#but like there was something so miraculous about it?? so magical?

[nobodyfamousposts]

My-Crack-Ulous: Norm 2

For Norm, most of his time with Lila was spent studying up on the events of the past few years and the current state of Paris in order to get up to date. 

For Lila, most of her time with Norm was spent trying to find the perfect way to make her wishes so they wouldn’t keep backfiring.

Which was hilarious to Norm, since her attempts only made things worse.

“One of these wishes is bound to work!” Lila insisted, starting to look almost as haggard and unhinged as a certain crock-pot.

Norm rolled his eyes.

Geez, he was just kind of insulted by this point. One would think after the first two wishes going completely wrong that the wish-maker would put one and two together and give up by that third wish.

Here Lila Rossi was a good hundred or so wishes PAST that magic number and she was STILL insisting that Ladybug and Dupain-Cheng—who totally aren’t the same person wink wink—were responsible for turning her wishes against her. Somehow, for the girl who liked to think she was so ingenious, she hasn’t figured out that it was his own magic screwing with her.

Honestly, he was kind of insulted. It was like she didn’t even KNOW him!

…which she didn’t, now that he thought about it. He’d barely gotten out that he was a genie before she started on the wishing. 

Not like he was going to do anything to change that, though, but still! He felt kind of used. Maybe he should talk to her about it? She was still young—only a teenager and probably deserved a chance to learn and grow or something.

…nah.

“You’re doing great, kid.” He said blithely as he looked over a news article instead.

Apparently Dimmsdale had vanished from the face of the Earth as far as he could find, so either Turner had done something or he was in an entirely different dimension. Either way, twerp was gone and not his problem.

Thus, he instead used his time wisely—or at least more wisely than his new victim at any rate. As such, he decided to take the time to learn about how things worked before he tried to mess around too much. Particularly regarding these heroes and the whole “Hawk Moth” deal. Maybe he should have tried more to get in touch with that guy, but given some of those “akumas” he’d been making….yeah, no, Norm was better off staying out of that.

Though the Miraculous seemed familiar. He could swear he encountered them before. Hadn’t he known a guy? Cat guy? 

Eh, it was a while ago. Probably nothing.

He picked up the next random reading material in the pile and…ooh, a magazine. He ignored Lila muttering to herself while looking over the magazine and…wow, this blond kid really was everywhere, wasn’t he?

Creepy. Seriously, was he the only one kind of weirded out over the hyped up over focus on a 14 year old? 

No? Just him?

Lila glared at him. Part of her was tempted to try and demand answers, but that would be admitting there was some issue. And there was none!

She was fine! Perfect, in fact! Now she had her own genie and magic to influence the world with! The only problem was she couldn’t use it on Ladybug.

Clearly, this was Ladybug’s fault. She must be doing SOMETHING to interfere with her new magic!

Typical. She just couldn’t let Lila have anything good. Not Adrien. Not fame. Not even the crushing defeat of her enemies.

But Lila would prevail—oh yes! All she had to do was find the right wish to get everything she deserved!

"Soon." She muttered with a smirk. "Soon..."

____________________

I wish everyone, including Ladybug, believed I was her best friend!"

Three days later and nothing.

Ladybug didn't come to visit her. She didn't interact with her outside of battles. Or even IN battles except to tell her to stay out of the battles. And nobody new was cozying up to Lila in a way that would suggest they were under the effects of her wish.

"What gives?!" She demanded to Norm, finally having enough of waiting. Though to be fair, Lila had never been very patient. "Why isn't Ladybug being friendly with me?"

She glared at the picture of the superhero on her computer. No updates. No news. Nothing out of character. And no sign of even caring about Lila the way she should!

"If Ladybug thought I was her best friend, shouldn't she be friendly towards me? Hell, she should be spilling her identity to me by now!”

Norm, being rather bored by this point, shrugged. Truthfully, even he didn't know for sure why the superhero remained unchanged, but he had a few gueses.

"Well, your wish didn't take into account who Ladybug is."

"What is THAT supposed to mean?!" She demanded.

He sighed. "Kid, your wish made Ladybug think you were her best friend. The only reason she wouldn't tell you her identity would be because she wouldn't tell her own non-wish-influenced best friend her identity."

"Shouldn't she have trusted me with a Miraculous at least?" She questioned.

"Not if Ladybug was understandably ticked off that her "best friend" would claim a connection between them to the world for popularity and decide she's not trustworthy or a true friend." Norm replied. People don't always stay best friends, after all. And while the wish may have made Ladybug think Lila was her best friend in the moment, all the OTHER things Lila had done would likely sour that quickly.

So ultimately, a waste of a wish.

Then of course, came the other problem of that wish…

“Tell us who Ladybug is or else!” Demanded the scarred and nasty-looking man, knife in hand and pointed directly at Lila.

Lila, who had been kidnapped from school that afternoon by this thug and his followers, tied to a chair, and interrogated on the one thing she would already have told everyone had she known!

“I don’t know!” Lila insisted.

“Bullshit! You’re her best friend!”

“As Ladybug! She hasn’t told me her true identity!”

Another thug scoffed. “What kind of best friend are ya, then?”

She glared at him in outrage.

Fortunately for her, that moment was interrupted as an akuma chose that time to slam through a wall a la a certain American meme.

“Lila Rossi!”

The thugs screamed in fear and either scattered or were knocked over by the falling wall. The few who remained were quickly taken care of with a zap or three from the akuma’s wand.

Thank goodness!

“Finally! It’s about time—”

But the akuma gave her no further time to speak, instead pointing his wand at her and glaring ominously.

“Tell us who Ladybug is or else.”

Lila stared.

Was the akuma serious? Was Hawk Moth serious? They were allies! He should know she isn’t actually Ladybug’s friend or anything close to an ally, so why was he sending the akuma after her?

…oh.

Oh right. The wish she made was for “Everyone”. And that included Hawk Moth, too.

“NORM!”

____________________

“I wish Ladybug would be crushed by an akuma!”

One hour later... Lila watched, seething in rage through binoculars as the akuma "Lady-Fan”, Ladybug’s apparent “#1 Fan” was taking Ladybug on a rather lovely date to a high scale restaurant the likes of which Lila herself couldn't get into.

Even Hawk Moth appeared none-too-pleased given the illuminated mask around the akuma’s face—not that the akuma herself even noticed, only having eyes for Ladybug and not about to let anything stand between her and some one-on-one time with her favorite hero.

Which would be sweet…to anyone who wasn’t Lila.

“Norm, undo it!”

Norm looked up from a movie—the Ladybug movie of all things.

“You sure you wanna use a wish on this? It’s an akuma. It’ll just be resolved on its own.”

“UnDO it. NOW.”

He sighed and snapped his fingers.

With a poof, Ladybug was suddenly alone with a very much no-longer-akumatized fan…but still in the restaurant—and since no Lucky Charm had been used, the two apparently decided to continue with their “hangout”.

Lila glared.

“There. Happy?” Norm asked.

“No! Not until Ladybug is destroyed!” Lila shouted, seemingly uncaring to the potential of anyone nearby being able to hear her.

Norm rolls his eyes before turning back to his movie with a shake of his head and a mutter about a waste of a wish.

[harmonysanreads]

Sumeru love hexagons Yandere Alhaitham this Yandere Alhaitham that but what about Yan Tighnari... that man would act as if he's the most reliable and trustworthy person you know then use his nature and plant knowledge to his advantage, manipulate you into opening up over some 'calming herbal tea' and then sigh and say he does understand how exhausting it is to work in a busy tavern especially with all those troublesome people that you have to deal with daily, he'll tell you exhaustion can actually cause you to feel a little unsafe and on severe cases like someones watching you, but oh, dont you worry, he knows just what can help you and ease your worries, maybe if you stay a little bit more he will tell you more of this 'magic exilir' of his. <3

Ahh yes, Tighnari.

The responsible Forest Watcher who does not mince his words, a little condescending sometimes but people can agree that he means well — unless they have twigs for brains, that is. Whatever others' opinion of him maybe, his expertise in biology is unrivaled in Sumeru ; this, no one can deny. He knows the forest keenly and can utilize that knowledge seamlessly, if he so desires.

His care is akin to that of a cautious parent's and with Collei as an example, no one can call him heartless, at least. Indeed, in the broader sense he's a trustworthy individual, far more than a stoic Scribe whose intentions are hard to pinpoint without the help of time and effort. Tighnari appears to be far simpler and he presents himself with sympathy — something a drained you could really find comforting.

And oh, it feels so good to finally not be a listener as you share your innermost paranoia ; the seemingly perpetual lingering gazes, the stolen sense of privacy, the strange tension that engulfs the room when you are present and the increasing count of citizens you were somewhat acquainted with disappearing. The first private chat with the Forest Watcher felt unbelievably relieving, the headache that had threatened to crack your skull for a few days was miraculously soothed by the incense he'd lit and the concoctions he'd recommended.

Tighnari assured you that your concerns were just results of excessive stress, perhaps you should take a few days off from the Tavern? Oh, your headaches seems to only get worse? Why don't you stay in Gandharva Ville for a while? The pollution free ambiance might just be the remedy. Besides, you did feel better the last time you were here, didn't you?

And after a while of this charade, that becomes the issue precisely. The only times you don't feel like you're going to collapse is when you're with Tighnari. A new suspicion leers at the back of your mind but you can't quite bring yourself to verify it. It might be that you're afraid of betrayal or, that it doesn't quite make sense, because, why would he?

Well, you're not going to find the answer to that question quite appealing, if you were to dig in.

[sunnibits]

aaaa I just wanna hear izzy laugh so bad!! I want someone to crack him up and miraculously get a genuine smile out of him for the first time in like two decades. I want him to overhear some funny bit from the crew’s shared stories that actually makes him huff a little snort, only for him to immediately try to hide it. I want to hear that gravelly, deep rusty chuckle of his goddamnit!!! I want everyone to hear it and immediately whip their heads up in wide eyed shock. (is that… izzy?? laughing???? I didn’t even know he could DO that). (something in ed’s chest creaks a little to hear it again. it’s been so long since he’s heard that sound). I will not rest until my boy gets a tiny shred of happiness and that’s final!!!!

[isfjmel-phleg]

[ ]

[leos-regression-cove]

I think it says a lot about me as a person now that that the easiest way to make me cry as a child (and still now. I didn't think I'd tear up while writing this lmao) was to imply that the majesties and wonders of childhood and imagination are all a dream that inevitably leaves us as we get older that we can only regain in death and that the vivid inner worlds and personalities we give our toys in our early years either feel abandoned, vengeful, or die entirely as we age.

[carpetbug]

wait a fucking second. i wanna see marinettes reaction to the literal fucking kwami prison that gabriel built. show it to me rn!

[vidavalor]

Good Omens has shown us, among other things...

-Crowley pointing the paintball gun at Aziraphale and giving the office workers miraculous escapes from death *before* it showed us The Blitz, Part 2's Bullet Catch that shows us what he was referencing to Aziraphale by doing so

-Aziraphale's love of human magic and his vanishing coins act and Crowley grumbling about all of it *before* it showed us "the farthing has vanished!" and The Marvelous Mr. Fell and his "volunteer assistant" on stage in 1941

-The 1862 breakup *before* the 1827 scene that gives context for their traumas that led to the breakup

-The sexy lunch in 2008 *before* the ox rib date that started it-- all the way back in 2500 B.C..

-Crowley telling Aziraphale about his night dealing with the antichrist baby: "Well, not, delivered-delivered, just... handed it over" *before* professional midwife/cobbler Bildad the Shuite "birthing" Job and Sitis some "new" kids

-Crowley, alone, forced into the start of Armageddon by delivering the antichrist in a picnic basket *before* 1967, in which Aziraphale dreams of a world they could get to before they run out of time in which they could go on a picnic together

-Aziraphale looking to the side Crowley always comes up on when he hears the miracle sound in the sushi restaurant in 1.01 *before* we even know that Crowley always comes up in the same way from various scenes teaching us this

-Aziraphale's tartan obsession *before* its origin story, which is the date in Edinburgh in 1827 wherein he became spirituality Scottish and thought he lost Crowley and after which he adopted the tartan as a thing related to the two of them and never stopped wearing it. See also: showed us 1967 and the tartan thermos *before* explaining to us that the tartan isn't just something Aziraphale likes but is something with meaning to the two of them together as a pair

-Crowley rambling drunkenly about bananas, fish and gorillas in the bookshop *before* his and Aziraphale's 'banana fish gorilla shoelace with a dash of nutmeg' conversation over wine in 1941, showing us that he was drunkenly remembering in a scene in S1 a romantic scene in their history that we didn't know then and wouldn't know until S2

-Crowley & Aziraphale dining at The Ritz in 2008 in 1.01 *before* we even know that was The Ritz or why it matters that it was, which they don't tell us until the final, romantic moments of S1

-Crowley obsessively growing a large, lush, overhanging canopy of plants in his apartment *before* telling us he's got a thing for vavoom-y erotic gazing and kissing under the shelter of canopies the likes of which have never been seen in a Richard Curtis film

So, my dear, dear loves... explain to me why I'm not going to be adding to this list next season:

-that heartbreaking 2.06 kiss *before* the first one they had a bazillion years ago?

[storiumemporium]

Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hi! Could I be ✨Anon? (Im not sure whats been taken already) I've been on a big Batfam kick these past few days and have a v indulgent request if it interests you.

Could I request something for a (gn) civilian reader who is friends w/ the Batfam, but recently got superpowers that are magical girl-esque? Neither of the parties knowing of the others Alter Egos. Here are some of my thought, but write the post however you'd like.

Reader was accidentally caught up in some commotion that involved stealing specialty cargo. One of them being an alien artifact, and reader uses it in desperation to save themselves. But now they have these sparkely, pretty, and showy powers that they never asked for. (And maybe a magical animal companion that insist they bring light and justice to Gotham)

Reader is reluctant to be a vigilante, but keeps finding themselves in situations to help people anyways.(Maybe its a side effect of being a magical girl) They end up fighting alongside the Batfam at some point, but they feel embarrassed to interact w/ them. Reader feels completely out of place with their colorful and over-the-top powers when next to the cool and brooding batfam.

Sorry if this idea is a bit out there, but ty for letting me be indulgent in your ask box 💕!!

NO CAUSE I FEEL THIS DYNAMIC SO MUCH.

I either have the friendliest vibe or the bitchiest vibe and no in between. Meaning that people either come to me for everything or think I’m a snob/will bite-

and sure non! i don’t really keep track of my anons nowadays so people can be whatever as long as it’s not listed in my pinned

BAT X MAGIC ✨

IN ANY CASE

I’m gonna mix Sailor Moon, Miraculous Ladybug and Onimai for my inspo with this ask if you don’t mind

Magical Girl/Boy/Person! Reader is really close friends with Tim and Damian. If there was one thing all three could agree on it’s that they loved superheroes in manga/comics.

And Reader? Boy did they adore the Batfam. There was just something about their dark, brooding aesthetic that they couldn’t get enough of.

So it was a tad bit ironic that they stumbled upon the most “girly”and “bright” power ever known to Gotham.

It didn’t help that your abilities had to be activated with cutely yelling things like “Sparkle Blast!” or “Smile Hurricane!”

I like to headcannon that you have a familiar or Kwami like creature that in exchange of keeping your identity magically hidden, absolutely bullies you by making the one above a requirement.

I headcannon that Damian has the PHATTEST crush on you. Like even moreso than the stalker, otaku Tim. Like he is just head over heels. You’re strong, you’re capable, you’re adorable?? But that mostly extends to just your magic persona rather than your real self. He’s super obvious about it to anyone but you too (similar to the og miraculous ladybug w/ felix instead of chat).

Tim is more interested on who tf you were. Like yes!!! Magical Person Hero!!! You were basically his childhood crushes incarnate!! But his inquisitive mind really needed to know who you were in order to calm himself down.

Jason is honestly a bit overwhelmed by your whole getup, but grows to love you the most in terms of how kind you are and how you help them even in the most dire of situations (not knowing that you were basically forced to)

He’s very much Tuxedo Mask type wherein he’d be very annoying to you when the disguises are off but an absolute Casanova with em on.

You and Dick are the most close when it comes to patrols and fighting. I feel like you, being the big fan you were, would make him look even more flashy and handsome during battle with sparkles and whatnot. I have a feeling he’d be the first to ask you out or fully romance you, as well as be the first to befriend you/contact you as a vigilante.

Bruce is definitely perplexed by how you always evade him in terms of your secret identity. It frustrates him to no end that whenever he gets close to finding out something either gets in his way or his mind just goes blank.

Once you explain how your magical persona works tho he’s pretty quick on the bandwagon, especially since he sees that his boys love you.

Also cause you look way too adorable to really be heinous.

…Right?

Once you break one of your familiar’s rules though, they do share your identity with the bats and well…

All hell breaks loose.

[pupyuj]

→ “magic words.” || jang wonyoung x reader fic.

— what was supposed to be a simple tutoring session turns into something more when the most popular student in the campus, jang wonyoung, opts to teach you a completely different lesson...

word count: 4.7k.

dynamic: dom!mean girl!jang wonyoung x sub!nerd!virgin!reader.

content warnings: smut, praise kink, mommy kink, overstimulation, semi-exhibitionism, fingering, begging.

requested ? : nope.

a/n: this one has some sort of a plot so it takes a while to get to the smut part,, hope this one was okay! (jang wonyoung pls marry me.)

next: your colorful secrets.

jang wonyoung was late.

you didn’t know why you were even disappointed. what did you expect from someone with her social status? rich, popular, and a bit of a snob… which was why it was a surprise when you managed to convince her to help you study for an english project. you really didn’t know how you did it. when your professor had told you that being aided by someone who was near fluent in the language could help, the only person that came to mind was wonyoung. she studied abroad once, has the top grades in class, and still looked somewhat more approachable than aeri uchinaga (the other student that could’ve helped you).

or maybe it was just your big dumb crush on the campus princess that willed you to talk to her on that miraculous day, but that’s completely unrelated to your current dilemma.

after five more minutes of waiting, you started feel disheartened. what if she was just playing a joke on you? it’s not like wonyoung was an angel; you’ve heard horror stories about some of the fucked up shit she has done in her time in the campus and even before that. so there was definitely a possibility that she tricked you into believing that she was truly into the idea of spending time with who was essentially a nobody, like you.

ten minutes passed, now you were just really, really sad. but your pride was too big, you didn’t want to walk out of that room looking heartbroken. what if wonyoung and her douchebag friends were waiting on the other side to laugh at you? you shuddered at the idea. you already face so much humiliation and scrutiny from being different than everyone else in this school when really they should be all like you: hardworking, passionate, and actually try to give a fuck about their studies instead of just partying every weekend.

twenty minutes later, well — you were nearly passed out. you rested your head on your arms, blinking sleepily at the lights that you dimmed slightly earlier. you decided that you were going to take a short nap, and then you’ll get to work on your own. screw wonyoung and her joke promises. you were hoping that the rumors weren’t true, that people just made them up because they were jealous of her and her money, her brains, and that pretty little face and those beauty marks and those unnecessarily attractive slender fingers. but she really is just like everyone else.

needless to say, you fell asleep. and you don’t exactly know for how long, because when you were shaken awake by someone, your head was seemingly in another dimension. you lifted your head from your arms and yawned softly, earning a laugh from whoever it was that woke you up. you rubbed your eyes, blinked, and tried to identify the person standing by the side of your desk and— oh, shit.

“w-wonyoung?” you asked with your eyes wide, staring at the tall, gorgeous girl clad in expensive attire that smiled down at you. were you dreaming about her again?

“the one and only,” jang wonyoung takes off her jacket and folds it neatly, putting it on one of the unoccupied seats across the table. “i know i’m super late. i had to find a real reason to come here other than, you know, just for shits and giggles. you should thank gaeul-sunbae for talking some sense into me.” oh. she couldn’t have said that in a nicer way?

“okay…” you murmured, nervously picking on the lint on your clothes for no reason.

wonyoung settles herself beside you, sipping on a cup of iced coffee. she slides a full cup to your side of the table, “that should wake you up.”

“you didn’t have to get me one…” you replied timidly but accepting the cup nonetheless.

“oh, i didn’t. gaeul-sunbae got that for you and told me to give it to you because apparently, it was the least i could do for making you wait for over an hour. huh,” wonyoung puts down her cup, leaned back on her chair, and looked at you, smirking. you tried your hardest not to blush at the way her eyes completely raked over your figure. you shifted uncomfortably on your seat, suddenly finding your skirt too short or your uniform too tight. “maybe she has a crush on you. ha! well, that’s quite a jump. from that hot soccer captain in that other university, ahn yujin-ssi, to you.” wonyoung giggles.

god, really? you held back the urge to groan, or roll your eyes, and just smiled awkwardly at her. you were seriously regretting having that dumb crush on her. she was pretty, but her mouth and the things that come out of it made it hard to truly like her.

“i doubt that…” you said, picking up your pen and opening up a novel. the very same novel you had a hard time understanding, and the very same novel that you hoped wonyoung would help you understand but that didn’t seem likely now. seeing that all she wants to do is insult you.

wonyoung doesn’t say anything else, merely fishing out her phone from her bag and silently scrolling up, completely forgetting the reason she was here in the first place. you sighed, tired eyes skimming through the words in your novel. every single word you read just went over your head, and you really hoped wonyoung would notice how helpless you looked but she was… well, she was taking photos of herself. you took your eyes off your novel to do nothing but stare at her. truthfully, you would also drop everything to take photos of yourself if you were wonyoung because she did look particularly good in this day.

“why do you even need me? you’re supposed to be super smart. aren’t you on scholarship at this school?” wonyoung suddenly asked while still posing. you flinched, immediately turning back on your novel in hopes that wonyoung wouldn’t know that you have been staring this entire time. 

(she did. but whatever. everybody stares at her.)

“t-that’s exactly why i need you, though,” you said. wonyoung chuckles. you blushed at what your words may have implied. “i want to keep that scholarship, but i-i’m not that very good at english and you’re… you’re great so i thought you could help…”

wonyoung closes her phone and puts it down, “well, aren’t you adorable. i kinda get why gaeul-sunbae is obsessed with you. don’t tell her i said that.” were you some kind of inside joke between her and gaeul or something? you doubted that the popular senior actually gave a damn about you, so maybe wonyoung was just pulling words out of her perfectly fine ass.

you really needed to stop talking like that.

“don’t start crying now. i’ll help.” wonyoung brings her chair closer to yours. maybe a bit too close for your liking, but her perfume calmed your senses so you appreciated the lack of respectable distance nonetheless. she takes your novel from your hands and without a word, she examines it. the front cover, the back, the first few pages, and the chapter you were reading. you watched intently as she did her work, and you couldn’t hold back squirming in your seat because of course jang wonyoung looks fucking hot when she starts taking things seriously.

her eyes flicker back onto yours and she catches you staring. you didn’t even make an effort to look away. it was too late anyway. wonyoung wordlessly stared back at you, eyes completely devoid of emotion so you couldn’t tell whether she was annoyed of you for staring or not.

“this isn’t what we’re studying in class.” wonyoung said.

“n-no. i’m reading it for myself. i want to write a thesis on it.”

“a what? so, you’re saying you’re doing this for fun? you have that much time?” wonyoung looks at you in disbelief. she puts down your book, almost offended at this reveal.

“that’s how i study. if i can’t prove to myself that i understand whatever i’m doing then i pretty much failed at that subject.” you confessed.

wonyoung groans, throwing her head back. you stared shamelessly at the curve of her neck, and had this sudden urge to kiss her. what the fuck. “i thought you were going to write a dissertation with how you made this whole thing sound so urgent yesterday. turns out it’s just a cute little project, and for yourself! you’re wasting my time, you know.” the tall girl said.

again, you felt sad. you grabbed the book from her side of the table and pouted as you looked at the cover, “w-well, you’re free to leave if that’s what you think…”

“you won’t cry?” wonyoung asked. you took note of the teasing evident in her voice and rolled your eyes.

“why would i—”

you looked at her and found your words getting stuck to your throat. it was weird, because wonyoung was literally just sitting there and yet she looked so… there's really no other way to put it in your lovesick little head. wonyoung looked regal. arms crossed, sly smile, eyes shining with mischief, and one long leg crossed over the other, hiking up her skirt just a little. you immediately looked away, but you were too late. wonyoung knew exactly where you were looking at.

“oh, i see,” wonyoung giggles and leaned forward, propping her arm up on the table and putting her chin on her palm. you avoided her stare, but you couldn't hide your red ears. “gaeul-sunbae’s gonna be really disappointed to hear about this.”

“please, stop with that. gaeul-sunbaenim is not interested in me.” you say in an attempt to divert her attention.

well, much to your dismay, wonyoung wouldn’t let up just like that. she completely disregards what you were saying. “i guess you’re kinda cute. in an almost pitiful way.” she says, eyes examining your features way too intently. “intelligent, decent, and you don’t dress that bad…” the tall girl continues on, taking note of the accessories you have on your wrists, neck, and hair.

you really didn’t know if she expected you to thank her.

“i’d say innocent too, but that's not all true, is it?” wonyoung moves closer, her perfume once again wafting into your nose and nearly intoxicating you. she places a pretty hand on your thigh, smirking at the way you flinched and hid behind your book. “since i’ve lost interest in whatever you actually want to do, how about we do something that’s actually worth my time?” she says, prying your book off of your hands and putting it on the table.

“i-i can’t skip classes. i was serious when i told you that i want to keep my scholarship—”

“don’t worry. you won’t be stepping a foot outside of your beloved school for this activity.”

see, there were a lot of things that you didn’t believe were true in the world. one of them being your brother allegedly not being free earlier this morning to give you a ride to school because he had something important to do, when you knew he just wanted to play video games until he had to leave for his classes. and now, you have something you can add on the list: jang wonyoung kissing you.

you were waiting to be woken up again, convinced that this was all just a very detailed and prolonged dream. but wonyoung bites your lower lip and nothing happens. other than you moaning softly, obviously.

“i knew you’d like this.” wonyoung mutters before grabbing you by your necktie and pulling you closer. her tongue tasted like coffee, mint, and peaches, and her lips were so, so soft. you were on cloud nine; how many people can say their totally unattainable crush kissed them first?

still, despite liking wonyoung’s lips and the warm feeling on your chest, you couldn’t help but gasp and move away once her hand squeezed your breast.

“what?” wonyoung asked, a bit annoyed.

“w-what are you doing?” you asked back, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“...trying to fuck you? i don’t understand what was so misleading about my intent there.” wonyoung says, looking at you like you were the crazy one.

“how is sex so casual to you and your friends…?” you mumbled. you said all that but the thought of wonyoung touching you like that made you feel certain things in your lower region that you really did not want to know about. or maybe you did, but you were just terrified.

wonyoung, utterly confused, quirked up an eyebrow. “why wouldn’t it be to you? wait,” the tall girl takes another second to look at your bright red cheeks, and the way you squeezed your thighs together presumably to calm that feeling in your core. and then she laughs. “of fucking course, you’re a virgin.”

having your crush find out that you haven’t been touched all your life and laugh at your face about it was not in your bingo card.

“that’s putting it lightly… you’re even my first kiss.” you admitted. you absentmindedly touched your lips with your fingers, smiling as you remembered the way wonyoung’s felt when she had been kissing you.

the tall girl stares at you, there was a softer look in her eyes that made you melt. “ugh, you really are fucking cute. you’re making me feel really bad about poking fun at you earlier.” (and that was definitely new. jang wonyoung never feels bad.)

you shrugged, simply accepting that that was her personality, as brutally honest as she was. you started packing up your things half-heartedly after minutes of silence. a part of you was mad at yourself for cutting off that kiss earlier. maybe you would still be kissing wonyoung right now if you hadn’t stopped her, or maybe you’d be doing something more.

“where are you going?” wonyoung asked, looking up at you since you were now standing.

you pulled at your uniform, “y-you said this was a waste of your time so… i think i’ll just study on my own. t-thank you, though. for the coffee and… that other thing.”

just as you made a step towards the door, wonyoung stands up and catches your wrist in a tight grip. “you’re killing me, (y/n).” wonyoung muttered. she pulls you close, which causes you to drop your bag to the ground and nearly crash into her.

“because you’ve somehow managed to make me feel soft inside, you’re getting laid.”

“i’m getting what—”

“i’m gonna fuck you, (y/n). seriously, what era are you from?”

and with that, wonyoung kisses you again. she wasn’t as gentle as before. her hands were on your hair, tugging and pulling. you didn’t know where to put your hands exactly, but wonyoung noticed this somehow took one of your hands with her own and placed it on her hip. you tried to keep up with her as much as you could, not at all aware of how messy you really were with the way you kissed.

unsurprisingly, wonyoung was annoyed at this and pulled away, “this isn’t a slobbering competition. can you calm down?” she says.

“i can’t. i really like you—”

“fuck. you’re pathetic.” she kisses you again, and you really didn’t know if you should have felt insulted or flattered. a part of you wanted to see how far you could go, this was a once in a lifetime kind of thing after all, so this time around you actually tried kissing her better. wonyoung moves, she’s got your lower back pressed against the desk and her hands on either side of you while you hold her face. she lets you control the kiss, smiling slightly since she found you so, so endearing.

wonyoung sneaks a leg in between your thighs and presses her knee against your buzzing core, making you moan into her mouth. she takes off your school-issued blazer and throws it mindlessly in some unknown corner, then she takes your necktie and slowly tugs you towards the small couch in the room, all while keeping her lips on yours. she unfortunately breaks the kiss and sat down on the soft cushion, leaving you standing in front of her, confused and out of breath.

wonyoung leans back on the couch, smirking, “come on, baby. give me a show.”

you didn’t know what she meant, and you were too afraid of turning her off by asking. but by the way she licked her lips as her eyes scanned you up and down, you just did the next best thing you could’ve thought of doing. you pulled off your necktie and you must’ve done something right because wonyoung’s smirk only widened, urging you to continue on undressing yourself. next, you started unbuttoning your white shirt, revealing your silky cream-colored bra. and finally, you pulled off your panties, just so you wouldn’t have a hard time doing it later.

wonyoung was more of an open book than you expected because it was quite easy to tell that she really like what she was seeing.

patting her lap, wonyoung beckons you over, “sit.” she said. you let your shirt fall to the floor and did as you were told, settling yourself on the taller girl’s lap. you shuddered at the feeling of her thigh against your bare cunt, and fought the urge to ride her.

“it’s always the quiet and nerdy girls like you, hm? hiding all of this behind a book and some straight A’s…” wonyoung’s pretty hands explore your body; from your back, your chest, your stomach, and to your thighs. she enjoyed the way you shivered and slightly moved yourself, desperate for some friction in that area. she plants a small kiss on your collarbone before smiling up at you and attacking your neck. she sneaks a hand underneath your skirt and palms your dripping pussy, her long fingers parting your folds and her thumb just barely brushing your clit.

your soft moans filled the air as wonyoung marks you up. she favored your chest, leaving hickies all over it. she leans back, staring at her work proudly. you took her face in your hands, tilting her head up slightly and then putting your lips on hers. you could feel her smiling as she kissed you back. she found your enthusiasm entertaining, but she was glad she wouldn’t have to do all the work. you boldly pushed your tongue past her parted lips, bravely exploring her mouth. your heart starts beating erratically upon hearing wonyoung’s muffled moans. her voice was so pretty.

suddenly, wonyoung inserts a finger knuckle deep inside you, making you gasp into her mouth and pull away from her lips. the tall girl laughed, “that caught you off guard?” as if she wasn’t looking directly at your widened eyes and gaping mouth. wonyoung pulls her single finger out slowly and pushes it back in, watching as your face contorted from the tiniest bit of pain you were feeling.

“one more?” she asks, but she doesn’t give you a chance to reply and goes ahead and inserts a second finger, making you whine and hug her. wonyoung giggles against your chest as she quickens her pace, relishing in the feeling of her fingers smoothly going in and out of you. the pain was quick to go away, and soon enough you only felt pleasure.

“you’re so tight, baby,” wonyoung wraps her free arm around your waist to keep you steady. she curls her fingers inside you and you moan loudly in her ear. “i’m glad i got to you first. i guarantee you nobody else can fuck a pretty little thing like you as good as i can.”

wonyoung looks up, staring at your features while you try to keep yourself as quiet as you can. the walls weren’t soundproof after all, and the librarian could very well just open the door and invite herself in to check on the students occupying the room. upon realizing this, you threw a quick glance at the door, worried out of your mind. wonyoung notices and gives you a kiss on the cheek to grab your attention, and she was successful.

“nobody will care. plus, you’re with me. you’ll be fine,” she said. she holds onto your waist tighter as she moves her fingers even faster. you clutched onto her shirt, biting your lip but unsuccessfully holding your moans back. “be as loud as you want, baby. let this whole school know who’s fucking you.”

wonyoung couldn’t even begin to tell you how turned on she was right now. you were falling apart before her eyes, the prim and proper (y/n) (l/n) being reduced to this… and knowing that it was all for her… wonyoung doesn’t know if she could hold herself back from completely ruining you on the spot.

“mmhn… ahh— mommy..! mommyy…”

well, shit.

wonyoung was pleasantly surprised. she chuckles, “what? say that again, love.”

you shook your head, embarrassed. “it… it just—fuck—it just slipped out.. i’m sorry…”

wonyoung presses her thumb on your clit and rubs it roughly, “say it.” you whined loudly. that felt too good.

blinded by pleasure, you fulfill wonyoung’s wish. “m-mommy… mommy, ruin me, please…!” you started moving your hips, meeting wonyoung’s thrusts and somehow it made everything feel better by about a hundred percent.

wonyoung was considerably happy. “good girl. can you take one more?” again, she asks but she doesn’t wait for you to answer. now three of her long fingers were inside you, just completely pounding into you mercilessly. the tall girl watched as you basically fucked yourself into her hand. shit, she could cum by the sight of you alone. you were even more beautiful when you were a mess… wonyoung has to fuck you more after this.

“this is a better look for you… none of that honor student bullshit. don’t you like being fucked stupid like this?” wonyoung says, once again curling her fingers and smirking as you throw your head back in pleasure.

you managed to choke out an answer. “yes, mommy… i do, i do…”

never in your life did you ever expect to be calling your crush, the untouchable jang wonyoung no less, such a nickname and even more so, getting fucked by her in a semi-public setting! you were sure to get weird looks from people who might be outside, and the news will spread like wildfire of course but you didn’t care for any of that. not right now, at least. because why else would you think of anything but the girl who was taking you to the stars?

“feels good, yeah? want more, baby?” wonyoung was saying. she herself was getting her panties soaked the faster you were riding her fingers, but she was going to have to take care of her own problem later. she couldn’t take her eyes off of you, after all.

“mmhn.. more…”

wonyoung clicks her tongue, “magic words.” she brings her hand down to your ass, making you whine.

you immediately comply — you were chasing after something that was unknown to you, but you desperately wanted it. and you knew only wonyoung can help you get there. “p-please, mommy… i want more…” you said, looking directly into wonyoung’s eyes and watching as her pink and plump pillowy-soft lips spread into a satisfied smile.

“mhm. you learn quickly, don’t you? what a good girl.”

fucking hell. did everything that came out of her mouth have to sound so hot?

as promised, wonyoung gives you ‘more’. she shifts herself slightly up on her seat, holds your waist in a death grip and whispers, “put your arms around me.” then, she pulls her long fingers out almost all the way before plunging their full length back inside you, deeper than it has ever gone. the sound that left your mouth loud, dirty, and wonyoung could hear the pain beneath all pleasure. 

she repeats her action, and you finally understood why she told you to hold onto her because holy fuck you were going to fall off her lap. you wrapped your arms around wonyoung’s neck and held her close, screaming into her ear every time she brushes past your sweet spot.

“w-wony.. wonyoung— mommy..! i feel weird… i feel weird, i feel weird…!!”

“shh, shh, it’s okay. it’s supposed to feel like that,” wonyoung starts kissing up your neck again, stopping directly under your jawline and leaving another hickey there. “you’re doing so good, baby. we’re almost done. just hold on for mommy, ‘kay?” she pats your ass, gently rubbing on it to ease the sting that her slap left earlier.

you shook your head, “i c-can’t… stop, stop… please..!” you were feeling too many things at once. you wanted whatever this was all leading up to but it was overwhelming. you wanted it to be over but you wanted to prove something to wonyoung, as if ‘holding on’ for longer like she asked would get you a medal from her or something.

“okay, okay… let go, then. it’s okay…”

wonyoung hits a spot and unexpectedly, the pressure in your stomach tightens and breaks in a second. your entire body stiffened as you came undone on wonyoung’s hand with a long, loud moan mixed with a sob. wonyoung shushes you gently, using her free hand to caress your back. she pulls out her other hand from your cunt, it was completely drenched with your juices.

you leaned back after getting a hold of yourself, albeit only a little, and watched as wonyoung licked her fingers. fuck. what you would give to engrave that moment in your mind.

“feeling alright?” wonyoung asked, brushing your damp hair away from your face with her dry hand. you looked exhausted and fucked out. it was hot. wonyoung’s core was throbbing like crazy. she wanted to get off to you so bad. you nodded weakly at her question, even though you didn’t look and feel ‘okay’. you were feeling a lot of fucking things, that’s what.

“t-thank you…” you said suddenly.

wonyoung tilts her head to the side, “for what?” seriously, you were so cute. with your flushed cheeks, eyes glistening with tears, and hair a big mess.

“...you know what for.” you mumbled, hiding your face in the crook of her neck. wonyoung laughs—music to your ears—and pulls you close by your waist, hugging you and kissing your bare shoulder.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, neither of you saying anything for god knows how long. you would ocassionally lift your head and wonyoung would kiss you, then softly asking if you were okay, or if you needed anything. sometimes, she just looked at you, tugging at your heartstrings and making you wonder just what she was thinking. (‘how come i have never seen you before?’)

eventually, however, it was time for both of you to leave as you had some actual studying to do and wonyoung, well, she has a party to attend. typical.

“hey, i’m giving you my number.” wonyoung says when you finally managed to make yourself look tidy and somewhat presentable. you knew that hickies were all over your neck, but you were too tired to lose your head over them.

“uh, why?” you asked, reluctantly pulling out your phone but not handing it over just yet.

“oh, no reason. i give my number away for free. it’s a thing i do.” wonyoung replies in an exaggerated tone. she snatches your phone from your hands, rolling her eyes at your apparently ridiculous question. her actions reminded you that yes, wonyoung will always be a snob through and through. even after giving you the best fuck of your life.

“ha ha.” you laughed sarcastically. you barely caught your phone when wonyoung mindlessly dropped it on your hands in retaliation. you weren’t going to lie though, having your crush put her number on your phone was a dream come true. you looked at your screen, ready to send wonyoung a quick message so she can save your number when you noticed the name she gave herself.

mommy💘

before you could say anything, wonyoung puts a single finger on your lips and winks, “call me when you need ‘help’ again, baby.”

[jar-of-maise]

"Lynette!" Lyney bursts into the living room with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Leaning against the door frame, Lyney looks like the perfect image of chaos. Little streamers erupt from his pockets and tiny fireworks explode, crackling from under hat and sleeve as he stumbles through the doorway. 

The ominous smell of smoke begins to taint the air. 

"Lyney, you know what the rules are about magic props inside the house," Lynette chides, blowing on her tea meticulously without looking at her brother. 

"Is something wrong...Lyney?" Freminet asks hesitantly, unsure of how to breach the topic. 

His older brother huffs dramatically, staggering over to the couch with comically elongated steps. Freminet has to remind himself that this is his older brother, Lyney the Magician, the responsible team leader they all look up to and admire. 

He takes another look at Lyney's frazzled expression and decides that now might not be one of those times. 

“Oh it’s horrid!” Lyney whines, “the show’s all falling to pieces now!” He exclaims, shoving his face into a cushion. Freminent glances at Lynette, who’s determinedly ignoring Lyney and eyeing a slice of cake on the table. 

“Leave him be,” she says when she notices Freminent’s silent cry of help, “he’s just being dramatic. Lyney pull yourself together,” she scolds, carefully slicing through the cake with a fork, “you’re making Freminent worry.” 

“Oh my dearest little brother! I had no idea, please forgive me for causing you grief!” Lyney monologues, in a manner not very different to how Lady Furina would deliver speeches, “but this is a matter of utmost importance, I’m really in a pickle.”

“Lynette, maybe…” Freminent begins, watching as his sister’s tail flicks, “hm? Oh alright,” she says in an exasperated voice, “Lyney, use your words. What. Is. It?” 

“I,” Lyney begins, delighted to have an audience, “have a problem!”

“I’m delighted to know that you have gained self-awareness,” Lynette replies dryly, reaching for another slice of cake, Freminent watches her and knows that a scolding from Lyney is imminent, but keeps his mouth shut.

“Oh Lynette, how could you be so cold to your dear brother?” Lyney continues to complain, he rests his cheek on the cushion and sighs. 

“Are you going to talk about your problem or not?” 

“All in due time, there’s no need to be impatient,” Lyney retorts, Freminent blinks, clutching Pers a little tighter as he gets comfortable.

“See, it goes a little like this,” Lyney begins wistfully, “I’ve been experiencing something quite phenomenal you see,” he says, eye turning round, “my hands have been sweating a lot, and it’s like my heart is about to go–” Lyney snaps his fingers and miraculously, a shower of blue coloured butterflies erupt from his fingertips. 

“Like that!” He waves his hands.

Freminet nods, “I see,” he says, absorbing himself in the storytelling. 

“Just get on with it,” Lynette says, delicately pouring herself another cup of tea, her ears pricked in a very satisfied manner. 

“Well!” Lyney continues unoffended, “my brain has also been going fuzzy and I’m finding it hard to focus…no matter what happens, I just keep thinking about the same thing. But sometimes I’m giddy and all mushy like–” 

“Please don’t,” Lynette interrupts, “it’ll be a hassle to clean up later.” 

“Oh just this once, please Lynette, please?” 

Lynette sighs, “fine.” She says, with unamused eyes. 

Lyney grins and melts himself onto the couch, “I’m melting like sugar, or one of those chocolates that dissolve in your mouth!” He proclaims, and throws a sweet at Freminet who catches it, “Caramel Melts; nothing like a melt to give you a little help,” he says slowly, reading the cursive print on the wrapper. 

“Where did you get this from?” Freminet asks curiously. 

“Unimportant,” Lyney says dismissively, “I’ll get you some more if you like them though, but anyways, all of the symptoms listed above,” Lyney unravels a scroll and unrolls it with a flourish. 

Freminet should be used to Lyney’s tricks by now, but he’s still amazed at the fountain pen that begins writing by itself, “sweaty hands, strange emotions; mushiness, unreasonable amounts of joy…” he stops reading. 

“All of these,” Lyney points at the scroll, “are what I believe are symptoms of…” he pauses for dramatic effect.

“That’s right! These are none other than…signs of heart stroke!” Lyney says proudly. 

There is a long, fat silence. 

The floor is very interesting, Freminet decides, and these shoes have a spectacular shine, I should really polish them some more, he thinks to himself.

“Lyney,” Lynette says, breaking the heavy silence, “you’re not going through heart stroke.” 

Thank archons, Lynette is here! Freminet doesn’t think he’d have the courage to say that to Lyney’s face, in a manner that wouldn’t make Lyney even more melodramatic. 

“What!? Then what is it?” Lyney asks, rising from the clutches of the plush couch for the first time. 

“My diagnosis is…” Lynette pauses for dramatic effect, and Freminet swears Pers is listening attentively too. 

They all hold their breaths. 

“You’re in love, Lyney.” Lynette announces, taking a long sip of her tea. Freminet’s eyes widen, but it doesn’t compare to the heavy thud he hears and the long, loud shriek of, “WHAT?!” That echoes well and truly wonderfully throughout Hotel Bouffes d'ete. From then on, the urban legends of Fontaine often speculated about a most inhuman ghoul or perhaps, troll that was being kept hidden in the Hotel basement. 

Not that such rumours could ever be proven. 

“Let them imagine,” Lynette would say, sipping her tea nonchalantly, “a little shock has never hurt anyone,” she glances at Lyney, who’s been sitting on his chair with a stunned expression on his face. Indeed, Lynette helps herself to a macaroon, perhaps the next step is to give Lyney a little push, after all, a gentle nudge has never hurt anyone either.

[averageanonymous]

Summary: Something happened in 1941 in Aziraphale's bookshop. Something they blame on alcohol and adrenaline. Something they make an unspoken agreement to never talk about again.

Note: This isn't smut 😅 Just a little baby spice.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

It's dark, and it's late, and they're both a little drunk and shot through with adrenaline.

Well, what can you expect after an evening that started with blowing Nazis to Hell, swung round to performing a lethal magic trick in a crowded theater without a single miraculous intervention, and culminated in the closest call they've yet had with their... whatever this thing between them is.

So, yeah, you could say they've had a night. So if he makes a mistake, well, it's not like that's such a surprise, is it?

At least, that's what Crowley tells himself...

When he wanders after Aziraphale (who said something about tracking down a book with some really fascinating passages regarding blah blah blah... Crowley had, admittedly, lost track of what the angel was saying, too distracted by the way the candlelight caught in his hair and the way his lips smiled around the words he spoke) into the dark shelves at the back of the store...

When he realizes, standing behind Aziraphale as he searches a shelf, that his heart is inexplicably racing in his chest...

When Aziraphale turns around abruptly with an exclamation of triumph and a book in hand, and Crowley doesn't step back, doesn't move away, even though that puts them barely a foot apart...

When he takes the book, his fingers brushing against the angel's, sending a shock up his arm, and places it back down on the shelf...

When he leans in, so close now to his angel that their breath is caught between them, the heat rising from Aziraphale’s skin warming his own. The only thing between their lips is a question.

Crowley waits.

He holds his breath.

And for a moment, just a moment, reality beckons to him.

Then Aziraphale’s lips touch his own, and anything remotely resembling reality or consequences or a single moment beyond this one, single, solitary moment, is lost to him.

He takes Aziraphale’s face in his hands, runs his fingers up into his hair, soft against his skin. Crowley presses into Aziraphale until the angel's back is against the shelf. Then presses closer until there's no space between them at all. Aziraphale tastes like wine and starlight, and Crowley thinks that if ecstasy tastes like anything, it tastes like Aziraphale’s kiss.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale gasps between one breath and the next. His voice is rough. Crowley wishes he would say his name again, again and again, the sound of it like music, like a prayer. Crowley presses his forehead to Aziraphale’s, breathing hard.

Aziraphale puts a hand on his chest.

Then... then something changes.

"Crowley, we can't... I can't..." Aziraphale’s voice is soft, but urgent, desperate. Crowley looks up at the sudden change. Their gazes lock, blue on gold. Aziraphale’s eyes, reflecting candlelight and shadow, run through a dozen emotions, each on display for only a heartbeat.

"I- I need..." he starts, stops. Then, one emotion rises to the top. Aziraphale glances towards the shuttered windows and then back to Crowley. All at once, he looks afraid.

"Angel-" Crowley tries, running a thumb soothingly over his cheek, thinking to reassure him, but Aziraphale shakes his head once, firmly.

"They almost caught you tonight," Aziraphale’s voice is tight, "Because you were helping me with a magic act, of all the frivolous things." He closes his eyes, his brow knitting like he's in pain. "If they found out-" His voice cuts off abruptly as though he physically can't follow the thought through. He presses his hand more firmly against Crowley's chest. Pushes him away.

"I need you to go," Aziraphale says.

Crowley hesitates, then steps back. "Sure," he finally agrees, though his heart feels like it's just been torn straight from his chest, "Right then... I'll just show myself out."

Aziraphale nods. The space between them, nonexistent moments ago, now yawns like a chasm.

So Crowley turns. Heads back to the more well-lit front of the shop. He grabs his coat and glasses. And he tells himself that it was just the alcohol. Just the adrenaline. Just a mistake.

He leaves the shop.

He walks away.

He tries to forget.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Thanks for reading! I'm keeping my fingers crossed for 1941 Part III in S3 🤞

[queerfables]

A dash of nutmeg...

Look I feel a bit like I'm throwing soup at a dart board and calling it analysis, but I have some thoughts about Aziraphale's magic words in episode 4, and it's going to kill me if I don't share.

The thing is, these words have been nagging at me since I heard them. They sounded familiar, and I've been trying to figure out why. Today, it finally clicked.

Banana. Fish. Gorilla.

Those initial three words are all key words from Crowley and Aziraphale's drunken conversation about Armageddon. It's right at the start of things, when Crowley convinces Aziraphale to help him stop the world from ending.

We'll start with the fish, because they come up first.

"The point I'm trying to make," [Crowley] said, brightening, "is the dolphins. That's my point." "Kind of fish," said Aziraphale.

Their entire exchange here is hilarious and iconic but I'll try to keep this to the point. After some banter about the difference between fish and mammals, Crowley argues that dolphins don't deserve to be caught in the crossfire when the kraken rises and the seas boil. Which conveniently brings us to:

"Same with gorillas. Whoops, they say, sky gone all red, stars crashing to ground, what they putting in the bananas these days?"

Banana. Fish. Gorilla. It got me curious, so I searched for other places these words show up in the book. There's nothing I think is really significant: a couple of things are described as banana flavoured, fish show up in rains that herald the impending doomsday, gorillas aren't ever mentioned again. If I'm on the right track at all, I think this part is here to signpost a connection between this string of words from the show and the specific moments in the book.

If that's true, it must be pointing to something. What's left? Shoe lace and nutmeg.

Shoe lace.

The word "shoelace" isn't actually in Good Omens. Neither is "shoe lace" with a space in between. There's a couple of unremarkable descriptions involving shoes, and one miraculously conjured lace handkerchief, and then - and then. Right at the very end of the story, we have Adam, grounded by his parents, being described as "a scruffy Napoleon with his laces trailing, exiled to a rose-trellissed Elba". It's tenuous. I could dismiss that as nothing. Except Adam's laces show up again, and it's the very last passage of the book.

If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. And if you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot . . . no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human . . . Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield . . . . . . forever.

I'm not ready to say much about what I think the significance of this passage might be. But an allusion to the book's ending does feel significant, doesn't it?

The one thing I will say, for people who may not know, is that this passage is riffing on a line from Orwell's 1984. The line it's playing on is a lot darker: "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – for ever." I think it's probably relevant that this is referencing a book about a totalitarian regime. I also think it's probably relevant that it's taking that reference and twisting it into something much sweeter, more optimistic and empowered.

I'm still thinking through all the connections and implications, though.

Nutmeg.

And that brings us to "nutmeg". I have to be honest, I wasn't hopeful. I didn't remember any references to it and if I were betting, I wouldn't have put money on it appearing in the book at all. But the word does show up, and it shows up exactly once. Crowley is reminiscing about a cocktail he had once, made out of fermented date-palms. It's part of a conversation with Aziraphale, where they discuss losing the Antichrist. And here's the really interesting part:

"You said it was him!" moaned Aziraphale, abstractedly picking the final lump of cream-cake from his lapel. He licked his fingers clean. "It was him," said Crowley. "I mean, I should know, shouldn't I?" "Then someone else must be interfering." "There isn't anyone else! There's just us, right? Good and Evil. One side or the other." He thumped the steering wheel. "You'll be amazed at the kind of things they can do to you, down there," he said. "I imagine they're very similar to the sort of things they can do to one up there," said Aziraphale. "Come off it. Your lot get ineffable mercy," said Crowley sourly. "Yes? Did you ever visit Gomorrah?" "Sure," said the demon. "There was this great little tavern where you could get these terrific fermented date-palm cocktails with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass-" "I meant afterwards." "Oh."

Book Aziraphale differs from his characterisation in the show in a few ways, and this is the big one. In the book, Aziraphale is much more cynical about his own side, and much more aware of heaven's flaws. Here, he's convincing Crowley that the threat heaven poses is just as serious as any threat from hell.

If I'm right about any of this, if these nonsense words mean anything at all, I think they are saying that heaven and hell are two sides of the same very nasty coin, and more to the point, that maybe Aziraphale is more aware of it than he seems.

I need to think about this more, still. I'm not sure if I really think this connection is something, and if it is, I'm still figuring out what sorts of conclusions we might draw from it. But if the script is trying to point us to these three sections of the book, maybe there's a deeper analysis to be had here.

I do think it's interesting that the last two words each only show up in one section of the book. It's not like I'm skipping around trying to decide which passage involving shoe laces is most relevant - it shows up twice, only in the last few pages of the book and only in relation to Adam (and in particular, humanising Adam. He's Napoleon in exile, but he's a kid with trailing laces. His future isn't a boot stamping on a human face, it's a sneaker with those same trailing laces - and a stick that his dog can choose whether or not to chase).

I could talk myself in circles on this point, so I guess I've got to open it up to the floor. Am I making something out of nothing with this? Or do you think there could be something here?

[deviantly-inspired]

Ok so I've seen the idea of food 'made with love' being what Dream enjoys most but I really think we, as a collective fandom, need to lean in more to the idea of it, actually.

We KNOW from the comics that Dream eats food; that he was starving after his freedom. But even though he's hungry, even in the waking world, he won't eat because there's been nothing but bad intentions and malice directed to him for over a hundred years. He's wary. Like a spooked horsed.

But Hob Gadling has always been so unashamedly fond of Dream, that it's... tempting. to indulge.

(it's more than tempting. He's already starving: for dreams for nightmares for softness for sharpness. Hob is the only person Dream knows that he would take any of it from. If Hob were to offer him poison then Dream would take it gladly, if only to have something to fill the void within him. How miraculous it is, then, that Hob would only every offer succor)

So maybe Dream stares at some home-made food that's being eaten on some picnic while they're about. And Hob needles him just a bit, trying to get some information. What all goes into being Dream of the Endless? And Dream enjoys their wordplay and games so he dances around answering but his gaze keeps going back to that soft little picnic, not too far. Hob steers the conversation towards intent, and Dream admits that, yes, he can sense the intent things are made with, before directing the conversation to something a little safer then the art of consuming.

(Dream would take and take and take and take anything that Hob would give him. Even poison. And would thank him for the malaise of it. It is safer, then, to not let even the hint of hunger touch his waking form.)

But Hob didn't get to over 600 by being a slouch on his academics. He's smart. perceptive. He knows people, and Dream is certainly a 'people' even if he's not quite a person. So he makes something simple, that night. A stew maybe, and thinks of his mother's care and simple wishes whispered to the cast iron. love and kitchen magic. Spells for healthy children and a meal that will fill for longer than it should. Hob wonders, to this day, if maybe she was some sort of real witch and not just the magic that all good mothers are. But he can't ask her so he whispers wishes into his potatoes and encourages the bone to seep fully- he's going to be all bones like you if you don't fill him up- and thanks the meat for it's part and imagines it sticking to the inside of whatever Dream calls ribs to keep him going for a bit longer than he might have otherwise.

(there's all sorts of magic in the world. most of it regular folks will never get to touch. but there is a type of magic, the oldest kind, that's alive and well even in the most scientifically inclined people.)

Hob presents this stew casually. There's no fooling Dream though. It's simple appearance does nothing to hide all that was poured into it. The way the vegetables sing of harbors and the meat dreams of comfort. How the broth simmers with comfort and fullness and broken bread over centuries. love thickens the whole of it into something that will last. Something that will stick and keep him full long past when he should be hungry. To fill the most ravenous parts of him. He wants to consume. He cannot.

I shouldn't, Dream says.

It's yours, Hob replies. I made too much anyway. Wouldn't want this to go to waste.

The idea of it wasting, left to rot, a gift returned, is abhorrent. Dream never claimed to abide by the mortal concept of good. He eats the stew, and then the second bowl and then the third. And hob is only too happy to give him more and more and more, until the pot is empty and, still, Dream starves.

I shouldn't, Dream says with his eyes locked on Hob's lips.

I'm yours, Hob replies. I've always been yours. There's enough of me to pour into you, however much you want for however long you want.

I will want you endlessly, Dream warns with what little strength he has. There is nothing in me that does not hunger. I was born of Night most of all and this means that I know what it is to be a black hole, i know what it is to consume everything, even light, and still never be full.

Hob smiles and leans forward and pours himself into Dream's mouth, all of himself, all that he can spare and then more and more and more. He tastes like lightening and warm broth and bread broken under starry skies. It tastes like every daydream Hob has had for 600 years. It tastes like the knowledge that this will last, sticking to the inside of his ribs warming from within bolstering against that which would sap the meat from your bones. It tastes like something that will last.

(the oldest magic across every universe is love, of course. but you knew that already.

All stories return to their original form, after all.)

[malleusfucker]

private study session

i have a shit ton of uni work but is writing smut of this man more important i think so

i live and breathe for asshole malleus y’all don’t even understand that man is a smug bastard

synopsis: your grades have been plummeting. bad. so much so that if you don’t improve, you might have to end up retaking the yearーwhich you definitely don’t want. no matter how hard you study and revise by yourself, nothing seems to stick. that was until you built up the courage to ask your close friend, malleus, if he could tutor you.

warnings: smut/nsfw, degrading, choking, lowkey hate sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mating press, reader is afab but no gender or pronouns are explicitly specified

word count: 2.8k

“oh-ho? and what makes you believe that my time will not be wasted?"

“it won’t, i swear! …please, malleus, just this once. i might have to retake the year if i don’t improve.” you shifted your feet nervously, continuing your embarrassing attempt at trying to convince the dragon fae to lend you just a slither of his intelligence. you weren’t one to beg, but at this pointーyou had to. of course, being the only non-magic student to have miraculously enrolled into NRC, it was a given your grades would be subparーbut not to this extent.

"and we certainly don't want that, do we?"

malleus's tone was condescending, apparently relishing the sight of you pleading for his help in front of him. his lips curved into a grin, and he cocked his head to one side. “i mean… that would be unfortunate if you needed to repeat the year. i do enjoy the lessons i have with you, child of man.”

your eyes widened as if he were finally giving in to your wish, like a puppy seeing a treat for the first time. “then? then…!? will you help me, malleus?”

malleus seemed thoughtfully contemplative for a few seconds. you were sure you saw a glimpse of something in his eyes for a single second. something menacing.

“fine. i’ll accept your request, child of man. you’re quite the lucky one, you know? not everyone can say that they’ve had me as their personal tutor.”

personal tutor, huh? it didn’t sound bad when he put it like that.

it was 6 p.m. malleus agreed to assist you back at your own dormーwhich surprised you slightly, but you didn’t mind. if anything, it only meant that evening was about to be spent without any disturbances.

…

it became clear that malleus was going to spend hours tutoring you like he stated he would. you sat pitifully looking at the pages in front of you as he poured information into your ears that amounted to little more than background noise. he was in the seat next to you. his body, though, was stiff. with one leg over the other and his arms crossed, it felt like being lectured about how dumb you are. 

maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

but it was probably too late to back out of it now.

snap

“are you ignoring me, child of man?”

as you heard his fingers snap at you, you quickly brought your eyes back into focus to see a face brimming with frustration and irritation.

“were you even paying attention to a single word i said?”

malleus was furious. with a tone laced with something much more than frustration, you knew you messed up big. the words that came out of his mouth only made the hairs on your arms prick up, feeling your mouth get dry as he leaned in close to your face, seeing the rage in his expression ever more clearly.

he was close. too close. you were so uneasy that you were certain he would smite you on the spot if you said something stupid.

“yes..! i swear i was malleus!”

you felt his stare burn right through you, feeling as though he’d bite off your head any second. all that you could hope was that if you said “yes” enough, maybe he’d let you off easier.

that wasn’t the case.

“am i boring you? is a human’s time for daydreaming more important than mine?”

you started to shake in your seat, your heart in your throat.

“you have a lot of nerve, child of man. taking my generosity for granted, really, you are bold.”

he drew even nearer until his face was almost brushing yours. all you could do was tremble and pray that he wouldn't actually murder you at this very moment. suddenly feeling paralysed, you couldn't even gather the energy to defend yourself.

he pressed a finger on your foreheadーhardーwatching you practically unravel in front of him.

“what will it take, child of manーfor you to listen? how can we make the time left today not utterly pointless?”

he remained far too close to your face for your liking. whilst your body was about to give way any second, you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up for some strange reason. you’ve never seen malleus so close up before, it was almost an honour. you wanted to shake these stupid, borderline dangerous thoughts away, but you almost felt in awe at the anger he was expressing to youーas bad as that was.

“hoh? got nothing to say? heh, it’s almost as if you’re trying to anger me. you’re certainly the first to do such a thing, child of man.”

he moved his finger from off your forehead to your jaw, resting it under your chin as he slowly tilted your head up to look at him. you gave him a glazed-over look. it was as if every single thought in your head suddenly turned off, rendering you speechless and still. feeling his finger touch underneath your chin, you couldn’t help but sweat, your face becoming more flushed by the second.

“hmm, your face is heating up. am i embarrassing you, child of man?”

malleus was. 

but even with all that embarrassment that was thoroughly washing through your entire body, you could sense a faint sensation of excitement starting to bubble. were you the masochistic type? did you actually enjoy getting humiliated by him? perhaps not, but seeing him get so riled up over youーhis face inches away from your ownーhey, maybe dying at the hands of someone like him wouldn’t be…too bad.

though, in the end, you could never hide things from malleus. if he couldn't detect your excitement from your face, something else revealed it for you. the slits in his eyes thinned, he glared at you. he could smell, ever so slightly, a hint of your arousal.

“...my. do you have a death wish?”

as soon as those words left his lipsーyou blinkedーsuddenly finding yourself having been thrown onto your desk, your back slamming onto the hardwood.

you gasped as you abruptly came out of your trance and felt him securely hold your legs as he towered over you. malleus wasted no time in entertaining those lewd thoughts your body was so clearly showingーwith a simple snap of his fingers, your clothes vanished and fell beside you. to say you were shocked to see this sudden change in him would be an understatement. you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, with how fast everything was moving, you could say he was eager butーwith that expression…

it looked as if your mere presence disgusted him.

malleus slid his hand up over your neck, wrapping his long fingers around it before slowly squeezing as he spoke.

“heh. child of man, give me one good reason why i shouldn’t kill you right here.”

your body was shaken to its core. that voiceーthat sentence alone made you feel faint. you pathetically flailed your arms around, weakly trying to release the grip he was slowly tightening on your neck. the pressure around your throat distracted you from how vulnerable you looked under him right now. naked and shiveringーmalleus started to grin and leaned close to you, gently planting a kiss on your forehead. it was strange. the kiss felt so soft on you, yet the pain you felt merely inches away couldn’t have been more different.

he laid tiny wet kisses down your forehead and jaw before snatching his other hand and slipping it between your legs, gently teasing your wet folds. something about the contrast between his touch and his kisses made you melt; you felt yourself slump lower and lower onto the desk as you embarrassedly leaked all over it. “...malleus- i’m- i’m sorry-” you wheeze, still trying to release the vicious hold he had on your neck.

his face stayed close to you, and he suddenly licked a long stripe up your neck and jaw. the sudden sensation made you twitch, moaning slightly at how warm and wet his forked tongue felt against your bare flesh.

“it’s all too late to apologise now.”

“tutoring you was an utter waste of time. now, i’d much rather try something else.”

before you could even attempt to reply, he let his hand from your neck free. you gaspedーsuddenly feeling your naked, trembling body be dragged to the edge of the desk. your mind was racing so much that you failed to hear the sound of his belt suddenly slamming against the ground. you stared off at the ceiling, your lip quivering. the whole thing seemed like a dream, albeit a strange one. your rational mind refused to accept the reality of the situationーbut your body...had never felt so hot before. it felt unbearable; you needed to be relieved. and luckily, malleus was there, leaning over with his gaze searing through you evermore.

he forcefully propped your shaking legs up against his waist with one hand, immediately snatching your face to make you look at him. however, for a moment, it looked as if he had forgotten what had led you two to be in such a predicament and simply loomed over you, staring at you. his gaze almost switched to a softer one, feeling the urge to gently caress your cheek. though that was quickly discarded, and immediately that familiar look of disgust soon reappeared on his face.

malleus moved his hips closer to yoursーfinally feeling his hard erection brush against your twitching core; you wincedーwishing you could throw your arms around him and bring him even closer to you.

malleus, however, was not in the mood to be so courteous to you and certainly didn't want to take up any more time than had already been lost.

without any preparation, you suddenly felt malleus drive one of his cocks into you. you screamed out, feeling him sliding and bottoming out of you with just one thrust. swiftly, with three of his fingers then violently thrust into your mouth, you gagged and choked, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, 

“bite down. good students know not to be noisy.”

you tried to pathetically choke out to malleus that it was too muchーyour body shook and convulsed from the agonising splitting pain of his long, hard cock bullying its way into you, poking and prodding at your cervix. you sank your nails into the desk, biting down hard on his fingers as he pushed and slammed his hips into you, your cries for help becoming louder by the second. within minutes of him thrusting into you, you felt pressure rapidly build in your stomach, causing you to clench and squeeze against him. 

“oh? what’s this? don’t tell me you’re going to cum already?”

you wailed, but his insulting remarks just made you feel worse about your own increasing arousal. still choking on his fingers, you nodded frantically when you then felt sharp cramping throughout your body as if you were about to cum. he swiftly slipped his fingers out while he was still thrusting into you just so he could hear your pitiful cries. 

you felt your body shudder against the desk as a wave of scorching hot pleasure swept over you, pouring and seeping down onto the hardwood under you. you tried to catch your breath, gagging and choking as you already felt so sore and painful from just one orgasm. but it was obvious that malleus wasn't through with you just yet. it was, if anything, just the start.

he gave you time to calm down, your breath slowly easing as you shut your eyes, thinking this torture had reached its end. 

of course, malleus would not let you off that lightly. his rage persisted and seeing you believe that this punishment was over just made him more spiteful.

he leaned in, his breath hot, “i’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself. now put your arms around me.” his tone was once again mocking, but this time it felt more serious, like everything you did would simply enrage him more.

he suddenly forced you into a mating press, your legs wedged up against your chest as you struggled to wrap your trembling arms around his head. you cried out and started to think that your body wouldn’t be able to handle thisーthat he might actually break you.

as he started to softly drive into you, drawing more weak and muffled groans from your lips, your hands connected to the base of his horns, clutching and scraping your nails across them. he started off slow, almost giving a relaxing quality to his thrusts as he softly kissed your forehead and smiled sweetly against your face, much to your surprise. your body relaxed as a result of his sudden shift in attitude, enjoying the fleeting moments of him lovingly moving his hips against yours, which were only going to abruptly come to an end.

your eyes were closed, not being able to see the horrific smile malleus suddenly had across his face. you assumed that the strange sadistic side of him had long since vanished, as evident by your voice becoming moans of pure pleasure rather than of pain. regardless of his disposition, he enjoyed seeing you this way. seeing how you moaned so quietly and softly only made the urge to completely ruin you that much stronger.

“are you enjoying this?”

you slowly opened your eyes, malleus still gently pushing into you as you lazily nodded, whimpering as the pleasure inside you continued to become greater. “mmm…malleus. it feels so good…don’t stop.” 

“heh. so you think you can tell me what to do? your disrespect truly knows no bounds.”

your growing sense of pleasure abruptly gave way to a dreadful fear as he pushed your legs higher onto your chest and over his shoulders, making it clear that he was absolutely certain you couldn't get away. not understanding what he meant, your lip began to quiver, only for him to rid you of your confusion by suddenly thrusting into you aggressively. you screamed out, tears soon welling in your eyes again as he gave you no time to acclimate to the sudden pace. he licked his lips, savouring the view of you struggling and wailing underneath him as he gradually began to envelop your neck with his fingers. he hovered his face close to yours, sticking his long, forked tongue out before sloppily kissing your lips, still continuing his ruthless pace. you groaned under him, feeling yourself beginning to choke from both his tongue and his fingers, which were slowly beginning to squeeze your throat once again.

it was all far too muchーyour vision starting to blur, and all of your senses drowning and bleeding into one another as he kept pounding his thick cock into you, causing you to harshly grip and pull his hair. 

he immediately drew his face back and tutted at you, but seeing the way your eyes began to roll into the back of your head only made him want to quicken his paceーif it was even possible. 

“haha…perfect. so perfect…”

the words coming out of his mouth didn’t make sense. he was praising you yet abusing you with every thrust and squeeze of your body, not even giving you a chance to cry out as your head slowly began to feel faint. all of the pain and pleasure made you lose your mind, feeling your orgasm approaching rapidly as he started to lick and nip at your ears. 

he throbbed and twitched inside of you and felt his own climax begin to rise, eventually making the decision to be generous enough and remove his vice-like grasp from around your neck. you gasped and cried out, finally able to breathe and mewling as a result of his cruel touch. 

“malleus...ーpleaseーit’s too…ーmuch... ’m gonna-” he smiled at your pleas, pressing your legs harder against your chest, allowing him to thrust even deeper into you.

“heh, are you going to cum? haha…then do it. cum for me.”

it seemed as if he had put you under a spell with how immediate and intense your orgasm was, your walls clenching down on his throbbing cock with tears dripping down your chin. you felt the sensation of hot, burning pleasure wrack through your body once again, not even hearing your own screams from how strong it was.

malleus didn't even allow you to come down from your high. instead, he kept pushing to reach his own climax, feeling his body start to shudder and throb as he kissed you. “i’m…close…you’ll allow me to cum inside of you, won’t you? i know you will.” 

you didn’t even care anymoreーyour legs continued to shake and tremble as you feebly nodded with your eyelids flickering. it seemed like malleus would fulfil his word, for a few seconds later, he let out a moan as he unleashed and pumped copious loads of white cum into you, causing you to whimper as you felt him completely fill you up.

his breathing evened almost immediately. wiping the sweat from off your face, he delicately slid his cock out from inside of you to admire his work, gazing at the way your body jerked with his cum spilling and gushing out of your abused hole.

…

“heh. maybe tutoring you every week won’t be so bad after all.”

[fastcardotmp3]

Steve is the first person Robin ever comes out to.

And it's good, it goes better than she ever could have hoped, it goes miraculously well considering just how reckless she had been about it in hindsight, how nearly accidental and vaguely self-destructive a choice it had been to wield Tammy Thompson's name like that in front of a boy she'd learned to trust within the past six hours.

The thing is, it's good, but she realizes later on that she never actually says the word. The big one, the identifying one, the one that gets thrown around as a slur as often as queer or dyke do towards any girl who dares not present in a specifically feminine way.

It's a bad word, a scary word, a word that drips off tongues like acid and drips drips drips a corrosive hole in Robin's chest every single time because if it's being said in her vicinity that means-- just at any moment-- anyone could figure out--

Robin doesn't care for the act of coming out either in theory or in practice. She believes that anyone she trusts enough to know gets to learn from context clues and anyone she doesn't trust will just never get to know her fully and that's good enough for her.

She doesn't sit her parents down and say, "Mom. Dad. I'm a--"

She doesn't sit her little apocalypse posse down and say, "Just thought you guys should know I'm a--"

She didn't tell Steve.

She doesn't say the word.

Because as much as she's able to accept who she is, it's so hard to claim a word that has been used like a weapon her whole life. Because as much as even her parents and her friends love her for who she is, there is something about saying it like that that makes her wonder if it could sully the support.

As if they'd realize oh, you meant like that...? and change their minds.

It's not until IUPUI, a little house in Indy with Steve, and a little record shop next door to the deli where Eddie got a job slicing meat that she starts seeing that word, feeling it anew.

There are zines at this shop, the ones behind the counter that she's offered after a few visits and a few conversations that she later recognizes as coded and questioning in nature.

There are stories and art and poetry and that word is all over them.

And the thing is? The thing that has Steve finding her crying in their living room one afternoon as she reads through the stack like it holds the answers to the universe?

Is that it is written and spoken and displayed like the most beautiful word in the world.

It's a compliment and a blessing and a brag. It's a little bit of magic and a great deal of history.

It's her, in the end. It's her and it belongs in her mouth, deserves to be spoken, because too many people are out there misusing it like a disgusting thing when it is divine, fucking love incarnate.

Robin tucks into Steve's embrace, his instinct to hold her even as he tries to understand what has her sobbing in the middle of the day, whether or not he needs to fight anyone about it.

He holds her and she holds him back and it only feels right that it happen like this when she takes his face in her hands, shaky but oh, so certain.

Steve was the first person she ever came out to.

If she's going to let the scary word become her favorite the way it is for the people writing it out so proudly, this is probably the place to start.

"Steve Harrington," she beams at the furrow in his brow, those big concerned eyes that she knows will be confused about this, but she knows will only hold her tighter once she explains. "Steve. Stevie. Guess what?"

"What's up?" he laughs, gathering the joy in her tears like she knew he would, and Robin feels something click in the moment before she says it to him.

Out loud and real.

Very nearly holy.

"I'm a fucking lesbian."