#one more snippet and then i'm done!

[the-narwhals-awaken]

Bloody Hearts Bingo: Supplement 3

Sixteen months of peace and experimentation was far more than Kisuke had thought he'd get, but the prospect of being disturbed and needing to let his lab rats out of his lab on a more regular basis had Benihime hissing. He'd basked in having them- refining, training, teaching, making them and being remade in turn to produce a perfectly suiting set. He'd even gotten to taste them properly- coaxing away that last thread of disconnection to ensure that he'd always have them, no matter what happened. It was no wonder that his brother kept it up- it was intoxicating to have them like that.

Still, the threat in his territory had to be dealt with (it was his territory by now- the Thirteenth maintained a perfunctory presence, which certainly helped in managing things while his ratlings were busy, but was by no means the primary presence in the area) and he would not let them prey on any of the weaker presences beginning to arise due to the high level of ambient spiritual power- only Arisawa might be able to handle them, and the safety of the twins was one of the only things that might break Ichigo's loyalty to him.

The fact that they'd almost immediately started baiting two of his rats made it personal. One had been starting his dear Ichi-chan, and another had been pointedly staying just out of range of Yasu-kun while dropping hints so obvious it was a wonder the police hadn't been called- or the yakuza, on somebody poaching their prostitution arrangements, if nothing else.

Chad had volunteered to infiltrate- he'd managed to coax Yoruichi into helping with some of the assassin-specific training that Kisuke had managed to acclimate to naturally and thus didn't really know how to teach, turning into a terrifying assassin-tank that had Tessai heading back to the Seireitei for three months before returning and yanking even more control of the shop away from him.

It was a wonder to watch him perform- for most people, they wouldn't be able to tell that anything was wrong or different, but to Kisuke, who'd seen and facilitated the transformation, it was an incredible mask he was wearing. Quieter, more restrained, half-afraid of his own power and ability to commit harm and more focused on not causing harm than refining his ability- the fact that they'd recruited him outside of the shelter that he volunteered at (a genuine habit, helping him settle and soothe himself and continue some independent self-definition) only helped cement the illusion.

He proceeded to lead them around by the nose- gaining a better explanation of Fullbring, filling holes Kisuke had noticed and worked to lead off, diverting their attempts to lure Ichigo into their group. There was, unfortunately, a limit on the power a physical body could contain, and even Kisuke's bindings had their limits.

There was only so long Chad was willing to wait, though- even the most patient of his rats had limits, and they were built to fight- he'd gentle them down later, once his kin were dead and they were safe. For now, Chad let them see Ichigo, let them get close- and then they sprung their trap.

[hidey-writes]

six sentence saturday

The streets are half-familiar now, as Gu Yiran walks backward down the path he’d run each day to work. Here is the intersection where the pedestrian light never seems to come on, and Gu Yiran glances quickly both ways and crosses against a red light. Down that street is the corner of the park where if Gu Yiran cranes his head to look in the mornings, he can see the elderly folks of the neighborhood gathering for tai chi. And this shop he’s walking past, closed now, is the one Zheng Bei had taken him to buy a jacket at, the first weekend after he arrived. Gu Yiran had only worn that jacket for a few weeks before the weather changed. He’s not sure if he’ll ever have much use for it in Huazhou, heavy as it is.

a snippet from chapter 4 :3 i'm sloooowly working my way through the revision and hopefully returning to public accountability will help

[jessicas-pi]

One does not simply ignore the fact that you fake-kissed while on a mission.

Sabine and Ezra had not spoken in sixteen days.

People were getting suspicious.

Something had to be done.

So, Sabine woman’d up, and cornered Ezra in the Phantom.

“We need to talk,” she announced, a little more menacingly than she meant to.

She kind of expected him to panic and start stammering, but instead he let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We really need to talk.”

“Yeah…” Sabine echoed, suddenly unsure where to go with the conversation. She’d prepared this in her head with him being freaked out, not with him just as eager to get this talked over as she was.

“I don’t think pretending it didn’t happen is working,” he said, after a long pause.

“Brilliant observation, genius. What could possibly have clued you in?” she asked, defaulting to sarcasm before she could stop herself.

Ezra took it with a grin. “I think it was the time you were so concentrated on not looking at me that you walked into a door.”

She… had no idea where to go with that. Because he was right. She’d walked into a door because of him and his stupid pretty eyes. (Not that he knew about the stupid pretty eyes part.)

Ezra flipped down one of the seats, and gestured for her to sit across from him. She did, and he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

“Remember how I said you were the best friend I could ever have asked for?” he asked.

“I think your exact words were coolest friend.”

“Best friend, coolest friend… either way.” Ezra seemed to gather himself, then spoke quickly. “Kissing is not something the average person does with their best coolest friend.”

Sabine startled so hard she almost fell out of her seat. “Okay, when I said we needed to talk about it, I didn’t mean so—bluntly—”

He held up his hands and gave her a pleading look. “Just hear me out?”

“…fine. Whatever.”

“Pretending we didn’t kiss is just going to kriff up everything.”

Sabine cleared her throat, feeling red creep up her cheeks. “Can we just… not say…  the, uh… ‘k-word’?”

“Sure. Pretending we didn’t kiss is just going to mess up everything.”

“That wasn’t the k-word I was—”

Sabine stopped as she saw the smile on his face.

He was joking.

But... oh, karabast, that smile.

Her heart started rattling a rapid beat in her chest and she was suddenly short on breath.

She stood up quickly, which did not help with either of those problems. “I need my helmet for this discussion.”

[waitineedaname]

Do u have any transfemme Jiang Cheng headcanons you’re willing to share 🥺 every time you bring it up it makes me unreasonably happy so I would love to hear more about it 🫶🫶

AHHHH no really major headcanons, it's just something I like to rotate in my mind a lot! transfemme jiang cheng is. so special to me. I guess I have a few thoughts

I think a big part of Jiang Cheng's relationship to gender comes from Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan being the models of masculinity and femininity growing up. Jiang Cheng already relates a Lot to Yu Ziyuan, and I think if JC is transfemme, it's a big deal to her that Yu Ziyuan wields so much power. She's an incredible cultivator, a fierce fighter, and generally is a force to be reckoned with. At the same time, she's still a woman living in a misogynistic society. YZY would probably make a better sect leader than JFM, but she's a woman and his wife, and therefore he gets the final say in things

This in turn I think affects Jiang Cheng's feelings about gender and being sect leader. Jiang Cheng has a tendency to prioritize sect concerns > personal desires, and I think in this situation, masculinity is seen as a tool. Even if she knows privately that she is a woman, she would not be public about it because she's already in a precarious position being such a young sect leader. She needs all the respect she can get when rebuilding the Jiang sect, so she stays in the closet by choice. She might eventually come out years and years later, once the Jiang sect is stable and she knows she's not going to get fucked over, but that's really not her first priority

I do think she tells her siblings, though. Jiang Yanli is probably the first person she tells, and she's endlessly supportive. Wei Wuxian is kind of clueless about this sort of thing (see: not realizing he liked men until he got resurrected into the body of a gay man) but he loves Jiang Cheng so he'd be supportive, especially if he learned when they were both still kids. Of course, this makes the tragedy of Jiang Cheng losing everyone even worse. After her siblings died, there was no one who knew who she really was. Thank god for resurrections, huh? fucking hell

in a modern au, I think being a woman would fix her. She would be able to come out without all the other bullshit to worry about, and I think it would be very healing for her. I've known a number of people to go on estrogen who said the effects were more emotional than physical, and I think HRT would be so good for her. I just need Jiang Cheng to be happy goddammit. has she not been through enough

that got long. I guess I had more thoughts than I expected lsdkjflksdjf I also have a snippet from a modern au wip that I don't know if I'll ever continue/finish, but I'll put it under a read more bc I find it funny. I think Wen Qing should crack Jiang Cheng's egg, as a treat <3

Wen Qing knew Jiang Cheng too well. It was something he both loved and hated. There were very few people outside his family that could see through his blustering and read him for who he was, and Wen Qing was one of them. Hell, she was better at it than his own brother.

She didn't hesitate to call him on it either. He wouldn't be forgetting the way she'd looked at him after he introduced her to his parents and told him this explains a lot about you. Rude. Correct, but rude.

Because she knew him so well, she knew the best times to drop these bombs on him. Exposing him when he was in the wrong mood might make his temper flare, or it might make him curl into an insecure ball. Neither were reactions he liked having around her.

Wen Qing knew the best time to drop revelations on him was when he was happy and as close to relaxed as he could get, which is of course why she apparently decided the best time to bring up this particular bombshell was when he was floating in postcoital bliss.

“I'm going to tell you something,” Wen Qing said, her ankle still hooked gently around his calf. “You can't freak out about it.”

Jiang Cheng paused in the middle of pressing lazy kisses to her temple, heart rate immediately spiking. “Now?” he said, incredulous and a little whiny. 

“It's not a bad thing,” she reassured him, gently scratching his scalp. It relaxed him like a charm, though he was still suspicious. “Do you promise to listen?”

“Do I have much of a choice?” he asked, propping himself up on her chest. Her lips quirked in a smile as she looked down at him.

“I think you're a woman,” she said, direct and matter-of-fact.

Jiang Cheng jolted upright so hard he slammed his head into the headboard. Wen Qing frowned and sat up as he rolled off her. “You're going to give yourself a concussion,” she said, accusatory.

“You're insane!” Jiang Cheng said, attempting to sit upright without making his head swim. Wen Qing huffed and pushed him down with a firm hand to his chest. He could throw her off if he wanted to, but, well, he didn't want to. He rather liked it when she pushed him around and climbed on top of him like she was right now, pinning him in place and preventing him from running away from the conversation.

[catboy-jupiter]

i'll be like "i'm a god of writing" and then an hour passes after i post or submit something and i'll be like "i'm so dumb there's so much i could've done better if only i'd waited a bit and looked at it with fresh eyes i would've noticed how much it sucks & what i could've improved that looks so much like first draft material there's so many revisions i could make why i am i so impulsive and overconfident" and then i'll start writing something else and be like "i'm a god of writing" again

[thirteenemeraldcats]

Roses for use whenever!

*kicks WIP pile under the bed* DON'T LOOK AT ME.

I haven't had access to any of my WIPs for over a week, so, what's a dumb-dumb to do? Start more!

Jamie whimpers again, the sound muffled from where his face is pressed tight against Roy’s abdomen, as the bus rocks slightly beneath them. Kenneth has been careful since Jamie first went down, cautiously easing the coach to a gentle brake rather than the somewhat haphazard way he usually approaches deceleration, but Kenneth's efforts and his Coaches’ careful hands still aren’t enough to protect Jamie right now. His player’s obvious distress raises a frantic sense of helplessness in Roy, and he has to tear his eyes away from the walnut-mist head he’s cradling in his lap. Instead he stares straight ahead, studying the uncharacteristically subdued Greyhounds scattered in front of him. Between their unfamiliar silence and the eerie glow of fluorescent red lights filtering in through the front window, cast from the traffic light that’s ceased their steady progress home, Roy doesn’t find the reassurance he was looking for. As that violent red glow changes to a vivid green and the bus again resumes it’s forward motion, Jamie doesn’t make any more noise. Roy wishes he could delude himself into thinking that means he isn’t in pain but his eyes have caught on the shaking of Jamie’s bloodless fingers where they’re curled into a claw, desperately digging into the meat of his side.  Jamie’s still hurting. Jamie’s trying to be quiet.

[zestyzigzagoon]

There will be an attempt to have a cute little oneshot done for Valentine's Day 👀 Absolutely do not hold me to this but here's to hoping.

[emmebearpaw]

"i’m not tagging you emme but you should do this with some of your favourite lines from your wips <3" I'm here anyways. Hi. Not tagged by @awellreadmannequin Tagging @pyrolizard413 , Anyone else who wants to? I don't remember which of my mutuals write fanfic that aren't on the chain this came from My favorite parts from my first and most recent fic!! Actually published stuff

First: "How long had it been? Hours? Days? [Byleth] looked down at her phone, it had only been 3 minutes since the last time she had checked. It turns out the “commencement ceremony” was less of a ceremony and more of a test of willpower."

From: We accidentally adopted over 24 children - 2019

Latest:

"He scrambled as Kleavor's gaze focused down on him, rapidly wrapping back around the tree. The beast, seemingly refusing to change tactics, decided to lunge at him just like it tried on Akari. Yet this time, it stayed low to the ground, like a Luxray stalking its prey. Really, what could he do but run from the predator bearing down behind him. Closer Closer. He closed his eyes and-

---

Akari threw her Pokeball up into the air, dashing forward slightly faster so that she could catch it as Oshawott landed in her arms. They watched as Pikachu, slightly ahead of its trainer turned as they shifted Oshawott in their arms. He looked ahead, then looked up at her, nodding as she, commanded, "Aqua Jet. As fast as you can," before tossing her partner into the air as drops of water streaked out behind him.

---

-prayed to every power he had ever heard of that could help him. His hands moving to the back of his neck as his body collapsed forward. Falling to the ground in as strategic of a roll as one can when their legs give out as the whistle of the wind as the axe swept for his torso. He was going to die, he was going to die hewasgoingto- feel a splash of water crash into his side instead of an axe?

He opened his eyes as he tumbled, a white blur bouncing off his reaper, a flash of lightning dancing like the stars. For what felt like the first time in ages he took a deep breath in as he tumbled through the air." Arcesso, Ergo Sum - 2023

Bonus: Never posted forever WIP about my Genshin OC, Kotori!

(it's my latest 90% finished thing haha)

“Are you gonna go ‘way like Dadda?” He blurted.

The air grew colder, I think.

He just sort of. Stared. Which was unfair. But him being unfair didn’t solve the fact he was staring at me and now I have to come up with an answer to that question. Which should be very easy, come on Kotori just say a simple--

“N-no. No. I’m-”

It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m not a baby who cries when asked about sad things. Just gotta answer it and he’ll stop asking and I can put him to bed and tell him I love him more than the sun or the moon and--

“I’m not going to go away like he did. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Probably. I shouldn’t be gone forever. I’ll, I’ll really be back soon.“

He crawled into my lap, his tiny body shivering in the crispness of the morning. He needed to be put back to bed. He shouldn’t be here he shouldn’t be here I can’t take it he can’t be here he can't he can't “I wanna go to the wood with you pleasepleaseplease take me to the wood I wanna go be Tengu with you, pleeaaaase.”

[f1-stuff]

since you’re talking about fics you posted snippets of, I still think about the Mallorca AU from time to time and imagine how it would go, the snippets you posted before were so lovely ❤️

Ahhh thank you 🥺 That fic is special to me, but I hit a roadblock with it while writing, then realized like a YEAR later where I went wrong with the story, but then trying to return to it when there's all these other wips now has been hard. Every year I promise to finish it and then don't 💀 but I really really want to complete it one day...

And, unfortunately, I think it's gotten to the point where I've shared so many snippets of it that I don't want to spoil any more of the fic or else there'll be nothing new for people to read and discover when I eventually get my shit together and finish it 😅

[hirazuki]

📓give me yer plots

Plots? Plural?? Okay, you get three ♡

I only included ideas that I am not currently/actively working on.

Maedhros + Mairon team up AU: After Luthien and Beren nab the silmaril and scram, Melkor actually does give chase and follows them south towards Doriath, and he cuts through Nan Dungortheb where he is ambushed by Ungoliant's spawn (I think if he was alone, given how physically weak he is at this point in time + just having woken up from Luthien's spell, he'd be easy prey) who take him and his crown with the remaining two silmarils and bear him to the south of the continent where Ungoliant has been waiting to exact revenge and claim/consume the jewels. Mairon comes home after having lost Tol-in-Gaurhoth to find Angband in panic, not being able to find Melkor anywhere. He decides to infiltrate Himring, it being the closest center of elven activity and information that is also open enough to travelers, etc. for a new face to pass unnoticed, to see if he can find out if the enemy has Melkor. Maedhros, having had him as a visitor for 30+ years while hanging off a cliff, recognizes him pretty quickly despite the disguise. They team up and go on a life-changing fieldtrip to the south of Beleriand to retrieve one dark lord (for Mairon) and two silmarils (for Maedhros).

Maeglin in Rivendell AU: Maeglin either is brought back by the Powers to help in the War of the Ring (yes, it's inspired by that one poll a while back XD) or actually somehow survived (I haven't decided which I prefer) and ends up in Rivendell. Not really a cohesive linear plot kind of fic, as much as a series of character interactions/exploration of themes: Maeglin and Elrond, Maeglin and Glorfindel, Maeglin and Eowyn, Maeglin and Frodo, to list a few of my top ones.

Eol makes a stone that outshines the silmarils AU: @melkors-defense-attorney and @mirkwood-hr-department take equal share of the blame credit for this completely wild idea yes it still lives rent free in my head, I have not forgotten about it XD. Basically, Eol is much closer to the dwarves than he is to his own kin, and would probably be more comfortable going to them for courtship advice re: Aredhel. Hence, presenting her with the shiniest rock as a gift early on in her stay at Nan Elmoth. Problem is, she has seen the silmarils, so it would have to be an extra shiny rock. He accidentally makes a stone that outdoes the silmarils; cascading world-wide consequences follow XD (These include: angry Feanorians; angry Melkor, at not having the Shiniest Thing™ and seeking Eol out in his forest a la Evil Queen style, to trade his two silmarils for this one; Eol (in this timeline, never having been to Angband) being so isolated he literally doesn't recognize Melkor and slamming the door in Melkor's face ("no solicitors!!"); angrier Melkor (that's two door-slamming elves now); angrier Feanorians (that Melkor would seek to trade the silmarils with Eol of all people); one very swoony Aredhel at the balls of this elf throwing the Dark Lord out on his ass.)

[varpusvaras]

I would love to be see your work on AO3 so it's easier to bookmark!

I have my longer fics on AO3, and I'm in the process of putting all my short stories from Tumblr to there too! I have a link on my pinned post, with separate links to all my fics and series' on AO3, as well as all the links to my tumblr tags for au's. Here's my AO3 as well, I'll be updating more on there when I have the time and energy again 😊

[goldeneyedgirl]

Oh boy, this is probably so irrelevant to you, but I've read the little piece you made for Babyverse about Jasper having to leave Alice and their son to go hunt and I swear I wept, thinking that's exactly how my baby brother gets everytime I leave. Literally the cutest AU ever made!!! Also, I have a weak spot for Damage Alice. May I ask for some of any of these two masterpieces?

This is absolutely not irrelevant - I'm not around small children, so I am relying entirely luck and vague memories to make any depiction of Ollie convincing, and I am SO glad that I am on the right track!

You caught me in a weak moment, so have a little of both <3

babyverse.

It’s been six fucking weeks since he’s seen them, and he’s trying to convince himself that this is another false lead, another dead-end, even as he presses his foot further on the accelerator. 

He knows the old motel he’s going to - it’s been abandoned for decades, with a cracked sign caked in filth declaring it the Rose Spring. It’s a thrice condemned shit-hole, untouched because of alleged chemical leaks or something that the government don’t want to have to clean up to sell the land off. It’s irrelevant though; the Rose Spring, like all the other falling-down, forgotten motels across the country, is a regular haunt for vampires looking to avoid the sun, to meet other travellers, to pass messages back and forth. 

He pulls into the motel, barely shutting off the ignition as he gets out. The back is laden with supplies, and he pauses only long enough to grab the bag that Esme has labelled with a big red cross. 

The stairs are flimsy and buckle under his step - no place for a human. Half the balcony has collapsed, and at least two of the rooms have crumbled in on themselves - probably in the last storm. 

Room 37 is tucked in the corner, and he doesn’t bother to knock as he throws open the door. 

Ollie is sitting on the first rancid, rotting bed and his face lights up as he sees Jasper, his arms stretching out towards him. He’s wearing filthy, mismatched clothing that aren’t his, and is sucking on a pacifier again, and for some reason that’s more upsetting than anything else to Jasper - he was just beginning to give it up before everything happened. And now it’s back. 

Maria is seated on the bed with Ollie, looking equally as filthy and surprisingly solemn. 

“You made it faster than I anticipated,” she says, standing up and motioning to Ollie as the bed tilts slightly without her weight. “He’ll be hungry, but he’s unharmed.”

Ollie makes a whining noise as soon as he’s in Jasper’s arms; a reassuring weight, but Ollie is about to start crying. 

“Where’s Alice?” He demands, rubbing his son’s back and hoping they can get out of here, and back north tonight; somewhere they can clean up and talk and he can make sure that they’re okay. 

Maria looks grimmer and motions for him to follow her out the door and into the next room. 

Ollie gets agitated, straining towards Alice the second they set foot in the second room. 

The scent of blood saturates the air.

Alice is lying on the bed, unconscious. There’s an angry wound on her head, and bother her arms. Some rough bandages have been wrapped around her leg, and it’s obvious that someone - perhaps Maria - tried to clean her up. 

“Alice?” His alarm is evident in his voice, and he almost hands Ollie off to Maria to go to her side before his brain clicks back into place. “Alice, can you hear me?”

Ollie’s reaching more and his whimpers are turning to wails as Alice doesn’t flinch.

“For god’s sake, give me the child, and deal with your mate,” Maria says, almost crossing. “I didn’t eat him before, I’m not going to eat him now.”

damaged alice.

The race to the ballet studio is the longest journey of his life.

Alice can’t defend herself. She’s never fought in her life. When Maria came to Calgary, Alice had been carefully protected by Esme and Emmett. 

He’s never run faster in his life. 

The scene that he finds in the ballet studio is one that fills him with anger and terror, and his first instinct is to get Alice out. 

Not Bella bleeding out on the floor and screaming (oh god, he knows that scream) with an extremely broken leg. 

Or to destroy James, with his joker-smile.

Alice is standing over Bella, blood on her face and dress and hands, and she’s getting upset about it, a thin cry coming out of her mouth as she stares down at her maybe-future-best-friend’s blood smelling so tempting…

But when James laughingly steps forward towards Bella, Alice growls protectively. 

He swoops in, barely pausing as he grabs Alice and gets her out of James’ reach, smoothing her hair as he tries to look her in the eyes; but Alice’s eyes dart, never meeting his. Not a surprise that today would become a bad one, that Alice can’t communicate right now. 

(James was alone with her for too long; he hates himself for that. He’s terrified she’s been hurt in some way, that the damage is worse than being slathered in her maybe-friend’s blood. )

“Are you okay?” 

As soon as the words are out, James slams into him from nowhere, and he can’t worry about Alice or Bella in that moment. 

But all he can hear are Alice’s soft cries from where she’s standing in the corner. 

[jichanxo]

still on the topic of titles: though i can see why you wouldn't, but isn't it hard for you to let go of placeholder names? and an unrelated new question: if i remember correctly, in senseific, you've completed writing the kuwagami part, but not the school stories part? do you have a problem with stringing it together, so that the relationships/events would fit with e/o naturally? (i hope i phrased that coherent enough)

this is long as usual, so

on titles:

the working titles are too literal and functional for me to get that attached to them, I think. It’s just shorthand for the larger idea itself. I suppose if there’s a placeholder title I like enough, then I’d keep it/adapt it into something similar. Funnily enough I’m probably likelier to think of titles/captions for my drawn artworks, though the file names themselves are still super literal lmao. those ones are usually the ones I’ve planned out in advance, because I want to convey a specific idea and it can be hard to do that visually without having a plan. 

obligatory examples: this arasawa piece -- the text itself was a key part of the storytelling, so this one was decided early, about the same time as my initial sketches. it's two parts, duty and desire, conveyed in imagery and words, both important. this schrödinger's cat themed umineko artwork -- i didn't really have anything concrete for this for a long while, but this was always about flux and uncertainty, so the words were always floating around in my head when i was making this.

on senseific:

STRINGING THE TWO PLOTLINES TOGETHER, OH BOY. this is very much something I have to just… wait and see on. If my process for the kuwagami plotline is any indication, then I probably will have to rewrite/shift things around when I find something doesn’t work. That’s part of why I made an excel sheet for this fic, so I (hopefully) can see which parts aren’t meshing and how I might be able to resolve them. Move things around, put them earlier or later, etc. and of course, there needs to be breathing room so it feels like they have lives that exist outside of each other. I’m feeling kind of nervous thinking about it right now. I suppose I just have to try?

I have tried to consider where these two plotlines would interact, but I just need more details to make sure I get it right, hence my need for note taking. I've also left a bunch of gaps so that there's room to let it grow in between kuwagami stuff.

The school related (as in, including school stories but also other stuff that takes place there) stuff I have right now is something like: 

Thing I invented for the intro

Follow up to this, resolution, lead into kuwagami story beat 

the conclusion to the dance club story (as far as my vague memory could get me), but With Kitakata. since the dance club is so early, it was an easy choice as a kind of starting point

Itokura related thing I invented and desperately need to flesh out 

Follow up to that 

(Imagine a big gap of time here) 

6. big moment that’s simultaneously a kuwagami beat and a school story beat -- yagami's continued refusal to trust kitakata or let him in on the investigation, resulting in the two of them getting into a physical fight. amasawa ends up going to sawa sensei to get them to break it up, and yagami realises that kitakata has a right to be worried for his students and shutting him out was a dick move actually (spoilers? but I’ve already talked about this scene before, so…) 

and from this last point it's pretty obvious that kitakata has to be involved with the conclusion of the case. i haven't written anything yet because i need to do the rest first, but this is almost certainly happening despite not being written down yet

but yeah, because my process is Like This, I kind of have no choice but to present the story in chronological order to make sure that everything progresses logically. ...honestly the structure of the ever-changing is obscenely impressive to me, I suppose it’s the power of planning — that you can go back and forth in time while keeping it meaningful and coherent. I love it so much… I will never stop singing the praises of the ever-changing, genuinely...

anyway, while i say the kuwagami plot is done, it's still pretty open, it's just that i've locked in what i think the major conflicts and resolutions are for that relationship. there's still room for the other plot to grow into (i hope) and in worst case I can tinker a bit with rewriting some stuff to make it work.

[patolemus]

and i will eternally be grateful for that

Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.

I’m curious!

[practically-an-x-man]

Me: aw man I haven't been working on my fics much lately, it's been months since I've updated most of my longfics and I have so many unfinished oneshots sitting in my documents

Also me: *writes over 10k words of gift fics to give out on Christmas*

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part one)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: steve rogers is your best friend, which means that inherently bucky should be yours too. somewhere along the way, it became more than that for you. for bucky, it's just tolerance. he likes you, but not like that. not in that way.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, protected sex (yeah wrap that up), rough, choking, fwb, mean bucky, mutual pining, not proofread

notes: thank you guys for the support on the snippet as well as for waiting for me as i got this done! i just finished finals so i plan on locking in on this one and circuit breaker bc i cannot stop thinking about them.

ps. i swear bucky and reader are friends, just had to hit the angst and give some background but there will be cute moments along with smut probably every chapter...I'm hoeing out.

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

“Steve?” You called out to him, steps pounding behind you as you hurriedly moved toward his pinged location. “Steve, oh my god.” Your voice trailed off, shock evident. 

People brushed by you and pushed toward Steve’s figure on the ground. You’d never seen him like this. Sure, Steve Rogers was a super soldier and the most physically strong man you knew—but this was different. Mentally, he seemed destroyed. 

He called your phone, short of breath and muttering for help. It immediately sent you into action. You were normal—the most civilian anyone could be. There was no other option but to call someone, plead with them to find and help your friend. He’d been washed up on the shore, lying in the dirt and clearly out of it. 

You watched him get worked on, staring into the distance. 

“What happened?” You kneeled next to him,  “Who did this?” 

Steve turned to you, eyes glossed over in disbelief. “Bucky.” He shook his head, “It was Bucky.” He kept repeating it to himself, attempting to convince his own mind that it was true. “It was him. It was Bucky. He was here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you grasped his shoulder. “I thought he was gone—you saw.” You gulped, searching his face for any hesitance. “You said he fell, that he-“

“It was him.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, “Okay, I believe you. He was here.” 

It was true. The man you’d heard so many stories about had returned. He wasn’t like the anecdotes Steve recalled; this Bucky was darker, more quiet, resigned. 

He was an observer. You often caught him staring at you, eyes lingering between your figure and Steve’s. Bucky would always stand, tucked into a corner. He didn’t feel deserving of the warmth Steve offered—the humanity that remained present in you. There were times, then, that you would offer a welcoming hand. A slight wave of motion offered him a seat, acknowledging that he did deserve to be there. He felt human with you. 

That’s what initially drew Bucky to you and inevitably why you became friends, too. There was a way that you loved everyone, insisted on not leaving them out and nourished their insides. 

The hurt came when he realized it would never be that way for him.

You could never love him, not a monster. Not when the shining emblem of a perfect man sat beside you every day. Steve had so much time with you—he was your best friend. Bucky couldn’t replace him, not if he tried. So he always kept you at arms length, hoping to be more than friends but settling for something less. 

The first time it happened, when Bucky had been so lucky to have a moment with you—he swore that he was dreaming. He never gave you a reason to like him, in fact, it was the opposite. He’d gone out of his way every day to push you further from him, make it known that he’d never be as good as Steve. 

He could tell you saw something different; he hated it. 

The three of you had tried small talk often, Steve facilitating some sort of discussion to break the ice. It almost always ended with you and Bucky exactly where you started, friends who were forced to be so because of a mutual one.

“Well, I’m headed out—you two should talk.”

“Steve, no-“ 

“Buck, you two are my favorite people in the world. I would love it if you gave this a chance.” Steve patted his friend’s shoulder, “For me. Please.” 

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a solid expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just gave him a small nod and let Steve step around him and out of your place. 

It was common that Steve would find solace in your home. It was far from the city, neatly tucked away in a residential area. There was a sense of normalcy and he was proud to introduce that to Bucky—he needed that, deserved it after everything. 

The room was silent, violently so. You sat across from Bucky—him lingering in your peripheral, and you nestled softly into your couch. He didn’t move, standing still near a wall that offered him the sight of every possible window and exit. 

“Do you wanna sit?” 

You watched his body for any reaction, dissatisfied when there was none. It was awkward, him avoiding eye contact and you not sure of what else to say. 

You sighed. “I’ll be back.” You announced your departure, not that it mattered to him. 

You beeline to the bathroom, desperately needing to escape him. He was always like this, closed off and so obviously annoyed by your presence. Splashing your face with water did little to temper you, and your body seemed to overheat at the thought of having to see him again. 

You didn’t let yourself think—couldn’t. You stepped out and kept your head down before looking toward Bucky’s signature spot on the wall. He wasn’t there. 

You tilted your head down, seeing Bucky now sitting on the couch, two cushions away from where you’d been prior. He watched you smile softly, moving to sit in your spot.

Bucky made a habit of keeping his hands in his lap. He would sit stoically at all times. It was the same now. 

He avoided eye contact but muttered, “Hi.” 

Your breath hitched, surprised he’d started a conversation. Keeping your tone even so as not to overwhelm him, you replied, “Hi, Bucky.” 

The both of you nodded, letting the weight of your forced proximity surround you. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore you. The faint smell of your hair products, the way you tapped your own leg rhythmically, how nervous you were—he noticed it all. 

“Do you, um,” you swallowed. “Do you want something to drink, maybe?” 

It’d been over a year since Bucky had shown up. You, of course, shared small talk with him in that time. He’d grown to know the story of you and Steve—how you met. It would suffice to say that Bucky grew to be an acquaintance of yours—a long lost friend of a friend…one that would never truly like you. Accepting that was hard; you wanted Bucky to be comfortable at the very least. If not like you, he would at bare minimum be able to sit down for once. 

So today was a win. 

Bucky didn’t reply to your question but instead asked his own, “How was Steve? Without me, I mean?” 

His voice was gruff, and you hadn’t expected that question, let alone more than a single syllable from him. 

“Well,” you readjusted to face Bucky, “He’s always the most positive guy in the room—which I’m sure you know.”

Bucky let a smirk slip, recounting the optimism his friend had at all times. 

“He’s better than me that way, than a lot of us.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s just Steve, you know that.” 

He didn’t know that. Bucky was living in his body but observing from outside his own mind. He was witnessing his friend after so much time had escaped him. Everything he thought was true wasn’t anymore. 

He wanted to get to know you, offer you the same grace that was given to him. But he couldn’t. Before it even begun, Bucky was overwhelmed. He pushed himself to be kinder, to do this for Steve. It was simply futile. 

He stood suddenly and looked down at you. “I should go.” 

“Okay,” you stood, nodding. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his posture again. He didn’t respond. 

“I’ll tell Steve you tried today,” you whispered to him. “I know he’ll appreciate it. I do.” 

The tension was palpable. Your eyes stayed locked on each other until you heard a sound and looked down. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm was clear, only slightly suppressed by the gloves he always wore. He watched you noticing his hand twitch as if he wanted to move it. There was a restraint there, like he was pushing down something that was second nature. As if he meant to do something that he’d always done. 

You swallowed hard enough to hear it in your ears. Looking at Bucky, you arched your brow in a subtle defiance—daring him to do what he intended. You wanted to know him and his habits, to understand even a modicum of what was in his brain. 

Without thinking a second more, he let his left arm lift a bit. He reached toward your face but paused at you flinching, leaning away from him. 

Just barely audible, you spoke, “Sorry.” 

Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself. He let his fingers wrap around your face, a single hand pressing just under your chin and at the top of your throat. Slightly wide eyed, you watched him watching you. Most of his hand rested on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the other side of your face. 

Despite no longer being the Winter Soldier, his habits lingered. When in that state he remembered being like this so vividly—a hand around someone’s throat and crushing the life out of them. He hissed at the thought, not at all intending for that with you. He craned your head, though, observing the quizzical look on your face. 

It didn’t make sense to him, the need to maintain this routine. But he did. Beyond the haze of what was once his signature way of taking life—he saw a new one. Bucky could envision his future so clearly, yet he couldn’t let himself have it. 

He went to drop his hand but stopped at the feeling of yours on his wrist. It was inexplicable. Glove or not, you craved the contact from him. 

The room stayed silent except for the slight creak of the floorboards beneath you. While Bucky stayed steady, you teetered on the balls of your feet—this moment feeling fleeting. 

He inched forward, watching your eyes fall closed. 

Your lips were right there, the ones he’d openly been ogling at for months. It was torture, but all he knew. He couldn't allow himself the satisfaction of the feeling. He wasn’t deserving. 

Instead, he latched onto your neck. Bucky kissed and nibbled there with an urgency you hadn’t expected—hell, you didn’t even think today would’ve progressed to this at all. 

The feeling of him on you was intoxicating, and it was so minuscule. His hands were all over you, and yours on him. Your breath came out ragged, “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” He paused on your neck briefly, directly in your ear now. “We shouldn’t.” 

“We’re friends.” You nodded, letting your hands trail up his back and into his hair. 

“Are we?”

You weren’t sure. It was complicated. You couldn’t let yourself think about that now and neither could he. 

He pushed you down onto the couch and stood above you, allowing you to finally look him over. He was casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the rest of his body entirely covered. The only skin that showed besides his face was just below at his neck. Around it lay his dog tags, which he was so adamant about wearing. The glint of them always caught your eye and alerted you of his presence. Even when he showed up silent, you’d see him and those damn tags. Just always out of your eyeline but in the room—that was who Bucky had always been. In his stoicism, he was still consistently there.

Watching Bucky undo his pants already had you eager for him, too. There was always something there for you, an intrigue simply at the way he carried himself. You stayed seated, leaning back a bit in an attempt to slide down your sweatpants. Both of you watched the other discarding the bottom half of their clothes with little thought, tossing them aside. 

He leaned, then, ruffling into his dark jacket’s interior. 

“I got it,” he mumbled, ripping into the condom wrapper with his teeth. He slid the latex over himself just before pushing the jacket off his back. 

He kneeled into the couch, the angle awkward but enough that he was able to slide into you like he wanted. It was tight—rough. You expected the burn but still sucked in a breath at it, the lack of prep. Bucky didn’t mean to make it this way but just wanted it to be over—the insatiable need to pump in and out of you. Only you.

Slowly and deliberately, he continued to kiss around your neck, collarbone, and ears. He snapped into you, purposely moving at a speed that allowed him to chase a high rather than savor the moment with you. He wanted to, truly…to acknowledge the way you looked up at him. It was his dream to let the sounds of you falling apart actually hit his ears and mean something, but he couldn’t. 

The couch creaked and rocked. You were now slightly bent into the back of the cushions, your chest moving up and down alongside Bucky’s. He pulled back, stabilizing himself behind you. The new angle allowed you to see his dog tags again, them hitting you with every movement into you. Without thinking, you grabbed them, hooking them under one of your fingers. 

He finally allowed himself some relief, his voice dragging out the moans he’d himself been holding in. “Fuck...” 

You watched him intently, pulling him closer by the chain on his neck. He shifted his angle a bit at that and watched your jaw drop open. Your brows furrowed, whines choking out of you at the new sensation. It made you let go of his tags, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. This made him pound into you faster—realizing a tether of intimacy was gone. 

He was subconsciously glad for that, happy that he could pinpoint and force that sweet look in your eyes away. There was no longer an adoration in your gaze but simply one of pleasure. This was for the best. He could appreciate you from a distance despite the line of friendship being crossed so carelessly now. 

“Shit,” you groaned out suddenly. “Buck-“ 

He hushed you softly, quelling the harsh sound in your throat. It only spurred him on, though, truly ruthless about this. He only slowed at the feeling of your fingers gliding over his face, pushing the stray piece of hair out of view. His pace stuttered, faltering as he really looked at you. 

A second later, he started in on you again. A clothed hand found its way into your shirt and pinched at your nipples. His grip was rough, kneading your chest. You were already so close; every additional sensation only pushed you further.

You met him suddenly, writhing into him and filling the living room with lewd slapping sounds. 

Bucky huffed breaths out at every push into you. You fought a squeak, pressing your own hand over your mouth. You gnawed at it as it allowed some relief from the burning inside of you. He was hitting that same spongey spot over and over. He was so good at picking up on the subtle changes in your face and body. 

Without warning he slipped out and nudged you, “Turn.” 

You did without questioning, a firm covered hand rubbing at the skin of your hips. Regardless of his gloves, you felt the difference in his hands—the slight shift of metal in one versus the pulse in the other. There was a contrast you enjoyed, a chill about his metal arm that grounded you. 

A knee pushed your legs open as he slid into you again, this time using you as leverage. Bucky pushed you down slowly, the side of your head finding the cushion. This angle was new, deeper. It wouldn’t be much longer at this point and he could tell. One hand slipped underneath you and up to your neck again, squeezing just enough for you to appreciate the loss of breath. In between gasps you nudged further into the couch, the sensation becoming too much for you. 

He couldn’t stop when you came, relishing the way your insides continued to pulse. It was as if he was meant to stay; his one true purpose was to be completely enveloped by you. When he finished a strained sound choked in his throat, one that you hadn’t expected. 

You were throbbing still, a cold feeling finally making you realize he pulled away. The feeling of him on you had gone away so quick. The sound of a different metal clanked—his belt buckle bouncing around as he slid his pants back on. 

“Should we…should I tell Steve about this?” 

Your question was sudden but was filled with a weight that scared him. You didn’t want to be too forward—but it was only right. Steve was now caught in the middle of something complicated. Even if this was the first and only time…you weren’t sure you could keep this from him. 

Bucky thought differently. 

“Why would you wanna tell Steve?” 

“Because it’s-“ 

“Leave him out of this.”  

Bucky readjusted his clothes, smoothing them over as they’d been before. You watched him inch his way to the door—his back toward you. 

You ignored the pang in your chest, the confusion that now resonated in you. Pushing it away, you settled on changing the subject. “Steve wanted to do something tomorrow, you coming?” 

He didn’t turn as he grabbed the doorknob, merely craned his head to the side. You watched his profile for any sense of something, but again, he was so unreadable for you. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Then he left. 

part two

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