze locked onto yours as you entered the kitchen. Bleary eyed, with your hair in a mess and wearing check pyjamas (which he suspected belonged to him) and fluffy bunny socks (which certainly did not), you stopped in the doorway, clearly unsure as to whether he was actually there or if it was your imagination.

You remained still, watching as the reaper carefully laid his scythe across the table then extended a hand to you.

“Come here.” Thoughts of the water gone, you rushed across the room and into his arms, embracing him tightly. William himself wasn’t overly concerned with physical affection in this way, but upon learning you were, he made sure to always give you cuddles - in private, of course. His arms curled around your comparatively small shoulders as he drew you even closer to him, your own arms locking around his waist.

The reaper sat back down, drawing you with him and letting you sit on his lap. Reaching behind you, William slipped his black gloves off and left them on the table next to his scythe, one arm returning to your shoulders and the other moving to your head. His hand started gently carding back through your hair, smoothing out the worst of the tangles and generally trying to tame it. You sighed in contentment, eyes fluttering closed and head resting on his shoulder.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured softly, only holding you tighter when a disbelieving sound escaped your lips.

“Like this?” You gestured to yourself in all your sleep deprived, unkempt glory.

“Always,” he replied immediately. “You must know that, Y/N.” Instead of answering that, you chose to return your head to his shoulder. He shifted slightly to find a more comfortable grip of you. William allowed his eyes to close, just for a moment, as he buried his nose in your hair and breathed in the scent that was so undeniably you.

You seemed to sit for a long while in some sort of happy daze, enjoying being close. Eventually, you pulled back, the reaper’s eyes watching you absolutely. You held his gaze steadily.

“I missed you.” A sad expression came over his face as he offered a half smile.

“I’m sorry,” he replied softly, “I know this must be hard for you. All I want is to finish my work without overtime, but with certain subordinates incapable of doing their own, the tasks invariably fall to me. I wish it were otherwise.” Your expression matched his.

“I don’t blame you, you know.” His arms squeezed you in thankful response. He could quite understand how a less understanding person could come to blame him. “I just wish you were here more. I know it’s not your fault though.” The reaper pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, looking at you over t he rims of his glasses as he was close enough to you to not need their aid.

“What did I do to deserve you...” he murmured, chartreuse eyes keeping perfect contact with yours. You matched the raw truthfulness in his gaze.

“Everything.” He blinked, eyes widening a fraction of an inch. “And you deserve everything. You work yourself to the bone and barely if ever get any recognition for it, and do you know what? I love you.” William paused, taking his time to memorise the sound of your words, how you looked when you said them. He proceeded to lift a hand to his own face and did something you had never seen him do before; he took his glasses off. Then he was repeating your declaration and pressing his lips to yours and as you broke apart, panting, you realised you had never felt this way about anyone before. The reaper’s hand returned to your cheek, thumb gently ghosting over your lips. The smile you gave was cut off by a yawn. William’s eyes became inquisitive, before they clouded over with realisation.

“Have you not slept yet?” You blinked owlishly at the question before you remembered why you had come downstairs to begin with. You shook your head. Now he looked concerned. “Y/N, it’s 2am. I could have done with going to sleep before now, and you need the rest more than I do. Come on, I’ll come up with you.”

He returned his glasses to his face and punched them up over the bridge of his nose, one arm looping around your waist and the other picking up both his glasses and death scythe. By the time you finally made it up to your shared bedroom, you were yawning incessantly and could barely keep your eyes open. William offered a small smirk which he reserved only for you. After you climbed into bed together, the reaper gathered you up in his arms and held you close, at your request. You rested your head on his shoulder and had fallen asleep in seconds to the careful patterns he was tracing on your back.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #william t spears #william t spears x reader #black butler william #black butler reader inserts

[othercat2]

Writing Update, Bunny, and Snippet(s)

So! While searching for porn I found a series called Taming Riki on Amazon, which is apparently original fan fic of Ai no Kusabi. It is not very good fan fic, and only semi okay porn. It reminded me very much of the kind of yaoi porn one used to be able to find on LJ in the early 2000s. I did end up reading it, but was very impatient with it. (Writer, have you ever actually met human beings? I wonder!)

This somehow led to reading Ai no Kusabi fan fic. Which was very odd since I was not impressed with the Ova! (I am probably not going to read the novel(s) since they apparently end in Bury Your Gays Under Piles of Rubble.) Anyway, the AnK fan fic seems to tend toward the "rewrite canon so characters survive" variety. And is often quite optimistic that the mains could have a relationship.

Bunny 1: Due to the part where Iason "Why is my surname a Mustelid, it must be because I fuck like Weasels" Mink is an android he was never actually in danger because all you need to do is down load a backup. Problem: he keeps crashing because Riki was made of meat, and he does not know how to grieve. Jupiter POV as they/it/she tries to get Iason back to operational parameters. (Ricky don't you lose my number plays ironically in the background.)

Bunny 2: Almost exactly like AnK except with Homestuck style quadrants. So much quadrant vacillation. SO MUCH.

Speaking of Homestuck, I've been working on Rebel and Conqueror! I have also been working on Pernstuck, and the next installment of The Yiling Almanac ("the young master most likely to be found disappearing into the kitchen garden") Wei Ying's love of potatoes is featured. (I need to find Ursula Vernon's rant on potatoes.) I've also managed to get some writing done on Build a Life from Scratch. However, I'm slightly frustrated because I can't segue over the GHB/Signless debate. And I hate debates.

Snippet the First: (Rebel and Conqueror)

Trolls had all kinds of mind control powers. They could terrorize you into catatonia or turn you into a puppet. It depended on the caste though. Lower castes tended to have telekinesis powers, higher up the scale started to be telepathy and fear projection. At the very top it was mostly resistance to the mind control powers (and you suspected, regeneration and other weird shit you've only heard rumors about). It probably made sense to trolls to keep you away from Vantas, if things like what happened to you happened a lot. “He’s fuchsia,” you say, and even as you say it, you know it’s a stupid thing to say. Vantas doesn’t need to have been the one to fuck with your head, with or without the pheromones. “Is there any proof he had anything done to my head? Aside from fucking with it just by being his normal asshole self?”

“No evidence was found in the initial investigation,” the Dolorosa admits.

"So he didn't do anything," you say. "So I think I should get to see him sentenced." You pause, looking down at your hands. "For closure. Since I'm not allowed to be in contact with him anymore." The Dolorosa gives you an odd look. It's part concern and part curiosity, and you realize what you said might sound like. "It isn't Stockholm Syndrome," you tell. "I don't feel dependent on him for safety or something." You just want to know what's going on with him. "And don't ask if I want to see him, because that opens the entire do you want to be his kismesis can of worms, and the answer to that is still and will always be fuck no."

The Dolorosa smiles a little at that. "That's understood," she says. "Would you want to be in contact? From what I understand that also seems to be an issue."

"So, troll doctors don't have confidentiality?"

"I think you've made it clear that it's an issue outside Doctor Coyotl's office," the Dolorosa says. "It would be hard to keep common knowledge confidential." Her tone is dry. "Wanting to see him doesn't necessarily correlate to wanting to be in a kismesis with him."

"I want to see him," you say. "I don't know about contact. Maybe I want to ask what he thought he was going to do, raising my kid and screwing with me at the same time. How he thought that was going to work. What was he going to tell my kid about me, if he thought he was going to get away with it. Maybe I want him to delete that fucking 'I hate you' wall he has. Maybe I want to point and laugh at all the 're-education' he's going to go through."

"He already knew he wasn't going to get away with it," the Dolorosa says.

"What's the Black Tower like?" you ask, veering slightly off the subject.

"A prison," the Dolorosa says. "Or in some ways a hospital. I'm sure Pyrope has explained some of the details."

"Re-educated, supervised visits, supervised everything, Earth still conquered but the Viceroy can't have a hate boyfriend, yeah."

"Among other possible punishments," the Dolorosa says. "But those are the most likely." She pauses. "Are there any penalties you'd prefer?"

"Be pretty stupid for me to ask for execution, wouldn't it? Maybe ironic after all the effort not to kill me." Probably also stupid to suggest it to his grandmother, but she asked. "Maybe freedom for Earth and he doesn't have command of anything bigger than one of those ships you stick in a bottle. But freedom isn't on the table either."

The Dolorosa doesn't lecture on the benefits of imperial rule. Instead she says, "Dr. Coyotl mentioned that you had been losing a considerable amount of time during your captivity." She decaptchalogues a data grub, and sets it down on a low table by the couch. It's stubs around a couple inches before curling up, mandibles opening and shutting. You absolutely do not want to pick it up. "This data grub contains the complete security footage from your time on the then-Viceroy's ship. After viewing this, we can discuss if and when you can see him."

"I have to watch the home movie if I want to see him?" you ask. The Dolorosa nods. You know that you're stalling. (You still don't want to pick the data grub up.)

"You can watch it on your own, or with your partner, Rose Lalonde," Dolorosa says, and gets to her feet to leave.

"Wait," you say. She gives you an inquiring look. "So, if this is the complete footage, that's a lot of hours. What's the amount of hours before you'll let me see Vantas?"

"At least seventy two hours within a twenty four hour time frame," Dolorosa says.

"Okay."

Something resembling manners has you get up and follow her to the door, and see her out. When she's gone, you lean against the bulkhead and shudder all over, face in your hands. You slide down the bulkhead to the deck. Take it in steps. There was a computer in the corner of the living room, built into a desk. It wasn't too organic or alarming in appearance. Get the grub to the computer, and open the files. Did you really want to watch it on your own? Did you want Rose there, knowing how badly she wanted to kill Vantas? (It takes a moment to wrap your head around the way the argument wants to phrase Rose's presence as a negative. You don't want me her to be hurt. You don't want her to hurt Vantas.) Did you want to watch it, already knowing what you were going to see? (All the parts you couldn't remember and all the parts you could.)

"This is bullshit," you say, half hoping for a comment from the intercom. "You're hoping I don't watch, which will prove I shouldn't see Vantas." You don't get an answer.

With cringing fingers you pick up the grub (soft squashy urgh) drive and stick it in the port. As the drive opens you send a message to Rose: so i have umptybillion hours of video footage to go through before they'll let me see vantas please come hold my hand. You don't get an immediate reply, so you start going through the files.

You see that you have lots of raw footage. As far as you can tell, no editing was done at all. You are going to be doing a lot of skipping and fast forwarding, is what you're saying. Opening the first file, you get started. It starts with him getting you into his ship, and his quarters. Your hands clench as you watch yourself wake up, the combination of anger and panic on your face as he fucks you, how it turns to lust and desperation. You fast forward.

You fast forward a lot. A lot of this, you remember, and don't much want to go over it again. From a third person perspective, it's weird watching him with you. Watching you with him. (You don't remember the times you tried to make a shank--three times--or biting him as often as you as you actually did.) You can see the moments of concern or confusion on his face, see him arguing with Egbert and Harley. Or meeting some official. (Those are the times when you can remember having been locked in your room. )

Snippet the Second: (Build a Life from Scratch)

After some more talk you all break camp and head west. As you all walk, you stretch your Aspects out, figure out what they can do. It's at least half way to sense for danger, half to practice. You might lay down a "beat" that Redglare joins in on, that Disciple sings along to, that Zahhak hums absentmindedly. Or Jade and Signless have a "song" that Dolorosa joins in on, accompanied by Disciple. Demoness can sound like an entire choir, with Highblood coming in over the top, "sounding" something like a theremin crossed with a bass fiddle. Dave joins in, and Roxy, doing odd little solos or "duets" with one of the trolls, or with Jade.

The next few nights not much happens. The terrain is uneven, the sky is endless, and the air is muggy and damp. There are a few high-flying clouds that disappear by morning. You can see mountains in the distance, and the glinting snake of a river edged with trees. On the third day, you get closer to the river, it starts to get cloudier and the wind kicks up. In the early evening, you can see the wall of an approaching storm. It's a solid green-black wall, and you can see the trailing mists of rain as it dumps down, along with flickers of lightning. "Well, that's going to suck when it gets here," you say.

At the same time you hear this huge sliding crunch off to the side. Exactly like someone pulled up a whole hell of a lot of chunks of ground, all at once. You turn in that direction and see huge chunks of dirt and rock floating around Jade and the Demoness. "Hopefully we can make it suck less!" Jade says cheerfully. The chunks orbit Jade and Demoness as they began to quickly create a shelter. Everyone helps with pounding the dirt and rocks into a rough shelter big enough to hold everyone plus the not-horses. Demoness and Jade (with help from Alter Dave and Dolorosa) smooth out the inside and make everything solid and waterproof.

You all get inside as the storm hits. Roxy pulls out a couple of battery powered lanterns, and sets them up. "Getting better at that," you say.

She grins. "This trick's kind of fun," she says. "Watch." She shows you everything she can make appear, and then disappear. She starts with green cubes, then goes on to various toys, a pair of shoes, a laptop computer, a 3rd Edition Dungeon and Dragons Player's Handbook and DM Handbook. And various sets of dice. And a DM screen. "So, how about a game?"

"That game's for nerds," you scoff.

She rattles one of the clear tubes of dice at you. "Dirk, you are in fact a nerd." She tosses the tube at you, and you catch it reflexively. She also tosses one at Alter Dave, who steps back and lets it fall.

"Nah," he says. "I want to be Debbie."

Roxy laughs, eyes a little bright. "Rose had a brief stint of leaving Chick Tracts in odd little places. I covered the door to her bedroom with a print of The Time of the Dark."

"The one with the wizard sitting in the kitchen with can of beer?" You ask.

"Yep!"

"Mean," Dave says. "Isn't Hambly kinda homophobic?" Quickly. "Not that I would know, except from what my Rose might have ranted about a time or two because she's read a few of the writer's series. I'm way too cool for wizards."

"Wizards are extremely cool," Roxy says. "And I'm not sure one way or another, except yes, if she had written certain books today the way she had then, she would be up to her ears in angry letters and tweets, because holy crap."

It turns out trolls also have roleplaying games. Redglare, Disciple and Signless join in. To your surprise, so does Demoness. Highblood, the Dolorosa and Zahhak do not.

#writing #homestuck #ai no kusabi #update #untamed #plot weasels

[hogwarts-is-my-wonderland]

i don’t know if you know this (i’m guessing you don’t) but iron heart is already the superhero in the marvel comics who is kinda tony’s protege and who is also a black girl so it’s kinda weird that you took her superhero name and gave it to a white woman — but i’m guessing it was unintentional and you didn’t mean to

Hello, thank you so much for your interest. To anyone who read the above and wonders (I'm not popular, but it is very important for me to acknowledge it as a writer and for personal reasons), I'd like to address this in a serious manner. Warning, I'm a rambler so I'm going to build my answer with a lot of text. Before I officially throw myself in, I apologize to anyone whom I gave the wrong idea and ended up hurting or offending them in some way or another because of this.

So. Let's start with the facts (or my excuse, whichever one you prefer):

Robin Drake (my MCU OC) was conceived when Avengers: Age of Ultron came out, so that was like, 2015? I thought of calling her story Iron Heart (two words, not just the one) but with so many movies coming out one after the other, her storyline just kept building and it hasn't stepped out from Plot Bunny World. The "Iron Heart" title has stayed as a placeholder since.

In the meantime, Ironheart/Riri Williams (a black canonical character in the Marvel comics) was officially introduced in 2016 and she is Iron Man's successor. She's even got the A.I. version of Tony Stark as her number one supporter.

Having said this, I'd like to clear out that the OC, in no way, was ever intended to become Ironheart. NOT AT ALL. As a Mexican-American (raised in Mexico), I am very aware of white characters' appropriation of POC's storylines. Like OG Miles Morales' backstory key plots being taken by MCU Peter Parker. Or the original Captain Marvel, Monica Rambeau, having her debut and title stolen by Carol Danvers.

No, the "Iron Heart" part at the time was meant to represent Tony and Robin's relationship as siblings. Comic!Howard Stark had this credo: "Stark men are made of iron." It's a toxic sentence, one that sent Comic!Tony Stark spiraling down a path toward alcoholism; it was also intended to be incredibly misogynist from the get-go because of the nature of Comic!Howard's character (if you know your Marvel lore, you know what I mean).

The way I am developing (important keyword, by the way) Robin's story, this little sentence shapes her entire relationship with Tony, thus the Iron Heart part. The story is supposed to be about them. Not the Avengers, not SHIELD, not Thanos—them, the siblings who, because of the hand of fate, must deal with what life has thrown at them together; must deal with the legacy of not only being a Stark but also that of Iron Man and live with it as gracefully as they can. And believe it or not, Riri Williams, from the moment I read about her, became the endgame of this crazy story.

I want to ramble so, so much. This is a plot bunny that hasn't seen the light of day in any fanfiction site, a story that's still taking place and reshaping itself in my head every time I remember to because I want it to go down a different path from the MCU (yeah, an AU). The OC takes a lot from personal experience (mine, friends', family members'), so I haven't had the courage to even write the beginning (again, because it's personal and it feels like I'm revealing some harsh truths to myself) let alone think of a name for that first story (Iron Heart is meant to be the series name). It wasn't meant to be a serious or professional project (no fanfic is), but you Anon reminded me why it is.

First, let me tell you what I have planned so far for Robin Drake: she is a bastard child (conceived through an illicit affair) and a woman who could not finish her studies because of her limited resources. Not only that, she is just as smart as the Starks but her intellect is derided by people who think themselves superior to her (both men and women, including Tony Stark and some of the Avengers). And society has beaten down her wishes to succeed, so she is also disillusioned and frustrated but like all must, keeps going because she had the proper emotional support. She had a mom who loved her, a stepfather who taught her to stand up for herself, and friends who empathized with her.

Then she gets the one chance to become who she wants to be thanks to Tony Stark. Not because he is rich or because he becomes her "sponsor/daddy sugar/all-loving-brother" but because he sees her potential and challenges her to see beyond her closed mind and do something about it.

See the difference? Two completely different characters who happen to only have in common the words ‘iron heart’. So, to me, this a story of growth. Or it will be, once I get it into words, if ever. Though Robin gets an Iron Man armor (not the way you'd expect), she doesn't and never will become Ironheart. But like you, Anon, I wondered the same thing: by leaving that title, was I taking someone else's story? After years of thinking until I finally started to (tentatively) post about her here (and I was encouraged by many plot bunnies whom I would love to read about but must resort to wishful thinking), I think I reached a "no." It's an idea—still not set in stone. I am very open to taking off the Iron Heart part at any time, but until I start writing this down or think of a different name when imagining it, it will take me a while to change it.

If you read my whole ramble, thank you for taking your time. Thank you, Anon, for making me acknowledge this publicly (one never knows) and think about it more carefully. And again, I'm very sorry if I ended hurting or offending anyone because of this misconception. If you believe my explanation wasn't enough and I'm entirely in the wrong, I understand. I'm also open to receiving feedback of any sort (and I'm aware I could get some backlash) as long as it's constructive (i.e. I won't answer to unreasonable comments).

P.S. I want to keep posting about Robin Drake (the aforementioned OC). So I am going to take off the Iron Heart name and leave it as MCU Plot Bunny. I can't erase previous reblogs, so those will keep the name.

P.S. 2. If the text is an eyesore in your dash, please tell me so I add a Keep Reading line, I don't mind.

#IMPORTANT #TO ME #Is it bad that I'm kind of happy I got to answer this? #I'm also scared #This is serious so I wanted to acknowledge it as civilized as possible without coming off as aggressive or self-entitled #I don't think I managed it but again I wanted to discuss this and hopefully raise some awareness #help please #me answering some stuff #robin drake