#but then once loop says “some are in different places” or whatever

[arsonstick]

okay can we talk about isat act five . not even the ending like 20 or 30 minutes. im talking about the house itself and all the floors. like at that point youve gone through the house so many times its muscle memory at that point. you know where everything is and how to get to it

so the switchup of the layout and the map and the weird teleporting glitch-y thing? its such a game changer. not to mention the distorted background and the edited music. ohhh its done so well

i got so lost in the house and i feel like it added a lot to the experience. if it was still going through the house as normal (albeit alone) i think the ending wouldnt have hit nearly as hard as it did. it added a sense of loneliness and unstability which uh. Yeah that fits for act 5

[iznsfw]

You are now obliged to write an Eunbi smut

Waterbombed

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

5,835 words

Categories | daddy kink, anal, jealousy, squirting, breast worship, fingering, titfucking, spanking, slight exhibitionism

Sorry not sorry for the Eunbi spam—I promise I'll write the other members and other idols after this. Waterbomb Festival Eunbi is just too hot.

Enjoy.

Tokki 🐰: oppaaaaaaaaa

This can't be good. Eunbi's bombing your phone again with ridiculous messages designed to attract your attention. It won't work today, though. You've got a lot to do, and besides that, she's equally busy. She's out there performing in some festival Woollim booked, and it's safe to say that it should have brought about only peace in your office cubicle. No videos, no flirty texts, no nada—that's how it should have been.

But one thing you've learned when dating Kwon Eunbi is to expect the unexpected. Too bad you didn't keep that in mind when you finally gave in and picked up your phone. Work can wait for a few minutes, right?

You: What is it ?

Tokki 🐰: have you seen my performance yet :]

You don't think so. The day's been too packed to make space for a quick watch.

You: Not yet love im busy

Tokki 🐰: you should oppa

becauseeeee

i really enjoyed performing at the waterbomb festival!!!!!

Waterbomb Festival?

Isn't that—

It slowly hits you, as if the information were a hesitant slap on the shoulder. Thoughts come blending into each other in your head and forming a quaky conclusion. Could it be…?

Open another tab on your work desktop. You quickly flock to YouTube. Never mind if your boss sees the history through the internet router. You have to know if your suspicions are true. 

Your experienced fingers spell out a search query into the curved search bar. In flash-paced impulse, you type out: "권은비 워터밤."

Then there it is: several fan-recorded videos of your girlfriend, your ever-so-precious and playful Eunbi, dressed in nothing but a flimsy bikini top and a see-through cardigan. Her hair is soaked from the sprays and shots of water coming at her, but she's smiling—she looks like she's having the time of her life.

The played previews of the videos are endless loops of her chest rippling and bouncing with her wide movements, even cutting to a clip where she's running her hands up her exposed body, grinding her hips down as if you were there on the stage with her, invisible yet still present. 

No wonder she didn't want you to attend. You insisted, but she asked that you did what you had to do. 

You're a good man. At least, you try to be. Eunbi's her own person and you're completely fine with whatever she does, even suggesting the kinds of tattoos she could pick out when she went to get some. They're what gave you the inked places to kiss her.

But she knows what she was doing with this. It's impossible not to discern that.

Look around before closing the tab with shivering breaths, then pick up your phone.

You: ????? 

You told me it was a festival

Not the WATERBOMB festival

Tokki 🐰: oh come on whats the difference 

and you don't own me >:(

i can do whatever i want

:PPPPP

She's got a point, but her intent with this is so obvious, with the lewd expressions she fires the audience and all, that—

You: Oh

So that's how it's going to be, huh.

It's maddening how your picture of her jumping around giggling as she types another message to you is probably accurate. 

Tokki 🐰: yes :3

can you come pick me up?? 

The audacity of this girl sometimes.

But forget it; as any good boyfriend would, you're picking her up. You'll do more than pick her up. 

-

Getting there in the guise of her manager isn't easy. You've had to negotiate with him, explaining that you'll pick her up on your own and save him the trouble. I'm a friend of hers, you said. I just want to congratulate her performance, you added. He gave you suspicious looks, but once he saw her name in your contacts, he ultimately agreed.

Driving through the crowd isn't easy either, but you manage to do it. You have your emotions to thank for that. Lust and jealousy, as you've learned, are like demons—they possess you, control you to the point that they invade other aspects of your life. Asmodeus sure likes tinkering with you, and you're just sitting there in the driver's seat letting him? If that's the case, you'd have to attend the Waterbomb Festival itself to wash yourself of hell's flame.

Heat begins to fill the room when you see her though. You'd adlib a pun into the script here, say a joke about how it's only hot because Eunbi is. But you're too turned on by the sight of her tits on display, poorly contained by the thin bikini and held together by one single button of the transparent cardigan.

Her smile pushes you on. She knows what you're here for, but she loves playing dumb as much as she loves provoking you. It's all going according to her plan.

Every bit of her insane curves sway in an aesthetic, almost rehearsed way at you as she approaches. Her hair is still wet, and maybe there's another thing wet, too; her thighs squirm together too much to be merely out of the soaked sprays aimed at her at the festival.

Eunbi's eyes sparkle. Makeup can't fabricate that glimmer.

"Daddy," she says, with conviction. With meaning. 

The hair on the back of your nape rises.

Eunbi's pushing you to the empty seat in the room, soon filling your lap with her soft presence. "You really came? I thought you were mad at Eunbi."

There she is again with the third-person thing. The daddy thing, too. She knows it's your weakness, hearing a pretty girl like her who pretends not to know of her effect on people get on her knees and call you what she shouldn't. You won't lie; it's insanely hot, but when she's grinding her round ass down on your growing bulge with that tiny bite of her lower lip, you, as usual, aren't passive. You aren't moved by her coaxing. You refuse to be. 

"Watch it," you warn anyway, a hand on one of her womanly hips. You massage it, a cautionary message written in your movements. Now you brush a thumb over her midriff and draw small gasps out of her.

"I'm n-not doing anything." 

Innocent as her voice is, her outfit isn't—the patterned bikini top barely holds on to her plentiful breasts, and the cardigan is useless anyway with how clear its seams are. 

"Daddy," Eunbi says again, the pout on her lipsticked mouth growing, "don't tease."

"I'm not doing anything," you say, happy to use her line against her. 

You love and live to see the weak expressions on her face when you trail your hands gently to the scope of her tits. If they barely fit the bikini, what more in your hands? They're too soft in your fingers as you gingerly toy with them. Her nipples poke the fabric of the top and brush your palms.

Eunbi's gasps frequent. "Please."

"What is this, baby?" you ask. "You go to a festival made for perverts and you make a scene anyway. And now you want me to take this off—"

Unbutton the single thing holding the cardigan together, slipping it off her shoulders. The bare, revealed body in front of you is something the Waterbomb Festival goers were able to see first—just under the gauze of the poor outerwear. It triggers an unhinged emotion in you, something that goes like: mine mine mine.

"—call you a good girl—"

Eunbi's lips are pursed as you touch her everywhere. She's completely soaked after her viral feat at the festival, but there's another thing down below that's wetter. Showing herself off to everybody, men and women alike, has her wet to the core. 

Your touch teases yet lingers, stays yet strays. She grinds down on your lap needily. 

"—and expect me to fuck you? Really?"

Eunbi's truly all bark but no bite. Her feistiness through texts doesn't translate in real life, wherein she completely melts when you just let your fingertips glide along her waiting skin. Just look at her heaving bosom, her large eyes—she's passiveness itself.

"But you, you liked seeing me up there, daddy," she stammers. Eunbi swallows the moment your hand rests on her cheek. "H-hah, you liked watching me."

She cries out too loud for subtleness at the sudden spank thrown at her tits. 

"Is this what you wanted those men at the festival to do to you?" Slap her bouncing tits again, squeezing before throwing another blow. "Slap your big fucking tits, dick you down right there on the stage for everyone to see?"

"Mmm, ah, you ask too many questions, daddy. Oh– oh my god—"

"If you want to be such a bad girl," you say, a harsh squeeze from your right hand on her boob, "you'll get fucked like one."

Pull down the narrow cup of the bikini to suck on her nipples. Replace the redness on the flesh from your slaps to redness from your mouth. You've placed your hand on skirted ass to keep her on your lap, because she's not going anywhere—she'll stay here, here where you can teach her a lesson. 

You dare to bite just a little. Beneath your palm, Eunbi's form curves and she screams.

"D-daddy!" 

"Sensitive, aren't we?" you ask with a smirk. Your tongue flattens as it licks greedily at her nipples, then retreating to her collarbone and neck. Still, her bountiful breasts are your main focus. 

"Please fuck me. I need it, I can't—"

"Take the skirt off. Bend over." 

Eunbi whines, but you fire her with a look of warning. Hence, she slips out of the white jean skirt. She doesn't even wear safety shorts underneath. Instead, it's a single thong that matches the plaid pattern of the top. She might as well be at a beach with how little clothing there is on her curvaceous body.

Your blood boils, but it settles when she does bend over obediently on your lap, and you enjoy the sight of her breasts dangling before settling on the soft plush sofa. 

"Someone might see, daddy," she protests, though she's already folded in half on the furniture. "The others, they're gonna look."

"You had no problem with that earlier," you say. Circle your palm over the exposed fat cheeks and clench your hand around one, just like you did with her tits. "I should fuck you at the door, make everyone see the sexy little thing they saw at the festival is mine."

"Noooo, please, daddy! The company'll be mad and my fans…oh, my fans—"

"Quiet, baby girl. Let me use you."

Eunbi nods, albeit her shadowed eyes are closed. She whimpers through pursed lips as the first spank capsizes. Her ass moves beautifully, as if it were a dancer just like her. It's hypnotizing, and for that you hit her more. 

"Oh, oh yes, daddy, oh my god," she cries out, her voice thin. "I love it when you spank me. M-makes me want to cum all over you."

"Not a chance after the shit you pulled out there."

Her thong is sticky with her juices. Feel it with your middle finger briefly. Dare to slip through the side to touch her waiting pussy. Eunbi sobs a little, reversing her ass into you, but is met with a spank instead. She winces.

Eunbi's ass is, to be brief, amazing. But even with that you'll go on to say how much you love the supple flesh bouncing in front of you, becoming red from the assault of your hand, clenching to bear the teasing. It's already a surprise that you haven't fucked her senseless already when she's lying stomach first on your lap in a tiny two-piece set, but you love to keep her on edge hankering for you to use her. 

"So you won't let me cum?" asks Eunbi, as if she were really disappointed that she'd be denied something she doesn't deserve. "That's not fair."

"Do you think it's fair to me?" 

"Oh, oh, daddy—" Her legs quake once your fingers nevertheless stuff her hole, and start moving at a pace too early to be set and too much to handle.

Your digits push past her slick walls and fill her over and over. "Presenting what's mine for everyone to see, Kwon Eunbi. And I thought you were a good girl."

"Ohhh, but I am!" Eunbi protests, on the verge of pleasure-induced tears. 

You just know where to touch her, where to fuck her pretty cunt at to reduce her to cum and tears. Nothing's a better combination. Stuff a third finger, and Eunbi gets too tight that you can barely fit. You have to spread your fingers a little to make space, yet she still squeezes down.

Through her struggles and cries she doesn't fail to move her crotch into your fingers. It's like she's in a battle of choices: to have you stop or have you go on forever. 

"I just wanted to have fun, daddy! I wanted you to punish me, to fuck me—"

"Well, you got what you wanted then, little brat. Cum for me. Cum for daddy."

Her screams fire off into the atmosphere like warnings. They have every right to send cautionary messages; Eunbi's a force to be reckoned with when she cums. At times, she'd yell and sob without shame as she came around your cock, tear the sheets with how hard she grasps at their fabric. But now, at a public waiting room backstage at the festival, she's got nowhere and no one to help her bear her orgasm.

So, while you violently fuck her hole with Eunbi-stained digits, her moans start off as what they were, evolving into louder and louder forms, until she's cumming, cumming all over your fingers as if her pussy were one of the water guns itself. Her squirt doesn't miss her thong, but it also doesn't leave your lap empty in its wake.

Oh, and she's screaming. She's crying out your name in pitched tones, carving your thrusts into stronger forces. "Shit, daddy, please!" Eunbi cries, struggling in your lap and squeezing down hard. "Please, daddy, I don't want to ruin your clothes!"

That's sweet of her, but frankly: "I don't care. Cum all over them. Just keep on squirting for me, baby. That's it."

Pull out to rub at her core, forcing more of her girl cum to eject into the air. Eunbi's legs flail and weaken. Her hips gyrate into your finger and flinch after you start spanking her impossibly wet cunt.

"Thank you, daddy," she says between gaspy gibberish and whimpers. She can barely see anything but stars. "My daddy, thank you, daddy, keep spanking my little pussy like that, mmm, I love you, daddy."

Alternate between spanking and rubbing so that the sofa is absolutely stained with her, so that anyone who comes in the room after the session will know that the Kwon Eunbi was railed here. So they know that they can gawk at her amazing body all they want, but she's yours. Yours, and no one else's. 

Eunbi bears it for a few seconds, hips lifting and descending. But it soon becomes too much to bear, for she implores, in a tired voice, "Daddy… stop. Too much."

No problem at all. Stop, like she asked. You never take things too far unless she wants you to, even when she's been bad, which reminds you: "But you're still a bad girl. You need to make it up to daddy."

"I know what to do!" she says, in a sudden cheerful voice she uses when she does her radio gigs. "I can make daddy feel better with this!"

Her legs are still weak, but she gets off your lap with the help of her own eagerness. Eunbi's always so ready to make you feel good.

She kneels, tugging your belt and pants off. Her animated expression at the sight of your cock is adorable, and as you ruffle her hair, you realize you just have to tell her:

"You're so fucking pretty, Eunbi."

Eunbi beams. Her cheeks flush. "Thank you, daddy."

"I bet you'll look even prettier fucking your huge tits on my cock."

"You don't have to tell me what to do," giggles Eunbi. "I'm a big girl."

She completely tears off the bikini top. Her wondrous boobs free themselves from the fabric, baring their flesh to you. It's an attempt to make you drool at the mouth and go bogey-eyed, and you can't say that it isn't successful. 

She squeezes her assets and plays with her nipples. Her fingertips brush and circle over the pink patch of skin as she moans seductively. The knot in your stomach tightens.

"Eunbi," you reprimand her. 

"What?" she says, eyes full of faux innocence. "I was so horny after you fingered me, daddy. You're just so hot when you're mad."

"I'll be madder if you don't let me fuck you."

She laughs. "Don't worry, daddy. Just sit there and relax for me, okay?" Eunbi raises a thumb questioningly.

Lower lip pinned under her teeth, she guides her large breasts to your cock. It takes no effort at all for her to slip your cock between. It's not unexpected either that the big soft skin imprisoning you feels amazing. With their size and impossibly smooth texture, you've no other choice but to moan loudly.

The backside of your length enjoys the space between her tits, while the rounded sides revel in their booby trap. Not a pun, you swear, especially not when your girlfriend's titfucking you, but there's no coherent thought when she's doing it. When she's smiling naughtily. When she's compressing her tits around your length like it's determined to keep you there forever. When—

"You're doing so fucking good, baby."

"Of course," she says happily. "Daddy made me cum even though I was a bad girl, so I'll always be good for him."

"Consider this your punishment, then."

"How is it a punishment if I love it?" 

"Don't start."

Another warning she doesn't heed. "I already have."

Her chest heaves and rests while being instructed by her hands. Eunbi lets a run of spit stream down her cleavage and on your cock as lubricant. Wipe the drool from her chin and offer it to her mouth. Her eyes sparkle with delicateness as she sucks on your thumb. The soft lips wrapping around your finger causes you to wonder what they'd feel like around your girth.

(Next time.)

"Gently," you have to remind her. The constriction of her bust around your cock is a little too much. So is her eager looks. "There's no rush here."

"But I want you to cum," Eunbi says. "I want you to cum all over my big tits you love so much. You love me, don't you? Then cum for me, daddy, show me you love your little baby girl, please?"

Fuck, it's tempting. You'd love to pepper her beautiful face and bust with your cum. She'd look so pretty in it while still keeping the look of pureness in her irises. But you have to hold out. 

She toys with your cock, slapping it against her boob then running its tip on her nipple. Your heart skips a beat, and she smirks. Seems like you're not doing a good job of keeping your daddy persona, but she's good enough to continue rubbing your firm veins on her skin. 

Eunbi's chest is a real-life fleshlight. Soon, your hips start to move of their own accord, and you're meeting her thrusts now, only with a little more force. There's the friction to chase after, too, and you're right at its heel. You're winning the race, already; you can almost taste it—

"Ohhh, daddy!" she says delightfully. Your cum rains on her chest and neck like a storm. The thunder can be your groans that instead of fearing, she relishes. 

"F-fuck," you say. "Fucking brat, take it all—"

Eunbi listens this time. She removes her bosom from enveloping your cock and attaches her mouth to it instead. You've trained her well; she shoves her face all the way down your length, effectively taking it all in her tight throat. Her neck flexes and relaxes. It stimulates you and has your legs bouncing.

Her eyes remain sealed onto you. The brightness in them that they hold so often tells you more than words could: she loves being your good girl as much as she loves being a brat. She loves riling you up but also loves being good and letting you have your way with her. It's what Eunbi keeps living for, and some may say it's an addiction, but if it is, she'd never want to recover. Not if it means having your warm cum down her throat and your hand tangled in her hair.

You call her a good girl more times than you can count. Ruffle her hair all the while and wipe the tears forming in her eyes when she whimpers. It takes a while getting her to get all of your cum—her throat extracts more from you, and it ends up with her gagging just a little. Finally, she makes the move to breathe.

Pants ride her shoulders, but Eunbi smiles. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she says. "Let's go home now—"

"Oh, no, Eunbi, we're not done."

"H-huh?"

You pull her up and into your lap, her butt parked only a little away from your cock. Eunbi wears a shocked look on her face, and it only adds up to the hotness of her wearing nothing but a Burberry thong while on your thighs.

"I still have to teach you a lesson," you tell her between firm squeezes on her butt. "You think I forgot?"

"Why?" she whines. Her hands fidget with your shirt. "I've been a good girl, haven't I? You got to cum!"

"And I'm not stopping." Guide her hips to dance along the head of your length. Brush against her engorged clit. Tease her slit. "Fucking ride my dick."

You push her down. Eunbi cries out, her nerves still on a high after her previous orgasm. To be fair, you're a little sensitive, too, but you look forward anyway to cumming in her tight little pussy. It could happen any time when she's just so fuckable, her busty self bouncing and squirming on your girth, and her face never failing to not hide the pleasure she's going through. You can feel her twitch and spasm, but of course, you keep slamming her down on your lap like she's a little rag doll.

"Daddy!" she screams. "Please, oh fuck, you're so big!"

She's a little greedy herself. If you wanted to fuck her till she came and begged you to stop, she wanted it more. She's wild and unhinged as she rides you, impaling herself with your rod though you cumming in her would do more bad than good, but when it pokes every good spot and stretches her tiny cunt better than any toy or a couple of fingers, she might as well do it with no regrets.

Kiss her collarbone and keep a hand on her ass to guide her. Squeeze; her moans break. Then Eunbi's looking at you with crazed eyes, deluded and dizzy with pleasure, as you slap her fat ass and let her wet core press its walls around your penis like a trap. This whole thing's a trap if you really looked at it, from the appearance at the Waterbomb Festival to the outfit she's wearing, but if that were so, you'd want no parole. If being jailed in her hole means getting this delicious tightness and hearing her whiny loud moans every second, you'd appeal for a life sentence.

She might as well be liquid—the roll of her hips is too fluid to be that of a human. But you've seen her fancams from the festival and guess that it was a manifestation, a prophecy for this to happen. Your cock can't be anything other than solid, however. Eunbi's too sexy a girl for your erection to be nonexistent.

"That's it, Eunbi." Lean back a little into the wet sofa to let her do her thing. "Ride that fucking cock. Fill that tight pussy."

"I will, daddy," she responds, nodding as if in a spell-cast trance. Maybe it's true; the heat brewing in the small of her stomach is too good to be true. "Yes, please, I love your big cock, it feels so good inside me."

You don't even have to guide her anymore. She's fully fucking herself on you, her stamina never failing her. Her full thighs strain and her pussy clenches down with a slippery yet firm grip. Groan, then slap her ass. She hums happily. Your relentless upward thrusts and slaps just burn her lust into a complete fire. 

It's a surprise your legs don't collapse on the way to carrying her and fucking her against the wall. It gives you more opportunity to stuff her with you harder. Eunbi's legs spread more, her breathing ragged, and you're kissing her again. You press your lips on hers, then on her neck for which she closes her eyes appreciatively, then her collarbone. There isn't one part of her you don't love. You'd paint her with your cum three times a day like a daily meal if you could.

For now, you binge on lust with her. You eat more of her than you should. But who's making the rules? Whoever they are, let it be known you're breaking them—skin slapping against skin grows louder, almost syncing with Eunbi's repeated moans and your pumps. Her hips and yours create a rhythm together to make it work, to make your cock fit inside her, but she ends up weak and tired anyway.

"Please, daddy. S-suck my tits. I need your mouth on me so bad. Can you give your baby girl what she wants, daddy?" Her pout prods you on. "You can, right?"

"Of course." 

Latch your mouth on one of the bouncing circles of flesh. Nibble, suck, spit, suckle—that's your beginning loop of actions for her. But it becomes frenzied after a while because of how good her folds swallow you, how soft her breasts are. Even as your actions become less and less sequenced, she moans. You never want to hear anything else.

"Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. I, I'm gonna cum soon. Keep fucking me like that and I promise, I promise I'll squirt around your s-stupidly big cock. I will, I will, just fuck me, oh my god. Oh, daddy!"

Eunbi stays true to her word, especially with your thumb toying her clit. She lets out another rush of cum on your crotch. It's wet, it's plenty, it's oh-so-hot when she's screaming helplessly like that, struggling to keep up with your speed. 

Pull out so more of her can spray all over you. If people don't hear your little session in this waiting room, they'll see evidence of it—it ends up on the floor, the sofa, the wall, and your soaked clothes on the ground. Maybe Eunbi's back could have imprinted a mark on the wall too after how hard you fucked her. It's too easy for adoring fans and nonchalant staff alike to find out what happened to their beloved Kwon Eunbi after the festival, and you have a feeling that it's part of what makes Eunbi squirt so much now.

Go south. Keep your fingers on her hips to help her stand. Then, flick your tongue on her clit to help her go through the long stretch of her orgasm.

"Ahh, fuck!" 

Her core tightens again. Her hips flinch and recoil, but you keep firing your sharp little licks long after her climax subsides. 

"Oh, daddy," Eunbi sighs, dizzy, "that felt so good."

"Can you go for more?" 

You're met with a curious look. It's as if she's wondering herself: could she?

"I want to fuck your ass, too, Eunbi." Squeeze her cheek, and her other cheek turns red. "Won't you let daddy fuck this perfect little thing?"

Eunbi shivers. She walks over to the windowsill, steps shaky, and places her hands on it. Then, she looks back at you, coaxing you on. And you have to admit that it's quite the sight, because there she is, in only skimpy underwear and her breasts bare of any covering. 

It's the fact that she's so willing to go and expose herself through the uncurtained window and show everyone who gets to fuck her that makes you approach her. 

"Naughty girl."

Eunbi nods. What's there to deny? Her eyes shut after you spank her.

"If I get to fuck your ass every time you go to Waterbomb," you say, trailing her wetness to her asshole as lubricant and lathering it with her arousal, "I'd let you go here daily."

Eunbi giggles. "So you're not mad anymore, daddy?" she asks hopefully.

Your cock rubs her hole. It teases her, keeps her on the tips of her toes. "Maybe."

Push, just a little. Already she's clenching down unintentionally. Eunbi hisses and shuts her eyes.

"Ffffuck, hnn." Her hands drum a tortured song on the windowsill while her voice strains a melody of darling cries and whines. "Haaah, daddy, you're so big. I don't think I can take it."

"Of course you can," you say, choosing to be gentle this time, "'cause you're my good girl, right?"

"Y-yes. I'll take it for you, daddy—I can do it."

"That's my Eunbi."

Kiss her neck and slowly plunge more inches in her. She keeps letting out soft cries. Her face, showcasing her eyes shut tightly and mouth slightly hung open, reflects into the window. You wonder which group's performing now, and if the audience is too enamored by their song to see the previous sex doll that is Eunbi being fucked at the window. That somehow encourages you alongside her soft moans of pleasure. 

It's Eunbi's first time with anal, and she never imagined she'd experience it here, at a place where anybody can see her pleasure and struggle. She clamps a palm on her mouth.

"Daddy… ahhh, it's so big, daddy!" she cries softly.

"I know. Just spread that tight ass for me, will you? So you can take daddy better?" Smile when she follows your orders. "Thank you, baby. You ready?"

"Mmm." Eunbi hums hesitantly. "Yes."

She said she was, so there's no hesitance on your end in relentlessly fucking her asshole. It gapes a little with the help of her fingers, but Eunbi still wails. Stroke after stroke of your length fills her up and she isn't sure how to deal with the pleasure and pain it brings about. 

Her textured, pink walls might be a close competitor in terms of tightness with her pussy. With how closed its walls are, it nearly refuses to take you in. Try rubbing at her clit. As a result, it clenches around you tighter. Eunbi sobs and huffs as she tries with every inch of her spent body to take you in. 

"Nnnn, daddy! S-so big, so good, it's so good!"

Open her up. Spread the tight cheeks by spanking them. The backside before you grinds and gyrates in response. There's more wetness now on Eunbi's legs, trickling down her skin. Maybe it's sweat? Squirt? Cum? No time to think about it when you're focused on how damn tight she is.

Somehow, your pats and rubs on her core make her tighter. She's restricting you fully, forcing you to draw your hips all the way back to slam inside her. With each, she gasps, as if surprised, and begs again. Begs for more, although her ass is too tight to take more than a few pleasured inches in. Begs you to use her, spank her, which you do although you don't really understand the rest of her sentences. It's all garbled and messy, just like your swift thrusts.

"Pound me, fuck me! Fuck me for everyone to see, daddy, make me cum!"

Now that part's clear as day. You love Eunbi too much to not do what she says.

A few seconds in she relaxes a little. Hence, the rest of your dick goes inside her. You let out a soft groan at how good it feels: finally filling her to the hilt. You kiss her sweaty back, rub her clit, tell her how much of a good girl she is. It takes effect; she grows tighter and more relaxed at the same time. How it's possible, you've no idea, for you live in the present wherein you're fucking Kwon Eunbi's tight ass to no end.

Rub her little midriff. "You want me to fill this pretty stomach with my load, baby? You want me to cream your ass?" 

"Yes, daddy!" 

Now, trail your finger down to her clit where you rub furiously. "Want me to make you squirt again?" 

"Fuck! Daddy!" Eunbi's legs twitch and she throws her head back. "Yes, yes, make me cum, make me cum!"

That you do. Keep the tempo of your thrusts and rubs unsynced so as to let her experience the pleasure from both ends. Let your other hand squeeze and pinch her nipples, and let the fact that only you get to toy with them, not the audience. Not one single man out there gets to fuck her like this, even in his dreams. 

You smile for a bit until you blow your load inside her tight hole. Eunbi's feet finally lose balance and she falls back into you. Continue to thrust in her to ease your climax while she rains her squirt all over the pane and wall. Let a few fingers inside her pussy, too, and the silver rain grows stronger. Plentier. Better.

"So fffucking big, thank you, daddy," she mumbles coherently enough. She kisses your jaw tiredly. "Feels so good in my ass, thank you, I love you, thank you… the best…"

Her repeated whispers are adorable. You wince as you pull out. You're fully and completely drained, and you don't have to guess to know that she is, too.

"Calm down now."

"Okay, I will…" 

"I love you, too, by the way." Your lips meet hers. She kisses back happily.  "Don't forget that."

"Won't… forget…" Eunbi nods. Her heart pounds as fast as yours. "We'll go home now? For real this time?"

"For real this time," you chuckle. Stroke her hair. 

You let her robe fall around her spent body and drive her home. The janitors have a tough time cleaning up the room, luckily only assuming someone spilled water. The scent of sex still hangs around, though.

She's your passenger princess on the way home, but the next three times she'll attend the Waterbomb Festival, she's your toy. You're flying with her to Japan to fuck her anytime, just as a firm reminder that as much as she's loved to show off in the events, you love fucking her more.

[wosoluver]

There's a place for you hc

Part 2

warning: kinda short

Claudia Pina Masterlist

Patri Guijarro Masterlist

Table for three

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"We're still going out for dinner tonight, right?" asked Pina putting her boots away.

"Of course. What time are you picking me up?"

"Around eight, can we go to that sushi place we usually go to?" asked Patri.

"No! We had agreed to going to the new italian place downtown." said Claudia.

"No I didn't." she said crossing her arms over her chest.

"Not you silly, Clau and I." you answered.

"But I really wanted to have sushi today." she said pouting.

"No..." "Nuh uh." you two answered in unison.

"You two are always teaming up on me.” she said in a slight disapproving tone.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it. See you two later." you said with a sly smile, walking to your car.

Pina stood there following you with her eyes, lips slightly parted.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Driving down the road back to her apartment, Patri felt her mind fall back into her thoughts.

At the constant tension she felt between the two of you.

You were friends, yeah. You were both attracted to girls, also yes.

But she was, differently from you, in a relationship.

Next to her was Claudia, who usually as shotgun, would be the dj for the ride.

But like the girl driving, her mind was playing with her.

Or maybe her heart was the one doing the tricks.

You had always been hard to ignore.

Not only to the ones crushing on you.

To everyone.

It was obvious to everyone, that one day, you and Pina or you and Patri would happen, eventually.

Some even bet on it. Cata, Ona and Lucy bet on Patri. Jana, Bruna and Vicky bet on Clau.

But you were just best friends doing best friend things, no?

Well, you weren't so harmless yourself. You had picked both on the tension Patri couldn't stop thinking about and on the loops your heart and mind seemed to go on, like Claudia.

And you bet a little on it, always keeping your flirty comments and actions sharp.

Whatever happened, happened.

To all your knowledge, you weren't committing any fouls by doing so.

The two had noticed that they weren't the only ones getting your attention. And weirdly enough they didn't mind.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Good evening." you said getting into the car.

"You look nice!" said Patri.

"Don't I always?"

"Don't start, you know you look like a shabby teddy bear in the mornings." she bit back quickly.

Earning a slap in the arm from Pina.

"You two look good too." you say looking between them as Patri turned the engine once again. "But a better attitude would make you cuter." you said quietly looking at her. She only laughed and brushed off.

Dinner went as usual, a couple of laughs here and there, some wine tasting and stolen glances.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Posting the next part soon! 🩷

like & share & request!

[the-curious-butterfly]

While it wasn’t quite so early in the morning when the infamous Red of Hearts decided to barge into her office, again, it was around the time Uma was about to sit down and enjoy a quick cup of coffee before the more hectic parts of her day would begin. So perhaps you could forgive her for entertaining the thought of throwing the red head out the window. It was only for a second, she would assure you. As a principle she must not condone violence.

As a pirate, well, that’s different.

But she’s actually gotten quite use to Red coming into her office what feels like every other day, sometimes welcomed sometimes not, always for one reason or another. That a part of her actually kind of expected it.

What she did not expect was for Red to fling/splay herself upon the couch as if she was in a therapy session and for the first words out of her mouth to be. “Chloe won’t kiss me.”

Uma very nearly did a spit take as she placed her mug down upon her desk. “What?” Was the girl really coming to her Principal for relationship advice? Not that she was any bad at it, but really?

Red ignored the sound of Uma nearly choking in favor of her own problems. “At first I thought it was because she didn’t actually like me like that. That she only agreed to date me because I had no experience with love and she felt bad for me. I mean, every time I tried to take our relationship to the next level she always turned away, how could I not think that right?”

“Hmm.”

“Except I finally confronted her about it and you know what she says?”

“I can’t imagine what it could be.” Uma genuinely means that too, everyone knows Chloe really likes Red, like a lot. Whatever is holding her back has to be rather significant.

“She said, I can’t kiss you Red, if I do then I’ll have to marry you.”

Oh hex, Uma should not have tried to take another sip so soon. This time her throat was too preoccupied to even get the word out so she thought it in her head. ‘What?’ Fortunately the lack of response didn’t matter to Red in the least.

“Suffice to say, that really threw me for a loop so I very calmly and gently asked her ‘what the hex are you talking about?’ And her response was ‘that’s how it always happens, Red. Once true loves kiss is shared it’s marriage and happily ever after. Don’t get me wrong, I really like you, and don’t mind at all the thought of marrying you. But we’re only sixteen, and what if you find out being tied down with me is not what you wanted. After all you’re all about-“

“Breaking rules and causing trouble?”

“She used the word freedom.”

“Course she did. Red, did you come to me for reassurance that wedding bells won’t start ringing the second your lips touch your Charming’s?”

Though she provides no response Red gives her a look that is actually rather innocent coming from her, cluing Uma in that she’s on the right track.

“Look, I can’t say that it won’t. She’s right, these fairytales feel like they happen fast. You two have all the makings of a fairytale if I ever saw one, and I was even there to witness Ben and Mal back in the day.” She pauses for a moment as she considers her next words. “But let me ask you something. Would that really be so bad?”

“I’m…not sure.” Red’s response is rather honest and genuine so Uma continues with the same.

“Red, these people didn’t get married because their fairytale told them to. It’s because they loved each other so much that the thought of cementing it in stone, or carving it out into the hull of a ship just felt right.”

Red really looked as if she was truly taking in what Uma was saying…for once.

“Now, to think you’ll be married so soon after your first kiss is a bit of an exaggeration. That kid is surprisingly sheltered for one so good with swords.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But, if it does happen some time in the future. I ask again, would it really be so bad?”

After a moment of thought Red offers Uma a small and genuine smile. “No, I don’t think it would.”

“Now go get that kiss.” Huh, why does that line remind her of something from years ago, royals are so weird. “And for the love of the sea can you please stop breaking into my office with or without me in it!”

“Thanks a lot, Principal Uma, I’ll see you later.” Red calls back as she leaves rather cheerfully, causing Uma to grin despite herself.

“Red of Hearts, I know you heard me.”

….

“Red!”

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Red or Blue

Tangerine x reader <3 based on this lovely prompt

it's kind of a slow burn, which is so unlike me, but- welp. whatever? ig? no triggerwarnings anyway, they don't even kiss

masterlist

(he's genuinely so fine i am unwell)

"This is all your fault", you huff, crossing your arms as you stare at the array of candies in front of you.

"How's any of this my fucking fault?", Tangerine seethes, trying to keep his voice down somewhat (which is already better than what he does most times), but hardly succeeding.

"If you'd listened to me, I wouldn't have been backed into that corner in the first place and Lemon wouldn't have had to come save me", you bite back, narrowing your eyes as you pluck a bag of gummies off the shelf. "Ergo, he wouldn't have got hurt."

"Lemon likes the red ones better", Tangerine grunts, taking a step closer to you as an elderly couple turns the corner and pushes their cart into your aisle. "And 'ergo' what the fuck do you mean, love? I wasn't the one to fucking break his leg."

"You don't use ergo like that", you correct, tilting your head back to him as if that nickname hadn't just sent your heart into cardiac arrest. "Also, I'm pretty sure Lemon likes the blue ones just fine."

"Yeah, just fine, but he likes the red ones better, that's the difference."

Tangerine reaches for the bag of red candy and his arm brushes your shoulder, immediately restarting your heartbeat with a deafeaning thump.

"I thought the red ones 'made his stomach feel funny' yesterday", you argue, even though you can already hear the way your resistance is crumbling as his eyes meet yours again, some of that feral fighting instinct in there that you recognise from missions.

"That was the green ones, love", he corrects, plucking the bag of blue candies from your grip and shoving it back into the shelf. You gasp in outrage. "Just listen to me for fucking once and take the goddamn red candy."

You put your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes at him.

"Oh, since when is the fucking problem me listening to you?", you seethe, your lips still parted, ready to shoot a whole tirade at him in the middle of this 24/7 supermarket when you're suddenly interrupted by a hearty chuckle to your left.

Tangerine's head snaps around a nanosecond before yours does.

"I'm sorry", the elderly lady says, her hair white as snow and her arm looped through what you guess to be her husband's. "I didn't want to interrupt you two, I just- I can remember how stressful that was, being young, just married, dealing with the little ones..."

"I'm sure if we'd had these twenty-four hour stores when we'd just had children, we would have stood right there arguing too", her husband laughs.

You blink at them helplessly for a few moments. What the fuck is happening? Hello? Marriage? Kids?

"It gets better", the woman chuckles. "We're happy and stress-free now, aren't we?"

Her husband hums in agreement and presses a kiss to her temple.

"And you look like a lovely couple", she goes on, smiling at you. "You'll manage this stage too."

This stage.

Oh, dear lord.

She's talking about this stage of being married. This stage of having young children. Because you're standing in a 24/7 supermarket candy aisle with Tangerine, arguing about which colour to get for Lemon, which she seems to have interpreted as a nickname for your son.

Your fucking son. Your and Tangerine's son. In your marriage.

"Oh, um", you stutter, brushing a hand through your hair as you stare at the couple, doing your hardest not to cast even a fucking glance Tangerine's way. Your cheeks are stinging with heat. You don't need him to see that. "Actually, we're not-"

"Not married yet", Tangerine interrupts, his hand flexing and clenching around his bag of candy. Any train of thought you'd previously had shatters completely and your head whips around to him after all - is that a faint dust of pink on his cheeks? Is it really what you think it is? Fuck, should your heart be hammering this fast and strong and loud?

"Ah", the woman grins. "How times have changed. We'd had to get married as soon as I was pregnant."

"Are you engaged, then?", her husband asks, raising his eyebrows and smiling pleasantly.

They're so calm. Meanwhile, your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

"Uh", you say, not all that intelligently.

"Yeah", Tangerine rasps, his voice hoarse somehow. "Few months now."

You blink wordlessly at him. What the actual fuck is he doing? There's no reason to lie. None. You're not undercover.

"That's nice", the woman smiles. "Well, have a good night then."

They're already half-turned away when she looks back over her shoulder.

"Oh, and for those candies", she adds with a conspicuous grin. "Just take both. Let your son decide which he likes better when they're side by side."

You swallow.

"Uh, thanks", you mutter, unsure if they can even still hear. "Good night."

Tangerine drops the bag of candies into your cart. Then he's quiet. And you're quiet.

Too quiet.

For too long.

You don't know what the hell has just happened.

"Tangerine", you breathe, your voice low, and your eyes settle on him slowly. "Since when are we engaged?"

He grunts and drags his eyes away from you, grabbing your bag of blue candies off the shelf again and putting it in the cart with the other one.

"Since fucking never, love", he grumbles, just before his hands close around the handles of the cart. "But I wasn't about to say that, was I?"

"No?", you guess with a frown as you force yourself to move, to trail after him down the aisle. "Because?"

Tangerine turns to look at you like you're mad.

"Because they could've been fucking spies, love", he snarls, as though that's obvious and you're somehow dumb for not thinking of it.

"You're not serious."

He can't be serious.

But he stops the cart and turns to look at you, way too close and way too tall, and if you'd thought you had seen a blush on his cheeks before, it was definitely gone by now. There's that familiar dangerous glint in his eyes instead. Somehow, that puts you more at ease.

"Do you see me bloody laughing?", he seethes, his fingers clenching so hard around the handle that his knuckles turn white.

"I don't think I've ever seen you laugh", you mutter and swallow hard at the way his eyes fixate on yours. "You really made up a whole ass lie for an eighty-year old couple because you thought that they could be spies?"

Tangerine huffs and turns back, pushing the cart with even more ferocity now.

"Yes, love", he grunts.

Your stomach drops. You don't know why.

Instead of dwelling on it, you fiddle with the rings on your hands and fall in step with him.

"Well", you hum. "If you ever do buy me a ring, I don't want it in blue or in red."

[sguidwards-bestfriend]

Dp x dc thoughts and stuff

New Dimension, Who's This?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Okay okay wait what if ghosts sort of feed off their own energy supply or like humans make our own blood they make their own ecto.

But Danny is a halfa.

Maybe he doesn't make any or just not in his human form. So when his powers use it up he has to find a way to get more.

In Amity that isn't really a problem, but if he's not in Amity? If he's not even in his dimension?

...

Danny is king, he has been for a few years now. Lets say he's 20 something and he's still learning his og powers as well as his new kingly eldritch ones.

He makes a portal, goes in to check it out, and gets stuck when he doesn't have enough juice to make another one to go back.

Portals aren't simple, even a portal for something human at a lower power level needs a lot to make a portal in their own dimension.

Creating one for an eldritch being, the king of the infinite realms, to another dimension requires an insane amount of energy. so he's stuck... somewhere, with no energy source. Transforming back into something vaguely human looking is taxing so he sits on the ground to take stock. The extra arms, paper white skin and hair, and the many ever shifting eyes are gone, but he can still feel the fangs and pointy ears, his crown shrunk down to a broach keeping a cape in place, it's covered in a frost so cold the fabric around it crystalizes, and his clothing is an odd mix of ghostly regalia and a black hoodie. It doesn't look bad, but he doesn't know how this dimension works just yet and he doubts this will help him "fit in".

Thankfully invisibility and intangibility come so naturally to him it's just the switch that requires ecto, similar to transforming, once he's there that's where he'll stay.

He needs to find a power source, wherever it is he's ended up, so he goes looking. He finds Lazarus pits but they aren't bottomless like the lakes in the zone. Some are like a dripping faucet, sure it'll fill back up at some point but who knows how long that'll take. Others were artificial, someone ripped a hole between realities, probably a small one since the leftover feeling of a portal wasn't there.

Danny stays invisible for nearly 2 months as he searches for a way home, time can act differently between dimensions, in Amity he might be gone an hour or a decade. The best thing to do for now is to get in contact with Clocky and hope they can figure it out together.

While emptying another pit he hears an angry man yell "You said this one wasn't empty."

An obviously nervous voice answers, "It was full this morning, Sir."

"This is the last one we have any record of!" there's a crash that intrigues Danny so he pops above the surface to catch a glimpse.

His stomach falls when he sees a Vlad looking fruit loop tearing apart a makeshift lab in a cave. Equipped with the same ridicules cape and beard.

There is a woman sitting on a folding chair, her legs are crossed and she very obviously is done with whatever fruit loop 2.0 is doing.

He was expecting to find more than 4! If that's the last of the leaks he needs to find another source asap.

"We can head to Gotham." the woman says, still uninterested as she pulls at a thread on her sleeve. "That place has always been a cesspool for everything weird."

"Nyssa." the man takes a breath, no longer yelling he continues, "We've tried that."

The woman stands, she looks scarier calm than the fruitloop does angry. "No, we tried to find one. We couldn't search there cuz of the bats, but if there are a few diversions we could get enough equipment into the sewers and we'd continue our search unnoticed."

Danny doesn't care much about the rest, he needs to get to Gotham before they do. He just needs to find where that is.

...

Jason Todd came back from the dead a few years ago. [We can leave him at around 23, idk what age he was when Talia plopped him into the pits.]

He's angry ALL the time, it fogs his mind so much it feels like he's no longer in control of his body. He knows he nearly killed one of his brothers, possibly two, but they ignore it so he does too.

He hasn't seen his family much since he was... brought back. As always, something pushes him to take action when he would rather not.

This time it's a rumor amongst his lackeys about someone planning on killing Redhood. They don't know he and Red are the same person, so he was planning on leaving the helmet at a safe house and sticking around to give orders and keep an eye on things.

That plan falls through when a group of three come up to him, they think he spends the most amount of time with the boss and want to keep their leader safe, but don't feel they have that kind of relationship with him to show how worried they are. They push Jason to take Redhood and hide.

His way of doing things creates a pretty even playing field amongst the lackeys, other than Redhood himself. If he refuses he's not a team player, if he tries to advise against it they'll think he's the one trying to kill his own alter ego.

He has to go somewhere none of his enemies know of, but also where none of his allies know.

That's how he's ended up being shuffled into the manor by Alfred, duffle bag in his arm and a headache so horrendous it's hard to understand what Alfred is saying.

~

Jason had been at the manor for two weeks, in that time he'd heard of two territory fights by crime alley, someone emptying the Lazarus pits around the world, and the assassination attempt on him hasn't played out yet.

He was going insane with his family on him at all times. No matter what he did someone was with him.

He knew telling them he felt ill and didn't want to hurt an innocent if the rage took over wasn't the best idea, but he couldn't think of one that would work as well to get them on his side.

That meant, however, that he wouldn't be able to go out on patrol at all nor leave the manor alone.

Damian, of all of them, was the one that helped him. He still acted like the spoiled brat he always was, but he'd grown. He was calmer, not by much, but it took him longer to be set off than he used to.

It wasn't hard to convince him not to say anything, he still knew his brother after all he came prepared. An intricate knife from 15th century china he nabbed off a man with a sword collection that could rival Damians and a story of wanting to get back his cat that he had to leave at his main safe house was all it took to get Damian to agree.

With his needed entertainment (books and videogames), his cat stuffed inside his jacket (which yes, Emma did exist), and ice cream; they were making their way back to the manor at dusk. Jason froze, someone something was following them.

"Dami, do you have your sensor turned on."

"Of course I do." he puffed out his chest and stopped to push back his sleeve.

"Don't stop walking, check what's to my left." the building was boarded up. It hadn't been like that last time he was here.

"Don't tell me what to do." Damian caught up with him before adding, "The building has no electricity or anything in it, but it's weirdly cold."

Just as they both look over to the building something phases through the boarded up window. "Run, now!"

As they take off towards the manor the creature follows them. He can't hear it, no footsteps, no heartbeat, no breathing, but he can feel it. And he wants to fight it.

"It's still following us." Damian whisper yelled. then Damian answered a question he didn't ask. "We're half a mile from the manor, on the road with the ice-cream shop."

"You have your com on?" His need to fight this thing only grew.

"Just with Tim. We should never have them fully off, something could happen."

Of course, he knew that, he suffered those consequences. He was probably the reason it was so enforced... and why it was followed.

Suddenly the roaring of an engine and a black car with all it's doors open comes racing down the road. Damian jumps in first, with Emma stuffed in his jacket he can't just throw himself in so he chucks his games and slides in feet first, hugging his chest to keep her safe.

The doors shut and the car speeds off past the entrance to the manor.

The winding roads should have shook the creature off their trail. It's not long before the car takes them down a secret entrance to the bat cave.

There's yelling before he's even out of the car.

"You could have got hurt!" Tim is yelling at him, "I don't care who you think you are, you put our brother in danger!" The rage starts back up, he was here first, he was the one who could protect Dami not him.

"Timmothy I fight crime."

Tim swivels on his heels, "That thing wasn't human. How would you have fought it exactly?"

Jason can feel himself being engulfed in it again, he's vision going green and his whole body tensing. "Listen here replacement."

"I am not!" Tim turns back around, the steam in him vanishes when he looks at Jason's face.

"Boys," a calm voice echoes through the cave. "No fighting in the cave. Go up stairs to breath or finish outside."

Jason ignores Tim and Dami as he walks to the elevator. He can't look at Alfred, can't let him see him like this.

Once out from behind the bookcase he lets Emma down gently, then flops onto the couch. If they know what's good for them they'll find another way up.

They don't apparently and all three walk out the same exit, bickering.

The noise erases the effort he'd made to quite the pits, as he stands to shut them up the creature floats up through the table.

A terrifying creature with long teeth, pointy ears, long curved nails and a cap hiding a thin hunched figure leans towards him. As he jumps away the thing grabs him and latches on.

Jason tries to shake it off, but it's almost like it's stuck to him. Not physically, but there is something holding them together and it's not the creature.

Suddenly a bright light flashes and the creature turns onto a young man.

"Why's the ecto in this dimension so shit." It... he looks tired, there are bags under his eyes and his skin looks sickly. He's draped over Jason, at first he thought the man was holding Jason in place, but it seemed more like he was holding himself up.

Tim stopped in his tracks. "What the fuck?"

"Language."

"Sorry Alf, but uh... What's happening?"

The man mumbled something, he rested his head on Jason's shoulder, he could see the effort it took to speak louder. "I'm so hungry dude. Why are you the only liminal person I've come across? It makes no sense."

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

[eastwindmlk]

A @jilymicrofics for the prompt Retire, Jan 14th

Word count: 838

It was strange, after more than half a century, to be cleaning up her office for the final time. To carefully wrap her trusty tea set in yesterday’s Prophet, sift through the boxes of paperwork in search of what to archive, what to keep and what to finally bin. 

As she sorted through an assortment of old assignments and Christmas cards from a bygone age, Minerva finds herself reminiscing. Once familiar faces and voices curled from the depths of her mind, a fond smile on her face. 

The corners of her lips trembled like her aged hands when her fingers brushed along a script that gave her pause. Because even after all these years, all these hundreds of students, she could still tell whose penmanship this was. 

The large letters crammed onto the parchment, like he knew he was going to run out of space for his sweeping t’s and large loops. The words slanting upwards as if wanting to escape from the paper. 

She did not doubt that, at the time, that was precisely what he’d had on his mind, while stuck doing a detention assignment for her. It was supposed to be an essay, but in true James Potter fashion, he’d ignored the explicit instruction and instead composed a letter. 

Dearest Minerva, 

As we sit across from each other in your office, a pot of lapsang souchong between us, I am aware you are pretending to be cross with me. For the sake of posterity, I will pretend with you. Though we both know that they deserved every miserable second. 

In the future, however, I will strive for a more creative solution. Even if I think turning their belts into snakes was quite a nifty piece of transfiguration. I will let you be the judge of that. Being the expert and all that. 

Speaking of the future, I am supposed to write an essay about where I see myself next year. Which I could have answered effortlessly a fortnight ago. But things changed. Every paper is full of it now. And I refuse to sit idle just because I happened to have been born into a family that fits into their narrow view of our world. 

One year from now, I will be as restless as ever. Using the privilege that comes with my name to help those who cannot help themselves. However, unlike before, I will not humour myself with the delusion that this can be achieved by mere words. 

I will gladly put my wand with my conviction and face whatever is in store beyond the safety of these walls. Together with my friends, we will make a difference. 

My friends and I are talking about getting a place together, somewhere nice and lively. We were hoping to travel, see some of the world. Those plans are on hold, at least for now. Though none of us will say it aloud, we hope that the four of us will be around for it.

So, we spend evenings talking about this trip, imagining places to go and things to do in the hopes that the four of us will get to go.

Hopefully, I will be dating Lily Evans. (Please don’t tell her I said that.) I think she is finally coming round to me. She no longer glares in my direction, though I can still feel her eyes on me sometimes.

Maybe I am crazy, but I can tell it is her just from the way it feels. Her watching me is special somehow. Often I itch to turn to her, to catch her looking. To catch a glimpse of her smile or her fluster. Just the fraction of a moment where I can believe she might actually feel the same way. 

Or maybe not the same way. I would not wish this complete and utter agony on her. If she does come to fall for me, I hope she falls softer. I hope that I am not too blind to see and catch her before the rough landing. 

That is only if I will ever be lucky enough to be enough for her. To have grown into a person, she can depend on rather than the childish prick (I am so sorry, did not mean to curse.) I used to be. 

I am afraid I am running out of space. I could fill several more rolls of parchment (Which is not me asking for more) with hopes and wishes for the year ahead. Some more achievable (Pass my N.E.W.T. s) and some more hopeful (Snog Lily Evans. Again, please don’t tell her I wrote any of this.)

Your favourite student, 

James Potter 

Her fingers crumpled the paper where she gripped it tight, a lump rising in her throat. Her eyes scanned the content of the letter once more before pressing it briefly to her heart before placing it atop her pile of keepsakes. 

Minerva pushed herself to her feet, in dire need of a break and craving a cup of lapsang souchong. 

[battymommastuff]

The Loop [Heartaches by the Number]

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: Someone please make it stop. This had gone on for too long...

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

TW: DARK THEMES AND DEATH

Who knew the quiet would make you so uncomfortable. You were used to it after all. Most of your nights were spent with you in the quiet, and alone. Today felt different, those stares that you got once you stepped out of the bathroom...it was odd. Especially the one you got from your husband. What is going on with them? Were they really not excited about breakfast? You always made it the same every year. Were they just lying to make you feel better? God, you hoped not. Maybe you should have let Alfred prepare the meal. Nevertheless, you were going to power through this morning. 

While you were slicing the bacon, an odd sense of Deja Vu came over you. Of course, you've done this same thing every year...but why did it feel like you just did this? Thinking you were having a blank moment, you turned around to see if there was already sliced bacon. There wasn't. "Today is so strange." You muttered before you went back to the bacon. 

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"We have nine hours until she dies again. That is...if this loop repeats again." Duke said, seeming to be the only one who is trying to plan. Bruce and Damian were stuck in their own worlds. The last two loops really destroyed both of them. Jason was busy taking his anger out on a punching bag, and Dick was glued to the cameras. 

Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, and Tim were the only ones who were listening to what Duke had to say. "The first time was a public event, the second, she was out in public. The third she left Gotham. Each instance, she was in a spot that someone can get to her or sabotage a plane." Duke then pointed to the cliche, big red button by the BatComputer, "The obvious plan is to put her on lockdown. Keep anyone from getting to her. No place is safer than the Batcave." 

Duke's plan seemed to reignite the dying hope that had filled the room. "That's genius. This place is like a fortress!" Tim said then high-fived Duke. Dick had now made his way over to the table and looked around at everyone. 

"We spilt again. This is a good plan, but he can't guarantee that it'll work. Half of us will stay here with Mom, and half of us will continue our investigation." Dick then turned to Jason who was wiping some sweat with his t-shirt, "Jason, what did we get from the previous loop?" 

"It's obviously something magical, and it's only affecting us. It all goes back to the fight with the League. Something happened during the fight, and now we are trapped. What were we doing before we woke up?" Jason pressed his hand to his forehead hoping to remember. Each loop always made things fuzzier as time went on. "CONSTANTINE!" He suddenly exclaimed then lifted his head up. "We were going to contact Constantine before we woke up. He might have some sort of clue. 

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"A movie marathon? In the BatCave? Is Bruce alright with this?" You asked as you balanced a tray of eggs, and pancakes down the rocky steps to the Batcave. After finishing your large meal, you were surrounded by Duke, Stephanie, Cass, and Barbara. Each of them begging for you to spend time with them in the Batcave. You didn't get the chance to agree before they were grabbing the food and leading you downstairs. 

"Bruce told us to...he's taking the others with him for official Batman business." Well that was heartbreaking. You weren't going to spend your birthday with your entire family. You hoped whatever it was...it was important. And you hoped that they stayed safe. 

Meanwhile, Bruce, Tim, Jason, and Dick were standing in the ballroom of the manor. Alfred was busy painting a symbol on the floor, "Are you positive this will summon him? This paint will be a pain to get out of the floor, Master Bruce." Alfred asked as he finished the last symbol. 

"I'm sure, I watched Zatanna use it before. Let's just hope he's clothed this time." Bruce mumbled and the symbol started to glow softly then got brighter and brighter. Suddenly John Constantine appeared, a bottle of rum in his hand and a pair of rainbow sunglasses on his face.

"Well this isn't the Pride Festival..." He grumbled then turned around to see several brooding faces, "Aye Bruce! How are ya, batsy?" He asked, once again failing to crack that stone cold face, "One day...I'll get you to smile." John pushed his sungless up onto his head, then set the bottle down on the ground. If he was being summoned by Batman, then it was something serious. 

"We're stuck in a time loop. This is our fourth time reliving this day. Each day, my wife dies...then we wake up." Bruce explained then stepped closer to John, "If anyone knows what spell or curse is on us, its you." He wasn't wasting any time. They had eleven hours left to find their solution. They weren't doing this a fifth time. 

John rubbed his chin as he mentally went through any spell, curse, and cursed object that he knew of. He's heard of something like this before, but it was so fuzzy. Like something was keeping him from figuring it out. It was right there...it was so close. John's eyes then widened. It wasn't close as in his mind...it was physically close to him. Whatever is causing this is in the house. 

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You were enjoying your movie day in the Batcave when you heard a familiar accent followed by several voices telling him to stay out of the cave. John made his way down the stairs of the Batcave. His senses had him on the move, and like a dog; He was following it. John stood in the middle of the Batcave and looked around. So many objects with darkness and demons attached to them, it was almost suffocating. 

"John? What are you doing here?" You asked as you set your empty plate onto the arm rest of the chair. Your question was unanswered, whatever John was doing, he was focused. John kept looking around until he spotted the thing he was looking for. 

"Where did you get that?" He asked as he pointed to the object. It was the same object that they had gotten from the League. You looked over at it curiously. You thought it was some fancy paper weight, but that seemed to not be the case. 

"What are you talking about? There's nothing there?" Bruce said, confused. There was nothing there. Just an empty space. At least that's what he felt like he should say. It felt like someone was telling him what to say and how to react. 

"There's something there, Bruce. Look." John said as he stepped closer to your husband. You glanced around at your children to see them all glaring at John. As if something was overtaking their minds. Bruce looked again, and saw nothing, "With the corner of your eyes. What do you see?" He asked, and Bruce used his peripheral vision. As if the most horrifying monster was standing there, he saw the object that John was talking about. 

He felt his heart start racing and sweat started rolling down his forehead. Something was telling him to look away. To get John out of there. Something wanted him to ignore whatever was sitting there. This action was being repeated by the rest of the children. Except for Duke, who looked almost as confused as You did. 

"You're cheating, John." 

A sickly, and terrifying voice filled the air and just made the growing panic worse. John smirked as his entire aura shifted, "I'm the one who's cheating? I never knew there were rules to this game." He called out while staring right at the object. 

"It's my game, we plan how I want. You're cheating, and now she suffers." 

After that, the voice went quiet and you felt your chest get tight. Your knees gave out as you clutched your shirt above the place where your heart was. Instead of being surrounded by your family, or a loving goodbye, your family just collapsed to the floor and started seizing. Each one of them was shaking and foaming at the mouth. 

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"Dammit, I lost them again." 

"Duke, how are their vitals?" 

"They're spiking, but it's fine. Any more stress, and they'll all go into cardiac arrest." 

"We have to go again. Bring me the music box." 

"They'll figure it out, John. We'll save them." 

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Bruce sat up in his bed, he tangled his fingers into his hair in frustration. What the hell was that? This was the first loop that they were affected in. What did it all mean? 

His thoughts were interrupted when you stepped out of the bathroom, "Goodmorning my love, are you excited for breakfast?"

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[vamossainz55]

love is easy (love is kind) - carlos sainz jr.

a 4 + 1 : the four times carlos almost says i love you, and the one time he (kind of) does | fluff, no warnings a/n: this one has been brewing in my drafts for ages, i hope you enjoy it

i.

the first time it almost happens is the same time he realizes, wound up in his drivers room before a race.

“what are you even staring at?” your voice bounces off the walls with an amused laugh, ripping his attention away from the window to glance over you instead. 

he’s playing with his lips, bottom lip pinched between his index and his thumb as he watches you walk over to him. 

the sound of your steps is nothing new, he’s so familiar with the beat that he would recognize it even with his eyes shut. for the first time though, he notices the way your hips sway at each step.

you’re dressed simply, how you’ve always preferred: a nice classic t-shirt (that is probably his) along with a pair of blue jeans. 

it’s nothing new, he’s pretty sure he’s seen you wear it a million times before. 

but his shirt looks better on you than it usually does, and your jeans hug your curves in a way that makes him feel wrong for looking. you look different, but he can’t seem to point out why. he can’t seem to pull his eyes away either though.  

he’s too busy studying you to realise how close you’ve gotten, suppressing the little jolt his body has the moment your hands find their place on his shoulders.

it’s not the first time you’ve been this close. in fact, you’ve been closer, but in that moment it feels like it’s too much for him. without thinking, he instinctively straightens his back, tucking his feet a bit under himself as he scoots to sit further onto the bench. 

if you notice it, you don’t say a thing. instead, both of your eyes meet as he looks up to you, eyes tracing your face as you smile down at him. 

did your smile always look that sweet?

he wants to speak but the breath he takes is intoxicating, the scent of your perfume sends shivers down his spine. he doesn’t understand it, smells the familiar floral notes of your usual fragrance but all of the sudden it’s all he wants to breathe in. 

“you’re zoning out carlos,” you tease, hand loosely looping around his wrist to place it down on his lap. 

the touch almost burns and he feels like his skin is on fire.

“sorry-“ he apologizes, clearing his throat to try to get the overwhelming amount of air out of his lungs. he flushes red when your hand finds his hair, giving his locks a gentle tussle.

“you’ll do amazing, you always do” it’s words that you’ve said countless times before, the usual encouragement you give him every time you attend a race.

he always forgets how much he needs to hear them, up until the moment you’re there to remind him. 

“i just feel weird, a bit nervous” he murmurs, breath caught in his throat from the way your fingers go to fix his hair from the same mess you made. once you’re done, you sit beside him. your knees brush each others as your leg presses against his.

“that’s normal, but hey, you’ve done this a million times before.” right he thinks. you think we’re talking about racing. your fingers intertwine together as soon as your hand finds his.

he wants to laugh, almost does, because at the end of the day, you’re still right. he has done this a million times before. he’s known you since you were both six, stumbling around to play in the park. you held hands the moment you got too scared to go up the rope, and your knees touched when you both tried squeezing down the slide together. 

he doesn’t understand what’s so different, what’s causing the pull in his chest that’s making his stomach twist. 

“hey, look at me,” and he does, heart beating faster. 

you only smile though, tongue swiping over your bottom lip, and he almost needs to look away again to just breathe. 

“just do whatever your gut tells you to,” 

there’s a beat of silence and for a moment he questions whether you’re still talking about racing- or if somehow, in some twisted way of yours you’ve managed to read him, the same way you always do. 

his lips part, words hanging on the tip of his tongue i think - i love you? 

but before he says anything there’s a knock on the door. it startles him to the point where his hand slips out of yours, knees brushing away. 

it’s rupert. “carlos, warm up before the race.” 

he takes a deep breath and gets up, calling back a nervous ‘okay’ before his eyes are darting back to you. 

you’re looking at your hands for a short moment before you look at him. this time you’re the one looking up. 

you smile. “see you later?” 

he nods, letting out a deep breath. “see you later,” 

he doesn’t end up having the guts to tell you before you leave to go home. deciding to wait it out just a bit longer. 

ii. 

the second time is during the summer holidays — you’re on your usual mallorca trip, both of your families agreeing to arrange some of the days to stay in the sainz’s villa together for a little bit. 

he hadn’t seen you since the race, not in person at least. of course, you both consistently caught up. whether it was through off handed texts or quick facetimes here and there, you both always made sure you could still catch up. 

it’s not like anything’s changed per-se. your dynamic remains the same. sure, maybe carlos’ stomach did a weird leap whenever you picked up the phone, or maybe he appreciated a lot more the way your voice curled at certain words, but he kept his tongue between his teeth, a self made promise to wait until he saw you again in person. 

he knew he was postponing it though, the fear of you thinking differently being overpowering. the only worst thing he could imagine than having his heart broken by you would be losing your friendship. 

that’s why, even after months of deliberation, hours of laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how to tell you, the moment you enter the villa, pushing your oversized luggage with a wide smile on your face, his mouth goes dry and he forgets every single word he wants to say. 

you smile at him, eyes crinkled and a wave of your hand.

he sucks in a deep breath and smiles back, walking over to you with open arms. 

confessing to you is a long forgotten memory for the rest of the trip. its easy to fall back into the rhythm with you. 

he thinks its fine, you’re both fine, but things are always fine until alcohol is involved. 

he should’ve known better. 

you’re both pressed against each other in a club, music so loud that he swears he can feel it in his veins. 

the night had taken a steep turn. one glass of wine with the parents turned into one whole bottle, and one bottle after dinner turned into two (and at some point, you really did lose count). 

before he could even grasp what was happening you had already convinced him to get dressed to get to the nearest club. what if we don’t get to party together any time soon? you had asked. 

and that’s how you both end up there. in a packed club with the base buzzing through your body. you’re dancing, back pressed against his chest as your hips sway to the music and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest. 

he tries his best to move his own body with yours. 

he steps to the right, before stepping to the left, but he struggles to find the rhythm, feet nervously moving side to side in an attempt to somewhat dance. of course by his clumsy luck he steps on the back of your heel, sputtering an apology just as you turn to face him. 

you do so with a smile, and of course you do. 

“you’re always so stiff,” you joke, arms swinging over his neck as you move closer to let some people pass. his hand instinctively goes to your back, sliding down to your waist to keep you in place. he feels how clammy his hands are; he can only hope that you don’t comment on it. 

“well, you know I don’t like dancing.” carlos murmurs, and your faces are so close to one another that he can count each one of your lashes if he wanted to. you let out a small laugh at his words, looking down as your nose tickles his shoulder. 

he can feel your breath against his neck and he can feel the bumps forming on his skin. 

“I know, thank you for dancing with me.” you say softly before looking up at him again. 

he isn’t sure if it’s the flashing lights in the club but for a split moment, he sees stars in your eyes. 

it takes everything in him not to kiss you. 

you both dance until your feet are sore, sing until your voices are gone, and laugh to the point where your cheeks are hurting . 

the night ends almost the same way it starts, both of you sitting in the back of a cab, carlos almost slurring out his address to the driver. he says the name of his street before pausing because, what was his house number again? 

“house number thirty-five please,” you say, finishing carlos’ floating sentence as you press yourself as close as possible into his side. the car is moving and your head is spinning and you just need to feel him next to you. 

you miss the way carlos swallows, the way he bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes gaze over you. 

you’re saying something about the night, how fun it is and how much you missed having those nights together and carlos can only listen along, watching you scroll through your phone. he wonders whether you two could be like this all the time. just you two. 

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, three words floating in his mind. i love you. 

he’s about to say it, the words practically about to drip off his tongue. before he opens his mouth though he sees you open a chat. 

“jack?” he asks teasingly, the name not ringing a bell to him. “is that your boyfriend?” you often tease each other like this, but your answer startles him. 

“actually,” you pause, looking up at carlos with a flustered expression. “I’m kind of seeing him,” theres a little twitch of carlos’ nose but he stops himself from reacting, biting the inside of his cheek to stay grounded. it takes him a split second to muster up the courage to speak, but even then he doesn’t have much to say.

“oh, that’s nice” he simply responds; the three words never end up leaving his lips. 

because ultimately, he rather have a bit of you, than none at all. 

iii. 

the third time it happens is when he’s visiting you, in the heart of london, tucked in a bar’s booth.

he’s meeting the infamous jack, a curly haired blonde boy with blue eyes who shows his dimples everytime he smiles. carlos learns that he’s born and raised in london, grew up in a well-off family. he’s smart (like you), has a master’s degree in computer engineering and is now working on starting a startup, that no matter how many times he tries to explain, carlos can’t really seem to understand. 

most importantly though, carlos learns, that he’s there for you. he lives ten minutes away from yours. picks you up in the morning to take you to work, and comes over every other night. he cooks the dinner, you wash the dishes, and he buys you flowers on the way to yours every thursday when the market is open. 

carlos learns that jack is everything that he isn’t. and it’s fine, he’s fine. the bitter pill had been swallowed the night in the club. he had seen the blush on your cheeks, and the smile on your lips. 

that’s why he’s surprised, confused even, that in that same night, as soon as jack leaves you both to go out for a call, you bump your foot into his with a guilty look on your face. 

“what’s wrong? i like him.” carlos says, brows furrowed as he leans back onto his chair. you mirror the same actions as him, sighing softly as your arms cross over your stomach. you mumble something under your breath, but the bar’s too loud for him to hear. 

“what?” he asks again, this time leaning closer. you look mildly annoyed as you run a hand through your hair. 

“i said i think i don’t like him,” you look guilty again, and even through the dim lighting, carlos can see your eyes go over him, studying his expression, looking for an answer that unfortunately he doesn’t have.

“what do you mean you don’t like him? he sounds like he’s nice, treats you well,” he murmurs, this time hunching over the table to hear you better. his eyes bounce from you to the door, double checking to see if jack is anywhere near.

“that’s not what i meant,” you sigh in frustration. “i mean like- i don’t like-” you stumble over your words, trying your best to find the best way to say it. when you realise you can’t, you just blurt it out. “i don’t think i love him.” you say it a bit exasperated this time. his brows knit together and his head tips to the side.

carlos is quiet for a bit, and you practically can hear the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to understand you. he clears his throat, swallows whatever knot that is forming in his throat. “you’ve been seeing him for like what? four months? these things take time no?” 

“i know these things take some time, but, i just don’t think i can fall inlove with him.” your fingers graze over the rim of your wine glass before you hold the stem and twirl it. “i mean- i don’t know if i’ve ever been inlove,” it’s not really a confession to any of you, you were twenty five, almost twenty six now and you had never found yourself in a long-term relationship. 

“i mean, if you know, you know.” carlos almost cringes with how cheesy he sounds, and you clearly agree with the way you roll your eyes. 

“have you been inlove?” the question floats in the air for a bit, and carlos’ breath hitches a little when he looks up to meet your gaze. 

“i think so,” he’s been in relationships before, one long term one and several short flings. they never lasted, or amounted to anything fruitful. there was no bad blood with any, none of them just, went anywhere.  but he wasn’t thinking of them when he was answering your question.

“how does it feel like?” your question is innocent, just like the way you smile at him before resting your chin on your hand. carlos can’t help but smile back. 

“it’s small things, i think. for me, love feels like the first sip of coffee in the morning.” he had your order memorized by heart. a latte macchiato with a pump of vanilla and oat milk. 

“or the smell of fresh bread when you pass by a bakery?” he remembers your baking phase. taste testing more than a dozen cakes for weeks. he swore he couldn’t eat chocolate for a month after.

“or the giddy feeling you get in your stomach when you tell a joke that makes people laugh?” you nod at his question, a small smile on your lips as you hold back a laugh. 

his chest swells a little, really, but he doesn’t show it. “i think most importantly, love is easy. it’s the first person you want to text when something happens, good or bad,” he wonders if you know, if you can hear the rush of his heart beat.

“love is,” carlos stops, not because he wants to but because he notices the way the door opens and closes, spots jack’s figure approaching the table. he feels a clap on his back, prompting him to straighten back in his seat almost instantly. 

he flashes your boyfriend a smile, watching the way he slides into the booth next to you and giving you a kiss in the process. 

love is.. carlos thinks, love is… the way I love you.’

iv. 

the fourth time he almost says it, the world stops a little. in a surreal type of way that he doesn’t understand what’s going on. 

you and jack didn’t last. but he didn’t stand a chance after carlos’ small little speech. he felt sorry, really. he was a nice guy, but carlos couldn’t deny the little sense of satisfaction when you had told him you both called it quits.

none of you bring up your break up apart from the are you okay? question carlos had asked when he found out. you simply had given him a smile and shrug with a promise of i’ll be fine, and somehow he convinces himself to trust your word for it. 

he comes to learn though, that you are fine. he sees it from the moment he picks you up from the airport, rosy cheeked and blurry eyed from the flight. despite that, you’re smiling, dimpley and excited as you hug him (you hold onto him for a tad bit longer than usual, but he doesn’t complain). 

by the end of the day you’re both in carlos’ parents’ kitchen, quietly helping them dry out the plates. reyes is by the counter, sipping on her glass of wine with carlos sr. putting away the plates. 

it’s easy the way you all move around eachother, the domesticity of it all. you flow between his family like water down a stream, fitting perfectly into the commotion of it all. of course reyes teases you both, how can she not when she sees the way her son looks at you? or the stolen glances you gave back when he wasn’t looking. 

she doesn’t push it too far though, she never does. instead, she makes sure her and her husband are tucked in bed the moment the house is clean.

by the time you’ve both unwinded, you’ve decided to crash on the couch for a movie, both too wide awake to sleep just yet.  

the lion king is playing, both of your favorites, and despite the stretch of the couch you’re tucked into carlos’ side. you’re flushed against him, and he can’t help but draw absent minded cirlces onto your arm, with his arm that's wrapped around you. 

it’s a usual set up for your movie nights but something feels different. 

it isn’t helping that he can feel your gaze bouncing from the tv to him. he lets it slide four times before lowering his head to look at you, brow raised. 

“what? don’t tell me you want popcorn now?” he asks, knowing that he could always make you get it yourself. its not like you didn’t know the house well enough. not that he ever would though.

“no, i was just thinking,” you murmur, looking over at him and he moves a little to face you better, leaning his head against the couch. 

“what is it?” he asks, reaching over to fix a single strand of hair of yours that was sticking out. you watch him closely, features soft and murmuring a thank you once his hand moves away.

“about what you were saying about love,” it takes carlos a moment to remember, and when he does his breath falters a bit. you notice it, but you continue anyways. 

“i think i get it now,” carlos can only nod, prompting you to continue, “it’s like the feeling when someone gives you the last bite of their food,” you think of the ice cream you had shared with him over dinner. you’d given him the last  bite- since he’d realised too late you had gotten vanilla at the last moment. you complained (of course), but still hovered the spoon infront of carlos’ lips.

“or like the feeling of your hand out the window of a moving car breaking through the wind” you’d always have the best car drives with carlos, driving aimlessly outside the cities, enjoying the quieter scenery.

carlos doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop from his eyes to his lips, and his world stills. “but ultimately, i think love for me is the feeling of being with someone, and feeling at home.” 

you both don’t know how you’ve both gotten so close, foreheads almost touching as you look into eachothers eyes. the only sound in the room is the faint soundtrack of lion king which had been long forgotten by now. his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, and he lets out a shaky breath. he has to say it. 

and he almost does, lips parted to speak, but instead of his voice the next thing he hears is a loud bark. you both flinch, a space being created between you.

both of your eyes jump towards the door, to find piñon, innocently turning his head to the side. carlos almost curses. almost. 

“i… need to take him out.” he murmurs, getting up to grab piñon’s leash. 

v. 

the first time he says it… well he doesn’t really say it. 

it happens right after the race is over, after he crosses the line and pushes himself out of the car. the crowd is cheering and his ears are numb from Adami’s screams on the radio. he somehow can’t feel his legs, or his hands, or his face. he finally did it. he’s won his home race.

he’s smiling, so wide that he feels like his cheeks are going to shatter. climbing over the seat before he stands, raising both his fists in the air. 

the moment he jumps off the car he’s running to his team. he hugs them tight, but they only hug him tighter. if he wasn’t running on adrenaline, he wouldn’t be sure how he would have pulled away. 

he moves to the rest of the team, unclasping and taking off his helmet before he rips the balaclava off. as soon as the fresh air hits him, his head whips around, looking for you. 

the moment he sees you its like tunnel vision, he runs to you, high with a mix of adrenaline and the thrill of winning. 

“carlos-” before you can say anything else he  closes the gap, stealing the next words from your lips.

he pulls away wide eyed and breathless, your lips still ghosting eachothers. “congratulations,” you murmur and carlos nods, lips parting and he wants to say it, wants to scream it, but he’s feeling too much that the words don’t come out of his mouth.

instead though you smile, shaking your head. he didn’t need to say it. 

“carlos, i know, i know, me too.” 

[revalition]

OCT 4 - DRAMA

Play the actor. Lie and detect lies.

the composition of this one is gross but that's what this is all about - making something not great really fast every day and posting it anyway haha.

also if anyone recognizes what the middle one is from I'll give you a hundred bucks (Lie)

as usual, nerding out under the cut

drama drama drama drama

starting with this one because I literally just slap these in here in whatever order I come across them in. There's no rhyme or reason to it. I probably searched on "I" because I like seeing skills talk about themselves haha

at least he's trying to stop you...

Drama nicknames!!

the council!! I refer to my personal skills as the council sometimes haha, drama my love.

drama will break you out of the loop if all the others fail you!

ty drama, you poor thing. who is 'us'? Harry's the only one there, so is he referring to them and the other skills? harry and the multitudes that are drama? you go ahead and protect all of you from the fear honey

ily drama, they react sooo dramatically to being rejected

drama! nooo. what is there to say? these are different highly expensive ceramic boots???

drama! no!

I'm not certain what chain of events leads to Kim inspecting the boots later, but this is too funny

drama. please. honey.

he's so bad. an excellent lie detector, a fantastic liar, but also a compulsive liar!

At least sometimes he urges you to lie for good too.

drama ily. even if a wall of text is my idea of entertainment. i peruse fayde for fun, drama would die

dramaaa

I just love the wording of this one, it's so funny.

this one's right after limbic system tells you it's time to wake up. it's a bit melancholy...

you tell her drama, tell her about your and harry's many heads.

Sometimes he uses I, sometimes we. The other skills always refer to drama singularly (he, this one, etc.). I'm never quite sure if I should use him or them...

dddrama

denial, denial, denial...! but ty for trying

random but this is the maximum number of ssss... used by drama. 10 in a row!

I was highly offended in my first playthrough when I got this. I got it fast too (though not as fast as the sorry cop...) And I had 1 INT so I had barely heard from Drama! I was like, what's with this guy? I'm not boring >:(

drama's comments on kim are very important to me. I also have a rather dry sense of humour and cast off things I don't understand as joke. at least drama gets it.

also the things I would give to have someone whisper 'that's sarcasm, sire' to me. im not sure i invested my irl skill points in the right stats :,(

Like, I've got skills in my head and they can't even decode social interactions for me? cmon guys

Also! had some fun running the different language versions of Drama's name through google translate. It's hard to know how accurate the translations are but they are diverse! Acting, drama (ofc), art of drama, dramaturgy, mysterious (???), dramatic arts, acting arts, theatre, showmanship. I like it... gives a little more insight into what Drama's skill represents. Because he is so much more than *just* drama, and at the same time, drama is an umbrella that includes everything he's good at. hmm.

Another random fact: Drama calls you sire 91 times! (and my liege 16 times). And Harry only once, when you fail karaoke...

Other things I keep track of: he says sorry only twice! never says fuck. and only damages your morale on one occasion. These things are oddly important to me and I want to place them in a spreadsheet. Maybe I want to sort by most apologetic skill okay? Skill that swears most. Skill that calls you by your name most. I'm so normal about these guys.

[lynnlovesthestars]

The veil.- Intro

Astarion x OC ( @wisterialynn )

Genre: reverse isekai.

Synopsis: Astarion falls in love with whoever is hiding behind the veil, and it hits him so hard that he can't forget him. Not even when Lynn starts a new save.

AN: hello this is the prologue of the reverse isekai story I've been working on for a while.. It's supposed to be a lighthearted story, mostly fluff and crack, low on drama, but low-key healing since both oc and Astarion have plenty of trauma. Basically domestic ff.

Also I think I will add some of the renders I made of Lynn and Astarion as I publish the chapters since I have so many - and are so cute.

Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @sessils @roguishcat

Lynn couldn't help it. When something caught his mind, it was hard to pull him away, so when a new game came out and he downloaded it, he knew he was up for sleepless nights.

It was a breath of fresh air in his monotonous and grey life. It had been ages since he allowed himself to feel something that was not sadness or anger. He sat in front of his screen and he came to life.

He didn't speak much in his day, neither with peers or family since he distanced himself from his roots, moving to a different town, focusing on his work, but once he was knees deep in his little and silly game? He'd comment, talk, sass even, he truly came out of his shell.

It was something Astarion had grown to adore, from the moment Lynn had first loaded his game, and Astarion felt something.. different. He felt out of place to say the least.

Gale blamed the necromancy of Thay, saying it probably connected him with something deeper, just like he was connected to his netherese orb, but Astarion knew it was something different.

And once he was freed of Cazador as well, he couldn't believe his ears.

Astarion could feel that connection becoming deeper, the veil between the two coming closer and thinner.

As he fell for his Tav, he couldn't help but fell harder for him. For his witty comments, his giggles at Astarion's compliment, his humming as he worked and forgot his side of the connection on- aka his PC.

Astarion had heard everything, every comment for the elf, every sob he let out in front of the screen, and god only knows what other sounds coming from Lynn.

Only when Lynn started his second run Astarion became gloomy. The attentions he was so used to receive shifted, Tavgliatelle- or whatever name he gave his character that time- was different, so focused on Karlach.

It didn't mean Astarion couldn't hear Lynn, how he still commented on Astarion, how despite everything he was trying to resist the urge to romance him again. Astarion understood it was just a loop, the more he'd spend time at camp, the more he'd trying and break free of the loop, the more he'd fall for the person at the other side of the screen.

He prayed.

He attempted magic.

He tried to find that small door that could lead him to his lover, until he did find it.

Lynn wanted to say he loved Astarion a normal amount, just like how you love your favourite character, but there was something different.

Astarion had touched him differently than any other, he felt his chest clench, hurt, for a bundle of pixels, he had empathized so much with him. Astarion understood Lynn and Lynn understood Astarion. And yet whatever his heart was hatching was meant to stay there, just within him and his head. In his daydreams and his sweetest nights.

"Lynn?" A rough hand gently pressed against his back as the figure hidden in the dark kneeled next to him. "Love, let's move to the bed" The voice cooed as he gently lifted Lynn from his chair, admiring for a moment his features while they were enlightened only by the light of the screen.

Astarion was glad his vampiric strength didn't get lost, as he carried the man to the bed.

He couldn't help but admire how he laid peacefully. The serious smirk he had when he was hunched over the desk, was replaced with a soft smile as if he knew who was gently sliding under the cotton sheet with him, as if he knew whose arms were wrapping around his middle, as if he knew who cradled him to his chest.

His soulmate.

-

Astarion's fingertips gently grazed the exposed back, the new feeling spreading all over his body as everything was so new, so real.

All his life no man or woman he had bedded or kissed awoke in him what the man in his grasp was doing without effort.

"My sweet sweet love" He whispered as he kissed the man's temple gently, trying his best not to stir him awake.

He had truly made it, he had crossed the veil that separated him from his love, and now he was laying against his chest, soundly asleep.

The sigh that escaped the other's lips said it all, how peaceful he felt despite being unaware. Astarion liked to imagine that Lynn was feeling safe in his grasp as if his body knew he was being held and protected by him.

-

The man stirred awake, his body aching from the day before, hissing as he tried to turn, while his body was stiff from sleep.

"There there, sunshine" Astarion cooed as he gently guided him back to lay in his arms. "You need rest"

"I do.." Lynn hummed as his hand gently reached for Astarion's cheek to rest there.

It took him a moment to realize he was not alone, tangled to the cold yet oddly familiar body.

"What the fuck" Lynn jumped up on his seat, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, as if the Astarion laying in his bed was just a remainder of his dream, still stuck in the inside of his eyes.

"Good morning to you too, darling" Astarion chuckled as he gently caressed him. "I suppose that's human's way of saying 'oh my god Astarion, it's so nice to finally hold you" He teased as if sitting in Lynn's bedroom was normal, as if he didn't come from a game, but simply from his window.

"You can't be-" Lynn placed his hand on Astarion's cheek, trying to gauge at reality, only to be met with the cold skin again.

"I very much am, love" The vampire nodded smirking proudly as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.

"I'm still dreaming, that's it" The human couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief, as if that could erase the pungent smell of bergamot that suddenly enveloped his room.

"No, you are awake" Astarion quipped smiling and itching to move closer to shut him up with his lips.

"Astarion you are not real" Lynn said out loud, spelling each word slowly.

"I'm clearly here aren't I" He asked raising an eyebrow.

"Astarion don't be an idiot" Lynn shook his head one step away from facepalming himself.

"What if you are the one not real" Astarion clapped his hands together as if that was his gotcha moment.

"Don't start this" the human, still skeptical crossed his arms together, yet before he could completely close them, Astarion grasped at his wrist and bit the soft flesh.

The sweet taste of his blood awoke something in him, the way it slowly went down his throat thick and warm, made him dizzy but most of all left him breathless for the other man.

"That felt real" Lynn sighed as he pulled away his wrist, massaging where Astarion's lips were a second prior. That was real.

Astarion laid back for a moment, trying his best to contain the euphoria spilling from his every pore, he had a taste of divinity. Completely different from the taste of blood he was used to.

The way it ran through his body, it was real.

"I was trapped in that thing, god knows for how long, I am just a poor vampire in need of a cuddle" He admitted as he caught his breath and opened his arms to invite Lynn in.

"That's it I'm going out of my mind"

Astarion groaned. "IM GOING OUT OF MY MIND CAUSE YOU HAVE NOT HUGGED ME YET"

[lexluvswriting]

✎ First Meeting.

☆ SFW drabbles ☆

-> Pairing: God of Stories!Loki Laufeyson x Gen-Z reader!

-> (CW): loki is god of stories in this!! gender neutral, non-specified identity reader, fluff, slight flirting? kinda. i love him sm (T-T)

-> (TW): none.

W/C: 1.4k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: AHH, here's the post, oh god. based off of THIS ASK !!! i'd like to preface by saying yes, this will be a bit ooc for him. This is MCU, Loki Series!Loki, who is the God of Stories! I'd like to hope that he still stays mischevious still, so I tried to keep a bit of both personalities!! Also added some backstory for context !!

Uni was hard. Your lectures were hitting that stage where content was 'less fun' and more soul-suckingly 'boring'. Your latest assignment had thrown a spanner in the works of your mental sanity, and you were a few more minor inconveniences away from committing some sort of crime.

Kidding. Kinda.

What you hadn't expected was to be blitzed into some sort of gap in space and time after your friend begged you to come assist them with some help on their Physics experiment. "Science is fun", they said. "Helping your friends is the kind thing to do", they said.

Not when their janky little machine blasts you into a pocket that seemed to avoid space and time completely.

The Avengers had solved everything. Thanos was dead, the snap was unsnapped, this shouldn't be happening anymore... right? You were terrified, clutching your bag like a safety blanket as you stood on some invisible force, watching the space around you seem to shift between an endless loop of different colours and morph- the glittery mass swirling like liquid stars- or like a bad trip.

"What the fuck..." You whisper, prepared to scream, cry, throw up or lie down and die. Probably all in some order.

"You, there. How did you find this place?"

A voice that seemed to come from all corners of wherever you were, and also nowhere at once, sounded out. You flinched, whipping around again to find a strange handsome man sitting on some strange tree-like throne, wielding greenish vines that seemed to appear around you, branching out everywhere and whatnot.

"Are you speaking to... me?" You point feebly at yourself, amazed you're still conscious at this point.

"No, I'm referring to the nothingness of space and time. Yes, I mean you, mortal. Who are you, and how did you enter this place?"

His green eyes bore into yours, and bile rose in your throat. His tone made you falter, like a deer in headlights as your brain conveniently decided to shut down and restart. He couldn't be real. Why was he here?

"Oh my God... you're-" Your revelation seemed to amuse him as his eyes crinkled knowingly, the corners of his lips twitching up.

"Yes, little one. Loki, formerly the God of Mischief and Prince of Asgard. Now, I appear before you as the God of Stories."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

꩜ Telling him about your world! :

After you both get over the fact that you both are coexisting somehow- Loki is still partially convinced you're part of something called the T.V.A or whatever- you end up sitting down on one of the roots of the tree, blinking up at him like he was some immaculate, divine figure. He so totally is. You figure the best thing to do is wait for your friend to undo what they did, so you end up telling him about your world. He's familiar with Thanos, and the timeline of his so called 'death'. He asks about his brother, and you watch him with a deep sympathy that feels almost useless. It's quiet for a long time, before you offer to show him a picture.

"Would wi-fi even work here?"

"Doesn't your device contain it already?"

You blink up at him, supressing a pained sigh.

"... Are you kidding, or... ?"

He, with a dry hum of amusement, nods for you to unlock your phone, and strangely enough it works. You want to ask how? but his look tells you that it would probably hurt your brain. So you relent, and show him pictures of his brother most recently from social media news pages.

"Everyone is kinda... gone now. I mean- ever since Ironman..." You trailed off, and he nodded, his gaze softening slightly as he beheld his brother. You felt almost awkward, wanting to give him a moment to process this before-

"He looks fat."

"Jesus-"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

♫ Telling Loki about music, and educating him on artists:

You take it upon yourself to show this man music, after you had shown him the internet of your world, catching him up to date with all the important news and such. You made it a very good point not to scroll too far down in case he noticed something titled 'HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES AND WET DREAMS I HAVE ABOUT THE SEXY, MISCHEVIOUS LOKI LAUFEYSON-', instead questioning him on his music and artist knowledge. Sylvie had introduced him to what you both recognised as 70's and 80's hits, and you sent a silent thanks to whoever 'Sylvie' was. But you decided to catch him up on some of your personal faves- Mitski- neither of you spoke for a bit after he accidentally pressed 'Class of 2013', Mac De Marco, Lana and most importantly:

"Laufey. She's Icelandic and Chinese- and it's pronounced LAY-VAY. Like, Laufey. I just thought it was funny, cause... Loki Laufeyson, and Lau-"

He's already ogling you like a three eyed, two head sprouting, bat-winged monstrosity, but as soon as he hears the name, he shakes his head with an irritated grunt,

"There is no relation, nor will there ever be a relation. I am the God of Stories. I hold multiversal timelines between my fingers- I am seated at the throne of destiny. And you're asking me about some mortal like I'm supposed to... care?"

"Um. Okay." You smacked your lips together, cocking your head to the side with a hand on your chest as you search internally to find the words for a response without losing your life to a multiversal deity.

"So... I don't like that tone, first of all. Second of all, I just want you to listen- Just listen to her-"

Don't you notice how

I get quiet when there's no one else around?

Me and you, an awkward silence.

Don't you dare look at me that way-

You fed him her melodic song, your eyebrows raised in disbelief that he would be so dismissive after you brought out the big guns, and he listened to it, feeling oddly stimulated from this entire encounter. He was handsome, of course. But more handsome when he was quiet, when you could see his brain shifting and while you could see the way his eyes flit around in microscopic shifts, processing the sounds as they progressed.

Soon it finished, and he watched you, glancing down at the small phone, before glancing at you again, trying to find a response that didn't make him seem like some desperate lonely hermit.

"She isn't bad, for a Laufey anyway."

"Dude-"

"God."

"God-"

...

"How would I obtain this to have? Just... playing idly."

The smile that split your face was almost creepy with how wide it was, and he had to squint, looking away from the radiance and delight you emit.

"She's got more if you wanna listen."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

✮ Showing Loki diverse ways to compliment each other! aka. sending him into cardiac arrest: (one suggestive line!)

People die, and habits die harder. But nothing could remove the pride and preening personality this God has. He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed some of the 'links' and images and strange looking messages regarding his name and face that were almost cleverly hidden on the page you showed him, and he relaxed knowing that people still worshipped him in other timelines. As they should. But nothing could prepare him for his first edit.

"What does that say- No, no don't show me, I just want to make sure you understand what that means."

Have you ever wanted to make a God go absolutely insane because of you? Well you'd be in luck. The wrinkle that creased his smooth forehead was not small by any means, neither is something else he carries, and he had to take a moment to process what he had just heard you say.

"It's a term of- it's a phrase of... endearment!"

"'We're going at it until Ragnarok happens?'" He echoed, voice almost hitching as he tried to maintain control of his facial expressions. How much time had passed? A few seconds? A few days? He was starting to wonder how much more of you he could take. We'll get into that again, later.

"'Till I remember the veins and twitch patterns?!'"

"Okay well, you didn't need to read that one-"

He scanned the comments again, the screen hurting his eyes- and his heart, but he did it anyway. Deep, deep down- in a small, lonely part that wished he wasn't stuck on a throne of Yggdrasil, he felt something of amusement. A peacock showing off his feathers.

A small, impish smiled curled on his lips as he sat back in his throne, exhaling slowly, thinking. Calculating. Watching the way your eyes greedily absorbed the sparse clips of him in New York and Germany.

"So... one billion people enjoy me saying 'kneel'?"

"Oh, don't start-"

"I'm simply thinking, mortal. Don't fret your pretty little head over it."

...

"You think it's pretty?"

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: @jaguarthecat i finally published. i kept coming back to your ask, and i realised i might as well put something out there cause like, might randomly die tomorrow so why shy from it.

[glass--beach]

hi j!

my highschool band and I played for the first time at a small music fest. we only sang covers and we're not very good lol, but we kinda want to start making some songs ourselves!!

do you have any tips for songwriting? how do you choose themes and melodies, and what's your process with glass beach?

doing covers is a good place to start! i like to learn songs i like and then try to take them apart and try to understand what parts i like the most and why they work. i do most of my songwriting by playing some chords and humming or singing until i find stuff that works. you can even take chords from an existing song to start with, lots of songs reuse chord progressions. lyrics usually come way way later. once you find two sections that feel connected but contrast each other a bit you're golden (verse and chorus is enough, you can figure out bridges later)

i like to structure melodies as a "question" and "answer", so every first phrase ends in an uncertain place (any note other than the 1st note of the scale, the 3rd and 5th note of the scale are usually good options) and every second phrase ends on a resolved note (the 1st note of the scale, OR the 3rd or 5th if the first phrase ended on a note besides those two). this is more of a guideline than a rule though, plenty of great melodies don’t do that but i find that method to be reliable. i hope that makes sense

next bit of advice i have is to just try to write as many songs as possible, and don’t take it too seriously, especially if songwriting is new to you. spending a really long time trying to get one song perfect can be a trap. lots of people will just idly sing little made up songs to themselves, or to their pets or whatever, that’s the kind of stuff i’m talking about, goofy and frivolous. it should be fun! that’ll give you a lot of practice and make writing more “serious” songs a lot more comfortable. lots of my oldest songs were conceived as jokes.

if you’re trying to write with your band i say take a really simple chord progression (like 2 chords even, definitely no more than 4) and just loop it over and over and jam on it and try our different ideas. you really can write a song with just two chords, I - IV is a good progression for that (ie D - G, C - F, E - A).

this was kinda disorganized and stream of consciousness but i hope it helps! i have spent so long honing my songwriting craft but it is very difficult for me to explain how i actually think about it. keep in mind there’s pretty much no rules and the best thing you can do for yourself is make songwriting fun! good luck writing some songs!!

[foodsies4me]

June Malec fic rec!

Thanking @crystalmir for this month's theme as well (thank you for the different, they were all brilliant)! This time the theme is time-travel! The same rules apply as always, one fic per author, even though all of these authors have other brilliant fics you should be reading and if you want to add your own recs in the comments, tags, or reblogs please feel free to do so! 💜

Also, I have tagged the authors whose Tumblr account I know (aka found on their AO3 profile), but if you'd prefer I not tag you, please tell me! I don't want these to be annoying for the authors.

One-shots:

Time Loop by @Master of Unlocking: Alec is stuck in a time-loop and isn’t dealing well with it. One of my favourite fics when I need some angsty angst.

Warning for (not permanent) character death and suicide! This fic is very angsty even if it has a happy end, so you’re warned.

Summary:

Alec is done.

“You win,” he whispers as he sits down, his back against the wall of the crypt. He rubs his fingers together, trying to brush away the ash that covers them. He looks at the podium and the orb resting on it. Alec finds it hard to believe that such small thing can be the cause of such great grief.

“I’ve tried everything.” Alec looks down at his hands and in the past he would have cried, but he is already out of tears. They are all used up by now. “So you win.”

Your Name For A Capital by @theprophetlemonade: Magnus POV fic where he keeps meeting Alec in the past and it’s just so deliciously angsty and emotional in the best way!

Summary:

 “I can’t wait another hundred years to see you again, Alexander.”

He hates it, he does. He hates the way Alec looks at him with a history they haven’t yet shared. 

Alec’s fingers dig into his ribs. A moment of hesitation. “You won’t have to wait that long,” he murmurs, quiet enough to be a secret. “I promise.”

“You don’t know that.”

Alec stops, forcing Magnus to stop too. Magnus squints at him, seeing double, but Alec shakes his head. “Magnus, I do.”

“How?”

“Because,” says Alec, and once again, Magnus feels the tug of magic kneading at his skin, a string of fate that wraps around his bottom rib and leads beyond his chest and enters Alec’s in exactly the same place. “You and me, we always find our way back to each other. Whatever happens.”

To endure by @thisissirius: Alec is stuck in another time loop fic and forced to watch Magnus die over and over again. Another lovely fic with a happy end but does have some temporary MCD so beware.

Summary:

“I can’t watch you die again,” Alec blurts out. He rubs his hands against his knees, looks up at Magnus through his lashes. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

a time loop threatens to confine alec to a lifetime of losing magnus.

Teach Them Well by @ellegy42: Magnus meeting his kids in the past. This fic is just adorable and reading it never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Summary:

When Magnus sees a Shadowhunter chasing a young warlock, he comes to the natural conclusion. 

It just so happens to be entirely wrong.

belong by @starkguzman: A blueberry POV that is just sublime and I want to throw all of the praise in existence at this fic. All of it. Just yessssss. Also our favourite blueberry deserves a hug or twenty cuz I said so.

Summary:

He’d only been trying to portal home. He’s done it a million times before and he doesn’t know where he went wrong this time. He had ended up in the loft, but he knew something was horribly wrong from the very first second. Nothing looked the same, nothing felt familiar. The very air he breathed caused his whole body to itch, every instinct he had screaming at him that everything was wrong. It had only been when Magnus had found him that it had been confirmed. While his Papa was exactly the same as he had been the last time Max had seen him, it was so very clear to Max that he was not the same man. A hesitant “Papa?” had only cemented it. 

He wasn’t home at all. He was as far from home as he could get.

Everything it has taken (everything it has given) by @lawsofchaos1: hauntingly and painfully devastating like all of Law’s fics. There is again some temporary MCD but if you can handle that then it’s so, so worth the read.

Summary:

The sensation of blood-soaked metallic dirt beneath his cheek is insubstantial and fleeting, overlaid and then replaced with the smooth slide of cheap cotton and Alec jerks back into being entangled in the rough weave of Institute-standard sheets, agony shrieking down his side.

In which the world burns the first time and Alec and Magnus break reality (to burn it down again the right way).

Multi-Chapters or Series

Across the Lonely Decades by @dreaming-marchling: If you haven’t read this yet then please stop whatever you’re doing and go read this (unless you’re working, of course I don’t want you to get fired). This fic is angsty and stunning like all of Marchlings fics are and I am obsessed.

Summary:

Alec, Magnus and their family work to investigate a series of murders that has rocked New York, trying to figure out who this mysterious warlock is that’s murdering people in elaborate and never seen before pentagrams. What the warlock is trying to do isn’t clear either. 

Well, it isn’t clear until Alec accidentally activates the spell himself and finds out in literally the worst pay possible.

Beside me by d_aia: A Ragnor POV fic! Alec time travels to the past and meets a past Magnus and Ragnor. I’m pretty sure my love for time travel fics comes from this particular fic. And also, because it bears repeating, Ragnor POV!

Summary:

A portal opened between two trees, and an oddly dressed man came through. He landed on his back and, like a bug, was trying unsuccessfully to turn over. The portal winked closed immediately after. 

The man was the tall sort, had a bow and arrow, a couple of blades, and a satchel. He had rune tattoos, which marked him a Shadowhunter. He was also currently writhing in pain and bleeding all over the place. 

What was a Warlock to do with such a man? * Alec goes back in time. Then things get complicated but oddly sweet, and they stay that way. Ragnor is just along for the ride.

Flames to Embers by @notcrypticbutcoy: Have I already recced this fic? Yeah, pretty sure I have. Will I do so again? Undoubtedly!

Summary:

Jace froze. His parabatai rune burned white-hot, but he hardly felt it. It was easy to forget what people looked like, long ago, but the image of the boy in front of him was unmistakable, even with the emo fringe and the scowl. In fact, when combined with the defensive stance, hazel eyes, and still-healing cut through his left eyebrow, it made the whole thing more convincing.

“What the fuck.”   ***

Teenage Alec is magically poofed into the time of his forty-year-old self, and what he finds is really quite overwhelming. Especially the really hot guy he’s apparently married to.

Or: in which Teen Alec is very grumpy, Magnus thinks he’s very cute, and Adult Alec is Tired™.

If My Heart Was A House You'd Be Home by magnusbicon: Max and Raphael do some more time travelling and create just a tickle of chaos (can you tell I adore those two beans).

Summary:

Prompt: Max and Rafe accidentally time travel to present day during a Downworld cabinet meeting.

it doesn’t matter (if it’s now or then) by @soveryaverageme: Soulmate AU meets time travel, what more could you want? 😁

Summary:

Alec’s words were branded across his right forearm, spiraling towards his shoulder. The phrase “I’m Magnus, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced?” was stark across his skin, as bold as his own love. They were a comfort and a reminder every time he drew his bow back to fire another arrow. He knew every curve and bend of his words. He could trace them without looking. 

He had never seen Magnus’ words, but he knew was that they weren’t his.

[ghoulodont]

Held at a Knife's Point

Dewdrop invites Rain on an unconventional date.

Relationship: Raindrop / Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Tags: Ear Piercing, Ghoul Lore (just a little), sweet & supportive Dew Words: 3511

Read below or on AO3

Dewdrop asks him as they’re cleaning up after a practice session that day, just the two of them in the instrument storage room.

“By the way, I’m going into the city tomorrow, want to come with me?”

The abbey’s locale meets most of their day-to-day retail needs, but for some things, more specialized purchases, they tend to go to the nearest major city. There’s a big record store they all like to browse, and a music store that stocks all sorts of gear that’s better tried in person.

“Sure,” Rain says. “Guitar pedals?”

“Getting my ear pierced.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“You could get one too, if you want.”

Rain reaches up and touches his own ear without any conscious intention. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“No pressure, you could come with me either way.”

“No, I mean, I’m just not sure what kind I would get.” Dew has a few piercings already, in a scattering of different places across his ears — a body part which is quite intricate, actually. It seems there might be dozens of possibilities. Rain runs his fingers over the loops and curves of his own, as of yet unaltered.

“I think you should get one here.” Dew reaches up and places his fingertip on a spot just inside the round inner hollow of Rain’s ear. If that hollow were a globe, a planet rotating on the long axis of his ear, Dew’s finger could be on its equator. 

Rain puts his own finger there, nestled against Dew’s for a moment. 

Dew pulls his hand away, then leans back a bit and watches Rain as if he’s visualizing, considering how it would look on him.

“Won’t it get in the way of the in-ear monitor?” Rain asks.

Dew hums thoughtfully. “I don’t think it will. You could always change the jewelry if it did, though. To something flat.”

Rain pinches his ear between his fingernails. It stings. He imagines what it would feel like if they went all the way through.

“You can get whatever you like, though.” Dew puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “You don’t have to get anything at all. It’s up to you.”

“What are you getting?”

“One that goes across, like this.” He pulls one hand back out of his pocket and drags his finger horizontally across the flat plane of Rain’s upper ear.   Rain places his own fingers on that blank canvas of a space. His and Dew’s hands bump together. “Through..?”

“Here,” Dew gently pinches the rim of Rain’s ear between his fingertip and the pad of his thumb, above where it attaches to his head in the front, then a similar place on the opposite edge. “And here. The jewelry goes across.” He drags his finger horizontally again, connecting the two points.

“Oh.” Rain rolls the rim of his ear between his fingers. It’s fleshier, the cartilage thinner.

“You can think about it, yeah? No pressure or anything.”

He’ll think about it, sure, but he’s already made up his mind.

—

Around noon the next day, the two of them board a train into the city. As it pulls out of the station, the trees and houses next to the tracks start to creep by, then accelerate faster and faster until Rain can’t focus his eyes on any single feature anymore. Once the train makes it far enough from the residential area, the trees fall away to reveal the slow-moving landscape beyond.

“Have you decided?” In the next seat over, Dew is watching out the window too.

“Yeah. I’m going to get what you suggested.”

“Nice.”

“By the way, are they going to notice...” Rain taps the pointed tip of his ear.

“Nah, just don’t mention it and she won’t say anything.”

“Really?”

Dew hums in assent. “It’s like the horns.”

“Even up close?”

“Yep. The power of confirmation bias or something.”

Despite whatever power that allows them to function in human society, be it mystical or psychological, Rain still feels skeptical. For a human to look directly at his ear, touch it, even alter it, seems riskier than going to the grocery store, or any other day-to-day activity he’s used to. But Dew has done this before, so it must be okay.

Their destination is a fifteen minute walk from the train station. Dew knows the way without any maps or directions. They pass restaurants and cafes, department stores, shops selling clothes and furniture. Eventually they arrive at an unassuming storefront — a door listing operating hours next to a single display window, set into brown stone. Dew pushes open the door and holds it for Rain to follow behind.

Inside, a woman behind a display case greets them. Rain finds himself distracted by his surroundings while Dew talks to her. The store is bright, artificial light compensating for the cloudy weather and shadows of buildings through the window. It’s neat, too, orderly and immaculately clean, every surface polished and free of dust. The ambiance is something between high end retail and a dentist’s office.

“Do you have time for a walk-in?” Dew places his hand on Rain’s upper arm. Rain smiles politely as he’s being displayed.

“Of course.”

Dew seems to have some sort of ability to get things he wants. He doesn’t beg or argue, at least not in this context — he might pout lightheartedly in private, with Rain, with the other ghouls, but that’s the extent of it. When he isn’t pulling his punches, he just asks for things directly with a high rate of success.

The woman turns to Rain. “What are you thinking of getting?”

“Oh, um—” He points to the spot on his ear that Dew pressed his finger against yesterday. If he really focuses on it, he can still feel the heat there. “Just here.”

“Great. For your jewelry, you can pick from any of these,” she says, tapping a fingernail on one of the glass cases between them. “Or any of the ones over there, if you’re looking for something fancier.”

Of course, standing in the middle of what he now understands to be a very specialized jewelry store, he should have anticipated this would be part of the process, but it still catches him off guard. All of Dew’s jewelry is plain silver, little round beads and hoops. It would seem he always skips this step.

Rain peers into the case in front of him. Within it are rows and rows of gems and charms, arranged in orderly grids on stark display stands. There are faceted jewels in a rainbow of colors, all kinds of decorative metal shapes, intricate designs, gold and silver, large and small and every size in between. His head spins.

A cloudy gray-green stone, smooth and round and flecked with black, catches his eye where it’s lined up amid other natural-looking options. It gleams, almost iridescent, blue and bronze, when he moves his head.

He points with one finger against the glass. “The gray one.”

She reaches in through the back of the case and pulls out the display stand. She points at the stone. “This one?”

Rain nods.

She plucks it from its slot on the stand. It glints again under the LED ceiling fixtures, reflecting light from within, like an animal’s eye, a deer in the headlights.

Before she disappears into the back of the shop to prepare things, she hands them each a form on a clipboard. The two of them sit next to each other on a leather couch and fill out their names and demographic details, and confirm their willingness to participate by signing at the bottom of the page. It barely takes a fraction of the time that she’s gone, leaving them waiting and unoccupied. Rain taps his feet nervously. Dew bumps their shoulders together.

When the piercer returns, she leads them into a smaller room with a counter along one side and a black padded table in the center. It’s windowless, but just as bright as the front, and just as clean.

“Whoever is going first, you can have a seat up here.” She gestures to the table.

Rain glances over at Dew, who is already looking at him, watching his face.

“Want me to..?” Dew speaks softly.

Rain nods. This will be a first for him either way.

Dew hops up onto the table. He folds his hands loosely in his lap. His boots dangle above the tile floor.

At the counter, the piercer peels open blue and white sterile envelopes with gloved hands and lets their contents fall onto a paper-lined tray table next to her. She picks supplies from drawers and sundry jars — gauze, alcohol wipes, a marker, a small cork like the kind used as a stopper for a bottle. She wheels the tray over to where Dew is sitting.

She scrubs his ear with alcohol, then marks two spots on it with a purple pen — the same two spots he showed Rain yesterday. She offers Dew a hand mirror. He examines his ear, holding the mirror off to the side, and then nods.

From her prepared supplies she picks up a needle, unadorned steel and intimidatingly thick, the broad teardrop shape of its beveled end clearly visible from a distance. With her other hand she picks up a cork. She lines them both up against Dew’s ear, the needle on one side and the cork on the other, framing one purple mark.

“Breathe in,” she tells Dew.

He complies, his chest rising slightly.

“Breathe out.”

He does, his chest sinking back down.

As soon as he begins to exhale, she presses the needle through his ear and into the cork on the other side. Dew doesn’t even blink. She slides a metal bar into the newly created hole in his ear, using it to push the end of the needle all the way through.

She repositions the cork and the needle on either side of the second purple mark and repeats the same process — inhale, exhale, needle, jewelry. She screws a metal ball on each end of the bar, which is now threaded through both sides of his upper ear.

“All set.” She peels off her gloves.

Dew hops down from the table and checks out his ear in a large mirror hanging on the wall. The bar is longer than the width of flesh that it spans, sticking out a bit on either side. The entire top half of his ear is pink. It clearly looks new, fresh, but conceptually it fits in well with the other metal there. In time, once those indications of newness dissipate, it will look like it’s always been there, just like the rest.

Dew returns to where Rain is standing, off to the side of the table, out of the way.

“Ready?” The piercer is putting on a new pair of gloves.

Rain is the one who is supposed to be ready. He doesn’t feel ready, but time is moving forward on its own. He sits on the padded table, now in Dew’s place, with Dew where Rain was before, their positions swapped.

When the piercer brings over the tray, it has the same things as it did for Dew’s piercing — gauze, alcohol, a marker, a cork, a needle. She tips Rain’s head slightly with her gloved hands and draws a dot on his ear with the marker.

She passes him the hand mirror. “Let me know if this looks good.”

He tries to imagine the purple dot replaced by a piece of metal and stone. He can’t really close the conceptual gap — it’s just a dot. Regardless, he nods.

“Great.” She picks up the needle and the cork.

Rain’s breath catches in his throat. The needle is so much bigger up close. He glances up at Dew and imagines standing where he is again. The distance isn’t far, but somehow it made a huge difference.

Dew steps forward and closes that distance without saying anything. He eases the mirror from Rain’s tight grip and places it on the table. Then he offers his own hand, palm up and welcoming, in its stead.

Even just the invitation is a relief, a logical and straightforward improvement to the situation that Rain wouldn’t have thought of by himself in this state. He takes Dew’s hand in a firm grip. It’s warm, and the pressure is grounding.

The piercer brings her hands to the side of his face. She’s working so close to his head he can’t see anything, only the blur of her glove in his peripheral vision and her expression of concentration off to his side.

“Breathe in,” she instructs.

Rain can feel the sharp tip of the needle where she places it against his skin, just resting there lightly, painlessly. He knows what’s going to happen. He breathes in.

“Breathe out.”

He breathes out.

More than pain, there’s pressure. And more than pressure, there’s sound — a loud pop, almost a crunch, of the needle penetrating his cartilage.

She takes something from the table nearby and performs what he assumes must be the same dance between needle and jewelry as she did for Dew. He still can’t see what’s happening, only hear the rustle of nitrile as her fingers move.

Dew gives his hand one tight squeeze and then releases it.

“Feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” Actually, he feels giddy. It’s unclear if it’s just from the sudden relief after a very long day of anticipating an impending unknown, or if it’s a rush of endorphins precipitated by the needle itself.

“Want to take a look?” She takes a step back and nods at the mirror on the wall. Her gloves snap as she peels them off.

Rain slides off the table and walks the two steps to the mirror. He leans in and tilts the side of his head toward it, holding his hair back with one hand. There, in the inner shell of his ear, right where he pointed to, and exactly where the purple mark was, is the gray-green stone from earlier. It shines when he tips his head just a few degrees.

He leans back, standing up normally. He realizes that his face, outside of his control, has composed itself into an expression of pleasant surprise, with his jaw dropped just slightly and his eyes bright. At this distance, the jewelry is subtle — not too flashy or too colorful or too large. He lets his hair fall the way it normally does, tucked partially behind his ear, and it’s barely noticeable until it glints with his motion.

Behind him, Dew is watching the mirror too.

The piercer leads them to the cash register at the front of the shop. Cool midday sun is shining through the window now, brightening the space even more. Rain pulls his wallet out of his pocket but Dew waves it away and taps his card on the reader before Rain has a chance to protest, or to see what the total is.

The piercer sees them off with a paper copy of the aftercare instructions for their piercings. Dew folds it neatly in thirds and slides it into an interior pocket of his jacket, and then the two of them set out for the train station.

They stop for ice cream on their way. It’s too early in the year for it, really; the sun warms the ground but there’s a petulant breeze in the cool air. Packed-down piles of plowed snow remain unmelted on street corners, tucked into alleys, at the end of the occasional parking lot, all dripping sluggishly onto damp asphalt. Sidewalks are littered with a crusty patchwork of the same.

Nevertheless, Rain’s eyes linger on the shop window as they walk by. The freezer case with its cheery selection of flavors, assorted colors in big tubs marked by little handwritten labels, is visible within. When he turns his head back towards the direction they’re walking, Dew’s eye contact tugs on him with an unspoken question. Both of their steps falter, and then they’re turning around.

A bell hanging from the door greets them with a hearty jingle as they step inside. The interior of the store is warm, almost stiflingly so, and empty of other customers. The syrupy smell of waffle cones is so dense it might as well be visible in the air, condensing near the ceiling in cotton candy clouds. Sweat forms on the back of Rain’s neck like liquid caramel beading on the surface of a torched crème brûlée. His limbs sag like pulled taffy.

After they make their selections and after Dew pays — for both of them, again, as if they’re on their first date instead of their hundredth, as if they’re counting, as if an ordinal number could represent an infinitesimal sum of continuous time — they file past bistro tables and metal chairs tucked along one wall and head back out the door, which bids them farewell with the same jingle.

The early springtime air is a refreshing contrast, freezing the sugary haze on their jackets and in their hair. They trade spoonfuls of ice cream while waiting at the crosswalk. Rain ducks his head down just slightly to reach Dew’s raised spoon. The traffic signal changes.

Rain’s ear is starting to ache now, pulsing out a nagging heat in time with his heartbeat. Without much forethought he places the cold ice cream cup, held in fingers that are rapidly becoming numb, against his ear. Immediately, he jerks it away with a sharp, involuntary inhale.

Dew chuckles. His eyes are warm, glimmering with a knowing spark.

“Ow,” is all Rain can think to say.

“Yeah,” Dew laughs. When he speaks again, he’s suddenly much more serious. “Not that bad though, right?”

Rain glances over and Dew is looking at him with his brow furrowed, and with the big, sad eyes that he can never quite replicate when he tries to as a joke. Rain considers how best to downplay his reaction. “It’s...” he starts, and finally settles on, “distracting.”

Dew nods once. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he provide any other indication of what he thinks about that.

A couple blocks later, he makes a sudden turn into a pharmacy.

“Wait, where—” Rain stutters as he follows his lead. Dew never mentioned making another stop.

“Just want to grab something.”

The two of them weave through a maze of aisles stocked with neat rows of medicines and first aid supplies and vitamins. Dew leads them to the selection of over-the-counter pain relievers. The thing Dew wanted to grab, apparently, is a package of ibuprofen, which he bends down to select from a lower shelf.

They return to the front of the store to check out. On the way, Dew grabs a bottle of water from behind the glass door of a refrigerator case. It swings closed with a snap.

Back outside, Dew pauses mere steps from the door. He slides open the flimsy cardboard flap of the ibuprofen box and pulls the blister pack of pills from within. He holds the plastic and foil sheet out towards Rain.

The chain of cause and effect snaps into a straight line, orderly like the rows of pills in the package. Rain thought that he succeeded in alleviating this particular concern. “Wait, it’s not that bad.”

“It’s not a big deal, and it’s good for the swelling anyway.” Dew presses the sheet closer.

Resigned, Rain holds out his hand to take it.

Instead of handing over the entire sheet, Dew holds it over Rain’s outstretched palm and presses one dose out of the individual cells with his thumb, breaking through the foil backing. Then he twists off the top of the water bottle and hands it to him as well.

Rain swallows the ibuprofen with a sip of water. He sighs quietly. He feels sort of like a party foul, the one who needs their hair held back in the bathroom at a bar, maybe. The one who couldn’t handle what they signed up for.

Next to him, Dew pops another dose of ibuprofen out into his own palm, then drops it into his mouth. He reaches out for the water bottle. It takes Rain a second to catch up with what’s happening and hand it back. Dew drinks from the bottle and then screws the cap back on. He stuffs the remaining ibuprofen into his jacket pocket. 

When Dew looks back up, Rain is still staring, gears in his head turning. His eyebrows are probably raised just a little, he realizes.

Dew shrugs at him, nonchalant.

When they start walking again, Rain reaches out and bumps the back of his hand against Dew’s. Rain doesn’t need to say anything; Dew clasps their hands together without hesitation.

He pulls his and Rain’s hands into his pocket. It’s a comfortable fit with the two of them, not too tight — Dew’s jacket is oversized in every aspect, including, or maybe especially, the pockets. There’s nothing else inside this one, just them. It’s warm from Dew’s body heat.

Rain squeezes their hands closer together.

[canis-constellate]

this is really only a small point in the end, but like... the first thing that made us solidly go "nope!" about the idea of a school for plurals was the mention of everyone having a badge connected to simplyplural that would show the current fronter.

like, not even going into the personal part, our first point is: who would manage the simplyplural account, first of all? taking us, for example, doing shit on our phone is incredibly difficult and overwhelming. there's a reason why we don't answer 90% of asks we get (on this blog, on the plurillean-confessions blog, etc) on our phone, and as far as we can tell, simplyplural is primarily a mobile app (actually, we're trying to register on the web, and it just straight up is not working--either it tells us that our password isn't valid even though it is, or it gets stuck in a loading loop). and there's probably folks who would struggle to manage a simplyplural themselves in general, regardless of where it was.

okay, so, then who would manage the account if the person it's for can't? we sure as hell wouldn't trust someone else to manage something that's so personal, let alone someone who is meant to be an authority figure, so that puts staff entirely out of the picture if you're trying to make this a safe and comfortable place. and of course, there's every chance that whoever is chosen to manage the simplyplural just... won't listen to the system in question. won't add new members the system says are there for whatever reason, won't change pronouns or apeparances, etc.

alright. alrightalrightalright. put managing it to the side. let's talk about the display of who's fronting, right? two problems i can immediately foresee:

(1a) privacy. this is immediately a huge concern for privacy, say for headmates who want to log themselves fronting, but don't want other people to know they're there. for a while, one of our headmates (Mimic) used a completely different pk proxy while talking in certain servers because it was worried that, if people knew who it was, they would immediately run it out of the place.

(2a) multiple fronters at once. unless this badge is huge or the text or whatever else is on there is tiny, how are you going to manage multiple fronters? multiple badges? okay, how many badges is the maximum? because, for example, when Wolf fronts, all of us are always there. so that's immediately 6 people. and usually, there's more than just Wolf. often, other folks such as Arratay, Parrot, and Lewis are around. that's 9 people all fronting at once. how are you going to deal with that?

and (2b) hey, the whole point of showing who's fronting is to show who is talking, right? what about in cases where someone blips in for a few seconds to add in a random comment before leaving? what if this regularly happens to the point where it could get confusing about who said what unless someone shows up on the badge (like with us, where mentioning a certain headmate or something they're interested in will get their attention, and they'll often send in a quick "hi" or a short (or long) infodump about whatever we're talking about before promptly leaving)?

oh, and not to mention (2c + 1b) what about headmates who front a lot because of something, but don't talk? if they're fronting, they'd supposedly show on the badge, but it wouldn't be them talking. some months ago, we joined a server for a game that was a special interest of Guppy's, and ze would pretty much be in front every time we were playing the game or engaging with the server. note: ze never said a single word, ze always had someone else talking for hir because ze was too anxious to talk to people and let people know ze was there.

and then, of course (2d) what about systems who are almost constantly blurry? who often have multiple headmates fronting at once, but when they're fronting, it's basically just thoughts-and-feelings soup that can't easily be separated into "headmate 1" and "headmate 2"? or systems that struggle to figure out who specifically is fronting for one reason or another? what then?

i don't know. maybe it's just us, but that comment was the very first thing that really put us off. (and then, of course, followed by the whole "ooo it's an experiment!" thing.) that was the thing that immediately put a sour taste in our mouth. it's small potatoes compared to... everything else, but we were really put off by it (and we're honestly surprised nobody else has said anything about it).