#another plunny I've had for a while

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Title: Rules in Love

So, I wrote another fic for @voltagefandomproject for anyone who wants to read it.

Pairing: Dr. Kasumi x Reader (where reader is not the MC in the series)

Rating: Fluff

Word count: ~1k

Summary: So, it didn't work out between Dr. Kasumi and his ex. Take a peek at what the dark emperor is like when he re-enters the dating scene.

Notes: This has nothing to do with the original series, it was just a plunny I had playing in my head one evening. I don't own Voltage or any of its characters, but I own the idea for this fic.

It's a sunny Saturday morning and the two of you are finally on your way to watch the Baystars in their home court in Yokohama. You haven't been there in a while, but the stadium is very special to you; after all, that was where he took you on your first official date - the date that almost got canceled at the last minute because of a hospital schedule mix-up. 

As you cruise along the tree-lined road leading out of the city, you steal a glance at your dashing date. Why, if you ever told anyone that you were out with Dr. Toshiki Kasumi, in his white European sedan, listening to K-pop songs on your way to a baseball game, they'd probably think you're nuts. But there you are, sitting in the passenger's seat, watching him tap his finger on the steering wheel while listening to an upbeat song from one of your favorite girl groups. 

"I'm pretty sure there are more interesting sights to look at," he says, pulling you out of your reverie. 

Your lips stretch into a big smile. Even when he's driving, he's paying attention to every little thing you do. "You're right. There are a lot of wonderful sights around," you respond. "And I've decided that you're the most wonderful of all."

He smirks, unsure of how to respond. That's another thing you adore about him - the fact that he's cool and collected, and always certain when it comes to anything related to the medical field, but is tentative and awkward when it comes to love. 

Seeing that the tips of his ears turn a darker shade of red, you decide to change the topic. You shift in your seat. "So," you say, clearing your throat. "Did all go smoothly when you operated on that big-shot celebrity whose name you wouldn't disclose?"

He glances sideways at you and smiles. "We don't talk about work when we're out on a date, right?"

You smile back at him and nod. That was another thing you adore about him - he's always a stickler for the rules. You think back to the night you met him at The Pen a little over twelve weeks ago, at a mixer, which the two of you - apparently - were both forced to join. Even when he seemed uninterested, he didn't leave your side. At the end of the event, he tells you he'd just broken up with someone he dated at work, and that he was following the three-month rule. You thought he was joking and handed him your card, telling him to call you when his penance was over. He called you a week later. "The three-month rule is over," he declared and proceeded to ask if you wanted to watch a baseball game with him. 

Since then, you've seen him quite a few times. You've visited museums, theme parks, the cinema, and even the oceanarium. You've cooked together in his apartment and he toured you around his workplace when you stopped by one afternoon - much to his team's surprise. You've come to know the gentle guy behind the stony facade, but he's never done anything more than put a hand at the small of your back or around your shoulder to protect you when you're in a crowded place. He's never attempted to do more than give you a light peck on the cheek at the end of your date. 

It's a little frustrating if you have to be honest, but he firmly believes that if there's a three-month rule after a breakup, the same thing should apply when you're seeing someone new. And you can't really complain when you know that there are a lot of other women out there who'd kill for a chance to date this dark-haired beauty, but all he wants is to spend time with you. 

It was his turn to clear his throat. "You're awfully quiet," he teased. "Has the sight you've chosen started to bore you?" He's been driving for nearly an hour, and the GPS says you'll be reaching his destination in another ten minutes. 

You straightened up. "You could never bore me."

"I noticed," he said. "All this time we've been seeing each other, you hardly ever complained about keeping me company."

"I could say the same about you," you quipped. 

"You're never boring," he replied, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Anyway, do you know why we're here?" 

"Apart from watching the Baystars?"

He nodded. "This was where we had our first date," he said. "(Y/n), it's been three months since we started dating," he continued, keeping one hand on the wheel while his other hand brushed against yours. "I… uh… Well, I'm not sure this is the right time to say this, but I want you to know that I'm serious about you and that I want our relationship to be… You know…"

You cocked your head to one side, egging him on. "To be?"

"You're gonna make me say it? Fine. I want us to be an exclusive couple. I want to be your boyfriend," he said, and you found it cute how he, in his late thirties, still managed to blush like a teen. 

"So does that mean I get more than a peck on the cheek after a date?"

He smiled. "If you're good."

"And does that also mean we get to stay over at each others' apartments from time to time?"

"If that's what you want."

"Hmm," you said, pretending to be in deep thought. "And do I get to make some of my own rules for you to follow as well?"

"I'm all yours," he replied. "So, what do you say, can I have my answer now?"

Suddenly, the GPS announces that you've reached your destination. He's now looking for a parking space, carefully driving along the parking lot full of spectators decked out in their team's colors. You haven't given him an answer yet, but judging by how confidently he fits your hand into his and how natural it feels, you think he already knows he's going to be anything but upset today. 

The end. 

[mightbewriting]

Hi Amanda! I hope you're doing extremely well! I know you just completed an alluring ascent into ardor (which was great) but... might you be writing anything else? Or planning to post to thirty seven years or another dramione work? I just miss your writing so much 😫😫 thank you! Much love

hello! tbh i've been having a bit of a tough time, but i'm hanging in there. i hope you're well! unfortunately this is a bit of a good news/bad news situation. i've been writing *a ton,* just not for fandom recently. i've been working on a few new original projects while i wait endlessly in the querying process trying to find representation for my work.

i have a dramione plunny hopping happily around my brain that i'll hopefully write down one day. and thirty-seven years is one of those things that i work on when the mood strikes. but i don't have any timelines on these things.

im so honored you enjoy my work enough to miss it! and i wish i had better news for you. hopefully one day i'll have real live books for you to read!

[laqualassiel]

House of the Stranger (HP-GOT Xover)

Robert Baratheon strode through the halls, heedless of the water dripping from his sodden clothing. Grand Maester Pycelle had sent a raven to the hunting party announcing the queen had gone into labor that morning, and Robert immediately turned to race back to the Red Keep despite the fierce storm that caught him halfway.

He had no love for the Lannister chosen to be his wife. But he'd needed her father's armies in the wake of the war to ensure the damned Martells and Tyrells didn't get any ideas. Robert would never love any woman than Lyanna. She should have been his wife, his beloved queen. Not the blonde haired, poison eyed harpy.

But he was a father now. The Grand Maester had been waiting for him as he entered, to congratulate him on the birth of a healthy babe, a healthy daughter.

Nervous excitement quickened Robert's footsteps until he nearly jogged down the halls towards the nursery. Cersei wasn't there anymore, returned to her chambers to rest and recover and leaving the newborn in the care of the wet nurse.

No skin off his nose. Robert didn't want to deal with Cersei at this late hour.

Ser Barristan nodded to him, standing guard by the door to the nursery. The old knight had fought for the Targaryens, but the man was the best sword the Kingsguard had. Robert could overlook the man's previous loyalties so long as he protected Robert's child just as fiercely.

Normally Robert would throw the door open, announce his presence to all within. Now, he stepped as quietly as he could. He didn't want to startle the babe.

The wet nurse woke despite his care, rising from the bed in the center of the room. The bassinet sat closer to the roaring fireplace, nearer to the window shuttered against the storm still roaring beyond.

Robert waved the woman off. He wanted a moment alone. The woman slipped through the still open door, and Robert padded over to the bassinet.

The babe was tiny. Small enough to fit in one of his hands. He leaned down, picking her up as gentle as possible. His daughter didn't stir from her slumber, and Robert tucked her into the crook of his arm as his mother Cassana once showed him after Renly's birth. His little girl already had a head of dark hair, the locks baby-soft under his calloused fingers. It would fall out in the coming weeks Robert knew, leaving her bald until her actual could come back in.

Would it come back as dark as his? Or would it be lighter, closer to Cersei's? Perhaps it was selfish, but Robert hoped his daughter would look like him.

His daughter. He was a father.

Robert never thought he could love anyone as much as he loved the little bundle in his arms. Fear struck Robert, wondering if the babe would survive the coming months. Would she live long enough to call him father? Would he see her grow and learn and become a wife and mother?

Robert quashed those thoughts, shoving them to the back of his mind until he could work through them in the sparring court. She was his daughter. A Baratheon, a daughter of the storm. She would survive.

"You'll be a fierce one," Robert murmured. He smiled, a silly little thing. "Your grandmother always said I'd have children as hard headed as I was. Wild as the Stormlands themselves." Gods knew his mother was never wrong. His little one needed a name, a strong one like his little girl would no doubt be.

There was only one he could think of.

"Lyalla. Lyalla Baratheon, first of her name."

"Princess Lyalla Baratheon!"

At her Septa's shriek, Lyalla bolted down the hallway. She didn't think the Septa would be coming to her rooms so soon!

Full grown, the Septa would normally be able to outrun Lyalla any day. But the Septa was wearing a long habit with full skirts, and thought running full tilt was terribly improper. Lyalla on the other hand had managed to dress herself in a pair of breeches and a simple shirt and tunic and had no problem at all sprinting through the Red Keep.

Likely the reason for the scandal in her Septa's expression. Boy's clothes were not proper for a princess to wear after all. Especially because Lyalla made these herself, the hems messy and crooked from a four year old's clumsy work.

Lyalla was proud of her work. She made them without any help at all, and the hems were sturdy! They wouldn't come apart unless someone deliberately tore them! Sure the clothes weren't fitted, but none of the Keep's seamstresses would make her anything but dresses! Desperate situations called for desperate measures and this was something Lyalla could take into her own hands!

It was seven hours into the morning, which meant her father would be talking with Lord Arryn in the Tower of the Hand. She didn't have lessons until nine, so Lyalla didn't know why the Septa had such a burr up her skirts.

Now, how to get there without Ser Barristan or Uncle Jaime intercepting her?

Oh! Lyalla grinned and veered left at the next available hallway. The Red Keep had just as many secret staircases as Hogwarts. Lyalla had maybe been a not so good little girl and snuck around at night finding all of them.

Lyalla didn't like most of the memories stuck in her head. Harry Potter's life hadn't been a happy one. No parents, and an aunt and uncle that hated her for something she couldn't control. And when Harry finally found friends, she'd died to save them. Which, okay, Lyalla could understand. Harry loved her friends, almost as much as Lyalla loved her father and her little brother Joffrey, no matter how much of a brat he was.

If dying meant she could protect them, Lyalla would in a heartbeat.

She didn't just have Harry's memories though. No, Lyalla had magic. Which was cool, it was, but… it was also lonely. She couldn't tell anyone. Not when everyone believed magic was heresy and the Faith killed people for having it.

Lyalla didn't believe that it was heresy. If Harry's life the main religion had killed people with magic too, because the church thought it was a sign of the Devil. They'd been wrong, which meant that the Faith could be wrong too. Lyalla had to make sure none of them saw her magic, because she kind of wanted to make it more than Harry's seven and ten years.

More than that though… the Targaryens were said to have had magic. It's how they controlled their dragons, and when the dragons died so did magic. But Father hated the Targaryens. The Mad King killed Uncle Ned's brother and father, because Prince Rhaegar had kidnapped Father's betrothed Lyanna and wouldn't let her go.

Father loved Lyanna. He looked like Lyalla remembered Harry's parents did, when they looked at each other. Looked like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Bill and Fleur and Remus and Tonks.

Lyalla missed them. They weren't hers, but they were Harry's and Lyalla remembered the deep friendship and sometimes the longing in her chest hurt so bad Lyalla thought she would cry. She wanted friendships like that. People who would walk through fire for her, who she could trust unconditionally.

She didn't want her father to hate her.

The door to the Tower of the Hand was heavy. Lyalla grit her teeth and pulled, until the door opened the scant inches she needed to wiggle through. Then she dashed up the stairs on hands and feet, because she was four and there was nobody around to judge.

Gold armor at the top of the stairs, and Lyalla kept low, trying to control her gasps into something quieter. Gods there were a lot of stairs!

"Up to mischief?" A voice drawled, and Lyalla looked up into green eyes bright with amusement.

"Uncle Jaime!" She grinned, holding her arms out. Uncle Jaime laughed, sweeping her into her arms and settling her on his hip despite the heavy armor. "I wanted to see Father, but the Septa came earlier than I thought."

"She won't be here to box my ear will she?" Uncle Jaime asked, arching a brow. Lyalla was envious. She couldn't do that. "Give me bandits any day."

Lyalla giggled. "She's not that scary."

Jaime gave her a solemn look. "Then you are much braver than I, Princess." Lyalla giggled some more and Jaime cracked a grin at her. He turned and knocked on the door to the Hand's rooms.

"Enter!" Lyalla perked up. That was her father's voice!

Jaime opened the door with a flourish. "A visitor, Your Majesty."

The two men in the room looked at Lyalla, and the dark haired man brightened. "Spitfire!" Jaime set her down and Lyalla dashed to her father, shrieking with laughter as he lifted her high and around before tucking her against his chest. He grinned down at her with bright blue eyes. "What has you up at this ridiculous hour?"

"I don't have lessons until nine, and I wanted to learn to fight like you." Lyalla said. She knew her father - so long as Lyalla wanted to be like him, her father would let her do almost anything. "The Septa and Maester say I'm doing well in my normal lessons, and I'm wearing breeches and tunic instead of a dress, so please, please, please?"

She looked up at him with a pleading expression, even widening her eyes for added impact. Lyalla studiously ignored the muffled snickers from Uncle Jaime and the sigh from Lord Arryn.

Her father grinned. "Of course, Spitfire! Jon and I can finish up later when you're at your lessons."

Lord Arryn looked reluctantly amused. "Of course, Robert."

Lyalla brightened and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. She pressed a clumsy kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Father."

Her father melted, hugging her tight and rubbing his beard against her cheek. Lyalla shrieked with laughter as it scratched against her skin. "I love you too, Spitfire."

[lynzine]

So I’ve read your stories on AO3 (even had a hilarious idea of Gyatso-before-he-was-Zuko having merged with Vaatu in “A Strong Bond” to ensure he reincarnated to find Aang) and started internally screeching in joy when I realized you have a new story up

Thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying them!

I quite enjoy playing with the reincarnation element of Avatar the Last Airbender, so that's not outside of the realm of possibility.

Honestly, that kind of deal sounds very much in Zuko's character, which in this context DOES mean it's in Gyatso's character too. However... I have to confess I haven't actually seen Korra yet. (For the very specific reason that I didn't have access when it was first coming out and now I'm worried that I'll get so many NEW ideas if I watch it I will never finish the fics I've already started. I WILL see it eventually, hopefully once I've finished a few more of my current fics.)

That said, I ALSO do that thing where I think about "What if" situations and that's how you got "A Strong Bond" in the first place. So I'm glad for the creation of any headcanons/plunnies you have for what happened between Gyatso's death and Zuko's birth. While I do have thoughts for spiritual stuff in regards to Zuko and Aang, I don't think I actually have any plans for that period of time.

Glad that you enjoy the new story! It's an idea that's been kicking around in my brain for a while along with yet another Grandpa Roku fic that I hope to type up the next time I come across the post-its I wrote it on. (Yeah... I get hit with ideas when I can't pull out a notebook a lot.)

Thanks for the ask!