#fingers always itching to write new metas

[reginarubie]

The first time I read asoiaf -I'll be honest- I felt weird. Then I read your metas and realized why I felt this way, it was my love-horror sense tingling 😭

reading D@ny chapters in agot -or any of Bran- gives this feeling of watching Ari Aster movies or The Witch, like they are making deals with devil 😭😂

Ciao nonny,

Asoiaf is very complex, and some of the horrors of it are not so clear to a first reader; there are multiple layers to it. Most of my metas have been caused by people sending an ask and causing a light bulb to light in my mind (see the dark!Dany and blood sacrificing Dany metas)

Or simply I made the connection out of the blue (like my Lucifer means Lightbringer metas).

And to be quite honest with you, even those could not have seen the light of the day without my amazing mutuals to whom I have privately whined and run a first rough draft through.

I mean, @sansaissteel has been of tremendous help especially with the realization that, all in all, Rhaego is what the valyrian would've called a chimera and that it happened after a blood sacrifice, like it happened in old Valyria.

In the same way @fromtheboundlesssea has been instrumental for the new (still yet to come, I've just started to scratch at its surface) biblical meta.

And more often than not the whole thing is spurned by some convo (like the latest biblical/secular meta about the figure of the Virgin Mary, the Mother and the mothers of asoiaf) for which we can thank @esther-dot and @minitafan.

And most of my metas have been born that way. From some comment someone made, or the light bulb going off in my mind out of the blue, and from the amazing conversations we can engage in, in this corner of the fandom.

And I couldn't agree more, the AGOT chapters of both Dany and Bran are like already foreshadowing the line they are walking on, and that they either will cross or remain on the right side of. We always comment on how Dany and Jon are foils, and Dany and Sansa are written to become moral rivals, and Arya is supposed to outgrow her childish awe at the dragons to see the horror they actually bring in the world (after the whole point of her growing fiercely more hating of how fire is used during warcraft); but the real antitheses and foils are actually Dany an Bran.

Horror follows them almost more closely than others, and certainly more closely than others they toy with it. Imo Bran is foreshadowed to sacrifice his abilities (and thus his possibilities to not feel like a cripple) for the good of everyone, which is the choice I think Dany will fail to make in the end; as we see Bran growing ever so restless but realizing that something is afoot and having the advantage of having been raised by Ned Stark; Dany is just a slow descent.

Horror is a great part of asoiaf and so layered I think not even Martin has done everything on purpose; some of it might have happened by chance and actually fit the plot. As I myself write stories and fan fictions I have noticed my brain at times plants the seeds of plot-twists I haven't even started to plan, before I realize I want to write them and then suddenly start to fit as if I had planned it beforehand.

Both Dany and Bran are actually engaging with “devils”.

The dragon for Dany and the three eyed raven for Bran... and come to think of it:

both creatures are symbolically connected between them and to the number three (three dragons, the dragon must have three heads; and the three eyes of the raven in Bran' dream and the three eyed raven); both connected to the color black (which would beg on a meta in itself) and red (might actually had another layer to the red decoded series of meta).

And.....I am stopping there before this gets out of hand, but trust me on this nonny, I will return to this matter, because you just opened the lid of a Pandora box and my hands are already itching to write it, but it needs research and a more throughout writing method. But I will address this matter because damn what you haven't just exposed in my mind.

Thank you, as always for dropping by. Sending all my love; I hope you have a wonderful day/afternoon/night, whatever depending on where you live!

Do drop by again, I'm always happy to hear from you all and you all are extremely instrumental in the insanity that is my writing-metas-method!, I'm always ready to be unleashed on the fandom with brand new ideas and metas sparked by all of your genial comments and asks!

*demonic mumbling*

Forever itching to write new metas,

~G.

[lola-andheruniverse]

About everything we got today (and also what we didn't get):

I'm choosing to hope and ignore the fear of being disappointed. I'm grateful we have Mel back when for a long time I didn't think it was possible. I LOVED BOTH TEASER AND SNEAK PEEK. I trust that AMC/TPTB saw that a love story with a happy ending can put real money in the bank with TOWL and will let Carol and Daryl's story run its natural course to canon. I can't see any other logical outcome for them.

If, for some crazy ass reason, that's not what happens? I'll always love them. They're my OTP. They live in my heart. They changed the way I understand love. I'll never regret a second spent loving them. I said this before and I'll say it again: They're mine. They're ours, dear fellow carylers. Nothing will ever change that. No one can take them from us.

What I want is explicit canon? Hell yeah, give me all the passionate kisses and glorious sex scenes they deserve! But, I'm happy for now. My fingers are itching to write metas and recs and new fanfiction and it feels good! Today's a good day. Lets CARYL THE FUCK ON!

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

[softyoongiionly]

BlackHeart Bakery

Who says Halloween can’t be romantic?

Pairing: Emo! Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: fluff

A/N: HI OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I love you, I hope you like it. I’m sorry it isn’t longer but, I still can’t wait for you to read it.

-you never imagined that the quirky lil bakery down the street from your university would change your life  

-But it did

-“Omg shut up, you’re so dumb.”

-“Rawr xD”

-“Did you just say rawr xD out loud??? That totally defeats the purpose of its existence...”

-“Don’t cite the deep magic to me witch, I was there when it was written.”

-“And now you’re quoting the chronicles of narnia- alright just go back to sleep you big dummy...”

-“Mmm but you married a big dummy so what does that say about you”

-“Jungkook don't spoil it oh my god!”

-“Like they don’t know what’s coming already- spoiler alert losers! I get the girl.”

-“I hate you...”

-“Mm yeah- I love it when you talk dirty to me baby. The last time you said that- we ended up fuc-“

-“Ok! That’s enough! Our story begins...”

-Jungkook’s bakery was quite famous around your city

-If people didn’t come for the gaudy Halloween decorations  

-They came for the music  

-Exclusively pop punk, if you’re wondering

-It was like 2009 everyday  

-Which was comforting, considering the world has gotten a little

-Tricky

-Since then

-But anyways

-If they didn’t come for the music or the decorations

-They came for the AMAZING espresso  

-And the spooky themed treats

-But if you’re being honest

-You think the main thing that keeps them coming back

-Is Jungkook  

-If his sweeping black hair didn’t get you

-Or the adorable cheeky twinkle in his eyes

-It was the tattoos and the piercings  

-He looked like he walked right off of a black veil brides music video set  

-He was hot

-This was obvious

-But he didn’t seem to think so

-You had come to the conclusion that he was oblivious  

-he shoved his feet into his big black doc martens every morning  

-Slipped on his beaded bracelets and studded chokers

-Pulled his fall out boy t-shirt over his

-Massive

-Tattooed

-Biceps

-And just thought hm

-I’m pretty average I guess (lol)

-That’s a direct quote from him btw

-Men truly are hopeless

-Jungkook opened the bakery two years ago

-He had mentioned to you that he had saved up money from his 3 part time jobs to put a down payment on the building  

-Which was wedged between a sex shop

-And a thrift store

-And honestly his bakery

-Blackheart Bakery, if you’re being specific  

-Fits right in

-Jungkook refuses to hire new staff

-“They won’t do it right.” He whined to you one day

-“One time I tried to hire this guy and he put the sugared googly eyes on the cookie skeletons ALL WRONG”

-“How do you put googly eyes on wrong?” You had giggled

-“you just do- i- See? This is exactly why I can’t hire anyone...”

-You had started chewing on the end of your pencil in the midst of your laughter

-It was an unconscious habit

-And it makes Jungkook shift uncomfortably, his hands moving off of the top of your table

-“Don’t do that...” he had muttered, smirking to himself as he walked back behind the counter  

-he did that a lot

-He’d mutter something  

-Mildly flirtatious under his breath and then  

-Just walk away

-It was quite confusing

-But honestly you had a feeling he was just a filrty person  

-You certainly weren’t the only girl he smirked at

-Not that you pay attention

-Ok  

-Maybe you do  

-Kinda  

-Pay attention  

-but it’s not your fault!!!!  

-You just  

-Can’t help but feel a little jealous

-You kiiiiiinda have a little thing for him

-Ok

-Maybe it’s a big thing  

-Maybe it’s a massive

-Gigantic

-Towering  

-Crush  

-But look at him!!!

-You simply couldn’t be blamed

-It was his fault  

-Yep

-That’s what you’re going with

-It was Jungkook

-And his tight t shirts

-His ripped jeans

-His dangly earrings

-His tattoos

-His big

-Stupid boots

-Ugh ok

-Focus  

-You have work to do

-The whole reason you began coming to Jungkook's cafe was so you -could find a consistent place to study for your exams

-You were in school to become a teacher :)  

-And teachers have to study very very hard  

-Educating the youth is no easy feat  

-Jungkook had asked what you were studying during the first week you arrived at his spooky house of baked goods

-“Oh I’m an education major”

-“Ahh so you’re getting an education about...education.” He concludes

-“I love it.”

-“So meta.”

-“Are they educating you on the disparities between impoverished children and wealthier children?”

-His wide eyes were brimming with genuine curiosity  

-You kind of got a kick out of how candid he was about such heavy conversation topics

-“Not as much as they should be but, I’m actually writing a paper on a similar topic right now...”

-This caused a brilliant grin to come over his face

-It was almost blinding really

-And it made your heartbeat all wonky  

-“Of course you are. You look smart like that...”

-He had backed away from your table then, seemingly satisfied

-Had you passed the vibe check?

-“I’ll leave you to your paper.” He nodded to your laptop but as he walked away, he pivoted back towards you on and the heel of his combat boot, “welcome to Blackheart Bakery by the way, let me know if I can get you anything.”

-Another brilliant smile is sent your way  

-“Thank you.” You had smiled back, sending a tiny wave his way

-Which in turn, made HIS heartbeat all wonky  

-You’re cute

-Like really cute

-And despite how often it may seem like his eyes are elsewhere

-They are ALWAYS on you

-Every chance he gets he is glancing your way

-Smirking to himself at how endearing you are

-Brow furrowed

-Lips pouted in concentration  

-Completely oblivious to his gaze

-He has to remind himself to look away  

-He doesn’t want to be a creep

-“Creepy men deserved to get kicked in the teeth...”

-He’s said this to you before when another patron had made you uncomfortable

-Jungkook kicked him out immediately  

-“If you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to kick you in the teeth. One, because I can’t compromise my personal philosophy and two because you’re making my favorite customer uncomfortable.”

-Oh look there goes your heartbeat again

-WONKY

-The guy leaves in an angry rush, flipping Jungkook off in the process

-Saying something about leaving a bad Yelp review  

-He doesn’t care tho

-He definitely doesn’t want to be a creep

-You’re just so  

-Pretty

-Ugh

-He rolls his eyes at himself behind the espresso bar

-The latte in front of him neglected  

-In need of a bit of foam

-“Focus Jeon, she’s just a chick...”

No wait

-“She’s just a woman. A woman who I respect, like I respect all women...”

-He’s been watching a lot of feminist theory on YouTube

-He likes staying educated  

-And also fuck the patriarchy

-The man waiting for his drink has arched a brow at this point, wondering if his barista has lost his mind

-“Uhhh medium...” he checks the cup for his awful hand writing, “ghostly toasted marshmallow latte!”

-“Thanks.” The guy mutters, throwing a judging look Jungkook's way  

-He gives him a lazy salute as the guy struts away with a briefcase in tow

-“Thaaanks.” Jungkook mocks him, his face scrunching up in annoyance  

-Stupid man

-With his stupid briefcase  

-As Jungkook is pulling out a batch of cream cheese frosting stuffed pumpkin muffins  

-Or as Jungkook calls them

-PUNK-in Muffins

-Movement at the counter catches his eye

-is that

-”oh shit...” He grunts, hastily wiping his hands on his apron and rushing over to the counter

-normally he would meander

-stroll

-or even slump to greet any new guests at this hour

-and by this hour

-he means 45 minutes before closing

-Jungkook’s bakery is open til midnight on weeknights

-9pm on Sundays

-and 3am on Saturdays (for the culture of course, gotta keep it spooky)

-tonight happens to be a Friday night and the person awaiting his assistance is

-you

-”You’re still here?” He gawks, the black polish on his nails glimmering as he punches in a few keys on the register

-You offer him a tired and slightly amused smile, “No. Y/N died around 4:30, you’re speaking to her ghost. Please leave your message after the tone.”

-Jungkook cracks a smile, his palms resting on flat on the counter, “Do ghosts check their voicemails?”

-“Oh of course not but, I will be checking yours because you have access to caffeine.”

-Jungkook laughs

-no...he giggles  

-and it’s fucking cute

-but you digress

-“I feel like I should cut you off...this is your 4th latte; I’m pretty sure you’re 80% caffeine at this point...”

-“Noooo, don’t do that.” You whine slumping against the counter, “I just need to finish this one page...”

-He quirks a brow as he scribbles something on your cup, unimpressed with your statement, “You said that three hours ago. I’ll make you another one but I’m not putting an extra shot in.”

-Your face turns up in protest but he click his tongue against his teeth , shaking a manicured finger at you

-“Ah ah- nope. I don’t want to hear it. You either take that or I’m making you a hot chocolate and shutting the buildings power off.”

-With a dramatic sigh, you concede

-“Ugh fine. Here-” You go to hand him your debit card but he shakes his head

-“Put that away.”

-You want to protest but given the fact that he’s made the rules thus far during this interaction, you doubt you’d be able to stop him.

-A smile appears on your face then, appreciative of his generosity

-“Thank you.”

-He merely grins, waving you off before rolling up the sleeves of his black Blink 182 shirt

-as soon as his tattoos are out

-all the moisture leaves your mouth

-you try your hardest not to stare at him

-expertly, he eases the espresso shots into the milk, tongue poking between his lips in concentration

-and you

-being sleep-deprived

-and a little loopy

-decide to  

-flirt????????

-if you could even call it that

-which you could but you shouldn’t

-“For the record, when I finally dig my way out of this of mountain of death I’m stuck in, I will definitely take you up on that hot chocolate...”

-Jungkook’s brow quirks at the tone of your voice, his hands suddenly itching with nerves

-was that

-was that flirty?

-should he flirt back?

-“My hot chocolate is legendary. You won’t be disappointed.” His lips display a small grin as he places the lid atop your finished latte, “Also mountain of death is a great name and I WILL be stealing it.”

-You giggle

-again

-“and I WILL be suing you for copyright.”

-He laughs now, wiping up the bit of milk he spilled

-the sinewy muscles in his forearm tensing and untensing

“Good luck getting me to show up to court.”

-and that’s kinda how it was between you and Jungkook

-for like six months

-it was a little bit flirty but never anything to push either over you over the edge.

-and speaking of being on edge

-recently, you had gone from vacationing in your timeshare on the edge

-to signing a 35 year mortgage contract  

-4 bedrooms

-2.5 bathrooms

-of pure

-unrelenting

-stress

-you could feel it in the middle of your back

-shoving itself up between your shoulder blades

-your body seemed to ache with it

-the worst part being

-it was Halloween

-You should be out with your friends, having fun

-wearing itchy costumes and drinking sugary drinks

-but instead, your headed towards the bakery to work

-Jungkook was behind the counter, smiling happily at a family dressed like the cast of scooby doo

-from what you could see he was wearing a skeleton onesie

-his jet black hair tousled perfectly above his head

-he looked adorable

-(and hot)

-He notices you instantly, his face turning up in surprise

-you offer up a small wave and head over to your table

-you know he’s going to say something about you being there but

-you don’t really have much of a choice

-this work has to be done

-it takes him a second to spot you but when he does

-he seems to perk up

-his smile brightening as he looks back towards his customer

-as you’re setting everything up, you feel a presence (not the spooky kind) at the end of your table

-it’s Jungkook and he has your regular order in one hand, along with something wrapped in skeleton-patterned parchment paper

-“I know, I know.” You acknowledge before he’s even able to chide you for being here

-He smirks “What are you doing studying on the holiest day of the year??”

-You giggle

-“The holiest day of the year huh?”

-“Of course. Halloween is the one night a year that the homies can dress like total -sluts and no one can say anything about it.”

-This makes you giggle again

-“And you went with slutty skeleton huh? I love it- it’s like as naked as you can possibly get.”

-He chuckles, gesturing to his costume

-His floppy black hair getting in his face

-“Damn right baby.”

-The way he grins tells you the pet name is a joke

-But the deepening of his voice gets to you anyway

-“Thank you for this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair early tonight.”

-“The only thing I’m worried about getting out of my hair is this white spray paint. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

-He’s put a streak of white spray paint in his raven locks

-Why? You’re not certain

-Does it look good on him, like everything else does?

-Absolutely

-Its been a few hours since your night of studying began

-Jungkook’s dropped off two free lattes since you’ve arrived  

-As well as a slice of his ‘I write cinnamon not tragedies’ bread

-Which was equally hilarious and delicious

-You caught him glancing over at your table a few times but you didn’t think anything of it

-He’s probably just checking to make sure that no one needs your table

-His bakery is packed most nights but Halloween is a special night at Blackheart Bakery

-He has a trick or treat counter set up with free (homemade) candy

-A photo op complete with a fake haunted house backdrop

-A Halloween playlist

-And a bunch of discounts on his signature lattes and food

-you watch him amongst the chaos

-He is completely unfazed

-He seems elated at the amount of customers he has

-he grins and laughs at something a man dressed like Thor says at his counter

-he seems entirely in his element

-you realize that the denial tactics you’ve been trying out haven’t been working

-because this floppy haired, tattooed, slutty skeleton/baker kind of has a hold on your heart

-you’ve been friends for a long time now

-he always makes sure you’re taken care of

-he always asks if you’re ok

-he always gives you this little grin

-it feels like a secret sometimes

-but maybe it’s been his way of letting you know where he stands

-he’s been bringing you lattes and pastries for months now

-he never charges you full-price

-he always reminds you not to work too hard

-he

-fuck

-he likes you doesn’t he?

-you look back over at the counter to see him bending over and handing a skeleton cookie to a little girl dressed like Captain Marvel

-he laughs at something she says

-his eyes focused entirely on her and whatever she seems to be proclaiming to him  

-your heart goes wonky again

-alright

-enough is enough

-you’re doing this  

-Jungkook’s done so much of the work thus far

-it’s time for you to seal the deal

-and if he rejects you, well…

-you can just crawl into a hole and never come out again

-easy peasy

-You can feel his eyes on you as you get up to take your place in line

-luckily there isn’t anyone else behind you

-rejection with an audience would certainly be worse

-Jungkook has his witty comment ready for you as you approach the register

-“I know for a fact you haven’t finished your third latte and I’m not making you another one until-“

-“I’m not here for another latte.” You laugh, trying to ignore the thrashing of your heartbeat

-“No? Well, are you finally going to try my Welcome to the Blackened Chicken Parade Burger then? I’ve been asking you for like three weeks…”

-god he’s fucking cute

-“I’m here to ask you out.”

-Jungkook swears he feels his heart stop

-“You’re here to…”

-He repeats the first part of your response as his he didn’t hear you

-his black fingernails anxiously tapping against the countertop

-“I’m here to ask you out- on a date.”

-Jungkooks face seems to go through various stages of confusion before a shy smirk presents itself on his pretty mouth

-“Me? You’re asking me-“ He places a hand on his chest, “-out on a date?”

-“Yes!” You laugh, slapping the counter a bit too hard, your nerves getting the best of you, “Are you down?”

-He shakes his head but his answer contradicts his movements

-“So down, beyond down. There is no one on Earth who is more DOWN than I am. Yes. My answer is yes. 50000% yes.”

-you can’t help the smile on your lips

-“great. So are you free next Friday then?”

-He grins with his teeth this time, nodding emphatically  

-“Consider the shop closed.”

-and so it was

-you returned to your table moments later  

-feeling on top of the world

-you did it

-you asked Jungkook out

-and he said yes

-and now you

-NOW YOU HAVE A DATE WITH JUNGKOOK

-LOOK AT YOU GO

-TAKING CHARGE

-you try your best to engage with your studies but with Jungkook on your mind

-its really hard

-roughly two hours later, things at the bakery have finally started to slow down

-“Hey uh- Y/N?”

-Jungkook's voice that pulls you out of your studying trance

-he’s standing at the entrance of his back room, waving you over with his hand

-and who are you to deny him?

-you make your way over there, annoyed at the instant increase in your heartrate

-he stands awkwardly to the side and gestures to the boxes on the metal rack

-“I just remembered that I’ve never given you a tour of the place. I give all my regulars a tour of the stockroom and my office and uh-”

-he cuts himself off and clumsily cups your cheek

-he pulls you into a kiss

-a really good kiss

-his lips are so warm

-he smells like cinnamon

-you could literally die happy

-The ridiculous nature of his first attempt to kiss you, makes you giggle into his mouth

-you feel him smile, his hands smushing your cheeks together as he pulls away

-“Ok I lied. There is no tour. I’ve just been watching you focus on your computer for the last two hours and you’re just really fucking cute and-”

-this time, it’s you who cuts him off

-“You better give me an actual tour next time. How else am I going to steal your secret recipes?”

-he scoffs in mock offense

-“Ah ha! So that’s the only reason you asked me out huh? Should I be calling you Plankton instead of Y/N? Ew no wait- that would make me Mr. Krabs and he’s a dirty capitalist...”

-You laugh, “Oooh good point. Guess you’ll just have to be Karen, my computer wife.”

-This makes him laugh now and the sound warms your soul

-“I could live with that- I like your last name better anyways.”

-with another kiss, your adventure with the emo baker of your dreams begins

-It may have been Halloween but it sure felt like Christmas to you

[swmoldacc]

For meta asks: 1-10 odds :)

Hoo! So many right out the gate xD Thank you for the ask!

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

So at first I was a one-fic-at-a-time type of woman but lately I've just been adding bits to several WIPs like a wild animal. The few that I'm working on are:

A Steter/Vampire!Stiles fic

A Sterek Oneshot

A Steter PTSD (maybe one shot, not sure atm)

A Sterek/Sugarbaby!Stiles fic (not with Derek though)

A Sterek/Maze Runner Crossover Fic

A Steter Oneshot

And a few others where the documents have only been named and not added to just yet D;

So to go into a few of them:

The Steter/Vampire!Stiles fic is the main one I'm working on and it's taking quite a bit of time to flesh out only because I'm new to writing Peter. I'm still frankly new to writing Stiles and Derek as well but I've gotten comfortable to build a base with them. Peter, well, snark isn't my greatest writing attribute. I don't want to give too much away with this one, but Stiles becomes a vampire and Peter's there to help.

The Sterek/Sugarbaby!Stiles fic is a fun idea I thought about (which I'm sure was not an original thought) where Stiles runs out of money in college and, with help from a classmate, starts down the road of becoming a sugar baby. There's gonna be feelings, drama, (hopefully comedy if I can learn to write it better) and some supernatural stuff happening in the background xD

The Maze Runner Crossover was actually going to be a newtmas one in the beginning but I switched into wanting Sterek for it. Yanno, having Stiles (thomas) fall in love with Derek even with the loss of his memories is just a nice thought :)

More below the keep reading!

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Well I don't necessarily have a scene that I've been itching to write that I haven't already put down in some form of actually writing it or making a rough guideline for, I do have wip that sits in the wip graveyard that I picked things out of to use in another fics. Like a warm-up session xD It was basically Stiles just kind of casually moving in to Derek's loft as over time they get closer and closer with hanging out and mutual platonic bed sharing which eventually evolves into something more. So here's the snippet from it, a scene I liked writing for it (which hasn't been beta-d at all, so bear with me) :3 (this post is going to a long one, hooooo)

An hour of unrest turned into two and then eventually three and all the while Derek slept, Stiles stayed glued to the couch, fingers tapping away on his thigh as he chewed on the second pull string - the first one already obliterated. Even though something was playing on the screen in front of him, Stiles couldn’t concentrate on it to save his life. He was still so pent up with energy, frustrated that Derek had merely brushed it off and went to bed. Glancing over, Stiles noted that Derek was letting out soft snores, which he always did well before Stiles could fall asleep. Most nights it helped him reach unconsciousness faster, but tonight they were just getting on his nerves.

Stiles sighed and burrowed himself further into the couch cushions. He shut his eyes and hoped his brain would shut off soon. When it did, when he eventually drifted off, he dreamed. He dreamed of horrible things, of sad things, of things that made him whimper in the middle of the night. When he’d woken up briefly, feeling weight displaced on and around him, he caught a glimpse of Derek carrying him to the bed. Derek wasn’t looking at him, he probably didn’t even notice that Stiles was awake until he put him down on the mattress.

He covered Stiles with the comforter, hands stopping only once he realized Stiles was staring up at him. Silently, Derek climbed into bed next to him, facing him, not bothering to keep his distance. Stiles watched him quietly, sniffling and scrunching up his nose as tears fell down his face. He’d been dreaming of Allison, of Aiden, of everyone they’d lost along the way, and he couldn’t stop the overflow of emotion.

Stiles wasn’t one to shy away from publicly crying and he wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed that he was practically sobbing in front of Derek, telling him everything. He told him he used to miss Scott, how he was sad that he didn’t anymore. He told him about the nightmares and how they made him feel guilty for being here while others weren’t. He told Derek everything, everything except about how he felt about him, so instead he told him how he felt like he was fucking up his life by not sticking to ‘the plan’ he’d set for after high school, and how he wondered if he were disappointing his dad.

Derek listened to all of it and when Stiles couldn't speak anymore, reduced to a muddled mess of choked sobs between sharp breaths, he reached out his hands and took hold of Stiles’ face. His hands were warm and Stiles’s skin was cold and clammy, wet from the tears that stained his face. Stiles leaned into the touch, not caring about the knot growing in the bottom of his stomach. When Derek leaned forward, as if on instinct, to run his tongue along the paths the tears created, Stiles didn’t move, didn’t budge as Derek took care of him.

He peeked out from behind wet eyelashes, vision blurred behind tears that had yet to fall, and thought he saw Derek’s own eyes welling up. His tongue continued to run along Stiles’ face, cleaning up the mess Stiles had made of himself, warming his skin with his hot breath. Stiles sniffled, bringing up his own hands to grip at Derek’s wrists and noted how his fingertips were able to touch one another. He tipped forward, leaning closer in Derek’s space, and on a brave whim, whispered, “Kiss me.”

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Strangely enough, I feel like I identify more with Derek. He's easier to write but I feel that's because I have an angsty brain with angsty, self-deprecating thoughts >_>

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

I feel (and hope) that I'm good at being descriptive enough when I write? I would hope that the picture I'm writing comes across as a nice scene that others can imagine easily.

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

A little bit of both really. I started off in the sterek community writing long fics and now I'm writing drabbles every so often, but before then I used to write long fics all the time about other fandoms, with a few drabbles here and there as well so yeah, both. I like both, to be honest, it's fun to plan out long fics (my steter/vampie!stiles guideline document is like 13 pages long of planning) but drabbles are fun to get lost in for like an hour in the day.

I think this is it for this ask! Thank you for much for it! :3

[winchester-with-wings]

Burnin’ Up

Barry Allen x Meta!Reader / Patron Benefit Fanfic!

Author’s Notes: As always, it's taking me forever to write these fics but I've made a commitment to my patrons with fic requests and I wanna keep at it! So thank you for your continued support! I wrote this is one sitting! Isn't that amazing? For me it is haha! This is for the wonderful Jasmine ( @our-marvel-universe​ )! This was inspired by the Human Torch in Fantastic Four.

Summary/Request:     "Are you out of your damn mind?"

Word Count: 1400ish

Wanna get previews, early access and make exclusive requests? Become a Patron! You can follow my Patreon for free too as some stuff becomes public after a while.

Can’t become a patron? please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi (Tips are appreciated!)

Mobile Masterlist  /  Patreon & Commissions Masterlist

————————————————–

Barry and Iris had been proven time and again that they were good team leaders. When a new recruit was brought to Team Flash, there were training wheels and you were crazy to think you would be an exception.

The limits of your power were unknown and you were itching to push yourself. Literal firepower had not been seen since Caitlin's husband Ronnie Raymond. The fireproof tech had been lock away and Cisco was still digging it all up.

How hot could you get? Temperature wise…because let's be real…Barry's speed was ironic because he used to be late all the time…and you? You never would've described your self as hot…or attractive or any other word for it. If anything, you were a hot mess. When you'd gotten your powers, you'd been exposed to a propane tank explosion. You were just grateful to survive. But burning through your clothes…that wasn't fun.

Luckily, Barry's speed required Cisco to work on friction and heat resistant material. You just wish it wasn't so tight and revealing. It was a second skin. Black and sleek like snake skin with red stitching and accents. A blank red emblem was on your chest until Cisco had finished designing it.

"It's meant to be tight," Cisco says that day while you're blushing. Barry averts his eyes; Ralph tries and fails not to stare. Caitlin is smiling and looking at your face instead, reassuring. "You can wear it under your clothes so that you don't singe your favorite shirt."

"I don't know if I can take that risk just yet. Guess I'll just stick to sweats and old t-shirts," you say, shirking on one of the spare STARS Labs shirts that Caitlin offered earlier.

"Girl, it looks good," Cisco grins, admiring his work. "Black and red looks good on you. Tomorrow we can test your limits in a hot box. Any ideas on a name?" You open your mouth. Cisco laughs. "Just kidding, I'm working on that too."

---

You step into a metal box with walls at least 6 inches thick with small holes for venting.

"Good thing I'm not claustrophobic," you snark.

"Take your time. Don't push yourself," Barry says over a speaker system. You're alone in this lab. You feel like a bug under a microscope…or maybe an ant under a magnifying glass, seconds away from bursting into flames. Yeah that sounds about right.

The fire licks at your finger tips. Your heart is starting to beat rapidly. It's like Caitlin had noted before. The fire inside reacts to your emotions and physiology. You take some deep breaths. You and Iris had been practicing meditation together and it had served you well. But this time, the fire pulses with each breath like pumping oxygen into a fire.

Every 3 seconds, the fire grows, crawling up your arms. It sparks from your fingers and from your chest until there is a thin layer of flames engulfing you.

You hear the final click as the metal box closes, securing you within.

"Slow and steady," Barry coaches you.

"Her vitals are steady," Caitlin says in the background.

As the fire around you builds, your hair goes loose and flowing. You open your eyes. It was always scary to expose your eyes but you'd discovered quickly it was safe for you to do so. You turn your head and your hair is moving and floating in waves as if you're underwater. You raise your hands to you face, observing the fire as the flames shift color and temperature.

"I can go hotter," you say, extending your fingers for a burst of energy. You could sense that the fire was hot but it didn't hurt you. It felt warm and safe, like you'd created a safe space around you where no one could get to you.

The entire box, essentially the size and shape of an elevator car, is filled with your fire. The flames extend past it, flowing through the ventilation. The air is thick and distorted by the heat. The metal looks like it's sweating. Was it melting?

The edges of your uniform start to fray.

"Cisco, I thought you said this suit could withstand the fire?" you speak up over the roar of your fire. The camera that used to be in the box is gone. Destroyed.

"It was supposed to. Y/N, you're burning up."

"I know!" you cheer yourself on.

"No! It's too hot!" Barry shouts.

"I can do more!" Reaching deep within yourself you fill the fire burst from your limbs. You're not wearing shoes and you start to feel the soles of your feet lift off the floor. There's a force from your hand propelling you upward but only slightly. Is something happening? Do you know what it is?

Before you can figure it out, you're sprayed with automated fire extinguishers. But it can't even reach your skin, the fire is protecting you.

"You need to stop," you hear Caitlin say over the speakers. You hold your breath. Hold everything in. The fire on your skin stops but the box is still aflame, red hot and melting.

Suddenly, you feel like you're in vortex and the air around you is thinning. Your hair is caught up in the wind as you realize that Barry is running around you, putting out the flames and effectively suffocating you!

You collapse into a bed of foam. The room goes dark as you lose consciousness but you hear Iris shout Barry's name, stopping him in his tracks.

--

You're in the clinic, attended to by Caitlin. Your baseline temperature is well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

"You were practically hotter than a bomb. The next hottest thing was going to be the sun. There could've been dangerous consequences," she explains to you. Your tears evaporate on your cheeks.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. We're okay and so are you. Your suit though…didn't fair as well."

"Oh, no," you say, fighting back a chuckle, looking at the pile of ash and fabric in the corner.

"Cisco has a name for you now though. Supernova." A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You like it.

"Caitlin, I think I can…" You try to sit up but Caitlin gently pushes you down. Her hands are cold and there's steam when she touches your skin.

"You need to rest."

"But Caiti--"

"She said you needed to rest," Barry says, stepping into the room as reinforcement. "Are you okay?" His arms are crossed over his chest and you wish you could sink into the mattress and hide from his disapproval.

"You nearly killed me," you say scornfully, turning your head away from him.

--

The next time you see Barry, you're standing on the roof of STAR Labs.

It's been a week and the fire within you is building like a volcano.

"I can do this."

"Y/N? Are you out of your damn mind?! What are you doing up here?"

You're in your new suit. It's not even finished, providing coverage for the modest body parts at least. It's kind of sexy. And with what you're about to do, you need that confidence.

"Barry…I think I can fly."

"What? No, you can't!"

"I can. You'll see. Sometimes you need to jump before you can run." Blue flames dance at your fingertips, dripping down your legs.

"Stop! You can't. Don't do this!"

"Trust me."

You jump.

"Nooo!!" Barry screams as you plummet off the roof. Your flames are small and imperceptible at first as the wind streams past you. You can hear the crackle of Barry's lightning as he starts running down the side of the building.

"Come on!" You urge yourself, tensing your muscles and urging the fire to burst out of you.

It finally does, just before it's too late.

It propels you up and forward, away from the building. You leave behind a trail of flames but you're able to fly a few laps around STAR Labs until you land on the south lawn, burning the grass beneath you. You don't land gracefully either. Your knees buckle and you fall over. You could create a fire angel in the grass if you wanted but you'll be too busy dealing with Barry.

"Y/N! What the hell!?" He kneels beside you and reaches out to touch you but his fingers sizzle on your skin. "Ouch. Dammit, Y/N, you're out of your mind."

"No. Not at all. But I can fly. And you're just jealous," you giggle, riding the thrill and adrenaline. Barry groans and gets to his feet, frowning.

"No. Not at all," he copies you. "But at least I'm wearing clothes." You look down and realize that your suit has burned away once more. You squeal, covering your body.

"Don't look!"

"If you won't listen to me, then I don't have to listen to you. I can take in the sights if I want."

Still the gentleman, he offers his hoodie.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You're the one who's going to explain why Cisco has to make you another suit."

"Crap," you grumble. Hopefully, the fact that you can fly will smooth that over though…

—————————

Tagging: @abbessolute @autoblocked @book-loving--anime-chick @karazoiel​ @overlyobsethed​  @therealcap​  @whoopxd​  @bookworm4ever99​ @geeksareunique​ @pottxrwolff​ @barry-writes​ @ravenhaviland​ @clockblobber​ @softdudebro​ @melaninspice11​ @parkerschurros​ @woaahkelsey​ @montytheravenclaw​ @sanya-gryff​ @smutfornerds​ @fabinapercabeth4179​ @faithtrustandpixiedust95​ @thinkwritexpress-official​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​ @percyjackson886​

[killervibe]

She’s Clueless, Cupid

On Monday, February 11th, Ralph created the Valentine’s Day Lottery. Cute and inconsequential at first glance, as Ralph’s terrible ideas always were, this time the Valentine’s Day Lottery in fact seemed really not so bad. After some convincing. “Secret Valentine’s Day Santa!” Ralph said simply, standing in the middle of the Cortex and trying to change all the blank stares. “It’s team bonding guys. With all this Cicada stuff we need some mushy gushy cheer—And I actually have friends now to do something like this with.” “....Secret Valentine’s Day Santa? That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” Ralph rolled his shoulders back, unscathed by catty remarks. “You think of something better then.” Cisco threw his pen in the air. “Won’t take long.” “—Anyways,” Ralph continued, “Ralphy’s on a budget so why don’t we keep this easy? We all draw a name out of a hat.” He pointed at Sherloque and before he could protest Ralph snatched Sherloque’s black hat off his head with his stretchy hand. “Whoever you get you write them a Valentine’s Day card. Type it up, 12 point font, single spaced, Times New Roman. Make it meaningful but don’t sign your name.” Iris frowned. “Why not?” “Mystery,” Sherloque mused. “J’aime ça.” “Exactly Shirley. At the end of the day we have to figure out who wrote the card.” “Valentine’s Day Lottery!” Cisco exclaimed suddenly, his thrown pen clattering to the ground, forgotten. “That’s it. That’s the name.” Barry shrugged, thinking it over. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Could be fun?” Caitlin smiled, “It would be very sweet to do, Ralph. We could all do with a little positivity. I say why not?” Ralph grinned at Caitlin and gave her a high five. “See? Caitlin Snow, everyone. She’s the best. A literal angel. Thanks girl.” Caitlin smiled at the praise, sharing it with Cisco, who was ready with a wink. She rolled her eyes playfully. “No problem.” Ralph urged them all to tear off pieces of paper to write their names so they could draw right away. Sherloque, Barry, Cisco, Iris, Caitlin and Ralph all participated, stuffing their names in Sherloque’s hat. One by one they were then called up by Ralph to pick the lottery, closing their eyes and looking away as they grabbed one of their friend’s names. The silence was slightly awkward as everyone fumbled around each other, now painfully aware they all had to keep a secret, knowing they’ve never been particularly good at it. Once Caitlin slipped her lottery into her lab coat, the very last crumpled name in the hat, the show was over and they all dispelled to continue working on tracking Cicada’s next move. ♡ Cisco got Iris. He folded the paper into his fist and walked out, heading to his workshop. “Hey man, wait up.” Cisco turned to see Barry jogging after him. “Who’d you get?” Cisco stared at him blankly, but Barry continued, nudging his shoulder with his sharp elbow. “C’mon, man. Who’d you get?” “This isn’t how the game is supposed to work. What if I have you?” “Do you?” Cisco crossed his arms. “What’s the point?” Barry looked a little smug. “Well, I was hoping to pick Iris but I have Caitlin—“ Before Barry could finish that sentence, Cisco snatched the scrap of paper out of Barry’s hand, throwing his own at him. Barry looked down at Iris’s scrawl and smirked. “Glad to do business with you.” “How did you know?” “I didn’t.” Barry sped off, not giving Cisco any time to respond. Barry could be weird like that, especially when it came to Iris. But Cisco didn’t care this time, Barry’s quirkiness working to his benefit. He opened the little paper with Caitlin’s name on it and smiled to himself. He tucked it gently into his pocket and began whistling a popular song on the radio. ♡ On Tuesday, February 12th, Team Flash had a completely, regular, ordinary day. As regular as Team Flash could get, all of them sneezing, wheezing and itching irritated eyes from excess pollen. The flower power meta they defeated had germinated at least three million dandelion seeds into Central City’s atmosphere and Caitlin was still picking fluff out of her hair hours later. Cisco was laughing, watching Ralph’s allergies making his nose stretch five feet as Barry sneezed repetitively, zig zag crashing into furniture from the force of it. Cisco hopped off his desk when Caitlin groaned, exasperated. “Just wash it,” he suggested, flicking more of it off her scalp. “Or not. I have to admit, it’s pretty adorable. Caitlin Snow, flower child.” She looked up at him and scowled. “It is not. It’s ridiculous, is what it is. And I just washed it this morning.” “So that’s why it smells so good,” he mused. He took another sniff. “Or maybe it’s the lily petals you’ve still got stuck there.” “Nooo,” she whined. “I thought I picked those out.” “Let me help.” She passed him her brush and he stood behind her, taking her silky hair and brushing it out smoothly. Caitlin leaned her elbow against her desk as Cisco played hairdresser, relaxing like a petted cat. It was lovely, and her attention faded, drifting up into the clouds in a mindless haze. “You know what you should do?” he asked, blowing more fluff into her face. “That you don’t anymore?” She wrinkled her nose, breaking out of the spell. “What?” “Wear ponytails.” “I wear ponytails,” she argued, amused. He ran his fingers through her hair. “But not enooooooough. It’ll solve your issue. Everyone knows you tie your hair back in a fight.” He sounded very insistent, so she satisfied him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Ralph staggered forward then, miserable, and begged Caitlin for some softer tissues. She asked Ralph to hand her the purse she left in the corner of the Cortex as Cisco kept picking twigs out of her hair. He plopped them into the little garbage bin she had sitting on her lap. “Wait…” she said, after noticing a pattern to his light tugs. She tilted her head up to quirk an upside down eyebrow at him, “Are you braiding it?” “Shhhhhhhhh. It’s soft,” Cisco shushed her, tapping her head back upright so that he wouldn’t be making his braid lopsided. Ralph passed her the bag and she rummaged for the Puffs with extra lotion, finding it in an interior zipper. “There you go,” she smiled, handing it to him. Ralph moaned through his obnoxiously nasal tone. “You’re a godsend.” She wiped at her watery eyes herself, then looked around at her friends all suffering, cringing when Barry sneeze-slammed particularly violently into the wall, glad that she gave him elbow and knee pads to soften any blows. “Cisco,” she asked slowly. “Why aren’t you affected?” “I was wearing my Vibe goggles, remember?” he answered. “....And antihistamines.” They all had antihistamine. That didn’t add up. She narrowed her eyes, even if he couldn’t see it. “...How many?” “Too many,” Cisco mumbled into her hair. That explained his funny giddiness. He was drugged up on Allegra. “Cisco! That’s not safe!” “Not the whole bottle,” he was quick to defend. “Just...Uh, almost half of the spare you keep in your cabinet?” She tried not to panic, wondering if she had the number for poison control. She racked her brain for intoxication symptoms associated with over-the-counter drug abuse. “Do you feel drowsy? Dizzy? Blurry vision?” “Not yet!” he replied rather cheerfully, but she couldn’t help notice the hoarseness to his voice, a symptom of dry throat. And a weird side effect of allergy medicine. Caitlin crossed and uncrossed her legs, shifting the bin on her lap, and made herself roll her eyes. She considered his answer. He did seem to be fine for now and she knew he would never lie to her about something serious if she asked, not after what they went through with the shrapnel in his hands. He probably wasn’t in any immediate danger. “So, hey, what are you doing on Thursday?” Caitlin felt like laughing, confused by the random question. Drugged Cisco was just like Drunk Cisco: Not making any sense. “Um, going to work. Like every day?” “Anything special?” She frowned. Oh, that was right. It was Valentine’s Day. She shook her head, feeling his nails move with it. “You would have already known about it if I did. Aren’t you done, yet?” Cisco laughed, but didn’t stop with the brush. “Oh, yeah. I was done ten minutes ago.” Ralph interjected from his corner. “Caitlin, you’re going to the Lottery Reveal! I’m making it a whole party and everything.” Caitlin dropped the bin back to the floor and folded her hands neatly. “That’s what I’m doing, then.” Her eyes trailed across the room, watching Barry catch his breath in the corner, finally calming down from his bout. “What about you?” she tried to say casually. “Do you have special plans?” “Yes, I do,” Cisco confirmed. Caitlin lost some of her smile, and she swallowed, looking at her nails. “That’s nice. I hope it goes well.” “So do I,” he said roughly, sounding sleepy. He placed his palm at the back of Caitlin’s neck. The room got too hot, and Caitlin was worried that Cisco might actually be overdosing after all, so she got off her chair. The conversation switched over to Cicada. Caitlin was relieved. Ralph and Barry talked strategy as she took Cisco to the Med Bay to check him over, flicking her braided hair over her shoulder as she led the way. ♡ On Thursday, February 14th, Caitlin found her Valentine’s Day lottery card on her desk. She opened it, read it, and sat down heavily in her office chair, nearly moved to tears. She read it again, feeling tingles all the way down to her toes. She curled her fingers into the letter protectively, like if she didn’t cling to it tightly it would grow wings and fly away. When Caitlin picked Sherloque, she decided on giving him a nice simple letter of appreciation with a special touch of writing it in French. She put some effort into it, specifically a lot of time conjugating verbs she forgot had such complicated endings, but it was simply a cute card that took her less than half an hour to finish. This was something else entirely. What she got wasn’t a Valentine's Day card. It was a masterpiece. Cisco walked into her lab, first knocking on her door lightly. He gasped, “A ponytail!” Caitlin’s free hand flew to her head, having forgotten she’d followed his styling advice. “Yeah,” she said distractedly, still feeling flooded with sentiment, staring down at the Times New Roman font, blinking away the blurriness of her emotional tears. “You look happy,” he commented, “You must’ve gotten a nice letter.” Caitlin looked up at him, a wobbly smile spreading across her face. She brushed away a stray tear, wondering why he was stretching. “I did. It was lovely, and, poignant, and, um, very inspiring.” “...Inspiring?” His arms dropped to his sides. Caitlin nodded. “Do you think Iris wrote it to empower me? That’s so sweet. I know we’re supposed to wait until the end of the day, but this letter is so beautiful, I should thank her right away.” She stood up, gathering her purse and throwing out the waste bin from her lab into the bio-sink. Cisco grabbed her wrist. “What makes you say it was Iris?” Caitlin thought about it. “Well, she’s the writer, she’s the one who could compose something as eloquent and powerful as that.” She squeezed his arm as she passed him, rushing off to go find her. She missed the way Cisco’s confused smile froze in place, how he wrapped his arms around himself and frowned very deeply. ♡ Caitlin belatedly realized she should have asked Cisco to breach her to Iris’s newspaper office when she hit traffic south of Killmare street. Parking was tight, but she found a spot right around the corner. She ran up the steps two-by-two and burst into Iris’s still pretty baren brand new office, giving her a giant hug. “Woah, Caitlin.” Iris closed her laptop, and awkwardly patted her back. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” Caitlin repeated, stepping back. “Nothing’s wrong! The Valentine’s Day Lottery! That was the most thoughtful, caring thing anyone has ever said to me in a very long time!” Iris brushed some hair out of her eyes, still caught off guard. “You need to rewind a bit. I’m really confused.” Caitlin swatted Iris’s shoulder, “Oh, come on, Ralph’s game will be over in a few hours anyway. No need to play dumb.” “I’m not playing dumb, Caitlin. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Caitlin’s smile fell off her face, realizing Iris wasn’t lying. “...You didn’t pick me for the lottery?” Iris shook her head. “No.” Caitlin didn’t understand. “But you’re the journalist. I thought...” She trailed off, frowning a little, looking out the wide window. She could see the roof of Star Labs from here. Her hand went to her peacoat jacket and held on tightly to the folder paper. Iris tapped her polished desk with her manicured nails, clearing some cluttered police report copies about the murder of Grace Gibbons’s parents out of the way. “Show me the card.” Caitlin didn’t exactly want to, now that she knew it wasn’t written by Iris. Those words were for her eyes only. And whoever gave them to her. But Iris was the investigative journalist, and she was her closest woman friend. She’d probably be able to help figure out who it belonged to. Caitlin pulled it out of her pocket. She watched as Iris scanned it, lazily at first, but then she scooted her chair in, leaning closer to the paper with focus. “What?” Caitlin asked her, when Iris returned it looking a little flushed. “Honey, this is a love letter. Read it again.” “What? No, it isn’t!” “Caitlin. That was more heartfelt than my own wedding vows.” She stared down at the words on the page, going over it again. Iris was right, and Caitlin began to startlingly realize that she was very mistaken in believing that ‘inspiring’ was the most appropriate adjective to describe what was in her hands. Every sentence Caitlin first interpreted as purely friendly was suddenly not so, each word, each phrase dipped with passion, longing, and a deeply intimate tenderness. It was romantic. Caitlin felt the ground tilt beneath her feet. “But nobody on Team Flash is in love with me!” Caitlin cried, starting to feel a little hysterical. How was this possible? Barry and Iris were happily married, Sherloque only fell in love with the same woman over and over again and— “Ralph!” she exclaimed out loud, then recoiled, horrified. “Oh, god.” Iris blinked. “Um, you think it’s Ralph?” Caitlin saw the last twenty months or so flash before her eyes. All of the creepy flirting about her measurements before he shaped up, his checking up on her, the advice he kept giving her. In fact, he was very blunt about his crush on her Frost. He was the one who found her father’s faked death certificate unprompted. Caitlin covered her hand with her mouth, he even went with her to go visit her mother. “It has to be! He called me an angel on Monday. Oh my gosh. And — And a godsend on Tuesday!” Iris opened her mouth, then closed it. “Um,” she said again. “You don’t like Ralph, do you?” Caitlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Iris!” Iris held her hands up defensively, “Just checking! What are you going to do?” “I don’t know,” Caitlin said as she paced the floor. She checked her watch. Screw the sulphate fusions Barry asked her to do today, her Cicada plans have now been officially thrown out the window. “What do you think I should do?” Iris opened her laptop again, booting the system. “I dooon’t knooow,” Iris drawled. “Well, that’s not helpful!” Iris turned to Caitlin. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I appreciate you coming here and for this chat, I do, but considering I’m not a prodigy genius or have any superspeed, I’m going to need some time to piece together my next article before we congregate back at Star Labs for the Lottery Reveal.” Caitlin looked around the new space, becoming self-aware. What Iris said was true. She just flew into Iris’s work office uninvited, interrupting her while she was busy. She picked her purse back up from the floor. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go back to Star Labs.” “Don’t be, I hope you figure it out soon. I’ll see you later.” Caitlin threw a thanks over her shoulder, and hurried her way out. ♡ She almost bulldozed over Cisco in the hallway on her way in, distracted in her haste, thinking of ways to firmly reject Ralph without hurting his feelings. She tripped into him, and he held her steady as she teetered in her heels. “Oh, there you are. You okay?” She looked into his warm familiar eyes, feeling relief, so glad to have found him. “You have to help me!” Cisco was still holding her as he answered, listening intently. “With what?” “You need to help me turn Ralph down!” “What.” It came out all in one whooshed breath, not even a question. Bland. She veered him to the right so she could explain, pressing the hidden switch that unlocked the Time Vault. “Ralph is in love with me,” she hissed, her ponytail whipping violently behind her as she gripped Cisco’s arm. Cisco bristled. “He better not be.” Caitlin didn’t hear that, too busy trying not to panic. Cisco ran a hand through his hair, getting stressed by Caitlin’s franticness. “Why are you freaking out?” “Because I don’t love Ralph, Cisco!” He fidgeted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Good to know... And why exactly do you think Ralph is in love with you? Did he tell you that?” “Yes!” Cisco grew quiet, “He did?” Something dark washed over his expression, his gaze said something Caitlin couldn’t quite understand. She could hardly comprehend how Ralph fell for her either, but he wasn’t the devil, there was no need for Cisco to amass pitchforks and rouse an angry mob. Though she could see why he might want to. Hunter and Julian ended terribly the moment love confessions started pouring out, but they both had red flags about them they should’ve seen from miles away, and Ralph, the reformed Ralph, hasn’t ever given them any reason to worry. “Well, not exactly,” she admitted. “Not directly. But his language, his words. And once Iris mentioned the love letter I started to think about Sherloque and his doppleganger ex-wives. I pieced it together after that.” Cisco leaned against the silver wall of the Time Vault, waiting for Caitlin to finish rambling. “Take a breath, Caitlin. Start from the beginning.” She did, exhaling deeply. “I went to Iris. She didn’t write it. The Valentine’s Day card. She said it was a love letter.” Cisco let out an “Ahhhh,” understanding her, now. “You think Ralph wrote you a love letter.” “I know, I know, it’s crazy,” she wrigned her hands. “How am I going to tell him I don’t return his feelings nicely?” He snorted, “It doesn’t have to be nice. Just tell him no and get on your way.” “I don’t want to crush him, Cisco! Not on Valentine’s Day. He’s sensitive. This is probably why he came up with this idea in the first place. Think about it. He wanted a way to be able to confess his feelings anonymously. This was the perfect set up to do that. And he was the one holding the hat. Maybe he never put my name in it.” “Hey, hey,” he said, not liking the way she was biting her nails with worry. If she conspired any more she might start linking this to illuminati. “Don’t stress, okay? Talk to Ralph. He’s a big boy, he can take it.” She nodded, looking up at him through her lashes when he tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear, comforted as always by Cisco’s encouragement. He always believed in her. “Yeah?” Cisco pushed himself off the wall and opened the door. “Absolutely.” “Will you come with me?” Cisco made a face. “Oh, Caitlin. I would. But I have to work on the blueprints for the reverse dagger. I think this is something you need to do alone.” He rubbed her shoulder affectionately, his hand lingering there for an extra moment. “Hey, Caitlin,” he said softly. She met his gaze, wondering why he sounded a little forlorn. “Yes?” He gave her a small smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Caitlin bit her lip, watching him breach away before she could say it in return. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Cisco,” she mumbled quietly to herself, alone in the hallway. She straightened up, squaring her shoulders, and ignored the dread settling in her stomach like stones. ♡ Ralph was in the lounge, decorating for the Lottery Reveal. She walked in slowly, leaning her elbow against the counter of the island, watching him stretch his arm up to stick heart balloons to the ceiling. “Who do you think gave you your card?” He spun around, not expecting to see her there. “Hi, Caitlin. That’s a nice sweater. Dressed for the occasion, I see.” She looked down at her red sweater dress. Yes, she thought so too this morning. Ralph had always complimented her style. It used to make Caitlin feel nice. Now it made her nervous. “I dunno,” he continued, answering her question. “I was thinking it was Barry, but now I think it might be Iris. Does she make a lot of grammar mistakes?” “You’re asking me if the one person out of our friend group who has a degree in journalism can spell?” “Well, when you put it like that…” He chuckled. “I guess it must be Barry then.” He stuck the last inflated balloon from the batch and threw an empty plastic bag into the recycling. “Did you know Star Labs has a bunch of Valentine’s Day decor in the storage room? I only had to buy the balloons.” “H.R,” Caitlin reminisced, remembering he was before Ralph’s time. That was the last time they did anything like this, even though that was for his eccentric Friends Day. It was a pretty similar concept. H.R. even made them all cards. She thought H.R. and Ralph would have gotten along. “Huh? Star Labs Human Resources?” “No no. A man we used to work with. That was his name.” “Oh. Okay.” Caitlin swallowed. Was that jealousy? She winced at what was to follow. She really really hated deliberately causing people pain. She stared at her own hands, unable to look him in the face. “Look, Ralph—“ “Do you mind holding this for me?” It was a red streamer. She took it hesitantly, walking to the corner of the room he wanted her to hang it up. He unravelled the rest, going to the opposite end. It said ‘be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine’ on it and Caitlin prayed this wasn’t some sort of subtext. “Ralph,” she found herself saying, pinning the streamer to the wall. “You’ve become a good man, and a great friend. I am very proud of you.” “I—Wow—“ “—And I’m so flattered that you think I’m breathtakingly beautiful, I really am. Your words touched my heart. But I don’t have feelings for you and I never will. I’m sorry.” The streamer fell to the floor between them, slipping out of Ralph’s extended hand. He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. She left the streamer half taped up, walking to him. She took his hand after hesitating, unsure if he could handle her touch. “Ralph, please forgive me. I know how it feels to love someone who doesn’t love you back the way you want.” He looked at their joint hands and pulled his away. “I’m not in love with you, Caitlin.” Caitlin’s lips parted but no sound came out. Ralph waved a hand over her face. “Hellooooo? You need me to say it again? I’m not in love with you. Stop looking like you’re in a tank with King Shark.” Caitlin blinked, coming back to herself. “No! But that’s not possible! You have to be!” Ralph chuckled, tilting his head. “Uh?” She listed all of her points on her fingers, “You think what I wear is pretty, and you give me nicknames, and you came with me to interrogate my mom!” Ralph sat down on the couch, clearly needing some support. “One, I call you pretty because you are. So is Iris. And Cecile. And Nora. It’s just a fact, Caitlin, I don’t cry myself to sleep over it.” He shook his head, “Two, Cisco gives you nicknames first, I just copy him, and three, I’m both a detective and your friend. I do the nice things I can for you because I like you.” Caitlin opened her mouth to argue— “— As a friend. It’s like I said, before I met you guys I had nobody.” He reached for a new bag of balloons and took a deep breath to blow one up. “But you wrote me that wonderful letter!” Ralph gasped, a blast of air attacking his esophagus. He coughed as the balloon noisily flew to the floor. “Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. I swear you were not my Valentine’s Day Lottery.” This was an absolute disaster. Ralph swore to himself, appalled, “Damnit, I broke the rules to my own damn game.” Caitlin was so frustrated she felt like she was about to cry. Her hands went to her hair, extremely close to pulling at it, desperate. “Ralph, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” “Your card was romantic?” She nodded miserably. “I felt so special reading that message. Now I’m starting to wish I never got it.” Ralph grimaced. “Caitlin, you know I will never be as smart as you, but this is simple logic. I’m begging you. Please just think about this.” She sank down on the couch next to him, burying her head in her hands. “Ralph I’m so embarrassed. Can we please please forget that this conversation ever happened?” He checked her side with his shoulder, nearly knocking her over. “Done, sister.” She spared him a glance, still blushing red with mortification. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I guess I’m glad I’m not breaking your heart.” Ralph shrugged, “I mean, if you did, I have my book to get me through it. It works every time.” Caitlin huffed a laugh staring at her hands in her lap. “The Book of Ralph never fails.” “Wait…” Ralph said. Caitlin looked up. “Are you in love with someone?” Caitlin’s throat went dry and she immediately broke eye contact, reaching for the deflated pink balloon left abandoned where it landed. She stretched the latex in her hands, jittery. “No. Why?” Ralph pointed at her triumphantly. “Ha! Frost lies the exact same way!” “No,” Caitlin said again on reflex, then wished she could stuff those words back into her mouth. “Yes, she does. What, are we just going to pretend you didn’t tell me you know how it feels to have unrequited love?” “That’s not what I said,” she insisted, “I said I know how it felt to be vulnerable!” Ralph was looking way too amused for Caitlin’s comfort. “That’s not what you said.” She should’ve kept quiet. She should have ran out of there the moment she realized she grossly screwed up with Ralph and her letter. Caitlin jumped up, snapping her fingers, desperately wanting to change the subject. And then she realized, she didn’t have to. “Unrequited love! That’s it! It’s Sherloque.” Ralph stared at her. And she didn’t like it. Couldn’t stand the fear creeping over her skin at Ralph possibly learning her secret. “...You lost me.” “Sherloque. He’s trying to get over Renee with me.” She made a face. “Oh dear.” Ralph shared her cringe. “Shirley? The hots for you? Really?” Caitlin sighed. Somehow she felt breaking it to Sherloque that she didn’t want to be his cherie wouldn’t be so bad. “Let’s get it over with.” “Me?” Ralph exclaimed, “I can’t go anywhere. I have heart shaped cookies in the oven.” Caitlin groaned, forcing herself to shuffle out of the lounge. “Wish me luck, Ralph.” “Uh, yeah. You sure need it.” ♡ Cisco saw a blur of red knit, and called out to stop Caitlin from twisting an ankle. “Caitlin! Did you, uh, talk to Ralph?” She didn’t stop running, but her voice carried down the corridor as she tossed her head over her shoulder after passing him. “I’m so sorry, Cisco, we’ll talk later, I have to go!” He stood there trying to understand what happened, pretty sure he had whiplash. There was only so much more of this Cisco could handle before he’d explode. ♡ He does, in fact, explode. ♡ “Barry!” Cisco all but marched into the Speed Lab minutes later, where Barry was running laps. Barry came to a screeching halt in front of Cisco. “Yeah?” “I”m done,” he burst out, vibe blasting one of the Star Labs coat racks in the corner where they kept their workout crewnecks. The stand went crashing to the floor. Cisco blasted it again, releasing his pent up frustration, and it went rolling. “She thinks it’s Ralph. She thinks it’s fucking Ralph.” Barry was still panting, hands on his knees. Cisco side-eyed Barry’s dramatics. He was the fastest man alive, Cisco would have to be paid a quarter million dollars to believe that actually tired Barry out. Barry made an incredulous noise. “She thinks you wrote the letter for Ralph?” “No! She doesn’t know that I wrote the letter at all!” Barry stood up straight, aghast. “What?” Cisco sat down on the steps, defeated. “She’s my best friend and she didn’t think for one second it could be me.” “Maybe it wasn’t clear enough.” “I threw up rainbows on that thing. Barry, I poured my heart out. It couldn’t be clearer.” “Well, yes, but it doesn’t have your name on it.” Cisco sulked. Barry carted his hand through his hair, trying to come up with ideas. “Buy her roses!” He exclaimed. “A dozen! Sing her Frank Sinatra? And a parade!” Cisco’s voice was dead flat. “A parade?” Barry zipped away. He returned with a single red rose. He threw it at Cisco. His aim was way off, but Cisco reached forward and caught it between two fingers when he stretched. “It’s the last one in Central City. I just checked.” Cisco studied the flower. It was velvet to the touch, red with a water droplet or two hidden in a crevice. “What if she doesn’t love me, Barry?” Barry was quick to sit next to his best friend, ready to pull up the pep talk he’s had saved for this moment for many years. “Dude, come on. You’re the most important person in her life.” “That doesn’t mean she loves me,” Cisco snapped. “I thought I was ready to deal with it when I wrote the letter, but maybe I was kidding myself. Was probably still high on antihistamine.” His laugh was a little watery, and he glanced at the clock. “I thought we’d be together by now.” Barry stopped and levelled him straight. “Did you mean the things you wrote about her?” “Of course I did.” “And do you still now?” “Barry, yes. Look, this isn’t about Ralph’s game, or Valentine’s Day. It’s bigger than that. It was a long time coming.” “Then that’s what you have to tell her. Straight up. Look her in the eyes and say, ‘Caitlin, I love you.’” Cisco nodded to himself, knowing it was true. But that didn’t make it easy, no matter how something as simple as how much she meant to him should be. He lifted his gaze and shared a secret with his best friend. “You know I’ve never told her that? I think I came up with everything under the sun these past few years except those exact three words.” “How come?” “They get stuck in my throat. I was always afraid that if I said it, even just in a friendly way, she’d see right through me, and know what I really mean. I’ve kept this buried for so long. It’s almost like, these feelings for her I’ve kept private are a part of me and I’ve tricked myself into pretending that’s where they belonged. But then I...I wrote the letter. Once it was all out on paper, I knew it would be impossible to go back to pretending.” Barry patted him on the back. “Cisco, take a chance. You already made it halfway, just take it home. Then you’d have done your part. The rest is up to her.” Cisco nodded, twirling the rose stem. Barry stood up, “Listen, I gotta go pick up Iris’s present before she comes back from the newspaper. Will you be alright?” Cisco closed his eyes, inhaling sharply through his nose, gathering his courage once again. “Yeah. I’m going to go find her.” ♡ Caitlin knocked on Sherloque’s station. He was squinting at a monitor, looking very concerned over some ancient greek symbols. “Ah, Dr. Snow, vas-y, come in.” He turned the computer off, giving her his full attention. She sat on a stool across from him. “How’s your day going, Sherloque?” “Fine, thanks to your kind words.” She blinked, having forgotten that he was her lottery pick. “You knew it was me,” she said, although she wasn’t quite sure why she was surprised. This was Sherloque, after all, he noticed these things in his sleep. “Bien sur,” he responded, “Those verb tenses were near perfect.” She ducked her head, “I tried.” He hummed, tapping his nose, “But you’re not here for that.” “No,” she replied. “Sherloque, did you write this letter?” She unearthed the card from her coat, handing it him. “Because if you did, I think we need to talk.” He took it from her, reading it as he stroked his beard. “Mon dieu,” he muttered. “This has so much passion.” Caitlin blushed. “Have you read it?” He asked rather bluntly. Caitlin huffed, affronted. “Of course I read it! I must have read it at least six times!” “Non,” he argued, “À la voix haut, Doctor Snow. Out loud. It will help you.” He raised an eyebrow challengingly, and their eyes locked, tense. This felt like a test. The crisp paper crinkled under her touch. She swallowed, staring down at it. “My dearest Caitlin,” she began, “It is late at night and I have written this twenty-five times, trying to say what I want to perfectly. It has only now dawned on me that I simply can’t. What I feel for you cannot be properly described with words. You are an enigma, Caitlin Snow. A breathtakingly beautiful, intelligent, lovely enigma.” She looked up, and Sherloque gestured for her to continue. She wasn’t sure she could. “Do you feel it yet?” Sherloque inquired. “Feel what?” “Tes rêves." “My dreams?” she translated, a little lost. This letter wasn’t about her dreams. And she wasn’t sure why, but something about Sherloque’s game wasn’t so nice. Still, she soldiered on. “Your hands are lethal, dangerous and cold and yet your eyes melt the hardest hearts. You breathe fire into my life but give frostbite to those you mistrust. I sit and wonder, how could the world’s kindest person be so bold and strong minded.” Her back was turned away from the door, facing Sherloque, so she didn’t see Cisco pass by in the hallway then stop abruptly at the door. She didn’t notice the rose in his hand, the way his mouth quirked up gently. She didn’t notice Sherloque tilting his hat in Cisco’s direction, satisfied with his successful deduction. She didn’t notice Cisco lean against the wall and close his eyes, listening to her talk. Caitlin wasn’t sure why her hands were shaking, why her voice started to crack, “You have taught my life’s greatest lessons. To love, not hate. To stand up when you want to cry. To fight for what you believe in until your dying breath. That good comes to those who wait. That even the worse winters have days of sun, and that you move on. You keep moving on.” “All I could ever hope for—“ Caitlin stumbled over the phrase, realizing she was no longer the only one reciting the letter. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, goosebumps running along her arms under her sweater dress. Someone was speaking along with her. Not Sherloque, who was sitting in front of her, deathly quiet. Not Iris, blocks away in her newspaper office. Not Ralph nearly burning the cookies upstairs. Not him or her or him, either. It was another voice. One she knew very well. Cisco restarted the line along with her, “All I could ever hope for is a life moving on, too.” Caitlin faltered, her throat constricting, heart pounding. She turned around, trembling, and there he was, pushing himself off the wall, coming forward. Her eyes fell back to the letter, and then there was harmony. “Laughing with you. Smiling with you. Saving the world with you. Saving every world with you.” Her cheeks were wet. She touched her face in shock, her own tears at her fingertips. Cisco approached her slowly, expecting her to back away. But she didn't. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stand still. Cisco took another step and Sherloque took his leave. He knew it off by heart, something inside her screamed, he said every word effortlessly. He said them clearly, strongly, but softly too. She couldn’t speak, but she didn’t have to anymore. Every moment with Cisco she could remember suddenly changed, and the rose-tinted glasses she stubbornly refused to wear opened her eyes, bringing her vision to focus. Every touch on her skin. Like the arms around her shoulder, his hands on her back, the caresses he gave her, his hip checks and how he always leaned to her side. Always sat next to her. Always stood by her. Like the way he always said ‘Us’ and ‘We’. The lingering hands, the deep soulful glances, his winks and grins. His nicknames. His compliments about her hair. His compliments about her everything, actually. How he ran to her the way Barry ran to Iris when fighting metas. How when he vibed with someone he grabbed their shoulder stiffly, but with her, they always clasped hands. How he said her name like it was reverent, sacred, like a prayer. Caitlin. Cait-lin. How after waking up in the Med Bay, her name was always the first on his lips. His sweet devotion and resounding faith in her, not because he saw her as his family, but because she was who he desired. Just like she dreamed and dreamed and dreamed and then pushed away for years now because it would never be. “We are seamless, and honestly do I believe I was made to exist with you. I think about all the memories I cherish, Caitlin, and there’s always you,” Cisco said, the last line coming out in a whisper. It fell silent. When Caitlin looked up, he was right there. Close enough for her to accept the rose, close enough that he could brush away the moisture from under her right eye with his thumb. She pressed the rose stem until her index finger pricked a thorn, but didn’t flinch, her regenerative healing ebbing the cut away. “You wrote it,” she finally said, dumbfounded. He hummed and inched closer, some hair falling in his face as he leaned in so that they were inches apart. “What does it mean?” “What do you think it means?” he murmured. His gaze kept flicking from her eyes down to her mouth and she licked her lips subconsciously. “Say it.” “I just did, Caitlin.” “I need you to say it,” she begged. “Caitlin,” Cisco took a deep shuddery breath. He was expressive, open, his heart on his sleeve. “I’m very much in love with you.” The sentence rang in Caitlin’s ears. A noise escaped from her throat, a quiet whimpered thing. He stepped back, having said his piece. He squeezed both her arms at her side warmly and said, “I’ll see you at the Lottery Reveal, okay?” She blinked and they were no longer a breath apart. This wasn’t a dream or a trick or something Caitlin made up or got wrong. This wasn’t a nightmare or a meta or the speed force or a time remnant or a broken timeline or another earth. These were Cisco’s words both in writing and from his very lips, his revealed heart and soul and body and mind and everything in between. And he loved her. “Wait!” she yelped, unfreezing, realizing he was going away. He turned around and she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Cisco hugged her, and she couldn’t help but breathe him in, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. Caitlin buried her face into his hair where it fell over his shoulder, just breathing, feeling his heart beating against her chest for a very long time. He held her tightly, and she was shaking because she was overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe it. The rose fell to the floor and the letter crumpled slightly, smushing against Cisco’s back in their embrace. Eventually the letter joined the flower on the ground as Caitlin forced herself to pull back. It was ridiculously difficult, like tearing two magnets apart. She drank in the crease in his forehead, his jaw, his eyelashes and the beautiful eyes they framed, his cheekbones and then his lips. Her hands trailed up the sides of his face, grazing his soft skin and she saw the effect she had on him, she saw the way he melts. She tilted her head closer and then he was gasping into her mouth. He cupped the back of her head, right below her ponytail, fingers tangling into the baby hair at the nape of her neck. The kiss broke softly, and then there was nothing but the pounding in their ears. Their eyes met, hers shining, his blown back and wide and Caitlin couldn’t help the exceptional smile that naturally followed. He searched her face for something, for an answer to his very important question, and it was up to her to grant it. So she did. She nodded and it was like something in Cisco shattered, his reserve or his years of self-control and he lurched forward, yanking her to him so hard she bent backwards, stumbling and then somehow he had her against the wall, really having his way. His kisses were wild and desperate and Caitlin tried to keep up, drowning in the new sensation of doing this with Cisco, of being ravished and loving every single second of it. He was talking. Mumbling things into her skin as he pushed her hair back, kissing up the slope of her neck. Things like her name and his secrets. Caitlin let out a small cry, thumping her head back against the wall, thrumming under his touch. He stopped and moved his hand to where she bumped her head, pulling away. “Sorry, sorry,” he rushed, fingers feeling for bruises. “You okay? Does it hurt?” She shook herself off and pushed him, kissed him more, walking them forwards, kissing him deeply, kissing him the way he made her feel, hot and loved and alive. Cisco slowed, but Caitlin kept chasing, addicted, stealing kisses from him until it was impossible because he was starting to laugh. He dug his fingers into Caitlin’s hair, blowing a puff of air against her cheek. She felt weak, lightheaded, like she hadn’t ate all day, but this woozy, dizziness was just about the best thing that has ever happened to her. “What’s so funny?” she asked, giggling as his frame shook. “You thought it was Ralph!” Caitlin bit her lip, heat rising, not knowing what to say. “How could you not think it was me?” He was teasing her, but she could detect the hurt beneath the words. She didn’t answer right away and he immediately subdued. She stepped backwards so that he could see her face, and picked up her precious letter from off the floor. “Because,” she said seriously. “Thinking it was Iris and being wrong was confusing. Believing it was Ralph and getting that wrong was embarrassing. With Sherloque it was a relief. ” She let herself be sensitive, honest with both him and herself for once. Her voice wobbled. “But if it was you, Cisco, who I was convinced about, if it was you and I was wrong. That would have broken me. That would have hurt so much.” She was welling up with tears again. “So I didn’t let myself think it at all.” His face softened. “Because,” she continued, “I thought I accepted some time ago that just being your Caitlin, your best friend, would be enough to get me by, but that’s just not true.” “Caitlin,” he said. “I didn’t know. I wish I did. I should’ve just told you in the beginning when you didn’t get it. I’m sorry.” She shook her head, reaching for him again. “I was silly to think it could be anyone but you.” She let herself be kissed, her eyes fluttering closed, smiling against his lips. “The party's just about to— Woaaaah.” They sprang apart, caught. “Guess you found out who was in love with you after all, huh, Caitlin?” Caitlin blushed, and Cisco pulled her to his chest, glaring. “Go away Ralph,” he all but growled. “We’re going home.” “You can’t go home!” he exclaimed, “It’s the Valentine’s Day Lottery Reveal! You have to show up. Tell him, Caitlin.” They both ganged up on Cisco, giving him matching pleading looks. “The cookies, Cisco,” she pouted. “And you need to guess who wrote yours!” He was unable to resist her, not with the way she snuggled closer, blinking her eyelashes up at him. “Wow okay, you’re playing dirty and I don’t know how I feel about it.” Caitlin twirled a lock of her hair from the ponytail all askew, “You wanna see me play dirty? Come with me to the party and you’ll find out,” she flirted, not knowing where the hell that came from or even meant, but the way his pupils widened gave her a pretty good idea that Cisco liked it. “Fine!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Fine, we’ll go to the Lottery Reveal!” Caitlin and Ralph cheered. ♡ Cisco was feeding Caitlin heart shaped, red dyed cookies at the island in the lounge as Ralph clapped his hands. “I’ll go first, Barry thank you for your card.” Barry laughed, “Nah, dude. Wasn’t me. I know you’re mine though.” “How’d you know it was him?” Iris asked where she was sitting on Barry’s lap, still admiring the necklace he bought her. “It said ‘thank you for saving me from DeVoe.’” He gave Ralph a very pointed look. Ralph scoffed, “That could’ve been anyone here.” “Bien non. But it was you,” Sherloque interjected playing with a balloon. “Are we wrong?” “No,” said Ralph, shaking his strawberry shake. “So then who wrote mine?” “Moi!” Sherloque said, stealing the last cookie from the plate. “Puis la mademoiselle Caitlin wrote mine.” Caitlin smiled around her mouthful, half distracted as Cisco’s fingers brushed the crumbs off her lips. She wasn’t even sure he was paying any attention to what was going on around them at all. “And we all know who wrote Caitlin’s,” Iris said, and they all turned around to stare at them. Caitlin swallowed the last bit of cookie and kissed Cisco’s cheek. “Yes, well. It might’ve taken me all day but at least I got a boyfriend out of it.” “Hell yeah you did,” Cisco responded. He took her hand and tangled their fingers together, kissing it. “Who do you think had you, Cisco?” Ralph prompted him. Cisco didn’t hear him, and Caitlin had to nudge him out of his lovesick stupor. “Huh?” “Your Valentine,” Caitlin reminded him, touching his face. “You,” he gushed. Caitlin’s cheeks burned as Team Flash laughed. “No, sweetheart, I mean who wrote your letter?” Iris, having had enough of this whole game the moment she found out her husband rigged the lottery, rose her voice. “It was me! I wrote his letter! Not that he’ll even remember it. You’re welcome, Cisco.” She stood up and pulled Barry off the chair, dragging him out the room. “Party’s over. I really want to go home with my husband, can we leave now?” ♡ When Cisco vibed Caitlin to his apartment, she was surprised to find the dining table all nicely set up. “Is this for me?” He hummed and turned on the stove to heat the food. “It’s like I said on Tuesday,” he said, pointing his wooden spoon at the chair for her to sit down. He pushed her in and gave her a fancy tablecloth to place over her lap. “I had special plans.” “Oh,” Caitlin replied, feeling a little stupid. She watched him pull out a bottle of wine and light some candles. “What would you have done if this didn’t go well?” Cisco folded his arms over his chest. “Then I would’ve had a very awkward Valentine’s Day date with Ralph.” He came forward and sat across from her at the table. Caitlin couldn’t help giggling at that image, of Ralph stuck in her place, and cursed it ever crossing Cisco’s mind. He watched her as she laughed into her napkin, eyes full of light. She sobered and placed her chin in her hand, elbow next to her cutlery, mirroring Cisco’s look of incandescent happiness. It fell silent, and Cisco’s dinner simmered on the stove. “Lucky Ralph,” she whispered. Cisco’s face glowed amber in the candlelight. It was playful and ardent and hot. “No.” His finger went under her jaw, tilting it up slightly. Caitlin’s breath caught in her throat, holding his burning gaze until the moment she surrendered, eyelashes fanning closed as she was kissed and he murmured, “Lucky me.”

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MEDEA. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Pika, you have no idea how absolutely ecstatic I am with this application. You capture their erratic nature -- how they seem never completely there but when they do...oh, when they do you should be careful. The future plots have me absolutely giddy with anticipation, the interview got me swoonin’, and the para sample seemed like the ribbon on top of it all. I am so excited to have Mallory in our midst once more and I can’t wait for everything to unfold!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

                                                                            WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, idrc.

Activity Level | lmao u already knooooo :))))))) terrible :))))))))))))

not great, to be completely honest. however, now that school is slowing down, i should be a lot more consistent; realistically, i’ll be on about every other day.

Timezone | pst.

Current/Past RP Accounts | hugo, noelle, miles, landon. the last two are hella old, ngl.

In Character

Character | madea ;; mallory chanda.

What drew you to this character? | lookie here: i loooooove the dynamic of the witches, the idea of each as an aspect of fate. cinead, the all-seeing, bears down the judgement of the past; hea, all-hearing, plays the fickle strings of the heart and mind as they shift in the present; and mallory, all-knowing, dances with fate, swapping secrets like gossiping old friends. each transcends the concept of the individual, but each is incomplete without the others. they’re delightfully enigmatic, and i love me a good mind screw.

i think that the thing that draws me to mallory in particular is their caprice, and their capacity for more. when you read mallory’s bio in tandem with their siblings’, you (or i, at least lol) definitely get the feeling that they’re the baby of the family. the siblings are cold and they are no exception, but underneath the facade of ice lies a deceptive blue flame—one so hot it burns you frozen, one that changes direction with the lightest breath of the wind. they seem to be more impulsive than their siblings (i mean seriously they just…..went out and won the lotto, nbd), but you can’t help but wonder: are they merely whimsical, or working toward some grander scheme? maybe it’s just because i have an undying love for meta, but i feel like it’d be such fun to play a character consistently a step removed from the present, eyes always flicking around the scenery because ultimately, it is not the individuals that matter, but what they do with themselves—how they leave a mark on the world.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

001. ► supernova (gods, impartial? ha. tell that to the greeks, darling.)

mallory’s relationships with hector and clark fascinate me in that, imo, despite being completely different in sentiment, they both stem from the men staunchly denying fate. my interpretation of mallory is one who believes strongly in fate, and the contrast between them is one that i’d like to see play out. they will not meddle with the fates of the men who meddle with fate, no matter how much they itch to, but i want them to do so. bring the god down to the level of mere mortals. make them give into their whims and engage with the world.

002. ► white dwarf (a deal with the devil; can you sell your soul when your heart holds no credit?)

mallory is more impulsive than either of their siblings. though they likely wouldn’t pick a side in the war for verona, i could certainly see them making deals with one side or another—with the clear caveat that they are neutral, and equally likely to assist another willing to bargain with a god. how would this play out? more importantly, how would their siblings react to this? there is a price to pay to make deals with gods, and i would love to see how mallory reacts to having multiple puppets on their strings.

003. ► black hole (the world began with a bang, and shall end similarly.)

mallory’s siblings are more than their family—they are the counterparts to their soul. how will they react to a threat to their existence? though their souls transcend the limits of mortality, their bodies do not, a fact mallory is simultaneously acutely aware of and utterly uncaring of. but, just as the gods of olympus are most vulnerable at their most opulent, what would happen to the witches if somebody attempted to question their omnipotence? i want fire and brimstone. i want the wrath of gods. mallory already has the fire. i’d like to see them burn.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

They touch an impeccably manicured finger to their lips, considering the question. It’s rare that they have to field personal questions—most given the honor of their counsel are after a specific goal, and their questions tend to reflect that single-mindedness. Still, the triviality isn’t unwelcome, and though Mallory raises a wry brow, they answer genuinely.

“Did you know,” they begin offhandedly, “that I had originally proposed putting modern art in the Twelfth Night? My siblings and I diverged in opinion on this, obviously. And, as you can see, my opinion was overruled.” A sigh. “Is it not tragic, the plight of the youngest?”

But a smirk slowly slides across their face. “Please do not tell my siblings I said this—I do hate being wrong, you see—but they were right; Baroque has been a most fitting choice for the museum. Tell me: have you been there at night?” They close their eyes indulgently, snapping open to reveal an unreadable expression. “It’s great fun. One could even say that it is magical.” This sets them off, peals of musical laughter falling from their lips. “But I don’t think it’s magic that compels guests to kiss the statues, no? That is a human honesty, and truly, there is nothing more fascinating to observe.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Hm.” They drum their fingers across the top of their other hand, but their attention seems elsewhere. “I’m afraid the answer may bore you.” They uncross their legs, re-cross them, and continue their answer. “I wake up…hm. After the sun, but before noon. I will usually tend to business at the hotel in the afternoon, and perhaps fit in a catnap before the evening. Come then, I go to the museum and turn those who stay after closing into statues.”

They smile prettily. “Just kidding.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

They still, and a chill falls over the room. They still, and for the first time, there is a presence in their eyes—it is as if their mind has been elsewhere until now, and they have finally joined the present conversation. A smirk rolls over their lips, different than the one before; this one is distinctly feline, languid and knowing.

“It’s silly. Pettiness is such a waste of time, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not quite truth, either. Yes, it’s a waste of time, but one Mallory is fascinated by, the way an entomologist is fascinated by a colony of ants. One to be watched from afar, perhaps on the sofa with their siblings. And—

“Oh.” The moment is broken; they have moved on to a new thought. “Perhaps I ought to ask Hea to buy popcorn before they come home.” They stand, obviously dismissive. “Yes. I shall do that.”

In-Character Para Sample:

It is a beautiful evening, the type that romantics write poetry over and lovers meet under. The sun paints a cascading orange against the sky, pulsing the last vestiges of light before it inevitably falls into bed with the shadows chasing it. And Mallory walks to work.

The heels of their shoes—four inch wedges, sensible for crossing cobblestones—glide soundlessly across the streets of Verona, leaving no trace of their owner behind. They walk languidly, confidently; their siblings are conducting business elsewhere, but their only responsibility for the evening is to prepare the Twelfth Night for the night. There is no rush. There rarely ever is.

And so, when a man approaches them, face alight with the reluctant, cautious awe characteristic of arrogant men humbled by proper power, they allow him to speak.

“Please,” he says, begs, “read my fortune. I’ll give you anything—anything!—I just…I think something bad may have happened, and I need to know what’s coming next.”

The only indication that they heard the man is in the single, perfectly-groomed brow that raises at his plea. The man certainly looks a mess, clothes rumpled and sweat beading on his brow. Mallory is unmoved by his appeal to their ethos.

But, admittedly, they are intrigued. Desperation is an endearingly human trait, one that Mallory finds almost charming.

( they can hear their siblings groans in the back of their mind, particularly cinead’s. well, it isn’t cinead’s time that they are wasting. )

“Hm,” they say. A beat passes. The man trembles. “Follow.”

—

“Three of swords, the Hanged Man reversed, and the Tower. Fascinating.”

“F-fascinating? What does that mean? Is that good?”

A laugh bubbles from Mallory’s chest. “Good? Bad? To label fate with something so crude would be boring.” They rise, and gather the three cards from the dusty stoop, brushing them off gently. “Fate is fate,” they say, and their eyes meet the man's—he cannot hold the contact for long, and looks away quickly. Their head inclines, feline in its judgement. “Though yours…your selfishness shall be caused by suffering.” They sigh. “How dull,” they say, more to themself than the man, shaking their head in disappointment. “If that is all, I shall take my leave.”

Mallory rises, and turns to walk back to their intended destination.

“W-wait!” The man calls to their back. “I can’t…I…You have the power to help me, right? I…I want to make a deal with you!”

Mallory pauses. Smirks. It seems they now have an appointment for the evening.

How fascinating.

Extras:

a playlist:

→ i put a spell on you ;; nina simone

i put a spell on you / and now you’re mine

→ never catch me ;; flying lotus ft. kendrick lamar

life and death is no mystery and i wanna taste it / step inside of my mind and you’ll find curiosity, animosity / high philosophy, hyper prophesied meditation

→ special affair ;; the internet

penny for your thoughts, i know what you want / i can read your mind even from behind

→ bone+tissue ;; gallant

sell me something i can use to catapult my value / treat me like the cardinal anointed in my vessels

→ fantasy ;; alina baraz and galimatias

so you say you wanna get so high, breathe me in like air tonight / let yourself get lost in the garden of my mind

→ white ;; frank ocean

i dreamt of storms, i dreamt of sounds / i dreamt of gravity keeping us around

→ ready or not ;; the fugees

i play my enemies like a game of chess / no stress where i rest if you smoke some sess

hc’s and misc. bits

mal likes to read fortunes—tarot, palms, astrology. to them, it’s a silly game…but for those brave enough to ask, there’s always an eerie accuracy to them, a thrum of power that beats through the air when they turn the cards. unlike cinead, they will never turn down a request to read fortunes, delighting in the schadenfreude that comes with being the messenger of fate.

more on astrology: they check their horoscope every morning (for a loose definition of morning). even though they don’t necessarily believe in it, if one of their siblings’ signs are low in the luck ranking, they won’t let them leave the house without their lucky item.

in keeping with what’s apparently a running animal motif, mallory has a unabashed fondness for cats. (they also have a remarkably similar temperament to the animal, but they vehemently deny this when their siblings poke fun at them for it.) they have a cat named metis, whom they love dearly.

mallory is a night owl; the witching hour is their favorite time of day. mornings, to them, are entirely overrated—there’s no sense of romance to them. or so they say.

they love dancing, and practice all styles one could imagine, from ballet to salsa to hip hop. it is not an uncommon sight to see them at the tempest, undulating in a dance that is unorthodox but undoubtedly alluring, liquid moonshine slipping deftly through the crowd.

drunk!mallory’s passion is singing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

drunk!mallory cannot sing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

to call mallory vain is not incorrect, per se, but also not entirely right. they take great pride in maintaining their appearance—their aesthetic is black and flow-y, lace and long skirts and dark lips—but it is more a matter of preference than vanity.

mallory enjoys mixing drinks, though they rarely indulge in them themself. it is not an entirely rare sight to see them creating concoctions at the bar of the tempest. they cannot stand coffee.

on occasion, mallory will spend the day simply wandering the city. they won’t talk to anyone, but they enjoy people-watching.

��

( They stood in order: Cinead, then Hea, then Mallory. It was a habit ingrained by age, ingrained by habit, and though it was in Mallory’s nature to push against convention, it was one of the things they never questioned.

Cinead, Hea, Mallory. Order, balance, chaos. Always three. Always one. )

—

( the whisper of silk on skin, the bite of a frosty morning. wind that whips through the trees, displacing all but the birds. fingers brushing through hair. catching someone’s gaze from across a busy intersection. the ghost of breath. fractals in snowflakes. )

—

( each time they take one of you, you do not clench your fists. you do not yell childishly, you do not reach out to your siblings

and make no mistake, they are your siblings, even if your blood traitorously refuses to acknowledge this

because

you know.

you know that fate will return you where you ought to be:

by each others’ sides. )