#well also I write short sentences

[niobiumao3]

Six Sentence Sunday

“How long’s this gonna take you,” the captain asked. Tech paused, eyed the charts, then his notebook. “The rest of today, some of tomorrow. Unless you’ll allow me to work overnight using an alchelamp?” “In here?” Mel snorted. “No. We need our sleep.” Tech’s writing stilled. “In here,” he echoed. The captain said, “Where else can we keep an eye on you?” A smile crept into her voice. “Maybe Reeg and Chassa weren’t a match for you, but Mel and Risza shouldn’t have as big of a problem if you decide to do anything dumb.” It was true Risza (a taller, wiry-muscled twi’lek) and Mel (a shorter, heftier human) would probably be able to get him under control. Their combined weight would be a significant advantage, as would the simple fact that they knew not to underestimate him. However, “I’ve no plans at present to attempt anything.” “How very reassuring,” the captain drawled, then turned to go. “Let me know when you’ve got an updated route,” she said to Mel over her shoulder.

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part XIX – Part XX

That is a long summer, long and heavy, a blazing furnace of a July, a wet shiver of an August, and Peter has forgotten how to be a child, forgotten how to revel in the long stretch of glorious freedom without books or papers or masters or bells. He doesn't sleep in, he gets a job driving a milk truck, most mornings he's up before Mother, leaving notes on the worktop beside the stove: Thank you for everything, Mother.

Benton’s is lucky to have you, Mum.

Hope you have a good day.

We love you, Mum.

Dad will be proud of you.

He knows she takes them in her box lunch.

There's a cake for his birthday, by some magic of Susan, and a crown of primroses and oak leaves Lucy places on his head (and the look in her eyes as she kisses him, telling him she knows). There's a letter from Professor Kirke, a nice copy of Le Mort d'Arthur from Ed, and a nearly-new overcoat from Mum, a proper man's coat and he has no idea where she could have gotten it, but he hugs her tight, knowing she had seen his too-tight coat, his threadbare barn jacket.

Susan's always busy, running the household with Mum, and watching various neighbour children while their mothers are working. So Ed and Lucy look out for each other, entertaining themselves with long walks in the nearest park, and long visits to the library.

In the hot afternoons, all four of them lie about the garden, speaking little, singing less.

Peter finds himself drifting, searching, always looking for something he can't seem to find. He takes to greeting the stone lion at Wood Green station, just a soft ‘hullo’, a remark on the weather. He's always watching the sky, the sun, the clouds. He turns his head at every flash of gold, the toss of girl's blonde hair, the spill of shocking colour across stone floor in the church.

He likes driving the milk truck, he's a good driver, after one or two near misses, but he goes out in the dark of the morning, looks up into a full bomber's moon, hears no sirens.

“I don't understand,” he says quietly, hands in his pockets as he walks to the tube station. “Where are You? I thought, perhaps… I thought perhaps You might be– But I suppose I'm wrong. Ed believes it. He doesn't think he's wrong. But I don't understand. What am I supposed to do? How long do I have to wait?”

He has a lot of conversations with the predawn sky.

Then the rain comes, and a chill with it, and it's sweaters in August, and even with his job, he feels cramped, hemmed in, it's hard to even read, he's so restless.

He snaps at Ed for leaving his boots in the hall for Peter to trip over when he gets home at noon, all dripping, left shoulder still throbbing from getting hit with Mrs. Tortellini's front door again. (How does such a small woman push open a door so fast and so hard??)

“Ed! Why can't you pick up your things? For pity's sake, grow up!”

“Grow up yourself!” Ed snaps back, nettled, coming to move the offending footwear.

“Boys!” comes Susan's exasperated sigh from the living room, and Peter has to bite his tongue, close his eyes, exhale slow.

“Ed. I'm sorry.” He turns to see dark eyes, soften, hands already reaching for the glass bottles slipping in his uncertain grip.

“I'll put them in the refrigerator,” is all Ed says, but it's kindness, and Peter can only nod thanks.

At one time, Peter had written down every memory of Narnia he could, terrified of forgetting that glorious life, as they had forgotten this ordinary one whilst there. But as time passes, it seems not that he recalls more or less of their time there, but simply that he misses it more, aches in a sharp way, like a not-healed knee stabs through with heat when you step just wrong.

How long? It beats at the inside of his ribcage, sits bitter on the back of his tongue. How long? How long?

Walking home in a drizzle with Ed, mended shoes on their feet (shoes didn't feel this heavy in Narnia, he's quite sure), they see a small gang of boys knock hard into a man hobbling down the street, all hobbling crutch and one knotted-off trouser-leg tumbling into puddled mud, and the two kings move without hesitation—Edmund to the fallen, Peter after the offenders.

He catches them easily, slipping up behind, them not even looking back, catches a couple elbows. “Hallo, you lot! Where do you think you're going?”

The uncaught boy holds his ground. “What do you care?”

They're Ed’s age, Peter thinks, and he doesn’t try to hide the steel in his voice. “I saw how you knocked down that man. You owe him an apology.” He grips wriggling limbs tighter with a little pinch, and they still. “Now will you walk? Or must I carry you?”

“What if we won't?” the boy he's not holding says, green eyes taunting.

“Then I'll knock all your heads together and send you home crying.”

It's so sharp, so decided, there is no more argument, and they come meekly back to the man, now leaning on his crutch, talking quietly with Ed.

When he looks up, Peter stiffens. It’s a young face, not more than three or four years older than Peter, but not too young for the wings sewn on his cap. Soldier eyes meet his, and Peter feels a hot flush come up the back of his neck, tries to stand even taller.

“Apologise now,” he orders the abashed boys, louder and harsher than he means to. “That's no way to treat your elders, never mind a defender of your country.

“Sir.” He finishes with a short nod, not quite a salute, and the man's eyes narrow, assessing, judging, and Peter holds himself steady, holds that haunting gaze, until the murmured chorus of boy voices pulls the man's attention away.

He's embarrassed, uncomfortable at the attention, Peter sees suddenly, and he cringes inside, wondering if he's got it all wrong.

The soldier says little, but enough for Peter to hear his accent, and judge it to be American. He never gives his name, only takes the boys’ apology, with a word of thanks, and then boys scuttle one way, soldier stumps off in another, swinging on his crutch with ease. Oddly shaken, Peter watches until he turns a corner, disappears from sight.

“He's Canadian,” Ed says, as they walk on, and Peter watches grey water splash up around his feet. “RAF. Downed over the Channel after Christmas. Saved by a fisherman.”

“Why is he still in England?”

Ed shrugs. “No family to go home to. So he married a nice girl, and settled here. Found a new family. Built a new life.”

A new life.

Starting over.

Peter swallows hard. We'll get back.

“Professor Kirke and Aunt Polly didn't.”

Peter misses a step, narrowly avoiding a lamppost as he stares at Ed.

“Professor Kirke and Aunt Polly never got back.” Ed’s not looking at him, but ahead, away down the street. “Not in over fifty years.”

Peter feels as if he's been socked in the gut, lungs suddenly cramped, and he walks blind, until his shoulder strikes metal and he stumbles, glances up and back at another street lamp, high on its post. Oh.

He feels the cold rain running down his face. “They were sent back. We weren't. We just… stumbled through.”

“So you think it was an accident then?”

“Of course it was!” Peter exclaims. “If we'd known, we never would have gone through!”

“You would have rather been a coward then?” Ed ducks gracefully, and Peter's fist doesn't even brush his sleeve.

“Oh, dry up,” Peter growls, shoving his hands back into the safety of his pockets, and turning away, trying to shove down the heat risen in his chest.

“I'd love to.” Drops spatter Peter's arm as Edmund shakes his head hard. “But truly, Pete, if we had known what was inside the wardrobe, would we have ever gone in in the first place? Who we were then, would we have done it? Gone to fight a witch and a war and everything?”

Peter pauses, casts his mind back, remembering the first chapter, the one he remembers best, and then he feels Lucy's fur coat empty in his hand, sees a wolf snapping at Susan's feet and Ed lying on the battlefield… The images fade, but his smile is grim. “I wouldn't have let you.”

“Course you wouldn't have.” And Edmund's own half smile says he hears what Peter doesn't say. “But Peter, that's the point. We were called. He called us because we were needed. And we needed to go. There was no accident about us finding Narnia. So why should there be any accident in our finding the way back home to England?”

Peter sighs, heavy air leaving tight lungs, tilts his head back as the rain increases, thickens to big drops. He never hurries out of the rain anymore, much to Mother's concern. “How do you do it?” he asks, pained, longing. a glance over at Edmund. “How do you have so much faith?”

Even in the grey rain Peter sees the colour rise in his brother's cheeks, and Ed ducks his chin, a moment, before looking back, and oh, has Peter noticed before how old he is now? On the cusp of 13, and his eyes look like Dad’s; Edmund is a man in contrast to those boys from earlier.

“It's not really me,” he says quietly. “But is it really Narnia you want to get back to? Or is it Him?”

Lump swells hard and sharp in Peter's throat, and he cannot answer, but he knows Ed reads his silence. The rain picks up suddenly, a downpour onto the pavement, and Peter puts out an arm as he walks, drawing Ed under his arm, tucking him under his coat, and for once, Edmund doesn't fight him. In fact, a thin arm snakes its way around Peter's waist, Ed leaning into him, and Peter gives him a little squeeze. Thank heaven you're here, he thinks. They walk the rest of the way home like that, leaning on each other, not speaking.

One afternoon when they're all home, and the rain beats at the glass and thunder rumbles in the roof, Lucy (laughing, dancing, singing, faithful Lucy) looks up from her book, a startled look in her eye, says suddenly, “Oh, Peter! You don't think they'll forget us, will they? Like we forgot about England?”

“Of course not!” Peter exclaims, startled in his own turn, but instinctively parrying her fear, then turning back the blade with a strike of his own: “We remember them, don't we?”

A sigh, wildness leaving her face, but he lifts his arm, lets his book fall shut on his thumb, and she comes across the living room at once to settle, warm and solid into Peter's lap. Dad’s chair wraps tight around them, big enough to hold them both easily.

“Perhaps it will be like King Arthur,” Edmund murmurs, stretched lazy in front of the fire.

“How do you mean?” Susan asks, sewing needle not hesitating as she patches Lucy's brown skirt.

“Well,” Ed rolls onto his stomach. “They call him the Once and Future King, don't they? Because they say, even though he's been gone a thousand years, that he's not really dead. Just… somewhere else, and in Britain's darkest hour he'll return.”

Peter frowns, but Lucy says it first. “You mean to say you think it will be forever and ever till we get back?”

“No, of course not. I mean, perhaps we're not needed there right now, but we'll be brought back when we are. In Narnia's darkest hour.”

They all look at each other, and Peter can tell they're each seeing it, the flashes of memory.

“I don't see how there could be a darker hour in Narnia than the one we already saw.” Susan's eyes lock on Lucy's for a long moment.

Peter remembers too—the dawn chill as he stood in Aslan’s empty pavilion, but just as quick comes the echo of that roar, loud enough to shake the mountains.

“I hope not,” Lucy says soft, playing with Peter's fingers, smoothing the knuckles with their scabs, earned from meeting a drunk stumbling home the other morning. “I wish Narnia to always be happy and shining in the sun.”

Peter looks down at the freckles splashed over his little sister's nose. “Me too,” he whispers.

But the idea lingers with Peter, and everytime he picks up Le Mort d'Arthur, he thinks of Narnia.

My Once and Future King, he writes on the fly leaf of the first volume of A History of English Law Before the Time of Edward I—bought from a old couple selling everything unnecessary out of their half-shattered home—a Once and Future Justice. Happy 13th birthday, little brother. Pete.

The girls wrinkle their noses at the heavy old books Ed unwraps from the newspaper, but Ed lights up over them as much as the torch from Mother and Dad, and Peter feels warm inside.

He thanks Peter, and immediately goes to tuck the books into his school trunk sitting open in the living room.

After a summer of hard work and money in his pocket Peter feels odd mixed up in the flurry of packing for school, the hollering and running up and down stairs, and Susan ticking things off the lists in Mother's handwriting. Part of him feels too old for all this, but he knows he's got a whole year till he'll be mucking around at Bampton.

They're all up early to say their goodbyes to Mother before she leaves for the factory, and she hugs each of them tightly.

She pauses longest in front of Peter, hands coming up to cup his face, and his own feel too big at her waist. “Try to enjoy it, this last year,” she murmurs. “Have fun, be a boy, before you can't anymore. You already know how to be a man.” And then her eyes glaze over and she wraps her arms tight around his neck, and when he stands straight, her feet leave the ground.

He sets her down, smiles into her teary face. “Alright, Mum,” he says, cheerful as he can. “I'll get the midgets to put a snake in Quizzler's desk, and maybe some spiders in the San–”

She is laughing, and over her shoulder he can see the others smiling as they disperse to start breakfast. “No, Peter dear, not that kind of fun!”

“Well then, I'll get the best grades in all the school and sleep in the library.”

She takes the clean blue kerchief Susan hands her, ties up her hair in a practiced movement, still smiling. “Perhaps not quite that either? Try somewhere in between.”

Peter knows his own smile is crooked. “Alright, Mum, I'll try.”

She's blowing kisses all the way down the hall and out the front door. Their goodbyes follow her till the door clicks shut.

“Who wants toast and who wants eggs?” Susan says, before silence can fall.

They are lingering over breakfast when Mr. Solomon comes for the trunks with his car, and Peter makes doubly sure Le Mort is in his nightcase, alongside the journal Ed gave him last Christmas at the professor's.

The sky is clearing as they walk down to the tube station, and Lucy swings her nightcase cheerily, singing snatches of “Chattanooga Choo-Choo”. It's following her that means they take the wrong train, and get stuck at Charing Cross for half an hour.

Peter tries to temper his impatience, tells himself they have plenty of time, but it chafes at him, being in these crowds of noisy children, nobody looking where they're going, shoving and talking and generally behaving with the manners of a flock of gulls. Everyone is going back to school, and nobody cares about being polite, and he's just another one of them, getting shooed along by the ticket lady, till he's swallowing back heat.

The Once and Future King, he thinks bitterly to himself, some king a schoolboy makes.

It's too easy to snap, too easy to swing a fist into a sneering face, and then there's shouting and his blood is up, but it makes him sloppy, the burst of frustration, and there's too many of them, a kick in his gut, a hand in his hair, and then it's all over, he is a scolded child being soothed by his baby sister, and he feels small and stupid.

I'm sorry, he wants to say.

“How long?” he asks.

Strange how he couldn't have felt less like a king, when the call comes and the magic takes them home.

[morningstargirl666]

Hello, sorry to bother you. I’m an avid fanfic reader and i am bilingual. I’m wondering how fanfic writers feel about translations of their work (with permission obviously). Is it flattering? Is it something that you would want so more people can read your work? Or is it more neutral? Obviously you can’t speak for all writers, but i’m curious about your opinion and what you know of other’s opinions

I think, generally speaking, most writers including myself are okay with translations of their work as long as you ask permission first and give credit to the original author. They may also not want their work posted to another site, so as long as the translation is posted on the same site as the original work, you're good then too. To offer to translate something is normally seen as the highest compliment, as the idea someone loved their work so much they wanted to share it with more people - presumably in their native language - is a HUGE compliment. Of course, every writer has their own preferences, so may not like the idea for their own reasons - hence why you always need to ask permission and if they say no, respect that decision. But as long as you stick to those three unspoken rules (ask permission, give credit, don't post to another site), it's normally all good.

There's a lot of AI scraping and copying of original works to other sites happening right now, so writers can be nervous. I, myself, and several others I know, have locked down our fics on AO3 so only AO3 users can view them due to the AI shit. Just be polite and respectful to them and their fics, and you're golden. I'm sure there's plenty out there that would love to see fics translated, including myself! 👍

[imwritesometimes]

lmfao what if I just start over entirely holy fckn shit

[apocalypticdemon]

i think i might be, finally, getting closer to a final layout for this. will i actually manage to make it slot into place before school starts? probably not. but i will try.

[thatdeadaquarius]

👀✨️ U CANT HIDE THESE GEMS IN THE TAGSSS

So like I just went through almost all your language posts and I was wondering what if like the creator sometimes just switches languages out of no where and everyone is just like:😃. Cuz like they don’t understand what they mean and it happens randomly too or when they’re irritated and they just start cussing in like 3 different languages at once

IM SO SORRY TO DO IT TO YOU-

but i think ive written some stuff abt this before?

u know what tho.

ive got an even better idea. my “go-to” if you will.

Torture Alhaitham.

>:)

^^^ ALHAITHAM RUNNING U DOWN AFTER YOU SAY EXACTLY (1) WORD IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE HE’S NEVER HEARD-

☆

Sun: Gender neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: SHORT headcanons-ish?, Language shenanigans!

Stars: Alhaitham (suffer lol)

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: None Known & Trigger Warnings: None Known.

he’s watching you. constantly.

he’s always writing about you.

he’s following you around Sumeru City.

he’s following you around Port Ormos.

he’s at your house-

Alhaitham learns you speak multiple languages before any other akademiya schloar, and he’s submitting a thesis about “the Greatest Lords languages from their home world”

before you can even say “I’ll think about it” in any language u know lol

people have definitely mistaken him as your favored acolyte (not that he does much to deny it)

and talk to him like he’s your secretary?? …oh, welp.

Alhaitham knows your schedule for the next month within a week of following you

mans is willing to do the MOST to get you to sit down and just start talking in a language at him

want food? his specialty dish ingredients are always at the ready at his house

want literature? he’s offering to literally break into the akademiya (or giving you a copy of his house key to have access to his personal library all the time)

(tho kaveh is practically hugging you to his chest as you walk around perusing as he talks ur ear off lmao)

Haitham (he sometimes insists you call him when it’s just you two) wants to singlehandedly be the first person who understands every word you say when u coo at dogs in another language

or cuss out a fictional character for being stupid

CRYING U CANT EVEN GET MAD AT HIM BC

every time u get pissed he’s interrupting every other word you say to ask for definitions/clarifications of slang 😭

send help he’s made a red string theory board of all the languages you’ve used to try and just- make sense of all their rules and when you use them and how to tell the difference and oh no-

Alhaitham’s hanging pictures of you mid-sentence with ur mouth open or even worse when ur yelling.

…u know maybe its not for an akademiya project, maybe he’s just trying to humble you. 💀

☆

thanks again for sending this ask in!! :D

language sagaus my beloved <3

tbh i have likeeeee 54 things in my drafts rn? so needless to say im slow, BUT IM SO HAPPY U GUYS GAVE ME THIS MUCH TO FAWN OVER, REQUESTS OR NO <333333333333

:]

an iced coffee? for me?? :O

☆

Safe Travels Ariasdream,

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks

[selfcarecap]

✧ Manipulative best friend!Logan with a corruption kink

warnings: smut 18+, this is not a dark fic, Logan isn’t truly manipulative but we have a very naive/innocent/inexperienced reader; first time masturbation, JOI, handjob, fingering (in front of a mirror), first kiss, pet names (bub, baby, my girl, good girl), Logan doesn’t always fully ask for consent but if he did reader would want it, so those are the type of vibes, Logan takes advantage of the situation but reader is into him too, it’s implied that reader is a mutant too but powers are not specified, mentions of alcohol, reader wears Logan’s (big) shirt, Logan is a bit gross 

This kind of got out of hand lmaoo it was just supposed to just be a short concept but I ended up writing 5.5k words lolll. It’s not a fully fleshed out fic (it’s in full sentences etc but still just kind of loosely written scenes) but I thought I’d still share <33 (gorgeous divider by @anitalenia <3)

Logan knows he wants you from the moment he meets you. He knows he needs you the second you come to the mansion and join the school. But you’re so shy and nervous that he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he tells himself he’ll wait for a bit and let you get used to your new life here first. 

What he isn’t expecting is that you become really good friends in the meantime. Yes, he still wants to fuck you but he also genuinely enjoys your company and cares about you. Logan has a big, fat crush on you and there’s not really anything he won’t do in order to be closer to you.

But the problem is that you’re so innocent and he can’t tell if it’s an act, if you just don’t like talking about sex in front of other people, or if you’re really like this. 

He hears you talking to Storm and Jean one night and Storm is trying to convince you to get a vibrator and you’re asking “what would I need that for? I don’t… y’know”. Storm says “you don’t what? Masturbate?”.

Logan knows exactly what shy expression you’re making even though he can’t see you, and you’re all like “oh my god, don’t say it that loud”. And he knows your pretty face must be getting all hot with embarrassment and the thought alone turns Logan on to no end. It’s quiet for a bit and Logan gathers that Jean reads your mind, and she confirms to Storm that you’re not lying.  

Logan can only hear the conversation because he’s in the kitchen and you’re all in the room next to it, but some students come in so he can’t keep eavesdropping, as much as he wants to. And he knows there’s no way you’re continuing the conversation if he’s in the room, so he has to give up for the night. He tries to ask Storm the next day about what you said and she just calls him a pervert and says to ask you himself if he wants to know so badly. 

But that’s kind of the thing. He’s become your best friend over the last few months, but there are still some things you’d never tell him just because he’s a guy, even if you don’t see him as more than a friend. Yet.

And Logan only gets more desperate when you’re drunk one evening after a girl’s night and you’re knocking at his door. It’s really late but Logan lets you in of course. You’re crying a bit and he makes you sit in his bed and takes off your shoes and slides off your jacket while you hiccup something unintelligible. 

He sits down with you and you can barely focus on what you’re saying, and then you get up mumbling about your uncomfortable tights and your skirt and suddenly you’re in front of him in just a top and panties. Logan has to gulp down a moan as he stares at the flesh of your thighs and the rolls on your belly and all he can think about is devouring you whole – until he hears you mention the conversation with Storm and Jean from the other day, “wait, what was that?”

You pout, “Well I was talking to them and turns out apparently I’m the only woman in the world that doesn’t masturbate and– and Jean went home to Scott, and Storm went home with someone she met at the bar and I’ve never even done anything with a guy, not even with myself. I just feel left behind.”

And Logan tells you something about how you’re just a late bloomer and there’s still time, because that’s what he thinks you want to hear, but you tell him it’s condescending. You don’t want to be a late bloomer, you just want to have sex. And oh– Logan can help you with that.

He has to do his absolute best to keep calm and not mount you immediately, but you’re drunk so that’s what’s stopping him. He might manipulate you a little to get what he wants but he’s not that bad. He asks “you don’t like touching yourself?” And you just shrug and say “dunno”. 

“You never feel an ache between your legs?” Logan asks, keeping so calm it’s painful. And he can practically feel the heat melting off your face at the question as your eyes dart around the room, “I don’t know, sometimes”.

 “And you don’t touch yourself?”

You shrug again, looking everywhere but at Logan, “I never really know what people mean when they say that. I, like, touch myself and it feels nice but that’s it.” 

Logan smiles, “how long do you touch yourself for?” 

“I don’t know, a few seconds.”

And he chuckles and says “it’s normal that you don’t get anywhere in a few seconds, bub.” 

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” you manage to meet his eyes briefly but look away again as you sit on your hands shyly.

“You ever watched porn?” Logan asks and your eyes go wide as if he’s just committed the worst sin known to womankind in front of you and you hug your legs and say “noo, I would never. I’m not, like, a pervert.”

Logan laughs, “Porn isn’t just for perverts. There’s more to it than choking and bondage, there’s tame stuff.” You just say “well I’ve never watched any.” 

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” 

He can tell you’re getting a bit ashamed and while he would love to train that shame out of you when it comes to sex, now isn’t the time when you’re drunk in his bed at 2AM. 

“You wanna go to sleep?” He asks, failing to resist giving a small squeeze to your knee. Your eyes fly to his hand there, gaze lingering on his fingers even as he pulls them away. You nod after a few moments, and Logan reaches out to wipe away the remnants of your tears and says “you wanna sleep in my bed? We could cuddle”. 

You grin like a child who’s just tried ice cream for the first time at his suggestion and he gives you a bigger shirt of his so you don’t have to sleep in that small, tight top you’re wearing. You pull off your top without warning and then he’s looking at you in just your underwear and he feels like he’s died and ascended to heaven even though he’s probably more likely to go to hell with the thoughts he’s having about you right now. 

You cast a shy glance over your shoulder as you undo your bra and Logan wills himself to shut his eyes, putting his hand over them because he knows otherwise he’d look.

He only wants to fuck you more when he sees you in his shirt though, and he’ll definitely have to go to the bathroom to jerk off once you’ve fallen asleep. Except that you snuggle against his side so cutely, head resting on his shoulder with a leg thrown over his. 

You’re fast asleep before he can even say good night and when he moves to get up you move closer, and now he’s got your plush tits pressed up against his side and your arm over his waist. A tent has formed in his pants and he feels pathetic that he’s measuring the distance between your elbow and his crotch, silently willing you to move just a few inches. 

He’s so horny that he’d feel no moral qualms at jerking off right next to you. He’d cum so quickly with you pressed to his side, but he wouldn’t know how to explain it if you woke up. He doesn’t want to scare you away. So he pulls away to get up, and you wake up and whine when he stands up, telling you he just has to pee to which you grumble, and you grab his pillow to cuddle with instead. 

He jerks off shamelessly, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His spit slicked-palm is starting to get loud as he strokes his cock to thoughts of you, but he doesn’t care if you hear. You probably wouldn’t know what he’s doing anyway with how innocent you are. 

He doesn’t even have to fantasise about any sexual scenario with you. Thinking about the pretty smile you have whenever you look at him is enough to have his fists drenched in his cum as he jerks himself off with both hands to stroke his entire length. 

He can’t hold back the small moan that spills over his lips when he cums, torn between hoping you heard and hoping you didn’t. Logan washes his hands and rejoins you in bed. 

He takes a moment before he slips under the covers, taking in the sight of you in his bed, imagining you’re his and that it’s the norm for you to sleep together rather than an exception. You stir as the mattress dips with his weight, swapping the pillow of his that was clutched between your arms for his bicep that you hold onto instead. You’re way too gone to have heard any of what he just did, and for a moment he feels dirty for thinking about you the way that he does. 

It doesn’t last long, of course, as he dreams of you most nights. He can’t feel bad about it though – he’ll take any dream over one of his nightmares (that he hasn’t had since he met you). And if he’s honest it turns him on how innocent and unsuspecting you are of what goes on in his head when he thinks of you. 

-

You wake up still wrapped around his body the next morning. You have a headache and Logan brings you something to soothe it, offering to massage your stiff neck too. You sigh in bliss as soon as Logan’s hands are on you, and he reminds himself that you must be touch-starved. You’ve never touched yourself, let alone felt the touch of another person that went beyond platonic or familial affection. 

He revels in the sounds he pulls from you with ease with the most basic massaging technique there is. He never wants to leave. He started off hovering over the back of your thighs, but he’s been making his way forwards and now his crotch is nestled right against the soft swell of your ass. You either don’t notice that he’s slowly moved or you don’t realise what exactly is pressing into your backside. 

It’s obvious that you’re enjoying his hands on the back of your neck and the top of your shoulders; he doubts there’s anything that could distract you from it. Except if he got hard maybe, but he’s got more self control since he jerked off in the bathroom again after waking up with morning wood and with you by his side, just before he brought you some painkillers. 

“You’re so good with your hands, Logan,” you tell him, voice all raspy, and he smirks at the innuendo you don’t realise you’re making. 

“It’s what my girl deserves,” he says, pulling a smile and a hum from your lips. 

“I’m your girl?” you ask shyly, eyes still closed as his knuckles drag over your skin. 

“O���course you are, bub.” He’s not sure in what way you interpret the pet name but he can tell you like it, hearing how your heartbeat speeds up just that little bit. You like being his, and he likes that. 

-

It’s during a particularly horny evening that Logan comes to your room. He’s jerked off twice today to pictures of you — pictures he’s snuck over the time he’s known you, you smiling as you laugh at a tv show, stretching on the sofa not realising that he’s got his phone out, or that one photo of you smiling all shyly on the day you first met him and he showed you around the mansion. Jean asked to take a picture to commemorate the day you joined them, and he remembers the way he slid his arm around the back of your waist and you placed your hand shyly on his back, smiling all adorably. 

He’s got a picture of you in a bikini from that one time you two went swimming but he keeps that for special occasions. Today was one of those special occasions, and he came all over his phone screen, cursing when he had to clean it afterwards; he even had to get the phone case off and all. 

But you still won’t leave his head for even just a second, so he decides it’s time for the next step. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you with anything, but he also just really wants you. Can’t help it. He’s a selfish man but any man would be if he knew you the way Logan did. He knocks at your door. “Yeah?” you call out. 

You grin when he steps in and closes the door behind himself. You stretch out your arms for a hug to greet him, even though you only saw him a few hours ago. He joins you where you’re sitting on your bed with your laptop. Logan turns the screen towards him, hoping to find something naughty but he should have known better. It’s just some video essay on a topic he’s never even heard of. He shuts the laptop. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” you tell him, genuinely focussed, “If I’m your girl then what are you to me? My boy sounds weird, and my man.. I don’t know.”

He almost forgot that he called you his girl to your face, and he smirks when he imagines you thinking about it these past few days. He lies down on his side, invading your space, almost touching you with how close he is next to you.

 “I can be anything you like, bub.” 

You shrug shyly, “Maybe you’re just my Logan.” 

He’s surprised at how much that turns him on. You being his, that’s one thing. But him being yours? Those two things go hand-in-hand, of course, but he thought you were still a long way off from liking him as much as he likes you. 

It encourages him to ask you what he’s been thinking about for days. He says it casually. “So, had any success touching yourself?” He uses that tame expression so that you’re less embarrassed.

Still, your eyes widen slightly and you immediately start playing with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean,” he smirks, “Don’t gotta be embarrassed around me. We’ve been over this.” Although, for a second he wonders if you even remember the conversation. You were drunk after all, and he considers feeling bad, but then you smile. 

“I know, but… I haven’t tried it since. I’ve thought about it but I still don’t know what to do.” He’s got you right where he wants. 

“Y’know, I don’t mind showing you. You deserve to feel good.” 

You look away, “What would you even show me? And how? Guys are different down there.” Oh, you’re so innocent. He’s having so much fun. 

“I could touch you.” He watches you experience a multitude of emotions as you think about it. Shame, intrigue, resolve. 

“Wouldn’t that be weird for you?” 

“Not at all, don’t worry about me.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure, bub.” 

You look around you, putting your laptop and your phone on your nightstand, “What do I do?” you ask, playing with the blanket. 

“I’ll just touch you a bit, okay? Just get you used to the feeling,” he tells you, both of you sitting up and he pulls your legs around his waist, gently touching all over your inner thighs, squeezing the flesh.

You’re already arching your back, scooting closer to him, and he lifts your shirt up over your hip and sees the wet spot on your panties. He’s not sure if you notice how hard he is under his sweatpants but no one could blame him for that. You’re getting so worked up and he hasn’t even touched you anywhere near your pussy, you’re breathing so heavily and your heart is beating so fast.

“Y’want a kiss, bub?” Logan asks you all sweetly, and you lean in as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your lips on his are messy but eager, and Logan loves that he can feel that it’s your first kiss. You don’t know what you’re doing but you need it – need him. 

But he has to stop at some point because it’s getting harder to not fuck you, so he gently pulls away, and you grin shyly when the kiss is over. Logan leans in one more time for a quick kiss. He pushes you backwards a bit and looks between your spread thighs. You’re so wet. You’re squirming under his gaze.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, tugging at the waistband of your panties and your breathing gets shaky when his finger grazes your belly. You bite your lip and nod.

“Good girl,” he says, pulling your underwear down your thighs with one hand, eyes glued to your pussy. You’re so wet and sticky already, and your pussy looks even better than anything he’s imagined – and he’s imagined it a lot.

He wants nothing more than to fuck you, or eat you out at least, but he’s supposed to be showing you how to masturbate, so he lies down next to you.

“So, if you were alone, you might touch yourself like this.” He takes his hand between your thighs, softly touching your clit. You’re leaning into him, head against his shoulder as you watch his big hand between your thighs. It looks so right there. You look to your side and gaze up at Logan, and you can’t help but just kiss him again.

And while you’re kissing, Logan puts his palm on your pussy and starts rubbing you a bit rougher, and you become too distracted to keep kissing him.

“You like when I play with your clit?” he teases you and you nod, hiding your face in his neck. Logan moves down to fuck one of his fingers into you, then two, and you’re whimpering against his warm skin. With his palm still rubbing against your clit, you have your first ever orgasm with Logan and you hold onto him as the pleasure flows through your body.

He keeps going until you put your hand around his wrist to stop him and you shyly smile up at him. “Was that good, bub?” 

You answer with a weak “yeah”, your voice hoarse but you’re smiling and your skin is glowing. Logan pulls his hand away and shows you how your arousal sticks to his fingers, and your eyes search his because you’re not sure if this is a good or bad thing.

Your mouth opens when Logan takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks your taste off them. “Taste so fucking good, baby. You wanna taste yourself?” And he waits patiently until you’ve made your mind up but you nod and let him put one of his fingers into your warm, wet mouth. You suck on it for much longer than necessary and Logan tries to save the image in his brain for later.

He holds you for a bit as you comprehend that you’ve just had an orgasm for the first time in your life. You shyly thank him before he leaves and he makes you promise that you’ll try it again by yourself soon. That was the whole point of this, after all – nothing to do with Logan or anything.

-

Logan thought he’d be satisfied for a bit, but all it’s done is make him even needier for you. You’re so oblivious to all his flirting, and he’s sure you genuinely thought he just wanted to show you how to masturbate the other day. 

Of course, he could just ask you out, but it’s more fun this way. He likes watching you figure stuff out. He wonders how long it’ll take you to realise that he actually likes you, that teaching you how to jerk off maybe wasn’t only in your best interest but in his too.

He’s a bit pathetic when it comes to you at this point, though. As much as he’s teasing you, it’s also teasing him. It’s a bit of a low point, but he pretends to be in a bad mood to get your attention.

You come to his room in the late afternoon when you haven’t seen him all day, and you’re so kind and so caring and immediately worried when you see him sprawled in bed in his pyjamas that consist of grey sweatpants and a white shirt.

“You okay? What happened?” you close the door and sit on his bed immediately.

Logan fake sighs, suppressing a smile as he pouts exaggeratedly. “Nothing, bub. Don’t you worry about me.” He squeezes your knee to reassure you, and he watches you perk up at his touch.

“You know you can always talk to me,” you smile kindly, and he wants to kiss you so badly. He doesn’t usually talk about emotions and feelings all that much, but you’re always trying to get him to open up because it’s good for him, so he knows he’s got you with this.

“I’m just feeling a bit down today. That’s all. Don’t wanna bother you with my problems.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m always here for you.”

He watches you gnawing on your lip as you think about what to say next, and Logan waits curiously. “Have you uh, jerked off today? I think an orgasm would cheer anyone up, if it feels as good as you made me feel the other day.”

And Logan’s all like “I’ve tried but it’s been so long since a woman touched me, and my own hand just isn’t doing it for me anymore.”

He gets hard immediately when you perk up, smiling with your sweet expression and saying, “I could help you! I hate seeing you so sad”.

And Logan pretends, saying “no, bub, I’d never ask that of you,” but you sit up on your knees and say “I really wouldn’t mind! And I owe you for last time anyway.”

“If you’re really sure?” 

You nod sweetly and brush your hair out of your face and ask, “where do you want me?”

And even just you asking that is something that will stay in his mind for a long time. He feels like you’d do anything he asked of you right now and it’s already driving him crazy. He says “just next to me here, bub. Yeah there is fine”. 

You lean in to kiss him and he only pulls away out of surprise, and you’re blinking back at him with wide eyes, apologising, “It’s just cause you kissed me last time, I thought— I thought it’s part of–”

“Yeah, baby, it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to kiss me again.”

You give him a cheeky smile and nod, “of course I wanna kiss you. You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you”. 

Logan grins and bites his lip and says “me too, bub”, and leans in and kisses you again, basically attacking you with his mouth. He can tell it’s getting a little much for you with the way he’s eating you alive so he stops himself and asks “was that too much?” 

You shake your head, “just don’t know how to kiss like that yet.” And he likes that. Yet. Maybe he can sneak in some kissing lessons at some point, just to show you how it’s done of course, no other reason. 

You look down at his lap then and it’s obvious how hard he is. “Y’wanna you touch it like this first?” he asks you, grabbing himself over his sweatpants, the outline becoming clearer.

And you nod so eagerly, but get a bit shy when you’re touching his cock, one of your knees pulled up to your chest as you palm him over his sweatpants. “It’s so big,” you marvel, oblivious to how much this is affecting Logan.

“You wanna see?”

You tell him yes and he pulls the waistband down, and you lean closer when he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself just a few times to relieve the pressure. 

You bring a finger to his mouth like he did for you the other day, and he chuckles, “that won’t be enough, bub”. Your cheeks burn when you say “oh”.

“Here,” he moves your hand so your open palm is facing him and he spits into it.

“Now do this,” Logan tells you, taking your hand and wrapping it around his cock, guiding you up and down with your spit-slicked palm. You watch in awe as you jerk him off, his hand never leaving the back of yours.

He could cum immediately like this, but he tries to savour the feeling a bit longer.

“Does it feel good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, doing so well, bub. Think you can do it by yourself?”

You shake your head with a smile. Yes, you could do it by yourself, but you like the feeling of him guiding you, setting the pace and intensity. He grins and continues, squeezing your hand tighter so that your grip on his cock tightens too.

Logan lets you jerk him off a bit longer before he gives in. He’s proud of you for not pulling away in surprise when he cums, coating your hand and his in his cum as ropes of white shoot over your skin and onto his shirt. He lets go of your hand to pull off his shirt and watches you examine your hand full of Logan’s cum.

“Can I taste it?” you ask in a quiet voice, and Logan just about gets hard again.

“Yeah,” he tells you, but pushes his own fingers into your mouth. Your lips wrap around his two fingers and suck the cum off, and Logan can’t help but push them further into your mouth, making you giggle. You pull his hand away after a bit, only to lick your own fingers. He uses the clean part of his shirt to dry your hand off after, and you lie down to cuddle him.

“Do you feel better?”

Logan chuckles, “Yeah, bub, I feel better. Thanks.”

“Good,” you grin, proud of yourself. Logan’s proud of you too.

-

It’s still the same day when you come to his room the next time. You left after a bit to go to sleep, but now there are knocks on Logan’s door that he recognises as yours before you say anything.

You enter his room in your pyjamas – a big shirt – and some fluffy socks, a plushie under your arm. You look so oh so innocent that he almost feels bad for corrupting you. You come in, close the door, and sit on his bed again, legs dangling off the side of it. He could really get used to you being in here.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, but you ignore him, hugging your plushie for comfort.

 “I… can you maybe…” you let out a sigh, “I tried to masturbate but I can’t do it by myself. Can you show me again?” 

Maybe you’re not so innocent anymore. He chuckles and tells you of course, and he’s starting to wonder if you’ve caught on to the game that he’s playing, and if you’ve joined him, but he’d still bet money that you really are this naive. Logan pulls his full length mirror in front of his bed, not too close, but close enough that you can see yourself in it. 

He moves to lift your shirt to get your panties off, and his heart skips a beat as he’s greeted by the sight of your bare pussy, already glistening.

“It was easier to come with them already off,” you say, and he reaaally has to restrain himself so he doesn't bend you over and take you right here.

You drop your stuffed toy to the side of Logan’s bed as he sits you in front of the mirror, getting behind you, putting his legs either side of you.

“God, you’re so pretty.” He can’t stop himself from saying it as he makes you look at yourself in the mirror, legs spread.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Logan,” you say, shying away from looking in the mirror.

“You can do it, bub. I got you, okay?”

You’ve turned around to look at him better, and he chuckles when he gets it.

“Is this what you need?” he asks as he leans in to kiss you, and you moan yes into his mouth. He loves you so fucking much.

His dick is already so hard and he’s not sure if you can feel it pressing into your ass, but either way you’re not complaining. He takes your chin to make you face yourself in the mirror, and he can’t get enough of seeing you two in it together – the way he’s sitting behind you like this, imagining other positions you two could be in.

“Here,” he pushes his finger into your mouth, even though you’re already wet enough, watching you suck on it eagerly. His finger stays in your mouth much longer than necessary.

He starts gently rubbing your clit in circles, and you squirm in his arms that are around you, one on your waist, the other between your legs.

“I did that too, but it feels better when you do it,” you mumble after a while, clearly enjoying it but unsure what you were doing wrong when you did it yourself.

“Try it.” Logan takes your hand, and makes you do it yourself. You’re squirming with him watching you like this, but it is useful to sit in front of the mirror, copying how he played with your pussy just moments ago.

Logan’s not blind to how wet you are, at having him watching and guiding you, and he can’t help it as he reaches into his boxers to jerk off. He doesn’t get his cock out but he’s not hiding it. You can see the movement of his arm in the mirror and you might even be able to feel it at your back, as Logan’s fist grazes your shirt every now and then as he strokes himself.

But you’re so focussed on looking between your own legs that Logan is genuinely not sure if you’ve noticed him jerking off, and the sounds of your wet pussy are louder than his hand on his cock.

“I… I can’t,” you whine after a bit, taking your hand away from your pussy, but Logan is close, and he wants you to cum too.

He keeps jerking off, and he sees you noticing it, sitting up a bit taller but you don’t seem to mind. You’re smiling, biting your lip.

“Yeah, you can, baby. Here, we’ll do it together.” He keeps a hand on his cock, reaching around you to put your hand back between your legs, and then he pushes two of his fingers into your pussy, fucking you with them.

“You close, bub? I’m close,” he says, and the idea of cumming together with Logan makes your pussy squeeze around his fingers, so you do your best to recreate the pattern on your clit that Logan showed you, rubbing it in circles until you get the right angle.

“Good girl, that’s it. So tight around my fingers. Come on now.” Logan’s so close he has no idea how he’s still holding off, sloppily jerking his cock with one hand and fucking your pussy with his fingers on the other hand.

You lean your head back, landing on Logan’s shoulder, as your orgasm pulses through you. Logan can feel your pussy spasming around him, and he lets go too, cumming over his hand and his boxers.

You’re both out of breath for a while after, barely moving.

“Y’did it, bub,” he kisses the top of your head, and you smile at him through the mirror, turning to press a messy kiss to the side of his face. He won’t take that though, so he grabs your face, smearing some of his cum on your cheek, and pulls you to face him for a proper kiss. You smile against his mouth as you make out.

You sleep in his room again that night, but he can’t say it feels like you know that he likes you yet. He’ll have fun watching you figure it out soon.

-

✧ reblog and let me know your thoughts for Logan to appear in your dreams tonight <3

[whispers-whump]

Some writing advice

that I like to use when I write. None of this is meant to be taken as hard and fast rules, they’re just things I like to do/keep in mind when I’m writing and I thought maybe other people would enjoy! <3

Never say what you mean

This is an offshoot of the very common “show don’t tell” advice, which I think can be confusing in application and unhelpful for scenes where telling is actually the right move. Instead, I keep the advice to never say exactly what I mean in stories.

By using a combination of showing and telling to hint at what you really mean, you force your reader to think and figure it out on their own, which makes for a more satisfying reading experience.

You might show a character getting angry and defensive in response to genuine care and concern. You could tell the audience that the character doesn’t see/talk to their parents often. But never outright give the real meaning that the character feels unlovable because of their strained relationship with their parents and as a result they don’t know how to react to being cared for.

Your readers are smart, you don’t need to spoon feed them.

Be sparse with the important things

You know how in a lot of movies there’s that tense scene where a character is hiding from something/someone and you can only just see this person/thing chasing them through a crack in the door? You get a very small glimpse of whatever’s after the character, sometimes only shadows being visible.

Do that in your writing. Obscure the important things in scenes by overdescribing the unimportant and underdescribing the important.

You might describe the smell of a space, the type of wood the floor is made of, the sound of work boots moving slowly across the room, a flashlight in the character’s hand. And there’s a dead body, laying in a pool of blood in the far corner of the room, red soaking into the rug. Then move on, what kind of rug is it? What is the color, patterns, and type of fabric of the rug?

Don’t linger on the details of the body, give your reader’s imagination some room to work while they digest the mundane you give them.

Dialogue is there to tell your story too

There’s a lot of advice out there about how to make dialogue more realistic, which is absolutely great: read aloud to yourself, put breaks where you feel yourself take a breath, reword if you’re stuttering over your written dialogue. But sometimes, in trying to make dialogue sound more realistic, a little bit of its function is lost.

Dialogue is more than just what your characters say, dialogue should serve a purpose. It’s a part of storytelling, and it can even be a bridging part of your narration.

If you have a scene with a lot of internal conflict that is very narration-heavy, breaking it up with some spoken dialogue can be a way to give some variety to those paragraphs without moving onto a new idea yet; people talk to themselves out loud all of the time.

Dialogue is also about what your characters don’t say. This can mean the character literally doesn’t say anything, they give half-truths, give an expected answer rather than the truth (“I’m fine”), omit important information, or outright lie.

Play with syntax and sentence structure

You’ve heard this advice before probably. Short, choppy sentences and a little onomatopoeia work great for fast-paced action scenes, and longer sentences with more description help slow your pacing back down.

That’s solid advice, but what else can you play with? Syntax and sentence structure are more than just the length of a sentence.

Think about things like: repetition of words or ideas, sentence fragments, stream of consciousness writing, breaking syntax conventions, and the like. Done well, breaking some of those rules we were taught about language can be a more compelling way to deliver an emotion, theme, or idea that words just can’t convey.

Would love to hear any other tips and tricks other people like to use, so feel free to share!!!

[papercorgiworld]

Apologies and love confessions

The Slytherins guy’s are jealous because you have a date. When your date flops, they show up: to make up or make out, or both…

General story introduction and then you pick your favourite Slytherin. Or all of them, I won’t judge.

Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Draco and Mattheo.

Warning: a little bit of smut bc of Enzo and Mattheo ofc.

Not proofread, so if a sentence hurts your brain, my apologies. Let me know and safe an innocent reader.

After months of not writing, I present you… whatever this is.

You took one last look in the mirror and turned to your friends, Pansy and Hermione. “Acceptable?” You asked sheepishly. “More than acceptable.” Hermione smiled. “Hot.” Pansy bluntly stated.

It was a late Saturday afternoon as you made your way to the great hall to meet your date. A few days ago, Neal - a Ravenclaw one year older than you - had asked you out. You hadn’t talked much but all of your friends liked him and he wasn’t bad looking. As you almost reached the great hall you ran into the notorious Slytherin boys. When you spotted them you wanted to turn on your heels, but Enzo already called for you. “Y/n, you’re looking fine.” He slurred the last word a bit as he looked you up and down. Your cheeks went red as all the guys stared. “Ah, your date’s today, right?” Blaise asked nonchalantly. You nodded, getting a little nervous. “What was his name again? Dirk… Dean?” Draco asked with his usual voice filled with arrogance and annoyance. His eyebrows went up and down as he leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. “Neal. And I should be going.” You blurted. Theodore was slow to move aside and you passed him, his eyes never leaving you. As you walked away you could hear Mattheo snicker and your heart sank.

Up until recently you had gotten along with them just fine. You were Pansy’s friend and by association also theirs. Just like you were Ron and Harry’s friend because of your friendship with Hermoine. However, there was a difference. You always wanted to be liked by the Slytherin guys, or just by one. Unfortunately, ever since you mentioned you were going on a date they had collectively decided to ridicule your every move. Making you feel terribly insecure.

***

Your date flopped. Neal was a great guy. Accept for the fact that he was obviously still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. When you entered the Three Broomsticks and chose a table near a window, he told you his ex liked to sit by the window too. When you ordered drinks, Neal told you his ex didn’t like your choice of drink. When he mentioned her for a third time, you fell silent and gave him a tight lipped smile. Oh Merlin. This was the worst.

After a little over an hour you said your awkward goodbyes. You started to walk back to Hogwarts, dreading the idea of telling your friends about your date or worse all those other gossiping people finding out.

As you arrived at the courtyard the ones you wanted to avoid most were there. You tried to subtly speed walk past them. This time it was Mattheo who was first to speak. “Y/n! You’re back early.” You simply sighed and Mattheo smirked. “How long were you gone? Didn’t even last two hours.” Mattheo turned to Theodore who let out a short laugh. Pansy who sat next to Enzo shot up and started yelling. “Oi, shut it!” Your friend took your arm to guide you away from them, towards the castle. “Pay up, Blaisy-boy. Not even two hours, so I win.” You heard Riddle say and you shot one last look at them, seeing how Blaise grimaced and reached inside his pockets to pay up. You were nothing more than a joke to them.

Pansy held onto your arm while you walked towards your common room. Hermoine spotted you from afar and pushed Ron and Harry aside to get to you. “So how was i…” Hermoine’s question was cut of my Pansy aggressive signal to shut up. “So, should we hex him?” Hermoine suggested as she saw that your eyes were welling up with tears. “No, it’s not him. I mean it was a bad date. But, so what. No biggie. But those, those, those… twats! They, they are the worst!” You yell, attracting the attention of students nearby. Hermoine looks over to Pansy with a confused look. “Will hex all five of them.” Pansy said and Hermoine caught on, she knew exactly which five morons you were talking about.

You nodded and sighed. “I need a moment alone. I’m going up to the astronomy tower for some quiet time.” Your friends were understanding and you left.

Theodore

“This is my hang-out.” Theodore says, pulling you out of your train of thoughts. “This is the spot people go to when they’re sad. If this is your hang-out, then that says a lot about you.” Theo halts for a moment, feeling a little exposed by your analysis, but joins you nevertheless, his arms resting on the railing. You notice how he plays with a cigarette between his fingers. “I won’t light it. I know you don’t like it when I smoke.” You raise your eyebrows. “I also don’t like it when you ridicule me, but that’s never stopped you or your merrie band of delinquents from mocking me.” Now, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

He’s about to open his mouth and give you some lame excuse for his behavior, but you stare at him with unimpressed eyes. So, he closes his mouth and lets out a nervous laugh. He takes a step back from the railing and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’ll admit, I’ve not been on my best behavior the past week.” Now, he has your full attention. You wanna hear what he has to say. “But neither have you.” He points to you and you scoff, no longer wanting to listen. “Going on a date with… what’s his name again. Of course everyone’s laughing.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Unbelievable.” You sigh.

“How about you go out with me? No one will laugh.” When you didn’t immediately respond he tried to sell the idea a little. “I’ll tell Matt and the others to behave. No more mocking.” You tilt your head in amusement to his suggestion. This guy, unbelievable. “You can do that, tell them to behave?” Theo takes a step closer towards you, leaving no space between you two. “Uhu.” He absentmindedly breathes while his hand softly caresses your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And will you behave?” You ask, subtly taunting him. “I’ll be good.” He says softly and licks his lip.

“I’ll think about it.” You say taking a step and putting some distance between you two. But Theo quickly reaches for your arm, pulling you back towards him. “Don’t play with me.” As soon as you look into his eyes, his lips are on yours. The kiss is filled with longing, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in. Theo pushes you against the railing, never breaking the kiss. Your hand finds their way to his messy hair. The more you tug on one another and push into each other, the sloppier the kiss gets. He squeezes your ass and as a reflex you gently buck your hips into him. “Fuck.” He growls. You smile at his reaction and seize the moment to push him away.

Walking past him, you never take your eyes off the confused man. “I’m looking forward to that date.”

Blaise

“I lost a bet because of you.” Blaise says with a loud voice while he’s still on the stairs almost at the top, but still out of sight. You turn towards the stairs waiting for him to arrive. “I mean really, not even two hours.” “No.” You cross your arms in annoyance. “I mean you're annoying sometimes, but-“ You shove his shoulder. “I was not annoying! I AM never annoying. I’m a blessing to be around.” He raises his eyebrows, but you ignore him and continue your rant. “You! You on the other hand are frankly unbelievably childish!” You poke his chest, being more than a little shocked at how muscular he is, but you push that thought aside. “Betting on my misery, have you no shame!”

He spreads his arms in defense. “Well, that was Mattheo’s idea. No morals, that guy.” You raise an eyebrow in response. Just Mattheo. Think not. All of you, you’re a bunch of demon children. “You joined in.” You throw at him, like a lawyer making their case. “And lost.” Blaise says sheepishly. “Don’t be mad at me. I lost money, my day is already bad enough.” You turn on your heels, away from him. “Well what about my shitty day.”

“Ah, about that, your shitty day, I can make it better.” In a split second you’re facing him again, eyes shining with curiosity. “This better be good, Zabini.” He simply grinned. “There’s this guy, who’s been into you for months now. Incredibly hot. Sixpack and everything. Really into quidditch, a bit of a jock, but also really likes wizard chess and magic history. And has a soft side, secretly loves to watch muggle-movies. That’s some boyfriend material, uh?” You’ve been nodding along searching for the catch.

“What’s the catch, Zabini, no dude’s that good. Definitely not one that happens to have a thing for me.” He smiles as takes a step closer. “He would like to ask you out. So.. what do y’say?” You drop your head and shake no. “I’m not going out with him until you tell me what the catch is.” “Fineee, the catch is… he’s me.” You frown in confusion. “You, Blaise Zabini, want to go out with me?” A nervous and adorable smile appears on his face. “Yeah, and I would like it to last longer than two hours.” You give his shoulder a little push. “Depends, are you going to talk about your ex the entire time?” “What? That’s how Dirk ruined your date? What a git.” His name was Neal, but whatever. I got a new and better date.

Enzo

Enzo has his back against the railing. His eyes trace your face. “Didn’t go well did it?” Your eyes meet his and he sees your forehead wrinkle at his stupid question. “Well, look on the bright side. You’re back on the market.” You shift yourself so you’re leaning against the railing with your side and facing Enzo. “I was never off the market. I went on one date.” He also shifted so he’s facing you. “Yeah, you’re right. I was overreacting. I shouldn’t have worried so much.” You look confused at him, but he doesn’t immediately explain. “Why were you worried?”

“Well, uhm, you know, maybe you would’ve liked him.” He tried his best to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. You took a small step towards him. “Why would that be a bad thing?” He huffed like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s wrong to ask out a girl who's dating.” You frown. “You’ve lost me, Enzo, I don’t follow.”

“Wait, wait. This will clear it up.” He closes the space between you two and cups your cheek. What followed was the softest kiss ever. After a moment you both opened your eyes, but didn’t move away from each other. “See, I couldn’t have done that if you were dating Neal.” You nodded. “I follow.” You brushed your lips over his. A cheeky smile covered his face. “You know, if you’re interested… there are a lot of things we can do now that it’s just you and me.” “Care to give an example.”

“My pleasure.” Is all he says before his hands find their way to your hips lifting you up. Your legs tangle around him as he pushes you against a wall. The cold stone makes you arch into him. His mouth nips on the flesh of your neck. “You and I should go on a date.” Enzo breathes in between kisses. “You two need to find a room.” You're both startled by Neville’s sudden appearance. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Enzo says, looking at you with lust. “Mine or yours?” You ask as you lick your bottom lip.

Draco

You sighed, letting the view and silence calm you. Suddenly you hear footsteps and when you look up Draco’s walking towards you with his usual flair. “What a tool, that Neal-guy. Taking you to the Three Broomsticks.” You roll your eyes and look away from him. “You should’ve known, a guy like him is no good.” Before he opens his mouth again you whip your head around towards him, eyes ready to kill. “He’s no good? Neal’s not the problem. You are! You’re no good, with you mocking and ridiculing. You’ve been acting like a total ass the last few days! So get lost, Malfoy!”

Draco remains quiet for a moment. The frown on his face grows as he realizes his jealousy might have taken the upper hand these past few days. Falling back in his normal composure, his hands reach for the cold railing as he comes to stand next to you. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea. You, going out with him. You need someone who buys you a dress and takes you to a fancy place.” When you look up at him in confusion, he continues staring in front of him. “I think you deserve better.” You huff, indulging his lame excuse for his behavior. “Know any guy like that?” You blurt out thinking back to your miserable date.

Draco inspects the rings on his fingers as he searches for the courage to say what he so badly wanted to say these last couple of days. “Me.” He says so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you did and you look up at him with wide eyes. Where is this going? “I would like to take you somewhere fancy. Spoil you.” You let out a laugh and he immediately snaps at you. “No, need to laugh. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” You press your lips together and take a step towards him. The scowl on his face falls when your hand reaches for his tie, gently playing with it. “I think I’m going to take you up on that offer, Malfoy.” Your face inches towards him and his lips brush yours.

The kiss immediately becomes more passionate and his hand tangles in your hair holding you in place. His other hand snakes to the small of your back pulling you close. You whimper softly at the feeling of your bodies against one another. This gives him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss even more. You break apart to catch your breath, but you stay close. “You were jealous, weren’t you?” Draco scoffs. “Not. It’s simply a matter of principle. Classy women belong with classy men.” You roll your eyes. “Draco, kiss more, talk less.” He huffs in annoyance, but obliges.

Mattheo

“I told you so.” Mattheo’s voice sang as he approached you. You didn’t turn around, instead you just rolled your eyes. “That guy just wasn’t for you. Don’t be so upset about it.” You shook your head. What’s he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be laughing behind your back with friends? When you stayed quiet Mattheo got worried and his tone softened. “He didn’t hurt you or anything? ‘Caus I’ll deal with him. He’ll never bother you again.” Okay that’s it, Riddle. You angrily grab onto the railing you were leaning on before turning around fuming. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just boring. But you on the other hand, you hurt me with your constant mockery. So why don’t you punch yourself in the face and stop bothering me.” Mattheo looked away from you for a moment, making you think he actually felt bad. But when he looked back up, he was back to being his cocky self. “Can’t punch this pretty face.” He said, pointing at himself, grinning.

You turned away from him, hoping that he would leave. You couldn’t see it but his face fell again, really feeling bad about hurting you with his stupid jokes. “I just knew he wasn’t the guy for you.” No reaction from you. “Look, we can split my win from the bet with Blaise.” You let your head fall, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. The audacity. He came to stand next to you and also rested his arms on the railing. “I know, I can be an ass sometimes. So, just tell me, love, how do I make this right.” Your eyes meet his, you’re surprised by his gesture. “I guess it’s alright. I’m a forgiving soul.” He turns away from the view, towards you and lays a hand on the small of your back. “No, don’t be forgiving. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

He uses his body language to make it clear that he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you, shuffling closer, leaning into you and licking his lips suggestively. “Are you really trying to seduce me into forgiving you?” You ask not believing that that’s the best he can come up with. “Well no, love, I’m going to fuck you into forgiving me.” This man. Who does he think he is… well, the dark lord’ son, but still. Unbelievable. Mattheo falls to his knees, his hands moving from your back, sliding over your ass to your legs. He looks up at you with soft eyes before gently pushing your skirt up. This man… should be my future husband. Mattheo places soft kisses on your thight, slowly getting closer to your panties.

You close your eyes and let out a soft moan as he gently tugs down your panties. “If we get caught up here. I’m never going to forgive you.” He places a featherlight kiss between your legs and you instinctively reach for his curls. “Are you sure? Because I think I’m really excelling at apologizing, don’t you think so, love?” Damn you, Riddle. You’re good, and you know it.

[astrofishassist]

Ayo! Never heard about it in the biological sense, but I'm well aware of the natural rhythm writing should have!

my writing fundamentally changed forever ten years ago when i realized you could use sentence structure to control people’s heart rates. is this still forbidden knowledge or does everyone know it now

[silken-moonlight]

Part 4 of your werwolf best friend (Final Part)

A/N: This will be the last part of this short story! I am so glad for everyone who has loved it so far. I hope you enjoy the ending as well! (I am not used to writing happy endings, so I hope this is good.)

Also, a quick question for my next WIP... Do you guys enjoy the "You" in a story more, or would you prefer both characters to be named?

But now, back to the story!

Moon/Swan

______________

The two of you stayed connected because of the knot for a while. From time to time he moved his hips as you tried to catch your breath. Your heart was racing. Suddenly realizing that your best friend just had cum inside of you. While the panic began to settle inside of you, he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Holding you as close as he could anbd placing lazy but tender kisses on your shoulder.

Your mind was racing, what if you'd become pregnant? What if you caught feelings…? Well too late for that, you already felt something much different than friendship for him. Damn that wolf… The fear of him leaving you, he told you werewolves do this casually…does that mean he will ‘just’ continue to be your friend after fucking you out of your own mind?

Suddenly his hand began wandering again and you could feel his cock getting harder again. You moaned, unable to form a sentence as he lazliy contionued to fuck you from behind. You both laid on your side, spooning with cock and knot buried as deep into your hot cunt as it could go. Your breathing got harder when he pinched your nipples while nibbling on your neck.

“You're so silent…” He rasped into your ear. “Do I need to fuck my pretty girl out of her mind?” He asked while licking along your neck. “My mate…” You whimpered when he bit down on your neck, his hips picked up on the pace and he began to fuck his knot deeper into you. You were unable to answer, you felt like on the verge of bursting. There was such pressure on your cervix, but it felt weirdly good and you wanted to feel more. You wanted him to go deeper and to be rougher. When his teeth set your neck free he whispered softly: “I love you, I always did, and now you're all mine…” He was in a haze, your pussy drove him mad, your scent drove him mad….and he just came so deep inside you. He bred you, surely you know must have realized how perfect he is for you..

“You love me?” You asked and a tear escaped your eye. “Always, my knot does not swell for everybody…” He whispered and fucked you faster. “I…i thought you'd leave me after your rut is over…” His laugh was raspy: “I never let you go. I bred you, my mate. I want you, more than physical. I love you "I always did.” It was such a strange situation, you cried of happyness and out of pleasure while he fucked you to your next high. “I love you too..” You answered softly. He cursed and flipped you both over so that you sat on him in reverse cowboy. “Ride me then baby, make us cum.” You whined, leaning forward and arching your back, holding onto his thighs before carefully beginning to ride his cock. You never were on top before, but by all that was holy did it feel good…

“I'm going to breed you baby, you're all mine…” He moaned as he held onto your hips, helping you fuck him better. It took only a few more moments of your hips and both of you trembled under the immense pleasure. Once again the two of you collapsed and this time you were done for. Properly fucked out of your mind and so tired. Your bestfriend, no, lover, held you close and calmed. Both of you fell asleep right then and there….

______________________________

The following six months were very wholesome but incredibly stressful. You lost your job after you both forgot to call in your work. Since the two of you stayed his whole rut together fucking, which was over a week, and you didn't showed up your boss was livid. So you had to get a new job. You moved in with your best friend, quickly falling more in love with him than you thought you could. He was even sweeter now that you were his, endless evenings cuddling, hiking together…,the two of you were inseparable. You talked about the possibility of you getting pregnant…both of you wanted children…so you continued like that, taking the chances. And while he was a werewolf and maybe could smell his period, you told him you were late and that it was normal, it had not been. He had impregnated you.

So one evening you had just put the pregnancy test on his desk, unceremoniously. Just giving it to him while shifting around nervously. He stared at you, then at the test, back at you. Then he began to cry out of happyness, you cried as well. It had been a wonderful moment for the both of you.

And since then your boyfriend has treated you like royalty. Especially since you started showing. You loved being pregnant, despite all the issues coming with it. Often holding your belly.

When his next rut came around he firstly refused to sleep with you, afraid to hurt you. But when the need got too great, he built a nest. A proper nest out of pillows and blankets on your bed and basically worshiped you. He made love to you, placing his hand on your belly, being proud about having bred you. He was obsessed with it, the thought that he did that. That he made you look all this cute. He loved that he had made you glow like that.

Not even speaking about his family and pack who were more than happy. For the last part of your pregnancy you lived with him on pack territory, his pack was loveley.

Honestly you would have never thought this would happen, but you could never have been happier than with your loving -now- husband.

[its-not-a-pen]

i love the hilarious eunuch ranking system by @welcometothejianghu so i decided to make one based on (mostly) REAL historical chinese enunchs!

in chronological order:

Warring States Period long story short, the PM is sleeping with the Empress Dowager, and he wants to extracate himself before her son (future Emperor Qin Shi Huang) gets old enough to find out. the PM finds her a suitable replacement, and the replacement is attached to a guy named Lao Ai. They pluck his beard and pass him off as a eunuch so he can sneak into the palace. Bing bang boom everyone's happy. This goes terribly wrong later, since Lao Ai tries to replace the emperor with his own kids and stages a failed coup. rest in pieces buddy...

it's very likely that Lao Ai was a ficticious character invented by Sima Qian, who will be appearing on this list later.

Qin Dynasty

Zhao Gao helped the first emperor of China conquer an empire, and administer it efficiently with his legal knowledge, but he also made the second emperor into a puppet, and weakened the empire for his own political gain. Max points of complexity, but you'd get more loyalty out of a coffee club punch card.

Before launching his soft coup, he decided to test the waters by bring in a deer and gaslighted the emperor by calling it a horse. the officials who were loyal to him called it a horse, and he executed the rest.

Han Dynasty Jiru, male favourite of Emperor Gaozu (Liu Bang), the peasant scoundrel who became the founder of the Han Dynasty. look, if the emperor has a harem of hundreds of women and you manage to catch his attention, you max out in style points. simple as. for most of chinese history it was fairly common for high-ranking men, especially eunuchs, to wear make up like powder and rouge, but i decided to give Jiru some women's huadia as well, cause he's a baddie.

Jiru gets a bad rap for alledgely distracting the emperor from his duties, but lets be real, history is written by civil officials who have no shortage of professional jealousy and gender/sexuality related prejudice towards eunuchs, since they were the personal attendants of royalty and could exert a lot of influence. plus Liu Bang was already pissing in the hats of confucian scholars, most of the poor work ethic is on HIM. Jiru should get credit for making him marginally less of a troglodite.

all in all he didn't try any court intrigue so extra points for loyalty and complexity. free my man >:( he's just a Han dynasty Monica Lewinsky who got slutshamed by jealous coworkers >:(

Han Dynasty

meet the father of east asian history, sima qian. half the people on this list can owe their placement here thanks to his extremely though history books "records of the grand historian"

history at this time was mostly "creative writing" and sima qian attempted to give the practise more academic intergrety, he went out and personally interviewed people, tried to get primary sources, and got rid of most of the more fanstastical aspects. however, he was not without his biases and some texts can be seen as allegorical/veiled insults towards the Han Dynasty, especially towards Emperor Wu. unlike most of the people on this list, sima qian was from the gentry and castated later in life as a punishment for treason. he was implicated after trying to defend a friend, and could not pay the fine to commute his sentence. the gentlemen at the time were expected to die by suicide rather than live with such ignimony, but sima qian chose to live so he could finish writing the history book his father started. the "giant conspiracy" joke explained: the chinese word for penis is a homophone for "conspiracy".

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Tell If That Post of Advice Is AI Bullshit

Right, I wasn't going to write more on this, but every time I block an obvious AI-driven blog, five more clutter up the tags. So this is my current (April 2024) advice on how to spot AI posts passing themselves off as useful writing advice.

No Personality - Look up a long-running writing blog, you'll notice most people try to make their posts engaging and coming from a personal perspective. We do this because we're writers and, well, we want to convey a sense of ourselves to our readers. A lot of AI posts are straight-forward - no sense of an actual person writing them, no variation in tone or text.

No Examples - No attempts to show how pieces of advice would work in a story, or cite a work where you could see it in action. An AI post might tell you to describe a person by highlighting two or three features, and that's great, but it's hard to figure out how that works without an example.

Short, Unhelpful Definitions - A lot of what I've seen amount to two or three-sentence listicles. 'When you want to write foreshadowing, include a hint of what you want foreshadowed in an earlier chapter.' Cool beans, could've figured that out myself.

SEO/AI Prompt Language Included - I've seen way too many posts start with "this post is about..." or "now we will discuss..." or "in this post we will..." in every single blog. This language is meant to catch a search engine or is ChatGPT reframing the prompt question. It's not a natural way of writing a post for the average tumblr user.

Oddly Clinical Language - Right, I'm calling out that post that tried to give advice on writing gay characters that called us "homosexuals" the entire time. That's a generative machine trying to stay within certain parameters, not an actual person who knows that's not a word you'd use unless you were trying to be insulting or dunking on your own gay ass in the funniest way possible.

Too Perfect - Most generative AI does not make mistakes (this is how many a student gets caught trying to use it to cheat). You can find ways to make it sound more natural and have it make mistakes, but that takes time and effort, and neither of those are really a factor in these posts. They also tend to have really polished graphics and use the same format every time.

Maximized Tags (That Are Pointless) - Anyone who uses more than 10 one-word tags is a cop. Okay, fine, I'm joking, but there's a minimal amount of tags that are actually useful when promoting a post. More tags are not going to get a post noticed by the algorithm, there is no algorithm. Not everyone has to use their tags to make snarky comments, but if your tags look like a spambot, I'm gonna assume you're a spambot.

No Reblogs From The Rest of Writblr - I'm always finding new Writblr folks who have been around for awhile, but every real person I've seen reblogs posts from other people. We've all got other stuff to do, I'm writing this blog to help others and so are they, the whole point of tumblr is to pass along something you think is great.

While you'll probably see some variation in the future - as people get wise to obviously generated text, they'll try to make it look less generated - but overall, there's still going to be tells to when something is fake.

I don't have any real advice for what to do about this (other than block those blogs, which is what I do). Like most AI bullshit, I suspect most of these blogs are just another grift, attempting to build large follower counts to leverage or sell something to in the future. They may progress past these tattletale features, but I'm still going to block them when I see them. I don't see any value in writing advice compiled from the work of better writers who put the effort in when I can just go find those writers myself.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Eyes

Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea

“Red Robin!”

When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.

Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.

A fan?

Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.

“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.

The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).

He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.

It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.

Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.

A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.

He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.

Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.

“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.

What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.

“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”

The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.

“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.

“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.

So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.

Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.

“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.

The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.

“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.

“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”

Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.

“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”

He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.

“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”

Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.

“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.

Tim freezes.

“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.

Danny tilts his head curiously.

“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”

Well. This is less than ideal.

“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.

Yeah, he was getting there.

“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”

Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.

“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.

“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.

Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.

“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”

Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.

“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”

“Think you can hold on?”

“Yeah!”

He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.

The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.

Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.

The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.

Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.

Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.

Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.

“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.

“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Danny blinks blankly.

“Nobody.”

“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.

“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.

“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.

“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”

Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.

“I demand you start making sense!”

Danny glares back in offense.

“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”

The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.

“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.

The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.

“Yea?”

“How do you know our identities?”

“Oh, memories.”

Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.

“Memories,” Bruce repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”

A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.

“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.

Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.

“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”

“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”

“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.

“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”

“That you know of.”

And wasn’t that the kicker.

“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”

Danny positively beams.

“This is why you’re my favorite!”

Damian grinds his teeth harshly.

“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.

“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”

Tim has the sudden urge to scream.

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: 1,462

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, use of Daddy, Mama, and other pet names (lil' mama, pretty girl, etc.)

A/N: I literally haven't written in years. I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

PART 2 => 🦋

"You look like you bite," I said looking at him directly in his eyes. They were a greenish-hazel color that resembled fallen leaves. Nothing about this man's appearance was hard on the eyes. His face, his eyes, his lips, his body, and even his smile were driving me silently insane. His presence was intimidating yet inviting. An aura surrounded this man that demanded attention and took up space.

He stared back at me with a challenge brewing in his eyes. "I do, but only if you want me to. I promise," he said not even hiding his smirk. All I could do was stare at this smug bastard. I knew that he knew the effect he was having on me. If he couldn't see it on my face, the heat from my body was evidence enough. I was getting hotter by the second.

"Mhmm," I said while turning away. I honestly just wanted to see what he would do. I couldn't let this man see me fold this quickly. I wasn't retreating; it's just that I needed a moment to promptly gather myself. I was fucking losing it. We hadn't even spoken three sentences, and I was already struggling to think. I was normally a quick-witted smartass with a lot to say. Everything about this man was short-circuiting my brain, and I didn't like one bit of it.

"Where you going? C'mere, lil' mama," he teased. The way that man's voice had me in a chokehold. It was thick, heavy, and warm like raw honey. All I could do was smile. I paused and turned back to face him. "Why would I come to you when I'm the meal? If you want it, come get it," I said motioning for him to come here. Now, why the fuck did I do that?

"Meal? I'd prefer it if you were dessert. Daddy's got a sweet tooth," he said striding towards me. He was closing in on the space that I was using for comfort. I felt like I was melting in the spot I stood in. I had to think about my next move. I had to do something. I took a breath and relaxed as much as I could before speaking. The last thing I wanted to do was show this man that I was a nervous fucking wreck. "Well, I guess it's a good thing Mama's a baker," I said while winking up at him. At this point, there was no space between us. We were chest to chest, and I could feel every rise and fall between us.

There was no turning back now. The smile that this man wore from what I said had me blushing. I couldn't cover it up even if I tried. Clearly, I had lost this battle, but I would try my fucking hardest to win the war.

We were way past the point of this being friendly or casual banter. The sexual tension was heavy between us, and I had some shit to prove. He reached up and gently caressed my chin. Breaking me from my trance as he spoke, "Focus, mama. Where your head at, pretty girl?" His smile was now even more intense and sinister. It was as if he was feeding off of my nervousness. Was he getting off on watching me react like this? A devil, I tell you.

At this point, all I could say to myself was "fight back, bitch".

"Just thinking," I said looking up at him. I was struggling to keep my composure. I bit my lip to hide the anxious smile I was fighting. He said nothing as his eyes dropped to watch my movements. His eyes flowed from my lip to my body and back up to my eyes again.

Antsy and nervous, I began to rock on my heels shyly. My facade was beginning to break, and I was crumbling by the second. "Uh oh. Is all that big girl energy fading away?" he asked slowly using his thumb to stroke my cheek. "Big girl energy? I'm a grown woman." I snapped back. I instantly dropped my eyes in regret. "Oouu, there she goes," he said raising one of his eyebrows. This man was taking me for a joke, and my dumbass was letting him.

I raised my head to meet his eyes again. "You don't take shit I say seriously. Do you,... Um... Wait, I never got your name," I stated while watching him and waiting for a response. "Yes, you did. I told you what it was. You don't remember? Huh, pretty girl?" he questioned gathering my hand in his. He held my hand while I struggled to remember if this man ever said his name. I couldn't recall him ever saying a name at all. I, for sure, would have remembered replying with mine if he did. Was I that dumbstruck by this man? Did he have me forgetting portions of this conversation?

Then, it hit me. He said a name, but there was no way in hell that he wanted me to call him that. Right? Did he really want me to call him "DADDY"? I couldn't call a man that, especially a man that I just met. This had to be a joke. I was pulled from my thoughts by feeling his hand cupping my chin. He raised my face upwards to meet his gaze. Those striking eyes were piercing down into mine, and I could almost swear his eyes had darkened to bronze.

The growing intensity of his gaze and the faint grip he held on my chin indicated that he was awaiting an answer. "Something tells me you know exactly what my name is. You just don't want to say it. It's okay. I'll get it out of you one way or another, lil' mama," he said laughing. "And how are you going to do that?" I asked raising my hands to play with the lower hem of his plain t-shirt. "Don't worry. It doesn't matter if I got chu yellin' it, screamin' it, whisperin' it, crying' it. As long as I got chu sayin' it, I did my job," he said leaning in closer.

I could feel the warmth of every breath he took on my neck. The heat from that alone was like a smoke signal. I refused to fall prey to my own desperation, but my brain and pussy were now working against each other. I desired to feel every part of this man in EVERY capacity. I needed a closer connection, so I used the hem of his shirt to softly pull him in closer. I wouldn't dare fold that fucking easily. Not like this.

*FIGHT BACK!*

The wheels were now turning in my head, and my brain was in overdrive. I had to finish what I started. He was right about one thing. I WAS A "BIG GIRL". A woman whose thighs destroyed jeans on the regular and who could talk a lot of shit but wasn't going to take much of it. I had to get him while he was close enough to feel it.

"And what job might that be? Huh,....Daddy?" I asked while trailing my hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder. "Mmmm..." he said taking a deep breath. GOT HIM! He removed his hand that was resting on my chin and rubbed the back of his neck. "What? Did I say something wrong?" I asked sheepishly. I was proudly smirking at this point. "Nah. You said everything right," he said smiling back at me.

I decided to take it up a notch. What was the harm in having a little fun? We were only talking after all. I couldn't believe I was feeding into this, but fuck it. "So, does that make me a good girl?" I asked stroking my hand along the back of his neck awaiting an answer.

I could feel the shift in his energy. Desire overtook his eyes. His playfulness had turned primal. "Are you?" he asked tilting his head while watching me. "What's the fun in tellin' you when I could just show you?" I replied as I stilled my hand to rest on his neck. He caught my hand and brought it to rest at his lips. He placed small kisses on the back of my hand. His eyes never left mine. "I guess that settles it, lil' mama. You busy tonight? I think I might have something fun for us to do," he asked smugly.

I knew exactly what this man meant, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it. I just hope he can keep up because...

"Big Mama don't fold, and Big Mama don't quit. If you stay awhile, she'll show you some shit."

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy

[diaphamin]

poison — jeno lee 𝜗𝜚

genre: smut

was listening to poison by brent faiyaz and got inspired a tad.. also this is my first time writing like this ough…

this is short and sweet hope you enjoy because i absolutely hate this with my entire being but i need to post it because well i’ll die if i don’t

jeno’s head was thrown back against the sofa, his hands gripping at your hips bouncing you harder against his cock. he hisses slightly as your nails dig into his shoulders— soaking in every bit of pain and pleasure, while the room echoed with nothing but the heaviness of your breaths and the vulgarness of your bodies.

his hands felt up the curve of your torso before they gently squeezed at your breasts. your hands which once dug in his blades wrapping around his wrists. you both blissed in the pleasure of the closeness of your bodies, not caring about what arguments are to follow. he buries his face in your neck, soaking in your scent with a groan.

he brings a soft kiss to your skin, his roaming touch worshiping every inch of your body. you fuck yourself harder against him as his mouth slurps at your nipple. “jeno.” your voice comes out low and shaky. his arms wrap around your body, holding you tighter, as if he was scared to let go. his cavern making its way back to your neck, marking it like his favorite canvas. “feel good, baby?” he mumbled into your skin, “so good.”

jeno felt dizzy as your whimpering voice tickled his ear. he wanted nothing more than to please you in every way possible. even if that meant he had to agree to your casual sex, no feelings, no strings attached terms. he enjoyed being close to you, he loved to drown in the minutes of intimacy you had to offer him— but he hated every time you left. he hated your terms, and he hated pretending like he didn’t love you.

“you’re so good baby, fucking me so well.” he groaned as you tightened around him, he buried himself into your neck and held you closer than before, his moans overlapping yours as he neared his release. “you close, angel?” you responded with a slight nod, too lost in pleasure to form a sentence.

loud moans filled the room as you both reached your peak, jeno hissed as your walls contracted around him, prolonging his orgasm. he threw his head back on the couch and planted his hands at your waist as you slumped against him. “fuck.” his chest heaved as your tired body continued to cockwarm him, “so good, baby.”

jeno felt a pang in his chest as he felt your body pressed against him, knowing once you gathered yourself again this would all be over. he’s gotten used to this routine, knowing if he begged you to stay it would only make you leave quicker. so today he said nothing and sat in the remaining silence of your presence, wondering when he would have you again, and if one day you would feel the same.