#it makes a bad author out of me not to participate in writing for those ships

[onlyswan]

dreamboat | jjk (1)

summary: aboard the dreamboat, jungkook finds himself drawn to a beautiful stranger who appears to be drowning in melancholy. weeks later, he sees her face on the other side of the aquarium at his apartment building’s lobby. he soon learns that it’s not fate’s grand romantic plans that brought you back to his life. / (alt.) / a shipwreck and a dreamboat form an unusual bond in an aquarium.

non!idoljk x f!reader (jk is a business major who works at the amusement park ; oc works at the call center) / strangers to lovers / fluff, angst, suggestive / chapter wc: 14.9k / total fic wc: 30.8k

warnings/content (for full fic): is it an onlyswan fic if nobody cries? ; smoking ; making out ; mention of nude art ; mention of flashing ; panic attack ; a ghost cameo lol ; s*x scandal ; abuse of authority ; harrassment ; jk throws a punch once ; oc drives a motorbike without a helmet once ; vminjin + yeontan cameos :3 ; tae and jk are the same age tho

-> part two (wc: 15.9k) | spotify playlist (open to song recs <3)

note: my not so little summer project <3 i thought i wouldn’t have the opportunity to dedicate this much time to writing again in the near future so here we are! finishing this story alone felt fulfilling but even more so that i get to share it with you. pls treat it with gentle care 🫂 reblogs and feedback r very much appreciated i love talking to you guys🥺 special thanks to my lovely rio for proofreading and being the sweetest friend :") ilyily

࿐ for those who yearn <3

—

“wait! wait for me! don’t close it yet!”

jungkook’s whole life has led up to this moment. 

from running away from his neighbor’s large snobby dogs during childhood— to participating in run for charity marathons mostly, only mostly, to appease his ex-girlfriend by being interested in her interests.

he successfully escaped from his uneventful class today by faking dizziness. half an hour later, he is racing towards one of the few places in this city where he feels something. 

his best friend’s face is still blurry given the distance, but jungkook doesn’t need to clearly see taehyung’s face to know that he is looking at him unimpressed. 

“why are you here? do you even have a ticket?!” taehyung interrogates him once he reaches the gate.

“do i have a ticket? really?” jungkook smirks, tossing his backpack to the ground. 

he crosses over to the other side, and with ease, sneaks his hand in between the bars to push the lock into place. 

“what do you think i work here for?” 

taehyung sighs and mumbles to himself. “fine, my bad. thought we worked to pay for our bills.”

he picks up the backpack and swings it over his shoulder, heading to the control booth. on the other hand, jungkook climbs on the ship the amusement park owner lovingly named the dreamboat. he places his grip on one of the many vines curiously large butterflies are attached to, fully ignoring the existence of the steps. he hoists himself up onto the wooden floor with ease. 

unhappy faces with blank stares. 

he smiles at them cheerfully.

“i apologize for the hold-up. i’m your captain!” 

“jungkook! sit!” 

“wouldn’t he be the captain?” a high school boy at the very front quips, eyes pointing downwards at taehyung. 

“eh, more like the wind behind our sails.” he ruffles the boy’s head in passing as he trudges over to his desired seat. 

“what?”

his spot, a more suitable better term. the farthest row which most first timers do not dare to sit at; the part of the ship closest to the sky when it swings back and forth, higher and higher, until it feels like he’s going to fall off— but he doesn’t. for short bursts of moments, he’s flying. 

the passengers are erupting in ear-splitting screams, curses, and laughter. the wide smile plastered on his face could probably be described as sadistic as he observes their reactions. most would find this ride as a nauseating, life-threatening ordeal and its name ridiculously ironic. however, to jungkook, this is what it means to be alive.

he imagined he would be alone here again today.

but as he is brought higher into the air, he discovers one person strapped to the last row of the other side of the ship. 

the earth begins to move in slow motion. 

they have their face buried in their palms, body shaking with what he can only guess is intense sobbing. 

gone is the smile on his face. 

jungkook has witnessed a few criers, sure, but not to this degree. a wave of sadness washes over him. he feels guilty and he doesn’t know why. why the hell would he be? he doesn’t even know who you are. 

are you that scared? if you’re scared, why would you volunteer to go here alone? if not, then why is your heart breaking? 

for a few seconds, the noises cease and his focus on you becomes amplified. 

and why is his breaking too? 

your sobs and gasps for air are once more drowned out by the fear and adrenaline of the majority. nevertheless, the ache they caused in his chest stays. 

what could it be? the reason you’re crying like this at an amusement park? wouldn’t it be because you got stood up by your date?

lost in thought, he’s been unblinking. the wind blows as the speed of the boat picks up and he groans when dirt gets into his eye. he harshly rubs and rubs and he stops to check if it’s gone… he knows it’s gone because now he can see clearly— one of the most beautiful people he has laid his eyes upon.

the wind blows into your hair and it finally grants him a good view of your face. red, swollen eyes and mascara running. you wipe your tears away, distant eyes falling on your lap, and you take a sharp inhale. you’re a tragedy and so gorgeous still that the aching of his heart doubles due to its intensified pounding. 

there’s no way… he debunks his theory. there’s no way a man could ever waste the opportunity of going on a date with you. only a fool. 

slow motion comes to a full stop.

shit, shit, shit. 

why can’t he look away? 

you’ve made eye-contact and you’re not breaking it. 

he nervously swallows the lump in his throat.

“huh?”

the ringing of the bell snaps him out of… whatever that experience was. he looks around and it is revealed to him that the ship has returned to its neutral position. passengers are already hopping off, including you.

wait, including you… 

when did you get a cap?!

“fuck!” he curses, kicking his feet in annoyance.

he then proceeds to break the promise he swore to himself: never run after a girl again. 

“yah, jungkook! where are you going?! you need to clock in!”

taehyung releases yet another sigh as he loses his best friend among the crowd. nearly at the same time, he hears a thud that originates from the control booth. he blankly stares at the backpack that mysteriously fell off the chair. 

“does he have snacks in here at least?”

—

blue tube top and black baseball cap worn backwards. blue top and black cap. blue top and black cap. jungkook chants in his head like a maniac as he navigates the grounds, trying his best not to lose sight of your back. sweat has started to form as beads on his forehead. he squeezes one eye shut, wary of the sting, before wiping them away with the back of his hand. 

he ran with all his might, but now that you’re almost within reach, he’s suddenly nervous.

“miss- miss! you dropped this!” 

you turn around abruptly so his fingers end up only grazing your arm. the first thing he notices is your knitted eyebrows. he doesn’t know whether it mostly indicates annoyance or confusion. 

you merely glance at the handkerchief on his open palm. “it’s not mine.” 

you walk away from him and you are a magnet he is curiously drawn to. 

he stands in front of you, sweaty and stuttering like a student introducing himself to a class for the very first time. 

“but are you okay? i-i couldn’t help but to notice that you were cry- uh, uhm… you-you seem to  have troubles.” 

he clears his throat, turning his cheek for a second as to avoid melting under your intense gaze. he marvels at your beauty but he can’t pull himself together to admire it from a close distance. 

“sorry, i don’t mean to pry. i’m just concerned.” 

seconds pass and he doesn’t receive any sort of answer. no affirmative nod; not even a roll of the eyes. you stare at his face blankly as your feet become rooted into the ground. strands of your hair dance with gusts of the wind. it could be a haunting sight. your glossy eyes are reminiscent of deep, turbulent waters. there was a twinge of doubt on the accuracy of his words before, however, it now seems to ring true. 

could it really be because of a boy?

a bicycle enters his line of vision. 

a little too close not to cause an accident. 

“move!” he yells out the warning, but he still takes matters into his own hands by pushing you over to the side and using his own body as a shield. 

the bicycle speeds past and the rider screams something unintelligible. 

jungkook’s nostrils flare. “kid, that’s not allowed in here! where did you come from?!” 

the security guard running after the rule-breaker moves past him, but not before hitting his back with the baton. 

“jungkook! why didn’t you stop him?!”

“yah! what was that for?!” 

he scoffs, glaring towards the direction of the intruder and his co-staff, who has an entirely different job from him. why didn’t he stop him?! 

while he was distracted by the commotion, he was also unaware that you managed to swipe the handkerchief loosely hanging from his grip around your arm. 

his angry expression softens. 

you wipe away your tears that are freely flowing against your will. earlier, you were sobbing. right now, your face is devoid of any expression. he can’t decide which is more heartbreaking.

“are you okay?” he carries on to ask again despite the both of you knowing the answer, but he just doesn’t know what else to do. 

“i’m okay,” you say. “thanks for finding my handkerchief… and for saving me from the- the, yeah…” 

you’re about to walk out of his life until his mouth blurts out- “wait! take this!” 

he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. you blink at the small packet of sour gummies on his open palm and he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. 

even he thinks this is ridiculous. he had a handkerchief in the left pocket of his jacket and now it’s yours. he had gummy worms in the right and for some reason he also wants you to have it.

“why?”

he has the same question.

“just because…”

no, that won’t do it.

“maybe it could make you feel better.”

oh my god.

“if you decide to ride the spinning top… it helps when you’re nauseated.”

still with the unreadable expression, you probe no further and accept his edible remedy. 

“thank you.” you politely bow before taking your leave.

he doesn’t run after you this time. after all, his pockets are empty. 

meeting you— this is probably the first and last time. 

he exhales through his mouth. disappointed. he turns around and tries to look for you again. 

blue top and black cap… 

there you are. 

leaving- 

wait. 

the spark of hope quickly fizzles out. you pull your hand out of your pocket, tossing something into one of the trash bins. he’s too far away to identify the item, but it couldn’t be… right?

he huffs in sheer disbelief.

“huh, she’s pretty and rude.” 

—

if he’s being honest, jungkook doesn’t like this job much. graphic design is there, and it’s been a pretty sweet gig especially when he’s desperate for extra cash. anyway, taehyung got this job first, which took away time from their regular hangouts, so he would often visit his best friend during his free periods at the university. long story short, one of the managers scolded them both for playing around throughout taehyung’s shift, and as a punishment, she employed jungkook.  

she is the reason why he is spending his sunday morning putting on strangers�� seatbelts and lap bars so they won’t fall off the rollercoaster and die. he was trained to double-check everything, but he is a bit more paranoid about lawsuits than the management, so despite the extra waiting time some passengers aren’t happy about, he makes that triple. 

as fast as he can, while maintaining meticulousness, he does his final round of checking. so far, everyone is safely strapped to their seats. until he reaches the last row and finds the only person there with their lap bar unlocked. how did he miss that? 

“ma’am, your lap bar isn’t secured. do you mind if i-”

the woman shakes her head without a word. as he gets to work, his eyes can’t help but to stray. most of her face is hidden by a face mask and sunglasses. it’s kind of funny because it’s actually been a gloomy day. 

“ah, there you go. safe and sound!” 

“thanks,”

he flashes her a bright smile. the last and apparently most important employee rule.  

“you’re welcome!” 

—

 

“why aren’t you eating?” taehyung asks with a mouthful of corndog. 

jungkook lifts his head up from the table, sends him a glare, then drops it again. he didn’t get much sleep last night studying for their upcoming tests. he’d much rather spend his whole lunch break with his eyes closed. he’d go as far as saying that moving his jaw to chew food sounds like exerting too much energy and he couldn’t be bothered.

“change shifts with me. i fucking hate sundays.” 

“depends…” taehyung pretends to be in deep thought. “will you buy me a meal everyday until our shifts rotate again?”

“do you want to die?” 

“no, but it looks like you will before me.” 

jungkook yawns, sleepy tears flowing down his temple. “you might be right…”

“were you up all night thinking of that girl?” 

“huh? no.”

“you’re lying.”

“shut up,” he groans, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. 

so a beautiful stranger has been plaguing his mind. big deal! happens to the best of us. 

taehyung cackles at his demise, thoroughly amused. “why? didn’t she throw away your gift?” 

“it wasn’t a gift.” he argues. “and i know, she’s exactly my type.” 

“bro, you’re fucking hopeless.”

“i know that too,” he calmly replies. “i kind of miss her.” 

“at least it’s not your ex anymore, i guess.” taehyung mutters before obnoxiously sipping on his strawberry lemonade. “want to sneak into the security camera room? i’m curious. i want to see her.”

“can’t you just let me sleep?!” 

“wow, you’re so grumpy today.” 

took him long enough to deduce.

“then should we go after your nap?” 

“i need to work!” jungkook snaps. he straightens his back, rubbing his face in frustration. “go- go do whatever you want!”

taehyung’s chewing slows down, appearing almost scared at his best friend’s outburst, but everything is a game with the two of them. “but i don’t know what she looks like.” 

jungkook sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“okay, fine!” 

in a state of exaggerated panic, taehyung gathers his things in one clean sweep, cradling them in his arms. 

“i’m leaving!” he dashes out of the break room as if he’s running for his life. 

jungkook huffs out a laugh at the comedic scene. as soon as his smile drops, so does his head. 

—

 

it’s past midnight, which means it’s already friday. jungkook has been glued to the computer for the past three hours, working on a brochure he was commissioned to make. this task would go along smoothly if only his client didn’t have such a long list of demands, but alas, he is desperate for a good review after his past client’s four paragraph-long criticism. a boomer’s opinions hardly matter to him, but he knows how a single bad review alone can negatively affect reputation. 

one thing’s for sure, everyone’s making it hard for him to fucking quit energy drinks. 

he tosses the empty can into the trash bin beside his desk. away with his anti-radiation glasses, too. it lands in an awkward position over his keyboard. he couldn’t care less. everything hurts. 

he keeps his eyes closed as he stretches his fingers, neck, and back with strained moans and grunts. the sweet relief causes him to slump lazily on his chair. at that moment, an internal battle starts. should he do the responsible thing and continue working? or should he just say fuck it and go to bed? 

“no but seriously! why would she throw them away?!” 

completely unrelated. 

a thousand miles away from the topic at hand. 

“jungkook!” taehyung growls from the bed, furiously pressing at the buttons of the controller. “it’s been two weeks! when are you going to move on?” 

jungkook spins the chair to face him with a deadpan expression. the ps5 hogger is too focused on the television screen to even notice. 

“you wouldn’t expect it but those aren’t cheap.”

“then maybe you shouldn’t have given it away to a stranger.” taehyung shrugs. “but that’s just me.” 

“that was out of my control.” jungkook defends. “you should’ve seen her.” 

“well, you wouldn’t let me.” taehyung mumbles, but he obviously wanted him to hear. “no thanks. crying at the amusement park? she’s got to have some real issues.” 

“so what? we all got issues.” 

“not me,” he sends jungkook a smirk. “if i don’t acknowledge them, they’re not there.” 

“and that, my friend…” jungkook has decided to retire from his work area tonight. he pats taehyung’s shoulder as a display of faux sympathy. “is your biggest issue.” 

wearing a childish grin, he grabs the other controller from the floor.

“now, shall we rank up?” 

—

 

it’s been a few days since summer vacation started. he normally comes home to busan during the school breaks for a temporary taste of childhood bliss. he spends the entire day watching television, eating home-cooked meals, and not thinking about requirements at all.

too bad his vacation is suspended due to his adult responsibilities. 

at least that’s the excuse he used. 

his family has been staying with relatives for the past month because their home is currently under renovation. and well, jungkook’s dorm is suffocating enough on his own. staying under one roof with nine other people? hard. pass.

he may or may not be regretting that decision now, however. all of a sudden, coming home from work with a bag full of ramyeon and beer feels too depressing. even more so that he has no one to share them with. all of his friends have gone home. taehyung, too. he found someone who could temporarily fill in his place and did not think twice about leaving jungkook behind. he can’t blame him.

jungkook enters the apartment building. as always, quiet and dim. he gets that the owner is trying to save money, but isn’t it a bit too early to start turning off the lights? he rolls his eyes despite the lack of a witness. 

they are very lucky that he has grown somewhat fond of this place.

jungkook allows himself to be roped in by the only source of warm light in the lobby. he finds himself incredibly silly for being entertained by goldfishes swimming around in an aquarium, but after a hectic day, this is where his brain cools down. 

“hello everyone,” he coos at them.

do fishes even react to baby talk? he wouldn’t know. the only pet that lasted him years and is still alive is their family dog, gureum. 

“how was your day? i hope it was better than mine.” 

—

 

on the other side of the aquarium stands you, watching a boy talk to the fishes while he is blissfully unaware of your presence. an endeared smile graces your face unbeknownst to you. 

eventually, there arrives a moment when most of the fishes favor a certain side and they clear out before his eyes. 

that is when he finally notices you. 

your heart begins to race, but he appears to be more shocked than you are. you stand up straight nearly at the same time. 

despite the dark, they’re impossible to miss. his breathtaking eyes— which were filled with pure wonder and adoration only seconds ago— growing in size as soon as they saw yours. 

“i know you…” 

a bucket of ice cold water is dumped over your head. 

“the girl who cried at the dreamboat!”

and while you do not appreciate the rather ungentlemanly pointing of finger, you’re glad to be able to breathe out a sigh of relief. 

well, and there’s also the crippling shame.

you didn’t want your first impression on anyone to be the most pitiful version of yourself. 

it’s been over a month for fuck’s sake. how does he remember your face so well?

“wow,” he gapes. “you changed your hair.”

you touch your hair, feeling a little conscious. 

is that a good thing or a bad thing? 

it’s your first time changing your hair color; plus, the last time you had bangs was in middle school. it’s been weeks since you had the big transformation, but you’re not quite sure how you feel about it yet. 

“yeah, light pink…” 

“it suits you well.” 

“thanks,” is all you manage to respond with. 

a gust of awkward silence passes by. there’s the instinct to run away— knocking at your brain, pulling at your limbs. but you can’t think of an excuse. your feet won’t move… eventually you stop minding that. the goldfishes are too beautiful to look away from. they work as the perfect distraction from the other soul standing across. 

“so, um- i’ve never seen you around here.”

“i moved in today.”

“oh, i see… that makes sense.” 

you hum to fill the quietness that follows, thinking of what else you could say, but he beats you to it.

“i live at the 13th floor.“ 

what did he say? do you live on the same floor? that’s impossible.

“how about you?” 

“hm, 10!” 

you blurt out the first number that pops into your mind. you quickly pretend like you’re not freaking out inside by shifting the topic.

“do they-” you gesture to the aquarium. “do they have names?”

“names?” 

the random question seems to catch him off guard.

“none that i’m aware of.” he shakes his head. “i don’t think so- no.”

“oh…” your shoulders sag in disappointment. “that’s sad.”

but then again, you should’ve lowered your expectations and reminded yourself where you are. they were not bought as pets. they were bought for display. 

—

 

the last time jungkook saw you was over a month ago. maybe your face is a tad different because you’re not crying. the new color of your hair compliments you in a way unlike before’s yet just as beautiful. the bangs make much of the difference too. he doesn’t know how old you are, but you look younger somehow. from his point-of-view, he could say that much has changed. but not the melancholia. 

he watches you gaze into the aquarium in fascination; the lights reflect on your eyes as little twinkling stars. you’re not crying, but why can he still feel your sadness? 

he once told taehyung that if you meet again, he’d give you hell for throwing his sour gummies away. 

funny enough, that plan went out the window the second he laid his eyes on you again. 

“do you want to feed them?” he offers. 

“i already did.”

“you did?”

“i did,” you look up at him innocently, nodding. “i asked the guard.”

“aish, he didn’t tell me.” he throws his arms up with a groan. “i almost overfed them.”

you perk up with interest. “do you always feed them?” 

“when i come home from work.”

“that’s nice…” 

the soft smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat, but he doesn’t know it yet. 

“sorry, um-” you begin smoothing out your clothes, also tucking your hair behind your ears. “i need to get to work. it was nice meeting you.”

“work?” he exclaims. “at this time?”

“graveyard shift,” you simply answer. 

pictures of the dark alleyways immediately flash in his mind. 

“but it’s dangerous to be roaming around here at this time.” 

his radar doesn’t detect crimes being reported around the neighborhood, but with the majority of the building’s occupants being young adults, the streets are often littered with drunkards who have many things to be angry about.

“oh, i don’t walk. i’ve got a bike.”

he hasn’t known you long, but this is the most enthusiastic he has seen you. your face lit up as soon as you mentioned your mode of transportation.

however, he is a tiny bit confused.

it shows on his face, apparently.

“the motor kind,” you clarify. 

“ah, the motor kind-” he claps once as soon as the realization dawns on him. he chuckles to himself. “of course!” 

it was important for you to clarify, jungkook concludes from your tone. the fact that you own a bike is sexy, but you look adorable right now and it is so amusing to him. 

“anyway, i need to go. it was nice to meet you!” 

your heels click against the floor as you head towards the same door he walked in from.

“see you around!” he yells, still wearing a wide grin. 

he remains standing there even though you’re already gone from sight. 

hit with a useless yet concerning epiphany, he blinks.

“she rides the motorbike wearing heels?”

—

 

jungkook’s misery has been pushed to the back of his mind, replaced by an overwhelming giddiness that causes him to drop everything on the floor and jump on his bed. he buries his head into the pillow, but it does nothing to erase the happy grin that’s threatening to make his cheeks sore.

what a small world, huh? 

what is this if not fate?

he flips over and stares at the ceiling as if it’s the starry night sky.

this might just become the best summer of his life. 

—

jungkook comes out fresh from the shower clad only in a pair of black boxer shorts. he hangs the towel he was drying his hair with over his nape, heading to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. he rips the lid of the cup ramyeon halfway, and as he pours hot water into it from the electric kettle, your face appears on his mind again. 

wait, there’s something wrong…

he tilts his head to the side, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to figure out what it is he forgot.

“ah, i’m so stupid!”

he totally forgot to ask your name! 

“shit!” he shouts in higher volume when he realizes that the water has overflowed and is now dripping to the floor. 

he puts the kettle down, taking a few steps back from the mess he made. praise heavens the water wasn’t hot enough for his toes to suffer anything more than a first-degree burn. 

he starts to look around for anything he can wipe the floor with, his tongue poking his inner cheek. 

“still having a bad day.” 

—

but a bad day isn’t enough to break down jungkook’s spirit. he knows there will always come a tomorrow, so he seizes that tomorrow and comes home from work as fast as he can. there’s a big chance that you leave for work around the same time, right? 

so he sits down on the sofa facing the aquarium, and he waits. 

his head turns to the elevator each time it dings.

he taps his foot on the floor.

he checks tomorrow’s weather forecast on the app. clear skies. no chance of rain. high humidity levels.

he goes through the magazines laid out on the coffee table. he learns five ways to get over heartbreak. according to the quiz, he has a sweet and passionate personality based on the flavor of his lip balm. he thinks it’s pretty accurate. strawberry, he strokes his non-existent beard. could never go wrong with it.

next thing he knows, the clock strikes twelve. 

he can no longer control his excessive yawning but his stomach is just screaming for the pack of jjajangmyeon in his cupboard. 

he presses the elevator button with a tight-lipped smile. he’s disappointed that he didn’t see you at all today, but he was raised to have a positive outlook in life. you live in the same building. you have to run into each other again one of these days. 

—

what does jungkook hate more than normal sundays? sundays when he didn’t get enough sleep. 

for some reason, he’s still tragically stuck with working on the worst day of the week despite his repeated objections. the only upside to this particular sunday is that he is assigned to the ferris wheel. in exchange for thrice the amount of his daily wage in discreet tips, what happens in some of those cabins are none of his business. 

if he ends up getting reassigned, he would be pretty fucking pissed off. 

he’s restless as the elevator descends to the ground floor. he’s munching on a protein bar, jogging in place as to warm up his body for a race to the bus stop. 

he can’t be the one manning the bump cars. bump cars are the worst. those kids hit you on purpose, he swears. 

the elevator dings and he runs.

until an eye-catching color forces him to pull the brakes. his sneakers squeak against the tiled floor. 

your back may be facing him, but he can recognize you from that cotton candy hair even from a mile away. you’re right where he was hoping you’d be last night, conversing with one of the janitors. this really isn’t the best time for your paths to cross again, given the reasons he was just grouching about, but his feet refuse to move. 

you go on your tiptoes to sprinkle fish feed into the aquarium. you’re so adorable in your pajamas; you’re almost drowning in the black and white checkered cloth. are those yours in the first place?

“everything you need to know is written here… how much- how often you should feed them depending on the seasons, depending on how big they’ve gotten… jungkook worked really hard in researching. impressive, don’t you think?”

“i see…” he is finally granted his wish to hear your soft voice. “but why don’t they have names?”

the janitor scratches his head at your question. “they look too alike to have names.” 

“hello! i heard my name!” jungkook pops in without a warning, causing mister park to flinch and slap a hand over his chest in shock. 

“jungkook! i’m 71 years old! you could’ve killed me!” 

“oh, that’s right-” he gasps. “grandpa, i’m sorry!”

jungkook attacks him with a bear hug, playfully rocking their bodies back and forth hoping that would calm down his vulnerable heart. for a brief moment, he feels like a child again. 

“this is jungkook.” 

the introduction was already made for him. that’s one less thing he has to overthink. 

“____ here wants to feed the fishes every morning from now on. i told her it’s perfectly alright with me.” the janitor laughs. “with my age, you know how forgetful i’ve become.” 

“really?” he breaks away, surprised by what he just learned. “that’s so nice!” 

“it’s nothing. i’m happy to do it.” you smile and make eye-contact with him, but you soon break it, opting to glance at the aquarium. 

you must like fishes a lot. he only felt bad for them because the janitor on night shift doesn’t give a single fuck about them; that’s why he did all that research hoping it would help with committing to the responsibility, which jungkook ended up shouldering in the end anyway. but you… you’ve been here for what? two? three days? 

“tell you what…” he brings out the pen he keeps in the side pocket of his backpack. “this- this is my phone number. if you need anything, or incase you need someone else to feed them, contact me!” 

he scribbles down his phone number on the notepad grandpa was showing you before his rude interruption. 

“by the way, my unit is 1311. you can also just-” he knocks on the thin air, clicking his tongue to mimic the sound. “knock on my door.” 

jungkook’s watch beeps twice everyday, once at 8:50am and then at 11pm sharp. the sun is burning bright and his shift starts at 9am. yes, he is nervous infront of a girl who is drop-dead gorgeous, but he should also be very much nervous about the (unfair) deduction from his measly salary. 

“okay, i need to run to work! goodbye!” 

—

so, his name is jungkook…

you crane your head to watch him rush out of the building. the uncomfortable sound of his sneakers squeaking against the floor makes you grimace. 

the page he wrote his number on is ripped off from the notepad and handed to you. 

“he’s a good kid.”

you force yourself to smile, and it slowly fades as you tilt down your chin and stare at the string of numbers in blue ink.

long after the janitor has left to fulfill his long list of tasks, you remain standing by the aquarium. 

“you do have someone taking good care of you.” you whisper to the clueless fishes, caressing the glass. a genuine smile appears when two of them swim towards you, beady eyes trying to make sense of the stranger loitering around their homey cage. “you can breathe well and you’re warm in the winter. that’s a relief.” 

after feeding them, next on the agenda is to cook your own breakfast. you head for the elevator, tossing the crumpled up paper into the trash bin before pressing the arrow pointing towards north. 

—

“hyung…”

“why?” 

jungkook sighs. “can you text me?” 

“text you what?” seokjin’s forehead creases in confusion. 

“anything. i just need to make sure my phone still works.” 

thursday has been a slow day at the amusement park despite the school vacation and no one has tried to win a teddy bear since the place opened. seokjin is more than happy to spend his free time playing games on his phone in his own little corner at the amusement park. 

well, that was before jungkook got bored at the ping pong toss booth and decided to hang out at the other side of the wall. 

he shrugs and texts his younger friend the word ‘anything’ just to get him off his back. he goes back to playing his game, not curious enough to interrogate him with additional questions. 

jungkook’s text tone rings at max volume. 

“it does work!” he yells in exasperation, flopping down at his seat. “why hasn’t she texted me?”

“you were whining about the same thing the other day.” seokjin muses as his car crosses the finish line. second place. “you fool, just text her first.”

“i don’t have her number.”

“what do you mean you don’t have her number?”

“i gave her mine.” jungkook says quietly. “we live in the same building and i told her to contact me if she needs anything.”

“then i guess it’s safe to say that she doesn’t need anything from you.” 

“seriously, why can’t i have friends that are nice to me?!” 

seokjin bursts out laughing, definitely not a stranger to jungkook and taehyung’s bickering at the break room. 

“you did this one to yourself! jungkook, flirt better!” 

“easier said than done,” jungkook pouts. 

you make him nervous. his brain goes blank when you’re around. in addition to that, he doesn’t know what you’re going through and he’s scared that you’d end up pushing him away if he oversteps. 

“i gave her candy when we first met and she threw them away.” 

“oh, that’s right,” seokjin loads a new game, snorting. “taehyung told me about that.” 

jungkook’s jaw drops. “is he backstabbing me?”

—

jungkook enters the break room with yet another item from the lost-and-found. it’s been over two weeks since he found this orange beanie on the ground. must’ve fallen from the rollercoaster, that’s his best guess. 

since no one has claimed it— “finders keepers,” he grins as he stuffs it into his backpack. 

“thief,” seokjin jokingly accuses him from the other side of the table. “that’s how you were raised?”

“says the one who took the sony headphones yesterday.” 

“i won it fair and square!” 

he’d argue with the older man again, but his phone vibrating has stolen his full attention. he is hit with disappointment at the same moment that he snatches it from the table. it’s his mom, again, asking him when he’s coming home. 

“you need to stop doing that. it’s getting sad.”

he sighs, hugging his backpack to hide his pitiful face. “i am sad.” 

—

his walks home from the bus stop have always been a period for reflection and pondering. the streets of seoul are scattered with his indecision, worries, and anger. since his mother has been asking him for months, should he just go home and endure their living situation? maybe it’s better to be annoyed with the presence of people instead of being blue with a lack thereof. 

so much for being independent. he spent most of high school anticipating the day he gets to move out, now he wants nothing but to go home. he can’t help but to think that life is but a vicious cycle of wanting and losing. 

too lost in thought, he fails to realize right away that he has entered his apartment building’s vicinity. it’s the smell of cigarette smoke that brings him back to reality. the alley is dark, but he can make out the silhouette of a figure crouched down on the ground. assuming that it’s one of the guards hiding to smoke, he soundlessly enters the confined space with mischief up his sleeve. 

when he gets close enough, the first thing he sees is the tip of the cigarette still burning red as the smoker takes a puff.

a car with blinding headlights zooms past.

it becomes unmistakable then— the identity of the person ten feet away from him. 

there’s no one around here with same hair color. 

none that he knows of anyway. 

he is motionless; clueless as to what he should do. he should probably turn his back and leave. pretend this never happened. he never saw anything. 

he can’t even be hung up on the fact that you smoke. if he thinks back on his past experiences with dating, this would’ve been a turn-off, but he loses the ability to care. the smoke in his lungs is negligible when your wounded sobs are breaking his heart. it’s ridiculous that the urge to also cry is spreading fast in his system, but he had a long day and he feels really fucking shitty. 

you were going to notice his presence eventually. 

he doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

you lift your head, and eye-contact is made. none of you chooses to speak a word. 

you’re as beautiful as the day he first met you.

you stand on your feet and you step on the cigarette, on the emotional connection he swore you had, crushing it under the weight of your boot. 

he blinks away the tears threatening to escape his eyes. he should say something; offer an apology for intruding on a vulnerable moment, but you walk past him before he could form the words, shoulder harshly bumping against him. 

could have it been on purpose? 

“____!” he says your name for the first time, for what sounds like a plea. he follows you home like a lost puppy. “i’m sorry, i-i wasn’t… i thought you were another person… are you okay?”

“what do you think?” you spit out. the delicate voice he knows isn’t there, gone harsh and hoarse. 

“is there anything i can do?”

no response. 

he tries again. “anything at all?” 

“oh my god, can’t you take a hint? leave me alone!” 

your sudden outburst sends him stumbling backwards, the sensation of your hands on his chest still lingering despite the distance that was forcefully created between the two of you. 

“i don’t know you! stay away from me!” 

your infuriated voice echoes throughout the lobby. he is shocked. dumbfounded. his eyes, out of focus, seek your face, and he finds you heaving with tearful eyes. 

he makes an attempt to speak, something to defend himself with, but in the end, he still says, “i’m sorry.” 

a woman walks out of the elevator, and you immediately enter without looking back. jungkook remains standing where he is, with strangers’ eyes on him as if he has committed a grave crime.

—

you slam the door shut, hand still covering your mouth shut despite no one being around to hear your cries. you don’t bother turning on the lights. your shoulder bag falls somewhere on the floor and you collapse on the bed, still in your jeans and your heels hanging off your feet. 

nothing matters anymore.

you’re suffering the punishment of somebody else’s crime. you’ve been casted out, stripped away of your dreams and your dignity. your life is over and you’ve accepted that, but maybe you haven’t. all is unfair. you’re so fucking angry but you’re too tired to feel it. and you’re alone. so alone. no one is on your side and it’s not fair. 

you try to scream out, anything to release your pent-up rage, but it doesn’t happen. apparently, that’s what happens when enough people tell you to bite your tongue raw. 

they say we curl up into the fetal position as a natural response to stress and anxiety because it mimics the sense of security we had when we were in our mother’s womb. the way you see it, your body will always be yours and it is the only one that you need.

so you curl up and you put your arms around yourself. you pat your own back until your wrist falls limp from exhaustion, and you keep your eyes closed until you fall into a deep sleep.  

you pray to god that you never wake up.

—

you fail to achieve peace even in your dreams. in what is supposedly an imaginary land, you were being chased by faceless agitators with torches and pitchforks. you were crying and screaming, running on bare and bloody feet, tripping on branches and the stones they were throwing. 

you open your eyes to darkness.

just as you predicted; nobody listens. 

you feel nothing anymore and you hope it stays that way. if you can’t escape it, then perhaps, you can be desensitized to its horrors. 

you force yourself to sit up on the bed, spending an unknown length of time staring into the void. 

the first coherent thought formed in your head… no, not a thought… a person. 

your bare feet brave the cold floor. the switch of the desk lamp is flicked as you sit at your desk. you grab a pen to write something on the free space of your opened journal pages. 

under those numbers, you note down the name of the owner in cursive.

—

after the shitshow that transpired earlier, sleep became impossible for jungkook. 

he doesn’t quite understand how he feels about you. however, it’s currently clear that there’s a part of him that’s pissed off. you made yourself very clear. he should maintain distance from now on. that’s the sensible, respectable thing to do. at this point, attempts at initiating any form of relationship with you appear to be futile. you’re a stranger to him, as you emphasized. this shouldn’t be as complicated as it is in his head… but fuck, the memories of your tear-stained face is corrupting his ability to rationalize.

it’s 2:33am. he’s been playing the guitar infront of the camera for an hour and a half already. the comment section is flooded by sleep-deprived people like him, sending song requests and questions about his personal life. 

yes, he’s about to be in third year college. 

no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. 

no, he can’t mention where he lives… but sure, he can sing ‘beautiful’ by crush. 

“what do you mean? i just finished playing it ten seconds ago!” he squints as he scrolls through the new wave of comments. “sorry, art commissions are still closed. i’m behind on my workload… no, i’m not sleepy! don’t send me to bed yet… knees by iu? i love that song. should i play that next?”

his phone vibrates with a new text message, nearly causing it to fall from the stack of books he set it up on. 

“oh- what was tha- what do i do? wait, everyone. i need to check on something!”

the live is temporarily put on pause. 

“who is this?”

his eyebrows knit in confusion when he is greeted by an unregistered phone number.

  2:45am

hi, jungkook. this is ____. i wanted to apologize for my behavior at the lobby earlier. i understand you were only concerned. i’m so sorry. i’d love to buy you coffee some time to make it up to you, if that’s ok. 

this is real, right? he’s awake. he’s not hallucinating. the text message indicates your name and it says that you’d love to buy him coffee some time. 

a gasp leaves his mouth, his hand flying up to seal his lips. 

you texted him. you finally texted him.

he was starting to get convinced that you also threw away his number, but you didn’t! 

he weakly sets down the phone, brain still processing the message you sent. does this make sense?

“i shouldn’t reply right away… maybe in the morning…” he nods to affirm myself. “that’s right.” 

he begins chuckling out of nowhere. soon enough, those chuckles become chortles. he must be going insane. he picks up the phone and reads the message again. 

“she sounds pretty even in chat. how is that possible?” he spins on his chair, so carefree. “but honestly, is one coffee enough for what she did?” 

he shakes his head with a click his tongue. 

“i don’t think so…”

hold on…

it feels like he’s forgetting something…

“ah, the live!” he jumps on his seat in panic. 

he swipes out of the text message to go back to the app where he abandoned his thousand viewers.

“sorry, i made money.” he mumbles to himself. “i should end it now.” 

—

his mood has done a 180. his routine consists of feeding the fishes dinner, and then himself, but he decided to skip the second part earlier for reasons that he has forgotten by now. 

his stomach growls at his selfish decision. 

given the time, he considered food delivery, but the fee made him exit the app immediately. he hasn’t gone to the grocery store as of recent either. the fridge has been wasting electricity, but his pride won’t let him turn it off. 

how did people live without convenience stores before? that is what jungkook marvels about as he crosses the long hallway to reach the elevator. 

a door ahead opens, and he would ignore it if not for one of the two people who comes out from the other side of it. 

there is a man in his late 20’s, and then there is… you. 

you are the deer and jungkook is the blinding headlights. 

—

the coffee you originally offered jungkook has turned into a full meal. when you arrived at the convenience store, he knew what he wanted right away. he grabbed the biggest cup of ramyeon and tteokbokki, an egg, sausage, and cheese. he refused to let you pay for them at first, but there was nothing left to do after you handed the cashier the money. 

the action was done out of obligation rather than will, but seeing how much he’s enjoying the food, you’re a little less displeased with the circumstances. 

“is that all you’re eating? we can share mine.” 

“it’s okay. i’m not that hungry.” 

with the money you had left, you were able to afford a roll of gimbap. maybe it’s not enough to make you full, but it’s enough to satiate your hunger. you slowly chew the food in your mouth, an effort to hide your smile as you discretely observe jungkook devour his rabokki. 

“the man from earlier, is he your brother?”

your chewing is put on pause. “how did you know?” 

“how? it’s easy!” 

he cheekily points at his nose using his chopsticks. 

“you have the exact same nose.” 

“ugh,” you grimace. “i’m tired of hearing that.” 

your list of similarities ends there. he’s the golden child and you’re the black sheep. if your parents find out that he comes to visit you and he sends you money, they’d only see you in worse light.

“i know,” jungkook scrunches his nose. “i have an older brother too.” 

cute. 

“so… why did you lie?”

he’s seriously asking you like this? so casually?

you awkwardly set down your food on the table and you take your time sipping at your coffee to buy yourself some time.

—

“i was embarrassed with what happened before… me crying at the boat and everything…”

you’re having a hard time looking at jungkook in the eye. sensing your discomfort, he wants to punch himself for being so careless with his tone. until moments before, he felt too offended to consider the fact that you never owed him an explanation. 

“you don’t have to be. it’s okay.” he reassures you. “we all have bad days.”

it doesn’t work the way that he thought it would. when you start laughing, he is lost. 

“did i say something funny?” he chuckles along nervously. 

“that quote, ‘it’s just a bad day, not a bad life.’” 

“yeah?” 

“it’s the opposite for me. it’s not just a bad day; it’s a bad life.”  

you speak with such endearing humor and it works like a charm in making the atmosphere lighter. he’d pass it off as a self-deprecating joke, but based on your few yet impactful encounters so far, he doesn’t think you’re stretching the truth far. if he’s being honest, if your first meeting happened differently, he’d assume that you’re living a perfectly comfortable life based on your appearance alone.

“even now, i’m too embarrassed to show my face to you. but we’re neighbors, so i’ll try to get over it.”

“tell you what, let’s start with a clean slate.” he eagerly makes a proposal. “you can erase all the embarrassing memories of you from my brain.”

“h-how do i do that?” 

“flick my forehead!”

you blink, eyes darting around as you try to make sense of what he said. “i was expecting some sort of stupid hypnosis.”

“or that,” he switches up, slapping the table as if you just came up with something revolutionary. 

why did he say flick his forehead anyway? he knows you gotta have an overwhelming amount of pent-up emotions. you could go deku on him and blow his head off. 

“let’s do that!”

“no, i like it.” you almost interrupt him. “i’ll flick your forehead.” 

but he did suggest it… and you act so gentle and sophisticated. he doubts that you would make it hurt. 

“here i go!”

he gets his bangs out of the way. “okay!”

he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact. “please have mercy.” 

son of a bitch. that hurt. 

“ow!” he rubs the affected area, face twisting in pain. his eyes flicker to you in disbelief. “you didn’t hold back, huh?!” 

you smile at him sweetly. “did it work?”

  —

“you fed them, right?”

“of course i did. you?”

“yes, this morning.”

“okay, that’s good.”

you and jungkook sit in silence after that, eyes twinkling with wonder as they follow the stunning movements of the goldfishes. 

deep inside, he’s feeling restless. you make him nervous, and he’s also nervous about you noticing that he’s nervous. it’s been a tireless cycle. 

he sneaks a glance at you.

perhaps he’s overthinking again. it seems like you don’t even care that he’s less than an arm’s length from you. 

he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed. 

he sighs without a sound, comfortably leaning all of his weight on the couch. 

“it’s called the dreamboat.”

“what is?” 

the boat you cried in— can’t say that. you might flick his forehead again. 

“at the amusement park.” 

“oh…”

it falls silent. 

jungkook is thankful when you have a follow-up question because he hasn’t thought of a new topic yet. 

“i wonder why they called it that.”

“oh, because the owner’s daughter loves boats!” he shares one of the few fun facts he learned over the past year. “that’s why it was designed like it came from a fairy tale too.” 

a mirthful smile forms on your face “my guess was too far off.” 

“what was it?” 

“mhmm,” you hum, folding your arms over your chest. “dreamboat is a word used to describe a handsome man, right?”

jungkook nods his head like he knew that all along. no, he didn’t. 

“so i imagined the owner met their handsome partner on a boat- no, or a ship,” the epiphany hits you in the middle of your sentence. “they have to be rich since they built an amusement park.”

a romantic. you imagined a love story based on a word alone. jungkook’s teeth dig into his lower lip as he tries to tame his wide grin. 

“that does sound like a good theory.” he casually bends over, resting his elbows over his spread thighs. “i think i like it better than the truth.”

“how did you know that though? the truth?”

he shrugs. “i work there.”

“you work there?” your voice goes up a pitch. “i didn’t know…”

“you? do you study or work?”

“call center,” you answer to get it over with. to his surprise, your body language shifts and you’re now facing him. “what’s it like working there? is it fun?” 

apparently, a job at the amusement park is now joining his very short list of your interests: after motorbikes, smoking, and fishes.

“it has good days and bad days…” he trails off. he hasn’t truly given this much thought, so he’s also learning about himself. “but i didn’t expect it to be as fun as it is. sometimes it’s boring, but when it’s fun, it’s really fun.”

you scoot closer. “do you get to ride for free?”

ah, yes, the deciding factor when he was offered the job. 

“there’s an employee discount, actually! but i do it for free anyway…” he shyly scratches his head. “don’t tell anyone i said that.” 

“i don’t have anyone to tell.” 

his heart skips a beat when he hears your laugh genuinely for the first time. quiet and delicate and airy— you grace this blue summer night like a spring breeze that takes away with it everything that burdens your mind and heart. 

once again, the aquarium becomes the most interesting collection of atoms in the building. as for him, he is still unable to keep his eyes off you. 

“did you have a pet fish growing up? you really like them a lot.”

“no,” you reply. “i didn’t care about them until now.”

“really?” his eyes grow wide. “wow, i seriously thought you were a marine life enthusiast, or something like that.” 

you give him a look. “i thought you were a marine life enthusiast.”

“we were both wrong.” he shrugs. “but what made you care about them so much now?”

“i don’t know. i just thought of something when i was looking at them.” 

he feels your hesitance to continue. your eyes connect briefly and he communicates that he’s listening with an open mind.

“they’re different from other pets, you know, like cats and dogs. they can’t make a sound when they’re in pain.” 

in the dark room, he sees the melancholy seeping from the cracked edges of you. although you act relaxed, your spoken thoughts paint the picture of a person whose sensitivity and sympathy touch upon everything. 

“there should at least be somebody who cares enough to check up on them and make sure that they’re alive and well.” 

“…and you wanted to be that somebody for them.” he concludes with a hushed voice, more to himself than you. 

“but it turns out they have you already.”

“it’s not just me now.”

he mirrors your soft smile. it’s nice to see your frown turned upside down for a change. what was weighing down on him has become lighter, and he hopes it’s the same for you.

“the sun is about to rise.” you announce after a peek at the grandfather clock. “we should go home.”

jungkook isn’t a big fan of comfortable silence, but he can get used to it. he maintains a respectable distance from you in the elevator, engaging himself with the ascending number of floors on the screen. when the door opens, you’re the first to step out and he follows suit. 

your destination isn’t far. you pause in front of unit 1303.

“uhm, this is me.” 

yup, the same door he saw you come out of. 

“i’m not far, just at the end of the hall. 1311, if you ever need anything.”

your eyes trace the direction of where he’s pointing before you nod in understanding. with a hand gripping the door handle, you offer him one final smile.

“goodnight, jungkook.”

—

if others cheese over good morning texts first thing after opening their eyes, then jungkook’s case is one of a kind. 

he rolls over to his side, puffy eyes from sleep forming thinner crescent moons as he zooms in on your reflection on the glass. 

  10:08am

[attached image]

they’re happy and fed :)

10:10am

[attached image]

babies are getting bigger

this is how his mornings have been going for the past two weeks. he wakes up and he checks his phone for fish breakfast updates from you. in return, he sends fish dinner updates to you at night. he was the first one to send you a picture following the night you awkwardly bumped into each other. he didn’t want to wait around anymore.

were his palms sweaty? did he throw his phone on the bed after? 

no longer relevant. 

he now knows that your favorite color is blue and you have wednesdays and fridays off for the next month. that’s pretty cool. 

another thing he’s taken notice of is that you don’t use emojis or emoticons aside from the smiley face. 

although, there was once a miracle.

he scrolls up until he reaches your conversation from four days ago.

  11:59pm

LOL i’m actually allergic to seafood ㅜㅜ

😭😭😭

“ah, i’m annoyed!” he kicks his feet; half of the blanket falls to the floor. “she’s so cute!” 

things are indeed going great, greater than he imagined, but if he has to complain, he wishes he could see you in person more. he’s at work when you’re home and vice versa, so you don’t cross paths despite living on the same apartment floor. that 3am encounter was a rare phenomenon, it turns out. he chanced upon you a few times while running to work and you were feeding the fishes breakfast, but those conversations were barely conversations. 

‘i just thought of something when i was looking at them… they can’t make a sound when they’re in pain.’

he hasn’t stopped thinking about that. 

—

“when are you asking her out on a date?”

taehyung is on a mission to tease him for life even from daegu. he’s only thankful that his best friend isn’t video calling him from the toilet again because he’s currently having his lunch. 

“i don’t know.” he grouches. “it doesn’t feel like the right time. i don’t want to scare her off.” 

“when’s that ‘right time’?” 

“i’ll figure it out…” he sighs, setting down the half-eaten sandwich on the table. “how do i say it…? i feel like- hm, she’s no- she’s not in the best emotional state right now.” 

“so you admit it,” taehyung raises an eyebrow, smirking. “she has issues.”

that didn’t sit right with jungkook at all. he feels obligated to defend your honor. 

“hey, stop being rude. you haven’t even met her yet.” 

“come on, bro! i’m only looking out for you.” 

the atmosphere shifts into a more serious tone.

“i don’t want you to get hurt trying to fix another person again. it was hard to watch.”

he moved on and learned his lesson— he wants to spit out as a rebuttal, but his best friend gave him much to think about. would it make sense to say that he’s moved on but he hasn’t healed? 

“i know,” is what he ends up saying absentmindedly, distracted by thoughts that he isn’t keen on sharing. 

and as if he’s been slapped back into reality, he fixes his posture and picks up his sandwich. “so, what’s up? have you even slept yet?”

“no,” taehyung responds nonchalantly. between the two of them, he absolutely has the more fucked up sleeping schedule. “i’ve been awake since 12am.”

“didn’t you say you’d spend the entire vacation sleeping?”

“this vacation was a trap.”

the camera darts to the abandoned mop on the floor.

“my mom makes me do all the chores everyday. this is worse than my actual job!” 

a devilish grin is drawn on jungkook’s face. ah, the grass is always greener on the other side.

  

—

“mondays stay to be a pain in the ass.”

does it look like he’s exhausted and dirty from chasing around children all day? jungkook is stressed as he checks himself out on his front camera. he’s walking home from the bus stop after clocking out of work. 

the street is mostly quiet, until a roaring engine approaches and he cringes at the raucous sound assaulting his eardrums. he’s already at the sidewalk for his safety and in accordance with the law, but he feels compelled to stay further back and wait for the vehicle to pass by. 

seconds later, a black harley races past.

jungkook is dumbfounded as he tries to piece the puzzle together. 

the lights are bright, and your pink hair blowing with the wind is even brighter. 

“w-was that…?”

—

he was going to bring it up over text last night, but he decided to reserve it for physical conversation because he wants to see your face light up again. 

you’re so fucking cool. 

he’s both amazed and envious. 

also, he’s pretty damn sure that you’re rich. he doesn’t understand why you’re living in this place and enduring the graveyard shift at the call center. 

a foolish smile is permanently plastered on his face as he sketches a commissioned digital portrait. he really should focus, or else he might end up drawing you instead of his client. 

he spins on his chair, pushing the wheels towards the bed, where he comfortably extends his feet over. almost missed it. the power has been out for an hour and he doesn’t expect it to come back until dawn. he was pissed about this being a normal occurrence during the first year of his stay here, but he’s gotten quite used to it. invested in a powerbank that almost looks like it can charge a car’s battery and he’s all set. 

the aggressive pounding at the door drowns out the pop ballad he’s listening to.

“what? who could it be at this hour?” 

he pauses the song, turning up the brightness of his ipad to use it as a makeshift flashlight. 

the last person he expected to appear at his door says the last thing he expected them to say. 

“jungkook, i think there’s a ghost in my apartment.”

—

jungkook sets down a hot cup of tea infront of you. in his mind, he thanks himself for keeping everything his mom sends him, even the things he do not like. 

“thanks,” you mumble, picking it up by the handle. 

he patiently sits on the other side of the table for two, giving you the time to calm yourself down from the horror that you witnessed. he has his emergency light propped up on the kitchen counter. he was saving it for when he finds himself in a grave situation, like a total blackout or an apocalypse. he didn’t imagine he’d end up using it for an unusual night like this. 

“are you feeling better?” he asks worriedly.

you nod. “yeah, i just don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“i’m here. you can stay until whenever you want.”

“thank you.”

you sigh with your eyes closed. you look like life has been drained out of you. 

“i’m really scared, jungkook.”

“are you sure about what you saw? i mean, it’s dark. your mind could’ve been playing tricks on you.”

“i saw him. i really him saw him!” you frantically defend yourself. “i was washing my hands then i turned around and i saw him, sitting at the edge of my bed! he looked at me!” 

his heart drops to his stomach when your chin begins to wobble and he sees your eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

“and his skin was burnt off, jungkook.” you enunciate the words to emphasize the severity of what you experienced. “it’s so horrifying, i had to run.” 

“hey hey hey- it’s okay. i believe you.” he squeezes your cold, trembling hands. “you’re safe now. it’s only us here. no spirits- i promise.” 

he’s losing his mind a little bit. he’s holding the hands of the girl he likes and her pinky is wrapped around his. you’ve been putting him through a rollercoaster that, for once, he is terrified of. he wants to bask in this moment… but the specific detail you revealed is bothering him.

“and you said… he was burnt?” 

“yeah, why?”

he presses his lips in a thin line, shaking his head. “no, it’s nothing.”

“there’s something.” you stop crying. “i see it on your face.”

“i swear, it's nothing!”

“you’re lying!” you accuse him. “what is it?”

“forget it, ____.”

“jungkook,” you say his name sternly. “tell me.”

shit, he’s done for. you can’t do this to him when he’s trying to protect you.

he swallows nervously. “but i don’t want to scare you.” 

“i saw a ghost. what else can scare me?”

“the truth is…” he pauses, still weighed down by hesitance. but he realizes he has reached the point of no return. also, you’re squeezing his hands a little too tight. “this building had to be restored. it burned down a decade ago. people suspect there was foul play, but the firemen said it was faulty wiring.” 

he’s the one telling the story, but he also feels chills run down his spine. 

“oh… so you’re saying…”

“i… believe so?” he winces with a mix of guilt and fear. “but it’s the first time i’m hearing of a ghost story here. i haven’t had any encounter either.” 

“i need to move.” you declare, not an ounce of humor in your voice. 

“don’t!” he protests. 

perhaps a little too passionately. could he be any more obvious? 

“what do you mean? you need to leave too!”

“i can’t,” he fakes a pained expression. “who’s going to take care of the fishes?” 

that works like a charm. 

you untangle your hands and lean against the chair, transforming into a pensive state. 

if he wasn’t going to convince you to stay, the fishes would. 

“fuck,” you curse in a low whisper, sipping on your tea. 

—

“i’m not the spoiled brat you think i am.” you frown, dangling your feet from the bed. “i sleep on the floor too.” 

“i’d be rude if i let you do that.” jungkook insists as he fluffs his pillow. “i’m comfortable right here. i’m used to it.” 

he was relieved that you weren’t stubborn enough to go back to your place and force yourself to sleep there. after seeing how terrified you were, it would’ve been impossible for him to close his eyes and shut down his brain from worrying. he hasn’t seen a ghost, but they have to be real. he likes to believe that we do not cease to exist and we have some place to go when we die. however, that does co-exist with being alarmed by a ghost of a burnt body sitting on your bed. he isn’t going to let you go back in there tonight. no way.

“you should get some rest. just tell me if you need anything, okay?”

“thank you, jungkook.” 

“it’s no problem!”

his name sounds so sweet when it comes from your lips. he can’t help but to feel giddy every time he hears it. 

you lie down on the bed, facing the portable fan strategically set up on jungkook’s gaming chair. on the other hand, the emergency light is at the nightstand, acting as a night lamp. 

he checks the time on his ipad: 1:48am. his battery percentage: 55%. he’s not yet sleepy, so he decides to continue working until he gets the low battery warning for 20%. 

sitting down without back support becomes too uncomfortable after a while, especially when drawing. he doesn’t realize it when he changes positions, too focused on drawing the intricate floral patterns on the client’s blouse. 

“is that your girlfriend?” 

jungkook turns his head towards the voice and your face is only inches away from his. the word stops for a moment.

“is she okay with me sleeping here?” 

he scoots a little further away to grant his racing heart some mercy. “u-uhmm, no.”

“no…?” you repeat slowly, sounding concerned.

“no, as in she’s not my girlfriend!” he further elaborates in distress. “i don’t have a girlfriend.”

“okay, cool. you scared me.” you huff out a chuckle. “i don’t like being the girl who causes problems.” 

“no, you’re safe.” he manages to also laugh. “no one’s coming to pull your hair.”

“then who is she?” you point at the screen with your pouted lips, particularly the reference photo that’s been burnt to his memory. 

“a client. people pay me to draw them.”

“oh, so she’s one of your french girls?” you crack a humorous remark.

the reference catches him off guard, even though he should’ve totally seen it coming.

he squints. “mhmmm, i guess? kind of like that… except they’re not, you know, naked.”

“i see,” you hum in interest. “you don’t like doing nude drawings?” 

“honestly? i don’t know. i’ve never done it before.” 

“no one’s asked you?”

he shakes his head. “no one,”

“would you do mine if i ask you to?” 

he secretly pinches his thigh to prove that he’s not dreaming. 

what the fuck?

did he hear you right? 

it sounded like such a genuine and casual question in the name of art, but the worst thing he could do while his crush is sleeping over is to imagine her naked. he feels the warmth spread across his cheeks, possibly reaching his ears. 

“hey, breathe!” you giggle with a push of his shoulder. “you don’t have to answer that. sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“sorry, i was just surprised.” 

he forces himself to laugh and act like the question isn’t putting him through a crisis in so many levels. 

“i’ll let you finish your work.” you smile at him, pulling up the blanket. 

please do and stop shaking up my heart. 

“goodnight.” 

“goodnight, ____.” 

—

jungkook is still flustered by the conversation. since you opened up the topic, he did give it some serious thought. he thinks he wouldn’t mind if someone asked him to do it. he makes all of his negotiations and transactions online so everyone so far have been a stranger. as for the people he personally know, unless it’s his significant other, wouldn’t it be awkward? 

anyway, the chances of it happening are low. stressing over it is pointless.

he needs to finish this commission and move on to the next, or else he’d be encumbered by the pile of deadlines. he’s making the most out of this vacation so he can save more money and work won’t have to interfere so often with his studies. 

sometimes he doesn’t understand why he works so hard either. his family isn’t struggling financially. in fact, he’s studying to take over their businesses. his parents have been nothing but kind and supportive, but he is never compelled to ask them for money. he feels this strong and all-consuming need to prove himself as capable and independent. nothing compares to the gratification of buying his wants and needs with the money he sacrificed his blood, sweat, and tears for. he can’t stop himself.

“i can’t sleep…” a quiet murmur reaches his ears. “may i watch you draw?” 

oh, he thought you’ve fallen asleep twenty minutes ago. 

“of course,” 

he is more than happy to move closer to give you a good view of his progress. 

if there’s one thing he isn’t ashamed to boast about— it’s this. 

it’s silent except for your breathing and the taps of his pen on the screen. he’s a tad self-conscious with the presence of engrossed eyes, but he would describe the atmosphere as peaceful. 

“you’re such a great artist.” you whisper in awe. 

jungkook can’t recall the last time he felt this simple yet profound type of joy. 

—

true to your words, you did move as morning came. 

jungkook wakes up to an empty bed and a commotion outside. 

“____?” 

he knocks on the bathroom door, not expecting it to swing open from the action. he takes his chances and peeks inside with another call of your name, but you’re still nowhere to be seen. 

did you really leave without saying goodbye? 

he sighs in disappointment. he was planning on buying you breakfast, too. he knew it. he should’ve made the invitation last night. 

a series of loud thumps prompts him to scratch his head in irritation. he’s tired and sleep-deprived and he didn’t see his crush’s face first thing in the morning. the day has barely started and it’s already a bad one.

he opens the door with a considerable force, mouth running before his eyes could perceive his surroundings. 

“could you guys turn it down? people are still slee-”

“jungkook! you’re awake.” 

you jog over to him with a more cheery expression than last night’s. there’s no windows but the sun is shining over his face.

“sorry about the noise. i’m moving to a new unit.”

he can see that, but his brain remains in a muddled state. how did you make the arrangements overnight? he gapes at the men hauling your things to your new apartment.

“1309?” he exclaims.

“yeah,” you shyly reply. “it’s the only vacant one left.” 

almost but not quite. does he have the right to complain? you’d be one door away. 

he’s fucking ecstatic. 

if he just sets aside the fact that it took a ghastly ghost encounter for the stars to align. 

the wrinkles on his forehead disappear and become crinkles by his eyes, accompanied by an excited beam. 

“should we feed them together then grab breakfast after?” 

—

time passes by too fast for jungkook’s liking. summer vacation ended a month ago and he’s back to busting his ass off at the university. he misses the days and nights when the only thing he was going insane about is you. 

what’s taking you so long to reply? did he say something stupid? does he look nice? smell nice? are you crying again? that ghost isn’t bothering you again, is he? 

now that he needs to focus on something less interesting, say studying taxation and business law for subsequent long quizzes tomorrow, he’s back to crushing cans of energy drinks. 

fuck, he misses you. 

your purple hair tie is still wrapped around the knob of his bathroom sink faucet and he keeps forgetting to give it back to you. you make him nervous but he forgets he ever felt that way after five minutes with you. he craves to be connected with you on a more intimate level. he wants to be more than just a neighbor you make small talk with, over text. he wants to be more than a friend you sometimes eat with, on your days off. but he likes you so much that he can be content with the way things are, so long as it means you won’t go further away. 

he’s absolutely pumped to hear his friends berate him for being stupid enough to enjoy the bare minimum from a woman. 

an email notification interrupts his intense cramming session with his ipad and his illegally downloaded ebooks.

No Name

Subject: IMPORTANT! READ ME! 

snack break at the aquarium? 

he already has a strong inkling on who the sender could be; he clicks the email address and unsurprisingly, it says that it’s you. 

did you seriously go out of your way to email him because he told you that he was going to keep his phone turned off while studying? 

ridiculous. 

so cute and ridiculous. 

—

“i brought your favorite.” you meekly present your gift to jungkook. “uh, actually i’m not sure if it’s your favorite. but it’s become mine since you gave it to me.”

jungkook gapes at the bag of his favorite gummies sitting on his lap. just for comparison, the packet he gave you that day you first met came from his pocket. this one is almost as wide as his thighs slightly spread apart. 

but most importantly, what did you just say?

“y-you didn’t throw it away?”

“what are you saying?” you pout, a little hurt by the question. “why would i throw it away?”

“you should’ve. you can’t just accept food from strangers!” 

he was being pretty before. he humbly admits that. he just wanted an excuse to bring you up so he whined about it for weeks, but he was never genuinely upset. not specifically about that, anyway.

“why are you so upset?” you match the rise of his voice. “i’m fine and we ended up being friends. now say ‘thank you’ and open it!”

“ah, sure-” he panics, fumbling with the zigzag edges of the packaging. you were kind of hot for that. “thank you! this was seriously so thoughtful of you.” 

you nod in satisfaction, stealing a gummy worm the second that the plastic is torn open. “you’re welcome!”

—

  “i should stop eating.” jungkook mumbles to himself, chewing the other half of his nth gummy worm of the night. 

“yeah,” you agree, pulling your hand away from the bag with an impressive show of restraint. “we should.”

the two of you probably look bizarre in the eyes of strangers, particularly those who have seen you one too many nights admire the golden creatures like you’re being hypnotized and nothing else in the world matters. jungkook never knows what’s running in your head, but to him, these moments are all about being beside you. the loud beating of his heart could be attributed to the caffeine, or the bare skin of your knees touching and no one daring to move. 

“the tank feels…” there is a delay as you search for the appropriate word. “dull. can’t there be more variety of plants?” 

“i tried,” he laughs at the funny memory you evoked. “when i came back the next day, two of them already ate everything.”  

you gasp. “everything? is that normal?” 

he opens his mouth to speak, but you unknowingly interrupt him with a raise of your hand.

“okay, i’m searching on naver.” 

jungkook behaves for the fifteen minutes that follow, sneaking a peek at your phone screen every now and then with squinted eyes. you read fast, and your knees shake when you have to think hard. they’re small things. they don’t matter that much. but they’re still parts of your entirety which he is to be well-aquainted with. 

“according to this person, we can try giving them marimo moss balls to play with… and hmmm-” you hum, lips puckering into a pout. “then for plants, anubias and java ferns?” 

“i still know the address of the place i bought the plants from before. we can go when you’re free.” he offers, jumping on the opportunity to spend time with you outside of this building. 

“you free sunday?” 

“is the afternoon alright? i have to go to uni in the morning.” 

please say yes.

“sure, that works.”

he breaks into a triumphant smile. 

yes! 

—

jungkook has been looking forward to this day all week. he breezed through work and college, motivated to finish all his tasks so he could enjoy his time with you without any worries. he knows it’s not a date, but anyone can be excited to meet up with a friend.

“you look pretty.” he smiles, breaking the silence in the elevator. 

“you can barely see my face.” 

“i see it!”

your nonchalance slowly fades, seemingly replaced by unease, which confuses jungkook. you put on a white face mask from the pocket of your hoodie before facing him. 

“now you don’t!” you banter with him playfully. 

“too late,” he sticks his tongue out. “i can draw it from memory.” 

this is your usual day outfit, a basic classic. a hoodie paired with shorts and sneakers. the face mask is part of it too. in a crowd, you could be anyone, even him, if only your hair doesn’t stand out among the neutrals. he likes it. he likes how you match outfits without trying to. you get more dressed up at night, which makes sense since you go to work. 

“so you can draw me even if i flash you just once?” 

scandalized, he almost chokes on his own spit. “____!”

“i’m joking!” you giggle.

“no, please do it.” he encourages you in jest.

that earns him a slap on the face. he touches the affected area. it didn’t hurt at all, you did it with a light hand, but he gapes at you dumbstruck. 

“you can joke about it but i can’t?!” 

you only laugh at his reaction. he also imagines that he looks funny. not long after, the elevator opens and you drag him out by his hand.

—

the cashier pushes back your extended hand. “sorry, we don’t accept card payments.” 

while you pout sadly at the rejection, jungkook rushes to grab the wallet that you made him hide because this was your ‘idea.’ 

“here,” he puts down the paper bills on the counter.

“i’ll pay you back.” 

“no, it’s fine. my treat for the fishes since they’d probably eat them anyway.” he jokes to comfort you.

“yeah, okay,” you respond listlessly. “then i’ll buy our dinner. samgyupsal?”

“call!” 

jungkook guesses you have come to know him well too. 

“okay, let’s go.”

he invites you to leave after the cashier gives him the paper bag. as you walk out together, your shoulders brush, and for a brief moment, he assumes that you would cling to him. he doesn’t know why he keeps doing that. you never do. he continues walking and he doesn’t even notice that he has left you behind.

the door is half-open and he’s stood in place, eyes scanning the store like he just lost a child at the mall. 

of course, he finds you hunched over infront of an aquarium inhabited by a betta fish. 

“do you want to get it?” he whispers, mindful of scaring away the little creature. “i don’t think i’ve seen a purple fish before.”

not even in art or television. it’s strange. 

he feels your eyes glued to him. persuaded by curiosity, he turns his cheek. 

his breathing stops when he sees your face so close. 

he doesn’t know you removed your mask. you’re staring at him so intensely with those beautiful  eyes, sparkling with the reflections of light. you’re dazzling, and intimidating, and it’s doing dangerous things to his heart.

a little nudge and he’d give you an eskimo kiss. 

if there’s a perfect romantic moment to kiss your lips, he’d say it’s right now. 

“it’s not the fish i want.” 

he doesn’t hear you. 

do you see how entranced he is by your lips? 

“the shipwreck, it’s beautiful.”

his eyes chase the sight of them when you return your gaze to the aquarium. 

“like you,” the words slip out without thought.

—

a soft smile tugs at the corner of your lips. you blink away the tears and you stomach the heavy in your chest. you know jungkook is still staring at you with those bedroom eyes and there was no deep thought behind his compliment. will he still find you beautiful when he sees who you are beyond the surface? 

“like me…”

— 

after dinner, you and jungkook planted the plants and installed the shipwreck you wanted. it was not cheap, but it was worth it, if it meant seeing your priceless joy. he carries around more cash than necessary when he goes out with you. he’s praying that you didn’t see his sigh of relief when the waiter said the restaurant accepts card. he doesn’t know much about your circumstances, why you stopped going to school and why you opted to work instead, but he knows you lead a lifestyle different from his. he’s not ignorant. he estimates your bag is five times more expensive than his ipad. but with how you’re soundly sleeping on his shoulder, he can say that it’s justified. 

he learns that you’ve been working straight for fifteen days, with 10-20 hours of overtime per week. you practically live there. he can feel the weight of your shoulders on him, which is why he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up despite his bladder’s need of the bathroom. this is probably the closest he will ever be to you. he can’t be the one to walk away in this memory. 

the humming noise of the aquarium’s filter fills the silence.

it always feels like he’s dreaming when he’s with you.

“after all that money we spent, we should really name them now.” 

you release the yawn you were holding back while speaking, head dropping on his shoulder. jungkook stiffens at the suddenness of the physical contact, but then relaxes thanks to the tranquilizing scent of your shampoo— it has to be coconut, with some sort of flowers that perfectly compliment it.  

“have any ideas?”

“yes,” he hears the smile in your voice. “you know those two who have similar hues?”

he hums, body vibrating underneath your soft cheek.

“tangerine, and then clementine for the smaller one.” 

“those are cute names.”

“you like them?”

“yes, they really sound like siblings!”

“okay, i won.” you shrug your shoulders as far as they can go, as if you’re so pleased you could burst. “that’s settled. your turn!”

“hmmm…” 

he unconsciously bounces his knee as he racks his brain, which you swat with a disapproving noise, mumbling “making me dizzy!”

“sorry,” he winces.

your giggles are infectious, bringing tickles somewhere deep inside of him, butterflies in his stomach coming alive like spring only arrived. 

“shouldn’t we at least have one named after a flower?” he suggests. “hold on, i’ll search for good ones.”

“let’s give the flower name to the yellow one. she stands out, like a flower.”

you blink wearily, a soft smile amidst the haze, sent to the yellow fish who swam closer as if it heard itself being called. 

he reads the list of yellow flower names out loud.  

“sunflower, daisy, azalea… for-forthysia? lily, cosmos, dahlia-”

“dahlia-” you quietly repeat the name in awe, clinging to his arm to steal his attention.

“dahlia it is!” 

“i wish dahlia would live forever.” you sigh, haunted by the inevitable. 

“dahlia will outlive us.” he chuckles. 

“i’ll protect her from the afterlife.”

he squeezes your hand tenderly. “i’ll be right there with you.” 

and with unspoken mutual understanding, your fingers intertwine. neither one of you wants to let go, he feels it strongly and he is sure of it. his cheeks may very well begin to ache with how elated he is. 

“that’s three… you know, i saw someone on youtube who named their fish coral. i thought it was a very pretty name. how about that?”

“i like it,” you chirp. “i kind of wish it was my name.” 

“should i just give it to you?”

you lift your head a little, sleepy eyes connecting with his. “do you know someone who has the same name as me?”

“no,” he slowly shakes his head. “you’re the only one.” 

“let’s give it to the one with the longest tail.” 

your head drops on his shoulder, as if it’s where it belongs. 

“i like being the only one.”

you fell asleep seconds after that.

he found entertainment in watching as much as the goldfishes playing around with the shipwreck. it’s a wooden ship split in two, with cracks and holes big enough for them to swim in and out of. even the sails have holes. the drawings on them are unrecognizable beyond his imagination. 

it’s quite charming, but he doesn’t understand what’s special about it the way you do. 

a teardrop drips from the tip of your nose and crashes on his arm, but he doesn’t feel it. 

eventually, it dries, and is erased from history. 

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search. 

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition. 

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received. 

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all. 

Yours truly, 

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there. 

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea. 

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws. 

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed. 

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom. 

Yours truly, 

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew 

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention. 

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them. 

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama. 

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters. 

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.” 

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them. 

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?” 

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?” 

“Everything is wrong with that.” 

“Hmm.” 

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face. 

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.” 

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?” 

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.” 

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.” 

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.  

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said. 

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.” 

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud: 

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered. 

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her. 

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.” 

“Piss off.” 

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms. 

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.” 

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell. 

“I don’t want this anymore.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.” 

“Please, just give u—” 

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.” 

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.” 

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.” 

“I second that.” 

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.” 

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything. 

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?” 

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.” 

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.” 

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society. 

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today. 

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps. 

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness. 

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get. 

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham. 

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month. 

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen. 

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.” 

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?” 

“Not your room?” 

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.” 

“You are getting restless.” 

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?” 

“Oh yes, she’s fine.” 

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.” 

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name. 

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact. 

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.” 

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.” 

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.” 

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?” 

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.” 

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?” 

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.” 

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?” 

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.”  

“And, by the way, I already washed up.” 

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.” 

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room. 

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora. 

“Oh, good. It is just you.” 

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?” 

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.” 

“What?” 

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.” 

“Your Highness.” 

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.” 

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.” 

She gasped as you hugged her. 

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.” 

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.” 

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.  

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination. 

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?” 

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it. 

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs. 

“Is there a problem, Marshall?” 

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.” 

“WHAT?!” 

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back. 

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance. 

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss. 

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…” 

“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name. 

“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all. 

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.” 

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.” 

You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.” 

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.” 

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues. 

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.” 

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.” 

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.” 

They all chuckled when you laughed. 

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.” 

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you. 

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?” 

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.” 

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?” 

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time. 

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.” 

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.” 

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.” 

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.  

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

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[lesbianpepsi]

you fit me better than my favourite sweater

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: you and Wednesday end up stranded in the middle of the lake

words: 3.954k

warnings: mentions fear of drowning, swearing, bad writing

author notes: this has been in my drafts for a fat minute and i completely forgot about it ngl

"It won't be that bad, I mean any idiot can do it." You say as you meticulously enter the canoe, gripping at the sides with a God strong as the tiny wooden boat rocked from side to side.

"Any idiot can, but you're the most idiotic person I've ever met." Wednesday grumbled as she swiftly sat across from you, entering the canoe much more gracefully than you.

You grinned as you carefully grabbed the oars from the bottom of the boat, carefully sticking them through the small holes on the side of the boat.

"At least that makes me memorable." You remarked. 

Wednesday shook her head as she leaned over to push the boat away from the small dock, the boat wobbling as it caused small ripples in the water.

You sighed as you messily began moving the oars in and out of the water, the canoe moving slowly.

"Row. Row. Row." Wednesday uttered in a deadpan tone, her eyes glued to the lake.  You rolled  your eyes as you moved the oars with all of your strength. "Could you be any more uplifting?" You mumbled sarcastically as you unconsciously gripped at the oars tighter.

There was an actual reason behind the entire situation of you and your friend-not so friend- Wednesday going canoeing at a late hour.

You couldn't swim, an embarrassing fact but unfortunately true, you simply couldn't. Whenever you had lessons as a kid you never could float and would always manage to have at least one or more near drowning incidents.

You tried for months but never got the hang of it, eventually you just accepted the fact you're not a swimmer. 

That was something Enid was afraid of. 

Ever since the Black Cats won for the first time in decades in the Poe Cup, Enid wanted to make sure they stayed champions. 

To make matters worse Yoko said she didn't want to participate this year due to getting poisoned over the entire race last year.

That's how Enid ended up asking you to which you agreed but disagreed at the same time. You would do it, but you couldn't swim. So if their boat broke, you’d be fucked.

Enid took that a 'yes with some minor technicalities' and somehow managed to convince Wednesday to take you out to canoeing. If you could canoe like a pro then that would help the team and decrease  the risk of the boat going down.

You agreed to it whereas the goth was very reluctant to go canoeing with you. Enid thought it was because Wednesday didn’t do people and would loathe having to communicate with someone if she didn’t gain anything from it.

Thinking about it, it was partially true but you know the real reason why Wednesday doesn’t want to be alone with you. 

She didn’t trust herself.

A few weeks back you and the local goth had a situationship going on; Wednesday being the one who started it and tried ending it on multiple occasions. She’d drag you into the closest, the dark corners of the library, empty classrooms, her dorm room, your dorm room and even the forest at one point to make out with you. 

Each time she claimed it was a one time kiss and she was simply trying something new, but then the very next day those slender fingers were wrapped possessively around your wrist and dragging you towards the closest empty room. 

You’ve been in love with the goth for a while which meant you greedily complied with her wishes and did whatever she wanted, like a dog to its owner. 

She wanted to make out because she didn’t do as good on a test, you’re there for her. She wanted to learn what a hickey is, you’re more than welcome to show her and guide her. She says it’s the final time, you give her the fakest smile and agree with her.

Self respect? Who was she?

It had been a week ever since yours and Wednesday last kiss and she was avoiding you like the plague. It hurt but you didn’t really expect anything else to happen. 

That’s why when Enid asked the psychic to go canoeing with you, you were more than happy whereas Wednesday was reluctant. But nobody could say no to Enid's puppy's eyes; that's how you ended up rowing slowly while Wednesday sat there comfortably watching you.

"If I did it would physically pain me." Wednesday quipped as she sat there with her incredibly straight posture, glaring at you. 

"You don't wanna be my personal cheerleader? If you were, you'd have to say 'but I'm a cheerleader' at least once." You said with a giggle, moving further into the lake as you moved one oar quicker than the other.

You knew Wednesday didn't understand the joke as she observed you. "You're not amusing nor comedic, Y/n. I'd rather talk to a brick wall and I guarantee it would still be more interesting than you." 

You barked out a laugh at her comment, not taking it to heart, it's the one thing you've learned ever since she started dragging you into every isolated room to make out with you.

"Bricks can be pricks." You joked as you rowed further and further, starting to get tired even though you had only been doing it for a few minutes. "When can we have swapsies? I've proved I can row so it's all good."

"I can swim and row like a professional, I also brought the Black Cats to victory the previous year. I do not need to row, you do." Wednesday said with her tone bordering on bragging. 

"I get it." You sigh as you keep rowing. "You've seen how good I am at it and don't wanna embarrass yourself." 

Wednesday's head snapped towards yours with a sharp look. You smirked as you looked down, your arms flexing as you rowed.

"Good? If you think that is good then you're destined to make us lose the poe cup." The ravenette barked out, this was the reaction you were expecting.

You shrugged your shoulders as you  smiled innocently at her. "It's fine, Wednesday. I get it, I'm weirdly good at some things."

Wednesday didn't say anything for a moment. Her eyes trailing your face before they moved to glance at the oars.

You heard the girl let out a small grunt before she looked back at you. "Fine. Switch positions with me."

Pride flooded you instantly as you managed to convince the stubborn girl to do something. Feeling much more confident than you had in the beginning, without thinking you abruptly stood up to allow Wednesday to sit where you were sitting at.

As you stood up Wednesday's eyes widened dramatically as her eyes gazed towards your hands, grip loosening on the oars.

As if it was slow motion Wednesday watched as the further you stood up, the weaker your grip got on the oars.

"Do not let go of the oars!" Wednesday yelled at you the very moment you stood up completely straight, your grip on the oars vanished.

Splash 

You nor Wednesday moved. Completely frozen.

You slowly eyed the space where the oars used to be, you swallowed nervously as you felt eyes on you. Averting Wednesday's gaze you slowly sat back down, the canoe drumming side to side momentarily.

"I told you specifically to not let go of the oars." Wednesday snapped in a harsh voice, breaking the silence of the night. 

You winced at her harsh tone that you couldn't blame her for. "I'm so sorry, Wednesday."

Wednesday shook her head as she looked away from you, as if disgusted by the sight of you. 

"Enid is the one who suggested it." You reminded her quickly, not wanting to face the wrath of Wednesday Addams alone in an isolated place. You’re not the brightest bulb but you still shine. 

"And you're an imbecile for agreeing with Sinclair to do this, Y/n." Wednesday hissed through gritted teeth, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at you.

You rolled your eyes as you waved your arms dramatically. "Not my fault, Wednesday. Enid asked me a question that for the sake of my life I couldn't lie about." 

The goth shook her head aimlessly, looking away from you with a clenched jaw. "Should've lied."

"You also agreed to help so it's partially your fault too!" You defended with a smug smile, one that Wednesday did not appreciate.

"It's because of you and your tomfoolery and laziness we're stuck in the middle of the lake with no oars for the canoe!"

Yeah it was most definitely your fault. 

"Well I'm sorry Wednesday but you're gonna have to just jump into the water, grab the boat and swim us to shore." 

Wednesday's eyebrows lifted in utter disbelief. "I'm not swimming." She stated flatly.

"Wait, my phone, duh!" You said excitedly as you removed your phone from the pocket of your hoodie, smiling hopefully as you checked your phone.

Your smile faded as you noticed there was no signal. Fucking perfect, you thought bitterly to yourself . 

"No signal." You told her, shoving your phone back into your pocket with a huff. 

"Shocker, I would've never presumed that a cellular device would be useless in a situation of emergency." She snarked out, crossing her arms again in her short sleeve black t-shirt.

 "Emergency?! Oh my fuck are we gonna die? Cause I'm not having 'DIED BY SITTING IN A CANOE' on my gravestone."

The raven haired girl who looked visibly more relaxed than you glanced over towards the dock. "We'll just have to wait here until either Enid comes looking for us or someone else passes." 

Your eyes widened dramatically as you stared at her in disbelief. The plan didn't sound fun, good or reliable. 

"What if it takes hours?"

"Then we will sit here for hours." She answered, her eyes returning to meet with yours.

"Oh fun." You retorted with a roll of your eyes. "So, since it's just the two of us, is this going to turn into a childhood trauma kinda talk or gossip talk?"

Wednesday glowered at you with her iconic death stare, you sighed. I'll take that as a silent kinda talk then, you thought to yourself. 

Your eyes gazed over Wednesday's face which was turned to look at the dock, her already sharp jaw pulled into an even tighter clench. 

You managed to stay utterly silent for what felt like a full hour (but was really only five minutes) before you finally cracked, your knuckles white from the grip you still had on the plank you're sitting on.

"So, how've you been?" You asked gingerly to the goth. Wednesday didn't spare you a glance as she replied.

"I'm currently stranded in the middle of the lake with the absolute dunce of a human being." She snarled, her cold eyes meeting yours once again. 

"I'll take that as good?" You joked as you purse your lips, hoping you could make light of the pretty shitty situation. 

"You're infuriating."  

You sighed as you glared at Wednesday, you were trying to be nice and making the situation better but she was not helping it at all. "Thanks." You grumbled sarcastically. 

Yes it was a not so good situation, yes it was your fault, yes you felt bad about it. But you felt like Wednesday didn't have to dig into you that much, you wouldn't mind as much if you knew she was joking. But you knew her well enough to know she was utterly serious.

The more minutes passed the more bored you got. Wednesday was refusing to look at you whereas all you could stare at was her side profile. 

Your fear of not being able to swim started to gnaw away at the deep pit of your stomach.

"I very much doubt Enid will notice we're stranded due to the fact she's spending the night at Yoko's tonight." Wednesday suddenly announced, the feeling of fear intensifying  as you realised the odds of you sleeping on this canoe over night was growing.

"What time is it?" You asked her quickly.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist briefly before she glimpsed at you. "It's nine in the evening, and curfew is at nine." You gawked at her as the chances of you sleeping outside for the night increased significantly. "You sure you don't wanna go for a little swim?" You attempted one last night, in hopes Wednesday would agree. 

"No."

You sighed as you nodded your head weakly, you're sleeping on water tonight. 

Great.

"Alright if we're sleeping here overnight how are we doing it?"

"I will not be sleeping." Wednesday stated. "I'll stay on watch in case an individual passes." 

"All night?" You asked with your eyebrows raised. 

"Is your hearing damaged?" Wednesday replied dryly, her eyes boring into yours, you huffed as you averted her piercing eyes looking over at the sun slowly setting.

"At least it's warm, some might even say a hot summer night in mid July." You joked in a playful voice, turning your head to look at the beauty of the lake.

The sunset lightning up the dark lake with a shine that made it even more beautiful . 

"Your obsession with that woman is odd." Your head snapped back to look at Wednesday, your jaw slackened as you gazed at her with shock. 

Wednesday remembered you liked Lana Del Rey? More importantly, how did she even know it was a lyric from Lana Del Rey?

Without much thought you voiced your last question to the goth. 

"How'd you even know I was talking about Lana Del Rey?" Wednesday blinked at you as she stayed silent, her eyes glued to yours as she tried to think of an answer. "You do nothing but extol her." She said in an affirmative tone, her fingers playing with the thick steel black ring Enid gifted for her many moons ago.

You tilted your head like a curious dog as your eyes narrowed on her fingers. 

She was lying. 

You weren't Wednesday level good at reading people, but you could always notice a tell when it was presented to you.

You hummed, looking back up at Wednesday's face with a smirk. "I talk about Lana and how good she is but from my knowledge I've never actually sung her song in front of you before. Matter of fact, I don't think I've even talked specifically about the lyrics of her songs with you before, probably with Enid but never you." 

"I don't understand what you're trying to say." Wednesday questioned with threat lacing her words. “I’m just saying, how could you possibly know that line if you’ve never heard me say it before, ‘cause I know Enid is a K-Pop and Swiftie kinda girl, not a Lana one. And you’d never listen to such ‘pointless audios’ as you said, would you?” 

“Terminology with celebrities is obtuse.” She said briskly, her eyes avoiding yours the exact way she was avoiding your words. You hummed as you nodded your head, smugness infiltrating your smile. 

Silence filled the wooden canoe after that, Wednesday staying perfectly silent as she stayed perfectly still. Her main focus being the docks as she hoped someone would pass and help the two of you. 

Thirty minutes passed and there was still no sign of life other than you and the raventte. With a long sigh you reconnected your eyes with Wednesday. 

“We’re stuck here all night aren’t we?” You asked in a knowing tone.

Wednesday nodded her head curtly. “Yes we are.” You let out an exasperated breath as you ran your fingers through your hair. “Also, due to how this canoe is structured it would be impossible to lay down flat on the ground to sleep.”

You looked down at the boat as you tried figuring out any spot where you could sit down in any position and luckily you quickly found one. 

Without saying anything you carefully pushed yourself off the small seat moving to sit at the bottom of the canoe. After a few moments of repositioning yourself with the boat rocking back forth gently you managed to find a semi comfortable position. 

Your feet dangled off one edge of the boat while your neck rested on the edge of the opposite one, it wasn’t the most comfortable one but if you fell asleep your biggest worry would be a stiff neck and not drowning. 

Grinning, you turned to look at the girl whose boots were only about half a metre away from your side. “You say impossible, I say possible.” 

“I say irritating, you say humorous.” She remarked with a glare as she stared at you with her beautiful dead eyes. 

“Well I’m the one who can sleep tonight if someone doesn't come get us.” You tell her with a smile before adding. “No shame if you came down to join me.”

“I would rather live for an eternity than lay with you.” She hisses through gritted making you let out a little giggle. “Whatever you say.”

Minutes passed as you and Wednesday stayed in silence, you gazing up at the sunset making the colour shine gorgeously as Wednesday gazed at your side profile.

After what felt like a century in silence you decided to put on your Spotify playlist that you downloaded to your phone, needing something to erase the booming silence. 

Hitting on the playlist ironically the first song that played was ‘Young and Beautiful’ by Lana Del Rey; the song that had the infamous ‘hot summer nights, mid-July’. You had the DH Orchestral version downloaded.

As the song played in a low volume you heard a small rhythmic tapping from next to you. You turned your head to the side and to your surprise you noticed Wednesday was the culprit of the noise.

She was now gazing off in the sunset like you were doing earlier as her fingers moved against her thigh going along with the beats of the song. 

Wednesday listened to Lana Del Rey because of you. 

You didn't comment on it; simply admiring her with a small smile until the song finished, another random Lana Del Rey song playing soon after.

The goth must've felt eyes on her as she snapped her head back into your direction, locking eyes with you as she tilted her head slightly to the side.

She didn't say anything and neither did you. The two of you sat in silence as you gazed at each other; the two of you having a glint of love in each other's eyes, but neither of you would comment on it. 

Somehow an hour had managed to pass as the sun was almost entirely gone, only a small arch left warming you up.

“Do you think we’ll tip over if we go to sleep?” You voice up slightly nervously as you stare at the wooden canoe. “I will not be sleeping so I’ll make it won't happen.”

“Wait, you were serious about not going to sleep?” Wednesday stiffly nods her head as her posture still remains as straight as ever while sitting up. 

“I never lie.” She tells you.

You bite your tongue into not saying anything that might annoy the goth since you know damn well she lies. She’s lied to you many times when preaching your sessional kisses were only a ‘one time thing’ for each one.

You sigh as you glance up at Wednesday, nodding your head. “Okay, I'll stay up with you.”

“There is no need, Y/n. You may fall asleep if needed.” Wednesday insists with a shake of her head.

“Don't be ridiculous, Wends, I’m not letting you stay awake all night alone while we’re trapped in the middle of the lake.” You reply in a tone that indicates you're not going to debate with her about it. 

The goth sighs as she reluctantly nods her head in agreement. “Fine, whatever.” She mumbles not making eye contact with you as she twisted her body to the side slightly, her brows furrowed ever slightly telling you she's in slight pain.

You don't say anything as you lean forward and take off your hoodie before laying it flat on the bottom of the canoe as the end of your hoodie reaches the tips of Wednesday's boots. 

“If your back hurts you need to lay down for a while.” You say making her look back at you with her eyebrows even more furrowed.

“I’m an Addams, we thrive on pain.” Wednesday answered as if that explained anything. You rolled your eyes as you tapped at your thigh meekly. 

“Okay, fine you love pain and shit. But if it gets too much you're more than welcome to lay down, I wouldn't shame you or tell anyone.” You reply with a soft smile as Wednesday scoffed at your words, not verbally replying.

You didn't say anything as you looked away, glancing over at the dark lake as the sun had officially set. The only light being gifted being the pale moonlight; glistening the water just as softly as the sun did.

Five minutes passed before you heard small shuffling from Wednesday’s side of the small boat, you didn't look over at her as you gazed off into the water.

Wordlessly, you can hear Wednesday slowly move to the bottom of the canoe as she quietly moves up closer to you, laying her head on your lap as she laid straight on her back. 

Your hoodie under her body definitely made it more comfortable for her, something that filled you with pride. 

You look down at Wednesday to see her already looking up at you, her eyes seeming softer as they glinted from the moonlight.

“You’re so pretty.” You whisper out to her moving to lay an arm over her stomach to try to give her as much body warmth as you could. 

Wednesday blinked for the first time as she never broke contact with you, stiffly moving to lay a hand over the one you had on her stomach.

“You're pulchritudinous, Y/n. Not only on the surface level but also inside.” You tilted your head confused at what she just called you, laughing nervously.

“I’m what?” You ask her, resulting in her rolling her eyes as a soft red shade of colour attacked her ears.

“Beautiful, Y/n, it means beautiful.” Wednesday answers make you blush as a nervous smile forms on your lips. 

Admiring her as you run a hand through her soft bangs, not surprisingly they fall right back into place as if you never touched them when you pull away. 

As her dark eyes locked with your eyes you couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, the look in her eyes and the look you know you have in your eyes telling her everything. 

“I don't want to make it a one time thing.” You confess as you lay your hand near her head. “I don't want it to only be secret kisses, Wednesday. I want you. I want everyone to know how much I love you.” 

For the first time in your life you see Wednesday smile; not smirk, but a true and genuine soft, small smile. 

Gracefully she grabs your hand that was on her stomach as she lifts it to her lips pressing a kiss to your knuckles making you blush at her actions.

As she held your hand she refused to pull them away from her lips, you could feel her breath tickle your skin gently as she whispered the words you have been waiting weeks to hear.

“I love you too.”

—————

authors note: i hate this sm 💀💀

[vicsy]

it's not something limited to f1 rpf or others but this is basically saying that you have to force yourself into writing something you don't personally find enjoyable because it is loved by the majority or by a certain group of people that have """""fandom fame"""""

for fucks sake man.....

saw a take so bad i had to pace around the room to calm down

[ureternalmajesty]

Bad Descisions || Spencer Reid

Warnings: Praise Kink, fingering( f receiver), hate sex, p in v, Spencer being picking on reader, enemies to lovers, creampie,uses of the name slut ,was this proofread? NOPE 18+ y’all

Author’s note: This is my first time writing for Spencer. So if Spencer seems a little off I’m sorry! And I was harassed for this smut btw 🙄

If there was anything you hated more than your co-worker Spencer Reid it was crowds and parties. Here you were leaning against a wall in the corner of Rossi's House at a party he was throwing. The only reason you came was cause Garcia promised to replace the book she ruined with coffee a couple weeks beforehand.

Everyone was spread out amongst the house mingling and laughing. Some were by the bar getting drinks that Garcia was making. The only two that weren't participating would be Spencer and yourself. You looked out of place and awkward even as you stood in your corner nursing a glass of expensive red wine as your eyes trailed over everyone. Bouncing back and forth between the people that wander the room.

It was too much. Your nails started tapping against your glass of wine rhythmically as you tried to calm yourself. But you couldn't seem to do so. Not with the death glare you were getting from the corner adjacent to you from none other than Spencer fucking Reid.

You looked towards the tall messy-haired doctor with your own glare and mouthed a 'what' to him before zoning out and looking down at your glass of wine. Jolted back to reality by the voice of your co-worker's voice. You looked up eyes meeting his brown ones that looked down at you with confusion, anger, and something else. "You know you could try and mingle. You've been standing in this corner for a while you are not exactly enjoying yourself, huh?" He asked hands in his pocket. "Fuck off Reid." You spat in annoyance as your tapping against your glass sped up.

His eyebrows raised slightly as he looked at you taking a step closer to you. "No need to be grouchy L/n. I was simply checking in on my work enemy." He took his hands out of his pockets raising them in surrender with a faint smirk on his face words laced with sarcasm. "Work enemy? What are we Spencer five?" You scoffed glancing at him before taking a sip of your drink. "Well, we aren't friends L/n. And you are no friend of mine." As he looked back out at the crowd. "Besides you look like you hate this place. This isn't really your type of party." Your head snapped towards him. "Then tell me Reid what is my type of party?" You questioned glaring at the man. "You know a cafe with tea books and classical music." He shrugged as a scoff left your lips.

"I'm here for the free drinks." You mumbled leaning onto the wall ignoring his jab at you. A sigh left Spencer's lips. “You know for the second most intelligent person in the BAU you sure are an odd duck. You hate being in crowds and you didn’t come because of the party you came for free drinks. You are strange y/n.” He rambled. “Yeah whatever.” You rolled your eyes watching Hotch and his date leave the room only to be brought out of thoughts once again by Reid.

“You should drink and dancing you know. Normal people stuff.” He spoke as he glanced around the room. “I am normal. I like my books and drinks instead of people.” You replied causing him to snicker at you. “You normal? Please your anything but normal and you fucking know it. That’s why your lacking social skills.” He answered making your eyebrow twitch in anger. “I might be lacking social skills Spencer but at least I’m not lacking in other areas.”

Once again his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Oh really? And what would those other areas be?” He asked turning and facing your only to be met with your side profile as you watched the crowd. “Like I would tell you.” You glanced and scoffed at him. A smirk graced his face as he took a step closer. “Why not tell me though? What’s a little confession between enemies.” A playful tone laced the words he spoke. Turning to face him you looked him over reaching out and running a finger down his tie. “You first.”

“No my work enemy you should go first. I think if any of us are going to divulge sensitive information over this topic it’s you.” He spoke as he watched your finger run over his tie. “Hmm…I like tall messy haired doctors.” You teased as you spoke slowly tugging his tie making him jolt forward. “Is that so? Your attracted to tall doctors then? That’s reasonable. I just have one question for you l/n.” He looked down at you. A cocky smile on his face that made your gut twist. “I’m a tall doctor and I’m standing in front of you. Why aren’t you making a move.” He whispered.

“Cause it’s your turn to make a move doctor.” The cocky smile on Spencer’s face morphed into a smirk. “When did the rules say I needed to be the one to make the damn move. Tall doctor. Right here.” He spoke making a hand gesture to himself. “Then fix me doctor.” You replied twirling the tie between your fingers. “What exactly needs fixing?” Eyes trailing over you as you sat your glass of wine on a table next to you. “My body.”

His eyes widened before he chuckled crossed his arms across his chest as he was once again pulled closer. “And you know I’m a busy man and what my PHDs are right?What’s wrong with your body.” Your smile now was replaced with your own smirk. “Do you think you can help or not.” You deadpanned. “Well I’m not that kind of doctor but yeah I can help.”

“Good.” You chirped your other hand playing with the fabric of his cardigan. “The shall we begin.” He whispered in a suggestive manner. The anger for each other was still there just resting at bay. The amount of drinks you’ve had and you don’t think Spencer had any drinks which was probably why you guys weren’t at each others throats as usual. “Let’s get out of here. My place?” You dragged him out of the party by his tie ignoring the whistles coming from Derek when he saw the two of you. “And here I thought you didn’t do anything social. Your place huh?” He questioned as you tossed him the keys to your car as you climbed into the passenger seat.

“Yeah my place now hurry up before I change my mind I’m already regretting this.” As you closed the door and Reid jogged around to the other side getting in and took off towards your place.

—

Closed discarded on the floor as moans and the squelching sounds your wet cunt made filled the room along with Spencer’s groans as his middle and ring fingers curled with almost every thrust of his fingers. “Bet you always wanted to fuck me huh Reid? Is that why you look at me like I’m a sex toy?” You sat up a bit leaning on your forearms.

Fingers leaving your hole clenching around nothing as you whimpered. “Projecting are we? I think you wanted to fuck me that why I barely touched you and your already acting like a bitch in heat.” He mumbled pulling one of your legs over his shoulder as he rubbed his tip through your wet folds nudging your clit.

“Fuck I hate—“ you we’re cut off by Spencer thrusting into you. “Oh fuck.” You arms slipped from holding your upper body up. “What was that l/n? What do you hate?” He asked keeping his pace slow almost agitating. “I hate you.” He leaned closer one of his hands pulling your head up to his face thrusting deeper. “Prove it then. Prove it you hate me.”

Moans and whimpers falling from your lips as his pace sped up throwing your other leg on his shoulder fucking his cock into you a deep as he can trying to get any sound out of you. Your hands gripped onto his forearms on either side of you as he placed kisses along your shoulder as he fucked into your hole with vigor.

"How do you like being my toy, Spence? There, don't stop." Your eyes rolled back as the headboard struck the wall. A sudden sharp pain on the side of your thigh making you yelp at the stinging. “D-do you e-ever shut the fuck up l/n.” He groans as you open your eyes to look at him. His tussled hair lay slick with sweat in front of his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed.

You were growing desperate for release. Hands leaving his forearms as you gripped the sheets. “Fuck! Please please please.” As you uttered the words, they fell from your mouth in a begging and pleading manner, in contrast to all the times you had upset him or argued with him. “Please Reid ‘m sorry won’t be mean anymore.” Spencer sucked his teeth as he exhaled a breathy sigh of irritation before gripping your jaw making you keep eye contact with him.

“Since your such a desperate slut I’ll have to believe you.” Hand sipping from your hip down your stomach to your clit. Pressing his thumb on the bundle of nerves rubbing circles onto it. “Cum l/n and you better not forget who made you cum.” Your toes curl as your back arches off the bed as your mouth opens in a silent scream. Your body went lax as Spencer continued to fuck your pliant body.

“Now we know what shuts you up.” He quipped as you laid there fucking you impossibly deeper than before. You could feel the soreness in your legs and the sensitivity from your orgasm just seconds ago as he swipe his thumb across your clit once more making you whine in protest. “Spencer please—“

“I’m close l/n you can take one more.” His other hand gripped your side as he leaned down and bite your shoulder muffling a moan. A few thrust later and you cum again clenching around Spencer once more letting out a small moan. Hips stuttering as he thrusted in deep hips stilling as he filled your pussy.

He pulled out with a hiss and a whimper from you as his cum seeped out your hole. “I hate you.” Spencer mumbled placing kisses along your shoulder. “Yeah yeah you hate me. Love you too.” You rolled your eyes.

—

“What’s up with Reid and L/n.” Emily spoke leaning against JJ’s desk. The two looked over to see Reid sitting down her mug along with her poetry book.

“Bet you they fucked.” Garcia popped up out of nowhere. “No way.” Emily shook her head. “200 dollars they fucked.” Garcia smirked. “Your on.” Emily shook her hand as JJ shook her head and went back to her paperwork.

[physalian]

Take A Risk and Don’t Write a Chosen One

This trope stands the test of time for some very good reasons: Audience wish-fulfillment as they live vicariously through the hero, automatic plot-induced agency for your protagonist, and automatic legitimate reasons for your protagonist to join the whirlwind adventure of the day.

I like chosen ones. We all have our favorite famous chosen ones and I’m not here to say the concept of a chosen one is bad at all.

However.

Those “automatic” windfalls that come pre-packaged with the trope can lead to the author taking shortcuts, or not thinking they have to put in more effort to write a compelling character, because they’re the “chosen one,” what more do you need?

Not writing your protagonist as commanded by the powers that be to participate in the plot forces you to get creative with why they’re here, what they want, and how they entrench themselves in the story. And most importantly, if the gods haven’t chosen them to act, they must now choose themselves to act.

—

I have never read Harry Potter and after its author-who-shan’t-be-named flushed her reputation down the toilet, I never will. I’ve seen the movies, they’re ok. I have no nostalgia-driven love for this franchise, and most of that comes from watching Harry be an incredibly boring protagonist.

Book readers correct me, but Harry is the poster child of “only exists so the audience can live vicariously” with generic heroic traits and nonexistent or at least unimportant side quirks and distinguishing hobbies, interests, or personality tics. He’s “brave” and “courageous” and “determined”... as most child protagonists of children’s books should be. He has zero flaws that come back to bite him in the ass. He acts the way he’s supposed to, not the way he should want to, as an independent being.

He’s the least interesting character in this entire cast, and I can’t stand Movie Ron. Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Draco would have made much more compelling protagonists and so much of this relies on the “Harry is important because the plot demands it” crutch.

Why is he the chosen one? Because his birthday happened at the right time of year? What is the story trying to say about the dichotomy between him and Voldemort? What about his personality, his wizard-societal stances on the many faux pas in this series, or the choices he makes, that makes him the chosen one? Why should I care?

You know who’s a great chosen one? Percy Jackson. Why? Because he understands the screwed up world he lives in on page 1. Being a demigod isn’t everything he ever dreamed and despite what Disney + wants you to believe, he’s got a crap bio dad who’s as disappointing in book one as Percy expects him to be.

He’s not even the chosen one by the end of the original series, and what a fantastic twist that was.

An infamously self-chosen protagonist has her own iconic hero quote: "I volunteer as tribute". Katniss is a nobody. She's not the evil president's daughter, she's not the child of a famously martyred revolutionary, she's just a girl who refuses to bow down to the reaping, refuses to let her sister get slaughtered, and volunteers for a death match that historically sees anyone living to survive another year cowering in relief. Yeah, she has some convenient skills in her archery and survival knowledge, but those matter because her district is starving, she learned through necessity.

Every second of her story, Katniss is fighting for her right to exist, and she only becomes a "chosen one" dragged around by the powers that be when she becomes marketable to the grand scheming of the actual revolutionaries, when, before, she didn't care about politics, she just wanted to save her sister. She matters because she chose compassion in a world where survival demands only serving yourself.

—

It’s so, so easy to start planning your book and make your cool fantasy world and figure out how your protagonist fits into it. So easy to say “well they’re the long-lost princess and the only heir to the throne” or “this magic amulet from her great great aunt is the key to saving the world” or “she’s the villain’s secret love child and the only one who can stop him because blood magic” or “this vague prophecy picked this little desert slave boy to bring balance to the Force”.

None of these stories are at fault for writing chosen ones.

But push yourself to let go of that crutch and come up with other reasons for why your hero is the hero. Usually this character has been isekai'd into magical-fantasy-land or magical-hidden-fantasy-urban-underbelly and you can still write that character.

Refusing to make them the chosen one demands one thing first and foremost: How is this outsider going to fight for their place to exist here? What do they bring to the table with their hobbies or interests or unique skillset that happens to be mighty applicable and useful in this new world? What is it about their personality that draws these strangers in? What do they want from this new world, and what are they willing to do to get it?

This choice demands you give your hero agency (though whether you give into those demands is up to you).

More importantly: I think it gives your audience agency, as they still live vicariously through their hero. Sure, lots of kids have lost their parents and live in horrid conditions like a cupboard under the stairs, but none of us will ever be “chosen” by omniscient wizard prophets. Harry would have immediately been a more compelling protagonist to me if he’d stumbled upon magical shenaniganry and fought for his place as some forgotten nobody mudblood.

Harry would have shown us his courage, instead of the story insisting he has it, we promise, just don’t think too hard about it.

Stop giving me characters who accept their destiny because God said so. Give me characters who fight tooth and nail for a destiny they discover on their own and I’ll root for them to succeed even more than someone compelled by force. Not everyone can be a chosen one, but everyone *can* choose themselves and decide to act.

—

With that said, I have an announcement! I have a new book in the works bereft of a prophecy-ordained hero. It’s time I put all my sagely writing wisdom to the test in a shiny published paperback myself. If you’ve learned anything from my blog in your writing journey, please subscribe for updates on the upcoming novel!

[intricatechaosofyou]

The Right Wrong Turn

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Fandom: The Bad Batch; Star Wars

Summary: A hiccup in the mission ends up with you on a rooftop with the Batch’s sniper. Using the prompt “This did not go the way I expected.”

Warnings: 18+!!!!, blasters, shootouts, cursing, some sexual tension, a couple of references to lines in season 3 but NO SPOILERS (tell me if you find my references though ;) !!)

Author’s note: Happy Bad Batch season my loves!! Our boys are back and I couldn’t be happier (or sadder). I had the privilege of writing for @urfriendlyneighbornightfury so I hope you enjoy this babe! I had so much fun writing it. Italics indicate small flashbacks. Also, please keep in mind that this is post-Echo but pre-Order 66.

The Bad Batch has meant so much to me over the years and while it feels like the end has come far too quickly, I’m grateful for everything it’s done for me and the rest of the Star Wars community! Thank you to @ghostofskywalker / @cloneficgiftexchange for putting on this event!! I’m so grateful to participate in this huge event!!

Sending everyone a Wrecker-sized hug and a happy season 3!! <3

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

You panted as you made a sharp turn down an alleyway, trying to lose your pursuers.

It was supposed to be a simple mission: sneak in while Hunter and Wrecker distracted the guards, download a few files, then Echo and Tech would pick you all up in the Marauder.

What you hadn’t planned for, however, was the heavy encryption on the files you needed.

———————

“Tech, I thought you said I just had to plug this data stick in and the files would download!” You whispered into your comm as a red screen appeared on the datapad.

“Theoretically, that should be all you have to do. However, I do suppose the encryptions on the files could prevent the transfer,” Tech replied, his static voice from the comm making you angrier by the second.

Your failed attempts at transferring the files had set off the alarm. You needed to get out of there, but you needed those files first.

“Keep the data stick in,” Tech requested. “I can undo the encryption from my end and transfer the files manually.”

A blaster shot fired right past your shoulder and you immediately ducked behind the large desk in the office. Sneaking a look, you counted three guards with their blasters pulled on you.

Kriff. You had to get out of there.

“Cross,” you hissed into your comm as you pulled your blaster from its holster on your hip.

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence before you heard the sniper’s voice crackle through the comm.

“I’ve got eyes on them. I take middle.”

You couldn’t see him on the next rooftop over, but you knew he was already lining up his shot through the large glass window behind the desk you were hiding behind.

“No fair. I wanted middle this time,” you answered, a smirk forming on your face.

Crosshair tutted. “Too bad, sweets.”

You rolled your eyes as you shifted your blaster in your hands, getting ready to fire.

As soon as Crosshair’s shot came through, shattering the window behind you and killing the assailant in the middle, you stood and shot the two remaining.

“Tech, how’re we looking?” You questioned.

“Files are transferred. Make your way back to the Marauder.”

You grabbed the data stick and booked it to the stairs just as another group of guards bursted into the office.

———————

You thought that they’d give up once you exited the building, but they were still managing to follow you through the busy streets of Bracca.

It was getting harder to lose the guards behind you as you dashed through the streets. One wrong turn and you knew you were in deep trouble.

As you turned down the next alleyway in hopes that you’d finally outpace the guards you heard someone hiss your name.

Looking up you found Crosshair, leaning over the roof of a nearby building, hand outstretched to you.

“Hurry up before those di’kuts catch up.”

You smiled and grabbed his hand, allowing him to hoist you up onto the roof.

“Could’ve used some help earlier, Cro—“

The clone’s hand covered your mouth before you could finish your snarky comment, pushing you to lay down the cold metal roof as he followed suit, laying halfway on top of you as the guards flooded into the alley in pursuit of you.

He lowered his head, sharp eyes watching the guards, ensuring that they didn’t spot the two of you.

But you? You watched him.

He had shed his bucket before helping you onto the roof, granting you full freedom to ogle at his face. You watched the way his eyes darted across the length of the alley, the way jaw clenched every time a guard spoke, the way his lips were parted as he took slow, steady breaths.

Suddenly, the chill of the night was replaced with a heavy heat and you were overcome with the need to move out from under him.

The hard plastoid of his armor dug into your skin as you attempted to shift out from underneath him. But your movement only caused him to hold you down harder, his free hand pressing your hips down to keep you from squirming.

You stifled a frustrated groan, going to shift again but the way he turned to look at you made you freeze. He stared you down, almost daring you to move again.

Unfortunately for him, you loved getting under his skin.

You tried to shift out from under him again, accepting the unspoken challenge from the sniper.

He retaliated, pressing his entire forearm against your hips to prevent your movements.

With a huff, you realized this might be one battle you wouldn’t win. You resigned yourself to watching him again as he took a glance back at the alley.

When his eyes found yours again, he finally took his hand away from your mouth but his arm across your hips stayed in place.

“You nearly got us caught,” he hissed.

“Yeah, well, this didn’t go the way I expected,” you replied, a sarcastic smile on your face as you once again attempted to get out from under him.

The way he put more weight on your hips told you he wasn’t letting you go that easy. “What did you expect? That I’d just let you stand around up here and let the guards catch both of us?” He questioned.

“Stow it,” you demanded, trying to ignore the way your face felt hot. “We need to get back to the Marauder.”

“Not until you answer my question, sweets.”

You huffed, letting your head fall back. Maker, this man was stubborn. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

“Hate what, sweets?”

“You calling me that!”

“Why, sweets?”

You bit back a snarl at the way he emphasized the name just for the sake of driving you crazy. “I said stow it.”

“What’re you gonna do about it? I seem to have the upper hand, sweets.”

You hated the way his lips curled up into his signature smirk as the nickname left his mouth. Your hands acted on their own accord as they grabbed his face and crashed his lips onto yours. His response was automatic, hands coming to cradle your face to bring you closer to himself.

The kiss was a mess of tongue and teeth, both of you still in an attempt to win an imaginary battle against the other. He pushed you and you pushed back harder against him. Around and around you two went in desperate attempts to put the other in their place…until Crosshair’s comm sounded.

The sniper let out a discontented huff as your mouth left his as you pulled the comm from the belt at his hips.

“We’re still on a mission, sweets,” you reminded him, reveling in the way his jaw ticked as you used the nickname against him before turning back to the comm and assuring Hunter that you and Crosshair were en route to the Marauder. “We gotta get going.”

Despite his groaning, he still shifted off of you and offered you a hand to help you stand up.

You brushed yourself off and took in Crosshair’s usual frown. “Cheer up, Cross.”

“I don’t like being interrupted,” he replied, pulling a toothpick from the pocket on his belt.

Shrugging, you grabbed the toothpick from his hand and put it in your own mouth. “Don’t worry. We’ll finish this later.”

The corners of Crosshair’s mouth ticked up at your insinuation. “I like that plan, sweets.”

Although you rolled your eyes, you couldn’t help the fond smile from growing on your face. Instead of granting him a response you simply turned and started the trek back to the Marauder with Crosshair right beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. Yeah, you’d definitely be finishing this later.

[kustas]

Sorry for the incoming long rant.

I just rediscovered your blog, and I always enjoyed your thoughts on WHA and wanted to rant a little bit. I found a post of yours talking about how WHA is getting less nuanced and I feel the same way. I feel like in an effort to make every character feel like a person, the manga treats everyone’s issues as if they’re on the same level. I’m not sure if that entirely makes sense, but it feels like the manga is trying to make you sympathize with everyone to some extent, even though that doesn’t really work. For example, there is a chapter that pissed me off so much that I had to put the manga on pause. It’s the chapter where Coco shows off a spell that can clean water, and the townspeople are uninterested because they don’t need it. And the moral of the chapter is that Coco should make her spell for everyone. No. No no no. These people need to learn some damn compassion and realize that they need to help end what suffering that they are able to. The moral of the chapter should’ve been that these people need to stop thinking of only themselves. Everything else was aimed at them, so Coco’s spell didn’t need to be for them. It shouldn’t have been for them. There is also the situation with the knights. You went into this already but who gives a shit if they are offended by a grieving husband taking out his anger in them when they are a part of the system that caused his grief. The manga wants you to sympathize with everyone, and while I don’t think these people should be one dimensional their issues should not be treated on the same level as others. Anyway, sorry for the weird long rant, it’s just everyone treats this manga like it is The Most Flawlessly Progressive Manga Ever and your one of the few I’ve found who acknowledges is flaws without devaluing its strengths

Thank you for your ask! I agree with what you're saying and think you worded it very well. It's a bit of a shame it's so rare to find people openly critiquing the series in the community, while it's nothing serious (and minimized by being a bit of a hermit, lol) I've seen some animosity for doing it, I assume because many assume critiquing art means you don't like it or are opposed to what it's trying to do! Which isn't true. Granted Witch Hat Atelier contains many an obvious fantasy metaphor for real life social issues it should be under more scrutiny than normal if you ask me, because those are serious topics that affect people's real lives. I do have faith in the author's serious handling of touchy topics, but in the execution there are things I'd do differently for sure...

The manga wants you to sympathize with everyone, and while I don’t think these people should be one dimensional their issues should not be treated on the same level as others.

WHA has in its writing strong expectations from the reader regarding how you think of its cast I find hard to read through a lot - the latest arc in particular, comparatively, has much of its character based moments revolve around if they're good or bad in a way that implies it'll change how you think of a character and it disturbs me. Qifrey and Sasaran are two early examples of characters that do *not* play into that - Qifrey's beginning arcs simultaneously show him as a shady manipulator and genuinely good teacher who betters the life of his students, and it participates so much to the dramatic tension. Sasaran is a villain of the week who while shown to be a huge cunt, has a backstory that implies his original motives were not nefarious ones, and his life was not easy.

Compare this to a character like Dean who, as much as I'm a fan of his concept, falls rather flat because he's, depending on the chapter, pushed as good/bad to the reader, regarding his moral alignment. Characters who are just meant to be despicable don't have the same level of attention placed to their writing which is a similar issue. It feels insecure, like if the story was saying: we have those important characters, their role is to bring up difficult situations, please don't hate them, like them, see, they're nice too! And giving them chosen positive traits. People don't work like that and it feels cheap. Fandom's obsession with villains should show well a character being despicable doesn't make them unlikeable, and I'd like WHA's characters to be less "good"/"likeable" myself to make them a bit more human. This would detonate a fandom nuke given I still regularly see passionate debates about how mean and terrible characters like Agott or Custas are but hey

As for priorities in the depicted suffering of characters in universe - yeah, it's true some scenes feel a bit off in that department...the water cleaning scene you mention did not rub me the wrong way too hard, because it's centered around Coco, who's our main character, the story bending to give her a central role makes sense, and her unique position in witch society and how it relates to helping others are, with the responsibilities of witches, very important to the story. The apprentice backstories are an earlier example I had trouble taking too seriously because while they're all terrible, tiny silly Riche and her brother's experience with physical child abuse felt drawn with the same intensity as Agott being pushed to mental disarray by her rich fancy perfectionist family. It's all hard to complain about and might sting less if the writing was a bit less dramatic and preachy, but that might just be a me issue, I've seen many fans praise WHA's writing wholeheartedly, so...

What I am hoping is that the latest arc will conclude and lead to the shorter previous structure and we'll get individual attention brought to character stories, one after the other, instead of the all at once formula going on right now... We'll see!

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

Touching back on the “writing good parent-child relationships” thing, I think it’s important to remember that kids are going to have a lot of interests and hobbies and fixations and stuff like that that parents are either going to suffer through or just be extremely confused by, and that’s fine, to be expected, etc. The thing that you’re looking for is that the adult is actively looking for common ground, taking the kid’s interest in the thing seriously, and supporting the kid’s healthy engagement with the thing.

Back in the Before Times, I was going to a lot of live entertainment, and every performance had a certain amount of second or third wheels who were very ??? about the whole thing that they’d just sat through.

The big difference was between the people who acted put out by the whole thing and said shit like “I hope you’re happy, you got to see ______, can we go home now?” and the people who were patently bewildered but keeping a lid on it and asking things like “Did you have fun? What was your favorite part? Do you want to see if they’re doing autographs or selfies at the merch table?”

Like, “I have no idea what the shit I just sat through, but clearly this is speaking to you in a profound and meaningful way and I want to participate as deeply as I can because I love you and this is bringing you joy.”

And of course, if you do this shit to your partner, eventually they’re just going to dump your ass because you’re such a pill about stuff that excites them and life’s too short for that nonsense. If you do this shit to a child in your care, they... can’t really do that until they’re 18. So the lesson they take from interactions like that is not to get too excited about stuff they care about within earshot of you/an adult or not to admit to any interests that you aren’t also very interested in, because they’ll be ridiculed or treated as if they’re annoying for having those interests. It creates this whole raft of communication issues, because the parent becomes a person the child can’t entirely trust to have their back and starts selectively editing themselves around.

It’s a great way to wind up with a parent-child relationship where the kid knows they can come to you for a loan or because they need a ride halfway across the continent or help hiding a body, but they’d never in a million years talk to you about how serious they are about a romantic partner or how bad their seasonal depression disorder actually is or why they quit that “dream job” they had for a few years. If you don’t immediately understand or approve of what the kid’s telling you, you’re going to be a jackass about it and shut them down, and it’s not worth the risk of being vulnerable.

Conversely, the “I have no idea what the hell just happened, but I love you and you seem pretty stoked about it” parents are a great way to wind up with “he’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit” relationships where children feel confident that even if their parents are going to need a few months and some research to understand them, they’re willing and able to put in that effort and can be largely trusted not to dismiss the child’s experiences and desires out of hand. Will their parents be perfect? No, of course not. But their parents are willing to put in the work to meet the child where they’re at, which lowers the risk for the child deciding to trust them with big revelations.

It’s of a piece with parenting relationship advice that I’ve seen before, which is going out of your way to create opportunities for you and your kid to learn together on the same level and to resist the urge to step into the role of an “authority” during those activities. For example, if you’ve never worked with clay before and you and your kid are doing one of those “mommy and me” classes where you make a bowl or a plate or something, you focus on making a bowl with your kid instead of getting sucked into being an unpaid teacher’s assistant because you’re a parent and therefor vaguely In Charge even though you don’t know shit about ceramics and your ersatz authority is solely by dint of being twice as tall as everyone else at the table.

In terms of fiction, it can be useful to delineate between parents that a character can reliably turn to as an Authority (but not necessarily a whole lot else) and parents that a character could conceivably go to for actual life advice.

[fandoms-writings]

EVENT CLOSED

Those of you wanting to submit a story for the writing challenge at the end of this post, I'm accepting submissions until the end of the year. I'm a slow writer myself and I want y'all to have as much time as you need to join in <3

Welcome to my neon milestone party!

It’s been a few months since I last did a celebration or writing challenge so why not kick off summer with both! I also hit another small milestone, so thank you so so much to all of you for your support 🤍

You must be 18+ to follow me, so you must be 18+ to participate!

We’re gonna have a summer long sleepover, mood boards, a writing challenge, and my requests are officially open for drabbles! 

The cut off is the last day in August!

Under the cut you’ll find all of the ask games and prompt lists and challenge rules! 

Have fun babes  🤍

💎 Rare gems

- Show some love to your fav fics and their authors by sending in some recommendations!

🗒 Ask the Author

- Ask me anything you want about something I’ve written!

📖 Book talk

- Tell me about your favorite book or what you’ve recently read, and why you enjoy it (or why you don’t)

🤫 Secret admirers

- Anonymously (or not) send a love letter to your favorite tumblr person!

🎶 Karaoke

- Send a song recommendation or I’ll put my liked songs on shuffle and send you which one played first!

🫘 Spill the Beans!

- Anonymously (or not) tell me a secret of yours.

🔍 Clue!

- Send me this emoji and I'll post a wip clue (a picture, emoji, a word, etc) and you guys get to guess what it's about. 

🎩 Top 5!

- Another classic. Send me a category, and I'll tell you my top 5 choices within it. 

🙅🏻‍♀️ Never Have I Ever

- This one's pretty self explanatory I think. 

💌 Love letters (mutuals only) 

- I’ll write you a love letter 🥺

🎰 - Spin the Lottery! (mutuals only)

- send me a lil snippet about you (a hobby, your job, your music taste, etc) and a fandom (or not) I’ll pair you with a character from that fandom🤍

Send me a little something - a song, a character, a trope, a quote - anything to give me an idea, and I’ll make a mood board for you 🤍

If you need one for a story even! I’ll gladly help out 🤍

My requests are open for drabbles! Send me a character (it can be from one of my AUs! or not)  and one or two of the prompts from the list below, and I’ll whip up something small for you! As they get requested, they will be crossed off the list 🤍

Angst: 

"Don't go where I can't follow. . . I thought I lost you." (1/2)

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"  (2/2)

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself."  (1/2)

"You're a mess"/"I'm not a mess."/"I can tell you've been crying."  (1/2)

"You were supposed to be different. They were supposed to be wrong about you, but they were right. They were so fucking right."  (2/2)

"What are we doing?"/"Why are you doing this?"  (1/2)

"I know you, how else do you think I found you so easily?"   (1/2)

"Choose me."  (2/2)

Fluff:

"You know my door is always open for you, right?"  (2/2)

"Will you taste this? Tell me if I'm missing anything?"  (1/2)

"Let me kiss it better."  (2/2)

"You're exhausted honey. Go back to sleep."  (1/2)

"Can I hold your hand?"  (2/2)

“Is that my shirt?” (2/2)

"Come get me? I miss you."  (2/2)

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."  (2/2)

Smut:

"stop staring." / "i can't, you're so pretty like this" (2/2)

"Keep your pretty eyes on me."  (2/2)

"You're already wet sweetheart."  (2/2)

"What if someone hears us?"  (0/2)

"Let me hear you make that sound again."  (2/2)

"We shouldn't be doing this."  (1/2)

Characters: (spice it up by adding an au in the ask 🤍)

Bucky Barnes 

Marc Spector / Stephen Grant

Miguel O’Hara

If you don’t see who you’d like me to write for, just ask me about them and I’ll let you know if I’m open to writing for them!

Just have fun with this one and follow the rules below! I'm not really making a theme or anything like that, but if you'd like a prompt from me, just ask and specify what kind of prompt! Also feel free to DM me and bounce around some ideas if you need to!

Rules: 

Use the 'read more' option if what you write is over 500 words. 

Properly list your warnings. 

Your story does not have to contain smut if you don't want it to. 

Dark stories are okay, just no non-con, scat, underage characters involved in sexual activity, DD/LG, bestiality, necrophilia, etc. 

Please use characters that I know, from fandoms I'm in. (If you aren't sure what all is on that list, because I don't post about all of them, just ask!)

Tag me! And use the tag #remisneonparty

Make sure it can be read as a stand alone piece. 

The cut off for this will be the last day of August. I sometimes take forever to write something and want to give you all ample time to submit your stories!

Moodboard and all dividers were made by me, but feel free to use them if you’d like 🤍

Tagging some friends (no pressure!)

@sweetdreamsbuck @shamevillain @pocolatte @perdidosbucky-yyo @treatbuckywkisses @foreverindreamlandd @historygeekfics @barnesafterglow @navybrat817​ @jessybarnes​ @buckysdior​ @honeybloomss​ @banana-cheese-cake​ @sparkledfirecracker​ @sidepartskinnyjeans​ @real-jane​ @archive-obsess​ @mutual-monsters​ @bucksangel​ @thepsychewrites​ @starchildbucky​ @nexusnyx​ @lofaewrites​ @thornsnvultures​ @aquariusbarnes​ @captainsimagines​ @writing-for-marvel​ @heavenlybarnes​ @matchamunson​ @buckybleu​ @boxofbonesfic​ @chloelucia13​ @snugglingbucky​

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: July Wrap-Up.

This month, I picked my knitting back up with a vengeance, started a Three Sentences Writing Challenge, AND participated in several work-adjacent Social Events (who am I, even), On Top Of accidentally nerfing myself with several brick-like books, so! This little stack isn't half bad. Photos and/or reviews linked below:

ORDINARY MONSTERS - ★★ This was a miss for me, y'all, AND it was a brick, so it took a hot minute to read. I wanted it to be better than it was, but it rambled and wandered Too Much (which, coming from me, you KNOW is bad). Salty also-rambly 1.5k review linked.

IF FOUND, RETURN TO HELL - ★★★½ Way cuter than I was expecting!! I had a good time with the second person. Hugely relatable (which. wild. all things considered.).

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE - ★★★½ Funnier than anticipated, and very readable for something out of the '50s! I see why it's a cornerstone of the (sub)genre. Glad I have a copy on hand now.

THE ACTOR AND THE TARGET - ★★★★★ This Rewired My Brain. It took me three (3) weeks to get through. It was so good. If you're a writer, definitely check this out, 10/10 recommend.

WHEN AMONG CROWS - ★★★½ I checked this out from the library because hardback novellas are Expensive if you're not sure you vibe with the author's style, but I had a good time! Witcher fans should descend on this, I think.

ALWAYS COMING HOME - 76*/618 pages read; will report back later. I asked the People about this one, and the People have Spoken (read: this won my What Do I Read Next Poll), but I may or may not have miscalcuated how many brain cells I have available lately between work and writing, so I may or may not be cutting this with library books. I'll finish it. Eventually. (*asterisk because she keeps referencing Other Pages In Line, and every time she does I jump ahead to read those pages instead and then come back to where I was. I'm dual wielding bookmarks through this tome, it's an Experience™ so far!)

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. I am refining this as I figure out my wrap up posts (epiphany of this month: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[nanowrimo]

50k is Overrated: NaNoWriMo from a Disabled Author's Perspective

While it’s great to reach 50,000 words, it should not be a measure of success! Being a successful writer can be different for everyone, especially if you’re disabled. NaNo participant Quinn Clark talks about their experiences participating in NaNo as a disabled writer and writing tips to keep in mind.

NaNoWriMo is the gold standard for adrenaline fueled productivity. Oh, the allure of telling all your friends you wrote 50,000 words in a month! No wonder we all get so excited each year.

But what happens when you have a disability which conflicts with the caffeine-bingeing, late-night-sprint lifestyle so associated with NaNo?

Here’s the secret: NaNoWriMo isn’t really about the 50k. It’s about progress — whatever that looks like to you. The path to 50k is just the most well-known version of NaNoWriMo: it’s less a hard-and-fast rule, and more a landmark to guide your writing journey.

I’m an author, and I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo every year for twelve years. I also have a disability called Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD). CPTSD affects me in a variety of ways: dissociation, panic attacks, and a medley of unpredictable physical symptoms which make my day-to-day life difficult to navigate. As is true for countless disabled and/or neurodivergent writers, no matter how much I want to do everything at once, some days my functioning is reduced and I need time for rest, support, and recovery.

So, what does my NaNoWriMo success rate look like? Well, I’ve ‘won’ NaNoWriMo (hit the 50k words within November) seven times out of those twelve attempts, with a cumulative word count of 446,760 words.

“Oh, that’s terrible!” some of you may cry. “How have you lost so many times?”

“Man, I wish I could write that much,” others might lament. “How have you done NaNo every year for so long?”

I’ve had both of these responses from different writers before, and that fact reveals something important. Your writing process is a unique and personal thing, and it won’t always be compatible with other people’s standards. Here’s a question:

Does the 1k someone writes for one NaNoWriMo matter less than the 50k they wrote for another?

Of course not. Everyday, we wake up to our social media feeds glutted with success stories and the pervasive idea that burnout is the path to success. This notion is incompatible with disability and neurodiversity, and is therefore inaccessible. While this style of breakneck working is great for meeting your short-term goals, it is awful for consistent, meaningful progress — and even more so for your well-being. Forcing yourself to write when you’re fatigued, nauseous, exhausted, dissociated and/or depressed is a sure-fire way to associate writing with punishment, rather than joy and weirdness and creativity. Yes, many of us enjoy writing when we’re feeling bad as a form of escapism — but foregoing self-care in the name of hitting arbitrary word targets is unhealthy, and is not in the spirit of NaNoWriMo. No matter how many words you make yourself write, if you are suffering to get them down, your writing will suffer alongside you.

…So how do we win?

Don’t worry — it’s not all doom and gloom. You deserve to take care of yourself, whether you’re writing or not. Here are some tips for making NaNoWriMo a disability-friendly experience:

1. Listen to your body and brain now, not later.

Many of us are guilty of this (I’m looking at you, fellow neurodivergent writers!): pushing past the need to eat, or drink, or use the bathroom because you ‘need’ to hit today’s target. Perhaps you’re deep in hyperfocus, or are feeling guilty for taking yesterday off because you couldn’t get out of bed. That’s okay — don’t beat yourself up! Remember to treat accountability for your needs the same way you treat accountability for your writing. Listen to what your brain and body are trying to tell you: NaNoWriMo, or any similar project, is not more important than your well-being. Take that nap, grab that snack, and spend the day bundled in bed if you need to. A burnt-out writer will just start to hate the writing process. I promise you start responding to your own needs, your desire to write will gradually return. After all, writers find it impossible to stay away from the craft!

2. Commiserate with others.

There is great power in sharing your experiences. For years I kept quiet about my mental health struggles, thinking that if people knew about my condition, I wouldn’t be seen as a ‘real’ writer. But something magical happened the first time I spoke to a friend about my disability affecting my writing: they felt able to open up too. Being honest about your bad days in a way which is comfortable for you is a magnificent vulnerability. You humanise yourself in the eyes of others, and in turn are humbled by the strength of your fellow writers. Regardless of diagnosis, label or background, the human desire to be understood and validated is incredibly valuable. You may find that talking helps make your writing journey a good bit lighter.

3. Allow yourself to fail.

‘Failure’is an acidic word to writers — but it doesn’t need to be. You are not a failure because you didn’t reach a goal. You are not a failure because you changed plans. You are not a failure because you are sick, or tired, or working on a different schedule. All those NaNos I did where I didn’t hit the 50k are still so important: one sentence, one word, one idea is still better than nothing at all. You don’t need to plot every missed deadline or ‘unproductive’ work day against a graph of your own self-worth. Be proud of your achievements, and look to the next challenge — whatever that may be.

Good luck to you all on your writing journeys! And the next time you start down that self-flagellating hate-spiral for needing a couple hours off, remember: You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you can’t write as an empty writer.

Quinn Clark is an award-winning author, poet and researcher from the North East of England. A fan of unfiction, folklore and etymology, Quinn weaves narratives of trauma with fantastical characters to provide an insight into the misunderstood experiences of disability.Quinn has a children's colouring book commissioned by Ladybird Books due for publication next year, and is working on their ACE-funded debut novel: the science fiction-fantasy romp Out of Your Depth, following an exhausted scientist who gains the ability to transform into an octopus. You can learn more about their work on their website (https://quinnclark.co.uk), or over on their Twitter (@adashofseaglass). They also have an essay in Kat Brown's upcoming Unbound publication, 'No One Talks About This Stuff'. Photo by Keren Fedida on Unsplash

[beautyofsorrow]

fic author q&a

tagged by @onmytallesttiptoesspinning :)

why do you write fanfic?

my brain is a kinder space to live inside when i write, and fic is the quickest way to get words down on the page these days. also, thinking about the characters is not enough. i need to put them in enclosures and study them. i need to take notes. i need to read those notes obsessively. i need to scatter my toys all over the carpet and invite my friends to admire and compliment them and play.

which of your posted stories do you think of the most even though the story is "finished"?

...........this one. it's definitely this one.

if you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

stop quoting bible verses. let the characters curse. don't freak out when a b7 shipper shows up in the comments section of your friendship fic, you're not going to get sent to hell for being interpreted as writing gay fanfiction. in fact, give it another ten years and you WILL be writing gay fanfiction. on purpose. with your whole chest. please put the jadzia and worf action figures down and back away slowly, you're just gay for dax, you do not really ship them.

what's your relationship to fic stats?

unfriended, blocked, reported. i have workskins installed so i can only see my total word count. on individual works i can see word count, chapter count, and whether the fic is in a collection or not but that is IT. my life has gotten immeasurably better since i did this

is there a pairing or scenario or friendship that you miss writing? if so, why? if not, why not?

raffi & rios. my god i miss raffi & rios. every day i yearn for the day i can take that box off the highest shelf of the closet and open it back up

what motivates you to write?

brainworms. literally the characters are in my head and i need to get them out. if they stay there too long shit starts getting rancid. i also really enjoy participating in gift exchanges because it gives me a deadline, structure, and a community that is focused on writing rather than a specific fandom. we are all cheering each other on in our various anonymous projects and it's so great!

why do you write for the fandom(s) you write for?

mostly it's because a character or characters have crawled inside my brain. sometimes they're there for a month or a season, other times i come back to them multiple times over a span of many years (star trek is the main example here). since entering the exchange scene i have occasionally picked up one-off fandoms if a pinch hit needed filling or if i needed to make myself matchable in order to participate. i've created some of my favorite fics that way and written far outside my comfort zone. it's great :)

if you're stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

take a break. take a break take a break take a break. let the story breathe. let myself breathe. come at it from a different angle. read poetry. steal the poem's bones. use them as a scaffold. if all else fails tuck the work into the abandoned folder so i can't see it anymore but do not under any circumstance delete. it's not a failed story. it's just not the right time yet. no work is wasted work. it all breaks down into compost. every tributary feeds a lake.

what do you wish people knew about comments?

whenever i post a fic, there is an absolutely agonizing period of time between posting and first comments when i am very seriously considering deleting my entire internet presence and disappearing into the mountains. this is a me thing. i understand that. i've come up with various coping strategies through the years with mild success, but no matter how much i believe in the work or how much coaching i provide for my brain, there is always that voice in the back of my head that wonders what if it's actually bad. what if it's really really bad. what if they're pointing and laughing and making fun of me. comments shut that voice up. comments provide tangible, outside-of-my-brain proof that the words i wrote made a positive difference in someone else's day, and sometimes they make a difference in ways i never expected. you do not have to tell an author that you like their fics, but when you do, you are never ever bothering them. they're not thinking you're a weirdo or a creep. they're actually probably grinning in relief. they're backing away from the delete button. they're unpacking their suitcase. they're breathing more easily and re-opening the word doc and showing up at the sandbox of creativity to play another day.

maybe there's a question you wish had been on here. what's that question (and answer)? -> what are some fanworks that have inspired you or fed your own creativity?

Candy and Chlorine by scioscribe is so sharp and smart and sexy. 100% biggest inspiration for my jennifer's body fic An Unofficial Anthology of the Online Fandom for the Yellowjackets Tragedy by banerries is so CREATIVE and so FUNNY. it reminds me that at the end of the day fic is supposed to be about play i recommend this barbie/dracula fic to a different friend at least once a month. stunning character study, so unusual, i love love love crack treated seriously a little lower than the angels by mylittleredgirl got me to see the vision of b'elanna/kes for one lovely lovely sitting. i am forever grateful to rarepair writers. they encourage me to think deep, write hard, and trust the process of creativity @stardustcityhag's art is stunning. i am always on some level trying to channel the feeling of it when i'm writing @zannolin's fics consistently feed my desire for delicious-ambiguous-something-amphibious not-shipfic-but-not-not-shipfic. i've written some of my best and most favorite fics after reading their work. their national treasure polycule fic pops into my brain at least once a month. i adore it @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l's smut is some of my favorite smut in the whole world. so sensuous, so vivid, so lush and vivid and aching. i am always at all times meditating on this una/la'an bathhouse thunderstorm fic they wrote me. also, this una/nhan breathplay fic. and this satanic panic fic. and this la'an + insomnia one. i could go on

tagging @zannolin and @ceruleanphoenix7

[idyllic-affections]

I see that you do tbhk! If you could can I request friendship hcs for nene, hanako, and Kou? Ty in advance :)

general friendship hcs.

summary. general friendship headcanons with the main three.

trigger & content warnings. references to death.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. yashiro nene & reader, hanako & reader, minamoto kou & reader. 0.8k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. hello dear!!!! yes ofc you can.... the tbhk fans have been finding me recently and it makes me so happy helshsjghfh that's my comfort manga (i say, knowing it is the most horrible, gut-wrenching, soul-crushing manga i have read thus far)!!! i COULD say that this is my first time writing for tbhk, but that would make me a liar, because it's not! my first reader insert longfic was a tbhk one on quotev way back in 2021. i'd say i've improved a lot since then.

YASHIRO NENE—

being friends with nene means getting dragged into all of her supernatural adventures. if you're close enough to her, that is.

she, without a doubt, rants to you about her crushes and asks you for advice! she'll also complain about hanako to you, if you so happen to know about him.

she's super supportive. she's always cheering you on and encouraging you! and also, if you want advice or want to rant to her, she's completely open to that.

she rants to you, so you should be able to rant to her too. it's only fair. she does admit, though, that her advice might not be that good.

also i think nene would be physically affectionate. always hugging you, maybe giving you a lil kiss on the forehead if you're comfortable with that! hand-holding is also common with her.

she would be SO happy if you shared her interest in gardening or cooking! she'd love to have another friend to do those things with. if not, that's okay too! she doesn't want her friends to feel uncomfortable or forced to participate in any way.

she cares about you so so deeply and genuinely would be devastated if you ever got hurt because of her.

if you're a ghost, i don't think your dynamic would change much at all, actually. i think she would still treat you the same!

tell her she is pretty!!!! do not let her insecurities get to her!!!! reciprocate her supportive energy!!!!!

she might actually cry if a friend of hers were to support her so passionately.

HANAKO—

like nene, being close enough friends with hanako means you end up getting involved in things you probably shouldn't be involved in LMAO

i don't think he MEANS to get you involved, because he does worry about your safety, but it just sort of... happens. you end up involved regardless.

dude follows you everywhere, 100%

it's like what he does with nene, just without the romantic subtext LMAO

if you're human? he's sitting in your classes with you. he does it mainly for two reasons: one, because it reminds him of when he was alive, and it's strangely comforting. two, because he loves you and wants to annoy you <3

he's generally very clingy, and if you happen to be a ghost? ohohoho it's FAR worse.

he's always touching you in some way.

playing with your hair, fidgeting with your hands, hanging off of your shoulders... he's very touchy. poor thing is so touch starved.

personal space? he has no idea what that phrase means!

(he does, and if you seriously ask him to, he will respect your personal space and boundaries.)

it doesn't come from a bad place. he just finds it grounding. reassuring.

hanako also generally won't come to you with his problems.

he's not keen on being an open book. if you've known him for long enough, he would absolutely be more open to being honest with you, but if you haven't known him long at all? yeah... he's not cracking. trying to forcefully pry him open wouldn't help either.

MINAMOTO KOU—

he will absolutely, without a doubt, make you cute little homecooked meals.

we all know he's the only one out of his sibling's who is both old enough to use a stove and competent enough not to burn the kitchen down, so of course he would spend time making you a lunch!

especially if he felt like you weren't eating enough or you needed something extra to get you through the day. he notices the little details like that.

he's an acts of service kind of guy. he does little things to show you that he cares.

btw. if you're close enough friends with him? tiara and teru will both know you by name. you'll become like another member of their family <3

(tiara would get so excited every time she gets to see you, practically bouncing on her heels.)

i like to think he's a lil protective!!!! he worries about your safety and worries that supernaturals might want to hurt you bc of his involvement with you :c

teru would smite them before they got the chance, though, so kou really doesn't have much to worry about.

if you're a ghost, i think this dynamic would be very fascinating.

teru would try to kill you. yeah... sorry.

kou wouldn't let him though!! he would believe wholeheartedly that you're good and have no intention of being harmful, and because teru isn't really interested in ruining his relationship with his brother... you get to keep living your afterlife!

(please don't betray kou's trust.)

also if you're a little bit older than him, or if you just seem wiser, i think he'd ask you for advice on a bunch of things!

he doubts himself a lot. be sure to reassure him that he's doing the best he can for someone so young.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[not-freyja]

Linked Universe Big Bang 2023 - Infomercial and General Rules

What is a Big Bang?

A Big Bang is an event in fandom where authors write a fic and are paired with artists who create art to go with it. These pieces are posted at the same time/together, reprising the older zine tradition of writers and artists collaborating for fandom.

How can you participate? There are three ways you can join the LU Big Bang: as an author, an artist, or a beta.

Authors will write a fic, artists will make fan art for that fic, and betas will provide the invaluable service of editing said fic if requested.

F.A.Q. for Big Bangs and specific information for this event under the cut.

What counts as art? If you are an artist participating in this event, there are a lot of ways that "count." You can do traditional, digital, moodboards, banners, a piece of embroidery... as long as it is a visual piece of art that goes with the fic you are paired with, it counts!

Minimum Word Count: The absolute minimum word count for fic is going to be 5k. It can be a one-shot, or a multi-chapter fic. It can be 7k or 200k, whatever your heart desires. As long as it is at least five thousand words, and done by the deadline, it counts.

Can I write in a language other than English?

Of course you can! As long as you are able to communicate with your artist in whatever language to get the collaboration done, I fully endorse fanworks in the native languages of the authors.

LU-centric: This event is for the Linked Universe fandom. That means that all art and fic must fall into the greater umbrella of the LU.

That being said, if you want to write something that is entirely about one member of the chain, or only features three of them, that is completely fine. AUs are allowed. Crossovers are also permitted, as long as the focus is our beloved Links.

Go crazy. Just stay in the fandom.

Ratings: Go nuts. Fluff, angst, any and all archive warnings and ratings are permitted. Write G, write E, write whatever speaks to you. That being said, y'all better be tagging responsibly. Artists will be asked when filling out their signup sheets if they are comfortable creating art for certain ratings/warnings.

Original Works Only: All entries for this event must be original to this event. That means that authors can't add a few chapters to their current WIP and call it a day. And artist cannot decide that an existing project is close enough and make edits. The point of this is to create an explosion (or a BIG BANG if you will) of brand new fanworks.

Authors: this is the perfect excuse to dust of those plotbunnies and flesh them out.

Collaboration: This is a collaborative event. We are celebrating our love for the Legend of Zelda franchise, the Linked Universe, and the Chain together. That means that you have to keep in contact with your partner, and complete the two check-ins with me (the event organizer) so that everyone has a good time working together to make something beautiful.

Beta Reading: As someone who chronically posts without a beta, I am not going to enforce having one. That being said, this event will have a beta sign-up, and I strongly encourage taking advantage of our kind volunteers. Or use your own regular beta. Or live that "no beta, we die like men" life. You do you, I guess.

For those of you interested in volunteering to beta read, please, feel free to do so. There will be a sign-up for you wonderful, beautiful, selfless people.

Hosting: All fics will be hosted on Archive of Our Own. You are more than welcome to post them elsewhere as you so desire in addition, but the "homepage" for the event will be an Ao3 collection. If you are an author who wants to participate but does not yet have an Ao3 account, I recommend signing up for one now. Last time I checked, the wait list was about a week. Not bad. Paired art-pieces can be hosted anywhere that the artist chooses, as long as it is linked/attached to the corresponding fic.

Posting: Since a majority of the fandom is currently going though whumptober/flufftober/linktober, and I know how Nano can be, I am looking at a late early december post date.

That being said, when we do get to posting, there will be a couple of hard-fast rules. Fic will be posted with the art and a link to the art hosting page/artist. Art will be posted with a link to the fic. The point of this is that they go together, after all.

Support: Please reach out to me. Send me a message/ask for the tiniest thing. If you think that someone else already asked it, it's fine, I will answer it with a link to the other answered ask. This is not the first Big Bang or Reverse Bang that I have run, so no matter what the question is, I am sure I have heard it before. Ask it. It's fine.

Also, reach out to your fellow artists and authors. The point of events like this is to make friends, so go on! Talk to people!

Extensions/Deadlines: The point of this event is to create an explosion of content on one set date. That being said, I know that life happens. Words can be hard. The muse can abandon you, and leave you bereft of the ability to finish the work.

This is where that communication thing comes in. If you make sure that your partner and the mod (that's me, hi) knows that you are just running behind, then all is forgiven. That being said, do try to meet the deadline. And those who have not completed their work for this event will not be allowed to participate in the next event I run (if/when) that occurs until said work is completed. It wouldn't be fair to your partner otherwise.

Where do I sign up?

The official timeline and sign-up sheet will be out by this Sunday, October 8th. I will be posting it on my Tumblr. And will tag all successive posts for this event with #LUBB2023 (Linked Universe Big Bang 2023).

Any other questions?

Send me an ask, reply/comment on this post. Go crazy. And please reblog this post if this sounds fun. The more people that see this, the more people potentially signing up for the event.

[battlemaiden13]

akameloooooo: My God, I can’t believe the gem I just found, simply perfect!

(I don’t know if the creator is he or she, but I’ll address her as she.)

I caught a cold this week and stayed home resting with a sick note. With nothing to do, I decided to revisit my old hobby of reading Mafiafell fanfics and found this wonderful writing.

I confess that when I started reading, I didn’t pay much attention. I thought it would be bad or boring because it’s a multiverse and very long. But, my God, as I read, I became obsessed and couldn’t stop until I finished.

I usually don’t like long stories, but this one won my heart. I fell in love, simply perfect. I can’t express how euphoric I am about this reading.

I think I started last Saturday and finished last night.

It’s simply perfect. Congratulations to whoever wrote it. The writing is good, the story is immersive, and all the characters have distinct personalities. Not to mention the coordination in writing about so many characters at the same time, giving them hobbies, dreams, and desires in a fluid manner. Congratulations.

When I saw it was from 2017, I was sad because I thought the author had abandoned it. But I jumped out of my chair when I saw she released a new chapter today. I couldn’t believe she’s still writing. Congratulations. I haven’t read chapter 179 yet; I’m writing this before going to read it. I’ve never written anything on the internet; this is the first time I’m commenting somewhere random. I don’t even know if I’m writing in the right place. I didn’t even have an account for this; I just created this one to congratulate the perfect author. She knows how to write very well and makes the story engaging. I hope she achieves everything she wishes for. Congratulations once again. Perfect.

It’s a pity I return to my activities tomorrow, but I’m happy with the idea that I can continue my routine while waiting for more of this beauty. I had never participated in a vote before; I already took the opportunity and voted for mine, lol.

My eternal love since I was little is Sans, but she made me fall in love with many from the House Mutt, Coffe, Orange. I hope there are more hot moments. I’m embarrassed, lol.

13: Hi Akame! I’m battlemaiden and yes I’m the author of House Next Door. 

I hope my interpretation of Mafiafell was up to your standards since that’s how you found my story.

I’m so glad you enjoyed my writing after giving it a shot. I understand completely it is very very long. I’ve very much accepted then any new readers I’ll get will be ones who have skipped over HND heaps of times because of it’s lenght and then one day they just say fuck it XD Which I’m fine with, it’s just such a shame I don’t think those first like 20 chapters are great hooks XD. HND is defiantly a story that gets better the more you read. 

Thank you for your kind words. My character writing is something I’m very proud of and I’m glad I can write them well enough for others to enjoy (I think it’s far from perfect though)

Yep, House next door started in 2017 and is very much still updating. I almost do once a week at this point. there was a time I was updating everyday, I miss those days. I want to write a real book one day, not just fanfics and I’ve got an idea for one I just don’t have time to start a draft. 

It’s wild that you made an account just to talk to me. thank you, your welcome to chat any time. give suggestions or ideas or just talk :3

Ah almost all of the Chaos Quartet have your heart XD. I am very much a papyrus varient girly (with a few acceptions) so I will gladly convert you XD

Thank you so much for taking the time to write me so many sweet things and helping my head grow even bigger /jk. I really appreciate it and I hope you have a wonderful day!!