#i've been trying to figure out how to phrase this for so long

[andtheyreonfire]

"came back wrong" but with g/t. bringing someone back to life--or finding someone you thought long dead--but in a far different form. i need the desperation in either party not recognizing the other. the fear that comes from realizing this isn't the person you lost, either because they're too massive to be anything but monstrous or too tiny to be anything but inhuman. i need the conflict that comes from trying to figure this out, or from accepting the person you've lost is forever changed.

on the giant side, like--imagine watching someone you know being frankensteined back to life, only the "ideal form" the team of scientists have chosen is impossibly massive. in some fantasy setting, imagine finding a lost party member claimed and given "new life" by some natural spirit. but--be they claimed by the fae, an odd type of infection, or the will of the forest itself--any humanity has been completely stolen from them, including their new, towering size. imagine a ritual to bring a loved one back gone wrong as they are transported back in an inhuman state--or you are transported to the realm of the spirits, and are given a painful awakening of the true scale of what lies outside our world. from the giant's perspective--either from a fantastical scenario or just an i-died-and-came-back-with-size-shifting-powers thing--they're either pleading with the person grieving for them, going hey, look at me, i'm here, i haven't changed at all, please look up. or, they're simply wondering why this tiny, chittering thing at their feet is so adamant that they know them, if they regard them peacefully at all.

on the tiny's side, there's perhaps even more of a sense of loss, as the revived is faced with a loss of power. someone's soul could be shucked into a homunculus doll, brought back either at the request of a loved one, or simply cursed into this form. maybe said loved one doesn't even recognize them, simply curious as to why this shop has a perfect replica of their deceased on a dusty shelf. some clause could exist for ripping people's soul from the beyond, one that forces any revived person into a smaller, weaker form. be it the laws of balance, the size of a sacrifice/summoning circle, or any other magical mishap, the necromanced is left with all the size and life of a broken action figure. in some tamer scenario, the only heartbreaking change could be the revived's own fear. it doesn't matter if they're not physically a doll, or if their soul is bound to an object. they don't want to be manipulated. there's a terror in suddenly having power, losing your life, and coming back with absolutely nothing. their loved one simply wants them to stop looking at them as if they'll harm their re-gifted life.

be it an actual necromancy, or just a shift or transformation, give me the fear of change. the loss of identity. an external threat exacerbating an internal. fear of power, or lack thereof. yeagh

[homeless202]

EY & HJ stealing parallels

EY | HJ | Details

We’ve seen Eunyung get wrongfully accused of stealing twice:

The first time, his dad leaned down and directly told him to apologize, not even asking if he really did do it. When EY insisted he was innocent, his dad did not believe him. Instead, he shamed EY into apologizing for sth he didn’t do. His dad leaning down was a manipulation tactic.

The second time, HJ leaned down to ask him if he did it, EY said no, and HJ believed him no questions asked. Bc that's how his mom had reacted to him stealing. HJ leaning down was to show EY he wasn't alone and that he had someone who trusted and supported him.

(^^ HJ's reaction really surprised him compared to what his past experience with his dad looked like. EY didn't expect anyone to believe him, he's not used to that. Then guilt and dread kicked in when HJ said he trusted him bc he had intended to steal sth but ultimately didn't and held himself back ->)

When there was concrete proof EY didn’t do it, he even stood up for him. HJ asked the shop owner to apologize to EY the way his mom had asked for an apology for him when he was little.

But their reactions to said request were different: HJ thought his mom was really cool for standing up for him like that.

Whereas EY thought HJ asking for an apology was extremely embarrassing. He didn't even give the guy the chance to apologize before walking away (<- he probably felt he didn't deserve it bc he had almost stolen sth).

HJ did what he learned from his mom, and it almost worked. Unfortunately, EY isn’t used to basic human decency and apologies, so he rather removed himself from the situation to avoid another confrontation and further humiliation.

[gothamite-rambler]

Commissioner Gordon Meets the 3rd Robin

Jim Gordon had seen two Robin's at this point and figured out Batman's civilian identity at this point, so him arriving with a third Robin makes him finally tell Batman he knows he's also Bruce Wayne.

Commissioner Gordon waited on the roof for Batman, like he usually did, but this time he could sense something crazy was about to happen more than usual when dealing with a man who wore a leather bat suit.

Batman (hesitant): Commissioner... Gordon.

Gordon turned around and once he saw the new Robin (Tim Drake), he immediately closed his eyes and shook his head like a disappointed father.

Gordon (jaded): You gotta be kidding me.

Batman nodded in agreement.

Batman (ashamed): I'm aware how odd this looks. I can acknowledge the weirdness at this point. To be fair though... I made it clear I didn't want him to be my new Robin. Tell him, Robin.

Robin!Tim (looking at the bat signal): That's the bat signal... I'm next to it!

Batman groaned, covering his his eyes.

Gordon (tight smile): You sure are kid, you sure are... Batman, he looks the same age as the other kid. Nice to meet you, new Robin.

Robin!Tim: Sup Commissioner Gordon, I met your daughter she's pretty cool.

Gordon (accepting all of this): I raised her well, thanks. I like your suit.

Robin!Tim: Thanks, I added pants. It's form fitting, it works.

Batman (not sure how to word his defense): I'm aware that... I said I would not have another Robin but after needing his assistance I... adopted him. Sort of. Okay, this one came to me. I- I can tell by your expression that, that didn't help the situation.

Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Robin!Tim (hands on his hips): I earned this roll, nothing weird about that.

Gordon: Fair point from the third child sidekick. Batman, at this point I'm not even shocked that you have a new Robin and I like his energy, but um... um... Do you have a specific preference for short, black-haired boys?

Batman glanced at Robin then shrugged because he couldn't think of a good response.

Robin!Tim (confused): Why did you phrase it like that?!

Gordon: I have dealt with this man having three robins at this point and yes it's been three because the first one had a different skin tone and was adorable, the second one was funny, but cussed me out at random and you are very pale, but all of them have had black hair... what is going on?!

Batman (exhausted with life): Honestly, it's a very weird coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless. That is the least of the questions you need to ask me at this point.

Gordon (sighing): Fair enough, what's his story?

Robin!Tim: I stay with Batman so he doesn't kill himself or murder so many criminals .

Batman (exhausted): Hn, thank you, Robin... that was what you should tell a police chief.

Gordon: Nah, that's the best answer he could have given me in this situation. Can I talk to you in private real quick, Batman?

Batman: Sure. I'm kind of accepting of this part of my hero life. Robin, um, stand here and don't eavesdrop on our conversation.

Robin!Tim: I don't like standing still for long periods of time... I'm just going to spin around my bo staff while you talk to Commissioner Gordon.

Batman: That works for me.

Batman walked off with Gordon to a corner of the roof, a good distance from Robin. Robin eagerly tossed his bo staff in the air and caught if effortlessly.

Batman: Honestly people call me odd for wearing a bat suit but that is the thing that makes the most sense to me in my life. Plus I look awesome so you can't even critique the suit. You know?

Gordon groans, covering his face and trying to wonder how he should start his next statement.

Batman: I already know you're going to ask me some type of evasive question... go ahead ask it.

Gordon clasped his hands together and takes a deep breath.

Gordon (deadpan): I've known you for a fairly long time and I'm going to cut to the chase... when were you going to ever tell me that you're Bruce Wayne?

Batman (shocked): What? No ... No I'm not.

Gordon: Bruce, don't play dumb, I figured out you are the same person a while ago, but since you haven't 'trusted' me enough to tell and that is the third Robin, I felt it was necessary to remove this weird barrier you have. I'm not going to arrest you or anything, your secret is safe with me. I want an honest answer though, I promise nothing you say here will leave this roof.

Batman buried his head in his hands and let out a defeated groan. He didn't want to admit it, but at this point in his life he simply couldn't keep it secret.

Gordon: That confirmed it. I became suspicious after Barbara got shot. Jason Todd, your adopted son, turning out to be the Robin definitely verified it. Then CPS visited your place to investiage you about child abuse... that was fasinating because you looked panicked that day.

Batman (embarrassed): I can't believe this happening, right now.

Gordon: Hold on, I'm not done yet. The rest of Gotham bought the story that your adopted son somehow became Robin with a random guy who is Batman and you weren't Batman because "Why would someone like Bruce Wayne be Batman?" Freaking Gotham news, you're lucky that they're so believable.

Batman (serious): You're not going to tell anyone are you? I'm going through a lot at the moment.

Gordon patted Batman on the shoulder reassuringly.

Gordon: As I said, your secret will remain that. We've been through these couple of crazy years together, you were there for Barbara when she got shot, and I wasn't too hot about the fact that it was the Joker, but I got over it. You've never given me a reason to arrest you and I've learned to see as a friend. And much like when my daughter told me she's batgirl... I'm fine with it.

Batman remained silent, surprised that the police chief who he had known for over two decades was keeping his civilian identity secret.

Gordon (sincerely): You're my friend, don't worry about it.

Batman: Oh... you see us as friends too? I'm... You said that before, but huh, not really used to this, am I?

Gordon: I go through the same struggles. Do you want to go over the case with him in front of us or I don't know how to handle this, this is like your third Robin.

Gordon laughs as Batman groans embarrassed.

Batman: Yeah this kid is pretty smart so he can be listening in and circle back, Barbara told you she was Batgirl?!

Gordon: Oh yeah, but I figured it out a two years before she had told me. You guys got to remember, I'm a detective.

Batman: This might sound rude, but I did not think you were that good at your job, the police here are very corrupt.

Gordon (nods in agreement): Fair enough, let's head back to the kid and get this case started.

Gordon walked back over to Robin along with Batman. Batman looks dejected but Gordon pats him on the back to give him some type of sympathy.

First

Second

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 2- Awakening

Summary: There was once a time in his life where knocking on your front door was the best part of Frankie's day. Now, the thought of having to ring your doorbell to face you makes him sick to his stomach.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: (the tiniest hint of) smut (18+), illusions to masturbation (m), angst/regret, fluff, awkward adolescent yearning (I have quickly come to learn this is my favorite thing to write whoops), Frankie realizing he's caught a case of the ✨feelings ✨ and doesn't know what to do

A/N: Less than 10K word chapters?!? Posting a series on a schedule?!?! I don't even know who I am anymore?!?! AH, thank you guys for all your sweet words about this series so far. Writing this has sparked such a joy inside me, and it means so much that y'all are willing to read my silly lil story 🥺💛 This chapter is from Frankie's POV- I know the first chapter had both reader and Frankie, but as I've been writing, it seems like it fits the story better if some are both POV's and some are just one!

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Present 

“Bring these next door.” 

His mother doesn’t even ponder the idea of phrasing it as a question when she practically drops the plate of chocolate chip cookies into Frankie’s lap. 

“Ma, it’s 7:30 in the morning.” Frankie looks up at her dumbfounded. 

“And? You’ve never eaten a cookie for breakfast when you’re sad? Go now, they’re still warm.” 

There’s no way he’ll be able to head anywhere but straight out his front door, but Christ, he at least hoped he would have been able to buy himself a little time before having to face you.

“I just got back from a run. I smell like shit. Can I at least shower first, por favor?” 

“Fine,” she groans, reluctant to give in so easily, “but be quick. Don’t think I won’t turn the hot water off, mijo. I don’t want these getting cold.”

She knows her son would take an hour long shower if he could. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s spent way too long in the bathroom, over analyzing every inch of himself before going to see you. His mom isn’t sure if she should thank you or not for her son’s dedication to hygiene. She could barely get him to shower for the first 10 years of his life, but after you moved in, a few days before the start of 6th grade, bathing had magically no longer become an issue. 

Frankie understands her threat of an ice cold shower is very real, and a very effective way to finally get him four doors down. He lets the hot water wash over his skin, turning it to a temperature that’s almost too painful to stand. He hopes that somehow, it’s hot enough to wash away all the sins he’s prayed you’d forgive him for, that the regret of every poor decision he’s been plagued by washes down the drain, disappearing never to be seen again. 

He wishes it was that easy. That a simple shower would grant him the forgiveness he’s not sure you’ll ever give him. He wouldn’t blame you if you never did. 

He forces himself to put on the first pair of shorts and t-shirt that he pulls out of his suitcase. If he doesn’t, he’ll be stuck in his room for the rest of the day trying to figure out what to wear to bring a plate of cookies to your doorstep. 

“You should apologize, you know.” It’s the first thing his mom has to say to him as he makes his way down the stairs, barely three steps into the kitchen before she’s at his throat again. 

“For bringing them dessert at 7:30 in the morning? I was planning on it.” Frankie huffs, trying to deflect the plan for the real apology he knows he should be making. 

“Dios mio, Francisco, you know what I mean. I hope you’ve thought about how you’re going to explain yourself to her. You owe that girl an apology for the hell you’ve put her through.” 

Frankie can’t blame his mother for the way she’s twisting the knife that’s stuck in his gut. He’s the one who put it there in the first place. 

“I know. I’ve thought about it, believe me.” 

They both know that’s the truth. Frankie’s spent more hours than he can count thinking about what possible combination of words he can string together that won’t make you hate him anymore than you already do. In fact, he’s spent so long thinking about it, replaying the million and one things he could say to you over and over in his head, that he’s convinced there’s nothing he could tell you that would buy him even a shred of forgiveness. 

“Fuck you, Mackenzie. Fuck you for ruining my life. It’ll be better off without you fucking in it.” 

Three years ago, he disappeared out of your life and those were the last words he left you with. He's spent three years of letting the last thing he had to say you haunt him like some sort of ugly ghost he can't forget.

At this point, there's a part of him that's not even sure he's worthy of forgiveness.

“Mom?” Frankie asks, eyes peeled to the ground, trying to keep his voice from breaking, “Am I making a huge fucking mistake coming back here?” 

“Well mijo,” She pauses, gently cradling her son’s face, lifting his chin enough to let his tired, worn eyes meet hers, “That, I cannot tell you. Some things you have to figure out on your own. I think this is one of them. But what I can tell you,” she stops again, ensuring Frankie is listening, really listening to what she has to say, “is that you have never been one to leave things unfinished. I think there are still things left to finish here for you, Francisco.”  

The slow nod of his head in her palm tells her he’s heard every word. He knows he needs to finish what he’s started. 

“You also need to finish bringing these cookies to the Andersons, sí? Don’t think I forgot.”   

“Didn’t think you would.” 

Frankie’s not sure the walk to your house has ever felt this long. Every step against the pavement makes his feet feel heavier, weighing his body down, its final attempt at keeping him from showing up at your front door. It takes every ounce of strength he has left to get him there, but he does. He won’t himself fail you again. He can’t. 

When he knocks on your door, he’s suddenly 11 years old, palms sweating and heart racing as he rings your doorbell for the first time, hoping the cool girl who moved in down the street still wants to play football with him. 

Right now, he’d give anything to be that 11 year old boy again. God, what he’d give to grab little him by the shoulders and shake all of the stupid decisions he plans on making in the years to come right out of him. He’d give anything for someone to come shake the stupid out of him now.

Seconds pass like hours as he waits for someone to answer his knock. Maybe it won’t be you who does. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it'll be your mom. Maybe your dad, who is sitting on his literal deathbed, will be blessed with some divine miracle that grants him the strength to get up and answer the door instead of you. 

“Be right there!” 

He’d recognize your voice anywhere. It’s been three years since he’s heard it. Even with all the time that’s passed, there’s not a doubt in his mind he knows it’s yours. 

Fuck, he’s missed the sound of you more than he’d ever like to admit.  

He braces himself as the lock clicks on the other side of the door. The knot in his stomach tightens as he watches it open. 

His heart wants to burst out of his chest when you finally appear on the other side. 

“F-Frankie?” 

“Hi, Mackenzie.” 

Frankie, Fall of 2002, Age 14

It’s been 3 years, and Frankie still rings your doorbell every time he’s at your front door. Both you and your parents have been more than adamant he’s welcome to let himself in, at this point, they leave the door unlocked just for him. 

As much as he wants to just slip through the front door unannounced to see you, he knows his mom would kill him if he didn’t wait to be let in and make his presence known. 

“Francisco, I do not care how often you are over there, you are a guest in their home. If they are gracious enough to let you over, the least you can do is use your manners and greet them at the door.” 

Frankie’s always been polite, but the world would stop spinning before his mother would let anyone else even have an inkling of thinking otherwise. 

Truth be told, he doesn’t mind. He’d be hard pressed to find any 14 year old who didn’t have some sort of complaint about their parents, but you never really do, and he can see why. 

They’re your parents, and he loves his mamá more than life, but the Anderson’s had taken Frankie under their wing from the moment he had crossed the threshold from their patio to their living room and never looked back. 

It didn’t take long for the three toned chime of your doorbell to become the favorite part of his daily routine. 

“Hi Frankie! Come on in, honey.” 

Mrs. Anderson has that soft kind of sweetness that would make anyone’s day brighter, the kind of gentleness that a gardener has when tending to a field of their favorite flowers. She’s the type of person that would put anyone before herself, to a fault. It’s no wonder that given the circumstances, a house that should be shrouded in sadness is one of the places that Frankie feels the happiest. 

“Thanks Mrs. Anderson. Can I put this in the freezer for Kenz? I figured she may want it when she gets home later.” Frankie gestures down to the chocolate chip cookie dough Blizzard he’s holding, trying to keep it from melting any further. 

It’s become a sacred ritual that every Friday night, you and him ride your bikes to the Dairy Queen two miles down the road. He always gets an Oreo Blizzard, you, a chocolate chip cookie dough one. On the few Friday nights you can’t spend together, it’s an unspoken agreement that a Blizzard will still end up in the other’s freezer for the next day. It’s only happened once that a cookie dough Blizzard hasn’t been found in your residence within 24 hours of the start to your weekend- the one time Frankie was out of town to visit his family, you were pleasantly surprised to find not one, but two Blizzards in your freezer on Monday night upon his return. 

 “Frank the Tank! How’s it going, buddy?” 

It’s always nice to see your dad up and around the house. His cancer has taken a lot of things from him, but his personality certainly isn’t one of them. Some bouts of chemo and treatment are worse than others, but it never ceases to keep Mr. Anderson from being the happiest man Frankie’s ever met. You always tease Frankie that he comes over to your house so often just so he can spend time with your dad. While of course it’s not 100% true that Doug Anderson is the only reason Frankie finds himself at your doorstep nearly every day, he also won’t deny the sense of comfort it brings him that your dad treats him like his own son. 

“Hi Mr. Anderson!” Frankie smiles, shoving your Blizzard in the top left corner of your freezer between the ice packs and frozen vegetables. 

“Another Blizzard for me? Always so generous, Frank. I’m convinced you might start running a Dairy Queen out of our kitchen pretty soon.” Mr. Anderson teases, giving Frankie a light punch to the shoulder. “How’d your algebra test go the other day, bud?” 

“Pretty good, I think.” Frankie shrugs, trying to play off his confidence. 

“Think you got a higher score than Kenzie?” 

“I think so. But don’t tell her that.” 

“Oh believe me, I will. Smart kid like you has gotta put her in her place every once and a while.” 

Frankie blushes. School has never been his strong suit. He’s smart in the way he could fix just about anything from the time he could barely walk, but sitting in a classroom trying to absorb information through reading, taking notes and test taking has always made him feel like an idiot. You, on the other hand, could graduate in your sleep with straight A’s. He’s not sure how you do it, but it’s enough motivation to make him want to at least try. He thanks his lucky stars that this year, math is finally starting to make sense, and he’s got the upper hand on you for now. 

“Is Kenz upstairs? I know she’s got her soccer banquet tonight, I just wanted to hang out for a little before she has to go.” 

Normally he wouldn’t mind staying longer to talk to your dad, but on days he knows he’s working on a limited time table, efficiency is of the essence. 

“Should be. If not, we have a problem on our hands.” 

Frankie scurries from the kitchen and through the living room, up the familiar and well traveled path to your bedroom door. His heart always races a little faster every time he reaches the top step to the second floor. 

Normally, it’s three long strides to cross the threshold into your bedroom before he plops himself on the edge of your bed, but as he takes a left turn at the top of the stairwell, he’s surprised to find your bedroom door is closed, and locked. 

“Kenz! It’s me! Open up!” Frankie raps his fist on the back of your door, knuckles thumping against the wood. 

“Not now, Frankie!” 

He’s taken aback by your protest, scrunching his brow at your response and the distress in your voice through the other end of the door. 

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” He asks, now a little more concerned. 

“It’s just- Ugh! It’s nothing! It’s stupid, okay! I just don’t have time for this right now!” 

You and him both know that’s not enough to get him to leave. Frankie is persistent. He’s not going anywhere until you open that door and he gets an answer as to what’s making you so upset. 

“C’mon, MacKenzie.” 

He only pulls the full name card for serious occasions, because he knows it’ll work. It’ll work every time. That’s why he can’t help but smirk at the click of your door handle unlocking, giving him permission to step inside. 

Except he can’t. 

“Kenz, get off the door and let me in!” 

“I’m not on the door! Ugh, hold on.” 

With the force Frankie was using, he nearly falls flat on his face as the barricade you’d built on your side of the door is removed, stumbling into your room and landing face first in a pile of clothes. As he looks up, he’s greeted with a sight he’s never once seen before in your room, and he has no idea what to make of it. 

“Jesus Christ, dude, what happened in here?!” 

To say a bomb had exploded in your closet would have been a polite way to put it. Every piece of clothing you owned was now a casualty on your bedroom floor, down to every last pair of shoes. You could barely stand to have a singular, stray sock on the ground, your bedroom always the near picture perfect scene of immaculately neat. So to see the disaster your room had become, Frankie knew that something had gone very, very wrong. 

“I don’t have anything to wear for tonight!” 

“Yeah you do, have you seen all the clothes on your floor? I think you have enough clothes for a small village.” 

“Francisco!” 

If she’s already pulling the full name card on him too, it must be serious. 

“Sorry! Is this because of the end of the season soccer party tonight? I thought you said you were just gonna wear like, a skirt or something?” 

Frankie’s never even contemplated the idea of you being upset over an outfit. You’d always been amicable in the wardrobe department- t-shirt, shorts, sneakers, same has him. This is uncharted territory for the both of you. 

“Yeah, but then at lunch today Katie and Morgan said all of the Seniors want to dress up, like, really nice, and now I’m freaking out because I don’t know what to wear and I don’t wanna look like an idiot Freshman who shows up in something dumb.” 

Frankie knows you’re stressed from how intensely you’re picking at the skin around your nails, leg bouncing furiously while your eyes dart around the room at the heaps of clothes stacked around the floor. 

“You’re not gonna look dumb, Kenzie. You’re the only Freshman that’s made the Varsity soccer team in like, a million years. Hard to look stupid if you’re that good.” 

It may not be much help, but it’s at least enough to bring you off the brink of tears. 

“I guess,” you pause, too stubborn to admit that he’s right, “It’s just- all the other girls on the team are so pretty. When we’re playing it doesn’t matter ‘cause we’re all sweaty and gross, but- I don’t know, I feel like I’m gonna look so awkward next to everyone.” 

But you are pretty. 

It’s the first thought that pops into Frankie’s brain. He’s not sure how it got there so fast. All of a sudden he feels a hundred degrees hotter, hoping you won’t notice the way he visibly tries to shake the thought out of his head.. 

Where did that come from? She’s your friend, Frankie. Your best friend. She’s not pretty, she’s just MacKenzie. 

“You won’t look awkward, you’re gonna be fine. I promise.” He’s relieved his response doesn’t seem to raise any suspicions, like you would have been able to read his mind and watch his thinking play out in real time. 

“If I um- If I- Never mind, this is stupid! Ugh, this is stupid.” 

You’re pacing now, arms crossed so tightly over your chest, he’s worried you’re going to squeeze your own eyes out like one of those little squishy toys you win from a claw machine. That’s if you don’t burn a hole in your carpet first. 

“What?” 

“If I-” You stammer again, scrunching your face at your own frustration, “If I try on what I think I should wear, will you tell me if it looks dumb or not?” 

You’ve asked Frankie plenty for plenty of favors in the three years you’ve known him- being the one to lead the two of you home on a bike ride in the dark, opening your pudding for you at lunch because it exploded on you once and you’re terrified it will again, catching the giant spider that makes a recurrence in the top right corner of your bedroom and throwing it out the window- He’s not sure why out of all those things, this is the most terrifying favor you’d ever asked of him. 

“Y-yeah. Okay.” 

The two of you quietly nod at each other for a moment, Frankie hoping that he’s not the only one who’s wondering why the air has all of a sudden seemed to have gotten thicker. 

“Okay. Well, um- turn around.” You point for him to take his usual spot on the edge of the bed, ensuring that his back’s to you and eyes only have the choice to roam the floor or the wall above your desk before he hears the shuffling of clothes behind him. 

It’s then that everything starts to move in slow motion, like a flip has suddenly switched in Frankie’s brain as a wave of unsolicited thoughts begin to flood his head, feeling himself drown in the panic and confusion that’s washing over him. 

What if he did turn around? You’re probably taking off your clothes right now. Are you in just your underwear? What color is it? Maybe you’re all the way naked. What would you look like? Why does he all of a sudden want to know so bad? What’s wrong with him? 

In his manic state, his eyes are darting everywhere, trying to find something to lock onto that will shake him from whatever obscene cycle of thought he’s caught himself in. He instantly regrets when he lets his gaze fall to his feet, because peeking out of the pile of clothes beneath him is the better part of a bra. 

Your bra. 

He feels so awful that he can’t stop looking at it. So guilty that he can’t help the fact he’s trying to commit every detail of it to his brain- the teal and green polka dots, the thin lace that covers the shoulder strap, the little bow that sits in between the two cups where your breasts would go. He can’t stop staring. He can’t stop thinking about  what you would look like in it. The only thing that stops him is hearing your voice from over his shoulder. And somehow, your voice only makes his chest feel tighter. 

“You promise you won’t make fun of me if I look stupid?” Your words are so soft, delicate and fragile in a way he’s never heard you use them before. However scared you are, right now, Frankie would be willing to take that feeling and triple it for himself. 

“Promise.” 

His eyes are still closed when he swings his legs over the other edge of the bed. He’s too afraid to open them. 

“You’re gonna have to open your eyes, unless you’ve suddenly obtained x-ray vision that you haven’t told me about in the last thirty seconds.” 

The way you tease him grounds him enough to give in. It doesn’t ground him enough from leaving him speechless the moment he opens his eyes. 

“Kenz… You uh, you- um-” 

He’s stumbling over his words, trying to find them fast enough to stop the disappointment that’s flooding over your face because you think he hates the way you look. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

“I look dumb, don’t I? It’s fine, Frankie, you can just say it.” You’re back to pacing again, storming around your room with a desperate, crazed look in your eye. “Ugh! This sucks! Why is this so hard, I just wanna-” 

“You look really pretty.” 

It stops you dead in your tracks. He can almost hear how hard you gulp, looking back at him like a deer in headlights. 

“W-what?” 

You ask it like you didn’t hear exactly what he said. He knows you did. You always do. It doesn’t stop him from trying to twist his words to help him out of the hole he’s already dug himself into. 

“Your- Your dress. It looks really nice. You should wear it.” 

He’s not sure how much time passes as the two of you finally lock eyes. Thirty seconds? Ten minutes? An hour? The way you’re looking at him right now is enough to make his world stop turning. It only makes it worse that he swears he can see your lips trying to fight the smile that’s slowly curling in the corner of your mouth. 

“MacKenzie! We need to go, sweetie! Dad and I will meet you in the car!” 

Frankie doesn’t know if it’s divine intervention or a devilish curse that your mom is calling for you from the bottom of the stairs. Whatever it is, it’s enough to snap both of you out of the strange spell that had overcome your bedroom and make Frankie feel like the only appropriate response was to race out of your house and hide in embarrassment for the next forty-eight hours. 

“I should um- I should go, too. Santi’s probably waiting for me at his house. Have fun tonight, okay?” 

“Yeah, o-okay. You have fun, too. Tell Ding Dong I say hi. See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” 

Frankie’s in a trance the rest of the night. Physically, he spends the next few hours in Santi’s basement, glued to the couch while his friend yells at him that he’s not using the right combination of moves to max out his points in Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3. Mentally, he’s convinced he no longer exists on the same planet as anyone else around him.

When he gets home, all he can do is stare at his ceiling. If he closes his eyes to try to fall asleep, the only thing he can see is that teal and green bra laying on your bedroom floor.

He wishes the thought of you in it didn’t make his stomach churn. He wishes it wasn’t you he was picturing when he lets his hand creep below the waistband of his sweatpants. He wishes it wasn’t your name he was muttering under his breath as he makes a mess in hand, hips stuttering into his grasp. 

He wishes it wasn’t you. 

At least that’s what he tells himself. Maybe one day, it’ll work. 

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[fourmoony]

hey, you could do something with reader telling james (or poly!marauders) that you're pregnant. reader was tense and hesitant about what his reaction would be, as she thought he wouldn't like the idea

thanks for requesting!

f!reader 1k cw: pregnancy

James has his head almost inside the pot of soup on the stove, poking and prodding at it with a wooden spoon as though it may bite him, when you cross through the arched entryway of the kitchen. He turns his head over his shoulder when he hears your socked feet padding across the tiled flooring, glasses fogged up and his smile bright.

"I don't think I did it right." He tells you, forbearing a greeting all together.

His brows hook in the middle when he turns back to the pot, lips pouted just a little. You peek over his shoulder to find a simmering pot of vegetable water and find yourself biting back a smile. Sweet James, your loving and doting boyfriend, always up for a challenge. You don't have the heart to tell him there's entirely too much water and not nearly enough stock in the pot, so you rub his shoulder encouragingly, place a kiss to it, after. "Looks lovely, handsome."

It pulls a warm smile out of your boyfriend, who seems more encouraged by your words than you think he should be. He's so trusting, so loving, leads with his heart and his soul, and nothing else. He puts too much faith in you.

"Remus' never looks like this, but I s'pose thats because he does it in the slow cooker." James placates himself with a shrug, eyes back on the steaming pot.

You hum a mild agreement, pulling yourself up onto the worktop so you're facing James. He likes the company whenever he's cooking. You like the domesticity, the routine, spending time with him whilst completing a task, talking about your day, your friends. It's nice, to be so comfortable with the person you love.

"Did you write down the instructions as he was giving you them? Or are you going from memory?" You ask James apprehensively.

He doesn't reply at first, too occupied with throwing a load of raw potatoes into the pot. They drop to the bottom of the pot with a sickening thud, water splashing over the sides. James winces as a droplet catches the side of his arm and turns to you with a weary look, "From memory. He was going too fast and the landline was crackly."

There's no saving the soup now, so you allow James to continue his ministrations. You'll pretend it's even better than Remus'. Anything for James. Anything to see him smile.

"He said he hopes you're feeling better soon, by the way. Sirius, too." James adds, face dangerously close to the open flame of the gas cooker as he adjusts the heat.

You blanch. You'd mentioned feeling poorly to James yesterday morning, a little tired, a little sick, stiff, the normal beginnings of a cold. The soup makes sense, now. "You asked Remus for his soup recipe because I mentioned feeling a little poorly once?"

James nods, shrugs like it's no big deal.

You've never felt this kind of love before, the kind of care and consideration James has.

"Jamie, I'm not poorly." Your voice is a little unsteady.

You'd wanted to wait, tell him when you'd figured out how you felt about it yourself. Wanted to be sure whether this was something you wanted, something James would want. You know he's a good man, a good person with a massive heart, but you've not been together for as long as you'd have liked, you're not married, there's a list of things that could make James run for the hills and you wouldn't blame him.

But you know him. You know James Potter. He's never ran from anything.

"Well it's too late for that, I've already made the ruddy soup, now." James teases, poking the pudge of your thigh with the tip of the wooden spoon.

"James," You try to garner his full attention, away from the burning vegetable water, "I wasn't poorly."

He frowns, probably trying to pin together the phrase with the way you're acting and comes up with nothing, so he says nothing.

"I'm pregnant."

James doesn't say anything for a minute. You can't read him. Eyes wide, jaw slack, eyebrows lost in the messy tuft of his fringe. Just when you think the silence might choke you, the fire alarm sounds, loud and abrasive. It kick starts your boyfriend's brain and he grabs the nearest tea towel, motioning for you to stay put, and wafts the smoke away from the detector.

After, in the silence that follows, he leans over the kitchen sink and opens the window, turns off the stove.

"When did you find out?" He asks, voice unwaveringly calm.

Your heart slams against your rib cage, scared and begging you to run, "This morning."

James nods, "How do you feel?"

"Nauseous. Confused. Scared."

James softens, crosses the distance between you. His hands are soft on your face when he slots between your legs, eyes swimming with emotion. He smells faintly like OXO stock cubes and his normal cologne as he rests his forehead against yours and heaves a deep breath. "You wanna do this?"

"Only if you do." You answer truthfully.

"I love you, you know that?" His voice comes out hoarse, and you realise he's holding back tears.

Tears spring to your eyes, too, when you nod, "I know."

"There's no one else I'd rather do it with."

Relief washes over you like a bucket of cold water, bringing the air back to your lungs, life back to your heart. You're laughing into the kiss that James presses to your lips, giddy and excited. He presses two gentle pecks there, after, and one to your forehead.

"Holy shit I'm gonna be a Dad." He sounds awed, in disbelief.

You laugh, "Yeah. You are."

"And you're gonna be a Mum."

"That's generally how it works, babe." You say placatingly, thumbs swiping over his rounded cheeks, holding his face in place. His smile is like the sun, bright and blinding. You feel warm all over just looking at it.

"I need to phone Sirius." James announces, turning on his heel to make for the landline.

You shouldn't be surprised, not when Sirius is an extension of your boyfriend's being. So, you simply wait until you can hear James ramming his fingers against the telephone, and dump a couple more stock cubes into the soup.

He can thank you later.

[randoimago]

Hello again! Could I ask for bg3 Karlach, Gale, Dammon (if he's one of the npcs you write for), and Shadowheart's reactions to their s/o flopping onto them in a silent demand for snuggles?

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Dammon, Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart

Note(s): I'm assuming this is after Karlach's engine is "fixed" since she would so confused and horrified if her S/O laid on her for cuddles and then burst into flame.

I also don't know if I've written for Dammon before, but I'm very happy to include him in my headcanons 🥰

Dammon

Very time and place for cuddling with Dammon. He likes to cuddle with you, it's a nice way to relax and wind down from work.

Dammon would chuckle and kiss your forehead before wrapping an arm around you to hold you close. If he is busy with something else then he'll give you permission to hug him from behind so long as you behave.

But please don't fall on him when he's working the forge, he does not want you to get burnt from any of the very hot materials he works with. Even if you have some kind of fire resistance, he still would be devastated if you ended up hurt.

Gale

"Well hello to you too." Is one phrase he'd say with a grin on his face when you flop on him. If he's reading a book and you decide to lay against him then he's quick to start telling you all about what he's reading while you cuddle with him.

Seriously is one to spill all about what new interest he has or some cool discovery he's made while cuddling. Doesn't even mind if you fall asleep or don't know what he's talking about, he's very happy to talk.

While he likes to talk about his interests, he does make sure to ask about your day, what you've been up to, things like that as he lightly rubs your back or makes some minor illusion / dancing light show for you.

Karlach

Nothing needs to be said. You flop on her, she's pulling you into a tight (but not too tight) hug. Depending on where you're at, she throws you over her shoulder and just carries you around with her.

Karlach would never say no to cuddles. Even if she's upset. She's had enough space from others that you flopping on her is permission for her to wrap her arms around you. Might pepper your face in kisses, depends how she's feeling.

On the occasions when she has to leave camp to travel and do boring stuff while you stay behind then she'll hand you Clive, telling him that he better give you the cuddles you deserve until she comes back.

Shadowheart

Also time and place when it comes to flopping on Shadowheart. Just because she might be focused and trying to do something, or figure out what's going on with her goddess. Having you flop on her when she's concentrating makes her pout and give you the silent treatment.

She does enjoy giving you hugs and affection when she isn't preoccupied. Will pull you into her tent and just lay down and cuddle with you as long as you're both able to.

There's quite a bit of teasing and being playful when you're cuddling with Shadowheart too. You flopped on her for attention so she's giving it to you, her giggles carrying through the air as she pokes your cheeks or sides to get you to pout at her.

Taglist:

@reo-the-leo @unhelpfulnpc

[tommykinard]

Hello! Just popped into say your gifsets are soooo stunning!! Thank you so much for making them!! 💕 I was also wondering if you have any resources/tips for text layouts. I feel like the text on my gifs never goes together well, but I absolutely adore the way it does in your gifsets. Appreciate your efforts!

Hi hi! This is so sweet omg thank you for the kind words 🥺💖 I'll try to articulate everything as best as I can but to be completely honest a lot of what goes on in my head when planning out typography is just ~vibes~. Putting some tips and resources under the cut because this got long oops (and has a lot of examples)!

Some tricks I use often:

Pick 2-3 fonts per gif: 1 simple small font (either serif or sans serif, but I usually lean towards sans serif), 1 decorative/fancy font, +bonus: 1 more decorative/fancy font

Here are some gifs I did using 2 fonts (with a sans serif small font on the left, and a serif small font on the right

And here are some gifs using 3 fonts. Whenever I use 2 decorative fonts in the same gif I usually make one of them a cursive font to contrast the blockier font

2. Figure out which words to emphasize: I usually use song lyrics as the text, so it's easy for me to place emphasis on words that the singer/instrumentals emphasize, but this also works for poetry/other types of writing. The important part is realizing that you can only have a few emphasized words/phrases per gif, so sometimes a lot of your text is gonna be in your "simpler" font, like I did in this gif

3. Using multiple decorative fonts per gifset: So one thing I enjoy doing is matching fonts to the ~vibe~ of each lyric, like I've done here, here, and here for example. I still use the rule of 2-3 fonts per gif, and the common thread between each of the gifs are my small font and my layer styles on the decorative fonts. It's honestly just a lot of trial and error until I end up with something I'm happy with.

4. Using the words to guide the layout: I've never been original a day in my life so here are some examples of what I mean

Left: Lyrics say "reverse" and "symmetry" so I make the typography reversed and symmetrical

Middle: Lyrics talk about dominoes so I try to make the text look like falling dominoes (inside a clock because the lyrics talk about... clockwork)

Right: Lyrics talk about a labyrinth so I make the text look like a maze path, and so on. Like I said, not original lol

5. Play around with font size, text warping, rotation, and glyphs: So this gifset used only a single font throughout, but I played around with both the font sizing and text warping to not make it feel monotone

When you use the text tool on Photoshop to type out your text, text warping can be accessed by clicking this icon on the top toolbar

Making sure you have your desired text highlighted, you can play around with the style, horizontal/vertical warp, and the values to your liking. I usually go for flag, wave, rise, or twist, but you can use any of them to get your desired effect.

Here are some more examples of where I used different warp styles

You can also use command + t (or ctrl + t) to rotate your text and place it at an angle (make sure you're not on the text tool)

You can also get cool alternate versions of letters when you go to the glyphs tab on photoshop (go to window > glyphs, and make sure it's checked, and you should see the tab in your photoshop workspace). This is how I got the cool loops on the letters in this gifset which also guided how I placed the small text.

6. Use shapes to make your small font more interesting: You can put rectangles or ripped paper shapes with layer styles on them behind your text to make the words stand out without having to user your decorative fonts, like I did here

7. Fit your text together like lego blocks (+ overlap text): One of the biggest things for me is finding spaces within the text where other text can fit. I usually do this by laying out my decorative fonts first, and then seeing where my small font can fit within it. So below are some examples of layouts I've done with the red circles showing potential places for text to go, and this was after I figured out my decorative text layouts.

The tails of letters like "y", "g", "p", and "q" are good for guiding layouts, as well as the tall points of letters like "l", "t", "h", "b", and "d". Sometimes you'll have to apply the slightest warp/angle/change the font size by 1 pt to make the text fit nicely. Also don't be afraid to let your text overlap a little! I especially like doing this when I have a delicate font and a blockier font, like I did here

Also make sure you have your different phrases on different text layers! Sometimes each word will need to be on a different text layer if that's how your layout goes, but doing this will help you move the different pieces around until you're happy with it (just like legos!)

6. Get inspired outside of tumblr: People are paid to make album art, lyric videos, posters, etc. Use these things as inspiration!

This gifset mimicked the back cover art of Taylor's Swift's ttpd album

This gifset used Noah Kahan's stick season album title layout

And this uses Big Time Rush's lyric video as inspiration

Some other resources:

Get inspired by other gifmakers and their layouts! Some that come to mind are @eddiediaaz @cal-kestis and @nataliescatorccio, and @usergif is also a great place to find amazing gifmakers who do cool typography

@usergif also has typography resources, font recs, and font pairing guides which are super useful

There are some typography layout guidelines floating around tumblr, here's one that I have saved and is a good way to start thinking of typography layouts, and here's a follow up to that

This got super long and may be more than what you wanted anon but I hope this all helps!

[alvfr]

hey I saw you're open to requests and I'm so obsessed with your "Accidents" series with Hotch x Reader! I totally get you're taking a break from it atm so feel free to ignore but I'd love a drabble or whatever you're comfortable writing/sharing from the series? Maybe like a snapshot of when they were still figuring things out before they crossed that line or became established.

Thanks so much!

A/N: Aah, it's been so long since I've written for Hotch so I hope I managed something at least. I really tried to keep this short-ish and more of a drabble, but yeah, this would be set after the shower-scene in "Elevators" but before the bonus-part, I guess. Not super exciting maybe, but good practice for me. cw: none? sfw. awkward phone call. fem bau!reader, no use of y/n, part of "accidents" wc: 1.3k

Call me maybe

The first time Hotch called you was around eight in the evening, the day after your team got back from the conference in Florida. While you could not say you had been expecting it — a pessimistic part of you always expected the worst case scenario — your body told a different tale. Every inch of you had buzzed with anticipation since you stepped foot in your own apartment. Making sure to keep your phone charged and unmuted for a change, going as far as keeping it within sight when taking a shower and still checking it religiously every few minutes in case you had missed something. 

You argued with yourself, scolding yourself for waiting around like a lovesick schoolgirl and then berating yourself for doubting his word in the first place. He had said he would call and Hotch did not lie so why were you getting so worked up? 

When the day dragged on, without even paperwork to distract yourself with, you spiraled into increasingly worse scenarios as to why he had not called. He had been called into work, he had lost his phone, he had forgot his charger, he was discovered he was under surveillance by some shady government officials. Or something had happened to him, or to someone he cared about, or something had happened to both him and someone he cared about. Or, and this was simultaneously the best and worst one, he had changed his mind.

So when the call came that night, you had worked yourself into a bit of a frenzy and jumped at the sound of your own ring tone. The display glowed with the name 'A. Hotchner' and you forgot all about basic human behavior, like blinking or even breathing. 

It rang three times before your body bypassed your meddlesome mind and you picked up with the standard greeting of your last name, just in case he was under surveillance somehow. A theory that gained traction with every loaded second where you could not hear anything from the other side.

“Hotch?” you asked and held the phone out to check if the call was still active. In your state, you would not have been all that surprised to find if you had hallucinated the whole thing. “You there?”

“Yes.” The smooth sound of his voice sent rivers of idyll into your veins while your heart threatened to pound out of your skull. “Sorry. Hi.”

A stupid grin overtook your face and you twirled the still-connected charger cable with your fingers before catching yourself. Dropping the cable, you cleared both your throat and face. “Hi.” 

“Hi. Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s good.” 

You tried to avoid looking at the mess of your apartment, all chores neglected for the day in case you wound up missing his call. In truth, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat and come over if he asked, although you had no idea where he lived. 

“I mean, I can talk?” You winced at how you had managed to phrase it as a question and cleared your throat again. “What’s up?”

And the award for worst conversationalist goes to this girl right here, you thought with a hefty roll of your eyes. What’s up? What were you, fourteen years old and trying to impress your friend’s older brother?

“Not much,” Hotch admitted from his side of the line and you thought you could detect a hint of gratitude in there. “Just finished up some overdue paperwork.”

“San Joaquin county?” you guessed, knowing without a doubt how much paperwork that case still generated. 

“Parts of it, yes. There’s also the budgets, protocols and various administration memos I’m forced to have an opinion on.” A slight pause and you caught a slight intake of breath on his side. “I didn’t call to talk about work.”

You forced yourself to keep your breaths slow and controlled instead of shivering as you knew they’d be. “Okay.”

“How are you?” The tenderness in his voice wreaked havoc with your inner organs and you could imagine his expression. The tilt to his eyebrows that matched the tilt of his jaw where he looked up, resting his eyes on whatever was near the ceiling to the left of him. “You get home okay?”

“Safe and sound. You?”

“All in one piece.” 

A silence stretched on for an uncomfortable few heartbeats and you wracked your brain for something worthwhile to say. It was uncharted territory to talk to him casually like this. No time crunch forcing you to keep the small talk to a minimum and no risk of getting caught forcing you to speak in code. Neither did your forte lay in phone calls and, as the profiler you were, you wished you could have had his facial expressions and mannerisms to reveal more of his thoughts during the conversation. The same probably went for him, you realized and it made you breathe a little easier.

“What did you think of the conference?” he asked just as you were about to say something completely different.

“Uh…” Your brain did a full reboot to no avail. “Are you asking about the actual conference or—”

“The actual conference,” he clarified and you thought you could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you catch the mass-shooting response training?”

“I did and it was okay, I guess, even if it felt a little dated.” You wandered around in your apartment, needing to get rid of the built-up excess energy. “Doesn’t this count as work talk though?”

“You’re right. Sorry, I’m,” you heard something brushing against the microphone, maybe him dragging a hand over his forehead, “not very good at this. I, uh, wanted to call to reiterate that I fully understand if you’ve changed your mind about this.”

“I haven’t.”

The words came out faster than you had anticipated, some part of you determined to deny him any possibility of doubt. 

“I’m really glad you called, Hotch.” You did a few test-runs at yourself in the mirror and corrected yourself to: “Aaron.”

“Good. I’ve been working up the nerve to do so for the past hour.”

Again, you could imagine his expression. The slight secretive smile, his head now tilted downward, exposing more of his neck to the room.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for it since I got home last night.” You tried to match his unabashed honesty, the need to convince him that you wanted this still present. “If that makes you feel any better.”

“A little,” he murmured and you could almost feel how he settled in wherever he was, maybe lounging back against the couch or chair, getting comfortable and the phone scratched again as he shifted it around. “What kind of movies do you like?”

The question blindsided you and you blinked at your own reflection in the mirror. “Uh, I’m omnivorous really. Why?”

“I’m looking through the show times for Friday night. I was hoping you would like to go see a movie with me, if we don’t get a case.”

“Oh.” Your stupid grin returned tenfold and you absentmindedly twirled the charging cable again. “Well, then I really like the movie that is playing this Friday night.”

In the end, you settled for a title and time, both of which would be rescheduled over and over again because of a case getting in the way. It took you a month to go see a movie together, but it did not really matter. By then, you had talked on the phone every night you were off a case (and sometimes he called you from a hotel room that were just a few doors down the hall from yours to say good night when you were on a case.) A torturous slow pace, maybe, but well worth it in your opinion.

-----

Thank you for the request!

If you want to read the rest of the series, it is on AO3 here (E-rated)

Let me know if you liked it, thank you for reading ❤️

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 3

Summary: Morning sickness has hit you hard today but Jungkook's always there to take care of you no matter what mood you're in (A little glimpse into their future together) Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 2.3K~ (honestly got carried away with this one lmao) Warning: Talks about pregnancy and throwing up lmao. Suggestive language but I think that's it lol a/n: This was an ask I got and again I wrote soooo much for it compared to how long my drabbles usually are so I figured I would give you guys a little peek into their future together and do a longer one 🤭 (written in almost one sitting so yeah barely edited) Start from the beginning

I slump down on the floor, taking in the cool bathroom tiles under m knees as I throw up for what felt like the millionth time today and I have to will myself to not lay down, seeking comfort from this constant nausea I've been granted with these past few weeks.

"It's okay baby I got you. Let it all out" Jungkook mumbles next to me, holding back my hair with one hand while he rubs my back with the other. Trying his best to provide some sort of comfort in my darkest hours.

Okay that was a little dramatic but morning sickness sucks alright. And by the way, such a misleading name since I've been puking my guts out morning, noon and night.

I lean my arm against the rim of the toilet and lay my head on top of that, the dizziness settling in moments later leaving me hurling again.

Once I've finished after spending what felt like hours kneeling in front of that toilet I'm finally granted some solace, although that nausea had now been replaced with a splitting headache.

Jungkook had suggested I take a nice long bath. One that's a little on the chilly side so it'll hopefully help the dizziness subside.

He's made it no less relaxing though, giving me a new bathtub pillow with candles lit all around (unscented ones of course since strong smells have been another thing that has made me sick) and my regular ginger ale slushy he always makes me every time I get sick.

Although he tried to leave me be so I could relax I was able to easily convince him into the tub with me, begging him to massage my feet. Something he was honestly more than willing to do.

"Anything for the mother of my child" has been his favorite phrase to use ever since I got pregnant and it makes me melt every time he says it.

"You feeling any better?" he asks, having moved up my legs a bit to massage my calfs as well. "Yeah, thank you" I mumble since any loud sounds or bright lights are just the cherry on top of the things that are trying to prolong this headache.

"That's good" he says giving me a soft smile, a pained expression hidden behind it, wishing he could take away some of my pain. 

"Were coming up to the second trimester right? The doctor says morning sickness usually stops once you finish up the first" he tries to encourage me, hoping to give me a light to see at the end of the tunnel.

"We've got about two weeks left" I say, sinking down further into the tub, dreading the thought of living like this for the next two weeks. "I'm sorry Bunny. If I could I would take all of this away and put it all on me. I hate seeing you like this" he finally admits what's been on his mind recently, even though it's been very apparent with every look he's given me.

"You know that I love you right?" he says, moving closer to where I am and gives me a kiss before sliding in next to me and and moving me over to where I can sit between his legs, making me lay against his chest.

"I love you too" I whisper, taking one of his hands and playing with it while the other one rubs my baby bump that's getting bigger and bigger everyday. "You're so strong for doing this for us. I'm so proud of you" he mumbles against my neck, kissing the skin there and making me truly feel so loved.

I just feel so complete with him. Like there's nothing else in the world that I could possibly want. Except for this little bean that makes me puke up every single thing I dare to eat.

"How big is it right now?" he asks, referring to the pregnancy app I downloaded. "The size of a Kumquat" I giggle, thinking about the fact that a baby that small could make me so sick.

"What's a kumquat?" he chuckles right with me, confused by the unfamiliar fruit. "It's like a mini orange but...not" I say, not super confident in my answer. He laughs again and I sigh before continuing.

"It's like the size of a really big grape...but it's citrus" I say, trying to help him visualize it but he just laughs at my efforts, switching from rubbing my tummy to hugging, pulling me in as close as he can.

I pout when he still hasn't made moves to tell me that he kind of understands what I'm saying but he just trails a few more kisses down my neck instead.

"Should I go get some next time I go to the store?" he says, changing to feather light kisses making squirm at the ticklish sensation. "You want to eat our child?" I say, turning around in his embrace, breathing in the most dramatic gasp I can muster and he rolls his eyes at me.

"You know what I mean" he groans and I respond by giving him a kiss, one that's more full of life than they have been for a while.

"The bath made you feel that much better huh?" he smirks, taking in the light in my eyes again. "Yeah, also you helped me feel better. Just a little bit" I say holding up my pointer finger and thumb bringing them close together.

"Just a little bit huh?" he says, cocking a brow at me and I know I've made a mistake, or a terribly terribly delicious mistake. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Yeah just a little bit" I say, challenging him. He quickly stands up and gets me out of the tub, drying the both of us off for a few seconds before pulling me into the bedroom and throwing me on the bed. I giggle at his actions and watch as he crawls on top of me while cup the side of his face, bringing him in closer to kiss me.

"Seems like I should try a little harder huh?" he chuckles dryly and I feel butterflies in my stomach. I wonder what the baby might feel when that happens. Do they know how nervous their daddy makes me feel sometimes?

Once we kiss for a little bit I push back on his shoulder, take in a deep breath and then push him off seconds later, running back to that same place, kneeling before that porcelain throne yet again.

He trails in after me after having put on a pair of boxers, kneeling down beside me and again trying to comfort me.

"I'm sorry" I say, trying to calm my breathing after having finished and he chuckles. "It's okay it's not your fault. I guess it's just gonna be something we gotta get used to" he says and I furrow my brows, questioning his words.

"We'll have to start being careful so we don't wake up the baby once they're here" he teases and I roll my eyes, laughing along with him at the thought of being interrupted by our children late at night.

"Hopefully that won't happen too often" I breath out, starting to focus on my breathing to stop myself from retching again. "You just gotta learn to be a little more quiet" he teases, poking me in the ribs making me push his shoulder lightly but he sways right back over to me.

"It's not just me you know" I scoff and he continues to be amused at my efforts of defense. "Whatever" I grumble, standing up and flushing the toilet before cleaning myself off again and brushing my teeth.

"Come on Bunny you know I love you" he says following me back into the bedroom and over to the closet so I can pick out something to wear to bed. "I also love all those pretty little noises you make for me" he whispers in my ear, caressing my belly again but for more sensual motives this time.

I throw one of his t shirts over my head, trapping him under it for a second before he pulls away from me so I can put it on the rest of the way. 

I forego wearing anything else since I pretty much sleep naked most nights. The t shirt being a relatively new edition to provide some sort of warmth if I have to rush to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I pull back the covers and lay in bed, him following close behind and getting in next to me, pouting from the feeling of being shut out from the silent treatment I'm giving him but he gives me time to take a breather. 

"Can I hold you?" he asks in a tentative tone, not wanting to push it but still wanting to be close to me. Instead of answering I reach my arm back and grab onto his and throw it over me, taking his hand and placing it on my belly where he immediately starts to caress it, bringing those fluttery feelings back again. 

"I love you Darling" he mumbles into my neck after having come closer, my back up against his chest again, our legs tangled together while he encompasses me in that love that is truly palpable. "I love you too Daddy" I mumble with a smile on my face and he smiles against my skin. 

"Should I start calling you Mommy?" he teases, rubbing my belly and making me laugh. "Maybe when the baby gets here" I say, and he leans down so he can be eye to eye with my bump and starts talking to the baby. 

"Hey there you little Kumquat, you better let Mommy sleep tonight you got it? She's getting cranky with me when all I wanna do is love her" he says and I wack him upside he head, leaving him groaning in fake pain and I laugh while he continues to talk to the baby. 

"See? All I was doing was telling you to treat her better and then she goes and hits me. We're gonna have a serious talking to once you get out of there missy!" he says, and I laugh again, now choosing to run my fingers through his hair instead. "And now she's rewarding me, I don't know if I should praise you for that or still scold you" he pouts. "Be nice to the baby he doesn't know better" I chuckle and then he looks up at me, shocked at what I'm insinuating. 

"You hear that? She called you a boy! How rude. You're obviously a girl" he counters, the two of us still at odds on the gender of this baby. "How are you so sure?" I question, curious as to why he's been so dead set on thinking it's a girl. "I looked it up" he says sitting up so he can state his case. "Oh really?" I say sitting up and mirroring his posture, the both of us with our arms crossed over our chests. 

"Yup it says that excessive nausea is primarily linked to girls" he says, clearly proud of himself. "Oh yeah?" I question, cocking a brow at him (a habit I've picked up since I've been with him). "Yeah" he says, leaning over me to grab my phone on the nightstand, unlocking it and looking it up before showing me an article. 

"See" he says, and I roll my eyes. "Just because one article says that doesn't mean-" I'm interrupted by him grabbing my phone out of my hand and going back to the google results page before giving it back to me. I scroll and scroll and scroll and see that a vast majority of them support his claims. 

"Ha! Look!" I say, picking out the one article that says it's linked to boys. "Grasping at straws aren't we?" he chuckles. "Whatever" I huff and lay back down.

We get back into that position we had been in before, him leaning over me to talk to be baby again. "Goodnight baby, sweet dreams. You know I love you no matter what you are" he says and places a kiss on my bump making me caress his head again, wondering how I got so lucky. "But I secretly hope you're a girl" he says, mumbling it right against my stomach as if him continuing to say it would change the outcome. 

"Alright Daddy say goodnight for real this time" I chuckle, signaling him to lay back down so we can go to sleep. "Goodnight my love. See you soon" he finishes, placing one last kiss and laying back down to hold me again. "I swear you sweet talk that baby more often than you sweet talk me" I tease and he pinches one of my nipples in response. 

"Hey! Those are sensitive" I whine and he chuckles, tapping twice on my hip telling me to calm down. "Lets go to bed grumpy" he says, pulling me closer when I try to push him away. "I swear both of you are always ganging up on me" I grumble and he chuckles. 

"It's our job isn't it?" he says moving his hand this way and that on my belly almost as if he was doing a secret handshake with them. "I swear" I breathe out and all I hear is him starting to have a conversation with the baby again.

"Love you Mommy" he teases, acting as if he was the baby and roll my eyes. He follows it up giving me a similar sentiment, this time deepening his tone and saying it right in my ear. "Goodnight Mommy, love you" he says, placing one last kiss on my neck "Goodnight" I whisper back leaving him holding me tight, finally settling down. 

I'm greeted a few moments later with the sounds of his soft snores, my forever lullaby. "Love you too Daddy" I whisper barely loud enough for anyone to hear but it brings me comfort, knowing that soon those words will be echoed throughout our home for years to come.  

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[sirfrogsworth]

I'm very frustrated. I thought my health had taken a turn for the better when I figured out my heart issue. And I haven't really had any problems specifically with my heart for a while. But for the past 6 weeks I have been stuck in bed unable to do anything physical. I don't feel sick. I'm not in any major pain. There is no real misery. My body just isn't producing enough energy to function. It's a hard feeling to describe. Walking is very hard. Concentration is difficult. Willpower is nonexistent. The energy required to function is just not accessible. I can push myself a little if I need to, but then I have to recover from that and I risk extending how long I am in this state.

I've tried all of the things I usually try when this happens. I make sure to get plenty of sleep. I've been vigilant about taking my meds. I haven't pushed myself. But nothing has worked and I just feel stuck. I really wanted to get out more and get back in touch with friends and maybe even go on another trip to Florida. But all of that has been paused and I am in this liminal low power mode. The only active thing I've done was my Halloween picture and that took me 3 days just to pull off. Working about 20 minutes at a time.

I have so much to do and I'm running out of time to do it. And the things I need to do are incredibly important. Like, "don't end up homeless" important. And I am stuck in bed with no option but to wait until one day my body decides whatever this is has passed.

Plus there is always the fear of the "new normal." Which is probably one of the scariest phrases a person with chronic illness has to contend with. A time when your illness advances to a new state and you have to accept that is just how things are and hopefully find a way to adapt and continue on.

It's not been long enough to accept this as my new normal. But that fear is something I can't put out of my mind.

[zombiewhor3]

SOUTH PAW?

carl grimes x fem reader

WARNINGS: mentions of character death (Abraham & Glenn), mentions of gore, traumatic events, mentions of amputation, begging, mentions of pregnancy (Maggie's), Negan, unedited work.

A/N: sorry for the long break, i've been so busy with a lot of things but i have a few scrap drafts i might put together and post so i'll try my best to update my queue this week.

a long night of violence is how she could describe it, a long night of tears pouring down everyone's faces as they watched a cruel man bash in two of their friends heads without even such an ounce of mercy for their poor souls in his mind.

the night felt like the eternity but as the sun had risen and the night faded it was still like a fever dream, like this wasn't all real and she was going to have to wake up soon from this nightmare.

except this was all real, Abraham and Glenn's dead bodies with their heads smashed in that was real, all of the blood splattered on y/n's face from the slinging of Negan's bat that was real.

she watched as Rick was tossed back out onto the gravel, his hands reaching to stop himself as he followed the man's forceful orders to get on all fours while he kneeled down to him.

"i'm giving you a choice Rick and this is your grand prize, what you do next will decide whether it becomes just those twos bad day or the rest of these lovely men and women sitting in front of us"

he gestured with his hands for his men to point guns at the back of their heads and y/n could feel the barrel pressed against the back of her head making her swallow harshly.

her knees started to ache from the rocks that pressed against them, the blood of a father figure had dried on her face and she could almost feel like it had been sinking into the pores of her skin.

she felt gross to have the blood on her, she felt sick each time she even looked at the dead man who was next to her, she felt sick knowing his pregnant wife was a sobbing wreck just a few feet away.

and Carl had hated to see her cry with each strike from Negan's bat that pounded into Glenn's head like he wasn't a person but yet just a piece of meat Negan used as his beating ground.

she watched as Negan had approached Carl making her heart sink as he rested his bat against his shoulder and she watched as some of the blood smeared out onto his leather.

he held out a hand to Carl who cocked his head hesitantly as he tried to ignore the gesture but Negan smiled and cleared his throat before speaking up "take my hand kid" he spoke bitterly watching as the teen finally gave in and took the man's hand.

he was stood up and Negan had waved his arm out to the side to where the boy's father rested on the ground, blood on his face, eye bags and his eyes red as his eye were still looking like they had been watering again, like they were on the brim of tears.

he pointed at the spot empty next to his father as Carl took a few steps watching as Negan stood in front of him taking a quite consideration to the gauze over his missing eye.

"you a south paw?" he asked watching as Carl looked clearly confused by a phrase he never heard before and it made Negan re-phrase his question to him, "you a lefty?" he watched as Carl shook his head while Negan pulled out a belt and un-raveled it.

he tied a belt against the boy's arm, "that hurt?" Negan remarked watching as the boy in the hat snapped back a quick 'no' before looking down at the leather tightened on his arm.

"on the ground next to Daddy and don't forget to spread your wings boy" Negan spoke as he watched Carl lay flat on the ground, his head turning in the direction to where he could see y/n and his father.

he could see the terror on his girlfriends face, the fear stuck in her eyes as her palms were flat and sinking into the same gravel the soft flesh of his cheek had now been resting against.

he could hear the crunching of Negan's boots against the rocks, and it stopped once he could see him crouch next to him thanking Simon for the pen that was given to him,

he himself was scared of what he had planned for him, what Negan had planned to do to Carl especially in front of his father and his girlfriend who had more tears pouring down her face.

he marked Carl's arm and apologized in such an sarcastic way that Carl had never even heard a human being sound so derisive in that way, even in the apocalypse.

he could hear his father start to beg as his girlfriend looked down at the ground using the back of her hand to cover up her sniffles, to cover up the rapid breathing spilling out from her.

he could see the harsh way her body rattled as she tried to manage to stay quiet in the fear that someone else would die, in fear that maybe it'd be her or even Carl that'd be next.

the word please was pouring like a continuous river in his head, the word his father kept repeating over and over as he begged Negan to show his son some mercy, to show he himself some mercy.

"don't beg me because i ain't the one doing shit" Negan spoke roughly patting Rick against the back before he gave his next order at the quite obvious traumatized man who was on all fours before him.

"Rick pick up your ax," he paused licking his chapped lips clean before continuing what he wanted Rick to do, "and cut off your son's left arm, now i know you're gonna have to process that for a second and believe me that makes sense so i'll give you a minute"

a loud gasp of air had erupted from y/n's mouth as she closed her eyes at the feeling of the barrel pressing even harder against the back of her head making her lip shake and her eyes flood.

he stood up and rubbed his hands on the denim of his pants watching as Rick's expression turn into now an even stronger pleading one, like it was just the ocean color of his eyes and the quiver of his lip giving off all the true emotion even more than his words that were spilled in such a babble of emotion.

"i am still gonna need you to do it though or all these people are going to die, then Carl dies, then the people back at your home die, and i'm gonna keep you living for a few years just so you can think about the decision you make right now"

Negan looked around at the men and women all lined up, and yet one had the courage to speak up, y/n to be exact only had the courage to speak up because it was her boyfriends life on the line.

"you d-don't have to do t-this, We understand! please we u-understand!" she looked down at her boyfriend who almost had a few tears slipping of his own as he looked at her,

as he looked at the shaking and sobbing mess this man had turned her into, he watched the sorrow tearing through her like a walker who was hungry for flesh.

he seemed to like the fear that ran though all of them, he liked the idea of watching them all tremble while they payed the price of wiping out one of his out posts because something about the pity and the terror gave him power, it gave him control.

"I'm not so sure Rick does. So i'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line i drew out for you! now believe me this is a screwed up thing to ask, trust me i know but it's gonna have to be clean nothing messy so our doctors can fold something over."

he watched Rick tremble as he kneeled and continued to spew out his words, "we have great doctors the kid'll be fine, probably. and Rick we're in a time frame so this needs to happen now or i will crush this fella's head in myself"

"please i can take his place" Rick begged over and over as his throat felt sore and his mouth dry while his eyes ached and his head started to pound at the idea of hurting his son.

"please Negan please" Rick begged again watching as the man ran over some stubble of his beard and shook his head with a 'no' to answer Rick's pleas for it to be him instead.

"this is the only way, not making this decision is a big decision. Do you want to see everyone in front of you die? because if you don't pick up that ax you will, and you will see everything"

Rick cleared his throat as his hands remained planted in the rocks still in a pity of confusion from the whole situation, and now Negan had started to count loudly and once he got to one Rick had his ax raised while Carl was yelling at him to go through with it.

Y/n sobbed into her hands as she could hear her boyfriend cry out for his own father to cut off his arm, and when she could hear the soft chuckle of Negan and the soft gasping of Rick and not even a subtle yell or scream from Carl but yet she still buried her face.

Negan had taken the ax away from Rick's raised arm and he reached up a hand to pull Carl up from the ground, "you answer to me, you provide for me, you belong to me" and Rick nodded his head and agreed to the fact that he had now belonged to Negan and his men.

"see that look is the look i wanted to see! and man we did it, even those dead guys with the smashed in brains get a participation award for sure" he sighed as he tossed his bat over his shoulder.

"i hope for everyone's sake you understand how things work around here, things change and right about now they've changed whatever you had going for you is over, now i'll be back in a week Rick so use the truck i'll leave to gather my shit or someone else dies."

"I can't look, I can't, Carl please"

she mumbled feeling as someone in front of her had tugged on her hands softly, but she still held them against her face in fear she would see other blood being shed that she didn't want to see.

"look at me y/n, look at me"

he spoke finally being able to pull her hands away from her face once she realized that it was Carl and he had both of his arms, he furrowed his brows softly watching as she quivered and couldn't keep her eyes away from the line that he had drawn out onto his arm.

-

once he and his men had left y/n tried to stand but she could only drop back on her knees as she looked over at the dead man on the ground next to her, she gasped as her knees felt weak.

and it was Carl who lifted her up, it was Carl's arms that wrapped around her while he gave her the comfort of burying her face into the soft fabric of his flannel to shield herself from the damage and the violence that had been done to her friend.

she sobbed so hard that she could feel it shake both of their bodies, Carl stroked over her hair and watched as she shook under his grasp, she shook so hard her body started to wobble.

she couldn't speak because every time she tried to get a word out it was just a rush of tears, a rush of gasps for air, a rush of mutters that weren't even comprehensible to him or her.

her vision seemed blurry and her head was pounding so hard and her heart beat so fast she felt like she was dying, she felt like the world had been slipping away from her finger tips.

the only word that had been able to be heard was a loud gasp of 'no' as she looked at the line still on his arm, the line where Negan wanted Rick to chop off his arm, the line that now told trembling stories.

she squeezed her hand on it so tight that even the belt hadn't cut off that much circulation to his arm, she clung to his shirt as she could hear the sound of someone's shoes crunching against the gravel.

she could hear Maggie's cries and Rick who whispered something to his son who held out onto the shaking y/n, Sasha and Rosita frozen in such a terror and disbelief, Eugene still crying softly, Aaron and Michonne who were sitting in such a pity of silence.

and the two bodies around them.

y/n had slipped to her knees and Carl had let her, he let her bury her face into the ground and he rubbed her back as he tried to stop her from hyper ventilating at the shock around her but it was no use because it felt a ton of bricks were pressing against her chest.

She could feel a second hand on her back and she could tell it was Rick's by the wedding ring that she could feel through the cotton t-shirt she had been wearing,

"oh god, t-that c-could've been y-you" she sputtered out as she still felt like she could feel the specks of blood hitting her cheek with each and every strike from Negan's bat smashing into the pour mans head.

her body ached and it felt like her lungs had now finally collapsed in from the harsh beating her heart had pushed off, her bones ached from all the shaking and her cheeks were sore from the amount of tears that had been poured down them.

"i'm right here y/n, i'm right here" he had dropped to his knees and placed his hat down on the ground, he let his knees sink into the same rocks where the bodies laid.

where Maggie's tears had poured and where they knew the rest of the lives had just changed forever because they got the shit end of a deal they should've never even taken.

"Maggie" she managed to gasp out as she could feel her limp body being lifted up by not just Carl but his father, they had lifted her up so she could be taken to Maggie.

the widow's lungs gasped for air as she looked down at the ground, her knees ached and she felt sick even sicker than before, she could feel the teen reach out and place a soft but shaking hand a top of hers and to which she had finally spoken out.

"you need to go, you need to get everyone out of here Rick" Maggie spoke still sounding so brave, like she was keeping it all together when in reality she was spiraling in her mind.

spiraling at the fact her father, her sister and now her husband the father of her child had been killed in front of her, after they had begged and after they had tried their best to bargain.

"he's our family to, we'll do this together" Rick spoke watching as Maggie sniffled and the still distraught teen next to her had nodded along with the idea as her eyes filled with seeping tears.

"he's right we'll do it t-together because we're all family"

[dialoguestetatet]

Hwangyeon Choi x fem!reader

Fluff

OOC? OOC! But I don’t give a fuck, I had to write it, otherwise I would have gone crazy. Yes, I'm his hater, but I've always been attracted to the "enemies to lovers" trope, and that's exactly what happened to me and Hwangyeon. He's my pathetic little meow meow from now on

masterlist

The idiot in love pt.1 (part 2 is here)

Hwangyeon Choi was confident, he was cool, in fact he was cocky, everyone knew it and hated it. But around you? Oh my, he was a mess, blushing, stuttering, bashful boy with sweaty palms.

How much Hwangyeon wanted you to smile at him with such a beautiful and gentle smile, look at him from under your eyelashes, and even blush a little. He wanted to hear your voice, addressed to him, and not furtively catch snatches of phrases from conversations with your friends. And your ringing laugh, Hwangyeon would give anything for you to laugh at his jokes. He only heard you laugh once, but that's when he realized he had a little crush on you.

Yeah, it's a small crash, nothing more, he wasn't in love or something like that.

He's definitely never stared at you so hard that he flew face-first into a wall.

Hwangyeon definitely didn't try to approach you, but in the process, he tripped over his own foot and fell into the bushes.

He definitely never daydreamed about you, that his friends had to shake him by the shoulders so that he would finally answer what kind of coffee he wanted.

He had never even dreamed of you in such warm and tender dreams that when he woke up, he almost cried with disappointment.

Hwangyeon just wanted to talk to you, take your hand, hug you, kiss you, hold you as close as possible, stroke your waist, smell your hair, nuzzle into your cheek, go down on your neck, nibble your skin there, leave a hickey and run his tongue over the mark, kiss his way down to your collarbones, and stroke your lower back with his hands and go lower and lower and ...

Stop. He wasn't a pervert (maybe a little). Why did God give his toughest battle to his weakest soldier? The first step was to finally gather his courage, come up to you, flirt, and find out your phone number. He usually never had any problems with this, or rather before he met you. And your first meeting was like a cliched drama. Hwangyeon was walking home and saw how the guy who infuriated him (and who didn't infuriate him?) was trying to hit on the most beautiful girl in the world (you), but after receiving a no in response, he still couldn't fuck off and kept bothering you. So Hwangyeon walked up and shooed this guy away, and then time stopped. You looked into his eyes and smiled so sincerely that it took his breath away. Then you said, "Oh my God, thank you so much, you just saved me! This guy has been bothering me for several days now. I'm sorry, I have to run, we'll chat later, see you!" Then you ran your hand over his forearm, and his whole skin was covered with goosebumps, and his cheeks were flushed. He couldn't even utter a word in response. His heart skipped a beat, and then began to pound, the world around froze as you walked past him, still smiling. After standing there for a few more minutes, he walked on, trying to figure out what had just happened and why he felt like he had just had a heart attack.

You've been waiting. You've been waiting for a long time, but Hwangyeon never came to you. After he helped you, you found out his name very quickly. You would've approached him first, thanking him again and casually mentioning that you don't have a boyfriend, but you were hesitant? More precisely, you lost your confidence when you heard that he was quite straightforward, and when he liked a girl, he easily came up for her number. Once, you even thought that Hwangyeon had finally decided to approach you and mentally prepared for an invitation to coffee, but he seemed to have evaporated. You looked down for just a couple of seconds to straighten your clothes, and when you looked ahead again, he was nowhere to be found. Later, you heard that someone fell into the bushes, but you were not up to this poor guy, you finally lost hope of a date with Hwangyeon. So the days went by, you saw him all the time, but he didn't seem to notice you. It was sad and a little hurtful, but it's impossible to make a person like you.

Today was the day. Hwangyeon gathered his strength and went straight to you. It seemed like a tank was coming at you. You're holding your breath, did he really make up his mind after all? After stumbling only four times, he came up to you, and there seemed to be a halo of romance around. He looked into your eyes and drowned in them, so sparkling, so clear, as if you were looking right into his soul. Fluttering your eyelashes, you smiled softly and said, "Hi." Hwangyeon died and came to life, fell into the abyss and soared into the sky, felt agony and absolute happiness. At that moment, he could say the only relevant phrase, "I'm in love with you." And finally he heard your soft laugh and the answer, "Let's start with a date, okay?"

And Hwangyeon Choi realized that he would do anything to keep you in his life forever.

[leighbaylee]

— HOUSE OF BALLOONS

written by mina leigh 𝜗᭪ , elliot fike 𝔁 m! reader | wc 2750

summary. you’re over at elliot’s house, alone without your sister & jules. he explains the complicated situation between the trio and as you vent out your pent up frustration about the revelation, elliot comes up with a way to calm you down, not that you were imposed.

labels. bennett reader, elliot’s kinda horny, he also gets touchy, mentions of reader nicotine smoking, angry makeouts, praising, hair pulling from both parties, angst, dubcon. VIEWERS DISCRETION ADVISED.

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. i just needed to write something with elliot & male reader after remembering elliot admitted he fucked ❝ 4 to 3 ❞ guys when jules was interrogating him

you were in elliot’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, fingers fumbling with the buckle on your belt as elliot leaned back, reaching for your vape. the room was dimly lit, curtains drawn tight, suffocating any light that dared creep in. there was a weird tension between the two of you — not new, not entirely unfamiliar, but more pronounced now that it was just the two of you. no jules. no rue. just the silence, punctuated by the quiet hiss of the vape and the soft hum of a playlist neither of you really cared about.

elliot took a drag, his lips pressing against the cool metal, and exhaled slowly. the faint scent of nicotine and something sweeter hung in the air. he glanced at you, as you were still fidgeting with your belt but not really looking at him. elliot ran his tongue over his lower lip, hesitating for a moment before finally breaking the silence.

❝ hey, uh ... can i tell you something? but you gotta promise not to get mad alright? ❞ his voice was calm, lazy, but there was an undercurrent of something more. guilt, maybe.

you paused, your hands stilling on the belt, eyebrows knitting together. ❝ depends on what it is.? ❞

elliot took another drag, stalling. ❝ it's about rue.? ❞

the room seemed to grow colder instantly. your grip on the belt tightened instantly.

❝ what about rue? ❞

elliot sighed, sitting up straighter, letting the vape roll between his fingers. ❝ me, rue, and jules ... it's ... complicated. ❞ he glanced at you, observing your reaction, then pressed on. ❝ i mean, we've all kind of been messing around, you know? it's not exactly a secret.? ❞

you sat up too, your body suddenly tense, reaching into your pocket for your own vape. placing it on your lips, taking a long dab before exhaling sharply. ❝ what the fuck are you talking about, elliot? ❞ your voice was strained, irritation bubbling just under the surface.

elliot bit his lip, trying to figure out how to phrase it without making things worse.

❝ look, man, rue's your sister, i know that, but she's... she's been in a weird place, and jules — ❞

❝ jules? ❞ you cut him off, voice rising ❝ what the fuck does jules have to do with this? ❞

elliot looked away for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. ❝ it's not like ... like we planned it or anything. shit just happened. but ... they've been together, kinda ... and i've been there too.? ❞

you coughed, choking on nic, eyes wide with disbelief, ❝ are you fucking serious right now?? ❞

elliot leaned back, avoiding your gaze. ❝ i didn't mean for you to find out like this.? ❞

you then felt a surge of anger rush through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you reached out and grabbed elliot by the collar of his sweater, yanking him forward.

❝ so what, you just ... what the fuck, elliot? ❞

elliot didn't resist, didn't pull back. in fact, a slow, almost smug smirk spread across his lips. it was the kind of smirk that made your blood boil even more. elliot's eyes darkened, and he tilted his head, his voice low and teasing. ❝ you mad at me, y/n? ❞

you grit your teeth, pushing elliot back onto the bed. but elliot's smirk didn't fade. instead, it grew, like he'd just come up with the most brilliant idea. before you could even process what was happening, elliot surged forward, crashing your lips together in a heated, messy kiss. tasting strawberry ice gelato melting in your mouth.

for a second, you froze, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. but then, something snapped inside you, and you kissed elliot back with a fury that surprised even himself. elliot wasted no time, using the momentum to flip you both over so he was straddling your hips. his hands were everywhere — running up your sides, tangling in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

❝ fuck, ❞ you muttered against elliot's lips, your hands trailing finding their way under elliot's shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath. your mind was racing, anger and confusion mixing with something else, something you didn't want to name.

elliot's hands moved lower, toying with your belt buckle like it was some kind of game, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver. ❝ you're so tense, ❞ elliot whispered, his breath hot against your ear. ❝ you need to relax. ❞

you responded with a low growl, your hands gripping elliot's hips, pulling him down harder against you. the kiss grew more frantic, more desperate, and before you knew it, your fingers were tangling in elliot's hair, tugging hard enough to make elliot gasp into his mouth.

❝ you think you can fuck with my head like that and get away with it?? ❞ you muttered, your voice rough and low. elliot's smirk returned, but this time it was more breathless, more eager.

❝ is that what you think i'm doing? ❞ elliot's voice was teasing, but there was a challenge in his eyes.

you didn't bother answering. instead, you tugged elliot's hair again, harder this time, earning a low moan from him. you felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the sound, the power shifting between you, and for a moment, everything else seemed to disappear. the anger, the confusion, the betrayal - it all faded into the background as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

elliot's fingers fumbled with your belt buckle again, teasing, but you weren’t in the mood for games. you flipped him over once more, pinning elliot beneath you, your hands gripping the sides of elliot's face as you kissed him fiercely. you didn't feel the need to care about being careful or gentle — you just needed to feel something, anything, to drown out the whirlwind of emotions in his chest.

elliot's hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, and for a while, it was just you both. no words, no thoughts, just the raw, messy collision of your bodies and mostly your anger.

but then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. you pulled back almost forcefully, your chest heaving, your mind catching up with what had just happened. you stared down at elliot, who was lying beneath you, his lips swollen, his hair a mess from where you had pulled at it.

❝ fuck, ❞ you muttered, scrambling off the bed and running a hand through your own hair. what the hell had you just fucking done?

elliot sat up slowly, watching you with a curious, almost amused expression. ❝ you alright dude.? ❞

❝ no, i'm not fucking alright, ❞ you snapped, grabbing your jacket from the floor and shoving your vapes back in your front pockets, with trembling hands. ❝ i gotta get out of here.❞

before elliot could say anything else, you were already out the door, the sound of it slamming shut echoing in the empty house.

you didn't stop walking until you were outside, the cool night air hitting your face as you leaned against the side of the building, trying to steady your breathing. biting your now swollen lips almost making them bleed. still smelling elliot’s god damn attractive scent lingering around you. it was just so unfortunately intoxicating.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[emjee]

hiiiiiiiiii I've had three glasses of wine and here's a WIP preview of the fic I'm calling "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood (Library)" (aka Steve Rogers gets a library card circa 2011 and quickly learns about Librarians Vs. The PATRIOT Act)

“I can help who’s next.”

The next man in line at the reference desk of the Brooklyn Public Library was so handsome that Marian’s brain quickly supplied a list of five potential nicknames for him that the staff could use among themselves if he became a regular.

“Hi, I was uh, wondering about getting a library card?”

“Sure, I can help you with that! Are you a Brooklyn resident?”

“For a long time.”

“Have you had a card with us before? If you have I’ll check and see if you’re still in our system.”

“I did, but it was a very long time ago.” Neighborhood kid, she wondered, maybe just moved back to the old stomping grounds?

“Well, we keep the records for a couple of years, and we do like to check so we avoid duplicates. What would the name on file have been?”

“Is there something else you can search by?”

“If it’s under a name you don’t use we can try address and date of birth.”

“My birthday’s July 4th.”

A year would have been helpful, but they could circle back to that. “What’s it like sharing a birthday with a country?” she asked as she started typing.

“Well, the fireworks always made me feel special when I was a kid.”

“I’m sure. Do you remember what address we might have had on file?”

He took a moment to reply, and when he did his voice was calm, but soft enough that she had to learn forward to hear him. “I don’t think it’s there anymore.”

House fire? Gentrification?

This sort of thing happened from time to time—a patron came in who clearly had a story that made getting them what they needed less straightforward that it might otherwise have been. That wasn’t a problem; sorting that sort of thing was literally what the fine people of Brooklyn paid her for, but she was always curious about people’s stories. Sometimes they told you, sometimes they didn’t. She wasn’t going to ask, though. Curiosity or no, it was ultimately none of her business.

“None of that’s a problem,” she assured him. “I can make you a new card right now, if you have an ID and proof of address. Driver’s license would work for both, or a passport, state ID, student ID plus a piece of mail…”

“This is going to sound like a silly question, probably…” He looked at the ceiling, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“No such thing,” she said lightly. “Besides, we’ve probably heard it before. Probably ten times a day.”

“If I do get a card, does anyone…know? Besides you all, I mean.”

Marian sat straighter in her chair and immediately became all business. “Not a silly question at all. Any record that identifies you by name is confidential under New York state law. We don’t even let law enforcement have it.”

A genuine grin dawned  on his face and she immediately thought of three more possible nicknames. “Seriously?”

“Not unless they’ve got a warrant or a subpoena.”

“Huh. But it would have to be under my legal name?”

“We do need to have it on file, but if you have a name you’d rather use, we can make a note in the record. That’s the name your mail would come addressed to, and what the staff would call you.”

She watched him glance down, smile, and put a hand in his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, producing his wallet and handing her his ID. “In that case.”

She set the ID on the counter in front of her while she opened a new card registration form and didn’t give it a proper look until she had her hands on the keyboard.

Well. That certainly explained a lot.

After entering ROGERS STEVEN GRANT into the record in a rapid clatter of keyboard strokes, she glanced back up at him and said, “What would you like me to put in the preferred name field.”

He gave it a moment’s thought. “Fred.”

She couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Excellent choice. Same last name?”

“Joke’s not as good if I change it.”

“Fair point.” She grabbed a fresh card from the drawer and scanned the barcode into the system, then saved the record. “Welcome to the Brooklyn Public Library, Mr. Rogers.”

[genderqueerdykes]

I don't want to come off as entitled by asking this, but I see you dress more 'feminine' and still ID as butch. I was wondering what the identity means to you as someone who doesn't look like how a butch "should" look? What is the connection there? I hope this doesn't come off as rude, I'm just trying to keep myself from being closeminded in any way and am interested in experiences of others.

i don't really see this as rude! i get a lot of asks where people say both "butches should be able to wear dresses and skirts" and "butches can only dress and look certain ways". there seems to be a lot of contention and gatekeeping over what a butch person should look like, not saying this is what you are doing- i see it constantly in the wild

it's okay to ask these kinds of things because i think a lot of people are confused about the origins of the term butch. butch just means queer masculinity- a queer masculine person can look, act, and dress like anything. there is no set dress code or look for a butch person. i have a phrase which i repeat in these scenarios: the butch is in the person, not the presentation. i see a lot of butches ache and long to wear dresses and other "femme" clothing all the time

i have a complex relationship with both femininity and masculinity due to being intersex. also, i have been living with being called a butch dyke derogatorily my entire life- it's something that's highly close to me. some may postulate that the term "bear" would fit me better, and i have used it in the past, but i'm not sure that one's quite right either. i honestly don't really know if i fit into the femme-butch binary.

due to having DID, some days i feel butch, and other days i feel femme. i am not an unshakeable person, and i have been wondering if the term femme would suit me better these days, given the direction i've pivoted in on the whole. it's a tough thing- queer masculinity to me involves being feminine. it seems confusing, but queer masculinity does not always have to be super macho. a masculine person can display queer masculinity by being feminine, too. the way someone dresses shouldn't have an impact on how they feel on the inside

it's an interesting thing to think about for sure! you caught me right at a time where i have been questioning this, myself. this exact question dawned on me just a few days ago. i was a lot more butch in the past, but i've gravitated toward a more femme experience in recent years. i don't know if i'll ever truly abandon the term butch. it's something i've been getting called my entire life. and i don't think dressing in a feminine way makes someone not butch, but i will say this is something i have been questioning lately!

the thing is, with queer identities, questioning and figuring out what really applies to you takes time. you may find a term and go "oh that's me!" right away, only to discover later on down the road that may not be correct. just because i was hyper masculine in the past doesn't mean i can't be hyper feminine now, you know? things change and shift. maybe at one point I had more butch alters than i do now- change is inevitable in a plural person, and it's hard for us to quantify how many of us are butch vs. how many of us are femme

considering i was already questioning this, this has given me more to think about, for sure. i think it's important to ask these kinds of questions because it may jar you into considering things you haven't before. while butches can present any way they want to, i have been feeling way more femme lately. perhaps i'm a butch who dresses femme, or maybe i've grown in ways where i've discovered that identity doesn't suit me as well as i thought it did. maybe things just changed. so thank you, i'm going to continue considering if that's the direction i'm more headed in lately. :)

[nekropsii]

On the topic of Eridan Discourse (eridiscourse?) earlier, I typed up a very long ask this morning (brought to mind by the discussion) trying to pinpoint a specific thing about the way the fandom handles transfem Eridan headcanons that rubbed me the wrong way. Instead of sending it I spent the rest of the day pondering it. Because the thing that was nagging me wasnt "people do it in a mocking way" and certainly not "headcanoning characters as transfem is cringe" and I finally figured it out.

(it feels wrong to use he/him in this context/phrasing so she/her it is) I feel like a lot of transfem Eridan content treats her transitioning as a cure-all for her negative qualities (sometimes explicitly as a punchline to the joke! but a lot of the time more subtly too) in a way that doesn't even necessarily come across as transphobic so much as just plain old misogyny. And yes, if you want to explore something like "once she solves this problem for herself she's able to deal with resolving her harmful viewpoints" that's cool and I get it! I might be more onboard with the headcanon if I saw more content that took itself seriously!

But most of the time it comes across as a binary of "girl will not be as shitty as when she was a boy because that is how Girl and Boy genders work" in a similar way to some June characterizations that replace her character traits to make her fit a certain image of "Girl". Beyond that (even in tons of March Eridan doodles that aren't even straight up drawn in the mocking light of the original) I feel like that same issue comes up in a ton of transfem Eridan art--she's just so flattened and sanitized even by people who seem to be genuinely trying to portray her in good faith.

This also kinda brings to mind the occasional discussion I've seen of transfem Cronus which I believe you've commented on before. My guess for most content I've stumbled on of that (including stuff I've seen one of my good friends create!) is that it's a riff on the March Eridan stuff (which afaik is the reason transfem Eridan is popular in the first place) and not taking the implications/fulfilled stereotypes it brings up into account...which (once again) seems to usually be avoided by tidying up the character flaws and ignoring negative actions to create a Good And Proper girl character which. yeah, isn't much better.

Anyways WOOF that got long but hey I think it was somehow originally longer before it became actual analysis. idk, do you think this checks out? ( oh I added some formatting inspired by how you write posts in hopes it makes it easier to follow...)

Yeah, I don't tend to be a fan of transfem!Eridan works - and even some June works - because a lot of people handle it in ways I just find... Iffy. If it's not weirdly oversexualizing a 13 year old, then it's acting like Transition is a magical Cure-All for every single one of your issues as a person. I don't think it's valuable to pretend that realizing you're Queer automatically deletes any prior character flaws. It's harmful, even - plenty of people will discover their gender doesn't line up with what's been expected of them, or that their attractions aren't a part of the cisheterosexual norm, and... Believe themselves to have done all the legwork necessary to wash their hands clean of any other bigotries. Plenty of Queer people are bigots - be that lateral bigotries, or racism, or ableism, or what-have-you - it's more common than anyone wants to admit. There is a reason that the Progress flag exists, you know?

Eridan and June tend to get flattened down to very stereotypical ideas of the gender of "Girl". June's wildly out of character and portrayed more like fanon!Jade, than... Well, herself as she appears in the comic. Eridan's issues are sanded down to the point where all she is is an evocatively posed barely-teenage mannequin in a skimpy outfit. Both of them are regularly portrayed as having had their issues blip out of existence the second they realized they might not be guys. The transfem!Cronus headcanon will never make sense to me and never be morally okay to me. To say Cronus is Transfeminine is just outright violent Transmisogyny, no matter who it's coming from. That's not even a fucking conversation. It isn't a debate. That's not cute. Really? The guy who fakes minority statuses to try to sleep with people? The aggressive, hyper-bigoted sexual predator? The sex pest who isn't above repeatedly sexually targeting children, one of which he is related to? That? You saw that and thought "That's a trans woman"? Really? You're seriously saying that with zero ounce of shame in your body? Go to hell.

Back to June and Eridan - Part of the issue is Misogyny, yes, but I feel another issue coming to play is that a lot of Tumblr seems to view Queerness as inherently Virtuous, rather than a normal thing that people just happen to be sometimes. Tumblr's prone to very... Unwittingly Catholic mindsets, and Queerness being inherently Morally Cleansing is definitely one of them... And it goes... Extremely unchallenged, all of the time. It's pretty grating, honestly.