#that they slide into my comments/dms/notes like HOW DARE?!?!?!

[minecraftbookshelf]

If I ever had to pick like, one thing that I really consider to be Very Important about writing it would be remembering that characters are not, in fact, people. Characters are vehicles characters are tools.

Characters are tools for telling a story

(Characters are tools for getting your readers to yell at you XD)

[canirove]

Kalvin Phillips Imagine

Author’s note: This is a request I got on Wattpad ages ago but that wasn’t able to write until now because I had something like a writer’s block with everything I'm working on 🙈

It is supposed to be something like a slow morning, but I’ve never read anything like that and the lurking I did was zero inspiring, so I hope I at least managed to write something cute to read 😅

Hope you like it and thank you for reading! 💜

Masterlist

"Good morning" I yawn.

"Good morning, sunshine" Kalvin replies.

"Have you been awake for too long?"

"Half an hour."

"Half an… and why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked too cute, I didn't want to bother you."

"So you just stared at me like a creep" I chuckle.

"Yep" he smiles.

"Have I ever told you that I love your dimples?"

"That literally was the line you used to slide into my dms, so yes, I have" he laughs.

"It wasn't a lie. And it worked, didn't it?"

"It definitely did. But wait, where are you going?" he says, grabbing my arm as I try to leave the bed.

"To the bathroom."

"Is it urgent?"

"No."

"Then come back here" Kalvin says, pulling me back to lay next to him. "It's a Sunday morning, we should take it slow."

"But we have things to do. We can't spend the whole morning cuddling in bed" I chuckle.

"It sounds like a wonderful plan to me" he shrugs.

"But we can't. We must take the dogs out for their walk, and we also need to do the food shopping. The fridge is completely empty, I don't know what we are going to eat for breakfast."

"What about each other?"

"Kalvin!" I laugh, hitting his chest.

"It was just a suggestion" he says with an innocent smile. "But I think I have a plan."

"I don't know if I like how that sounds."

"You'll like it, you'll see. We'll stay here cuddling and just chatting until our bladders can't take it anymore."

"Which will probably happen soon in my case."

"Don't think too much about it and it'll pass."

"What?"

"It works" he shrugs again. "Anyway, my plan. We cuddle in bed, and then get ready and take the dogs out for their walk. While we are at it, we stop to get some breakfast and sit in the sun, taking advantage of this glorious morning."

"It probably is freezing cold."

"But the sun is out, and that already makes it glorious. Now may I continue or do you have more comments to share with the class?" he asks with a teasing smile.

"You may continue" I chuckle.

"Thank you. Once we are done with breakfast and the dogs, we will go do the food shopping. Buy something yummy we can cook ourselves."

"Something yummy?" I say, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, yummy" Kalvin replies, sticking out his tongue. "And we should also buy a really nice bottle of wine to drink while we cook and listen to some music. Maybe have a dance around the kitchen."

"Cooking while drunk?"

"Can you please stop being a party pooper and focus on what matters?" 

"Which is?"

"The aesthetics. The vibes."

"The what?" I laugh.

"The… urgh" he says, rolling his eyes. "You are just teasing me, aren't you?"

"Maybe" I shrug, trying to hide my smile.

"That's rude. I'm here trying to picture a perfect morning, and you are making fun of me."

"A little teasing in the morning never hurt anyone" I smile.

"If you say so…"

"Kalvin, what are you doing?" I say as he quickly moves to be on top of me.

"Teasing you" he grins.

"You won't dare."

"Watch me."

"No! No, no, no! Kalv!" I laugh.

"It sucks, doesn't it?" he says while tickling me.

"Stop, please!"

"Nope."

"I told you my bladder was about to explode!"

"And I told you not to think about it" he says while he keeps tickling me.

"Kalvin, please!" I laugh, tears rolling down my face.

"If you want me to stop, you have to agree on my plan for this morning."

"I agree. I do."

"Say it is perfect. What you always dreamt of. That we are couple goals."

"Yes, yes. All that. Now please stop."

"Say that you love me."

"I love you, Kalvin. And I can't wait to do all you have planned. But seriously, if you don't stop…"

"Ok" he says, finally stopping and laying down again.

"Thank you" I say, taking a deep breath. "But no more cuddles for now. I really need to pee."

"Not if I make it first to the bathroom" he grins, quickly getting up from the bed.

"Kalvin!" I complain.

"Sorry, my love" he says from the door. 

"You are such a kid" I laugh.

"And that's why you love me" he replies with a smile that is all dimples before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

"And that's why I love you" I smile back even if he can't see me. "But don't take too long, ok?"

"Can't promise anything, I'm having a slow morning."

"Urgh" I grunt. Though my annoyance doesn't last long, and I find myself smiling again, picturing us doing everything he has planned for today and thinking that more than us being couple goals, he is boyfriend goals.

[gallivantingheart]

Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 5: anneliese ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 2800

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: mild coarse language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: this one’s kinda super long-ish than usual. and a bit of a filler/character chapter, but I still hope you like it 😊

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha​, @minkwans​, 

don’t hesitate to send an ask or dm to be added!

Soonyoung doesn’t dare kick his feet up onto the antique coffee table now that your grandmother is in the building, despite how much more comfortable it would be to. The way he reclines so deeply gives away his bad habits as he clears his throat and sits up a little better. You’re glad that Soonhee has tasked the ambassador with your princess lessons for a while. Maybe a more relaxed approach might jog your memory.

“So, where did Her Majesty get to last you did this?” He says, flipping open the photo album.

You lean forward, holding your sandwich up and away from the pages. “Uh, great grandparents. So...sixth generation.”

His brows raise. “Only sixth?”

You whine, slumping as he laughs kindly at you, empty of any maliciousness. Since the security breach, you’ve really warmed up to Soonyoung, glad to have someone closer to your age to relate to and learn from. And he’s a great teacher. Patient but firm, not to mention relentless. He told you about his travels across the country and secret stories about Amaide. They gave you a better idea of the kingdom you may end up leading.

You groan loudly - bordering a roar - after mixing up your great, great grandmother with your great grandaunt (once removed) and snap the album shut.

“Soon, spare me. My brain is seizing up.”

He laughs louder this time, eyes vanishing into his round cheeks. “Okay, okay. You’re probably right. Class dismissed.”

You get up and check your phone, noting the time. Maybe you would have enough time to catch the start of Jihoon’s radio show, if you left now. Jihoon did say he wouldn’t mind if you dropped by - inviting you even before you needed places to hide. Tonight might be a good time to? You slide your kitten heels back on, pulling out your earphones. Only now do you realise that there is a constant, soft pattering from the roof - rain. At least Junwoo was driving you everywhere now, so no risk of getting too wet. Your footsteps echo through the embassy, killing the quiet you’d become familiar with in the old building.

“So where are you headed now?” Soonyoung asks, tipping his head at the attendant who hands him his coat.

You shrug your own on, as well as a felted plaid scarf. “Uh, back to campus? I’ve got a friend I wanna visit.”

The blonde checks his watch, eyebrows shooting up into his feathery fringe. “At this time? There are still people at your college?”

“Hmmm. They have a community radio station. Jihoon has a show on Thursday nights.”

“Oh, do you want a lift?”

You slant your head at him as he detours past the front desk down a short and fairly dim hallway, elaborate alcoves set into either side of the wall.

“Sure? Only if you’re going out? Otherwise Junwoo is at my disposal, so to say.” You wave your hand in a dramatic version of your grandmother’s wave.

Soonyoung nods eagerly. “Yeah! I’m meeting up with some friends in Hongdae later on tonight, so leaving a little earlier won’t hurt. Like I told you, I’ve got nothing to do now Soonhee is catching up.”

You grin, jumping for the passenger seat of the dark car Soonyoung indicates to. Darkly tinted windows, an expectation of most cars you get in nowadays.

“So, who is Jihoon? Is he the one you posted about the other day?”

You nod, carefully not looking at him as you gesture to turn right out of the gates. “Y-yeah. Ah, he’s Mingyu’s cousin.”

You flinch at your voice, stuttered and shy. You didn’t need someone else giving you crap over Jihoon. Soon’s eyebrows raise as he purses his lips, humming in thought.

“Huh. Alright.” Okay, he so doesn’t believe you, but whatever. “That’s nice that you have such a close group of friends. They obviously know about the whole princess thing.”

“Yeah. Can’t really hide something this big from people who have known you most of your life, y’know? Grandmother doesn’t know they know though.” You insist, bouncing a little in your seat.

The rain has died down into a drizzle, almost spitting, so Soonyoung turns the heater and the wipers down. But you can already imagine the cold wet seeping into your shoes, tucking them closer to yourself.

“Of course not. Her Majesty would lose it if she knew you’d broken protocol so early on. Secret’s safe with me, I swear.”

His eyes are wide and he’s quite serious about it, a little bit more desperate than you expected him to be. You don’t dwell on it as you tell him to turn again into the east entrance, past a familiar cluster of restaurants.

When he gets to a set of bollards, you sling the door open, fashioning your scarf over your head. “This is me. Thanks Soonie!”

He grins, waving. “No worries! See you next week! Be safe!”

“You too! Night.”

Shutting the door, you dash for the first spot of dry you see, turning to wave him off.

You navigate the dark campus and get out of the lift five minutes before the start of the show. It’s only then that you question whether or not Jihoon would really want you there. You’re just his cousin’s best friend he’s really nice to, maybe a friend of his yourself. You hesitate at studio 2, shifting from foot to foot as you overthink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by and watch one of the shows if you want. Mingyu and Minghao have even been in an episode or two.” Jihoon looks up briefly to smile small.

Quickly, you open the door and claim a seat next to Bumzu, Jihoon’s director and producer for the radio show. He’s quite well known in most circles, being everyone’s music and tech go-to. You put your finger to your lips, unwrapping your scarf from your head. Somehow, Jihoon is too absorbed in prep to notice you come in.

“Ji said I could come by. I hope I’m not in the way.” You whisper, unsure of the standards in the studio.

Bumzu smiles, his rougher edges softening. He passes you another set of headphones, plugging them in. The on air sign isn’t on yet, luckily.

“Not at all. We’re just about to start. Make yourself comfortable.” he murmurs. “Jihoon, we’re good to go. Cameras are rolling.”

You look over to see Jihoon settling in in his classic sweats and slides, despite being filmed.  The host’s eyes slide to you, widening in shock. He motions to you with a wave, brows quirked. You wave shyly, smiling tentatively. The on air light above you buzzes to life and you settle, fond smile pressing at your lips. A subdued but chill jingle plays, male vocals playing to introduce the show.

“Hey everyone, it’s Woozi and welcome to tonight’s Woozi Tunes, your thursday night music fix. We’ve got new stuff from Justin Bieber and our on campus artist, Bumzu.” Jihoon says into the mic, giving a short wave to a camera.

As he chatters about this and that, his eyes slide your way, holding for prolonged amounts of time. Even Bumzu smiles, waving him off subtly. You’ve probably put him off, poor thing.

“So, first up we have Golden by Harry Styles. All thanks to his new mv, which I really recommend watching. Hope you like it.” He turns a few dials and nudges his headphones off an ear.

Jihoon looks straight at you, squinting a little as he smiles. You mirror his actions, shuffling closer while carefully staying out of the various camera shots.

“Bumzu, we’ve got four in the queue, right?”

The producer next to you nods. “Yeah, an ad segment then I’ll open the request lines. So, ten, maybe fifteen minutes till live. Studio audio has been muted.”

You don’t understand any of the small terms being thrown out around you. But you don’t care too much, bundling your scarf closer to your neck in the enclosed room for something to do.

“Y/n, I didn’t know you were coming.” Jihoon says, empty of malice.

You smile but shrug. “Yeah, I ended up finishing pr- uh, study group earlier than I expected and thought I’d drop by. I hope that’s not too much trouble.”

He shakes his head, shuffling his slides back and forth over the tightly woven grey carpet. Beats and patterns wave behind his head, turning the fluorescent halo around his hair neon.

“Not at all. I’m glad you decided to come. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I always enjoy your radio shows, Ji.” You blurt out.

Your jaw drops at your lack of filter, promptly shutting your mouth as your stomach drops and flutters. Wow, maybe Minghao is a bit right - too obvious. His brows quirk, resting his elbow on his knee.

“You listen to it?” He asks.

“Of course I do! I like you-your music taste.” You clench your teeth through your grin.

Wow, you really needed to learn how to filter your brain better. At least you don’t blush easily. You chatter back and forth about the playlist for tonight and his upcoming guests - he has Seokmin and Jeonghan, a mutual friend of Joshua’s, next week to talk musicals and teaching (how they relate, you’re not really sure). You forget Bumzu is even in the room until he gently clears his throat.

“Jihoon, you’re back on in 60.” He calls quietly.

“Oh! Oh right. Thanks, Bumzu.” Jihoon glances back to you, the tips of his ears a fairy floss pink. He’s grinning though. “Psst, do you want to talk more after the show?”

You nod, shooting a thumbs up, casting a glance back up to the time, hearing the end of a Pink Sweat$ song fade out.

He’s more charismatic over radio than you realise, leaning back in his chair and chatting briefly to one of the callers requesting. Still subdued but open, cracking a grin here and there. You check the radio show’s page to see if anyone is commenting on the show tonight - you’re a frequent snooper. Jihoon has quite a few fans, not just on campus. You bop your head along to his rhythmic playlist and listen intently to his callers. Before you know it, Jihoon is hunched near the controls and ending the show.

“Thanks for tuning into another Woozi Tunes on 97.6 fm. Remember, if you want to listen to this episode or any others, podcast recordings and playlists will be available on Spotify. To play us out, a song for, well a friend. An oldie but a good one - Bruno Mars, Finesse. Woozi, signing off.”

You bite your lip to stifle laughter. His favourite artist, your favourite song. You let him murder it the summer of 2018, long after it had come out, just to annoy Mingyu. 

“And… cut. Cameras and audio are off. Another week down.” Bumzu announces, pulling off his headset.

You pull off your own, delicately setting it aside. You give a lone round of applause. “Well done everyone.”

The radio host looks to you, quietly preening as he stands to tug his jacket off the back of his chair. You stay seated out the way as they clear everything away, slotting equipment into draws and wiping down surfaces. There isn’t even any idle chatter between them, but rather than being awkward it’s a moment of peace you didn’t know you wanted. Working, content peace away from everything as of late.

“Jihoon, don’t worry. I’ll finish up.”

Jihoon’s dark brows shoot up. “No no, hyung. We’re almost done.”

“Exactly. There’s not much left and I lock up anyway. You’ve got an early seminar tomorrow. And a guest. You can head off.” The older man insists, his soft edges turning to a stubborn frown.

The younger of the two rolls pretty quick, pushing the keyboard away and nodding. Jihoon’s dark eyes flick to you hopefully as he grabs his keys and wallet from an open draw.

“Alright. Talk tomorrow. Night, hyung.”

You give the older man a wave, bundling yourself up again now that you’re leaving the enclosed space. “Thank you, Bumzu! Good night.”

You head out into the hallway, meandering down to the lift and then the small set of stairs to the entry of the arts building. The rain is heavier as you drift awkwardly, checking your phone and contemplating your journey home.

“How - how are you getting home?” Jihoon asks, flipping his hood up over his dark hair.

You shrug. “Bus. Soonyoung dropped me off, not Junwoo.”

His lips press together as he shows a prolonged nod, kicking at the lino in his slides. You click through for the bus timetable, patting your pockets for your purse. You wonder what he’s waiting for, seeing as he drove here and the carpark for this side of the campus is underground and less than five minutes. He probably had staff parking too because of the radio show.

“Are you busy?” Jihoon asks suddenly, a little sharper than you’re used to.

You shoot him some side eye, tucking your phone away. “What...when?”

“Uh, now?”

You smile, shaking your head and stuffing your hands in your deep coat pockets. “Nope, I’m free.”

His shoulders perk up and he pulls his hood back down. Jihoon’s ears are going a little pink again as he turns back for the stairs further into the building. You feel the tentative excitement rolling off him, rubbing off on you so that you mirror his frame, your own shoulders tucking up around your ears. Every shuffle of your feet echo and the light sensor above you flashes red.

“Do you want to see my new song? I know you haven’t had the chance to see much of them.”

You’d mentioned - gently hounded, you hoped would be the best alternative term - before that you would be excited to hear some of his stuff. You’re already on your way back to the lifts.

“Absolutely! Lead the way.”

You lean over the soundboard, listening intently to the demo track. His voice is distinct, so unlike what you thought it might be. Still, it's versatile and powerful when combined with the lyrics. The beat is steady and you bounce your head along.

You glance to him, leant back in his seat watching you. "You wrote this? Like, all of this?"

He hums. "Yeah. It’s the track I got an HD for.”

Jihoon's arms are crossed and you feel bad that he has to feel defensive with you. You smile then gasp when the pretty singing becomes fluid rapping. His gaze turns with your reactions, concerned. Finally, you pull off the headphones as the minute and a half closes.

"I - singing, rapping! Composing? This is amazing, Ji! I'm so glad your major is music, otherwise your talent would be wasted for sure." You proclaim.

He ducks his head and fluffs at his hair with a smile. Jihoon seems unable to look at you and you let the bashfulness slide - not. You nudge at his chair so it spins.

"Wah, you act like no one has ever said that before!"

"I - it sounds a little different coming from you." he shrugs, still not looking. "Most of them are a little amazed or they're assessors with a job of picking it apart."

You nod and sigh. "Makes sense. Still. I hope you keep that track. I'd listen to it."

Jihoon beams before his sight slides to the digital clock sitting on a shelf - how very retro and efficient - eyes widening as he sits up straight.

“I - It’s almost midnight. We better head out.”

You can’t help but pout, standing up to push your chair in. “Yeah I’ve, of course, got princess things to attend to. Bumzu said you have class, don’t you?”

His slim fingers peek out of his navy sleeves, flying across the keyboard to turn everything off. “Uh-huh. I’m supposed to be doing the readings on it now, but It’s a pretty lax class so I should be able to get away with it.”

Your mouth is flapping silently like a fish, unable to form any coherent speech to reply with. Something not scolding, nor a joke, seeing as he’d just sacrificed his valuable study time to entertain you. Then he’s in the doorway, hand hovering over the light switch.

“Are you coming, Princess? Or am I leaving you in the dark?” Jihoon looks at you expectantly.

You gasp - mostly at the teasing name - and scuttle after him, breaking out into the dingy hall, yellowing walls and all. “I - yeah, sorry! Let’s go.”

(If Jihoon sings along to the radio on the way to yours, you don’t say anything. You’re grateful that he does the same for you when the Top 40 segment comes up in the thirty-five minute trip.)

[vanzhuo]

do you have any tips on how to start a writeblr, specifically how to meet more people and make some cool mutuals? :D i wanna start a writeblr but i don’t know anyone from the community and i feel like it’s not as fun without friends :(

ok so hey, first of all, i’m not good at articulating my thoughts well but here it goes -- there isn’t any one way to start a writeblr. when i’d started mine, i lounged around idly for a couple of months reblogging things from other writeblrs. when i finally mustered up wits to post an intro, some writeblrs reblogged and boosted it so that’s how many people found my blog. but like, at the beginning, i was clueless enough (don’t you dare laugh) to ask @semblanche what a taglist was because i was confused about why everyone was asking to be on it. so yeah. i’m gonna jot down a couple of things you should do if you want to like join the community under the cut since this is getting too long and you should all be saved from making the same mistakes i made at the start. and of course, some tips on networking around the community and finding new mutuals!

1. make an intro post. so the one thing i’ve learnt after changing blogs twice is, make an intro post you are satisfied with. it can be simple one, a text post where you use the header option to announce your writeblr (ex. if i were to make an intro, i’d say kalki’s writeblr) and then i’d put in my name, the kind of stuff i like to read, the kind of stuff i like to write and the wips i am writing. point is, it should be something you like, something that tells something about you. like the first time i did this, my intro said: this girl doesn’t know what she’s doing. the second time: she’s being too pretentious, move on people. so on and so forth. some people prefer using fancy images (i am some people) to introduce their blogs with an image post instead, but you’re fine with or without. one thing you should keep in mind is to like tag a few of your favorite blogs. i didn’t do this the first time round because i wasn’t sure what exactly i was doing but you should all know that if you tag your favorite blogs, then those blogs will (mostly, sometimes mentions mess up like it does with me and tumblr doesn’t notify you about being tagged) definitely reblog and boost it. that way, a lot of people will, if not engage with you, then at least know of your existence. here’s my intro post for this blog, if you want. it’s not very, um, formal because i was sleepy and thought it was funny. 

2. don’t be discouraged by the amount of notes on your intro. listen, i know we’d all feel bad if we had like 7 likes and 2 reblogs alright but don’t be discouraged. i mean now that i go back, my intro post has only about 36 notes. it really just depends on the timing. however, when you start posting content, those 10 people who’ve interacted with your post will like it and will reblog it for everyone to see and when people start seeing your content, they get interested and slowly, you’ll have more people to interact with and more people will discover your content and i think what i’m trying to say is that, the note count does matter but don’t be discouraged if it isn’t enough. it’ll take time but you’ll find a solid footing really soon, writeblr’s a really warm engaging place minus the anon hate people get sometimes. (see: @inheriting. all queen elle did was breathe, guys.) 

3. interact with other people and their content. so yes. it’s not a one side deal. if you want people to find your blog, you’ll have to start looking for more content too. when you see something good, reblog it or comment on it or even send an ask telling them it’s god tier content. that stuff makes up half the amount of serotonin in our brains. seriously. there’s nothing writers like more than people reblogging their posts with incoherent screaming or coming into their asks to tell them something they think is funny. you could even post something like: hey, i’m a new writeblr and i’m looking for content like (enter the genres or tropes you prefer) and if you have wips similar to this, then pls reblog this with their tags. i wanna start engaging more. something like that. yeah.

4. message other writeblrs? ok so this is a thing that i would not recommend doing ONLY because sometimes everything gets lost in my notifs and i don’t see messages for days and i know other writeblrs probably face this too. tumblr automatically reads them and doesn’t lmk and stuff like that. and secondly, most of us don’t really, like, answer dms all the time. sometimes i got something important to say so i’ll go to minnie @medusaswrites or to chel @starshots and scream about it and then when the topic of conversation closes, and it gets awkward (i do this so many times you don’t even know) we go back to ghosting private messages and instead blasting each other’s ask boxes with love. that’s just how this stuff works. but there are plenty of writeblrs who aren’t awkward with private messaging and they will LOVE to talk to you so there’s also that. honestly, i don’t know where i’m going with this so i’ll stop now. 

5. graphics and other things. ok so the main part, and the most important part, about a writeblr blog is the writing. so you’re a good writer, you’re a great writer. that’s not all though. sometimes you need to organize your blog. you use coded tags like tags for a particular character (say, my character tag for katya is oc: katya) and tags for a particular wip and inspo tags, resources tags, aesthetic tags, etc. this helps you organize your blog better. and finally, look, i know most people can’t do photoshop, either because it’s too expensive or too complicated and i get it. photoshop isn’t required honestly, there are tons of other things you can use. what mostly attracts attention is how attractive a blog can be. the layout for your blog for one. the picspam for your wip intro. that sort of thing. they are a couple of apps on phone that are free to use like picsart and canva (it’s on web too and honestly, the one thing you should use. it’s not like photoshop but it does the job and it does the job really well. if you want to ask someone about canva, you should go to raye @vigilantscar. she isn’t a writeblr but she’s good in that department.) also, if you’ve got something to ask about layouts or simple intro post demos and arrangement or the kind of pictures you should choose for them then slide into my dms, i’ll be happy to help.

i think that’s all? like true, writeblr isn’t fun without friends but this community is so nice and open that anyone can join anytime and you’d feel welcome. i also feel like i’ve not been able to get a few points across without sounding ignorant/awkward? or like i might have forgotten a few things? but honestly, i just woke up. also, i’m gonna tag a few blogs here that you should check out for good content in no particular order: @starshots @medusaswrites @carumens @vandorens @liarede @aelenko @inesnenci @kiesinger @medeaes @noloumna @emdrabbles and @inheriting. there are tons of other writeblrs with good content that i’m pretty sure i, with the memory of a goldfish, forgot to mention but. yeah. if you ever get round to posting an intro, tag me! i’ll be happy to interact! 

[onelastbreath-writes]

On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!!  AO3.  Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

---

Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?  

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities. 

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.  

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”  

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.  

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.  

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.  

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.  

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...  

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.  

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.  

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

[zuucc]

PLATONIC BED SHARING: W. NYLANDER | BLURB

Words: 2K

Summary: When your best friend sneaks into your bed after a long road trip and kisses your shoulder after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. And when you confront him about it.

Warnings: Smut-ish. Steamy. Don’t think there’s any cursing actually. (Be proud of me). 

Author’s note: You know when you lie in bed trying to sleep and you make up all sorts of unrealistic romantic shit in your head? Yeah, this is what I thought of the other night.

Masterlist linked in bio. __________________________

You’re almost asleep when you hear movement in your apartment. If you weren’t already used to your best friend calling ‘the need for human contact’ an emergency and using it as an excuse to use the key you gave him for emergencies at least once a week during the weeks where he was actually home, you probably would have been scared to death by now. But you know the sound of his steps, and you know that he’d missed you while he was away on a two week road trip - he’d told you at least four times - and that he would definitely tell you that Kappy didn’t give him any cuddles if you asked him what he was doing here.

“Mm, if you’re trying to share this comforter with me you need to get me a t-shirt,” you mumble once you feel the bed dip behind you, and his hand on your back, lifting up the comforter that you’d wrapped around you. He’d tiptoed into your room thinking that you were asleep already, planning to just slip into your bed without waking you. He never managed to do it without waking you, though, you just pretended to be asleep and let him believe that he did.

He sighs, and you can tell that he is rolling his eyes behind you. Two seconds later a t-shirt hits the back of your head, and you know he didn’t have time to get it from your closet - and by the smell and the warmth of it you can tell that it is definitely the one he’s been wearing. You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you grab it, sitting up slightly with your bare back facing him and pull it over your head. You lay back down again and he crawls under your covers, his arms sliding around you - one under your head and another around your waist - his body pressing against yours.

His arms really wrap you up and pull you into his warm body, and the annoyance you felt about him waking you from your almost slumber and thinking that he could just crawl under the same covers as your just about naked body is all gone. His legs tangle with yours and you think to yourself yeah, I really did miss you.

His face is pressed against your neck, and his steady breath against your skin is soothing you to fall asleep. Your eyes fly open, though, at his lips pressing against your shoulder where his big t-shirt had slid down.

You don’t think he noticed the gasp in your breath, or how you tensed up. He thought you were asleep and he kissed your shoulder. Your mind starts racing and sleep is long forgotten. Maybe he’s done it before, you don’t know, but there’s a possibility that this isn’t the first time. You know he’s never done it when you were awake, at least. Other than a kiss on your temple or your cheek during moments of celebration or post playoffs, summer kind of good byes, and that one time you were drunk and Mitch dared you to kiss and you both giggled your way though it - there had never been anything like it.

Your hand wraps around the arm that is resting across your waist, holding you to him, and you can tell that he tenses up by how he holds his breath for a little bit and how his limbs feel a little heavier against yours. You swallow hard before you turn around in his arms. His breath feels a little heavy with his chest against yours but he tries to play it cool with a tight lipped smile.

“Why did you do that?” you ask, softly. You look up at him, and he surprisingly keeps his gaze on you, even if you can tell he wants to look away. He only shrugs lightly. “You thought I was asleep?” you try to make it sound like a question but it comes out as more of a statement. He still doesn’t say anything, but rips his eyes away from you, looking out in your dark bedroom. His arms are still around you as you lay there in silence, waiting for him to say something. One of his hands are on your naked hip, where the t-shirt has ridden up, the other on your shoulder as his arm is curled around your neck.

“Honestly, do you think this is platonic?” he says, finally breaking the silence. He looks at you again, but this time it’s you who can’t give an answer. You end up shrugging, just like he did. “I think we’d be lying to ourselves if we said this was completely platonic. We don’t just sleep in the same bed, we cuddle. You’re wearing my t-shirt. It’s not even weird that I lock myself into your apartment at night and sneak into your bed anymore,” he says, and even if you hate to admit it, you have to agree with everything he says.

“Tell me what you feel,” you speak again, your voice lower and softer, but still not a whisper. “What I feel?” he asks, as if he doesn’t understand your question. “Yeah. What do you feel?” you repeat. “For me,” you add, this time, as a whisper.

He’s looking up into the ceiling now, and you see his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows, as well as his chest rising and falling. “I’ve tried to not think about it too much, tried to just shove it to the back of my mind, really. But there’s obviously a reason why I come here so much. I try not to, but especially after road trips, I just miss you so much when I’m away,” he looks at you again. “I know I say that I like to sleep next to you because I need human contact, but if that really was all that it was to it I could just, I don’t know, get a dating app or open some of my DM’s, and I’d get more than I get here, if you know what I mean,” he shakes his head at the last part. “Not that I expect that from you, and that I come here with that in mind... Or, I mean, I’m not saying I don’t - fuck it, I’m messing it all up. Uhm, my point is that I don’t crave human contact, I crave you. I need to be next to you,” he finally gets to the point.

You’re quiet for a while, thinking, desperately trying to push ever single sign of danger to the back of your mind. And you’re about to speak when William speaks again, anxious for what you’re going to say. “Why don’t you tell me what you feel... for me?” he asks, and your ever so confident best friend all of a sudden sounds vulnerable. You look up at him for a second, meeting his nervous eyes, before you lean in and place a kiss on his shoulder. You look up again and his brows are a little furrowed, and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth.

“Does that mean...?” he sounds hopeful, but also kind of terrified. You let your lips be tugged into a smile and you watch as a smile grows on his lips as well. You place a hand on his jaw and you push up on your elbow, pressing your lips to his for the first time since that drunken night with rounds of truth or dare at Mitch and Steph’s.

He follows you when your head falls back to your pillow, falling over you - his lips dancing against yours while his hand finds its way back to your hip. He pushes himself closer to you and as his arms wrap around you. You’re being pulled into him - legs tangling with yours, chests pressed together and his kiss deepens. Your hands are already lost in thick blonde locks when his tongue meets yours.

You want him even closer. At least, the heat pooling between your thighs want it. The butterflies in your stomach as well. Your head might think that it’s moving a little bit too fast, but you’re about to be convinced by the want between your legs that it is a good idea. You spread your legs a little bit and Will takes the hint, lightly pressing his thigh between yours - but it is not enough. You let one of your hands trail down his chest and disappear to his back, where you proceed to push him against you. He is, once again, understanding of what you want and presses his thigh further up, making a moan vibrate against his lips.

“Do you want this?” he asks, his breath labored as he pulls away from the kiss. “Yeah,” you breathe just as heavily, desperately trying to get your lips back on his. “And it’s not because of my stupid comment about getting more somewhere else?” he asks, and you can tell that it haunts him - but you knew very well what he meant. “Of course not, I know you didn’t mean it like that. To be honest, I kinda think this is moving a little bit too fast but... I don’t want to stop,” you whisper the last part. “Good. And we can stop. We can wait if you want to,” he says, always so thoughtful, his hand coming up to move a strand out of your face. “I want to wait, but I really don’t want to stop,” your cheeks heat up at the last part - the heat between your legs just not giving you a break.

“Then we’ll wait, right? I don’t want you to regret anything,” he makes the decision, and even if you think it’s the right one and you completely agree, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed as well. “Okay, good night then,” you say, letting out a deep breath before you press a kiss to his lips, one that isn’t as deep, but still lingers. “Good night,” he says it back to you, pressing another kiss to your lips, and you turn your back to him, letting him spoon you again.

But the feeling between your thighs is a lot, making the touch of his fingers feel like so much more than just a hand on your waist and his breath on your neck is no longer soothing. Instead it feels sexual and it only adds to your discomfort. Just knowing that he is behind you in nothing but his boxers is too much on its own. With a tiny wiggle of your butt you could feel the outline of his erection through his boxers, and there’s no way you can go to sleep like this.

“What do you want from this?” you ask, your voice coming out as a little harsh, even if you didn’t mean it to. “What?” he sounds confused and you once again turn around in his arms, your face ending up way too close to his. “I mean, what do you want with us... like, do you want a relationship? Or?” you explain, but he stops you right there. “Of course I want a relationship,” he bursts out, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “A relationship where you hold my hand in public and tell your friends about it, or, like, behind closed doors?” you ask, hoping that you’re on the same page. “I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t want it but I would like a public relationship,” he says, and once again he sounds vulnerable, probably thinking about the thousands of girls following him on social media. “No, I’d like that, too,” you smile, leaning in the last few inches and kissing him.

You don’t stop kissing him, though, coming back for more after every kiss. “I don’t want to wait,” you mumble against his lips, and to your surprise he doesn’t try to fight you on your sudden change of mind, instead he hums against your lips and kisses you deeper.

[http-rory-blog]

helo there palios, it’s super nice to meet ya’ll/be a member of this group. you all seem so damn sweet? like? already in love over here?? anywho, the name is rachel, twenty years old and a member of the gmt+1 timezone. this little shitbag right here is loml rowan rory, who i’m excited to further develop with ya’ll.  you know the drill, below the cut will be a series of bullet point information about rory herself, followed by whats probably me rambling about possible plots with a lot of ‘???’ here, there and everywhere. 

i saw VICTORIA JUSTICE today walking around the fair. Wait, no that was ROWAN 'RORY ANDERSON, the TWENTY-ONE year old CISFEMALE. i’ve heard SHE is currently a BAKER in Clairemont and people say they’re AUDACIOUS & QUICK-WITTED. Watch out though because i’m sure that i’ve also heard people say that they’re SHORT-TEMPERED & CONCEALED.

TW: MENTIONS OF VERBAL ABUSE.

rory, as she prefers to be referred as, was born and raised in clairemont. to this day, she’s still to ever even leave the small town. having never ventured beyond it’s welcoming signs even for a vacation. 

once upon a time, rory did have a smooth-going home-life, her mother and father were over the moon with the blessing of a beautiful baby girl. though it wasn’t to last long, with rory being a colic baby, it drove her father absolutely mad. he couldn’t stand the constant crying, and therefore tried to refrain from being in their home as often as he could, leaving his wife to do all the hard work.

cutting to the chase, he began to drink to cope with the situation. which eventually, resulted in him getting fired from his job when he turned up to work entirely out of it. which unsurprisingly, only furthered his depressive state and need to sooth the pain with alcoholic substances.

around this time, he was never cruel or abusive toward rory or her mother, he did love them. however, he was unable to see through his depressive state he was quickly falling into and became nothing more than a deadbeat; a shell of a person he used to be.

it took years before rory’s mother had had enough, packing her bags one day and walking out the door. it seemed she packed everything, wiped the house clean of anything that was once hers, that was, everything but rory.

for days, the little girl waited day in, day out for her mother’s return; but it never came. when this reality did hit her, it hit her hard. rory was physically unable to understand why her mother left her behind, what she had done so wrong to deserve it.

since her mother left, rory and her father barely got along; with him refusing to do anything but watch television and sit on his ass all day, it left them struggling to make amends meet at times. as soon as she came of age, rory had to take responsibility, picking up a part-time job while in highschool to support them both

the further he progressed to practically never being sober, the more her father would often make comments toward the daughter he once loved and adored so much. it wasn’t that he was trying to intentionally hurt her; he thought he was being funny, amusing, spewing words at her about how she’d probably end up just like him, how neither of them had a future, they were nothing more than the scum beneath everyone else’s shoes, she is just as worthless as he is.

though, after years of saving extra pennies that weren’t spent on food or household bills, etc, rory finally saved enough that she could escape her childhood home, somewhere that once held comfort that had become a nightmare to return to daily.

also, she works in a bakery because somehow the sour lil bitch she is can manage to create some damn good treats tbh.

basically, rory can be pretty bitter, a bit of a pessimist at the best of times (although she tries to play it off as her being a realist), mommy issues??, tbh daddy issues too??, quite the lower class citizen, considering she any pennies she got growing up were spared on bills and food w/her father not working, doesn’t bother to try achieve or make anything of herself either as her mom and everyone else believe she’s going to wound up just like her dad so she’s like?? lmao probs so why bother try make something of myself. is very iffy about getting too close or attached to anyone; fearing they may leave, is generally a very daring person? like, if you told her to jump of a bridge she probably would like ??? idk man. also don’t tell her she can’t do something because she will prove you wrong even if it kiLlS hEr. 10/10 would fight you if you bug her enough, tbh even if you’re like 6′3 and 180 pounds she’d still try take you?? is she okay?? not rly but anWYay. that’s my smol feel free to hit up those dms if you wanna plot bECAUSE I’M A PLOTTING SLUT GIVE ME EVERYTHING. ALL THE DRAMA. I WANT IT ALL.

 i’m gonna throw out a couple of possible connections while they’re floating around my brain, but tbh i work better brainstorming 99.9% of the time so slide into my dms and lets get out plot on.

lowkey i’m always down for the big brother/little sister type of plot, that’s lowkey my aesthetic tbh oops.

it would be pretty cool to maybe even have her mom’s kid(s) around? like, i feel like her mom has 100% moved on and gotten married and is living her picture perfect little life, meanwhile rory is just being bitter af. 

i can only really see her having one or two friends she’s like.. deathly close to? like they would probably know bits and pieces about the stuff that has gone on with her dad, especially if they grew up in clairemont like herself. but these would be her ride n die kinda friends ygm??

on that note, give me just those like.. party friends? like people she drinks with or gets high with etc etc.

frequent customers, she works in a bakery so..?? idk?? just a lil idea. 

someone she used to be incredibly close with when they were young, but after all the shit went down with her dad and mom she pushed them away, to this day she still gives them the cold shoulder and the other has no idea why. at this point, neither does rory. 

hookups/fwbs, she’s not really a relationship person bc trust/commitment issues 101, but she probably fucks around a lot. 

lowkey give me a plot like ‘we said no strings attached but now we’re in knots’. 

there’s probably a handful of people she doesn’t get along with, she’s really easy to piss off and generally would just get irritated quickly by someone and decide then and there she doesn’t like them. 

hatefuck??? i mean, speaks for itself, they argue and bicker a hella lot.. but then always end up fuckin’.

loWKEy, this could go along w/the hatefuck or fwb plot but like.. gimmie a plot were neither of the muses like sleeping alone or at least like, they prefer sleeping together? so they’ll fuck n whatever or even make excuses to do so just so they get to wound up literally sleeping w/one another; like all snuggly and it’s just.. at least rory wouldn’t want to admit she enjoys it so she’d cover it up w/being like ey come over n bang?? 

this is a mess

okay so, i think that’s all i got for right now, but ima hit ya’ll up and whatnot because i 100% wanna plot with evERyoNE.