#to try and figure out how to write them together

[fuschiarulerinthebluebox]

Honestly this is one of the things I like about Rook, they’re NOT qualified for any of the things they’re doing. Like yeah they’ve got some background qualifications but they’re pretty average, just a normal person thrown into trying to save the world. They’re just a little guy ™ who’s personable and pretty solid at planning and utilising the skill sets of people around them (and frankly that’s a deeply undervalued skill in itself, like if you’ve ever had a bad project manager YOU KNOW how big a difference it can make). And let’s be clear, if you’re only picking the generic dialogue options it’s obviously going to feel like Rook has no fucking clue, the faction/background options add so much flavor, I love the little moments where Rook gets to nerd out with the rest of the group. Some of them definitely feel more impactful (looking at you Mourn Watch) but they absolutely allow Rook to speak peer to peer and be competent. But it’s not like the professionals know what they’re doing all the time either, just look at Lucanis at Weisshaupt.

I’ve seen a lot of really interesting takes, my fav is from @fanfoolishness, that even though no one directly addresses Varric’s death with Rook, they’re supportive/ hold space in their own ways (eg. Neve at the Wall of Light, Emmrich in the gardens, Davrin just taking a walk, Bellara having Rook help her light the braziers for Cyrian, Lucanis having Rook help plan the funeral). And navigating a death that big is hard even if you know someone really well, I do wish they had spent a little more time processing that after Rook figures it out but I get why they didn’t as far as timeline. My first play through was MW and I definitely had a moment of “oh no, I haven’t done any rites for Varric”. I do really like the head cannon/ theory that Solas inadvertently tied a little piece of Varric to Rook when he did his little blood magic nonsense, and Rook really is seeing some echo of him.

Along those same lines, as much as I love petting Assan and playing rock paper scissors with Manfred, I wish they had let Rook interact with the party more at the lighthouse outside of the special conversations. Rook in a lot of ways does act like the group therapist, and I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Can it be a little tedious as the player? Yeah, but for the characters it’s a natural progression of trusting what is essentially your coworker to becoming friends you rely on. Then there’s the twisted funhouse mirror of this same progression with Rook and Solas, going from almost-enemies to not-totally-truthful confidants and then unlikely-unsteady-forced-proximity allies.

I think at its core, Rook feels like a companion to all these “Main Characters” because Varric chose someone like him. Someone who is kind and helpful (see also: all those complaints you can play a mean/evil Rook), makes goofy jokes, listens to the people around them, and isn’t necessarily a hero but can make those hard choices if they need to. And yeah at a meta level it could just be poor writing or the game having been worked over by so many changes over a decade, but if we the player trust Varric we have to remember that Varric and Rook have been traveling together for more than a year and Varric trusts Rook. Rook is leading because Varric trusts them to do what’s right, not because they’re the absolute best at everything, not because they’re a hero. Trust.

This was probably way longer than it needed to be and rambled a little a lot , but I do think it’s a pretty solid game especially after so many revisions, and keeps the souls of a Dragon Age game.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[steorrneleom]

BG3 Elven Names: A Watsonian Perspective

Amongst folks who like Astarion as a character, the meaning of his name is a common topic of discussion. The answer is typically that it is a variation of Astērion (Ἀστερίων), a Greek name meaning starry, which makes complete sense considering that he is likely a moon elf, but it is based in a language that does not actually exist in the Forgotten Realms. This isn’t a problem, a Doylist answer is completely valid, but I thought it would be fun to figure out what the meaning would be in Elvish (the D&D version), a Watsonian answer (1). After Astarion's, I set out to see if this could be done with Halsin and Cazador as well. I present here my results, with narrative. I have also included a TLDR at the end for those who want to skip the methodology.

(1) To any who may not be aware: Doylist means that it is what the author was thinking when writing / what their intention was. Watsonian means the in-universe perception / explanation. Example: Why did magic change so much between D&D 3.5e and D&D 4e? Doylist answer is that they wanted to simplify how magic worked to draw in new players. Watsonian answer is that Mystra was assassinated by Shar and Cyric resulting in arcane magic becoming unstable and changing its behavior.

In the Lack of Duolingo

First things first, I needed a resource for the Elven language in D&D. As with many collaborative canons, official uses of the language were spread through many mediums and over the course of decades. This makes hunting down sources difficult, but luckily a wonderful person by the name of Diane Morrison was kind enough to create ‘A Treatise on Espruar,’ which offers a complete dictionary. This is what I will be using:

A quick disclaimer that, also like with many collaborative canons, this language has inconsistencies and gaps which makes a true cannon language impossible until a complete conlang is officially released. What I present is to the best of our current resources.

Method to the Madness

I have the words, but next comes the challenge of using them. These names were not made to be interpreted in the lens I am using, so it is kind of like trying to fit a square peg in anything but a square hole. Some words can line up near perfect but have meanings that make absolutely no sense, like dragon royal world, or some words can have the right meanings but have the wrong letters. I resolved this with the following criteria:

The words used must be as close to the name as possible.

Sound shifts must be minimal and not drastic.

As few letter drops as possible.

A meaning that makes sense in context (as much as possible).

Key

Word / part of word Meaning

Astarion

Something noteworthy about Astarion’s name that I kept in mind when translating it is that it was his ‘child name’, the name that was given to him by his parents and not one he chose for himself (2). This means that the meaning wouldn’t necessarily be one that he himself liked, but rather one that a parent would like to ascribe to their child.

Searching for words, one almost seemed perfect at first: Aasterinian (meaning quicksilver). It was already so close to his name without having to Frankenstein words together, but sadly it broke nearly all of my rules. It had three letter drops and two sound shifts: er to ar and ian to ion. I also was of the opinion that while quicksilver was a fine name meaning, it wasn’t one that felt like it was meant for a child.

So, the next option was a combination of Aestar (meaning together or one heart) and -ion (meaning noble). I was hesitant of this one at first. The meaning I wanted to use for Aestar, heart, had seemed to be reserved for the context of marriage at first glance, but then I saw the name Araestar with its meaning of Goldheart. This is evidence that heart is valid for names as well.

Thus, my Watsonian idea is that Astarion’s name comes from Aestarion, which translates to noble heart. This only has one letter drop and a slight sound shift from Ae to A. I also personally think noble heart is a fitting meaning for a child’s name.

(2) Astarion’s tombstone has his name and states he was 39 when he ‘died’. Elves are typically considered adults and choose their new name when they reach the age of 100.

Halsin

Halsin was a bit of a hard one, where there were tons of possibilities but near all of them just didn’t fit right. Halsin is 350 years old, he would have presumably chosen his name with a meaning that represented him as a person. He, in my opinion, wouldn’t have a name that meant something random like weak brook or red. In addition, I had to find a combination of words that fit my rules.

So, I had to write down three prefix possibilities, five word possibilities, three suffix possibilities, and mix and match until I got something that met my criteria. I won't include my rejected combinations due to their number, but here are some reasons I rejected them: ‘r to l sound shift is too drastic’, ‘the on sound is too different from in’, and ‘though m and n are close in the IPA the sound shift feels too great’. Luckily, I did find a combination I was satisfied with in the end.

My Watsonian idea is that Halsin’s name comes from Halasan which translates to one who is free and wild. The ending of Halasan would likely be pronounced like in already so it would only be a letter change instead of a sound shift. The only other change needed would be a letter drop, the a in las.

Cazador

Now this name I went in thinking that it would be the true challenge, the 'z' felt distinctly non-elven to me, but much to my surprise D&D elven does have the z sound and letter. It was still hard to get a good meaning out of it, especially since it is unknown whether this would be his child name or his adult name and there was only one combination of words that worked.

The collection of words at my disposal were cas which means herald, -adar which means world, and za which means royal, of royalty. From this, I got Cazadar, which is a modification of Casadar that adds za. This would give a direct translation of herald of royalty world, which I feel would be interpreted as royal herald (to the world). It isn’t the cleanest meaning, but I feel like there is ego and world domination vibes to it, so it works.

A slight tangent, it is debatable how valid my overlapping construction is. It is possible that the shift from cas to caz would be seen as just a letter shift and not an addition of the word za. This wouldn’t be a problem, herald of the world is still a valid meaning for my purposes, despite it losing some of the ego. There is also the possibility that the za is seen but it results in the caz being interpreted as ca, a letter shift from ka which means dragon. Since there is no dor or dar in elvish, it is possible that it would be seen either as an ornamentation or a shortening of -adar, in which case the translation becomes dragon of royalty or dragon of royalty world. These meanings aren’t horrible in the case of a wrongful interpretation, but it doesn’t entirely make sense, and Kazaadar breaks the rules I imposed.

With all this being said, my Watsonian idea is that Cazador’s name comes from Cazadar, which can be translated to royal herald (to the world). This is the one name that I created that feels like a stretch, but I tried my best.

Last Names

I originally only did the first names when I decided to make this, but then I realized while typing all this that this probably wouldn’t be complete without trying the last names too... and so, I decided to give them a try. I sat down with the elven dictionary and felt the hope leave my body as soon as I wrote them down on my scrap paper. Ancunín, with a little accent on the ‘i’ and a super rare letter for D&D elvish, ‘u’; and Szarr, with two consonants (S and Z of all things) next to each other. I predicted a struggle, a struggle is what I got, and I fled the battle, unsuccessful. I was not able to find anything that met my rules… yet.

I will revisit this someday, but it will require a lot more research on Faerûn than I am able to put in right now, sadly. Here is the fun thing about last names, they are often more influenced by location as opposed to the ethnic origin of someone. Case and point: in the US a lot of folks changed their last name upon arrival to better fit in, or it was messed up enough times that they changed it for convenience sakes. Examples: Müller turning into Miller (a spelling change), Zimmermann becoming Carpenter (a direct translation), or going from Sadowski to Smith (A complete change to assimilate). They also have a different meaning convention compared to regular names to begin with, where they can be based on the location an ancestor lived, their occupation, or their nickname.

A Watsonian answer may exist for Ancunín and Szarr, but it would be rooted in where their families lived through the eras and other local languages that might have influenced the original elvish version. Like perhaps the location the Ancunín family is from has a predominant language which favors ‘u’ as a vowel. Maybe Szarr isn’t elvish at all and is an occupation name. I don’t know if I will be able to find a satisfying answer, but if I do one day I will be sure to post it.

Bonus

Espruar is the alphabet of the elvish language, which looks really cool in my opinion. Before I even started looking into the Watsonian origins of the names, I thought it would be cool to see what their names looked like written in it and so vectorized all the letters. Below are the character's names and their origin names written with Espruar.

Astarion

Aestarion

Halsin

Halasan

Cazador

Casadar

Cazadar

Little End Note

I want to thank everyone who read through my long explanations and tangents, I hope you enjoyed reading the thought process behind all of these ☺️. I also wanted to let you folks know that I am going to make another post soon with my vectorized Espruar alphabet so anyone can write with it should they want to.

TLDR

[a-rainbow-girl-detective]

Cassandra Cain...in plush form!

For Cassandra Cain Week 2025, I decided to make a plush of Cass in her Black Bat costume! Here, you can see she’s posed amongst rosemary flowers. Rosemary is a symbol of remembrance, and because it can grow even under harsh conditions, it also stands for strength in adversity. Both meanings are perfect for Cassie!*

I really like how her expression turned out. I think she looks very cute and tough!

If I’m being honest, Cassandra’s Black Bat costume isn’t my favorite (though I do love how she’s usually drawn with her cape as this rippling, writhing, alive thing swirling all around her)—I think her OG Batgirl costume is top-notch character design! But without the mask, it’s also a pretty plain costume, and I thought the Black Bat outfit was more visually striking for a simplified doll. (This is also why I made the inside of her cape yellow—canon!Cassie would definitely favor an all-black cape for stealth, but I think she’d agree that for a cuddly doll, a pop of color is acceptable.)

I’ll post some work-in-progress pictures of her later this week, but for now, I’m just delighted that she’s done! I used to be super into knitting character dolls (like, it was my main hobby besides writing—I was very cool in high school), but it’s been a while since I made one, and it was really fun to do something similar again. I think my favorite detail is the little bandages/wraps on her forearms. She wears them as Black Bat, but she also wears them in the YA novel Shadow of the Batgirl as part of a costume she cobbles together herself, and for that reason, I’m especially fond of them as part of her design. With them on, she's ready to take on whatever Gotham can dish up!

*Alright, full disclosure: I actually didn’t intend to comply with the prompts at all. I was taking pictures of Cass outside, noticed that the only flowering plant in my yard was rosemary, and had a violent flashback to playing Laertes in my 11th-grade production of Hamlet, in which we had our Ophelia run out into the audience and start distributing flowers to random people whilst explaining their meaning (one of which was “rosemary—that’s for remembrance”). So then I spent several minutes trying to figure out how to most effectively stuff my precious, handmade doll into a bush. On the plus side, the pictures are pretty, they fit the prompt, and now Cass smells like rosemary, so…win/win?

[thediaryofaghost]

; NOT MY MAN

© gif credits to @daniel-bruehl.

Simon Riley aka GHOST x READER | masterlist.

Summary. the team is back in town after a mission but seems like you would have preferred to stay there than having to face the kind of feelings you're discovering now.

word count: 1.2k.

warnings/tags: none. maybe a little bit of jealousy, but nothing serious.

author notes: my stories don't contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

pd: hi, y'all! first time writing for Ghost, no judging, please. i hope you like it.

The mission couldn’t have gone more successful, and the whole team was back in town before expected. That’s why Soap has had the great idea of throwing a small party for you all, more like a teammates’ barbecue. But now that you’re there, staring at the scene happening right in front of your eyes and holding a beer almost empty, you’re starting to figure out how to leave the place without looking like an asshole.

All your friends are having fun, while you’re about to break the glass container between your fingers just by the burning angriness emerging inside your guts. Why? Simple question, simple answer. Ghost is there, of course, keeping his face covered by the balaclava he never takes off, not even while sleeping; standing arms crossed next to the new acquisition for the team. Rhaia. A former soldier who is brand new to your world. Flirting with him. Or better said, trying to flirt with him. But even if Ghost isn’t moving an inch of his body, he’s letting her touch his bicep, play with the badges sewed in his jacket, and grab his dog tags to read the information written down in them.

Who does she think she is?

And who do you think you are?

Clicking your tongue, as you turn around, you give the beer one last sip before placing it on the table next to you. Silent and keeping your gesture deadpanned, your feet take you to the inside. You’ve had enough shit to deal with for today and you’re pretty tired to pretend you aren't… jealous? Ghost and you are nothing but teammates. On-duty. Off-duty is hard to explain. He’s your guardian during the nights in town like a protector, that’s how you like to see the situation. For a cop, he’s a stalker, and probably a psychopath too. But he has some power over you that you can’t even explain or run away from.

And now, everything you’ve thought you’ve had till this moment looks like it’s been reduced to ashes since Rhaia is part of the equation.

“ Party is downstairs. ”

A shiver runs down your spine. It doesn't matter the amount of time you two spend together, accompanied or alone, you never hear him coming. But you can't help but ignore his words, looking for the keys to your bike inside the pockets of your leather jacket, about to wear the piece of clothing and leave the house.

“ You going mute scares me more than death. ”

His voice is neutral. There’s no confusion, or angriness, or surprise in it. Those emotions fill you up at the exact moment you turn around, ready to go, by finding him closer than expected. 

“ Oh, for fuck sake! ”  You grumble, moving a palm onto your chest and closing your eyes for a second.

“ Where are ya’ heading at, hm? ”

“ You all are occupied with your own business and I’m tired, I just want to sleep, Ghost. ”

Raising his eyebrows as an incredulous gesture, the man tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what’s going on inside that mind of yours. It’s not the explanation, but the fact that you have called him by his undercover name, and not just by his name like whenever the two of you are alone.

“ I'll take you home, little bird. C’mon. ”

“ You’re not coming. ” The sentence slips through your mouth before you can even think about it, watching him turn back to face you as he is ready to accompany you.

“ I am your man, of course I’m leaving with you. ” He’s now aware of what’s going on, and can’t help but drag every single word by his tongue. Demanding. With that possessive tone of voice that, in another kind of situation, would take you to your more desired fantasies later that night.

“ If my man can be touched by any woman, then… he’s not my man. ”

Oh, there it is; the attitude that rarely comes out from you, taking a step closer at the point you're breathing in the air he spells — besides the height difference. You’re challenging him with no fear, with no doubt. Looking straight into his eyes, contemplating how they darken themselves. That man is angry for real, making a huge effort to not lose his mind, the control over his body. Not with you. Maybe with a poor devil that crosses paths with him tonight. But you’re hurt. And so it’s your ego. Gho— Simon is yours. Nobody else can't touch him with that kind of intention but you, even when you don’t touch him like that; because the two of you have a non-verbal arrangement that he’s your guard dog and you don’t make any complaints.

Your heart races at the moment he takes a step back, away from you, not uttering a single word, making you feel frustrated for preventing you from seeing his face at this moment. How much would you love to burn down the balaclava he’s wearing (...).  But, at least, it seems like he has understood that you need some time alone to put down the feelings and emotions blurring your head like stormy clouds covering the sun from nowhere.

( A few hours later. )

“ What… What are you doing here? ”

Even if it was quite a surprise to find your lieutenant, fully equipped, sitting in front of your bed in the middle of the night, you didn't feel like he was a menace, nor like you were in danger. You didn't even care to ask how he had sneaked inside your house outwitting the alarm.

“ Go back to sleep, little bird. ” The murmur left his covered lips as he bent over just a little, enough to rest his arms onto his lap, getting a better view of you obeying without complaining and laying down between the sheets.

For a reason you can’t understand, you wake up with your heart racing and a thin layer of sweat covering your whole body. The survivor mode has been turned on. It wasn’t a nightmare, but a memory haunting you. The room is submerged in darkness, only illuminated by a lamppost outside, but what leaves you with no words is the empty chair in front of your eyes. Ghost is not there. And he should be.

Turning on the light, you look for your phone. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Cleaning the sweat from your forehead with a tissue, you toss away the wet sheets and walk barefoot outside of your room, touring the small flat.

“ Simon…? ”

Maybe he has gone for a glass of water or something, but you don’t receive a word back, nor a hint that he’s there. It’s only you and the silence of the night.

A sharp pinch stabs your heart. But what is that? Pain, sorrow, regret? Sadness? For a moment, you think that calling him is a good idea, disappearing as you remember what you told him earlier this evening. Has he taken that really seriously? No. That’s not typical of him. He would fight. And, for you, he would go to hell and be back before the blink of an eye, after turning off the flames that consume the place.

But then, why is the first night in almost two years he is not there, watching over you while you sleep?

Where are you, Ghost…?

feedback is appreciated and needed. please, if you have read this shot, leave a comment and / or reblog. don’t forget we do it for free to contribute to your entertainment and interactions are what make us keep writing every day.

[midnightfict]

Back in Our Days.

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — When two, now estranged friends get caught in an unexpected encounter which triggers a feeling one thought was lost.

A/N — This story is loosely inspired by the song "Who Are You?" - Saga Faye. Please give me story requests, I get story inspirations from songs and/or real-life situations, and I'm currently up for a new challenge.

read pt. 2 here

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The streets of Seoul were bustling as usual. People hurried past, umbrellas shielding them from a faint drizzle. On opposite sides of the road, two figures unknowingly walked in parallel paths. You clutched your bag nervously, trying to avoid the water from ruining your belongings, while on the other side, a tall man in a sleek black coat walked confidently, his face partially hidden by a baseball cap.

As the traffic lights turned red, you stepped onto the crosswalk, and your eyes caught his. Something about him felt achingly familiar, but the thought slipped away as the two of you passed each other. Just as you reached the other side, an unexplainable tug made you glance back. You saw him turn too, his eyes meeting yours for a short moment.

“Byung-hun?” you murmured under your breath.

Gathering your courage, you waved with a bright smile, the kind you always used to greet him with back in the day. But instead of the warm recognition you expected, his expression remained monotone. He looked away and continued walking.

Your hand fell slowly, your smile fading. Hurt pricked at your chest, but you shook it off, convincing yourself there must be some explanation. You couldn't help but remember the joyful times you spent with him.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, but the seat next to you was still empty. You tapped your pencil against your desk, glancing out the window. Moments later, Byung-hun slipped into the classroom, his hair slightly disheveled, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“You’re late,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“And you’re still here? I thought you’d be bored to death already,” he shot back with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. Byung-hun leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Wanna ditch?”

“What?” you whispered, eyes widening. “We can’t just—”

“C’mon, we're seniors. They won't bat an eye!” he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your seat.

The two of you sneaked out through the back gate, muffling your laughter as the wind rushed past. The afternoon was spent at a nearby arcade, battling each other in games, eating street food, and talking about dreams that seemed so big back then.

"I want to be a famous actor," He proudly claimed.

"One day, I'm going to write a movie, and I'll make you the biggest actor in the world," You replied, supporting his dream.

As the sun began to set, you both sat by the riverbank, the golden light reflecting on the water.

“Promise me,” he said suddenly, turning to face you.

“Promise you what?”

“That no matter what happens, we’ll always stick together. Okay?”

You smiled, holding out your pinky. “Promise.”

He hooked his pinky with yours, his grin wide and genuine. “Promise.”

Later that evening, you both parted ways. Your grin and wave brought out a giggle from him. It was a small moment, but it stayed with you. You had no idea how much that promise would mean for him.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

The memory faded as you found yourself back in the present, the bustling streets of Seoul grounding you once more. The ache in your chest deepened. What had changed? Why did he act like he didn’t know you?

A few days passed and he still lingers in your mind. You were scrolling through your phone when a message from your sister popped up. It was a video link accompanied by a single question:

Doesn't he used to go to your school?

You clicked on the link, your heart skipping a beat as a familiar face appeared on the screen. Lee Byung-hun. The caption read: “Rising Star Lee Byung-hun Shares His Story.”

In the video, he was seated on a sleek couch, his polished demeanor worlds away from the carefree boy you once knew. The interviewer asked about his childhood, and his response hit like a punch to the gut.

“Honestly, I never really felt like I belonged anywhere,” he said, his voice calm and composed. “High school was a lonely time for me. I didn't have any close relations.”

Your heart clenched. How could he say that? The boy who had once sworn to always be there for you—the boy you had shared countless memories with—now claimed he had no friends?

You replayed the clip, hoping you had misunderstood. But the words stayed the same. Each repetition felt like another crack in the foundation of your cherished memories. You closed the video and sat back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of confusion and hurt pressing heavily on your chest. Trying to distract yourself, you grabbed a random book to read. But fate seemed to have other plans.

A picture from your early high school days fell off the shelf. It was the two of you, grinning widely as you held up a trophy from a group project competition. The memory behind that photo stirred something deep inside you. You remembered how you had to practically drag him to the stage when he was too embarrassed to go up, telling him, “You did just as much as I did. If I’m going up, so are you.”

Your fingers hovered over the picture, and as you stared at it, the emotions bubbling within pulled you back further into another memory—your first encounter with Byung-hun. It was so vivid, as though the years separating then and now had disappeared entirely.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

The classroom was crowded with chatter as the new student was introduced. Lee Byung-hun stood at the front, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“You can take the seat next to her,” the teacher said, pointing toward you.

He shuffled over, barely sparing you a glance as he sat down.

“Hi! How are you?” you said brightly.

He looked at you, surprised. “I'm fine, thanks.”

“Nice to meet you, Byung-hun. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. From that day on, the two of you were inseparable. Whether it was group projects, lunch breaks, or late-night phone calls, you had each other’s backs. You remembered the way he had slowly opened up, sharing stories about his old school and how he always felt like an outsider.

“Not anymore,” you had told him with a grin. “You belong here now.”

His smile had been shy but grateful. “Thank you,”

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Had those moments meant nothing to him? You felt tears sting your eyes, the hurt bubbling up uncontrollably. But almost immediately, you wiped your face, taking a deep, shuddering breath. This wasn’t you. You weren’t going to let these feelings drown you.

Needing to clear your head, you grabbed your house keys and slipped on your shoes. Fresh air would help, you told yourself. You stepped out into the cool evening, the faint rain lingering in the air. Without thinking, you began walking, letting your feet guide you as your mind remained tangled in memories.

At some point, you found yourself standing at the same crosswalk where you had seen Byung-hun just days ago. You froze for a moment, staring at the spot where you had smiled and waved, only to be met with his indifference. The pang of that memory made you glance down, biting your lip, before you continued walking.

Lost in thought, you didn’t realize how far you had gone until you stopped in front of a building that made you blink in surprise. It was the old arcade you and Byung-hun used to visit whenever you ditched school. The bright, flashing neon lights seemed almost out of place among the modern cityscape, but there it was—still standing after all these years.

Curiosity and nostalgia drew you in. The familiar jingle of the entrance bell brought a flood of memories. You wandered the aisles, eyes scanning the games you used to play together, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. It felt surreal, being back here after so long.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out, pulling you from your thoughts. An older man, likely one of the long-time workers, approached you with a curious expression. “You look familiar… Weren’t you a regular here back in the day? Always hanging out with that tall boy…”

You blinked, surprised that he remembered. “Uh, yeah. That was me,” you said with a sheepish smile.

“What was his name again? Byung-something, right?” the man asked, snapping his fingers as he tried to recall.

“Byung-hun,” you supplied softly, the name tasting bittersweet on your tongue.

“Ah, that’s right! Byung-hun! You two were always together. How’s he doing? Are you still in touch?”

The question made your heart twist. “I… no. We're not,” you admitted, averting your gaze.

The man’s face softened. “That’s a shame. You know, I could always tell he cared about you a lot. That boy… he liked you from the very beginning. Said so himself once.”

You froze, your breath catching. “What?”

The man chuckled, clearly unaware of the impact his words had. “Yeah, he mentioned it when you two came in here for the first time. He was so shy about it, though. Just kept watching you out of the corner of his eye, like you were the best thing he’d ever seen. But the last time I saw him, he was a mess. He said you left the country and he wasn't sure if you were going to come back. One thing he said he knew for sure though is that he lost you forever,”

Your mind reeled, the revelation hitting you like a train. All the memories you had shared with Byung-hun suddenly carried a new weight, a new meaning. To you, your goodbye meant a new chapter being written. But to him, it meant losing you—losing everything. Before you could process it further, the man was called away by another customer, leaving you standing there, stunned.

And then, as if the universe wanted to twist the knife, your thoughts shifted—to him. From his perspective, starting from the moment he had seen you again at that crosswalk.

— 𓆩Byung-Hun𓆪 —

Byung-hun adjusted the brim of his baseball cap as he walked briskly down the bustling street. He was on his way to a meeting for his upcoming film, the one everyone was talking about. His agent had reminded him—yet again—how important this role was for his rising career. But none of that was on his mind when he stopped at the crosswalk.

The moment he saw her, his heart stuttered. There she was, on the opposite side of the road, clutching her bag tightly like she always used to when she was nervous. His feet rooted to the ground, his breath catching in his chest. It had been years, but she hadn’t changed much. The same eyes, the same demeanor—still as beautiful as he remembered.

For a second, he thought about calling out to her, but the words died in his throat. How could he? He wasn’t the same person she used to know, and seeing her so cheerful, so bright—it hurt. She looked like she’d moved on, like she’d left their memories behind. And him? He had spent years trying to forget her, but here she was, undoing all of it with just a glance.

As they crossed paths, he saw her wave and smile at him, the same smile she used to give him back in high school. It took everything in him to keep walking, to pretend he didn’t know her. He wasn’t ready to face her, not when all the unresolved emotions threatened to spill over.

He forced his legs to keep moving, his jaw tightening as he left her behind. Once he was out of sight, he paused, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. His hands trembled as he adjusted his coat, but he shook his head and pushed himself forward. He had a meeting to attend.

Hours passed by, and Byung-hun sat at the long table, nodding along as the director explained the plot of his next project—a romance with a bittersweet ending. He should have been focused, taking notes, asking questions. But his mind was elsewhere.

“Byung-hun?” the director’s voice snapped him back to reality. “What do you think?”

He cleared his throat, straightening in his seat. “It’s… an intriguing story,” he replied, forcing a professional tone.

The plot they had described, two people brought together by fate, only to be torn apart by circumstances, felt uncomfortably familiar. It made him think of her, of the promises they had made back in high school. Promises that, in the end, neither of them could keep.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

The days leading up to graduation were supposed to be exciting, full of plans and dreams for the future. But something had shifted between you and Byung-hun. You had been distant, avoiding his questions and brushing off his attempts to talk.

“Y/N,” he finally cornered you after class one day, his tone firm. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird.”

You hesitated, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled.

“It’s not nothing,” he pressed. “Just tell me.”

Before you could answer, a classmate approached, grinning. “Hey, Y/N! Congrats on the acceptance letter! How’s the prep for moving abroad going?”

Byung-hun froze, his eyes snapping to you. “Abroad?”

You winced, guilt written all over your face. “I was going to tell you…”

“When?” he demanded, his voice rising. “After you left? Or were you just never going to say anything?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” he repeated, his laugh bitter. “Do you even realize what this feels like? We promised we’d always be there for each other. And now you’re just leaving?”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Byung-hun shook his head, his jaw clenching. “Do I even mean anything to you?”

The argument ended with no resolution. The days that followed were filled with silence, both of you too hurt to bridge the gap. But on the day of your flight, Byung-hun showed up at the airport.

“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” he said, his voice soft but strained. “I… I had to see you.”

You hugged him tightly, whispering apologies and promises to stay in touch. He hugged you back, but deep down, he knew things would never be the same.

"I'm chasing my dreams, Byung-hun. Dreams that I had never even thought were possible. I hope you'll understand and I know you will. You'll always stay in my mind... my best friend. And when I'm back, I better see your face plastered on every movie poster in town," You lightly joked.

He couldn't even crack a chuckle at her. Just tears and hiccups.

As he watched your plane take off, he wondered if you knew. If you knew, would you still go?

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Sitting in that conference room, Byung-hun felt the weight of those memories pressing down on him. The question that had haunted him for years resurfaced. Had she ever loved him the way he loved her? And if she did… was it too late to find out?

[witherby]

Please help a starving Anon..... I need more Mother Hen Hal from you...The way you write him and the characters are so good and perfect(idc if anyone disagrees), i am dying../silly/nf

It can have anything you wish to add, maybe a sprinkle of hurt/comfort (let's not forget the queers(BatLantern) too/verysilly)/lh

Yeah, you can absolutely have more mother hen Hal!!! This one is a little early in the relationship, pre-Flittermouse, and Dick-centric.

The Littlest Wayne: Mother Hen (Dick)

"B! Thanks for coming to get —"

Dick stops and tilts his head as the window of the Lambo rolls down. It's not Bruce, here to pick him up from a celebration at Titan's Tower he was just a smidge too drunk to drive himself home from.

It's Hal.

"Hi, kid," he greets. "Bruce was asleep when you texted. I told him to chill out and I'd get you instead."

"Oh, hi," Dick says, a little off-kilter. His grin only wanes a little. "Yeah. Okay."

He walks around the car and climbs into the front passenger seat, brows furrowed. It's the first time they've been alone together since Bruce told the boys that they started seeing each other.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Have you eaten in a while? Might hit a drive-through before we get back. My treat as long as you don't tell Alfred."

Dick nods slowly, staring at Hal like he can't quite figure everything out. Hal just shoots him an easy smile, then focuses his attention on the road.

They're quiet for a while, the radio playing some top 10 hit softly through the speakers neither one of them recognizes. When Hal pulls up to order them some food (and how curious that he knows Dick's usual) then waves away Dick's effort to pay, the man can't help but say something.

"You don't... have to do that."

"It's like thirty bucks, champ. I've got it," Hal chuckles.

"I don't mean the food."

Hal looks at Dick curiously. It's probably the fact that he's still pretty sloshed, but he feels especially vulnerable in the car with him, and can't quite keep his thoughts to himself.

"You don't have to pretend to care about Bruce's kids just because you're dating Bruce." Even as he says it, he knows it was mean and dismissive. Dick chews on the inside of his cheek and can't figure out how to take that back, so he stops talking.

Hal doesn't respond. Dick can't make himself look at Hal's face, so he fiddles with the Nightwing charm dangling off his cellphone.

"Here's your meal, sir. Enjoy," says a fast food employee. Hal thanks her quickly, then pulls into a parking lot and kills the engine. Dick listens to him rustle through the bag and sort out what belongs to whom for a minute, then gently takes his portion from him when it's offered.

"Hey," says Hal. Dick pretends he's too preoccupied with opening the sauce packet for his chicken nuggets to look up. "Okay. I'd probably be a little skittish after dropping a bomb like that, too. So, just listen for a sec, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles through a mouthful of fries, trying very hard not to feel like he's eight years old and sitting in Commissioner Gordon's office, waiting to find out if Bruce will assume guardianship and take him home, waiting to see if he'd be accepted or rejected.

"I think Bruce is it for me."

Hmm. Okay, not the words he expected to hear, but Dick is listening.

"You've probably heard that from his exes before. Something about Bruce is just...captivating. He's got his own gravitational pull, and I'm not interested in getting knocked outta orbit."

Hal pops a couple fries in his mouth. Dick sees his shoulders shrug in his periphery.

"I'm in love with him, is the point. Have been for a few years now, but I didn't think it was reciprocal until that battle in Coast City. But Bruce isn't just Bruce, is he?"

Hal reaches across the center console to gently squeeze Dick's knee.

"He's Bruce, and Dick, and Jason, and Tim, and Damian. He's got a whole gaggle of wonderful sons I'd love to get to know."

"We've worked together tons of times before," Dick says. He's barely picking at his food, too busy trying to figure out Hal's point.

"Sure. I've worked with Nightwing a lot. But that's not all you are. I don't really know anything about Dick Grayson, and I'd really like to."

Hal pulls his hand away and picks up his burger to take a bite.

"All this to say...I know you guys are mostly grown. You're used to having one parent and don't really need another one, and, damn, I don't know the first thing about any of that. But I'm in this for the long haul, and you can rely on me. I don't want any of you believing you're just an afterthought to me. Okay?"

Oh. Oh.

In lieu of an answer, and also because his throat feels too tight to speak, Dick just nods and goes back to eating. They finish their food in silence and Hal gets out to dispose of the trash, then turns the engine again to take him the rest of the way home. As he parks and they leave the garage, Dick throws his arms around Hal. He pretends the stinging in his eyes is some weird effect from the alcohol when Hal hugs him back just as tight.

"Goodnight, kid," he murmurs. "Go take a glass of water and some ibuprofen to bed with you for that hangover in the morning."

"Yes, mom," Dick snorts, teasing, but he detours to the kitchen with a shy little grin anyway.

[chuellas]

Fine Line | Chuuya is always overworking himself, always choosing work over you and you’re finally fed up with it.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, term “doll” used, a tiny itty bit suggestive if you squint, hardly edited, WC: 5k

A/N | I had no idea where I was going with this one when writing it but I had so much fun writing it

You’re sitting at the bar now. You moved from your reserved table after an hour of waiting, figuring it could go to a couple that actually planned on spending the evening together. You let out another sigh into your gin and tonic. You’ve been at this restaurant for about 2 hours now and haven’t eaten a single thing. It’s your date’s fault, really, they were the one that never showed up. You don’t know why you even try anymore. Dating was pointless in your line of work anyways. 

But sometimes going on dates warded off the loneliness and that incessant craving you get for normalcy.

You check your watch for the time only to find it’s now past midnight. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you finally make the decision to pull out your phone and call the person you actually wanted to spend the evening with. You're pleasantly surprised when he picks up on the first ring.

“Thought you had a date.” You’re greeted with a tone that’s laced with exhaustion but something else jumps out too — annoyance, maybe? Or maybe you’re just imagining things after downing your third drink of the night on an empty stomach.  

You hum, pointedly not answering his question directly, as you signal for the bartender to close out your tab. “You still in your office working on that mountain of paperwork?”

The pause from the otherside of the phone is a long one, it’s a contemplative pause you conclude, you can tell he’s trying to decide whether to humor you or to push his own question. It would be a waste of his time to go with the latter, you had no intention of breaching the topic of you being stood up yet again. This time especially stung with it being a woman and all. You thought she would have known better, or at the very least have the common decency to warn you of her impending absence, knowing very well how long it takes to get ready for a first date. You shaved and took an “everything” shower for this occasion.

A soft sigh of defeat is heard from his side and you grin widely, Chuuya is much smarter than he’s given credit for. “So what if I am?”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.” You don’t give the executive room to argue as you hang up on him. 

As if on cue the bartender brings you the receipt and your card, after signing you leave a generous amount of cash in the tip jar with a smile. You leave the restaurant the same way you came, without a word as the manager babbles on about how much of a pleasure it was to have your patronage. You wave him off with the same smile that’s feeling more forced by the minute as you step into the elevator.

When the doors slide shut after what seems like an eternity, you’re finally able to relax for a moment. The disappointment of another wasted night sinks into your shoulder, making them cave in. You deflate in defeat, having to resign to a fate that’s been set by some stupid carrot topped man that has to use his ability to reach the top shelf of overhang shelves. He’d never admit it but you’ve actually caught him doing it before. 

This was all somehow Chuuya’s fault. If he ever did anything other than work you wouldn’t seek solace in other people. You would be able to let yourself actually explore the feelings that stir in your chest when you’re around the ginger. But instead you’re stuck calling him after failed dates to see what he’s up to and if you can get away with bugging him. 

Headquarters is just a few blocks north of where you’re at, it shouldn’t take you more than 10 minutes to get to Chuuya. Well, maybe 20 since your favorite ramen place is on the way and you know they’re still open. So you have to stop there for two bowls because not only have you not eaten but you know Chuuya probably hasn’t either, being too engrossed in his paperwork to remember that basic bodily functions exist. 

Another 5 minutes after picking up the ramen and you’re making your way up yet another elevator to the floor that holds both your office on one side and his on the other. You take a moment when the doors open to decide whether you want to go straight to Chuuya’s office or if you want to stop at yours to change into something far more comfortable than the dress you’re currently wearing. Your stomach ultimately makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. The ginger’s office it is.

You don’t even bother with knocking, too tired, hungry, and impatient to wait on him to answer. The door creaks as you push and then groans out a complaint when you kick it shut behind you. Chuuya isn’t even fazed when you enter, his nose still buried in his paperwork. Thankfully the pile was no longer a mountain, more of a small hill now. It still looks like an hour or two’s worth of work. You’d offer your help if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure you’re drunk. 

Making yourself comfortable without a word you saunter over to his desk and choose to sit yourself on top of his scattered paperwork, plopping the ramen in front of him.  

Chuuya freezes, staring at the bag of food in disbelief before turning his accusing glare at you. “What the f-”

His words die in his throat when his eyes finally land on you. Even in your slightly, maybe more, inebriated state it’s hard not to notice the way his eyelids droop as his dual colored eyes scan your figure. He must be really tired, he’s usually far more tactful when he checks you out. 

You swing your legs where they dangle from his desk, pleased with yourself and his reaction. “I brought you some dinner. I didn’t get a chance to eat so I figured neither have you. Looks like I was right!”

Chuuya has to practically tear his gaze from you to see what you’re talking about. You untie the bag to reveal two containers filled to the brim with ramen. You lean in to read the labels to make sure you were taking the right container but in the process it gives the executive a nice view right down our cleavage. You have to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch at your lips when you hear the way his breath stutters. Maybe now you’re the one not being tactful but you figure someone deserves to appreciate the way you look in this dress since the intended party will never get to. 

“You stop at that shop down the road?” Chuuya clears his throat as he waits for you to grab all of your things before reaching for his own container.

You kick off your shoes and jump off his desk to pull a chair up to the opposite side. “Yeah, thankfully they stay open late. Can you clear some of the papers up? Don’t wanna get them stained in ramen broth.”

“Really makin’ yourself at home, aren’t you, Doll?” He raises a brow at you in amusement but clears his desk off regardless.

You hum and nod your head, too busy taking a bite of your ramen. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head and you let out a pleased hum at the flavors dancing along your tongue. The savory taste of the broth alone almost completely washes away the lingering bitter aftertaste the last few hours left in your mouth. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you had stepped foot into that shop. Now you are famished and even the most bland of foods would taste absolutely divine in this moment. You’re so absorbed in your meal that you don’t even take notice of the way the ginger sitting before you is watching you so intently that he hasn’t even touched his own food. 

It’s not until he clears his throat that you peer up at him. “You’re eating like you’ve been starved, didn’t you have a date tonight?”

There’s that question again, you suppose you gave him too much credit earlier. He wasn’t smart enough to just let it go. Or maybe he really was just letting his curiosity get the best of him. Either way there was no way in hell you were going to tell him that another date bailed on you. So instead you smile sweetly.

“You know how small the portions are at those types of restaurants, I took like two bites and it was all gone. Had some drinks after too. So, yeah, I’m famished. I know you are too. Eat.”

Your tone leaves no room for question. You’re both dancing around touchy subjects. Chuuya knows if he wants to get you to admit what really happened he would have to swallow his pride and admit he was overworking himself and he'd be damned if he ever let that happen. 

Or at least that’s what you thought. 

You watch him through your lashes as he opens the ramen and takes a bite, and then another, and then another. He hardly ever eats when there’s work to be finished. This is definitely a rare occasion and you have a sneaky feeling, somehow during the few seconds of your exchange in challenging glances, something shifts between the two of you. 

You stare at the other executive absolutely gobbed smacked at the fact that he’s actually listening to you. Your eyes are wide, your jaw is dropped open, and the chopsticks you were using to eat fall from your fingertips and splash into your soup. A few drops from the broth fly into your eye and you let out a hiss at the sting from the spices and temperature. 

The moment the two of you just had ends just as swiftly as you fan at your eyes frantically and then hold out your hand to Chuuya. “Eye drops- Oh my god your eye drops. Now, Chuuya.”

The ginger is jolted from his stupor when your voice becomes sharper. He reaches into the drawer to his left and produces a small bottle of eye drops, something you knew he keeps around due to his frequent late nights burning the midnight oil. It’s how he keeps his eyes from getting dry with exhaustion. 

You snatch the small bottle from his hands and throw your head back to all but squirt the soothing solution into your eye. It takes a moment to work, the sensation getting worse before it gets better. But after a moment you’re good as new, maybe even better than before. 

It’s a truly sobering experience and any left over buzz you were holding onto sadly fizzles out. You’re now stone cold sober and kicking yourself for coming here this late, know the only outcome is getting sent away so the ginger could finish his work in peace. You’re nothing but a distraction to him.

But if that were true, why even let you into his office, his space, in the first place?

“Thanks…” You hand the medicine back to Chuuya and pick your chopsticks back up to continue eating, pretending like nothing happened. “So, how many nights in a row have you slept here this week?”

You tilt your head to the couch that has a head pillow and blanket set up on it — inviting, almost, if you didn’t know how incredibly uncomfortable that couch was. It couldn’t be good for his back. You know he already deals with the residual chronic muscle pain he experiences after using his ability, especially after using corruption. You wish he would slow down, his body already pays for his ability, it doesn’t need to suffer because of his excessive working habits too. 

But then you would just sound like a broken record. 

Chuuya never really listens. He’s stubborn that way and it’s not just his body that pays for it, his social and love life pay the price for it too. It’s frustrating to care so deeply for someone who would rather think of others and their work than their own wellbeing. 

What’s worse, though, is that you’re selfish. You’ll take the heated stares and intimate touches in the dead of night on the rare occasions he’s not spending them at his desk over nothing at all. Maybe it isn’t selfish, maybe it’s self-deprecating but you can’t help yourself. You’ve tried to move on — that’s what you were trying to do tonight. But the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor, so you once again find yourself in his office during the devil’s hour.

Suddenly you hear a muffled voice and you’re thrusted back to reality. Chuuya looks at you expectantly and you furrow your brows at him. “What?”

“I said: I figure you wouldn’t be eating with me right now if your date went well, you’d be over at his place, right?”

Your eye twitches in irritation and not from the soup broth that landed in it just moments ago. He’s trying to evade your question. Of course he was actively avoiding it, why would he ever admit to you something that you don’t think he’s admitted to himself. 

What’s worse is he’s pushing his question from earlier. Wording it differently to mask his nagging curiosity. His gaze is hypnotizing, something shifts again. You don’t think you care for the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. The usually light and exciting flutter of their wings now feel like razors slicing their way up your throat. It burns and you might throw up.

It’s so unfair, the way he makes you feel is unfair.

You don’t know what possesses you but a single syllable flies past your lips in response before you can catch it. “Her.”

“Her?” And this man has the audacity to look semi-amused as he says the word back to you in a questioning tone. 

In that moment you know he knows and you watch in abject horror as his amused expression twists into a knowing one. Now you’re sure, he’s aware that you know he knows. 

Your eye almost twitches again at the way his brow raises in amusement at your answer and suddenly you feel defensive. You don’t give a shit if he knows what you’re trying to do by dating around. You don’t care if he knows that each attempt has ended in failure. You don’t care that he knows that each failure ends in you crawling back to him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You steel your expression, eyes becoming sharp as they bore into Chuuya. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a woman I was meeting tonight.”

“Well she’s an idiot for not showing, especially when you look like that.” His tone sounds sincere and it makes you want to throw up.

You let out an incredulous scoff — you can’t believe that he just said that, of all people. “She’s not the only idiot.”

“She’s not?”

Now he’s really starting to piss you off, his smug expression tells you all you need to know. This must all be a game to him. He’s toying with you, he has to be, and he has been for a while now but you’re finally sick of it. You’re tired of the constant back and forth but not getting anywhere because he would rather stubbornly overwork himself half to death to have an excuse to avoid you than admit his obvious feelings for you. 

The revelation sends your whole body into a fit, you’re trembling and seething and it’s pouring out the seams. You’ve cracked. You should congratulate him, really, no one has elicited this much emotion from you before.

Chuuya’s demeanor changes when he notices how worked up you seem to be getting but he’s too late. You’re already past the point of being settled down because you’re shaking like a goddamn chihuahua. Your nostrils flare in irritation and ears flush in anger. 

“No, she’s not the only idiot that’s managed to fumble me. Look in a mirror and you’ll know who the other person is. Enjoy overworking yourself to death. I’m going home.” 

All at once the blazing rage that washed over you burns out when Chuuya makes no indication of moving to stop you and immediately you wish the ground would just crack open to swallow you whole. Suddenly you’re all too aware of your response to his play. It was more of an overreaction. How embarrassing? How is it that he’s able to elicit this strong of a reaction from you. 

How can he not follow after you like he has better things to do?

But he does have more important things to do than console you, doesn’t he?

For the second time tonight you’re mortified, but unlike earlier, this one was your own doing. You just threw a fit, had an actual tantrum, over someone who has made it clear he’s not ready for something that you think you are.

Maybe selfish is the right word.

You contemplate halting in your spot and apologizing but your pride keeps you from doing so. You should have never put all your cards on the table. You curse yourself for ever letting your true feeling for the ginger slip that one drunken night several months ago that when asked about the next day you had conveniently forgotten all about it. Something tells you that he remembered it clearly, so, if not stopping you was his final response to your confession then you have to accept that. 

Your hand reaches out for the door knob and you almost flinch when it comes in contact with the cold metal. He’s really just going to let you leave like this. Your head is a mess— no, your whole body is a mess. Your head is filled with fog, a mist of endless thoughts descending on you to make everything blurry. Your chest is like a tsunami of emotions washing over you in sharp waves. Then there are those damn razor sharp butterflies that are still threatening to claw up your throat. 

But just as you start to turn the knob, a gloved hand covers your own and halts your actions. Your breath hitches when the anxiety you’d been feeling just a moment ago completely dissipates. Chuuyas chest is pressed against your back and his forehead falls to your shoulder. 

“Chuuya wha-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish your question when he mumbles out, “I don’t need a mirror to know that…”

Oh. 

Is he really implying that he knows he’s been a fool? Is the world coming to an end? Chuuya? Admitting to being an idiot? You thought there was a higher chance of getting struck by lightning before hearing anything of the sort from the executive himself. 

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, you think your brain’s been fried, convinced that Chuuya can see the steam rolling out of your ears as you short circuit. “For what?”

You croak out the short question, words catching in your throat. It surprises even you when a sob follows. You hadn’t realized that the emotions you were feeling hadn’t dissipated but instead had been forced out in the most embarrassing way possible. 

“I…I’m sorry for…” Chuuya trails off and curses under his breath, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry for not putting you first.” 

His voice trembles in something akin to fear. Something in your chest tears at his tone and it hurts. You look up at the ceiling to try to blink away the water that’s blurred your vision and take in a sharp breath after getting winded from the sudden blow. Your hand finally falls from the door knob and you both stand there in silence. The only noise is the grandfather clock that stands tall on the far end of his office, if it wasn’t for the loud ticking, everything would feel frozen. Something about the silence on your part is agonizing, you want to respond, but your voice is caught in your throat, swallowed dryly as you try to wet the dry patches stinging the lining of your esophagus.

Funny how your eyes feel too wet while your throat is too dry. 

You try to take a few breaths to calm yourself down enough to speak but you can feel the impatience radiating off of Chuuya and it just makes you even more anxious. It almost physically pains you but you take a step away from the ginger and stride across the room to an open window. Fresh air, something you always appreciated about Chuuya is that he prefers open windows and fresh air to fans or air conditioning if he can help it. The executive doesn’t follow, he hasn’t even moved from his spot. His head is still drooped down from where it was resting on your shoulder and suddenly your mouth and throat flood with saliva. That familiar feeling of nausea hitting you like a freight train once again.

You clear your throat to speak but realize -- how the hell do you respond to that? Are you really upset with Chuuya? Yes. Are you upset with yourself for letting things go this far? Also yes. So, as much as you want to blame all of this on the gravity manipulator, you can’t. 

Your shoulders slump and your gaze stays glued to the twinkling city lights in the skyline as you finally speak. “You always chose work. Always.”

Chuuya looks up at that. Your words seemingly hit a nerve as irritation flashes across his face before he can contain it. You bristle at that, preparing for an argument. You’re exhausted and don’t want to argue but you will if you have to because although you know you’re at fault too, you’re not going to just let this asshole get away with his part in all of this.

Luckily, the ginger simmers down easily and slumps again, showing you how truly exhausted he is. “That’s not entirely true, I chose you…Sometimes….”

“You think I should be grateful for that? You only chose me instead of work ‘sometimes’ to make yourself feel better about stringing me along.” You’re not looking at him when you speak, too interested with the view, or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.  “Or to get your mind off of work. I was just an escape to you. Nothing more.” 

This time you don’t have to look back at him to feel the frustration radiating off of him in a similar way gravity manipulation does when he activates it. It’s hot, his frustration, you imagine if you reached out there was a chance you’d get burned. It’s rare to witness Chuuya losing his cool like this, the only other person besides yourself that could get him riled up like this long gone from the organization. Thinking about him makes you even more bitter so you take another stab at Chuuya.

“You certainly put on a convincing act, though. So congrats for that I guess.”

Snap. 

You imagine that’s the sound that would’ve been made when Chuuya’s patience finally breaks. His steps are heavy and you almost think he’s activated his ability. You almost forget how fast he is because you barely have time to turn around before he’s got a firm grip on your face. His hold is unrelenting as he forces you to look at him. 

Chuuya looks like a wreck, so many emotions written all over his face but most of all he’s hurt by your words. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be lashing out at him like this but a part of you is pleased that he looks just as devastated as you feel. This is not your proudest moment by far and you’re sure you’ll feel ashamed over it later. Right now, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty in the slightest. You said what you said and you're going to say it with your whole chest.

A shaky breath is let out by the executive standing before you. “That’s unfair. You’re being unfair.”

There’s no way this man is accusing you of being the unfair one here.

“You were unfair to me first. I’m tired. Be straight with me or just leave me alone, Chuuya.” Any fight you had in you moments ago vanishes as you finally give up.

Chuuya’s reaction shows you that he sees it, the way you’re letting him hold all the cards in this, making this his decision, the final one when it comes to this situationship. You’re done, you’re tired and now you just want this shitty night to be over with. If you had a white piece of fabric on you, you’d wave it like a flag, surrendering completely. 

He’s not good with his words, Chuuya has never been as articulate as some of the others, but he is good with actions. His actions have always spoken volumes for him, so why wouldn’t that work for him now? The executive pulls you in and crashes his lips to yours in a desperate attempt to convey to you what he couldn’t speak.

You’re a little slow on the uptake as your brow furrows and you attempt to pull away. You look at him incredulously but the expression he’s making has you halting altogether. His eyes are screwed shut and his brows furrowed in concentration and maybe a little bit in fear by the way you can feel his lips and hands slightly trembling against your face. It clicks then.

Chuuya Nakahara is finally choosing you over his work. 

This was him telling you in his own way that he’s not letting you give up like you wanted to. And if you can claim to know anything about Chuuya, it’s that he always makes good on a promise. That’s what has you melting into his hold and returning his kiss with just as much fervor. 

You both stay like that for a long while and you feel like Chuuya is trying to devour you whole in this one single kiss. As if he’s scared that if he doesn’t, you’ll slip from his grasp forever, but that would be impossible with the way he’s holding onto you for dear life. Even if you wanted to, which in this moment you didn’t, you couldn’t escape him. But you do need to pull away for air though. You shift your face the best you can away from his and even though he tries to chase your lips, you manage to separate from him.

You instantly bring your hands up to his wrist and nuzzle your face into his hands, showing him you still have no plans of going anywhere. The tension in his body dissipates and he watches you closely, patiently waiting for your response. As if you kissing him back wasn’t enough. 

“You piss me off, y’know that?” Chuuya lets out a chuckle at your statement and leans in to rest his forehead on yours.

His eyes bore into yours and there’s something there that you’ve never seen before, a sort of adoration you think he’s been holding back for a long time now. “Yeah, I have a confession to make that might piss you off even more…”

You stiffen in anticipation for the worst, staring up at him suspiciously with narrowed eyes. What was it now? You wrack your brain thinking about what he could possibly still be holding back. All you wanted was to know where you stood with him and now you do. So what else would he be hiding from you?

“It’s, uhh…Well it has to do with your date tonight, and maybe all of the other first dates that stood you up…” The look on your face must tell him that you’re picking up on where this is going and his grip on you tightens once again. “It was fucked up of me, I know. I’ll- I’ll make it up to you…I’ll take you out on two dates for each first date I ruined.”

Oh. 

You can’t even really find it in yourself to be that upset. It clears up a lot of inconsistencies for you. You have full confidence in your personality and looks, so it wasn’t adding up why you were being stood up so much. Even with you being a part of the upper echelon of the Port Mafia, that’s not public information. So, intimidation was ruled out too. You are becoming increasingly more annoyed at the thought of it all.

Maybe you should find it in yourself to be more upset about this…

Your expression displays just how unconvinced you are by his words, Chuuya can clearly see it and sense it so he tacks on some extra sweet talking to sooth your overthinking. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for anyways.”

Your previous statement of Chuuya not being very good with his words is a lie. You were lying. The simple statement is enough to have you melting into him again. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe you’re just that down bad for him. Or maybe it’s all of the above. Who knows (you do).

Either way you find yourself giving in again for hopefully the last time tonight, but not before you decide to add a condition for your own benefit. “...Fine. But any trip or out of town get away counts as only one date.”

“Don’tcha think you’re getting greedy now, Doll?” Chuuya lets out another chuckle, shaking his head a little.

You shrug with a soft grin on your lips. “No, you owe me. Plus, it’s like you said, got a lot of time to make up for.”

[calaisreno]

Re-Read Recs: Victorian Edition

Thanks to @totallysilvergirl for pointing me to this post by @acethatlovesdinos asking for more Victorian Johnlock. Your timing is great; I was just compiling a list of Victorian setting fics for my next RRR post!

If you go searching specifically for Johnlock in a Victorian setting, part of the problem, as always, will be finding things. As admirable as the AO3 tagging system is, when you're searching for something specific, you still have to dig a bit.

Many people, myself included, assign all their Victorian stories to the fandom tag "Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle."

But some writers add "Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle" to all their stories, including those set in BBC or other adaptations, because they wish to attribute the characters' creator.

And some do not use the ACD tag at all because their stories, even those in a Victorian setting, are inspired by the BBC adaptation and imagined with those characters.

There are other tags: Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Victorian Holmes/Watson, Victorian Johnlock.

(My own approach: readers may imagine whatever actors they prefer; I tag by the setting. Even so, I've tagged stories set in the 1920s and 1820s as ACD, even though these are outside of the Victorian Era.)

There is no one-click method to separate out all the stories, and only the stories, where Watson and Holmes are together in a Victorian setting. AO3 lets us use tags however we wish; it's a folksonomy, a collaborative system. For the number and variety of stories contained there, it is the most practical method.

You can search an individual author's works, filtering and sorting by kudos, hits, relationships, tags, and other things. You can search anyone's bookmarks in the same way. (I'm always surprised when people don't know this!)

If you search my works, for example, you will find 60 stories in the Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle fandom. A couple of those are tagged 'timetravel,' so if you don't want that, you can exclude that tag. If you don't want any stories with Mary Morstan married to John Watson, you can exclude John Watson/Mary Morstan under Relationships.

However you search, if you filter your search results by hits or kudos, you will find that stories in the ACD/Victorian Johnlock category have many fewer of these. AO3 went live only a year or so before BBC Sherlock began to air, and it was one of the top fandoms for many years. There are a huge number of stories in the BBC fandom.

But there are dedicated and talented authors who have been writing Holmes/Watson for a long time, and today I'd like to point you towards a few of them. Here are some of my favorite re-reads:

Memento Vivere - @mydogwatson - The life stories of Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes and John Watson. An alternate history.

My Gentle Sin Is This - janeofarc - It takes a near miss for Holmes to realize that he cannot imagine his life without Watson.

Missing Pages - @PlaidAdder - a group of interlinked short stories (most between 2000 and 7000 words) which tell the story of how Holmes and Watson really came to be separated at the Reichenbach Falls, and how they found each other again

Missing - @Random_Nexus - Holmes is missing. Watson is trying to figure out where he is and what happened.

Oubliette - gardnerhill - A series: a treatise on love and grief. Watson is kidnapped by a gang; Holmes must find him before it's too late.

Laphroaig in the Lumber Room - wordybirdy - Holmes & Watson discover a bottle of Laphroaig inside the lumber room at Baker Street. A drinking game of truth results in intimate confessions.

All of these authors have written many excellent Victorian Holmes/Watson fics. But there are many more you should look at if you want to read more of our boys in their original canon setting. I think I will have to write a Part 2 for this post!

Thanks for reblogging!

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes

@redmondcollege @raina-at @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@a-victorian-girl @ghostofnuggetspast @friday411

@meetinginsamarra @inevitably-johnlocked @copperplatebeech

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

I need to write. I'm too pissed off rn.

What if Tommy showed up after Patricia died?

Moving her mother's stuff almost felt like betrayal. Abby knew her mom was gone, a part of her felt relieved, another upset, another angry.

It was just too overwhelming to feel or think. She just had to power through it but she was getting more drained and exhausted. Despite her brother, Carla, and Buck being there to help her pack and move stuff out.

Buck was trying his best. She knew that. But she felt a little annoyed and suffocated by him right now. Despite knowing deep down he didn't do anything wrong.

"Okay, clothes are boxed up and ready." Buck let her know, holding said boxes in his arm. She didn't appreciate the smile from Carla and the mirth behind her eyes regarding Buck inadvertently showing off his muscles. "Where do you want this?"

There was a pause before her brother noticed her expression and quickly told Buck, "Over there by the door is fine." He gave Abby a questionable glance, she could see her brother making his way towards her when the doorbell rang.

"That's probably Josh or Sue." Abby sighed, wiping her hands down the side of her pants anxiously. "Buck? Would you mind?" She jutted her chin towards the door.

"Uh- yeah, sure." Buck opened the door quickly and wide, she couldn't see his expression whilst opening it but Abby figured it was similar to her's.

She momentarily frowned, stepping closer when she realized it wasn't Josh or Sue. It was a man carrying a large bouquet of white flowers that was obscuring his face- but Abby knew from the lower half of the man's body that it wasn't Josh...but she was getting deja vu.

The flowers shifted, exposing the man's face.

"Tommy!" Abby exhaled happily and in shock. Pushing past Buck to let the other man in and accept a side hug.

"There's my Abby." It felt all too familiar to be hugged by her ex. Tommy and her weren't together for that long before he came out to her. She was understanding, surprised, but understanding.

He had sworn up and down to her that he cared about her genuinely and that he wasn't using her- to some extent. But the more he spent time with her the more he knew he was just lying to himself.

She should have been upset but Tommy was always kind to her when they were dating and understanding about the fact that her mom came first.

Truth be told, they dated but they didn't spend a lot of time together and Tommy never pushed her about it.

Which made sense in the long run.

"I'm so sorry about Patricia." Tommy told her, his voice sincere, "i wanted to come to the funeral but couldn't find someone to cover my shift." He presented her with the flowers, "Thought to come here to show my respects while dropping these off."

Her brother stepped up first to grab the flowers, shifting it to one side as he stuck out his hand to shake Tommy's. "Hi, I'm Matthew." He lifted the flowers, "These are lovely, I'm sure our mother would have loved them."

Abby felt her eyes sting a bit but she pushed on, "Oh and this is Carla."

Carla gave her a sly look but said nothing as she shook Tommy's hand. "It's nice to meet you. I heard a lot about you."

Tommy paused, looking reproachful momentarily. "Ah, good things, I hope?"

Carla smiled brightly, waving her hand playfully as she told him "Of course!"

Carla didn't move just watching with a curious expression as Abby started to ask how Tommy how he was doing. Before Tommy could get into the weeds about his life, Carla cleared her throat getting the attention of Abby and Tommy.

"Isn't there someone else you might want to introduce Tommy to?" She asked Abby with raised brows and a head tilt.

Abby frowned, looking genuinely confused about who else was left till she noticed where Carla was tilting her head to.

She saw Buck standing by the door still, looking not upset or jealous as Carla might have expected.

But in awe?

Probably in awe at how he could be forgotten like that by Abby.

"Oh, Buck!" Abby gave out a self-deprecating laugh as she ushered Buck over.

Carla was not a betting woman.

But working with people for as long as she has made Carla confident in her ability to read people.

Granted, she didn't know much about Tommy except he was younger than Abby (older than Buck, clearly) and that their break up was amicable.

She thought he was a good looking guy, brown hair and blue eyes. Abby clearly had a type since Tommy was as tall as Buck, buffer slightly (what did he do for work?) And they both styled their hair similarly. Not to mention, Tommy's eyes were blue too, darker in color and sadder somehow.

She would have figured Tommy and or Buck would be a bit possessive or jealous about Abby.

But she oddly wasn't getting that vibe.

"Tommy, this is Evan Buckley, but you can call him Buck." Abby said cheerfully.

It was like watching....something unfold.

She could see Tommy’s eyes light up, a hint of a smile pulling up at the corners of his lips as he shook Buck's hand. "It's nice to meet you Evan."

Buck looked oddly...star struck?

She quirked her head to the side as she noticed Buck dry swallow, "Y-You can call me Evan."

Tommy's chuckle had Buck turning pink all over, making his birthmark seem even redder as Tommy told him. "I just did."

Matthew sided up to her, watching their introduction seemed as perplexing to him as it was to her.

"Right." Buck laughed as he took his hand back, "Right." Carla didn't miss how Buck wiped his palm on the side of his pants, the flush only deepening when Tommy asked, "I take it you're part of the family?"

Abby laughed this time, "No,no, Buck's not related. We're-" she took a deep breath as she grabbed the hand that Buck had used to shake Tommy's hand. "Dating."

"Oh."

Carla felt Mathew bump his shoulder into hers. There was no way Abby didn't see the look of disappointment on Tommy's face there.

"Is that okay?" Abby asked, unsure but knowing in a way that made Carla a little concerned.

"Of course." Tommy seemed quick to fix his face, standing up straighter as his eyes lingered on Buck in a too quick moment that Carla barely caught. "Of course." He said firmly, this time with a smile and patting Abby's arm supportively. "I'm glad you have so many people to support you. It's nice when you have family that has your back."

There definitely was a story there.

Carla didn't miss those sad eyes getting sadder.

And neither did Buck.

"I'm sure Abby is glad to have your support too. I don't know of a lot of exes that would send their ex flowers." Buck gave Tommy a smile that lit up his face, almost as though he was impressed by the guy. "You really go all in, huh." He laughed in good humor, causing Tommy to look down with a small smile of his own.

He almost looked like he was blushing himself.

"I'm not a great ex or anything, I just wanted to check in on Abby."

Buck shrugged, still looking at Tommy in awe. "Still better than any of my exes."

"Tommy is a special ex." Abby declared, running her hand up and down Tommy's arm.

(Yeah, Carla didn't miss Tommy wincing there and looking at Buck)

"You are a sweetheart, you know that right?" Abby asked, not giving Tommy time enough to react or answer before going, "Hey! You know, this is perfect timing because Buck here is a firefighter too."

Buck and Tommy were taken back by that. "You're a firefighter too?" Buck asked excitedly.

Tommy shrugged, seemingly playing coy as he replied "Firefighter pilot really."

Buck's eyes lit up with even more excitement, "No way! That's so cool! You're like a superhero or something."

That had Tommy rubbing the back of his neck in clear discomfort, "Or something." He muttered, but that didn't Buck from asking a bunch of questions about being a firefighter pilot.

Carla thought it was sweet that Tommy and Buck were getting along, clearly Buck had taken a liking to Tommy quickly.

Quick enough that Abby was looking annoyed now.

"Buck." Abby cleared her throat, throwing an apologetic look towards Tommy. "I'm sure Tommy has better things to do on his off day than talk about work."

Before Buck has the chance to become disappointed at that Tommy shook his head, all smiles as he told Buck. "Actually I really don't have anything better to do." He finally looked around the room, noticing the boxes and stacks of Patricia's belongings. "But I can see you guys do." He gave Abby a sheepish smile, "I didn't mean to over step."

"No, no." Abby waved him off, "You didn't, it was nice. It really means a lot that you showed up...it's just-"

"I know. I should get out of your hair." Tommy and Abby shared a small smile and laugh, clearly it was a inside joke. He nodded towards Carla and Matthew, "It was nice meeting you two." He turned to Buck, his smile a hit different. Carla could see something there. Even the way Tommy held himself was different when he spoke to Buck. "It was really nice meeting you too, Evan." He stuck out his hand for Buck to shake.

"Yeah- yeah. Y-you too." Buck fumbled, earning a playful smile from Tommy.

Before the latter opened the door, Buck suddenly went, "I should get your number."

Carla needed popcorn for this now.

Tommy looked at him questioningly, a confused but ghost of a smile there as he looked towards Buck for clarification.

Buck could feel all eyes on him now, he looked at Abby and then at Carla and Matthew before turning to look at Tommy again. "Y’know...for firefighting... stuff." He stammered, he shook his head and held his chin higher, a bit proud of himself as he told Tommy "I'm a probie so it would be great to talk to you. Maybe get some pointers?"

Tommy shook his head as he laughed, head tilted up and eyes finally bright as he told Buck. "Of course." And pulled out his cellphone as Buck did the same.

"I'll call you? Maybe we can set up a time for your to tour the harbor?"

Buck sighed in relief, his smile matching Tommy's as he told him "I would love that."

Tommy nodded , patting Buck's arm as the other man held his wrist momentarily. "We'll talk soon then Evan. Bye."

"Bye Tommy."

Once Tommy was out and the door was closed, Buck was right back at Abbys side. "Tommy seems so cool!"

"Yeah, he is." Abby confirmed, not looking bothered at all that her current boyfriend and ex were chummy now. "I'm glad you two seem to like each other."

"What's not to like? Tommy seems really interesting." Buck looked back at the door, his eyes falling back to the boxes. "Was there anything else in your room that belonged to your mom that you wanted me to move?"

While Abby gave Buck a list of things to grab, Matthew could only ask Carla "Is he always like that with people?" Referring to Buck

Carla shook her head "No." Granted, she didn't know Buck for too long but Buck always struck her as the jealous and insecure type when it came to Abby.

But he seemed opened and even excited about Tommy.

Even before knowing that Tommy was a firefighter too.

(Abby really had a type.)

"Guess Tommy is just so cool." Carla joked, realizing the joke fell flat as Matthew still looked at Buck with a studious expression. "What? What do you think it is?" She asked.

Matthew became all smiles and coy himself, "I don't know yet."

[heaurtbeatings]

MAYBE WE’LL LOVE IT

Marriage is a difficult thing to decide on .. or, you finally say yes

600 WORDS - GN READER - FLUFF, NO CWS! ★ ׂ .

AUTHORS NOTE & MORE . .

sighs dreamily. oh how i love the idea getting married. might write the wedding.. be prepared who knows!

You had rejected the reality of marriage, at least for yourself. The idea of getting asked the big question, the venue and planning, walking down the aisle while staring into the eyes of the love of your life with a crowd of eyes watching. It was all so loving and peaceful, but you had settled on the fact that it was not your destiny. It was something that felt right to ignore until you had finally met someone who had you contemplating what your heart truly wanted.

“You know how I feel about this. I mean, like—“ you breathed out, running a hand through your hair as you stared up at Schlatt. It wasn’t uncommon that you spent late nights, or early mornings, in bed talking about your doubts with moving forward with him. Schlatt was an amazingly good listener, which surprised you at first with how gruff his persona was to outsiders, but it made you fall more in love with the sides of himself he chose to share with you. “Okay, but what if we do it and then I fall out of love.. Or you want to travel and work and do more, and I don’t want the same?”

“Then we figure it out.” He whispered as he placed a firm kiss to the top of your head. “You haven’t gotten that bored of me yet, right? So we figure it out.” He watched as you thought, smiling to himself as you shifted to hold his hand in yours. Imagining picking out wedding bands, carving out initials into the inside of them, exchanging rings at the altar. It all made your stomach burst into butterflies.

“But with me? Are you sure? There are so—“ you sighed softly as Schlatt silenced you with a shake of his head. He knew you as if he was connected to your heart, as if you two shared a brain. You knew he found it amusing when you kept going back and forth with yourself, trying to make sense of it all when you already knew what you wanted. It was his special skill: reading you like a book.

“This is big. I mean super duper big.” You spoke.

And I want big with you, toots.” He replied, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Whaddya’ say? Gonna be my missus or what?”

“Oh yeah?” You asked in a flirtatious tone, laughing as you leaned in to lay on top of his chest. You could feel his body jitter as he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah.” He said with a smile as big as ever as he took in your flushed face. “You know I got more than enough money to get you a big ass diamond if that’s whatcha’ want.”

“You’ve got such a way with words, y’know that?” You choked out through your laughter. Schlatt was it; you knew he was, and you knew what it meant. No more rejection, no more doubt, and no more running from the reality of what your heart chose.

“Okay..” you paused, settling in on the reality of what you were agreeing to. “Okay, yeah.” You watched as Schlatt eyed you in confusion.

He sat up on his elbows, nodding as he looked at you with surprise when he pieced together what you said. “Yeah?” He asked, mildly unsure if you were trying to trick him or if you had finally figured it out.

“How many times do I have to say it? Yes, I’ll do it with you.” You muttered, leaning in to kiss him. “I’ll marry you, dummy.”

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

MY MASTERPIECE

drew starkey x plus sized!fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers’ appearance !!)

SUMMARY: after drew catches his girlfriend crying about the hate she’s receiving, he decides to show her exactly how much he loves her.

based on this ask !! i really hope you like it anon, and i had such a lovely time writing this :’) i just KNOW drew would worship a plus!sized baddie, so imo this is canon🤫

WARNINGS: slight angst to fluff then to smut (18+ mdni pls!!), body worshipping, oral (fem rec), fingering, orgasm denial, blasphemy (“oh god”), insecurities, social media hate, crying, cursing, fat-shaming (fuck you if you do this, and you’re not welcome on my page !!) i think this is all? (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

THIRD PERSON +

The dim light of the bedside lamp bathed the room in a soft glow. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop resting in front of her, illuminating her face in harsh contrast. Her throat felt tight as her eyes scanned the comments section on yet another gossip website.

"Why is he with her?"

"She's way out of his league."

"Drew could do so much better. She's not even that pretty."

"She doesn’t look right next to Drew AT ALL."

The words blurred as tears pooled in her eyes, one spilling over and sliding down her cheek. She sniffled, trying to hold it together, but it was a losing battle. Her hands trembled as she closed the laptop and set it aside, curling up into herself. The voices in her head, fueled by the hateful comments, were deafening.

She knew Drew loved her. He told her all the time, in the little ways and the big ones. But sometimes, the weight of the world's opinions was too much to bear. Tonight was one of those nights.

She was so caught up in her spiraling thoughts that she didn't hear the front door open or the sound of Drew's voice calling out.

"Babe? I'm home!" he said, his voice warm and familiar as it carried through the apartment.

Her stomach dropped. She quickly wiped at her cheeks, trying to compose herself. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this.

Drew stepped into the bedroom, his tall frame filling the doorway. He smiled softly, holding up a bag. "I brought takeout from your favorite place. I figured—" He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed her blotchy, tear-stained face and glossy eyes. His brow furrowed with concern as he dropped the bag on the dresser and closed the distance between them in two long strides.

"Angel, what's wrong?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and cupping her face in his hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the tears that continued to fall despite her efforts to stop them. "Talk to me, baby."

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's nothing, Drew. I'm fine."

He frowned, not buying it for a second. "That's not nothing. Come on, tell me what's going on."

Her chest tightened as she met his worried gaze. She debated brushing it off, but the dam broke, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them. "It's just... all the comments, Drew. All the things people say about me. About us. They hate me because I'm not what they think you deserve."

Drew's eyes softened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt.

"They're so cruel," she continued, her voice muffled against him. "And the worst part is... I start to believe them. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm not good enough for you."

Drew pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt her chin up so she was looking at him. His cobalt eyes were intense, his expression a mix of heartbreak and determination.

"Stop," he said firmly, his voice low and steady. "Don't you dare let those people make you feel like you're not good enough. They don't know you. They don't know us."

She shook her head, the tears still falling. "But Drew, look at me. I'm not some slim, perfect model. I don't fit the image of the kind of woman people expect you to be with."

Drew let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning back to her. "Y/N, do you know what I see when I look at you?"

She stayed silent, unsure how to respond.

"I see the woman who makes me laugh harder than anyone else ever has," he said, his voice soft but unwavering. "I see the woman who listens to me when I'm struggling, who supports me no matter what. I see the woman whose smile lights up my entire day."

His hands moved to her shoulders, his thumbs brushing against her skin in soothing circles. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I love you for you. For your kindness, your intelligence, your strength. For the way you hum when you're cooking, even though you always say you can't sing. For the way you light up when you talk about the things you're passionate about. You're the most beautiful person I've ever known, inside and out."

Her breath hitched as she listened to his words, the sincerity in his voice breaking through the walls she'd built around herself.

"You're more than enough for me, Y/N," Drew continued, his voice thick with emotion. "You're everything I've ever wanted. And if people can't see that, then screw them. They don't matter."

She let out a shaky laugh, her tears finally starting to slow. "You really mean that?"

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "With all my heart."

She looked up at him, her own heart swelling with love and gratitude. "I don't deserve you, you know that?"

He smirked, his hands sliding down to her waist. "I think it's the other way around."

The tension in the room shifted as his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns on her sides. His gaze darkened slightly, a spark of something more than affection flickering in his eyes.

"I need you to understand how much you mean to me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "Let me show you."

Her breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of love and devotion, of promises made and kept.

He deepened the kiss, his hands moving to cradle her face as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She melted into him, her own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, Drew rested his forehead against hers.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. "Or maybe I really need to show you."

Drew's hand lingered on Y/N's cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the last of her tears. His eyes never left hers—dark, intense, full of something unspoken but heavy, like the weight of a confession he couldn't hold back any longer.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of tone that made her stomach tighten and her breath hitch. She blinked up at him, her lips parting slightly as if to argue, but he didn't let her. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. "Don't say it. Don't say you don't see it. I'll show you."

His fingers trailed down her neck, feather-light, sending shivers rippling through her body. He shifted closer, his other hand finding her waist, pulling her into him until there was no space left between them. Her heart pounded as his gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, tracing the curve of her jaw, the dip of her collarbone, the swell of her chest. Everywhere he looked, she felt it—like fire licking at her skin.

"Drew..." Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper, but he silenced her with a kiss. Soft at first, almost questioning, as if he was giving her the chance to pull away. But when she didn't, when she kissed him back, something in him snapped. His hands moved with purpose, one cupping the back of her neck while the other slid down to grip her hip, holding her firmly against him.

He deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees weak. She could feel the heat building between them, the way his body pressed into hers, hard and impatient. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady herself.

But Drew wasn't done.

His lips found her jaw next, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of her throat. She tilted her head back instinctively, giving him more access, a soft moan escaping her when his teeth grazed her skin.

"You taste so good," he groaned against her neck, his voice thick with desire. His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, fingers curling underneath the fabric as he paused, looking up at her with those piercing eyes. "Can I? Let me see you, baby. All of you."

She nodded, her cheeks heated up but her eyes locked on his, unwavering. In one swift motion, he tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it aside before his hands came to rest on her hips again. His gaze raked over her exposed skin, taking in every curve, every inch of her with a reverence that made her feel like she was something sacred.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice trembling. "Look at you... You're perfect." His hands slid up her sides, his touch firm yet gentle, like he was memorising her. "Every part of you... I want to worship it."

Her breath caught as he sank to his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs as he pressed a kiss to her stomach. It was tender, almost reverent, but the look he gave her when he glanced up was anything but innocent. Heat burned in his eyes, dark and hungry, and it sent a thrill shooting through her.

"Drew..." His name fell from her lips like a prayer, her hands clawing at the sides of his face for anything to grip onto as he began to trail kisses lower, his lips brushing against the band of her pants. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, tugging them down slowly, his lips following the path they took until she was standing there in nothing but her bra and underwear.

His hands slid around to her ass, squeezing gently as he nuzzled against her stomach, pressing another kiss there. "So fucking gorgeous," he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. "I don't know how anyone could ever talk shit about you. You're a goddamn masterpiece."

She whimpered, her chest tightening as he continued his descent, kissing and nipping at her thighs, her hips, anywhere he could reach. His hands slid up her legs, pushing them apart as he settled between them, his face level with the apex of her thighs.

"Drew, please..." Her voice broke, her body trembling with anticipation as he looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers. There was something raw and primal in his expression, something that made her stomach flip and her core ache with need.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough, husky, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "I'll give you anything. Everything."

She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she struggled to form words. "I... I want you. All of you."

A slow smirk spread across his face, wicked and knowing, as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "Then you've got me."

His mouth found her center, hot and insistent, and her knees nearly buckled as a loud moan tore from her throat. His tongue dragged along her slit, teasing, tasting, before delving deeper, burying itself in her folds with a groan that vibrated against her sensitive flesh.

"Oh my god..." Her head tipped back, her nails scraping against his scalp as he worked her over, his tongue flicking and circling her clit with expert precision. He alternated between long, languid strokes and quick, erratic flicks, driving her closer and closer to the edge with every movement.

"Drew, I—fuck, I'm—" Her words dissolved into incoherent gasps and whimpers as the pressure built, her hips rocking against his face as he devoured her. His hands gripped her thighs, keeping her steady as his tongue worked her relentlessly, each lick and suck bringing her closer to oblivion.

And then, just as she was about to tip over, he pulled away, leaving her teetering on the edge, desperate and aching. She cried out in frustration, her hands clutching at him as he stood, towering over her with a predatory grin.

"Not yet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. He reached behind her, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor. His hands immediately cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. "I'm not done worshiping you."

He bent his head, capturing one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting gently as his free hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her underwear. She moaned loudly, her hips jerking forward as his fingers teased her entrance, circling but not quite entering.

"Drew, please..." Her voice was pleading, broken, her body writhing under his touch. He chuckled darkly, releasing her breast to kiss her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth as his fingers finally pushed inside her, stretching her deliciously.

"You're so wet for me," he growled against her lips, his fingers pumping in and out of her at a torturously slow pace. "Is this what you want? Hmm?" He added a third finger, curling them just right, and her entire body went taut, a strangled cry escaping her.

"Yes! Oh god, yes..." Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her hips rolling against his hand as he fucked her with his fingers, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. His thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles that had her vision blurring, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Come for me, baby," he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly, sending a shiver down her spine. "Let me feel you."

And just like that, she shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves so intense she thought she might drown. Her cries echoed through the room as he held her through it, his fingers continuing to move inside her, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was boneless, trembling in his arms.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, she sagged against him, her legs barely able to support her weight. He caught her easily, his strong arms wrapping around her as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"See?" he murmured, his voice soft now, filled with affection. "Perfect."

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such a sweet request, and i really hope it was exactly what you wanted anon !! i’m so sorry this is so late, but i’m trying to work through all my requests and i’m almost half way there :)

as a curvy gal myself, this was just so cathartic to write and i really hope others feel the same when reading this !! you’re all so so so gorgeous in your own ways and ily all sm <333

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Hey ❣️ would you please write a Jun ho fic with a plus size reader ♥️♥️♥️

Sure thing!

Being with Jun Ho includes:

Being with him when he´s either filming or doing photoshootings, you being his biggest fan and supporter

You being the love of Jun Ho´s life, the second he first laid his eyes on you, he was smitten and instantly knew that the two of you would get together

The Kpop media being a mess the first time the two of you were publically out, the photographers trying to get under your skin by trying to fat shame the shit out of you

Your boyfriend going on social media to publish a one-time rant about how his private life is no ones business. His fans instantly having your back and creating fan accounts to support you

The support being too much for you to handle so you don´t know how to ease into the whole "being a puclic figure" thing

Your boyfriend making sure that his team teaches you how to handle your social media and how to take reuglar breaks from the platforms in order to take care of your mental health

You appreciating the kindness and care of your boyfriend, falling even more for him as he´s showing you that he´ll go to the end of the world just to please and love you

Your relationship quickly becoming serious, meeting his friends and family and everyone instantly loving you and taking you in as one of them

Jun Ho taking better care of his health as he wants to stay healthy for you, before he met you, he´d go almost days without a propper meal to "look fit", would overwork himself to the point where he´d almost pass out from exhaustion. All that has stopped since he got together with you

Him being the most protective and romantic partner you´ve ever had, he writes songs for you and even performs them in your shared home just for you, making your heart swell in your chest as you´ve never been loved like this before

Him making sure that you also have your own life, wanting you to thrive and be successfull

Him proposing to you nine months into the relationship, not being able to wait any longer as he´s never felt so sure of something in his life. He wants to be your husband, your endgame, your partner in life

You tearfully accepting his marriage proposal, admiring the beautiful engangement ring in awe as he slides it onto your shaking finger while vowing to make you the happiest wife on earth

Him fullfilling his promise six months later, the wedding being exactly like the one you´ve always dreamed of

Married life being nothing but a blessing as you and Jun Ho make it work so easily

[fandoms--fluff]

Hiii I hope you’re well. I love love LOVE your stories and was wondering if you could do one of Elijah mikaelson? In this context the reader is a werewolf and was his wife since the 1800s but has been on the run from him for ages (for any reason I’ll leave that up to u) Elijah finally hunts her down in mystic falls taking her back to their mansion. You can do whatever you like with this suggestion really. Also no smut but maybe lots of tension? Like pinning her against the wall during an argument or smth.

His

Immortal female werewolf reader x Elijah Mikaelson

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, mentions of death?

A/n: I had fun writing this <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I knew it was too good to be true, you think to yourself as you quickly pack a duffle bag of clothing, money, and other essentials around your apartment. Which happens to be located right in the middle of 'downtown' Mystic Falls.

You rush around the space that has brought you comfort over the past couple years. But of course everything has to end, the friendships you made here, the comfort, and having a life. Now you have to start all over again. Hopefully this time where he can't find you.

You've heard whispers about the originals and Klaus around the small town, mostly within the group of the Salvatore brothers and the others. You have made acquaintance with them after the killings started happening around a year after you had moved here. It was okay, for now, you thought, Klaus hasn't actually shown his face yet.

Until Elijah kidnapped Elena, and gave her a less than friendly warning, not to mess with the wrong people. No one knows what that means, and you're glad they haven't traced it back to you. They don't know your history beside being an immortal werewolf and basics like that. And you plan to keep it that way.

Which is why you need to leave. Now. Before he gets to you.

And that 'he', is no other than Elijah Mikaelson. The husband you once loved and have been running from for the past two centuries.

You both had once loved each other very dearly. Until it came to the night that ruined everything and made you go on the run, not standing to be near him. And you've been running ever since. You're quite surprised you've made it this long without being caught by him. Or even one of his siblings, Klaus especially.

Your thoughts are all jumbling together as you rush around your apartment. A place that brought you security and comfort, now being torn away from your grasp. Because if you stayed, then you can't even think about the pain it would leave you in by taking that action. As you try to leave as fast as you can, you can't help but think about the past. The reason why you're so frantic and have the urgency to get out of the small town in Virginia.

It had all began when you were younger, still innocent, enough that is, to the cruel dark side of the world. Of course, you already knew about your werewolf side and it had been activated when you were very young on your seventh birthday. You could never figure out why you hadn't needed to kill anyone to activate it. But it was clear you were special from a young age.

You were eighteen, mastered full control of the wolf inside you and hadn't brought pain to any one beside a few woodland creatures. You tried your best in the world, keeping your secret while also keeping up with societies rules as a young woman, as the people of your village would murmur around about you. About how you had not found yourself a suitor. A husband. But how could you? with a secret like yours? So, you kept to yourself.

That was until a new family arrived in your village. A very wealthy and mysterious family of apparent four siblings. Word spread around the small village of their names, Klaus, Rebekah, Kol, and finally, Elijah Mikaelson. Though no one knew where they came from or why they had came to this specific place. Except it was clear they had major influence.

You didn't trust them, it felt weird how they just appeared out of no where over night, something seemed off about them. You stayed clear from the new residents of the village, minding to the apothecary shop your parents owned in the corner of town.

It didn't last long though until one of the Mikaelson's came into the shop. At first you hadn't acknowledged them, hoping they would pick something up, buy it, and leave. Or just leave entirely, not even wanting them to buy anything. But luck wasn't on your side.

The strange man comes up to the counter where you're standing. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Elijah" The man, Elijah, says to you. Smiling weakly at him, just wanting him to leave, you have a bad feeling, "I'm Y/n."

He continued the conversation and left after a while. And you we're surprised to have a wish of hope that he would've stayed longer. Maybe you we're wrong about the new family. You hadn't known what you'd just gotten yourself into for the next centuries.

And so, the handsome man has come to the shop everyday since and you couldn't be anymore exhilarated. It's been so long since you've felt happiness like this.

It had been good, or so you thought. The relationship you guys had was romantic and lovely, and anything you could ever wish for. It soon turned to marriage, and you loved him and he loved you. That was until the night everything went wrong. The night you ran and have been ever since. From your one true love.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, really. But you had been on the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water when you heard voices in your husband's study. It was him and Klaus, talking of the plan going just right with the werewolf.

Elijah had 'discovered' you were a werewolf about the same time you suspected of him being non human as well. Just you weren't expecting him to be a vampire. And it was quite strange how he wasn't surprised of you being a wolf. Which should have been your first clue. But you overlooked it, filled with love for the man. Which was a painstaking mistake. Especially when discovered after many tests that you were no longer aging after your twentieth birthday.

Your eyes widen as they mention a werewolf. Are they talking about me? You wonder, as you continue listening.

"Y/n suspects nothing of it, right?" Klaus asks his brother. "Nothing, I love her, but she can't know what we have planned, not yet" Elijah answers him from across the room.

Tears well up in your eyes as they continue talking. "There's a chance my curse will be broken by using her?" Klaus asks. "Yes, by the next full moon in two days, there is a best chance with her willing or unwillingness of the ritual, that it will be undone. You will be a full hybrid, Niklaus" Elijah grins to his younger brother, taking a sip of his drink.

You quickly cover your mouth and walk away as quickly but quietly as you can while tears run down your face. You thought Elijah loved you, just as you do him. But of course it's not. He just pretended to get close to me, you think as you get to your guys' room. You grab your cloak and nothing else before sneaking out of the massive house.

There's no point confronting your husband, it was clear there was no love to be shared between the two of you. Instead, a need to get far away from here as you can before you get caught. You should have never fallen for the original, should have never spoken to him like your gut told you to.

You stealthily make your way to the stables. No one has caught you yet, making it easy to get on the horse and start the galloping travel through the woods.

It's not until you're deep into the forest when you hear voices and men shouting. When you hear Elijah shouting for you, anger enriched in his voice. But you never look back, only making the horse go faster until you're so far that they can't keep track of you.

Until now. Elijah is here, or at least close to here. You know Elena had met with him, unwillingly. And you can't risk anything else.

You finish zipping up the bag and leave the apartment behind, going outside where your car awaits. Unlocking it, you throw the duffle in the trunk before speeding into the driver's seat.

Driving above all speed limits, you get to the border of the town before a man, a man that you could recognize anywhere appears in the middle of the road.

Fear sparks in your eyes, and instead of stopping like any sane person would do, you swerve the car and press on the gas, passing him.

It doesn't turn out so well, when you hear a thunk on the top of your car and then the man crashing his fist through the windshield, making you slam on the breaks. The breaks emit a loud and jarring squeaking sound as your breathing picks up at the sight of your husband.

Before you know it, you're manhandled out of the car and whisked away to a mansion. You fight your way out of his grip, "Let me go!" You exclaim.

He lets you out of his hold, raising his arms up. "It's been a while, my Y/n" He says, and you swear you could hear a smidge of longing in his voice. "What? Since you used me and pretending to live me just to break your brother's curse?!" Your voice booms with emotion.

After everything, a small part of you still loves the vampire in front of you. A part before you found out his plans, when he was still mysterious to you. But you can't let that cloud your vision, speech and thoughts right now.

"It wasn't like that" Elijah takes a step forward, making you take a step back, not wanting to be close to him. You scoff, "I'm not so naive now, Elijah. Of course it was like that. You knew I was a werewolf before you pretended to find out and tell me you were a vampire, a god damn a original at that" You lash out, anger and resentment coming out.

"Just hear me out my darling-" You interrupt him, "No, you can't just hunt me down for 200 years and then once finally catching me, make me listen to your lies and justification. You we're going to what? kill me? Why not just do it instead of pretending to love me and then fucking marry me."

Elijah's face falters before grabbing your arm again. He slams you up against the wall, pinning you against it. His grip on you is hard and painful.

Your eyes flash into the amber colour out of anger. You try to struggle out of his grasp, but have no luck.

"No need for those eyes, darling. For your knowledge, I did love you and marry you because of that love. To this day I still love you. Even after the running away stunt you pulled." Elijah explains to you with a hard voice.

"Good for you, but I promise you, those feelings are definitely not reciprocated" You ground out, still struggling against his hold. Elijah just leans in closer to you, you can feel his breath on your skin. "I could never love someone like you after what you planned for me" you spit in his face.

Elijah falters for a moment, giving you just enough time to switch it around and have him pinned against the wall in his place. You use your werewolf strength to hold him down. "Now, I think it's best for both of us to just move on with our lives. I mean it" You say in a loud and clear voice, no pain whatsoever leaking out. All you want to do is leave and never see this man who has caused you so much pain.

"You don't mean that" Elijah's mouth twitches up into a loose grin. "I assure you, I do" You claw your nails into his skin, making his gasp out.

With an ounce of strength, Elijah gets free from your hold and wraps his hands around your neck. They're not tight enough to block your air supply, just to get you to not move.

"We both know your feelings aren't gone for me. You love me. You just can't admit it. I have been after you for so long, you're my wife whom I love."

You scoff, "A wife who you still want to do the ritual. let me think about it" you pause to 'think'. "NO!" You exclaim in his face. Elijah's vampire face comes on display for a moment before he calms himself. "You don't need to be in the ritual. there's another way now. A new one, my darling. We can finally be together. No more running or hiding, or secrets. I give you my word" He come's closer to you again.

You pause, not knowing what his plan is. There's no way he really means those things. His 'word' may have worked two centuries ago on you, but not now. "And how am I supposed to take you seriously? Or believe a single word you just said? Just because I'm technically your wife still, doesn't mean I have to act like it." You finally tell him.

"Then I truly am sorry, darling" Elijah takes another step closer, you being a couple inches apart now. "For what?-" You get cut off.

Elijah grabs hold of you and twists you around. He quickly wraps his arms around your neck, placing a hand on your jaw and twists your neck. Breaking it.

He's lost you for this long, he's not going to take any more chances. He'll make you remember your feelings for him, whatever it takes, You're his. Even if it means keeping you as a prisoner.

[sagetheomnivore]

Can someone help choose which fic I write?

I have an AO3 account where I write Dreamsmp fanfictions (I don’t support the toxic content creators) and I currently have two fic ideas that I can’t choose between. So these are the options for anyone who wants to read this little rant about each of them. (These are not prompts. These are my ideas. You can take inspiration but please don’t write these yourself)

option 1: Tommyinnit-centric. Revolves around SBI. Set in an original fantasy world. There’s two kingdoms. Tommy is from the darker kingdom, full of mythological monsters. The rest of SBI is from the neighboring kingdom, full of more friendly enchantment. You know how it goes. Found family fics. If you asked me to summarize it to one sentence, it would essentially be “Tommy commits illegal border crossing and accidentally gets adopted” Some other small details: 1. Phil is a baker, single father of Wilbur. Kristin is the queen, single mother of Techno. Wilbur and Techno are best friends and there’s a sub plot of them trying to get their parents together. 2. Tommy has an unidentified chronic illness that causes fatigue, weakness, and sometimes lightheadedness. 3. Niki is a witch. We love to see it. 4. There’s occasional references to the song Harpy Hare.

Option 2. Tommyinnit centric. Revolves around bedrock bros. Has anyone watched that Barbie movie where she gets trapped inside of a video game? Because it’s like that but graphic. Since it’s a pvp game in a randomized setting (Sort of like the hunger games). Hear me out please- Wilbur (Tommy’s brother) plays that game a lot, with his alleged online friend Techno. Tommy just so happened to steal the controller when this mass phenomenon happens that causes a bunch of players to be well.. trapped in the game. Unhinged, I know. But Tommy finds Techno in the game and they have to survive until further notice. Some extra details: 1. By the start of the game, everyone is kind of working together. But eventually the idea comes up that “what if the last man standing gets let out?” and that’s when other players are threats too. 2. Tommy is 13. Techno is 17. Techno will also be written with some level of fear because before this, he is NOT an intimidating blood god as seen in most fics. He was literally just some guy who plays video games. So he’s a little more held together than Tommy but I’m trying to make it realistic. 3. All players are stuck in the bodies of their avatars. Which are made to look like their dsmp selves. So Tommy looks a lot like c!Wilbur for half of the fic, since he had stolen the control from Wilbur. (Changes later). 4. There’s details to remind you it’s a video game. Techno complains of the constant music playing, but Tommy can’t hear it because before this, Wilbur had that setting muted. And whenever Tommy gets close to a raised platform, he accidentally jumps onto it, because Wilbur had auto jump on. They eventually figure out that they can change the settings somehow

Anyway, what do I write first?

[slasherwrites-lemonmilk]

𝓗𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 𝓢𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓼 (𝓧 𝓕𝓮𝓶! 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

(Includes Freddy (1980-1990s), Jason (1980s/2009), Michael Myers (RZ!), Ghostface, Leatherface (1970's Bubba, 2000's Thomas Hewitt), Art the Clown, Pennywise (1990s and 2010s), and Pyramid Head)

Intro: Established Relationship: The boys walk in on their s/o wearing their clothes.

Jason Voorhees - 1980's

You were sitting on the couch of the familiar cabin you now called home, the air outside was nice--too nice. That meant your beloved camp-revenger boyfriend Jason was out more frequently dealing with the rogue college kids on break. To pass the day by you had decided to clean the cabin up a bit, make lunch, and mend some of Jason's torn clothing. You had noticed that he opted out of his usual tattered leather jacket--something he rarely goes without. Examining it further--you found a bunch of holes, and you had the perfect color thread. You spent the next few hours stitching the jacket carefully, afterwards you just had to try it on yourself.

Call it the Crystal Lake

Cause you're swimming in it.

Great timing--Jason's home!

This man can't take his eyes off of you, I mean--you're so small in his jacket. And it's his jacket, you're standing in the living room--in his jacket.

Immediately his large rough hands roam over your body, half an hour ago those very hands slaughtered unwanted trespassers, and now they held the same gentleness one would use with a baby. He didn't talk, but the way his hands roamed the jacket on your figure--and the way you smiled at him made his heart melt. He used little actions to show you how he felt, he'd slowly been learning sign language--but actions always get his point across.

He would proceed to cuddle you for the rest of the day, only letting you take his jacket off if you got too hot.

He'd scoop you into his arms, holding you close--you're still wearing his jacket--as you softly read a book out loud for the two of you.

2009 Jason Voorhees

This man had a long day--a group of rowdy college kids interrupting his evening with you. He had just just gotten home, his deep lumbering steps ringing throughout the under base of the campground. The underground tunnels were originally hard to navigate--but you learned overtime, countless lectures and reminders from Jason--but you learned.

When he reached the ending tunnel to your large shared bedroom, there you were--curled asleep on the bed swallowed up in his old tattered blue flannel. He just stood there for awhile, watching you with an overwhelming feeling of comfort, seeing how much you missed him while he was gone. Eventually he lumbered over to the mattress, crawling in beside you carefully and scooping you gently into his chest. His large calloused fingers gently running over your scalp and through your hair as you slept, deep rumble-like hums sounding softly through his broad chest.

Also doesn't talk either--so expect him to tell you you're adorable by cupping your cheeks, giving you so many more shirts and jackets you can wear too. He'll even dress you himself and mash together outfits he think you look cute in!

Most of them are god awful--but some actually slay?

Okay fashion icon

What are you wearing? Jason Voorhees.

You give him fashion shows--and you swear his face goes red under his mask, even if he huffs and denies it silently.

He's actually so sassy for no reason.

Rob Zombie! Michael Myers

(Teehee I'm in love with Tyler Mane from 2009 istg--AND he's my favorite Michael and I love him--this one's lowkey a self-write)

Michael was a man of few words--most believe none, but rest assured he speaks when he finds it necessary. He didn't own a lot of clothes, so you never minded doing his laundry in his childhood home--(You bought the house and restored it--just for him)

But imagine this man's shock when he comes home to find his small little s/o dancing around cleaning this kitchen--in one of his shirts.

Feral.

Literally feral.

Foaming at the mouth at the sight.

Sure--it was just a plain old, white t-shirt that miraculously wasn't blood-stained, but on you? It was everything to him. The way it draped down your body, spilling past your skin like a waterfall.

Fuck.

He wanted you.

Michael Myers was a man of many things, he was The Shape, The Boogeyman, The Incarnation of Pure Evil--but a patient man he was not.

So of course he'd immediately have his way with you--but then of course he'd take care of you in his own weird way.

"You look divine." In that deep scratchy voice he only graces you with. That's all you would get out of him--probably for the next month or so. With actions--he'd gently rub circles around your back--he'd 'pick up' a few more clothes and shirts, just to share with you.

Overtime you notice his closet gets...fuller? Eventually you pick up on the reason why, and after that it's over for Mikey--Cause now you'll wear everything he owns. Coveralls, boxers, tanks, shirts--nothing's off the table.

Art the Clown

Another mute...

UGHHH-Yeah he won't talk to you.

Like man is genuinely committed to the bit 24/7

OH YEAH--Anyways~

Art would be coming back from washing up when he'd see you wearing his clothes--more specifically--trying on the man's clown costume. He'd stifle any laugh that might escape and watches as you strike pose after pose in the mirror. He'd carefully watch you with those mischievous dark eyes, watching the way his costume rolled off of your body, pooling on the floor in your smaller stature. After all--he was very tall (David is 6'2) and he tended to tower over you.

My goodness you were so stinkin' cute.

He'd finally let you know he was there with a small 'toot' of a horn--causing you to jump and spin around.

He'd make really dramatic gestures at you, practically shouting how cute you were without using words.

Lots of polaroid's are taken of you in his costume--you can't escape it. (I hc that he's a polaroid nut)

He steals shirts for himself that he thinks you would love to steal wear. Always in blacks and whites, its his brand after all.

He may not talk, but he makes sure that his actions speak volumes.

1970s Leatherface

Honestly, he'd be so flustered if he caught you in his clothes. His first thoughts about how cute and small you were compared to him--watching how his shirt practically drowns you.

He wouldn't let you go, not even for chores. How could he? You're too cute!

He'd dress you up in all of his clothes-and showing Luda Mae every single one of them. Hoyt would probably hurt sexist comments as you--or target an insecurity, and though Bubba never stands up for himself--he stands up for his s/o.

Bubba would tell off the whole family in angry and displeased grunts and whines, possibly breaking furniture as well just to prove his point.

2000's Thomas Hewitt

(Oh my god I'd climb this man)

Thomas would have been coming back from the slaughterhouse when he spots you--curled up on the couch beside Luda Mae, mending some of the family's clothes.

But what caught his attention--was the fact you were curled up--in one of his button ups and a blanket.

This poor man tripped and stumbled his way over to you, soft, loving, and excited grunts all leaving his throat as he thudded over to you.

He'd fall to his knees, sitting eye level with you, his large calloused and worked hands caressing your cheek softly. He doesn't talk very much--but he manages to croak out a few deep words for you in that moment.

"You're beautiful..."

Expect him to lend you a lot more clothes--and if you really want to work him up?

His apron.

Imagine him walking into your room, and all you're wearing is his large apron. It doesn't even cover your body--it's so big its slips right off.

Pray to God the family isn't at home-he wouldn't let you be quiet.

Freddy Krueger

He didn't notice when you managed to snag one of his infamous red and green sweaters-but he noticed when you started wearing it to sleep.

Appearing in his well-known boiler room, sitting there-waiting for him in his own large tattered sweater. He chuckled lightly when he sees you, his eyes tracking up your body and he can't help but call out.

"Sweetheart--you're too sneaky for your own good~"

He'll shower you in playful but sincere compliments, but he will not keep his hands to himself--so beware. Every touch will be gentle yet sensual, he does know how to take him time surprisingly.

He'll make you feel absolutely stunning in whatever you wear--actually.

He will not keep it PG-13.

So now--you only wear his clothes when you want dick.

Ghostface

He doesn't mind when you steal his clothes, actually, he looks forward to it. He loves watching his shirts slowly go missing, as he loves randomly walking in from a blood bath--to see you swimming in his favorite shirts on the couch, waiting for him to get home.

"Look at my pretty baby, all comfy on the couch~"

Of course he only wears scary movie fandom shirts.

You get bonus points if you can tell him facts about the movies he doesn't already know about--team that up with wearing his shirt?

Pregnant. (sorry lolz)

As a funny little haha joke--he actually starts taking some of your clothes.

You'll walk in to find him sporting one of your shirts--amazed he could fit in it at all.

He thinks it's the funniest shit ever.

Pyramid Head

He has hundreds of old-bloodstained-tattered white muscle tanks to choose from, if you don't mind that kind of thing that is. If you don't--great!

He's in the middle of lifting weights when he spots you walking past his in-home gym. Somehow--through the metal on the pyramid shaped helmet on your boyfriend's head--he can see exactly what you're wearing.

And the way it naturally hugs your body.

Well- he's done working out now.

He follows you back to bedroom, watching you sit in bed watching TV from the doorway. Eventually making his way over to you in long strong strides, his eyes raking your body--in his shirt. Look how tiny and fragile you looked.

Daddy Bear mode activated fr

You'd be off limits--not even the nurses can see you dressed like this. You're all his. His hands would roam your body over his shirt, or play lightly with your hair. You're his Princess afterall.

Pennywise (2017)

He came back from his sewer hideout back to your shared home, and walked in on you wearing the fluffy ruffles of his costume collar (which explains why he couldn't find it earlier) and you had done a recreation of his makeup.

Were you...

doing an impression of him in the mirror?

(nerd----me too)

This man did a silly little head tilt, watching you before he let out a string of amused giggles. Of course he's going to mock your impression of him--but then he'll help you master it. You're his s/o, if you're gonna do something--do it right.

He himself will be the one to force you into the entire costume, gushing about how cute you are all the while. He doesn't really own any other clothing, besides maybe an undershirt or two--so you don't have many options to steal borrow.

So instead he'll let you sleep in his costume's (washed) long sleeve undershirt. Petting your head and whispering compliments to you the whole time.

He's so whipped for you--but he'll never admit it.

Pennywise (1990)

Poor Penny

He's an old grump half the time--and an old whip with corny perverted dad jokes the other half.

Also--are you trying to give him a heart attack?

I mean...

There he was--complaining about how you didn't finish the laundry and he couldn't find his suit--until his golden eyes locked onto your own, before trailing down at your outfit.

He thought his heart would stop right then and there-

There you were, taking pictures of yourself in the clown's costume--frozen in place as you both stare at each other. Pennywise taking a cautious step forward as his eyes remained fixed on his outfit--on your body.

"Penny?"

Your worried tone snapped him out of it--quickly scooping you into his big arms, he'll ruffle your hair playfully and pepper kisses over your face annoyingly.

"You look so itty bitty, love~"

I'll be so honest--he'd definitely take dirty pictures of you in his costume if you let him (or not)

[wolvndmouth]

okay so who’s gonna write the fic where logan and wade have been together for forever but shit really hits the fan in their universe (they are still fighting against paradox and other baddies along the way) and the two of them find themselves backed into a corner when it comes to not only saving their universe from being pruned again, but to save logan and cure his adamantium poisoning/slowing healing factor

and just when things couldn’t get worse, cable comes back from the future to save wade from the pruning, but he sees wade with logan and is shocked he’s moved on so he’s feeling a whole lotta “wtf he’s mine i still love you lets try this again”

cue logan reminding nathan that he made a choice to leave wade. things got too serious for nate, and he just can’t show up out of nowhere expecting wade to drop everything just for him now that he’s ready to try for real this time

cue nathan reminding logan that not only did he date his dad, but he has sabotaged almost every good relationship in his life. nate thinks its just a matter of time until logan does it again and that he doesn’t want wade to be “just another name lost in the centuries”

then cue wade feeling like shit because he never forgave nathan for leaving and both him and logan don’t have a lot of time to deal with this plus having to find a cure/save the universe

AND THEN cue complicated feelings for all 3 of them while they try to figure this shit out because logan is starting to understand why wade loved nathan and nathan is starting to understand why wade loves logan and wade is starting to catch feelings for nathan again but doesn’t want to put logan through a throuple situation after knowing how the first time went. wade is also still not over nate abandoning him and there isn’t much nate can do to regain trust again

AND THEN AND THEN there’s a big reveal where you find out that wade’s healing factor has begun to slow down as well, and his cancer has started to come back little by little. logan is convinced that in being together for as long as they have, it’s his adamantium that’s making wade sick and he’s thinking about making wade leave their universe with nate so he’d at least have a fighting chance. he doesn’t want to tell wade the real reason why he wants him to go, because he doesn’t want wade to feel sad/less likely to go/guilty about logan dying without him, so he’s starting to act different and is on the verge of wanting to purposefully push wade away to make it easier for the both of them

nate also thinks that it’s logan’s adamantium that is making wade sick again, but he’s been around enough to know that wade will get worse just being apart from logan and he doesn’t think he can do that to wade, even if it meant saving his life. he feels like he’s hurt wade enough and maybe he needs to figure out why he’s even involving himself in all of this before making moves. maybe it would be best that he leaves so no one else has to get hurt or disappointed. maybe wade being sick isn’t something he’s meant to be around for or fix

BUT THEN you have wade, questioning his decades long relationship with logan for the first time in a long time, trying to hang on to the hope that neither one of them are right; that nate is wrong about logan adding their relationship to the tallies of things he destroys and that logan is wrong about nate getting ready to leave cause wade dying is just too serious of a situation to be around for. you have wade, who has always been capable of loving everyone but himself, and is hoping that this time and at the very least, just one of the people he loves love him enough to stay

at some point in all this, none of them know if they’re gonna fuck or fight. or both. so they fight then fuck then fight some more idk dude these old guys are just slutty af in my head

…

so. who’s gonna write it cause i sure as hell can’t 🙃🙃🙃🙃